न जाने ये ज़िन्दगी मुझे ,किस और ले जा रही है...... मंजिल नहीं है फिर भी, राहें दिखा रही है...

न जाने ये ज़िन्दगी मुझे किस और ले जा रही है..
मंजिल नहीं है फिर भी , राहें दिखा रही है...
साथ नहीं है कोई , पर साथ में है चलना...
बदलते हैं रिश्ते यहाँ , पर खुद को नहीं बदलना..
आखोँ में नहीं हैं नींदें , फिर भी सपने दिखा रही है..
न जाने ये ज़िन्दगी मुझे , किस और लेजा रही है...

कभी पंख लगा कर उडूं मैं, कभी ज़मी पर गिर जाऊं..
कभी आईने में देखूं , खुद को नज़र ना आऊं..
ख़ुशी में कभी रुलाती, कभी गम में हसा रही है..
न जाने ये ज़िन्दगी मुझे , किस और ले जा रही है..

कहीं रूठता है कोई, कभी छूठता  है कोई..
कभी मिलती हैं जन्नतें , कभी लूटता है कोई..
सन्नाटो से कभी डराती, कभी नगमें सुना रही है..
 न जाने ये ज़िन्दगी मुझे , किस और ले जा रही है..

कभी जानू नहीं किसी को, कभी भीड़ में खो जाऊं..
कभी अपनों पे जां दू  मैं , कभी गैरों का हो जाऊं..
दूरियों को कभी मिटाती, कभी फासले बढ़ा  रही है ..
 न जाने ये ज़िन्दगी मुझे , किस और ले जा रही है..

थोड़ी कल की हैं यादें , कुछ कल से उम्मीदें ..
भूले कभी दिल खुद को,  कभी याद करे दिन बीते ..
वादों को कभी तोडती, कभी कसमें निभा रही है...
न जाने ये ज़िन्दगी मुझे , किस और ले जा रही है..

ओरों को हसाऊं कभी, कभी आँसू अपने छुपाऊं..
दिल से कुछ कहूँ कभी, कभी होठों से बतलाऊं..
इंसा न बनने दे कभी, कभी खुदा बना रही है...
न जाने ये ज़िन्दगी मुझे , किस और ले जा रही है..

कितने किस्से कितनी यादें , छोड़ चला हूँ मैं यहाँ..
जा रहा हूँ मैं वहाँ , जहाँ जाते क़दमों के निशां..
हर कदम पे एक आहट, और हर आहट पर एक कदम बढ़ा रही है..
न जाने ये ज़िन्दगी मुझे , किस और ले जा रही है..
मंजिल नहीं है फिर भी , राहें दिखा रही है...


Photo From: http://www.desibucket.com/sad/alone/

तेरी यादों की उम्र अब भी वही है...

तेरी हर बात में  ज़िन्दगी की... खुशबु  थी.... 

बातें तेरी  अब भी महकती  हैं.... यूँ लगता है जैसे की... तुने बस अभी कही हैं... 

तुझे गुज़रे हुए एक अरसा बीत गया... पर तेरी यादों की उम्र अब भी वही है...

न सच झूठ का पता था मुझे...  न सही गलत की खबर...

अपने सचों को को झूठ कहा था मेरे लिए ... मेरी गलतियों को  भी... तुने कहा था  सही है...

तुझे गुज़रे हुए एक अरसा बीत गया... पर तेरी यादों की उम्र अब भी वही है...

मेरे हर आंसू को थामा था तुने अपना लहू समझ कर... 

तेरे बूढी आखोँ को याद कर.... न जाने मेरी आसुओं की ...कितनी नदियाँ बही हैं... 

तुझे गुज़रे हुए एक अरसा बीत गया... पर तेरी यादों की उम्र अब भी वही है...

मैं अब भी चुप रह के सुनता हूं तुझको....

तेरी वो फटी धुंधली तस्वीर आज  न जाने क्या क्या कह रही है.. 

तुझे गुज़रे हुए एक अरसा बीत गया... पर तेरी यादों की उम्र अब भी वही है...

वो घर नहीं हैं अब... न वो दीवारें...

दिल को लेकिन कैसे  समझाऊं के अब.... तू भी नहीं है... 

तुझे गुज़रे हुए एक अरसा बीत गया... पर तेरी यादों की उम्र अब भी वही है...

