Wishes, Dear Sister!

Dear Sister,

The bond that we share is no ordinary bond. It is a unique and most treasured bond of relationship that only some lucky siblings get to live on this earth, and we are amongst those few.

As we celebrate this day as your birthday, I often think we're lucky and similary by many means. I had formed the most convincing reason to this as a little boy years ago, realizing that both of us shared the same nature of dates in our birthdays. I was born on the third day of the third month, and you on the tenth day of the tenth month. Even today, at 26, I love thinking it on the same line. Talking of similarities, it also reminds me of our reading habits that we successfully developed together.

The beauty of a brothet-sister relationship is, however, not in the similarities but in the differences. If you remember, me troubling you in little matters and you retaliating back. Your threats to complaint and my tongue hanging out and dancing in circles. You digging your nails in my flesh and I pulling your ponytail in return, and the disagreement to let go first. And to hit back for one last time even after the truce, were some moments that passed away with that childhood innocence.

The pillow fights being the best warfront. It began with the clash to grab the harder pillow first. To leave the other person with the leftover softer pillow was a shameful defeat in itself. Even if I would throw away my pillow, the duel wouldn't end until I would accep defeat by saying it. And, because rules were rules, it would be the same for you. But the one who accepted defeat wouldn't sit quiet, in a few minutes the smashes would come to life again.

But outside the house we were each other's back. Though the threat of complaining never took off, but to let not do something wrong was always foremost. If I had to get something done by you, it would mean a cost. No matter how important the work would be, the cost could never be escaped. That cost-to-help was the most valuable trade, where I would try my best to not pay and you determined to not help without having what you desire.

Today, things have changed, those pillow fights are almost history now. Now we don't often hit each other, only the eyes do the talking. But, yes if it would start, I bet it wouldn't end. It would go on for hours, in breaks and actions, and cease to stop at any cost if provoked. The child within hasn't died, it has just got busy with the reasonings of responsibilities. We have taken up from complaining to keeping each other's secrets and guide each other through the tides of odds. As I remember, you were so little and innocent once, and suddenly so big enough to even guide and mentor me at times. Perhaps with the years that pass, girls turn wise and boys just fat, it is so that I see a very mature change in you that has taken this relationship to even better heights. And I know as the years pass this bond will grow more stronger than ever.

I wish you the best in your endeavours, with a firm belief that you will definitely excel in whatever you do.

Happy Birthday!

With lots of love.
Your brother.

Man, Oh man! You Selfish Man

Man, Oh man! You selfish man

You wagged and smiled

And offered rides

Held my hand

And wrapped that band

Brought me rings and tied those lace

For my hatred you had grace

No love, no strings of pull

Between the two of us

But, yet your devotion so full

A masked Romeo

A covered ditch

Oh you! Son of a....

You're no lover, a fisherman

With hooks and baits, and a net

You go-getter, an opportunist

Inhumane and deceitful

For if there's some will in you

Or just a little shame

Go get a life, go-get-her

Go live, TO-get-HER

A Hindu-Muslim Conversation

If I were to tell someone about a random conversation, they wouldn't be so much interested. But, if it happened to be a Hindu-Muslim chit-chat, anyone would be all ears. Such is the essence of these two religions, that it doesn't leave anyone intrigued to himself. As we perceive these two religions, or infact as the world guides us to perceive them, these are like two threads of the same color knotted together, but distinctly visible in different shades. They're like jute and nylon proving their appearance, strength and usefulness. Like magnets, but with the opposite poles, or like a ship and the wind that blow against each other. They're together but apart; like a starless sky on a full moon night. But seldom they meet, and when they meet, it is a full bloom.

To begin talking, I paid a visit to my barber today. His name and religion, that I believe you have already assumed, are both wrapped in green. Not to say that you're wrong by any means, but this, to remove the doubts (if any) I must tell is a happy story.

In a conjusted lane with parked vehicles and hand-carts, ragpickers and daily commuters, stood his shop with loud music right opposite to a Navratara pandaa that echoed with bhajans. As I sat on the chair before him, he discussed with someone about his plans of going home on the eve of Muhharam. I asked him if the festival was on the twelfth of this month, and he nodded in approval. To not drop the conversation there, I further asked him if there would be a "mela" here on the day of Muharram; he corrected me and told it is a "juloos," and it happens every year.

The conversation had turned open ended, and interesting in this short while. I told him that in my hometown, as a child I used to see this procession and be amazed at the stunts the men did. He told me, it isn't in religious interest, but just in a frenzy state of mind that boys beat themselves with belts and tubelights. In the meanwhile, on the opposite side of the road the Navratra pandaal started with the day's aarti. He asked why is Shri Ganesha's aarti sung before all other aartis, even when Navratras has no significance with Ganesha. It seemed he had carried that question from a far past, not been able to ask someone before. It was an unbiased-religious intrigueness that dropped off from his face. I answered with the same expressions, even happier and expressive. I told him exactly the same that once my father had told me in response to the same question, that anything good that we ever start is called a "lagan"(a good occassion), and with every lagan, comes a vighan (an evil disturbing force). Lord Ganesha is called Vighnaharan, the destructor of that evil force, and remembering him before anything auspecious is bound to keep the bad times away. He was pleased to know the reason, and smiled in contentment.

Things had taken such a good turn, that he stopped for a minute and said, "Ruko mujhe speakers band karne do, aarti shuru ho gai hai."

And there it ended in smiles and praises, in a blend of saffron and green!

The Lost Home

Once upon a time there were Guts and Glory. And there were Dream and Thought too. Together they all lived in a little house that survived on Hope and Vision because Money wasn't kind to them. Home had a heart for Money, but everyone else had a heart for Home. Today Home is happy, for Money is kind enough to him, but Guts, Glory, Dream, Thought, Hope and Vision are no where to be found. They're all missing. They vanished without a trail, and even Money with all its power and forms (Black and White), could not afford to help Home trace them back.

Their neighbour Time says, he had seen them going. One after another, silently in slow steps. It seemed as if they wanted to stay back and live it up to their names, but they were sad and disappointed. Although they left, but they were optimistic that Home would call them back. They had a belief that Home would not be able to live all alone with Money, and would definitely honour their decades of togetherness by calling them back. But Home betrayed them all, for he was happy in the company of Money. And they left, without leaving any trace. They offered no apologies and carried no differences, for they had accepted that their journey here was over and that they needed to find someone else like the old-Home. Time had seen this day coming, and wished them good luck in their journey ahead.

As they walked past and through innumerous Homes, looking for the one that could best accomodate them all, they wondered why their Home left them.

Guts: He was so full of vigor and confidence that he could do anything. I am still wondering how he started hesitating in life.

Glory: I made him taste his first victory infront of a hall-full of people. He had conquered the stage in his school, the game's field in his collge. And now wherever he participated, he returned empty-handed. He dissapointed me too.

Dream: When he was a child, he used to tell everyone that one day he would soar the skies and fly free in a Jet plane. He said it everyday, to every single person and today he remains struck in a traffic jam twice a day.

Thought: I still remember, for all his life he was so thoughtful. He always had a plan, something to think about. He wanted to do so much, but suddenly he became confused and dumb. He went silent, and his mental calculations ceased, as if he was paralysed. He could think of nothing more than his day's routine. He was struck.

Hope: But for the worst that ever happened, he forgot me too. Never in the past had he ever missed to call upon me when he was confused or struck. He would cling on to my finger and sail through the hard times. But for the past many years, he not for once summoned me. And I felt so alone there.

Vision: True that! But, even here, for as far as you tell I had a feeling that he would bounce back, for he was very clear with what he wanted to do in life. I knew his plans, his high aspirations and his road-maps, and all these years I had been waiting for him to stand-up again. It breaks me badly as I take each step away from him. Yet if he calls me someday, I'll be there for him.

Guts: Me too, I would love to see him do another feud and sing to some random girl.

Glory: I would help him win that lady if he would wish to seek my help.

Dream: I wish someday he looks up at the sky when he's struck in a jam and recall where he had wanted to be. If only he calls back, I'd take him there.

