Silent Horizon and the Restless Pilgrim

unsought flowers

2012-02-25T13:35:00.002+05:30

It was raining. The sky was grey and beautiful. But, it was raining flowers. Flowers of different colours, shapes and sizes. Gladiolus, Orchids, Primroses, Lavenders, Hyacinths, Bell Flowers, Bouvardias, Jasmines, Gerberas, Sweet Peas, Anemones, Magnolias, Gardenias, Irises, Pancies, Daisies, Poppies, Camelias and many many more. She was feeling them all in her face, in her hands and she cupped her hands to gather as much of the flowers as she could. It appeared to her that the clouds were smiling and occasionally laughing too.

The monotonous music of the alarm, woke her up from sleep and sadly from the dream as well. It was quarter past 8 and she had to rush to work. She was surprised to see her face in the mirror while brushing her teeth. For a moment, she thought she saw couple of flowers tumble down her long black tresses. She laughed at the thought and was concluded it must be the dream.
'Some dream!' She said to herself.

She loved to have a long hot shower in the morning. She would simply stand beneath the shower, hear the water drops fall on her shoulders and make noise as they came down on the floor. She closed her eyes today for sometime to hear them better. She was not absolutely sure but she could smell a familiar smell as she did that at the shower. She kept hey eyes closed and concentrated some more. It was the smell of flowers!
Some of which she saw in the dream. She again attributed it to the dream and came out and dressed up to go to work. She got in her car and put on her favorite music.

'May be I should get some flowers at last! They have been tempting me since early morning.' She thought and looked out to spot a vendor. There were many flower vendors near her place. She could recognise the flowers - if the Gladiolus have long stem, he would have got it from the small boy near the metro station. Purple Gladiolus were only found at the store near the market. Once she jokingly told him 'Are there only two clours of Gladiolus?' and he got her Gladiolus of seven colours. 'Your T Nagar only has five, I must tell you' he said while handing the flower bunch to her in front of her office next morning.
Gerberas were hard to tell, but if they were really big yellow ones, he would have got it from the shop near the police station. He never got her roses. None of them liked them. Orchids were found in the big flower store of 'Ferns and Petals' right under the flyover. He never told her where he got the exotic Magnolias and Poppies. She would conclude, he would have picked them somewhere else, may be near his office, on his way back.

But, today, she could not find a single shop open. She took another route, where she had seen some flower vendors. It was as if all the flower vendors were on strike. This route was bereft of any colour or fragrance of any flower. She was nearing her office and desperation bordering of despair. Finally she spotted one shop as she took the final turn for her office. But, the flowers were so dull and pitiable that she felt like crying.
She stopped her car a few yards before her office and cried. There was only his face, his hands and the many kinds of flowers that came to her mind at that moment. She finally wiped her tears and went in to her office.

She was back at home early. The few moments of longing, of memories, of flowers, of him stayed with her throughout the day. She tried to shuffle between watching TV, reading a book, making coffee to avoid those thoughts, but could not. She sat down in her sofa in the balcony, her face in her hands and looked at some Bouvardia flowers on the tree outside. She thought she heard her doorbell ring. She smiled and ignored it and kept looking into the blank spaces between the beautiful white flowers reflecting the moonlight.
The doorbell rang again after five minutes.
She ignored it again and kept looking at the moon, the tree and the flowers. After and hour, she had the urge to go to the door and check. She ran to the door and opened it. There was a note on the latch and there were a bunch of beautiful flowers of many colours, wrapped in a white foil and inserted carefully to the handle of the door from outside.
She opened the note "For Meera Nair. On Diwali, for your continued support. With Thanks - M/S Arun Industries'.Meera Nair, used to be her flat mate, who had left for the US couple of weeks back after marriage and used to place orders with Indian factories such as Arun Industries, on behalf of her clients.
She held the flowers close to her, slipped into her bed with them, closed her eyes. There was only his face which shone through the darkness.
A drop of tear found its way from her eyes to her lips, and she silently whispered 'Thank You!'.

photographs (c) Parthajeet Das, Soumya Mohanty, 2012

Sleeping humming bird

2012-02-24T10:39:00.001+05:30

It is morning again, I say,
Look at the bright and fast day,
The city is moving in the roads,
And destiny is working its destined way.

A tired humming bird returns to its nest,

On the bosom of the horizon,
A fatigue-worn red sun takes rest,
Like a baby, innocent and mildly vulnerable,
You gently sink into my chest.

Untouched by the city and its ways,
A benign smile and breathing at calm pace,
Wrapped like a gift in purple blanket,
You sleep besides me and my life finds an humble base!

khaab

2012-01-24T19:08:00.001+05:30

Raat bhar ek khaab ban leti rahi mere sirhaane;

Tamaam tare aasman ka aangan chhod kamre ki chhat se use dekhte rahe;
Chaand naraz tha, dekho kahin muh chuupa baitha hoga, kisi daryia ke kinaare.

Phoolon me ras bhi na pada aaj, uske surkh hoton me ghul rahe the jaane kitne hi rang.
Shabnam ki boondein, uske maathe ke paseene bane hue the, nanhi kopalon ne subeh shikayat ki.
Pahadi ki nadi bhi raat ko taaron ki madham roshni me uske laton ka naksha utara,
'hum bhi aise hi lehrana chahti hain, behna chahti hain, ulajhna chahti hain!'
Par neend ke khulte hi, khaab aur uska na hona bhi lazmi tha!

Janani - The Mother

2012-01-09T16:30:00.000+05:30

It is hard to write an article or a post which is based on a true incident and have calculated reactions. It is harder if you know the people involved, both the affected and the effectors. Names and relationship do no matter, as it could be anyone, any woman, any family, in any remove village (there are quite a few of them) in Uttar Pradesh, which is the 7th largest country in the world by population.
The incident is not unique or 'urgent' or 'disturbing' by our Indian and specifically, Indian government standards.

A mother died during child-birth. The reactions are followed by facts which every academician and practitioner quote with immaculate accuracy but disappointing ineffectiveness.

'So many of them (mothers) die'
Around 300 on average out of 100,000 live child births across India and more than 500 in UP.

'Oh! The child is okay but, na?'
60 die per 1000 live births in India and 99 of them do in UP.

'Where was she born?' 'Arre baba, not the mother, the child!'
Only 22 out of 100 child births happen at a medical institution

'Did she receive any medical care?' ' There must be a Sub-Centre with an ANM or at least an Aanganwadi Centre'
26% of women receive proper Antenatal Care (3ANC visits) - % of women who received 3 ANC visits.

'We have Janani Surakhsya Yojana' (thank god it is not called Jawahar, Rajeev, Sanjay or Rahul Yojana, else, I would have had to choose a different title!)

The central and state government under this scheme pay for the expenses of an institutional delivery and pre-and post-check-ups. It is probably largest conditional cash transfer scheme in the world. Many surveys and audits, done by international and local consulting/research companies and NGOs (Hundreds of Thousands of rupees would have been spent by the World Banks and iNGOs (look at the Apple style nomenclature of international NGOs!) claim success.

Now, back to the incident.

The woman was not well for 6-7 days before the date of child birth. The only medical facility in the village is a Sub-Centre. Wait. The building of the Sub-Centre. There is no staff.
There is an Aanganwadi centre with a worker. She gave 'some' medicines to the woman, with no signs of improvement. Nothing else was done as well.
So, on the day of the birth, matters got complicated.
They finally decided to take her to the district hospital at Barailey. This distance of 30 kms takes one and half hours! This is another aspect.
Many state governments have Janani Express Yojana. The mother is reimbursed the cost of transport for institutional delivery. But, what can you do about the roads.
I was advising the state government of UP, not so long back on two such projects.
1. Mobile medical units (to make health care reach remote locations)
2. Emergency Medical Services (to tackle situations such as mentioned)
We were aware of situations where it could take 90 minutes to cover 30 kms. We ideated, planned and recommended many suggestions. Some were implementable, some were not. It has been more than 4 years. Nothing has happened on those projects.

Continuing the narration, the woman died on the road. The child was born healthy, almost healthy. The child was a girl. She would be a mother, if she survives i.e. I do not want to put facts and figures about child mortality, immunisation coverage, nutrition etc. but you get the idea.

A faint hope is that things would have improved by the time this small girl becomes mother.

ps. Incidental to this is the fact that Barielly is the constitution of Sonia Gandhi, The Sonia Gandhi, the single most powerful person in this country.

weekend

2012-01-05T08:08:00.000+05:30

dedicated to the inverted ratio of 2:5

-------
friday ke 4 baj te hi,

hoton se hafte bhar gayab
haasi ka wapas aana,

doston ke numbers
jo 'last dialled calls'
se gayab se hone lage the,
unhe phir se dial karna.

newspaper ke safhe palat palat kar
stock prices aur headlines ke badle
theatre, music aur art galleries
ke events check karna,

chun ke kapde almari se bahar nikaal na,
long walks pe jana,
early mornings uth na, (early can be swapped with late!!)
jam ke khana and wine peena,

tera weekend ki tarah aana,
aur aakar chale jaana.
kya bura hota agar
tu aur weekend, dono reh jaate!

.

Bade Ho Kay kya Banoge?

2011-12-27T16:18:00.002+05:30

Khudi to thi humaare paas,

Par Khud ko kabhi banaya na tha.

Papa fakr se kehte
'Aji..humaara ladka to 'Ye' banega!'
Aur 'Ye' waqt ke saath badal ta raha.
'Jo bhi ban..par ek accha insaan ban'
Maa kehti.
'Mere fancy dress competition me
Mujhe ek gadha chahiye, aap banoge?'
Behan ne laad se poochha ek din.

Teachers akad te
'Student ho...
student hi ban ke raho'
'Abe O...Itna mat ban'
Dost log naraaz hote to kehte.
Theatre ke director to
Har rehearsal se pehle poochhte
'Is baar kya ban ne wale ho?'

Naam ke aage peeche
Chand Akshar jode,
Graduate Bane,
Post-Graduate bhi bane...
Phir naukri karne lage,
To naukar bhi bane!

Tum ne us raat, jab dheere se
Sehmi aakhon se poochha,
'Tum mere ban ke rahoge na?'
Mano is ban ne, bana ne
Ke udhed-bun se chhoota,
Tumse kuchh kaha nahin tha maine tab,
'Haan, yahi ban ke rahunga'

Transformation

2011-12-19T17:14:00.000+05:30

Transformation: Is it a process of evolution, a strategy to grow, an em-betterment, an improvement on the past ? It could be, but most importantly, it is not a matter of choice, it is something we all have to go through, whether we want it or not, whether we are aware of it or not, whether we are currently ready for it or not, it is a process that happens by itself but sometimes it is even a matter of survival.
There is no option but to shed the scales of past and crawl out of it, no matter how painful or long the process might be, how much unfriendly the environment be, how much the odds be stacked against; into a new beginning. The process eventually opens up new realities and makes newer dreams and brighter hopes possible. Could the caterpillar ever dream of flying in the open air, without the process of transformation, without the wonderful wings of a beautiful butterfly?

Transformation is essential, and hence the environment that incubates transformation becomes critical.
The whole effort behind "Love...one another" is to create an environment conducive and as helpful as possible for that transformation to take place. To put many signboards that would help the builders, the planners, the observers and anyone willing in any way, to find their respective ways to create such a large pool where thousands of caterpillars would find the right impetus to turn into butterflies and get their rightful wings to soar in the skies, at their own will.

I have a similar story to share. This one is not spectacular, may not have the anticipated climax, no miraculous results could be shared and no exaggerations will be made.

Me and a group of friends visited Pravartak Sangha - a home for mentally challenged orphans in Salt Lake, Kolkata. How we found out about this organisation and started our relationship is a story of chance and persistence. I walked back to my home in Salt Lake after work everyday, and my route used to generally depend on the odd vegetables to be carried home or the sudden pangs of hunger that had to be met. That day, I took another route without any particular reason. The dimly lit signboard of the institution caught my eye. I had been working with special kids for over two years now, but had not been very active in the City of JOY.
'Should I go in?'
'This place looks closed; there is something in the air that suggests that casual visitors are not welcome here'
This hunch was proved right in the next hour of struggle and persistence to speak to the manager/owner of the place. The gates were barbed, locked and guarded. But, with little courage and lots of hope, I managed to sneak in and even though I was not welcome, I managed to convince the manager and his stout wife that I could come again with friends and do a useful programme with them.

'Theek acche, aapni aaasun...letter niye asben' their tone was a mixture of sarcasm and disinterest. I had been in similar situations in Bhubaneswar before.
The voice of the principal of a special school in Bhubaneswar rang in my ears.
'Na, Na, Na...mu kahili para Na' which in means 'No, No, No..I said No'.
This was her determined reply on the last day before an event very close to my heart 'Know your special friend' in which we paired up special kids with "normal" kids to create a painting together. An event we conducted in 33 cities.
That principal was to send a the largest contingent of special kids to our event - 30 in all.
So, with that faith, I started to plan for the first and may be the most important visit. Winning the trust of these inmates, who not only had no parents or siblings, but also, were not looked after in the best way, the most important task.
(Authors personal note: I would though apologise for making a statement like that without having run an institution. I am aware that this is almost a blasphemy on the part of a arm-chair consultant like me and could appear as criticism, but the idea is to only highlight that there was lot of scope for improvement)

I spoke to Diana, the founder of Chrysallis and my guru in this field. She has taught me how to work with special kids, how to have faith despite odds, how never to loose heart if you are alone and the spirit of volunteerism, above all. I chose a few volunteers to help me: the odd colleague who would become a friend now, the friends who would become family and the strangers who would become friends.
None of them had any experience of working with special kids and as with most sessions that we do with kids, I did a dry run with the volunteers, which most of them attended.
So, we reached there with a laptop, a small sound system, some sweets but no letter. But, we were allowed in. They thought we got some sweets, food etc. which would be distributed and then we would leave with some smiles and tears. To their surprise, we set up our laptop, music system, inserted the CD and asked them all to come in one room. The helpers and others were not very happy with our simplest of demands - get all the kids, get them in a line, ask them to be quiet, don't give them anything to eat now. Our volunteers were struggling and juggling a variety of emotions - love, compassion, pity, anger, frustration, fear and insecurity. I did not intervene then but I knew when to be firm.
The hall was set. 10 kids each in 4-5 rows. The music was on and so was the conundrum and utter confusion of all concerned. It took 10 minutes, some help from volunteers and my loud voice to finally get some semblance of the co-ordinated movements which Diana had asked me to do with the children. I had no idea how they worked, but I trusted Diana and continued the steps for 30 minutes.
The helpers and other people of the orphanage were curious but not sure of what we were trying to do. The volunteers had no idea either, they just had trust in me. I acted well to show that I know what I was doing. Ha!
Then, sweets were distributed and we all returned with promise to come again. We all had a chat in an adjacent park to chalk out our plans. I knew by then which volunteers I could count upon to come again.
I gave some feedback to some of the volunteers:
'dont cry in front of kids',
'dont be too lenient with them',
'we have to make them independent not dependant'
'never, ever have or show sympathy or pity'
'we are here for our own joy above all, no help to anyone but ourselves'

I went back home, tired, exhausted, with a hoarse voice, but a moist and happy heart.
We would continue to go to the Sangha at regular intervals of a 7-8 days.
Diana's visit after a month acted like magic for children and a training session for us. Diana repeated all those 'isms which I had ranted with the volunteers.
We continued our visits and sessions.
Many things were added, the odd gifts we would get for the kids, the prayer 'bhabasagara tarana karana he' which we would sing together on many evenings, the snacks that would be shared, the festivals that were celebrated together and the relationships built.
We was 'kaku', 'didi', 'dada', 'police', 'hero', 'heroine' and many more things.
But, what we started to notice after two-three months in most children was a transformation. A slow, tentative and vulnerable one. The children were using their bodies in a more better and confident manner, they were able to understand instructions, follow them and co-ordinate their actions with their friends. There was joy in what they were doing, they looked forward to these sessions and asked us to come more frequently.
Some of their hopes were met, some did not.
'You promised Kaku, you will take me to my village. You will take me this time no?'
'I want this bag' pointing to the laptop bag.
'I want to go to city, we are not allowed to go anywhere'
We could not do anything about these. But, what we could do, we did, slowly and ever-so surely.

Transformation, is a process, not a destination. I had to leave Kolkata to work at Mumbai. I urged the volunteers that we must continue. I knew, it would not, not in the same fervour. I thought of the hitherto unknown kids in Mumbai, who will give me a chance to work with them. I thought of the new set of volunteers, strangers who would work with these children in future. Some other kind of transformation would take place, I was hopeful. The agent is not important, the process is!!
A few years later, I am hopeful, that the board of Pravartaka Sangha is brighter, a volunteer more determined, a set of friends more frequent, the children much more independent, the workers much more cheerful, the owner much more resourceful and the transformation much more spectacular.

painting made by a kid

smiling volunteers with kids

i will tell

what's that?

I sincerely hope.

Acting Out a Fight

2011-12-14T13:29:00.004+05:30

Again, T - could stand for Traveler
and, F - could be for Friend

T and F were in the middle of a conversation when this idea occurred to T.

‘Let’s act out a fight between us, as it could happen in future’

‘Okay’, F agreed without protest.

What followed was ten minutes of intense acting and superb rehearsal. T has had an exposure to theatre and was not exactly the worst actor in Delhi. F seemed a natural. There was no breaking out into laughter or breaking off the act.

