Few Stories and a Mango Tree - 2

​I vaguely remember what I was doing that eventful afternoon more than 30 years ago. However, I do remember what it led to - an ideal toy for us kids and loads of fun which gave us amazing memories and a craving to own that toy someday!

Willy's Jeep is a mean machine in the world of machismo or even otherwise. It has stood the test of time, since its launch in India in the 60's, and is still considered a stud vehicle. If you have one you are the man and that's how the tagline should go!

I do not belong to that era, however, I am pretty sure that Willy's Jeep or just Jeep, as they say in common lingo, must have made its impression on the Indian psyche - especially the macho psyche - post Aradhana, the 1969 Shakti Samanta classic. Rajesh Khanna (without any bulging biceps nor a six pack to match) made girls swoon with just a tilt of head and a disarming smile - which some find irritating in our era. And what is better than Rajesh Khanna - Rajesh Khanna riding on a Jeep, driven by the hero's friend, the stereotyped Sujeet Kumar, with that smile (killer or irritating - take your pick) and gyrating head! That gave the girls of that era the much sought after reprieve from their mundane lives and boys of the 70's, the excuse to own the macho machine!

One such macho machine, with Mama astride and his Sujeet Kumar in tow, drove into our Bengali styled home in Deoghar on a sleepy afternoon. This was late 80's, pre-liberalization India, when people used to reach earlier than their travel plan messages.

Ma and Mausi were pleasantly surprised and we kids were shocked not by Mama or his companion but by that beautiful gray colored Willy's. He parked it under the mango tree at the house's entrance - the innocuous looking one with terminatoresque branches and a girth to match. And there it laid parked (or may be is still parked) to become a bag of bare bones structure minus all the proverbial bells and whistles!

The urgency of the drive or for that matter the purpose of the trip is lost somewhere in the time travel of the last 30 years or was never told to us kids. I don't even remember for how long Mama stayed but his Jeep stayed with us as long as we stayed in that house in Deoghar.

Majestically parked under that mango tree Jeep was our adda. We would be Jackie Shroff one day, or Mithun or whatever hero's movie we had watched the previous weekend on our neighbour's VCR. This story is so old that neither we had TV's at our homes, nor Doordarshan had started it's weekend movie Bonanza! Mr. Bachchan was on his waning spree and Anil Kapoor was just making his mark around that time so it was mostly Gunmaster G9 who was ruling the roost in Bollywood. And we would each take turns to be the CBI officer who was saving the country from unknown enemies (unseen , too in this case, since all of us were heroes in our heads and in our respective parallel stories).

A special mention is needed for the shiny crystal head on the gear lever, which was cynosure of all kids' eyes. It would serve as a secret transmitter aiding the very stylish Gunmaster G9 on his super secret missions, to being an automatic button to pop guns off the dashboard (which was minimalist in that Jeep), to being a plane gear lever being handled by very able G9's side kick. Sometimes the Jeep would be our aircraft and this lever with its crystal head would be magically used to drop bombs, fire bullets or just convert the craft back to Jeep.

The windshield in the front of the Jeep also deserves another special mention. It had a mechanical lever to open it and place it on the hood. We didn't have much success with the lever and I even remember one day one of us had a finger crushing experience with it (and then that kid was carried away by Ma or Mausi away from the after effects of the mercury shooting mood of the male members of the family). The Stepney* tyre that was fixed on the rear half-door (rustic yet beautiful - Jeep designers knew their machology) of Jeep also served as an essential prop in our adventure stories. Someday our hero would be hanging on for his life on it while the Jeep would be a speed boat, racing past all super villains and their Tonygunj (I came to know much later that it was Tonygun and that it was actually a very efficient assault rifle used by Gangsters of New York). On better scripted days, it would serve as a cover against adversary gunfire for our hero who would be shooting from his imaginary gun, with uncountable bullets in it, to save damsels in distress.

Jeep, the original company, has finally made an impressive entrance in the Indian market which makes me wonder - if only the owners of this Jeep had retained the four-wheeler and if only we had known the worth of that beautiful beast then!


*Stepney in UK was the place where a typical styled Tyre was manufactured, which could be used as spares in older cars and hence the name.

Few stories and a Mango Tree - 1

An innocuous looking mango tree, especially the one with branches stronger than terminator's biceps and a girth to match, can be quite a story teller. Sitting at a serene resort in Coorg and looking down at an unusually tall mango tree brought in dollops of some from a bygone era.


It was a swing, as I remember it and a pretty crude one at that. One of the top branches on that mango tree (with terminator sized branches and girth to match) had entwined across it a long rope which then encircled a tyre, if my memory serves me right, on the other end. And on that tyre was Mausi! Swinging first, sitting with legs crossed and then daringly standing up on the tyre and swinging even harder!

