क्या दिन थे वो भी!

बर्फ की सीली से गिरते एक एक फाहे को क्या हसरत से देखता था

पानी से गीली रेत पर अपने पद चिन्ह पढता था

अपने सपाट हाथों में तकदीर की लकीर ढूंढता था

बालू के ढेर में अपना घरोंदा संजोता था

क्या दिन थे वो भी!



छुटपन में भी बड़े होने का आभास होता था

सब कुछ बुरा होने पर भी न मन उदास होता था

माँ की एक पुचकार टीचर के कई थप्पड़ों पर भारी थी

हर मंजिल जो सपने में देखी, वो हमारी थी

क्या दिन थे वो भी!



हर वक़्त उल्लास का माहौल होता था

बेफिक्र उन्मुक्त असीम आकाश का पंछी था मैं

ना कंधो पे भारी सी बैग का बोझ था

ना आँखों के नीचे ये काले निशान थे

क्या दिन थे वो भी!



रातें सोने के लिए हुआ करती थीं

सूरज के साथ दिन शुरू होता था

घर की पिछली दीवार के पीछे सूरज उगता था

छत के ठीक ऊपर हर रात चाँद आता था

क्या दिन थे वो!



शाम को भुने हुए चिवड़े और हलवा खाता था

आम के अचार के बिना खाना निगला नहीं जाता था

अब तो domino का पिज्जा खाता हूँ

उंगलियाँ चाटना तो छोडो उन्हें ढंग से गन्दा भी नहीं कर पाता हूँ

क्या दिन थे वो!



हर शाम वही पुरानी कहानी नए अंदाज़ में सुनता था और खो जाता था

नानी की लोरी सुनते सुनते वहीँ उसकी गोद में सो जाता था

हर तरफ सुकून था पर समझ नहीं पाता था

अब तो बस समझ ही पाता हूँ

क्या दिन थे वो!

.

