आरज़ू

 कागजों में गुम हुए 

जज़्बात ढूँढ़ते हैं

हम उनके साथ हों तन्हा

फिर से वो हालात  ढूँढ़ते हैं

बस वो हों, उनकी आरज़ू हो

और उन्हीं से  गुफ़्तगू

हम इस जमीं पर 

वो कायनात ढूँढ़ते हैं

कागजों में गुम हुए 

जज़्बात ढूँढ़ते हैं 

Things That Matter

 Hold me in your arms

I want to cry my heart out.

I want to shriek loud

I want to speak out.

(There isn't any emoji 

which could convey how I feel)

Tell you everything that

hides in my heart,

about worries and difficulties,

of which,

you never have been a part.

(Life beyond smartphone is 

real and tough, 

a smiley doesn't mean

I am fine)

I want to see

Straight in your eyes.

I want to listen to you too

Of everything

bleak and bright.

(An audio-video message 

doesn't convey

the whole truth.

Every time, it looks 

well-rehearsed)

Come, let us sit together

and listen to each other.

Let's share the day's trivia 

And things that matter.

(Sitting together- not like every day,

Side by side on a sofa,

Eyes glued to separate screens

Hands groping for peanuts

In the same bowl)

Let's discuss this in person-

'Things that matter'

Unauthorized (without the explicit written consent of the author of the blog)  use of the content on this blog in any form is not permissible.

Born Again

Father has grown old.

Grey hair, like silver.

And on eyes are,

the gold-rimmed glasses.

Brooding, sitting in a corner

or perhaps drowsing,

with head tilted to one side.

Fingers moving lightly 

with each breath,

lips matching the rhythm.

My daughter runs to him

and his eyes light up.

A big smile lights up

the face as well.

In my daughter

I see myself,

sitting in his lap.

I feel born again

being blessed with,

a second lease of life.

Unauthorized (without the explicit written consent of the author of the blog)  use of the content on this blog in any form is not permissible.

Random Thoughts

 We have read histories

And we know 

What happened around.

Aren't we following 

The doom path they went?

Unauthorized (without the explicit written consent of the author of the blog)  use of the content on this blog in any form is not permissible.

Open Kitchen

Eight-year-old Suhani stopped at the kitchen door as she saw her mother cutting onions. This was not the first time, she saw her crying like this. She knew every time her mother cut the onions was not to cook something but to hide the fact that she was unhappy, dejected, and sad. She knew it was hard for her mother to face her father in this situation as he only was the reason for her sadness. He scolded her often for one thing or another and her mother went silently into the kitchen without letting her father know that she was hurt. Then everything was normal again after she came back from her kitchen,  a smile adorning her face with a hint of tears, still in her eyes. Once Suhani asked her mother angrily, "Why don't you tell papa, how much it hurts when he scolds you every now and then, whether you are at fault or not?" Her mother replied," It's no use Suhani. No one can understand a woman's heart, maybe no one wants to. Besides he doesn't like when I cry. He would be even more furious." That was once for all and she grew up with this thought engraved in her mind, often reinforced by jokes and statements uttered all around her.

While growing up, she told herself, there is no one who can understand her, and actually, there is no need to be understood by anyone.

*****

Raj and Suhani were going through a rocky patch in their marriage. They got married two years ago, Raj drawn to Suhani's non-melodramatic nature and Suhani loved Raj, as he made her laugh. They recently shifted to this small rented accommodation to save money to pay for their flat. Of late, Raj was becoming quite restless. He simply couldn't understand her weird habits. He hated it when after vehemently denying his ideas, she would just get up and go into the kitchen, getting herself busy in cooking something. "Why does she have to replace her emotions with a plate of pakoras? Why cann't we have a normal converstion?" He was getting insane, with these thoughts buzzing in his head.

As for Suhani, she never felt at peace in this flat. She knew this was the only one they could afford in their budget, but she felt deep in her heart that something was not quite right about this flat and then it happened.

One heated argument. As usual, she went into the kitchen and started cutting the onions. With the kitchen wall gone, Raj observed her from the sofa and couldn't resist himself. Instinctively, he got up and went to her. He asked: "What are you doing?" 

She was startled and actually got ashamed that Raj had caught her crying. A quick thought flashed in her mind that, as she was cutting onions, she could escape Raj's scrutinizing eyes. Maybe her cover isn't yet blown away. This thought vanished with the speed it flashed. At that very instant she realized that the kitchen wall was missing. So this, the concept of the open kitchen, was bothering her about this flat. That's why she didn't like this house. She had no privacy...to cry, to vent out her feelings. 

She had never expected, what happened next. 

