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Since my last post…


Since my last post…

Half an year has passed by,
Millions of leaves have fallen dry
Thousands have fled their homes;
And are living under the blue sky.

Millions of eyes, brimming with tears
Millions of hearts throbbing in fears
Thousands of bullets and hundreds of bombs
Scarring humanity for the coming years

Yet…

Millions of flowers have welcomed the springs
And colourful butterflies have fluttered their wings
And gleefully have giggled the millions of kids
Under the trees, over the swings

Cutting their way against the breeze
Still sing the birds on the trees
Still does the pensive turtle
Waddle along the violent seas

Are they blind to the streams of blood?
Or oblivious to the waves of flood?
Or do they simply turn a deaf ear
To the cries of a child covered in mud?

Probably they don’t even care
For not long can darkness stare
After a time, as has always been
It will be vanished, into thin air.

दिनचर्या


नितांत चलायमान घडी की ओर घंटों से टिकीं वो अथक आँखें मानो किसी दैवीय प्रेरणा की प्रतीक्षा कर रही थीं। भोर की प्रथम किरणों से मानो कह रही हों कि इस निरुद्देश्य जीवन में उद्देश्य की उष्णता का संचार करें । तभी अचानक किसी चिर-परिचित की आवाज़ उसके इस समाधि को भंग करती है ।

“गुटुर-गूं…  गुटुर-गूं”

“उफ्फ ! आती हूँ आती हूँ ! बेचारी भूखी होंगी; कितनी बार बोला है इनसे दाने डाल दिया करें; पर मेरी सुनता कौन है यहाँ ? ओह! आज तो ये हैं भी नहीं घर पर… पता नहीं भैय्या! दुनिया जहां के टूर भी इन्हें ही करने होते; दुनिया में जैसे सिर्फ यही हैं एक काम करने वाले!” अपने ही मन में बुदबुदाती, चावल के डब्बे से एक मुट्ठी चावल निकाल कर कबूतरों को खिलाती । पर यह क्या? कबूतर के पंख तो चारो ओर बिखरे पड़े हैं… ये बिलइय्या भी ना… एक दिन सारे कबूतर खा जायेगी… पता नहीं बच पायी होगी की नहीं बेचारी.… इसीलिए आज उनकी आवाज़ ऐसे दबी हुई सी आ रही थी।”

तभी उसकी नज़र अपने उजड़े-संवरे से बागीचे पर पड़ती है। और दसों हरे-भरे लहलहाते पौधों के बीच उसकी नज़र उसे एक पौधे की एक डाली खोज ही निकालती जो हलकी सी मुरझाई हुई हो। “कोई मेरे पेड़ पर ध्यान ही नहीं देता… कैसे मुरझा गए हैं बेचारे; इन्हे तो जब देखो सिर्फ अपने कैक्टस के पेड़ ही दिखते हैं।” दौड़ के फिर से वह अंदर जाती; मानो पानी के लिए उस पेड़ की करूँ पुकार उसके कानों को भेद रही हो। और एक गिलास पानी इतने प्यार से उसे पिलाती मानो अपने बच्चे को अपने हाथ से पिला रही हो।”

इसी तरह हर सुबह उसका स्वागत करता।  अपने बागीचे में टहल कर जब वो आती और क्षुदा उसे सताती, फ्रिज का दरवाज़ा खोल, वो रात की बची रोटियां तलाशती। कौन बनाएगा फिर से गरम रोटियाँ? अकेले इंसान के लिए भी कोई खाना बनाता है भला? और मेरा बच्चा भी तो ऐसे ही खाता होगा। उसको तो रोटी भी नहीं मिलती होगी।” यही सोंच कर दो में से एक ही रोटी खा कर रह जाती। “किसने बोला था उसे जर्मनी जाने को? इंडिया में क्या अच्छे कॉलेज नहीं हैं क्या?” कुछ देर मन ही मन खुद पे गुस्सा निकालने के बाद खुद ही खुद तो समझाती, “जर्मनी गया भी है तो पढ़ने ही ना? तीन साल बाद तो वापस आ ही जाएगा। और घर में बैठकर भी कभी पढ़ाई होती है भला? घर में रहता तो मैं ही परेशान करती रोज़ उसे: खाना खाओ, तो नहाने जाओ, तो कभी सोने का टाइम हो गया है… ऐसे भी कभी पढ़ाई होती भला?”