The Rocker

There are guitars playing in the background, only intermittently though, but each chord hits me, like a wave strikes against a rock by the sea somewhere in wilderness. I close my eyes, paste my lips together inwards, swallow a spoon of saliva, gush out a puff of exhaled air and try to find my vision. The drums join in on a low bass scale, like the beatles used to start their songs more than often, I feel the beats and the intermittent strings of guitars producing the most beautiful disturbances. I try to pull my eyes wide open for I feel they are shrinking. At the back of my mind, I remember my hatred for chinese eyes. I tell myself its only an illusion. I close my eyes again. No, I don't close them, it happens I don't even realize. I take a back roll. The music has not fed away, its more in the fore ground now! I take a pinch of mexican panda(google it!). It looks gorgeous peeking from inside of that beautiful invention we call "plastic". Wrapped in it and coiled with a golden string the package looks beautiful. No wonder, racism came into foray, only because we love the charisma of white so much. I try to find the spoon. I can't see where it is! And out of nowhere I see it there, thrown on the table by the side of the sofa. There is a dirty table cloth on the table which was white when it began its life as a table cloth. Now, it looks pale. I wonder how things change. I wonder again. Do they really change or just appear to be changing. The drums get on a high again. I can feel the vibes inside my head. The vein on the temple twitches a bit. I get worried. I take the spoon. Its an old stained spoon. I twist it by almost a 90 degrees. It looks like a face twisted in a wry! I try to see myself in the spoon. I look twisted too. With a finesse of the experts, I transfer a pinch of the panda on to it. My eyes glitter with the expected rush! I fanatically look into my pockets. I don't find anything. I go for the pants, I get it. I take it out. Its hard, its old, its rusty but it still works. I don't try any fancy stuff with it I saw in enlish movies. I uncap it and in a jiffy I use my thumb to give it real jerk, trying to bring in rotation, overcoming friction. Old stuff has lot of internal friction. But it works, I see the flame. I smile at my Zippo! It really is a piece of its kind. The flame sustains. Panda turns liquid. I see bubbles trying hard to come to surface. I want them to. But I wait with the patience of a crane. I can feel the spoon now. Its as hot as it can get! I change hands and rub my fore finger and thumb. I feel better. I know it won't matter in sometime but still I do the rubbing. I look for something else now. I place the spoon in some place. It doesn't spill the panda at all. I look for the bag I kept in some obscure corner of the room. I do find it at the first glance I throw at the heap of stuff piled up. Piling up is not what you want when you look for things but I manage somehow. I smile at my luck. I begin to unzip. I go slow. I go as slow as one can imagine, like those ultra slow motion cameras show; just like that. I unfold the two wings of the bag. I see inside with the curiosity of a child. My eyes spark at the mere look of it. I see the sisters sitting pretty in their cradles, unmoved, unrocked, silent, still and yet vibrant. I feel it. The aura is definitely building around me now. I take the straps out and let them loose. They look old and jaded. it's an old rendezvous, like a deja vu! Not exactly a deja vu but quite similar. I hold them in my hands, one for each hand. I maintain the balance equitably. I sometimes love the choice and context of my words! I bring the sisters together. They look so impotent in isolation. I can hardly handle the glee. I fix them together and make them one. My weapon is ready. The preparation part is always better than the execution but not in this case. I hope so, hope drives the world! I go for tha panda again. Hoping it has cooled down but not enough, left with the warmth required. I need some heat in my body. I just realize I am sweating from the side of my back. A drop forms a torrent and flows down right till where I'm wearing my pants. I can feel the exact trajectory of the torrent. I imagine what form would it have made. I get reminded of my Co-ordinate geometry classes but I pull myself out of there. I think of a name for my weapon. I decide upon sister-joint! I particularly love the word "joint". I dip the tip or toe whatever it is in the small little potentially deep enough panda pool. I suck it..........up! With a slight push I jerk out a couple of droplets out of the invisible nozzle. I stroke the sister-joint's body, just hard enough to get away with the bubbles jailed inside. I give them freedom and bask in the moment of glory. I know I'm getting restless now. I cup my upper lip with the lower one and wipe the sweat in. It has a strange taste. I hold the sister-joint carefully and in the same vein I look for a vein in my hand, the left one to be precise. I tap my hand hard to bring it up. I see the blue streak. I wonder how blood carrier can look not red but I don't waste my analytical skills there so much. I am nervous. This is not my first time I know but after quite long a break. I swallow a gulp of saliva. I wet my lips again. I feel better. I go for the target, I pierce with success and pinch. Probably, it's more like a prick. Soon I would not be able to mark the difference I know. I drag the piston by a bit. I see the red slowly diffusing inside the colourlessness of the panda. The sister-joint looks indifferently. She doesn't know what is going inside her. I know. The guitars and the drums pick up. I can hear them coming closer. Looks like a total crescendo is about to arrive. I push it all inside. My eyes go red. I sniff out in ecstasy. The eyelids take control by losing theirs. The eyeballs surrender to the might of the neurons. Darkness comes with colours mixed in it. Vision fades away slowly and comes back like a flash but fades away again. I smile, I sweat, I feel hot but I love it all the way. The drums get heavy inside me. the acoustic guitars join in now. I'm still but rocking hard. I thread my fingers in my skull through my hair. I wear a fancy hair style. Wind gushes inside. The mix of hot and cold is awesome like hot chocolate syrup on top of a vanilla scoop. I see spirals, I do see them. The sisters a....r..............e. I



................< th e r si a thin g a.bou...t it..........I wanna...........fadeeeeeeeeee a w?ay.....CAN I?