Thought: And I would clear his mind of all confusions, if he starts to think for what he once wanted to be.

Hope:  This time if he would cling to my finger, I'll grab his hand and steer him through.

"Papa! Everyday we're struck in this jam, when I grow up I'll become a pilot and drop you to office in my plane."

....and there they found their new HOME.

A Conversation with God

X:: Are you there?
Y:: Yes I am.

X:: What does it feel like being there?
Y:: Even if I tell, you won't understand.

X:: Okay! So, tell me how's the weather there?
Y:: It's 350 degrees Heavenlious.

X:: What's Heavenlious?
Y:: Leave it, you won't understand.

X:: How many degrees of Celsius is your one degree of Heavenlious?
Y:: It's beyond your calculatuons, skip it.

X:: Why do you keep saying that I won't understand? I am 26, turning 27 next week, I have crossed two oceans, walked across three continents and visited seventeen countries; probably visiting another next year. I have had six girlfriends and two marriages and I have degrees in arts, science and medical. I am a doctor, and a psychologist, a teacher and a public speaker, I am young and receptive to every new idea. What makes you believe I won't understand you?
Y:: Ah! Let it be son. You seem too confused.

X:: No I am not. I have very definite goals in life, I am working for them and I see them getting accomplished.
Y:: In that case, I see, you're bewildered.

X:: Working on a straight path, doing what many can't do, and to have a reason to live, how do you call it bewilderedness?
Y:: Perplexed then.

X:: Oh my dear God! Do you not know how many people live in this world? And how many of them do know what are they living for? Not some but many are confused between pleasures and money, even more between austerity and divinity, and the rest alive but only sleeping. I out of them, know the reasons. I know it why.
Y:: Because you're a slave.

X:: I am a slave? No way! They are. They're the slaves of time. The slaves of money and poverty. Of greed and hunger. I, atleast, am above them all.
Y:: Then you're a wise slave.

X:: What are wise slaves?
Y:: To make you understand, I'd say those who would plan, work and then come to heaven.

X:: I do not dream of your heavens, for heaven means death and death means the end of this life. I am by all means very happy living this life.
Y:: That's because you're accustomed to being a slave.

X:: I am accustomed to living with my routines. And my routines are my alone. I am an entrepreneur and I am no slave. I have desires, that all humans have and I see to it, that I cross my deadlines and stikethrough my to-dos. I am organised on my own, and accustomed to my habits. Each day I wake up to win the day, and sleep with a sense of accomplishment. I work twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week. I am no slave, I am a leader.
Y:: If not a slave, then you're a monotonous robot.

X:: Wait a moment there. I had thought that talking to you would be so enlightening. I had considered that it would be a phase of ultimate learning and recollection, a moment that would stretch to eternity and bring the stars pouring down upon the two of us. I had thought of this moment to be gentle and soothing, but it only seems to be highly criticising.
Y:: Isn't that all true? Did anyone ever care to tell you that?

X:: No, no one ever told me that. And even as you speak I am only forced to take it. I might over here only agree as a submission to your prominance and entirely disagree to every other reason.
Y:: It is because you are non receptive to anything that comes your way. You live in a shell like a snail does, and pull back in whenever something touches you. You have other snails around you who are too busy sensing things around them and least bothered about you. But your shell is so far from the world that you mistaken it as an oyster, and think that you are a pearl delicately placed inside it.

X:: Umm.... Yes, I believe you are right. All these years I have been living in a shell. I have left my friends and family behind. I have cared to know little about my wife and kids. I guess it is all right, as you have said it. I don't understand. I am confused with my logics and wrong with my calculations. I am perhaps bewildered with my goals and perplexed with my deadlines. I am little of a leader and only more of a slave. You say it right, I am so habitual of all of it, that I have become a robot. A robot hiding in his shell, and surrendering to the walls of his own mastery. I am, yes you say it right, a snail pretending to be a pearl.
Y:: No, but I think YOU ARE PERFECT.

The Fool That Turned Wise

He was a servant, underpriviledged and unnoticed. But he had always dreamed of becoming rich. Rich to him meant luxuries and ordering. Luxuries like what little Marshall had, and ordering like what Mrs Govindi did.

According to the everstated theory of Mrs Govindi, little Marshall was only 28, and he was full 17. Her belief that servants came from a tough background made him responsible for all the household chores and little Marshall the prince of all luxuries. No one cared that he was just 17, a lad with budding mustaches and underarms; but everyone did care that he was a paid servant. Paid eleven hundred rupees at the end of each month.

Eleven hundred rupees according to Mrs Govindi meant a lot, but it was significantly little for little Marshall. This is what Ikram was inspired with. He was fascinated and thrilled to see how in no time little Marshall could spend what he would take months to finish.

In the words of little Marshall, Ikram came from a house of approximately two dozen residents. A pair of spouse, blessed with unstoppable toddlers. Ikram had 19 siblings as of yet, with 8 brothers and 11 sisters. There was another coming anytime soon, and that is how it neared two dozen. Often in his free time, little Marshall would interrogate Ikram about his family and make fun of him. Mrs. Govindi would join in and contribute some eavesdropped theories of Islam. Ikram never cared of them speaking and mocking him, and without a thought answered them whatever they asked. Usually in Mrs Govindi's presence the questions were about the names of his siblings, and how he identified them in a crowd without any confusion. In his mother's absence little Marshall would ask Ikram if he had ever witnessed his parents being intimate. To the numerous refusals that Ikram would produce, little Marshall would refuse to agree and would unstoppably insist him to accept. Even this would not bother Ikram anyhow.

What bothered Ikram was Mrs Govindi. When in the wee hours of the evening after finishing the day's chores Ikram would get ready in his market outfit: a full sleeve shirt and full length pants, to go along with little Marshall, she would spill some water in the kitchen or reveal some hidden dishes for him to do. Only if little Marshall agreed to stop by he would be lucky enough to get along with him, else the routine would end up being on all fours on the floor.

Everyday in the evening, little Marshall went for a game of Billiards and then to the gym. Getting along with him as a help for Ikram would mean half the share of his leftover drinks and meals and undoubtedly no work. He would be out for nearly four hours and that is what Ikram saw as his lucky escape, but what Mrs Govindi saw as a loss of her resource and money. She had often told little Marshall to not encourage Ikram in slipping away from work, but he wouldn't listen just like she wouldn't listen to his advice about Raghuveer Uncle's visits.

Ikram's tenure at Mrs Govindi's mansion would complete six months in another two days. The same day would also bring the date which he had promised as a return of ten thousand rupees to Bhola, the money lender. His father had borrowed this money at the time of his youngest brother's birth and the responsibility to pay it back was on Ikram's shoulders.

Ikram had deposited his salary with Mrs Govindi for this day. His accomodation and food was free, and to save more he had avoided any trips home in the past months. In his calculations, he was still short of some three and a half thousand rupees. Today, in the evening he was prepared to share his ordeals with little Marshall. He had finished all chores, wiped all utensils and even pulled down all the cobwebs, which were Mrs Govindi's last bombs to hold him back from going along with little Marahall. He was ready for the call, an hour ago. Keeping hiself busy in the kitchen, which was adjacent to little Marshall's room, as he arranged the dishes he kept his ears receptive to any little noise from the master's room. Finally at the toll of four the door opened and Ikram wiped his hands on the back of his trousers in anticipation. Before he could ask little Marshall to borrow his company or the master would ask him to join in, Mrs Govindi came out of her room dressed in her pink saree. Ikram knew what that meant, and then he also noticed the bow in his master's neck. He turned back to the kitchen and got busy with arranging the dishes. There was not much to do, but now he had to figure out something to do. Atleast, until they were gone.

Once in a blue moon on any random day, Mrs Govindi and her feminine squad would gather up for a kitty party in the neighbourhood. On that day Mrs Govindi would wear a pink saree, and little Marshall a bow tie. Their sudden revelation shattered Ikram's hopes today. He stood back realising that there wasn't any other opportunity coming his way. He tried to think of any good way to arrange the needed sum, but there seemed no way out. As he sat down on the floor benath the sink he saw the open door to Mrs Govindi's room. There ahead he knew the safe, which was always filled with money. With a thought that he would only take what was needed, he marched towards the room.

