About Me

My photo
The Madman, "Yes, three days, three centuries, three aeons. Strange they would always weigh and measure. It is always a sundial and a pair of scales."

Friday, December 25, 2009


She let her eye-lids fall
And blinked,
Sadly lazily.
Clouds crowded the oppressed sky,
An indifferent world turned gray,
Cold rain fell
And the young green country grass was full of slush
For her to walk in,
with blood-hungry leeches waiting…

Out in that open space,
There was no room,
Only heavy air,
Heavy breath,
Heavy heart,
Dull, dull weather,
Heavy steps
Through the thick, brown mud,
And that heavy stone
In her fist
With which she shot a bad upward aim.
It hit the fallen ancient tree
What was meant to kill the rain-cloud.
Her sky remained imprisoned,
So did she.

The heavens clapped
And roared and laughed
And slapped harder
Than before.

It was salty
And sarcastic,
It was cold
And ugly- the mud that she tasted,
Dipped in the blood of her palm;
It was her punishment
For losing the battle again,
So she rode back, unarmed and disgraced.
It still rained,
The mission failed,
As usual.


See the burn on the ice
Where she had set her lips;
Water that flowed down her hair
Formed raging rivers of honey and milk;
The notes she touched are still found
Quivering with delight in the mesmerized air.
She is the poet’s gift to the world.

Go, dear Verse,
Fall on her ears
And whisper the unspoken wish-
“Come, touch him,
Come, fill him;
He needs inspiration.

“He sits sullenly staring into the silence;
By his side, a few blank pages
And dried up ink;
You’ve made love to him before,
Let the fire flow again;
Be again, the gift he wishes to give.”


Watch the fire melt in the heat
And my heart shiver with cold;
Find the peacocks in the rain;
Lest these stories go untold.

Tick-tock of the clock
Drains the acid from my eye;
Rub the wound, rub the wound!
Don’t let the fever die.

There goes my black guitar
And there my wing;
There goes the pen-maker’s daughter,
So here I sing.

The last goodbye still hammers away,
This clown still weeps,
The beauty-queen dances on with strange men,
The audience claps and sleeps.

I step outta the window,
I step onto the sky,
I step outta the garbage bin
I used to call, “My life.”

Saturday, October 24, 2009


The wind was too strong to be ignored. It seemed to have come out on a mission. I tried frantically to calm it down and bring it to its senses. But instead, I myself got all worked up. The strong evening breeze churned and churned and with it I spun and spun and spun in a strange trance with both my hands stretched out to the sky in sync with the craziness of the wind.

The world turned into a blurred dizziness and things inside my head got all mixed up to bring out a surreal daze…

I am standing by the river of Sorrow- on the Ghat where many a late evening was whiled away by a bunch of jobless lads right out of school- some smoking, some teasing the dog, some capturing the lit up beauty of the Bridge-with-no-pillars in their gadgets and some writing poems inspired by the dull and distressful sorrow of the brownish flowing water...

And now I’m holding a cup made of dried up brown leaves, chomping away a spicy, crispy and at the same time watery snack that they call ‘Fuchka’. Why must the fair one with rimless glasses always make me laugh out when my mouth is full? The inconsiderate, cigarette-sucking monster of Smoke!

And now the smoke from grimy exhaust pipes fills up my nostrils and seems to kill my grey cells as I suddenly start fighting it with a fit of coughs. Oh! The curse of sitting on the scraggy metal toolbox that is fixed like an outcast just outside of the body of the barely-holding-on, black-yellow automobile with three wheels that makes such a blasting sound that a supersonic jet would be stunned to silence.

And now I’m flying at supersonic speed, mocking the maneuvering eagles, with Metal Rock blasting in my ears as I lie on the cool marble slab jutting out of the window in my balcony that overlooks the ever-teeming-with-shoppers street below.

And now I am hunting for one elusive whiff of fresh air from a blessed window as I stop myself from puking from suffocation as sweaty men further cram up the already crowded bus. Just then, the Teddy with newly found lenses must let loose his callous humor on the local men who are cursing the driver for not being Schumi!

And now I am listening to the “7 yr. old”, college-going Thin one and her suffocated tales of outrageous proposals and moronic professors and stuffy local trains. Lying next to her in the dark, I’m trying to cope with her super-excitement.