The act had a beginning, middle and an end. F won of course, but T shouted otherwise.

‘Hey, isn’t that great, we could actually act out the fight’ chuckled F.

'I am impressed to say the least!' T really was impressed.'Felt, kind of good, acting out this fight' F was amused.

‘Yeah, and I am wondering that how these things would change if the fight was for real. I mean the same words and expressions would end up hurting us.’ T was thinking.

‘Hmm, the words would be just the same but our tone, pitch and body manners would do the damage.’ F was thinking as well.

‘I guess there is a big learning in this. Whenever we get into such situations of anger, frustration, bitterness and fighting, which is not exactly our natural or normal state, we should remember that we are merely acting. This is just a rehearsal and we are actors, not the characters that we are playing. That the emotions of joy, anger, pain, angst and bitterness are of the characters, not ours. We should just be faithful to the roles that we play and not think that we are those characters themselves. That would make things so simple’ T was preaching now.

‘The tough part is most actors get too engrossed in their roles and think that those emotions are their own. Imagine, it would be so funny then for them to feel real pain, agonise and die as many times as their characters die.’ F was grinning.

‘Yeah, some people call it method acting and rake millions out of it’. T added.

F was silent for a long time, T knew that the old topic has ended and no further discussion would ensue.

‘What are you thinking?’ T asked finally.

‘Will you really fight with me like that? Mmm? ’ F asked and looked up to T, like a small pup would look up to it's master in the morning begging for a morning stroll.

‘It’s hard to avoid fights and disagreements; they are a part of the game. They….’ T was interrupted before his long monologue.

‘Fight like that, in real?’ F interrupted and asked again.

‘Mmmm..we would use this lesson of acting out!’ T replied.

‘Yeah, let’s do one more’ F was grinning again.

Kuchh Benaam Nazmein

2011-12-09T18:23:00.001+05:30

Aaa baadlon ki saahil pe nange paon bhaagen,
Thoda aasmaan chalkayen, 'chapaak' se ek doosre par,
Kisi baade se baadal par tek lagaa kar baithen aur
Kuchh tasveren banaye aapni ungliyon se aasman ke canvass par.
Kisi redi par chalke kale khatte ki chuski khareeden aur
Chuski lete hue awaazon ko sun kar dheere dheere muskurayen.
Ye dekho, ek plane laambi si taar chhod gayi hai,
Aa isi ka bana kar jaala, lal-lal suraj ko pakden subeh-subheh,
Aur thak jo jayen chalte-chalte to raat ke seene pe sar rakh ke so jayen!

(1)

Chand chhup chhup ke dekhne ki koshish karta raha,
Kali ghataon ne parda jo kar rakha tha,
Ret ne apni sufead qaleen bhi bichha di thi,

Lehron ne apne sur aur tal saja liye the,
Nadi apna bulawaa bhej rahi thi,
Vaadi ka kohra nadi ke aangan me baith tha,
Waqt khamosh apne hi saath masroof tha,

Besabri ka nahin;
Ik sukoon ka, ik itmenaan ka intezar tha;
Raat, raat bhar ko nadi me khone ko,
Pahadon ke kandhon ke sahare
Dheere dheere utar rahi thi.

(2)

Jajabara Trips III (Ajmer - Jaipur and Khwaja Moinuddin)

2011-12-09T12:10:00.001+05:30

I had Ajmer in mind, since the time we started on this trip. I had been once to Ajmer with parents and in the tradition of tying a knot with a red thread over the perforated walls of the 'dargah' had made an extraordinary wish, which is rather too personal to be shared.

Sachin, had no idea about the place or the legacy of the most famous of acclaimed and much revered Chisti chain of sufi saints. His plan was to visit Chittaurgarh fort built by Rana Kumbha and then proceed to Jaipur and even Delhi the same day. Crazy, you say? I could not agree more.

I had known by this time that it will take little of my patience, sales-pitch-stories and some sun and wind to wear the gumption of Sachin. It happened sooner.

'I am feeling sleepy' he said.
'You have been driving sloppy on excellent roads' I commented.
'You drive bikes right?' He asked.
'Get off!' I jumped at the long expected offer.

I drove for 20 min, and just as I started to enjoy the drive on the beautiful sun-soaked roads, Sachin took over again. 'I may not have another chance to drive again on this trip' I thought, as I slipped back to pillion seat.

The decision being already made in my mind was conveyed to Sachin, who realised that I would go to the dargah come what may.
'I will also come, it would be my first time as well' he said and put his visor down rode into the city of Ajmer. The crowd thickened as we got closer and closer to the hub of the city - the dargah of Khwaja Moinuddin Chisti. The peerless saint was succeeded by illustrious line of disciples that includes Baba Farid and Nizamuddin Auliya.

What followed was our slowest drive of the trip. The bewildered crowd and local touts found us weird and complete nuisance. We got glances within the many cloured burkhas and suppressed smiles and irritated faces of elders. The youngsters but were spell bound by us and were awed by our journey and tales. We parked near a stone shop (there were millions of them) at the backside of the dargah, near a small mosque.

We took turns to visit the dargah. I went in first, leaving mobile, glasses, wallet etc. readying myself for the huge crowd of Sunday. By the grace of Khwajaji I found a less crowded entrance and for a moment was wondering if I am in the right place, but the smell of inscence, rose petals, atr and above all the peace that descended in that hot, busy hour of the day removed all doubts. I did not even get a chance to buy a customary chadar. Next time, I thought and consoled myself.

I was reminded of my extraordinary wish which remained to be fulfilled.

Wish = Will = Work

This thought flashed in my mind as I was running back to allow Sachin his first glimpse of the dargah. We had lunch at Ajmer after Sachin's visit to the dargah and then rode back to Jaipur.

The food was not liked by Sachin's stomach. I got my second and last chance to drive. This was a one hour high-speed, ride alongside trucks and fast cars on the national highway. I settled at 80 kmph for some time and found my zone of comfort.

We entered Jaipur but could not find a hotel to enter. I dialled some 15 numbers from 'The Rough Guide' without success. Sachin's rant about riding back to Delhi the same night fell on deaf ears. He suggested plan A, B, C..D, but as long as they had Delhi as destination I was not listening.

We found one right in the heart of the old city. As we were riding upto that hotel, we got the taste of strict traffic policing of Jaipur city. After, almost 1600 kms of riding in so many cities, the police forced me to buy a helmet. We had a pleasant stroll in the streets alongside the Hawa Mahal and returned to our room after having dinner.We were so sleepy that we struggled to finished two glasses of the fine Malambo wine that we carried from Udaipur.

The intoxication of the roads proved stronger that that of wine.

Jajabara Trips III (City of Lakes and Malambo)

2011-11-30T15:16:00.001+05:30

We visited the daunting Kumbhalgarh fort, again in the morning, built by the great Rana Kumbha and engrained with memories of Rana Pratap and Panna Dhai. This fort is surrounded by the second largest wall in the world, 36 kms long.

Rana Kumbha was one of the greatest Maharanas (not Maharajas mind you!, Maharanas were warriors first, kings later) of Sishodia Rajputs of Mewar. His victory tomb at Chittaurgarh is a testimony of his military might as it of his fort builing apetite. He defeated and then allowed Sultan Mahmud, King of Malwa to go scott free. This simple, magnanimous gesture would have serious repercussions in history later, some of it, not so welcome.

Panna Dhai sacrificed her own son by switching babies and the enemy soldiers killed Panna's son mistaking him to be the royal heir Udaisingh. Panna ran away with the heir and the royal lineage was saved. History has many such humble figures whose simple, yet courageous acts have shaped the course of kingdoms and kings.

Rana Pratap, is the most famous Maharana of Mewar, whose self-respect and spirit of freedom is matched by very few figures in history. His advesary, no small figure himself, the great moghul Akbar, had the highest regards for this Maharana. Rana Prataps popularity is matched only by his legendary horse Chetak. There are paintings depicting how an elephant's mask was put on Chetak to give him a look of elephant to match to the elephant of Rana Mansingh (Akbar's general, who fought with Rana Pratap at Haldighati and was humiliated by both words and the sword). Chetak saved Rana's life and was a lion in the battle and is a household name in India, and not just because of the Bajaj Scooter named after it.

We started for Udaipur, at our own casual pace today, after being rejuvenated by the beauty of Aravali mountains.Mountains, even in the arid land of Rajasthan, retain their charm and beauty and have similar effect on the Traveler.
'One has to stop comparing them to Himalayas though' I told Sachin.The ride was very pleasant, green fields basking in the sun, farmers tilling their fields with bullocks, village girls going to school, women carrying water pots in head for cooking and drinking. The sun was rising and so was the heat of the day, but we were in anticipation of the beautiful lakes of Udaipur.

We reached Udaipur, 80kms away, around noon. We headed straight to Hotel Jaiwana Haveli, where I had stayed before and had made friends with the young owners-managers Yash and Harsh who were called 'Banna' (local for raja or chieftain). Our thundebird needed some servicing to thunder again. Harsh directed us to a good Royal Enfield mechanic, to whom he sent his own RE.

Harsh helped us with the itinerary - City Palace for the grandeur and richness in vulgar display, Vintage car showroom for for ticking off an item on list, Monsoon Palace for sunset and then back to Pichola and Hotel Ambrai for dinner.
I had been to Ambrai last time as well, with parents and did the unthinkable - offered my father some of the fine wine they had in half-jest, half-seriousness. Rest is unmentionable! My father hurled at me the choicest of abuses in all four languages he is fluent in - Oriya, Hindi, English and silence!!

Sachin was unstoppable at the Ambrai, clicking several hundreds of his thousands of photographs taken on this trip. The view was magnificent and lights of the palaces and hotels danced on the Lake Pichola in sheer playfulness and mischief. The dinner was royal and the wine was divine. This time I did not have my family around and had an uninitiated Sachin to taste the wine from Argentina - Malambo. We could not finish the wine and carried it along with us on the bike all the way to Jaipur.

We settled the bill after a discussion with the manager on Rajasthan's cruel tax system which made the wine more pricious! We returned to our Lal Ghat Guest House and I jumped into our bed, to get ready for the next day's long journey to Jaipur (for sure) or Delhi (I was not even thinking of this option). We planned to visit Chittaurgarh fort en route.

Jajabara Trips III (test of gumption and Fort-itude)

2011-11-29T18:53:00.001+05:30

I said it so easily in a moment of contemplation on the second day of our trip 'The first thing to do to enjoy the journey/ride is to take your eyes off the milestone'. TBK (Sachin) heard it and nodded in agreement.

The statement was tested many times on this day, when we covered more than 500kms in one day, half of it on pathetic roads, hot sun, dust, semi-starvation, lack of route plan and destination. We started early alright, at 5.30 AM. Watched the sky change clour ever so slowly and come to its full glory with the sunrise. We were on reserve and had covered 90 kms without a gas station. We found one soon, where the young boy was amused to find Air Force people (blame my driving glasses! and Sachin's leg-guards!) tank-up and put Rs1000 worth of petrol in a bike. We continued to amuse villagers and stop over a small shops for tea and biscuits.
A wierd breakfast, cigarettes (for Sachin only) but fresh curd helped us to strech our legs and decide upon a route plan for Ranakpur Jain temples and Kumbhalgarh fort. The choice of 'and' is important as we thought them to be quite nearby. This 'and' would be revisited.
The roads were the worst we had faced till now, sun was at its most atrocious, dust - more than generous and shops for water and breaks few and far between. We were inrcepted frequently by cows, cattle, camels on our way. This was a slow day.

I was frequently looking at the milestones and wondering why the time taken to cover each successive kilometer is increasing. I was looking for more and more pleas to make a stop, tried out all yoga asanas for the back, used my iPod for sometime and even chanting. I was clearly struggling for more gumption. It did not help that Sachin was struggling in his own way, though he never admitted it.
Sachin, drove all the way, urging me on and telling me stories of his 800kms, 19 hr non-stop drives etc. etc.
'Its nothing man, I have done so many kms non-stop, non-stop!'
'Hmmm'
'You are giving up so early, what will happen to the rest of the trip'
'Hmmm'
'We won't stop now man, after an hour more, may be two'
'Hmmm...No No No, I am not you. This is my first bike trip. You got to consider that' I snapped. I had clearly lost it and was thinking of taking the train back from Udaipur if Sachin insisted on 12 hr rides on road.

But, Sachin was using his brakes, less and less at speed brakers, changing gears less frequently than required, getting more irritated at people while getting directions. He was unaware, but his gumption was tested as well. He did not allow me to drive as well, which would have helped the gumption levels of both.
I was tired of being the pillion!

We reached Ranakpur well past noon. We had not had lunch, and made this frustating discovery that Kumbhalgarh was 60kms away on hilly pathways!
As I said, I had lost it. I got into an argument with the female guard at the Ranakpur temple.
This temple had 1444 pillars and no two were similar. There was more to it as well. The quality of carvings and attention to details was superb. It encited admiration and disbelief. The works were on white stone marbles. No part of the temple was deprived of beauty of carvings and detailed stone work. We came out happier and fuilfilled.
The next 60 kms would have been the proverbial straw that broke the back of the camel, but for the evening and the calmness of the hills. Sachin wanted to experience the light and sound show at Kumbhalgarh, he drove fast, but that was not the only reason. A bit of race with two cars also helped to divert our attention from the cruel milestones.
We reached Kumbhalgarh on time for the show. The show helped us to catch a breath after almost 12 hrs of riding and my entire body echoed 'thank you' when I sat down for an hour. We headed out to find a hotel and Sachin cut a nice deal with one of the best hotels near the fort. We had dinner near fireplace and witnessed traditional dance and songs. The food was good, I called for the cook and thanked him. I chatted with the singers and got the story of Ramdev (not Baba Ramdev of pranayam and ramlila maidan fame!).

Sachin had a few drinks with Gujju men under the stars, I did Garba (danced) with their wives. It was unsually cold for Rajasthan and for what we went through the day. The mountains and cold wind had refilled our gumption levels. We were ready for sleep and the next day.

sunrise on way to Barmer

trucks n cattle n me posing (only)

ranakpur entrance

pillars and elephant inside temple

roof view

miniature carvings

light n sound show @ kumbhalgarh fort

fort outside

fire

singers @ hotel

dancing barefoot on broken glasses

girl dancing

me dancing

Jajabara Trips III (the golden city)

2011-11-26T23:28:00.001+05:30

Notes from a day at the Golden city

Jaisalmer - this city has been our hub for the last three days. We have travelled in and around this city, to different destinations, but the only place we knew about this city was the highway. Cities have their own private lives, rooms, stories, people, joys and sorrows, but you need to step off the highway and get into it, be in it, to know it. This was our day with Jaisalmer or the golden city.

Sonar Kila, or the golden fort dominates the landscape of this city and the golden yellow color is as ubiquitous as the sky. The yellow sandstone used for construction of fort, palace, havelis and even the roadside homes for the poor is the reason. The stone, the golden colour is the unifying factor.

Ben, TBK and I had a sumptuous and filling breakfast at ‘8 JULY’, where we found the ‘madam’ who runs the place to be quite a friendly, caring and warm person. Her smile and care took our eyes off the right hand column of the menu card and focus on the taste of the food and juices and our respective stories. Ben, was to head northwards from there to Bikaner and we were to head southwards to Udaipur. ‘This where as I go’ as Ben would put.

TBK helped Ben figure out his road plans and stop-overs in the state of Uttarakhand on his way to Nepal. The English say ‘Nepal’ in a way that sounds chic as compared to the ‘desi’ way we do!

The traveler knows that he will find a way. How? When? , are questions that do not deter his will or delay his start. His start is a call from within that has to be answered, that will not leave him, that will find cessation only when it is answered and he is on The Way. Help, comes: at the right time, from some infinite source of all good and beauty: he knows that. He is thankful for the help, but more responsible that he has to return to the infinite balance.

I was never good at goodbyes. Couple of hugs and ‘byes’ were exchanged and we had not said good bye! Ben was still there, a smile on all three faces, looks were exchanged. I started to have a conversation with the manager and discuss local politics to avoid the exact moment when we say good bye. Ben was still there, saying goodbyes to the managers of their restaurant.

‘Will see you at Delhi’ I said and looked the other way.

‘Sure!’ TBK and Ben echoed.

That helped.

TBK and I resumed our photography cum culture cum touristy cum explorer cum adventure cum fun trip in the city.

Shopping was added to the list. I was the first, but not the only culprit!

Wonderfully colorful kurtas, capris, trousers, skirts, hats, Rajasthani safas (to be worn as pagdis) were bought during the day. We had global cuisine on streets and continued our visit. Jaisalmer is a ‘phirangi phriendly’ city, as are Rishikesh, Dharamshala, Bundi, Benaras and many more in India. These cities have restaurants where you will be hard pressed to find Indian food and if you ask for some, the waiter will give you a look which would resemble his counterpart’s in Iceland, being asked for Sambar and Idli.

We visited some havelis of the rich Jain merchants who has contributed significantly for the construction of 80% of the forts 99 bastions. They also financed the beautifully sculpted Jain temples in Jaisalmer. The architecture of the temples stole my heart. I belong to Orissa where temple architechture is taken to levels which is paralleld only by devotion withing those temples. Even I, was mightily impressed.

