बारिश और १२'x ७'

"रेखाओं का खेल है मुक़द्दर, रेखाओं से मात खा रहे हो"
वो रात कुछ अजीब थी - अजीब क्योंकि ऐसा कभी सोचा न था की इतनी हँसी ठिठोली वाली शाम एक सुरमयी सफर में तब्दील हो जाएगी।

हम उनके साथ टैक्सी का इंतज़ार कर रहे थे और गाडी के आने पर जैसे ही अंदर बैठे उपरोक्त ग़ज़ल के शब्द ने हमारे कानों को झंकृत किया और हमारे चेहरे पर एक मुस्कान बिछ गयी।  घटाएं बहुत देर से उमड़ घुमड़ रही थी और शायद इसी इंतज़ार में थीं की कब  हमारे सर के ऊपर एक छत आये और कब वो हम पर झपट पडें।  छत कृत्रिम और गतिशील ही क्यों न हो घटाओं से रहा न गया और टप-टपाते हुए बूंदों की पूरी फ़ौज ने हमें घेर लिया।
गहन अँधेरे में सिर्फ टैक्सी की हेडलाइट, जिससे रास्ते से ज़्यादा वो बूँद दृष्टिगोचर हो रहे थे, ही हमारा सहारा थी।  खुली सड़क हो, अँधेरा हो तो उनको वैसे ही डर लग जाता है और आज तो साथ में घनघोर बारिश भी थी - एक तो कोढ़ और उसमे खाज!
उस कृत्रिम छत के नीचे ३ में से २ लोंगो की तो यही सोच थी कि वाह क्या रोमांटिक शाम है, पर नहीं उनकी नहीं।  वो तो डर के मारे काँप रहीं थीं - हालांकि बाद में जब भी ये किस्सा दोहराया जायेगा वो काँपना ठण्ड के मत्थे चढ़ेगा।
फिर वही हुआ जो ऐसे मौंको पर होता है - nostalgia (इस शब्द का गूगल ने हिंदी में अर्थ विषाद बताया है, लेकिन विषाद में जाने क्यों वो रोमांटिसिज़्म नहीं है जो nostalgia में है). हमने उनको बताया की करीब १५ साल पहले जब हम इस शहर में भैया के साथ रहने आये थे, तो ऐसे ही गाने बजाते हुए हमलोग लंच करते थे।  ये सारे गाने मानो भैया के playlist से ही थे - जो हमारे celeron युक्त डेस्कटॉप पर winamp सॉफ्टवेयर  पर बजते थे।
फिर उस सिंगल रूम की यादें बादलों के उमड़ घुमड़ के ही सामान हमारी आँखों के सामने नाचने लगे - वो एक कोने में कंप्यूटर टेबल, उसी के नीचे किताबें और उसी टेबल से लगा हुआ एक कार्टन जिसमे कपड़े, पुरानी किताबें और ऐसी बहुत सारी चीज़ें जो अमूमन ऐसे कोने में पड़े कार्टन में होते हैं।  उसी के ऊपर हैंगर पर टंगे हुए नियमित दिन के कपड़े।  फिर दूसरे छोर पर एक खिड़की जिसके नीचे हमारा तोशक और तकिये और साथ में एक ४'x४' का अटैच्ड गुसल - बस इतना सा ही था हमारा आशियाना।
रूम रहा होगा वो १२'x ७' का जिसमे कभी कभी हमें टेढ़ा होकर सोना पड़ता था अगर तोशक के सिराहने पर किताबों का पहाड़ जमा हो जाता।  पर वो सोना खरे सोने से काम नहीं था और क्या ठाट वाली ज़िन्दगी थी वो - दौड़ भाग कर कॉलेज पहुंचे, सारे क्लासेज कीं और भाग कर वापस आकर पसर गए अपने तोशक पर।  और नींद तो जैसे हमारी अभिन्न मित्र थी - खाना खाया तो नींद, cd लगाकर फिल्म देखना शुरू किया तो नींद, किताब खोली तो नींद।  पर अब शायद वैसी गाढ़ी मित्रता नहीं रही , वो बेपरवाह सोना तो जैसे बंद ही हो गया है अब।

"फिर वही रात है, फिर वही रात है ख्वाब की " - जैसे गीत भी हमारा मन टटोल रहे थे।  ये सारी बातें हमने शुरू की थी उनके ऐसे रात के सफर का डर दूर भगाने के लिए लेकिन सफर ख़त्म होते होते जैसे हमारा ही मन आर्द्र हो गया।

"आजकल पाँव ज़मीं पर नहीं पड़ते मेरे " - गुलज़ार साब के इस गीत के साथ हमारा सफर ख़तम होने वाला था और मेरे भी पाँव ज़मीं पर पड़ने से कतरा रहे थे।  विचारों का साथ गति से छूटने वाला था - जब कोई ऐसी पुरानी यादें जेहन में आती हैं और आप गतिमय होते हैं तो जैसे यादों को भी पर लग जाते हैं , एक साथ कई पुरानी यादें होड़ लगाने लगती हैं।  गति धीमी पड़ने लगी और विचार आख़िरकार थम गए।  

A hug

Life is in perfect harmony when things around you are going just fine. It is like a perfectly tuned guitar and you strum the magical music of life on it and things fall in place - the bass, the percussion et al, added by the other elements in your life which are also in sync.

A hug at this time is a quick one. You don't have time for physical contacts when you are busy playing a divine song. You want to finish the act, which has a remote semblance to the act of hugging, as fast as possible and return back to the rhythm which glides you on.

And then there are days where a few strings fall loose, when your life-guitar is out of tune and things start going awry. Whatever tune you play sounds obnoxious, ugly and absolute rubbish. The audience then gets its cue, shouts expletives at you and pushes you to the altar of failure.

A hug at this time from a loved one ought to be a prolonged one. Tuning needs some time. It needs the two to be in sync, only then your loose strings get attuned. Its like squeezing a moist cloth and what comes out of it are tears that have the magical capacity of acting as grease on the screws that smoothly tighten the strings and you are back on stage playing the tune which everyone adores!

The gist is when life is throwing beamers at you, step back, transfer your weight to your back-foot, position yourself and crack it over the midwicket region.

A new pair

This dialog would seem like directly from the recently released Fan movie:

"Not many people would understand, for them it is just another object. For me, it is my world!"

And this is what exactly happened - got a new pair of glasses and it changed my world. How:

- When the world starts looking different (People in love have claimed this as well but this is seeing world in a new light, literally).

- When the numerals on the vehicles, on the hoardings, on the bumper stickers jump out and start doing the cosmic dance (a la Ramanujan).

- When the gloss on cars start looking glossier, when turquoise starts showing its true color.

- When the sunshine reflecting off the blades of grass and leaves start looking lively and filmy.
- When you can differentiate orange, the fruit from orange, the color (or are they same?!)

You know you have a new world!
Not many people have this privilege of getting a new pair of eyes every few years and see the world and its colors refreshed and repainted. And then while I was enjoying my new world, philosophy kicked in - The world was always the same and it never changed, the only thing that changed was me and my perspective. So if you want to perceive the world differently change yourself since that is the only thing that is under your control!

And as is my wont, let's make this little gross - you can never grow a new pair but you can always revitalize them ;)

Leh: To Heaven through Hell - 5

The Manali-Leh road trip has lot of memories which will stay with me forever! The treacherous terrain, the breathtakingly beautiful La's, the majestic Himalayas, the adventurous journey which one should undertake at least once in a lifetime. Not to forget Border Road Organizations's interesting signboards - Don't be a gama in the land of Lama, The price of greatness is responsibility, et al. We, however, had a false start at Leh. Hotel Snow Lion that we had reservations at, turned out to be quite unprofessional. The surprising thing about the hotel was that there more ladies as attendants than men. We luckily met Mr Lonchay next morning and he offered us to stay at his Lonchay residency. He was quite co-operative and even arranged for a cab for local sight seeing with a very experienced Mr Khunshuk (no he was not related to Phunsuk Wangdu!). Khunshuk had lots of stories from how he served the Indian army during Kargil war (carrying shells on his back) to how the Chinese regularly invade his village and the neighboring ones to threaten them, besides many PJ's. An interesting character, friendly guide/friend and enthusiast in general, straight off a travel book! We had to drop our bullets at Leh market and Tashi was our contact person there - which so reminded me of the movie Kaminey. Tashi, though, didn't meet us in person (it actually felt like a scene from some gangster movie) and instead asked us to meet Tsetan - I guffawed when I first heard this name - isn't it Satan (the devil), with a twisted spelling! However I guess all our share of adventure had thankfully ended as soon as we had entered Leh and the entire episode of handing over the bulls and taking the refund went pretty smoothly. Tsetan was not Satan (quite unlike his name!), after all. We stayed in Leh for a few days and visited the usual Pangong Lake and other tourist stops (honestly my trip had ended as soon as the road trip ended) then took the Leh-Srinagar road to reach Kargil, our next stop. Kargil is a small district which recently has come to prominence because of the Kargil War memorial (which actually is in Drass). We had a reservation at a hotel which was a pretty new one but was quite primitive with respect to the facilities. After we were shown our rooms (decent but not worth the money we had paid), I tried to check for wi-fi speed. To my surprise the closest ping server it detected was in Islamabad, Pakistan.

