Lords of Bhagdatpuram - III

5. And it happened one afternoon

While running around one afternoon after our sumptuous lunch, all of us barged into the study room. There was no one there at that hour and we started excavating for something interesting in the cupboards. It was then that we found a dissection box - and boy! What an afternoon that turned out to be!

The surgical scissors, forceps, needles were completely new to us and we were more than eager to find out ourselves how can these be put to use. Though Bhaiya was not the eldest one in the motley group which had discovered the dissection box, he was our intellectual leader (de facto or de jure is left to one's imagination). It was still early afternoon and the elders were catching up with whatever the other party had missed or enjoying their siesta. 

We, a group of around seven-eight kids, tiptoed towards the open field on the right side of the house with our prized possession. This field to the right also used to be our cricket ground earlier and hence was the preferred one. The first hurdle was an easy one, since the aisle door at the verandah end was generally left open (Zamindars of repute and a renowned family name never close their palace doors, for who knows when a needy might come for help!). The major hurdle that lay between us and the open maidan was NanaBabu's room. This room was a protrusion on the eastern side of the house and had an entrance from the house. There was, though, another door that served as its exit facing the open field. The room most certainly was an after thought - probably to keep an eye on urchins creating nuisance in the middle of the day! To top it all there were two windows, both of which opened towards the verandah. The distance between the windows of the protruded room and verandah was at least fifty meters. This empty space was, as I recollect, where a tractor plough and its paraphernalia was perennially parked. 

This was an open trap and any movement was easily traceable from either of the windows from NanaBabu's room. Our idea was simple - run towards the open field with all your might and don't stop even if someone yells your name. Stop only to catch breath or if you are away from your adversary's line of sight. Pretty lame eh! But you can't expect eight-nine-year-old kids to have military grade planning. The stars and all the planets of this motley bunch of kids were busy preparing for the real dampener, ergo all of us made to the other side.

The scalpel was pretty shiny and so were the other blades in the box. Only forceps was matte and that's what caught my eye when the box was opened. Like any other kid, all my cousins were attracted by the shiny blades and grabbed whatever blade was within their reach, while I calmly took the forceps which was the only thing left in the box after a brief flurry for the blades.

With weapons clenched in our fists, we spread across the place in search of our target for dissection. This field, which used to be our cricket ground in recent past, had been sold out and construction of houses had started there as well. There were brick walls of all sizes around us, though not higher than our waists. Ankle-length grass covered the regions between the walls and it was here that we were looking for our prey - not to feast on but to dissect it.

Jumping across one of the walls in characteristic hunter style, by putting his palm and pulling his entire weight over it, Haddi shrieked - "Yahan par hai, jaldi Baba"!

That was the moniker my cousins had for Bhaiya and Baba without wasting any time jumped over the wall, across which Haddi had spotted a...toad! 

Within no time the entire gang had surrounded the toad and eagerly waiting for the Senapti's orders to neutralize it.

"Attack!", no sooner than Senapati shouted, the mini rangers jumped on the toad.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaahhh!", the shriek was pretty loud and we were sure it would reach NanaBabu's ears, who would by now be enjoying his afternoon siesta.

One of the mini rangers, or probably a few, in their eagerness and lack of blade swinging skills had hit (and gashed) our Senapati's webbing between the thumb and index finger. While Chhotu and Pujan tried to calm him down, Bhaiya started throwing choicest of expletives at all of us! 

Haddi and Dhiro had had enough (or so i thought) and they ran towards the Phulwari. If we are caught because of these fools then gone are all our weapons, dissection box and all our future planning of cutting open a few menial beings.

Blood trickled down Bhaiya's palm to the wrists while Chhotu was holding the webbing tightly to stop the flow. None of us were carrying any handkerchief or were filmy enough to tear our clothes and tie a bandage on Bhaiya's palm. While he continued shouting at us, we saw Dhiro and Haddi running back towards us with some shrubs clenched in their fists. So these guys hadn't chickened out at least!

No sooner they reached the place of accident/mishap/adventure (in future, we would be using different lofty terms to recount it), we saw they were carrying a marigold branch with quite a few leaves on it. It was Ayurveda 101 for me when Dhiro spoke like a sage explaining the healing properties of marigold leaves - at least someone had a presence of mind to run to Phulwari and pluck this Ayurvedic wonder. All of us plucked the leaves from that branch and started crushing the leaves and applying the juice on Bhaiya's palm. 

After a few rounds of pluck-crush-apply-rewind, the blood flow stopped. Consequently, Dhiro had that superlative smirk on his face while we gave a not so loud hurrah to celebrate. 

The toad survived to die another day though another one of his consanguinity did sacrifice its life, to the cause of science, when the experiment was repeated at our home in Tilkamanjhi. I was the only help this time which reiterated my belief on the adage that too many cooks indeed spoil the broth. The silver lining that emerged out of that afternoon adventure - Dissection box was flicked on that day by Bhaiya (though he always maintained that he had borrowed it - from whom?) and would remain prized possession of our adventure kit for many of our errands.

Lords of Bhagdatpuram - II

3. Phulwari

Well demarcated by huge conifers, Phulwari was the place where all of us would be found from afternoon onwards, irrespective of the summer heat or winter chill. The lush green lawn where we used to play conventional games (football, running around playing Chooa-Chooii) or the really interesting Budhiya Kabaddi. This is a game that was improvised on the go. The basic tenets though rarely changed - two circles on either end of the garden where one team has to cross over from one end to the other, while the Budhiya from the other team obstructs the opponent and not allowing him to cross. Simple game, multiple memories!

There are many photos of all of us (we were more than 30 cousins) posing in the Phulwari. The two entrances to the Phulwari were from the verandah end and also from the front entrance end (there was no physical gate there, only a partition in between a huge wall on one side and a bamboo barricade on the other). The barricade side of the entrance had a cycle stand - this was a parking stand (simple life, simpler commute modes!) for all movie goers, as Jawahar Talkies was right across the road (I can count lots of buildings named after Pt Nehru but this one beats them all - who names a Cinema Theatre after him, probably the first in the country!). 

The pathway from the main entrance towards the house was a patchy one, with Phulwari on its left. The entrance from the side had a tap - which would be always running. This tap was courtesy the municipal corporation water supply, which was again one of the rarest things to have in one's residence. Another thing that has remained with me after all these years is the distinct stench of the drain which encircled the entire house. The ever-running tap at the entrance and the other one in the Aangan were the main culprits. However, the bigger culprit was the callousness of the residents to ignore the wastage of water, as the water line didn't have any taps to stop the flow. It was just an open ended iron pipe which would start running as soon as the municipality started pumping water.

