A walk.

A walk reminding you of all the walks before,
unfinished smiles, unfinished miles beside the locked door.
Because I crushed and crumbled your heart more than once,
Part with my words, part with my absence.

The soul in your eyes,
pierced through my disguise.
Strange little paper-boats up again,
I hope it doesn't, then I hope it does; rain!

You're right, I could never forget you,
your spell was deeper than what I thought, I knew.
But, you know it well,
I won't say a word, even if the heart rebels.

कुछ हैरान नहीं करता

काफी वक़्त हुआ,
कुछ हैरान नहीं करता.
हर ख़याल रुक जाता है खाल पर ही,
रूह को कुछ परेशान नहीं करता.

महंगी ज़िन्दगी खरीद ली,
पर रोज़ पुराने कपड़ो में,
कुछ पुराना महसूस करने की कोशिश.
किसी खड्डे वाली सड़क पे,
बेतरतीब,
स्कूटर से गिरने की ख्वाइश.
तब तक दौड़ जब तक,
दर्द बेजान नहीं करता.

काफी वक़्त हुआ,
कुछ हैरान नहीं करता.

Indifferent.

Chapter's closed,
and so are the windows now.
Eyes no longer look for you,
Stubborn head disallows.

I know, it'll be great,
to talk to you again.
I know, we're good,
there's no visible chain.

But I took your flaws and mine,
and mixed it with my feelings.
Now, I don't know, which is which,
Layered heart; multiple ceilings.

So, here we are,
separate and far.
As indifferent as strangers
of different lands,
bearing different scars.

Crossroads.. an old article in the old Job

somethings that left an impression..

Born out of random conversations, somethings just stick forever with you; guiding you, reminding you! Sometimes you realize much later, how big an impression something has left on your mind..Trying to recall a few..

• A friend, Sidharth Jayaraman, with whom I shared a pretty solid like-hate relationship, told me once during college winters, 'You don't change yourself for someone, you mould yourself..' And I didn't, after that. 
• A hostel room-mate (a senior, her name began with 'A', that's all I remember) gave me a very good advice, when I was feeling confused about helping certain people in the hostel, who were bitches, to say the least. She said, 'Don't help someone because he/she will like it, help only when you'll like it. Don't do it for someone else, it should be in sync with who you are. That ways, you'll never regret it.' Simplified a lot of paradoxes for me.
• A very talented photographer, Himanshu ji, in Jaipur fixed an idea in my head. He believed, that in the act of capturing the beauty, you kill some parts of it. When you click, when you paint, when you define something pure and beautiful; something in it dies. In the madness of giving expression, we commercialize it, we make it visible, too accessible. If you speak your heart out, the thought doesn't remain intimate anymore. It's never the same again!
• A very close college friend, Varnika, while trying to counsel me out of something, said something invaluable in symbolic language. She named one hand 'self-respect', and the other 'impulsiveness'. She started out with both hands at same level, then a competition started between both of them to be higher than the other. Sometimes self-respect's higher, sometimes it's 'impulsiveness'. Hands keep going up, but in the end, 'self-respect' wins. Precious!
• Well, this one came from a movie, 'The Nanny Diaries' - " I read that critics of anthropology believe that just by observing a culture you inevitably change it." Have been stumbling upon this line, quite often nowadays.

College days.

An under-construction library,
remembered most for purposes quite non-literary.
A few beers, a few smokes,
and a wildlife of different strokes.

A canteen,
where food sucked, if you know what I mean.
Some sensible, many non-sensible words,
and exploring the world of absurds.

Three hostels,
crash course in world of colorful pastels.
Some back-bitching, some friends for life,
lessons for crazy whims, lessons for strife.

A central fountain,
less water, more memories to contain.
Many birthday splashes, many more random throws,
and endless lectures killed, viewing it from windows.

And the lawns, the yawns,
the dusks at khokha, and the lazy dawns.
The wi-fi, the nescafe, the fraud juice-waala,
Sec-6, Sec-4, kaali-ghata, dwarka ka raddi crowd saala!
Night-outs, fests, farewells,
creative outbursts and dry spells.
Exams.. testing your cram 'n' puke skills,
Monsoon crushes, winter chills.
And everything said, unsaid, done, undone,
those were the days of solid fun,
those were my college days, where it all begun.

A well insulated heart!

Lost in the chasm of his songs,
he held me near,
Insulated all along,
Integrated to his song.