Kashmir is in complete contrast with Ladakh. As Nehru had mentioned once, Ladakh is a barren land (which it actually is) but which I would describe as raw beauty. Its difficult terrain teaches you to respect nature and even though it is a cold desert the beauty of Ladakh can be best put as pristine or untouched. Kashmir on the other hand is green, white and brown (there were a spectrum of colors there which I was later informed but my color blindness saved me from the color riot) and with equal measure. The hills, ridges in Ladakh are mostly brown or grey while Kashmir valley is mostly green (with white added by the snow). In Kargil, as suggested we took a trip to the local villages and the army cantonment (the last one before the Pakistan border starts). On our way to the cantt, (the hotel had arranged for a Maruti Omni) I was surprised by an Ayatollah Khumeini poster near a village. The place seemed like stuck in a time warp. Khumeini in this age! And to add to that the "Pioneer" was playing a song which brought me another surge of nostalgia - "Zindagi ki dhoop ko saya kar gayi, aaj mere paas se wo guzar gayi...hawa hawa aye hawa!!". Villages of Kargil felt little different from other Indian villages which I have seen or may be it was just me. It was quite picturesque but cold (metaphorically speaking). Our hotel was on the banks of a river (later came to know it was Suru river) and there was even a hydro electric plant. The lasting image that I have of Kargil is that of the "Top Gun" logo on one of the slopes of the hills guarding the cantt and of course the Ayatollah Khumeini poster!

Leh: To Heaven through Hell - 4

Whistles were distracting...and with the sheep jumping right in front of us, it was becoming increasingly difficult. We were crossing a stream (almost 100 meters wide) that had found its way across the NH on our way to Baralacha La. With two trucks waiting on the other side of the stream and one right behind us coaxing us to hurry up and cross it, we were in a spot quite literally.

Shepherds, with their flock of sheep were adding to the drama, whistling to guide the sheep to the other side of the stream. I let SS cross first while I was deciding which side of the stream to take. As SS was crossing, he lost his balance and almost had another fall only to be saved by his own alertness. Those previous falls had taught him a thing or two about balance! 

The stream was shallow on the valley side of the road and I decided to take it. A slip or even a miscalculation would have thrown me a few thousand feet down the slope. Taking a deep breath I splashed into it and when I had reached almost the end of the stream, a shiver gripped me. It was both the fear of rolling down into the valley and the sudden rush of ice cold water that had seeped into my water proof shoes! The pillions had already crossed on to the other side and were cheering us. 

After we made it to the other side, we had to make another stop. It was a pretty narrow turn, hardly 10 ft wide but we had to stop to pull out our socks, which soaked in ice cold water had started hurting our toes. Just as we stopped a caravan of army trucks rushed passed us, bellowing on us all the dirt gathered from the slopes. While waiting and trying to dry ourselves we looked back at what we had achieved. A gush of ice cold water which had cut through the slopes down on the road which had been laid in the last summer and this was at a height of almost 10K ft - We deserved a gallantry award for that!

The enigma of a road trip - you think you have overcome the toughest stretch, while there is always something better (or worse - depending on your perspective) waiting round the corner!

But before that, the night that cost us our lives - well almost! After crossing multiple streams on our way to Baralacha La, each one colder and thankfully less troubling than the last one, we reached the breathtakingly beautiful Sarchu. Himalayan Odyssey Tents was located on one side of the huge valley almost the width of 10 football fields guarded on both sides by huge hill ranges. The road cut right through the valley (technically speaking it was a roof top valley - at around 15K feet) and presented the most beautiful sight that we had longed for during our entire ride. But the enigmatic beauty of Sarchu had beneath its shrouds a deceptive trick that we would have never guessed, till we experienced it. It was still quite sunny and we parked our bulls and walked around the place while taking turns to pose for the photographs. It all felt wonderful, the cold breeze from both the sides soon became chillier and gustier as the sun went behind the ridges. We decided to gulp down some Maggi and coffee before calling it a day. This was a makeshift arrangement and the kitchen tent was the largest one. We quickly finished our dinner and went back to the warmth of our tents. As the night fell, the temperature dipped further and we were all hit by AMS. I had to get up since D was the worst hit and was really cold. I ran to the other tent and was completely numb by the time I reached there. PP and SS joined us in our tent and all of us took the medicines which were supposed to be taken as a precaution for AMS. Within a few hours D's condition worsened and we had to ask for help. The Himalayan Odyssey attendants suggested the only cure for AMS is to ride down and move ASAP since it might worsen if we stayed there. The closest medical aid was an army hospital some 50 kms from that place but even they would suggest the same remedy, so said the experienced ones. We hadn't unpacked any of our stuff from the respective bulls and so we decided that as soon as the day breaks we move. What a night it was - of anticipation and of fear - what if we fail to make it!

We loaded our stuff and D half unconscious, driven only by her will power, hopped on. It was the most anxious ride of my life and we didn't make a stop till we reached Pang. We had crossed the easiest of La's on this stretch, Lachalang La and I don't have any memories of that La at all!

Pang is more famously known for the last petrol pump before Leh (which was another 250+ kms). By the time we reached Pang we were back in our senses and the fear of the unknown made us refill our bulls' tanks. We took a small break near the makeshift tents and filled ourselves with Maggi. The temperature had started to dip again and since it was the last day of our ride we decided to move. Though I would rate Baralacha La as the toughest pass that we crossed but the more dangerous one was Tanglang La. At 17,500 ft it was a few thousand feet higher than Baralacha La but we would have never guessed what was in store for us there. As we thumped through the windy slopes (am not talking about the roads or the absence of it anymore) and ice corridors (a common feature across all passes), we were greeted by brown sand at the top of the pass. We decided to take a photograph there as well and parked the bull and ran towards the milestone (take my advice, never do that at any of the passes). And this was another blunder! As we reached the milestone we were not only breathless (the total distance that we had run was a mere 10 ft!) but were also tizzy. After the customary poses and owing to the tight schedule we quickly decided to roll down towards Upshi, our next planned break. However, Tanglang La still had the last trick up its sleeve. The road (or whatever you call the brown stretch) was all covered with mud and slush, which was at least half a feet deep. As soon as we touched it we lost all control on our bikes. The bulls were skidding and almost floating on the slush. So much so that twice we had drifted to the valley end (of course with a near heart failure) of the road. I didn't dare to look back at SS and was trying all my skills to save the bull from falling. Whether you put your legs or try braking, nothing was working on that abominable 100m stretch and it was thanks only to our stars  that we were able to cross that sea of slush and survived to die another day!

And that was the worst we had seen on our entire trip from Manali to Leh. As we came down Tanglang La the roads improved and we crossed many a beautiful stretch. There was even a table top road that was an out of the world experience. It was flanked by beautiful mountain ranges on both ends. While we were crossing it (that stretch was a straight as an arrow road - yes finally road, of around 20 kms) a heavy downpour wrapped us. The rain drops were so cold that I could feel my fingers going numb. In fact by the time we stopped (and SS had his last fall, at the end of the stretch) I could see my finger tips had turned blue. The last fall of SS was a bloody one, PP had a cut on her chin and blood was oozing out of it. We made a quick stop (had to as SS's bull was lying on the edge of the road) and dressed up PP's wound. Upshi was just a few kilometers from there and we made our final stop before Leh. Yet again we stuffed ourselves with Maggi and had a hearty laugh at all our minor accidents, of course praising each other's resurgence.

The road from Upshi to Leh seemed like it has been carved by a divine hand. There is a stream running parallel to the road and the narrow valley has huge mountains on both the sides. Each of the vertical slopes has natural figurines (some even look like human faces, laughing, shouting back at you). It was on this stretch that we were welcomed with "Juley" (Ladakhi magic word which we deciphered meant hello), by the kids on the road side. There were smaller villages on this stretch and it felt really heart warming to be riding back into civilization. We crossed a few Gompas (Stupas) and reached the Leh army cantonment and an entire army base with an air strip (one of the highest commercial air strips in the world). We had arrived at our destination - Leh!

Leh: To Heaven through Hell - 3

"You guys from Bangalore?", asked the guy from the biker group, who had just joined us in Khoksar. We replied in affirmative but the very next question was in Kannada and the response to that gave away our ethnicity, or domicile ;). It was pretty windy there and we decided to thump to our next destination before it would get any colder. As we rode down the arid route, the landscape changed color. From bright white on the Rohtang Pass to dusty green to brown on the slopes. And the road too from the bright bitumen color (blame my color blindness for not knowing the exact color) to grey.

We had made bookings at Jispa for our night stay and were pretty confident of making it without breaking a sweat. But it was near Tandi my bull had a sudden stop. Sonu Rajput had reminded us before we started from Manali that Keylong was our last hope of getting a bike mechanic; after which started the areas debarred of any civilization, except for the nomadic tents which are pegged only during the riding season.

A few quick kicks (personal feeling - I never trust the autostart and as the future route would prove I would use it only if it would be a matter of life or death) which literally took my breath away - the air was already thin - and the bull roared. We hopped on and raced towards Keylong going past the beautifully carved roads through the Keylong valley. Tandi, by the way, is also the last petrol pump (petrol bunk if you are a Bangalorean!) before Leh. The huge bluntly cut hills on both sides with dusty roads and a makeshift bridge connecting the two ends of the ridges was the most thrilling thing I had seen in my life. This looked straight out of a Quentin Tarantino movie set. Battling goose bumps, we crossed a narrow stream and it was then my bull hushed back to silence again. CDD, PP, SSS and I decided that we should not test our luck any more and should go back to the mechanic shop we had crossed a few kilometers back (cynically smiling as we did). A retrace would cost us some hours but it was better than getting stranded, ill-equipped, in a cold desert. Consensus was reached in a matter of seconds and after dropping the pillions at a small hotel, which served hot maggi and kachoris, we rushed to the mechanic shop.

"It is just because of the lack of oxygen here, could be because of the fuel tank lid. If it repeats just remove the lid and close it back...also don't use auto start unless it is a matter of life and death!" (my man ;)), thus spake the learned one, for whom a ride like the one we were undertaking, was a daily affair. It pulled our confidence a few notches up and we thumped back to our first maggi break. This was a rejuvenating break for us, not only for the sumptuous bhajji and chai that we had there but also for the amazing view from our dining area. It was halfway between the valley that we had to take and the snow capped mountains that we had left behind. We could afford to kill sometime as we were pretty close to Jispa.

