Dhoop..... Intezar

Ek muththi aasman lekar aaj mai ghar se nikla, mausam karvat le raha tha, kisi koonchi mein naye rang bhare ja rahe the aur savere ki suhani dhoop atkheliyan kar rahi thi. December ki woh bachpan wali subahei yaad aa gayin, jab nariyal ke tel se sar ki maalish kara hum dhoop sekne ke liye chat par baithte the aur jadoo ki tarah garma garam doodh jalebi ya samose aa jate the.

Koi sawal javab kar raha tha mujhse –

Tumne kuch naya likha kyon nahi ?

Samay hi na mila

Samay hi nahi mila ya kuch aur hai, pehle bhi to itna hi samay hua karta tha tumhare paas?

Haan par pehle likhne ke liye karan bhi hua karte the, aisa kuch hua hi nahi ki mai likhoon

Tumhe kyon hamesha kisi reason ka intezar rehta hai

Aise hi.....generally, tumhara phone kahan tha?

Yahin tha, mere paas......


Dhoop, tumhara intezar tha, tumhe chookar dekha
Tum gunguni aur sunehri, meri hatheli par khel rahi thi
Tum mujhe kisi purane baag ki or dhakel rahi thi
Jahan sookhe patte kadmo ke neeche charmarate
Tum oonche darakhton ke beech aankh michauli khelti
Kabhi mai tumhe choo lele ki koshish karta
Kabhi tum mujhko khud mein dubo leti
Dhoop, tumhara intezar tha

Hmm.... the proverbial muse

Junoon ke shikar ho, junoon ke raaste chalo
Bahut kadam rok liye, aaj mere vaaste chalo

Aadha Rasta

On a portal called LSD, posted something long-long time ago. An attempt to recollect a bit in my mother tongue –

Saath chalogi mere? Aisi do pagdandiyan jo na dishaheen hain aur na hi unhe aakhiri manzil ka gyan hai, un par chaleinge hum. Saath saath par apne apne raaston par. December ki ek khushnuma subah ki dhoop mein, garm doodh mein ghulti haldi ka rang liye sookhe patte, hamare kadmo ke neeche cheentiyon se aankh michauli khel rahe honge.

Tum taktaki lagaye kabhi aasman to kabhi kshitij mein kuch talashogi, har woh koshish karogi ki meri nazron se apni nazar bacha lo. Hum purane gaane gungunayeinge aur Bharat ek Khoj mein Roshan Seth ke kirdar ko saraheinge, hum tumhari kavita ko jiyeinge aur meri tukbandi ko theek karne ki koshish kareinge, hum darkhton aur paththaron mein aakritiyan talasheinge aur jab achanak ek hi shabd saath saath boleinge to khil khila kar hans utheinge, haan shayad batana bhool gaya - hum baat bhi kareinge, albatta nazarein churate huye. Yeh pagdanadi badi albeli hai, raaste mein tum kanto ke painepan ko samjhoge aur phoolon par machalte bhanwaron par tumhe taras aayega, hume achanak se zor ki hawa chalne par haath pakadne padeinge aur thapedo se bachne ke liye kareeb chalna padega, shayad apne apne raston ko khud b khud kareeb lana padega.

Kabhi doston ke saath jamun ke ped ko zor se hilaya hai ? Hum kuch bachchon ko rah kinare yeh karte dekheinge, ret par girte jamun bator bachche charo taraf bhageinge, kuch hamari taraf aur kuch us nehar ki or. Hum kheton ki med par chaleinge, tum mujhe bataogi ki kahan kya boya hua hai, mai nazarein bachakar tumhe dekhne ki koshish karoonga.

