Notes from Jajabara Trips I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.