Guroor Hota ....

Har lafz ko tarasha tune, har moti ko piroya

Har zazbe ko sambhala tune, har haar ko sanjoya

Kisi musafir se gairat ki ummeed bhi kar dali

Kisi bepanah hawa ko kabu karke bhi roya

Goya guroor hota to aaj sir chadh kar bolta

Tune to yahin paya hai aur yahin hai khoya

Khuda Ki Bhool

This was strictly meant for private circulation till he forced me to share -


Hai kahan ki himaat-e-marda jo tum se joojh le

Hai kahan woh pak-e-seerat jo yeh daman choom le

Tum kisi Gomukh ki Ganga, tum subah ka phool ho

Tum oss ka patte pe girna, Tum khuda ki bhool ho

Zafarnama

In Hasraton se keh do, kahin aur ja basein
Itni jageh kahan hai dil-e-daghdar mein
Kitna hai badnaseeb Zafar dafan ke liye
Do gaz zameen bhi na mili koo-e-yaar mein

Under house arrest, so wrote Bahadur Shah Zafar.

Dilli se Burma tak zafar ke safar par ek koshish kisi oonchi imarat mein baithkar -

Aa Jamuna chal chalte hai, mujhe door bahut hai jana
Tere bahav mein dhalte hain, mujhe fir hai sheesh jhukana
Dekho yeh Taj ki parchayi, jab tumko yun choo leti hai
Mano Mumtaz ki thandi yaad, ek aayat si keh leti hai

Tum mil jaogi ganga mein, kho dogi apna naam vahan
Mai bebas sangam dekhoonga, dhoondhoonga koi saath naya
Shayad makool yahi hoga ki parchayi ke saath chaloon
Jhukte kandhe, dhalti shaamein, khali jamon ka vaar sahoon......

Kabhi kisi kavita ko beech mein choddna nahi chahiye, aap fir kitni bhi koshish kar lein, woh khayal aur woh alfazon ka roomanipan laut kar nahi aata. Aisa lagta hai ki kahin koi apna choot gaya aur ab haath badhane par uski yaadein bhi kasmasakar door ja rahi hain, mano aapse nafrat ho unko.

Galiyare - II

Khala ka zikr kiya tha usne, shayad apne dabte uthte roomanipan se kuch bharne ki bezuban koshish kar raha tha woh, maine use yeh likhkar bhej diya -

Taqazaa tha, ki ek tasawwuf si tishnagi jage, teri tasveer ke tasawwur se Ki tere taabish ki taasir, meri taqdeer ka ek talkh tamasha bane Ki zamindoz kar doon, mai woh taz-o-takht, woh shabab-e-seerat Ki teri nazron ke paimane, khuda ki panah ka paigam bane

Across the pond she ruminates over what was and what could have been, she isn't happy with the idea of giving him the freedom which he had already taken for granted and then she asks, "why do you write like this?"

Insaan jab bhi kuch likhta hai to shayad dil mein ek chahat hoti hai - koi ise padhe sarahe aur mujhe sunae, istemal kare in shabdon ka jahan yeh uchit hon. Aap likh kaisa bhi sakte hain, ya to gulazzar ki tarah sadharan shabdon mein ek muqqamal peshkash, ya mir taqi mir ki tarah zubani nafast se bhari nazm. Kuch yaad a raha hai -

Logon ne itni oonchi imartein bana di hain charon aur, ki woh mere hisse ka sooraj bhi kha gaye

Haan to hum baat khala ki kar rahe the, khala kyon aur kaise panapti hai -

Mere zehen ke nazdeek ek aahat si hui
Mujhe laga ki tere jism mein harkat si hui
Hasin makbare pe muqammal sa ek sher padha
Meri hokar bhi aye rab khala meri na hui

Har ek koshish ko ba-izzat darkinar karke, woh mere saath hi rehti rahi talkh-e-yaar ban ke
goya jism ko dhakne ki zaroorat thi kahin, woh nachati hi rahi mujhko sharmsar kar ke
Kisi ne pooch liya to hum bezuban nikale, usne samjha liya unhe mujh pe akhtiyar kar ke
Shayad khalayein aisi hi hoti ho ya rab.........