As he tip-toed into the room with a thumping heart and goosebumps, he realised that Mrs Govindi had perhaps left in a haste. The keys of her cupboard were lying on her bed amidst her pink and yellow lingeries. He picked up the keys and opened the cupboard to see the chest. He knew exactly where the money was and in another minute by turning the last key he turned her erotic bedroom into a crime scene. There was no turning back for Ikram now. There were bundles of notes before his eyes, more than he had ever imagined. More than he could ever count. More than he could ever spend. His dreams of becoming rich were just a step away. A step that would set things smooth and bring a life of luxuries like that of little Marshall, and that of ordering like Mrs Govindi. He could become a master and have servants to order. He could have a big car with sidekicks asking to come along. There could be so much more, so much that he could not even imagine at the moment. But yet there was some reoccuring thought that held him captive of daring it.

He stopped for a moment to think that neither Mrs Govindi nor little Marshall had ever been cruel to him. They wanted work and never pulled back in paying him back. They were good people, one half of a week he could easily manage half days of work by being the sidekick of little Marshall. He would get good stuff to eat and a chance to roam around in a Mercedes, a car which none of his generations would ever come close enough to. He closed the chest, and the cupboard and kept the keys between the undies and the yellow bras. He walked out of the room thinking that he could still talk to little Marshall and he would agree to help him.

As he walked out of the room, the phone in the hall rang. He reached to it, Mrs Govindi was on the other end.
"Hello," she said, "Aaa... Ikram...?"
"Yes madame."
"I left my room open. The keys of my cupboard are on the bed, can you hang them on the wall and clear my bed of the clothes?"
"Yes madame."
"Good, I'll be back in two hours," this she said to Ikram and next she addressed to her feminine squad, "you can always trust these servants, they are all fools. Leave them a few hundred rupees and they will steal it away, leave them an open cupboard filled with money and they will lock it back for you." Next she laughed and everyone joined in. Ikram clutched the phone tight to his ears and gulped down the ignominy of the minute.

He walked back to her room, opened the cupboard, and its chest, counted the stacks of bundles and sweeped them into a black polythene. Then from the bed he picked up her bra and walked up to the mirror and holding it across his chest shouted out loud at Mr Govindi's photo, "Tell her when she comes, that the fool suddenly turned wise."

Quotes and Oneliners

Love Jihad

Stealthily she tiptoed into the police station with a duplicate key in her fist. Her scooter was seized yesterday from a no-parking zone. It was a warm afternoon and the parking lot of the police station was barren, except for a few stray dogs that stood itching and wandering in uneasiness. She kept advancing ahead in slow steps, looking back and forth for anyone’s presence. There was no one around. Taking the liberty, she rode away in her scooter, stealing it from the police premises. But as she moved out of the main gate, she heard a shout behind her, a call to stop. Hearing the voice her face turned red and she trembled. There was a boy entering the police station with a bundle of papers in his hands. He tried to stop her on the cop’s call, but she didn’t care to stop. In that short moment she had shared a glimpse of guilt and pride with him that was undeniable of her theft and daring. It was barely a two second long stare into his eyes, in which she asked him to be on her side. Then as she took the main road and accelerated off, she turned back at him for one last assurance, only to find him watching her with an awestruck face.

Later that evening was when they met again and it actually began.

It was a 500 rupees dare that she had won against her friends and she was celebrating it in a coffee shop. The same boy walked in there, and sat two tables across her. They noticed each other when she got up to fetch her order. Her face turned red. There seemed no escaping now, and she smiled in guilt of being caught once again. He soothed her anxiousness and smiled back at her. Until the end of her meals she kept staring him and wandering about the aftermath of her theft. As she got up to leave the café, she went up to him and asked him in a slow voice, “What happened there after I escaped?”

“They asked me to tell them about you.”

“What did you say?”

“I said, I didn’t see your face.”

“Was that all they asked for?”

“Yes, but several times. It took me half an hour to convince them.”

“And then…?”

“Then they got into some paper and wireless radio work, which seemed threatening.”

“I am 16. Probably I’ll escape on accounts of being a minor.”

She smiled at him once again, relieved on knowing that he had been on his side. But deep inside she was worried of any consequences that might follow.

“Where is the scooter now?”

“Parked outside.”

“You shouldn’t be riding it at least for a month.”

 “I can-not take it back home; what if they come searching?”

“You should have thought this before stealing it.”

“I told you I am a minor. I have more guts but less brains than you.”

“I wish you good luck then,” saying this he got up from the table and started moving out of the shop. 

She followed him in silence.

“Can you not keep it at your place? They wouldn’t come over to your place.”

“I am 21 ma’am. Probably the minor tag doesn’t work for me.”

“Just for a month, hide it somewhere in your garage or friend’s place. And no one would know.”

“A month in my calendar has thirty days and thirty nights.”

“Today is the first of February, and this has only twenty-eight days and twenty-eight nights.”

For him it didn’t seem as if it was their first meeting, she was so convincing and not willing to give up any how. She looked into his face, squinting and broadening her eyes in pleadings and requests. In between she would twitch her nose and converge her eyebrows. For anything he said, or would attempt to say she had a waiting reply. The unlawful and illegal discussion continued for some fifteen minutes, until they agreed without knowing each other’s name. In the course of their discussion, apart from their names they had shared a lot of things. She had told him of her ongoing board preparations and tuition, her schedule and address. He told her about his engagement in his uncle’s business in the adjoining city, and about his only presence here on Thursdays and Sundays. Finally as they parted, they agreed to meet again next Thursday at the same place.

v   

As she walked back home, she thought of how inappropriate it all was. She wondered what would she tell at home, if her father inquired about the scooter. She rehearsed answers replying that it was still in the police custody. But what if the cops come at home? Or what if they inquire about the theft? Amidst these thoughts she recalled the boy’s innocent face and smile at the incident. She walked back home smiling to his memories, and her own convincing abilities. Deep within somewhere, she was also worried about him. She was concerned for him to not get into any trouble.

Her elder brother was the first person at home to inquire her about the scooter. She told him that it had been confiscated from a no-parking zone. In a few minutes he brought out the vehicle’s registration papers and asked her to accompany him to the police station to get the scooter back. She was fear-struck and speechless. Only to fail after trying all tricks to stop him from going, she finally told him that she had parked it at a friend’s place following the theft. Hearing it he turned furious, but later calmed down to hide the matter from their father’s knowledge. The secret lay well dug between the two on accounts of the assurances that she had given him. She only hoped for the matter to not reach their father’s ears and no policemen to visit their place.

That Saturday, on her way to the Durga temple she bought a hundred rupee offering basket of flowers and coconut. Usually she took only a few flowers and sweets. Today, she had intentions to bribe the goddess of power. She banged the coconut on the stairs and offered its water on the idol. She prayed for things to settle soon. She prayed for the cops to not come home. She prayed for her father to not know about it. And unknowingly she prayed for the boy’s safety too. As she opened her eyes following the last thought, she had a little smile on her face. She could see his innocent face floating before her eyes, when he had finally agreed to her proposal.

Every day thereafter she thought of him, in joys of those sweet memories and worries of his well-being. Days passed in quick succession and she awaited him to reach the café. She had come an hour early than that day. Her eyes scanned every person who entered the shop. He came at five pm. She had a wide stretched smile on her face as she saw him walk into the café. He smiled back at her with the same warmth. They took a window side table and began their much awaited discussion. From his face it seemed as if he too had been badly waiting for the Wednesday to pass by quickly.

She began by enquiring if everything was fine. He told her that the scooter was parked out of sight and no one knew about it. Then all of a sudden in the middle of their discussion she recalled of their unknown identities and interrupted by introducing herself.

“Gayatri Tiwari.”

