Childish Whims

Written on 2nd November 2008 at around 8 PM; then titled 'One of These Days'.

One of these days, I’ll bring life to fables
One of these days, I will turn the tables
One of these days ..

One of these days, I’ll ring a surprise
One of these days, I will see sun rise
One of these days ..

One of these days, I won’t remain raw
One of these days, the world will awe
One of these days ..

One of these days, I’ll break the shackles
One of these days, I’ll bring miracles
One of these days ..

Oh God! Pardon me, I refuse your order
To let go of those lands on which I border,

To take these bad days as my longer fate,
I just refuse to accept it won’t be my date.

I hope you’ll excuse me for having my ways,
I will be a little stubborn one of these days.

Making of a Joker

‘If you can laugh at it, you can live with it’: the realisation to which he awoke;
He has been cracking fantastic ones, ever since his life's been made a bad joke.

End of a Joker

He was the Joker of the class, his desk surrounded, even swarmed.
He has forgotten how to laugh, and always wonders who he harmed.

The Stoic

When unaccompanied, no one is a stoic, these eyes betray the most heroic.
I am but just a novice who refutes, what chance have I before long solitudes.

Curse

Don't rely on your bats to do all the talking,
oh dear fan-boys of Sachin Tendulkar.
For all your genius and elegance of kings,
a flawed bat alone can make you a sulker.

Friendship

I'd love to be a somewhat closer friend,
to you, I slyly want to pour my heart out.
But would you me, some patience lend,
until I fight the urgent hard drought ?

The Applicant

We the patients of fatal diseases,
our days counted in countings,
live on the border, by doc's short leases,
love real borders that others find daunting.

That war's much better despite its dangers,
than this meaningless war within,
that one unites us with a billion strangers,
this one distances us from our closest kins.

Plus, don't only those soldiers march on forward,
who really have nothing to lose ?
We fit the bill; please, we are not cowards,
let our suppressed fury cut loose.

The Angry Gaze

Angrily, when I slowly gazed upwards in the darkness,
The big Stubborn Sky stared back with scary starkness

A switch, it seemed, turned on in less than an instant
Which enabled automation of the very very distant

The Sky even though decides to keep the remote-control
He does relent to take me along on this wondrous stroll

Those lovely little Stars abundant in the Space,
Swiftly move to make the contours of your innocent face

The craggy Crow - cute Cuckoo meetings,
Replay each and every one of your greetings

What memory did delete, memory also made replete
I profusely thank the Sky that it's like no other treat

It was truly a most delightful, even magnetic, sojourn
Probably the stuff, out of which legends are born

But, the little one knows about a thing, the better one thinks of it
The thorns on the red carpet reveal themselves bit by bit

I was shown the skyscraper that stood tall; also stood alone,
And struck a chord somehow with my own flesh & bone

It's avoided carefully even by the adventurer on the parachute
The building of stone isn't stone enough, it struggles to remain mute

It's uninhabited perhaps and desperate, even tenants would do
Not its expensive tiles and furnishings, no gimmicks could woo

It's lonely at this altitude perhaps, the building muses
And every now and then, it wished the height reduces

I rethink whether I was stared back in a Response by the Sky
Maybe he was staring down already - fed up of the splendour, on the sly

Hallucinations

Sauntering through metro-stations
I have these strange hallucinations

That one discerning pair of eyes
With intentions though free of vice

Follows every movement of mine
From how I spit to how I dine

But since I also harbour inklings
That every damn appraisal brings

More bad than good to the fore
I fear culpability all the more

Although these fears I often hide
Miss Nonchalance ever by my side

With twilight they come out of hiding
And until dawn are with me, fighting

And end up victors more than often
No folded hands can make them soften

Mornings spent trying to start anew
Watching the birds, feeling the dew

Just when the fears I am done forgetting
Are re-sown their seeds - those eyes, riveting