And now I am staring directly into the yet-to-turn-bright-and-fierce red sun as grains of wheat tumble down from my loosely held fist to the gray birds that are believed to fend off peril by shutting their eyes and thinking the world has gone dark and no one can see them!

And now I am returning home with the Chocolate boy who now lies ten thousand miles away from home, as the darkness begins to engulf, from a journey that took me, on my very own two legs, all around the City under the scorching Sun with only the occasional air-conditioned, underground Metro station for relief or the momentary joy of seeing a swanky imported car, the sight of which can make a paralyzed man jump!

And now I am jumping with joy as another enemy-wicket falls and my team leaps closer to victory. And oh! The tables banged and palms clapped red along with the one-foot-long-graying-beard donning, 130 kg. weighing Leo and the debates with him on religion bias and cultural differences and cricket strategies and politics and importance of education and whether friendships last and and and…

And I found myself being lulled to my senses by the wind that was now feeling guilty for making my head spin with craziness. I stopped spinning and put on my slippers and gave one last look North-East towards the City of Joy which had moments ago flooded my mind. I left my terrace to return to my books.

Thursday, October 22, 2009


Sometimes when I’m sitting with a blue pen in my hand and a blank black diary in front of me, you can catch me wondering, “What should I write?”

Most of these times, it’s so peaceful around me and inside me. I can feel the warmth of the lazy sunshine falling on the yellowing leaves just opposite to my window. There’s an occasional cry of an agitated infant in the neighborhood or the honking by a cautious bike rider or sometimes the call for prayer from the local mosque carried into my room by a reluctantly blowing breeze and dropped casually into the lap of my conscious thought. But the question remains- “What should I write?”

I am bored of listening to the songs on my playlist and can’t concentrate on my books until I have satiated the thirst of these empty pages. I look around and ruffle the feathers of my winged mind expecting some loosely stuck thoughts, gathered during the past few flights, to tumble down. But it merely returns, “What should I write?”

Now, it’s turning into a frustration. I have so much else to do and yet I have chained myself to these no-profit, empty pages and fruitless echoes in my hollow skull. I must put down something quickly and get over with it. The wind is picking up speed. The sun has lost its charms. The traffic outside is thickening. People are waking up from their afternoon nap. The world is moving on at an accelerated pace and I’m still sitting idly, staring at these stark blank pages of my black diary, licking the inky tip of my blue pen and thinking, “What should I write?”…

Saturday, September 19, 2009


I always wanted to get so close to you
That I feel the heat of your breath on my skin;
I always wanted to get so close to you
That your perfume surrounds me;
I always wanted to get so close to you
That my lips rub against yours when I speak;
I always wanted to get so close to you
That my eyes see nothing but your eyes;
I always wanted to get so close to you
That I can wrap my arms around you;
I always wanted to get so close to you
That your hair tickles my nose;
I always wanted to get so close to you
That you can’t say no when I ask if I can kiss you;

And now you are so far away that when your memories call, I can’t hear them…

Sunday, September 13, 2009


I am a dreamer and I have been dreaming…about a lot of things. I am a dreamer and I am just that. In your world I am ugly, I am psychotic, I am dangerous. In my world I am a decent-enough, nice guy.

I am a dreamer. I do things but I never think about what I do or maybe, I do think but I don’t know what I think or maybe, I know what I think but I don’t know that I know. I don’t know. I am confused. I am entangled in my conflicting dreams.

I am a dreamer and I write my dreams. I write my dreams to you. I wonder whether you wonder why I write to you coz I do. I write to you my dreams coz it’s you I dream about or maybe, I dream about what I dream is you. I don’t know. I am confused. I am entangled in my words.

I am a dreamer. I dream in this world but about my own world. I used to know you. I was beginning to know you. Then, you stopped my knowing. A lot of memories remained incomplete. What was incomplete made me dream restless dreams. I was churning in my mind and as usual, I was dreaming. Now, I am sick. I am sick of dreaming.

