as another year begins...

standing between an end and a new beginning
a moment struggles for its identity
the twilight,
a brief interlude
weighed down with indecision
to be part of completion or initiation
or be there just like that
without conforming to one or the other
holding on to its own
in the sea of time
stealing a drop
and giving it its own name....

its funny how 

a beginning or an end is celebrated
as if what constitutes totality
is immaterial
in fact, the celebration too is cyclical...
its part of the given,
the conformists uphold it
the rebels ignore it
again in reflexes
and the moment in between passes unnoticed...

but, without this small moment
holding its turf between two extremes
would the cycle be complete?
it is a pause in motion
a breath that holds as one lets go
of what was held so long
and reaches out one more time
forward...
again, as a reflex;
whoever said ahead is where the destination is...
no, not for me
i aim to thrive 

in the moment in between
the end and a new beginning...
not conforming,
not aligning,
not giving in...
holding on to my own
trying to stamp
a drop
in the sea of time....

Vagaries of a fleeting mind…

Books neatly lined or provocatively angled…

Words commoditized and marketed

with élan or greed or both;

trying tricks new or time tested…

Luring, appalling, attracting nonetheless.

Eyes scanning the titles…

one after the other,  and the other…

Reading, registering, trying to decipher.

Some titles beckon

I pick up one and read the back cover

And about the author

Looking for something to read…

To know…. To get absorbed in

And move on… to the next and the next

Similar tales, known premise

Experimentation with a theme

Already innovated beyond recognition

Advice, prescriptions, perceptions

A dozen a dime…

Every time

Each book cries for novelty

And dies on the shelf

Words jumble and then fall in line

It has been like that

All the time

There is a pattern to the madness

Making sense always follows

A mad rush… an urgency to just do

Something, anything, everything

Just let go, give in to the thought

The nagging, recurring nudge

To follow what comes as an urge

Daunting, demanding, unrelenting

Its Christmas…

Like every year… exactly on the same date.

Funny. That’s how it is. That’s how it should be.

Or, should it? Never mind.

So, its Christmas

And there is a Christmas Tree, tall and elegant and all decorated

Like it was the year before

Like it will be the next year as well, and further…

There is comfort in repetition, perhaps

Symmetry, uniformity, regularity

Living life in practiced lines….

The desire to find without seeking

To reach a destination; minus the travel…

Second hand experiences…

Passed on as wisdom

From one to the other, to the other, and the other…

Living on proxy

Borrowing dreams, leasing vision

Dividing each day

in bite sized pieces of programmed existence

routine…  mundane… deemed exciting

originality in the confines of boundaries

set by limitation of imagination

of few, some, a handful

such as those who

experimented with truth and lived  a lie

or, got enlightened under a tree

or, confirmed to rules and exemplified timidity

What a pity!!

Its not a revolt, or a revolution

That I seek, don’t mistake!

No, not at all

Red has faded to black to grey

There is no renaissance beyond the horizon

Not that one is needed anyway

Its working, this world

As it is

Round, flat, oblong or shapeless

Spinning and circling

Round and round and round

habitually

surviving deceit, mistrust, cynicism.

Like I do,

Despite the vagaries of a fleeting mind!

Doors open to new homes....

Doors open to new homes...
bigger, smarter, well designed
with each having a place assigned
no camping in open anymore
no sharing pillow or drawers or robe...
there is space and case for things required
and also for those that got acquired
by need, greed or fancy or status
we grew and things grew with us
So many blonggings that I sort today
what should be carried or left away...


As I enter the new home, all I see
high roof and walls secluding me
from rest of the people, though in same house
we have private battles and fire to douse
We meet over breakfast, or lunch or tea
or fight for remote when watching TV
and then we retreat in worlds of our own
where each of us exclusively belong-
belong, did I say belong?
Oh how wrong!!


In partitioned homes and fenced boundaries
what survives is co-existence of adversaries
We talk and shake hands and even smile
but in the back of our minds, all the while
we calculate, how, when to get the better
of other, and that is all that matter
competition, comparison, status quo??
where did we begin and whats the way to go...