“Syed Ahmad.”

His introduction followed a brief pause, with an approaching frown on her face.

“Here are your keys,” he said cutting the silence between them.

“Keep them with you for the time being. I’ll take them back with the scooter,” she replied in her normal self.

“Let’s go out for a little walk,” he suggested. She stood up from her chair and they took the road between the mosque and the temple.

Reluctantly and hesitantly they walked about, she with her hands tied behind her, and he with his hands in his front pockets. He enquired about her board preparations and her tuitions. They discussed Science and English, cricket and novels. She took deep observations of his manners and talks. He was a gentleman, polite and soft-spoken. With every minute that she passed with him, she felt more comfortable with him. He too seemed to get off his uneasiness as time ticked away. She told him about her family, about her brother, and her father. They walked up to the farther end of the road till they reached the community park and settled on the benches. They sat there for an hour, talking of everything that they could possibly think of.

It was getting dark, and never before had she been out with anyone for so long and so alone. A few hours ago if she would have thought of putting herself in this situation, she would have felt uncomfortable and fearful. But right now she didn’t want it to end. There was little that she had now to talk about, but even the silence backed with the horns of vehicles and the barks of the dogs didn’t seem unpleasant to her.

The speakers of the mosque suddenly echoed with the evening prayers and he opened his palms in the state of praying. She observed him without a blink. He repeated the verses and opened his eyes after a short prayer.

“Is that a prayer?” she enquired.

“It is the Magrib namaaz, the fourth namaaz of the day,” he said wiping his face with his palms.

“How many namaaz do you offer in a day?”

“Five.”

“Even my parents offer two prayers a day, but I sometimes skip,” she said smilingly.

“Prayers are necessary. It makes you a good human being. It teaches us to be compassionate and generous towards each-other, to be fearful of our misdeeds and most importantly be thankful of our possessions. You should not skip your prayers,” he said looking into her eyes.

She looked into his eyes and smiled. She smiled for the joy of being with him. She smiled for her encounter with him. She smiled for the Margib namaaz to have taken place in their presence.

“It’s late, I should leave,” she said looking at her watch.

He stood up in acceptance and offered to walk her back up to the café. On her way back they exchanged their contact numbers and decided to meet again next Thursday. Gayatri walked back, in thoughts mixed with joy. She walked back with a sprout in her heart.

She met him week after week, more devotedly and fearlessly, until one day her brother spotted her with him on the stairs of the mosque. He sent Gayatri back home and himself stayed back to talk to Syed. He returned home late night in torn clothes and a bleeding face. Gayatri had been waiting to hear from Syed, but his phone was switched off. Seeing his brother’s state worried her even more.

Days passed and there was no news of Syed, until the next Thursday morning when Gayatri received a message form him reading- “Same place. Same time.” She immediately tried his phone, but it was again switched off.  That evening she went early and waited by the mosque.

v   

Gayatri and Syed didn’t mean to fall in love. But love happens when you least expect it. It creeps up suddenly. When someone needs attention, care, conversation, laughter and may be even intimacy. Love doesn’t look at logic, or at backgrounds and least of all, religion.

Gayatri was from a very conservative South Indian family that went to a temple every Saturday. Syed brought goats for his family every Eid. That said it all. Their paths would never have crossed if it hadn’t been for that fateful day. That day when he walked into the coffee shop. Gayatri wondered if destiny chose our loved ones for us. Did we have any role to play at all?

She looked at her watch. Syed was late. They met every Thursday at five pm to catch up. Their conversation lasted for hours. Sometimes at the café, sometimes in his car, sometimes in places that she could never tell her friends about. They would never understand. And yet Syed made her happy.

Suddenly her phone beeped. He had sent a message. “On my way. Have something important to tell you.”

Gayatri stared at it and realized she had knots in her stomach. Thoughts flooded in her mind. What did he want to tell her?

She recalled of her brother’s returning back in torn clothes and bleeding state last Thursday. She was in a pool of thoughts when she saw Syed coming towards her. He was running and seemed scared. Seeing him in that state worried Gayatri even more.

“We aren’t safe here Gayatri.”

“What happened?”

“Things got serious in this while. I had been jailed for three days on accounts of stealing your scooter and misguiding you into a love trap. They call it Love Jihad. It has resulted in feuds and aggression with people searching us both. Some want us hanged, some want us burned, some want us shot.”

“But why us? What wrong have we done?”

“There are no answers to these questions Gayatri.”

“But how did it start?”

“That night your brother got into a quarrel with me. Later in his anger he also disrespected the Imam and got into a fight with a few local people. Then people gathered from both sides and it turned serious.”

“How can we settle it Syed?”

“It can’t be settled Gayati. The mob doesn’t want to hear us, they just want to find us. I’ve come here to say my last bye to you. I do not want to lose you. Do remember that I have loved every moment spent with you, and I wish we could stay side by side forever. Keep this key, they took your scooter back to the police station. And please go away,” saying this he gestured her to return back.

Gayatri’s eyes remained fixed on him until she disappeared behind the wall. There was so much that she wanted to say to him, there was so much that she wanted to hear from him. But it all ended in flash, just like it had happened in a flash. The mosque speakers echoed to announce the Margib namaz.

“There she is, his sister,” said someone from behind her.

As she turned to the approaching noise, a pelted stone landed on her forehead. There was a bright flash of light and in it she saw Syed saying, “Prayers are necessary. It makes you a good human being. It teaches us to be compassionate and generous towards each-other, to be fearful of...”

एक वोह दिन था जब आए थे

एक वोह दिन था जब आए थे,
कितने भोले भाले से हम थे।
घबराए से तब हम थे,
बहकाए से तब हम थे।

फुसफुसा कर बातें करते थे,
सर झुकाकर चलते थे।
छुट्टियों में थे कुछ मुस्कुराए,
हाँ! फ्रेशर्स मैं चिल्लाए थे।

तब आगे के बेंचों की होड़ थी,
और असाइनमेंट्स की जोर थी,
कैसे हाथ खड़े कर देते थे,
अटेंडेंस पर मर देते थे।

वोह सीनियर्स की तीखी नजरें,
और उस पर सी●एस● की काजल के नखरे,
वोह ड्यू-डेट से पहले असाइनमेंट देना,
और viva मे चुप रहना।

एक वोह दिन था जब आए थे,
कितने भोले भाले से हम थे।
घबराए से तब हम थे,
बहकाए से तब हम थे।

वोह रिजल्ट से एक रात पहले दर मे पीना,
और वोह रिजल्ट की रात गम मे पीना,
वोह दोस्तों के आल-क्लियर होने से जलना,
पर अब करना भी तोह क्या करना।

खैर सेकंड इयर मे गए हम,
सीनियर्स भी कहलाए हम।
सुना है सी●एस● मे नई काजल आई है,
भाई, तभी तोह सुबह की सैर लगाई है।
वोह लव-अफेयर्स, वोह ब्रेक-अप-
सब देख लिए हमने,
वोह कोर्रिडोर्स, वोह रूफ-टॉप्स-
सब हो लिए हमने।

एक वोह दिन था जब आए थे,
कितने भोले भाले से हम थे।
घबराए से तब हम थे,
बहकाए से तब हम थे।

जब हम कोर इंजीनियरिंग मे पहुचे तो थोड़े थक चुके थे,
बहनो से लैस, और कॉलेज मे तीन साल के हो चुके थे।
अब तोह हॉस्टल से फ्लैट ले चुके थे,
कॉउंट्री करके बाइक ले चुके थे।

खैर Y.B से बचे रहे, U.F.M से छुपे रहे,
थोडा सोने मे वयस्त रहे और उधारी से घिरे रहे।
VIVA मे सटासट बोले,
और सोच रहे थे स्टार्टअप खोलें।

अब तोह हाथ मे कॉपी लहराते थे,
और जीन्स मे कॉलेज जाते थे।
लेट नाईट मूवीज देखते थे,
और लेक्चर मे लेट हो जाते थे।

