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?

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। 

Aks

कुछ वक़्त
गुज़र जाने दे,
थम जाने दे
ज़िन्दगी की रफ़्तार,
बेरंग होने दे
तस्वीरों का तहखाना,
मिटटी होने दे
मन की ईमारत,
और मिलने दे
दो पल,
उस यार से -
जिसकी आँखों में,
मेरी रूह का
अक्स झलकता है | 

फिर

एक जज्बात

अधूरा सा,

छू ना सकना

तेरे होठों को,

तरसते रहना

हल्के हल्के,

निगाहों से

पीते रहना,

उन आँखों से 

टपकती 

अदृश्य स्याही,

जो दिल के 

कोरे पन्नो पर,

छोड़ गयी 

पहेली,

जिसे 

बुझाने की 

चाह में,

बेचेन रहना,

और 

खुद में ही 

डूब जाना 

Himalayas

Beauty is not defined by shape, size or colour, that pleases the sight. The real beauty lies in that sheer rawness of wild Himalayan forest covered with sharp pines and deodar, and is at its best after the first snow when it loses the color. You may desire to be a part of it but its belongingness does not exist. It will not be the same, if you touch it or walk on it. It can only be pursued by those who completely surrender to it and are lost in the forest to lose themselves.

Young Flower

In this life
Memories from the past
Bizarre as they may seem
Forever they shall last

I may remember
A dream come true
My favorite book or song
Beneath the sky that looked blue

I may recall a few places
My favorite pub and whiskey traces
And my face, when I smile
After I had walked a thousand miles

But among these memories
There shall be a lonely hour
For I shall think,
Think of you,
As a young splendid flower

Tears

ये कविता
तेरे आँसुओं के लिये
जो तेरी मायूस आँखों से
टपकते है
मौम की तरहा
जिन्हे देख कर
जी करता है
फूक कर अँधियारा कर दूं
और तेरी मासूमियत को पिघलने ना दूं

Khamoshiyan

ये खामोशियाँ
इतना सब क्यूँ कह जाती है
आवाज़ जैसे देता है कोई
मुड़कर देखु
तो तेरी याद चली आती है 

Goa

Goa trip ended and I am sad. Being an official trip, could not engross into the real feel of Goa, however visit to the Baga beach was wonderful. I wanted to be alone for sometime but you cannot ditch your team members and walk away. Tried once, and they thought I was following the tall Russian Girl, which was partly true.

The sunset caught hold of my eyes. The magical changing colors - dominant dark orange sky slowly and slowly submerging into light pink with layers of sapphire playing hide and seek, the whole frame then turned into pale red. From far away, you could only see carefree shadows on the beach, lost in the beautiful silhouette where the ocean and sky kissed.

Har Ki Dun (Valley of the Gods)

कविताओ से पूरी ना होगी
तस्वीरो में क़ैद ना होगी
ये हिमालय की गोद से निकली
हर की दुन घाटी
यहाँ मिलते है ख्वाब अधूरे
अकेलेपन में लिपटी
इन वादियों को क्या महसूस होता होगा?
मेरी सांसो का कंपन?
जो पहले कभी ना था!
या मेरी धड़कने?
जो मानो आज धड़कना सीखी हो!
कदम जो ये थकते नही
और क़ैद करने इन नज़ारों को
ये आँखें झपकती नही
दिशायें ये रुकती नही
बस चली जाती हैं दूर कहीं
और इनसे मिलने की ख्वाहिश में
चला चलता हूँ में
गुनगुनाते हुए, तोड़ा मुस्कुराते हुए
जीने का सबब जैसे मिला हो
जन्नत का जैसे एक पल मिला हो
ये हिमालय की गोद से निकली
हर की दुन घाटी
यहाँ मिलते है ख्वाब अधूरे

Old Buildings

There is something extraordinary about the old buildings the appeals to me. A tall-old structure made of wood and concrete, covered with red rusty paint, broken windows, leaking water pipes, staircases running to the rooftop, old doors, untouched corridors and ignored appearance. The building calls me with an untold story.

The lifecycle of a building is so much similar to that of human life cycle. The to be born building well planned in advance after examining all the financial implications. The new born then fed well and looked after so that the foundation is strong. It blossoms like a young beautiful woman after it’s painted well. A bit of adjustments required, pinch of compromises on the interior – a clear comparison with life after marriage. And before you realize, it turn old. The new buildings appear around it . . . younger , taller and much stronger. The attention is taken away and it is either left alone or disposed off to give space for other projects. Some lucky ones are taken care of by their loved ones until they become quite and lose their human spirit.

F

My voice shall not touch you for long
Wonder not, my friend
For it will shatter with time
But what will remain
Is a Daisy
With heart full of wishes
That I have secretly plucked
From your lovely smile

2014

2013 ended with a beautiful trek in the Gharwal Himalayas – Har ki dun, known as the Valley of the Gods. Followed by, Lucky Ali’s live concert in Mussoorie! Resumed work just two days before the new years eve. My mind wondered and lost in the hills, searching for belonging-ness in the city life. My love affair with Mumbai, or with anyone for that matter, is at it’s low when I return back from the North. Probably, because a large piece of my heart stays back in the mountains and the valley.

New years eve at Geetika’s. A great host, who does most of the work by herself except cooking and I thank her for that (for not cooking!). Hard to imagine Mumbai without her. I have seen her flourish with time. She is now a CFA with big job (which she would disagree to). Where as she has acknowledged my highs and lows in these years. Although, life here has always been on the terms – each one for himself, I know she looks after me in all possible ways. I feel safe around her.