In later years, the verandah would become our 22-yards cricket pitch and Phulwari would become our mid-wicket region. This was a time when Tendulkar was not yet the legend we know and bowlers were still compared to Malcom Marshall or at best Kapil Dev. The eldest cousin of ours was an avid Marshall fan (his short stature and dark skin would add to the effect) and would bowl with all his might - imagine the pace with which the ball would be flying on a concrete pitch. The ball on most occasion would be a plastic ball since most of the older protective gears (from our other cricketing cousins) would have been either untraceable or stolen. Bats were always the regular heavy ones (we eventually moved to palm leaf stalk - quite symbolic of the decline of the affluence!). Ground was small, audience limited, fielders pretty much unused yet pace was Marshall-esque and every minor heroics forever etched in memory.


4. Verandah

The verandah (or was it meant to be a foyer?) and the two rooms attached to its front end, were once occupied by Bade Mama and his family. That is my earliest memory of the palatial house and as I think of it now, this part of the "property" has now been handed over to Chhote Mama. The two aisles on the either side of the house were the entrance for family members, while a guest would be made to generally wait at the wooden chowki at the verandah. On the outer side of the front end, after the pathway between the phulwari and the house there were a few steps leading to a huge empty space (which would later serve as our 22-yard concrete cricket pitch), which was the open part of verandah and then there were huge multiple cylindrical columns, connected by arched roof, which would make the house exude palatial vibes. This roof made the covered part of verandah. The wooden chowki was moved between the open and covered parts of the verandah as the season demanded or at the whims and fancy of an esteemed guest.  Each time we visited the place either one of the aisles would serve as the house entrance. It still puzzles me to this day as to who used to decide about which aisle should be used on a given day.

Both the aisles also opened on the two front rooms. One of the rooms would serve as Guest room (or Drawing room as it was referred to), again mysteriously decided by don't know who, while the other would serve as the study room.

When we were kids the study room was quite fascinating to us. In one of the cupboards, we would find lot of fountain pens (I don't think ball-point pens even existed in those days), "Cricket Samrat" - the Hindi cricket magazine and all sort of interesting stuff like posters of popular cricketers - Dilip Vengsarkar, Mohinder Amarnath, Kapil Dev, Gavaskar.

There were palm trees on either side of verandah (which would later yield timber for our cricket bats), which divided the house from fields on either side. Invariably there were a few benches too on the verandah, which would serve as tables for water, lassi, milk, tea or other such welcome drink offered to the guest.

अर्घ्य दान

अस्ताचल सूरज मटमैला सा दिखता है,

शब्दरहित चुपचाप सा

जाने क्यों ये मन छलता है।

कार्त्तिक षष्ठी की छटा है छाई

किस उधेड़बुन में तू फंसा है राही।

न तौलो अपने भाग्य का लेखा

कब क्या पाएगा किसने है देखा।

नि:स्वार्थ, आशीर्वाद की बस रख चाह

झुका दो गर्दन की कमान,

कर भी दो अब अर्घ्य दान।

अस्तोदय तो जीवन चक्र है

सरल कहॉं, यह पथ वक्र है।

कहते हैं, ये है विधी का विधान,

कहीं सुगम सरल पगडंडियॉं

कहीं अवरोधों के ऊंचे मचान।

सर झुका कर रमे है रहना

वाक बाण वाचालों के सहना,

मांगना नहीं कोई वरदान,

बस अभी कर दो अर्घ्य दान।

ठीक जैसा तुम्हे पसंद है

भोर की आलस,

नींद की ख़ुमारी 

और कुछ अधपके सपने 

समेट कर सबको उठ ही गया।  

नीली जीन्स, सफ़ेद शर्ट, 

ठीक जैसा तुम्हे पसंद है

डाल कर, निकल पड़ा।

गीत भर लिए रस्ते में 

की सफ़र लम्बा न लगे। 

गाड़ी रुकी और देखो - 

रुक गई यादें।

अब बस इंतज़ार 

वो चेहरे पे मुस्कान की आस 

एक कुलांचे मारता दिल,

दौड़ भाग करता हुआ,

हर आहट पर चौंकता मन।  

कॉफ़ी के धुएँ से सबको जकड़ रखा है।  

और पता है -

मीठा लग रहा है इंतज़ार।  

कर का मनका दारके, मन का मनका फेर

उसकी आंखों में मैं चोर देखता हूँ,
और दाढ़ी में तिनका -

खुल कर हस्ते हुए भी,
कनखियों से झांकता है।
सवाल सीधे नहीं कभी,
बड़े पेचीदे करता है।
घुमा कर जलेबियों सी,
बातें भी तो चाशनी में डूबो कर करता है।
नज़रें जमाना कहाँ सीख पायेगा वो,
आँखों से जब वैसे करतब करता है।
क्या नापता है, जाने क्या तौलता है -
शब्दों के वज़न?
फिर कांट-छांट भी तो मन में ही करता है।
सवालों के जवाब की जगह,
क्या मंद मुस्कान बिखेरता है।

पीली दाल में तैरता हुआ,
कुछ काला है सिर्फ, कि है पूरा छौंका?
उसकी आँखों में मैं चोर देखता हूँ
और दाढ़ी में तिनका।

पुञ्ज सारथी

जानते हो रुधिर उबल कर
व्यर्थ जब बह जाता है,
एक युग, तिमिर को ही मीत समझ
अंधियारे में गिर जाता है।

अग्रणी कपट, लालच का जाल बिछा
क्रांति-परचम कितने लहरा गए,
गोत्र, धर्म की बीन बजा
भारत को ही बरगला गए।

ज्ञान किताबी, विचार मतलबी, विश्वास-अंध को -
समाज-भावी कब क्षमा कर पाया है।
उठो अकर्मण्यों! कब तक कोसोगे तक़दीर-मुक़द्दर
तुम्हारे भाग्य में ये किसी ने नहीं लिखवाया है।

कोई नहीं कहता, होगी सुगम-सरल डगर
यही ध्येय है, न समझ कुपथ।
कर में ही तेरी है नियति
कर्म को ही अपना देव समझ।



यशगान गगन-भेदी हैं उठते
नर नारायण कहलाता है
समय भी उसकी पूजा करता,
किरण खींच जो लाता है।

