My poetic face

2012-01-01T18:54:00.000+05:30

घरौंदे जैसे बचपन के ख्वाब
एक टूटा तो नया बना लेते हैं
कुछ, ताज़ा लम्हों की रेत से बना के
वक्त की नदी के किनारे यूँ ही छोड़ आते हैं

कुछ ख्वाब हमारे साथ बड़े होते हैं
कुछ हमारे birthday पे cake की तरह
हर साल कटते जाते हैं
और कुछ cake पे रखी मोमबत्तियों की तरह
हम खुद ही बुझा देते हैं

कुछ ख्वाब हम बनाते हैं
और कुछ ख्वाब हमे बनाते हैं
कुछ जिस्म पे एक निशान बन के रह जाते हैं

पर कुछ ख्वाब बड़े ढीठ होते हैं

ऐसा ही एक ख्वाब है ये
इस ख्वाब की उम्र बड़ी लम्बी है

ये बिन पूछे पनपता है
बाहर आने को मचलता है
शमा की तरह जलता है
पर हकीकत की हवा से डरता है

बाहर आ के बुझ न जाये
जब तक अन्दर है झूठ है पर जिंदा है
बाहर की भगदड़ में किसी सच
से कुचलने की आशंका है

ये ख्वाब मरेगा तो नहीं पर जाने कब निकलेगा

इस ख्वाब की उम्र बड़ी लम्बी है
ये ख्वाब मेरे कब्र तक जायेगा
और पस-ए-मर्ग शायद, कब्र पे
एक पौधा बन के निकलेगा

Shafaq aur Sahar

2010-07-17T16:42:00.000+05:30

सहर, रात की बोझिल पलकों पे औंधा सा रहता है,

जैसे हवा की थपकी से जगा, कोई पौधा सा रहता है.

शाम के किनारे, अपनी मौत के इंतजार मे एक दिन,

लहरों की मर्ज़ी पे जैसे, किनारे का घरौंदा सा रहता है.

बुझ गयी हो जो शमा, सबा के इंतजार मे,

शफक के आहट से भी वो, खौफज़दा सा रहता है.

साकी के हाथों ने, शफक को छू सा क्या लिया,

शब की आँखों मे अब, मयकदा सा रहता है.

सिकस्तगर है चिराग आज फिर, शब-ओ-रोज़ के खेल मे,

फज्र का मुन्तजिर है, ज़फर का उसे इरादा सा रहता है.

_______________

सहर - Morning

सबा- Dawn

शफक - Evening

शब - Night

सिकस्तगर - Defeated

शब-ओ-रोज़ - Day & Night

फज्र - Morning

मुन्तजिर - In waiting

ज़फर - Victory

______________________

A Small Town Boy

2009-10-24T17:16:00.009+05:30

“A small town boy”- A salutation which is pejorative if someone else uses it and prerogative if you use it yourself. An identity which is halo for some and hollow for some. The identity which we carry all our life with head held high or low subjected to our personal disposition.
We small town boys have somehow this urge to prove to our urbane sophisticated counterpart that we are as fucked up as they are and since we have achieved this feat in less resources and less opportunities to screw up we have the upper hand.
Irrespective of cast, creed, gender or place we share some quintessential similarities which is as evident as the egg shaped face of Martians -not that I have seen them in person but India TV has helped me in great deal to visualize them. I wonder whether they (India TV) have a permanent studio on Mars or Martians keep paying regular visits to their studio –and not of zoozoos; they are humans not even animated.
Our accent is funny; I call it CRUDE- Congenital Rural Urban Divide Enunciator.
We have never heard of half the dishes on the menu wherever we go (with our elevated & esteemed friend circle) to dine.
We haggle to the restaurant manager, why à la carte is not served in the buffet.
We relate continental to geography and not to a dish.
Sizzler for us is some hot babe.
It is not that we are insecure…we are just unsure. We are unsure that girls will find us a good company (and if we could somehow get in there we are unsure about the validity of this membership).
But in a way this uncertainty is good for us because it pushes us for more. We try harder because we have to. We have this constant urge to move up because we start from so deep down the ladder we have only one direction to go. We believe if everyone is ordinary we are outstandingly ordinary. We are proud of the fact that our incisive questions/remarks make professors/people think (we owe it partly to our intelligence and mostly to our accent). Playing on the edge (which we pronounce age) comes easy (which we pronounce ejee) to us.
We are generally of two types; one who think they have erased every trace of it but are sadly reminded of their origin by the occasional slips. Other who always keep saying they are from a small town (and thus be respected for their struggle of making it to the position where they are). They are proud of their roots (as they say and probably mean also) being constantly aware that the tree has changed and so has “route”.
We are introduced to a new world by our friends and its damn fascinating….its **** ing fascinating…..we love using words damn and fuck in a single sentence one followed by other…sometimes masked with star out of our deep-rooted values, sometimes unmasked to show we have overcome our inhibitions and sometimes used in short form to say WTF, I will use it whatever way I want. Our constant use of words damn, shit, fuck sounds like dam, sit, phuck on which they laugh on which we say “phuck them!! dam it!! We don’t give a sit.”
I would always be a STB (small town boy). Proud to be one.

