आजकल

--


आजकल कुछ अजीब सा रिश्ता है दुनिया से

कभी अपने मर्म आसूँओं को
बंद मुट्ठी में छिपा कर रखती हूँ
तो कभी औरों की खुली मुस्कान में
अपनी खुशियों को ढूँढती हूँ

कभी दिन भर पलंग पर पड़े पड़े
दीवार पर लटकी तस्वीरों को देखती रहती हूँ
तो कभी नंगे पाँव बाहर निकल
अनजान मज़िलों का रस्ता ढूंढती हूँ

कभी अपनों को औरों की गलियों में देख
बिखरे टुकड़े समेटने लगती हूँ
तो कभी घर की दहलीज़ पर बैठ
अजनबी मुसाफिरों में अपनों को ढूँढती हूँ

कभी शहर की ऊँची इमारतों में
सादगी को मींची आँखों में छिपाती हूँ
तो कभी पानी में बहते बुलबुलों में
बचपन की गुदगुदियाँ ढूंढती हूँ

कभी दोस्तों के साथ पि हुई चाय की प्याली में
अपने अकेलेपन के अवशेष देखती हूँ
तो कभी शहर के भरे बाज़ारों में
खुद को, औरों की कहानियों में ढूँढती हूँ

आजकल कुछ अजीब सा रिश्ता है दुनिया से


--

Sin

--

Her soul was stuck
In the ceaseless circle
Of actions and repercussions
Of guilt and penance
Of sin and sacrament.

It wanted to escape
To pierce through her chest
And scream to the world, “I exist”
To indulge, to sin.
Absolution, it said.

She auctioned away her scruples in the market
and bargained herself some free sin.
Sin, unaccounted for
Sin, they said, that even the Gods will overlook.

She sinned.
She fed her soul with all its desires
Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth
Wrath, Envy, Pride
All of that, and some more.

Her soul was happy.
But it demanded more.

Now she is back at the market,
looking for more sin.
This time, she is ready to pay for it
This time, she will trade it with her body.
And she will sin again.
If her soul wants it, a hundred times over.
And God-
he can close his gates.

--

The monthly review

--


I am in a meeting.
It started “on time”
2 hours late.
It’s 1:30
by my watch,
I can hear the buzz
in the cafeteria next door
and feel the rats in my stomach
singing their ceremonial
“We are the Vermins” jingle.

The guy next to me
is talking about some
improving economy
and the rats in my stomach
are dying of food scarcity.

They served biscuits;
some creamy, others with holes,
some sweet, others salty,
there are also ‘diet’ ones
for the diabetic big boss
sitting across.
No working-lunch,
“cost-cutting”, they said.

Left-over biscuits
are looking at me
with drooly eyes
waiting for their turn.
“Relax! My friends,
My stomach is not your destiny."

I have had enough of them.

The little devil on my nose
is hovering out to the next door-
“It’s Chole today”. He whispered.
Chole??!!
I slump lower into my chair
and look up to the boardroom
ceiling looking for God.
“I love your timing Buddy!,
But have mercy on the rats”.

The guy now is talking
about some new product
he claims to have designed.
And I see a fleet of Choles
sneaking from under the door.
Choles, with little white wings,
are fluttering around me
in a beautiful symphony.
They look blue in the projector light.
“They took ballet lessons”, says my devil.
Did they just wink at me??!

The biscuits are now insecure;
They are moving closer to me
claiming their right of first refusal
to enter my mouth
“You don’t have any rights,
You are Biscuits!!”
The empty tea-cup in the corner
is having a laugh.
Grr…Chinese!!

Now the rats are revolting.
I hear there’s been a mutiny-
The ex-captain is being
used for a canon ball.
The old loyalists are dead and
he is crying for help.
I hear they were preaching patience.

Markets improving, Biscuits crying,
Competition gaining, Chole flying,
Sales losing, Tea-cup laughing,
People quitting, Devil winking,
“Ms. J,…Ms. J,… Ms. J…”
"Yes,.. yes Mr. K?"
“What do you think?”
“I,…I think we should first consider the implications of blah blah blah……more blah blah blah…….zzzzzzz……”


--

Of food, wrong turns, and discoveries...

--

“Give me a motivation to get up.”