भाषाभारत - https://www.bhashabharat.com/

मुझको भी तरकीब सिखा कोई यार जुलाहे 

अक्सर तुझको देखा है कि ताना बुनते 

जब कोई तागा टूट गया या ख़तम हुआ 

फिर से बाँध के 

और सिरा कोई जोड़ के उसमें 

आगे बुनने लगते हो 

तेरे इस ताने में लेकिन 

इक भी गाँठ गिरह बुनतर की

देख नहीं सकता है कोई 

मैंने तो इक बार बुना था एक ही रिश्ता 

लेकिन उसकी सारी गिरहें 

साफ़ नज़र आती हैं मेरे यार जुलाहे

गुल्ज़ार साहब की उपरोक्त पंक्तियॉं, ज़िन्दगी की पेचीदा सवालों को जैसे बिल्कुल सरल बना देती हैं। शब्दों के जादूगर ने ये एक नज़रिया क्या ख़ूब पेश किया है। पर एक और नज़रिया जो इस ब्लॉग पोस्ट के माध्यम से उजागर होने वाला है वो शायद उतना रंगीन न हो।

भारतवर्ष में मजदूरों की दुर्दशा पर कई अभिलेख मिल जाएंगे और उनकी आर्थिक बदहाली पर सामाजिक क्रान्ति की चर्चा भी उतनी ही संख्या में आपको मिल जाएंगे, पर इस दुर्दशा से निजात पाने के लिए कोई संघोष्ठी नहीं होती। इस समस्या के हल पर कोई  विचार संध्या नहीं होती। इस वर्ष हम आज़ादी की सत्तरवीं सालगिरह मना रहे हैं और बड़ी बड़ी बातें जो ऐसे मौकों पर की जाती हैं की गयी हैं। सामाजिक क्रांति पर विश्वविद्यालयों में नारेबाज़ी हुई, लोगों की जमात सामाजिक तबके में सबसे नीची जाती के मोहल्लों में गयी, हो-हल्ला हुआ, चित्र खिंचवाए गए और फिर सब भूल कर लोग अपने ख्वाबगृह में वापस चले गए।

 जुलाहों के वो मोहल्ले, जहाँ कुछ साल पहले तक लोग अपनी संकीर्ण जातिवाद से लैस होकर उनके हाथ से पानी पीने में संकोच करते थे (ये बात अलग है कि उनके बुने गए कपड़ों को खरीदने और बेचने में किसी को कोई संकोच नहीं होता था ), अब सामाजिक बदलाव की आस भी नहीं रखते हैं - सब कुछ, जैसा की आजतक होता आया है, भगवान पर छोड़ देते हैं । और ये एक बहुत बड़ा कारण है की भारत में आजतक सशस्त्र, हिंसक सामाजिक क्रांति नहीं हुई है (माओवादियों को समाज का हिस्सा मानना एक बड़ी गलती होगी, इसलिए उनकी गिनती यहाँ नहीं है) - भगवान का शुक्र है।  

लेकिन आज के युग में सामाजिक क्रांति खोखली नारेबाजी नहीं है। इंटरनेट ने इस खोखलेपन में कीबोर्ड की टप-टपाहट से अगर सामाजिक नहीं तो वैचारिक क्रांति की नींव ज़रूर डाली है। और इस दिशा में एक बड़ा कदम उठाया है भाषाभारत ने।  

भागलपुर की ऐतिहासिक धरती ने कर्ण की दानवीरता देखी है, बिहुला का अपरिमित साहस देखा है, चंदो सौदागर का अनुपम रेशम कारोबार देखा है - और शायद एक बार फिर वक़्त आ गया है उसी स्वर्णिम रेशम कारोबारी युग को वापस लाने का। भागलपुर का तसर सिल्क विश्वविख्यात है और आज तक उसी पुराने व्यापारिक ढांचे के तहत बिकता रहा है। लेकिन भाषाभारत ने एक पहल की है जिससे आप ऑनलाइन तसर सिल्क से बने कपड़े मंगवा सकते हैं और इसका सीधा लाभ जुलाहों तक पहुंचेगा। बिचौलियों को इंटरनेट के सहारे बड़ी शालीनता से दरकिनार कर दिया गया है। ये वैचारिक क्रांति सामाज-सुधार के साथ साथ हथकरघा बुनकरों को उनको अपनी मेहनत का सही मेहनताना दिलवाएगा, इसी आस के साथ भाषाभारत को बहुत सारी शुभकामनायें।  

अंजनेय

रंग पुता है पलकों पर
कि नक़ाब कस कर बाँधा है?
देखो इस भीड़ की भेड़ चाल
जिधर मोड़ा उधर का रुख करता है।

भूल के अपनी एकाकी
बेड़ी बाँध बस बढ़ना है,
लक्ष्य न ध्येय की कोई सोच
बस चलना है क्यूंकि चलना है।

कभी सोचा कि क्या पायेगा तू
पृथक अगर बढ़ जायेगा?
इन पगडंडियों पर तो कई चले
नए पथ प्रशस्त तू कर जायेगा।

ऋक्षराज यहाँ कोई नहीं
गुण तेरे कौन यहाँ बखान करे
सुशुप्त शक्तियों का कौन आवाहन करे,
रौद्र रुप खुद ही अब धरना है
अंजनेय खुद ही तुझे बनना है।  

Lords of Bhagdatpuram - I

1. A Death that I didn't see

My eyes widened and the shock almost gorged out the eyeballs.

"He is no more!", was Bhaiya's terse statement. Being the elder one in the second generation of the deceased's consanguinity, he was the affectionate one - the so called "apple-of-the-eye" of the previous generation. He was clearly shattered and I could see he was fighting his tears.

Quite dramatically, I lost hold of the bag that I had carried for my unsuccessful errand. Emotions all rolled up but didn't flow down the usual egress. It just conjured up all my memories of him and all my plans that I had stacked up for my future interactions with him.

What followed was retelling of how it happened all of a sudden. Within a span of four days (during which, I was coming to terms with my true introvert personality and the inner struggle), his condition deteriorated. Even doctors failed to confirm the real cause of his death - some said it was a heart failure, some blamed the kidney and multiple organ failure. To me it was a void that had grown into a chasm. 

Parents always are the protective ones - chiding and forcing their will on you, while grandparents are the more chilled-out ones, who give you more well-rounded perspective - having seen two generations (and in fact experimented their will on one), they know what exactly is the impact of over-protectionism. The void in me were the missing paternal grandparents, the chasm was the loss of the third one now!

Memories and nostalgia make you travel back in time. While memories are superficial - happy, sad, et al - rarely impacting your present state, nostalgia digs up all sort of things from your past, paints them with the darkest of colors and sucks up your present. So irrespective of you being in a joyous or sad mood, nostalgia gives you an urge, a want to relive the past.

