सस्ता ख़ून

 

ना जाने एक पल के लिए वो क्या सोचने लगा था कि उसके होंठों से रिंस्ते उस लाल द्रव ने, उसकी नंगी 

जांघ पर टपक कर, उसके लघु चिंतन को भंग कर दिया। वो ख़ून जो उसके मूंह लग गया था, हर बार की 

तरह इस बार भी थोड़ा ठंडा ही था। मगर इस बार वो कांप गया था। यह शायद, उसी खयाल कि वजह 

से था, जो उसे कुछ पलों के लिए उस स्थिति से, जिसे वो होश कहता है, दूर ले गया था। उसे और 

खाने की चाह नहीं थी, न ही वो भूख़ से तड़प रहा था किन्तु ज़ायके की हवस ने, उसे घुटनों के बल गिरा 

कर, किसी गोंद के धब्बे में फंसे कीड़े कि भांति वहीं जमा रक्खा था। 

 

उसे याद है वो वक़्त जब वह इतना समृद्ध नहीं था। तब तो वो इस कदर वासना भोज में लिप्त नहीं था? 

फिर उसने अपने इसी विचार का विरोध करते हुए सोचा 'हो सकता है मेरे अंदर ये भूखी वासना पहले से ही 

बंद थी, पर उस समय मेरे पास धन के संसाधन नहीं थे ऐसे ख्यालों का मनोरंजन करने के लिए'। इसी भूख़ 

का विचार पाकर उसने अपनी गर्दन आगे खेंचते हुए, अपने भुथुरे दांतों से एक और नरम लोथड़े को नोचा 

और फ़ूहड़ ढंग से चबाने लगा। चबाना उसे उबाऊ लगता है। वो चाहता है कि उसकी लालची ज़बान खुराक़ 

के रस में लबालब हुए, उसे सूखा चूसते हुए निगल जाए और वो सूखा कचड़ा उसके पेट, (जो कि किसी 

गर्भवती औरत की तरह, माह प्रति माह, एक-एक इंच और बड़ा होता जा रहा है,) में ना जाकर बीच 

में ही गायब हो जाए। उसकी नीयत एक अथाह गढ्ढे की तरह गहरी होती जा रही थी जिसे की उसके ख़ुद 

के दांत ही खोद रहे थे। इस जुगाली के दौरान ही वह अपने ख़यालो में फिर से खो जाता। 

 

' नया ज़माना है ' उसने सोचा। 

 

एक नवीन सभ्यता जो पहले के मुकाबले ज़्यादा समृद्ध है। इसके लोग भी पहले से अधिक बरकत वाले, 

अधिक पैसे ख़र्चने वाले बन गए है। इनकी देखा-देखी बाज़ारों ने भी अपने फावड़े और कुदालें बड़ी कर ली हैं। 

अब वो भी नई-नई, लुभावनी तरकीबों में इन भूखे लोगों को सस्ते ख़ून के लालच में फंसा कर अपनी जेबें भर 

रहें है। क्यों कि उन्हें मालूम है कि इन बेवकूफ़, भूखे, हवसियों के मूहं सस्ता खून लग चुका है। जिसके पार या 

इर्द गिर्द कोई रास्ता नहीं है। 

 

इसी जाल, जिसमें वो डूबा हुआ है, की गहराई के बारे में सोचते हुए वह एक बार फिर खो गया था कि, सहसा,

एक आवाज़ ने उसे इस मदहोशी से बाहर निकाला। उसने देखा कि वही लालद्रव अब उसकी कनिष्ठिका से बह कर, 

सर्पाकार आकृति बनाते हुए, उसकी कलाई से होता हुआ उसकी बाहं को नाप रहा था। उसने अपनी लंबी जीव्हा से, 

एक ही फुर्तीले घुमाव में उस बहाव को ऊपर से नीचे तक पूरा चाट लिया। तभी एक आवाज़ तेज़ स्वर 

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का खाना भी यहीं से मंगवाएंगे"। 

उसने तुरंत ही तंदूरी पनीर रोल के आखरी टुकड़े को अपने मूह में ठूंसा और अपने जूठे हाथों से अपने मोबाइल फ़ोन पे 