धुंआ

कल रात बैठे बैठे सुबह हो गई
मानो पिंजरे से चिड़िया धुंआ हो गई

ये समझाया, माना बहुत कुछ सितम है
चलो छोड़ दें, जो गई सो गई

जो सालों में उगती है पेडों की लकड़ी
कट के भी तो चूल्हे की जां हो गई

ये बतलाया ख़ुद को की दुनिया में जब भी
कोई बात बिगड़ी , कोई हो गई

कभी चाँद रोता है दागों को अपने ?
कब रोता है सूरज की छाँ खो गई

अब कल को न रोयें, अगर यह करें तो
जो कल तक थी दिक्क़त, दुआ हो गई

फिर रात याद आया जो वीरों का जज़्बा
जोश-ऐ-दिल की तभी इन्तेहाँ हो गई

ये करना है मुमकिन, वो कर देंगे अब तो
ऐसी कसमें हजारों जुबां हो गई

कई बात सोची यूँ तो कल रात हमनें
जो सुबह हो गई , सब धुंआ हो गई

Kuch na kuch

Ghazal maestro Ghulam Ali was in Delhi yesterday for a concert on Eid eve and the venue was Qutub Minaar. I came to know about it at 6 pm and the show was slated for 6.30. I quickly rang Vipin for his company for this occassion, and he didn't disappoint, like always. In five minutes I was racing my bike against the jammed roads, and getting restless by every passing second. Just when I had crossed the jam, the brakes failed, thankfully in a jammed position too. So it wasn't like I couldn't stop the bike now but that I couldn't start it. I called Vipin again to come to that spot to help me out and then we rushed to the nearby auto-workshop to get thing mended. It took a bad half hour, this brake thing. Then I raced it like I had never before, though I admit I was still way behind Vipin's jittering Bullet, to reach Qutub Minaar. Once we hopped the wired walls to get inside the seating arena, and succeeded. Only to be sent back by a hawaldar with stare and a compliment a minute later. Just when we were hopelessly going back, one guy offered us his passes for hundred rupees. That was it. I witnessed one of the most mesmerizing live performance of true genuine music I had ever seen. In this age when mediocrity is hailed as genius, and noise is called music, I was really thankful to God to have had the fortune of hearing some exceptional renditions live, atleast once.

And that was it. I decided what I have to become. Yes, I found it. I have to become an Urdu poet, or a shayar. I even wrote a nazm today, and here it is :

जिंदगी किस कदर कहती है आने दो समंदर को

इताब-ऐ-अश्क ही भारी पड़े जिसके मुक़द्दर को

कहाँ ये हौसला उसमें है आता पस्त-हौसला है जो

कि अब मसरूर है हबूत में मसरूफ होने को

क्यों उम्मीदें नही हैं वहम -ऐ -नुसरत के अलावा कुछ

खता को भी नही मिलता तगाफुल के अलावा कुछ

यह सालों की खलिश है या है ये ज़द्दोजहद कल की

कुछ मिलता भी है तो रहती है बेक़रारी-ऐ-दिल हलकी

वफात-ऐ-ग़म भी शायद हासिल कर लेते हम लेकिन

बेशुमारी-ऐ-ताबिश पहले ही हावी है हयात-ऐ-बुझ

क्या कुछ हस्ती है मेरी गैर -पेशा भी इस आलम में

तरसता हूँ वुजूद को फिर भी हूँ मौजूद इस ग़म में

कार -ऐ -कशाकश में था मैं जब किया था एक इख्तियार

तब भी इज्तिरार-ऐ-इजतिराब , जाने किसका है इंतज़ार

The following might be needed for a good comprehension:

Itaab : Anger

Ashq : Tears

Muqaddar : Destiny

past-hausla : Pessimistic

masroor : glad

huboot : decline

masroof : engrossed

vahm-e-nusrat : illusion of achievement

tagaaful : ignore/neglect

khalish : anxiey

zaddojehad : inner turmoil

beqaraari-e-dil : lack of heartfelt satisfaction

beshumari-e-taabish : immensity of sorrow

wafaat-e-gham : death from sadness

hayat-e-bujh : sluggish, insignificant existance.

gair-pesha : other than professional

aalam : universe

kaar-e-kashakash : professional dilemma

ikhtiyaar : choice/option

iztiraar : helplessness

iztiraab : perturbation/anxiety

* My mood's got nothing to do with my poem.