My next few weeks were filled with nostalgia and as is my wont, I was brooding about all the missed opportunities of sitting with him and elaborately discussing life-plans, the swings and the dips - philosophy in general. 

They say he had a foresight, yet what I see is a lack of planning on his part for the rainy day. To me, he is an enigma - having carefully handled the entire family (quite a huge one) and was always a guiding force for all important decisions, after the death of his elder brother (who was old enough to be his father) - how did he miss educating his daughters. By education, I mean a formal education because otherwise they are worldly wise - objective, independent and always having an alternate perspective (Obviously, I am being carried away because of the personal bias). Then how did he miss a providence for his wife or was he under the ubiquitous, misconstrued denial, that he will be there for her, always.

2. Grandeur of a bygone era

Shri Babu Saheb Kartiknath Pandey was a zamindar of indisputable repute - a kind, big hearted man and probably the town Lordnagar was named after him. This family of zamindars welcomed the birth of the younger son, after almost twenty five years of the birth of the elder one. He must have been a pampered one, having two fathers (the elder one was almost there, ergo two mothers too!) . 

From what I have heard, his baarat was a cavalcade of cars (a luxury in those days), with him perched on top of an elephant - with a howdah (is what I imagine). This was a legendary baarat that was talked about by everyone from Bhagdatpuram to Jagadishpur. And whenever it was retold to us - with an extra addition of some resource, be it cars or animals which were part of that cavalcade - we could see a glint in the eye of the story teller.

The estate owned by this family was known as Karela and from my personal experience even after some twenty years back, the rickshawallahs at Bhagdatpuram railway station would feel privileged to ferry us to "Pandeyji's". The decline, though was gradual initially (for political reasons) and steep in later stages (for both personal, personnel and political reasons).

My earliest memories of the grandeur of the bygone era is that of a beautifully decorated entrance, the majestic "verandah" as it was referred to, with myriads of small colorful bulbs hanging from high above - parapets of the terrace, crowns of confers, thatched roofs et al. This is my memory of one of the marriages in the family (where my memory fails is whose marriage it was - mama or mausi?), where I sipping a cola (quite an affluence those days) and gaping, wide-eyed at the wonderfully decorated house. The huge columns of the verandah were also colorfully painted and decorated supplementing the mythical appeal of the house.

The house, as I remember it, was a palatial one flanked by huge fields on either side and a garden (or Phulwari) at the entrance. Like all majestic palatial houses there was a pathway separating the Phulwari and the verandah.

Date: 1st March, 1956 was the date when this palatial house was inhabited by its residents. The residents would comprise of the two brothers, their wives (one of them pregnant with my mother!), and two sons and a few daughters (this number needs a confirmation) of the elder brother. 

भीड़

मुल्क़ के हश्र की आओ सुने दास्ताँ
अनुशाषन लटका ताक पर,
कोने में दुबक कर,
सिसकी भर रहा हिंदुस्तान।

बिस्मिल, आज़ाद, भगत के
किस्सों पर खिलखिलाते नौजवान,
निठल्लों की खड़ी फ़ौज
कैसे हो भारत महान।



ज़िन्दगी चाल हुई महंगी बिसात पर
मौत का तिजारत हो गया सस्ता।
अब तो हर अड्डे-नुक्कड़ पर,
क्या चाय की टोलियॉं और क्या फेसबुक
सभी जगह है एक इन्किलाबी दस्ता।


पत्थर बरसे प्रहरी पर,
लठ बरसे सैनिक पर,
सर कटे जिस्मों का
लगता जाता ढेर
कश्मीरियत की ढाल के पीछे
चल रहा निन्यानवे का फेर।

गरीबों के लिए लड़ने वाले
खुद अमीर हो जाते हैं।
आज़ादी के नारे लगाकर
अपने आराम गृह को रुखसत हो जाते हैं।
मोमबत्तियों की भीड़
धू-धू कर जलती है।
ख्याल पकाओ उसमे
देखो शायद अब भी आंच बाकी है।

क्या, क्यों, कब बदलेगा
हमसे मत पूछो ये सवाल।
लठ, ज़ंजीर, हथियार उठाओ
चलो मिलकर करें बवाल।

कर्तव्य विमुख

खिड़की से आसमान ताक रहा था -
एक हल्का फुल्का सा बादल,
जैसे एक बहुत बड़े बादल से बने
रथ को खींच रहा था।

नैपथ्य में सुदूर सफ़ेद बादलों का एक बिखरा समूह था
शायद ऊपर से देख कर इठलाते हुए
मुस्कुरा रहा था।

ये छोटू लगा रहा
खींचता रहा,
और धरती पर नीचे उसका साया पड़ा -
छोटू का तो नहीं
लेकिन उस रथ का।

नीचे धरातल पर
घटा छा गयी,
मल्हार गए जाने लगे,
तपती धरती को जैसे चैन की साँस मिली।

आस में लगे उस कृषक के चेहरे पर
मुस्कान आ गयी।
कितना फरक है उस सुदूर
कर्तव्यविमुख उन बादलों में
और झुर्री पड़े इस चेहरे पर ! 

काबिल

ये फिल्म तो अभी कुछ दिन पहले रिलीज़ हुई थी और एक बार शायद टीवी पर दिखाई  जा चुकी है।  लेकिन वो काबिल और हमारे काबिल में हिन्दू मुसलमान वाला फर्क है।  (ये तो मैंने इश्क़िया से उठाई है :)) वो न सिर्फ सकारात्मक सोच वाले काबिल हैं बल्कि प्रेरणा स्त्रोत भी हैं।

हमारे काबिल, जिन्हें बिहारी लहजे में "ढेर काबिल" कहते हैं, आपको राह चलते अपनी काबिलियत दिखाते हुए दिख जायेंगे। और प्रदर्शन के बाद इन्हें किसी दाद या वाह-वाही की दरकार भी नहीं होती।  लेकिन गर मिल जाये तो जैसे इनकी बाँछें खिल जाती हैं, पगों में पर लग जाते हैं।

"मैं मेन रोड पर नहीं हूँ।  दो सौ बार इधर से गया हूँ, कभी कुछ नहीं हुआ।  और मैसेज तो मैं कर भी नहीं रहा था।  मेरे पास इयरफोन्स हैं, बस कॉल काट रहा था। "

ये है हमारे काबिल का दक्यानूसी लॉजिक - ख़ैर उनसे लॉजिक की अपेक्षा करना हमारी ही ग़लती थी।

"और सर अगर कोई, खुदा-न-ख़ास्ता, आपको पीछे से ठोक कर निकल ले तो किसको दोष दीजियेगा?", हमने बड़े ही शिष्टतापूर्वक उनसे ये सवाल पूछा।

"तब देख लेंगे" - वाह! जाने क्या देखेंगे ये - अपना फटा हुआ सर, लहेरिया कट मार कर भागते हुए अपने सवा सेर को, या ग़ुबार में डूबती अपनी चेतना को!