उस फूड ऐप को लोभी आतुरता से खोला।

गंगलोड़ू

नदी किनारे एक बड़े से ढुंगे¹ के ऊपर बैठा मैं कुछ सोच रहा था, क्या? पता नहीं | सर्दियों का अंत हो रहा था, पर फिर भी आज सुबह, सूर्य की आहट होने के कुछ समय पहले, मंदी बर्फ़ गिरी थी | कभी तेज़ वेग से बहती नदी, कुछ कोस आगे बने बाँध के निर्माण से, अब विरल हो चली थी | इसी विरल नदी का एक सुस्त, शीर्ण सा किनारा किसी कुंद धार की तरहं पत्थरों को अध्गीला कर रहा था | उस आलसी किनारे ने नदी के गोल गंगलोड़ों² को, दोनों दिशाओं में, मीलों तक, दो वर्गों में बाँट दिया था | कुछ(जो दीर्घकाल से नदी के भीतर थे) चिफले³ , कुछ सूखे और उनमे से कई सूखे गंगलोड़े ऐसे भी थे जिनके ऊपर श्वेत बर्फ़ अलंकृत थी | यही बर्फ़ से ढके गंगलोड़े और उनके बगल में बहती नदी का धीमा किनारा मेरी मन:स्थिति को पारलौकिकता में भेज रहा था | इस भव्य दृश्य ने मेरे निर्विचार मंथन को और भी गहरा कर दिया था | तभी नदी के दुसरे किनारे से आती एक नर्म खिलखिलाहट ने मेरे ध्यान समेत मेरी दृष्टी को उस पार खींचा | वह किनारा, किसी टापू-तट की तरहं, बालू से सम्पूर्ण था और उसमे मेरी ओर के किनारे की अपेक्षा कम गंगलोड़े थे | उसी ठंडी, गदगदी बालू पर नंगे पैरों में एक छोटी नौनी⁴ खेल रही थी | परन्तु उसका यह खेल कोई साधारण खेल नहीं था | सफ़ेद कपड़ों और अपने चाँदनीं बालों की प्यारी सी चोटी में सजी वह बच्ची अपने इर्दगिर्द नाना प्रकार के, छोटे-बड़े ढुंगे इकठ्ठा कर रही थी | कुछ पत्थर उसकी हतेली में आ जाते तो कुछ, भारी भरकम, बड़ी मश्क़त्त (पर पूरे उत्साह में) के बाद, उसके द्वारा तय की गयी सुनियोजित जगह पर जम जाते | वो उन आड़े-तिरछे, गोल-सपाट ढुंगों को एक के ऊपर एक, बड़े विचित्र कोणों पर अकल्पनीय रूप से संतुलित कर ये मीनार मानिंद ढांचे खड़ी कर रही थी | जब अंततः उसने इन अविश्वसनीय मीनारों से बने घेरे को पूर्ण किया तो उसकी ख़ुशी का कोई क्षितिज नहीं था | वह उल्लास में उस घेरे के अंदर बाहर, नाचती-फांदती फिर रही थी और उसकी हँसी की संतोषजनक आवाज़ें नदी की कल कल करती ध्वनि की साथ मिलकर पूरी घाटी में एक आलौकिक संगीत बजा रही थी | मै इसी संगीत और रमणीय दृश्य में प्रमात हो गया था | तभी बादलों की गरज और सर पर पड़ते ढाँडों⁵ की मार ने मेरी मादकता तोड़ कर मुझे धरातल वापस बुलाया | मेरी नज़र जब उस पार पड़ी तो वहाँ कोई भी नहीं था | वह छोटी नौनी गीली रेत पर अपने नन्हे पदचिन्ह छोड़ कर उसी तरहं पहाड़ों में कहीं ग़ायब हो गई थी जिस प्रकार मेरे सर के ऊपर का सूरज पहाडों के पीछे कहीं चुप गया था | सब कुछ बदल गया था | यह बदलाव था सुस्त नदी का वेग में, सुबह का शाम में, धुप का बारिश में, संगीत का शोर में और समक्षता का एकांत में बदलना | यदि कुछ नहीं बदले थे तो बस उस नौनी द्वारा रचित गंगलोड़ों के अविश्वसनीय रूप से संतुलित ढांचे | किन्तु हाँ, उन गंगलोड़ों के ऊपर अब बर्फ़ की जगह ढाँडों का मुकुट सजा था |

गढ़वाली Glossary : 1. ढुंगे - बड़े पत्थर

2. गंगलोड़ों - नदी किनारे के गोल पत्थर

3. चिफले - फिसलन भरे

4. नौनी - लड़की

5. ढाँडों - ओले

INDUCED

It was windy and the dusk was transmogrifying lento into night. Dick is in his late 20's, standing outside a cafe reclining against a brick wall. He was staring at a cigarette that was reposing between his fingers. And suddenly it starts to twiddle around his fingers. He is feeling angst and the swirling of the cigarette has now become so rapid that it got tattered. The tobacco fillings flew away with the cold winds. He sighed but for only a lapse of a moment the anxiety crept back. He unraveled the pack of cigarette from his pocket and draws another fag. 

He reluctantly put the stick to his lips. With an affirmative nod of head he fastens his lips around it. He then lifts his left hand snap his finger close to the front of his reconciled cigarette. 

He snaps it again. Befuddled he looks at his thumb with an inquisitive countenance. 

He again snaps it but nothing substantial happened. In frustration and withdrawal craving he started snapping his fingers with a non-stop and augmenting patter. The result was same as before, nothing, though he might have burned some calories along with the skin of his thumb. 

But this burning sensation was nowhere near to the impregnable frenzy which he was feeling inside. 

"Just this last time you cold hearted son of a… aah!" and he continues clicking his fingers until the thwarting rage gets the better of his addiction. He flung the cigarette and the pack into the breeze and falls back to the patronage of the brick wall of that cafe. 

The shopbell at the ingressive door of the cafe rings gently. He reacts to the aural stimulus and glimpse at the door. 

A enthralling woman walks out of the door wearing an efflorescent dress and a pearl necklace enwrapped around her nape. She draws a cigarette from her purse and puts it in between her burgundy lips. Dick brushes his hair back to get a good look at her. 

See recons the insides of her ostentatious purse ardently. "Shit!" she yells “argh!” with her hands lifted up in frustration. 

‘No light for her stick either. Is the universe sending me some signal?' thought the otherwise cynical mind of Dick. 

Here they were, pining for something lethal but bereft of the most indispensable invention of human race; FIRE! 

He wished he could show her his fire as he obliviously observes her leaning back on the same brick wall. 

She looks at him and their eyes locked for few seconds of eternity. He immediately looks down as if following a military command. She rolls her eyes and with a titter of head looks in the other direction. 

There was a tall sturdy man in his late 30’s, standing on the other side of the cafe door, blowing out the same evil. The man looks at her and her un-enkindled cigarette. He pulls out a lighter from the breast pocket of his suit. He proffers it by wiggling it and throws a leery smirk at her. Again rolling her eyes she looks straight. The man shrugs and turns around towards the other side exhaling a humongous cloud of smoke. 

Mean while Dick was witnessing all of this and now his craving for a fag has been transmogrified into a languish to provide that girl with his fire. After pondering and biting her lower lip for a minute (which Dick found very erogenous) she decides to relinquish the support of the wall and starts moving towards the stalwart. 

Dick's heartbeat shoots up as if somebody had pulled a 16th century gun on him. He helplessly looks at his left hand where his fingers are despondently brushing his thumb. 