'The havelis could give the palace a run for its money' TBK said.
'Well, this is where the money came from' I laughed as I said.

One of the unplanned 'Things to do' was to tie a Rajasthani safa or pagdi. A 9 meter starteched cloth is given a shape of a beautiful turban. I did not do bad for my first attempt in guidance of a teacher-cum-seller. We then got to know, how the style of tying the safa could tell which community you belong to.

We headed back to our hotel for a brief pause called ‘taking a shower’ and then to explore the rest of the city. ‘Taking a shower’ in the midst of a road trip and especially if the trip is in the middle of the sand, sweat, dust and heat of the ‘desert city’ or ‘gateway to Thar’ can have an effect like a pause in eternity, a moment that you would want to remain.

We rode on our bike for our the rest of the day. We also witnessed wind-cutting, fast-tracked (at 70kmph!), innovative advertising – bikers chasing bikers for desert safaris, tent stays and other attractions of the desert. These young ‘agents’ would chase you down, if you are on a bike or car to and from Jaisalmer and speed up to you and urge you to stop. If you do not, they had you out ‘visiting cards’ and shout ‘50%-60%-70% discounts’ ‘only for you’ etc.

The Bada Bag Chhatris was our afternoon destination and yet another Sunset for TBK to capture.
(Watch video)

We spent the evening watching earthen lamps floating on the Jaisamand Lake and a puppet show, though the highlight was the young singer who stole my heart with his smiles and singing, both of which he enjoyed.

Add caption

The dinner was equally royal and accidental. We dined at the palace where the current prince lived and part of the Maharani Palace was made into a hotel. I could only get to bed after the sumptuous ‘thali’ and soothing and cool desert wind. TBK had his fair lady to charm!

Jajabara Trips III (a moonrise and a moment of pause)

2011-11-22T14:34:00.001+05:30

We met Ben again. He recovered faster from the Crash than his bike. A Royal Enfield Classic 500. We checked in into the same hotel as Ben at Jaisalmer with one more killing fort of Sonar Killa. The yellow sandstone dominates the landscape of this part of Rajasthan and gives the fort, the havelis and the houses their golden hue without any colour.

We were keen to recover from out disappointment by making a trip to Khuri village, which promised to, and as we would find out turned to be a real Rajasthani village. I pillioned on Ben on our ride to Khuri village. There were many windmills on the way, and before we realised Don Quixote took over and we charged towards one. We had a short conversation below the huge windmill. I was looking at it from the scientific and economic perspective, Ben's was literary.

We met Vikram Singh and his friends who took us across the sand dunes on three majestic camels to their village, which looked like an oasis of level land of greenery, animals and life in the middle of infinite desert of Thar. A short stay there for tea and we headed out for sunset, which again eluded a disappointed TBK.

TBK and Ben were busy with their beer, the village lads with camel talk but I walked a few paces and saw one of the most beautiful moonrises ever. The clouds parted ever so slowly, but it was as if moon was just over my head and I could see everything on moon. It was so clear and lovely. The clouds parted further to reveal a solitary star. There was sand all around us, all draped in ivory white of the moonlight and there was silence and calmness. The wind was just perfect and sky, mysterious but friendly.

I have had such moments were I really felt that time has stopped and the breath that I take in could take infinite time to get in. My heartbeat, breathing and body become absolutely calm and I feel content and happy. This was certainly one such moment, I felt thankful, for this life, for parents, for friends, for opportunity to make such travel and have such experiences.

'This is magical'. It was Ben. 'This is why I travel, this is why I come to India'
'This moment is worth anything and everything of this trip' I seconded.
'I could go back to England tomorrow, I could end this life' 'This is a moment that will flash before your eyes when you die' Ben was getting warmer.
He hugged me and we both hugged TBK and thanked him for this detour which was more THE TOUR now.
Ben writes about this moment in his blog Moment . This was moment where he found his true calling and his life changed. He wished the same for me as did I.
We headed back to the village for a wonderful Rajasthani dinner at the village in moonlight and then rode back to our hotel in Jaisalmer. Ben and TBK went up to have a smoke and I retired to bed. We all felt that we left some part of our selves in that moment and that moment will stay with us forever. Truly, time seems conquered in such moments.

food at Khuri village - Neem ki Dhani

the moment

moon and the three

ben and I with the villagers

Camel Ride and races - I was on Tiger - Tiger won!

Jajabara Trips III (Of lust, pride and lost villages)

2011-11-21T23:51:00.001+05:30

We started late, around 8.30 AM from the SAM sand dunes. A ride on Royal Enfield was the best tip for our host Dilavar Khan, a teenager who confessed that this was not his real name but something he had to attract tourists!
I had to persuade, coax and cajole TBK to drop the plan to ride to Tanod - pakistan border. That was some 100 kms away and all it promised was a barbed wire and temple of Tanod Mata. We rode back to Jaisalmer but TBK's sight was set on making some detour before we reach Jaisalmer. As it would turn out we would make two.

Kuldhara is a deserted village, 25 kms away from Jaisalmer. It is not haunted, as I earlier thought, but deserted. We were greeted by a mysterious elder man at the gate and there was no one yet inside. It added to the mystery, that we rode thorough the deserted lanes of what would have been a huge village once all by ourselves. It was spooky and silent. Bricks and wood were all that were left of this large human habitation of 206 villages. What was the reason? What could have happened?

A couple of cars joined us and thankfully a guide who told us the story and not for the last time in the day of LUST, PRIDE and DESERTED VILLAGES.

A military commander enchanted by the beauty of a village damsel, asked her hand in marriage. Normally, this should not have been a problem, Senapatis (commanders) were held in high regard and enjoyed king's favour. But, the commander was Bhatti (a caste) and the girl belonged to Paliwal Brahmins who inhabited the villages. The commander true to his style, fixed a date and hour for the marriage and asked the villagers to be ready to welcome him and his procession.
But, all of the 206 villages deserted their in the dark of night and went some where else, rather than hurt their pride by marrying off their girl outside their caste. Intriguing tale.

I started to wonder, where could have so many people gone in one night ! Do the generations of those families remember this tale. If yes, then how? What do they think of the girl, do they sing songs of her beauty? How can a village in the middle of desert land be 'desert'ed? Why did nomads not come here and settle down in the well-lived village? Did the commander chase/search for the girl and her family? Dis he destroy the villages in frustration and anger?
Such is the stuff of folklore.

(Watch video below to hear the story from the guide)

We came back to the entrance and had a chat with the elder and rode ahead to Khaba fort. This is one of the smallest forts we had seen and 'fossillii' (fossil) as pronounced by the elder were our main attraction to go for another detour to Khaba. There were many wood fossils and stones which were as old as the earth maybe. But atop the fort we saw remains of many more deserted villages. The story narrated by a French speaking guide was very similar.

This time the dividing factor was religion. Hindu brahmin girl -Muslim military commander.

The tales made me think the kind of people who deserted entire villages and left for unknown deserts just to protect their pride. The pride of a woman. A true test of a society is the way it treats its women, specifically, the pride of a woman!

with the mysterious elder at Kuldhara deserted village

view of some more deserted villages from Khaba fort

with the young in-charge of khaba fort

Jajabara Trips III (the pillion rider and the art of meditation)

2011-11-19T23:10:00.001+05:30

Notes from Day 2 at Jaisalmer and SAM Sand Dunes

We wanted to start early, but one of the best sunrises that Sachin (aka TBK) would click on this trip, delayed the start. The silhouette of Umaid Bhawan of Jodhpur captured my attention as I climbed up to the roof of our heritage hotel, Juna Mehal. The changing colours on the horizon told me that the sunrise was going to be special. I rushed down to wake up Sachin and used the only medicine that could get him up in one call – photography!

Ben was surprised to see us start at the same time as his. We all started at the same time.

Remember I had no helmet, so I took some time to figure out the best gear for my head, face and throat. I would keep on the experimentation for the rest of the trip. Once we were set on the highway and we ‘tanked up’, there was a silence and we kept on riding without talk for fifteen minutes first and then thirty. TBK would occasionally pass a remark and I would nod. Later, he would remark that he tried to have a few conversations but I simply did not respond.

‘Were you doing meditation?’ he asked.

‘Yes!’ I replied with a grin.

He had a look of disbelief on his face. Then, he walked over to me and saw me make the first entry in my diary ‘Biking and Meditation’.

Riding on a bike, especially as a pillion rider is like meditation, and if you do it consciously: you could really meditate.

To start with, you have the right posture or what the scriptures call ‘Asana’. ‘Asana’ is a posture where one can sit comfortably, with one’s back (spine), neck and head straight for more than an hour or two without physical restlessness and disturbance. That is easily achieved on a bike as a pillion rider. You don’t even have to shift gears, accelerate, take turns or maneuver the road.

Next comes calming or subjugation of the senses. Riding at a good speed on a Royal Enfield (popular in India as Bullet) there is very little chance of you hearing anything other than the uniform sound of the Royal Enfield’s revolutionary Unit Construction Engine. Also, though you tend to see many things as you fly past them on a bike, you just register them and simply acknowledge their presence. There is no fierce reaction, attraction, repulsion or excitement that would make the heart restless. Other senses are not in any significant threat on a bike ride and nor do they stray often.

The important one is mind. To put it simply, if you know that there is not much to engage your mind and you do not take assistance of memory of past or fancies of possibility, you would rather engage it in something which is vaguely called meditation. Most seers say that you cannot ‘do’ meditation, it happens to you. It is not a verb, rather it is a state.

I had in the past used this kind of an analogy for one of the trickiest, most mis-understood word of our times – LOVE. ‘You cannot love somebody; you are in love.’ I had written.

In either of the cases, you are driven to state of meditation, so why not do it of your own volition! The other important aspect of meditation, or any act of concentration, is breath. The slowing down of breath, and the rhythmic flow therein, is something one becomes more aware on a bike ride, and even that is a form of mediation.

We reached Jaisalmer and paused briefly to head to SAM sand dunes. I ran out of gumption at Jaisalmer and wanted to have food first or freshen up before moving, TBK insisted otherwise. SAM was a rather disappointing pit stop for us. The camel ride was short; the sunset interrupted by clouds; the food bad and oily (so much so that I wondered if they get that free); and performers of the folk dance and music disinterested. The only thing I picked up was a local song ‘Jhini re Jhini, Bhabhoot me Jhini’, which evoked instant smiles wherever I hummed it again.

Ben, meanwhile had met with an accident, just when he thought he had achieved his goals in life. (Read blog)

I was reminded of Richard Bach ‘There is a test to find out if your mission on earth is fulfilled. If you are alive, it isn’t.’

sunrise - umaid bhawan, jodhpur

TBK and Ben

Royal Enfield getting out of Juna Mehal

50 odd people surrounded us wherever we went

Jaisalmer

Saffron Knight - front - One of the headgears

Saffron Knight and Ben

TBK and Thunderbird

Jajabara in the Town (of gumption and restlessness)

2011-11-17T12:23:00.001+05:30

- Notes on fist day in the city after a travel of ten days

I was back in the city after ten days of travel, seven of them on a bike across the sands and colour of Rajasthan. I stepped out to meet a friend, not very far off from my place. The interaction with the city starts with small things - the pace of people on the road, the manner and tone of people, the traffic congestion, the patience level of people and the ease of getting affordable public transport.
The city in question is New Delhi and I do this routine very often. The city and I whizz past each other many times during the day, the city leaving more impressions on me than I on it. This is how I believe, people belong to a place – by daily interactions, by watching, by talking, by listening, by reacting, by meeting people and by dipping in the dyes of the cities’ colour.

That is why, when asked this usual question, ‘where are you from?’, I am tempted to quote (Paulo Coelho I think) ‘I am from many places’ as reply. I have lived and more importantly belonged to many cities. The language I speak, the food I like, the clothes that I wear, the pace with which I move, the way I deal with people is not a product of one city or ‘culture’, rather it is a mixture of many. Of course, the recency and primacy (maximum time spent) effect are always there, not to mention the effect called 'parents'.

I do not get into this long line of thought for answer, often I respond, ‘I am from Delhi’. I do reflect some hues of the city now – aggression in manner and talk, creating and grabbing an opportunity where there was none, hubris, loudness in tone, decreasing civic sense, dwindling concern for others and restlessness.

Restlessness has not been entirely a product of Delhi, and has been with me since I was a child, but it found its fullest expression in this city. Delhi is not only the political capital of India but also a huge melting pot of different cultures and events of the country and the world. There are many things to see, so many things to do, hundreds to meet and million things to learn. This is unlike Bombay, where you see people but do not observe them, where you talk to people occasionally but do not know anything about them, where there are many meetings but no interactions, where everyone is trying to save that one-hundredth of a second and either rushing to or from home to make money. Money is the life-line or blood of Bombay, but Delhi itself is Delhi’s lifeline.

Restlessness is like fire, the more oil you put into it, the more it spreads. I have realized it that the more things you do, the more things you see and the more people you meet to get rid of restlessness, the more it grips you. Its like a habit, the more struggle, the deeper you get into the quicksand. Repetition only makes the bondage more certain. Fire can not be put out by more fire or by a different kind of a fire. What is commonly understood as patience, and what Robert M. Pirsig calls ‘gumption’ in ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’, is probably the antidote of restlessness.

After travelling for six-seven hours a day, on the average for six days, at an average speed of 60-70 kmph, one’s gumption improves, more so if you are not driving. I will talk about that last part – ‘the gumption of the pillion rider’ in a later post. But for now, a distinction has to be made between the inner and outer pace. There is an effect no doubt, on the body and mind, after a long journey, which results in urges to continue the motion, but one gains an inner patience. If you are riding for six-seven hours out of your own will, without doing what most people would do in a situation like that, such as listen to music, talk over phone, read a book, chat with people around, look at different people/things etc, you got to have something within you, to keep you sane. That ‘something’ is gumption or patience.

So, it would be fair to say that I had a shot of that gumption or patience which I do not know will last for how long. The effects were obvious in the interactions that followed with the city. Four auto-wallahs refused to take me and after a walk of half a mile, the fifth one wanted a higher price, but I waited till the sixth agreed. I could not notice anything till now, then, the auto-driver took a longer route with more expected traffic than the one I usually take. But, I was silent and not worried. Words refused to come out of my mouth and my heart was not restless. Out of the auto, I took the sub-way which I usually do not, considering that a waste of few seconds, I risk my life and sanity by crossing one of the busiest roads in front of AIIMS. Inside the sub-way, people were there usual hustly-bustly selves, brushing past you to get somewhere, but I did not seem to mind. Inside the hospital, I saw people waiting outside the elevator and took the stairs, one step at a time. I usually find that pace boring, so I either run or take two at a time. I could sense that shot of gumption at work then.

That gumption was again evident while chatting with my friend Sakina as well, who was there for operation of her child. She also lost her elder brother that morning. I was calm, my reactions muted but not without empathy. I had no long speech or ejaculations to give but a simple tightening of lips and nod to convey my feelings.

On my way back, this gumption helped me to absorb all the information without much disturbance. At the metro, I was not in my usual rush to get into the first metro I see enter the station. I chose to walk the distance from metro station to my home, taking a longer but more silent route. The walk was very relaxing, one step at a time. I was conscious of all my breaths and steps and their rhythm.

I was in no hurry to get back home.

Note: This is not the last post of Jajabara Trip III; this is about the last day. More posts on Jajabara Trip III - Royal Rajasthan on Royal Enfield would follow soon.

Jajabara Trips - III (Royal Rajasthan on Royal Enfield)

2011-11-15T15:58:00.001+05:30

1900 kms | 18 cities/towns/villages | 9 forts | 3 temples - 1 dargarh | 6 n half sunsets | 5 n a quarter sunrises | 1 moon rise | 2 camel rides | 1 bike | 2 travelers

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Yahi to Hum Karne Aye Hain
(this is what we have come to do)

Going on a bike trip for several days, exploring the roads, cities, towns and people was one very special dream of my college days, one which you choose to ignore and forget as do not see the possibility of it happening. This was such a dream which I now categorized in the ‘too childish for my kind of kick’ and ‘not necessary’ category at this stage of my life. I was wrong on both accounts.

I was always fascinated by the concept of biking along long, black and beautiful roads of India witnessing even more beautiful scenic beauty around the roads. I remember standing in the front of the old Bajaj Super scooter of my father and looking eagerly at the landscape and feel the wind whizz past my hair. In my graduation days I used to head out on short trips around Bhubaneswar on a bike, but they were day trips. The way you explore the landscape of a place on a bike is unmatched. In a car, bus or train you just see and observe things. On a bike, you see, observe, feel and breathe the landscape with your proverbial body, mind and soul.

The road running at the speed of your bike beneath your feet, the wind so noisy that it drowns everything, the sky changing colours ever so slowly for you to observe, the curious look on faces of people, the smiles exchanged, the hands waved, the potholes and humps killing your back, the smell of burnt petrol and the taste of dust on your tongue.

For me travel, more so on a bike with no specific plan or route or purpose was an idea of freedom. There lay the biggest appeal of that idea, freedom and at the risk of sounding too patriotic, independence ! Iconic brands such as Harley Davidson, Royal Enfield, the stories read on internet, Books such as ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’, above all the movie ‘The Motorcycle Diaries’ were all seductions that were not tamed but subsided due to lack of opportunity (we all say that, but is the biggest lie!!), lack of a bike and so called rationality and reason.
Che was always an icon for a communist-at-heart like me, but 'The Motorcycle Diaries' added an altogether different dimension to the reverence. Che went for his famous bike trip around his continent of rich history but then troubled present as a bright youth, a student of medicine and came out as the Che Guevara and change the history of many countries including his own. The movie caption says it well 'Before he changed the world the world changed him'. I said it to someone 'never under estimate the power of travel'. Link on IMDB. Che earned my respect for letting the world that he saw on the bike trip, affect him, shake him to the core, change him and make him.