Save the hypocrisy

Like everyone even I was waiting for the verdict on Ayodhya to be out, not because it was my father's land under the scanner but more because the entire issue was over built and it was treated as if it was about to bring a hurricane or a tornado in the country. I don't know what to make out of the decision but at least the bench made sure everyone had something on their plates and the grievances whatsoever were limited in nature. Although one of the parties is apparently not entirely satisfied with the verdict, it failed to stir the country in the way it was feared it would! However, my concern actually started as I was browsing through the social networking sites. Almost every Tom, Dick and Harry had an update which showed concern for our poor country which happens to be an example of prime secularism, at least on paper! My counter to all the gentlemen and women who were praying under their breath all the time to avoid any sort of arousal in the country post the decision and vented out their emotions either by tweeting or updating, is "go to hell". This country has survived thousands of years before any of you or your forefathers were born. And you better keep your tongue coiled inside your teeth because I may just rip it apart. There are feelings of anticipation which are created by a few big men who run this country, unfortunately and you guys use your powers of democracy on the bloody internet as and when you tweet. What a bloody waste of energy and time, both of which you have in plenty. Rather ironically, unlike the net savvy, new, learned and aware class of India, which doesn't even caste votes during elections, the people around the epicentre of the entire episode still have no one to express their opinions. Ayodhya is not a city of disputed land and it expects a different identity from us. But we are unwilling to move from where we were entrenched 18 years ago. You people have opinions to express sitting inside your homes and not going out and talk and walk because you fear a stone might be coming your way or worst case you might just find a bullet in between of your eyes! Show your bold opinions somewhere else where probably you find more people like you who can only discuss issues sitting inside a studio telecasted live on a national news channel. When I read those prayers you make on the internet, I know more than concerned you are scared. Thousands of miles away from that place which hit you hard today, you are scared to get out of your safety because you don't trust the system around you. Does one verdict of land distribution bring to Ayodhya what should be brought to it which could have been developed rather than leaving it aside in the most archaic form. Probably when you searched on internet you got that (in)famous picture of the mob on the tomb. Ayodhya is much more than what you ever encapsulated. Its a place where normal people live, who are scared about their lives, their families, apprehensive about their being and worried about their present and future both. Try finding those pictures, you won't get many. Satellites can locate the erstwhile "disputed land" but not the crushed hopes! A place is not about a piece of land, its about the people who live there. If you guys find time and guts to go down to Ayodhya, do it and see how different is it from the other places. And please stop cribbing about the system, you are a bloody wasted nut of the same machine you say is inefficient. So pull up if you have anything to hold on to in the first place! And yeah, those people who are giving their expert opinions on how the judgement could have better or how it held the country together, why don't you guys watch my hand wave and choose the appropriate finger yourself. Shove your fake, superficial knowledge of Indian judiciary up some place you find the most apt but please spare us the horror! We know you guys are well read and really care for the nation. You might well be running an NGO also which does social work. Start working on yourself and leave those people in peace. The water is still, don't stir it like a cocktail. And for all the naked show of your hearty emotions and analysis, I have a line-"Only the wearer knows where it pinches." I pray you never have to wear those shoes!

The Old Man's Diary

I am sitting in my chair and sipping my tea and I am trying to find the smell of the darjeeling tea leaves in it. That smell is absent. I wouldn't call it a fragrance because I can only relate to perfumes my wife used to the word fragrance. It's rather an exclusive usage I know but in my personal domain I would rather have that exclusivity. The tea really smelled bad. Me thinks these days the tea makers don't get good tea tasters else they could have figured if the leaves under processing and post processing have reached the desired form or not! Anyway that was purely none of my bloody business. I put the cup back on the table and took up the old newspaper kept underneath my dirty old pillow. My pillow is a really old pillow. I think I purchased it some 20 years ago on my son's wedding. That was some wedding. I spent from my pocket and heart both. After the wedding, both the sources were emptied, sort of a drought for various reasons. I wouldn't discuss what really those reasons were because I don't want people to think that I'm a helpless old man who has seen things in his life most people would not like to see.



By the way, did I tell you I am 74? It has been sixteen years since I retired from my job. I worked for the government. Not that I was indispensable for them but people really knew me well. I was famous. I was a leader of some sort and I was a brave man. But those things are history now. If you ask me right now about how do I feel about myself, probably I would not give you the right answer. The truth hurts big time and always at the wrong place. I have a family. I have three sons and a daughter. I had a wife too. Now she is gone. I feel lonely without her. There is a photo of hers which I carry in my wallet. I see that photo very often. It's a black and white photo but fills all the colours to my otherwise sedate life. It was taken years ago when we had our first son. God, she looks beautiful in that. She looked beautiful otherwise as well. When I don't see that photo I feel I'm sort of incomplete. Some people say if you love someone you actually don't need a photo of that person. That someone dwells in one's heart and stuff. They probably never know what severance is like. When someone who goes, stays gone forever, things also change.