Fir kabhi chaleinge dost, koi sahi kehta hai, mai man lagakar soch bhi nahi sakta, aalasya ghar kar gaya hai nas nas mein…..maalik

Pocketful of Sunshine

Every living molecule of my being soaked in warm delight as electric sun rays danced on the exact spot that I stood. It was a sleepy, Sunday afternoon for most. But a testosterone submerged routine quarantines few from that luxury, and I am one of the privileged few. So I allowed myself to lapse into a mental conversation of sorts, before it would be time to yield to schedule.

A pocketful of sunshine is all it needs to send you plumbing crevices that hold jumbled-up memories of winters spent in a faraway tropical country that I call home. And where my thoughts and my mind still escape to. Garden-fresh gajar-matar ki subzi, countless afternoon hours spent sitting in the garden, shelling peanuts and then crunching them between your molars, watching the sky turn a burnt yellow and then a tired crimson, clutching tightly with both hands that adrak ki chai ka cup and letting it sear your palms in the most tender manner, and so much more.

By daytime, things are refreshingly different here too. And I see things in a different light, literally speaking! For instance, the neighbour’s curtains are beige coloured not brown as I always thought them to be. Innocuous specks of rust adorn barbed-wire fences everywhere in the world. Yes, even in America.

And that butterflies fluttering their rainbow wings still excite me. I am very tempted to break into a sprint and leap at them, as those lovely, winged creatures dodge my attempt… At that moment I think nothing of dropping to the ground my fancy overcoat, and the fancy contraptions that I carry. But that instant ticks away soon. Only if I could chase butterflies!
And then I told her.

Me: Now I know why weather, especially sunshine finds so much mention in firangs’ novels…
Her: Hmm… Okay
Me: What a tepid ‘okay’. Now I won’t tell you what I wanted to say
Her: What’s wrong with an ‘okay’. Plus, it was an encouraging one
Me: Who are you kidding?
Her: You
(silence)Me: Haan… so what was I saying? About weather…

The Critic

To recover from a work of art is an art in itself. You delve deep into the myriad possibilities created by the artist which he never takes the pain to enlist, project into a space with no ropes around to cling on to and take a shot at basically nothing - "Hmmm......beautiful, this is an extremely intense interplay of colors to highlight a symbiotic realisation vis a vis the protagonists' attempt at falsifying the fundamental reality behind narrator's take on psychic truth in the cultural ball" The only intelligible word being, ball. Ran into something extremely revolting, being praised by all and sundry, on probing an oblong shape and almost a bent arrow replied - "I don't know about art, but the food is good and so is wine and when high, I think I am a critic. " It feels nice to write in English at times.

Woh Hisse ...

Darmiyan sookhte darakhton ke, aaj jab nazar utha kar dekha toh kshitij par kahin door ek badal ka lihaf udta nazar aaya. Dagmagate kadam baarsih ki nirlajj boondon ko andekha kar badh chale, ki railing ke sahare tek lagayeinge aur oonchi imarton ko paani ke is taraf se samajhne ki koshish kareinge. mai chala, mere kadam badhe, par woh wahin reh gaya. Pehli baar nahi hua hai aisa, bahut baar peeche choot chuka hoon, is martaba baarish zor ki thi aur railing ki taraf badhti peeth zehen mein dar paida kar rahi thi. Hisse choddkar chal padna seerat na ban jaye kahin yeh dua har dar pe mang chuka hoon. Us adalat mein meri arzi pahunchti hi nahi aur jab bulayeinge tab yeh nahi dekheinge ki meri kitini koshishon ko unhone khud hi nazarandaz kar diya tha. Kaash mujhe sangeet ka gyan hota, kaash mai sur aur taal samajh sakta - kehte hain ki gaane wala apni rooh ka koi hissa chodd jata hai hamesha ke liye apni nazmo mein, kuch seekh leta ki har baar kam hote aap, kaise naye raaste tai kar lete hain ...................... mehfil-e-dard ke siva thikaane kaise mil jaate hain