I called up TBK ( The Black Knight, name given by Ben see blog ), Sachin on Friday evening 5.30 pm on my way back home to meet for a coffee, as I had got free early. I was heading out over the weekend to attend a wedding and was exited about the thought of revisiting Lucknow. Visiting a city for the first time has its own charms, of the exploratory type, but revisiting one is more romantic, poignant and warm.
You tend to feel familiar, a kind of ‘feel at home’ at the sight of roads, turns, shopkeeper, restaurants and places you have been before. You love the things that are still the same, and you love the changes as well. TBK informed that he was on a solo bike trip across Rajasthan.

‘when are you leaving?’ I asked the customary question.

‘tomorrow morning to pushkar’ he replied.

‘where would you be on Monday?’ I checked

‘Jodhpur may be. Yeah, Jodhpur’

‘I will call you in a bit’ I hung up

I called him back after an hour and half after reaching home.

‘I would join you at Jodhpur on Monday. Will fly down from Delhi and reach around 1.30PM.’ I was still tentative and unsure though I had already booked my flight tickets and was packing up for the trip.

‘Okay. I would fix the carrier on the bike for our stuff. Pack light.’ TBK said as though he was expecting this or this is kind of normal for him.

I switched on my phone after getting out of the aircraft at Jodhpur. It rang, it was TBK.

‘I am standing outside the airport, to the right as you step out of the airport’ he instructed.

‘okay, cool, give me ten minutes’

I was sleepless for two nights and had a run and four hour dance sessions to strain my back and stamina. I had a message at the airport which helped to some extent but I was still walking with a hand on my crooked back. But, the moment we packed up our stuff and sped past the airport on TBK’s Royal Enfield Thunderbird, something took over me. I felt no pain, no strain on my back and was raring to go.

We found a hotel and met an Englishman, Ben, who followed TBK from Pushkar. This is where we would get our names. I was christened The Saffron Knight for my ‘sunflower coloured shirt’. Later, at the Mehrangarh fort, Ben remarked.

‘You don’t look like you haven’t slept for two nights and are tired’

‘I know. I am very happy that I could make to this trip. I am looking forward to it.’

‘Where are you guys headed from here?’ Ben asked.

‘I don’t know exactly. Do we have a plan TBK?’ I checked.

‘Not really. Maybe Jaisalmer’

‘No problem. We will figure out something tonight’ I said.

‘Mind if I tag along?’ Ben was almost apologetic.

‘Sure’ I said. Sachin was busy clicking one of his 7 and half sunsets that he would shoot on this trip. We all walked down the fort, Ben and me chatting, and Sachin clicking.

We had some street food and some unusual combinations. Some of them worked well (peanut and jaggery) and some did not (salt on sugarcane!!). Ben walked back to hotel while we headed out to get two essential requirements for a bike trip for two – a helmet for the pillion and sunglasses for the rider. After, enquiries to different shopkeepers, going to couple of recommended markets on extra-narrow auto-rickshaws and walking several miles up and down on busy markets we ended up buying two cricket hats and one bandana. It turned out that Sachin would not have sunglasses for the rest of the trip and I would not have a helmet till the very last day when an unsuspecting policeman forced us to buy one in Jaipur.

Sachin and I had a conversation regarding gumption during those hitherto futile walks, though the word was not mentioned.

‘Its important not to get irritated during such travels. Not to worry, if your plans do not work out quite the way you thought or a surprise comes up your way and changes your schedule’ I started the talk indirectly referring to the never ending walks and arguments with shopkeepers and rickshawallahs.

‘yeah. Its okay to take a wrong turn, miss a road, go ahead several kilometers only to realize one has reached a cul-de-sac and return from there.’ TBK was warming up as well.

‘yeah, this all a part of the journey. Its important not to feel irritated or frustrated and keep up your enthusiasm levels. Everything is okay’

‘yeah. This is what we have come to do’ actually he said it in Hindi [yahi to hum karne aye hain!]

‘yeah!’ I was grinning.

That line hit a chord and we would use that line umpteen number of times during the trip when things did not quite go the way we thought or our patience levels were depleted. We had our dinner at a rooftop restaurant which took us an hour and few hundred yards to find, after reaching almost 50 meters of the restaurant. The stars were out and the blue city was looking almost purple. The fort was in full view, rather ‘killer view’ as the restaurant ‘Cozy’ claimed. Sachin was out with his camera to shoot pictures with long exposures and I was wondering what to eat. I ordered and sat looking at the sky.

Dinner was hot and tasty; Sachin was generous with the tip (more than half a bottle of beer) and the owner was generous with a sweet dish. We were staying at his heritage hotel ‘Juna Mehal’ which was 300 years old.

Our trip was on.

Juna Mehal

the blue city - jodhpur

sunset atop Mehrangarh Fort

One of the sunsets

Pictures Parthajeet Das (c) 2011

ek aur trasadi - II

2011-11-14T23:23:00.001+05:30

Why should one pay with one’s life for greed of others?

The title sums up all that is going to be written below. There is a provocation to get emotional while you write about someone dear to you, more so if that person has suffered a lot and not for any fault of her/his own.

Sana, is a eleven year old girl from Nawab Colony, old Bhopal. This is a part of Bhopal which the students of the top colleges in the city are unaware of, or at the most, went for some project work for a day or two. This is a part of Bhopal that the CCDs, the multiplexes, the brand stores, malls and restaurants do not acknowledge to belong to the same city. j

She dresses up as a boy almost all the time, has short hair like boys, smiles to a boyish chuckle but does not speak like a boy. In fact, a few months back she could not speak at all. Her voice moved from being like a five year old girl’s to a hoarse whisper and to complete silence five years back. After an operation and continuous treatment at AIIMS, New Delhi for a year, the process has been reversed. It is a delight, unfathomable and hard to contain, to hear her call out one’s name or add a comment or two to her mother Sakina’s chatter. Her smile is infectious and bright as a day.

When I met her a year back, her operation was due in a fortnight. She was terrified, sad and worst - silent. She had a steel pipe thrust into her throat to help her breathe. This steel pipe protruded out and was bandaged. She also had a problem which is usually not obvious to a visitor - breathing problem. Her eyes were pale, lips silent, touch tentative and her mother Sakina was no better. Sakina carried Sana all the way to Delhi from Bhopal in one of the many ‘rallies’ for justice organized by one of the many NGOs working for this cause. She is increasing being cynical of the rallies as are many more people of the town. There is a sense of triviality and hopelessness. Sakina is 25 years old and has two more children. The youngest, Aris, is a fearsome gangster at the age of two! Sakina is intelligent and independent, not the best of assets if you are a muslim woman living in a small city such as Bhopal. Her untiring trips to Delhi for Sana’s treatment which starts with struggle for a seat in general compartment in Bhopal Express, to finding the right mode of transport at right price to AIIMS from Nizamuddin, to going to the right department and right doctor in the hospital, to getting an appointment, to getting food and accommodation, invite criticism and mockery! This all she does without the support of her husband who is either indifferent or away from home driving a truck while Sakina does all this alone with help of few friends and volunteers (long live the spirit of volunteering and friendship!).

Today, when I met her for Sana’s final operation at AIIMS, Sakina was unusually down. I was pretty pensive as well, thinking about Sana’s condition, the Bhopal gas tragedy, the erstwhile Union Carbide (now a part of Dow Chemicals), the 26 year old one-sided struggle for justice (or rather travesty of it), the NGOs, the governments promises of restoring justice and compensation to the victims, numerous farcical memorial hospitals in Bhopal and the continuing pollution of soil and water in Bhopal even today of which Sana is a rather recent but not the last victim. There was anger but a deep sadness close to helplessness which I felt while walking from the metro station to the ward in the cool winter evening. After a while Sakina told me that her elder brother passed away today. He was 35, the only bread earning member of the family of three children and a wife. The reason – unknown infection in the ear and throat.

‘How long did he have this problem?’ I asked rather calmly. I was not terribly surprised. I had read, heard many such incidents and met many of the victims of the continuing pollution due to the untreated hazardous chemicals dumped by Union Carbide. One of them is another little girl who would remain little as her height has not increased after her seventh chronological year. She is the grand-daughter of Tulsabai, whom I met at one of the rallies in Delhi and promised to visit her home in Bhopal.

‘Fifteen days back. There were no symptoms or illness before. Everyone thought it is paralysis, but I knew it is what it was. I had seen many such people on my innumerable trips to ENT departments of many many hospitals. But no one listen to me as I am the youngest’ Sakina replied. ‘Even doctors could not diagnose is properly’ she added.

She did not cry, did not complaint against the UC, Dow, doctors, government, NGOs or her fate. There was no anger or restlessness in her voice, just plain acceptance of the way things are.

‘They informed me in the morning. I wanted to go back immediately. But, they all said, ‘what has to happen, has happened, you take care of the girl’. Sakina said it as matter-of-factly as she did everything else.

As I was walking back, I was feeling less anger and more helplessness. The question in the title started to fade away and another one was taking shape. I was thinking about my role in all this and the usual ‘what can I do’ question popped up. This question has been very heavy for me on many occasions, wore me down and crumpled me as well. I did not want to get into that now.

I reminded myself of the story of the squirrel who wanted to do his bit in the great construction of the bridge by Lord Ram and his army of monkeys over the ocean from India to Sri Lanka. While the powerful monkeys and bears carried heavy boulders and rocks and placed them one after the other after writing Lord Ram’s name on it, this little animal rolled over and over in sand and then went up to the bridge and shook off all the sand to contribute to the building of the bridge. The benevolent and thankful Lord was moved by this gesture and caressed the animal’s back many times. This is how squirrel got white stripes on its back.

Such, acts of escape by using ones power of imagination or memory is the way we avoid the voices of our conscience and continue to live as usual.

Notes from Jajabara Trips I

2011-11-04T15:02:00.000+05:30

We travel for the sake of travel ! - Earnesto Che Guevara in Motorcycle Diaries

Man - is someone else. Could be anyone really.
Traveler 1, 2, 3 are fellow travelers.

Man: Where are you?

Traveler 1: Mmm…actually I don’t know. I can’t explain but, it is not very far off. Two other travelers are with me. We have been here for two hours now.

(…It is always somewhere off that road we all know and follow. We took a detour and followed one of the many roads we liked. None of us knew where we are headed, no one bothered to ask the other, there was no worry of being lost or being late, no irritation not knowing where we are headed or missing on something, no plans were made, so none could be changed.

We reached a small pond at the end of a village, where are dimly lit temple, half-crescent of moon, and millions of lamps called stars waited for us. One look at each other and the decision was made. We slowly let go of the gas and shifted gears to maneuver the sand and stopped at the edge of the pond near a peepal tree. We knew that our evening belonged to this place.

We waited on our bikes for half an hour, for the last of the surprised villagers to finish their evening bath and return. The evening lamps of the temple were further dimmed after the sound of the conch shells and cymbals died down after the presiding deity village was put to rest.

The beauty of the evening was now in full bloom.

The stars smiled at each other and exchanged a few glances

“who are these men?” chuckled one as it asked this question

“shhh…they are looking at us” said the other.

“they could even be listening to us!”

“one of them is looking at the pond, searching for something”

“no…he is also looking at us! He understands that the reflection in the pond and us are the same. There is no difference, the image and the object are the same. He can appreciate our beauty even by looking at the reflection in the pond.”

“that can’t be true! The image in the pond is not steady. It shifts and moves with the waves. The image needs the object, but the object doesn’t need the image. Are you out of your mind?”

“ What is absolutely steady in this universe? Are not all things in this universe moving – all our sister stars of milky way, our enemy the SUN, the small planets, the smaller bodies and even the men and the other living things. Someone called Hiesenberg on this planet earth called this the uncertainity principle – position can not be determined without changing it. I don’t think this is how he stated it, but this is what he meant.

“Is there anything such as ABSOLUTE?”

“even I don’t know, no other star knows, we with millions of years of age, we who have seen many many ages and many many things being created and destroyed, do not know if there is something such as THE ABSOLUTE.”

“ why?”

“because we are NOT ABSOLUTE and only the absolute CAN know THE ABSOLUTE!”

Traveler 2: I see something moving. It’s moving at quite some speed. It is not a jet, not a shooting star either. It is still moving.

Traveler 3: Must be a jet.
Traveler 2: No, it has to be a star.
Traveller 3: Not possible, stars don’t move.
Traveller 2: What!
Traveller 3: They do. But, not at this speed…I mean, not this fast.
Traveller 1: I see it too.
Traveller 3: What! No!
Traveller 2&1: Yes.
Traveller 3: Where?
Traveller 2&1: We can’t show now, you will have to wait for your turn.

“I think, they saw us”

“Yes. You should not have made a dash towards me like that. You know, some things are not to be revealed to all men.”

“I became conscious, shy. Sorry!”

“Its okay. They are no ordinary men either. They are travelers - students of nature. Sooner or later they would have known that things have no fixed speed or movement. It all depends on what and how that wants to move. It is the will that matters. They know it in fact. Haven’t they progressed from walking on four feet to these ugly, noisy and mannerless Jets which are sometimes mistaken for us stars”

“Yeah. They should know, of all things and creatures that we have seen till now. I think they are the best”

“ They can be the best. I will tell you something I have suspect”

“what?”

“I think these men know what is the ABSOLUTE. I mean some of them do.”

“really? Why did you think so? Most of them just claim that they know some higher being, some supernatural power, some GOD. But, we all know most of them lie.”

“No. There have been men, salts of this earth, who have in their lifetimes experienced and realized what they can not explain through a thousand words or portray in a thousand pixels. They can not explain what they felt during those moments – not to eager ears of other men, blank pages or nature or us.”

“That explains few of things, that even we do not understand.”

“That is why I suspect that during those moments, Man realises the ABSOLUTE.”

“But, did you not just say that only the absolute can know the ABSOLUTE”

“yes, and that is my greatest apprehension and anxiety.”

T 3: You know my parents have done the Kailash mansarovar yatra thrice.
T 2: I know.
T1: Reallly?
T 3: And why I told you this now if that my mother and now even my father have seen a steady beam of light come down from Kailash mountain, decend over the Mansarovar lake and then go up again.
T 2: Seen?
T 1 (imitating T3): “Not possible, stars don’t move”
T 3: Guys! I would be the last man. But, I have seen the photo taken by one of tourists who accompanied my parents in one of the trips during Kailash Mansarovar yatra.
T 2 : Seen?
T 1(imitating T3): “Not possible, stars don’t move”
T 3: You guys can come home and see that picture. It actually looks like a human fugure with six hands and six heads.
T 2: Looks like?
T1 :Errr…Shouldn’t there be 12 hands?
T 2: Have you heard of term called ‘morphing’ and a product called Adobe Photoshop?
T 3 (resigned look on his face): Not once, or twice. Parents have SEEN it thrice. You need to get out of your base camp at 2am in the night and be on your guard till 3 am. It is vey cold out there and most people are exhausted by the height and climb at 13,000 ft. So, most of them miss it. They sleep. My parents and a few others who don’t have seen it for consecutive days on all three trips.
T 1: How old are your parents again?
T 3: Bou (mother) is 60 and Baba (father) is 70.
T 1: Kailash Mansarovar Yatra – thrice!

They all looked at different directions after that. T3 was thinking about the myth of the light and what lens and camera to use to capture the same, T 2 was trying to figure out something on his smartphone, T1 was thinking of the amazing trek at 13,000 ft and the amazing gifts of nature that would be on display at Kailash-Mansarovar.

No words were exchanged, no schedules were checked. No plans would be made. Travellers know by now, that you don’t plan to travel. You travel.

T 2: Lets head back. It getting really dark, mosquitoes have had a good meal and frogs have had company for long. Man is waiting for us to pick him up at the bus-stop.

We all got on our bikes and some noises were heard before the sound of the 2 stroke engine of T3 took over.

T 1: why do they call is bus-stop? Why not bus-go? I mean some buses go from that place as well. Actually the same number of buses go as they come. Why use a negative term such as stop?

T3: Maybe because buses are on the GO everywhere but stops are where they stop!

T2: cut it off guys!

T1&3: Okay.

T1, T2 & T3 - in no particular order - parth, narsingh and jitu

Notes from Jajabara Trips - II

2011-11-02T15:11:00.002+05:30

jajabara: in odiya (or oriya if you please) loosely means a traveler...an extreme one...often used in slightly condescending/negative sense. he/she is not expected to have a particular plan or place in mind but in on the go pretty much all the time...this also could refer to a state of mind...

jajabara trips - II

T - could stand for Traveler

F - could stand for Friend

T (over phone) : Good morning!
F (still sleepy) : Good morning!
T: Get ready, I will pick you up at 5.45AM, same place.
F: Okay, but it’s cold out there. Can you come outside my gate?
T: Sure.
F: Mmmm…let it be. Make that ‘same place’
T: Fine. Do carry a jumper.