ख्वाब की नींद

2009-07-19T20:46:00.012+05:30

कल मैंने ख्वाब में एक नींद देखा

शहरों की एक झील थी
जिसमे रौशनी का चाँद डूब रहा था,
झोंके का हवा हिला जाता था लट को उसके
और स्पर्श का हाथ भी छू जाता था हलके.

सरसराहटों के पत्ते उड़ रहे थे कानों में
और सौंदर्य की प्रकृति आँखों में फसला रही थी,
हम शहर के किनारे पैरों में पानी डाल, आवाजों की छ्प-छ्प कर रहे थे
और दूर कहीं झींगुर की रात एक अनसधे सुर में गुनगुना रही थी.

पतली परत का एक कोहरा, अपने चाँद को ढँकने की कोशिश में था
पर घूँघट का चाँद सरक आता था चुपके से,
पेड़ों के पहाड़ ढलके आते थे नीचे झाडियों को पूछते
और अनमनी सी झाडियाँ कतरा रहीं थी मचलने से.

घुप्प अँधेरे की चाँदनी में नहा रहे थे हम
कपड़े काले हो गए थे भींग के,
हमारे पानी से टपकता कपड़ा, झील की फर्श पोंछे जाता था
पानियों के tiles चमचमा उठे थे जैसे.

रौशनी का जुगनू आ के बैठ गया उसके बालों में
और उसने झटक दी एक बूँद नूर की,
हमने अपने हाथों में फिर गर्माहट की चाय ली
और उष्णता के घूँट पीते रहे देर तक.

जब चाँद की रात जाने को थी, और सूरज की सुबह आने को थी
हमने अपने यहाँ वहाँ फैलाए लमहे समेटे
तह किए उन्हें, और झोले की यादों में डाल लिया

ख्वाब खुलने का वक्त हो चला था
नींद के टूटने का वक्त हो चला था

कल मैंने ख्वाब में एक नींद देखा
बड़ी प्यारी नींद।

Pee

2009-07-11T15:39:00.004+05:30

Pee…sometimes this three letter word becomes so long that it takes hours to get rid of it and after that, shaking and drying takes another couple of hours. And when you are holding it back you suddenly realize the new facet of famous saying…..water is life (sometimes giver, sometimes taker).
This pee has a nasty habit to knock on your door when you are expecting it the least।You are in a meeting which would surely stretch to infinity (if it doesn’t; your pee will make sure it feels so), you are the junior most person who is not supposed to leave the meeting in the middle and there is a knock on the door. Worst, at the same time your boss asks you the question you are not prepared for. The law of physics goes awry (who the **** has said internal and external pressure balances each other). One can very well make a dig on you afterwards if you tell what just happened “Pani ne pani le li teri aaj”.
I think Pee; apart from time, has the most significant effect on human psyche. I even say we could feel time because of the Pee, while we were holding it back. Anyway so the time and pee has the most important effect on human psyche hence when they started making words for communication many were turned out to be the combination of these two…unknowingly…unconsciously….like Pyaj (Pee + Aaj)….Pickle (Pee + Kal)…Peepl (Pee + pal)…Peer (Pee + Year). I am sure you will get several hidden such portmanteau words if you dig enough.
There is something about pee which is very occult...abstract.....esoteric...there is some “pee-ness”, which we can’t define....and because of the awe generated out of our incomprehension of this “pee-ness” we named the tool by the same moniker (though making it phonetically “sound”). This “pee-ness” takes more importance once we get to know to its other usage which demands separate article in itself. Till I write on that “sensitive” issue let us give “standing ovation” (ladies excuse me for being partial even in my pun usage) to our own Pee. Do "peeng" me your smelly comments :)

Happee peeing.

And then I slapped my Boss

2009-06-14T16:43:00.002+05:30

And then I slapped my boss.
Now He can’t say ‘what a sloppy slap’ it was as he usually comments on whatever we do.

Some fortunate ones who always hang around the printer or our boss, wondering who more deservedly earns his/its place by exactly copying, could witness this historic moment. They will narrate this story to their grandchildren saying “and the rest is history”. By ‘rest’ they would mean me. Being the prime witness of this case they sure would command respect at the coffee corner, at the water cooler and many more such places where productivity always remains at all time high. Some people, who could not see it, would pretend to see it and claim their membership to the rarest of the rare community of I-have-seen-my-boss-being-slapped. Some unlucky ones who have only heard the sound would console themselves by the thought of at least sharing the same floor space with me. Rest of the employees would be asking for my identity. I have surely earned a name for myself. I have surely become a “celebraty”.
You must be wondering what did he do to deserve this but if you had a boss anytime in your life, no matter who, where, how, you would be happy that good someone did the due.