Galiyare I

Nirantar mehsoos kar pana zindagi ke un lamho ko, jo aapke astitv ko ek mayane dete hain

Raat ke veerane mein ek kali nadi ke saamne sharmindagi se sir jhuka kar sadak kinare pade paththar ko dhakelte huye achanak muskura padna

Dariya ke us par raushani ki chakachoundh ko har roz dekh thoda sa ghabra jana, fir sambhalna aur khud ko dhandhas badhana

sadak par woh chirparichit gandagi dhoondhna - woh seedhiyon par paan ki peek aur gali ke mod par kareene se rakhkha koode ka dher

Yaad karna us pehle kalam ko jisne kavita likhne mein tumhara saath diya tha kayi saal

Gir gir kar uthna aur aansoo ki dabi boond ko apne ahankar ke neeche punah daba lena

Kaisi hai yeh khudai aur kaisi yeh narazgi - yeh khel khelna aur bandon ko pyade bana lena

Extremely Fluky

An unholy beginning on a subtle rebuke from a friend -

Now, how do we begin the story or rather a 'would be remarkable' discussion, at the railway station, the airport or the quintessential rustic bus stand. Let us try the three out simultaneously, I am referring to the city of Navvvvabbs - Lucknow. Having run amuck around the school rikshaw for over 7 years in the city and enjoyed the cullinary delight it had to offer I almost feel guilty about this blog :-( Hmm ........ so I went to Mahanagar Boys Inter College, the then highly esteemed Roman Catholic Convent, over the years while the building has added a couple of wings the name has lost its sheen and sanctity as if to keep pace with the changing facet(s) of the city. But you are not supposed to be living here are you?? So lets go back to our station et al and begin there.

Railway Station: A tired Shatabdi jugs to an asthmatic halt and you the unsuspecting soul have the first face off with the abo hava of the city. Somewhere in the cacophony you can hear, "Sala Beh%$£&, teri Ma&^%$^........." your air conditioned relaxed muscles twitch a bit at the sight of people sprawling like furniture on display in Salarjung, and the very familiar, "sahab kuli chahiye" rings in your ear, nothing very comforting, nothing very soothing and then suddenly you notice the board

Airport: You get off the short haul aircraft and are surprised to see the craft parked precariously close to a more than big puddle of water, the uninviting rickety indian arilines bus and its its beetle nut chewing driver are not a pretty sight to behold, being a typical lucknowi you request at least 6 people hithertho behind you in the queue to board the bus and heaving a sigh of relief at the sight of the vehicle brimming to capacity you take the breezy walk to the shed they have the sheer audacity to call airport. Prepaid taxis are almost all vintage ambassadors and in case you are new to the system you are greeted by at least a dozen or more red light cars, though the professionals who use them are a bit more glorified, certain resemblances in charecter to those infesting a famous area in Mumbai do not go entirely unnoticed. Water everywhere especially a feet deep on the circle leading upto the exit road. And then you see the board.

Bus Stand: Its in the famous Kaiserbagh area, I never saw a bagh around though. The busstand's resemblance to a grade three municiplality absolutely out of funds is extremely stark. The staff on a sinusoidal behavorial curve - at times almost a carpet on which you can walk and at others exceptionally rude. The enquiry methodology is indegenous - ask people, for there are no officials. Will not venture into description of buses. Needless to say that on a hot July afternoon, the KBusStand is not excatly the place you would want your poor soul to be kuchipeying around, given the abundance of much necessary filth. But then like a lotus - stands bright and happy, unscathed by generous beetle spits our darling board.

On all the three ocassions the board read - muskuraiye ki aap Lucknow mein hain

One can probably permit himself a split second smile, soon after which the grim reality of what was and what has become soon catches up with you with a remarkable alcrity.

Will write later

Kitab ke purane pannon mein daba woh gulab
Samay ke chalte sookh chuka tha
haath lagane mein dar lagta
Na jaane kab mere hi haathon mein bikhar jata

Sang jude the tumhare na jaane kitne khwaab

utter rubbish.................

Jeevan Deti Madhushala

Manna Dey's rendering of Pt. Harivansh Rai Bachchan's Madhushala has a method of taking a teatotaller to the proverbial madhushala and beg for those elusive drops. The following couplet forced yours truly to pay homage to the creative brilliance and sheer audacity of the poet given his times and the then dictums of Hindi poetry.