He snaps them with a passionate determination and it lights with the brightest of the flames he has ever witnessed. 

With a lightning fast jerk of his head towards her direction Dick screams in desperation "EXCUSE ME!”

HIGH TIME TO DO THINGS IN A POST-APOCALYPTIC WORLD ALONG WITH THE OTHER IMPORTANT STUFF AFTER THAT

G was sitting on the door steps of an ostentatious house in brown study with a leather knapsack. He used to be a vegan.

It was dusk... or dawn, nobody could tell anyway. How can they? After all they were all dead and long gone.

Finally G stood up and a hissing sound followed him. Soon the big, opulent house engulfed in a frenzy fire. It used to be a house of a rich father not his though, but he liked enacting roles very much. This is the only game he enjoyed the most in the world of which we know as of now.

P.S: Read it again while listening to Coldplay's Rush of blood to the head.

Abhiyanta

Abhiyanta

Noun.
Origin: Vedic Sanskrit.
1) Engineer
2) Creator
3) Maker
4) builder

A huge hall illuminated by white light, but its roof and walls are black like the night. The floor is nothing but beach sand spread irrationally all over the room. There were many building blocks of various shapes and sizes. Everything in the hall that can be lifted or dimensioned is constructed by these blocks.

In the centre of the hall, a little child in white apparel is seated on a lump of beach sand carrying numerous building blocks. The boy is all white even his skin and hairs are also white as if they were painted like that since his birth.

In the front of the shaver is a small glass sphere glittering light on the fore placed spheres made of the building blocks that are beside the juvenile. These are nine balls of various size and densities which are arranged randomly in a symmetric pattern as if they were dancing with respect to each other and the illuminating glass ball was their instructor.

The urchin made some more globule and marbles and throw them ahead far from the last of the nine spheres, but they can’t be seen since they got rolled much further and the light from the glass bulb can’t reach that far. The young lad smiles and starts looking around as if he desperately wants to find something. After few moments, he digs the lump beneath him and extracts a transparent object from the grit. It was an hourglass but with no loess in it instead there is a sparkly diaphanous jelly like element which was wafting in both upward and downward direction. He put it in front of him and picks the third ball from the arrangement.

While he was playing with it and constructing more complex structures over it, his eyes show special benevolence for that entity. A hand rests on his shoulder. He turns his head up and gives a cordial look with a smile and shouts “Parampita”. He is a tall man wearing the same apparel but whiter than his progeny.

“ये तुम क्या कर रहे हो वत्स?” spoke the sire. The voice of the progenitor was a modulated combination of both male and female articulation. The child gets up in an exited gesture and shows him the big marble he was engineering with.

The father gives a curious look to the sphere and says “क्या यह वही तुम्हारा प्रिय अवयव(element) है?” “हाँ पितामह” he asserts “इसका नाम ‘धरा’ है” and gives the sphere to the father. Closely inspected by the generator the sphere is returned back to the child with a vestige of disconcert.

“धरा| अति सुन्दर, तुम्हारे द्वारा दि गई ख्याति ने हमें प्रसन्न किया”said the father concealing his previous emotion.

The child rejoices in happiness on hearing his guardian’s response on his constructed element. He says “धन्यवाद परमपिता” and adds “मै अपनी धरा को और भी कुशल एवं सुन्दर रच रहा हूँ” showing his adorable creation.

The sire is no longer able to hide his disconcert and tell the boy that’s enough attention for the particular object and he should not be too attached to the marble. The joy on the boy’s face disappeared instantaneously and he prostrates in disdain. “अब तुम कोई शिशु नहीं रह गए हो” continue the sire “तुम अब एक प्रतिभावान किशोर हो गए हो”. The boy started listening to his parent in obedience and also in the fact that his father considers him as an adult.

The father notice that the boy is pleased with his later remarks and starts speaking again “तुमने अपनी बाल क्रीड़ाओं में बहुत कुछ रचित किया है तथा मेरे द्वारा व्याखित समस्त शिक्षाओं के ज्ञान को कुशाग्रता(acumen) से अर्जित किया है| यह सर्व गुण मुझे गौरव का मानवीय भाव प्रदान करते हैं| परन्तु अब वह समय आ गया है जब तुम्हें अपना बालवट व्यव्हार त्याग कर, नवीन उत्तरदायित्वों को प्रतिग्रहीत(admit) करना होगा”.

He listens to the preachment deliver by his progenitor carefully but with flamboyance he replies “किंतु परमपिता! आपने स्वयं ही कहा था कि यह धरा मेरी सर्वोच सुंदर रचना है”. Father noded admittedly and says “निसंदेह! यह तुम्हारी सर्वोच रचना है पुत्र”.

“तो क्यूँ मै अपनी इस सर्वोत्कृष्ट(superlative) रचना को निखारने के स्थान पर त्याग दूँ?” he asked his creator.

Here is Parampita the uttermost possessor of superlative wisdom disturbed by the ignorant question of his progeny. He responds to the folly of his urchin in order to make him understand “वत्स क्यूँ कि तुम इस तत्व के प्रति अत्यंत अनुबन्धित हो| यह एक मानवीय गुण है तथा तुम इस गुण के ब्रह्म हो ना कि भोगी| तुम ब्रह्म आत्मन होने के पश्च्यात भी एक अव्यय के लिए मोह बंधित हो, ये ना तो तुम्हें शोभा देता है और ना ही तुम्हें इस भोग को ग्रहण करना है”

The child asks in curiosity “परन्तु हे! परम आत्मन यदि मै अपनी संरचना को और कुशल करने का इच्छुक हूँ तथापि(in spite of) आप मुझे इस निर्माण से वंछित क्यूँ रखना चाहते हैं?”.

“मुझे इसका सम्पुर्ण बोध है कि तुम अपनी प्रीती को चरम पर पहुचाना चाहते हो तथा मुझे इस पर कोई आपत्ति नाही है” said the parampita “किंतु तुम्हें इसका बोध करना होगा कि तुम अपना ध्यान व चिंतन केवल धरा पर ही नही व्यस्त रख सकते”.