(....travel for most people needs to have a few basic things is place:

1. a point/place of starting,
2. a point/place of destination, and
3. a reason

Jajabaras usually DO NOT have them.

Why?
1. Can one really say when a particular journey started? One may have started from a particular place but, we are not talking about physical places here. The physical or the gross is just a manifestation of the thought. The actual travel takes place in mind, in the space of thoughts.

If a traveler on a particular journey, sitting in a valley, looking at the edge of the mountain range surrounding the valley, thinks of the green waves of the sea – how in a moment, the seemingly calm surface of the sea slowly gathers more water, rises as more and more water gets accumulated and then a thin ever-changing white line appears at the top of the small water mass which looks like a continuous mountain range and then breaks down as what we call a wave. How the sea wave and the mountain range are the same. We do not need geography and science to tell us that there was sea once where the Himalayas are and there are mountains in the chest of the sea and the why stalagmites resemble mountains. Some things are better understood in the realm of thought and poetry. Returning to the example; the starting point (in time) and place of the journey to the sea is the actually the moment when the traveler thought about the sea looking at the mountain range!

2. The second basic is easy to defy – destination. It has been said in different words by different people but simply put “the journey is more beautiful than the destination”. The traveler accepts no destination as the final stop.

“ these milestones and goals ever keep fooling us,

as soon as we reach one, another one is calling us” – from ‘Silent Horizons’ by the same author The traveler sees the destinations rather his/her life as mere points in a long unbroken continuum. Even death is not accepted as the end of the journey of life.

“ There was no such time when you were not there, or the kings and warriors were not there or I was not there Arjuna,, nor will there be ever such a time”

“Death is but a mere change of wardrobe”

Bhagvatgita Gita Chapter II

3. From ‘The Motorcycle Diaries-

Spanish Couple: Are you looking for a job?

Che : No, we are not.

Spanish Couple: No? And then why are you traveling?

Che : Just because

Spanish Couple: Bless you, blessed be your travels

I have taken this from a website that has the script but I am not sure if Che’s second reply was that. I remember “We travel to travel!”

That for me sums up the reason.

F: Where are we going?
T: Somewhere, I am not sure. Let’s see.
T : A true traveler never ask that.
F: I am learning.

(...is the place defined by the place itself or by our experience and memories? Is the strength of the mountain measured by the height of it or by the hand that helped you to climb up? Is the depth of the ocean measured only by the greatness/noise of the waves or the trust in the person lying down next to you for hours? Is the journey measured by the length of the road or by the number of conversations made?)

F: Have you come here before?
T: Yes.
T: Has it changed much?
T: Yes.

(..The road was familiar, but the horizon was punctuated by new constructions all around. This road used to give an impression of getting lost. There were no milestones, no sign boards, no markers and T could close his eyes for a minute (60 seconds!) and drive his motor cycle at 60kmph and not encounter a man or machine. There could be an occasional beast – wild dogs, jackle and elephants. There was markers and pointers now and this area was ‘developed’. T was looking for some place where he can feel lost! F was looking at T.

After a drive of one and half-hour T stepped off the gas near a very familiar bridge. Bridge would be an aberration as it was only a foot or two higher than the paddy fields over which it stood. T remembers he and his friends could count at least 6 shades of green of paddy fields from that bridge. He could count 3-4 now.

F did not look surprised, there was nothing in her eyes which suggested ‘why have we pulled over here?’ or ‘what are we going to do?’

T liked that. She was learning. She came out of the car and started to stretch. )

F : Look there!
T : What?
F : Isn’t that wonderful. That hut on the other side of the road.
T: Come.

They climbed up the small cardboard-n-bamboo hut very carefully and sat close to each other, hand in hand and legs hanging out. They sat for quite some time until the sun rays peeped through the cardboard rugs that made the roof of the hut. They were looking at opposite sides of the road but no one felt that one missed the view on the other side nor did anyone point out anything to the other.

F: Why did you make me cry last night?
T: Did you cry?
F: For almost an hour after you hung up.
T: I dozed off immediately.
F: You were very tied during the day. Walking and talking the whole day.
T: It seems I spoke much more than what I should have.
F: I don’t know, but I think I am turning more sensitive these days. It works both ways, isn’t it?
T: What?
F: Your capacity to feel and express emotions grows both ways. You can be happier than happy and sadder than sad. It sounds schoolgirlish..no?
T: Go on..
F: I mean you have to be ready for both sides. You can not have only the crests and not the troughs. If you are able to be happy for a thousand reasons in a thousand ways, the same will be true for sadness.
T: That sounds graduate-ish at least.
F: Haha.

T: Look at all the dew drops over the paddy plants. So many of them, and sparkling with the sun rays trying to touch them.
F: It’s as if the stars come down from the sky on to these plants because they are afraid of the sun coming out and chansing them in the blue courtyard of sky. School girlish again?
T: No, beautiful. Or it could be that they are all your tears shed last night.
F : They are so many of them and they look so pretty.
T: That’s why I made you cry last night.
F: Hmm...
T: I was sleepy and agitated by hunger and lack of sleep. I did not know that you will end up in tears after the call. I really didn’t.
F: There are some things even travelers don’t know!
T: Absolutely. The traveler acknowledges that and thanks every person, thing, experience which teaches him something about the journey of this and other lives. But, you have asked me not to thank you for anything.
F: Hmm…but today you can.
T: Thank you.

- Have written after a long time. Have written prose after really long time. I am aware that this post could be a case study of punctuation and grammatical errors but I could not resist sharing. Jajabara 1 will be posted soon. I mean soon.

Dill-Hi

2011-08-12T21:48:00.001+05:30

When you know you are a Delhi-ite:

When you see a Que n still shout over the top of your voice n reach the counter;
When you know that the girl knows that u r ogling @ her n don't deter;
When you ask for help as your birthright and never thank;
When you do not pick up calls and never do call back;
When you honk your third car's horn just to clear your throat;
And then you navigate it like a bike, whether on nh-8 or chandni chowk;
When you pay respect to mothers and sisters of others after every third word;
When all of east is chinki, south madrasi and rest an unknown world;
When summers mean AC and monsoons mean AC as well;
When exaggeration is routine and truth is a sad tale;
When breakfast means paranthes and Sundays mean India gate;
Then Delhi lives in you my friend and dil-hi tera fate!

Guys, I have just touched the tip of the proverbial iceberg, keep adding to the fun- come on there are many more stereotypes of saddi Delhi

To GUR-GAON

2011-08-01T20:47:00.002+05:30

Calling you a village would be an insult:
No! not to you, but to the villages
That boast of bountifuls of water, space, trees and air!
So, my dear city
Of dust, dungeons and the damned,
Of pervert opulence of matter
And deplorable deprivation of spirit;
Of smiling motors and frowning faces,
Who rides whom, you wonder in a traffic jam.

Of towering money factories of concrete and glass,
And of the roofs of blue, torn sheets
And floor of dust of those who make them.
Of people advising others in other shores
To make/save another billion,
But hagge to save the ten rupees off the rickshaw puller!

Of caffeine powered hyperactive nights,
And drowzy blues of morning;
Of planned accidents and unplanned meetings,
And of shuffling priorities and
Swinging opportunities;
Of crawling pace on roads
And racing aspirations on laptops and smartphones.

Of people trying to hide their emptiness
By wrapping themselves, in a mall
Filled objects they need not at all.
Of blurring lines of GO and STOP,
Of pouring spirits to dry throats
From a glass bit by bit,
Of vain attempts to fill an emptiness of spirit.

Subah ka gila

2011-07-27T09:19:00.001+05:30

Subah subah Ye suraj din se kya kehta hoga?

Aaj kya tohfa laye ho mere liye? Din ka jawab - main Khud jo hun tumhare liye,
par tum har sham ko mera saath kyun chhod dete ho?

Suraj kehta - main jo tumhara saath na chhodun,
To tum raat ka aanchal na odh sakogi aur na hi chand tumhari maang tika ban payega!!

Haar jeet

2011-07-22T15:28:00.001+05:30

Main tanhai ke saath apni ladai haar gaya, bilkul tanha jo tha; Aur dekha to wo bhi haari hui thi,naadan mere saath jo thi.

A little boy's first flight

2011-07-20T08:05:00.001+05:30

O invisible weaver, where are you?
I can see the bright blue roof of your hut,
One big red wheel in the east, Another small silver coloured in the west,
Both move round and round without stop.
Huge heaps of cotton - white and black and grey,
Why scattered all around your hut say?
Won't the birds sit on them and spoil them all?

So large is your house and you have no windows, no doors, weaver sir, won't the thieves steal all the cotton?

So much cotton and no workmen to help you lord? You must be working all night and all day.
Pray, whom for do you make clothes master, What do they pay ?

Are they good to you - your buyers? Are they kind or do they cheat? Master, I am a little boy and I know less,
But I will learn fast: keep me as your workman and bless !!

dark comfort

2011-06-25T12:27:00.004+05:30

I shrink into the warmth of darkness-
Tired, afraid, forlorn, disappointed.

This blanket, comforts me,
I can see no form, no objects.
Neither can anyone see me
Or my ugly attempts
At being beautiful.

This color renders an equality,
Forces a tyranny of uniformity,
Denounces the brilliant,
And absolves mediocrity.

Like an indulgent mother
Pats my head to sleep,
When the fire of light
Is dancing with mouth open mouth,
Like a dragon to swallow me and mine.
I peep briefly and then,
I shrink into the warmth of darkness-
Tired, afraid, forlorn, disappointed.

unwanted choice

2011-05-26T22:35:00.005+05:30

O Infinite Mercy!
Why should your grace
Wait for sincerity in my call?
Whether I want You
Or your gifts distracting,
Should you not come?

When You gave this to me -
Weak will and strong temptations,
Should there be any doubt on results
Of this futile one-sided tussles?

When you have cast me out,
Driven me away from Your home,
Why do you grin in mock
At vain wondering and restless search.

Did you also give me speech and words
And poetry and voice to see
My crooked attempts to
Please You through them?

All I ask, not sure of an answer;
"When separation from You
Was not my choice,
Why Union Is?"

Writing something after a long time. Again, poor with naming my poems. Hope the silent horizons will speak more often and speak well. Amen!

tough call

2010-12-13T20:20:00.002+05:30

Hate me when I say
'I can't go on anymore'.
Scorn me when I pity myself
And justify my failures.
Turn away in disgust
If you see me miserable
And snap at my hand
Out-stretched and begging for help.

In my eyes, if you ever see helplessness
Swear to me, that you will corner me further.
If you see something in me vulnerable,
Expose it to the naked daylight of the world.
If i am pleading, lying down on ground,
Trample me under your feet.
And along with that squeeze out
The last vestige of weakness.
As then, all that would remain
Would be strength, strength, strength.

orchha-2

2010-11-12T21:05:00.004+05:30

Jungle

The arrows of the world
Are scorching and merciless
As the sun of June and my fate.

Come, take shelter
in the fortress of love.
Love is all you need,
Do not worry about your desires,
They all will drop off from mind
At the touch of love.
Like a toy from child's hand
When it sees its mother.
How can after all, in a well
Filled with rain of monsoon
Can the frogs and fish be thirsty still?

Do not go out.
Do not yield to,
The temptation of the hunt,
To the lure of green jungle,
The sweetness of overflowing streams,
The scent of the wild lily,
The song of the nightingale.

Because, the jungle is not
As it seems now.
In the dusk
It changes colours.
And its true form is revealed
Only in the light of the dark night.

There is none but
Stark darkness to grope about.
There is no music but
The noise of crickets to scare.
No sleep will be kind to your eyes
Wary of wild animals of prey
Ready to pounce and feast.

No bed of grasses but ivy
To place to rest your head.
The roads will mislead you
And the walk tire your body.
The thorns will lacerate your feet,
The stream will be elusive
As will be the prized hunt.
And before you realise
The hunt would hunt you down,
Drag you by its jaws,
And throw your bones
To the bloody stream.

As usual - I am worse at titles than I am at the poems that follow!

orchha-1

2010-10-31T14:46:00.002+05:30

The hills and valleys I saw,
And the rivers and skies.
But what I did not see was
Your kind hand behind it all.

I read the scriptures, poems, hymns,
Verses and prayers in many languages.
Did not read my own self alas!
And neither did understand you my Lord!

Sat at the feet of men wise and learned,
Heard them explain your creation -
This world. Also Dos and Don'ts
None of which I followed.

They say this path is long and arduous
And to reach the end, prsevere I must.
My flesh and spirit both willing,
But for the wine of passions.
The intoxication of illusion is heavy,
The addiction to 'Self' fatal,
Which again and again
Makes me return to the dust.

Won't you let a drop
Fall on my thirsty lips?
Of that aged wine of Spirit:
Which sets my heart aflame,
Burns my senses, mind, intellect
And sets my soul - buried in tomb of flesh,
Dancing in joy ecstatic,
Inebriated and lost in 'Thou'.

prayer

2010-10-17T12:53:00.003+05:30

Let this be the punishment of my eyes

that they be witness to all ugliness of the world

but not your benign, beautiful face.

Let this be the plight of the fleet of my soul

that it wanders without direction, battered by storms,

unhinged from the anchor of your guidance.

My forgetful memory lets me burn my hands

again and again in the fire of trails

and renders me vulnerable all the times.

Look at the pitiful state of my ego,

that is trampled under the feet of men

of the world, only to raise its hood to be crushed again.

Let me break my back by working day and night,

to pay off the interest of my actions

which with the capital, remains unpaid.

Let me be born a thousand times

and die ten thousand times or more;

till the seeds of desires are roasted to infertility.

But promise me O Lord ! that at the end:

even after millions of years
of carrying this wretched self in this world.
You will let me return to you,

And at the end,
only You be my End,
only You be my End !

p.s.][ as usual, the title is still un-carved in stone. please do suggest title. 'prayer' is WIP

your memories

2010-09-25T04:11:00.002+05:30

i put out the wet balanket

of darkness, to dry

on the balcony of my house.

the embers of hope

i kept alive,

by placing my warm hands

over moist eyes.

i separated dust and wind,

that were as entagled

with each other as milk and water.

heavy lumps of loneliness,

i hid under the sheet

of falsehood.

scattered and restless body

of mine, i clothed with

scattered and careless clothes.

cleared all cobwebs of memories,

by the duster

of today's thoughts and activity.

God, I put back

at His place,

Everyday I put Him on His place

Everyday but He falls down

so low.

I released the emotions,

Now, incarcerated in books

as bookmarks.

Lent them

the wings of my breath

To fly.

I put the oven on;

waited for it to get warm;

mixed the flour of eagerness;

baked our conversations;

and served my heart

on the plate of the evening,

if not you my beloved

let your thoughts come.

This poem is a free translation of "Tera Khayal" posted on this blog before.

again untitled

2010-09-19T09:24:00.002+05:30

ये जो सीधा साफ़-सा रास्ता,
काले जंगल के बीच से उसकी
गहराई को चीरता हुआ निकलता है,
कितना वीरान है देखो ।

मायूस, अब इंतज़ार भी नहीं
किसी क़दमों के चोट की ,
बिन बुलाये आँधियों ने मिटा दिए
सारे चिन्ह बीते हुए कल के ।

कभी इस पर भी उम्मीदों के तिनके उग जाते थे
और अलसाई किरणों को छूने को
अपने नन्हे हाथ बढ़ाते थे ;
आज आंसुओं के सफ़ेद मोती बिखरें हैं बस ।

एक सैलाब ही भर सकता है अब
इस वीरान से रस्ते का सूनापन ।
किसी के वजूद का निचोड़ा हुआ
सुन्दर, पाक, लाल अब्र का सैलाब ।

untitled:suggest

2010-09-16T22:12:00.002+05:30

poem written in two parts.

the first part was written much before the incident that triggered off the second one.

sometimes poetry follows life...sometime life follows poetry!!

-part 1-

तुम्हारी रात सी खुली जुल्फों से कह दो

यूँ हवा में लहराते हुए , झूमते हुए

मुझे न सताएं , न डराएं .

कहते हैं "हम तो लम्बे होते -होते

इस शहर के रास्तों से भी लम्बे हो जायेंगे

तुझसे , तेरे घर से , मोहल्ले से आगे निकल जायेंगे "

"तू कहता है बड़ा सब्र है तुझ में !

हम भी ले कर देखेंगे तेरा सब्र-ए-इम्तेहान

अपना रंग हम भी बदल कर देखेंगे "

लगता है , मैं अगर कायम रहा

तो तेरी ये रेशमी जुल्फें ही मेरे गले

के सख्त फंदे बन मुझे निजात दिलाएंगे .

-part 2 -

चौंक गयी थी तुम उसे देखकर

मैं भी चौंका था .

कभी सामने आता तो कभी छुप जाता था वो .

जुदा कर दिया उसे अपने घर से तुमने , मैं तो वैसे भी खुश था .

अब काले बादलों के बीच

एक चांदी की तार सी बिजली कितनी सुन्दर लगती है

क्या बुरा था अगर तुम्हारी एक ज़ुल्फ़ ने

अपना रंग बदल लिया था !

tanhai? suggest a better title please

2010-09-16T19:58:00.000+05:30

तन्हाई के साथ इतनी गहरी रातें

और लम्बे दिन काटे हैं कि

अब तो इस तन्हाई के बिना तन्हा लगता है .

ज़ालिम की मेहर तो देखो, देती है ग़म

मगर गमगुसार कोई नहीं .