As the doors open to new homes today,
again I wonder where I am going to stay-
Amidst the walls and a peeping hole?
and what exactly would be my role?
Do I arrange the flowers and fire the hearth
what do I do to know what I am worth!
The cycle has gone on for quite long.
When will I know where I belong???

Outgrown

I seem to have outgrown the cradle

that rocked me to sleep,

The lap-

that gave security and comfort,

The embrace-

that brought contentment

I seem to have outgrown the home

that sheltered my youth

The family

that suffered my stubbornness

The friends

who stayed friends

I seem to have burgeoned

in need, in greed-

in thoughts, not deed!

I seem to have stretched

my dreams beyond realization

and, strayed in vastness-

ambiguous yet distinct….

I seem to have outgrown

my shadow

that walked along…

I am too big now-

and, too alone.

My droplet!

No questions

No logic

No reason

No thoughts-

Structured,

Unstructured

Or otherwise…

Just a moment

Complete in its brevity

Deep in its impact-

The imprint

Live and throbbing

Defying time, place or occasion.

the happiness- unique

a taste lingering

behind every sorrow, disappointment or defeat!

Crossing the river

Riding a ferry

-          Daily

No, not for commute

A ritual

A celebration

Of proximity

Of affordable togetherness

Stolen glances

Orchestrated accidental touch

The hidden caresses

Guised as safety precautions-

Lest one fell off!

Stumble, sure sometimes

Because that’s how

One could be held!

Searching, scrutinizing eyes

Of passengers sharing the vessel

But not the secret

That travelled between our glances alone!

And then,

on the other end

as hassled, tired, homing pigeons

made a beeline to the jetty

flying faster to reach

their destination-

their home…

we two love birds

spread our wings…

the ferry now empty

except for us and the sailor…

the final hoot announcing its return

the astonished look of the ticket checker

as we produced fresh tickets

to travel again, without disembarking!

Once again,

The secret messages

Exchanged with the eyes…

And cries

Of  joy…

Just ours,

Yours and mine

As this time

The ferry belonged to us!

Those who were rushing home

Left behind on the other side

While, we

Who dreamt of home,

Ours

Planned the layout of every room,

Debated the color of walls

The size of lamps

And price

Of furniture, curtain and

Our happiness-

Riding on gurgling waves

Of Ganges, in the final leg of her journey

A few hours away

From immersing itself in its ocean of love…

As the red brick façade of Howrah station

Got farther,

The majestic bridge with its teeming traffic

Chuckled

Glancing at its larger than life reflection

And we stared in awe

At the molten gold and sparkling silver

Kissing and caressing on cheerful ripples…

We were the richest

The happiest

The most complete people

In the entire Universe…

I spoke in verse

And you with logic

And yet it was magic!

From magical wonderland

To busy, overflowing street

That never failed to greet

The two

Who

Were only interested

To travel

And unravel

The mysteries of youth!

But by then

We were cruelly reminded of time

-          Almost nine

Cindrella had to go

With Prince charming in toe!

We could ride the bus

But why the unnecessary fuss!

We walked instead

Prolonging every moment

As far as we could-

Crossing roads

Oh so often

Just an excuse

For us to hold hands

To touch

To feel

One more time…

A prank

-          So sublime!

I yearn for that touch

The tingling caress

As we deliberately pressed

Wrong floors on the lift

To savour the gift

Of a hurriedly shared hug!

And that look

That smouldering yearning knowing look

Just a look

That made the heart well up

With love and overflowing joy!

The moments of togetherness

So scarce

So few

So delicate

-but

So true!

Those moments

Like droplets of rain

So sweet

Swept over my memory

So complete!

Today, I watch

The ocean overflow

With waves

Washing the shore

I just stand

And stare

Can I dare

Ask the rain drenched breeze

Passing me by-

To return my droplet,

One that was mine,

Only mine!

Freedom from HOPE

Once, twice

again and again

I train

my eyes

on mirages,

chase illusive rainbows

try catching shadows-

knowing at the very core of heart,

the castle will fall apart-

yet, I build

hoping it will yield

to my conviction and belief.