Having pulled off the stunt I came to my desk to do the needful. As I was typing my resignation letter I became mindful of many things. My mind started wandering the territory which; had I visited earlier I would not have been in this situation at the first place. I was good to go …..but was it good? Should I not have ended it on an amicable note? After all, he was not such a bad person. Every boss is like that but no one goes around slapping? He won’t be sitting silent. He can harm my career. Should I apologize? He will dishonor me for sure but he might consider keeping me. The new job search is not easy. These so called job portals would offer you everything except what you want. They must be working very hard to put wrong people at the wrong seat. This is their bread and butter. If you would be satisfied with your job you won’t need them. They will make you feel that there are plenty of jobs out there but your profile doesn’t suit them. Either you are too fresh or too experienced. The demand is always high for the job which you are leaving and always minimal for the job which you want. Their algorithm is made of the combination of NAND and NOR gates.
Sure I got the most envied orgasm by slapping my boss but now when sperms have flown down the drain I am feeling impotent. I had my turn, now it is my turn to get screwed. I think I should go to his chamber and put my pants down to satisfy his erected and bruised phallus.
I headed to his room filled with apprehension. I knocked at the door. He lifted his head, his cheeks were still red. “I had left quite an impression on him.” He signaled me in.
I entered his room. The room was cold but not more than his expression. My face was full of remorse and fear. He did not say a word. He was enjoying the expression of surrender on my face. I was unable to say anything. I didn’t know, would he propose to slap me in front of everyone to take me back at the job. He was straight faced but I could easily identify the curves beneath that.
He asked me “yes?”
He wanted to see me begging. He wanted me to be same obedient pet which I was before. No sooner had I opened my mouth than he said “just a min. My AC is not working today. I am feeling pretty hot here. Shall we discuss it outside?”
I had no choice but to obey. I had to keep my family. I had many responsibilities which I conveniently forgot in the moment of rage. I was out in the open. Everyone in my office was looking at me with their ears. They were all in their cubicles so to say but they were gathered all around me to see the final show.
My boss asked “Sorry, what were you saying?”
I remembered the incident when he repeated the same sentence four times when an employee said sorry till his voice got loud enough to be heard by everyone. It was his typical style. Was I going to be embarrassed in the same way? I had no other option. I had to take my chances.
I was about to apologize then something weird happened.
I said “You bloody deserve it” and slapped him again in front of everyone.
Unlucky few at the first time were blessed at last; and others had a powerful story to tell their hosts at the dinner table, a powerful weapon to intimidate their boss, a souvenir to pass on to their coming generations.
And as they say “the rest was history……”.

The best bad bet (A short story)

2008-07-28T11:56:00.001+05:30

I was happy. The government office is not the place where you usually feel happy; but it was not a usual day, it was a historic moment. The office where, even fans make less revolutions because it’s a government fan; where the potential energy of opposite side of the table converts in the dynamic energy only when some external force is applied under the table, where getting your work done itself is a cause of celebration; think of my situation where I have got my work done, almost, WITHOUT PAYING. This almost is not for “without paying” but for “work”. I just have to get it stamped from the peon and I can blow my own trumpet till my friend’s ear turns deaf.
I am going to meet the peon now. Meanwhile let me introduce my friend, who is witnessing this whole saga silently, to you. He is not that silent usually, but as I said, this is not a usual day; it is the day of his defeat. Some time ago following my usual routine when I went to his home we got entangled in an argument, but this time it was the battle of principles (which we both didn’t have). Conversation flew something like this:
I: “Take out your car. We will go on a long ride today”.
My Friend: “Sure. Why not? Today only I have my got license made. Let us inaugurate it.”
I: “Yippee. New license party.”
My friend: “The party money has gone to the government officials. Bring it and then we will definitely have a party.”
I: “That’s not fair. You can’t use the party money to pay for your convenience.
My friend: Sir, where are you? Bribe is not a surcharge for the convenience it is a mandatory grease of the system which makes it run smoothly.”
I: “It seems someone is in dire need of putting grease in his own system which has refused to buzz for these kinds of works. That rust has reached your top floor buddy. Your convenience is mandatory for you and that, is putting surcharge on the system.”
My friend just smiled. But it was not just a smile. It was the same smile which people exhibit when they don’t feel like arguing because they think the next person is not worthy enough. By this single smile they consider the argument won without actually indulging in it.
“Ok. You don’t believe me, do you? I will get my license made without paying a single penny.” I said curtly.
“Don’t take it to the heart man. I accept my defeat. You won. No need to do that” he smiled again.
Again the same smile. I could bear it no more but I controlled my anger and said firmly,
“It’s a bet. You don’t need to accept it but you are a part of it now. I will prove it to you that our system is corrupt because we don’t want to go out in the sun. Our desire to be in a shade is tanning the system. I will show you its true complexion.”
My friend: As you wish. I am glad being the part of the bet.
That was how it all started. After that I revolved around the transport office like a bee circles the flower. I went through the grind, did all what was required to, standing in the queues, filling up the forms, tolerating babu’s temper. Now I just have to get it stamped by the peon and I am ready to repay my friend all his smiles.
“Bhaiya please stamp this paper” I requested the peon.
“10 bucks” he said with a straight face.
Not putting a please before asking for anything didn’t please me. Not that I would have paid him had he done that, but still.
“No..no. You got me wrong. I am not buying the stationary” I tried to crack a joke.
“I am not selling that either” he quipped matter-of-factly.
“Where is it written that I should pay you?” this time I was not funny.
“The constitution of England is also unwritten. Do anyone question that!”