D को उन चालकों से खासी चिढ है जो एक हाथ में मोबाइल पकडे दुसरे हाथ से गाडी चलाते हैं - द्वि-चक्र वाहन होने के बावजूद, और वो ऐसे लोंगो को उनकी गलतियां ज्ञात कराने में बहुत ही तत्पर हैं।  चिढ़ तो हमें भी है पर हम वाक् वाणों के बदले उन्हें एक भौतिक प्रयोग दर्शाने में ज़्यादा विश्वास रखते हैं।  और हुआ ये था की D ने बगल से गुजरते हुए "ढेर काबिल" को आवाज़ दी (या यूँ कहें की उनकी भलाई के लिए, उन्हें उनकी ही ग़लती का एहसास दिलाने का प्रयास किया) और फिर वही हुआ जो आजकल काफी आम बात हो गयी है।  उन्हें बात टच कर गयी - उनके स्वाभिमान को एक बहुत बड़ी ठेंस लग गयी - हमें हमारी ही ग़लती कौन बता रहा है, उसकी इतनी जुर्रत, और वो भी एक लड़की!

ढेर काबिल ने आव देखा न ताव, द्रुत गति से अपनी द्वि-चक्र वाहन को खूब खदेड़ा।  कभी दाएँ से , तो कभी बाएँ से - वो अपने आपको सुरक्षा के गनमास्टर G9 ही समझ रहे थे - आगे निकलने की कोशिश की।  लेकिन अव्वल तो रास्ता इतना संकरा, थैनी हमारी उधार मांगी हुई कार और थैलीथ G9 की बेवकूफ़ी , न वो आगे जा पा रहे थे और न ही हम उन्हें साइड दे पा रहे थे।

आख़िरकार रास्ता थोड़ा चौड़ा हुआ तो हमने सोचा उनकी मेहनत को ज़ाया नहीं होने दिया जाये और एक ओर गाड़ी रोक दी। और हमें कहाँ इल्म की हमारे प्रतिपक्षी को बड़े फुर्सत से, किलो के भाव, लॉजिक का भंडार मिला है।  थोड़ी देर तक उनसे जिरह करने के बाद, अपनी नीयति को कोसते हुए हमने उनसे व्यंग्यातमत तरीके से माफ़ी मांगी, जो की उनकी समझ से वैसे ही परे थी , और अपने रस्ते हो लिए।

तो ज्ञान ये बंटोरा हमने -
रहिमन धागा व्यंग्य का, फेरो जब मन भाय
उपकार ताक पर रखकर, गरियाओ जो आ जाय!

To Sir

"हैं और भी दुनिया में सुख़नवर बहुत अच्छे
कहते हैं ग़ालिब का है अंदाज़-ए-बयां और"


As he would walk in the aisle, between the benches, our hearts would start racing - not me, please not me!
"Kya vahiyat hai ye?"
"Aap sirf nachtey rahiye, sawal toh aapse banenge nahi"
"Goldie...baap ka kya naam hai silvery !!"


Throwing such personal remarks at his shivering culprits, terror in std IX B (and later X B) had two legs, a lean stooped frame, a brilliant superlative brain and perfectly suiting his Einsteinesque face - a handlebar mustache! The chalk powder would be everywhere, on his trousers, his shirt, his forearms as he would delve and make us dive in the world of circles, tangents and that elusive alternate angle!


Old school, stern and never shy of using expletives Mr Javed Hasan, as a teacher, was a giant among dwarfs. Peculiar though he was in his handling of students, his teaching methodologies were ahead of its time. He introduced us to Mir publishers and books beyond our school curriculum - hence never letting us limit ourselves by such superfluous boundaries.


Maths and Physics, the two subjects on which a young mind's logical thinking rests, were the favorites in his arsenal (ghazals, literature, shayari were his other not so commonly known interests) and he would use them judiciously to take you on a virtual tour of the world. Anecdotes from yonder, interesting problems from Russian books (Mir publishers, AF Abbot, Concise Physics et al) were what he would often throw at you to give you a measure of how the world actually behaves and how Physics, with Maths in tow, quantifies that.


The sher at the start holds completely true for Sir Javed. Maths and Physics can be taught in a number of ways but the way he taught it, is a feat that can never be repeated. Many would argue that he was biased towards students who attended his private tuition but ask the same people did he even care if people paid him the tuition fees. I agree that the informal setting at his residence (palatial one at that) brought out his more casual side - quoting a lot from his personal experience, hum a couplet or two, even take a dig at India's sports performance (one such incident was the Olympics semi final match of Leander Paes, which as Sir had prophesied, Paes lost to Andre Agassi to bring back a bronze).


While he was a terror in class, during the tuition sessions he would be a completely different self, sometimes even overshooting his one hour limit. And no one complained, for on such days we would collect some gems from the field of philosophy, science and sometimes literature and music.


I had met him last just before our ICSE exams were to start and had promised myself to return back to the great man if I ever achieve some success in life - someday!


Someday, incidentally and colloquially is just an excuse to fool your heart when you know such a day is never going to come. Last month I came to know that he is no more and I could sense a rush of emotions, memories and humongous personal loss. I also felt a deep gash in my heart to be reminded of my false promise of meeting him again - someday!

झिझक

ये जो झिझक सा आ जाता है बोलते बोलते
याद है मुझे बचपन में तुम कितनी साफ़ बातें करतीं थीं माँ !
बोझ बहुत है क्या - हर सोच, हर शब्द में
उस वक़्त कब तौला था तुमने शब्दों को माँ !

उलझ सी जाती हो किन ख़यालों में,
कभी ख़ामोशी, कभी बस एक मुस्कान
क्या मैं इतना बदल गया हूँ माँ !

यूँ लगता है कई किनारों से जैसे
छिप छिपाकर बच कर निकलती हो
हमारा रिश्ता क्या इतना संकरा हो गया है माँ !

