What do We Call it?

This is totally like a pocketful of sunshine - kahin koi dost, humsafar, na jaane kya, aur uske shabdon ka tarkash


A leaf falls --And makes noise,
startles the phlegmatic whisper
of a pregnant silence,
In mourning.

Falls, cuts through
the empty stillness of the air,
that once was spirit
Rests on a grave,
of a million footsteps, and more
Feels. Truth, love, betrayal, sorrow,
And everything else,
that those hearts felt.
And the stomachs.

The leaf reverberates
with the echo of their rumbling.
Sleeps. Time turns it yellow.
Another leaf falls. And another.
We call it Autumn,
And walk over it anyway!

Shukriya

Kuch aur patthar uchal diye gaye hain is taraf
Chaliye saman-e-raste ka fir intezam ho gaya

Unke gile shiqawon ki fehrist badi lambi thi
Meri himaqaton ka byora sar-e-aam ho gaya

Saman-e-raaste ka fir intezam ho gaya

The Funny Way of Being Governed

So, someone said couple of years ago, "There is practically no incentive to work in / for the government apart from a hazy image of self / job satisfaction. No one shall pat your back or have a kind word to say when you do a good job time and again. But, the moment you committ THE most trivial of the lapses, they shall hound you and make you feel miserable." To this I had replied, "You must be kidding me, this country runs despite its rulers, the bureaucracy must be a steel frame from within, with a strong adhesive element to it."

Lo behold! Am being forced to think over and over again.

Losing Someone

So .......... what happens when you lose someone you knew, someone who was thrust on you, someone who was always on the radar but never blinked with the ferocity few others did, someone who was acutely aware of your presence and your perceived 'lightness of being', someone you'd like talking to intermittently, someone in whose presence you were both comfortable and otherwise, someone who'd order bread-butter in a restaurant after a gruelling walk, while you were hoping to share a full blown Andhra Thali, someone who'd mention nonchalantly - "waah ! tum apni fiat ko meri motorcycle ki tarah nacha lete ho," someone who'd play cricket with a gusto few could match, someone who was always trying to discover the Midas touch, someone who wasn't worldly wise but garnered love from quarters which mattered, someone who never looked inward, someone who revelled in the art of dithering and taking decisions well past the milestones, someone who was always prepared with a sermon or two at the drop of the hat, someone who always wanted to share and teach.....someone who taught more in his death than life.

You never know where people stand in your life, till they are finally gone....its unfortunate but true.

How Does One Reach Raushanai?

Need advise

Tam ko Naman

Vish peene ki kshamta ho gar
Haath me le le kali hala
Aankhon mei hon gar angaare
Sheesh jhukakar ga le aalha
Vishv tera gar simat raha ho
Jap le tu nav tam ki mala
Ye kshanbhangur deewali hai
Jal ja tu ban aahutishala
Harsh mein vismit daud raha hai
Rok lo usko, tod do vada
Yeh teri nishchit majboori
Tu hi saki.... tu hi hala

Ek Khayal

Zaroorat ban gaye ho, khuda na bano

Mujhe butparasti ki aadat nahi hai.

Full Circle

"This was your first home." Had chuckled Ma staring at the structure after what had seemed eons. A sultry Dehradun afternoon and an uncanny familiarity with the old colonial bunglow made me feel restless. I wanted to explore the house and ask those resposible - "Why would you partition such a beautiful bunglow into three?" It was FRI after that. The majestic academic building and huge lawns. We stood by the side of a gravel path and looked upward. Mussorie in all its innocence, completey unaware of me was a picture in tranquility. "Thats where we have the academy, as a child you were learning to walk in the corridor connecting kitchen with sitting room in the course director's bunglow," she wasn't done yet. "You were fascinated by the sight of gentlemen officers on horse backs and would clap aloud. Alas, you will not understand. ..... Well each to his own."

This was about 3 years ago and the clapping was summer of 1982.

As our car took the Rajpur road on the 30th, and familiarity began to knock hard, the above conversation played like a feature in my mind. With every hair pin bend and a gain in altitude, I was trying to answer myriad questions, some exstential and some prosaic. Is this homecoming, or the mountains were up to their usual trickery? Am I not the same person who defended vehmently, his idea of serving in the private sector. Did I not force myself to believe that Mussorie was a hill station best avoided because it would remind me of a place I should have been to but wouldn't go to because of reasons galore? Did I not pin to dine at the corner table of The Savoy, overlooking Dehra and sang praises of Kasmanda Palace to a dear friend while nibbling a dosa at Lexington?

Was woken out of my reverie by a phone call, "How are you - destiny's child? Have they allotted your cadre yet? Aren't you feeling great? Would you be the sahib, will they let you wear your tweed and those detestful cufflings?......."