I am a dreamer. I thought I loved you. Now I know, I used to love you. Now, I love someone else. She has the same name. She has the same face and the same body and the same voice but she is not you. She is my dream. She is my dream of you. When I wrote to you and said I love you, I was not lying. I was mistaken. I was dreaming.

I am a dreamer and you left too many incomplete memories. I completed them but not in this world, in mine. We were together for such a short time in this world and then we parted and since then we’ve been together. We’ve been together in my world. There I still love you very much but there you are not you. I am not me here. I am me there. So, it’s not purely surreal. I don’t know. It’s a confusion. It’s entangled in reality and dreams. When I wrote to you and said I love you, it felt like a lie. Now I know why. You had left me with nothing but incomplete memories and I filled up the empty spaces with my own images. I changed you and us and distorted the reality to fit what was not real. We’ve been together since forever and till forever. We made love. We touched. We looked. We ate together, walked together, fought and cried and made up later. We were there, I was there but you weren’t. I thought you were but it was my thought. Till we parted, I loved you coz I knew you. After that I knew someone else and loved someone else.

I am a dreamer and I kept dreaming about being with you in this world too but that won’t be. Even if we meet, it won’t be. Even if you say it should be, it won’t be coz I don’t want it to be coz I don’t love you. You are not whom I love. I love my dream of you. You won’t fit my dream and why should you! How would you? You are not a dreamer, I am.

I am a dreamer and I write my dreams. I am writing my dreams to you though it is not you that I dream about. I am writing to you coz there is no one else to write to. My dream of you doesn’t accept written words. She only accepts dreams. So, I dream about my dream of you. Dreaming about my dream of you is driving me crazy. Maybe I am going crazy. Maybe I am crazy.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009


Waist high green grass
Under the sunshine of gold
Running to the distant horizon
And she in a yellow dress.
She- runs like the moon graces
Through clouds,
Tempting, luring.
Her lips silent
And eyes playful
When she glances back at me.
I- stand, hands on hips,
Indignantly, helplessly
Adoring how she
Loves irritating me,
Loving her,
Loving all that she is.
As I turn away in mock anger,
She holds my hand -
She knows this game all too well.
She knows I'll dare not stay away.
She knows how madly I am into her.
So she pulls me close
And hugs me,
Her perfume filling me.
Her hair sparkle in the evening sun.
We - stand there in an embrace,
Brushing cheek against cheek,
Lips against lips.
Her cute nose caresses my neck
As moments become minutes
And patience becomes passion.
Our love is complete
and in that moment
I know
None of this will last long.
There will be separation
And it will be now
And it will be forever
For there is a life other than her
And both can't be one.


Every inch closer to bed
turns another nightmare from last night
into virtual reality -
A quiver and a smile
and a chill down my spine;
Red eyes and white teeth,
prowling in the dark
uder my bed.
They taste blood,
smack their lips
and lick their fangs.
My head on my pillow
and a claw scraping my toe;
Gasps of air meant to be breaths
lose their way and fill my head
and pull my eyes
to reveal the whites.
Strange thoughts
take strange shapes -
A red fluid in a drinking glass
a hooked sucking fang in my throat
a noose, tight around my neck -
Let go! Let go!
Where is my air?
O no! O no!
A flash of light -
Another dawn,
another day to survive,
another bright beginning
to a dismal, engulfing end.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009


I am a wild man
With a thirst for thrill
And a heart for danger.
There’s passion in my blood
And dreams in my eyes.
I love my people
But I prefer to
Run alone all night.
The howl of the storm
Is music
And the burning sand
Strong temptation.
I am a wild man
With a desire to fly.
I envy those
That have wings.
I sleep under
The open sky
And travel every night
Past the stars.
I challenge time
And have
Beaten it a few times.
I roar back
When the thunders call.
I compel the Gods
To draw
Their enormous swords.
I am a wild man
And there’s no remorse.
There are a worried people
I have lost love
But I have gained
I wish to go
With a bang,
Not fade away.
I am a wild man,
I wish I were one.