I live with my son. Actually, he lives with me. I built this house when I thought we had enough of staying in rented houses. Back then we didn't have apartments. This apartment culture is catching on fast these days I see. I got a call from my second son last sunday. He calls me on alternate sundays. The kids have grown up. They really have. Years ago, this house of mine was my home. Today I merely live here. Companionship is a must in life. I did not realize this when I got married rather I realized this when she left forever. I do feel lonely, mostly on all occasions. I miss talking to her, fighting her when the salt would be more than what I liked in the food. I'm a heart patient. I'm not supposed to have a lot of salt. Now I don't mind the salt in my food and life. Probably the will to live has receded. And why would one live? Still I'm either sensible enough or coward enough to have not tried suicide so far. Generally I spend my day talking to myself. People generally don't like talking to the older people like me. I don't socialize with the other old men of the neighbourhood. They sort of give me negative vibes. They have an air of pesimism around them. I don't like that. I can walk alone rather clinging on to crutches.



I don't feel weak but I want to talk and want to get listened. I want my share in the decision making in my own house which I don't get. I get my tea, breakfast and every other required thing on time but I want more than that. Because I'm old now and I retired from my job a long time ago doesn't mean I can't take decisions. But it seems my kids who have grown big enough to forget that mine are the hands they held on to walk for the first time on this planet. My hands seem shaky to them now. I'm cornered now and its a pretty dark corner. I can get frustrated but I chose not to. Not out of choice but out of grit. I may have lived long enough to be old now but I want to live and not just breathe. Today if I say I was not sad, I would be lying. I definitely was sad. I wanted attention if not love. In my age people go back to being kids. They want to be pampered and attended to with love and respect more than ever in their lives. That's the stage I'm in right now but I don't get it. So I decided to give words to my feelings and release the pressure which was building inside me. I'm a heart patient, the pace maker might just blow off and I do care to live, even if I have to live only for myself and the photo I have. I will come back whenever I'm sad, I will not give in. I'm not going to crib to the other oldies of the neighbourhood about how pathetic my life is. Rather I will share it with myself and feel happy. I attend to myself. Time to get hold of my wallet and see what I feel is the most beautiful face on earth!

Dreamer

As far back as I can remember I always wanted to be a dreamer. I loved to keep my eyes open and dream of what would I do in life. I remember watching DDLJ and totally falling in love with the movie. There were numerous occasions when in my dreams thought I was the male protagonist of the stories I weaved in my dreams. They were dreams not of career making or getting rich, they used to be dreams of falling in love. I was always fascinated by the feeling of falling in love with a girl, who would just slip into my life like a beautiful angel and would just be mine. Every nook and corner I crossed I looked for her. Every girl I saw reminded me of my dream girl. And I knew some day, some point in time in my life, some juncture of this estranged journey of mine, I will find her and I will be loved. Being loved is always better than loving. I craved and bollywood added to my fantasy runs. Another great movie called "Pyaar to hona hi tha" hit the theatres. And I was totally in awe with the movie. I still sing the title song with maximum amount of feelings I can generate. I was always an emotional guy. With time taking its toll on me, I lost that competency of mine. I sort of became practical but then one is what one was. I, at heart was still an emotional fool and I wanted to fall in love. Only I fell for other things like fleshpots of the world. Skin defeated heart, only for the time being. I thought and then I stopped thinking at all.

I went with the wrong flow, I don't know if it was the wrong flow or wrong me but there was something very wrong. I stopped writing at all because I couldn't feel anything and if you can't feel anything there is no way you can write stuff.Then sometime in my life which was very eventful otherwise, I read a book and I fell in love with it. One of my seniors and friends gave that book to me and I thought to be like the author of that book. The book was " Catcher in the Rye". The author was......chuck it, google it readers, it's a very famous book. The author died right after I read that book. I saw it in the papers. But I felt good about my awareness. That was the extent to which I was feelingless. Now all of you can imagine what kind of a person am I?