इन्हीं सब सोच में डूबी रहती और घर का काम करती। कभी गुड्डे के साथ थोड़ा मुस्कुरा लेती, कभी फूलों को निहार लेती। और इन्ही सब के बीच फिर से घडी की तरफ देखती और सोचती, “अब तो फोन करने का टाइम हो गया है इसका; अब फोन करेगा”। फिर अचानक दिमाग दौड़ता, “टाइम सही से तो देखा है ना? वहाँ का टाइम भी तो अलग होता है । अगर गलत टाइम पे फ़ोन किया और वो अपने प्रोफेसर से बात कर रहा होगा तो? और फिर अगर मुझे डाँट दिया तो?” फिर जल्दी से उँगलियों पे समय का अनुमान लगाती और फिर से इंतज़ार में बैठ जाती।  फ़ोन आता तो बात करती वरना मन मसोस के बैठ जाती और सोचती की शायद बहुत काम होगा आज।

रात होती तो खाना खाकर बेटे के वापस आने के दिन गिनती और मन ही मन खाने की लिस्ट बनाती।  आखिर जर्मनी के खाने में कहाँ है घर के खाने का स्वाद? “बेचारा पढ़ाई कैसे कर पाता होगा? वही आधा पका या पूरा जला खाना खाता होगा।”

इन्ही ख्यालों में डूबी, कुछ आंसू छुपाती, कुछ आंसू गटकती, रात की चादर में दुबक कर वो सो जाती… एक नयी सुबह, एक नयी प्रेरणा की तलाश में।

quote-Lorene-Scafaria-routine-is-part-of-coping-212547

We are all Writers


sr-1-18

One of my friends once said that every person has a story to tell; he or she is just waiting for the right person to share it with at the right time. Life is a journey, and each one of us starts alone on a solitary road, with an empty earthen pot on our head. As we walk on this road, it occasionally rains. These rains are what we call experiences. We collect some of them in our earthen pots. We collect them, preserve them but keep them to ourselves. And on the warm sunny days with clear blue skies, when we have all the time to introspect, water sometimes seeps out through the porous walls of the pot. That is when our fellow travelers can see a part of us. They know us through our stories. The stories that are shaped out of our experiences. These warm sunny days are when we reflect upon ourselves. These warm sunny days are when we tell our stories. These warm sunny days are when we write.

When on the topic of writing, I get reminded of the tens of times when tens of my friends have reminded me the most obvious fact — that I have not been writing lately; and that I SHOULD be writing. While their allegations are justified, it is not true that I haven’t thought of writing lately. And it was during one of these ‘thought’ sessions that this weird thought came to my mind that I have not been all that dormant these days. I have been writing. In fact, all of us are continuously writing. A researcher has been writing articles in journals, a reporter has been writing columns in the newspaper, a musician has been writing new music, a painter has been writing new paintings, a player is writing new milestones.

Writing is penning down stories and embedding emotions and experiences in them. This embedding need not always be in words. In fact, most of us don’t write words. Painters tell their stories through paintings, photographers by their photos, and dancers by their dance. Most people, however like their stories simply spoken to an individual. Everyone writes stories. Everyone shares their experiences. The only factor that changes is the people with whom the stories are shared.

The longer we walk on the road of life, the more water does our earthen pot collect. Water is heavy and so are the experiences. We all walk along until the pot is too heavy to carry. The pot then topples and eventually falls.. And all the water spills on the ever-thirsty sands; and all that remains are marks and a fading trail… Until we pick up another empty pot and embark on another journey again…

The Unending Game


Sea

As I stand on the sea-shore
With waves washing my feet
I drown into my pensive lanes
As I see them retreat

Million forms of the formless
And yet they are the same
Million colours of the colourless
Playing the same old game

Thousand waves that strike a day
Trying hard to gain some land
Endless efforts go in vain
Invincible stands the rule of sand

And then to roaring seas I ask
“What do you boast of all day
There is no song of glory to sing
You try in vain, the world does say”

Smiling at me the giant said
I seek no songs, no glories, no praise
All those are transient, they come and go
It is the joy that forever stays

Where is the joy you talk about
In this never ending game?
Never shall you gain an inch
The land shall forever be same

What do you think of the sand below
Lying beneath your innocent feet?
Weren’t they rocks, years ago
Smashed by the game of approach and retreat?