Photo : http://www.randomthoughtz.com/archives/tag/mom

The cycle ball bearing

Rajesh had this particular habit of storing strange things, from strangely shaped wooden sticks, smooth round shaped stones to dried large leaves. He loved all his possessions he had collected over years. He had carefully stored them and had kept them in his office drawer, he would often see them in his free time he got between the office work. He would take them in his hands, gaze at them for minutes and then keep them back in the drawer again carefully at the same place. He never showed it to anybody, neither told anybody about it, it was his private possession.

Today he was sitting on his chair reading few reports, correcting them, there were dozens of papers which he had to check and sign. But there was something wrong today, something different, he was finding it difficult to hold the papers in his hand and the ones which were on the table kept falling off. He got up picked them and kept them on the table, wondering what was happening? Then he looked up, it was the fan, it was too fast. He went to the switch board and reduced the speed came back. He sat down again looking at the papers, but they still kept on flying off the table. The speed of the fan was too fast to keep the papers on the table. The fan switch was not working properly since days, he had called for an electrician to repair it, but he was still not there. Trying to hold the papers together he looked at the fan again and after trying to get them together for few minutes he kept them in a file, closed it, looked at the fan again and went outside.

The office was located at a busy street, a small lane out of which went to a labour colony. There was a new building being constructed just nearby, the labourers who worked at the building site had created temporary sheds in the colony. It almost had 70 -80 huts and it seemed empty in the afternoon times but during the evening it came to life as the labourers came back. There were kids too, who used to stay back when their parents were at work the smaller ones would be taken care by the elder ones.

He was about ten years old, would roam around in the streets when his parents were at work, his parents had tried to take him to the site for some petty work but the contractor didn’t allow him. So he would stay back, roam around and in the afternoon would eat what his mother had kept at their hut and sleep. He would then in the evening come to the street and then stand outside a cycle rental shop, where he would gaze at the cycles for hours. People used to frequent the shop for renting cycles, he had once inquired about the rent and the shop owner told him it would cost him ten rupees for half a day and he would have to return the cycle by 5 o clock in the evening. He used to stand there for hours looking at the cycles and looking at the people who would come there to rent them. What he had in his pocket were few 25 paise coins and sometimes a 50 paisa coin. The possibility was not there.

That day in evening when his parents came back he was quietly sitting in a corner playing with small sticks he had and making pictures on the ground. The father was lying down on a shabby sheet and the mother was cooking their dinner, boiled rice and some daal. He asked his father “papa do you have ten rupees?"  “What ??” his father suddenly got up and sat down, his mother turned his head back words looking at both of them. “Are you gone mad, what will you do with ten rupees. Why do you want it? Shut up and sit”. He had just given him a 50 paise coin a day before. There was silence for some time. Then again he spoke “ papa I need ten rupees, there is a cycle rental shop at the corner of the street, he gives them on rent for half a day for Rs. 10."  Now it was his mothers turn, as she put some rice and daal for him in a plate “ eat this and don’t dream” if we had 10rs for renting a cycle we wouldn’t be having this daal and rice for dinner, we both get 50 rupees each per day at the site and you want 10 rs for renting a cycle ? eat this, sleep and dream about something we can get  and from tomorrow don’t go to that street again”.  As his father had his first gulp of the meal he said “i will thrash you bad if u ask this again". He was scared, he got his share of beatings now and then. He ate his share of daal and rice and slept dreaming about the cycle.

Rajesh came to office again, and as soon as he entered his cabin, he checked the fan switch, it still had not been repaired, so today also he won’t be able to control its speed. He sat started working on the papers again but he was finding it difficult to handle them with the fan on high speed. He opened his drawer took out a round smooth stone from his prized possessions and kept it on the bunch of papers.

The little boy had got up early today, his parents had already left. He checked the utensils for food, ate some left over rice with pickle, there was no daal in the afternoons. His parents also carried the pickle and rice in their tiffin. He lazed in the hut till afternoon, playing with the sticks and the earth. After sometime he went outside and played along with the other kids of the area. He came back to home in the afternoon, had some more rice, the pickle was not there this time. He was tired, he lied down for some time and slept again  and when he got up, he straight away went to the main lane, stood exactly at the opposite side of the shop, exactly at the same spot where he used to stand daily. The shop owner now recognized him, occasional smiles were exchanged.