होटों पर देती है हंसी,

पर बाँट सको, कोई ऐसा हम दम नहीं .

यादों की भीड़ अब कबाड़ी के सामन की तरह

इर्द-गिर्द जमा हो गए हैं .

कभी-कभी उम्मीदें भी टूटे दीवारों

से धुप की तरह झांकते हुए अन्दर आते हैं .

कभी-कभी तुम भी उम्मीदों की तरह

चुपके से इस घर में आओ तो ,

इसी की रजा चलती हैं अब मेरे घर पे,

अपने सौत से तुम्हे जलन नहीं होती ?

dedicated to a busy week at work

2010-09-03T21:03:00.003+05:30

bahut chaha humne ki

humaara kaam hi

humara nasha ban jaye

woh to na hua

par mera nasha hi

ab mera kaam ban reh gaya hai

tera mera rishta

2010-08-30T08:09:00.002+05:30

कोई शायर अचानक ही आये
किसी ख्याल के तोहफे को
एक नज़्म का लिबास पहना कर,
किसी सफ्हे पे लिखकर, बहुत संभाल कर
कहीं रख कर भूल गया हो जैसे ।

या कोई गवैया कोई सहर का राग
शब् में गुनगुना कर, डर के चुप हो कर,
उसे याद कर भी
याद ना कर पा रहा हो जैसे ।

या कोई साकी कोई जाम बना कर,
किसी शराबी की कहानी में
अपनी कहानी सुनकर,
अपना होश और जाम
दोनों खो बैठा हो जैसे ।

तेरा मेरा रिश्ता भी ऐसे ही
रह जाये कहीं भूला हुआ
ना तू उसे ढूंढें फिर से
ना मैंने उसे रात भर याद करूँ ।

this is not a completely new poem. i had left out the middle two stanzas. thanks to two friends - one for being a huge fan of the first and last stanzas and the other for encouraging to write the other two. waiting for them to read and get back. thanks for title suggestion.

रात का चेहरा

2010-08-11T20:57:00.005+05:30

रात का एक चेहरा होता है,
और हर चेहरे का एक अक्स होता है,
कभी तुम रात में होती हो,
कभी तुम में रात होती है ।

रात के सीने पर हाथ रख कर देखो,
वो धड़कता भी है, दर्द से तड़पता भी है,
और रात के आँखों गौर से देखो तो आंसूं हैं
जो पहाड़ों पर पड़ी शबनम होती है ।
कभी तुम रात में होती हो,
कभी तुम में रात होती है ।

रात की चाह को तो देखो
के सहर तक, सहर के इंतज़ार में सुलगती है
और ज़फ़ा-ए-सेहर का क्या कहें
कि उसके आने से ही रात राख होती है ।
कभी तुम रात में होती हो,
कभी तुम में रात होती है ।

हवा में खुशबू के रंग
और पत्तों कि मौसिकी होती है
तारों की रौशनी में, चाँद की याद में
रात जब नज़्म कहती है तो बारिश होती है .
कभी तुम रात में होती हो,
कभी तुम में रात होती है ।

रात बेजुबान नहीं
रात बेज़ार भी नहीं, हर बात सुनती है
कभी रात के साथ पूरी रात गुज़ार के देखो
हर रात की अपनी एक कहानी होती है ।
रात का एक चेहरा होता है
और हर चेहरे का एक अक्स होता है
कभी तो तुम रात में होती हो,
और कभी तुम में रात होती है ।

acknowledging the 'khaloos' (sincerity) of a good friend in editing, vocabulary and other valuable contributions including the title.

the pic was taken by me at rishikesh and the poem was written at bhopal. incidental.

Ek Aur Trasadi

2010-07-31T23:01:00.003+05:30

A play on Bhopal Gas Tragedy 'Ek Aur Traasadi' or 'One more tragedy' is based on real stories of real people with real names.

'Hazra Bee' points to the coninuing pollution and contamination of ground and water by the abandoned plant of UCIL which still has 690 tonnes of toxic chemicals in the dumping yard which soaks into the breast and womb of Bhopal's women and the second generation of children in Bhopal are born with mental and physical challenges..

'Chacha' is the story of thousands of persons who came under the cloud of the poisonous gas who were left to live a long life marred with permanent, irreversible damages and diseases. People who could not earn their livelihoods and forced to live a life of poverty and helplessness.

'Wo Bacche' is the story of the girls who were born or affected by the gas. The unsaid and hushed talks regarding problems related to periods, birth complications, cancer etc. and how it has bcome a curse for the girls from Bhopal.

Please write to me at das(dot)parthajeet(at)gmail(dot)com to get a copy of the play to perform it and spread awareness. Knowledge is power!

maa

2010-07-21T22:27:00.004+05:30

ये बिछोना पत्थरों सा चुभता है माँ
बस तेरी ही गोद में सोना चाहता हूँ ।
लिहाफ ओढ़ता हूँ तो लगता है
इसके अन्दर घुट के मर जाऊंगा,
तेरा आँचल मेरे चेहरे पर ढक दे माँ ।
ज़माने खुरचते है मेरे हात पैर,
ग़म नोचता है यादों के नाखूनों से
मेरा दिल-ओ-दिमाग,
मेरे सीने पर अपना तू हाथ तो फेर माँ ।

सूने घर में अपनी ही आवाज़
सुनकर चौंक जाता हूँ ।
और घबराहट में जब कुछ नहीं सूझता
तो अपने में सिमट कर सो जाता हूँ
जैसे कभी तेरे गर्भ में था
मेह्फूस और मासूम ;
तेरी क़दमों के आहट से लेकिन
मुझे आज जगने दे माँ ।

जिसके जी में जो आता है
वो वही नाम लेकर बुलाता है मुझे,
तू बस एक बार फिर
'बेटा' कहकर तो पुकार माँ ,
तू बस एक बार फिर
'बेटा' कहकर तो पुकार माँ ।

बस दस मिनट की देर कर दी माँ ने आने में , मैं गेस्ट-हाउस में उनका इंतज़ार कर रहा था । यह नज़्म उसी देर से मुकम्मिल हुई है । माँ देर भी करती है तो...

bhopal 2

2010-07-20T23:17:00.005+05:30

For those who are familiar with Lancedowne phenomenon, please do not expect an encore of poetry and themes that were discussed then. The two day trip can be divided into two distinct parts - as distinct as the two (for now) persons that are inside me. Credits - Indian Railways, Bhopal, My sister and her beautiful campus, Parents (especially Maa), Prenu and Monsoon.

please wait for a detailed travelogue and a play on Bhopal Gas Tragedy 'एक और त्रासदी'

1

dedicated to the age of self-promotion (starting from yours truely)

फूल का काम है
खिलना; बस इतना ।

उसकी खुशबू को
सारे जहाँ में बिखेरना,
हवा का काम है ।

उसके रस को मधु बनाकर,
सबके जुबान को मीठा करना,
भँवरे का ।

और उसके रंगों का बन आइना,
उसके चेहरे से सबको रूबरू कराना,
काम है आसमान का ।

फूल का काम है खिलना;
बस इतना!

2

यह बारिश की सौंधी-सौंधी महकती आवाज़
और उसके बीच कौंधती हुई बीजली ।
जैसे दोपहर में थकी-हारी
माँ को सोते देख
मुंह छुपा कर हँसते हुए बच्चे ।

आसमा के ठिठुरते जिस्म पर
रात का कम्बल ओढने से पहले
रेशमी बादलों का शाल
ओढ़ दिया हो जैसे किसीने ।

पहली बारिश में धुले हुए
तेरे गीले जुल्फों से
ये काले रस्ते ,
कहाँ तक चलती हैं ?

इस शहर के सूने चौराहे
भी अजीब हैं,
जिस भी रास्ते पे चलता हूँ
तुम तक ही पहुँचती हैं ।

untitled

2010-07-16T18:31:00.000+05:30

i wish i were a mountain..
a cloud would come and rest her head over my shoulders
and say - so what if you can't move;
so what if you can't break your vow of silence;
i will speak to you....
i will come to you again and again,
as it means the world to me
to find you at the same place,
always, true to your words and nature
unchanging like everything else
unmoved and constant

'but you will leave me soon,
won't you?'
i ask.

'you see just that!,
have you ever thought
why do i leave?
why do i roam all over the world
along with the tireless wind
far, far and farther from you,
missing you, pining for you?
when i can't bear it anymore
my tears come down as mighty rains
and that it the one time,
the one single time
that i get to embrace you,
soak in you
and loose myself in your bosom
my beloved!"

lancedowne 2 video

2010-07-12T23:41:00.002+05:30

dedicated to friends who are not discussed here

2010-07-10T14:42:00.004+05:30

ये कैसे यार बनाये मैंने, यारी से जो बचते रहे,

मैं तड़पता रहा उनको, वो और तड़पाते रहे ।

अपना जशन-ए-कामयाबी, अपनी दिवाली, अपना ईद

न कोई ग़मगुसार हो, अपना ग़म ख़ुद सहते रहे ।

यारी में न होती है खुदी, न गिले, न शर्म-ओ-हया

जब तलग न बुलाया हमें 'मेहमान' घर उनके हम जाते रहे ।

आने का वादा कर भूल गए वो सालों से

राह में उनकी मगर हम दिए जलाते रहे ।

ज़ालिम वो नहीं, मेरे हाल से बेखबर भी नहीं

खुद कभी न आये वो, पैगाम ज़रूर भेजते रहे ।

जब था बस उनका सहारा, उन्हें अपना काम याद रहा

सिर्फ अमीरों को वो रस्म-ए-वफ़ा याद कराते रहे ।

मैं बयां करूँ, वो सुने ये किस्मत नहीं 'पार्थ'

अपने गिले-शिकवे बेजुबान सफहों को सुनाते रहे ।

tera khayal

2010-07-10T12:26:00.003+05:30

भीगे अँधेरों का शाल
सुखाने के लिए घर के तारों पर टांगा,
फूँक-फूँक कर रौशनी को
उम्मीदों के अंगारों पर जिंदा राखा ।

हवा और गर्द, जो दूध और पानी की तरह
मिल चुके थे- जुदा किया,
तन्हाइयों के भारी बोझ
झूठ के बिस्तर तले छिपाए ।

बिखरे पड़े जिस्म को
बिखरे, बेतरतीब लिबास पहनाये,
यादों के जालों को
आज के ख्यालों के पैराहन से पोंछा ।

खुदा को उसकी जगह पर
फिर उठा कर बिठाया,
रोज़ बिठाता हूँ
रोज़ जाने कैसे जीर जाता है ?

जज़्बात, जो किताबों में कैद
बुकमार्क्स की तरह बंद पड़े थे
उन्हें अपने हाल से निजात दिलाया
साँसे उधार दीं

तन्नूर सुलगाया, गर्म किया
हसरतों को गूंदा ,
गुफ्तगू के रोटी पकाए,
शाम के थाल में अपना दिल फिर परोसा
तू न आये
तेरा ख्याल तो आये ।

somethin amiss

2010-07-07T21:03:00.002+05:30

miss you nights

miss you days

miss you and
i don't realise

what i miss

miss you rains,
like your precious tears;

miss you windy nights,
and the scent of your hair;

miss you crimson mornings,
when i woke up to your whispers;

miss you culverts,
like the support of your hands;

miss you stars like your earrings;

miss you words,
like the joy of your laugh;

miss you those walks,
like the echo of our footstep

miss u
like i miss u

untitled

2010-07-06T22:24:00.003+05:30

कोई शायर अनजाने ही आये

किसी तोहफे कि तरह

किसी नज़्म को एक सफ्हे पे लिखकर

बहुत संभाल के रखकर भूल गया हो जैसे ।

तेरा मेरा रिश्ता भी

ऐसे ही रह जाये कहीं भुला हुआ,

न तू उसे ढूंढे

न मैं फिर से उसे याद करूँ ।

apocalypse

2010-07-03T14:41:00.003+05:30

The day you will get too busy
To care for mw and tell
By your simple gestures and voice
How much you love me.

The moment I will receive a silence
In response to my commotion
Of irritation, arrogance, angst,
Small victories and big failures.

When I will wait for your smiles
To fill up like clouds,
The blank sky of my days
And draw pictures of existence and joy.

When you will not be there with me
Or I would have had to leave you,
How would this life drag me like a prisoner
And if I would miss you as much as I do.

kharaashein

2010-06-26T12:03:00.004+05:30

सन १९४७ में आग और खून से लिपटी एक लकीर मुल्क को काटती हुई गुज़र गयी और मुल्क तकसीम हो गया ।

we perform Gulzaar's Kaharashein - play based on partition and communal riots.

untitled

2010-06-02T09:37:00.003+05:30

ऐसे तो मैं खुश था ।
खुद को बेज़ार कर लिया था,
और तमन्ना को सिखा दिया
था सब्र ।

तन्हा लोगों की
बड़ी-सी भीड़ में,
अकेले ही सब के साथ-साथ
मैं चलता था,
न किसी से कोई तव्क्कू
न गिला कोई।

फिर तुम्हारे जाने का
ऐसा सदमा क्यूँ है ?
ख़ुशी का कम होना
ग़म क्यूँ है ?

उमस

2010-06-01T11:39:00.004+05:30

औंधे कमरे में अब मेरा पता नहीं मिलता ।
न कोई आहट किसी हरकत की,
न जिस्म की बू कहीं ।
चेहरा और कमरे में बंद अँधेरा
एक दुसरे में समां चुके थे ,
उन्हें अलग करना मुश्किल था ।

आँखें धुप में जल गयीं थी ,
शहर के एहतमादी लू ने
साँसों का गला घोंट दिया था ।
रगों में बहता हुआ लहू
खुश्क आँखों को जज्बातों में डुबो कर
भिगो कर सूख चूका था ।

बहार से आवाज़ देना बेकार था,
नशा कोई भी नहीं - होश कहाँ था?
पर मुझे ख़बर थी
मैं उस कमरे में नहीं था ।

Irom Sharmila

2010-05-28T13:53:00.004+05:30

When I first saw the name on an invitation to a book reading session, I could vaguely remember having heard the name before. On the day of the reading by Deepti (the author) of 'Burning Bright: Irom Sharmila and the struggle for peace in Manipur' I was assured that what I had heard of her was too little and incommensurate with the portent situation. Irom has been waging a brave battle that has been almost unnoticed by the media and civil society (if something like that exists in India, though I strongly believe in the contrary).

For details about Irom, her struggle and an interview please check NDTV and Tehelka's articles.

Deepti's simple as-a-matter-of-fact reading and the immense inner force of Irom moved me (even if for a few moments) and dented a few not-so-obvious but huge dents in the capitalist-consumerist life that I live and justify. I unsuccessfully searched for the book in order to be somewhat more aware of what is called society and country (an independent, sovereign republic mind you!).

Yesterday's news regarding the denial of VISA by Canada to many serving and retired officers of Indian Army though connected a few dots for me. The ground for denial was that Canada reserves the right to deny VISA to persons who serve/work in organisations that are involved in human rights violation. Indian Army serving in J&K, members of the BSF are under this category! Though Indian Army is no stranger to accusations of violation of human rights - J&K, Chattisgarh, Punjab and Manipur of course, blaming the entire basket for a few or quite a few bad apples would set a very bad precedent. What about US, UK and even Canadian troops engaged in human rights violation in Afganistan and Iraq?

Irom's struggle though made me realise that how much driven, forced and disturbed could someone be because of such 'incidents'. Here is someone who could have chosen a life that many many of her age lead - a well paying job in a concrete jungle, a boyfriend, marriage, many parties, weekend at malls, shopping, theaters etc. etc. But she rather chose to do what she calls her 'bounden duty'. I wonder how many of us have the propriety to even understand what those words mean. How many such duties have we comfortably ignored and they still stand wide-eyed staring at us in stark vacuity?
It is even more repulsive to see that a country whose struggle for was unique in its use of non-violent means for its end - freedom from foreign rule and tyranny, is resorting to the same means that her ruler did not more than 60 years ago to curb the voices of protest. A country where millions die of a familiar phenomenon-hunger, hunger strike was a language that Gandhiji used to communicate so effectively to the illiterate villagers and Britishers alike. Irom is arrested and re-arrested for the last 10 years for the same act.

Another dot - What should the tribals do about the loss of their land and livelihood? Come to Delhi, sit on hunger strikes? For how long? 10 years? Will anyone give a damn? Will the media even report it? Is it not more important to know whether IPL nights are the real cause of India exit from 20-20 world cup?

Will the Armed Forces Special Powers Act be repealed?
May The Strength be with you as it has been Irom. Amen!

suggest a title please

2010-05-27T12:56:00.003+05:30

हर रात एक झूठे वादे की तरह
भूल जाने की तस्सली देती है ।
और हर सुबह, मार के तमाचा
याद दिलाती है की तुम याद हो ।

अब तो इन सफ्हों पर
नज़्म लिखते डर लगता है ,
कहीं ये पत्थर न बन जाएँ
और मैं कैद न हो जाऊं
अपने लफ़्ज़ों के ही साथ
इनमे सदियों के लिए,
इतिहास की तरह ।
तुम्हारा क्या है?
तुम तो चल दोगे हवा के साथ
सूखे, हलके धुल की तरह ।

breeze

2010-05-14T21:16:00.003+05:30

You seem a little confused.
Have come to me, touched
And gone past and come back again
And again, many times.

