"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. 

Scion of Ikshvaku

While traversing through the corridors of mythology, one gets a feeling that this journey cannot be described as only about the ideal that millions revere; rather it is a deliberate assortment of the crux of different cultures and generations. The whole content is laced with contemporary socio-political issues. The milieu is not different from that being witnessed in this era:  social prejudices, falling status of women, misogyny, nonchalant attitude of common folks, law and order situation, rape. It appears as if by some machinations, the great lord has been made to time travel and given the charge of initiating change in the 21^st century.

In trying to sound not too preachy while staying relevant to the aspirations of current generation, some clichés do come up in the writing which could have been avoided. It’s not the best work of the writer, but this notion may simply be because the protagonist is entrenched so deep into the common psyche that any variation may attract considerable criticism. It’s really difficult to dislodge the long held beliefs about who he was and what he did; but an alternative view must always be considered and appreciated. Overall one can read it if one wishes but it never falls into that ‘must-read’ category every bibliophile so jealously ponders over for himself.

Post Script: The intimate moments are quite circumspect; one does not get to read beyond the usual flirtations of playing with fingers or hair. May be that’s how it was in those days or the writer simply did not want to offend that prude living deep down in our hearts.

Scary

The inveterate praise being showered on her was slowing changing from innocuous obsession to titillating perversion. She demurred, "It can not be a la transient showers at noon."
He had laced his voice with tantalizing subtlety, and used his signature charm to the fullest. It hid well his vicious notoriety.
He was never a dilettante, always a consummate hound, waiting in wings to scupper. Only this time, it required some more planning.
He pushed. He needed that force. Instantly, the floor turned red. She could not scream even. He had tied her all over. It was premeditated, calculated, and cold blooded.

Beautiful Faces‬

Sometimes...
You come across a face that narrates a beautiful tale.
You look at and still look at, trying to decipher all nonchalantly, as if time is now a redundant concept.
You realize then the fallacy of those who preached about the abstractness of timelessness.
Oh! Only had they looked at the way you did, they would have known; it's real and palpable.
The contours, the features, the amalgamation of colours- It seems like the perfect fulfillment of a connoisseur's dream.
You keep on thinking.
They had also preached, "Never be enamoured. Flesh is evil."
And you murmur, "Yeah, it is and I'm the devouring devil."

‪

Life

Winds blow cold and slow
Humming with mellifluous Cradlesong.
Gathered is a swarm of different faces
With all kinds of glittering robes.

Instant the realization that
Mightier is the urge than ever before
To live the Indian dream on offer
Of cosy jobs and manufactured relations
And remain happily oblivious forever.
So,
You work, you party, you pretend
And wonder still
What ails!
The facade grows, the real you shrinks
Nothing is done though to change it.
Last when the day arrives,
You wish to have lived a bit more,
Like you aspired,
When wonderful was the world of yours.

#Composed at Ranchi Railway station#

A Concoction of Eternal and Ephemeral themes

Random Thoughts

It takes the life out of me to pretend indifference...

Earlier, it was an aberration; now, it has been a norm...

When you live on the edge, you wait for the fall.

The distinction between the 'due process of law' and the 'procedure established by law' is, I can only say, profound.

To assess whether you have failed the battle or lost the war is a battle against time on war footing.

So, poverty is a cognitive tax. So some one was partially right, but we made fun of him in heaps. 

It's strange that we still talk about generation gap when someone in his seventies dictates the weirdest fantasies of the most avant garde & narcissistic group of this generation. How do you do it, George R.R. Martin?

Vicarious, you have been my reason for perseverance.

Einstein once said, "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." Either Einstein is wrong or my frame of reference is different.

The dilemma to harness technology to unearth moments of intimacy incognito, though it brings legitimate privacy concerns, is what that distinguishes between mortality and morality. 

In every word I write, the meaning is you.

'I want to be a Woman'

I want to be woman.
Frail & meek,
Shy & sweet,
I should be,
Shouldn't I?

I want to be woman.
Orchids & roses,
Dolls & princes,
I should adore,
Shouldn't I?

I want to be woman.
Fettered by custom,
Bound by culture
I should endure,
Violence & subjugation,
Shouldn't I?