After crossing the Tarantinoian landscape once again, we reached Jispa where our accommodation was in the tents pegged on the banks of Bhaga river. This being the first day of our ride and owing to the thinning of air while we were gaining altitude, was quite tiring. We posed for photos near our tents and walked around to let the feeling sink in. Ah! The dream ride and we had undertaken it finally.

As the sun started going down the huge mountain behind our tents we calmed our nerves and thought of taking a quick nap in our tents. It was pretty windy and we could feel the gust on the side walls of the huge tent. As soon as we crashed on our bed, fatigue got the better of us and we were almost snoring in a deep slumber.

What woke us up with a start was the loud music and people shouting and dancing! It is only in India where you find people, who move with not only their entire paraphernalia but also carry their huge music systems to dance and make merry at 10,000 ft altitude!! The loud music knocked off the sleep out of our eyes and we were left with no other option but to be spectators to a wild family dance. It could have gone well into the night but thanks to the tent management guys, who after several failed attempts at stopping this brouhaha, threatened to close down the kitchen. So we had a relatively peaceful dinner which was not short of its share of dramatics - with one member of the dancing family joining us for dinner in vest and shorts, while another loud one entertaining the dinner party with his loud talk and a fake accent.

Phew! What a night! The next day started with its share of concerns - we had to cross Baralacha La to reach vomit Hilton, Sarchu. Why vomit Hilton - 'cos according to SS this was the place where all riders are hit by AMS and vomit at least once! As if the Baralcaha La videos (never watch the youtube videos if you are planning a ride) were not scary enough, this unknown devil was hovering on us as we set out for one of the most treacherous of the La's, we were going to conquer.

As we neared Baralacha La we could sense a dip in temperature and to add to that the roads gradually became more like loose gravels placed just to keep them falling off the slopes.

Test of character

There are days when you feel - Wow! so many thoughts, so much to write and not enough time to jot down! 

This was such a day which started with a WFH and a test match, with results of the match more eager to jump out of the closet than the actual cricket played. And as always with Harsha commentating there is never a dull moment. How well he described ABD's attacking style with "He doesn't believe in smelling the leather like Amla!"

Sometimes it feels watching Test matches are like hearing two learned scholars talk while the game goes on, at its pace, in the background. So much history, nostalgia, philosophy and ... life! Add to that the excitement of a crucial wicket, changing the course of the game or a determined, nonchalant innings by a batsman, who concentrates like a sage to add every single run.

Everyone loves nostalgia - which is more colorful, with fragrances more appealing to senses, sad memories more brooding, happier ones much more joyous. Coming back to cricket - it was always batsman's game, what with T20's and ODI's and their heavily loaded rules against bowlers, adding to the their delight. So test matches were always the balancing act. Like socialists, toiling hard in their whites, till it patches with gray at various spots (like war medals on their uniform), bowlers generally have the last laugh in this format. With 20 wickets to show for their effort. And in some cases the artistic exhibitions by a crafty batsman, surviving the outburst and showcasing his true mettle.

As you hear the exponents of the game talk about it, you understand how a simple game is so full of sub-plots (again soaked in nostalgia sounds more mysterious, heavier than it would have been when it actually unfolded). And when the ball starts reverse swinging, there is a lot of excitement on and a little more, off the field. On the field, you see perplexed batsmen trying to out-step their adversaries, trying to refuse to dance to their tunes! And off the field, you hear sub-plots - of how bowlers hide the shiny surface to flummox batsmen and how batsmen try to use an extra hand (rather extra pair of eyes from the non-strikers) in deciphering it. All pointing to lot of undercurrents, mysteries on the cricket ground which is not obvious when watching it on TV.

Of course all this comes out when the scholars are as learned, keen, involved and glib-talking as a certain Mr Harsha Bhogle - who prods his partners in crime, observes minor details and then smoothly expresses all these in words. So, next time when you watch a test match you know cricket is more intriguing than a bestseller. You look for telltale signs, compare it with past experiences and add all this to the book of life - your life!

कल रात

कल रात

हवा भीगती हुई उन बारिश की बूंदों में
भीगी धरा की बू लपेटे
झरोखों से -
बेझिझक, बेहिचक
अंदर चली आई।
कुछ जेहन की ताखों पर रखे
पिटारों को खोलती
कुछ चुनती, कुछ समेटती
फिर खिलखिलाती निकल पड़ी।



और ये जानिए कि क्या खूब थी ये अठखेली
निर्जीव से भाररहित हवा ने
कुछ यादों की धुंध में गुम, निशब्द ख़याल
कुछ अनछुए मोड़
और उन पिटारों में पड़े
छिटपुट अदृश्य सामानों का बोझ
हम पर डाल दिया
और खुद हवा हो गयी।

मुलाक़ात

बचपन बस्ता है उन गलियों में,
डरते हैं गुजरें उधर से
और पहचानने से इंकार ना वो कर दे।

कितने मोड़ पहले छूटी मासूमियत,
याद नहीं
कितने चौराहों पर बिका ईमान,
कहाँ ख्याल इसका।
कुछ खरीदा,
बेचा बहुत
करीने से जो रखा था
वो कहीं फ़ेंक आये
बदल गए इतना की खुद से ही सहम गए।

जब भी उठाने को झुके नीचे पड़ी चांदी
वहीँ पर ऊपर की जेब में पड़ा सोना गिरा आये।  

क्वथनांक

रख दो की अभी मशाल उठाने का वक़्त नहीं आया है
बूँदें टपकी नहीं हैं अभी, बस सिसकियों का ही उफान आया है।

हर गली कूचे, हर चौक चौबारे से जब तक
जलने की बू न आ जाए
बेमुरव्वत नज़रों में जब तक
ग्लानि, आक्रोश, पीड़ा न छा जाए
जज़्बाती विचारों में जब तक
होश हौसला न आ जाए,
बुझे पड़े रहने दो मशालों को
क्रोध पलने दो तब तक।

इंक़लाब सैलाब नहीं
थपेड़े चट्टानों के मोहताज नहीं
उफनकर उबलोगे तो बस फैल जाओगे
उष्ण संजोकर धधको तब तक।

AC Waiting Hall

वहाँ की सफाई देख कर मैं दंग रह गया।  फर्श बिल्कुल चमक रहा था, ३-४  गद्देदार सोफे करीने से एक तरफ लगे थे। एक ड्रेसिंग टेबल हॉल के एक कोने में लगा हुआ था और वहीँ पर सामने एक छोटा-सा स्टूल भी था।  उसके साथ वाले दीवार पर एक कम-से-कम ६० इंच का बड़ा सा टीवी फर्श के करीब पांच फीट ऊपर बड़े ही सुदृढ़ ढंग से लोहे या स्टील के दो रॉड पर टिकाया गया था।  फॉल्स सीलिंग और पर्दों के अलावा एक तरफ बाथरूम भी था।
ये था होस्पेट जंक्शन का ए सी वेटिंग हॉल जहाँ पर हम दोनों के अलावा कोई भी नहीं था। मैंने घुसते ही वेटिंग हॉल का मुआयना किया और सामान रख सीधे बाथरूम चला गया। वहां की भी सफाई से मैं भौंचका रह गया।
आमतौर पर वेटिंग रूम के बाथरूम के बारे में जितना काम कहा जाये उतना ही अच्छा होता है।  पर वहां पर महिलाओं और पुरुषों के लिए अलग-अलग बाथरूम थे।  वक़्त अभी काफी था क्यूंकि ट्रेन आने में कम-से-कम एक घंटा था।  बाथरूम के लाइट को ऑन करते हुए मैंने देखा की सामने वाश बेसिन है और फिर दोनों तरफ २ दरवाज़े जो की दोनों  बाथरूम के थे।  मैं फिर वापस आकर ड्रेसिंग टेबल के पास वाले सोफे पर बैठ गया।  वो भी एक बार बाथरूम होकर सारे लाइट्स बुझा कर पास में आ बैठी।
मैं जहाँ पर बैठा था वहां से वेटिंग रूम का दरवाज़ा बिलकुल सामने दिखता था और मेरी दाहिनी तरफ ड्रेसिंग टेबल का शीशा था।  उस शीशे से मुझे बाथरूम के दरवाज़े का प्रतिबिम्ब दिख रहा था।  अभी तक हमें यही आश्चर्य होता रहा कि कोई भी वेटिंग रूम में क्यों नहीं है? मेरे सामने वेटिंग रूम के दरवाज़े से कई यात्री झांकते हुए गए पर कोई भी अंदर नहीं आया।  अभी वहां बैठे १० मिनट ही हुए थे और हमलोग यही बात कर रहे थे की कोई भी अंदर क्यों नहीं आ रहा।

इसी बीच मेरी नज़र ड्रेसिंग टेबल के शीशे पर गयी, उस पर जो दरवाज़े का प्रतिबिम्ब था वो मुझे कुछ अटपटा सा लगा। या तो बाथरूम का पर्दा टेढ़ा लगा हुआ था या फिर बाथरूम की तरफ से हवा चल रही थी जिसके कारण पर्दा उड़ता सा प्रतीत हो रहा था।  मैंने उस परदे को ध्यान से देखा और फिर उसके प्रतिबिम्ब को और फिर दोनों में इतना फ़र्क़ था की मैं समझ नहीं पा रहा था की ये कैसा नज़र दोष है।  फिर मन का वहम समझ मैंने ये बात उसे नहीं बताई।

तभी बाथरूम से फ्लश की आवाज़ आई।  हम दोनों एक साथ चौंक उठे क्यूंकि उस वक्त तक हमारे सामने कोई  भी उस बाथरूम की तरफ नहीं गया था और बारी बारी से हम बाथरूम गए थे तो किसी और के वहां होने की गुंजाईश ही नहीं थी।  फिर अंदर लाइट भी तो बुझी हुई थी।  किसी तकनीकी कारण को दोष देते हुए हम फिर से अपने स्मार्टफोन्स पर व्यस्त हो गए। थोड़ी देर बाद मेरी नज़र फिर से ड्रेसिंग टेबल के शीशे पर पड़ी और इस बार जो मैंने देखा उससे मेरे रौंगटे खड़े हो गए - उस शीशे में बाथरूम के लाइट्स ऑन  दिख रहे थे।  मैंने एक बार दिल की तसल्ली के लिए फिर से बाथरूम की तरफ देखा और मेरा रोमांच मेरी चीख में तब्दील हो गया।  मैंने उसकी तरफ देखा और उसका सफ़ेद चेहरा देख ये समझ गया की ये मेरे मन का वहम नहीं।  

