Sanjh

 साँझ को भी थोड़ा 

आराम करने दो

ढलते सूरज का बोझ उठाया है जिसने  

पेड़ की शीतल छाँव में 

एक नींद झपकने दो 

साँझ को भी थोड़ा 

आराम करने दो 

रात, सुबह से फिर मिल सकेगी 

स्वप्न की चादर हटा 

नयी शुरुआत कर सकेगी 

साँझ लेकिन, दिन-रात का बिछड़ना है 

अंततः इसे अकेले ही लौटना है 

घर के बंद दरवाज़े खोल

इसे आवास करने दो

साँझ को भी थोड़ा 

आराम करने दो 

सुबह है सूरज की लालिमा 

और रात को चाँद की शीतलता 

साँझ का न अपना रूप 

न कोई रंग

इसे अपनी एक पहचान बनाने दो 

ढलते सूरज का बोझ 

उठाया है जिसने  

साँझ को भी थोड़ा 

आराम करने दो

कई किनारे छोड़ दिए

तुझे पाने की चाह में
ए जिन्दगी,
मैंने सैलाबों पर चलना सीख लिया,
गर तू ना मिली आखिर
तेरी खोज को मुकाम समझ लेंगे।

Wild Rose

सर्द की परछाई में
सैकड़ों पेड़ कांटे हो जाएंगे
नदियां बर्फ और रास्ते बंद हो जाएंगे
फ़िर किसी सुबह
वादियों का एक गुलाब
इन्हीं कांटों में अपनी रूह पकड़
खिल उठेगा
और इस सियाह ओ सफेद को
अपना रंग देकर आरुश कर देगा

I may have my ups and down
I may be a silent moon
Or a violent sun
But with you my darling
I am always young

Where the sun walks

And the shadows tell a story

From the past

Where laughter of friends

Echo in the wind

And where oceans splash

Colors of joy

I will extend my arm

And pull you

Into my surreal world

Society, let us be
Let us uncover our skin
And show you
Who we truly are
The layers on us have thickened
It's has become hard to believe
It's has become hard to breathe
So many of us
Hiding behind those walls
Digging slowly to be part of you all
Let us burn down these walls for once
And come out strong
We will stand tall
And make you proud
Just, let us be

Oh, my watchful friend
Will you hold my hand
And walk beside me
Into my soulful land

I am lost and scared
Into that gentle night
Searching for meaning and purpose
Without a hint of light

Until now,
It's been a hard life
Without much answers
Only wasteful lies

But if you walk with me
I may still have a chance
To dream and to be truly live
Without a second glance

With you beside me
I will start over again
Fearlessly, I will walk
Into that mighty sun

Oh, my watchful friend
Will you hold my hand
And walk beside me
Into my soulful land

Nothing much has changed
Since the time she left
My body - unaltered
My soul still the same

The magic is on
My hands are in the air
And my legs move in sync
They dance,
Like the flames of candle


My fingers touch the guitar
And lips rhyme poetry
My spirit is high
Thinking she might just come home
Hearing my country voice

To go over the time
That has gone by
When we were young
What it was like to be
By yourself
What it was to be alive
And not indulge
In the moment's chaos

I have not forgotten
To be surrounded by silence
And hear my heart beat
In the sunny afternoon
On a mountain top
Facing my fears
By myself

Between,
A rambling youth
And a furious adult
Innocence was lost
One followed the other
And what remained
Was an old man
Tired to his bones
Today, after years
His body and soul
Rejoiced in the darkness
When he heard the cry
As he recalled the lost innocence
He stood up and walked
Towards his new born
Granddaughter

Dreams

एक कहानी
यही चली आती
देर रात, करवटो में
और खिलखिलाती
मेरे सपनो के पन्ने पलट
बिना किसी आहट
ज़िंदा कर देती
उन मुरझाये ख्यालों को
जिनकी रफ़्तार पकड़
मैंने चलना सीखा था 

Patience

इंतज़ार और इकरार का एक ही धर्म - धैर्य 

Technology

पेन पेपर छोड़
अब मोबाइल का सहारा ले लिया है
सुबह की चाय से लेकर
रात की करवट भी
अब स्क्रीन देखकर गुज़र जाता है
किताब, जो लिखनी थी बरसों से
उसके हिस्से का वक़्त अब
दुसरो के ब्लॉग पढ़कर गुज़रता हूँ 

