दोहरा सच

तेरा सच अलग है, 
मेरा अलग। 
तेरी शिकायत मुझसे है, 
मेरी शिकवा उससे है। 

तू सोचे, कुछ तेरे हिसाब से है नहीं,
मैं मानू जाल में फसा मैं भी यहीं। 
तू सोचे तेरे साथ हो रहा है गलत,
मानूं गलती से ही रगड़ा जा रहा हूँ मैं भी। 

तुझे दुख व्यक्त करने में रस है,
दुख भगाने की कोशिश मेरी चरस है। 
तेरे इरादे तो हैं बिल्कुल सही,
मेरे सही इरादों से हासिल हो कुछ नहीं|

तेरे मन के राक्षस करे तुझे परेशान,
मेरा मन मुझे ही बना देता है हैवान।
तू सोचे तुझे समझ सके कोई नहीं,
मैं सोचूँ मैं समझूँ तुझे पर तू मुझे नहीं।

क्या गलत, क्या सही, 

यह तो पता नहीं,
कब तक चलेगा सब, 

यह भी तो पता नहीं|

तेरा सच अलग है, 
मेरा अलग। 
शायद मंजिल भी हमारी अलग हों,
पर चलना तो है साथ ही| 

क्यूंकि हमारी मंजिलों से पहले,
ना ये रास्ता खत्म होगा, ना ये जिंदगी।
तेरा सच अलग है, 
मेरा अलग।

 
इन दोहरी सच्चाइयों की हैवानियत से,

हमें अब डरना है नहीं,
आखिर उसी की कृपा से हम हैं, 

और है नहीं वो निर्दयी...

That Match-Winning Feeling!

It's a burst. Sometimes a sprinkle, sometimes a blast. The intensity may vary - but it inevitably comes as a splash of naughty excitement and release of a lot of feel good hormones. The hormones that tell me to let go and permit myself to do something crazy - something forbidden.

It's that sense of victory. Like the podium finish that makes one eligible for a bucket filled tumbler of chocolate ice-cream. 

To an untrained and unprepared mind this feeling may be difficult to handle. A difficulty similar to one faced by a rookie bar-owner handling a victor football team fresh after their win. The indebted bar-owner faces brawling musclemen loaded with rebelliousness. If he doesn't handle them well - he will soon have a ruckus of fist fights and a broken property. But, if he handles their excitement and heightened energy levels well, it's good for business. 
He has to channelize the team members' rebellious spirits. Giving them a sense of reward can help them feel acknowledged and appreciated. A round of on-the-house beers can easily do the trick. While the blood alcohol levels rise, he can subtly nudge the sportsmen to relax. He can then hope that their violence will pacify as they enter the space of energetic relaxation. As simple an idea as exclusive access to TV can do the trick. When energies relax, a person naturally tilts towards accepting his desire of a good night's sleep. This good night's sleep is what every one is really looking for. Sleep is the taste of death in the otherwise super intense activity filled life. Life with many roles and roleplays. 

I am often the cash-strapped bar owner timidly handling a high which makes my mind behave like those drunk sportsmen. This high, which may be artificially or meditatively induced, needs aware handling. I need to acknowledge and pat my hormonally-loaded sportsmen on their metaphoric backs while handling them a few beers, all the while, nudging them to sleep. Because it's  a good night's sleep that they really crave for. 
After all, our football stars understand that they have just won the local county match - it is the FIFA world cup that they are aiming for. They can't lose their balance with small wins... 

जीवन पथ

तू पूछे ये कैसा पथ है,
मानों बस दर्द ही दर्द है,
हाँ, मज़े भी हैं, थोड़े बहुत,
पर क्यूँ होता इतना कष्ट है?
 