Kafir ki Sangya

Mai shool nahi, pashan nahi, tarkash se nikala baan nahi
Mai tej nahi, abhiman nahi, mujhko bhasha ka gyan nahi
Mai bhoot nahi, mai yaad nahi, mai mrignayani ka aaj nahi
Mai karun vedna karte ... abhishapt yugon ka shrap nahi

Maine chaha tha man prasoon pulkit ho pehli kirno se
Maine chaha tha naav meri tar jaayein bhagwan charno se
Mai karm karoon, mai dhyan karoon, mai ras ka nav nirman karoon
Mai prem karoon, mai raag rachoo, mai sur ka nit - nit pan karoon

Mujhko vo kafir kehte hain, kehte hain mithya lobhi ho
Kanton se jhootha prem hai yeh, tum sarv karm sukh bhogi ho
Tum jhoothe chehre rakhte ho, jeevan ko manchit karte ho
Samidha ka dharan vesh kiye, tum chita prem ke jogi ho

Aisi aasha ka saath liye, na nikala tha jeevan path par
Aisa dveshlipt algaav liye, na natmastak tha tere dar par
Woh raah hi kuch aisi pakdi, woh ratein hi kuch kali thi
Tha takshshila ka rukh mera, kafir ki sangya pani thi
Tha takshshila ka rukh mera, kafir ki sangya pani thi


Jab parda girne wala hota hai, tab nepathya se jo sootradhar nikal kar aata hai use bhrankush kehte hain

Peele Kagaz aur Chelpark ki Ink

Aaj ek aur dhaga toot gaya, kal ki kuch yadon ko tatola to paya ki kahin khalipan sa tha. Kya mujhe koshish karni chahiye unhe fir se dhoondhne ki ? Kya unka itna mahatvv hai, kya ve zaroori hain mere astitv ke liye, kya mai matr ek sangya hoon bina unke ? Aise kai sawal zehen mein uthe aur kisi gaane ke aakhiri hisse mein doobte sangeet ki tarah dheere dheere khamosh ho gaye. Par yeh sawal un yadon ki tarah nahi hain, har baar panapte hain jab bhi koi dhaga toot jata hai. Ek nirantar chalti kriya hai, par mai anbhigyata ka dikhava karta andhere mein badha chala jata hoon. Gyan nahi ki path kahan le ja rahe hain aur kitne hain. Kai musafir milte hain aur bichadte hain, halanqi ab khushi is baat ki hai ki andhere mein koi dikhta nahi, woh kiska sparsh tha, woh kiske shabd the, na yaad rakhne ka prayatn hai na hi mansha. Yeh tiraskar hai ya badalte parivesh ko apnane ki antim pehel, mujhe nahi maloom, par jeevan ka satya hai. Kabhi path pradarshak hua karte the, kabhi mai raushani ke aagosh mein hasta khelta chala karta tha, na jaane kab aur kaise dhalte sooraj ke safar ko mehsoos nahi kar paya, kab pahar badle, kab shaam aayi aur kab andhere mein pehla kadam rakhkha.... pata hi nahi chala. Jab dhyan diya tab dhage tootne lage the, khud ko dilasa dena seekh liya tha aur peele kagaz par chelpark ki ink zaya ki ja rahi thi.

....nahi

Woh chamak nahi woh prem nahi, ankhon ki bichti sej nahi

More aanchal mein rang bhar de, aisa koi rangrej nahi

Aate the roz hi vyapari, shabdon ki bikvali karne

Kahin kriya nahi, ras-svad nahi, shabdon ka khilta mel nahi

Aahutiyan dene aate the, bam bole kehkar gate the

Aise bhi kapalik dekhe jinke shareer par ret nahi

Sanidhya tumhara milta gar, mai bhi shayad kuch likh leta

Ab manthan na ho pata hai, mera vaisa parivesh nahi

Kya tum kavitavli-sanrakshak ka patr ada kar paaoge

Mere haathon se le jaao, ab lagta hai yeh khel nahi

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.