एक तिनके की चिंगारी में
रिश्तों की पेटी जल गयी
तुम्हारे कुछ खत भी थे उनमें
चादर को तह कर छुपाये थे जो मैंने
जिन्हे पढ़,
सुकून की उबासियाँ लेता था
अब जाने रात नींद कैसे आएगी 

अधूरा ही सही

थमा हूँ
रुका नहीं

हताश हूँ
हारा नहीं

कमज़ोर  हूँ
नाकाबिल  नहीं

अलग  हूँ
अकेला नहीं

ज़िंदा हूँ
मृत  नहीं

सपना हूँ
अधूरा ही सही 

Oh, I have just woken up
From the grave
My equations concealed by clouds
Are now transformed
Simple yet beautiful
Like a dawn
This mystical universe
Which I carried underneath
Now speaks the truth
Through my skin
And I know
That my science
Is real

kal ka khayal

घर की ऊंची दीवार पर
कीमती तस्वीर जो लगाई थी ।
ज़िन्दगी जीने के मायने
कुछ नई तरकीबें बनाई थी ।

आज सूनी पड़ी चारपाई पर
एक सुकून की नींद जो आयी थी ।
आंगन की अंधेरी रातों में
तारों ने होली मनाई थी ।

दोस्तों के इरादों पर
एक क्रिकेट की टीम जो बनाई थी ।
हर हार के जस्न पर
गरमा गरम जलेबी खाई थी ।

जग्गू चाचा थे
जो अपनी साइकिल दे दिया करते थे ।
पापा भी कभी कभी
पॉकेट मनी डबल कर दिया करते थे ।

मम्मी ने एक दिन मुझे बताया
उनका भी एक सपना था ।
रसोई से बाहर निकल
उनको भी डॉक्टर बनना था ।

एक कमिना यार भी था
जो मेरे नाम की माला जप्ता था ।
किताबों के खाली पन्नों में
एक चित्र बनाया करता था ।

इन्हीं कुछ लम्हों की
आज याद सी कुछ आई थी
घर की ऊंची दीवार पर
कीमती तस्वीर जो लगाई थी ।

अकेला था

चांदनी थी, रौशनी थी,
इस क्रोधित जड़ैया में लेकिन, मखमली घाम न था

स्वाद था, ज़ायका था
इस परोसी थाली में लेकिन, एक चुटकी खारा न था

साँसें चल रहीं थी बरसों से,
इस भीनी खुसबू का लेकिन, कोई इशारा न था

आँखों के परदे तो थे कई,
यूँ पलके छुपाने का लेकिन, कोई इरादा न था

आवाज़ थी, पुकार थी
यूँ बैठ जाये भीतर लेकिन, कोई अनुवाद न था

अकेला था, कोई दूसरा न था
इतना तनहा होगा मिलना लेकिन, ये एहसास न था

तलाश थी, जुस्तजू थी
अंत ही माटी हो लेकिन, ये बर्दाश्त न था 

Time Flies

You wonder where time flies and fall back upon memories to take you back in time.

How different were you, when you first started school or when you first rode your bi-cycle? Your friends from school, some of who are still standing by your side. Your friends from college who are proud of you today. The day you got married, holding hand of someone who promised to be your friend for life, you took a leap of faith and promised him the same. Your kids, first time when your heard them cry. Their first step holding your hands and when the first time you dropped them to school, leaving a part of yourself at the school gate wondering if your little one is doing alright.

Life goes on . . .  and some of these memories become a part of your soul.

And a few others that you live carelessly.

Like, smelling a red rose.

Like, reading your favourite author while sipping a cup of tea. Planting a seed and watch it grow flowers in time. A dog bathing and yawning in the sun after a cold night. A lonely walk in the garden. Meditating and realizing your uniqueness. Sound of your children playing in the veranda. Gently holding hands of your partner with a feeling that everything will fall in place if you have him by your side and to have company of your parents when your world is falling apart.

Sometimes, it’s not about how old or how long have your lived. Sometimes, it’s just about small moments worth your lifetime.

The Watchman

I don’t know his name yet, but I want to tell you about him as I see his face everyday. When I go to work, when I come back home in the evening or, afternoons during the weekends when I go to the market. His face is not attractive, its not unpleasant either, but his uniform surely does not compliment his age. He must be younger or of the same age as mine.

He works 12 hours a day siting on a plastic chair and old rusty desk provided by the so called housing society. But I am pleased to see the he has a desk to himself on which he maintains a register and the drawer to lock his personal belongings. Recently, CCTVs were installed and he was the most excited person in the entire building as this allowed him to get away from his desk for a little longer if he desired.