Dard nasha hai is madira ka
Vigat smritiyan saki hain
Peeda mein anand jise ho
Aaye meri madhushala

My two pence (All Disclamiers)-

Shabdon ki madira behti hai
Beeti par hasti roti hai
Gar jeena ho khud par hanskar
Aao meri madhushala

Jwala ko kya bhasm karoge
Antar ko kya shant karoge
Chingari ko surkh karati
Pavan meri madhushala

Hothon par rakhkar ek pyala
Jap le jeevan ki too mala
Yahi dharm hai, yahi karm hai
Kurukshetra yeh madhushala

Yaad agar aa jaye koi
Madira se kuch keh lena
Yahi sakha hai yahi saheli
Dard bantati madhushala

Kehne ko to char deewarein
Kuch botal kuch bheege pyale
Peenewalon se tum poocho
Mandir hai ya madhushala

Aankhon mein jab bhar laati hai
Chalak chalak jab tarsati hai
Us saki ke kayi pujari
Mook badhir yeh madhushala

Prem kaho ya peeda usko
Hriday wahi hai, bhav wahi
Ek bar mein ek ghoont hi
Jeevan deti madhushala

Can You?

Eyes so beautiful that the magic of wet Earth and sparkling green grass lay captive to their charm. To steal a glance and predict the next twitch would be a job I would give my life for, to hold my curved palm and feel the drop hit my lifeline is a wish I have cherished for long, to wilt under that stare and shuffle my feet while a mad search for words to save my face goes on, is what the self has been doing for long. Behold me as I pray for mercy, bewitch me for the period is short, betray me for we have a life to lead, beset me for the battles have been simple, behead me for thats the full stop I want.
So much for a thing of beauty, the poet was right, well .... almost right - Joy forever, he said.
But did he ever talk of brains, did anyone for that matter ever praise her for her mind, ever loved her for her wit, humour, raw intelligence and the capacity to hit back with an elegant mix of poise and panache.
Would you take the challenge, live up to it, praise her for all this, keep your ego in the backyard and yet manage to maintain the meter, capture the soul and pluck the right strings?
If you can, then mail me, if you want to then try and make someone read it, someone who is bruised, dead, buried and foolish.

BLACK

How often does one get to see something like BLACK?

Every single day, all around us there are Michelles and Devarajs fighting their ghory battles with fate, with nature.......with us. Ms Mukherji is imrpoving as an actor with almost every passing movie, she may lack the grace of Nargis or the charm of Madhubala, but she entices with those eyes and a face capable of capturing a wide band of the emotional spectrum. Her's is a part played with sincereity and dedication - almost like a scupltor at work, painfully yet effortlessly essaying the pathos within and the excitement of discovery on the exterior.

Mr. Bachchan had everything going for him but the wig (pardon the frivolity, but the wig just didn't work). The man may not be the greatest actor on the planet but he professes this innate capacity to work magic with his eyes and those long fingers. A bearded face was so so so much needed for the role.

If there is a scene one can pick up from the movie - the first scene in which Rani approaches the church, stretches out her hand and the snow falkes do their work. Surreal and morosely beautiful.

The Joy of Reading Letters

You have nothing to do. You are strolling about your room with a nonchalance you would want to hide from the outside world. A stack of papers in one corner of the cupboard seem to invite you.....you try recollecting their intent as you carefully wipe off the much accumulated dust.

They have not been touched as you have 'matured', grown and learnt to live with emails and cell phones. But you still carry them along, like the only possesions a nomad would want to save. They were delivered to you when you needed them the most. A letter would enchant you so much so that you would read it again and again till you finally decided to stack it up amongst the others. You must be very lucky that you get back to them, that they still form an integral part of your existance. No hard disk space shortage or a connectivity failure will destroy them, they shall not abuse the langauge with ur, lol, rotfl,c u etc. and will get only better with the yellowness of age. A letter is more like an instance of a person you live with all throughout your life. As if the individual speaks to you every time around you rake them up...the yellow crinky pages I mean. Wherever you go whatever you do a band of tangible memories continues with you as long as a smallish pack of can make itself comfy in the gizmotic baggage.