I must have been 6-7 years old and don't remember anyone else around. Mausi was entrepreneurial enough to have thought of the idea of a swing and was managerial enough to get her idea executed by her man Friday, Bidesia.

It was a Bengali styled house, with shuttered windows to match in Deoghar. A small verandah led to the house, flanked by pillared protruding on either side and stairs leading to that. From the main entrance to the verandah was our playground (it looked gigantic at that age), and what amazingly memorable games it hosted! From the ubiquitous cricket to football to gulli (kancha as called in our parts then) to pitto (laghori for the uninitiated) and each game with its share of memories!

The mango tree, mentioned above was to the right of the entrance and to the left was a huge cylindrical well. It had stairs, encircling the well and leading to its parapet at a height of around 10 feet from the ground. I remember this well being mostly dry and occasionally Ranjan chacha diving in to fix the tullu pump at its base. As I recall the walls of this well were pristine white.

The stairs served various purpose from being a stadium for the audience watching our sundry games to hiding place during luka chhipi (I-Spy desi version) to hiding injured kids on whom tragedy had befallen at a prime time - sample instance, once when Papa was starting for office I stepped on a glass shard, which lacerated my not so meaty right ankle and Mausi rushed to carry and hide me behind those huge walls, all this while covering my mouth to stifle my agonizing wail! All this was to curtail any shooting up of the proverbial mercury indicative of the the temper, which in those days elder male members of the family, tended to loose, irrespective of the demand placed by the stimulant - less salt in food * mercury shoot * plate flying tending to escape velocity; Your kids failing to scale up to Sharmaji's son * mercury shoot * Newton's second law, force exerted by hand's mass and acceleration proportional to temper.

Well coming back to the swing perched high above from the ground, on that mango tree and I gaping at the daring act of Mausi swinging higher and higher and each time almost coming to level with the terminatoresque branch from which the swing was hanging. And no, I wasn't cheering her for my six-year-old self was in awe-scare-shock all at the same time. Meanwhile I was already planning what I would do when I reach Mausi's age - match her dare or might even surpass it, kissing the horizon as I would sway on a better version of this tyre-swing. Yes - I was after all the next gen of her family and it was expected of me to figuratively and literally achieve greater heights!


A crack-a thud and an aaaaah is how this story ends! Crack was thunderous, thud was loud and aaaah was comparative to the wail which Mausi had tried to stifle few days ago. The terminatoresque branch turned out to be just a poser and cracked no sooner it was asked to prove its worth and Mausi came crashing down on the terra ferma. I don't remember much after that fall as I had gone back to my awe-scare-shock state again!


However, with that fall, my dreams of achieving greater heights, came crashing down too. You are nothing but a continuum of your present, past and painful lessons from the past and this vicarious pain that I have carried has made me a man who hates anything remotely related to yo-yo motion.

अब वो हँसना सीख रही है।

तनी भृकुटी को अब वह
आहिस्ता-आहिस्ता सहज कर रही है
अब वो हँसना सीख रही है।
गीतों की अपनी मंजूषा में
राग नये वो लिख रही है
अब वो हँसना सीख रही है।
ऑंखों को ऑंखों में टिकाकर
समय की गति जैसे रोक रही है
अब वो हँसना सीख रही है।
सीख के इस समन्दर में
गोता पहला ही ले रही है
अब वो हँसना सीख रही है।

वो रोकर अपनी बात कहती है

वो रोकर अपनी बात कहती है
भूख हो या हो कोई कष्ट
या ध्यान कभी जो हो भ्रष्ट!
दिन में कम,
लम्बी कहानियॉं हर रात कहती है
वो रोकर अपनी बात कहती है।

तान लम्बी कभी,
कभी हिचकियों से शुरुआत करती है।
पेचीदे नहीं
सरल सीधे सवालात करती है
ऑंखें मूंद कर भी
क्या खूब खुराफात करती है
वो रोकर अपनी बात कहती है।

A long night

He was lying on his back and through the corners of the eye keeping a close eye on, something which looked like a blob from that distance and angle. It had been a long day and his eyelids weighed a ton. He tried turning to his right on his side to get a better view. This sudden movement seemed to have caused enough dent in the environmental, rather circumstantial, parameters. He saw the consequent movement of the blob and could sense an icy shiver run down his spine! Battling cold sweat, he held his breath and position and squinted at his adversary. Only a trained sniper could have held this position and angle without any muscular movement yet with such alacrity!