शब्दों के गुलज़ार

खिड़कियां खोल कर आज थोड़ी धूप बटोर रहा था।  जुकाम के कारण मिज़ाज थोड़ा दबा सा था सो गर्माहट के लिए वहीँ पास में बैठ गया।  कुछ किताबें भी स्टैक कर लीं की साथ में थोड़ी पढाई कर लें।  पर हाथ में जब मोबाइल फोन हो तो फिर कहाँ पढाई!
Twitter पर देखा की अभिषेक शुक्ल बहुत दिनों से छाये हुए हैं।  सुख़नवर हैं, बहुत अच्छी शायरी करते हैं।  पर डॉ कुमार विश्वास के साथ जो हुआ था या यूँ कहें की जो उन्होंने राह पकड़ ली है, हमारा मन नए शायरों से थोड़ा बिफर सा गया है।  और हुआ भी वही, हालांकि शुक्ल साहब की शायरी में बहुत सारे लफ्ज़ समझ नहीं आये लेकिन बहुत गहराई दिखी और उसी विडियो में नीचे गुलज़ार साहब का सजेशन भी आया।
गर्माहट थोड़ी धूप की तो थी ही पर जब गुलज़ार साहब का जश्न-ए-रेख़्ता वाला विडियो देखा तो जैसे गर्मी सिर्फ जिस्मानी नहीं रही, अंदर तक महसूस हुई। किताबें गुलज़ार साहब की लिखी हुई कंटेम्पररी कविता है जिसमे वो किताबों और उनकी घटती महत्ता पर टिपण्णी करते हुए कुछ ख़ूबसूरत शब्दों का जाल बुनते हैं। एक सैंपल:

"ज़बान पर ज़ायका आता था जो सफ़ा पलटने का, 
अब ऊँगली क्लिक करने से एक झपकी गुज़रती है "

ऐसे शब्द जैसे गुलज़ार साहब के सिग्नेचर हैं, सिर्फ वो ही ऐसी रूटीन सी चीज़ (उँगलियों को चाट कर पन्ने  पलटने का तरीका) पर एक शेर लिख सकते हैं। उनके बात करने का तरीका भी निराला है - रुक कर, थोड़ा ठहराव देकर अपनी भरभराई आवाज़ में (शायद इसी आवाज़ से गर्माहट टपकती है ), जैसे कोई उम्रदराज़, अपना सा कोई, ज़िन्दगी के मायने समझा रहा हो। और उनकी उर्दू तो जैसे चाशनी में डुबोये उस पंतुआ की तरह लगती है जिसे अभी ताज़ा तलकर निकाला गया हो।
इन सब के अलावा उन्होंने एक बात बताई जिसका ज़िक्र बहुत कम होता है - उर्दू (उनकी और हमारी, पाकिस्तान और हिंदुस्तान की), उसपर अन्य भाषाओँ का असर और उर्दू लिपी।  गुलज़ार साहब ने तो शबाना आज़मी की एक गोपनीय बात का भी खुलासा किया की उन्हें उर्दू लिपी नहीं आती और वो देवनागरी में ही उर्दू पढ़ती हैं।  लेकिन लिपी से तलफ़्फ़ुज़ पर असर नहीं पड़ना चाहिए।  और एक बेहतरीन उदहारण भी दिया -
"पिताजी दवा खाने गए हैं" और
"पिताजी दवाख़ाने गए हैं"
नुख़्ते की हेर फेर और शब्दों के मायने बदल जाना कोई नयी बात नहीं है पर ऐसी रोज़ाना सी बात का उदहारण सिर्फ गुलज़ार साहब ही दे सकते हैं।  एक छोटी सी बात से उन्होंने बता दिया की वो कितने प्रोग्रेसिव हैं - चोंगा बदल लेने से आदमी नहीं बदलता, तो उसी तरह लिपी बदलने से भाषा नहीं बदलनी चाहिए।  अलिफ़, बे, ते , टे से बढ़कर है उर्दू भाषा और उसे बांधने के बजाय अलग अलग साँचों में ढलने देना चाहिए!

PS: विडियो देख कर बहुत ही ज़्यादा इन्फ्लुएंस हो गए इसलिए भाषा थोड़ी भरी भरकम हो गयी है - I am not complaining though!

Theatrical Physics - Of uncertainty and complimentarity

An evening well spent, in the company of my better half and and more than half a dozen physicists (or at least vocally pronounced) is how a concise sentence would describe our evening. For descriptive insight, read on.

Surfing through the morning newspaper I chanced upon a section in the entertainment supplement, which lists down events, plays and similar reasons to plan a nice evening. Copenhegan, written in bold, quite stood out in that myriad of words (the name always rings a bell in my head - as does Casablanca, which has such exotic ring to it - with so much history and of course the Copenhegan interpretation). I was startled when I found out that it was a play on the famous meeting of Neils Bohr and Werner Heisenberg in the autumn of 1941 at Copenhegan (which Bohr remembered as September and Hiesenberg as October, or so it was in the play). D agreed to watch it without battling an eye lid but with a smile - mysterious as it appeared, I knew what it was for - this play would be fodder for my pseudo-intellectual show off at social gatherings, which I admit I don't forfeit, given a chance (rather I grab it at the first opportune moment).

The play was scheduled at 7:30 pm in the evening and having booked the tickets in the morning while sipping my bed tea, I was restless throughout the day. I was so looking forward for the day to wane and as the long shadows went past the building oppposite to our apartment I started hinting D, subtly though, to shut down her laptop and get ready for the play.

We reached Ranga Shankara just in time to grab a bite - since the play was almost 2.5 hrs long, it was a wise thing to do - and also grab a seat which was anything but a compromise (Ranga Shankara is pretty well designed, accoustically speaking, nevertheless I feel that a sense of 'being cornered' creeps in if you are not sitting in the middle rows). Before Mr Karnard's voice over asked us to switch off our mobiles, D pointed out to me how there were a few eager ones in the audience, clicking pictures and promptly posting them on SM.

As the play started with names like Fermi, Pauli, Chadwick, Dirac thrown in casually (it was Bohr and Heisenberg talking about their peers so what else would you expect, or as Heisenberg says in the course of the play, they were the innermost electrons of Bohr) I could sense a rush of emotions in my head. With so much of history, morality, theoretical physics entwined with politics and just the right dose of drama, I almost had a lump in my throat.

A father figure to many theoretical physicists of that era, Bohr is described in the play as their spiritual leader (Pope is how his wife, Margrethe, refers him during one of the lighter moments of the play). With just three actors the play covers almost three decades of the twentieth century, circa 1924 to events ending in the year 1949.

I had done some reading about the play in the morning and knew that it had had multiple shows at Broadway and London National Theater. Here in Bangalore, however, this was the only show and with the lackluster response it doesn't seem like there would be more shows (what a pity!). To top that, I even saw a few walking out in the middle of the play. It shouldn't, however, be any reflection on the wonderful performances by all the three actors who gave their heart and sole to bring to life the believable and humane side of the greats.

