Saturday, April 26, 2008

PHIR....

Phir unhi raston mein aa gaye hain do-raahein
Phir goad mein uski so jaane ko jee chaahe


Phir unhi ungliyo ko thaam kar usne jaana


Wo moam ki tarah pighalta hai
Wo aarzoo ki tarah phisalta hai
Wo jaagte sapne dekhtaa hai
Aur sotey aahey bhartaa hai


Chehro mein dekhtaa hai woh usi ka chehra
Khwahishon par phir ye kaisa pehra?


Tum nahi hamaare, ye sach sheeshey saa saaf
Ek hi bahaana : Gustakhi maaf....

Friday, April 18, 2008

THE TOY SOLDIER

Image courtesy = www.amrk.net
I BURIED A TOY SOLDIER
I BURIED IT MANY YEARS AGO
WRAPPED IN BANDAGES, DENTED, BROKEN
IT SURVIVED THE PENDULUM’S TO AND FRO

DESPITE RUST AND MILDEW, IT MARCHED ON AND ON
TILL ONE DAY I DUG IT OUT, WELL PAST ITS’ FINAL DAWN
THE BANDAGES HAD WITHERED
THE SOLDIER HAD CRUMBLED
BRUTALLY CRUSHED AND DAINTILY HUMBLED

MY JOURNEY HAS BEGUN, FULL OF ECSTACY AND PAIN
AND MY SOLDIER WILL NEVER BE MY COMPANION AGAIN

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

NO FAITH

Image Courtesy = "Asphyxia" - www.jeehwang.com
NO FAITH...
My joy
My grudge
My sweat
My blood
All mine
Not yours
NO FAITH...
My love
My grouse
My genius
My flaws
All mine
Not yours
NO FAITH...
Empty facades
Broken shards
Smirking masks
House of cards
All yours
Not mine
NO FAITH...
Ink touches paper, words come slow
Why this must be, I do not know
My cup runneth over, oceans in my eyes
And emotions must flow, emotions must flow

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

ONE FLIGHT, MANY MUSINGS


The siesta being over, my dhyaan shifts to the sight outside at 31,000 feet above sea level. The azure blue of the sky puts the mind in blissful stasis. Sunrays filter through the cotton wool of the clouds like lights from heaven above. Far in the distance, clouds & blue sky merge in a pure haze. I reach out for it in my mind, but it dissolves slowly from heavenwards view. A gaze at terra firma reveals the long, mercurial rivers forcing their path through obstacles of the land, finally relenting and snaking, cleaving the vast landscape. Glints of light reflected off my watch smile back at my narrowed eyes. The sun – a goblet of fire, is bright yet gentle, and the ocean below a silent vat of gold. The sun – descending into nothingness, changes the horizon to a mix of yellow, orange & red. Many a hide-and-seek later, the goblet is gone, and its impersonators on earth take over – a dizzy blur as the plane starts to descend…





On his flight back to Mumbai, he has many mixed feelings, the predominant one being that of regret of returning so early. He has always called Bangalore his second home, and there are so many memories & attachments in that city that he fails to get enough of it. On this occasion, knowing that the next few days are to be spent in lazy, unproductive chaos, he seriously regrets coming back so soon. Mumbai is a city of wonders & temptations – “Maya nagri” as they call it, and it draws not only foreigners but also sons of the soil to its sights, its sounds, fragrances, its histories and also its mysteries. It draws him in a similar fashion, but much to his chagrin, it might probably never be a place which he can call “home” from his heart. An inexplicable & burning hollowness and loneliness engulfs him every time he returns to Mumbai, in spite of having so many people around. Mumbai is one city which fails to breach the invisible barrier around him. He had spent a lot of money to get to and fro from Bangalore for just a few days, but it was really worth it. As the punchline for Mastercard goes, “There are some things money can’t buy…” This is probably one of those things ….peace of mind.

Saturday, April 05, 2008

CHILDHOOD - LOST & FOUND

Taare Zameen Par brings back many uncomfortable memories of his childhood. He wasn’t suffering from ADD (Attention Deficit Syndrome) or dyslexia, but was coaxed in a similar manner to stay at a boarding school. He was told by mother that he had been very naughty & had to go far away for disciplining. The actual reason to send him there was the paucity of good schools in his hometown. The young child did not understand that, nor did he know what the prospect of enrolling in a boarding school held for him. He assumed it bode ill and threw tantrums, begged, pleaded – any childish tactic that he’d learnt could tug at the heartstrings of an elder. It doesn’t always work - he learnt it the hard way. Within no time, items got ticked off the list of things to take along. The bags were on the verge of ripping at the seams, unable to contain the massive contents inside, much like the enormity of tears he was holding back. Dad stayed stern & stone faced through the ordeal. The child tried looking for some emotions on mother’s face, his last refuge, and was heartbroken to see none - none more than that of a silently weeping statue. He reasoned with dad, from when they left the tiny but comfortable home to the time they reached the huge, uninviting metal gates of the hostel, thousands of miles away, but to no avail. As he watched his parents leave him there & their vehicle dissolving into the distance, his world came crashing down. He withdrew into a shell for 8 long years, every moment of which took its toll on him, and his only refuge remained in his songs & his sketches…

The present: to the movie he’s watching, he realizes he’s not crying. Memories have cornered him & stifled his cry. His emotions soar high on the song “Maa”. He chokes and suddenly realizes - his feelings have gone beyond words……..


A visit to Kids r Us in Dhanbad brings with it some joyful moments. The splash of happy colors across the nursery hits him in the face & socks the early-morning haze off him. The kids look vibrant in their colorful sweaters, but their faces narrate a different story. They are dazed, sleepy, with runny noses. Some are utterly bewildered by this strange & different looking man. Some are weeping silently, some bellowing aloud. Their vacations having just got over, many are missing their parents, their cozy beds, their playthings. They’re at that early stage of life when no burden of grades, awards or expectations clouds their young minds, and their close ones are all that matter to them. He makes it a point to make them smile that morning. He sings, dances & recites rhymes for them. They follow in their own innocent manner and make everything more colorful. The chorus of little voices, some childishly innocent, some interrupted by sniffles ring out in the corridors. A one & a half year kid surprises him by singing tear-jerking songs replete with emotion. Soon, they’re all prancing around, dancing with gay abandon. Frowns start changing into smiles – some morbidly shy, some unabashedly broad. He struggles to capture the kinetic children on the little frame of his camera but finds an indelible picture of them embedded into his memory. He had come to add joy to the childrens’ morning. Instead, he finds himself going away with the gift of mirth, courtesy God’s little angels. His mouth curves into a smile…

“Dekho inhe ye hain, oas ki boondein

Patto ki goad me, aasmaan se koodein

Angdai le phir, karwat badalkar

Nazuk se moti, hans de fisalkar kar

Kho na jaye ye, Taare Zameen Par………”