With a cursory reply or two I hung up and the car drove past Library Point. 2km to the academy. Alas....each to his own, I guess life has a habit of coming full circle.

I don't know - call it Blogspot's gift !

लबों को सी के, आंखों को झुकाए हुए

इस दश्त में चल रहे हैं ख़ुद से पराये हुए

कभी खुदा कभी अपनों की कभी ख़ुद की याद आती है

यह कैसी दौड़ है कि हम ख़ुद से है शरमाये हुए

ज़ुबां संभाल ओ काफ़िर कि यह रास्ते ठीक नही

खुदा के नाम पर इंसान मिटाए जाते हैं

तेरी आवारगी के आलम कुछ यूँ हैं

मील के पथ्थरों पर तेरे नाम पाए जाते हैं,

मुनासिब हो अगर मेरा खप जाना, दुआ कर कि यह आखिरी हरक़त हो

इस हश्र पर मुमकिन है कि कुछ कसीदे आ जाए, कुछ शरमाते, कुछ सकुचाये हुए

बुलंद रहे यह मौसिकी और इसके खयालों की ताज़गी, कलम को इंतज़ार रहेगा

शहीद हो चुके हैं कितने ख़यालात, कुछ निब के नीचे दबते, kuch .....hell ! Typing in hindi sucks big time, this has to be one of the most user un-friendly applications ever, they could have asked us to get a hindi keyboard and practice shusha or mangal fonts for that matter !

But I shall try again...another day another time, when patience stands by me and flow of thoughts is not hampered by gtalk going tak tak tak or blogger simply refusing to co-operate :-(

आओ हिसाब करें

ज़रा हिसाब देते जाइये, ज़िन्दगी का बही खाता है

ज़रा शर्म दिखाइए , ऊपर भी एक विधाता है

किसी ने खूब कहा उम्र मरहम देती है

चोट कुरेदते जाइये गर इसी में मज़ा आता है

फतह की आग में झुलस गए होंगे

हमारी आंखों के खारे पानी को मौका दीजिये

सुकून में न सही, मुगालतों की मैय्यत ही सही

यह बन्दा कभी न कभी तो काम आता है

चोट कुरेदते जाइये गर इसी में मज़ा आता है

मन नही किया आगे लिखने का

घात !

अश्क के बहाव थाम, होंठ पर उसी का नाम

चेतना की ओट में, स्पर्श भूल गए राम

कई बहाव आ गए, कई मंज़िलें जलीं

कोई कुछ न कर सका, हार हाथ फिर लगी

कोटि कोटि तालियों के बीच अकेले निदान

भीड़ में हो ढूंढते परिचित पलकों का झुकाव

आज वही नीर है, शब्दों की जागीर है

तरकश से निकलते हैं वही पुराने से बाण

आओ हाथ थाम लें, कटु यादों को त्याग दें

नव गगन की लालिमा में कुछ नया अलाप दें

अर्ध विराम लगा लगा के, तुम बहुत हो थक गए

नई लीक रखने के वादे कहाँ गए

आओ जमुनी तले कुछ पलों की याद में

भाव विभोर हो जीवन की फरियाद में

सुमन अर्पित करें इन चंद लम्हात को

आओ पुनः जी लें उस छोटे से घात को

When .......

When mind fails to keep up with ambient athleticism and nerves begin to burst at the seams

When eyes plan to see what you want to and the finger tips begin to feel abstract nouns

When self cries out in agony of latent mediocrity and lips tremble at the sound of I

When motives haunt your innocence and reality is a painted ship upon a painted ocean

When milieu is defined by horizon and margins creep over to occupy your pages

When sunshine shies away from you and raindrops stop just above your head

When blase sarcasm is confused for wit and words begin to dictate the poem

When lesser known fears assume unknown proportions and fullstops are welcome

Then lets talk and take the long promised walk .... ..... ..... .....

Kuch Din Pehle Kisi Ko Intezar Karte Dekha.....

Thirakte kadmo aur nasheeli saanso ke darmiyan kahi gayi baat

Chaukhat ke paas badalte zamane ki raushni ko andhere ki maat

Aangan mei padi tooti charpayi par os ke boondon ki bisaat

Tumhare dabe hue kadmo ki aahat ki aarzoo mei ghar ke kapat

Gusalkhane mei tapakte pani ka sannate ke hriday par aaghat

Aur kisi bebas ma ki aankhon mei guzarte intezaar ke lamhat

kuch aise hi -

Halqi peeli chadar odh kar karvat leti hai har raat, karvat leti hai har raat

Kitne khushnaseeb hain hum ki na kal ka hosh hai aur kal ki yaad

Kahan Aur Kaise

Keh gaya koi shayar ki badchalni kahan gayi

Thumri, kothe, paan ki peek wali ada kahan gayi

Surahi mei bhari huyi desi mehek kahan gayi

Peekdan, dastarkhan, meethi zuban, nigehbaan 

In masroof adaaon ki aabo hawa kahan gayi

Ab koi gazal dekhe bina gazal likhe to kaise likhe

Bina kisi tedhi raah ke kalam bhatke to kaise bhatke

Bina guleri, paan ke imaan kaise dagmagaye.....