एक वोह दिन था जब आए थे,
कितने भोले भाले से हम थे।
घबराए से तब हम थे,
बहकाए से तब हम थे।

जा अंतिम चरण मे दाखिल हुए,
तोह बड़े जोशीले से हम थे।
टूर्नामेंट्स कई जीते थे,
सारे कॉलेज मे फेमस हम थे।

यारो की टोली हमे सब कहते थे,
एक रौबीला समां हम साथ लिए चलते थे।
अब तोह viva मे हम छाते थे,
आर्गुमेंट भी कर जाते थे।

बस कुछी दिनों मे अब सब बिछड जाएंगे,
नजाने फिर कब कहाँ मिल पाएंगे।
ऐसे सुनहरे प्यारे दिन,
अब कहाँ लौट कर आएँगे।

एक वोह दिन था जब आए थे,
कितने भोले भाले से हम थे।
घबराए से तब हम थे,
बहकाए से तब हम थे।

*इस कविता पर बनी विडियो: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lExDVuzWuo

माँ तेरी याद में

माँ तेरी याद मे, आज मैं फिर रोया था,
उन हसीन यादो पर, मैं छुप-छुप कर रोया था।
थोडा हस-हस कर रोया था,
थोडा सिसक-सिसक कर रोया था।
माँ तेरी याद मे, आज मैं फिर रोया था।

कैसा वोह बचपन था,
जो नादानी से घिरा था,
चोट लगे तोह "माँ" कहता था,
डाँट पड़े तोह "माँ" कहता था।
थका हारा जब घर आता था,
तोह सबसे पहले "माँ" चिल्लाता था।

वोह पापा की मार से तुम ही तोह बचाती थी,
"हो गई गलती, अब छोड़ भी दो" कहकर, उनसे दूर कहीं ले जाती थी।
फिर कैसे मुझे प्यार से तुम समझाती थी,
उन आँसू भरी आँखों की, कैसे तुम पलभर मे नमी छिन ले जाती थी।

वोह पड़ोसियो के टोकने पर, तुम्हारा बीच मे आना,
और हर मुसीबत से तुम्हारा मुझे बचा लेजाना।
कभी कोई शीशी जो टूटी मुझसे,
तोह तुम्हारा दौड़ कर आ के मेरे हाथो को देखना।

वोह सुबह नाश्ते मे भूख से ज्यादा खिलाना,
और उसके उप्पर एक ग्लास दूध और पिलाना।
वोह बातो मे लगाकर, मेरी बीच की मांग मिटाना,
वोह कालर का बटन लगाना और कास कर टाई पहनाना।
और मेरे लाख मना करने पर भी,
वोह स्वेटर को कमर से मोड़ना।

माँ तेरी याद मे, आज मैं फिर रोया था,
उन हसीन यादो पर, मैं छुप-छुप कर रोया था।
थोडा हस-हस कर रोया था,
थोडा सिसक-सिसक कर रोया था।
माँ तेरी याद मे, आज मैं फिर रोया था।

कैसे खाना तुम छोड़ देती थी, जब चोट मुझे लगती थी,
उस भरी भोजनथाल को कैसे मेरे खातिर तुम ठुकरा देती थी।
आलू-टमाटर तोह तुम मुझसे बहुत कटवाती थी,
मगर कभी तुम काटने को प्याज मुझे न देती थी।
छुरे-करची और कद्दूकस तोह तुमने बहुत दिए थे छूने मुझको,
मगर कैसे उस बन्दूक पर मुझको हाथ भी लगाने न देती थी।

नहाते वक़्त आकर तुम मेरी पीठ रगड़ दिया करती थी,
वोह दूरदर्शन और केबल तुम मुझसे सही करवाती थी,
विश्वास तोह करती थी तुम मुझपर,
फिर बाइक मे संग बैठने से क्यों डरती थी?
कहती थी मैं हूँ तुम्हारा लाडला,
फिर मेरी चीजे बहना को क्यों दे देति थी?

वोह बोर्ड्स मे तुम खुद रात रात भर जागती थी,
पर भाग जाती थी नींद जब तोह "आ सोजा" कह देती थी।
सुबह जल्दी उठाकर फिर कहती थी "चल पढ ले अब"
तिलक लगा कर भेजती थी और दही-चीनी खिलाती थी।
वोह मेरी 60 परसेंट को भी कैसे तुम 90 बतलाती थी,
कोई आँख उठा कर जो देखे मुझे तोह, उससे तुम चीड़ जाती थी।

उस रोडवेज की बस मे तुम कितने धक्के खिलाती थी,
मगर हो जाए कभी उलटी तोह, तुम बिना रुके पीठ सहलाती थी।
माँ हाजमोला तुम खिलाती थी,
और हिंगोली चबवाती थी।
कैसे भरी गर्मी से मैं आता था तोह,
तुम रूहअफजा पिलाती थी।

हर रात ब्रश करवाती थी और नाखून बहार कटवाती थी,
जो अँधेरा कर दू मैं खेल खेल मे, तोह बुलाने चली आती थी।
माँ शक्तिमान तोह देखने देती थी तुम, पर आहट बंद कर जाती थी।
माँ तुम सन्डे को भी जबरदस्ती नहलवती थी।

माँ तेरी याद मे, आज मैं फिर रोया था,
उन हसीन यादो पर, मैं छुप-छुप कर रोया था।
थोडा हस-हस कर रोया था,
थोडा सिसक-सिसक कर रोया था।
माँ तेरी याद मे, आज मैं फिर रोया था।

जिस दिन कॉलेज को मैं गया था, कैसे उदासी मे तुम मुस्कुराई थी,
पहले ही सन्डे को तुमने मेरे घर आने की सिफारिश लगाई थी।
कैसे जब मै घर आता था तोह तुम गोद मे सर रख कर सहलाती थी,
दिन भर मे चार भोज खिलाती थी, और "तेरी भूख ही मर गई" कह जाती थी।

याद आती है माँ अब तुम्हारी इन अनजान दीवारो के बीच बैठ कर,
यहाँ जाली रोटियां देख कर, और तुम्हारा रखा आचार खा कर।
तुम्हारे हाथ क मुलायम पराठे अब नसीब होते भी नही,
जो लात मार कर रजाई फेक दू रात मे, तोह कोई वापस उडाता भी नहीं।

माँ फ़ोन पर बात करते हुए आँखे बंद कर, तुम्हे अपने पास बैठा हुआ सोचता हूँ,
जो याद बहुत आए तुम्हारी तोह तस्वीर देख कर रात काटता हूँ।
माँ, अब हस देता हु तुम्हारे उस पुराने गुस्से पर भी,
और चोट लगे कभी तोह याद मे तुम्हारी, पी लेता हूँ वोह कड़वा हल्दी वाला दूध भी।

आज चलते चलते उन पुरानी यादों मे मैं खोया था,
तुम्हारा ही ख्याल लेकर आज दिन मे मैं सोया था।

माँ तेरी याद मे, आज मैं फिर रोया था,
उन हसीन यादो पर, मैं छुप-छुप कर रोया था।
थोडा हस-हस कर रोया था,
थोडा सिसक-सिसक कर रोया था।
माँ तेरी याद मे, आज मैं फिर रोया था।

बस जो कभी अकेला होता हूँ

बस जो कभी अकेला होता हूँ,
तोह उन पलों को गुनगुना लेता हूँ,
जीनमे थे कुछ यार हसींन।
जिनमे थे कुछ यार अजीज।

आज चारदीवारी में घिर गया हूँ,
तोह याद आता है वोह कॉलेज का आवारापन।
उन बेंचों पर नाम लिखना,
और कैंटीन मैं गप्पे मारना।
उस खुली हवा मैं सांस लेना,
और बेफिक्री से दिन काटना।

चला गया वोह यारो का याराना,
वोह हसीं चेहरों का याद आना।
अब तोह 9 से 5 घिरे रहते हैं,
सुबह से शाम फिरे रहते हैं।
जो फुरसत मिलती है लंच-ब्रेक में,
वोह भी बॉस के नाम किये रहते हैं।