And what have you written
On these white letters of clouds ?
I can't read well, the moon is with you,
Or have you sent them blank?

Your words are all mixed tonight
Anger, care, complaint and love.
All come and go fast
How am I to respond ?

Come closer, stay,
Let me feel you on my face.
Let me take-in your scent
In my breath.

Be engulfed in joy innocent
Without reason any
And be aware
That you Are.

all i have is words, hope and you

2010-05-13T12:50:00.002+05:30

there is no tomorrow;
what we have is the present and each other.
lets live each day as it is,
lets meet each other as we do eager.
lets trust each other as us,
lets be robbed of all that is to be.
lets transform into something we yet know not,
lets cross the limits of all limits we think and
lets rejoice that we found in each other
what we never searched.

lets love each other as we love
lets be each other as we are. (i have not missed 'with')

sauda

2010-05-08T22:44:00.000+05:30

बड़े घाटे का सौदा रे,
सौदा बड़े घाटे का रे ।
हाथ लिए गेहूं,
मोल दिए आटे का रे ।

जो कुछ भी माँगा,
पल में गवाया,
फिर मांगने तेरे
द्वार मैं आया ।
माया मरी न
तृष्णा मरी,
देह मरा पर
यह मन न मरा रे
बड़े घाटे का सौदा रे
सौदा बड़े घाटे का रे । । । १। ।

चैन गवाया, बुद्धि गवाई
बदले में चिता-सी चिंता पाई।
इस दौड़-धुप में क्या पाया मैंने
और कौन मुझसे छुटा रे
बड़े घाटे का सौदा रे
सौदा बड़े घाटे का रे । । २। ।

ध्यान छुटा, मेरा भजन छुटा
विषयों के बाज़ार आकर
मेरा तकदीर फूटा ।
कीमत न जानी कैसा अभागा
सोने को मैंने माना सुहागा
इसकी सुनी मैंने उसकी सुनी
गुरु ज्ञान पे न ध्यान धरा रे।
बड़े घाटे का सौदा रे
सौदा बड़े घाटे का रे ।

तोता भी रट रट के राम का नाम सीख लेता है। सतगुर कबीर जी को पढ़, सुनके ही यह बन पाया है , उन्ही को अर्पित है ।

naiharva

2010-05-04T22:13:00.004+05:30

Naiharva Hum Ka Na Bhave
Sai Ki Nagri Param Ati Sundar,
Jahan Koi Jav Na Avey
Chand Suraj Jahan, Pavan Na Pani,
Ko Sundesh Pahunchave
Dard Yeh Sai Ko Sunave

Naiharva...
Agey Chalo Panth Nahin Sujhe,
Peeche Dosh Lagawe
Kehi Bidhi Sasure Jau Mori Sajani,
Virha Jor Jarawe Vishai Ras Nach Nachawe

Bin Satguru Apno Nahin Koi,
Jo Yeh Rah Batawe
Kahat Kabira Suno Bhai Sadho,
Supne Na Pitam Awey Tapan Yeh Jiya Ki Bujhawey

Don't like anymore, the home of my mother.
Most beautiful is beloved's home - comes and goes none.
'Tell this pain to Him', will someone bother?

Someone, please be my kind messenger,
Wind, water, Moon or you the Sun.
Don't like anymore, the home of my mother.

To move back or ahead, a path I can't decipher.
How do I go to the home of the loved one?
'Tell this pain to Him', will someone bother?

There is no savior that one's own master,
Shows the right way for us often.
Don't like anymore, the home of my mother.

Objects, senses, engage me in the dance macabre
And my heart faces the arrows of separation.
'Tell this pain to Him', will someone bother?

Listen my dear noble ones, says Kabir,
In dreams He comes, quenches thirst of my own.
Don't like anymore, the home of my mother.
'Tell this pain to Him', will someone bother?

The master mystic Kabir gives the allusion of a married woman (soul) who pines for her husband's/beloved's (God) home and her heart does not find solace or peace in her mother's home(world). Translated to English by me in a form called Villanelle.
Listen to the song.

poem 26

2010-04-30T21:44:00.002+05:30

Duality

Was it you that I sought?
For so long,
At all places,
At lonesome nights
And crowded days,
Among faces known
And unknown,
As what I need,
And what would
Please me the most.

But then you are here now
And why do I still long for
My lonesome nights
And crowded days?
What do I still seek
And why anymore?
Why the same if not more
Restlessness as before?

I wanted you then
And now I don't.
Though you maintain
That you are the same
As you were.

If there be truth
In what you say,
How could you -
The unchanged one,
Cause effects opposite
To one another.
Pain-pleasure,
Presence-Vacuum,
Love-Hurt,
Hope-despair.

I think it was my mind
That perceived as I allowed
And wanted to,
And attached values hence.
Then what would you be?
The sum total of the opposites
Which is nothing
But mere naught.

poem 25

2010-04-29T23:23:00.005+05:30

mistake

to see your face
in the silent dark
why bring the lamp
near the mirror
and fail?

is that not the image mere?

bring the light
closer to your face,
illuminate yourself -
the one real,
see the truth clear!

poem 24

2010-04-29T23:01:00.003+05:30

nag

salesman of the year and the best ever
could sell almost all things
emotions, love. smile or tear.

nothing is too good or bad to measure
everything has a price, a buyer,
and you can agree on a number.

never out of reasons, pleas
persuasive in ways
ends by any means, please.

and he is persistent and sincere
that, you sign on the dotted line
right now for sure.

comes back always with a new offer,
even though you know, he makes you pay
him you just can not ignore.

poem 23

2010-04-29T22:35:00.003+05:30

words

random patterns that ink
makes on white palms of papers,
a few words here and there.

when poured and filled with
emotions and feelings,
attain a life of their own.

can replace a person;
love, hurt, comfort,
instill fear, hope and inspire.

many times spurn actions
out of its fertile womb
and many times a few more of words.

poem 22

2010-04-28T23:53:00.003+05:30

They

As curtains of darkness
Were swiftly removed for a moment,
They revealed their thin naked legs
And blood-stained ankles.

Forced to live
Carrying a burden of shame
That belongs to different
Shoulders and heads.

Wombs made barren
By pilferage, Often in broad daylight.
Breasts pricked with metals
Time and again in sadist pleasure.

They do not tie knots
In their cloud-like
Scattered hair anymore
Forced to grey before time.

Children must beg now
After being driven out
From their homes by hunger
And thirst of more.

They may succumb to this humiliation.
To which I added hours of vain ogling
And inaction.

poem 21

2010-04-28T23:43:00.002+05:30

to give up, is easy
the river takes its course - up to down
takes along many things with it
things that have surrendered
their will to reverse
the direction of
the flow the mighty element
to traverse in the opposite direction
to strive relentless and
to never give up

I have no idea if this can be called a form. But this style is inspired by Kavi Samrat Upendra Bhanja (oriya poet of seventeenth century)who wrote kavyas (long poetries) with each line starting with one letter such as the Baideheesha Bilasha(with"Ba" initial for each line).

poem 20

2010-04-23T22:26:00.003+05:30

prompt : to write a poem whose title is longer than the poem

EXPLOSION AND ULTIMATELY DESTRUCTION OF SELF AND EVERYTHING NOBLE AND GOOD AROUND AT THE FAINTEST HINT OF PROVOCATION WHICH MAY BE REAL OR IMAGINARY

my mind is mightier than the gun
why, it does not need even a trigger !

poem 19

2010-04-22T23:37:00.003+05:30

An ode to confusion /What should the title be

Of all things that I am confused about,
I am confused about this confusion the most.
It's birth certificate is very complicate
Father and guess what even the mother
Have the same name as itself!
In the space for date of birth and time
There is just one specific word - 'anytime'.!!

Not an easy child to rear, you must bear
Many many trials: vehement denials
Followed by affirmations strong as bed rocks.
Only to be swapped as twins
And convictions are strong as nine pins.
Experience is meant to be forgotten
And past mistakes very repeatable.

Time, money, relationships and habit
Only make matters worse for it.
'How can I compare apples with oranges, bananas and pears?'
Poor things is an easy prey; sympathy, greed,
Jealousy, conscience, love and hate
All cast and catch it with their own baits.

It's a pathetic actor too.
Words and even silence,
Action and even inertia,
Reveal more of the blessed state than hide!

Even Mr. Frost finally took one road - the one less traveled.
But even if our friend takes one, either one,
It would think and miss the other.
Not only that, it may retreat and take the other
And do the same again, this time the other:
No. The other!

It's only solace though, is to know
That there are others, whom it equally bothers
With degree more or less, but it does.
Takes pride that only it can ride life's rivers
With a feet each in boats two.

One may be certain of many things
And the number of such certain things may increase
But one thing is certain -
There will always be things one is always confused about.

Dedicated to my mother, friends and well i am confused now.

poem 18

2010-04-21T12:49:00.003+05:30

You had filled my empty days,
At nights fought with sleep for space
In the yellow desert of my eyes
And showed me many songs and plays.

Made me forget the lashes of memories
Struck on mind's naked back,
A break too from the cruel game with mirages
Of future, where one gambles on forgeries.

Intellect, knowledge, reason kept aside
So did were feelings dipped in pride
To 'here and now' you brought me
To think, believe, realise, decide.

And to Act , for the result taking no thought,
Whether it was a cheap bargain I bought,
It was my inevitable duty, my nature,
That there was a vital battle and I fought.

This form of poetry is called Rubayiyat (rhyming scheme aaba), made famous by the Persian poet Omar Khayyam.

Many titles could be nominated: Temptation, Kurukhsetra, Guru, The War. Too many for me to decide.

poem 17

2010-04-20T12:39:00.002+05:30

will you
accept my doubts,
my vices, frailities
my confusions and demons of past
with me ?

in dark
and stormy nights
when i look for support,
will you steady me and hold fast
my hands ?

can you
bear it equally ?
losses-gains, smiles-tears
honour-criticism:without and
with me?

poem 16

2010-04-19T23:49:00.003+05:30

maid

she swept neat the floor of the big house,
where from each tile the face of her son beamed.
'left alone at home, would he be crying for me?
ah! if only I could wipe the tear from his cheeks
and sweat from his forehead rather than this floor.'

she put out the clothes in the sun to dry.
the colour reminded her of the red frock
she saw through the glasses at the blue shop.
'should I ask for an advance or wait for month-end;
but my daughter's birthday can't wait no?

'it is so hot this year and then the damned powercuts,
why did they have to cut down the neem tree
that gave shade to her hut?
the children suffer so much during the afternoon!'
she thought while dusting the ceiling and the fans.

'two potatoes and handful of lentils is all that is left,
the children would ask for curry again.
three times he forgot,maybe he is saying the truth
or has he been drinking my Lord !'

her hands, feet and her body were here at her master's house,
busy working tirelessly and well.
her mind's compass though pointed to her small home
and he attention concerntrated on her family above all.

poem 15

2010-04-17T23:40:00.002+05:30

inside-out

played many chords strained,
chased many sounds too.
failed to hear but
the perfect melody played within

colours and shapes varied
i sought with eyes thirsty,
never did enjoy the beauty
and play of darkness behind closed eyes.

care, love and respect
fame, wealth and name.
now this and then something else
did i seek in vain.

friends, lovers and others
i sought to complete my self.
all i wanted but was 'me'
as i was complete in myself.

poem 14

2010-04-16T00:24:00.006+05:30

First Winter

This winter was the coldest
And the hardest.
During the snowfall of circumstances,
The glass-like sharp edges of flakes of words
Brushed past my exposed face
Unused to climate such as this.

The freezing cold winds from north
Cut my eyes like sharp threads of memories.
Got into my chest made it heavy
And did not even come out.
At night the bones
Could hear them talk among themselves.
The fluid of emotions that oiled them
Must have been dried up.

Many things slowed down,
Some even to a halt:
The heart threatened not to beat at times,
Muscles did not even flinch for a smile,
Tears did not flow past the eyes,
Blood got stuck paralysed,
Unguided by any will to do anything.
The winter would have been bearable,
Had you not pulled away from me
And shred to pieces in a few minutes
The blanket of warm sheep skin,
That took us the whole of autumn to weave.

day 13 - poem 13

2010-04-13T23:48:00.004+05:30

Barter

No more of the hardness of earth for me,
Or the thorny bed of grasses.
On soft cushions now I lie down
But sleep like blessings has become rarer.

I have removed the sheet of sky
Studded with stars and clouds.
Now I have a roof rock-solid
Too small for hope and dreams together.

The playful breeze of summer nights
I swapped with mere air-conditioned.
The silence of the woods and river
With the noise of vehicles and motor.

I put my trust on iron and wood
More than on men and their goodness.
Now but doubt everyone
And everything I fear.

I have bartered the whole universe
For a small space called 'my house'
What was without limits any
Tapes and foot can now measure.

Kinship with many and friendship with all,
I hurriedly did shun
I choose a few to alternatively love and hate
Called them 'my family dear' .

day 11 - poem 12

2010-04-11T23:41:00.002+05:30

that tear drop
should have stayed in the shell of your eyes.
and years of longing
would have turned it into a pearl

day 10 - poem 11

2010-04-10T18:47:00.004+05:30

Sant Kabir Das
A saint in his own class.
Spake only the truth without fear.
Condemned all rituals, upheld love pure.

Sachin Tendulkar
Is not just a cricketer
To give hope, God himself came
Batted for India and blessed the game !

Kishore Kumar
Versatile genius without par
Singer, Actor, Composer and Director
Crooned for many but married four !

(Attempt at clerihew. A clerihew is a whimsical, four-line biographical poem)

day 9 - poem 10

2010-04-09T23:47:00.003+05:30

Threat

A roof big, blue and bright
Dark like her eyes at night.
Walls of green mountains around
Valleys soft and profound.
There was my home alright.

Then they all came here
Many names, from far and near.
One was government, other corporate
Some to study, some to educate.
Our plight you see, too hard for them to bear.

"We are here for God's work" some said.
Some others fought with them and retorted.
Medicines with leaflets they mixed
Food for few symbols - deal fixed!
By whom but were my huts gutted?

We were asked to GO,
'To gain something, something you must forgo:
Growth for COUNTRY' they told
"We will turn this land into GOLD"
Graveyard, refugee camps, wherever - just GO!

They tore open the heart of earth mother
Big trucks, night and day did hungrily gather
GOLD as they said before, they got
'US' they all soon easily forgot.
Who gained what and who lost here.

Some of them came again
"What you have lost, you must regain.
Organise, protest, fight and revolt.
Lets give the system a mighty jolt.
Here brothers - take guns and train".

It worked and seemed so perfect
Some land we got back, some respect.
We did plunder your towns for greed 'FACTORIES'
We just wanted back the lives we lived for centuries.
Yet you called us 'COUNTRY's gravest security THREAT!'.

Then a few more marching came
With guns and machines with them.
We bled, got killed, were bombed,
Women, children and men - combed !
THREAT - eliminated, land cleared for GAME!

The poem was written at an altitude of 30-50,000 ft (yeshh, on a flight, on the back of the boarding pass!). Though the things that are written on here are very much grounded.
It is about the 'Country's gravest security threat - Naxalism'.

My attempt at a form called limerick (rhyming scheme - aabba).

day 8 - poem 9

2010-04-08T15:57:00.002+05:30

One does not understand ordinarily,
Even has doubts, due to experiences otherwise.
Circumspect, cautious and fearful too
To accept the blessing one has found.
Ever aware of the limits of distance and time,
And transient nature of all seen and felt.
Seeks approbation from others learned and less,
Of what one knows in heart is for certain.
One bounces off and back again and again
From joy and apprehension inexplicable.
Disbelieves the worth of what is received
The receiver and even the generous giver.

Only when one finds a one as 'You',
One knows for sure what has one found!

Dedicated to my sister and all the wonderful people who are a part of my life.

day 7 - poem 8

2010-04-07T16:14:00.003+05:30

Bidai - II
(sending off of the bride from her parent's home after marriage)

Though not easy to bear
Today, I would not stop
You or your tears.

They would tell me many things about your world
You many not have told or
I may not have understood well.

Mingled with those of your mother
They would tell me
I am taking the shadow away from the image.
That someone else would also
Need to know all the moment
That you are well and happy.

Dampening the chest of your father,
They would show me,
What high ideals you would seek in me.
The grip of his hand - caring but firm;
That steadied your steps and made you fearless as a child
Would have to be replaced.

Wiped away with plams of your friends and sister
They would beseach me to do the same
If ever you were hurt or sad.
And that you would need to confide in a friend
Without doubt or aprehension
In absolute trust.

More than anything they would inspire me
To do and many times not to do anything
So that I see them again.

This poem and the one posted before this were my reactions as a husband and brother (in that order) though I am yet to experience it first-hand.

day 6 - poem 7

2010-04-06T22:26:00.004+05:30

Bidai - I
(sending off of the bride from her parent's home after marriage)

Those tiny fingers which you wrapped around my eyelids
And asked 'bhai, who am I ?'
Have become red with the redness of my eyes
Though old women say its the colour of your husband's love.
Fingers over my forehead, which used to measure my temperature
Nursing me back to health and smile from fever.
And massaged my tired back with mustard oil
Before a winter bath.
Slipped away every so slowly away from me
Farther and stranger.