“Don’t start the day thinking like that.”

--That’s how the day started.


“This is one of those days we will look back to 5 years from now and wish we could have it just one more time.”

“(sigh)Yeah.”

--That’s how it ended.



And in between…


A sea-side breakfast; watermelon, eggs, and waffles with maple syrup.
A home-made lunch; Aloo-Mutter, Patta Gobhi, and steaming rice.
An awesome movie; French food, women, and more food.
A long ride southwards; an afternoon wind, October sun, and Sunday roads.
A traffic constable; some haggling, a small bribe, and a guilt-ridden gesture.
A holy shrine; peacock feathers, myriad mirrors, and a religious crowd.
A search for a banyan tree; a wrong turn, new roads, and a city discovered.
A park on reclaimed land; a winter sunset, crimson sea, and reflective silhouettes.
Another wrong turn; winding roads, narrow streets, and another discovery.
A holy tank; temple bells, gaggles of geese, and an urban-village life.
An orgasmic dinner; Vatana Vada, Biscuit-Bakhri, and finger-licking Khichdi.
A reluctant ride back; city lights, a full moon, and truck-driver songs.
And conversations all along.



Happy!



--

Under a new moon

--

We were holding hands,
walking-
feeling the sand between our toes,
the waves-
helping our silence.

Our pasts-
were coming back;
infringing,
threatening,
changing what we had.

I felt your hand tighten.

I ran-
splashing water,
you; close behind-
picked me up and spun me around;
darkness twirled around me.

I pushed my thoughts
into that nothingness,
and our laughter
rhymed with the waves.

You put me down
and touched my smile.
Standing by the sea-
we hugged-
looking into the night.

We hugged-
under a new moon.

The past can wait.


--

Airport

--

I stand waiting.
feet-
restless
eyes-
searching
beyond the sliding doors-
looking through strange faces
asking
wondering
"what’s their story?"

a silhouette-
in the distance
familiar
like home

a smile-
shared
recognized

arms extended

an embrace

"you are here!"

--

zard manzar

--

hum wahshat, zameen. par gire
un tukkdon. ko dekh rahe the;
tabhee ek sili see hawaa ka jhon.kaa
ek peele patte ko apne saath lekar aayaa

woh patta aakar un tukdon. par kuchh
is taraah se giraah, be sakhtah kaan.ch ke
woh saare tukkde peele lagne lage.
woh hawaa kaa jhon.kaa jaate hue
khidki ko yun. halke se hilaa kar gayaa
jaise koi dulhan, apne khiyaaban. ko
ek aakhir baar mudkar alwidaah kah rahee ho.

phir uss khuli khidki se aftaab ki kirne
un zard tukkdon. me yoon. gul gayeen.
jaise hamare wahshat ko mitaane
peele kapdon. me koi dulhan hee aayee ho.


--

We went to Town

--

We took the 2.41 train to CST. You went in the general and I in the ladies'. You were 3 compartments behind mine. You stood at the door and so did I. The train took a left curve and I turned to look behind. I knew I would see you standing there. And I knew you didn't like my standing there. You always cared. You were brushing your hair. You always did.

I smiled at you and you smiled back. We looked at each other for a while longer till the train straightened again. We got down and I waited for you to walk three compartment lengths. I saw you through the strange faces and saw your eyes searching for me. You spotted me and your hands went to your hair again.

You came close and patted my back. You always did that. I smiled and winked. I always did that. We came out and caught a cab to Regal. I don't remember which movie we went to. I don't remember if we even went to a movie. I remember walking on the footpath outside the Wales museum. And stopping by the guys that make pencil portraits. I wanted to get one. You wanted me to get one. You patted and I winked.

I took my place. I wanted to keep my cap on. You thought that was crazy. But that's why you liked me. I sat there looking at nothing. You stood in front of me behind the artist. You kept smiling. Passers by got interested. We had a crowd around us. You liked the attention I was getting and I liked the look on your face. You paid for the sketch. You loved the sketch. I thought I looked better.

We went to the Wales museum. You didn't like that we had to leave our phones at the security. You frowned at the stupidity. I smiled at your temper. I don't remember much of what we saw. I only remember we enjoyed ourselves. We laughed a lot. We went to the Jehangir art gallery. We loved some of the paintings. We were uninitiated about the rest. We had opinions though.