सीख गए कैलेंडर पढ़ना,
तरस गए सन्डे तक आना,
वोह शाम का पांच बजना,
और साल मे एक बार दीवाली का आना।
कुछ छुट्टियों मैं सिमट कर रह गई जिंदगी।
कैद हो गई व्ओह आवारगी,
और सिमट गई दीवानगी।

उन्ही राहो मे कुछ आगे निकल चले हम।
यु कहो- पैनो से चाभियों तक,
और नोटों से क्रेडिट कार्ड तक।
चुबता है अब कार मैं अकेला जाना,
याद आता है वोह, एक बाइक पर चार दोस्तों का आना।
यह बड़ा सा अप्पर्टमेंट भी खली है,
और कॉलेज के कमरो की वोह यादें अभी भी दिल ने नहीं निकली हैं।

कुछो ने तोह शादियां कार ली,
और कुछ विदेशो मे बस ली।
अब कहाँ मुमकिन सबका मिलना,
वोह रात रात तक जगराते करना।
अब तोह ज़ी-न्यूज़ से आज-तक,
और बैडरूम से टॉयलेट तक जाते हैं।
मनो कभी फुरसत मिले तोह,
9 बजे तक सो जाते हैं।

सुना था लोगो को कहते हुए,
कॉलेज से दिन न आएँगे दोबारा।
तब हस दिए थे इन बातो पर,
सोचा था उम्रभर का है यह याराना।
देखो अब कैसी मायूसी है,
शीशे में भी हैरानी है।
चारो तरफ वीरानी है।
नींद मे भी बेचैनी है।

जब कभी फुरसत के दो पल बटोरता हूँ,
तोह उन दिनों की यह तस्वीर देखता हूँ।
याद कर लेता हु वोह पहाड़ी रास्ते।
वोह ढाबे की चाय और कैंटीन के पास्ते।
वोह आखरी गोल्ड-फ्लैक पर सब का झपटना,
और उस एक रोटी की बोटियाँ निचोड़ना।
वोह टी-शर्ट का बदलना,
और एक दूसरे के बिस्तर पर सोना।
सोचता हूँ की फिर कभी मिलेंगे अगर,
तोह मचाएंगे जमकर ग़दर।

बस जो कभी अकेला होता हूँ,
तोह उन पलो को गुनगुना लेता हूँ,
जिनमे थे कुछ यार हसीन।
जिनमे थे कुछ यार अजीज।

A Second Death

I see them all from up above so high,
As they wait for me to come and take them away when they die,
Some young, some old, some weary some cold,
Sleeping on cots or dragging heels around the corner, or putting assignments on hold.
I think they wait for a perfect time, as do I,
To settle-without-belongings here, up above so high.

Some are hardworking and always punctual,
Some are always free, they keep spitting and later curse me for being so cruel.
Idiots they are, bloody pessimists, they had nothing to do when they were alive,
Just after they die, they suddenly want to prove that they had a life.
They would like to take up my bookkeeping chores,
Down on the earth, they were busy searching whores.

Those who die in accidents, where I had gone to collect other lifed-but-lifeless beings,
Sit calmly in a corner, like placed things.
Women- they never improve, they never change,
Even when I separate them from their talkative neighbours; here in the heavens they make a new range.
Sometimes I have to descend down to the gutters of hell,
To see those swines who remain a nuisance even after their souls fell.

Some want promotions on the basis of their behaviour,
"Please remove your doubts," I make them clear.
Idiots, of course they are, to demand promotions in hell,
For all their lives they just ate and swell.
They constantly give me news of their idle foes,
And ask me to bring them here- head to toes.

Envious they are all, mean and treacherous,
Black-hearted, black-tongued, black-faced and hairless,
I keep them in cages, tied and confined to avoid any conflict,
Some I kill a second time and lable extinct.
But curious they are, and ambitious too,
To heaven they want to fly; bloody swines without a clue.

Tonight I am calling them all for a false orientation,
To describe what heaven is and record their last reaction.
'Sow seeds and reap the harvest,' has long been the rule of their earth,
Tonight as they come, I'll wait to mop away their dirt.
For what they fools anticipate as an orientation, is going to be a mass execution.
To turn hell just as calm as heaven, I'll suppress them again for this reason.

Marigolds

Like distant Sunflowers on a monsoon eve,
Yellow street lights glow in the foggy cream,
Eagles hover in the sky with widespread wings,
Searching their breakfast and eatable clings.
Dew drops on tin-sheds glow like pearl balls,
And piercing the fog a beam of light falls.

There are dogs itching and commuters running,
Uncles jogging and little school girls mugging.
Chimneys emit puffs of black cloud,
And vehicles honk, bold and loud.
Sparrows chirrup in the background,
And labours defecate on a mud mound.

Sky touching towers stretch cable lines,
And a few teenagers giggle to B.B ki Vines,
Pigeons flutter in a struggling flight,
And I see sleep deprived faces all around, in my sight.
In polished boots and an ironed shirt,
A young lad attempts his first flirt.

She giggles at him as he passes by,
Nevertheless, his hopes are high.
In those some minutes the sun scorches bright,
Awaking the world with its daylight.
Soon these dew drops will evaporate,
And somewhere soon on the crossroad those dogs would mate.

Saffron clad men bow to the morning sun,
While the teenagers are drowned in fun.
The pigeon lands with wings stretched,
And the lad reveals Marigolds with a rose meshed.
She laughs even louder now,
He realises the proposal went wrong, but how?

His friends point at those Marigolds,
And he embarrassingly hides them in his shirt's folds.

The Internet- A Poem

A place that asks in binary and answers through Google,
Where there is no STD, and everything's local
That chomps in Bytes and gulps in Kilobytes,
When added with 1024 becomes a Megabyte.
It handles Gigabytes and Terabytes.
And is presently preparing for Petabytes.
It's by your side and by my side,
With 1.7 billion users worldwide.
It is predicted to go 5 billion by 2020,
So, guess where would they play and where would we watch the next ICC WT20?

It has e-mailing and e-shopping,
E-ticketing and e-learning.
It is convenient and home-based,
Where you can walk with shoes unlaced.
It is noiseless and spaceless,
But still, boundless!
It has answers to everything,
From "how to cook?" to "how to sing?"

It is constructive and self-instructive,
Witty and cooperative.
It is intelligent and reasonable,
And seldom arguable.
It has precision and location,
To steer you upto your destination.
It is multidisciplinary,
From child to adult, the uses vary.

It is table-sized and pocket-sized,
User friendly and affordably priced.
It has libraries and classrooms,
Un-weded brides and grooms.
It works from rooftops and basements,
And remains functional even in toilets.
It doesn't mind you taking it places,
And displays the same result for all ages.

A virtual place or call it another home,
It is one place where all acquaintances roam.
It has Facebook and Twitter,
With round the clock chitter-chatter.
If you're in the mood to study,
There are a hundred tech sites ready.
If you're in a lighter mood,
There is hilarious comic food.

Name any course and you have it on COURSERA,
Ask any question and get it answered on QUORA.
Make any payment with the help of a click,
Or shop anything in a flick.
Book a hotel even before you reach,
Or order pizza on a sunny beach.
Learn a language on DUOLINGO,
Or even better, learn how to read body language on BLIFALOO.

