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Summer Games

21 May

“Salamander, will you kiss me?”, what a despicable thought. It was the time I should have realized that I was over staying in the mud pond. Meanwhile the salamander was too lazy to reply, it was too hot, and like me the salamander also only thought of thinking and did nothing to reply my perversion. After all, it was hot, searing hot, the summer of Bloomington.



21 May

Famines are funny. People die out of hunger. Funny, because I am hungry most of the time if not all the time and I live on. In famine, if your stomach is hungry and you are unable to provide then you die. Whereas, if it is your brain, that is hungry, unprovided, in famine, it lives on. When in famine, poison is also nourishing. I have seen it, hordes of people nourished by poison. 

Sookha Patta and some random lines

21 Mar

Sookhi shaakh ka sookha patta,
ab gira kee tab gira,
par woh jab gira, woh tab udaa,
kya khoob udaa, kya khoob udaa,
dur darakhtho se, tez hawaon ke sang,
be fikr, be khauf, bin tadbeer ke udaa,

sookhi shakh ka sookha patta,
kya khoob udaa, kya khoob udaa.


mein may mein khoya, to kabhi tere khwaab mein khoya,

itna khoya kee jab jagaa to tere ishq mein roya, yaa teri yaad mein roya

The Tong (Chimta)

19 Mar

क्या क्यूँ और कैसे के फेर में बैठा, एक चिमटा देखा,
सोच विचार करे वोह क्या-क्या, मैंने उसको रोते देखा।
क्या रिश्ता उसका रोटी से, ऐसा उसको कहते देखा।
क्यूँ जलता है वोह अग्नि पे, मैंने उसको भय करते देखा।
कैसे वोह इस दर्द से छूटे, मंथन करते उसको देखा।
क्या क्यूँ और कैसे के फेर में बैठा, एक चिमटा देखा।

After having written these lines, it is indeed very tough to pin point to the inspiration behind these lines. I was sitting with my eyes closed, and these lines just came to me, probably because of hunger. But, indeed the chimta, isnt just a chimta, but in some aspects it is embodiment of human conditions in this poem. Now it is for others to judge, how successful I have been with this piece… and like always I will revisit this after few days.

Are you awake now?

19 Mar

These lines are an attempt to capture state of dreaming and its transition to reality. Its for someone expecting a beautiful marriage life and then facing reality afterwards.

फिरदौसी क्या तुम जाग गए,
ख्वाब की चटाई पे लेटे थे,
बेठे थे आँख बिछाये तुम,
सोचे थे की सब मंगल होगा,
रोज प्यार का दंगल होगा,
पर आटे दाल के भाव बढे,
और रोज गटर में पाँव पढ़े,
तब नींद भंग तो होनी थी,
और प्रश्न खड़ा यह होना था,
फिरदौसी क्या तुम जाग गए…

My Conversations

18 Mar

Me #2: What do you want from life?
Me #1: Well, I can sing…
Me #2: No, I am asking what do you want…
Me #1: See, here is the thing, last time I posted a list, God sent me here on earth. 

The tale of the tree

17 Mar

दूर से देखो तो हर दरख्त की एक कहानी है,
थोड़ी धुप में सिकी, थोड़ी बारिश में पकी,
कभी राहगीर की कही, तो कभी हवा संग बही,
कभी कोयल ने गाई, तो कभी झींगुरों ने सुनाई,
रोज नए किरदार है, रोज सजता दरबार है,
कभी समझ में आए तो कभी भुरभुरी सी याद रह जाये,
दूर किसी किनारे पर बनी, कभी अश्रुओं की धार से बंधी,
थोड़ी अपनी, थोड़ी परायी, थोड़ी नयी, थोड़ी पुरानी,
दूर से देखो तो हर दरख्त की अपनी ही एक कहानी है.

Twelve lines in ten minutes

14 Mar

Realized that writing in short bursts can be quite good.

हर दिन हर पल जो बांधता है,
यादों में यादों को ताकता है,
फिर चुप ही चुप में भांपता है,
आपका मेरा यह ठरकी दिल.


हर मुस्कान का मतलब रहा ढूंढता,
तकरार की पहेली रहा बुझता,
बावरा जो बावरा ना कह सका,
आपका मेरा यह ठरकी दिल.


लफ्फाजी की गफलत में फसा,
अलबेले जुमलो से सज़ा,
आखिर कब तक दम भरेगा,
आपका मेरा यह ठरकी दिल.

Under creative pressure and a spewing brain…

3 Mar

I havent felt this alone in days. This is different kind of feeling, its not coming from sadness or homesickness. This is because of my desperation. At this moment I am having zillion of thoughts, and I can sound so incoherent that people may think I might very well be suffering from some mental disorder. So, I thought that it is better to write, and as narcissistic as I am, I thought that it will be better to blog about it.

I want to tell a story, and that story is developing faster than I can associate words with it. It is happening in front of me, developing frame by frame, emotions after emotions. All the characters that I have, all of them are evolving, faster than I can write about them. They are currently like some organic culture of microbes growing at exponential rate. It is paralyzing. More so when I am unable to find a person who could hear them developing.

One person whom I want to meet right now is Charlotte Bronte. I wish she were alive. Right now only I know how badly I want her to be alive and talking. In her absence, all I seek is a patient listener, who is in no position to judge me, who is in no position to establish references from my other stories. The second condition pushes my sister and few of my friends out of the list of potential listeners. Invariably this leaves no one in the list. Then the nature of the original source of idea kind of limits me to share it with anyone or everyone around me. Someone has to be truly agnostic towards the source, and ready to act as thought wall for me. Lets see, where am I going to find that person…

Only if this autonomous unfolding wasnt enough, I am also battling few philosophical issues. How fictional can a story be if it is based on real events and how much liberty can one take if those events are not from your life. I have already made my mind, I know what I am thinking but then there are self doubts. Amazing tricks; this mind surely knows its job.

Meanwhile here are few lines that wrote in utter desperation to ease some pressure –

बड़ी देर से,
हम बैठे हैं, कुछ सोच में डूबे है.
पूछ रहे हैं, पर होठ है सिले,
बड़ी देर से.

कुछ देर और,
वोह रुकेंगे, या वोह चलेंगे.
सर पे हाथ फेर, क्या गले लगेंगे,
कुछ देर और.

काश देर से,
सूरज गिरे, और चढ़े फिर चाँद.
झींगुर जागें, और चले हवा सहर की,
काश देर से.

I wish I were ‘tomorrow’

20 Jan

काश में ‘कल’ होता, ‘आज’ से कहीं दूर मेरा भी एक पल होता,
मेरे करीब ना मेरा धर्म, ना लोग, ना जश्न होता,
आज से दूर, सत्य का सोम पिये, मेरा हर कदम रक्स होता,
आज की सोच से मुक्त, नयी स्याही से नया ख़त लिख रहा होता,
काश में ‘कल’ होता… काश में ‘कल’ होता…