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Sunday, July 31, 2011

Haqeeat

Unhe yun masoom samajh kar main mohabbat karta gaya, 
Unke har lafz ko ibadat samajhta gaya, 
Aaj zehen me lafzon ka sailaab umada hai, 
Main behte behte yunhi hansta gaya.

Har sawal ek aina sa ban gaya hai, 
Jise dekh main khud ka hi putla banta gaya, 
Unka wo baandha hua sama, 
Har pal ke saath tanha banta gaya.


Ab is goonj ki haqeeqat kuch aisi hai, 
Ke apni hi niyat par main ghaav bunta gaya, 
Ek baar bhi peeche mudke na dekha unhone, 
Main najane kyun unhe sunta gaya.......

Taqdeer

Yun to samundar ki gehrayi bhi naap leti hai duniya, 
Zara is dil ke zakhmo ko naap ke to batao,
Haq jataakar jo aansu khoyen hain,
Unhe wapas lakar to batao…
Ye zubaan ek lafz ko taras gayi thi,
Un dino ki raunak ko lautaao,
Haq ki kyun baat karte ho humse,
Un zalimon se zara mera dil to le aao..
Karta hun bas ek hi iqtila aapse,
Mujhme wo nami wo nazakat le aao,
Kadmon tale jo kuchal gaye mere haq ko,
Un zalimon se mera pyaar to le aao,
Unse mera haq to le aao.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

What a 51st. I wish this to be 50th.

Its no achievement. I have not won the presidency. I completed my 50th post and I did not realize it. This is the 51st. And its gonna be so not like it.


What is a relation? A connection between two people? A mother and a son? Two brothers? Two siblings? Two friends? Two lovers? Professional relation? Relation with your favourite music? Relation with your favourite food?

You name it. Lets listen to my answer: A relation is anything, but fucking permanent.  Today, writing this, I sense deep agony. I sense crucification of trust. I observe denial by none other than one of my most treasured one. Not that its for the first time. I ran the same path some years back. The only problem is, the grief is identical. Five years back, when I met him/her, s/he was a kid. Totally unaware of the world, inside a shell that had to be broken for him/her to get out and spread his/her wings. I worked hard on that, showered all my love, all my commitment, included him/her in my family as my only brother/sister. I never had one. So I just couldn't keep a control on my care and love. In between all this, I fell in a relationship with a girl. She, as it gradually turned out to be, transformed into my life. I loved her like my breath, and went to extreme limits with my commitment for her. Alongside, s/he was also there, slowly transforming in my only younger brother/sister I know.

A man doesnt know when he dies, he only knows when he  is stabbed.

Today, that girl is no more around, and for that matter of fact, is in a relation with someone else, when she used to cry fortnights for me. For us. This, now affects me zilch. Because I have lived my time, my agony, all alone in rooms, with friends, with tears, with pain, on streets, with beer bottles, with failure in academics. I so have been there and done that. So now, it hardly pains.

And s/he, just said to me that s/he hardly cares about what I think. S/he, whom I almost "raised" with all my devotion and sincerity as my brother/sister, now shows me the middle finger. Its a classic case of children-abusing-parents case. And let me tell you, it slices through the heart like a dagger. I loved him/her like my own body part, like my breath, and what did I get in return? A slap of disregard on my face.

Today, s/he says s/he doesnt want to talk about anything anymore. His/her statements make me feel like a polybag. Like used furniture. Like rotten fruits. I really dont have the slightest of idea whether s/he has any realization of this. I crumble along this trust deficit to serve my pain. I drag myself through agony to still love him/her.

S/he may have got wings to fly. S/he may have got fascinated by the fanaticism of the shine of the world. S/he may have stepped out and met new people and made new friends. S/he maybe flying solo and happily, but theres one thing I think s/he should remember.