When you're free try ENGINEERING.COM,
Or when you're done try INSPIRATION.COM
At times when you are low, tap WANNASMILE.COM
And when you're high, hit SOBER.COM
Furthermore, for reasons left few...
There's always your favourite TORRENTZ.EU

मिश्रा जी

बात सवा छः बजे की है। मैं अपने एक सहपाठी के साथ, अपने डिपार्टमेंट के सीनियर फैकल्टी श्री आर के मिश्रा जी के घर आया हुआ था। मिश्रा जी कद के लंबे, वादे के पक्के, रंग के सावंले, दिल के साफ़ और जुबान के मीठे किस्म के आदमी हैं, जो वास्तविक और अवास्तविक ज्ञान के भण्डार से परिपूर्ण हैं। उनके साथ बिताए हुए दो पल दो घंटों सा ज्ञान दे जाते है और दो घंटो सा ही वक़्त भी ले जाते है। मगर नई और श्लोकयुक्त पंक्तियों का हुजूम उनके मुख से निरान्तन निकलता ही रहेगा।

कई बातों के बीच मैं उन्होंने अपनी भाभी जी को याद दिलाते हुए कहा, "जरा चाय जल्दी बना दीजियेगा।" समय साढ़े छः हो चला था। मिश्रा जी की बातो का कोई अंत नहीं था, न हमारे मन मैं था कि हम उनकी कोई बात को छोड़ दें, सो एक से दूजे, दूजे से तीसरे, और तीसरे से चौथे टॉपिक पर छलांग मारते हुए हम अपनी बातो मे व्यस्त रहे। हालाँकि हर टॉपिक के अंत मैं, मिश्रा जी जाने का एक प्रयास जरूर करते की वोह अपनी सायंकाल की आरती कर के वापस आ जाँए। मगर बातो का समां कुछ यूँ बधा था की मानो ग्रतवाकर्ष बल ही उन्हें वहां से उठने न दे रहा हो।

बातें चलती रही, और मिश्रा जी ने अपनी पतलून घुटनो तक मोड़ ली, के पैर धोए जाए और आर्ति की जाए। मगर बातें अपना दम नहीं तोड़ रही थी। वोह उठते, खड़े हो कर कुछ देर बात करते और फिर एकाएक किसी बात पर वापस आ कर बैठ जाते। फिर तो संसद सी संगीन गुफ्तगू चलती, और राजधानी से सफासट टॉपिक्स की बरसात।

"अमन जरा तुम ही आरती करदो, तुम आज दिन भर मैं अण्डे तोह नहीं खाए हो ना?" पौने सात के करीब उन्होंने अपने बेटे को यह कहा। मनो उन्हें भी समझ आ गया की बातों की चादर से निकलना भी आसान नहीं। बेटे ने तुरंत, पहले हाँ मैं, फिर ना में गर्दन हिलाई और मिश्रा जी की दोनों बातों का एक ही सिरे मैं जवाब दे दिया।  मिश्रा जी ने उसे थपथपाया और भेज दिया। बातें चलती रही।

अचानक एक फ़ोन आया और स्क्रीन मे नाम पढ़ मिश्रा जी सतर्क हो उठे। घडी की तरफ देखा, उस पर स्पष्ट पौने सात का वक़्त झलक रहा था। फ़ोन उठा कर बोले, "मैं आपको दिए हुए समय पर आप से मिलूँगा, आप वहीँ पर इंतजार कीजिये।" रायते की तरह फैला बातो का समां कुछ यु वापस बाँधा की मनो कितना मामूली सा काम था जो पिछले आधे घंटे से नहीं हो पा रहा था। मनो कोई जिद थी जो उसने अभी अभी छोड़ी हो।

बात भगवन से बडी उनके वचन की रही, जिसके वह खुद को बद्ध मानते रहे हैं। अपना किया हुआ वादा नजदीक देख वोह बिना वक़्त गवाए, एक स्प्रिंग की तरह वापस कूद खड़े हुए। मैंने बताया था ना, मिश्रा जी कद के लंबे और वादे के पक्केे किस्म के आदमी हैं।

One Line Stories

◆ Amidst the hooting crowd, someone said, "There comes the Police."

◆ Just when he picked up the lyrics a string of his guitar broke.

◆ When he had lost all hopes of living, his wife messaged him, "You are about to become a Dad."

◆ In middle of the night when he finished a horror movie, he heard a knock on the door.

◆ The journey was smooth, until he suffered a puncture just one kilometer before his destination.

◆ As he dropped a wasteful 50p coin in her hands, she said, "May God give you all the fortune in the world."

◆ "My son is in a critical condition, please give the medicines, I'll pay you tomorrow." But he refused.

◆ The angry mob was advancing towards him with sticks and stones, when the boy intervened, "It was my mistake."

◆ She came in shining whites, only to discover him lay dead in a pool of red.

◆ She weighed herself, to discover a whooping 250gms less.

◆ He served sweets with a tempting palate; he was diagnosed diabetic yesterday.

◆ On his first day in a new city he met his kindergarten teacher.

◆ As they shared their first kiss in an orchard, a Nightingale sang in joy.

◆ He was utterly disturbed when his dog came and licked his toes.

◆ Just when he was about to sign off his suicide letter, the pen stopped.

◆ He asked for a tank-full of fuel and found his wallet missing.

◆ He finally said I love you to his step mother.

◆ The new office desk had seven names scribbled on it.

◆ He wore a torn shirt and unmatched shoes.

◆ The rag picker looked at the mannequin with greedy eyes.

◆ The farmer looked at his barren fields, and then at the cloudless sky.

◆ Two blocks away, he shined the mirror in her eyes.

◆ They got engaged after a much debated inter-caste affair.

◆ She said she loved him, with all her heart.

◆ She finally asked him to bring her a rose, and he uprooted a tree.

◆ He kissed her gently on the forehead while she slept, picked up his luggage and left with a heavy heart.

◆ She smiled when they bumped.

The Selfie Girls

You will find them everywhere-

At railway stations.

At the PVRs.

At Dominos.

At Mc'Donald's.

Even at funerals.

No doubt on social networking sites as well.

They come in solo, and sometimes in pairs or trios; even tetras and pentas.

They make faces.

They curl their lips.

They come together.

They don't pay to eat.

They don't much pay to watch movies either.

Their right hand remains busy,  stretched in the air, while they make faces and winks.

They have a big community.

Across the nation and overseas.

They order loads of eateries, and then deny eating it.

They line up items on the table, do their "NEEDFUL", and then ask you to finish it.

They block entrances and escalators, to do their "NEEDFUL".

They're COMPLICATED, and UN-U-N-D-E-R-S-T-A-N-D-A-B-L-E.

And OVERGROWING.

Haven't you met them?

They're pouting up at every neighborhood.

They are- THE SELFIE GIRLS.

Zika

He's OUT!
He's OUT!

Aedes Aegypti, they call him.

He's dangerous.

He's mighty.

He's Influencing.

He's transmitting.

He's terrorizing.

And he's trespassing.

He has a weapon called Zika.

It's a virus.

It's lethal.

It's deadly.

Worse than Aids, worse than the mightiest Cancer.

Zika, don't forget that name.

When Zika happens- a child is born with an abnormally small head and mental disorders, called microcephaly disease.

And guess what?

Mr. Aedes Aegypti never met the unborn child personally.

He met his pregnant mother.

And Zika transmitted.

They have asked women to not get pregnant right now in Brazil.

And in other S.A countries.

And they are checking them of Zika, when they leave the country.

Because Zika is dangerous.

And so is Mr. Aedes Aegypti.

Meet Mr. Aegypti- he is a MOSQUITO.

It Made My January

January, it ends today. The first month of the new year has come to a pass-by. Did it bring joys to you? Was it different by any means? Was it wonderful or exhilarating? Was it achieving and accomplishing? Was it rejoicing?

Think for a moment of your month's end, before I tell you how it passed for me.

Close your eyes and think for a moment.

Welcome back, let's begin.

Like any new year, 2016 also started the same way for me- thinking and pondering on matters of development, and resolving to inculcate it in our lives. However, I did not take any resolutions, simply for the fact that it seemed pointless to take a resolution and not get up to work on it. But somewhere deep within there was this voice that said, "2016, I won't let you pass by so easily." And it still says, with the same shout.

The first forth-night passed in irregular jogging and exercises, eating less rice and walking more miles. I took to writing once in a while, and thought of many a things to do. But somehow, things turned the course of happenings. I started to blog on a regular note, it was just a once in a while write-up that followed with another one next day and yet another the following day. Needless to say it became a routine to blog daily, and readers awaited my blog. I just happened to look up the details of the people following the blogs, and stretching across India, it went to Nepal, US, UK, Netherlands, Germany and a few other countries as well. I felt delighted. In the meanwhile my blog page also crossed it's 5,000 page-views milestone, yet another thing to cherish and live out loud, with happiness.