Raj embraced her lightly, holding her shoulders he placed a light kiss on her forehead and said, "Don't take so much stress, or your little head would burst. I didn't know you would be so upset with this idea. What do you think we should do?" 

She shared her idea of taking a loan rather than selling off her ornaments for the down payment. He really liked it. He asked her to prepare some tea as well and picked up his phone to call someone.

This was kind of lightning in the dark. Suhani realized that each husband-wife relationship does not need to be the same. It was the open kitchen that opened the doors of honest communication between them. She understood that it is very important to let him know how she feels rather than hiding her feelings, anger and frustration behind pakora plates, like her mother always did. 

She called out from the kitchen, "Raj, tea is ready and tell the builder, I want an open kitchen in our apartment."

Unauthorized (without the explicit written consent of the author of the blog)  use of the content on this blog in any form is not permissible.

चंद शेर

 कौन कहता है , शहरों में बहार नहीं आती 

आती तो है, उस पर किसी की नज़र नहीं जाती 

गाड़ियों में बैठ कर भागती है जिन्दगी 

चाह  कर भी खुद को रोक नहीं पाती ।

*****

ये तो कम होता है कि आईने में

बस अपना अक्स नज़र आता है

जब झाँकते हैं

एक नया शक्स नज़र आता है ।

*****

अब तो वो भी लगते हैं
पराए से
हम कभी जिनके
हम-साए थे I

*****

वो शक्स आज क्यों मुझे

बुझा -बुझा सा लगा

जो झांक रहा था मेरी ओर

आईने के उस तरफ से I

*****

आईने से झांक कर

मेरा अक्स बोला मुझसे

कितना वक्त गुजर गया

मुझको मिले तुझ से I

*****

मैंने तो चाहा था तुमको

खुदा से ज़्यादा

शायद मांग लिया मैंने

अपनी वफ़ा से ज़्यादा I

*****

मेरे दिल की कुछ बातें

दिल ही में दफ़न हो जाएंगी

तुम बातें चार सुना देना

वो मेरा कफ़न हो जाएंगी I

*****

Unauthorized (without the explicit written consent of the author of the blog)  use of the content on this blog in any form is not permissible.

A story of love

 Set in wilderness is

A story of love out there

Eyes set on each other

Say a lot - they care.

With each passing day

Coming closer

Sharing moments

Covered with love all over.

All over like a duvet

With beautiful print

Happiness all around

The days just sprint.

So do nights of

Love, share and care

Along with quarrels

Which are hard to bear.

Loving, quarreling, crying

goes hand in hand

For love without options

Is also great pain.

Unauthorized (without the explicit written consent of the author of the blog)  use of the content on this blog in any form is not permissible.

बरसाती नदी

आज नदी बहुत जल्दी में थी

कल रात की बारिश में 

बहा लायी थी पहाड़ों से

पत्थर , मिट्टी, कंकड़, 

पेड़ और उनकी टहनियाँ

जो बहते जा रहे थे

अटक-अटक कर

 

यूँ अटकलें लगाती

अठखेलियाँ करती

नदी कुछ ज्यादा

 चंचल हो कर 

बह निकली 

ढलानों पर शोर मचा कर 

चौकन्ना करती सबको

बातें करती साथ उड़ती चिड़ियों से 

जैसे कह रही हो -

आज जल्दी में हूँ, 

जो साथ बह रहा है 

उसे पार पहुँचाना है 

Unauthorized (without the explicit written consent of the author of the blog)  use of content on this blog in any form is not permissible.

वो शांत सी बहने वाली नदी

 वो शांत सी बहने वाली नदी 

जब पत्थरों से टकरा जाती है

गिरती है आसमानों से तो

धरती को भेद जाती है 

झरना बन कर गिरती नदी 

अपना नया रूप दिखाती है

बंधन में जो न ये बंधना चाहे 

बांधों  को तोड़ जाती है 

जब लेती है बाढ़  का रूप 

सब ध्वस्त कर जाती है

अमृत बन कर प्यास बुझाने वाली

सारी बस्ती को लील जाती है 

वो शांत सी बहने वाली नदी 

जहां रुक जाए  धारा - प्रवाह 

घूम-घूम गोल भंवर बनाती है

कुछ हिस्से यूँ ठहरते हैं 

खुद को हरा रंग दे जाती है 

वो शांत सी बहने वाली नदी 

जब पत्थरों से टकरा जाती है

थोड़ी-सी रुक जाती है

थोड़ी आगे बढ़ जाती है 

 

वो शांत सी बहने वाली नदी 

Unauthorized (without the explicit written consent of the author of the blog)  use of content on this blog in any form is not permissible.

