THE WANDERING MAN

वह कौन है जो तेरी गलियों की खाक छानता है
अंधेरों में सिसकियाँ भरता है और उजालों में डूब जाता है
दीवारों पे लिखता है नाम और आंसुओं से मिटाता है
घर का पता पूछो तो बौखला जाता है
लोग पागल करार कर तो दिया है उसे
पर मुझे पता है वह सच तलाशता है


The man wanders in the labyrinthine gullies
Of life kissing dust hovering like the clouds
In dark ditch of mind he finds a quaint solace
And pales in fright as day light seeps through the windows
He has erected walls around him scratching names on them
And rubbing these off with tears
I ask him his whereabouts he looks lost and queer
They say he is a mad man who seeks the truth in the debris of time
I know he is a seeker, has come a long way and shall
Melt away with time nameless, clueless, sieving the truth out of
Ages of illusion
I chase thee unknown in my dreams and poems

A FEW LINES (कुछ पंक्तियाँ )

I walk every step stealthily
Lest I tread on my dreams

दबे दबे से कदम
ख्वाबों पर कहीं पैर न पढ़ जाए !

SUMMER FLOWERS

A scorching summer noon! Our car screeched to a halt at a traffic light. The car AC was ineffective in the boiling heat. Sun’s sizzling rays struck the charcoal bed of the road like lightening and shot back thousand prismatic shards dazzling the eyes. The tinted glass windows were a lame excuse for the heat and the light not to sneak into our car. We sat inside the blast furnace sweating and fuming as the signal took its own sweet time to change.

Suddenly a strip of a figure sprouted from the pavement, jumped sprightly on the road and broke into a dozen somersaults amidst the rows of waiting cars. After completing two rounds of sprints she stopped near an SUV and begged for alms to the driver. The car windows of the big monster (read SUV) were open. I could see the driver engaged in a light conversation with the girl not more than seven or eight years old. Her hour glass like figure and kohl laced eyes could be an envy of any girl her age.

From the wordless gesticulations I could make out that the man behind the steering wheels refused to give her money on the pretext of not having any change. All of a sudden the man threw back his head and laughed. The girl smiled too and headed towards the other cars. I wondered whether it would be correct to hand over a few coins in those soft palms. This was not begging. She was asking payment in lieu of her performance though uninvited. I wished some resourceful entrepreneur or NGO could explore the possibility of utilizing the untapped potentials of such nameless artistes going waste at traffic signals. In this country of teeming billions such unidentified talents were not rare. Perhaps giving them alms might crush their desire to move further forward. Was there really any future of these unknown performers who scalded their limbs on seething asphalts to earn a few coins from an unwilling, impatient audience?

As my mind raced from one thought to the other, from one possibility to the other, from one regret to the other, the traffic lights changed colour and our car swiftly swerved towards the left. I tried to see the summer flower blooming on her own, without the love and tenderness of careworn hands in the midst of thirst ridden, sun baked dunes. But she was busy kissing the fiery roads bent on all fours oblivious of a pair of misty eyes which were riveted towards her. As our car dashed through the traffic I gradually lost sight of her but her burning image stayed with me for a very, very long time reminding of many more summer flowers that I had seen strewn carelessly on the road side by unknown hands who had scripted their fate with charred quills.

YESTERDAY IS NO MORE

Once upon a time
My house fronted
A wild meadow
With groves of huddled green
Raising long arms to
A limitless horizon of
White washed blue
On which lazed
Pillows of crystal clouds
Shimmering in
The sun shine so bright
Dazzling the eyes
Embalmed in the night by
The daub of a rotund moon
Piled with frozen ice amidst
A sprinkle of glassy stars
Melting into a smiling rainbow
Soon after a happy shower
Maddeningly gleeful in
The barmy breeze blowing in
Fragrances of faraway lands
Caressing rows of flowers blooming
Like the well scrubbed cheeks of
The baby boy just across the street
Serenely ambling past the tranquil abodes
Without a bump, a hole or a
Bloody scar……..

Once upon a time
Today as I shade my eyes
With my wrinkled hands
And squint up

The sky seems lost
The clouds smudged
The sun shine prickly
The moon hazy
The stars dull
The rainbow stolen
The showers sporadic
The greenery faded
The breeze harsh
The flowers withered
The cheeks sunken
The infants stooped
With adult worries

And the meadow browbeaten
By tall, black, sooty chimneys
Belching fiery
Smoke
Grime
Grease
Dirt
Standing arrogantly by a sluggish, slovenly drain
Murky in hue slimy in texture
Dark in contours wallowing in stench
Once though was a giggly light feet joyful stream

I blame it on a myopic sight
But they say the world now
Has a jaundiced view
Is that true?

