Infidelity

There is a hole somewhere,
and the feelings leak from there.
Such truth in the eyes,
but I wonder, if there are other layers.

"Most people go to their graves with their music still inside them..."

Borrowed from "The Music Within". It is an OK sort of movie but it's this quote that probably meant I didn't completely waste those minutes. Given by Oliver Wendell Holmes, a famous physician plus author (and of course! I didn't know that before the movie).

In the movie, a professor is trying to make the kids understand what this means. He goes on to mention that: Most people die without discovering their own genius, without expressing their uniqueness that makes them special. I couldn't agree more.

Earlier in the day, I was having this debate about a careless remark someone made "Creativity doesn't really exist. Either all of us are creative or none of us." Being high on the Beethoven fever (I saw a movie about him recently), I fought back vehemently stating that only few people are capable of doing what Beethoven did, or for that matter Mozart or Van Gogh or Einstein or Vinci etc. How could we possibly be equally gifted in this 'creativity'!
But reflecting back, Why not! It might just be that all of us are born with some music, some unprecedented spark, but we probably never care to check. We find it so comforting to believe in our 'non-greatness', in our mediocrity, that we rather not push. We rather just live, a nice safe life, devoid of music from within. Sounds sensible enough!
But still the fact, that the statistics of such deaths of talent and of brilliance is overwhelming, is not a good sign. May be a sign of increased GDP growth but definitely not a sign of development.

फिकर

जाने क्या फिकर है

इस फकीर को

लगता है जैसे यह,

खिड़की से बाहर की

मायूसी को पहचानता है.

बीड़ी से लड़ते बुड्ढे में,

पान वाले की टेढ़ी हँसी में,

ऑटो वाले की झुर्रियों में,

सड़क के किनारे पलती बेहोशी में, 

साला! कौन-सा मोती छानता है!

नहाने जाता है तो

साबुन के बुलबुलों में खो जाता है,

दिन भर कितनों को धोका देता है

रात में नींद को,

धोका देते-देते शायद सो जाता है.

बोलता है बड़े जूनून से,

सुनने वाले भी भतेरे है

उसकी फिकर

बाहर है, उन सब चरसियों की समझ से ,

फिर भी, वो कहता है, "यह लोग.. मेरे है"

जाने क्या फिकर है

इस फकीर को

लगता है जैसे यह, 

खिड़की के अन्दर की बात

जानता है.

आइना दिखाता फिरता है 

दुनिया को

खुद की परछाई का भेद

कहाँ मानता है!

थोड़ी सी शिकायत है, मुझे दिल्ली की धूप से.

थोड़ी सी शिकायत है,

मुझे दिल्ली की धूप से.

थोड़ी उसकी ठंडी तबियत से,

थोड़ी उसके कच्चे रूप से.

थोड़ी ट्रैफिक की चतुराई से,

थोड़ी उसके संगीत से, 

थोड़ी गालियों की गहराई से.

और थोड़ी चौढ़ी सड़को पे,

चलते तंग दिलों की लापरवाही से.

थोड़ी कदम कदम पे बदलती बास से,

थोड़ी बसों की भयानक भीड़ से,

थोड़ी लफंगों की दिनों-दिन बड़ते विशवास से.

और थोड़ी कार की खिड़की पे ठकठकाती,

अधनंगी आस से.

थोड़ी बंद दरवाजों के पीछे आते शोर से,

थोड़ी चेहरों की झूठी चमक से,

थोड़ी कपड़ो के जूठे ज़ोर से.

और थोड़ी हँसी के पीछे छिपे,

अन्दर के सहमे चोर से.

थोड़ी सी शिकायत है,

मुझे दिल्ली की धूप से.

थोड़ी उसकी ठंडी तबियत से,

थोड़ी उसके कच्चे रूप से.

English translation :

I have some complaints,
against the Delhi's sun.
Some against her cold nature.
Some against her crude beauty.

Some against the wisdom of traffic,
Some against it's(traffic's) music.
Some against the depth of the curse-words.
And some against the thoughtlessness of constricted hearts,
walking on the wide roads.

Some against the stench changing at every footstep.
Some against the awesome crowd in the buses.
Some against the growing confidence of rogues.
And some against the half-naked hope
knocking at the car windows.

Some against the cries behind closed doors.
Some against the fake radiance of the faces.
Some against the half-eaten (something's that's already tasted, already used by someone else) dominance of clothes.
And some against the frightened thief inside
hiding behind all the laughter.

I have some complaints,

against the Delhi's sun.

Some against her cold nature,

Some against her crude beauty.

सपना देखा कि..

सपना देखा कि,

डूब रहे थे वो दोनों .

वो खुश भी थे, उदास भी.

कितने ही लोग नीचे झुके,

बचाने को,

वो खामोश भी थे, बदमाश भी.

बचाया न, न समझाया,

देर तक घूरा, फिर झटके से एक को उठाया.

एक पल में सब धुंधला सा गया,

सपना बिखर के बिस्तर पे आ गया.

कुछ असर चाय, और कुछ अखबार खा गया.

(About a bad dream, I saw today)

Cold virus

Like a snake, it moves inside,
biting, chiding, riding with pride.
It kills me for a second,
and then, I'm still alive, I reckon.
Hate this stomach pain, hate his guts,
tying me to the warmth of this laptop butts :(

Things that get missed..

In reverse chronological order :

• An old man with a white handkerchief on his head to fight against the sun comes to the bus stop and looks at me, turns and then stares at me with a confused look. I have music in my ears and things in my head, and a question for him in my eyes - "What's wrong??". He just smiles and in sophisticated English replies that "You have such sharp features. Beautiful eyes. Pardon me, but I thought you should know!" If I wouldn't have seen his cute missing teeth, when he laughed, I might have thought otherwise :)
• An autowallah catching me singing "Mai zindagi ka saath..." and smiling, dropping me to my stop and then not accepting money, saying "Rehne dijiye, yahan toh mujhe waise bhi aana tha.. aur India ne World Cup bhi toh jeeta hai!" and giving me a big grin before speeding off.
• An old women, asking me the numbers of bus passing, explaining the whole history of how women were never educated before Indira Gandhi, and how she met her in Ranchi, just days before she was shot dead by her own bodyguards. All this and more, in less than 5 mins.
• "You must be really trusting Delhites, leaving your bag like this". A man sitting next to me remarks while I was gone to get tickets. 
• A conductor shouting for a man to get tickets. The man doesn't respond. The conductor goes to him and shakes him, shouting. The man hustles to get probably the only 10 rupee note, and starts moving to the gate. The conductor tries to give 5 rupee back, the man jerks him off and tries to say something except no words come out, only the sound of 'failed speech'. He is deaf and mute. The bus stops in front of the National Institute for the deaf, he walks out. As he walks towards the Institute, he stamps his foot in bitterness and anger.

There are so many things that happens during the day but get missed in the small-talk during tea-break or during the nice walk with the friends or on that fb chat with a long lost friend or on the blog that hardly ever gets updated.. but sometimes I think, it's small things like these that turn the face of your whole day..and if allowed, even the face of your outlook towards life..