I don't remember much of after that. Movie? Play? Dinner? I don't remember. I remember taking the train back. This time in the same compartment. This time we sat. I took the window seat. I always did. You came all the way home to drop me. You always did. I sometimes didn't like it. You knew it. But you always did. You always cared.

I was tired. I didn't sleep. I waited for you to reach home and call me. You called. We wouldn't hang up.

You waited till I fell asleep. You always did.


--

Travel

--

There are different reasons why people travel, and there are different ways in which one can express why travelling means so much to them. This, is just one of the ways.

**


The insatiable need for a
different place.
The ceaseless urge to take a
road unexplored.

To breathe-
a different air.
To gaze-
at a new horizon.

The seductive pleasure in leaving the
familiar behind.
The glorious freedom of being
on your own.

To dance-
to a music unheard.
To drown-
in the silence of the unknown.

The increasing quest for the
stories untold.
The mystifying life of the
people met.

To be lost-
in the wild.
To find-
yourself.


**


The first line of the above is taken from a poem by Anindita Sengupta.This single line set me on writing this one. http://aninditasengupta.wordpress.com/


--

I can't think of a title, WTH

--


I am staring at the phone
waiting for its red screen to blink
I wait an expectant minute,
WTH
I pick it up and type you a message,
I read it again, I re-type, read, re-type
So much to tell you,
So much to write you,
I am going to write it all,
In this moment words don’t fail me.

Wait a minute!
No, I am not sending them,
Minutes of pretended diversion,
And then
Stare, wait, pick, WTH, words, type, End.
Emotions filling up the heart,
(ah! Not so much drama)
Words forming in the head,
Fingers typing them out on the red screen,
the same fingers pressing the red button.
Stare, wait, pick, WTH, words, type, End.

Who wants the words?
Forget the words, erase the words,
Who cares about grammar?
Throw the keyboard out.
We love our silence, don’t we?
between us, it speaks a thousand,
(Avoid clichés! Avoid clichés!)
But we are about them, the words,
We can’t do without them,
We won’t last an hour without them
WTH
I am going out to look for the keyboard,
I am glad I didn’t burn it.

It’s been very long, 16 hours to be precise.
I feel like a carton after someone sucked out the last drop.
(Couldn’t think of anything better?? stop dramatizing, now!)
Actually, I feel like a balloon that can’t take more Helium.
(yeah, that’s heavier than Hydrogen)
Words have been filling since morning,
Words with meanings,
Sentences with meaningless words.
Some said already a thousand times over, (clichéd again!)
Some still craving for their meanings (ah! this is original)
WTH
WTH
WTH
Pick, WTH, words, type, End.
End
End
End.

--

Shared memories

--

This one is from a very dear friend...

"On a verdant hill,

endeared,the wind and the waves

a bastion of sweet memories."

--

In the Summer...With Her

--

Sunlight is peering in through the crack
and is throwing patterns on the mud walls.
I am curled up on the mat reminiscing
about the dream from last night.
Outside, I hear everyday chores breaking
the silence of the summer morning.
I lazily get up and go to the kitchen
still holding the ruffled pillow.
I see my grandma
bent over the earthen stove
blowing through the metal pipe.
Her eyes are wet from the smoke
and she is wiping her cheeks with
the red border of her yellow sari.
Her wet hair wound up in a towel
is tucked behind her neck.
Drops from a loose strand is wetting
the sleeve of her cotton blouse.
She shifts a little to adjust her silver anklets
and sees me watching her, smiles.
“You are up?”
She brings my tea in a stainless steel glass,
takes the pillow from my hand
and kisses my forehead.
She dusts the loose strands of thread
from my shirt and smoothens my hair.
I kiss her, her skin soft against my lips
And she runs her hand on my face.
I take my tea outside and sit on the veranda:
the first sun of my vacation is already up.