I was not prepared for this answer. I never imagined such an insignificant creature possessing such significant knowledge. I always thought that knowledge is legacy of the educated people like us. I was answerless and had to leave the government office for today, at least; till the ignominy of defeat subsides by the ointment of shamelessness.
That day onwards I started going to that office regularly.
1st day I tried to threaten him that I will complain and he will be in a deep soup but his face was as expressionless as white paper. He himself told me the authorities to whom I can complain.
2nd day I tried to awaken his consciousness by telling him his duties as an honest and responsible staff and how can he “make the difference.” He replied that he is already making difference.........to his own life.
3rd day I tried to reason with him that it will make no harm to your pocket if you discount it only for me; but he told me that he can’t cheat his other customers. He is providing a service in which, trust and credibility are the things he has built up for years. For a meager amount he can’t compromise on that.
4th day I gave him subtle hints to convey that I have many contacts and he could leverage it in case I leverage him as my contact, but I got to know that the government peon has maximum number of contacts; he doesn’t need more. He is connected to everybody and not in that “six degrees of freedom” sense but in “star network” sense.
I went there so many times that I started feeling myself as housewife and the office as a kitchen. Only difference being; I was being cooked instead of I cooking. I was like a pressure cooker which had steam in opulence but no whistle. I was such a frequent visitor that I could tell the daily income of his by just seeing the bulge. My minor contribution in that bulge could have saved me from this swelling.
My friend never teased me, not because he was such a saint; but because he knew it hurts the most when nothing is said.
So many days have passed since then, that Alexander would have won whole India in that time, but here I was, still struggling with my license to be made “priceless”. I analyzed the whole situation and only thing that had left to convince that damn peon was “to make him an offer that he couldn’t refuse”. Totally godfather style. In the whole saga, only person who remained firm was that peon. It’s time for me to be firm now. I planned the whole move. I took out my licensed gun (god knows who made the license for it and how!) and put it firmly in my pocket. I knew the work stops at four o’clock in that office and by five everyone leaves. That peon leaves slightly after that after settling last few customers. I deliberately chose this time when no one was around; not because I didn’t want any witness if I shot him, but for the reason that if my hands shivered while bringing out the gun, nobody was there to ridicule me afterwards.

I entered the office as per my plan. He was alone. My grip tightened on the gun. All my pities, my begging which I had done in last few months started coming to me. I felt like Bhagat Singh who was going to take revenge against the system. My fear got replaced by my enthusiasm and determination. I felt like shooting him if he refused. I approached him with my straight face. With one hand on the trigger in my pocket I pushed my paper to him without uttering a word. He saw the paper then he saw my face. He watched his wrist watch and thought for a moment. In the meantime my pressure was building up. I was not sure what I would do had he refused. He took the paper. Put the stamp on it and handed it over to me with a smile.
I couldn’t believe that I had succeeded finally. I don’t know what happened. Did he get the hint of my plans or did he just give up unable to bear my face again and again? All I know I had done it. I ran to my friend’s house, threw the paper on his desk and smiled as if I had conquered the world. I didn’t tell him anything because I knew it hurts the most when nothing is said. I had won and this win gave me the magnanimity to call him for the party tonight. He was very pleasant and happy. No sign of remorse or defeat was apparent on his face. He accepted the invitation as he had accepted me with all my faults.

After few months, I had to go the same office with some other friend, for his work. When he was getting the paper stamped by the same peon I quipped “You shouldn’t take money. You didn’t take from me”.
He grinned and replied “didn’t your friend tell you?”
“What?” I asked.
“A day before you got your paper stamped your friend had paid me enough to put it to the end.” He answered smilingly.

I couldn’t bear that. I got the shock of my lifetime. Technically I had won the bet because “I” didn’t pay anything but had I really won?

A feather in my c(r)ap

2008-07-28T11:55:00.003+05:30

A piece of thought for “Light Reading” doesn’t fetch money even at the shop of “Raddiwalla” but still this style is alive and widely read. I have tried to come up with some exoteric reasons which could put some “weight” on “light writing”. One advantage might be that it doesn’t enlighten you but delight you. Where a serious (or heavy) piece has some subject (i.e. topic) and objectives the light piece has subjects and objects just for making a complete sentence even if they don’t make a complete sense . If Heavy piece has “gravity”, light piece has “luminosity”. If a heavy piece is the outcome of constipated thought spreading the smell of intellectual shit, a light piece is the outcome of asphyxiated thought casting the spell of moronic bliss.
If you have read so far and intend to do so further I must say it will add “another fea(the)r in your c(r)ap.” The structure of this piece will be iconoclastic where no sentence has any obligation to be the harbinger of the next sentence. So be prepared for chaos created by bathos.
I love to play with words. Even words play with each other and sometimes indulge in foreplay; otherwise how you will explain the birth of portmanteau words. It’s their way to “enter-course”.
Many of the times I have heard people say “I am doing nothing” and I ask them if it’s “nothing” how can you “do” that. At best you can do “Knowthing” i.e. you are doing something which you know what, but don’t know why?
With the same absurdity I question people who say “I am passing time”. I ask them, YOU can’t pass the time; it will pass on its own. At best you can do “pasting time” i.e. watching the time pass-by from present to past.
I also don’t understand why same people who say our education system has failed put the onus on us to pass. If it’s failed education then passing grades are passing graves so why one should study; but they argue “to get into the professional world you have to kill yourself and deeper the graves higher the grades.”
The word bathos means anti-climax and I think this “Light piece” should end on this note, abruptly, suddenly, giving relief to the readers. But before I end you must know this style of writing is created by none other than Jesus Christ, remember: Let there be “light”.

