"शायद"

शायद हम कहानियां लिखना सिखाते हैं, जीना नहीं ।
शायद हम खुलके कभी कह नहीं पाते कि गलतियां करना भी है अधिकार हमारा ।
शायद कहानियां ढूंढते हैं हम जिंदगी में, जीना नहीं । 
शायद मासूमियत घुट जाती है हमारी सोच सोच के यही,
जीना होता है अलग, कहानियों की तरह तो बिलकुल भी नहीं ।
शायद कहानियों में ही मोहब्बत होती है सिर्फ; जिंदगी में नहीं ।

शायद ये कुछेक पड़ावों की कहानियाँ सिर्फ यादें बन रह जाएँगी ।
शायद जिंदगी की ठीक-ठाक कहानी कभी न बन पायेगी ।
शायद आज बारिश होगी रिमझिम, धरती की प्यास बुझाने ।
शायद मेरी तिश्नगी रहेगी हमेशा मेरी गलतियां बताने ।

Done with D.H. Lawrence

It's sullen, sulky, gloomy & melancholic. It's weaved in pain to make you flinch; yet it makes you covet till you are tired of it, but like an inveterate habit, it does not let you leave or set you free; like what she did to Paul. Paul Morel, never sure of what he wanted, what he stood for, could not figure out the maze she had built for him or rather I would say he had built for himself. The undercurrents were there, but never strong and direct, yet he allowed himself to slip totally oblivious to what was at stake.

It's delightful to see the array of words portrayed, the magic they weaved, the tragedy they unfurled, the class they depicted.

A letter to "Sons & Lovers"

Time flies, isn’t it?

Three years it has been since I first held you in my hands.

You were crimson red with a hint of dark on your edges all around. On the corner shelf of a dim lit room you were whispering to me, “Come. I shall be yours through misery & mystery. Hold. I shall take you through pain & pleasure. Know. I shall be your truth forever.”

I took you away.

I had dreamed of a journey together full of possibilities, but I could never be bold. My lips trembled when they took your name. My hands shivered when they felt your weight. I never dared touch you.

Perhaps, I was afraid of you; your popularity, your controversies. I never wanted others to know about our association. After all, I was a good guy.  

I put up a mask, like a veneer that hides ugly furniture. I pretended and further pretended. Every day, I waged a battle inside. A strange fear kept holding me back from giving what was duly yours.

Oh, dear! I didn’t know you were so resilient. Three long years you waited silently to let me tell this world that I had had you!

Yes, I have got you and I’m not ashamed.

 I want to know you. I want to understand you. Those 392 pages of you are mine and I shall definitely treasure you.

Truly Yours

What do you want?

Sometimes mediocrity pushes you hard, but at the end of the day, It's mediocrity and it has never taken anyone far. The words below are manifestations of acute mediocrity borne out of delinquency and smugness shown at a time when it mattered the most.

What do you want?
Do you want to cry & laugh?
Do you want to let your inside talk?

What do you want?
Do you want to confess ugly past?
Do you want to erase indelible scars?

What do you want?
Do you want to touch and keep distance as well?
Do you want to covet and detest as well?

What do you want?
Do you want to see randomness into the planned?
Do you want to decipher the life’s brand?

What do you want?
Do you want to know what ails inside?
Do you want to know what she likes?

What do you want?
Do you want to crave everything?
Do you want to be good at nothing?

What do you want?
Do you want to love hard and live grand?
Do you want to die and never want?

I was a bee
Once
Careless and free.
I Sipped love
Little by little
Swarming around trees.

I was a bee
Among
The multitude of blooms.
I Lived oblivious
In the hive
Cozy to breathe.

It was the fable
In anguish
I weaved
Insolently whenever they felt me
In places
I could not speak.

Oh! I was never a bee
Only a scarred chick
Mourning
In silence
For broken wings
And tattered dreams.

He dreamed of senorita land. 
She coveted chivalrous men. 
Fairy tales they had had
Till they acquiesced
To a matrimonial ring.

"The not so Argumentative Indian"

Someone once said, “What you see is what you believe in.” He would have died of shock if he were made to live now. (Before any conclusion is drawn, it is to be clarified that usage of ‘he’ does not reveal any intrinsic, deep seated patriarchal demons harboring inside the mind of the writer. Of course, there are demons inside, but they cannot be accessed so easily.)

We have all heard this before, “Life takes unusual turns sometimes. It allows a David to take on a Goliath.” However, in this instant age where information changes faster than the beat of a heart, this maxim offers too little too late to bring any adrenaline rush. Perhaps the story of contemporary India is more interesting, incisive and melodramatic to ponder upon. We have often found film critics using clichés like riveting to describe a movie that hold them captivated. We can borrow such banality here and say, “The story of contemporary India is highly riveting,” but to understand what makes it so, we have to deliberate earnestly upon the fad of cynosure generation (the darling age group of this country). Actually, this genre is nothing new. It has been entrenched in our psyche since long ago so much so that a noble laureate had to write a book on it, “The Argumentative Indian.” It’s just that with the advent of information age, its visibility has soared to astronomical heights.

Some of the questions that we often ask ourselves such as what makes it believable or what makes it fiery can be answered easily if we listen to them carefully and assess them dispassionately. In almost all the cases, we find them to be highly rhetorical, ideological, full of emotions (come on, we are humans!), expedient and zero-sum-game like. Of course, a few might be practical, encompassing, inclusive, full of team spirits etc, but they are rarity rather the norm.

Events of today are no different. Those who are occupying the highest places today went through the same ladder that they so vigorously denounce now. It’s the people sitting on the fence who have to understand that they were taken for a ride, are being taken for a ride and will be taken for a ride. Till then cherish this year's Oscar to our beloved Leo.