Apart from this romantic inside me, I was always hungry for power. I wanted to be a powerful person not physically but otherwise. Like those politicians or those bureaucrats. I loved the power their names and their signatures had. I loved the red lights they put on top their cars and care a damn about the red lights of the city. That is the concept of power in my head and I wanted to achieve that. However, one has to sacrifice a hell lot to be there and I was not willing to do that. Rather I was just getting fascinated about what it would feel like to be sitting inside that car with the red light on top of it and soaring ahead on a crossroad when the lesser mortals just wait for the lights to turn green. That obsession was always there and I never could translate that either to reality. I needed to work and all I did was just dream.

Then a good sunny morning when I happened to wake up early enough to see the sunrise, or probably I never slept in the night, I realised I was not/never meant to actuate all this. All I was and all I am is just a dreamer..just a dreamer!!

Of mothers

Of Mothers
Slipping down in the abyss of affection, I was wondering will life always be like this. Probably at 5 years of age this was one of the improbable thoughts to have struck me. I prayed to the god who I asked for almost everything ranging from a small candy(which my mother could always afford) to a four rupee bottle of Thums Up(which was totally out of budget)one more time."Never make my mummy old”. Praying has got immense powers of smoothening (allow me the authors’ liberty) concerns specially if the heart is clean and motive is innocent. I at once felt my prayers were going to be heard and registered high on "his" list. My mother was the prettiest woman I ever saw. Well, she still is, just that at times she has competition from someone quite younger than her. While I used to be busy capturing every corner of her lap, she would ask me at times, “You know will grow old and my hair will grey someday"."No! It won't happen because I will always be a kid, so you will always be how you are today”, I used to assure her and myself with lot of confidence. After all I had prayed! After so many years I feel there is a god, because even though I grayed pre maturely, my mother still looks the same. The prayers were heard. Love is something which we all discover about as soon as we get that first touch from our mothers. Although we hardly remember that first touch of immense love, which is so cruel of nature. This goes to all our" would be spouses" that the reason why we love them has to be our mothers. Spouses are a difficult breed to handle after all. Lot of us know it already, and for those who are still to bite the chilly, I’m sure enough you will do it soon enough to realize the factual authenticity of my statement. A mother and a child have a mutual liking which is funny and inexplicable at the same time. The child finds his/her mother the most beautiful and vice versa. If we actually believe in this hypothesis, there would be billions of "miss worlds" every moment living on this planet. However, the good part is there are. That is what people call the feeling which exceeds love, which exceeds the vocabulary. We must be thankful to whomever for giving us all eyes to express. They come very handy in such situations. When I was scared in the middle of those nights or was acting to be, my mother would just engulf me with her protective cover. Arms which were weak and short by normal definition, would seem to have all the power to resist any force and I would quietly just hold them as I spiraled away in slumber. Can the NSG make one sleep like that? I’m not seeking an answer, just reiterating on more time without any tolerances! This is the fourth straight day, I haven't slept properly. Guess I need similar prayers and cover. I hope he still puts them high on "his" list.

Of Beauty

Beauty fascinates, but then isn't the beauty contextual here is predominantly the apparent one? A burning question with a temporary answer meant only to fool oneself. The essence and charisma of appreciation lies in the stream of emotions and the springs generating from the tilted left fist alike (read heart).Love generates all the beauty that we admire throughout our lives. Beauty is as meaningless without life as is a dancer who cannot listen to the music but still mechanically carries out the well rehearsed steps given by the efficient choreographers. Doesn't it then take the entire vibrancy out of the beauty bubble? Shutting those eyelids upon those eye balls brings in darkness with peace that is beauty. Walking by the road side and finding the poor smile even after all adversity, that is beauty. If something is real, trust me for one moment, you can play your part in adding just a touch on your behalf that is beauty.
This life, let's all learn one more time how to beautify!