All through this exercise a constant thought ran through his mind - what if...? No! He had prepared mentally for all this and trained his brain for this situation over the last few weeks! It was a mental game after all - or at least that’s what his comrades, who had gone through similar crusades, had told him! And how well had they spoken, with a glint in their eye about the raison d’être of human existence and the accompanying joie de vivre!

His adversary didn’t make any further movements and he swiftly moved his left palm over her. And that was a blunder he had not foreseen. What followed was mayhem...loud cries interspersed with hiccups! He had to give up. Slowly he rose up and picked her up in his arms, patting her and uttering musical words, which had a remote semblance of some obscure lullabies from his subconscious memory, to console her!

दुहिता

तुम रचना नये कीर्तिमान

मैं मील का पत्थर बन जाऊं

तुम चमकना सूरज के किरणों सी

मैं रंगो बू सा बस जाऊं

तुम बनना अपने रंगमंच की नायिका

मैं नैपथ्य संगीत बन जाऊं

तुम महाकाव्य सी कृति बनना

मैं अलंकार, रस, छन्द बन जाऊं

तुम मोड़ना अपने ढंग से जिन्दगी

मैं मार्ग पट सा बन जाऊं

परदेस सा अब भी लगता है

बहती पछिया, पूरवैया भी

जाने मन क्यों नहीं तरता है

खुशबू अनजानी लगती है

कुछ तो अधूरा सा लगता है।

होने को आए अब दो दशक

पर जाने क्यों यहॉं 

परदेस सा अब भी लगता है।

कुन्बा भी बस गया है अब तो

सुविधाओं का अम्बार सा लगता है,

कमी की कमी खटकती है

पैर जमने से क्यों डरता है?

कुछ फंसा रह गया है वहॉं

आवाज़ जो देता रहता है।

एक तान छठ के गीतों की

आरी सी चला जाती है

पहले से आहत इस मन को

और विक्षिप्त कर जाती है।

खान पान अपना लिया है हमने

बोली से जाने मन क्यों कतराता है

होने को आए अब दो दशक

पर जाने क्यों यहॉं 

परदेस सा अब भी लगता है।

कोई जतन करो ऐ युगपुरुषों!

जुगत तो अब कोई लगाओ

पीड़ बिछोह का तुम क्या जानो

क्या छूट गया तुम क्या जानो

उन्मूलन का दर्द तुम क्या जानो?

जब जब बात छिड़ती जन्म मूल की

माथे पर बल चढ़ जाता है,

मन निरस्त्र, नि:शब्द होकर

मसोसकर रह जाता है।

जड़ से आखिर दूर रहकर,

वृ़क्ष कब तक हलहलाता है!

दिन ढला, 

ओढ़े चादर काली

ढली शाम,

मन विचर रहा अब भी

कहॉं मिले विराम, आराम।

बहुत जोर 

आज मन भागा था

पैर जो दिखते 

तो कटे फटे 

घाव दिखते शायद!

सवाल बहुत थे आज 

कहॉं भाग रहे हैं

कोई हांक रहा है

या बस सरपट भाग रहे हैं?

किस कल के लिये

शूल चुन

शैया बुन रहे हैं?

उधेड़बुन भी है बहुत

रूक जाएँ

पलट जाएँ

या बदल लें राह?

दौड़ आधी और बची है

न कोई वाह

खतम सब चाह

थक कर चूर हो गए, आह!

दम्भ-धैर्य

दम्भ टूटे तो होता है शोर

धैर्य टूटे तो शब्द नहीं होता।

हर रोज़ जुड़ जुड़ कर बनता है दम्भ

जीत में नए आडम्बर ओढ़ता है दम्भ

प्रतिपल नए बहाने ढूंढता है दम्भ

रोकना चाहो तो बिफ़रता है दम्भ।

मानो तो चपला, नहीं तो चट्टान है धैर्य

महत्वाकांक्षाओं की नींव है धैर्य

हर आस में हिम्मत है धैर्य

समेटना चाहो तो रेत है धैर्य।

अपने चरम पर महाबली है धैर्य

सशक्त मन को करे, वो ईंधन है दम्भ

योग कर लिया जिसने दोनों का

सफल, महान जीवन का उसने पा लिया मंत्र!

वसन्त

पिताम्बरी ओढ़े देवाधिदेव हुए प्रकट
चपला सी संगिनी थी उनके निकट
हर पीत पल्लव को कर सजग
लो देखो स्वर्णिम हुआ शरद।

हाथ पैर जुड़े कैसे एक हुआ कर रहे थे
कहीं वरदान तो कहीं दुआ कर रहे थे
इस प्रलय का न दो अब साथ,
दर्शन दो हे दीनानाथ!