Fir kabhi likheinge yaaron...

 

Galat Samajhna Mujhko ......

Galat samajhna mujhko, teri taqdeer ka fasana tha

Mere aagosh mei, teri yaadon ko yun hi toot jana tha

Salaamat rahe ye jazba, ki tere sajde mei sar jhukta hai

Gum-e-ishq ki kabr pe kafir, hume akele hi jana tha

Sazayafta mujrim, muqqarrar kar diye gaye hain hum

Teri zulfon ki salakhon ka parda, bas ik bahana tha

Galat samajhna mujhko, teri taqdeer ka fasana tha

Huye hain qatl kayi armaan mere, teri masjid mein

Halaavat-e-zindagi ka jaam, chalkate hi jana tha

Kahin paiband na lag jaaye, khuda tere resham pe

Hume do chakkiyon ke beech, yun hi piste jana tha

Galat samajhna mujhko, teri taqdeer ka fasana tha

Mausam ke mijazon mein tabdeeliyan dekhin

Aasman pe badlon ka vark badal gaya

Chashme ke dhaar kuch tez ho chali

Par tere gum ki bandish ko, mujhe hi gana tha

Galat samajhna mujhko, teri taqdeer ka fasana tha

Raat ki kaalikh mei, tum hume gore dikhe

Surme ki thandak tale, hamari aankh lag gayi

Jab uthe to quran pak par haath rakhkha tha

Mai hi mujrim tha aur mujhe hi faisala sunana tha

Galat samajhna mujhko, teri taqdeer ka fasana tha

Kaanpte honthon se, tere husn ka deedar kiya

Jhapakti aankhon se, maathe ko tere choom liya

Chala yeh silsila lekin, mai apne chabootare pe neelam tha

Teri maujoodagi mahaz, mazak-e-ishq ka afsana tha

Galat samajhna mujhko, teri taqdeer ka fasana tha

Goya lamhe, din, hafte, mahine, saal beet gaye hain

Teri yaadon ki baarsih mei, bahut bheeg gaye hain

Zakhm ko hara rakhne ki koshish fir bhi jaari hai

Tujhse gila shiqwa sach nahi, mahaz dostana tha

Galat samajhna mujhko teri taqdeer ka fasana tha.....

Pata Nahi.....

kis raushani ka daman pakad kar tu yahan aaya hai

kis rehnuma ki hausalaafzai itni muqqamal ho gayi

kis rishtey ki dor ki taabish ne yeh chamak de di

kis raastey ke mod par manzil dikhai di

kiski saans ki garmi ne yeh badddimag hausala diya

kis rangrez ke gulab ne tujhe sarobar kar diya

kis vakaye ke jhooth ko tune sach samajh liya

kis der ke intezar ko tune haq samajh liya

kis zulf ki chaanv ko tu lapete tehel raha

kis junoo ki yaad ko tu samete tehel raha

Is dasht mei kai firkaparast hain ................

 

Truth

I have a Bua, and she makes amazing idlis !

Mumbai @ Apollo Bunder

Nafrat ki aag mei jal raha hai Taj ka kinara
Aansoo baha raha hai Hindostan hamara
Toot rahi aas hai, thand padi saans hai
Nariman ke saamne, shamshan ka nazara
Aansoo baha rah hai Hindostan hamara

Chalees ghanton se soch raha neta hai
Pakistan, SIMI ya mujahiddeen par phenk doon
Ya Hindu algaav ka ise naya parivesh doon
Hilton ki manzilon se aati aag badi zor hai
Is aag ki garmi mein kya kya na senk loon

Is jung ke beej hum har paanch saal bote hain
Phir bhi goli khane par zar zar rote hain
Ghaav bada gehra hai, malham ka na thikana
Veeron ki aahuti mei hothon ka thartharana
Ruk ruk kar.....Aansoo baha raha hai hindostan hamara

The Opium Peddler

Someone famously paraphrased - Cricket is the opium of Indian masses. Indeed it has been, at least in the myriad cricketing images I carry within a heart which houses more than a suffering bias towards hockey, the national sport. And it is to this opium that rich oblations have been paid by various legends of the sport in their own great and humble fashions. Some like Manjarekar and Aamre performed with the finesse of an artist and perished before one could say - this one has a promising career. While others like Abey Kuruvilla, Balaji, Chetan Chauhan et al gave that glimpse of hope Indian cricket has been in eternal wait for, but ran out of steam or were sidelined before the masses could make them part of the regular opium.