ऐ पगली दिल बिखर कर,
है पड़ा जरूर तेरा फर्श पे,
पर भरोसा तो रख तू मुझपे,
तुझे ले ही जाऊंगा मैं अर्श पे।।। 
 
हैं ये कष्ट भी सभी तेरी ही गर्भ से,
देख जरा, कुछ और भी है इनमें,
ये कष्ट नहीं ये हैं खुशियों से भरे ताले,
सोमरस भी इनमें, थोड़ा सब्र बस तू रख ले,
 
जहरीली जलेबियों सा,
उलझा दिखता जरूर ये पथ तेरा,
हिम्मती तू सहज, थोड़ी उम्मीद तो रख,
यहाँ नहीं मैं छोड़ूँगा तुझे अकेला ।।।

पागलपन

हो रहा संग मेरे सब कुछ है बुरा,

फिर कैसे, तुझे मैं धन्यवाद दे रहा?

शायद, है यही दिमाग का भ्रष्ट हो जाना,

कितनी आसानी से मान लिया कि सबको है जाना?

क्या जब बात खुद की होती,

तो कह पाता इतनी ही आसानी से?

सोचो, जब बात खुद की होती,

तो कह पाता क्या, इतनी ही आसानी से?

 

कुबूल पाता घिनहोने सच को,

क्या इतनी ही बेशर्मी से?

कुबूल कर पाता, इस घिनहोने सच को,

क्या इतनी ही बेशर्मी से?

 

कोने में घुस कर तड़पते होंठों से रो रहा होता,

तब ना मैं यह खोखले शब्द गढ़ रहा होता।  

 

शायद आसान है मेरे लिए,

यूं हाथ जोड़ कबूल कर लेना।

कुबूलियत की कविताओं की महक से,

बेसहारेपन की दुर्गंध को ढकना।

 

ऐ मौत,

ये हाथ खुद-ब-खुद गए तेरी अगुवाई में,

क्यूंकी जीतेगी तू ही इस लड़ाई में।

समझदारी है मेरी की कर लिया जल्दी कबूल,

अब कभी ना होगी मुझसे पुरानी भूल।

जियूँगा हर पल तेरी मौजूदगी में,

तेरा प्रतिबिंब होगा मेरी बची हुई जिंदगी में।

Wrong

 

I. Wrong.

How sorry I am to have hurt you so much,

Biblical ego and selfish ignorance,

Leaving no room for you, as such…

 

As I lived life's naked ironies,

Giving everything, or so I thought,

To manage you as a life's category…

 

Now it dawns that you ain't a category,

It's you whose smile makes all this worthy,

It's you who makes my life savoury…

 

I wronged you in so many ways,

Expecting to blind following,

As if, you can't gauge…

 

Ignored how you nourish everybody,

Judging your fickleness,

Calling it lack of capacity…

 

As you're pushed to despair,

By this life's questionnaire,

Breaking you beyond repair.

 

Our apathy feeds your emotional poverty,

Till you see your lovers as admonishers,

Treated as an object of pity…

मकड़ी जाल

 

काला अंधेरा साया,

जानलेवा जाल ये किसने बिछाया?

उलझ सी गई,

मैं कब कहाँ कैसे?

अच्छी तो थी जिंदगी,

अब क्यूँ मुझे फाँसे?

 

ये घिनहोनी मकड़ियों का अंबार,

छल और कपटी बदबू भरमार,

अब बक्ष भी दे मुझे इन विचारों के फैलाव से,

छोड़ मुझे और जीने दे खुलके।

अपेक्षाएं - खुद की, खुद से

 

I

क्या कहूँ मैं खुद से,

क्यूँ खफा हूँ मैं खुद में?

क्यूँ ढकेलूँ अपनी सीमाओं को,

इन जालिम अपेक्षाओं से?

क्यूँ जीने को लागे, इन अपेक्षाओं का सहारा,

क्यूँ बिन इस ढोंग के जीना है गवारा?  

II

है जालिम जरूर, पर है ये जरूरी,

इन अपेक्षाओं से है जुड़ी, आस जीने की।

तो जी ले तू ऐसे,

कि है कोई कल नहीं।

जो लेना है जीने का मज़ा पूरा,

तो सब कुछ तू कर अभी।

Creator's Zone

We call it being high. Losing the sense of bodies, space, and time. It’s when all the karmic melodramas are arranged, played out and dissolved in quick successions. Like in the eye of a hurricane. The hurricane that engulfs the entire world of our dreams, the world that defines our reality, and squeezes it into a tiny dot.  