संगिनी, शीत लहर बन जब हुई हावी
देवाधिदेव ने नीरद की घूंघट काढ़ी
अवनी-अम्बर जम बने हिमसागर
क्षमा देव! अब हो जाओ उजागर!

वसन्त भी कब से बाट जोह रहा था
रंगों को एक एक कर जोड़ रहा था,
स्वर्णिम छटा बिखरा, समेटो अपनी जयजयकार
अभिनंदन देव! अलसायी वसुन्धरा का हो अब श्रृंगार!

चारदीवारी

जोड़ के ईंट और गारा

बना लिया अपना संसार

अपने हिस्से की धूप,

अपने हिस्से की हवा-पानी

कर लिया जग से बँटवारा।

यहीं पर बॉंध लिया दु:ख सुख को

संजो लिया रौशनी और अंधियारा

ईकाई समाज की ही है

पर सामाजिक नहीं ये बँटवारा।

बाहर बहुत क्रोध है

यहॉं नहीं कोई अवरोध है,

भ्रम हो तो वही सही

पर सुकून है यहीं,

मन यहीं अबोध है।

यदा कदा बाहर सोपान पर

अभाग्य सर पीट जाता है,

दरवाज़े की कुंडी कभी क्लेश

खटखटा कर भाग जाता है। 

मगर जब कोई अपने बोझ को

यहीं पटक निकल जाता है -

वो त्रासदी, मन विचलित कर जाती है

इस चारदीवारी के उद्देश्य को

बिल्कुल खोखली कर जाती है।

गुलज़ार

फूलों के गुच्छे हैं लदे

जाने क्यों कॉंटों की चर्चा है

खुशियों को दरकिनार कर

जाने क्यों हर दिल ग़म से वाबस्ता है!

जो पग अंगारों पर चलते हैं

उनका कॉंटे से ही रिश्ता है

गुच्छे तो उनको बहलाते हैं

सुकून जिनके दिल में बसता है।

मुनसिफ नज़रों से देखो तो

न फूल हैं, न कॉंटे वहॉं,

जिसपर जो जो गुज़री है

गुलज़ार में उसे वही दिखता है।

ब्रह्मराक्षस

कुल में जन्मा, कुलीन न हो सका!

मर्यादा, अहंकार सब है बदा

रहा निर्जीव, सजग हो न सका!

संग थे पोथी, पंडित और अभिमान

कितने वेद, कितने छंद, कितने पुराण

रहा मूक, कंठ उनको दे न सका!

कर्म को ही धर्म बना -

जन्म क्या और जीवन क्या?

वो जो रहे अपदस्थ, वंचित

जन्म का श्राप ढोते हुए,

लालायित, आशापूर्ण आस लगाए हुए!

मुँह फेर, जाने बुरा किया या भला?

बोझ उनका था ज़्यादा 

या उम्मीद थी हमारी भीमकाय।

हाथ न दो तो किस्मत को कोसते,

जो बढ़ाओ हाथ तो होती न ज्ञान की हूक,

सुगम पथ पर कौन बना महान!

संजोया थोड़ा पर बांचा नहीं ज्ञान,

दूसरों के दु:ख से रहा सर्वदा अनजान।

हर झोंके में खोया खुद को

अनवरत रख न सका स्वाभिमान।

कुलीन होने के सारे गुण -

स्वार्थ, अहं को सौंप कर

सशक्त कर, बनाया उनको ही सर्वशक्तिमान!

मौत होगा एक अभिशाप 

या होगा निरवान!

जागकर शैया से बनूंगा क्या?

भटकता प्रेत या ब्रह्मराक्षस!

मुक़द्दर या ख़ुद्दारी

मुँह बाये खड़ा था मुक़द्दर 

हमने आंका तो ख़ुद्दारी 

भभक उठी।

सवाल किए,

बड़े पेचीदे।

जो आस ही रखते हो,

तो व्यर्थ क्यों जलते हो?

गिरना हो शायद मुक़द्दर,

गिरकर उठना है ख़ुद्दारी।

भटक जाना भी हो शायद मुक़द्दर,

राह एक नई खोज लेना है ख़ुद्दारी।

अक्ल पर परदा दारी,

है मुक़द्दर

और मात न खाना है ख़ुद्दारी।

तकदीर हो शायद तेरा मुक़द्दर,

उसका, तेरी रज़ा पूछना, है ख़ुद्दारी।

गिरो, भटको, कोसो तकदीर को

गर चुनना ही है मुक़द्दर

काट कर, दफ्न कर दो ख़ुद्दारी।

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।