But no more.

Today, I bury my thirst,

my quest

my desire

in the coarse sand

and

abandon

all chase -

real or otherwise.

I realise

hope limits the scope

of tomorrow,

keeps you tied -

when all I want is to be free!

The Quiet Piano

The lilting tunes

sombre and suave,

touching yet distant.

A taste – acquired.

A faraway connection,

notes and pitch-

foreign but near,

had me come back here

for more,

again and again.

There was nothing personal.

Not in tunes, or the surroundings-

all familiarly un-intrusive.

A shadow that walked along,

but at a distance.

A flavour- one gets addicted to,

but can never carry home.

The tunes hummed in my ears,

as I wandered all the way

away from where I sat –

usually, on a comfortable leather chair,

beside the glass banister,

overlooking the foyer-

surrounded by strange faces,

known behaviour and ,

polite uninterest.

The tunes hummed

as I moved in,

closing the doors to what

threatened to have me drowned!

Holding on to the lilt,

I navigated

the oceans that raged and

lashed away boundaries,

carefully erected.

No, I do not remember

the tunes.

Not a single one of them.

But I remember the relish

with which I savour them,

their effect and impact

on my state of mind and being.

And,  I miss them!

The piano today,

is neatly covered.

The skilful hands that

with mastery manoeuvred

the surge and the ebb

of pitch and notes- absent.

The fair, long, elegant fingers-

artistic and professional

belonging to foreign hand,

are not playing today.

My ears are filled

with humdrum

of hushed whispers-

smothered clink

of china and steel,

some stray notes

of packaged music-

sprayed from speakers,

angled at corners.

Yet, there is a void.

My cushion

to ward off the familiar,

my anchor-

that allowed me

to wander,

lies dead-

covered in glistening coffin.

Dead-

but not buried.

Waiting,

for a rebirth-

just one touch,

of those fair foreign fingers-

impersonal, but known.

This absence today

has shown-

how filling, indeed,

the emptiness can be!

ख्वाब जरूरी है!!

किसी रात के साए में चल कर
सहर की देहली तक पहुँचने को
एक ख्वाब का आसरा जरूरी है!

अब मेरी इन मुन्तजिर आँखों को
इतनी तो इजाजत दे मुनसिब
के इस दौर-ए- अमल के एवज
एक ख्वाब तो यह भी बुन ही लें!

कुछ असासों का ही क़र्ज़ होगा
कुछ अरमां-ए-खुदगर्ज़ होगा
पर, इनके आँखों में पलने में
किसी को भला क्या गर्ज़ होगा?

यह ख्वाब बस मेरी आँखों को
सहर की देहली तक ला कर
सूरज की चमक से बहला कर
खुद अपनी नींद सो जायेंगे-
हम फिर बेख्वाब हो जायेंगे!
पर रात के साए में चल कर
सहर की देहली तक पहुँचने को,
एक ख्वाब तो फिर भी जरूरी है!

तारीकी

हर बार सहर की देहली पर

किसी शब् का चराग बुझा

सूरज को तकती आँखों में

यूँ भी अँधेरा होता है! 

प्यास

मेरी प्यास की हद तो बस, ओस की दो बूँद ही थी
तुमने दरिया उड़ेल कर मुझे प्यासा ही डूबा दिया!

A Line of Red Ants

A warm sunny morning-

bright and clear…

soft breeze tickling the greens

birds busy chirping and

collecting twigs for their nests…

And then,

all of a sudden

the ground shook…

the giant structures

standing tall and proud

started caving in,

one by one.

Birds flew away,

twigs firmly encased in resolute beaks.

Sky got littered

with dusty clouds

Sun, red faced

looked on-

as everything that once had

-a meaning

-a life,

turned into debris.

Buried within the debris

were fast beating hearts.

Gasping, for breath…

Waiting, for a firm hand,

of rescue

of reassurance-

hands that grappled

to reach the intended quarters.

The heartbeats grew faster-

and faster,

and faster,

and finally …

gradually…

accepted the impending

inevitable doom-

giving in.

Ceasing completely –

No movement.