The goats are on their way to the hills,
the shepherds, with sticks in their hands
are walking behind them, still yawning.
Bare backed men, driving the cows,
are headed to the fields to the south.
Smiling women in colorful saris
stand at the old municipal bore-well.
Their uncombed hair catches the sunlight
and creates a golden maze.
The saris, tucked at their waists
end four inches above the ground
reveal their bare feet and bony ankles.
Sunlight pierces the plastic pot
under the tap and I can see
the level of water rising inside.
Little girls in blue skirts and white blouses
are on there way to the school.
Their red ribbons sit like butterflies
on the white jasmine flirting at their necks.
Old men with walking sticks and thick glasses
are sitting under the panchayat tree.
Two young men, neem sticks in their mouth,
are cycling towards the village stream,
Little naked ones are playing in the street
some of them sucking on their dirty thumbs.
Five summers have passed since the last time
I sat on this veranda and watched a similar morning.

I hear her anklets behind me
and turn to look at her.
The towel is gone and
her hair is pulled back in a bun.
She looks younger.
I notice some unwashed turmeric
on her neck and reach out to wipe it,
she holds my hand and wipes it herself
and again brushes my hair
“Won’t you grow them?”
I smile my answer and reach for a hug
My hand brushes against the jasmine.
I watch as two flowers come loose
And fall next to her feet.
She shyly leaves the embrace, smiles
“Water is ready”.


--

A fulfilled wish

--

The morning breeze
A floating quill
A wish to touch
An outstretched arm
One failed attempt
On the toes
For the second
A moment’s pause
A gentle descent
The tender touch
A frozen second
A fulfilled wish.

--

Hyetal Embrace

--

Its half past twelve,
She locked the rickety door
And stepped out into the rain.
She pulled out her blue umbrella
And looked around for company.
Wet deserted roads.
She walked towards home
A score minutes away.
Every dark corner, every narrow alley,
Screamed at her through its silence.
Merciless night.
The shadow of the lamp post,
Falling on the wall stared at her.
The wind in the trees intimidating.
A looming song.
The drops on her umbrella,
And her shoes against the asphalt,
Break the gloomy silence.
Merciful escape.
The blood is rushing through her
Heart beating faster,
And knees weak.
She tried to distract her mind
From the clutches of the night,
Thinking of things
At home, awaiting her-
Hot-bath, steaming tea, a cozy bed.
She warmed herself
With these thoughts
And ignored the fringing fear.
Desperate pretence.
Her mind wandered a little more
To things missing at home
Someone to
Prepare the hot-bath
Share the steaming tea
Join her on the cozy bed.
Lately, days have been like this;
Just a mundane being.
Returning loneliness.
When was the last time she felt-
The rush in her blood?
The tug in her heart?
Knees weak?
Her steps slow down
Laden by these thoughts.
Sore memories
Now the night feels different-
It’s keeping her company
On these lonely roads,
And is warming her
With its black cloak.
The world has left them alone;
The night and her.
Mysterious lover.
It made her heart race
And her keens weak tonight.
She turned the last corner
And is glad to see her house
She reached for the door
And fiddled with the keys.
A gush of wind
Made her pause.
A hesitant minute.
She folded her umbrella,
Dropped her bag
Turned to look at the rain
And stepped back
Into the dark night.
Hyetal embrace.

--

In the library

--

I see him sitting
At the corner desk,
Reading a thick book, drowned.
He,Though in the corner,
Of my attention, is centre.
I have heard about him
From the other teachers;
Dedicated,
Smart,
And manners pleasing too.

I look at him, captivated.
A smile on his lips,
A glow in his eyes,
And on his face, contentment.
I wonder at his aura,
At his young age, marvel.
Son of a rich father, must be
And a doting mother too,
To be so at peace within
And with the world outside too.

He is writing something,
In his little red book,
As alone I stand, wondering.
He closes his book,
And packs his bag,
As towards him I walk, hesitating.
A crumpled page,
Slides off the desk, unnoticed
And to my feet, glides.
He turns around, unaware
And reaches for something behind.
I pick up the page, uncertain
On it written a single line,
Seven little words stare at me
‘To my Ma n Pa in heaven’.

A shiver runs through me,
As I stand there stunned
My myth about him broken.
I say a silent prayer
And turn to look at him, shaken.
He is walking away
Head held high,
The smile on his face touches.
The silence on me, heavy
Broken only by the echo
Caused by his crutches.

--

Rumbling Rambling

--

It’s a lazy Sunday morning,
I am awake but still in bed,
On my back watching the fan.