I want to be woman
Walking down the aisle
At a tender age,
Sharing the bed & the flesh
With a hitherto unknown man
Shouldn't I?

I want to be woman
To bear guilt,
To bear pain,
And procreate without fail.
Shouldn't I?

But, I don’t want to be woman and you know above why.

"Creativity is Dead"

I saw a corpse,
Lying unattended on an opulent street,
Carcass only, but no soul.
Someone was dead, but there was no uproar!
I inquired around, I got no clue.
The people had no time to lose.

Then, a moment here and there,
And, the picture began to emerge clearer.
Chirping birds and blooming flowers of spring,
No longer made people delighted or thrilled.
Festivals had merely become days of inaction,
Not fit for rejuvenation or revitalization.
Passion was now just a word,
And diffidence everyone's consort.
Ethereal desires and sinister reality
had mercilessly killed creativity.
And, there was no screaming, no funeral for her
Not even an acknowledgment of her death.

The True Kingdoms

Limbic was the most important planet of Cortex galaxy, located on the inner borders of it. The planet housed two major kingdoms, perpetually at war with each other. The eastern kingdom was called Orient and the western Occident.

Orient was ruled by the king Prude, the successor to the great King Puritan. Prude belonged to the most sacred race of the kingdom, the Upright. He was the protector of Moral religion. He declared Orient an abstinence state and asked his subjects to follow it. The biggest punishment in the kingdom was honor killing.

Occident was ruled by king Pervert. He renamed his kingdom Profane state and declared blasphemy its official religion. Fear was his most favored god. The prime occupation in the kingdom was indulgence. The citizens belonged to the sybarite race. Their favorite past-time was shame hunting, an endangered animal in this kingdom.

It was the period of hedonism and Occident had become a very powerful state. It's expansionist policies had brought it to the doorsteps of Orient. One day, it attacked Orient and after a brief fight defeated & captured it.

To mark his victory,the mighty king Pervert declared woman as the currency of Limbic. His subjects were highly appreciative of this benevolent act of his king. They came up with a number of poems to extol his vices.One of the composition read:

Fear is my savior, pervert my king.

Woman is currency and economy free.

Keep me betrothed to destiny, O Lord of vices & Limbic King !

For use or abuse,

I shall be obliged to him.

#Dark writings

#Inconclusive

"One Day"

At dawn, one day,
The sun knocks on the door.
Amber rays ooze through the curtains,
The facade shimmer in daylight.

I wake up, but
Alas, the spring is dead,
The salubrity gone!
Leaves are dry & parched,
And soil as hard as rocks.

Not too much time has passed by,
Since the heart skipped beats,
When it first met you,
Among rocks on the beach.

Now,
There is no silhouette on sand.
There are no palm trees.
The sea sings the elegy,
Sweetheart, you were blood in him!

"Shashank"

"फकीरा"

फकीरा क्या करेगा चेहरों का !
सफ़र में बिछड़ते-मिलते शहरों का !
रिश्तों के बंधन बड़े महंगे यहाँ,
फकीरा क्या करेगा रिश्तों का !

फकीरा तो है मशगूल फिजा में अहसासों की,
हवाओं सा बहता बेफिक्र ।
फकीरा संग जज्बातें हैं,
इबादत में बहती आँखें है ।

फकीरा तो बस सौदागर है रूहों का,
फकीरा क्या करेगा जिस्मों का !


"शशांक"

Miles away at a sylvan place,

Dying sparks evoke the fire of yore.

Left are smoldered embers

With winces of yesteryear galore.

Acquiescing to the curse of fate,

The wood endures the autumn’s fury, so do I.

Unrestrained has always been she in inflicting hurt

Like a blunt dagger inside the belly.

What is it with u, dopamine? Why don't u understand that you are essential along with serotonin for my constantly whining idiot-box a.k.a. brain. It now and then longs for you like a five year old does for toys.

Don't fix your poverty line the way Planning commission did. Also, believe me, you will never land yourself in a crisis similar to this unfortunate fella called 'water'. So, stop making fuss about "Save Dopamine Campaign."

Chill, relax and most importantly make your presence felt in my brain in fair amount and at opportune times.

#Blues