The kid started to understand the preaching but still want to reason with his ancestor to have his adorable composition with him. He reasons “पिताश्री आपने स्वयं ही कहा है कि यह सब मेरे वेदित्व(knowledge) के लिए है तथा यह मेरी इच्छा भी है फिर ऐसा क्या है जो इससे भी महत्वपूर्ण है?”

“उमावर्सगकःUMAVRSAGKA, सर्वत्रगत न्याय” spoke the exalted one in one peaceful but deeply impacting voice.

The urchin got stricken over his stubborn attitude and became completely hypnotized by the aforesaid worlds of his sire. He spoke in absolute fascination “वह क्या है परमपिता?”

“इसका अर्थ है कि...” speak the one “तुम्हें नश्वर(ephemeral) वस्तुओं का मोह छोड़ कर महत्त्वपूर्ण कार्य संपन्न करने हैं|”. “किम्वत?(like what)” ask the child.

“संरचना वत्स, संरचना” answer the progenitor “ऐसी कोई भी वस्तु नही है जो इस अवर्जनीय(unavoidable) घटना को विलम्बित(dela1y) कर सके| तथा यह केवल धरा तक ही सीमित नहीं है| धरा को प्रयाप्त(suffice) एकाग्रयः(intentness on one object) एवं पालन प्राप्त हो चूका है जितने कि उसकी योग्यता और नियति थी अतः तुम्हें इसे अपने हाल पर छोड़ देना चाहिए स्वयं उत्क्रांति(evolve) पाने के लिए|” the urchin was listening peacefully and receiving the final cognizance of his generator. The parent continues “इस अखिल में और बहुत ऐसे महान अव्यय(element) हैं जो कि तुम्हारे द्वारा रचित होने कि प्रतीक्षा कर रहे हैं| तुम्हें इस अवसर को आलिंगन(embrace) में लेना है और संरचना के सुकार्य में लिप्त(drown) हो जना है| तुम आत्मन हो तथा यह श्रृष्टि तुम्हारा नश्वर चित्रफलक(canvas), अवश्य ही तुम्हें इसे विस्त्रत(elaborate) करना है ताकि तुम्हारी समस्त प्रिय रचनायें, उद्धरण स्वरुप धरा, तथा अन्य महानतम सृजना(creations) के संमुख(inclined to) प्रयाप्त ब्रह्मांड हो, अपना अस्तित्व सिद्ध करने हेतु और तुम्हारा यही कर्तव्य है|”

“इन कर्तव्यों का पालन मैं कैसे कर पाउँगा परमपिता?” ask the child in order to be complete.

“रचना, पालन, तथा सँहार” added by the parampita “केवल यही तीन नियम हैं जो तुम्हें अपने देह में रखने हैं बाकि सब तुम स्वयं ही कर लोगे ”.

The child offers his greatest creation to his sire in gratitude and goodwill and say “ये लीजिए परमात्मा मेरी महानतम रचना मै आपको समर्पित करता हूँ|”

Parampita takes the wonder marble and fetch it to the child and affectionately says “यह तुम्हारा तत्व(element) है इससे तुम्ही मुक्त करो, यह स्वयं ही निर्वाण को अर्जित(attain) कर लेगी|”.

The progeny gives a huge kiss to the Dhraa in farewell and blew it to the place where it belong, into the dancing ensemble of other spheres guided by the illuminated bulb. The father took hold of the child and starts moving out of the room and said “पुत्र एक अभियंता को कभी भी किसी एक वस्तु पर सीमित हो कर नही रहना होता है, उसकी बनाई हुई प्रणाली(system) स्वचालित(automatic) एवं सशक्त(self reliant) होनी चाहिए जिसके फलस्वरूप अभियंता अपनी दूसरी रचना के प्रति अग्रसर(move forward) हो सके| इसके पश्च्यात(after that) तुम्हें जो...” they moved out of the room leaving the room vacant.

After a few moments the bulb starts to turn crimson and hence the light emitted by it becomes dimmer by each passing moment. gradually the light becomes so dim that only Dhraa could be seen of all the marbles in the arrangement. Finally the bulb extinguishes like a dying candle and there is pitch black silence and cold darkness in the room. Suddenly the bulb bursts in a spark and for a microsecond there is some light before the absolute darkness again. And in that short instant a human hand crawl out of the sand beneath the Dhraa and immerse it back to the sand.

SHANTI!                  शांति!              SHANTI!

THE END

That Intimidating Girl...

मैंने देखा उसे दिल्ली कि उस सर्द शाम में,
अपने दोस्तों के साथ चाय पी रही थी,
मुस्कुरा रही थी, कहके लगा रही थी,
तिरछी आखों से गौर भी फ़रमा रही थी उनकी बातों का...

जब पहुँचा अपनी मंजिल पर
तो लगा कि जैसे कोई तार जुड़ गया हो उससे मेरा
लाल स्वेटर, खुले लंबे बाल, मेरे सामने से गुज़री,
चंद पलों के लिए ही सही पर नज़रें जुड़ीं,
जैसे कोई चुम्बक और लोहे का टुकड़ा

में नहीं जनता था कि वो और उसके दोस्तों का ठिकाना है ये,
वो मुझे नहीं पता था जिस काम के लिए मै आया हूँ उससे वो भी जुड़ी होगी कहीं


उसका व्यक्तित्व जैसे मुझे धमका रहा हो,
वो छोटे कद कि, दुबली लड़की पर चहरे पे एक अलग ही तेज था उसके,
उसी आत्मविश्वास कि चमक ने धमकाया था मुझे
और फिर कई बार देखा उसे इधर से उधर टहलते,
कभी उत्साहित, कभी घबराई, कभी निश्चिंत, कभी बहुत ही सहायक और कभी... सिर्फ वो