A cup of "diviniTea"

2008-07-28T11:53:00.000+05:30

It is a small hut in the interiors of the salt lake (a place in Calcutta). A yellow street light is doing his duty responsibly. The path beside this hut occasionally wakes up by the tapping of foot on his back. I and Neeharika are filling the air with fog each time we open our mouth. Winter is in full bloom and we are waiting for our friends to come.
We recognised the noise of the bikes. A Pulsar, a Fiero both are the suffering from malnutrition. They carry three people most of the time, they run from one end to other and what they get in return, 10 Rs petrol. Their parched throat gets special treat along with us only when someone’s parents come to visit.
All have arrived. Some by bikes and some by foot. It’s order time. Chai, chai, mera bhi chai, 1 aur, 1 aur, omelette, haan 1 omlette and so on. A chai ki ketli has sat on the fire and warmth spreads enveloping all of us amidst cold. For us, Tea stall is more than a habit it’s our habitat – 2nd habitat midway between our flat and girls’ hostel. It’s a small hut with some benches lying there. A chulha surrounded by some glass wares filled with biscuits, cakes, egg cartons and many edible things which go with tea. Tea is served in kullhars (mud glasses) and dada (we call the tea stall owner with this name which is Bengali for elder bother) prepares it with such a dedication like he is worshipping the deiTea. We wonder is it his abiliTea or affiniTea that makes the Tea so tasTea.
I am sure it’s this tea which makes our conversation so witTea and naughTea. We kept talking, laughing, gulping cups after cups and all the people left one by one. chulha is reclining, only fog and our noise is visible in surrounding. Someone looked at his watch and realized the ideal time to disperse has passed as usual and the kullhar has got empty long back and then we asked dada for last servings of tea.
For us that tea stall was a song in background which you don’t pay much attention to but you feel something is there which is putting extra spice in your life.Once we left the college we realized that tea stall has special place in our heart that spills in our talk whenever we meet.
That tea has prolonged its presence to eterniTea in our life.

आवारा हर्फ़

2008-07-28T11:48:00.000+05:30

बोरियत के धुँधलके में हँसी की पतली लकीर भी एक बहार का रास्ता लगती है। पर मन इतना सूख जाता है की उस पतली सी लकीर के लिए पहले फट चुके सारे दरार भरने होते हैं। हर वो काम जो व्यस्त रह के आदमी enjoy करता है वही बोरियत के आलम में just another act लगता है। जैसे सूखे हुए पत्तों को सिर्फ़ जलाया जा सकता है वैसे ही इन लम्हों का और कोई वजूद नही। इनकी राख पे ही अगले पल की नींव रखी जा सकती है। पर इन्हें जलाना इतना आसान भी नही, कभी कभी इसके धुँए से दम घुटने लगता है और कभी इनकी लपट लपेट लेती है हमारी सारे वजूद को। अगर बचा भी ले कोई जलते वजूद को, निशान रह जाते हैं उम्र भर के लिए।

निशान भी हो तो चलता है पर ये नही चलता की दुनिया बार बार पूछे ये निशान कैसा? निशान सूखने नही देते ये लोग। घाव सूख जाता है पर निशानों से खून रिसता रहता है जिसको चाटती रहती है आदमखोर दुनिया। दुनिया की तो आदत है ग़लत सवाल उठाना और सही सवालों के उत्तर ना देना। सवाल...सही और ग़लत.....सही वो जो ग़लत चीजों पे उठता है और ग़लत वो को सही चीजों पे उठता है......कैसा विरोधाभास।

खैर विरोधाभास तो प्रकृति का नियम है। पैदा कर के छोड़ देती है मरने के लिए और मरते हुए में डाल देती है जीने की चाह। पहले चलना सिखाती है और फिर ठोकरें डाल देती है। पर वो भी क्या करे, इतने सारे लोग दौडे जा रहे हैं एक सँकरे से रास्ते पे। कुछ तो रह चलते लोगों को ही ठोकर बना लेते हैं।

करना पड़ता है. सवाल जिजीविषा (जीने की इक्षा)का है। जिजीविषा में भी विष.......विरोधाभास.....पर हम जीने में इतने व्यस्त हैं की विरोध का आभास भी नही होता।

रौशनी कि फसल

2008-01-18T01:18:00.007+05:30

तारे बो रह हूँ अंधेरी जमीन पे,
कल रौशनी की फसल लहलाहाएगी।
तुम आ जाना चाँद बन कर खेत मे मेरे,
ये धरती आसमान बन जायेगी।

सूरज निकला करेगा यहीं कहीं से,
और बादलों की एक नहर होगी।
सींचेंगे जब वो खेत को मेरे,
धरती पे इन्द्रधनुष की हरियाली होगी।

एक "दूधिया सा रास्ता" निकलेगा,
उल्का इस खेत की आरी होगी.
तुम्हारी मुस्कान की धूप से,
हँसती कायनात ये हमारी होगी.