A white umbrella in one hand to avoid the piercing raindrops,
She bent down gracefully to pick a handful of moss
From atop his pregnant grave;
The smell in the air was moist decay;
The numerous dead around her screamed for relief from the cold;
Only he lay with his face down, sullen,
Angry at having to lie so away from home
Where her perfume never reached to arouse him;
She let the moss drop down slowly;
Lost in it was a single warm tear, his last hope;
She turned and walked away leaving his stone fighting the rain.
The deadly bullets of water could never pierce her pride;
She was proud of him;
So she let her dark hair drench and soon tears heated up her eyes.
As soon as she had turned he had looked up
And grabbed the tear in the moss;
His thirst had to wait every week
Till she soaked him in this pearly drop of love;
His hollow eyes traced her till she went out the iron gates
And screamed like his neighbors
Though not out of pain and cold
But for her
And her hair
And her perfume
And her eyes
And her fingers
And her lips
And her love…

Monday, May 25, 2009


I have treasured
Every small incident,
Every big memory;
All that had happened,
All that we want to be.

Every dash towards the phone
Every long chat;

Every mom-picked call
Every excuse made;

Every time you laughed at a joke
Every time you marveled at a fact;

Every juicy piece of gossip
Every heated debate;

Every outrageous word
Every raised eyebrow;

Every read thought
Every shy denial;

Every whispered word
Every prolonged quiet;

Every hour of patient wait
Every reward of your sweet face;

Every side glance
Every ill-mannered stare;

Every brush of shoulder
Every walk with hands held;

Every time I said I love you
Every time you said you don’t;

Every time you wanted to say yes
Every time you kept quiet;

Every time you said you love me
Every skipped heart beat;

Every promise of faith
Every plea to go away;

Every time I made you cry
Every time I felt criminal;

Every song dedicated
Every poem inspired;

Every time I thought of you
Every time I breathed.


कई दिनों से ये घर मेरा
घुटा हुआ है
बंद दरवाज़ों के पीछे;
तुम आती थीं तो ख़ुद-ब-ख़ुद
खुल जाते थे दरवाज़े,
अब तो बस पड़े रहते हैं
दीवारों को सीलन के
हवाले किए हुए;
हाथ में कलम लिए
जब उतारने बैठता
हूँ दिल की बात,
पुर्ज़ों पर भी
इन दीवारों की सीलन ही
उतर आती है;
तेरी मुसी हुई
एक तस्वीर है मेरे पास,
जब देखना चाहता हूँ
एक दिया जला लेता हूँ,
फ़िर भी सब धुंधला
ही रहता है,
कुछ सीलन-सी बह आती है
आँखों में भी;


Arms droppin off,
And feet anchored,
Goin on,
Following a lonely star,
Long dead since birth-
Crawlin to the moon
Drinking only ash;

Hooks tearing through
My gut,
My blood trailin me,
Already round
The earth twice
In this hellish life-
Crawlin to the moon
Drinkin only ash;

Stoned and dug,
Pushin on
Under the surface,
Seen nations fall
And devils rule-
Crawlin to the moon
Drinkin only ash;

Stabbin mother earth
In her breast,
Makin a fire
Of broken ties,
Cared to bid bye
And turned around
To spit on your face-
Crawlin to the moon
Drinkin only ash;


Love is a lesson of betrayal-
So much to expect,
So less to give.

I am sorry,
I wanna hurt you
But you know
I am no God.
To forgive you
I must forget you-
Something, no matter
How hard I try,
I cannot do.
I wish you well.
Go away if that’s
What you want
But I wanna make
U feel what I felt-
This very life
Can be hell!

I so readily
Gave up so much
To prove my love;
When it was
Your turn,
You so readily
Gave up my love.

Right from the start
You were free;
I never asked of you
To love me.
It was you
Who’d repeat
You love me, and
When you saw
I had reached a stage
Where so painfully
My heart would break,
How could you just
Ask me to go away?!

You made me believe
Love lasts forever
And you tell me
It takes a couple of days
To forget your lover!

I am sorry
I can’t do
What you say-
Can’t let you go,
Can’t see you go away;
If my loving you
Gives you pain
I am sorry,
I wanna hurt you, again.


You go ahead,
Break free;
I am happy
Being a part of
The fog of your memory.

Clear the mess around you;
It is the right thing to do;
Why gather the clutter?
If you are done with it,
It shouldn’t be there.

