उम्र के इस पढाव पर
सहमे हुए , सिकुड़े हुए शरीर
धुंधलाती , पथराई हुई आँखें
दूर तक टकटकी बांध कर देखती ,
शायद कोई उम्मीद हो कहीं .
हर पल में मौत को जीते लोग ,
हर मौत में एक पल .
कितने चहरे यहाँ आये हैं ,
कितनी उम्मीदें बंधी हैं ,
मैं स्तब्ध सी खड़ी निहारती हूँ .
एक हलकी सी मुस्कान ,
और एक हाथ मेरी तरफ बढ़ता है .
कई हाथ , कई चहरे ,
कई मुस्कुराहटें उम्मीद भरी .
इन हाथों की छुअन का क्या जवाब दूँ ?
मैं अंतर्मन में झांकती हूँ ,
मेरी झोली तो खाली है ,
मैं झोली फैलाये यहाँ आई थी .
अजब दुविधा में फँसी हूँ ,
मैं खुद से ही मुस्कुरा देती हूँ .
और देखो , दसों मुस्कुराहटें बिखर गयी ,
दसों चहरे हंस पड़े
शायद यही देने आई थी .
शायद यही लेने आई थी .
*this poem is dedicated to the people i saw and met during my visits to an old age home.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Friday, May 7, 2010
poem
She enters the train
Looks around for a seat
Sees a vacant place among a row of men
Manages to push through the crowd to grab the seat
A man’s hand touches her left breast
She glances at him and quickly reverts her eyes to the seat awaiting her
Hoping silently that it is merely an accident
An accident she is now accustomed to
Really accustomed to?
She reaches for her seat,
Men to her right left and front
Adjusts into the bench
Finds herself shrinking a little
Moves away from the bald man on the right
Only to have that empty space taken up
By the expanding figure of the man on the right
And then, on the left…
And then, in the front…
Shrinking some more…
And some more…
Until she reaches the edge of the cold metal seat
With arms, legs, elbows and shoulders huddled up into a leap.
Finally, jumps to her feet to find another vacant seat.
Looks around for a seat
Sees a vacant place among a row of men
Manages to push through the crowd to grab the seat
A man’s hand touches her left breast
She glances at him and quickly reverts her eyes to the seat awaiting her
Hoping silently that it is merely an accident
An accident she is now accustomed to
Really accustomed to?
She reaches for her seat,
Men to her right left and front
Adjusts into the bench
Finds herself shrinking a little
Moves away from the bald man on the right
Only to have that empty space taken up
By the expanding figure of the man on the right
And then, on the left…
And then, in the front…
Shrinking some more…
And some more…
Until she reaches the edge of the cold metal seat
With arms, legs, elbows and shoulders huddled up into a leap.
Finally, jumps to her feet to find another vacant seat.
IN THE NARROW LANES OF HARIDWAR
Chapter - 1
The dingy dirty lanes of Haridwar, filled with cow dung smell, initially made me sick, like most people from the urban world. Although for me it was all too familiar, still there seems something that repels me from a place like Haridwar, more or less like Pushkar (where I was born). There is certain discomfiture in the whole atmosphere of religious, sacred and holy places, a touch of an illusion, a world that seems so unreal and deceptive, almost a dream or trance-like state. Perhaps what appealed to my senses were the various delicacies that you could easily find at every second shop-aaloo puri, kachori, lassi, chat etc? Now, that is the most delightful treat for my senses. Finally I had found some reason for having come all the way to Haridwar, having traveled 600 km at the whim of a few seconds. The decision to go to Haridwar was as quick as a flash of lightning. However, all through the journey I kept wondering if the place was worth the 12 hours of travel. So what was so special about Haridwar? The Ganga, the food, the glimpse of IIT Rourkee campus that we saw on our way to Haridwar? I don’t know yet.
However, having once entered the city, I decided to absorb as much as I could from the holy surroundings, to feel the feel of this city. I was filled with an overpowering desire to compare Haridwar with Pushkar. Perhaps the only difference between the two could be the absence of the river Ganga and the railway station (which is much awaited) in Pushkar. Except for these, everything was quiet similar, the same narrow lanes, the temples and halwai shops at every turn of the street, bursting with pilgrims from all parts of India, filled with devotion for the holy place.
