Few words...

The world speaks, much more than it listens, O how it speaks, on things beyond its mind - a gathering, mostly the enlightened, but a few fools,  who care to listen, fools, who still dream, of making the world listen, more than it speaks... of changing it for the better, of taking it beyond the bickering, of not letting it sink in the shallow. O world listen thou shall, O world listen thou must, To these fools with dreams, some broken but all pure, pure as the new dawn they seek. O world give them hope to feed from while all's unjust. Let them fuel from it all, so that when they speak, it matters.

कभी मौका मिले तो एक बार, आधी रात के बाद सैर पर ज़रूर निकलना  भटकना यहां वहाँ, या ढूंढना, अपने ख्यालों में उन खोये हुए ख्यालों को | सन्नाटे में वो सुनाई देंगे कुछ अच्छे से, अँधेरा भी मदत करेगा, ध्यान भटकने न देगा सुनना उनकी भी फरयाद, करना अपने कल को फिर याद | चलते चलते जो थक जाओ तो ठहर जाना, किसी पेड़ के पास बैठ जाना और फिर देखना ये रात का शेहर कैसे करवटें बदलता है | हवा कैसे चुपके से गाती है कैसे गाड़ियां अपने मालिकों को घर ले जाती हैं  जब वो आखरी गाडी निकल जाए तो फिर खुद पर आ जाना, उठा जाना और चल पड़ना | बीच में कोई चहेता गीत गुनगुनाना  तो चुटकियों के ताल खुद ही लग जाएंगे  बादलों को पसंद आये साज़ तो मस्ती में वो भी बरस जाएंगे | कभी मौका मिले तोह एक बार, आधी रात के बाद सैर पर ज़रूर निकलना  कभी कभी यूं ही भटकने से भी मंज़िलें मिल जायती हैं |

I was in the mood this evening, the mood for a solitary walk. So I walked in the breeze before the rains, to my old apartment not very far. I got there, I got up, walked right up to a door too familiar. I rang the bell once or twice, and waited for it to open. But the door was not opened, neither by someone present, nor by me from the past, so I peeked in -  in the all absorbing dark. I stood there, all alone, and so stood the apartment. Finally, we wished each other good-luck and then I walked back to the present. Whilst walking back, I saw some memories on the road, sweet and comforting as they were, it dawned on me that they were frozen gold. Part sad, part resolute, I continued my solitary walk, I need to focus more on what is, than what's not to make more memories, with whom I can talk.

Eyes swept down a road this evening, a bit farther than usual. I could see the canopy, of clouds, trees and people, gliding, swaying and moving towards the past. It seemed as if it were inviting me, the sun a happier shade of orange at that end, as if the past were full, of only of the joys that I remembered, and the forgotten never existed.  The wind too liked that direction, for it carried my thoughts there. It seemed perfect, that past of mine, - a perfect story woven by an author of skill, a tussle between tragic interludes and merrier moments. A friendly tug pulled me back to the present, and reminded me that my past in all of it's glory, was nothing but a memory that I have, and that road too, would take me somewhere in the future, like all roads always do.

The mind categorizes... it sorts... things, events, emotions... people. The short, the tall, the slim , the plump.. it puts everything and everyone..  on shelves.. different shelves.. The mind categorizes... it segregates the friends.. identifies the foes... based on transactions it terms as love and hate.. It is a universe of oxymoron.. it judges those who judge.. and hates those who have malice with fury.. The mind categorizes... it also loves those whom it likes... switches off the rationale.. always conscious of it,  yet not relenting to it in the case of a certain few And yet.. The mind categorizes.

इस फाल्गुन मास में, उन अदृश्य उँगलियों की गुद-गुदाहट है, जो यादों को भी टटोलती है, लबों को भी।  मैं आज में चलता हूँ, और कल में खो जाता हूँ , आज में सोकर मैं कल में जग जाता हूँ।  और मुझे दिखता हूँ मैं, दुनिया से अपिरिचित हूँ थोड़ा-सा मैं , स्वयं में ही व्यस्त हूँ थोड़ा-सा मैं।   पलटकर भी मैं स्वयं को ही खड़ा पाता हूँ, मैं जो कि  अब उसी अनजान दुनिया का हिस्सा हूँ, मैं जो कि  थोडा सा खोया हुआ किस्सा हूँ।  फिर मैं खुद का हाथ थामकर, दिखलाता हूँ खुद को ये दुनिया खुद की नज़रों से, थोड़ी बातें फिर से सीखता हूँ, जानता हूँ।  तभी किसी आवाज़ से आखें खुलती हैं, और मैं सच्चाइयों से घिर जाता हूँ, बीते हुए कल के कल को मैं आज पाता हूँ। 

रात के खामोश अंधेरों में भी, सितारों से रौशन आसमान हुआ करते थे.…  भीड़ों कि भाग दौड़ के बीच खड़े, फूलों से सजे गुलिस्तां हुआ करते थे…  धड़कनो के बीच छुपे सन्नाटे को, सुनकर समझने वाले मेज़बान हुआ कर थे…  कभी सच्चाई तो कभी पागलपन से, मन को बहलाने वाले कुछ दोस्त हुआ करते थे… 

If I could sit up, with my favorite book, by that dense, shady tree a leisure, mea life, thou art be. If I could hum that favorite tune, as the river flows in rythm, with birds to hum along and birds to see, a pleasure, mea life, thou art be. If I could love, with bounds untested and unknown, without a care and just be free, a romance, mea life, thou art be. If I could travel, absorbing the magnificence, of high mountains and many-a-deep sea, a journey, mea life, thou art be. If I could taste, the different sugars and distinct spices, that sweeten and sting, much like thee, a delicacy, mea life, thou art be. If I could live, with tears more of joy than of sorrow, with smiles not attached to the fulfillment of a plea, mea life, well live, thou art be.

इन बादलों की पनघट ने छींट चंद बरसाए तो थे आखों पे थिरक कर वो आंसू बन आये तो थे । हंसी को तलाशते ये आसूं बेह रहे  मदहोश-से हैं ज़िन्दगी को छोड़ ज़िन्दगी की आस में मेरे ख्वाब कुछ खामोश-से हैं । चलता हूँ जिस रास्ते पर हर पहर उस पर आज भी खडा हूँ जाना कहाँ है ये पता है फिर भी ज़िद पर अड़ा हूँ । ज़िद है तो हवाओं का रुख बदलकर बादबानों में जोश भरने की जिद है तो बुलंद उम्मीदों से अपने ख्वाबों में शब्द भरने की । ये ख्वाब ही तो हैं जो खामोशियों को ललकारते  हैं ये ख्वाब  ही तो हैं जो कल को पुकारते  हैं । उस कल के रास्ते पर कई रंजिशों से जूझना अभी बाकी है उन खामोश ख्वाबों से कई सवाल पूछने अभी बाकी हैं

It is time again to work those creative juices in my head. However, this is not something I need to imagine. This one is about re-stating a fact; this one is about noticing one of the most important ingredients of my life. This one is about the PEOPLE around me.  From the time I was born, to this very second, I have been surrounded by people - either in person, or in my thoughts. People have loved me, people have inspired me, motivated me; people might have even loathed me, hated me and I have reciprocated these feelings to the best of my abilities. It all dawns to one simple realization - out of all my emotions (positive or negative), all my memories (good or bad) - there are none that I associate with myself. They all go back and link themselves to the people who have been a part of my life. Come to think of it, I never see myself in any of my memories or dreams, all I see are the people. They have been and continue to be the driving forces behind the story of my lif...

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.