I could see the wires,
over two thousand per meter square.
Fencing his face, his hands, his soul,
His lungs, his mouth, his all…

His repressed intellect, impressed in smoke,
His nervous toes, bitten fingers, dissolved layers while he spoke,
The wrinkles of his humour, his impaired hope,
Soon, he, with his insanity, would be fishing out of scope.

I could’ve wished for more ignorance,
More delusions of knowing him, more unwired moments,
But, I guess, I swallowed pieces of ice long ago,
Cold speech, frozen heart, what would I know!

So, lost in the chasm of his song,
I held him near,
Insulated all along,
Integrated to his song.

खाली पेट

सीले बिस्किट,  आधी प्याली चाय,
क्यूँ ना, आज खाली पेट मुस्कुराया जाए?
छोटा-सा तरबूज़ सात हिस्सों में,
मज़ेदार गरीबी ऐसी, जो सुनी थी कहानियों में, किस्सों में.
एक-चौथाई बाल्टी से ही नहाया जाए,
क्यूँ ना, आज खाली पेट मुस्कुराया जाए?

एक कम्बल में चार छेद,
चार छेदो से निकलते चार छोटे सर.
उनको परियों की दुनिया में उलझाया जाए,
लाड़ के कम्बल तले सुलाया जाए.
क्यूँ ना, आज खाली पेट मुस्कुराया जाए?

बरसों पहले फूलों से दोस्ती की थी,
उनके रंगों में अपने रंग कहीं छिपा दिए.
कुछ रंगों को तो वापस लाया जाए,
पतझड़ के बाद, ये फूल शायद फिर आये ना आये.
अभी फिलहाल, खाली पेट मुस्कुराया जाए!

Storm hits the heart.

Criss-cross, criss-cross,
like lovers of yesteryears, strolling across.
An unknown land, unprepared, unplanned,
lost in the moment, hand in hand.
Then destiny rolled the dice,
in seconds, everything fell apart.
You can fix the cracks and the burns,
but how do you fix when a storm hits the heart!


Caught off-guard, near the water,
prejudice attacked, perceived morality ready for slaughter.
A small mistake, a big price; how abruptly virtue became vice!
innocence was lost, slice by slice.
When paradise turns against you,
demanding your depart,
you can't try enough, you can't cry enough,
When a storm hits your heart!

बाहर निकल चल

बंद कमरे में नहीं आती ज़िन्दगी की खुशबू,
चल अलस के मारे मन, बाहर निकल चल.
धूप जला दे न, जब तक तेरे अहम् को,
ये बनावटी चेहरा धूल में न धुत हो जाए जब तक,
हो ना जाए जबतलक, तेरी सोच थोड़ी और तरल.
चल अलस के मारे मन, बाहर ही खेल चल.

Ladakh Day 29 April 2010

My eyes still go back to that panoramic view of having nothing but mountains around, one side with icing, one side without. Mountains playing shadow games with each other; mountains grinning with white teeth, brown gaps in between; mountains with closed fists close to their chest, looking up probably wishing to be higher; mountains looking at you blankly, wondering what the hell you’re doing in their land. There was also this place, viewed best from the monastery in Stanzin's father’s village ‘Matho’, that looks like uprooted from some other planet; I love the alien feel of this place.
So yes, he took me to his father’s village ‘Matho’; known for its different colored soil (he calls it red, but it’s not so :). Kept telling me stories about leh berry, monastery, their kings (who get married to Tibetan, Muslim etc.; liberty at his best), about the new Ladakhi tourist minister who is actually father of a senior from our college, about different trees- poplar, apricot, apple and their uses,  something (dzo) smaller than yak, different villages (Stok, Matho, Stakna etc etc). I think I should be applying greater efforts in remembering the names now, all of them unfamiliar, most of them difficult to get in one time.
They told me about this retirement ceremony (now out of fashion), where everyone the poor retiring person knew, would join him and make him go round Ladakh and celebrate. The real reason Bandey uncle told me was to tell everyone, who shouldn't be trusted with credit now ;). He can be funny at times, he just talks less. He retired 11 yrs back (and yes, was part of the ‘Retirement Jashn’); but still continues to go to SESOL. I went there today, and it’s full of red tomatoes. Difficult to remember their names, and them speaking with their killer cuteness, doesn’t make it any easy for me.
I’m just really in the Ladakhi moment today; no other memories coming to bite me from behind. I have to admit that Stanzin was damn right when he said on the Jaipur trip (years back, when we were still in college); that this is “one place you never regret coming to, but always regret leaving it".
The most beautiful sound of utter silence is back. Wind blowing pass your ears forcing you to open your eyes as wide as possible and you try (that’s the best you could do) to take it all in.
29 April 2010