He is fond of cricket and is always ready to strike upon a conversation with the inmates having good knowledge on the sport. He is a patriot in a true sense: one can seen him jump with excitement or heated with anger post match results. Usually his large screen phone keeps him company. He likes to indulge with his small circle of friends on Facebook, many of them he has never met or known in real life. He claims to have followers on Twitter too. And not to forget, he survives on youtube and such channels to enjoy streaming of good old melodies and live streaming of his favorite sport. From my recent interactions with him, which are very rare, I remember him enquire about a spare guitar after he heard me play near the window. To engage him, I offered to arrange a guitar for him, of which I am reminded now and then.

He sleeps in one of the servant quarters at the terrace of our building and given he has no privilege of holidays, it would not be wrong to assume that he is bored and looking for company. But I cannot be his friend. No one in the building can. He is never invited to our house and neither is he a part of our festivals, no matter how much his contributions to bring our celebrations to life. For us, he is a distant stranger and yet the one we see everyday bounded by his duty to guard us and the so called society. Occasionally, we offer him money during festivals or New year eve as a form of goodwill and gesture, assuming money is something he is deprived of the most. He smiles back at us with a thank you and we know our job is done. He deserves more than just our money. He deserves companionship.

And may he find the little joys of comfort in your passing by hello's. Companionship is priceless!

Learning to ride

Gopal’s memory of leaning to ride a bicycle was when he rode it for the second time. The very first time, a friend ran along holding the bike, in case he fell. But riding a bike came quite natural to him and he did just fine. 

So the second time, when Gopal had enough courage to ride the bike by himself, he took the liberty to borrow a large framed rusty bicycle from Kaka whilst Kaka was enjoying his afternoon siesta. 

Gopal paddled through the crowded bazaar keeping his eyes attentively on the road. After a few rounds he was little more brave and decided to head towards the train station which acted as a landmark where their small town ended. 

Putting pressure on the peddles, he gained momentum and felt the adrenal rush for the first time. 

Tring! Tring! Make way for the bike! 

There was a blind turn at the end of the road and Gopal knew he should have slowed down but lacked the practice of actually making that decision. The fall was inevitable. Panicked and with little experience of this situation, he simply decided to jump off the running bike, which maintained its balance for a distance and went straight into the gutter. 

The crowd amused at the scene had a good laugh but offered to help him recover the bicycle.  With heavy heart he walked back and from a distance could see Kaka furiously looking for his bicycle. Kaka was not happy knowing that his cycle fell into a sewer and it implied that Gopal could never borrow his cycle again. 

After this incident, Gopal gave up his desire, except when he saw boys riding their own bikes in school. 

One fine day when he returned home after school he saw a shiny piece of blue metallic machine standing tall on its wheels at his door step. Awestruck, Gopal looked around to locate the owner. 

Kaka approached him and handed him a key chain made with the same blue metallic finish. Written on it was his name. 

Gopal felt the adrenal rush once again. Putting pressure on the peddles, off he went. 

Tring! Tring! Make way for the bike! 

Silence

My silence, Her anger
Her silence, My agony

Barber's advice

A small kid awaiting his turn at the barber shop, started laughing when I enquired for directions to the loo. The usual hairdresser is a boy in his twenties who is fond of experimenting his skills on my diminishing hairline. He warns me to hold my pressure valves, doubting the tolerance of other customers. The queue was long and I had already waited for my turn.

         But its hard to control when you have had three glasses of water in a tiny room equipped with a powerful air conditioner. Taking a deep breathe, I enthusiastically picked up a beauty magazine, flipping over the pages here and there, only to look at models with slim figures, while ensuring that my little endeavour went unnoticed by a bald man sitting beside me. And perhaps, the joy of reading beauty magazines indeed lies not in the text but quality pictures, just as the bald man portrayed. He seemed ecstatic to find an almost nude picture of a supermodel advertising for a luxury bath decor.

I did not hesitate to steal a peek, however, little signals from my brain taking a hint from the bath décor re-enforced me to relieve my body from the heaviness.

         My hairdresser friend advised me to visit the open field near the Patel building.

‘Sir. Very near Sir. Just opposite,’ he explained in an algorithmic seven steps procedure, pointing me towards the only place in the vicinity.

‘You walk down.’

‘You see the truck there.’

‘You go behind.’

‘You locate the patel building.’

‘You see the open area beside it.’

‘You stand.’

‘You pee.’