जब पंहुचा दर्शन करने अपने शौक का जिसे अपना जोश, अपना तमक समझता था कभी,
जिसपे गुरूर था मुझे भी कभी, जो अब बस एक शौक रह गया है,
अब आया बस दर्शन अभिलाषी बनकर तो सबसे पहले उसी को मंच पे दर्शित होते देखा
'एक अभिनेत्री'
मै अपने देह में इतनी शक्ति से चिल्लाया
कि मेरा चेहरा, कंधे, भोवें, माथा, हाथ और हथेलियाँ भी
अपने आप को अपनी तरह से बोलने पर रोक ना सकीं


नीली ड्रेस में, 6० के दशक कि अमरीकी टीनएज गर्ल के एक आम पहनावे में मंच पर प्रकट हुयी,
एक लड़के के प्यार गुम लड़की कि भूमिका निभा रही थी


फिर वही जोड़ महसूस हुआ, फिर वही खिचाव आँखों का, हृदय का, पारस्परिक सचेतना का,
फिर वही सिलसिला शुरू हुआ
घंटे बदले, कहानी बदली, भूमिकाएं भी बदली
उसकी भी, अब वो एक हिप्पी, एक प्रसिद्ध म्यूजिक बैंड कि सदस्या थी
और अंत में दोबारा वही नीली ड्रेस वाली लड़की...


और फिर तीन घंटे बाद सभी कलाकारों के साथ दर्शकों को सलामी और धन्यवाद लिया
the ultimate bow जो कलाकार लोग लेते है अपनी हर कला कि भेंट के बाद,
जो एक प्रचलन और एक संस्कृति है इस कला कि दुनिया कि 
तालियों कि गड़गड़ाहट जैसे बदल गरजे हों
और दर्शकों का standing ovation


समापन तो भव्य था ही परन्तु उससे भी भव्य थे मेरे अंदर के विचार
जो कह रहें थे 'जा जा जा...' 
पर फिर उसी किंकर्तव्यविमूढ़ कि भावना को हावी होते देखा,
फिर एक बार मेरा 'मै' जीत गया, फिर एक बार मेरी खुशी सहम गई


कुछ रह गया तो बस एक सुनहरी स्मृति, जो हमेशा मेरे साथ रहेगी
एक याद जो कहती रहेगी
तू खुश हुआ था कहीं, तू जीवित है अभी भी, 
अभी भी देर नहीं हुई है, अभी शक्ति समाप्त हुई नहीं है, 
अभी साहस है, अभी साहस है 
अभी भी तू फिर बन सकता है, अभी तू खड़ा हो सकता है... 


तो प्रण किया मैंने कि
रोज़ उसे याद करूँगा
ताकि कुछ हो ना हो,
मै बदलूँ ना बदलूँ,
किसी को पाऊं ना पाऊं
पर ये आवाज़ जीवित रहेगी
कि... तुम्हें जीवित रखूँगा अपने देह में 
कभी भूलने ना दूँगा तुम्हें 
क्यूँ कि तुम्ही तो हो
That intimidating girl

The Skipper

I was sitting there, 

resting on an arm chair wearing 

a dark blue bullet proof vest 

with a glass of kahwa in my hand. 

Black polished shoes 

grey trouser and brown stripped white shirt 

waiting... 

waiting for that bullet to hit my chest 

which is meant for my demise.

Sun rays shining in from the window glasses 

making my hairs sheen in golden radiance 

  so warm, so bright, so scintillating. 

A congregation of birds 

Flying incessantly in an enormous 

 flock of a particular formation, 

Portraying a shade of betrayal 

On the canvas of a peculiar, dusky evening sky. 

I was ready for my Caesarian death 

From the hand of my 

Friends my brother, Students my children.

To whom I was a mentor, a God,
Their protector, there skipper 

But longer, not any more 

As all my power, my wisdom went squandering 

Just by the hint of greed and misconception 

And I will be slay and die 

Not in, but by the arms of my own. 

… And then came the moment, 

The ultimate tick of awakening confrontation 

The birds were no longer there, 

The sun threw its last peek 

From the horizon. 

I salute my last cheers 

To the sun and the eternal sky, 

As the window glass shattered 

So was my glass of kahwa. 

My gullet exploded by the bullet 

To form a rare coalition of Blood and kahwa 

bound together 

By my last breath. 

In this momentary act of artistic event 

Another bullet crashed onto my torso 

meant to pierce the blind heart 

But the shield obstructed 

That little agent of death. 

The impact threw me down from my niche 

As the blood squirted all over. 

The Skipper was no longer there, 

 Now... 

someone else will be anointed as 

The Skipper, 

Someone else will wear 

the delusional apparel of power 

So someone else will breed betrayal 

In the greed to become...

THE SKIPPER.

Saving Private Raven

On a dusky evening of an early fall, I and my consort were walking towards the doors of knowledge. We were waiting for our superior blokes to get relinquished from the portal of the goddess of wisdom. Meanwhile, to pass the time, we decided to explore the meadow.

There was an antiquated,  fathom-wide canal through which the dark liquid of terror flows. The entire city’s filth flowed through that conduit which was hundreds of leagues tall in measurement. In which all kinds of despicable and maleficent beings use to transit.

A tiny, loner, grey cloud was hovering above us like it was ready for some mischief. A little spark in the cloud had been noticed by my blurry eyes. Suddenly an object starts descending with a horrendous, spiraling motion. It was unclear what the thing was because it was carrying a froth of mist around it.

The entity fell into the furrow, with a burly ponderous splash, a horse-length away from us. It wasn’t an ordinary crash. The whammed object felt to possess some unique qualities. Only an unusual thing could make such a splash. We ran to the vantage point with angst building up in my heart.