The city is best explored on foot, one reason being that the lanes are too narrow to allow a vehicle to pass with ease. Bathing in the holy waters of Ganga, believed to wash away all the human sins, was a mixed experience, a mixture of shock, disgust, and discomfort along with awe. It was shock, disgust and discomfort at the ease in the sheer nakedness of the fellow pilgrims, and awe at the devotion and faith in the power of the water of this river. It occurred to me that the same scene of nudity would have been objectionable and offensive, if shown on television or in any other place, the beaches of Goa for instance. But here, it was absolute faith in the magical and mythical/mystical powers of Ganga to eliminate all the impurities of human body and soul that allowed people to accept each other’s nakedness with ease. Plunging myself in the waist deep chill waters, trying to be as sincere, faithful and devoted in offering prayers to Mother Ganga, I basked in the glory of our immense and everlasting faith in the eternal, flowing water of the river, trying to understand the substance that makes us Indians what we are. Much like a mother, river Ganga accepts anyone and everyone and takes into its embrace everything that is offered to it. I was astonished to see Brahmins, Sikhs, Muslims, and Christians (in the form of the foreigners) bathing and offering prayers in the same place, and for that matter in the same water*. While one revels as the river’s cold water is lapping against the body, it is very common to find the ashes of some dead person, offered to the water by the family of the deceased floating around. It is a repugnant sight to see these ashes floating on the surface of the same water in which we were bathing.
However, I do, somewhere deep in my heart, enjoy these sanctimonious moments when the heart is filled with devotion and you can feel the goose bumps on your skin when overjoyed at the sight of the aarti for Ganga Maiya. The whole scene is beyond any description where thousands of devotees get together to sing the praises of a river, much rather, The River. The light from hundreds of huge lamps prepared for offering the prayer, the sound of the bells being rung, the singing, the clapping of hands with full devotion, it is a scene where one is bound to become ecstatic with the others. The entire picture is almost like a dream, full of colors, sounds, light of the hundreds of lamps being reflected on the water. It certainly is sight worth seeing and enjoying. For me, this was just a beginning. The beginning of a journey I never thought ever undertake, the journey towards spiritual enlightenment, towards god, towards myself.
The dingy dirty lanes of Haridwar, filled with cow dung smell, initially made me sick, like most people from the urban world. Although for me it was all too familiar, still there seems something that repels me from a place like Haridwar, more or less like Pushkar (where I was born). There is certain discomfiture in the whole atmosphere of religious, sacred and holy places, a touch of an illusion, a world that seems so unreal and deceptive, almost a dream or trance-like state. Perhaps what appealed to my senses were the various delicacies that you could easily find at every second shop-aaloo puri, kachori, lassi, chat etc? Now, that is the most delightful treat for my senses. Finally I had found some reason for having come all the way to Haridwar, having traveled 600 km at the whim of a few seconds. The decision to go to Haridwar was as quick as a flash of lightning. However, all through the journey I kept wondering if the place was worth the 12 hours of travel. So what was so special about Haridwar? The Ganga, the food, the glimpse of IIT Rourkee campus that we saw on our way to Haridwar? I don’t know yet.
However, having once entered the city, I decided to absorb as much as I could from the holy surroundings, to feel the feel of this city. I was filled with an overpowering desire to compare Haridwar with Pushkar. Perhaps the only difference between the two could be the absence of the river Ganga and the railway station (which is much awaited) in Pushkar. Except for these, everything was quiet similar, the same narrow lanes, the temples and halwai shops at every turn of the street, bursting with pilgrims from all parts of India, filled with devotion for the holy place.