First Day in Ladakh - 28 april 2010

So I finally reached Ladakh today. Still blooming like an idiot, thinking about the moments my heart froze with wonder while in the sky. There comes a point, when from the clouds, slowly and stealthily, mountains appear, and they keep getting whiter and whiter until they are like giant bodies sleeping under snow blankets. The aged Air India air-hostess found me amusing, I guess. Whenever she’d see me sticking to the window of 21A seat with eyes wide and mesmerized as if of a new-born, she’d give me this smile that I still can’t classify as mocking or sweet. When I got out of the plane, flight IC445, I could almost sense a tear materializing in my eyes overwhelmed by the feeling that I’m in Leh. I kind of, killed it mid-way so that the fellow passengers might not give me ‘the look’. The fellow passengers, for whom the grand welcome by this mountain, with few streaks of white hair, on the regular coiffure of brown strands, was less extra-ordinary than it was for me.
I’ve been advised by the family that I’m staying with to take complete rest today, i.e. I can’t go out. So I’ve been talking, reading, eating but could not keep myself from reminiscing.

I don’t understand what exactly it means to miss someone. I keep getting glimpses of the kids at Umang, Jaipur; especially Sambhav, Yuvraaj, Meera, Yashank, Priyanshu, Ishaan.. so many of them.. I’ve just arrived here in Leh, and I’m imagining how Sambhav will give that disarming smile when he sees me in July, how Yuvraaj will say ‘Dilli chalo’ when I spoil him with love, how Meera would ask for more homework... I am telling you; I think that’s closest to missing someone I could feel and describe.

I should seriously stop listening to these old soft songs. It’s making me weak with memories. Just faces, so many people, friends.. Trivandrum, Jaipur, College, Colony, Pravah; of course Dad, the way he just kills me with his unsaid love and the way he takes care of everything, even when the thankless daughter loiters away.. I’ve always tried to lock memories to deep undergrounds only to be dug in times of urgency or times like these; when I lie with body weight resting on elbows, face resting on the edge of the bedside, eyes resting on the particles of immense beauty outside the window, thoughts resting on the hopelessly romantic songs in the background.  How can happiness fill you with so much heaviness! (Never mind the jump; I guess I’m still recovering from Milan Kundera’s ‘Unbearable lightness of being’).  I’m switching back to tougher music now. I should be better now!
Lights went out, just had another cup of tea with the aunty and chatted about her son Shabir and life here and there. I love her already, she’s incredibly lovely, has this simplicity about her when she talks and a lovely mother-like voice (with of course, Urdu and Ladakhi intonation).
There is an uncomfortable silence in the room, when she leaves and the music is out. If I don’t hold myself back, it seems like I might be sucked away by feelings that I know nothing of.  Where is my tough music, I need a stay on this. Too much reflection makes my head heavy.
Date: 28-04-10

A lot to catch up!!

So, a lot has happened since the last post. Blame it on my innate lethargy; but like a smoker's timeless attempts to quit smoking, I fall back on the track every once in a while. I can't give up writing, even when my lazy fingers almost always convince my distracted mind.

Very briefly, I've been moving around doing things and would be sharing some of the experiences(but not all of it!!)

कब से हुआ ये?

कब से हुआ ये,
 दिल गली के गटर सा हो गया.
 लोग अब दिखते नहीं, उनकी बस कमियां नज़र आती है.
छिल जाती है दिल की तबियत,
जब ख़ुशी सामने से गुज़र के,
पड़ोसी के घर सोने जाती है.
पूछ उसी कमबख्त से,
कब से हुआ ये?

कब से हुआ ये,
समुंदर का शोर सरदर्द करने लगा.
आँखें रूखी रेत सी,
ना टिकती है आसमाँ पर, ना गीली होती है कभी,
 जैसे बर्फ का पहाड़ दिल में घर करने लगा.
एक-दो दिन में तो नहीं बना ये!
पता है, पर नहीं बताऊंगा! कब से हुआ ये!

कब से हुआ ये,
रंगों से नफरत हो गयी.
दीवारों पे भी धब्बे है, मेरी खुन्नस के.
ये सपनों के गुब्बारे लिए,
जो चले आते है आज-कल के लड़के,
फोड़े थे मैंने भी कई अपनी तकदीर के फोड़ों से.
अरे छोड़ो! तुम क्या समझोंगे,
कब से हुआ ये.