** Poem inspired by, this feeling. My approximate interpretation, in verse.

*** I am not going to become a shayar. I wanted to become a cricketer after India's breathtaking quarter final victory over pakistan in 96's wills world cup. I wanted to become an actor after seeing 'Pardes', an engineer after seeing 'Swades', a non-engineer after entering DCE, a ghazal singer after seeing my first Jagjit Singh concert, a cartoonist after seeing a Sudhir Tailang interview, An author/philosopher after I was exposed to Albert Camus, An IPS officer after watching 'Sarfarosh', a Hindi author/poet after reading Premchand/DInkar's works in ninth standard, a stand up comedian after watching Omar Sharif perform when in 10th standard. So just like I haven't got any closer to becoming any of these, I most probably won't be a shayar either. In short, aspirational hobbyist.

**** Evolution

The Try .. will continue , I mean that story of the last post.

friendship harvest

Wrote this when I was 14, for a little competition at school:

If in whom you invest,

Your time and passion,

To harbour a bond.

In whom you confide,

Of whom you're so fond.

He turns a blind eye,

As if your woes are just a lie.

And turns a deaf ear,

When you most want him to bear.

Bear with your boring qualms,

Bear with your sorrow.

And he yawns, bored,

And wryly says "tomorrow"

You pass it all okay, but alone,

And good times do come back.

With good times back he comes again,

To say 'we're still jill & jack'.

How can he be so cool again,

How do you hide the remorse,

When your heart isn't a fine jelly,

But has doubts, thick and coarse.

If it was just all about,

Having a good time and some fun,

Wouldn't you rather open the fridge

And bite into harvest-gold-ka-bun.

p.s. : Its so yummy tasty, the bun.

And yes, this one is a poem.

WB Yeats ka naaati.

main shayar to nahin

Hurray!! Midsemester exams are now over and done with. Initially I was a little apprehensive about how well will I be able to perform because I began the preparations a lot later than other folks. But to my utter surprise I hardly faced any problem in any exam because of that.

Following is my first attempt at writing a nazm. With my long standing fascination for ghazals, I, well knew writing them would be something I'd definitely do, even if only as a hobby. It has always been like this with me, the innate desire to do by myself what I appreciate others doing. In the past this character of mine has led me to making sketches, writing hindi poems, writing short stories, playing certain sports, doing imitations, even starting this blog and now writing ghazals. So looking back, I think this characteristic of mine has only given me something or the other, it never takes from me anything except a little bit of time which I would have wasted in some futile timepass activity anyway. Now that the exams are over, I had all the time to make a sincere first attempt, so I wrote this one today.


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''नम आँखें .....''
इतनी सख्ती तो न बरतों
के नमी आँखों में छा जाए

सच जो है, होता है कड़वा
ये जानते हैं हम ,
इसको इतना न पिलाओ के समझ
राज़ -ऐ -गुलशन आ जाए

इतनी सख्ती तो न बरतों
के नमी आँखों में छा जाए

अब तो यारों से मिलने में
भी रहती है शिकन ,
लगता है डर के कब किस बात
कोई यार खफा हो जाए

इतनी सख्ती तो ना बरतों
के नमी आँखों में छा जाए

तुमको भी तो कभी मेरी
यादें ज़रा आती होंगी,
सोचता हूँ तेरी यादों के सिवा
तू भी कभी आ जाए

इतनी सख्ती तो न बरतों
के नमी आँखों में छा जाए

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