‘You come back.’

(I never imagined it to be a such 7 stop long process.)

“I will save your seat right here.” He ensured satisfactorily. 

I did not mind using the open field, so, following the step-by-step guidelines of my stylist, I reached the landmark (patel building) and saw a pile of dump placed in the corner. It took me no to time to recognize the site and there I was doing my thing.

But just after a quick moment of pleasure.

I heard a roaring sound in a crowning pitch from somewhere behind.

"Oyyyyy, ki karto" (please pardon my marathi)

I instantaneously realized my mistake. It was the dutiful watchman of the patel building.

“Sorry Watchmen Sahib! Sorry! Sorry!” I exclaimed hurryingly in my most embarrassing tone, and, soon before the tired bones of the watchman could hang me by my collar, I finished my business and ran towards the barber shop.

The stylist awaiting my turn was happy to see me back. The kid was about to leave (looking even younger after the haircut) with his uncle (apparently - the bald man), who seemed quite disappointed to leave the magazine behind.

In between our casual conversation, the barber regretfully pointed how sanitation was a big problem in the area.

“We have no option but to use the open field,” he added. “People here needs to pee, don’t they?”

“The government should address this issue urgently.”

I nodded in agreement.

“But Sir, beware of the street dogs when you use the open field.” he finished.

I took a long pause and replied in an upset voice, “Well, the dogs are okay, but beware of that cruel watchman of the patel building.” 

The man on the footpath

A man on the footpath re-arranges his merchandise kept on the floor, while SK and I walk down the road. I have enjoyed these thought provoking discussions (in my mind), rather small chats (in reality) with SK who in-spite of complaining about not having an ideal career growth is always optimistic about the future. His eagerness and desire to do something worthy in life has always motivated me, and so, my thoughts handed me over the key to a small but bizarre fantasy drawer in my mind-space. I think about that something worthy for me. I know being a published writer someday is one of them.

The man on the footpath now looks at me with sheer desperateness and his eyes tell me that business has not been good for him. His torn clothes re-affirms the fact. But I pay no attention to his sorrow, as I am in no urgent need of a notebook or a calendar.

Having reached home we both get back to our lives; SK indulges himself with his favorite soap, where as, I turn back to the leftover page of the book which is kept upside down on the study.

‘I need to write more frequently’, I tell myself with the same desperateness as the man.

I indeed need his notebook and calendar as much as he wanted me to have them.  The universe has its way of silently warning you.

Papa

कुछ पंख मुरझा जाते हैं

कुछ नाज़ुक हो जाते हैं

वक़्त का सितम

इतना आसान नहीं होता

धन की बुनियाद पर बनते हैं रिश्ते

पर साथ देता हैं मेरा

आज भी वो दोस्त

जैसे पुराना कोई क़र्ज़ चुका रहा हो

जो बिना अपनी जेब टटोले

सीना थामे

उड़ने देता हैं

आशा की एक किरण

और मेरे कई हज़ार सपने

और छू लेता हैं

दिल का हर एक हिस्सा

जो खिलखिला उठता हूँ

में ये सोच कर

की फ़िक्र न कर

एक फरिश्ता है तेरा हाँथ थामे

Aandhi

Lafz

कुछ कहना ही है मेरे यार

तो बोल वो लफ्ज़

जो मेरी मांगी हुई दुआ बन जाएँ

चुप रहना ही है मेरे यार

तो ले चल वहां

जहाँ मेरी दुआ कुबूल हो जाये

तू गुज़री है बहुत पास से मेरे
तुझे खोने से जी डरता है

यूँ तो सुनाती है दास्ताँ-ए-ज़िन्दगी तू
तेरी आँखों की ख़ामोशी से जी डरता है

आ गयी इस शाम की सुबह भी चलते चलते
अब तेरे रूबरू न होने से जी डरता है

Desert Walk

Sometimes

The world dances with you

Praises you

Loves you

But sometimes

You walk all alone

On a dark long path

Full of thornes

No one to hold your hand

And say - it's gonna be alright son

And you question yourself

What wrong have I done?

Your body aches

And there is only fear

No shoulder to cry on

No love, no care

Your sorrows

They multiply

But the road

It doesn't simplify

Should I give up?

And just go home?

I am no hero in my life

I am all alone!

But I can't give up

Not so soon

My dark nights

Sure have a moon

I walk

And I walk

My mind

Ceases to stop

May be my destiny is far

And peace a forgotten affair

But I won't give up

Not unless I am there