Rajesh came down again from his office, he was now tired of the flying papers on the table, he needed a smoke badly. He went to the pan shop, almost opposite to the cycle renting shop. He stood there, asked for his regular brand , lit the cigarette and puffed out the first smoke. His mind was still wondering about the solution to the fan problem in his office. It was too hot to manage work by keeping the fan switched off. He needed to do something soon. He kept thinking, looking at the cycle rental shop. After puffing about three four times, he put the cigarette on the ground , pressed it hard with his foot and put his hand in the pocket to take money to pay for the cigarette. As he took out few ten rupees notes, a note slipped out and fell on the ground, he paid for the cigarette, took back the change and climbed back again to his office. There was no one around to notice the ten rupee note which had just fallen off.

He was still standing there, holding the drainage pipe of the building in one hand , looking at the cycles kept neatly in line on the other side of the road. The fifty paisa coin in the pocket of his worn out half pant was not enough, all he could do was, look .The ten rupee note was about ten steps away from him, he had not noticed it, in fact he had not even noticed the man who had just dropped it from his pocket. A slow hot breeze lifted the note above the ground a little and moved it towards the boy, but his eyes were still on the cycles. The breezed didn’t stop, it continued this time a bit stronger, the note after some time was almost at his feet. He felt some faint itch on his right foot, rubbed it with the left one and looked down. He didn’t believe it at first but then bent himself, his face was below his knees , almost touching the ground. He had seen ten rupees notes in his father’s old purse, but this one was different, it was new, crisp. It was only because of its crispness that it had swayed up to him and given him that itch on the foot. He picked up the note, held it between his hands and brought it near his eyes, it really was a ten rupees note. Then with a quick reflex he put it in his pocket, along with the coins, looked here and there and went quietly towards his house.

That night he didn’t sleep, he slept with the ten rupee note in his pocket, talked very little. He was waiting for the morning, waiting desperately.  

Next day, we woke up early and after his parents left for their job. He went straight towards the lane and walked to the cycle shop looking high as a king. The ten rupees in his pocket had its effect. The shop owner was bit cynical at first but then the curiosity in the boys eyes did him in. The instructions were very clear, he had to get back the cycle by 5 pm and it was not supposed to get damaged. He was on the seventh heaven, at first he did a few rounds of the street, smiling twice at the cycle shop owner, then he went off. That day he rode almost half of the town, he stopped once when he saw a tap, drank for about half a minute. Afterwards he went towards the railway station, saw few trains speeding by, few stopping. 

It was evening time now, he had to return the cycle. He rode the cycle lazily back towards the street again , he was tired , he had cycled almost for about 5 hours now. He entered the street and when he was about to reach the shop, the cycle went in a small ditch on the road, the rear tyre hit a stone and detached from the cycle. There was no noise, it happened within five seconds, he had to jump off the cycle to avoid falling on the road. After few seconds when he gathered his wits. He saw the cycle on the ground, it was intact, nothing was broken nothing was bent, there was not even a scratch. The only damage was that the rear wheel now was detached from the cycle and lay a few inches away. At first he was dead scared, but then he saw that the main screw was not there which held the tyre at its place. He found the screw and tried to put the tyre back at its place and put the screw on. But then he realised it was not that simple, something was more serious here., the ball bearing was missing , he could have easily fixed the tyre back if the ball bearing was there.

The impact it seemed had removed the ball bearing from its place. He started looking for it around the place. It was a plain road , but still he could not find it anywhere around. He asked a passer by for the time, it was four thirty. He was now shivering, sweating and tears almost filled his eyes. He asked time from about four  persons while searching for the ball bearing. He couldn't find it, now he was crying. He didn’t know what to do.

When the fifth person told him it was five minutes to five. He just put back the wheel at its place, put the screw on  and walked the cycle along with him towards the shop. The haphazard movement of the rear part of the cycle clearly depicted that the ball bearing was missing and when he was about ten steps away from the cycle shop, he parked the cycle on the stand and raised his voice  “ Uncle here is your cycle”. And as the shop owner looked at him he turned around and ran away from where he came, the owner was surprised , but he thought the kid was in a hurry to go home. He continued with his work thinking he would collect the cycle after some time, it was very near to his shop.