A new lease of life

When

I thought 

it was all over,

It started 

all over again.

I thought you were 

going to leave me.

But you clung to me

more passionately,

more forcefully.

I had already started

to shake you off.

But you came back to me

giving me a new perception,

of yourself and mine too.

With a brush with death,

Life, you have become

more meaningful,

more precious,

more giving.

And I take it all

with gratitude to 

The Almighty,

who sanctioned me 

A new lease of life.

Unauthorized use (without the explicit written consent of the author of the blog)  of content on this blog in any form is not permissible.

धूल

 

ये धूल जो उड़ती आती है

मेरे लिए काम ले आती है

मेरी सब चीज़ें

एक परत से ढक जाती हैं I

और मैं

अपनी सब चीज़ों को पोंछ कर

फिर करीने से सजाती हूँ ,

और अपने मन से भी

समय की परत हटाती हूँ I

बच्चों की याद आती है

कानों में कुछ आवाज़

गूँज जाती है I

याद आता है

उनकी किलकारियों से

गूंजता आंगन,

कभी मिट्टी, कभी कीचड़

से सना आंगन I

वो उनका घर में ले आना

बस यूंही कोई अदना-सी चीज़

उनके पसीने की महक से

महकता आंगन I

 

बहुत समय बीता

अब घर में कीचड़ नहीं आता,

सुन्दर से सुन्दर फूल भी

घर को उतना नहीं सजाता,

सारा दिन बस मैं 

चीज़ों को चमकाती हूँ I

फिर रात को जब किसी

बच्चे का फ़ोन आता है

मैं धीमे-से मुस्काती हूँ

और धूल को बुलाती हूँ,

वो भी सगी सखी जैसी

सुबह तक पहुँच जाती है

हर चीज़ पर फिर से

एक परत बनाती है

ये धूल जो उड़ती आती है

मेरे लिए काम ले आती है I

 

 Unauthorized use (without explicit written consent of the author of the blog)  of content on this blog in any form is not permissible.

 

You are the winner, O mother!

O mother!

you were never my friend.

No, you never were.

It was only when

I came out of the world

you made around us.

From comfort and unseen love

into the world that 

comprised of many others.

And I....

I made adjustments 

Trying to fit in somehow.

Of course,

this world is bad

Bad enough to die.

But then,

what is so good here

To die for?

I know 

your heart bleeds

when you see me weeping.

But then, it's you only

to tell me 

"Face it, fight it".

And I once again 

Draw courage out of your 

Seemingly indifferent disposition.

And it dawns upon me

I have yet again 

Emerged as the winner.

I owe my success to you.

You are the winner

Your samskaras are.

Unauthorized use (without explicit written consent of the author of the blog)  of content on this blog in any form is not permissible.

The Void

 The void within

can be filled up

with neither food

nor any thing.

I want to talk

To someone

Who would endlessly

listen to me.

My daily chores,

My problems,

The ordinary and

The extraordinary.

I can't see light

I don't enjoy life

But still

I want to live.

I hope to meet you

At the end of it

After I have done

All the penances.

Unauthorized use (without explicit written consent of the author of the blog)  of content on this blog in any form is not permissible.

SNOW

 It looks beautiful

When you live in a home

Warmed by love,

In a land devoid of perpetrators.

It looks beautiful 

When you are in

the company of loved ones

In a land not torn apart by force.

It looks beautiful 

In forests,

Where animals live

In a land that doesn't admit brutes.

It looks beautiful

Without red dots of blood

Where colours are subdued

In a land that promises life. 

It looks beautiful

Where forces of nature

Come into play, 

In a land where no one else has the superpower.

Unauthorized use (without explicit written consent of the author of the blog)  of content on this blog in any form is not permissible.

Lost Bazaars

 There used to be a Bazaar here,

Where this mall now stands arrogantly.

Bargainings galored here

replaced by 'bargains galore'

As in malls, everything has a price tag.

No room for discussion, for dialogue.

Things bought quietly 

to fulfill hunger and thirst

and to decorate 

walls and houses.

Along with Bazaars,

 Home is also lost.

Walls remain, 

As of reminding of civilizations great.

In open Bazaars, 

people shivered in cold.

However here people are 

cold, factual, to the point.

Pointless discussions are gone

So are gone 

Qissas and Kahanis and Gapps,

 all forgotten alike.

Documentaries on the good, old world

bustling with humor mentions them

 and even petty fights and quarrels

which are replaced by Wars nowadays.

With Bazaar are lost the people

 who used to act as pacifiers

who told others to forgive and forget

they are replaced by negotiators instead. 

Unauthorized use (without explicit written consent of the author of the blog)  of content on this blog in any form is not permissible.