हम दोनों ने एक साथ उठने का परिक्रम किया पर सोफे से उठ नहीं पाये। दोनों ज़ोर से चीखने लगे और हमें पूरा भरोसा था की बहार से झांकते हुए लोग कम-से-कम हमारी चीख सुनकर अंदर आएंगे, पर ऐसा कुछ नहीं हुआ।  मैंने एक बार फिर से उस शीशे की तरफ देखा, उस शीशे में वेटिंग रूम बिलकुल बदला सा  लग रहा था।  वो ३-४ सोफे एक के ऊपर एक पड़े हुए थे, वो टीवी चकनाचूर होकर नीचे गिरा पड़ा था।  दीवार जैसे खून की तरह सुर्ख़ हो गए थे।  तभी अचानक मैंने देखा की  फॉल्स सीलिंग से कुछ टपक रहा है और साथ ही मेरी पीठ पर भी कुछ गीला सा महसूस हुआ। डर से चीखते हुए जैसे ही मैंने पलट कर देखा, पूरा वेटिंग रूम  अंधकार में डूब गया।

रात के बारह बज गए होंगे। एक कुत्ता उस दीवार को खरोंच रहा था।  उसके रोने की आवाज़ काफी दर्दनाक थी।  ऐसा लग रहा था की उस दीवार के पीछे उसे कुछ भयावह दुर्घटना का आभास हो रहा था।  उस दीवार के ऊपर एक जलते-बुझते  बल्ब की रौशनी, सीमेंट के पीछे दबे शब्दों को उजागर कर रहे थे।  लिखा हुआ था - AC वेटिंग हॉल!!

Golden rules for Bangalore Traffic

There are some rules for traffic which one should know and follow religiously, to - at least - get the license to drive on the road. And then there are some golden rules that supersede these rules, in Bangalore as in RoI, which give you license to thrill!! With India doing relatively well Down Under, I thought jotting down these golden rules as cricket metaphors would be readable, to say the least:

1. Exposed leg stump rule:
India, being an  ex-British colony drives on the left hand side of the road, which logically means that one should overtake slower moving vehicles from right. Now that is what the traffic rule says but do we actually care for that? In Bangalore, people with bigger vehicles (with ego as big as their vehicles), try overtaking all and sundry - be it equally big vehicles, trucks or that ubiquitous cool guy (cow), chewing cud with attitude. In this act of superiority these vehicles tend to go so far on the right that they leave lotsa space on their left. It is this space - can be visualized as a shuffling batsman who has exposed his leg stump - that churlish bikers, like us, make use of, to bowl them around their legs, in other words, overtake them from left.
Callous, dangerous but fun!!

2. Benefit of doubt:
While riding/driving keep an eye on the footpath, by-lanes and of course road. That is but obvious isn't it? But this is important in Bangalore since if there is a meandering vehicle on the road, it is your duty to give him the right of passage. Bikes coming out of by-lanes irrespective of the direction of traffic on the main road, people on the footpath - all eager to jump on the road, auto rickshaws - even more eager to take a U-turn, animals roaming on the side lanes - all of them have to be given right of passage. The benefit of doubt in all the aforementioned cases goes of course not to the player (that is you) but to quote Ravi Shastri - these slippery customers.

3. Speed breaker:
Another overtaking tip! If there is a speed breaker it is meant for the smaller/slower vehicles to overtake the larger ones. Bigger vehicles, for the love of their axles, will slow down at speed breakers (hence the term) and in turn either expose their leg stump (a la 1), or try to make space for that lofted drive on the off-side. And this, my friend, is your moment where you can pitch in a yorker/skidder and run past the humongous vehicles.

How to remain ahead after overtaking and not giving side to irritating/honking vehicles will all be in another bestseller (not started working on it yet!) : Bang-galore and the art of Motorcycling!

विभक्ति - Inflection

नवीन, विशुद्ध, कंटकरहित
मर्यादा का पाठ पढ़ा चला
मोह-विमुक्त, ओजपूर्ण वो धुरंधर
नाम इतिहास में अंकित करने चला।

पार्थ-सुत वीर अभिमन्यु
एकाकी मन, एकाकी धुन से
खुद का मार्ग प्रशस्त करता चला।
सिंहनाद से उठते कर्कश शब्द
शस्त्रों के ठनाकों को,
हुंकारों में अपने विलीन करता चला।

ज्ञान संकीर्ण, हुनर प्रगाढ़
अनुभव विहीन
रक्त पिपासु धरा को
अपने लहू से तृप्त करने चला।

होता ये युग में एक बार
बिरले ही जन्मते हैं, बदलते हैं संसार
लघु जीवन अपरिमित सार,
विभक्ति होती इनकी अपरम्पार!

Leh: To Heaven through Hell - 2

Tourist Hotel (Rooms with Independent Balcony), Manali
Time: 7 am, 28th June

"I think if we tie this around the bag, it would save us from rain", D spoke while handing me the plastic cover we had bought at Manali's Mall Road, last evening.

"Yes thanks", I responded.

It was already 7 o'clock and I was little anxious about our late start for the Manali-Leh road trip. From the locals we had heard that the road is generally always jammed because of the narrow road leading to Rohtang Pass. I was putting in all my might, hurriedly trying to tie our back-packs into the luggage carrier stand attached to the Royal Enfield that we had hired. SS and PP were busy tying their stuff on the other bull. Though we had started this process, as early as 6 am in the morning, it was already an hour and we were still struggling with it. Blame it on the extra clothes that I had packed in my back-pack because of which it was little out of shape and refusing to get into the luggage carrier. After quite a few rounds of heave-ho's we felt satisfied with our effort and decided to start on the exciting journey to Ladakh - this was a ride spread over three days, with stops at Jispa and Sarchu.

The bulls boomed through the picturesque Manali road towards Rohtang Pass. The sky was bluish, the greenery around was superlative with morning dew shining like beautifully cut diamonds off the blades of grass and leaves of the tall trees. Add the thump to the in-sync heart beat and what you have is every rider's dream. As we climbed up the twirling roads towards the pass, we could see the long queue of four-wheelers waiting to get on the other side. Thanks to our lean and mean ride, we overtook this queue of vehicles (this queue was at least 10-15 kms long) and stopped at a check-post to pay decongestion fees (what an irony this was!). We had to wait for another hour at a treacherous and narrow road through the valley to get on the top of Rohtang Pass. Thick snow slopes and lanes through snow walls there, made us feel like we were riding on clouds. However a quick look on the terrible road brought us back to terra firma.  The snow was whiter than any white I had seen in my life!

As we were thumping down the pass, SS had his first fall. With the steep valley on the left and whiter-than-white snow walls on the other side, a truck driver (true to his nature), took an aggressive swipe near us and SS lost his balance. The road was slippery owing to the melting snow and it was tough to control the bull downhill. SS and PP had minor injuries (or at least that is what they conveyed to anxious D's queries) but the way they had taken the fall was pretty encouraging. Within minutes of this unscheduled break we were on our way towards the real test of our riding skills. Downhill the road was non-existent, only pebbles and gravels lining and sloping hairpin bends.

On the other side of Rohtang Pass was Khoksar, a dry arid landscape which looked more like a desert but for the temperature.  We took a much needed break and filled ourselves with Maggi first and Rajma-Roti later. You should keep yourself stuffed at these altitudes as you tend to loose appetite and become vulnerable to AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness).

Leh: To Heaven through Hell - 1

As I gazed down the Himalayas aboard 6E448, I could sense a proud gush of air through my lungs. Having conquered, on wheels, the passes and slopes, which were now offering such a majestic sight from top, it was but natural! Isn't destination the sole reason for a journey? 

And does it make any sense to undertake an arduous and strenuous journey when destination is equally beautiful. 484 kms on a two wheeler with a pillion - sounds so sadistic, especially when the pillion is one's wife! There are other ways to get a sore ass, body ache and coat of dirt and dust (and to get that sadistic pleasure by troubling your wife :P) How beautiful can be a stretch of 30-40 kms, with the same view of mountains (some snow capped ones adding to your misery) staring back at you for multiple such stretches. It is like watching a bio-scope and becomes so monotonous at times. With wavy roads (if you can call the assorted gravels and boulders laid randomly on mountain edges, to plot your fall, that!) giving you the bumpiest rides and adding to your already nauseated brain. And it is like icing on the cake when the hotels and tents you stay have some horrendously selfish guests who play loud music and dance, not giving a damn about how tired you are after your ride across mountains and valleys. 

These would be exact words of a cynic who gives two hoots to your mantra of life - Riding is meditation, it is the only time when you are one with the road you are riding on. To those cynics and the sour grapes cases and also to the "someday" people, just pack your bags, shut your trap and get on the road. With 500cc engine and at least 42Nm torque between your legs, the dirt and wind across your face and the mountain ranges with absolutely stunning visuals, you get what a yogi yearns for - Nirvana.