The flowers on my side-table,
Nodding in the fan’s breeze,
As if they approve of the lazy day.
The sunlight and the fan,
Throw flickering scenes on the wall,
It’s like watching a silent movie.

Looking at the blades go around
I remember the adage
About things coming around
I reflect it on my life
And think of all the things
That did come around.

I try to follow one blade,
The one with the dent,
As it goes and comes around,
But realize I can’t do it,
The fan is too fast and
It all gets jumbled up.

I have done it before, haven’t I?
Being stuck on one thing
Blind to everything else
Only to realize soon
I have created a mess
And I am actually nowhere.

I wonder what would happen
If a blade were to break
I think the fan would topple
And would go around no more
It would continue to hang there
But no one would look at it anymore.

What would be my three blades?
I ponder over it and it comes easy
Family, friends and the world
What if one of them breaks?
Will I continue to go around?
Will I continue to be?

The little bulge in the centre
Where the blades meet
Is a representation of the ‘I’
Giving it definition are three blades.
What would the bulge be without them?
What would I be without them?

It’s a lazy Sunday morning,
I am awake but still in bed,
On my back watching the fan,
On my back, watching myself.

--

Could have been so much better...... I didn't seem to be satisfied at all.......kept editing.......but it kept dragging....hence decided to post it the way it is......

--

There and Here

Morning Prayer, Backyard Streams, Singing Birds,
Flat Tyres, Crumpled Shirts, Crowded Buses.

Generous Rains, Yielding Cattle, Swell Wells,
Lean Accounts, Unpaid Loans, Mounting Bills.

Grandma’s food, Lazy Days, Smiling Children,
Unhealthy Diets, Busy Schedules, Ignored Families.

Delightful Huts, Wild Orchards, Fallen Mangoes,
Tiny Flats, Crowded Clubs, Fatal Drugs.

Happy Farmers, Timely Harvests, Festive times,
Nosy Bosses, Missed Deadlines, Boring Meetings.

Govt. Schools, Playful Children, Bedtime stories,
Heavy Bags, Empty Playgrounds, Tuition classes.

Bullock Carts, Soothing Shadows, Hair-Pin Bends,
Traffic Jams, Choking Pollution, Delayed Flights.

Afternoon Siestas, Coconut Water, Crimson Sunsets,
Sleepless Nights, Addictive Caffeine, Missing Horizons.


---

Didn't come out the way i wanted,... still...

-

Journey

My bag is packed and I am counting days,
Waiting to begin my journey to nowhere.
I have only heard of the roads I seek.
May be all I have is no more than a week.

Have years of existence to wrap up,
Have goodbyes to say and chores to do.
I look at the sun and know the day is not far,
When the unknown I chase sends the lodestar.

Last night, I dreamt of a ship leaving shore,
That’s the sign to begin my awaited voyage.
I am leaving behind chattels by the dozen,
And taking with me memories frozen

The lamp, the pot, and the fishes say your goodbyes,
The old violin in the bag is my only tie to the past.
Friends and family are standing at the door,
I won’t look back because I may go no more.

The bells on the door and the crack in the wall,
The leaking tap and the crooked branch,
They call my name with a brilliant gust,
But they know I can’t stop, go I must.

I am on the platform looking at the train,
From here is where it shall all begin
The journey to a place nameless and blurred,
My journey to the unknown, the unheard,

---

Addition to "Haiku"

Had been to my old house yesterday......

Familiar roads -
Like a flower in an old book,
Reminiscence of a fragrance.

--

It

---

It's here, it's gone, No wait! It lingers on.
I wish it away, it doesn’t sway.
I close my eyes, it still pries.

It knocks on my door, I try and ignore.
It still persists, oh! I barely can resist.
It’s at the fringe, I so weakly cringe

It enters, flares, hurts, tortures.
I cry, ache, plead, pray.
It breaks, kills, Ah! I am lees.
But,
I rise, fight, no more on knees.

It said “You can’t beat me,
You may be tough”
But, lose it did to me,
Coz I had enough.

It’s over now
But still I shudder,
Not knowing
When it will appear.
May it come again
It can’t hurt me,
Because, my dear! Now I know
It was me.

---