Next day Rajesh came down at the pan shop, the fan was still not working . He was now getting restless, even the small piece of stone was not able to hold the papers on the table. He went downstairs again, he needed some nicotine in his blood to get over this misery. As he was standing in front of the shop puffing, he felt something hard under his shoes, he lifted his foot a little and pushed the thing a little away. As he pushed it , he heard a metal sound. Instantly he looked down, there it was, a muddy greasy cycle ball bearing. He kept looking towards it for few seconds and then asked the shopkeeper for few tissue papers. Wiped the bearing clean as much as he could, asked for a newspaper, folded the bearing in it and went upstairs.

Once he was on his chair, he wiped the bearing till it was grease less and shiny. He placed the round bearing on the bunch of papers on the table, switched on the fan and sat back on his chair, looking at the bearing on the stack of papers. One more addition to his collection had been made.

As he sat on his chair enjoying the air from the fan, looking at the bearing, there was a crowd gathered below at the cycle shop. There was a labour couple, the mother was crying inconsolably, two policemen were also there. They were inquiring about a small boy who had gone missing since yesterday, some even claimed that they had seen a small boy boarding a train, alone at the station yesterday evening.

As the mother cried, the policemen enquired from the cycle shop owner, the father pleaded to the crowd, the cycle ball bearing lay on the papers keeping them away from flying away.

It has been almost a year, even today sometimes when Rajesh comes to smoke downstairs, he sees a labourer in shabby torn clothes talking to the cycle shop owner about a missing boy. 


The fan switch has still not been repaired.


Photo from : http://dsc.discovery.com/tags/bicycles/

कल जिस परिंदे तो मस्जिद पे बैठा देखा.... उसने घर मंदिरों पे बना रखा था....

क्या पता मंजिल ही बेवफा निकले.... चलो रास्तों से इश्क लड़ाया जाए....

जली रोटियों पर बहुत शोर मचाया तुमने....  माँ की जली उँगलियों पर भी कुछ कह देते.... 

कई दिनों से निकले नहीं हैं आँसूं... वो शख्स मुझमे गुज़र गया शायद....

बिकने लगे हैं तिरंगे ट्राफिक सिग्नलों पे....  भारत फिर लोगों को याद आने लगा है....

ऐ ज़िन्दगी तुझे जीते जीते... कितनी दफे मरे हैं हम...

life

We should treat life , like we treat our luggage at Railway Station..
Keeping an eye on it always......holding it tightly.... trusting it only with those who are close...

Not like we treat lugguage at airports
Waiting for it.... watching at other's.. thinking its ours......
and cursing when we are the last one to find ours....

न जाने किस मिटटी का बना हूँ..... बनता हूँ फिर टूटने के लिए.... 

तू जो ख्वाब देखे वो सच क्यों न हो... तू कुछ खुदा सा लगता है ... तेरे सोने के बाद... 

पत्थर सिर्फ राहों में ही नहीं थे.... कुछ दोस्तों ने भी हाथों में उठा रखे थे....

इन आँसुओं की मत सुन... आँखें झूठ बोलतीं हैं...

मैं बूढ़े रिक्शे वालों से खुल्ले पैसे वापस नहीं मांगता....  रात को नींद अच्छी आती है..... 

जो ज़िन्दगी को ढूंढते रहे हर वक़्त..... वो उम्र गवां कर बैठे हैं.....  

19 F

Trrrng..... Trrng....  the same sound which takes me back, back to the real mean world, away from the world of my dreams and today too it won. But then I gave it a good fight and the outcome of this fight was that I was late. I realised this when it gave me the final stare with its two hands as if telling me watch out its nine.  I had an interview today to put it more precisely “today too”. This was the fifth interview i was going to attend, nothing seemed to be working. But still I am back fighting each day, I got up did everything that a clean decent man would do after getting up each day, took the helmet, checked my tie in the mirror, looked at the clock, locked the door  and there it was my bike, my soul mate on my roads.

I looked towards the road, it was the only one which went to connect the main road from our building, a rather lonely road, a short one with only one bus stop. Exactly at 9:10 am a bus would stop at the stop and almost every day when I kicked by bike to life the bus would halt at the stop. I was not used to going in the bus, but it was some 19 F number bus going to the city centre, one of the few buses which the people around the area would call luxury. 

Now as I kicked the bike and was about to start my journey I saw the bus again just halting at the stop, it meant that it was on time. And as I crossed my building gate, I saw a girl, a girl in her twenties with a beautiful white dress running, for a second I wondered why? Then i realised that she was waving her hand towards the bus balancing her purse in the other hand, but then it seemed that she wouldn’t be able to make it.