Itni Shakti Humein De Na Data

Man ka vishwas kamzor ho na

Door agyan ke hon andhere

Too humein gyan ki roshni de

Har burai se bachte rahe hum

Jitni bhi de bhali zindagi de.......

Hum chalein nek raste pe humse

Bhool kar bhi koi bhool ho na

Strange though true, every little verse one recited in cold windy morning aseemblies standing in a longish queue have a soothening effect parallel to none other. The innocence of a kid dutifully saying his prayers becasue he believed that otherwise, "bhagwan ji naraaz ho jayeinge" squirms its way through the crass alluvium of age. Aapke bachpan ki kagaz ki kashti aapko rekhaon se maat khane se thodi der ke liye hi sahi par rok zaroor leti hai.........

Implicit did someone say

Indian culture is implicit. Sweeping statement to pass, but how often have we encountered a situation when those whom we hold very close to ourselves were expected to understand that wink, that little snigger, .... those eyes which were on the very verge of watering? The closer an individual is; the lesser the need for words, come to think of it language seems to be a proxy to communicate only with the 'outsiders'. Someone said,"Its far easier to plough in sand, but nothing grows, on the other hand try ploughing in clay and you've had it..." We, the humans in more ways than one lie in this spectrum from sand to clay. Everyone would want to believe that he/she is on terra firma vis a vis needed and appreciated communication, but it seldom happens beyond the formal/social gatherings. Later laddie...gotta go

The Void

All of a sudden, whoosh...its gone. It takes a moment to bat an eyelid, but this one hit me from nowhere. It feels good in a way, there is a sense of self pity and retrospection - Not about what could have been done right, but about being a good enough material to be on the shelf. Done with challenging the powers that may be...done with attempts to defy all authority and power. Its time to submit and without any whims at that. No threads attached. I beg for solace....sounds all theatrical but it pierces real deep, makes you swallow hard and with gumption. Clenched fists and eyebrows competing for room...signs of breakdown or the ego still persists to fight another day? An investment gone terribly wrong or loss of a person you'll regret all throughout your life? How many times have you regretted anything...apart from that wonderful home run (baseball). Love was defined not a couple of hours ago as - Letting someone weild the capacity to wreck oneself in any which way with a hope or belief that she would not. Well she has.....and the effect is not all that bad.....dear dear - blasphemy..I've been trying to tell myself for more than a year now that this is it and all you have to say is - not all that bad????? Careful laddie...careful with words...for words have played traunt with you....who would know better :-)

Then Now and After

Nov 18 - Dec 2, only these many days, but whats been life upto? As KP invited me, a sense of self pity rose within behind the veiled smile - his act was cocking a snooke at all I had planned, at all I had hoped for. The grind was no more so simulating, a trip to home didn't ease matters and then happened - yesterday. Emoticons they sell on every other page, such frivolity of human mind should be punished, for they know not their JAVA scripts trivialize the spectrum of heart. "I am ok" and you follow it up with a smile, either I've completely lost it or you must be joking Mr. S. Its not OB to reiterate the fashionable I'm Ok- u r Ok trivialization of sentiments. We live in hard times, we need to see through the facade be it from the sound the pebble makes when it hits the surface of water or be it sentences which are used without any thought. It shall ease out and the proverbial true calling will manifest itself right here, right in our midst - but it shall take time and we have no choice to bid our share of it. I should not love langauge, it hurts and wounds and leaves me with no explainations when people seek answers to questions they create. Helpless and tired I sit, staring at a screen which reads - Compassion denotes deep awareness of the suffering of another and the wish to relieve it: “Compassion is not weakness, and concern for the unfortunate is not socialism” (Hubert H. Humphrey).

Rush Hour

DB dinner in about an hour and a half from now, followed by GS dinner. Immortal names in the world of money and power. I do not know if this is what I want to do, definitely my mouth is not watering at the prospect of 5 star dinners, neither is the idea of a compulsion to 'please' them quite entertaining. It feels kinda awkward to be running behind something which at the end of the day will ruin my plans to settle down and lead a quite life for sure, yet the ego, the self says this is what matters here. "What matters here" has always been the key. There shall be a day when I will get over it.......get over the desire to be praised, to be admired, to be envied, to be hated.....will get over it. for the time being...Lets fight it out Dude.