No breath.

Hope dead.

Bit by bit.

Within the debris

lives -

became corps

homes-

stacks of fallen bricks

and cheap mortar,

structures,

that defied

rules of safety

and brought upon themselves-

the doom,

death,

destruction.

A tragedy

complete with tapering of

remorse and scrutiny.

Both casualty and survival

explained in statistics-

Nouns became numeric,

proper stacked in common-

Every reference in third person-

distant and detached.

Within the debris

with individuals,

was buried individuality-

giving way to a common pool

of destruction.

A deadly dance of destiny.

Destiny?

And,

amidst this chaos and devastation

a line of disciplined battalion

focused and resolute,

balancing little pieces of survival

with precarious tiny arms,

dedicatedly marching ahead,

unidirectional-

towards the debris-

to make it their home,

their shelter-

A line of little red ants.

Inertia

Something must give in

for things to move.

The calm is unsettling,

the quiet, unbearable.

Before me

the cool blue water

stifled in a pool-

stands still,

almost dead.

All it needs is a soft breeze

or, a playfully thrown pebble

or, maybe a plunge.

It must move

must breathe

must live.

And,

for that,

something must give in…

or, break free-

my inertia.

Kosi

At the crossroads, when the sun goes dim
The paths seem to merge
Horizon gets blurred
A lone bird traversing the winds of change
Lazily flies around. 

It crosses the river burgeoning with spilling clouds 
Or perhaps, the miser foresight of some greedy empire
breaking the banks, charting new path
the river flows 
through the tattered gear 
of skeletons alive;
Sweeps through the mud floors, 
rugged and unkempt.
And even soaks the thatch roofs- 
dead palm greens, 
sun burnt and 
smarting in heat.
It eats up the grains, still unborn 
and mauls the lone pillar of a bridge,
yet to be built.
It rushes and flows 
right through the agony
of being at the mercy of nature, 
or probably at malevolence 
of the champions of grief!
It dries out the hope already parched,
and drenches the eyes resigned to fate.
 
The lazy bird floats 
in between wet clouds 
And sopping expanse of earth-
soaked to the soul.
Assured of the cocoon its nest beholds
it twitches at the homes buried in waves-
of flowing wetness…
of uncaring mercies…
of hypocrite compassion and,
the grudging duties, wilfully delayed.
 
It drops a twig, 
it had no use to carry.
The dried piece of a dead plant
Flows down the heights
Caressing a child crying for care.
 
The smooth touch, surprises the child.
It then looks up at unsheltered skies
and watches transfixed
as the bird keeps flying
not wet, not tied, not helpless – so free
the sad eyes then fill up with glee…
if the bird can fly despite the wind,
why can't I swim, overcoming the tide…
Childish dream, a juvenile resolve
yet stronger than hope
sweeter than promise
dabbed with the salt of pain!

Between Us….

No noise, nor silence

only some whispers dropped from unheard calling...

The resonating hush between you and me-

haunting yet ignored,

floating on sound waves,

waiting to be received...

And both of us walking in opposite directions,

unable to connect with small talks-

on weather, politics, cricket or films...

What needs to be said

remains unsaid, unheard, un-deciphered.

No noise, nor silence

just some dropped whispers from conversations, we never had!

अधूरी पेंटिंग

अक्सर सुबह सवेरे जब

दरीचे के बंद कांच को भेद कर

आफताब की सूआएं

पर्दों की ओत से 

मेरे बिस्तर की सलवटों में

बीती शब् की शर्गोशियाँ तलाशती हैं

रतजगे के बिखरे परचम

आँखों पे आ गिरते हैं

कहते हैं-

इससे पहले की तिलमिलाती धुप

निगल ले  अध्बुझे चाँद की ठंडी आंच

और झुलस जाये 

उम्मीदों के कैनवास पर

ओस की लॉस 

और आस के ब्रुश से उभारा हुआ

वो अधुरा सा पोर्ट्रेट

और भूल जाओ तुम

तुक उन बेतरतीब लकीरों का-

अक्स उस चेहरे का

जो खाकों में ढलते ढलते रह गया

आँखों का वो नूर 

जो पलकों के झपकते ही ओझल हो गया

नज़र की हद्दों से-

कैसे खोने दे सकते हैं तुम इन्हें?

