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।

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!

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.

Aandhi

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

धड़कने दे मुझे
तेरी आदत से पहले
कहीं होना तेरा
लाज़िम न हो जाये
ऐसे तो नाकारा था ही मैं
तेरे जाने से कहीं
मेरा अक्स भी पराया न हो जाये 

Uncertainty

The uncertainty of life knocked my door today. A 30 seconds phone call that a distant relative passed away, and that was it – a medical problem.

How simply and quietly a word 'passed-away' washes away an individual from your life creating a void that can only be filled with gentle blessings of time. The gates of memory open only to flood your imagination with disheartening thoughts. This loss, this tragic loss of life - can it ever be unimpaired?

Noting can fill the hollow that you feel - no sympathies, no words of wisdom, even the best of memories with that individual will turn their back against you and turn into a sad remembering. The mind goes into a limbo touching the deepest part of your brain and flashes you with events from the past.

No matter how miserable you feel, the departed will never come back. You can only addle your mind, but in these times you don’t want to feel better and submerge yourself into a deep void of emptiness.

Someplace, deep inside me, I am conscious of the thought that life is short and precious, and I would like to think that my tiny drop like existence in this ocean is dream life for many - a loving and caring family, good friends, education, enjoyable workplace, good food, hobbies, music, books are some of the things that have space in my life which many in this country starve for.

I am a happy and content man; I realize it now even more. But, I am determined - to be more humble and simple, to take more chances, to travel more, to respect and love, and most of all to be healthy and fit.

RIP! My distant relative.

Hope

टिक टिक कर 

निगलती जा रही ज़िन्गदी मुझे 

जैसे प्यासी घूंट  

निगलता है मुसाफिर कोई 

इल्तेजा है इतनी 

रात के उन अँधेरे सन्नाटों में 

एक-आधा चाँद मेरा भी झलक जाये 

Bittu

Bittu came with two bags full of cloths and plenty of hopes to make his internship a success. His athletic build and thick eyebrows surely do injustice to his shy and simple personality, but his voice and smile will win over your heart.

With most of the space occupied by my large bed, study and the keyboard, he adjusted quite well in my small room within the little leftover space, trying not to discomfort me in anyway.

Seeing him uneasy while moving stuff from his bags multiple times reminded me of the hard time when I had to live in my suitcase. So, I offered him to create some space in the cupboards and managed to clear two racks for his day-to-day movements.

Today, when I came back home in the evening, I was surprised to see that within the limited space I provided him, he kept one-forth of the space occupied with a beautiful picture of Lord Ganesha, while adjusting his stuff in the remaining part.

Makes me think – It doesn’t matter how grand your life is . . . but what matters is, who you share it with, no matter how ordinary it may be!

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?