Someday, maybe,
When you are revisiting
Good old times
In the autumn of your life,
We’ll meet again,
Of course, if you’ll recognize.

कुछ अनकही

कल शाम हवा
चुरा लायी थी
कुछ अनकहे शब्द
जो आके तुम्हारे होठों पे
ठहर गए थे.

दो शब्द थे प्यार के
मुझे जो सुनाना चाहती थी;
मेरे शहर की ओरे रुख करके
आँखे बंद किए, लबों तक लाके
रोक दिए थे.

एक आंसू था मीठा सा
लबों तक ही बस बहा था
पी लिया था तुमने,
कलेजे में
भरी बैठी थी.

एक पुराना गीत था
मुझ ही से जो सीखा था
लबों से न गाकर, मन् ही में
गुनगुनाया था…

इन सब को पहलु में
दबाये, मेरा पता ढूँढती
आई थी हवा;
मैंने ही ख़ुद को दीवारों
के पीछे कैद कर रखा था;
सोच बैठा था
तुम याद नही करती.


I am sorry
I couldn’t see it;
It was hard to believe
That you could love me.

I saw that look
In your eyes,
I brushed it aside;
Thought you just wanted me to smile.

It blew my mind
To feel you were mine;
Didn’t handle it right;
I still can’t decide.

I hated to think
you don’t care for me,
Thought it was your fault;
Now I know, it was me.

I am sorry


My shadow the earth refuses to endure.
My life is an exhibition of my sins.
The heavens select my soul for crucifixion
As I fall into the same pit again.
As I walk, I drop trails of blasphemy.
So hard to hide from the wailings
Of a corrupted conscience.
On my forehead was carved
With acids of fate
The destiny of a dark vision
I can’t fight against.


When the church bells ring
And there is divine music,
Why do you look down?
Where are you lost?

When the wind blows
And ruffles your hair,
Why do you get up?
And shut the doors?

When the flowers swing
And call you to touch,
Why do you hold your hands back?
What do you resist?

When kids run to you
And kiss you
Why do you just smile
But not kiss back?

When the fire burns,
When the fog clears,
When the dew drops,
When the sun shines,
And you have something to cheer about,
What is it that your eyes deny?
Why aren’t they happy,
Lost in some memory.
Is it mine?


"...The dawn of darkness
Brings forth so much light-
Light that reveals
The truth
For in this
Darkness shine
My mistakes..."

सपनों की अँधेरी दुनिया

किसी दस्तक पर
आँख खुली थी.
खिड़की खोली
तो कमरे में
धूप बिखर आई.
आधी खुली खिड़की से
झाँक कर देखा:

कुछ दूर पर
एक सपेरा
बच्चो को लुभाता था;
साँप की माँ
कही भूकी पड़ी थी.

कही और
खिलौनों का समंदर
लहराता था;
बस कुछ ही खिलौने
साबत बचे थे.

एक बुढिया
घुटने देखती
चलती थी;
कमर पर
छाले पड़े थे.

खिड़की खोली
तो कमरे में
धूप बिखर आई;
समेट कर
बाहर गिरा दी.
सपनो की मेरी
अँधेरी दुनिया ही
भली थी.

पुकारा था तूने

आँसू भरी तेरी आँखों ने देखा था एक नज़र
वो बादल आज भी बरस रहा है मेरी छत पर

तेरी बाहों ने समेटा था मुझे एक दफा
धूम मची है मेरी दुनिया में अब भी हर तरफ़

पुकारा था तेरी दुआ ने मुझे एक सुबह
खीचती है तेरी ओर आज तक हर डगर


My mentor,
Thank you, sir
Thank you for takin me
Thank you for makin me
Thank you for breakin me.

You held me,
Made me look up
Upto the sky,
Said it was mine,
Said I’d be there,
Threw me with all you had;
Now I lie in the mud,
Doubled up in pain and distrust.

You arms were all I had,
You held me so close to yourself
In such a tight embrace
It drew the breath outta me,
Crushing everything inside of me.

Now you go around
Spreading things-
I am ungrateful
Didn’t even say thank you
So here I am-

My mentor,
Thanking you, sir:
Thank you for takin me
Thank you for makin me
Thank you for breakin me.