The city is best explored on foot, one reason being that the lanes are too narrow to allow a vehicle to pass with ease. Bathing in the holy waters of Ganga, believed to wash away all the human sins, was a mixed experience, a mixture of shock, disgust, and discomfort along with awe. It was shock, disgust and discomfort at the ease in the sheer nakedness of the fellow pilgrims, and awe at the devotion and faith in the power of the water of this river. It occurred to me that the same scene of nudity would have been objectionable and offensive, if shown on television or in any other place, the beaches of Goa for instance. But here, it was absolute faith in the magical and mythical/mystical powers of Ganga to eliminate all the impurities of human body and soul that allowed people to accept each other’s nakedness with ease. Plunging myself in the waist deep chill waters, trying to be as sincere, faithful and devoted in offering prayers to Mother Ganga, I basked in the glory of our immense and everlasting faith in the eternal, flowing water of the river, trying to understand the substance that makes us Indians what we are. Much like a mother, river Ganga accepts anyone and everyone and takes into its embrace everything that is offered to it. I was astonished to see Brahmins, Sikhs, Muslims, and Christians (in the form of the foreigners) bathing and offering prayers in the same place, and for that matter in the same water*. While one revels as the river’s cold water is lapping against the body, it is very common to find the ashes of some dead person, offered to the water by the family of the deceased floating around. It is a repugnant sight to see these ashes floating on the surface of the same water in which we were bathing.
However, I do, somewhere deep in my heart, enjoy these sanctimonious moments when the heart is filled with devotion and you can feel the goose bumps on your skin when overjoyed at the sight of the aarti for Ganga Maiya. The whole scene is beyond any description where thousands of devotees get together to sing the praises of a river, much rather, The River. The light from hundreds of huge lamps prepared for offering the prayer, the sound of the bells being rung, the singing, the clapping of hands with full devotion, it is a scene where one is bound to become ecstatic with the others. The entire picture is almost like a dream, full of colors, sounds, light of the hundreds of lamps being reflected on the water. It certainly is sight worth seeing and enjoying. For me, this was just a beginning. The beginning of a journey I never thought ever undertake, the journey towards spiritual enlightenment, towards god, towards myself.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
चंद ख़्वाबों का किस्सा
एक ख्वाब और चँद ताने-बाने
चारों और जाल गहरा होता चला जाता है
ख्वाब पैर पसारता है, छटपटाता है
जाल में उलझ जाता है
धुंध, अँधेरा, कमजोरी
तड़पता, कोशिश करता
बाकी ख़्वाबों की तरह मर जाता है
उन अंधेरों की घुटन को महसूस किया
एक ठंडा सा एहसास, एक डर
एक और ख्वाब, एक और छटपटाहट
इस जाल की गहराई को नापता है
हर सीढ़ी के साथ पंख और मज़बूत होते हैं
हर रेशे के साथ हिम्मत बंधती है
हर जाल ख़त्म होता जाता है
हर बंधन टूटता है
ख्वाहिशों, ख़्वाबों की तो यह आदत सी है
बस एक मौका हो पर पसारने का
गर पर कमज़ोर हों तो बीच राह में दम तोड़ देंगे
गर मज़बूत हों तो समंदर भी पार कर जाएँगे
चारों और जाल गहरा होता चला जाता है
ख्वाब पैर पसारता है, छटपटाता है
जाल में उलझ जाता है
धुंध, अँधेरा, कमजोरी
तड़पता, कोशिश करता
बाकी ख़्वाबों की तरह मर जाता है
उन अंधेरों की घुटन को महसूस किया
एक ठंडा सा एहसास, एक डर
एक और ख्वाब, एक और छटपटाहट
इस जाल की गहराई को नापता है
हर सीढ़ी के साथ पंख और मज़बूत होते हैं
हर रेशे के साथ हिम्मत बंधती है
हर जाल ख़त्म होता जाता है
हर बंधन टूटता है
ख्वाहिशों, ख़्वाबों की तो यह आदत सी है
बस एक मौका हो पर पसारने का
गर पर कमज़ोर हों तो बीच राह में दम तोड़ देंगे
गर मज़बूत हों तो समंदर भी पार कर जाएँगे
the begining...
this happens to be my first blog ever. though at the speed with which technology is taking its toll on us humans, it's quite embarrassing to admit this at the age of 24. however, now that i have entered this new domain, let me reveal my purpose for being here. well of course everyone on the net is here to be read. not a single individual can claim to be here to stay anonymous. we all want the much needed recognition, for our thoughts, our words and ourselves. so now i am a member of the whole community of bloggers who wants share what she thinks, feels, and experiences in her everyday life. here i am with some of my observations on life...
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