"The plan" was initiated by D and we had all agreed, that if it is Leh, it has to be a bull ride. Thanks to SS, who had done quite a research on the topic and modes of commute, we got enough information to materialize "the at least once in a lifetime ride". After my two previous failed attempts, I was little cynical myself whether I will ever be able to ride to Ladakh. But it was the super joshiley group of D, PP and SS who rubbed off their enthusiasm on me. With fancy names - Agents CDD, PP, SSS and BK,  "the plan" started taking form and shape in March with a mail chain which had all information about itinerary, ticket booking, hotels/tents and also return via Srinagar!! I was always fascinated by Kashmir. When I was in college, someone had mentioned that the highest motor-able road in the world is in India. My nerdinesshad made me read about that then and that is how my craving for a ride on the Manali-Leh stretch started. Riding, like whiskey, is an acquired taste and as Mr Khosla (from the movie Khosla ka Ghosla) had said - "In cheezon ka maza dheere dheere lena chahiye, wo kahte hain na jee hold your drink". To relish this taste and to live our dream, we started from Bangalore on 26th June. After reaching Manali the following morning (that bus ride was one vomit-inducing one), we checked in at Tourist Hotel (Rooms with independent Balcony!). I was really eager to have a look at our ride and after breakfast, SS and I started for "Hardev Motors" - these were the guys who had agreed to rent their bulls to us for the treacherous terrain of Manali-Leh highway, at a price of course. We met the owner, Sonu Rajput (which I was least interested in) and enquired about the bulls (about which I was super charged).  We had to wait for sometime there as the bulls had gone for a wash. After finishing the paper work (paying the pending amount, handing over our original IDs and collecting the bullet's papers), I was pretty restless and gulped down the coffee, offered to us by the very helpful owner, to curb my eagerness. It was during the discussion about the road condition that I heard the thump and rushed out to see what can be called pristine beauty - It was the new classic 500, with customized fuel tank (22 lts capacity, as Sonu Rajput confirmed), customized carburetor and smaller exhaust. We took it for a spin on the steep street near the shop and the bull topped its looks with superlative performance. The mechanic there offered us some tips about riding on the hilly terrain and handed over the tool box (myriad spares - tubes, spark plug, headlight bulb, even a pump). We stuffed it in the luggage carrier that was affixed to the rear and set off for our hotel, feeling like proud owners of the chrome and gray bull (at least for a week).

A few Conversations and a train journey - 3

This was a long pending one,  previous two parts are here:

A few conversations and a train journey
A few conversations and a train journey - 2



As the man took out his luggage and started moving towards the exit, I jumped on the opportunity to take the window seat. Incidentally now I was face to face with the old man who was trying to make a conversation with me.

"You working?" - boomed the baritone. For such a lean frame that deep voice seemed out of place, as if he was hiding an amplifier in that flowing kurta of his to multiply his original amplitude or pitch (honestly speaking it has been years since I revised acoustics or physics for that matter).

"Yes in Bangalore".

"That is a nice place, pensioner's paradise". That is easy to guess how he knows this, he would have weighed his options of retiring in Bangalore.

"I guess not anymore, it is quite crowded now and the traffic there sucks", though I had no intention of offending the old man with my choice of words, I didn't know how else to put it. May be I should read more!

"Well India in general is crowded. We are all trying to survive and everyday is a struggle for existence, it is like a war here...just look around", I was not sure whether that was a condescending thought or he was just bemused by so many people fighting for a sitting place. Of course we are a billion strong country but what is lacking is not the resources but civic sense in us.

It seems that old man almost read my thoughts. "What matters is how we behave. You know when we were growing up people around used to talk how being independent will make us self-sufficient and powerful". Oh one of those midnight children!

"We believed every word of it, I still do. We have so many young people. Even if one guy spreads his knowledge and good sense to two, we can be a much better nation".

"But does anyone care? I mean why should anyone, when things like daily bread is the topmost priority and people would do anything to get that", this was my response. It was not senseless lines that I just blurted out. It was a response that had built up over time after seeing such stark difference in our society. Even I have travelled across length and breadth of this country and have seen a lot.

"Beta beg, borrow or steal is not what makes a great nation. Haven't you heard of this - A noble soul has reverence for itself".

I had definitely read that somewhere...but where?

"Our religious texts say what you do is what you become. Spread the goodness, do good things and become good. Good karma will make things around you beautiful. Geeta says though that you should not be attached to your karma." Wait a second, where are we going. There is a sanyasi in saffron robe sitting next to us and this man is quoting Geeta. Isn't it blasphemous of a bhogi to chatter about karma and life in front of a yogi!

"I don't think I am qualified enough to talk about that", was my terse response. However as soon as I uttered those words I was feeling the guilt.

After some pause, I callously asked "Are you in service or retired?"

"I am a doctor, once a doctor, always a doctor. Doctors do not retire". God! This man is so full of words!

"I have a son and a grandson, who would now be of your age I guess". Nope I am not telling you my age, even if you ask.

"They stay with you?"

"No, they are in Columbia". Wow! So that his how he is so glib in making a conversation. He must have travelled multiple times to the Americas.

"How often do they visit, or do you go there?", I never know how to frame my questions.

"We have not met for fifteen years now!", was his response. I could feel the remorse and a sense of anger in those words.

Another long pause and then he says "He married a Columbian and had brought her to Allahabad, what a shame that was". Now that is hypocrisy. Wasn't he just quoting all religious texts sometime back and now all of a sudden sulking about his son not marrying according to his wishes!

"May be it was my mistake. He returned back and has not come back to India since. Some twenty-four years back I had gone there with my wife on the birth of our grandson". Sometimes it is so easy to open up in front of strangers. You tend to speak your mind without caring about any prejudiced response. But none of this was my concern. I have a basic flaw when it comes to numbers. If there is any glitch in arithmetic my mind seems to just get stuck there.

The man of experience gauged this even. "Well my grandson had come with his mother some nine years back on his grandmother's funeral".

"I have learnt the lessons of my life the hard way. Beta you should never have a parochial outlook. Open up. A person of means can be a mentor to his subordinates, his juniors. That is how a society is built. You can not impose rules for such simple logic".

Just then a tea vendor appeared near our bay and interrupted the old man's speech. As I turned to ask for tea I could see at least a hundred eye balls gazing at us. That is bound to happen if you hear two people talk in English in Hindi heartland. I took two tea and offered one to the old man.

And then it struck me - "A noble soul has reverence for itself", Fredrich Neitzsche! Even Ayn Rand had quoted the same in her foreword to The Fountainhead. And this gave me goosebumps - you do not expect people to quote Neitzsche in a train from Allahabad to Patna.  I do not remember what exactly we talked about after this realization since I was in complete awe of this man. But what I do remember is the old man's last trick off his proverbial hat, when he handed me his business card. The name on it was - "Dr F.N. MS, FRCS"!

ख्वाबगाह का पंजीकरण

राजू (या वो रवि था !) मुस्कुराते हुए निकल गया. बाहर से उस छोटे बच्चे की चीख़ अब भी आ रही थी।  पता नहीं उस बच्चे को क्या हो जा रहा था जैसे ही उसके पापा ऑफिस के अंदर आते वो बाहर से चिल्लाना शुरू कर देता ! 

ये दफ्तर है सब-रजिस्ट्रार, बीटीम का, जहाँ प्रॉपर्टी और शादी का पंजीकरण होता है।  हमने अपना मैरिज सर्टिफिकेट बनवा लिया था इसलिए अब अपने सर पर छत सुनिश्चित करने आये थे।  सुबह से हम इस पूरी पद्धति को समझने का प्रयास कर रहे हैं।  हमारे बिल्डर का जो प्रतिनिधि आया है उसने हमें एक कोने में बिठा दिया है और खुद बला की फुर्ती दिखा रहा है।  बीच बीच में वो हमें देख कर एक औपचारिक मुस्कान भी दे रहा है।  जाने किधर जाता है , किन लोगों से बात करता है और फिर हमें आकर अपनी टूटी-फूटी अंग्रेजी और कन्नड़ में समझाता है।  उसे ये सारा क्रम या तो याद हो चुका है या फिर उसने इसकी बहुत अच्छी प्रैक्टिस की है।

इस पूरे केओटिक माहौल में लोगों का उस दफ्तर में आवागमन निरंतर जारी है।  और इसी सैलाब में वो irritating बच्चा भी शामिल है।  अगर एक निस्पक्ष नज़र से देखें तो बच्चा बड़ा मासूम है लेकिन उसकी एक कर्कश चीख, उसकी मासूमियत और उसके साथ आपका उसके प्रति उमड़ता लाड, आपसे छीन ले जाती है। उसकी माँ ने उसे एक आई-पैड पकड़ा दिया है ताकि वो शांत हो पाये लेकिन थोडा उसके जीन्स का असर कहें और थोडा उसकी रूचि, बीच बीच में उसकी चीख आपके धैर्य को झकझोर देती है।

आखिर हमारा काम कुछ आगे बढ़ता है और गणेश, बिल्डर का प्रतिनिधि, हमें आकर इसकी खबर देता है।  और हमें ये भी बताता है कि इस रजिस्ट्री को सत्यापित करने के लिए दो विटनेस चाहिए।  अब इस भीड़ में हमसे ऐसे सवाल पूछना या तो हम गणेश का अबोधपन कहते या उनकी मज़ाकिया फितरत - कि भैया ये तो विटनेसों का महा कुम्भ है किसी को भी पकड़ लो।  मगर जब उन्होंने ये बात बहुत ही गम्भीरता से दुहराई, हमे समझ आ गया कि यहाँ किन्ही विशेष शक्ति प्राप्त किरदारों की बात हो रही है।  और यहीं पर राजू और रवि प्रकट होते हैं।  इनमे से कौन राजू है और कौन रवि हमने ये जानने कि जिज्ञासा जाहिर नहीं कि और न ही इन महानुभावों ने बताने कि कोशिश की।  इन शक्तिमानों का बस इतना काम होता है कि ये आपके सेल डीड पर आपसे बिना पूछे अपना हस्ताक्षर दाग देते हैं और अपने इस शौर्यपूर्ण कार्य के पश्चात मुस्काते हैं।  यहाँ पर ये बताना ज़रूरी है कि इस मुस्कान को औपचारिक न समझें। वैसे भी मुस्कान का विशेषार्थ आप खुद नहीं समझ सकते और हमारी इस गुत्थी को सुलझाई गणेश ने - वो भी बिलकुल शब्दहीन विश्लेषण।  आँखों के इशारे को हम जितना समझे इससे यही ज्ञात हुआ कि इसका हिसाब बाद में होना है।