इन्हें फिर तलाशना है

तारीक शब्गाहों में

तो लो ओढ़ लो नींद की चादर

और लौट जाओ शब् के उसी पहर में

जहाँ जगती आँखों ने 

एक ख्वाब टांग दिया था 

चाँद की खूँटी पर!

जाओ उतार लाओ उसे

और सहेज लो 

तकिये के निचे-

जहाँ बाकि ख्वाब सो रहे हैं.

फिर कभी रतजगे में

ये पेंटिंग भी पूरी कर लेना! 

इंतज़ार

घर सजाने का यह सामान जुटअ लाये हैं हम

इस इंतज़ार में की आये कोई मेहमान कभी

वोही चुनिन्दा से चेहरे वोही पहचान के लोग

किसी को देख कर तो हो ये नज़र हैरान कभी


अपना भी आँगन झिलमिलाये चांदनी की तरह
शब्-इ-तन्हाई पैर होय तो यह एहसान कभी


बड़ा है चर्चा जिसका हर गली हर गुलशन में
उस हसीं शै से अपनी तो हो पहचान कभी

घर सजाने का यह सामान जुटअ लाये हैं हम

इस इंतज़ार में की आये कोई मेहमान कभी

Fragility

Fragility
of being and of illusions..
of resolves and devotion
of hope and desire
and all that i aspire...

journey
of years and years
of smiles and tears
of dare and fears
of distance that was once so near...

summary
of life and living
of all one keeps missing
the palms are empty but for impressions
of moments slipped from its grip
relics of emotions that peep
from the torn fabric of time stretched thin
and within
i hide
the fragility
of life, of being.

A pause....

After a long long time

I pause

take a deep breath

look around and

actually see...
The world that I thought,changes at every blink-
had not changed at all!!
The tree in whose shade I played hide and seek
the lane in whose narrow confines I grew up
the steps that take me to my home -
the four wall quadrangle
that stands amidst damp and dirt
a window that gives me my piece of sky
the floor, the ground on which I walk
and the roof, the surety and security of a shelter-
everything is as it always was....

All that is changed, is
the curtain on the windows
the carpet on the floor ...
the coat of color on the peeling plaster
and, the way I have been looking at it all.

In the haste of daily routine
I have changed the way I feel
I have been looking and not seeing
I have been speaking and not talking...
I have been following a path and not walking..
I have been living and not been alive.

A pause, a brief pause, shows me where I am
But what happens when the pause ends..
and I exhale the breath
I have been holding so long?

A journey begins..

For Video version click here

This far and no further,

I told myself at every step…

I inched ahead and missed breath-

at every milestone, the goal post shifted…

And I kept moving on,

just one step ahead

to reach somewhere….

But every time I was on road

I was walking in different directions

reaching different milestones,

one after the other….

Distinct expedition …mutually exclusive…

There is no way to retrace my steps…

If I walked back, I will be lost..

So I keep moving ahead…

waiting to discover or maybe, be discovered…

No I am not a wanderer or a nomad or a gypsy…

I am the future, born today…

I have no history

My present is exploration of tomorrow..

I have crisscrossed the globe

-that someone said has turned flat…

But interestingly the earth is still round…

moving in circles.

I am curious and scared…

Will the round earth be able to carry the flat world

and still mange the twirl on its axis,

go around the sun in endless cycles….

Or will it go off balance and

the flat world will skid off…

left to float on endless void….

unable to touch feet to ground!

I know what it means to float in void

I have walked across childhood and puberty to adulthood…

but there are no footprints of this journey,

neither on earth nor on time.

No it was not an aimless travel…

It has been a journey…

A true journey…

with landmarks and milestones…

only destination was not known.

Now when I look at the horizon…

The crimson sky kissing the brown earth..

The first twinkle of star appearing at one corner…

The divisive line getting blurred at every blink…

I see this road coming to end…

And a journey begins.