I saw a dough of tar formed around it, moving very slowly with a stumpy fluid. With a jitter, a pair of pinions emerged from the marsh. Then I heard a loud croak. The kind of croak one can only hear in one’s nightmares.

It was a Raven but not one of your run-of-the-mill kind of birds. It was an unusual avian, it was as big as the size of a mature eagle may be bigger. I gazed upon the sky. The little cloud flew away rumbling as an urchin runs away chuckling after a misdemeanor. In this short period of time, the raven had been taken forward by the torrent.

My acquaintance brought back a staff to stop the rook from going further away. He stopped it along the farther side of the canal wall. The tar is still drowning the raven so I ran to the nearest oak tree. I jump on one of its branches and tore a cudgel from it. I made a hook out of it and came back to assist my colleague. We were finally able to extract the raven from the kill zone but it was still in the jaws of death and I was stuck.

No thought was passing through my anxious mind. The only thought which prevailed in existence was about successfully saving the Raven. Thoughts do not save, the action does and there I was without action and strategy.

Then a voice shattered my panic. “Let me handle the sticks,” said my ambidextrous partner in rescue. The voice was so confident that without a second thought I hypnotically relinquished my control to the unknown. I carefully switched my position and let the guy do the job. As He held the equipment of salvation in his stalwart hand, it was just a matter of seconds as he lifted the creature from the fatal current. The bird was palpitating as if holding its life in its abrupt quiver. He gently put the critical raven on the soft green bed of grass in the alp.

I launched myself vertically in overwhelming joy, and why not I’d saved a life of a mortal being. But after a couple of jumps I regain my solicitous stagnancy. “why isn’t it moving? What happened to...it’s not dead is it?” I asked in clutter. He prompts me to keep my calm “Wait, I don’t know...” and then he lifted the stem with the thickest base and threw the other. He turns the filthy fowl-emitting slug and grabbed its beak open. Then he gently starts pushing and brushing the stick over its breast. SNAP! It came back to life with a loud squeal.

I quickly drew my big, pearly, white handkerchief and wrapped the poor thing in it. We took it to the monastery of Knowledge on the apex of the hill. On the crown of the great, ancient institution, ‘Surya’, our primary sun, shined at its best even at the brink of dusk. We put the raven, that we had just saved, on the rostrum and my friend brought a saucer of water for it to drink. The rays of purity from the Helios burnt the slug and formed a thin membrane of hardened mud around the bird.

The raven slid towards the saucer and commenced drinking the liquid of verve. A new life had begun to explode in the creature, and suddenly with a shimmer, it break through the film of clay. It scoured its whole body and fluttered its wings to scatter away the shattered pieces of mud. The wings shone blazingly in the embellishment of the sun's rays. Next came the whirling of the wings and up it heaved like a ball from a canon.

After scaling a few yards of the sky, the much-obliged raven encircled us, twice, probably as a token of thanks, indebted to us for saving its life. And then, this another soldier of life, the private Raven flew into the evening sky and disappeared in the dusk.

Before completely vanishing into the heavens the raven relinquished some of its dark, black feathers as a souvenir for us. They were the feathers of grace. My friend took one and gave me the rest. I patted his shoulder in overwhelming awe.

As the guttural ‘CAANW CAANW’ of the rook perished in our ears we entered the gates of knowledge with the everlasting memory of SAVING PRIVATE RAVEN.

मै ! ... ?

क्या उतम है और क्या अपूर्ण ये मुझे कौन बताएगा ?

मै नहीं जानता मुझे क्यूँ बुलाया गया इस धरती पर 

किन्तु मुझे ये आभास है कि कोई अज्ञात ही मुझे ले जायेगा।

मैने देखा है इस जहान को अपनी मासूम नज़रों से, 

उन आखों में कभी थी एक सुन्दर दुनिया। 

अब एक सपना है जो अतीत के पल्लू से लटका हुआ है 

और भविष्य कि उस कमज़ोर रस्सी का सिरा ढूंड रहा है। 

पर अब इस वर्तमान कि कलम का क्या 

जो ज़िंदगी के काग़ज़ पे इश्क़ का अंधा फ़रमान लिखती है? 

इश्क़ कि इस दुनिया पे शक है मुझे मगर नफ़रत करने वालों को भी इश्क़ करते देखा है।

वो पूजते हैं मुझे विनम्र समझ के लेकिन 

वो ये नहीं जानते कि मै ही वो छिपी इर्ष्या हूँ 

जो नफ़रत को जनम देती है।

मै कौन हूँ? मेरा नाम है क्या? ये मै ख़ुद नहीं जानती,

किन्तु आप मुझे जानने कि कोशिश मे कहीं खुद से ही इर्ष्या ना करने लगें।

नफ़रत का वो दौर निकल भी गया और मै यहीं रही।

इन थकी हुई आँखों से मैने एक बार फिर तुझे देखा, 

तुझमे मुझे तेरा और सिर्फ़ तेरा सत्य दिखा। 

अचानक से तू मुझे ख़ूबसूरत लगने लगा ।

मुझे नहीं पता था कि इस तरह ज़िंदगी मेरा नज़रिया बदल देगी, 

तेरे पास होने पर, तेरे साथ होने पर

नफ़रत से घायल इन आँखों को ठंडक मिलने लगेगी।

एक विद्युत सी जैसे दौड़ी हों मेरे बेजान बदन में 

जिसने दिल और दिमाग का मेल कर दिया। 

ह्रदय पुनः चिंतन करने लगा जिसमे एक नयी 

धड़क्ती अग्नि का प्रवाह हुआ और मस्तिष्क फिर से सव्पनों में विमुक्त होने लगा।

हिंसा के इस उजाड़ शेहर में, 

नफ़रत के उन अंधेरे खंडरो के मलबे से 

सदियों बाद फिर एक पवित्र प्रकाश फूटता है।

जो सारे आस्मां को रौशनी में सराबोर कर देता है।

मै खड़ी तेरा हाथ पकड़े, उस गगन को निहारती रहती हूँ, 

और कहती हूँ 

“अब हमारे पास ये सारा ब्रह्मांड है, आओ प्यार की एक नयी कहानी रचदें” 