It’s got to be the memory of a dream,
It couldn’t have happened to me.
How my mind, so used to worms,
Could have imagined a life so sweet,
I can’t see.

I see myself holding a hand,
My gaze locked with another,
I feel a perfume driving me crazy,
I hear promises poured into me;
A love so pure could possibly
Be the invention of my crazed mind
But never a reality.
I see a kid-me
Tossed gently in the air,
Surrounded by sounds of glee
I feel a soft breast on my baby-palms
And the taste of sweet warm milk;
There’s also a big man
Buying me bicycle and basketball
And a bunch of kids playing hide and seek,
A childhood so complete,
No it could not have been for me.
Proud old eyes fixed on a teen,
A shelf lined with trophies,
Lads running after each other
For boxes of tiffin,
A huge school building
Smellin like a heaven of comfort,
So different from the place
I now live in.

These rosy pictures flashing in my mind
That they call the past, a memory
Seem to me like the ruins of a dream
Coz with open eyes there only worms
Crawling in my head
And when I look ahead,
A deep dark hole is all I have.


“…the only thing
more beautiful than loving
is being loved;
you, my friend,
have that gift;
I am content
With the
Second best…”

“…in a dead desert
where nothing survives,
love gave birth
to music
that, resonating till eternity,
thrives till today…”


Being me was strange,
Being here, it feels stranger—
So far away
From where I belong,
From whom I love,
From what I wanted to be,
From what I was.

This feeling
is hard to define—
far from remorse,
far from nostalgia,
far from grief.

But then—
It’s not joy,
It’s not fun,
It’s not glee.

What is it?—
I had heard about
Being numb;
I think I can
Feel it.

It was a whirlwind
That tore me from me,
Turned my world topsy-turvy
And threw me on this path.

This path takes me
I don’t know where—
It could be glory,
It could be doom,
It could be nowhere.

(Crude partings were made;
Partings are always crude
Because they bring out
The true love hidden inside
If they are refined,
There were no partings made
For no ties existed.)
This is what they call
It destroys all you plan,
All that existed,
All you believed in
And proves to you
That there is a God.

A power so potent
That your very existence
Seems worthless.

Yet, it is a loving power.
It’s looking for love
And if you give
Any sign of it,
It embraces you,
Holds your hand
And leads you
To a
Perfect Heaven

खाली था सफर उम्र भर का

खाली था सफर उम्र भर का
दफ्न भी मैं हुआ तो अकेला

मेरे कातिल की आंखों में डर नही था
न मेरे अपनों की आँखों में गुस्सा

कहीं तो याद रखते हैं जो मर गया
लोग मांगते थे मेरे मरने की दुआ


I don’t want you to take me back,

I don’t expect again the love you had;

I know, I had my chances

I know, I how utterly I failed you

Again and again;

I only want you to forget

All about my wretched self;

I only pray I didn’t cause

So much pain that it should last long;

I only want you to forgive yourself

And live a life, which together, we could never have;

I want you to go ahead

And do what you want best;

But I also hope you won’t mind

If I, from a distance, keep an eye;

It’s so hard to catch any sleep

Until I know whether you are at peace.



These walls cage my thoughts.

Something in my mind

Is desperate to explode.


It wants to carry me away,

Lift me off the ground

And fly me away

To a heaven

Where no wings are required to fly.


I am told to be focused

But this thing is all I

Can focus on.

I am told to concentrate

But a perfect chaos is my dream;

To be so free

That the soul knows not the body,

That thoughts are bound not in the mind

Nor beats in hearts.

Where speed is not a limit.

Where time plays no role.

Where imagining be creating

And devastation never ending.


Where all the world is me

In me, by me!


Where I destroy

At the spark of anger.

Where I conduct the symphony

Of thunders


The direction of winds

Where the waves rise as high as I lift them

And volcanoes are as hot I heat them.

Where the earth quakes

At the ruffling of my breath

And time is my puppet


Where I create

With a smile.

All children break into laughter

When I joke.

Where men fall in love

With the beauty I create.

Where flowers bloom

And let loose a perfume

I desire to smell.

Where trees bear my

Favorite fruits.

What will be next,

Only I can tell


Where there’s only me,

Just me,

Nothing else.