 My technical mind went at work, considering the bus had already stopped for about 10 seconds and she was about twenty steps away, she won’t be able to catch the bus.

But then I don’t know what went into my mind, I sped the bike crossed the running girl and as I reached the driver’s window, I stopped the bike just ahead of the bus  faking that there was some problem in the bike. I could hear the driver using greatest of the vocabulary but I acted as if both of my ears had fallen off my helmet and  I was looking for them under the bike and then there was this sound the loud sound of the horn  and suddenly both my ears were back on my head I started my bike raced away slowly.

My technical mind went at work again and it calculated that I had spent enough time ahead of the bus for the girl in the white to catch the bus. The other part of my mind asked me to slow the bike to check whether the mission was accomplished, my right wrist followed the instructions and reduced the speed. Few seconds later the bus crossed me from my right side and I heard the vocabulary again this time from the front seat passengers. Though it was a milder one from what the driver had the knowledge of. But then I didn’t want my ears to work right now, what my eyes were up to was more important and  as the bus sped I turned my head right, fifth window, sixth window, seventh, eight and there she was on the ninth window sitting, looking into her purse, perhaps looking for the  money to buy ticket. She was beautiful but tired she had run, she was panting.

I felt a sense of achievement and felt like a hero sitting on the bike but she was still looking into her purse, damn.

My technical mind took me back to my interview asking me to ride the bike faster. I was late again but didn’t resist the temptation to look at her again this time she was not looking into her purse but she looked more beautiful with her hair giving a perfect response to the air gushing in from the window into her face I looked ahead and sped away.

Trrrng... back again to the mean bad world it seemed more mean and  more bad as the interview had gone good but still i was jobless today too, I lost to the alarm  again. Was out of the house in ten minutes, I started the bike  and!  And! And! I saw her again, she was running again after the bus, today I didn’t have to think what I had to do. I did the heroic act once again, this time i thought she noticed because this time the bus had started and I made it(the bus) make a brake sound also, it was at my own life’s cost though.

And I was right, she had realised that it was me, she was looking outside for something and when she found me riding the bike she let out the feeling that she found what she was looking for. Pity she could not see me, hell met...

 This kept on happening almost 4 times in a week, though I didn’t get a job till now but then she started giving smiles to me, but the hell met....

After a month this had happened almost about fifteen times, me stopping the bus, she just catching it. I was happy but I was scared that the driver someday might try to get rid of me and would not put his foot on the brakes.

It almost became a routine, more than anticipating what might happen in the interviews, I anticipated to see her looking at me smiling, she smiled daily at me, even when I was not the hero of the day. We both had become friends, the smile-friends, we had never talked, never met. Whenever we saw each other she was in bus and I was on bike I wanted to follow the bus some day to meet her without my helmet. I wanted to do that badly but then, the interviews....

And the day came when I got the final interview call. The telephone thing had been done, I just had to be there at 9:30 am and submit my papers. They had clearly mentioned that I had to be on time. Today I surrendered to the alarm and was on my bike exactly at 9:10 am. And there she was, running again after the bus. She would be able to catch it easily, I knew. I started my bike, crossed the bus, it had just stopped and she was about seven steps away from the bus. Being very sure of that she would catch the bus, I decided not to be the hero of the day. The temptation to see her smile was there, but then the interview, I didn’t even have a second to spare. I could always see that smiling face tomorrow. Heroes too need a break.  

As I crossed the bus, still thinking whether I would be able to reach on time, I heard a loud screeching sound, I stopped the bike and looked back.

The bus was still there, a little away from the bus stop though. There was a crowd gathered at the back door of the bus,  some accident I thought ?

I looked at the crowd for few seconds, it seemed to be serious accident. I thought of parking my bike at the side and go there to see what happened, but then I looked at my watch. I was getting late. I turned my head back for one last time and went away.

It has been a month now that I got my Job, every day I leave my home around 9:10 am, the bus daily reaches the stop exactly at the same time, but I have not seen her since one month.

I still wonder , whether i should have stopped the bus that day.


Picture Courtesy: http://www.picturehooked.co.uk/browse_image.php?img_id=10658

फिर एक नया साल बनाएं...

आओ कुछ  दिन इक्कठे करें फिर...  फिर एक नया साल बनाएं...

कल के सूरज में नया ढूंढें कुछ.....  फिर रातों में नए दीप जलाएं ... 