मेरे सवाल अभी भी अनसुल्झे हैं पर शायद; 

यही वो रहस्य है जो प्रेम को ज़िंदा रखता है, 

वही उत्तम है और वो ही अपूर्ण।

DEE COMMON MAN

He was born in the past millennium in the suburbs of a major metropolitan city named HASTHINAPUR. Apart from all the things, the phrase “the common man” was the most mythical phrase that had alluded him more than anything. Since he was born, he had acquired a label on his forehead (apart from being a Brahman) a ‘middle classist’ (in the more modern sense of the society) or ‘the common man’ (in that of the classical one.). He grew up only to whitnes the dexterous maneuvers of this phrase around the path of an escapist life. 

“A common man, what does that even mean? Who are these people? Everybody say that they are every where; they are the most enduring form of human life. Then why? Why haven’t I had met with any of them so far? Where are they?” these were the questions he asked from himself. 

And thus began a greatest quest of finding. If these words were used 2000 year ago, nobody would have extracted anything meaningful from them. This is simply because it hadn't came into existence then, so, there were no records or documentation about the usage of these words. Our boy first heard this phrase on a television set when a middle age man in white Khadi apparel was squealing vociferously in front of a thousand people who were sitting on the ground, lauding and cheering for him. The more he used that phrase in his extempore more the people applauded him. The boy was juvenile and had little understanding of language and hence, had no clue what the old man was shouting about. But that word had grasped his attention like it did with the numerous people on the TV and that captivated his mind. 

 He started getting promoted in his classes and developed a decent interest in literature and languages. He was the best in writing essays among all the students of many sections of many classes. Owing to his simple and calligraphic writing his talent has developed into something extraordinary and irresistible. He also frequently used his favorite, magical idiom in his essay writings, in his exams and in the morning speeches he use to gave very nicely and positively. He was praised by the faculty and his teachers. 

One day he came home with a good news that the principal had selected him for an inter-school speech writing contest out of 3000 other children of his school. He would be competing with 200 other school children from all over the country. His mother became overwhelmingly delightful and felt blessed about her family. She lifted her boy like she used to when he was little. Although he was in his early teens and just a few inches shorter than her, it was quite difficult for his mother to lift him now. But she was on the seventh heaven of joy. She put him down and kissed his forehead and told that she was proud of him. 

In the evening when his father came back home from the temple, the mother told him about their boy’s achievement ambitiously. His father was a priest and took care of the accounts related matters of the local Brahmin association. After hearing the proud news he showered his love on his son and prayed to god for his competent accomplishment. The mother also told his father that the school needs entry fees of 500 for his registration. The father’s forehead frowned with fluster and he sat down beside his son holding his hand. The mother knows why this was so, that was because her husband was just a priest and out of the little money he earned was spent on the household expenses and rest was given for his school fees. Since the boy was studying in a well reputed public school, the cost of education was very high in that kind of institute. 

The mother’s eyes became saturated and the tears started dripping down from her eyes. The mother felt contempt about herself because he was their only child and it’s the first time he had asked for something and she couldn’t help him. She ran in the kitchen to hide her tears from her son. His father was a wise man and a noble priest. He elucidates his son about their condition and said “son we are common people of a middle class, we can’t have the luxuries of life like the high society people enjoy and sometimes we have to compromise on our ambitions and desires”. 

These phrases had sabotaged his dreams and he became very disappointed. But more dismally it had shattered his illusions on the awesomeness and beauty of the hypnotic word ‘the common man’. 

From then onwards his thinking about this utterance had started changing and a shifting of perception started taking place. He came to know that it is widely used by the powerful people to tame the peasants by creating a sense of relativity among them and hence gaining their support and trust. 

Then began his college days where he understood the people who were not only in power but also were using these words for various purposes. He learned how to slip these phrases into a conversation to end it at your wish. He got educated in fact that how frequently ‘the common man’ was used in daily, day to day routine to create or evade a situation. The boys use it for making all kind of excuse to him like ‘I don’t have a girlfriend because’, ‘I can’t fight because’, ‘I can’t go to that party because’, ‘I can’t do post graduation because’, ‘I can’t do what I want to because’ and ‘I can’t be what I want to be because’ I am a common man. 

The sweepers used it, the teachers used it, the police commissioner used it even the Prime Minister of the country used it. The boy had already lost the affection for the words in his teen age and now as an adult he was starting to develop hostility against it. 

He got graduated from his college with the upgraded understanding about the syllable. He started writing for a top-notch newspaper in the editorial section and also became a free lance journalist. He was gifted in this kind of writing and was a perfect asset for the newspaper. But he also had chosen freelancing to explore the truth not for others but for his own illumination. He saw that ‘common man’ was also a hot dye in the press business and it kept the paper's circulations sturdy apart from the advertizing which was the main source of income of the newspaper. 

Years went by and he secured a position in the top panel of the editor and also became the blue-eyed-boy of the editor in chief. But he didn’t quit the freelancing because it kept him busy to find something new and truthful about the old misconceptions. It also kept propelling his hunt for the meaning of that syllable which he’d once thought very magical. By the time he became deputy editor he had established himself in the media world and became a famous name among the communication and media personalities. 

He was popular but most of the people didn’t like him due to his fiery writing style and irrevocable state of opinion. His own news paper personals called him a stubborn man who never writes anything in the favor of any class of society or the investors who aid this newspaper. The editor himself had to postpone his retirement for next five years due to his self righteous prejudice. They can’t fire him due his huge fan following maximum of which were from NGOs, social activists and protestors of one or another kind. 