The 1941 rendezvous between Heisenberg and his spiritual guru Bohr is wrapped in mystery to this day and there have been numerous conjectures regarding what they discussed. This play picks up one such thread and digs out political, social, nationalistic, scientific, geographical perspectives of the first half of the tumultuous century which has shaped the current world and defined so many nationalistic prejudices. There is absent mindedness of Bohr, mathematical faux pas of Heisenberg, glimpses of German penury after first world war and subsequent resurrection, gestapo's outreach, fascism and Nazi pride, Auschwitz - this play is actually one huge tome of history in itself.

When Heisenberg recounts his story (or his side of history) of crawling in a war torn Berlin (I am presuming that is at the end of first world war) to buy daily essentials, promising all along to himself to not let his children and grandchildren be born in such poverty, I was deeply enthused, even moved! He also recounts how 1920's was such a wonderful decade where he earned his PhD under Bohr and also how he became so close to Bohr's family at Copenhagen. These insights made the play really interesting.

And the life-changing decisions of the greats based on their perspective of the situation - Heisenberg remains in Germany after the war because of the love for his land and what he had seen, Bohr abhors Germany, Hitler and finally escapes to Las Alamos, via Sweden (which again as Heisenberg recalls was facilitated by a contact he had at the German embassy) - which the play so seamlessly incorporates in the course of its running, are rare gems that are hard to find in any war literature. Some other gems that I collected from this play are how Heisenberg was an expert piano player and could pick what note was being played, in the midst of a lunch where many of his peers are discussing, well what else, physics. How he had to cycle for three consecutive nights to escape from Berlin after the war had ended to reach a monastery in a West German village and like a lost, adamant child (without a caring, helping hand of his foster father) was trying to build the bomb. They had dug a hole near that monastery and had run multiple iterations in trying to reach the critical mass and trigger the chain reaction for fission, with only a lump of Cadmium as the controlling element - an idea at which Bohr is shown scoffing at in the play.

History is victor's story and this play so clandestinely touches this part in its second half (a ten minute-break divided the play into halves). After the war and long after the dust of Hiroshima and Nagasaki had settled, when Heisenberg reaches America, all the physicists present there refuse to shake hands with him. The victors, who were responsible for killing more than one lakh people would not shake hands with a physicist, who had fought his own war of morality and the promises that he had made as a young lad to revive Germany to its old glory. The victors, who raced ahead in the war, all thanks to the enormous money pumped into the Manhattan Project and with the degree of stress incomparable to what Heisenberg had undergone, not to forget frequent bombings which broke more than physical structures around Heisenberg. Physics was defeated by economics and what evolved out of it was a capitalist uni-polar world (who knows what would have happened if Heisenberg had sold his soul to the devil, buried his morality and had been successful in creating the bomb - a completely new world order may be; more fanatic and chaotic but would that be any different from the disheveled world we have inherited now?).

The play revisits a scene multiple times, where Bohr and Heisenberg go for a stroll on that autumn night of 1941 and each revisit gives a different treatment to the snapping at of Bohr at probably what Heisenberg said. At the start of the play it shows a warm camaraderie between the two, in further iterations it opens up the mind of Heisenberg and his moral dilemma regarding the bomb, shows the layers of queries floating in Bohr's and Heisenberg's minds. The play's climax is a very intelligent "what if" scenario - What if Bohr had not snapped at Heisenberg and instead cross questioned his intentions and provided him the warm adobe that the self-doubting Heisenberg had come to seek from Bohr. Probably then, history would have no mention of a "fat man", or the "little boy", rather an Ubermensch!

Few conversations and an impromptu journey

This journey, pretty close to being a romantic one, was also - under all measurable criteria - quite a talkative one. D was in Bhubaneswar (mind your b's, v's and pha's when in Odisha) and suggested over a call that we can mix business and pleasure that weekend, as she was relatively less occupied during that period. I checked the ticket rates and to my surprise Indigo's web services software had shockingly failed to apply the surge rates, which generally they so efficiently do. I quickly switched to incognito (you should always do this lest you want all data hungry web crawlers to hog on your personal data - mind you google still has access to your data, even when you are incognito) and booked a return ticket, without burning a deep hole in my pocket.
Meru cabs is the most trustworthy one when it comes to airport drops in Bengaluru, especially when our airport is in Chennai (last checked the latest uber app was allowing me to book cabs well in advance, more than the usual hour or two - yes more power to the consumer!) and even though it was just 5 hours before my journey would commence, the reliable service sent me an assuring message that i'll be picked up on time. The excitement of all this left me sleepless that night which was anyway very short!
Venkatesh called me at 2:30 am sharp, even before message details were sent from Meru. He was all too eager to pick me up for my 5:30 am flight. Within half an hour he called me again informing that he was waiting downstairs. I grabbed my "Oracle - iXL program" bag (that was the only bag that would contain all that I needed for my weekend sojourn - travel light, yes but unlike me do invest in your travel accessories and again unlike me, never disclose your identity via your luggage!) and hopped on the Verito to embark on a short and sweet (it was!) journey.

Venkatesh didn't loose any time to start a conversation - how he used to stay near Bomanahalli, was earlier a freight carrier driver, how he moved on to become a cab driver at Dell call centre and became familiar with Bengalure roads/traffic.

"Moved to Chikkaballapur now, saar...very expensive Bengaluru!"

"Drive two days straight, crash at my relatives sometimes...go to Chikkaballapur every 4-5 days"

"Two kids, one boy one girl...education very expensive here"

"Kids very smart these days, saar, speak fast english...know more about smartphones and tech than us"

"Had to pay 18K for boy's UKG and they were asking for 25K for his first standard...Chikkaballapur much cheaper, only 14K for first standard"


14k!! I bet I had completed my entire schooling in an amount less than that!

"You from Bengaluru?"

Not sure if he heard my response.

"Oh! Siddaramaiah is very corrupt, saar...takes money from everyone...he didn't pass a plan for an IT park near Chikkaballapur since the builder was not paying anything upfront and instead was bargaining to pay after the IT park was ready...he knows he wouldn't be around when they complete it...so was asking for upfront money"

Though I wasn't sleepy yet I was certainly in no mood to have a conversation at that hour. But what he said next, forced me to have an engaging conversation with Venkatesh!

"If i don't talk I'll fall asleep, saar!"

What! No!! You please continue - we might as well discuss global warming, US presidential elections, gonorrhea, piles anything under the sun to keep you awake!
"Pubs - Siddaramaiah has changed the timings now...drink till 1 am now and again he is making money with that."