अब इन सब घटनाओं के बीच में हमें भी एक बार हीरो बनने का मौका दिया गया।  और हमने पूरी गम्भीरता से अपने किरदार को निभाया।  हुआ यूँ कि राजू या रवि में से कोई एक (पता नहीं कौन) अन्तर्धान हो गए थे और विटनेस कि कमी पड़ गयी थी। उस भीड़ में हमें उम्मीदवार बना दिया गया और काफी सरलता से हमारा चयन भी हो गया।

सवाल: हेसरू (नाम कन्नड़ में)

जवाब: बिकाश कुमार (गम्भीर आवाज़, बिलकुल किरदार में आते हुए)

एड्रेस: बेल्लंदुर

बस यही २ सवालों के जवाब देकर हम जूनियर आर्टिस्ट से सपोर्टिंग कास्ट के पायदान पर चढ़ गए।  इस लघु भूमिका के पूरा होते ही हमारा भी काम हो गया था और गणेश को सधन्यवाद उनकी फीस (जिसमे राजू और रवि के स्पेशल अपीयरेंस का मेहनताना भी था) देकर हमने सब-रजिस्ट्रार ऑफिस का निकास पकड़ा।  थोडा ख्वाबगाह अपने नाम करवाना और थोडा सपोर्टिंग कास्ट का किरदार बखूबी निभाने का गुमान कहें, हम अपनी छाती को २ इंच चौड़ा महसूस कर रहे थे।  

BDA complex shop no. 22

बहुत ही बिखरी हुई भीड़ थी वहाँ पर.… कुछ लोग अंदर बैठे थे और कुछ बाहर खड़े थे।  अंदर उतनी जगह भी नहीं थी और ३ कुर्सियां और २ स्टूल उस छोटे दुकान को और छोटा कर रहे थे।  २ कंप्यूटर एक बड़े से लकड़ी के मेज़ पर रखे थे, जिनके सामने २ लोग बड़ी ही तन्मयता से लगे हुए थे।  उसी मेज़ पर कई ड्रावर बने थे जिनको पैसे, कागज़ों के बंडल के अलावा बाकी उपयोगी वस्तु जैसे कि स्टेपलर, रबर बैंड, कलम और अमूमन ऐसी वस्तुएं जिनको ड्रावर में ही रखा जाता है - के इस्तेमाल में लाया जा रहा था।  वहाँ पर बैठे दोनों लोगों कि उम्र २५-२६ से ज़यादा की नहीं होगी।  

हमने जैसे ही अंदर कदम रखा, हमारे दाहिनी तरफ बैठे उस बन्दे ने मुड़कर पूछा कि क्या चाहिए।  जब हमने आने की वजह बतायी तो उसने एक छोटी मुस्कान के साथ कहा कि हिंदी टाइपिंग तो बहुत वक्त लगेगा, आप कंटेंट छोड़ जाइये और कल आपको एक प्रूफ मिल जायेगा। हमारे पास एक ही दिन का वक़्त था पर जिस भरोसे के साथ उसने ये बात कही हमें लगा कि ये आदमी हमारा काम सम्भाल लेगा।  हमने झट से, उसे पहले से देवनागिरी लिपि में लिखा हुआ एक कागज़ पकड़ा दिया।  एक सरसरी निगाह से उसने उस कागज़ को देखा और अपना मोबाइल नंबर देकर दूसरे दिन आने को कहा।  जिस बेिफक्री से उसने उस कागज़ को अपने बाकी पड़े हुए बंडल में रखा, हमे एक बार थोडा शक़ हुआ कि क्या ये कागज़ उसे बाद में मिल जायेगा और क्या कल तक वो उसे टाइप कर तैयार रखेगा, वो भी देवनागिरी में।  और अगर वो नहीं कर पाया तो ?

खैर अपने आप को थोडा सांत्वना देते हुए हम वहाँ से निकल पड़े।  बैंगलोर हलांकि काफी कॉस्मोपॉलिटन शहर है पर देवनागिरी लिपि में टाइपिंग करवाना भारत के किसी भी शहर में कठिन है - हाँ, यूपी-बिहार में शायद उतना नहीं। पर आजकल कुछ कह नहीं सकते, जिस रफ़्तार से हमारी मादर-ए-जुबां लुप्त हो रही है उससे कम से कम इतना तो ज़रूर है कि हिंदी टाइपराइटर शायद ही आपको कहीं मिले।  टाइपराइटर से हमारा मतलब मशीन और आदमी दोनों से है।  कोरमंगला के बीडीए काम्प्लेक्स में दुकान नंबर २२ में कम से कम हमें एक तो मिल गया - ढूंढने से भगवान् मिलते हैं और शायद आज मिल ही गए।  ये दुकान रेंटल अग्रीमेंट टाइपिंग, एफिडेविट और भी विधि-संभंधित हर प्रकार के कागज़ी कामो के लिए है।  और वो दुबला-पतला सा चश्मिश - काफी दोस्ताना अंदाज़ था उसकी मुस्कान में - हमारे लिए तो भगवान सरीके ही हुए और उनका नाम भी तो महेश था।

दूसरे दिन हम फिर पूर्व नियोजित समय पर पहुंचे। और आज तो भगवन के साक्षात अष्टभुजावतार देखने को मिल गया। जिस सहजता से महेश अपने इर्द-गिर्द लोगों से काग़ज़ लेते उसे सरसरी निगाहों से देखते और मुस्कान बिखेरते हुए काम ख़त्म कर कागज़ वापस पकड़ा देते, उससे तो यही प्रतीत होता था कि उनकी कई और  भुजाएं हैं।

हमें देखते ही वही परिक्रम दुहराया उन्होंने और पता नहीं कौन सी भुजा से एक देवनागिरी लिपि में प्रिंट किया हुआ कागज़ पकड़ा दिया, मुस्कान के साथ। पर उनका प्रभुत्व या यूँ कहें उस प्रभुत्व का हमपर असर वहीँ पर सिमित हो गया।  करीब पच्चीसियों गलतियां थी उस प्रूफ में और हमने वहीँ सर पकड़ लिया कि अब ये सब कैसे ठीक होगा। काम भी तो ये आज ही होना था।  हमारी इस कशमकश को देवाधिदेव भाँप गए और फिर से अपनी मुस्कान बिखेरते हुए कहा कि आप साथ बैठें तुरंत काम हो जायेगा। अब हमारे पास और कोई चारा भी तो नहीं था। और फिर हमारी टिप्पणियों कि मदद से महेश ने काम शुरू किया और फिर से हम उनके प्रभुत्व से प्रभावित होने से वंचित नहीं रह पाये। हर २ शब्द टाइप करते करते कोई क्लाइंट धमक जाता और फिर से महेश बड़ी सरलता से उनकी उलझन सुलझा देते। इसी बीच हमने ये भी समझा कि महेश की कोई बहुत बड़ी डिग्री नहीं होगी पर उनकी कंप्यूटर पर भयंकर टाइपिंग स्पीड काबिल-ए-तारीफ़ है। साथ ही माइक्रोसॉफ्ट वर्ड और गूगल हिंदी टाइपिंग में उनका तजुर्बा अचभित करने वाला था।  और इन सबके बीच उनका कभी पैसे का लेन-देन, कभी अपने सहयोगी कि टाइपिंग में मदद, कभी प्रिंटर के कागज़ों को समायोजित करना - शायद इसी को स्ट्रीट स्मार्टनेस कहते हैं जिसकी कोई क्लास नहीं होती, ये आप जैसा नाम से पता चलता है स्ट्रीट पर ही सीखते हैं। आखिरकार महेश ने हमारा काम ख़त्म किया और उसका मेहनताना लेकर फिर से बाकी खड़े क्लाइंटेल में मग्न हो गए।  अब आप सोच रहे होंगे कि ये पूरा ब्लॉग तो देवनागिरी में ही लिखा हुआ है तो फिर किसी और पर इतना भरोसा क्यूँ? इसके लिए हम डी को ज़िम्मेदार ठहराएंगे जिन्होंने कहा था कि कागज़ पर टाइप ही होना चाहिए प्रिंटिंग नहीं चलेगी।लेकिन आख़िरकार हुआ वही जिसका सुझाव हमने पहले दिया था लेकिन उनके तैशपूर्ण प्रत्युत्तर पर हमने चुप्पी साध ली थी। और वो कहते हैं न घर कि मुर्गी दाल बराबर बिलकुल वैसा ही कुछ हिसाब किताब रहता है हमारा, हमारे घर पर।  

Don't Worry, be Hampi

I was trying hard, rather my best but with my limited knowledge of south Indian languages, it was tough to decipher which part of south India did they belong to...

This was a much needed break that D and I had planned and Hampi was a unanimous choice. Only contentious decision was the place to stay. While D was insisting that we stay at a star rated place, I on M's suggestion, wanted to stay at Shanthi Guest House on the so called Hippie Island. It was quite a pleasant surprise for us after we landed up here. After disembarking from the Hampi express at Hospet we bargained a lot with a few auto rickshaws and finally got one to Hampi. We got down at "Boat Point" (which incidentally is also the Hampi Auto Stand) and crossed the Tungabhadra river - which was hardly a 50m stretch -  on a motor boat to reach Virupapura Gaddi, better known among tourists as Hippie Island. As we walked towards the guest house the place reminded me of other firang-infested Indian cities, Goa and Pondicherry. There were firangs all around us and the narrow lane which we had to take to reach the guest house had walls with graffiti, cafes, souvenir shops and even money exchange joints on one side, while serene and beautiful paddy fields on the other. Shanthi guest house was much better than we had imagined. With paddy fields right across our small cottage, a hammock on its porch and basic furniture it was a perfect setting for a lazy weekend.