There was someone who didnt sleep nights giving you new wings and repairing your old ones. Never forget them. Life isnt sweet enough to be at your service with another version of them, when you someday decline. You will, be sure of that. One day you would need a shoulder.

And if you are totally "i-dont-care-a-shit" now, that fateful day, you would wish you wouldnt have been so cruel to them.

They would be in heavens, still looking onto you with love, whereas you would be the one battling. Or maybe repairing someone elses wings.



Monday, July 25, 2011

Haste

I turned over the leaf of my calender about 25 mins back. And with that I ended 24 complete hours. I ended, thousands of seconds that I let pass by, idling on the couch or sprawling on the bed. And all of this, suddenly has begun to pinch. Confined by the daily worries, we hardly seem to pay attention to the time we simply waste. For instance, being a readomaniac, my passion for books never died. However, these days I hardly throw a glance at the best releases around me. Actually, I hardly know any! And flipping over the calender leaf, I wonder. Why is that I dont have the slightest idea of the major releases? What is it that is preventing my to explore, to open up? To get out and reach for the skies?

The resonance of unavailability of time is deafening. And I want to learn. I want to read. I want to listen to music. There's so much of what I want. With every new calender leaf, a new haste begins. Towards terminating the haste with which life slams itself on my face.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Its Time

Oh yes. Definitely. Its that time again.

Bidding goodbye to a loved one isn't easy, whatsoever. When the tough looked soldier glances back for that one last time, in those distant yet captive eyes of his mother, before leaving to step in the arduous battlefield, its a sombre sight. Though not of that magnitude, but it is tough to leave the place which provides you flawless care and compassion. Its called home. And I crave to be here.

Its hard to go. Its not that my destination is too bad. Its one of the dream destinations for quite a few and remains on the top of the charts for creating envy withing those who never got a chance to be there. The only problem is, this place here, Delhi, my home, its just too good to be here. The love isn't a showoff. The care isn't for self interest. When you are at home, the meals aren't bought or won. They are fed with umpteen emotions, all derivatives of profuse and selfless love. And it shows. The sleep is unhindered. When the eyes close, you are sure that you would not get disturbed. It is said that a man who sleeps peacefully at the end of the day, entails the maximum happiness out of life. You don't have to 'think and talk' . You dont have to seek help for implementation of your ideas. The feeling of light shoulders, shedding some responsibilities for some time feels bliss. To lie down and bake in the sun without thinking about the money shortage, projects, seniors, politics. It surely is something to die for.

This something isnt there with many. Many, dont have homes. And this realisation first leads to prayers for them, and thanks for us.

Presently, its time. I have to leave for yet another term away from this heaven on earth. And I dont like it for sure. I, personally feel blessed to be here. My prayers are for every man out there, that he who sheds sweat and blood hard day in and day out, if wants to feel eternal bliss, should come.....Home.

PS: I would try my best to be active here, though i cant promise. Tc ppl.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

The Other One

As the moon ascends to conquer the night,
His inside wails aloud in might,
Oh he rushes behind the walls,
Tries to suppress, suppress it all..

But Alas he knows,
He knows its changing,
Oh Yes,
He knows its the call.

And, there, Oh it begins,
Like a dreading werewolf, on a self derail,
The mighty claws of doubts enlarge,
Ready to pounce upon his scars,
The torso unfolds to magnanimous proportions,
Ah that is the pain of his untold emotions,
The stark realities of the lonely cries,
Lie in the blood soaked vehement eyes!

And there it rises tall in front of him,
His demon to him,
His Conscience within.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

A Page From My Imaginary Diary


To define the desperateness in me is not going to require knowledge of a hundred books. You just have to be with me, near me. Several people claim to understand it though, I can bet on my life, they aren’t even close. Only because they aren’t with me.  They don’t know. They aren’t living me. My thoughts reiterate the questions, and for the answers...they are yet to be found.



