That august evening, half wet
with parting monsoon spill
We met like strangers
or strangers to be ?

It was dark and dull
n all I saw
Was the glitter in your eyes
through the line of Kohl

Your fingers filled
the spaces between mine
Couldn't hold 'em for long
my fault...

Did you hear me
as we hugged
To hold each other
and everything in between...

लकीरें

हाथों पे ये किस्मत हैं, सरहद पे हैं जंजीरें
बन जाती हैं कलम से, मिटती नहीं लकीरें

मुद्दई बने हैं भाई, बरसों के तोड़ रिश्ते
क्या क्या हैं इसके जलवे, जादू की ये लकीरें

अपने ही घर मे कैद हम, साँसों को तरसते हैं
अपनों से ये चेहरे हैं, मगर बीच में लकीरें

ऐ क़यामत गिरा दे घर की, इस चारदीवारी को
राहत मिले घुटन से, दब जायें ये लकीरें

मिटटी की ये लकीरें, पत्थर न हमको कर दें
बारिश करा दे मौला धुल जायें ये लकीरें

डरता तो हूँ मैं
इसका एहसास तो है
पर माना नही
कभी किसी के सामने

शायद इसमे भी इक
डर ही मेरा छुपा हुआ है
और भी गहरा
दूर जड़ों तक घुसा हुआ

डरता था हर बार मैं
पापा के थप्पड़ से
मास्टरजी की छड़ी के आगे
याद पहाडा भूल गया

कुछ इस डर का इस्तेमाल भी
किया था मैंने गुड्डी पर
डरा डरा कर उससे अपने
काम कराया करता था

पूजा की थाली से जब
एक अठन्नी चुरा के मैं
फुचके खाता पकड़ा गया था
बहुत डराया दादी ने तब

मन्दिर के आगे वाले उस
कोढ़ी को दिखा के बोली
"जानते हो इसने
ठाकुरजी का घंटा चुराया था "

वो डर आज भी मेरे
ज़हन मे जिंदा है
डरता हूँ खुदा से
शैतान से भी

क्योंकि कल मन्दिर में ही
एक धमाका हुआ था
और सुबह से मेरे सामने
वाली कुर्सी खाली है

वो खाली कुर्सी देखकर
बार-बार सहम जाता हूँ
डरता तो हूँ मैं
बस बताता नहीं किसी को

कीमत तेरी बड़ी वहां पर, यहाँ न कोई दे पाए
बड़ा हिसाबी हुआ है तू तो, ये भी हिसाब लगा जाना

बुरी नज़र से तुझे बचाने, लगा दिया था माँ ने जो
काजल के उस टीके की भी, कीमत ज़रा लगा जाना

माली की नज़रों से बचकर, खाए तो चुपके से
चोरी के उन अमरूदों की कीमत ज़रा चुका जाना

माँ के लाख मना करने पर, भी खा ली थी जो छुपके
जाते जाते उस मिटटी की कीमत ज़रा चुका जाना.....

लफ्ज़ कुछ बिखरे हुए
पड़े हैं सारे कमरे में
नज़्म कुछ अधूरी सी
तार तार जिंदा है
तुम्हारी सलाइयाँ अब भी
फंसी हैं अधूरे स्वेटर में
इस रास्ते गुज़रो कभी
तो बुन जाना

लफ्ज़ कुछ फंसे हैं
पन्नों के हाशिये में
कुछ घर के हर सामान से
चिपके हुए हैं
कुछ मेरे तकिये के नीचे
छुप के साँस लेते हैं
हर रात सिसकते हैं
सोने नही देते

कुछ दबे हैं उस गिलास
के टुकडों के तले
गुस्से में आकर जो
मैंने फैंका था
लफ्ज़ वो चीखते
तो हैं लेकिन
टुकडों की खनक में
दब जाते हैं

जब से घर बदला है
मेरे घर का हर सामन
मेरी ज़िन्दगी सा ही
कहीं बिखरा पड़ा है
इस रास्ते गुज़रो कभी
तो सहेज जाना

रेत का घरौंदा है बिखरने के लिए,
जानकर भी घरौंदा ये क्यों बनाया है
कहीं आँखों के खारे पानी पर
समंदर को तरस भी कभी आया है !