Boat Point, Hampi

Coming back to the alien south Indian language that i was trying to decipher. The source of that was a group of guys who had come to stay at the cottage next to ours. These guys came in after a day of our stay and were quite a vociferous group. While the night prior to the arrival of this  group was calm and only troubled by crickets and croaking frogs, the next night had more noisy intrusions by this group.

Love, music and drugs have a universal language. With these guys playing Pink Floyd it was not tough to guess what was their preference in Hampi. While D was quite confident that it was Malayalam, I thought it was Telugu as I was sure I had heard an "aypendi" or a similar sounding syllable.

Hampi is quite an experience and the best thing about the place is there is hardly anyone around. And since it is firang-infested it has just the right dose of commercialization. The guest house itself is not out of the world but a few unique amenities here are pretty decent. The eatery with low rise dining slabs and mattress on its sides is the first thing that catches your eye. It is next to the paddy fields again with unique bell shaped lamp shades and pretty neat. The only thing that troubles you there are flies. Being next to a field has its side effect, in flies and mosquitoes but brighter side is the serene view and low hum of  crickets and other insects that makes nights here pretty musical. (By the way did you know that plural of cheese is cheeses, this i overheard - and cross-verified - from the firang group who were chatting at Shanthi Guest House restaurant, next to our dining slab).

The Hampi ruins are amazingly beautiful and certainly takes you to a different world. As Rodney Walker, the pensioner from South Africa, who we met here told us - Hampi is a feeling that needs sinking in and one can easily spend months here finding your own personal spots. A few must sees here are Vithhala Temple (this has the stone chariot which kind of defines Hampi ruins), Achyutaraya Temple and the Pushkarani, both at Krishna Bazar and Ganika Vidhi. The walk from Ganika Vidhi to Vithala Temple is quite a trek and sholayesque. The hills and the route between precaciously placed rocks are strikingly awesome. You can not help but think of the times just six centuries ago. The pushkarani, which was a water body surrounded by stairs was probably equivalent to the modern day malls where people spent their evenings. The scale of the Pushkarni and the Ganika Vidhi as well as the Krishna Bazar complex talks volumes about the lost civilization. Our auto rickshaw driver-cum-guide informed us that Krishna Bazar was the market where gold and other precious ornaments were sold.

The huge expanse of Hampi amazes me and it is equally amazing how such a fledgling civilization ended with so much of the past still in pristine state. I definitely need to look up what the experts say about the extinction of civilization at Hampi.

PS: While returning from our trek of Vithala Temple we lost our way in the hills. We however luckily met a few people and followed them to reach Virupaksha Temple. From there we walked to the boat point again to try our luck to cross the river on boat. And lucky we were, for in that morbid darkness there were a few people who asked whether we need a coracle ride. It was dark like hell and hardly anything was visible. A few lights on the other side of the river was our only beacon. It was a wonderful coracle ride and we survived it to tell a tale or may be to die another day.

He speaks...

Some of the very commonly used phrases here in my office:

Too heavy a hammer
Low hanging fruits
Throwing da baby wid bath water
Kicking da can dwn da road
Dropping it on the floor
Smoking gun
Put our finger on
Peeling the onions
Cast in stone
Shooting one's own foot
Errand to run
These things can burn us
Take a stab on this
Get your feet wet
Boiling the ocean
Missing good boats
Missing the forest for the tree
The proof of pudding is in eating it
Paint ouselves on a corner
Look over the shoulder
Let the sleeping dog sleep
Going through the motions
Cross the bridge when we reach there
It becomes hairy
This is a flag day!

Sholay: A Total Recall

Sholay is not a movie, its a way of life...at least my life ;)

Watching Sholay on the big screen (that too in 3D) was a complete experience. Complete, since people would have seen it at least a hundred times (what!! you haven't seen it that many times - get your filthy mouse off this blog) on small screen but watching it in theater with surround sound (and in 3D!) was surreal. Let me just give you instances why this experience of mine was a complete paisa-vasool and much more:

* Things flying off the screen right into your face - well that is what 3D is all about - but this is logs, gravels, boulders from Ramgarh! I mean, come on!

I was pretty sure that the train robbery sequence would be amazing on 70mm (that, technically speaking is width of the film reel but that is how you show off when you mean larger screens) and it absolutely was! With dakus flying-off horses' back and in slo-mo was thrillingly beautiful. It felt like I was there on the maalgaadi from district Jamalpur with dacoits trying to rob - what is my best guess...oil drums. And that scene where the logs shoot off the track after Veeru's daringly "high" act - WOW! They spent some money on adding a few logs to give you that 3D shocker and I tell you that was money well spent. On a sober note, they could have done much better with some other scenes but I am not complaining. There were screeching sparks from the tracks, boulders in that Basanti ki ijjat ka sawal  chase sequence and ashes from the blown off bridge in the climactic scene, where the surreal experience was just perfect!

* Characters - as if they are your long lost kin and reunited after ages (39 yrs for some, at least 20 for me when I had seen Sholay for the first time on TV).

Jai, Veeru - Refreshingly Young and dashing in denims - no gay undertones here but Veeru looked raw and He-Manish in almost every frame (but for his tummy in some scenes :P). 

Basanti - Smoldering, what else would you call her with that extra pink blush on her cheeks.

Gabbar - Yucky, ugly, loathsome and worth every penny of that poore pachaas hazzar!

Thakur - Crisp, revengeful and youngest old man in Ramgarh.

Ramlaal - An Ideal Man Friday who would dish out anything from cash to photos to FBI secret files (just getting carried away here), at one twitch of Thakur's eyes.

Imaam saheb - actors should take lessons from his blind-act - bechara to the T and his "Itna sannata kyun hai bhai". Gave me goose bumps in Abdul's mourning scene.

Radha - the silent one and the conscience keeper.

Mausi - So cute that you would love to have a mausi like that! - Reminds me of that Chashm-e-baddoor scene where Dipti Naval kissed Mausi (her dadi in that movie) and then says - "Lipstick laga!"

Surma Bhopali, Angrezon ke zamane ke jailor, Sambha, Kalia, his side kicks (that actor who got his place in cinematic history with that so blandly uttered abuse), Shankar, Dinanath, Kashiram...part of my consanguinity.

* Dialogs - so Sholaystic (not scholastic mind you!).

It starts with - 

"Aadmi aur sikkey me shayad yahi farak hai"

"Istick toh mein rakhta hun aur jo istick maine phinphnayee"

"Haramjada"

"Wo hai na hari ram naii, jailor ka bada moonh laga hai muaan...haaaan"

and the epochal ones -

"Kitne aadmi thhe"

"Basanti in kutton ke samney mat nachna"

"Bahut katili nachaniya hogi...humko bhi dikhao 2-3 thumke"

I am a complete sucker for anything Sholay. What! You don't believe, ask D - she has to keep up with my stale Sholay jokes, day-in, day-out. Sholay is history, geography, memories...it is much, much, much more than a movie. I mean it has made people's lives - take Raju Srivastav for instance, he has made a career out of Sholay jokes.  

Thanks D for this total recall! Had I not watched Sholay in theater - zindagi se shikwa na hota par zindagi, zindagi na hoti ;). 

Spirit

यूँ ही कब कहाँ ये जीत पाती
हर मोड़ पर सकुचाती
हर चोट पर मुरझाती
एक नज़र पडे तो इतराती

अनजान कभी इसे है भाता
एक रंग ही कभी रम जाता
कभी प्यास इसे जगाती
गहन सोच कभी थपथपा जाती

कभी कोई बात ठेंस लगाती

फिर खुद ही अकुलाती, इतराती
संभल जाती,
यूँ ही कब कहाँ ये जीत पाती।
 

आज मैं...

आज मैं गूँज हूँ
एक ऐसा शक्तिपुंज हूँ
उठा दूं, जगा दूं
संकोच तोड़ने की कुंज हूँ .


आज मैं सोच हूँ
मंथन हूँ
चिंतन हूँ
निशब्द क्रंदन हूँ
पाश नहीं, पर बंधन हूँ।


आज मैं रंग हूँ,
बेरंग को दर्शनीय बना
आज उसके संग हूँ
खूब ठठा कर, विहंग हूँ
खुद में डूबा हूँ, मलंग हूँ।।

तिरस्कार

इतिहास के पन्नो में है बदा,
रामायण-महाभारत भी करते इसका बखान
आर्यावर्त के शूरों ने कब किया है औरत का सम्मान .

वस्त्र हर कर मार ठहाके
लज्जा भी हुई घोर सभा में नीलाम
आर्यावर्त के शूरों ने कब किया है औरत का सम्मान .

जग पूजता उनको, पुरुषों में मर्यादा में उत्तम
जाने वो हुए कैसे महान
हो ना पाया जब उनसे अपनी ही भार्या का सम्मान

युग बदला, लोग बदले
हीन सोच पर लगा नहीं पुण्याविराम
पवित्र सति के नाम जाने कितनो के फूंके प्राण
देवदासी बना कुचले कितनो ने उनके अरमान
आर्यावर्त के शूरों ने कब किया है औरत का सम्मान .

आजकल मुझे भी डर लगता है

आजकल  मुझे भी डर लगता है
उम्मीदों  की क़तार देख डर लगता है
दबे हुए शब्दों में एक दबी हुई ज़िन्दगी देख डर लगता है
हर दौड़ को पीछे खींचते सोच से डर लगता है
आस भरी आँखें देख डर लगता है
डर  मिटटी भरे उन सोने के बर्तनों से लगता है .
जो थे मार्गदर्शक उनको भटकते देख डर लगता है .
ढकोसली  हँसी , बनावटी चेहरे देख डर लगता है
गलतियों को पर्दा डालती बातों से डर  लगता है
अवरोधरहित बहाव में पेचीदे मोड़ों को देख डर लगता है .