"Naarth Indian girls drink too much saar...have taught south Indian girls also now"

So probably he did hear my response to his query.

"So drunk they can't even stand straight (makes a gesture with his hand - thumb and lil finger in a straight line and other fingers folded, shakes it then to mean girls unable to stand normally after drinks!)"

"Do not dress well also and in that condition anything can happen...not everyone thinks alike, saar"


Was I supposed to feel offended or tell him that it is their choice to dress, drink or do whatever with their life - instead i did what i do best - made a mumbling sound of neither agreeing nor disagreeing with him and remained silent till he picked up another thread!
"Thanks a lot Mr Venkatesh, it was nice talking to you!", was how this leg of my journey ended.

"Kursi kii peti aise lagayein..." - i had boarded the plane and every time I hear "peti" i can't stop smiling (the way the flight attendants speak Hindi with an English accent, amuses me to the core - in fact i go all bonkers in my head but try to keep only a smiling façade, without offending anyone!)

"Good morning ladies and gentleman, this is your captain, Anand Pillai speaking" - no sooner we were in air the captain decided to show off his oratory skills or probably to show off his, I admit, very thick baritone! It was almost like God talking and keeping us braced about the events at 20K feet above MSL.

"It is around 1200 kms to Bhubaneswar and we'll be covering this distance in little more than an hour and half"

Whoa jet speed - please do your math to get as astonished as I was! (not that this was the first time I was amazed by jet speed but accompanied, as it was, with the heavy baritone, it sounded so incredible!)

And Mr Pillai spoke intermittently throughout the flight from his "flight deck" about temperature, weather in Bhubaneswar and if it is cloudy we might feel some disturbances and jitters. However, it was his rich baritone which reassured me, at least, that such minor hiccups will be well taken care of!
He even spoke in Hindi (minus the accent thankfully), equally reassuringly, about how expertly he will take care of everything - or something similar, I wasn't paying much attention at the content and was rather lost in thoughts of how he could as well earn a living by doing voice overs in movies, ads - oh wait but where is the thrill in that! Here at a height of 20K he can bring people close to divinity, shake the belief of atheists - yup no thrill in being a voice over artist, it was a humbug thought!

"You must have guessed from the engine noise that we are descending..." - this was the last monologue from God! But we guessing from engine speeds - what are we Aeronautic geniuses, come on God!

Bhubaneswar is a relatively clean airport, when compared to the airports in this part of the world (alà Ranchi, Patna, you get the drift I hope). Trying to keep up with the mood and plan of this journey, I thought of taking a bouquet of red roses. As I was waiting at a florist just outside the airport Mr Pandav (the way he came to help me I guess Hanuman would've been an apt name), came rushing towards me.

"What type of bouquet you want Bhaina"
"Colorful - no I don't have roses"
"Where you going sir? Mayfair, come come"

"Aye one to Mayfair", he signaled at the pre-paid taxi counter. May be Pandav was the perfect name, handling everything with dexterity - Pandav is what Pandav does!

As I was waiting for the cab what amused me was the vehicle registration numbers around - OD, overdose! And I was about to know what, or rather whose overdose, was I about to get. I got into the pre-paid cab, which stopped to pick me up and guess who was the driver - Pandav! Did he have 5 twins or pentains or whatever you call it! OD!

"Bhaina this is my cab! I have three more cabs"
"You want bouquet...what is your budget?"
"I know a florist, my shop only, will take you there."
3 cabs, florist! Was he the most understated millionaire of Bhubaneswar!

He helped me get the roses I was looking for and also gave me his number in case I need to see more of his clones - just kidding, what he meant was if I needed any cabs for sight seeing.
Thankfully words from arbitrary characters dried up as I reached my destination. After two interesting, calming but breezy days at Bhubaneswar I am back with lovely memories of a chirpy jouney - full of spoken words and some unspoken ones too, by the way. A plane full of snoring paxs was the last sound of the journey which I remember, before I returned to the cacophony of Bangalore traffic.

November Country (Music)

I had started listening to Bob Dylan cos of my fascination with a certain Mr Jobs and of course because my good friend B used to listen to him. It used to bemuse me how can a guy with minimalist music (usually harmonica and guitar - that is all!) render such beautiful songs! But I may be biased, it was always lyrics for me, music was just a way to remember songs - that again holds only for me!

Last night was one of confusion almost a national emergency and a time of indecision. Shall I go to the ATM now or shall I be dependent on online transactions or may be leave the answer blowin' in the wind!
500/- 1000/- rupee notes were going to be history as we know them and a new set of notes would start flowing in a day or two. ATM's will be closed for two days, bank for a day, you'll be allowed to exchange your notes till 30th December - too much info and as it always happens (with me again) all that drove me to inaction. I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to - not to the ATM even!

The mood carried on to the jingle jangle morning and after explaining my maid the fate of 500/-, 1000/- rupee notes, switched on Apple Music which by default started playing Dylan! Oh yes this man has won the Nobel for literature (not peace right - that was one of those conspiracy theories which has become so stale that it has become a joke!).

Zac Brown Band is another one that makes my kind of music - No Hurry, Chicken Fried, Knee deep. Hard core non-veggies would swear by country chicken and am pretty sure it's the country chicken that was fried for that song!

That's the way you need to take it my countrymen this beautiful November - take it easy, switch off from all the brouhaha and get your
toes in the water, ass in the sand
Not a worry in the world, a cold beer in your hand
Life is good today. Life is good today.

धीमी आंच पर जी है ज़िन्दगी

धीमी आंच पर जी है ज़िन्दगी
कभी उबले नहीं
कभी बिफ़रे नहीं
संचय कर उष्ण को
बिखेरा नहीं व्यर्थ में।

जिरह जो हुई कहीं
राह बदल कर चल दिए
भूलकर सारी बातें
धधके नहीं व्यर्थ में।

झिझक जो मन में आया कभी
विचारों को मोड़ दे दिया
पलट कर कभी उधर गए नहीं
भटके नहीं व्यर्थ में।

पाखंडी

वो जो हममें तुममें दोष है
उसको छुपाने के लिए
आओ थोड़ा ढोंग करें
ताक पर रख कर बुद्धिमता
खुल-ए-आम हुड़दंगी पाखण्ड करें !


रंग-बिरंगी बहती धारों में
पकडें अपनी एक धार
लगाकर गोते, डुबकी उसमें
छक कर उसके लें मज़े
और उसे बर्बाद करें !

सवाल कोई उठाये तो
उसका ही तिरस्कार करें
ओढ़ कर अपनी अभेद सोच
हर नए विचार का बहिष्कार करें !

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।