बैठा हूँ दरिया के किनारे लेकिन
जकड के पैरों से दो बालिश्त ज़मीं
हर लहर थोडी रेत छीन जाती है
पैरों तले ज़मीं को खोखला करके



जितनी ज़ोर से ज़मीं को पकड़ना चाहा
उतनी ही हुई खोखली बुनियाद मेरी

I was 14 then. Her father got a transfer to this place and she joined our school in mid session. This is a typical case with govt. employees; they are frequently transferred, to places unheard of. And then you start afresh, making new friends and for a long time feeling nostalgic about the the old place and lost friends.
But then there is one relief. The same old Kendriya Vidyalaya. You are happy that you do not need to remember new prayers again and start over again with new books with half of all your notebooks already full...... But there is more to it.... The feeling of being at home. It's always the same, wherever you go. The same loose discipline, the same style of teaching and the same set of co-curricular activities every Saturday.
She came from a big city perhaps. As she wore blazers against the regular pullovers all of us wore. None of us knew her name and no one dared to ask, for she always kept a mile's distance from all of us. Most of the time she kept to herself. So in the meantime she a got a nickname 'newcomer' till we discovered her actual name "Swati Sinha" , from the 'All India Radio' of her section.
She was too beautiful to remain anonymous despite her introvert persona. Every second boy in our class had a crush on her. During morning prayers, she stood in the line on my right with me a little behind her. Her long beautiful hair was made into a nice French braid, with some loose hair near the ear flowing with the morning breeze. And I watched her between the prayers : the corner of her Kohl lined eyes, the glitter from the gem in her nose stud, her neck sinking into the collar bone, the crease on the sides of her blouse.........
I visited her section during recess and watched her eat. Most of the time she was either alone, reading or writing something or chatting with a single friend. I never saw her as a part of a big chat group that girls usually formed. She had very few friends. But she cherished being with them as I saw the glow on her face while she was with one of them. I really envied Mitali whom she gave her best smile. Yet I always wanted her to be in the class for I wanted Swati to smile for all the time I was watching her. But Mitali opposed to her was a complete extrovert. She was the vice captain of her house and her commitments kept her busy for most of the time during recess. So Swati took refuge in one of her books or scribbled something on her pink notepad which was always kept handy for times like this.
Here I watched her from the front unlike the prayer queue and I could see her full face and not just her profile. But here I was conscious, confirming now and then, like a thief, that no one was watching me. I felt embarrassed at the thought of being caught. I did not have the answers to the questions that would follow. I could not answer the questions to myself. “Why am I doing this?” A mixed feeling of guilt and bliss surrounded me.
My view was thus restricted to some glances that I could make, pretending to look around the class while I sat with the 'pumpkin' who never went out of the class, even during recess. I liked every expression on her, smile or frown, even the blank one she gave while scribbling on her notepad. One day she was sleeping with her head on her desk. I got the news that she had a fever and wasn't feeling well. I felt like sitting next to her and watch her sleep all through my life.........
One day I heard her poem was selected for the first prize in some competition. I heard our principle recite her poem. It was touching........ 'All India Radio' had told me that her parents were not having a steady relationship. The grief had percolated in her poetry. Those silent eyes had a lot to say !!!
It was our last day in school and our juniors had arranged a farewell party. For the first time I saw her in anything other than school uniform. She was wearing a black sari and her hair was arranged in a twist unlike the regular French braid. I imagined myself with her and blushed.....

The party was getting over and people started leaving. I wanted to talk to her. Wanted to tell her that there was someone who could wait for her for whole life watching her eat and sleep and scribble those poems on her notepad. We never talked through the two years we were together in school and while leaving I did not know what to say. I gave her my autograph book and she obliged. While she was writing, I saw her father coming. He had come to take her back. All that I thought of saying sank at once. She gave me a smile as if saying good bye. I watched her sitting on the back seat of her father's Royal Enfield. They crossed the boundary wall and all that remained was the sound of the engine. It faded as they moved on........