त्रिवेणी

2007-10-22T01:07:00.000+05:30

(1)

कई बार आता है जेहन में कि वक्त को अंगूठा दिखा दूँ
टाँग दूँ अपनी ज़िंदगी पेंडुलम कि तरह और आवर्तकाल मापूँ
पर घडी की जरुरत तो उसमें भी पड़ेगी।

(2)

हर रोज़ accident होता है जमीनी सच्चाइओं से मेरा

और लाश पड़ी रहती है मजबूरी के फर्श पे

हर सुबह जिंदा होता हूँ मैं आस का अमृत पी के।

(3)

कुछ पंक्तियाँ मेरे पलकों पे तैरती रहीं

कुछ शब्द जबान से टूट के बिखर गए

पूरी कविता तो आज तक मुझे मिली ही नही।

(4)

तुम आई मेरी ज़िंदगी में

और कविता का फव्वारा निकल पड़ा

देखो ये पानी अब चाँद तक जा पहुँचा है।

(5)

दुनिया कि हवा से उड़ता हूँ
फिर आता हूँ लौट कर तुम्हारे पास
जैसे कच्ची सड़क से धुल का बाबस्ता।

(6)

अपने दो ह्रदय-बिन्दु मिलाकर मैंने एक लकीर खींची

फिर उसपे यादों का अर्ध-वृत्त बना दिया

अब ये उगते सूरज जैसा लगता है।

(7)

स्याह रातों में भी मुझे एक तस्वीर नजर आती है

रौशनी कि पतली सी लकीर नजर आती है

यादों ने तेरी, आँखों को मेरी उजाले की machine दे दी।

(8)

इस उजड़े बज्म की भी की कहानी होगी

टूटे चिरागों ने रौशनी कभी फैलाई होगी

बीते कल का उधर है आने वाले कल पे।

(9)

उजाले की दोस्ती हमेशा अच्छी नही
ठीक है रास्ता दिखाती है अकसर

पर रौशनी की चकाचौंध अंधा भी बनती है।

(10)

दूरियाँ गहराइयों की माप होती है

कभी कुछ भी नही बदलता सहरों के बाद
कभी अजनबी हो जाते हैं लोग एक शब-ए-फुरकत के बाद.

[ सहर = सुबह
शब-ए-फुरकत = जुदाई की एक रात ]

(11)

जाते वक्त खुदा हाफिज़ मत कहो

तुम्हारी जुदाई में खुदा गर शरीक है

कहीं मैं काफिर न बन जाऊँ!

(12)

भाव-शून्यता ने हद कर दी

शव यात्रा मे एक महिला ने पूछा

चमक रहा है कफ़न किस detergent से धोया।

(13)

मेरे दीवार मे कई खिड़कियाँ हैं

और तेरे-मेरे बीच एक दीवार

कोई खिड़की बीच की दीवार में क्यों नही खुलती?

(14)

इन्हें मैंने अपने रगों मे रखा

दिल मे आने-जाने का हक दिया

और ये लहू ही अब मेरा खून चूस रहे हैं।

(15)

धूप की दो बूँद टपक कर मेरे आँगन मे गिरी

जैसे मेरे अँधेरे फर्श पे रौशनी का पोछा लग गया हो
भले अँधेरा मौत नही, रौशनी ज़िंदगी है।

(16)

दीवार और मौत का अनोखा रिश्ता है

कभी दीवार गिरने से मौत होती है

और कभी मौत आने से दीवार गिरती है।

(17)

मेरे आशियाने मे तुम्हारे लिए भी जगह है

तू गिरना मत आराम से आना मेरे छत पे

मैंने अब तक बहुत बिजलियाँ इकट्ठी की हैं।

तुम्हारे लिए [Testimonial]

2007-08-27T21:54:00.000+05:30

समय के क्षितिज पे यादों के रंग फैले पडे हैं
और मैं उनसे doodles खेल रहा हूँ

जैसे हम खेला करते थे कभी।

तुमने अपना थोडा-थोडा सा समय दे कर हर बार
मेरा कितना बड़ा समय ले लिया है

अतीत से भविष्य तक।

बातों की परिधि लाँघ कर हम बात करते थे

कितनी बेकार और बकवास बातें

पर उन्ही बेकार बातों ने कितना अर्थ ले लिया है आज।

तुम इन जज्बात को जगह दो या ना दो अपने पन्ने पे

ये पंक्तियाँ बहती रहेंगी तुम्हारी ओर

और जब भी तुम छुओगी इन्हें

ये स्याही आकार ले लेगी इसी कविता की ।

[samay ki kshitij pe yadon ke rang phaile pade hain
aur main unse doodle khel raha hun
jaise hum khela karte the yahoo messenger pe

tumne apna thoda-thoda samay de kar har bar
mera kitna bada samay le liya hai jo faila hai
ateet se bhavishya tak

baton ki paridhi langh kar hum bat karte the
kitni bekar aur bakwas baten
par unhi bekar baton ne kitna arth le liya hai aaj

tum in jajbat ko jagah do ya na do apne panne pe

ye panktiyan bahti rahengi tumhari or

aur jab bhi tum chhuogi inhe

ye syahi akar le legi isi kavita ki. ]

nostalgia

2006-01-15T11:19:00.000+05:30

I moved ahead, but saw behind,
something always haunts my mind.
travelled little albeit moved quite fast
it seems i am stuck to the past.

true, very good friends they were,
every little thing we used to share.
but now, those days are gone,
far are thou, i am alone.

memories are precious i have to keep,
but stagnation is death, ihave to leap.
road travelled along ends on this turn,
everything is not rosy, i have to learn.

its hard to get past the past,
but i have to sail, no matter what.
make new friends with new zest,
old relations need time to rest.