From rocks to stones to pebbles to sand
And all the snow in all the land
With stories untold, come to me
To loose themselves and merge with the grand

One day, to me, you too would come
As a part of this unending game
And so would everything under sun
But I shall still remain the same…

Through the Aroma of Your Pages


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Through my brief journey with words, I have realised the immense power they posses. The journey through written words is a journey not only through words said; but through the entire stories that each word hides. Those words take you to a new world. A world where you loose the identity of you, and become the person whose words are being read. To share his sorrows and tears and pain; you share his smiles and joy and pride. A journey though ones work is a journey through oneself. Its an attempt to stand in his shoes and look at the world in a way that he does…

 

Presenting an outcome of one such experience as I become the writer whose blog I have been following since… well a long time. And writing a piece pretending to be her in my own way….

———————————————————————————————–

Dear Diary

An year and counting… and the turmoil doesn’t seem to end. As I flip though your pages, I realise how long it has been. And in this long year and a half, how much has changed and yet remained the same. This city with which I had a love-hate relationship seems to attract and repel more strongly than ever. The desire to get out of the city has transformed into an unknown love in recent times. And now when time has come to say goodbye, the memories seem to cling to me even more. Memories of friends; memories of beaches; memories of giggles and laughter and smiles; memories of silence and tears and cries…

All these four years I thought I lived in this city. But now I seem to realise that somehow this city lives in me. And the day I leave this city forever; it seems the city within me too would depart. The city will leave with its local trains, the city will leave with its winter rains; the city will leave with its sea-shore breeze, the city will leave… silently… probably with ease. And so will the present become my past; and will stay in my heart till the memories last.

And you know what? As I leave this known, beloved past; I delve into the an unknown future. Changes are always like that I guess. But changes were never so hard… you know. May be it is a treasure of joys, but as of now, it seems uncertain. Fear… yes fear surrounds me as I jump across the trench. What if I fall?

But again… I can’t stay here. Agreed the city gave me friends, stature and identity; But how can I forget that this city… this city of past, snatched away me from myself. He, who was my soul mate, my love has been captured by the city to be a part of past. The more I stay in this sea of memories the deeper shall I drown, it is hence the time I jump off and leave the town…

Oh I hate you, you diary… I envy you so much. You weaken me… Who says you are a true friend? You are evil… Every time I flip through your pages, I find myself trapped in memories. Memories sweet and sour, experiences good and bad… And you know what the problem is? You don’t help. You just show the memories… And then what happens? The moments of pains and tears are re-lived; and the moments of joys and smiles are missed. How the hell does it help?

Thousands of words remain unsaid. Probably I shall share some other day. But I know dear diary, you know them already… After all you are the witness of my past. And each part of me is trapped within the aroma of your pages.

Make me Life


Joseph_Campbell_Quote_We_Must_Be_Willing

 

 

Make me a smile

I will adorn a face

Be a part of the joy

And add to its grace

 

Make me the peace

That prevails after a strife

Make me the seed

Of genesis of life

 

Make me a child’s toy

I will witness his smile

The innocent expressions

In his eyes agile

 

Make me the thunder

Announcing the rains

Make me a raindrop

That washes off the pains

 

Make me a firefly

That orchestrates the show

Twinkles beneath the night sky

Spreading its glow

 

Make me the emotions

That flow out as tears

Make me the belief

That drives out the fears

 

Make me the soothing song

A comrade who walks along

The seeker of right and wrong

Walking alone on a path too long

 

Oh! Make me the life

Forever I shall fly

And never shall be dead

Before the day I die

 

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Dear Readers… With this poem, I seek your leave…. Exams ahead… So shall be busy for a few weeks… Meet you in the second week of December… 🙂

एक दिन तुम आओगे | You would come one day


waiting

 