विश्वासघात

गुमनाम होने की तलब फिर जगी
अंधियारे में भटकने की कसक फिर जगी
जो भी पाया था, लुटाने की इप्सा फिर जगी
जो खोया था, उसे मिटाने की सोच फिर जगी
खुद को धुंध में भुलाने का मन हुआ
जो भी संजोया था, उसे बिखराने का मन हुआ. 

कितनी बार तो मन टूटा था,
पर आज ऐसा क्या हुआ -
किसी की आँखों में चढ़ना भ्रम था
वहीँ टिके रहना भी भ्रम था
विश्वास जीतना शायद एक वहम था
क्या किसी की नज़रों में ओछे दिखने का ग़म था?

विश्वास भी तो ताल पर थिरकते नट जैसा है
जम जाये तो विस्मित कर देता है
और थम जाये तो...

कल रात नींद नहीं आई

कल रात नींद नहीं आई
लगता है ज़िन्दगी ने अपना बोझ बढ़ा दिया था
बोझ और भार में यही फर्क होता होगा -
भार से सुनते हैं कोयला हीरा हो जाता है,
और बोझ से शायद कोयला धूल!!
बात वहीँ रुक जाती तो हवा हो जाती,
कुछ पनपता जेहन में और नींद में घुल-मिल जाता,
पर कुछ सिसकियों ने बात जकड ली,
कुछ घुला नहीं, धुला नहीं
और हवा हुई तो वो हुई नींद. 

खामोश शब्द

खामोश शब्द, अन्तर्द्वंद विकट
क्या छुपा है, क्या प्रकट
खोखला मन, विषम तन्हाई
कोरे कागजों के पुलिंदे, न खून न स्याही .

लिखने को उठते हैं हाथ
तरंगो से बिलखते जज़्बात
कुछ छुप जाते हैं
कुछ छप जाते हैं.

सोच का विशाल अम्बार
विफल शब्दों की लम्बी कतार,
बौखलाते बेकार.
अनकही - अकड़ कर खड़ी विरुद्ध
अनगिन शब्द व्यर्थ, लाचार. 

ले चल उस छोर जहाँ..

ले चल उस छोर जहाँ,
सरल, शिथिल मन हो,
मशाल जले ज्ञान की
ओजपूर्ण हवाओं मे
वेग भी प्रचंड हो.

आग की जो हो बात,
प्रबुद्ध, शुद्ध आग हो,
भाव रहे पाक साफ़,
सोच ही अखंड हो.

प्रकाष्ठ खुलते हो जहाँ
विचारों का सैलाब हो,
होड़ मे उठें जो शब्द
कीर्ति का हो आवाहन,
यश की ही जय हो.

धुंध को रौंदती,
सशक्त,साहसी रंग हो
ले चल उस छोर जहाँ
सरल, शिथिल मन हो.

Losing my religion

Rise without reason

Fight without a cause,

Two hoots to logic

All from the heart.

Flying through the wind

Flowing through the stream...

seeking extreme.
Never chewed a thought,
all instinct
No revisits, no regrets
All terse, all succinct.

Then a fall so hard,
Break, it did -
No, decimated it all!!!
Flow controlled...
screeched to a halt.
Now actions have a reason
Thoughts have a fault.
Blame it on one,
blame it on all,
No revisits, no regrets
I know, have lost it all.

Palace of Illusions

I have always been fascinated by the epic Mahabharata and its characters. And each time I read any literature related to it I get overwhelmed by the depth of the epic. Be it Sivaji Savanta's Mrityunjay (though very well written but still in awe of the tome) or Rashmirathi (veer rasa rendition by the great Ramdhari Singh Dinkar) - both coincidentally taking a broader look at Karna, the doomed warrior - the stories and sub-plots of Mahabharata never bore you.

And as I was contemplating of getting a copy (they say you shouldn't have a copy of Mahabharata, as it can lead to mayhem in your personal life) my good friend S handed me this book to read. Palace of Illusions by Chitra Banerji Divakaruni, is very different from all the Mahabharata related books I have read. The idea of Draupadi's (or Panchali's, as she would prefer) viewpoint of the tale and the war was something which only a lady could have thought of. And before I infuriate the feminists around let me clarify that this book is so well written that it feels like you are reading Draupadi's autobiography.

The book treats each of the event that shaped the persona of Panchali in a very human manner, without any superficiality. That is what would attract any avid reader and mind you once you start the book it becomes really difficult to put it down, even though you might be aware of the events ahead. Panchali's longing to be accepted in a patriarchal world where one was identified by only the accompanying male (husband, brother, father, et al.) is painted beautifully in the book. Her special relationship with the enigmatic Krishna and her brother, Dhrishtadyumna, her secret desires for Karna and what she thinks of her mother-in-law Kunti, are some of the things which make this book special. 

Everyone who has read/heard Mahabharata stories (or probably even seen the TV series) revisits this great tale of human desires, envy and egoism. This book gives an entirely new paradigm to all those events and takes the concept of story telling to a new-level.  

इंकिलाब

तमस रोज़ तुझ पर बरसता है
क्यूँ सिंहनाद की आस तू रखता है
सिंह कब झुण्ड में बिसरते हैं ,
विरुद्ध अकेले ही चल पड़ते हैं ।
प्रलय की कुंजी तुझमे है
हुंकार काल का तुझमे है !!
तुझमे बहता जीव का गूढ़ रहस्य
तुझमे ही विप्लव का प्रचंड सरित।
सब्र का बोझ तू क्यूँ ढोता है
धैर्य की हद क्यूँ नहीं खोता है?
क्यूँ विवश, लाचार यूँ फंसा है तू
मुँह छुपाये कहाँ रमा है तू ।
जननी की गोद तरसती है
तुझे मूक देख वो बिलखती है
जन्म का ऋण तुझे भरना है
संजो हुनर-शक्ति-साहस, समर का आवाहन अब करना है ।

छत, जेठ की रात और हमारे हिस्से का आसमान

आज जब एक ब्लॉग पढ़ा तो जैसे कहीं और ही बह गया। बात तो उसमे बस एक चौक की थी लेकिन ऐसा लगा कि लेखक ने हमारी पुरानी यादों का बस्ता खोल दिया। और ठीक उसी वक्त हमारे कुक ने किसी से फोन पर ट्रांसफार्मर का ज़िक्र किया।

फिर जो अगला दृश्य हमारी आँखों के आगे था वो था जेठ की गर्मी की रात और हमारे घर की छत। भागलपुर या उस जैसे छोटे शहरों में ये तो आम बात होती है कि पूरे मोहल्ले का एकलौता ट्रांसफार्मर, गरमी के चरम पर पहुँचते ही जवाब दे जाता है। और गर्मी की अँधेरी रातों में जनता अपने अपने छत को अपना कमरा बना लेती है। उसी में बच्चे एक लालटेन की रौशनी में पढ़ रहे होते हैं, कोई रेडियो सुन रहा होता है और कोई बस ऐसे ही आराम कर रहा होता है। वैसे ये बात गौर करने की है की छत पर पढने का मज़ा ही कुछ और है। जब मन उब सा जाये तो आस-पड़ोस में एक नज़र घुमा लीजिये। कुछ मोहल्ले वाले दोस्त दिख जायेंगे और इसी बहाने अगर किस्मत अच्छी है तो शायद कुछ नयन सुख भी ।


और फिर हमारे यहाँ तो तिवारीजी, सिन्हा साहेब, पाठकजी सब मिलकर या तो गर्मी को गरियाते थे नहीं तो विज्ञानं और तकनिकी को कहीं कोने में फ़ेंक कर, ट्रांसफार्मर के प्रचालन पर चर्चा। मतलब आपका ज्ञान विस्तार इस गति से होता था कि नए शब्द सीखने के साथ साथ आप ये भी समझ जाते थे की कितना तेल ट्रांसफार्मर में डालना पड़ता है, कब तक उसको चार्ज करना होता है और कितने दिनों में बिजली रानी आप पर दया बरसाती हैं। उस खुले वातावरण में आप न सिर्फ कम्युनिटी लिविंग सीखते हैं बल्कि तर्क-वितर्क का भी अभ्यास हो जाता है। और इतनी ज्ञान वर्धक बातें आजकल कहाँ हो पाती हैं। खासकर बड़े शहरों में वक़्त की तो ऐसे ही किल्लत होती है। फिर कौन छत पर चढ़े (पहले तो आप खुशकिस्मत हैं अगर आपके पास अपनी छत है) और कौन आस पड़ोस वालों से जिरह करे । और जो ख़ुशी बिजली रानी के आने पर होती हैउस ख़ुशी से तो शायद आज की जेनेरेशन वंचित ही रह जाये। अजी वैसी ख़ुशी तो हम कहेंगे इंडिया के वर्ल्ड कप जीतने पर भी नहीं हुई थी। एक सामूहिक शोर सा उठता था और कितनो की आहें,कितनो के उलाहना भरे शब्द से सैलाब सा बन जाता था ।

फिर लौट कर अपने कमरे में तो पढने की इच्छा भी नहीं होती थी। बस इंतज़ार होता रहता था की कब बिजली फिर से जाये और हम एक मायूस सा मुखौटा लगाकर, दिल में उमंग लिए फिर से छत पर पढने भागें। और फिर तारों के नीचे पढने/सोने का मज़ा ही अलग है। उसमे आप कभी टूटता तारा देख सकते हैं, कभी कोई धूमकेतु और कभी कुछ न दिखे तो एक भटकते हुए हवाई जहाज़ कि जलती बुझती रौशनी। आज इस बड़े शहर में तो अपने हिस्से का आसमान देखना मुश्किल होता है तो कहाँ कोई तारे और धूमकेतु देखे, हाँ हर दूसरे घंटे पर हवाई जहाज़ की रौशनी अदृश्य तारों की कमी का एहसास ज़रूर करा जाता है।