if spark is within whole tunnel is lighted,
you smile and the world is delighted.
the decision is yours for future's sake,
life is not, after all, a piee of cake.

antim din

2005-05-30T19:49:00.000+05:30

college ka antim din

kab se apna wajood khoj rahe palon ne,
achank se mayne le liya.
beraham wakt,patthar aankhon me bhi,
chupke se aansoo ke chheente mar gaya

wakt ke canvas par
yadon ki koochi chalti chali gayi,
aur us painting ko
maine dil ki khoonti pe tang diya.

train ka safar,trip ki thakan,
wo marksheeet apna sabse chupna,
pyas dabana, canteen na jana,
break me bus usse baten karna.
movie ki tickets bhi aaj
main raddi se nikal laya.

ye chaar sal
zindgi ne dost diye aur doston ne zindgi,
ki ab aage badhne ki chah hi nahi rahi.
yadon ki bori kandhe pe lade,
bhari kadam,tar aankhen
main bhaga to, par yadon ne mera peecha na chhoda.

aaj bhi jab aankhen band karta hoon
un lamhon ko apne sirahne tale pata hoon.

संघर्ष [sangharsh]

2005-03-13T23:35:00.000+05:30

sangharsh

मेरी आकाँक्षाओं के पंख
मुझे ऊपर लिए जाना चाहते हैं,
और जमीन का गुरुत्व,
मुझे नीचे खींच लेना।

संघर्ष चलता रहता है....

वो इस इंतजार मे है कि मैं थकूँ,
और खींच ले जमीन पर मुझे।
मैं उड़ रहा हूँ इस आस में,
कि कोई ठौर मिले
जिसकी आँचल में दो पल सुस्ता सकूँ,
फिर से उड़ सकूँ
संघर्ष जीवित रखने के लिए।

जीते कोई भी युद्ध ये चलता रहेगा,
कोई नन्हा सा पंछी ,
चोंच मे तिनका डाल,
गुरुत्व के खिलाफ उड़ता रहेगा।

[meri akankshaon ke pankh
mujhe upar liye jana chahte hain,
aur jamane ka gurutva,
mujhe neeche kheench lena.

sangharsh chalta rehta hai...

wo is intejar me hai kee main thakun,
aur kheench le jameen par mujhe.
main ud raha hoon is aas me,
ki koi thaur mile
jiski aanchal me do pal susta sakun,
phir se ud sakun,
sangharsh jeevit rakhne ke liye.

jeete koi bhi yuddh ye chalta rahega,
koi nanaha sa panchi,
chonch me tinka dal,
gurutva ke khilaf udta rahega. ]
______________________
gurutva=gravitation
thaur=habitat
______________________

सुनसान रास्ते [lonely paths]

2005-02-16T23:23:00.000+05:30

sunsan raste(lonely paths)

बंद दरवाजों के खुलने की बाट जोहते,
मैं चल पड़ा अब यही बात सोचते;
कोई हो न हो हमनवा तेरे वास्ते,
राह देखते हैं तेरा ये सुनसान रास्ते।

(waiting to open any door,
i finally left thinking no more
to hold u when nobody is there
lonely paths will wait forever)

आस [hope]

2005-01-08T09:22:00.000+05:30

हर शाम दफ़न होते हैं कुछ अरमान,
हर सुबह उम्मीदों की फसल खड़ी होती है।
हर कब्र पे उगता है कोई नन्हा सा पौधा,
हर दीवार में कोई खिड़की खुली होती है।

[har sham dafan hote hain kuch armaan
har subah ummeedon ki fasal khadi hoti hai.
har kabr pe ugta hai koi nanha sa paudha
har deewar me koi khidki khuli hoti hai.]

pighalte lamhe

2004-12-20T19:18:00.000+05:30

aaj gujra wakt pighal aankhon se phir bahne laga hai.

wakt ke aangan me lamhon ke dane girte hue
aur phir kal ko dekhta hoon unhe chugte hue
ek lamha wo bhi tha jab tha mere bachpan jawan
tees si uth-ti dil me ,ab wo befikri kahan
the mere sab rag-dwesh apne mool rup me
ab to har parihas me lagta hai koi gam chhipa

aaj phir wapas wahin ruk jane ko man karne laga hai
aaj gujra wakt pighal aankhon se phir bahne laga hai.

ek lamha wo bhi tha jab ho rahi thi tum juda
ahamkar ke bandh se aankhon me tha aansu ruka
bheege hathon se antim bar jab tumne chhua
"aham galat nahi galat jagah pe hai" yaad aaya tera kaha
tod ke sab bandh tab, ashru tumhe arpan kiya
darmyan aansuon ke tera chehra najar aane laga hai
aaj gujra wakt pighal aankhon se phir bahne laga hai.

yuvak ki duvidha

2004-12-13T21:09:00.000+05:30

i know there are various facets of this poem but one aspect that i had in my mind while writing it was the questions faced by youths when they have to live up to the expectations of society, parents etc.
ur comments are welcome and desired.

