Few words...

I f I ask you to find one thing, just ONE, which we as the homo-sapiens race have enjoyed, do enjoy and will continue enjoying till eternity, what will it be? Something that has evolved with times as we have, is unique and can only be created, used and understood by us?  I was pondering over this very thought, whilst keeping my novel aside and preparing to sleep. Just before I turned my light switch off, it struck me. I took a good look back at my novel. The answer comfortably sat there on the table - Stories ! Yes, we enjoy stories, all of us, albeit in different forms and formats - some enjoy reading them, others enjoy watching them as movies and there are still others who would turn an ear to any piece of gossip, which is again - yes, a story. So I wondered, why is it so? What is so special about stories? Why are we so interested in them? This time however, I did not have to look around much. This time, I just stared at the mirror. I was looking at myself - the one pers...

आगे बढ़ते बढ़ते , कुछ पीछे छोड़ आये, ये कहाँ आ गए हम? पन्नों  को पलटते, जो कहानी भूल आए, ये कहाँ आ गए हम? रास्तों से लड़ते, जो मंजिल खो आए, ये कहाँ आ गए हम? दूसरों से मिलते हुए, खुद का हाथ छोड़ आये. ये कहाँ आ गए हम?

कुछ रंगीन धागों से बुनी एक दुनिया मेरी भी है कुछ हसीं यादों से जुडी  एक दुनिया मेरी भी है कुछ अनदेखे पलों के इंतज़ार में एक दुनिया मेरी भी है कुछ लम्हों के बाज़ार में  एक दुनिया मेरी भी है कुछ सच्चाइयों से जूझती  एक दुनिया मेरी भी है कुछ सवालों को पूछती  एक दुनिया मेरी भी है कुछ लोगों से जुड़ी  एक दुनिया मेरी भी है कुछ राहों से मुड़ी एक दुनिया मेरी भी है कुछ अंधेरों के बोझ में  एक दुनिया मेरी भी है कुछ उजालों की खोज में  एक दुनिया मेरी भी है

ज़िन्दगी की दौड़ में भागते रहो तो क्यों? ये भला कि वो बुरा सोचते रहो तो क्यों? इस असीम दौड़ की रेखा तुम्हे क्या दिख रही? या तुम्हारे माथे पर चिंता है कुछ लिख रही? क्या दो पल रुकने से दिल सेहेम सा जाता है? या की खुद से मिलने से  मन तुम्हारा घबराता है? दिल की सुनो तो कुछ सिक्के  तुम भी खो जाओगे मन की व्यथा में झाँक कर  भी भला क्या पाओगे? ये दौड़ है कुछ अजीब सी इसमें जीत भी कुछ गरीब सी कुछ पाने पर भी बहुत पीछे छूट जाएगा घडा है बना तो मिट्टी का आखिर ये टूट जाएगा  ज़िन्दगी की दौड़ में भागते रहो तो क्यों? ये भला कि वो बुरा सोचते रहो तो क्यों?

Mrs. Lauren White or Laura as she was called a few days back, before her marriage, sat down with her cup of coffee in a chair of an almost full waiting room in Terminal 2 of the JFK Airport. She liked to be called Laura, just Laura, because somehow the name ‘Lauren White’ that too prefixed with a ‘Mrs.’ made her feel old already, even at twenty-four. Travelling was another task that made her feel so and unnecessary delays, like the one in her flight today, even got her into that characteristic zone of irritation. But of course, she was in one of the busiest airports of the world and such delays should not make a responsible married woman like her irate. So, to ignore that undesired feeling, she picked up a newspaper. ‘THE WAR IS OFFICIALLY OVER’ was the first headline on the front page. ‘Who in the world cares for these political stunts?’, she thought to herself as she flipped over the page to read her favorite article on the latest fashion trend. She had just started to r...

What if the world isn't a stage, but a playground of the mere mortals? What if we aren't actors meant to play our parts, but ordinary people destined for greatness? What if we have the power we crave for, the one we pray for, inside us, somewhere, hidden? What if we are capable of not only moulding our lives, but changing the ones we touch, forever, for the better? What holds us back then, from tapping into our own source, our own existence? For if the world is a stage, The ones holding the strings simply think otherwise..

मेरी हसरतों पर, लगने दे उमंगों के पर, आज एक लम्भी उड़ान भरने दे.. मेरी आशाओं पर , लगा काबिलियत की मौहर, उन ख्वाबों को आज सच होने दे, ये ख्वाब अगर टूटें तो, सिर्फ सच होने के लिए, उस गुमशुदा सी हंसी से आज मिलने दे.. ऐ खुदा कर इतनी इनायत, कर कबूल मेरी ये इबादत, सपने देखकर उन्हें सच करने की हंसरत दे..

दिल की वादियों में, मोहब्बत के सुर राम जाएँ तो कैसा हो? गुस्ताख़ मैं हूँ , गुस्ताख़ तुम हो, गुस्ताख़ियों से भरा एक समा कैसा हो? होठों  की जुस्तुजू में, ये ज़िन्दगी सिमट जाए तो कैसा हो? एक हंसी की चाहत में, ये दिल धड़क जाए तो कैसा हो? अल्फाजों में जो बयाँ न हो सके, इस क़दर हो प्यार तो कैसा हो? तनह्यिओं की ख़ामोशी में, दिल पे दस्तक पड़ जाए तो कैसा हो? दुखों और तनाव की धुप में, मासूमियत की छाया मिल जाए तो कैसा हो? इन अजनबी राहों में चलते हुए, एक प्यारा हमसफ़र मिल जाए तो कैसा हो?

This poem is based as a descriptive account of the oil painting 'Gypsies' (1893) by the famous 18th Century Indian Painter - Raja Ravi Varma. My first poem of this kind, here it goes... By the temple, under the glistening sun, sat a family of wanderers, wondering... their thoughts incoherrent with those of the sleeping son The mother seemed indulgent, playing her old Veena, while her son was lost in dreams upon her lap Gypsies - by Raja Ravi Varma and lost seemed her daughter Reena. Reena was neither listening to the rhythm, nor was she at peace like her sleeping brother, 'When will this wandering end?' -was the question in her mind, a question she had oft asked her mother Detached from his mother's Veena, was Mahesh who just wanted some food, the heat of the sun rising unconditionally, and no water in the empty pots, certainly did him no good. Albeit in different mindsets, they all seemed to be at peace, grat...

The white burning candle, Standing in the dark.. on its own, trying to illuminate everything around, albeit the darkness has persistently grown. It is aware that it is alone, while the darkness around it is vast It is devoted to being lit, even as its existence melts fast But is it really a candle? Or is it the flame of hope? That tries to hang on in times of despair, and tries to cling on to that last bit of rope. It keeps burning still, battling the known and the unknown, all hidden in the darkness around. It shrinks in size, with its head held high, still believing that it is glory abound.