Deepawali and Me

14 baras ke vanvas ke uprant jab Shri Ram Ayodhya pahunche tab Ayodhya Nagari ne unka swagat depon ki avliyon se kiya. Us prakash ne har burai har tamsik bhawan ke andhere ko mano samapt kar diya.

You've been everywhere, you've met them all, you've over 100 numbers stored in your cell, and today when all that a stranger craves for is a returning smile from the unknown crowd - you sit alone in the eerie tranquil of your room, punctuated by the rain drops lashing heavily on the balcony door. A concious choice? May be not, may be its the equilibrium which needs to set in at some point of time. You have been a Ravan in more ways than one, you've been a Ram too(some would say), probably its time to celebrate a Deepawali well within you, to cleanse what has been gnawing at your conciuos slowly but steadily. Do you need the touch of her hand or the feel of his hug for that? Do you need to see those stary eyes staring deep into you clueless and frightened, or the stretch of the hand which has been asking you since time immemorial - "Till when Kanu, till when?" Yes you need them, as someone quite unknowingly touched the finest of your secrets not long ago at CT, the subconcious knocked again and said - You Need Them. Its not being weak, its not being shallow, its about being human.

It was you who has had those lofty ideas all this while, you can't let a bunch of 'achievers' walk over them, you can't let red bricks dictate the path of your life. Agreed its Deja Vu, so what, this is not the first of its kind. Relax and recline for the earth smells like heaven and droplets feel like nectar, its your Deepawali..........love it.

So whats an I Bank? A practical mint? A whorehouse? The ultimate abuse? With almost 200 supposedly brightest brains of the country lining up and spending sleepless nights to grab those elusive offers, an I bank should be much more than this :-) Why is it then that I can't bring myself to break free from the shackles of traditional thinking and give in to the idea of working weekends, 18*7 , earning more than my grandson may spend, buying an island and burning off by the time she gets 28? There should be someone to help me out of this, get me to my true calling and gently leave me there, someone to sit before me wrapped in a brownish shawl in the middle of a smoky, cold evening and telling me - Mr. Misra!! This, is what you are supposed to do and not run behind money, there is nothing feminine about it. That someone will probably one day find some time and stroke the uneasiness out of my mind. There are so many dichotomies existing simultaneously that its almost impossible to comprehend my needs and requirements - brute force may work. What wonder can a hug do? Ask me.....please ask me. It brings you out of the reverie called life and assures you that there is much more to your existance than what you can possibly think. Jo ek sookhe darakht mein bhi jaan daal de vaisa hai voh lagav, voh hansi, voh haath pakadkar bagal mein nikalte logon se door kheench lena, woh samundar mein baithate sooraj ko dekhte huye nariyal pani peena - bina kuch bhi bole, bina kisi shabd ke, bina kisi aahat ke.....

That Evening

It was about half past 10 and I sat before the audi - mesmerized, short of words, staring deep into those eyes, trying to find a vocal relief in the deafening silence of the desert which spread itself all around us. She had just read a script written in invisible ink. I had allowed myself to follow the piper as she went her way stroking the canvas of the last two years with an amazing grasp over dates and events. She is Good!!
It was half past 4 when I woke up with a start to prepare what was to be the most shabby breakfast ever done in the history of mankind..........I think I need someone's permission to continue with this. Do I have one?

The Tele Deluge

Got up with a start - The inferal tel was at it again. A potpourri of messages from every which direction. M gets to hobnob with N, PT reports a slight hitch in the meet they had today with the Vada, a missed call from the Malviya stables, MNK with a Q - "When r u ever available?", and we managed to miss the HR meet, so much for the management we seem to be picking up with every passing second. People are hard pressed for time so much so that a 10 minute transit's due opportunity cost is calculated, parametrized and more often than not found vey very high.

Its easing on, on me. The pace has slackened, no not from the other end!! Its just that if one were to hit the road running the ensuing events would turn out to be that much more comforting than hitting it rock solid. Have to tell V about it, can't bring myself to his candid levels here, there still seems to be that feeling of standing put in the middle of a cross with traffic going very slow all around you, always prepared to come to a halt if u were to make a single move.