**yuvak ki duvidha**

ye wakt hai jab main unke nigahon ki jad me hoon
mujh par har wakt ab kadi najar rakhi jaegi.

mere khwab ab meri unchai ke pratinidhi nahi
unke hathon ke gaj se hi mere kad ki map hogi
mera vyktitva ab ek swayat satta nahi
mere bimb par bhi unke vichar ki chhap hogi.
kya jindgi ab isi tarah gujar jaegi?
mujh par har wakt ab kadi najar rakhi jaegi.

sapne apne samarthya ko jhuthlane ki ek chaal hai wo kahte hain
main kahta hoon ,asambhav sapne is umra tak kahan bachte hain
agar ye sach hai ki praman-patr mere kaya ki parchhai hai
to kya ye sach nahi surya par nirbhar chhaya ki unchai hai
chalna padta hai andhere me, khud ka suraj nikalne tak
usse pahle apni kahani kitabon me nahi aayegi
mujh par har wakt ab kadi najar rakhi jaegi.

main khud ko unki najar se dekhta hoon ab
lagta hai ki haan sach kahte hain sab
hatash hokar dal diye hain hathiyar maine
sahe hain chup rahkar sabke parhar maine
jang mujhse ye ab na ladi jaegi
mujh par har wakt ab kadi najar rakhi jaegi.

pichhle jakhm sukh kar bhi pukarte hain
mere dard har karah me lalkarte hain
apni vidhi unke hathon me jo de aaya hoon
tab se har roj khud ko simt-ta hua paya hoon
ladna padega ab ye jindgi yun na sahi jaegi
janta hoon mujh par ab bhi kadi najar rakhi jaegi.

----------------------------------------------------

hum sabka such

2004-10-05T22:54:00.000+05:30

***hum sabka sach****
-------------------------------
ye jo udasi si dil pe chhai hai
iski koi wajah nahi
agar hai to mujhe pata nahi
shayad ye udasi bhi nahi

ye shor hai
kabra se chhekhte prasnon ka
jo uttar ke intjar me dabe pade hain

ye pratikriya hai
apna wajood kho chuke sankalpon ka
jinhe nai manjil ki chah nahi

ye bhay hai
asman me apna pankh kho chuke swapnon ka
jinhe jamin dikh gai hai

aur aaj jab main
apna atit ji raha hoon
sukh chuke jismon se rakt risne laga hai

aram hai ab
sukha-sukha,suna-suna
kachotta tha dil ko

khamosh jindagi se bolti maut behtar hai

----------------------------------------

wakt aur insan

2004-09-06T14:26:00.000+05:30

chup rahogi tum ,yahi tumhara pran hai
intjar karunga, yadyapi kafi halchal hai
kahte hain har shay ko ek umra hasil hai
dekhta hun sannate mein kitna bal hai.

ret hathon mein bhar ke ,tumne ek bar kaha tha
yaad nahi rakh paoge, samay bada sabal hai
tab hi maine us ret ko ret-ghadi me dal diya tha
ab mere wakt ki ikai teri yadon ke pal hain.

jang kaal aur insan ki chalti aai aviral hai
sal sulagte jate aur bujhane ko nahi jal hai
is jwale ka dah sahna bhi nahi saral hai
sweekarya hai mujhe, agar ye sangharsh ka fal hai.

samay ka alav

2004-07-31T20:44:00.000+05:30

(1)
samay ka alav jal raha hai
aur riste uski havish hain
(2)
alav!tapish!
kabhi mera svatva pighla tha
us sambandh ki tapish me
(3)
svatva!ashaen!
darakti hain aur sambandhon me darar aa jata hai
to chhod de umeeden rakhna
tutte to khwab bhi hain
(4)
khwab!hakekat!
kal ke hakeekat aaj khwab jaise dikhte hain
to kya jo aaj khwab lagta hai
wo kal hakeekat hoga
(5)
lagne ko kya hai
mujhe bhi laga tha ye rishta wakt se pare hai
par ghadi ki sui aur durav sath badhte gae
(6)
badhna!thamna!
chaukhat pe tum
aage badhun ,tham lun tumhen
dar, tum rukogi nahi
kadam ruk gae
(7)
dar!
agar dar galat tha
to is galti me tumhara hissa bhi hai
(8)
hissa!adhikar!
jitna jataogi utna mil jaega
chhod dogi hathon se phisal jaega

The arts reveal the otherwise hidden ideas and impulses of society

2004-07-30T14:21:00.000+05:30

Men have always been trapped between dichotomy of “what am I” and “what am I supposed to b” and as each decade passes trailing a blaze with some astounding inventions men amble one step more towards latter one.
Men and society together create a camouflage in which true self is clandestine under the cover of projected self. But there is a force within which may not be subjugated every time. When it effuses a mellifluous song comes out of flume, color emanates from the brushes emancipating the captivated feelings on drawing board, a literary work bursts out melting the handcuffs which had made one incapable of holding a pen to pour out the effervescent impulses and then the hidden ideas and impulses are jettisoned.
Let us see the causes which direct these ideas and impulses under cover. The fear that society is not ready to accept the mirror in front of it and one who tries to point out the ugly face may be punished. The ambience where people are engaged in mundane matter never giving a thought to breathe deeply which could refresh them with a fresh and oxygen filled air. The concrete made roads which are easy to ride. The guidance by the veterans which discourages any attempts to follow one’s intuition.
But creativity, imagination, inquisitiveness are as powerful the feelings as avarice, longing for luxuries etc and that’s why art prevails. Art is truth and truth can’t be hidden for years for men themselves are in search of it.

2004-07-30T02:12:00.000+05:30

Arrow and the Song, The

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow