Annoying Monday

This Monday afternoon is not the usual as it should have been, had it not been a long weekend. This one does not seem to run away like a normal holiday, as a matter of fact it’s quite slow and lazy.

The house is asleep in the midst of this discomforting Mumbai heat which is increasing exponentially day by day. AC’s are yet to be installed, so our hope relies completely on the ceiling fans, which seems to have slowed down in anguish of not being offered a break.

While heat is a matter of discomfort, I am more turned down by the loud snoring noise made by my flatmate, shrouding our living room with his vibrations. Stand near him for 2 minutes while he is asleep and I guarantee that any normal person will get alarmed and high.

‘How can he sleep in this heat?’ - I question him, while talking to myself and as I decide to lie down for a nap, the volume of his snoring goes up a level. Disgusted and eventually giving up I turn towards my cell phone and record his cruelty, which I propose to be used in the Himalayan forest against wild animals. Why hurt them, when you can annoy them?

Arziyan

खवाजा गरीब नवाज़ 

अर्ज़ियाँ थोड़ी सी 

मन्नतें अधूरी सी 

फरियादें हलकी सी 

रंग दे मेरे यार की भी 

तेरे हरे रंग से 

याद

गहरे पानी में
आग बन
रह गयी
वो याद,
जब
लाख की कोशिश
भुलाने की -
एक बूँद
प्यास बन
रह गयी
वो याद  

Cortege

The sound of dhol from the street filled the empty house as I opened my eyes to see Maa rushing towards the window. It was not celebration but a cortege (shav-yatra) of an old lady who passed away the night before. 

By the sound of dhol, it can be tricky to distinguish cortege with celebrations especially around the marriage season, but I made no mistake for I have registered these beats time and again. The man with the dhol belongs to a family which have been performing these ceremonies from generations to generations. However in spite of how good he plays, he will never be called to participate during a happy occasion.

Maa stood quietly at the window, and with her saddened eyes she looked at the crowd taking the lady to the crematory. She may miss a grand Baraat or a fancy Rath-yatra during the Durga Pooja but she never misses a cortege for her own reasons. 

The dead body while wrapped in a new red saari is coved with a clean white sheet; a layer of fresh marigold flowers are spread casually on the bier carried by four family members each holding one corner. Her face looked as peaceful as it could get, but the wrinkles were touched up with gulal makeup which made her look a bit scary. Coins and flowers thrown on the body as the crowd made their way towards the crematory crying,"Ram Naam Satya Hai!" - the name of Ram is the truth. The elder son leading the way with a piece of burning wood in his hand to complete the formality of giving fire to the body; the younger lad walking by the side as a moral support to his brother during the last journey of their beloved mother.

That morning standing at the window, a sharp shiver ran through my body, giving me a feeling of detachment from everyday life. Why worry for no reason? Why not live in peace and harmony? Why complicate this thread called life when its one end so deceptive and uncertain, whereas the other so truthful and simple? Why not find love in small things? Why not do something incredible worth leaving behind? 

As someone rightly quoted - “When you die, all things soft and beautiful would be buried with you and your life will be placed in the memory of the living!”

Existence

With each passing day, I questioned the purpose of my existence. If this life is a transitory phase - it must have had its purpose in the previous lives and perhaps will find reasons for the next. But today, hidden in your mysterious madness, I discovered a reason worth living.

Violence

Violence in the house. Sitting in my room, it was the first time that I witnessed (heard) a physical fight between a couple (G’s colleagues). No one in my entire family tree have indulge in domestic voice, at least not that I heard of. The only story that I know of (a distant relative) is when the poor husband got a nice beating from his angry wife with a broom.

G tells me more about the couple - they were childhood friends and had been a couple for over a decade. May be with time the roots of love grow weaker and spreads its boundaries looking for unsettling emotions like anger, frustration, rage and sometimes even violence. However, as men are stronger, the violence usually ends up hurting the female.

Frightened by the scene, I asked G to go out and handle the situation. He came back within a minute, giggling with the fingers on his lips.

I inquired: “Why the hell are you laughing? You think it’s funny?” to which he wistfully answered, “The boyfriend got a nice beating and I think he will definitely need a new Shirt.” 

We both shared a good laugh.

Mornings

5 a.m. Three alarms each at an interval of 10 minutes should do the job. But my flat-mate with sensitive ears could not bear the recurring sound and knocked at the door after managing 30 minutes of torture. Needless to say, I slept again! Finally woke up when F called – my favorite call of the day which I never answer but I know says a thousand words.

Mornings are blessings!

More than the fresh air or the silence – I love how subtly the light changes at this early hour. Like an artist hand-painting the sky with his flawless hands; mixing colors within colors; unaware of when to pause; lost - in the silhouette of time!

Homesick

Uneasy, tired, exhausted but not sleepy, not a bit! It’s hard to, when you have a deep longing for family. The feeling of being home after a long time is like leaving a baggage full of worries behind you. Only place where you can sleep blissfully and not worry about the time of the day. You only wake up to the smell of delicious food or Maa’s sharp yell - a final warning before she gets upset, but you yearn for more and looking at the innocent look on your face gently requesting: Five more minuets Maa!  She lets you be . . . 

Yeh Zindagi

तिनके सी
ज़िन्दगी सही
एक सहर नयी
एक साँझ नयी
एक बात नयी
मुलाक़ात नयी
एक सोच नयी
पहचान नयी
हर पल बदलती
ये कहानी नयी
कभी छू हो जाती
तितली की तरहा
कभी फुरसत से
करती बातें
कभी कैद करती
मुझेमें ही मुझको 
तो कभी रूबरू कराती
अक्स बन मेरा
कर्म ये
अंजाम ये
एक अजनबी सा
इम्तिहान ये  
ये ज़िन्दगी 
चली मनचली 

Arzoo

आरज़ू थी, जिस मुकाम की
जुस्तजू बन रह गयी,
कोशिश थी लाख
उन्हें भुलाने की,
वो कोशिश ही -
तक़दीर बन रह गयी। 

*जुस्तजू = Quest 

कहते रहे वो अक्सर 

ये दुनिया जायज़ नहीं 

और हम, सोचते रहे 

ख़ामोशी से 

तेरे मिलने से मुनासिब 

और क्या होगा।