The earthen lamp lit for prayers at dusk
Will miss the caressing echo of your voice
Repeating the hymns we sang in joy.
Your slippers would have no one to wear them
And run after me to join me in my walks.
Demeaned and even insulted, to whose eyes everyday
Shall I look into to find respect and trust fathomless?

day 5 - poem 6

2010-04-05T21:54:00.004+05:30

I know not of the sun
Getting up from the bed of the eastern sea
But I have seen you raise eyelids to look up.

May not have touched with hands
Dew-drops dancing on a rose petal
I have but felt your tender lips.

They talk of the warmth of dove's wings
Who never have snuggled and
Slept in your arms.

With closed eyes when I soak-in,
The scent of your breath
I wish, I never breathe out again.

The eighth note, I discovered
Was the music in your laugh
More than the whisper of the stream.

The tired sun melts into the outstretched
Palm of the horizon and
I have found rest in your heart.

day 4 - poems 4-5

2010-04-04T15:53:00.003+05:30

I

We met
And I had thought
We would do so more often.
Still I catch you in my mind, eyes
Do you?

II

This match
Like all the rest
Will have people take sides
For region or reason; decide,
It starts.

(writing before I (still undecided) start for an IPL (read lots of money) cricket match)

First attempt at Cinquain poem (2-4-6-8-2 syllables)

day 3- poem 3

2010-04-03T21:48:00.006+05:30

Not This

Have you seen that one man?

Who did not have any name

Came from nowhere; his form

But too blurred to frame.

Water, earth, sky, wind, fire;

None of these it was ever

Nor any of the senses, objects;

Smell, taste, sight, touch or hear.

It can not be the mind restless

It merely did witness thought's movement

What analysed and judged the world

Was not it, but it's intellect patient.

Not for itself, but for ego mighty

Did it gather and posses a lot.

Friend, beloved, master, student,

Child, father: were just forms it begot.

No options it has than itself,

Its form is but formless,

Here and everywhere,

Now and everytime, It Is.

("Inspired" by 'Atmashatakam' by Shankaracharya)

day 2 - poem 2

2010-04-02T22:29:00.002+05:30

de-sire

Beware of this potent seed - desire:
Sown in fertile mind, fruit it must bear.
Once fulfilled something else does it transpire
Thwarted, often turns to sorrow, anger.
Seated on the throne that governs the land
It cracks the whip like a dictator pitiless,
Thoughts and actions move as per command,
Judgement blindfolded, will powerless.
It's real nature, not easily discerned at first
Deludes us to believe, there is something to gain.
'Hemlock' we realise later, only increases the thirst
And to a raging fire more fuel does one add in vain.
Howsoever tempting and repeated be its call,
Do as less or if possible nothing with it at all.

day 1 - poem 1

2010-04-01T20:50:00.005+05:30

together

all live here:
minute seconds of space
in tiny holes of time

(My attempt at writing Haiku)

untitled

2010-03-27T16:07:00.002+05:30

न शिकवा है, न सवाल कोई
महसूस करने का खौफ नहीं
हर एहसास को एहसास-भर जिया है ।

तेरे दिए हर एक ग़म के रेशे को
बड़े जतन से एक-एक कर जिया है
लम्हों में पिरोया है ।

बहुत चाहा, कोशिश भी की
कोई और तस्वीर बन जाये इस चादर पे,
पर तेरा ही चेहरा उभर आया है ।

अब जो बन गया है, वो कभी बिखरेगा भी,
मुझे भी साथ लेगा,
ये चादर मेरा कफ़न बन गया है ।

हम

2010-03-07T19:02:00.006+05:30

नाम सुना होगा पहले,
कोई चेहरा भी
ख्यालों के कैनवास पर उतारा होगा,
तस्वीर जब देखी होगी
या तो मायूस होगी
या ही मुस्काया होगा ।

जब आवाज़ सुनी थी पहली बार
जाने कैसे कैसे उन शब्दों को कहते हुए
मेरा चेहरा, मेरे हाथ, मेरी हँसी,
मेरे होंठ, मेरा एक - एक भाव
तुमने मेरे साथ महसूस किया होगा ।

लोगों से भी सुना,
जो मैंने किया या नहीं किया होगा ।
मेरी नज्मों को भी बार-बार पढ़ा होगा
और हर लाइन से मेरी पेंटिंग पूरी की होगी ।

मुझसे जब मिली,
तो मेरी जिस्म से ज्यादा
मेरी आखों में देखा होगा -
कहते है रूह का आईना होते हैं ।
मेरी बातों से ज्यादा
मेरी साँसों को सुना होगा ।
मेरा हाथ पकड़ कर मेरी धडकनों की
बेताबी को समझा होगा ।
मेरी मुस्कान में छिपे ग़म
और आसुओं में छलकती खुशी को भी ढूंढ निकला होगा ।

जाने तुमने क्या देखा
जाने तुमने क्या नहीं देखा होगा,
मुझसे मेरा पता पूछो तो
तुम्हारी कसम - मैं भी उतना ही बेखबर हूँ
पर जानना चाहती हो तो
ता-उम्र मेरे साथ 'हम' बनके रहना होगा ।

i don't know i guess the title isn't the best..pls suggest in comments

probability

2010-03-02T16:58:00.004+05:30

a second here and an accident missed,
a second there and a life turns dead,
a turn it took to catch a glimpse of you in crowd,
a push to loose your hand and you.

a dream it took to sleep from 'what is'
to 'what could have been',
a nightmare to wake up to 'what is'
from 'what should have been'.

is it all due to some action-reaction of mine
or even some inaction?
or it was all planned and patterned for me to act out
only know i did not.

what is do is what i do on my own
or forced upon by some director mighty
whom should should i put it all on
lines of fate, 'karma', god or probability?

मैं

2010-02-26T17:18:00.003+05:30

यह कैसी नींद से जगा मैं आज !
पलकें बंद करूँ या रखूं खुली
एक-सा ही लगता है सब कुछ
वक़्त भी एक-सा, भोर या गोधुली ।

कहते हैं चक्र का न आदि है न अंत
जिस बिंदु से चल पड़े वो सही
शुन्य से शुन्य का सफ़र है
जहाँ से चले थे वही मंजिल और वही पंथ ।

मैं ही मैं हूँ यहाँ, अब कोई और नहीं
माया, संसार, इस पार, उस पार
भला-बुरा, सुभ-अशुभ, पुण्य-पाप
सब अंतर, बाहर कुछ नहीं।

इनका अपना तो कोई अस्तित्व नहीं
मेरी रज़ा के मोहताज़ हैं ये
मेरे नकारने, नज़र अंदाज़ करने पे
इनकी कोई ताकत भारी नहीं ।

पर मुझपे ही मेरा सारा बोझ क्यों?
क्या ये इम्तेहान ज़रा मुश्किल नहीं ?
माना तू मेरे साथ था, है और रहेगा
फिर भी दिल में ये डर क्यों ?

aansun

2010-02-20T19:16:00.002+05:30

शाम के दिये सी रोशन तेरी आँखों में
सुबह कि ओस सा साफ़ आंसूं कैसा है ?
जी करता है यह वहीँ रह जाता काश
ठहर जाता, जम जाता, तेरी पलकों में बंध जाता ।

पुराने किसी ज़ख्म की टीस उठी होगी
कोई ख़ुशी के लिए सीने में जगह कम पड़ी होगी
या सम्हाल के रखे किसी कागज़ पे लिखी
मेरी कोई नज़्म ही पढ़ी होगी ।

जो भी हो, बिखरने न देना,
ज़मीं पे गिरने न देना
तेरे पाक ज़ज्बातों का नाम है
मेरी तरह, तेरी आंखों में रहने देना ।

zero sum game

2010-02-04T16:08:00.000+05:30

everything we got or bought,
will be be given or lost.
evrything we aspired for
will be received and forgotten

balanced; all deeds noble
by deeds abominable.
all innocent beauty by
all the ugly truth beneath.

all crests to be averaged
by all troughs low.
every zenith by its
respective nadir.

everyone we loved and who loved us
will be separated or left behind.
all those whom we meet will be balanced
by all those we lost.
strangers we make friends
will strike out the friends that become strangers.

at the begining was zero
and so is at the end,
all that was in between
is mere illusion my friend!!

father

2010-02-02T19:47:00.002+05:30

i see you all the time, you see me ever,
i know i don't have to see anymore, i know;
that you are there for me, i believe.

everytime i come back, hurt and forlorn
you are there to caress and listen
and tell me 'it will also get over'

even if i act against your will and guidance
disobey and hurt you more
you forget it in a moment and hug me tighter

and correct every wrong that i may do,
hold my hand till i walk straight again
and give me formidable strength of yours.

if only

2010-01-17T13:14:00.001+05:30

if only words were any good to express my emotions,
if only your eyes could see through when i was not near,
my restless heart's silent prayer if only you could hear,
if only my gentle touch conveyed my inner trepidations.

if only we exchanged hearts, could you feel the beats
if our respective conditions, god forbid; were switched
your nights would become sleepless and days lack colours
senses, mind and soul would immerse in thoughts of yours

if only you read my words as truth not poetry
if only you allowed your heart to beat rather than choke
if only you let yourself be drenched in love as such
could you understand what i feel for you and how much!!

untitles again - suggestions invited

2010-01-09T22:40:00.003+05:30

लाल-पीले, भूरे-नीले, सफ़ेद-काले
कितने और घूंघट खोलूं मैं ?
क्यों ढूँढूं मैं वो नूर-सा चेहरा
हर-बार, बेकरार और बेबस
और क्यों हर-बार हूँ मायूस ?

जंगल के जंगल फांद लिए,
पांव-छिले, सांस-फूले, बदन टूटे,
रात-दिन, दौड़े-भागे,
कौन किस कस्तूरी कि तलाश में
और कहाँ-कहाँ ?

कितने देश, गाँव-शहर, बस्ती रहे कोई,
कितनों को करे अपने-पराये,
कितने जिस्मों ला लिबास पहने,
क्यों किसी का इंतज़ार करे कोई ।
घूंघट के पट तू क्या कभी खोलेगा ?
कस्तूरी को अपने सुगंध का पता मिलेगा ?
भटके राही को अपने घर का पता
और मुझे हर किसी में तू ही तू मिलेगा ?

lancedowne 6

2009-12-30T19:51:00.004+05:30

मेरी उँगलियों से होकर
शर्माती हुई जो गुज़रती है
रेशम सी ये पानी की डोर ,

ये पानी ही है या बर्फ का वो टुकड़ा
जिसे एक जेवर की तरह
पहन रखा था बूढ़े पहाड़ ने बरसों ।

और आसमान को चिढ़ता था -
देख मेरे पास भी हैं, और ये
तारों की तरह दिन में धोका भी नहीं देते ।

या ये पानी वो भाप है जिसे दूर साहिल पे
समुन्दर से मिलते - मिलते
सूरज हवा का जादुई जाल बिछा कर चुरा लेता है ।

मुझे तो लगता है , एक ही है यह
बूढ़े पहाड़ से लेकर, समुन्दर की गोदी तक
हर जगह, एक साथ, बस यही यह है ।

न कहीं से चली,
न कहीं पर जाना है इसे,
यहाँ - वहां , अब - तब का
वक़्त का माया जाल टूट गया
देखो वक़्त शाम के सायों की तरह
मुंह छिपा कर कैसे भाग रहा है ।

तेरा मेरा रिश्ता

2009-12-30T19:43:00.003+05:30

तू या तो मोहब्बत करेगा
या नफरत
या फिर बेरुखी ही करेगा ?
पर जो भी करेगा
ए खुदा मुझसे ही तो करेगा !

wednesday

2009-12-23T20:29:00.006+05:30

i am the 'now' between future and past,
the fulcrum between the first and the last.

the difference in that should and could be
between what was and would be.

the blank spaces between words, i am
hues that the painter intended not, i am.

find me in the pause between notes,
and exactly at the half for the numbers.

i am the face among the crowd you missed,
i am the stranger you always knew exists.

i am the joy that blessed you without reason
i am the pain that you realised was uncommon

i am what you think i am and i am not
i am written on a wednesday not to be forgot!!

please guesss what i am??

Memoir

2009-12-22T16:41:00.003+05:30

Change is the only constant they say,
only, 'only' is a mistake here we make;
what about 'memory' - i ask?
it changes as much or as less as change.
Like time: even though it changes everytime
it is there - now and always.

You may hate or love or be indiffirent;
the fact is that you know it Is.
You ingore, you avoid or you try to replace it.
Alas! here, there is no Shift+Delete.

hopespair

2009-12-15T14:07:00.004+05:30

different; or one with two faces you are

shall i call you 'hope' or shall i say 'despair' ?

do you guys realise the oppositeness of yourselves,

the absoluteness of your difference?

don't you see the effects you have on us

and on not just thoughts or actions, but all about us?

if one is all answers to all questions,

other: baseless, needless - doubts and questions.

one makes the sky and universe as near as backyard

the other roots one's feet to ground-real and hard.

so transitory both of you are at times

a mere word, a passing moment it takes for the needle to swing otherwise.

are you rather the limits of each other,

extreme of one leading to the another?

or are you the begining, the alpha or cipher

one needs and takes birth, in the womb of the other?

i realise, alone you will alaways be incomplete

you need the other to get meaning and give it.

again suggestions invited for title

2009-12-15T12:54:00.001+05:30

Why is it that i look over my left shoulder even i am walking alone, and order two cups of ginger honey tea to the suprise of the good waiter ?

Why do i check both the seat belts when i am only driving to work,
why do i open the door in a shop and wait for someone to pass ?

Why can't i see my reflection even in still water,
and every unseen face lights up a hope that it will be You.

Why can't i finish the tunes i start humming,
why can't i name my poems myself anymore ?

Why can't i think and not think about you,
why can't i sleep and not dream about you?
Why can't i do any else, but love?

green love

2009-12-13T16:06:00.004+05:30

phans of the bard-of-avon
pleze hold on
it iz nat about the green eyed manstar
rather it iz about the ebhent @ Copenhagan.

climate-change they say or something like that
tired of listening on India TV, Aaj Tak or something like that
what i waz thinking is what will happan
if the concept of go-Green is applied to 'LOVE' ?

well to begin with - 'boy meets garl or vice-versa'
how? that iz the moot queschan - car, bus, metro or cycle-rickshaw??
wizer ppl pleze consider the uze of public transport only
ebhen if u are in gurgaon, lucknow or delhi

be bhery-bhery careful about letter-wetter
only when there iz no alternative, please use paper
dry leaves,old hankie, used papers or ur body shade(tattoo),
but when u use paper,it better be recyclable or hand made.

also be cautious about gifts and tokens
no plastic to begin with, never gift cigarettes
wrapping - with old papers and use tissue papers as cards finally
and for gifts that suck! - pleaze throw them in dusst-bin only

and only u can appreciate the rare greenery in a buzy city
how valuable is the privacy, silence, shade and axygen in vicinity
u know it bhery well, so plant as many trees together as u can
so that your baton-holders can also walk and sit in parks.

guyz - don't forget to tun off lights in hurry to be punctual for date
garls - you need not see yourself in the mirror while talking on phone
and can't love make up for the extremes of heat and cold?
can't the three magic words create comforts that an A.C. or room heater does?

if willy-nilly things go ahead and u decide to tie the knat and marry
and if ur parents are hung up on stars calling the shots
send and exchange only soft-copies of the horoscope and
please consider environment:print if absolutely necessary !!

lancedowne 5

2009-12-07T20:20:00.003+05:30

नज़्म तो बन गयी है,
पर अभी दो लाइने बाकि है ।
वो सबसे ऊपर जहाँ टाइटल की जगह होती है,
और एकदम नीचे जहाँ शायर का नाम होता है ।

अब कैसे एक टाइटल दूँ इसे ?
कौन से नाम से पुकारूँ ?
ये तो ख़ुद चलके आई थी मेरे पास
सहमी-सी, आखों में मेरे लिए प्यार लिए,
ख्यालों की पालकी में बैठ कर ।
उन ख्यालों के ही नाम दे दूँ ?
पर एक होता तो न , कितने ही हैं,
किस -किस का नाम दूँ ?
न जाने अपने जिगर के टुकड़ों को
माँ-बाप कैसे एक ही नाम दे देते हैं ?
हर दिन , हर पर, हर हरकत पे
एक नया नाम देने का मन नहीं करता ?

शायर कौन है अब ? नाम क्या है उसका ?
सारे ही हैं यहाँ, जिसको देखता हूँ वही हकदार लगता है ।
किसी पेड़ की डाली से मैंने
यादों के पीले पत्तों को टटोला है ।
आसमान ने अपने कितने ही रंग
भरे हैं मेरे स्याही में ।
रात भर सुलगती हुई लकड़ी ने
मुझे टाटा है , जिंदा रखा है ।
पत्थरों को उठा कर पुराने
ज़ख्म खारोचे हैं ।
सपनो को बादलों की कश्ती में
बिठा कर सैर कराया है ।
इतने नाम तो नहीं लिख सकता ,
अपना ही लिख देता हूँ ।
पर क्या नाम है मेरा और
क्यों कोई नाम हो मेरा ?

शायर बेनाम होता तो अच्छा होता
न कभी नाम होता,
न ही कभी बदनाम ।
शायर का अपना भी तो कुछ नहीं
नाम भी नहीं ।
अब, ऐसे ही छोड़ देता हूँ - खाली,
किसी का तो नाम हो , उसका ही सही ।