It is in that very dot. The huge, all encompassing, all engulfing darkness. The darkness that consumes us all. It is in that darkness that the creator resides. He sits there smiling, writing our scripts, arranging beats that make our lives thump, painting the richly coloured visuals that we so gladly see.

Welcome. This is the creator's zone... and you are in command.

And Then, the child cried...

I 

The man wrote poems,

probing his numb heart for something divine,

while secretly wishing that he would cry.

 

Wishing he could cry and break down,

remove these cruel rationalities' gowns,

and demand a long life for his mom.

 

The ironies wrecked emotional crusades within,

but his efforts to draw tears went in vain,

he finally slept as his energy drained…

 

II

In the dream his lives' maternal angel called,

said her blessings as she always does,

smiled and cheered at him, despite her hurts…

 

She suffered the stutters in her will to speak,

to lay her hand on his head as the chaos seeped,

It happened on his birthday, beside the cake hurting his mom lay…

 

III

And in that very dream, as the man died,

caught unawares, the inner child cried ...

शिकवा

क्या शिकवा करूँ मैं,

क्या शिकायत हो तुझसे -

जब बिन मांगे है दिया,

इतना तूने खुदसे।

क्या कष्ट, क्या डर जब तू उछाले,

कर दे मुझे आसमाँ के हवाले।। 

रोता जरूर हूँ कभी कभार -

रोता, जरूर हूँ कभी कभार,

थक के, तेरे बेमतलब खेलों से,

पर कैसे छोड़ूँ तुझपे भरोसा?

पर कैसे छोड़ूँ तुझपे भरोसा,

जब जिया हूँ तेरे ही कंधों पे ।।। 

A Few Minutes ...

There is a boy. A young, energetic lad who wants to do well in life. He is doing a lot to make everyone around him live a better life. He seems to be helping them. He does everything that he is capable of (at least, this is what he is made to believe by those around). Yet, our boy is sullen. He feels there is something missing.  He feels as if he is trapped to  do things that are much below his real capabilities. He is feeling alone. Alone in feeling that he is operating in a world that is fundamentally flawed. It's like a room that is devoid of any real light. All his efforts to uplift others are mere struggles of finding treasures in a room that is dark. He begins to believe that there is something more to it. He desperately seeks the beacon of light to end the darkness all around him.
 
In his heart, he knows, he just knows that there is light. Years pass by and his struggles continue. Oft correct, his passionately lethargic efforts to ignite, are consistent with time.
 
One fine evening, it happens once again. His serendipitous encounter with the knowledge that confirms what he already knows - that there is light beyond. A source of light, mighty enough to light up his entire world. He is elated. Imagine what he, a shaky attempt of a man, would be able to do in this world if it lights up? How much more difference he can make in this otherwise futile existence in the space-time void? It's a realm of possibilities that make him shudder with excitement!
 
This evening, something was feeling different. Life's pregnancy was palpable. Our boy saw a hand, pointing up to something in the sky. In a blink of time, he got the message. This was what they were talking about. Those glitches in the matrix of his algorithmically programmed worldly life. They had told him that one day, after all the struggles of a few hundred lifetimes are over, he will find his chance. His only chance to leave the darkness and enter the world of light to which he really belonged. In the chaotic maze of life, that day has come, the day of finality. When he finally found that hidden clue to the puzzle of the great Mystery of Light.
 
After enough squinting in the dark, he realises what it really is. It is the hand of the universe pointing to the source. He cries his heart out. His dry tears questioning his capacity to use that clue to solve the puzzle. He knows, all he must do is to follow the direction of this life's finger and stare at the source for a few minutes. The clouds will shift, and the moon will be clear in a matter of time. The moon, who was always there with him, yet eluding him all this while. So many lifetimes. Just 5 minutes, and the entire puzzle will have a solution. In fact, he himself will become the solution...

 

PostScript: I know, you don't understand. My unreasonable actions and inactions; my merciless choices of life and zero tolerance to corruption. Corruption of my sense of purpose. You don't understand why I do it. It's ok, very soon you will. Let these few minutes pass.