Happiness, it me to the next thing- The setting Sun. I just realised this January, that this month hosts a beautiful sunset- big, round and red, everyday. When I walked back to my hostel room at 4:50 p.m the big ball like sun glowed on the window panes facing west. Like an artist's canvas, each day with a different setting, yet beautiful and mesmerizing. The beauty of it didn't let me miss any sunset. I witnessed each sunset, and smiled at the reflecting window panes. It takes away the day's tiredness, trust me.

Talking of sunset, I however also missed one thing- The Winter Line. The winter line is one mesmerizing scene to witness, when the horizon turns into a streak of orange, red and blue. It is witnessed at sundown only from Mussoorie and Switzerland between October to January. I was just 30KMS away, but yet infinitely far. I still have hopes to witness it someday and capture it in my lens. However, talking of Mussoorie, the city hasn't disappointed by any means. One evening it gave me the opportunity to witness it in a mountain-full of glittering lights- while, yellow and fluorescent- like stars twinkling just at an arm's reach.

Next, my most dear friend got his debut novel published and amidst disputes cancelled his contract from his publisher. In between, a few friends ordered and received the book. While he plans to get the book published again in a new jacket, I feel lucky to have a copy of the original draft.

Last, January ends today, with the first marriage feast and a Sunday. If I talk about a memory that I would take with the passing day, it would be buying a Bhagwad Gita, from a foreign lady, whom I saw waving copies of the book in the Paltan Bazaar. She was in saffrons, and had a tilak on her forehead. I though had a copy of the book but her selling a religious book on the streets with a satchel around her shoulder, where others preferred selling pajamas, artificial jewellery, and other stuff- appealed me to buy a copy.

"You're not selling this for profit, then why?" I asked her.
"This book brings liberations from all doubts and disbeliefs. Those who are confused find a way through this, I am selling to awaken the sleeping souls, to direct people towards their goal." She answered with simplicity, smiling warmly.

It made my January!

वोह पैंतीस मिनट

हर बढ़ते कदम के साथ मन मैं बस एक ही बात थी। शायद एक डर था वोह, या शायद संकोच, या फिर उस अनजाने मुकाम से कुक झिझक। एक किरण ख़ुशी की भी थी, और एक खौफ उस सूनेपन का भी था जो पल भर के लिए मुझे अपनी ज़ंज़ीरो मैं जकड़ने के लिए रुका होगा। गुदगुदी के बीच, बेचैनी थी और ख़ुशी के बीच घबराहट।

गुजरते मील के पत्थर के साथ पता लगा की आखिरी दो किलोमीटर रह गए हैं, और अंदर के गणितज्ञ ने वक़्त का हिसाब देते हुए बताया की कुछ दो या तीन मिनट और बाकि थे। दिल की धड़कने तेज होने लगी और माथे पर ओस की बूंदों सा पसीना फैल गया, हाथ सुने से पड़ गए और पैर कापने लगे- मानो किसी खतरनाक जानलेवा बीमारी ने अपनी गिरफ्त मे ले लिया हो।

रुमाल से मेरा गिला माथा पोछते हुए मेरी पत्नी मुझे बोली, "इसमें डरने वाली क्या बात है, वहां सब लोग आपको सुन्ने आए होंगे।"

मैं मन ही मन बोला, पगली इसी बात का तोह डर है। वह सब मुझे सुन्ने आए होंगे, और नजाने मैं कैसे बोलुँगा।

देखा जाए तोह वास्तव में व्याकुलता इस बात से नहीं थी की मैं क्या बोलुँगा, बल्कि इस बात से थी कि लगातार दस मिनट तक कैसे बोलुँगा। पिछले एक सप्ताह से मैंने जितना भी अभ्यास किया था, वोह रटे हुए लफ्ज़ तोह कुछ तीन मिनट भी साथ नहीं दे पा रहे थे। उसके आगे कुछ जोड़ने को था भी या नहीं, येहि सोच सोच नाक और माथे पर पसीना पालती मार के बैठा हुआ था।

आखरी बाएँ मोड़ के साथ जैसे ही मैंने नजरें उठाई तोह सामने लगे बडे से बोर्ड पर मोटे लाल अक्षरों मैं लिखा हुआ था विद्यार्थी भवन। मैंन पसीने से गीली कापती हुई उंग्लियो से आमंत्रण पत्र को अलट-पलट कर उस पर भी वही नाम तलाशा। घबराहट ऐसी सर पर चढ़ी हुई थी की मैं यह तक भूल गया की यह वही विद्यालय का परिसर है जहाँ मैंने हस्ते खेलते अपने बचपन का वक़्त भी गुजारा था। पिताजी के ट्रान्सफर के वर्ष मैंने अपने दसवीं की बोर्ड परीक्षा इसी विद्यालय मैं दी थी, और अभी मैं आमंत्रण पत्र पर इसका नाम तलाश रहा हूँ।

मेरी गाड़ी के रुकते ही बच्चों का एक समूह गेंदा फूल की माला ले कर दौड़ता आया, कुछ छः सात बच्चे थे, चेहरे पर से मुस्कान छलकती हुई और आँखों से मासूमियत टिमटिमाती हुई, वोह आए और मेरे नाम के साथ ज़िंदाबाद के नारे लगाने लगे। पल भर मे मेरा डर कहीं गायब हो गया और माथा वापस सूख गया, उन बच्चों की मासूमियत मे मैं खो सा गया, उनके उस आपार प्यार से मन गदगद हो उठा।

अभी तोह मैंने गाड़ी से कदम निचे भी नहीं रखे थे, और बच्चों का यह प्यार देख मैं पहले ही निशब्द हो चुका था। आँखों से आँसु छलक ही पड़े थे की पत्नी जी ने हाथ पर हाथ रख कर धीमे से कहा, "देखो यह सब बच्चे आपसे कुछ सिखने की इच्छा ले कर आज रविवार को यहाँ आए हैं।"

यह एक पंक्ति ने मनो ऐसा विश्वास भर दिया की, सारा संकोच चुटकी भर मे रफूचक्कर हो गया। छप्पन के सीने के साथ मैं जमीन में गढ़ते हुए कदमो के साथ उन बच्चों तक पंहुचा, उनका प्यार स्वीकारा और मंच की और बड़ा। होहल्ले और अपने नाम के जयकारो के बीच, तालियों की गड़गड़ाहट के साथ जाकर मैंने मंच संभाला। कुछ बीस सेकंड बाद जब समां शांत हुआ तोह मैंने अपनी पत्नी से नजर मिलाते हुए, भाषण शुरू करने की अनुमति ली, उन्होंने पलके झपका कर और मुस्कुराकर मेरा मनोबल बढ़ाया।

अपनी रटि हुई पंक्ति से मैंने शुरुआत की, "वर्ष 2000 में मैंने भी इसी विद्यालय से अपना हाइस्कूल किया था।" बच्चों ने तालियों की गड़गड़ाहट से भवन को भर दिया। मैं बाते बताता गया और वोह ख़ुशी मैं तालियां बजाते रहे। विद्यालय के प्रांगड़ से लेकर बाजार तक की बातें हुई, आत तक कार्यरत् संगीता मैडम का भी नाम आया और प्रिंसिपल की कहानियाँ भी उठी। मेरे बचपन के नादान किस्सों पर सब हँसे भी और वैसे ही सपने होने पर वोह राजी भी हुए। जब बच्चों को ऑटोग्राफ दे कर मैं बहार निकला तोह पत्नी जी बोली, "आपने तोह कमाल ही कर दिया, पैंतीस मिनट तक नॉन-स्टॉप राजधानी जैसे चलते ही रहे।"

मैं मन ही मन यह सोच कर मुस्कुराया, की कहाँ दस मिनट बोलने के बारे मैं सोच कर पसीने छुट रहे थे और लौटा पैंतीस मिनट बड़बड़ा के।