In those times when all was well with our team, after having won the world series in Australia post the world cup success, we were in an all too benevolent mood to help others with their records against us; that a strange and unsettling trend began to delve in every tricoloured cricketing kit. Our record which had been on an ascendant as tourists began to fade with rapidity unknown since days of PT Usha and the habit to choke under pressure was taken up with a regularity seen only in the then automatic HMT watches. It is in these trying times that the most unfortunate sportsman of the century made his debut and went on to become the pillar around which the coming Indian teams started playing ring-a-ring-a-roses. Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar had not only to put up with opposition from other ranks but also from within is own team, what with half the batsmen always hell bent upon committing suicide or something close to that in every alternate match, oblivious of the venue. Volumes can be written and a Shakespearean tragedy documented on the miserable state of Ms Tendulkar and Sons, what made the situation worse was the fact that the poor lad was blamed for Indian debacles and he was expected to do everything right not only in his game but apparently for everyone else as well. The century knocks against Australia in Sharjah stand testimony to the brilliance and endurance of the little master. And the team's collapse on the freshly laid Eden Garden pitch in the 1996 Semi Final against Sri Lanka is a complete example of the frequent Russian Roulette played around Tendulkar.

But all that was to change with the entry of a haughty, arrogant, undisciplined, egotistic and lethargic bloke who toured England due to political reasons. Saurav Chandidas Ganguly announced his arrival with a flair that was to become his keep for the rest of his illustrious and entertaining career. A very unlucky Rahul Dravid, from under whose nose Dada stole limelight, stood and watched the master of offside unleash an incomparable century on debut at Lords. He went on to do greater things than that, but the idea was simple - I am here to outperform, the bloody opponents and if need be the bloody team ! Seldom does any sportsman ride a sinusoidal love-hate wave as Saurav did till today for various reasons including cricket. In an uncharacteristically humble fashion he claims - We all decided to do something about the non performance overseas. And he took a lot many such decisions, at times in collusion with his illustrious team mates and at others in confines of the unique cricketing brain. Be it, promoting youngsters in the team or bowling himself in Sahara Cup against Pakistan, be it making Steve Cool Waugh wait for 5 minutes before every toss or arriving 5 minutes early in jumpers on being reprimanded - Saurav did it the way he wanted to. The life and times of Saurav Ganguly deserve a great canvass and the best artist, yet I write because I have a reason -

Never before has anyone in public life been so aggressive and fought so hard for a cause so dear, never before did someone enthuse team spirit of such degree which could ignite an entire nation, never before did I see our arch rivals being taken to cleaners with a professionalism, teams of the yore were incapable of, never did I feel tremors of a nationwide debate on an individual's inclusion/exclusion from a sports team!, never did one see firangs being paid in their own currency in their own land in a fashion our timid upbringings disprove of, never did I see a man play his sport and politics with such ease that it became difficult to ascertain what was his primary vocation, and never before did the departure of someone on TV, who but plays a sport and captained a silly team of a nonsensical sport moisten my eyes.

Men may come and men may go, they may bring glory to this country and may rise above odds to fight another day, but so far Mr. Ganguly you deserve a place no other public figure in recent times can hope of getting close to.......What the heck, the opium you peddled had an intoxication like none other

What Should One Write

From the silken strokeplay of Laxman, to a criminal peeing in his pants at the sight of a police inspector in 'Wednesday'; from travails of a not so young man in ultimately arranging a meeting between his folks and the soon to be arranged wife at India Gate, to the desperate claims of an old buddy at having found the real Sarah Palin sex tape on net; from the insider story of Lehman's collapse to a visibly upset uncle claiming that the inflation has hit 400% and not 12% as those in delhi would have us believe (because the prices of aaloo and pyaz were up 400% year on year) ; from a twenty something girl stating and defending the obvious advantages of consanguinity, to a hilarious note on usage of amniocentesis in raising an army of Tendulkars/Bindras/Kaushik Dashs et al; from a holiday in an old palace of a Gharwali king to hearing someone deliver to a driver - "Why should I pay you Rs 15 as basic charge, last year it was only 10, I will pay you 12, lena hai to lo"; from the launch of a puritan book weighing 3 kg to a plethora of movies and plays I missed; from the similarities between Narmada Man and Homo erectus pekinesis to the attempts at figuring what on earth did Langhnaj mean in 10 minutes flat with sarkay lo khatia blaring in the background; from the sound of my t-shirts being torn open at other end of the phone to a verbal duel in silence of the nights at what should be the ideal size of pani puris; from myriad attempts at blogging, to the eventual self harrasment and listing out of topics I had considered writing about - self abuse has today found a new low !