He was no longer an explorer of truth but a preacher of reality but also because he was no longer young enough to carry those extremely exhausting expeditions of findings. He thought that what he had known was enough for a life time and none of that was worthy of his labor, at least not positive enough to tell a tale to rejoice. He helped needy people but also at the same time he criticize them for their peasantry, he kept on destroying the reputation of powerful people like politicians and bureaucrats but also praise and advocates their power of deception to personal gain. This was the reason why they call him ‘the gifted news writer’ and this was the exact same reason why they wanted to made him extinct. 

Then came the historic night when he wrote the most important article of his life. The editor was sick and on a leave for a week. Now he had the power to run the place and was going to do what he wanted to for a long time. He quietly gathered his resources and subtly placed his sources and guileless followers in the press to print the Sunday edition of 26 January. He printed a small column in every single page of the newspaper dismembering all of the reputed and powerful personalities of the nation. He put in his all knowledge and finding of his exploring life to that edition of the news paper. It was as grand as the mythical ‘SAGAR MANTHAN’ which tripled the sale of the newspaper on republic day but the editor had fired him instantly. The paper evoked a huge response all over the country. Thousands of protestor who praised him and gathered around his house and others who were against him protested in the television media. They were the powerful people who were defending themselves by claiming him as a fake and treacherous person. 

But there was a huge section of people which was silent, which call themselves ‘THE COMMON MAN’ and they were thinking very intensely. The article was written on the front page by a little boy who had fell in love with that word but witnessed the shattering of his expectations when the myth about it was disavowed by the truth. 

The heading of the article was bold in the biggest available font and it read LISTEN YOU, THE COMMON PEOPLE 

“Either you are a pageant or you are extravaganza but you are not what you claim to be. You, the so called common man. I loved you when I was an urchin but my love was based on the false myth surrounding you. I accepted you in me because I thought you were magical and powerful and you were everywhere. You thing by calling yourself with this name will make you magical, or you think it can make you feel proud just because it was mythically well described and meekly portrait. 

This is a big misunderstanding for those who are educated but dumb like a child in a huge toy store. Who think they can get the best toy by crying aloud and using their “I am a child” phrase. Get the hell out from that imbecile behavior of yours. 

And this is a big trick from those who think they can get anything by pretending themselves as the caretaker of the miserable and posing as one of them in order to gain their personal interest. 

Today I am here to enlighten you that whenever you classify yourself as a common man you are actually making a fool of yourself and your pity existence get fooled by this every time whenever you want it to be.

 You say that god has made us a common man because we are the grittiest human beings, we can endure anything in this world. To tell you the truth this is also a foolish excuse to run away from the reality. The reality is that we are not brave or gritty but rather we are timorous and cowards of life. 

We always whine about the lack of money, power, status and individuality of our own and often compared them to the high classers and we damn them with our selfish maledictions. We don’t want to embrace the truth that we are using this irresolute idiom to escape the self-confession about our scabby quitter self. 

We use it because it is easy to say and get away with it. You don’t have to do anything alien, out of your comfort zone but only have to say that ‘I am a common man, what could I do?’ 

Bullshit! You are afraid from fighting a good fight which is not with anybody else but with the common man creeping inside you. The same common man who is telling you to relinquish what is yours to the tyrant oppressors for the love of your pathetic life. 

By hypnotically following ‘common man’ not only you are making yourself vulnerable but fortifying and encouraging the treacherous to suck you up till death. 

So cut the fucking victim act and use your wisdom to gather the strength to pulverize the enemy, the common man and evolve yourselves from this pathetic life. 

We all are not UNIQUE but we aren't common like DUST for god sake! Don’t waste yourself in fake humility of the plebian culture. 

We do not use that word again, abandon that utterance which reflects you as a weak and coward. 
We do not deny the fight for the eternity of our soul just because somebody said ‘you are a common man’. We Fight it with the sword of our distinction and defend it with the shield of our idiosyncrasy. 

To Metamorphosis of us from a commoner to a unique. Make us evolve from the dread. To find the unique from the common.” 

 I don’t know what happened to that boy who had fell in love with ‘the common man’ neither do I know what happen to that fiery article writer who had learnt the truth about the mythical word. But what I do know is that he had taught the world the lesson of courage by shattering the rusted scaffolding of their coward excuses. 

The world is not a place for dead people or for those who accept thier fate like a person dying with cancer accepts his death.

The tea cup of life

So I was drinking tea in my old steel cup and on the top of it I saw a bubble. It was sticking on the inside wall of the cup and was slowly sliding down. I started to blow over it so that it could fly off from the cup like a soap bubble. I relinquished a long blow of wind and it made the bubble to move upwards but then, just as it reached the edge of the cup it had stopped. I blew again but it won’t move though half of it was outside in the air ready to fly. It was just holding on to the edge like a person holding on to the edge of a cliff. If it let go of the edge it would meet its end. Eventually my breath gave up and the bubble slid down like a family man who had just escaped his death. "But we don't know if he was going to die for sure, he could have been flying by now instead of sighing and celebrating the great escape" i said to myself "He could have set himself free but he chose to slide down".

After, when it came down, I blew on it again but this time towards the dry side of the cup. It slide a few micro meters smoothly but then it stopped like a race car driver suddenly pulls the hand brakes of his fast moving vehicle. The bubble won’t move because the moisture aiding it to slide was absorbed by the dry wall of the cup. So I blew harder and this time it was not only resisting moving up but also retreating against the mighty current of the wind. Just like the people who choose not to walk on the unknown path and follow their mundane routes. And they resist just like the bubble was resisting the blow and they will do anything in their power to hinder the force which encourage or tend them to pursue the seldom path for the unknown.

But I wanted it to fly, so I blew again, and this time with a furious power to chuck it out of the cup with a jolt. But this time it  had bursted instantaneously after a displaying a wispy struggle. And then, at that moment, it struck me that the life of a person is just like this bubble in this tea cup situation.

Isn’t this the philosophy of life?