This poem is written in Hindi. For those of you who don’t understand the language; I have translated it in English below. Please don’t use Google to translate the page… It does a pathetic job. Sorry that I could not maintain a good flow in the translated version…

ज्ञात है कि एक दिन तुम आओगे
अपने आलिंगन में ले जाओगे
सहसा कदाचित प्रकट होगे
और सुख-दुःख मेरा हर लोगे

निराकार अदृश्य हो तुम
असीम सर्वव्याप्त हो तुम
अचल अडिग नित्य हो तुम
जीवन का अंतिम सत्य हो तुम

हर ख़ुशी की मुस्कान हो तुम
हर दुःख की अश्रुधार हो तुम
अक्षुण्ण निर्विकार हो तुम
जीवन के मूलाधार हो तुम

लोग कहते हैं बड़े क्रूर हो तुम
अनासक्त; भावनाओं से दूर हो तुम
खुशियों के नाशक हो तुम
प्रचंड तेजस्वी विनाशक हो तुम

पर हे सुख-दुःख के मूलाधार!
अदृश्य अज्ञात विश्वाधार
तुम ही तो लेकर स्वरुप अपार
करते जीवन में जीवन-संचार

 

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I know you would come someday

Embrace me and take me away

Out of the blue you would appear

And take away my joys and fears

 

Invisible; formless you are

Ubiquitous; endless you are

Firm, immovable, immutable you are

The truth of life; undeniable you are

 

Smiles of all joys you are

Tears of all cries you are

Unimpaired; flawless you are

The basis of existence you are

 

They say cruel; brutal you are

Detached; stone-hearted you are

Murder of smiles you are

Fierce, ruthless destroyer you are

 

But O you! The pivot of peace and strife

Unknown, invisible, basis of life

Is it not you, who in the greatest form

Is the reason of life in all life-forms

Guest Post: And Hence Along the Life I Flow


This is a beautiful poem written my dearest sister White Pearl as a guest post… I am truly humbled…

Pretty-girl-walking-alone

Less self discernment I show

More the agony, More is throe

Less Humane, more fierce I go

And hence along the life I flow

Selfishness, deceit, dishonesty

Are the attributes I bestow

Greed and lust , lying likely

And hence along the life I flow

Witness a blood-stained accident

Hear to the screams that grow

Turning away my eyes I ascent

And hence along the life I flow

Fall in Love with the mortal

Suck poison that works slow

Die inside Loose Morale

And hence along the life I flow

As a sister and daughter I go

The stage of life swaps its show

As a wife and a mother I grow

And hence along the life I flow

Cherish delightful enchanting bits

Become smiling stars that glow

Never Thank the divine and His writs

And hence along the life I flow

Wandering thoughts and questions

Making home in my mind they sow

I endeavor for the unknown answers

And hence along the life I flow

Experience difficulties and pain

Battle against the days Low

Gather the scattered vessel’s pane

And hence along the life I flow

Family, Friends , a large crowd intended

People navigate along the journey though

Leave me in the middle, empty handed

And hence along the life I flow

Kicked-off, bruised, jolted, slugged

By the savage life that blow

Put up my lifeless corpse converged

And hence along the life I flow

Thinking and being positive, Hope

Are the lessons I learn and know

Happiness and contentment will lope

And hence along the life I flow

Dancing In Madness


As I stand and adore this land
Where the mighty sea meets the sand
Where winds strong kiss the sea
And create waves and let them free

Where the sea does endlessly try
To quench the thirst of the lands dry
Wave after wave it tries in vain
Ages have passed, not an inch did it gain

I stand and absorb the nectar of delight
As I free my mind with the birds’ flight
Dive into an ocean where materials lose their meaning
And all that is left is emotion and joy unending

Waves of elation, sorrow and pain
Hit the rocks reduce them to grain
Demolishing the boulders of ignorance and fear
Creating sands of experience and wisdom clear

I feel the nature dancing around
Dancing in joy immesurable and unbound
Celebrating the creation, existance and destruction
Immersed in this cycle of joy sorrow and satisfaction

And now as I turn to a trail unknown
A path scary, now seems my own
Fearless with knowledge I advance
With elation in heart, madly do I dance…

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