Ye hai bambai meri jaan- Part I

My first encounter with this city was like a teenage crush, a love at first sight. It was a two day visit at the break of monsoon. The first place that I wanted to visit was a sea shore. Though Mumbai is not known for its beaches, I had never seen one before and mere thought of watching the waves was exciting. And it did not disappoint me at all. The place I visited first was the gate way of India. It came with the twin benefits of The TAJ and the Arabian Sea. I was taken over by her majesty.
Standing in front of a sea is very different from standing in front of a river or a lake. There you can see its boundaries. You can see beyond it. But the sight of a sea is mysterious, even frightening. The fear of unknown, unseen power: overwhelming human psyche with its grandeur. The first deities worshiped by humans were basically forces of nature. I guess the image of goddess of water in coastal regions would have been quite different from the image of serene faced ‘Ganga’ in the plains.
The first evening was spent roaming around the area that included marine drive and fort. I liked every bit of it- the stroll across marine drive, the Paav-Bhaji at chaupati, the gothic architecture and even the bustle of Fashion Street. The first day ended with this as I readied for next day’s event.
The destination for next day was Trombay. I undertook my first journey on a BEST bus. Number 21, I still remember. It was a cloudy morning and the sun wasn’t visible. The hills painted with bright green all over, had clouds surrounding them like diamond crown over the head of beauty queen……………. Soon it started pouring…… Now this was romantic!
The rains for the two days seemed all sweet and beautiful to me; may be because they never troubled me. Most of the times, shower came when I was in no hurry. I could wait and watch and even drench myself at times, without being worried about getting late. Sometimes it seems that the journey is more pleasant when you don’t have to reach anywhere.
But the evening came with the same old rush to catch my train at CST, the new name for the grand old VT. It was the most beautiful railway station building I had ever seen. It was quite old and graceful. The tombs, the carvings and even the tinted glass on the arch shaped windows gave it a look of a bride. The architecture was mixed and I being a novice could not judge where the influences came from. But I loved it. For not doing so you need to be too much of purist or perhaps a member of a right wing; like one of those who renamed it.
This was coming to an end. The train caught speed as I gazed the platform passing away. Little did I know then, that I’ll return after a year to settle down to watch Mumbai with a completely new perspective.

मरने की ख्वाहिश जो हुई हमको
ढूँढने निकले कि ज़िंदगी क्या है

मरने की आरजू मे जीते चले गए ..............


आज लगता है मिल गयी है तेरे
आंसुओं के नमक मे ज़िंदगी मुझको

कुछ तल्खियां छुपी थीं, बातों मे उनकी शायद

हम समझ ही न पाए, और बात बढ़ गयी।

इन फासलों ने मुझको, पत्थर सा कर दिया है

कहते हैं लोग मुझसे, बड़ा तल्ख़ बोलते हो।

रिश्ता

उसको कुछ दूर तक,
निहारती
आँखों की नमी ने
बताया मुझको।
कि उस चेहरे से, इन आँखों का
रिश्ता क्या है .............

संक्रान्ति

संक्रान्ति : परिवर्तन की बेला,

ज्यों पौ फटी हो।

सुबह- सुबह, गंगा घाट को,

जाती हुई वो;

ठेले पे पति की की लाश को

लादे हुए।

बिखरे बाल, मानो बदहवास ; पर

आंखें सूखी;

आंसुओं को बहने का शायद

वक्त ना मिला।

साथ इक बच्ची भी है

तीन साल की;

समझ नही पाती है बिल्कुल

माँ की पीड़ा।

माँ के मुख को देख कर कुछ

बोलती नही;

पर आंखों मे इक चमक सी है

कुछ पूछती हुई;

आएगी कभी क्या जीवन में,

मेरे भी संक्रान्ति !

माना था खुदा जिनको हमने, अपनी ज़िंदगी का ;
बुत वो हैं बन गए और, हमको बनाया काफिर।