Where and when did I lose myself? A sinister moment for sure. However, I wonder whether it was just a moment. But if it wasn’t, how is it possible that I did not realise! I mean, I was losing the man I was so proud of, that is me, and it was me only who was losing me, and how come I couldn’t stop myself during all that time? Sounds so idiotic! But it is true. And I abhor the apathy. Presently, as I embrace the shrieks of street kids playing in the sun, I am trying to recollect any vision, howsoever botched up it might be, of me being similarly content and happy, unconcerned with the surroundings, and with myself, like the kids.

 And as usual, all efforts go empty. Presently, I feel the need of herculean strength to jot down all this. Why? I left writing ages ago. Those tit bits that I have penned down recently, na..I read them and my instinct clearly pops up; it was not me. I was brilliant. I was confident. I love(d) writing. But now, I can’t recollect the feeling when I actually ‘wrote’ last. In quite a similar manner, it seems my hero, that made me proud, was slained long ago.





I wish for a morning that does not begin with,

“Oh shit I again got up late, now the time available would be less, and ideally I should have bathed till now, I should do that, I have to read this, I have to listen to that...”.

Followed by, “Now what to do, where to start from. Forget it would sleep a bit more. NO! Get up! Its 12!.”

...and further,

“I am not being up to the mark; I just need to tweak myself up a little bit. I have to read that novel, I have to read newspaper, Oh, also the news. Damn, there was a bag that I had to get stitched. What about my music? I need to get into a band, I love that. And my profession? I am pretty good at that but yes i still need to gear up. Get information and knowledge. Oh damn my final year is approaching, need to prepare for the placements too. I need to plan my future... I mean what after college? Should I go abroad? Do i have to give all those shitty exams? Should I join this or should I study further? I am getting so fed up, I think I should write.

(I open the laptop, and sit in front of it, with a page opened in front and my hands on the keyboard..)

 “How should I begin? Ok this would be good....no no .... *delete*  *delete*  *delete*.....Shit I cant write anymore. I am lost.

.......after 25 min or so...

“Its 5pm, and I still haven’t read the news paper.....................................................”





And it begins again. And I hate it from the pit of my gut.



One thing that I can recognise in me is that the desire for exorbitant knowledge, that I borne during secondary school, has revived profusely (My unparalleled interest while listening to the Lok Sabha proceedings and craving to know the history of any damn country or place or thing, vouches for that immensely! Mind you, I was a student who used to almost puke at the name of ‘History’ and never went above 30’s or 40’s in Social Studies).  But the ends don’t fit together. I don’t know why. I seek umpteen knowledge, but I don’t know where to begin. I know there is no method of gaining knowledge, but thats what. Gaining knowledge is, and should not be obviously, the only thing in life! All the things that I want to do, never get aligned. Never are in order.  And I know, in the recent  one or two years everything has just remained incomplete.

I read the newspaper, I don’t grab the news, I look for excellent vocab. Later on, when I realise I don’t remember anything from the newspaper, I get frustrated that I wasted so much time. I was gifted a Salman Rushdie by a friend last May, believe me, I have not even finished the first five chapters! I mean, me, who used to literally lick off novels, of the likes of Harry Potter in 2 – 3 days, has been unable to finish one in more than a year!! Shameful. And highly discouraging. And like this, several things flash in front of me, reminding of my incompetency. Its seriously disheartening.



I don’t know from where to begin, what to do to achieve peace of mind. Every minute my brain keeps on spinning like a machines rotor. Thinking and thinking...I want it to rest. I want peace. I want to be satisfied with myself. I want to face the mirror and outdo my let downs. I want to see that look in my eyes, that killing confidence...I want to get in order. I want to be me.



Once Dad said, looking at a match of Sania Mirza, while she was resting for a moment,

Forget about the idiocy of this woman, just look at her eyes right now. She is resting, but look at the way she is looking at her opponent. No cruelty, just intense confidence and an attacking spirit. This is the way you have to attack challenges of life.”



I want this. Back.
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