LET'S ASK SNOW

My nephew "A" partied hard last night. It was unusual but there it was. Whim and fancy of youth, I suppose. It was a farewell jamboree at his college. On counter thought how could anybody celebrate a farewell with such Bohemian delight? In the final analysis, you were parting from each other. Weren't you? Anyway this piece was supposed to be a breezy one and I wouldn't allow my poky nosed philosophies to intrude unasked. But then all invasions had this gatecrasher's dashing, dizzying, dishoom-dishoom entry. Hadn't they?

Now coming back to where I began. My sister and brother-in-law went to bed early that night confident that their son would intelligently use the spare key with him to get in whenever the nocturnal adventure drew to a reluctant end. Now all adventures had such uncompromising inevitability about them. Well! Let's forget that...In the dead of the night B-I-L woke up with a start, walked up to "A's" room to find the bed empty. Such midnight revelations were always so goosebumpy, yaaarrrs!!! You see, "A" had decided, on the spur of the moment, not to return home and put up with one of his buddies at the hostel coz it was awfully late but as absentmindedness would have it, he forgot all about informing home at the right time.

B-I-L ne aao dekha na taao, now, now, please don't ask me to translate that in English because my colonial legacy is not so stretchable after all. So coming back to B-I-L - he mobiled "A" to give his fatherly piece of mind , oooh. thankfully, at last, well that's not me saying but it's my sister who said that while recounting the whole tempest in the tea cup to me later in the day with the appropriate background noises and score. The next thing we knew was a drowsy "A" knocking at the door.

The celebrity couple were ready to dish out a pair of their pieces of minds together to their off spring when they were quietened by the most important and buzurg like figure of the house, Mr. Snow Boot, who barked, howled and hollered at "A" from the car park to the door with such ferociousness that the family for once could not help but think he'd most probably be tbe long lost judwa who went his own way in the local mela last year and not the humble gentlemanly Snow that we all knew of.

Later in the day, in a calmer mood, "A" confided in me that the experience was exactly like listening to Jab We Met's Dadaji (Darji) LIVE. Remember the ever horizontal Dara Singh whose opening dialogue was " hamein ek nazar mein hi pata chal jaata hai ke ladka ladkii ke beech mein kya chal rahaa hai." Wellll! It was when "A" was just about to leave the room that lightening struck my blinking intellect (and not internet, my dear friends) and pop came out the query, "Yeh ladka to theek hai par yeh ladkii kaun hai?" My nephew who by that time had realized that he had blabbered quite a lot just let a fleeting smile yell on his tightly pressed lips like Tom (of Tom & Jerry fame) when trapped under the window shutter and exited leaving a thick fog of suspense behind.

I was going to pursue the matter with him like a nagging, inquisitive aunt that I was but suddenly one of my rarest brainwaves shook me guts up,"Why not ask the omniscient Snow who knew ek nazar mein...........and all that blah blah" But one cocked left eyebrow from me and Snow just growled a hmmmmmmmmmm and walked quiet sedately out of the room. Just like the censor board with thickly knitted brows issuing an 'A' to some cunningly -cooked-up-controversy-ial movie. Snow might as well have brandished the sickly green certificate at me. Tujhe bhi dekh lenge Snow!!!!Acting elderly unh huh?????

ज़िन्दगी टुकड़ों में

ज़िन्दगी टुकड़ों में बट रही है
अनगिनत चेहरे है मासूमियत के
कौनसा चुन लूँ कौनसा तोड़ दूँ
निर्णय ले नहीं पाती हूँ
आप हाथ पकड़ कर दिशा दिखा दो के
राहों से कदम जुड़ गए हैं ऐसे के
मंजिल पे ठहर नहीं पाती हूँ

SLICES OF LIFE

Pain, come let me immortalize you for posterity
By penning the tale about how you destroyed me

There’s something common between thought and thermal
Both give a feeling of embracing warmth and coziness
But Jarring and scorching when at the maximum
Tranquil and enjoyable if minimal

Scorching summer noon
Clings motionless to the bleached grass head
Lone butterfly