Fell from my bike while going back home from work on the 1st day of 2014 and landed safely on my helmet with minor bruises on my left leg. This left my only black shirt torn around the shoulder with no scope for alteration. Not a good start! But Raju Bhai says, “Jaan bachi toh lakho paye.” To which I carefully responded, “Jaan bachi par kapde phat gaye.” – which he obviously ignored but made me a great masala chai to cheer me up.

7th Jan: Ruskin Bond’s autographed book finally arrived after my failed attempted to meet him at his house in Mussoorie. He sends best wishes for 2014. Not a bad start after all!

Eventful Flight

Given very little leg room in the flights these days, the tall young boy on the seat next to me was getting impatient with his uncomfortable posture and pushed back his seat in a forceful way. Within in no time it resulted in a big resistance from the lady on the seat behind. Her loyal husband also quickly turned to her rescue and snapped at the kid right away, demanding him to adjust his seat in the upright position.

The kid refused to follow any orders from the couple and soon, the dialogues between them turned into a quarrel.

The flight attended was called - a beautiful woman in her thirties who spoke in a warm and polite manner. But her beauty or politeness had no impact on the boy, and when she respectfully asked his to adjust his chair, he retorted back with, “Humse na ho payeeeee…” in a thick Bhojpuri accent.

Looking at the situation and to save the air-hostess from any further embarrassment, I offered to exchange my seat with the lady on the back seat. This would have perfectly solved the issue, before I realized that there was barely any leg space to fit me (or my valuable parts) between the seats. Hence, in the interest of my future generation, I turned towards the air-hostess and said, “Humse bhi na ho payeeeee…”

Kafir

मद-मस्त था जो अपनी धुन में
उसे मायूस बना दिया
एक आलिम को तेरे इश्क़ ने
काफ़िर बना दिया

*आलिम =  An educated Muslim Scholar
*काफ़िर =  Disbeliever

Sanjh

अपनी ही धुन में

ढलते ढलते

एक हसीन सांझ ने

धूप के रंगों से

चुन कर तेरे काले घने केसू

मेरे दिल की सूनी दीवार को

रंग दिया

Khamoshi

किससे हज़ार पुराने वो
महफ़िलों में बयान करते हैं
दास्तान-ए-इश्क़ की टूटी कहानी
बाज़ारों में सुनाया करते हैं
गम का काफिला बड़ी आसानी से मिलता है उन्हे
वरना इस दर्द-ए-इज़हार को लोग
खामोशी से अपनाया करते हैं

*काफिला = Caravan

Bambai ki life

ये बंबई की लाइफ भी ना साहेब

और में छोटे शहर का

समझ नही पाता
क्यूँ भागना है
क्यूँ जागना है
जेब भरती नही
भूक मिटती नही

ये बंबई की लाइफ भी ना साहेब
और में छोटे शहर का

रुक जाता हूँ
थम जाता हूँ
मायूस हो कर कभी
ठहर जाता हूँ
रास्ते अजीब लगते हें
दोस्त यहाँ, दोस्त कहाँ लगते हें

ये बंबई की लाइफ भी ना साहेब
और में छोटे शहर का

याद आता है गाँव का वो चौराहा
चबूतरा, जहाँ ठंडी रात में
अँगारे जला कर
ख़ुशियाँ बाटा करते थे
कभी झील किनारे
पानी में गोते लगाया करते थे

ये बंबई की लाइफ भी ना साहेब
और में छोटे शहर का

इस भीड़ में यूँ तन्हा सा लगता है
वक़्त भी यहाँ अंजाना सा लगता है
हाथ से रेत की तरहा फिसलता कभी
कभी होने पर भी अधूरा सा लगता है

ये बंबई की लाइफ भी ना साहेब
और में छोटे शहर का

गर एक दिन में यूँ ही रुक गया
इत्मेनान से, ढलते सूरज को
समंदर किनारे देखने थम गया
ऐसा क्या था
जो इतनी भीड़ जमा थी
ये सोचते सोचते
भीड़ में जा खो गया
और उस दिन से
ये बंबई शहर भी
मेरा अपना हो गया
अब जब कभी गाँव की याद सताती है
ये बंबई की लाइफ भी ना साहेब
मुझे यहीं समंदर किनारे ले आती है

~ Dedicated to Auto Drives of Mumbai who are far from their home

Aarna

लाल रंग का सावन कुछ ऐसा था

तेरे माथे की बिंदिया जैसा था

काली रात की खामोशी भी एक सहर लाई थी

तेरी आँखों का जैसे घूँघट ओढ़ आई थी

सुबह की लाली तेरे चेहरे पर ऐसी दम्कि

तेरे आँचल से आज फिर खुशियाँ झलकी

तेरे पास होने का है ऐसा एहसास

मानो हज़ार सखियाँ हो मेरे पास

तेरी गोद में, आज फिर सर रख कर सो गयी

चुपके से आज माँ में फिर बड़ी हो गयी

Untitled

फरियाद थी जिनकी ज़हन में
आँखें मूँद कर उन्हे हारे हें
जीने का मक़सद यूँ ही नही बदलता यारों 
हम महज़ एक छोटी सी हक़ीक़त के मारे हें

Ek Shaam

एक शाम
गुज़रती नहीं
थमती भी नहीं
इशारा करते करते
फुरसत से आहें भरके
चुनिन्दा ख्यालों को
इन मायूस आँखों से
आज़माती हुई
चली ये
अपने ही धुन में
न जाने कहाँ
प्यार से
बड़े आराम से
एक अधूरी दास्ताँ
अपने सांथ लिये
होले से कहते हुए . . .
हम फिर मिलेंगे
ए वक्त के मुसाफिर