I create, I destoy.

I live, I die.

I am time, I am doom.

I am heaven as well as hell

I am all, all is me

I am Almighty!



You could call

But there’s no time;

I could smile

But there’s no time;


I am patient

But there’s no time;

I can wait

But there’s no time;


I am hurt

But there’s no time;

You could heal

But there’s no time;



“Here take my hand.
I can help u.
I’ll show u the way,
All the way
Right till the gates
Of u know where;
you’re right, HELL”

Iron bars
Stabbed with ease,
In through the front
Outta the back,
The pain is pleasure,
Ultimate satisfaction;
In trance with the wind
Rockin to music,
Dirty soul
And vile dreams;
No subject
No logic,
A blast in the head
World swirling
Bringin memories
Of sweet childhood
Of bugs killed and holes peeped
Of several lies and envy blues
Of a hundred affairs
And a single love
Lost too;
Misty eyes,
Bleeding heart,
Numb mind,
Oblivion inviting-
On my way
With the

Porter Of Hell.




I am just one of those guys

Who know not the ways of the world;

Their heads are dumb

Nor can they understand a single word;

Whom God made as if for fun

And then forgot;

Who walk the surface of the Earth

Wondering what it is all about;

Looking around dreamily,

They trip and fall

And can’t get up because

They can’t support themselves enough;

Not a single soul stops

Or as much as notices;

Busy feet trample them,

Covering their bodies up.


Wherever they fall,

Their graves are dug

And they, far away

From an alien world,

Find themselves snug!


Friday, February 20, 2009

माँ के हाथों की महक

इस जहान की कड़कती ठण्ड से छुपने के लिए बिस्तर में दुबका पडा था. छत यूँ घूरती थी मानो मेरे चहरे से घृणा हो. अपने अकेले-पन को दूर करने के लिए ख़ुद ही अपने बाल सहलाता था. बचपन में कहे शब्दों को याद करके ख्यालों पे लिख रहा था की एक तस्वीर आंखों के आगे तैरने लगी.
माँ के हाथों की महक और अपनी जिद के बीच की लड़ाई देखने लगा -

“बाहर आम के पेड़ से वादा कर आया हूँ- दूध पी के आता हूँ- इंतजार करता होगा.”

माँ ने दूध पिलाकर बिस्तर पर पटक दिया था. “माँ को अकेले डर लगता है, उसका बहादुर बच्चा पास रहेगा तभी तो सो पायेगी.”

“पर आम का पेड़ रात भर जगता रहेगा, कह आऊँ तो कबूतरों के साथ सो जाए.”

माँ ने गाल खीचते हुए कहा, “ सब की चिंता लगी रहती है!”

“मैं क्या करुँ? तुम सब ही तो मेरे बिना अकेले पड़ जाते हो. सब का ख्याल रखना पङता है.”

मेरे बाल संवारते हुए माँ ने ऐसे देखा जैसे चाँद की तस्वीर बना कर गर्व कर रही हो. “मैं तो तुझे कहीं जाने नही दूँगी. मुझे अकेले में डर लगता है.”

“तब फिर मैं क्या करुँ? मुझे तो नींद नही आ रही है, न”, कहते हुए उबासी के कारण आंखों में आंसू आ गए. “अब मुझे यूँ ही लेटे रहना पडेगा.”

माँ ने बाहों में समेट लिया. उसके हाथों की महक जाने पलकों पे क्या धर देती थी! पल भर में बोझल होके बंद हो जाती. उस महक से घिरने के बाद ना लोरी की ज़रूरत थी, न थपकी की. आम का पेड़ रात भर पुकारता रह गया।

उन हाथों की महक एक भीनी-सी याद भर बन गयी है. जाने माँ मेरे बिना कितनी अकेली होगी. डर लगता होगा तो किसको गले लगाती होगी. आराम को तरसती इन आंखों को फिर उस महक की ज़रूरत है. जाने कितने बरसों से नींद के सपने देख रही है.

अपने ठंडे बिस्तर में सिकुड़ा पडा यही सोचता रहता हूँ की माँ के हाथों की मीठी-सी महक मिल जाए तो उस में सिमट के हमेशा के लिए सो जाऊं…