बच्चों की हंसी फिर से सुने.... चिड़ियों की आवाजों से नए गीत बनाएं ..

कुछ दोस्त नए इक्कठे करें ....  कुछ नए शेर और सुनाएं .. 

बातें सुने कुछ तुम्हारी.... कुछ अपनी बात बताएँ.... 

नयी बारिशों में भीगें.... गीली मिटटीओं की खुशबु फैलाएं ..

आओ कुछ  दिन इक्कठे करें फिर...  फिर एक नया साल बनाएं...

Photo Courtesy : http://thywordisalamptomyfeet.blogspot.com/2011/04/got-joy.html

बहुत ठण्ड थी.. उस रात....

एक पुरानी सड़क है... टूटी सी...  मैं रोज़ उस सड़क से ऑफिस जाता हूँ.... कुछ दूर उस सड़क पर एक चौराहा है... एक छोड़ा गोल चबूतरा है... ठीक उस चौराहे के बीच....


एक सफ़ेद बालों वाली बुढिया (शायद "बुढिया" शब्द भी उसकी उम्र के हिसाब से छोटा हो).. उस चबूतरे पर अपनी पीठ टिकाए एक पोटली में कुछ पुराने कपड़ों के टुकड़े, रोज़ टटोलती है.... चेहरा पूरा झुर्रियों से भरा पड़ा है.. आखें बहुत छोटी हो चुकी थी.. बहुत थकी सी दिखतीं थी.
मैं रोज़ देखता हूँ उसे...  उन कपड़ों के टुकड़ों को टटोलते हुए.. मानो... उसे ये चिंता है.. की कहीं कोई कम तो नहीं....?

प्लास्टिक की एक पुरानी पन्नी में कुछ बासी खाना और पुराने कपड़ो की पोटली... उसके बगल में रोज़ रहती..  अगर कोई ठीक से न देखे... तो चौराहे पर तीन पोटलियाँ नज़र आती.... दो छोटी.. और.. एक काफी बड़ी...

ठंडी का मौसम था... मुझमें कार की खिड़कियाँ खोलने  तक की हिम्मत नहीं थी पर फिर भी उस चौराहे पर अनायास ही आँखें रोज़ उस बुढिया को ढूँढती, बंद खिडकियों के पीछे से..

शायद उसे ठण्ड का एहसास नहीं था. सही बात तो है.. भूख का एहसास, हर एहसास को मार देता है.

मैं शाम को जब ऑफिस से घर लौटता तो वहीँ, उसी जगह पर बैठी मिलती,ठीक उसी जगह.
कई बार मन करता की कार रोक कर, उसे कुछ पैसे दे दूँ. कभी कभी तो जेब तक हाथ भी गया, पर जब तक ब्रेक पर पैर रखता, पीछे वाली गाडी का होर्न जोर से कान में गूँज जाता.

मैं कभी अपनी गाडी रोक नहीं पाया. कभी नीचे उतर नहीं पाया. पर हर बार  इसका कारण वो पीछे वाली गाडी को होर्न नहीं था.

ठण्ड रोज़ बढ़ रही थी. कार के बंद शीशे भी, अब ज्यादा कुछ नहीं कर पा रहे थे.

अब उस बुढिया के हाथ कापते नज़र आ रहे थे. पैरों में फटे मोज़े आ गए थे. एक पतली सी चादर भी थी.
रोज़ की तरह मैं, उसे देखता हुआ निकल जाता.

एक दिन शाम को घर पहुँचने ने के बाद टीवी पर देखा, ठण्ड ने कई सालो का रिकॉर्ड तोड़ दिया था. १८३ लोग मारे जा चुके थे शहर में.

मैंने एक छोटा स्टूल उठा कर पुरानी अलमारी के ऊपर पड़े कपड़ों के ढेर में से एक पुरानी रजाई निकाल ली. थोड़ी फटी थी,पुरानी भी, पर शायद उस बुढिया के लिए काफी थी. टीवी पर उस समाचार पढने वाले को भी नहीं पता होगा की उस की इस खबर का,  किस पर क्या क्या असर हुआ है. मैंने  कार की चावी उस पुरानी रजाई पर रख दी ताकि सुबह जाते वक़्त कहीं रजाई भूल न जाऊं.

उस रात बहुत ठण्ड लगी, मुझे याद है. मैंने दो बार उठ कर देखा था की कोई  खिड़की कहीं खुली तो नहीं रह गयी है. दरवाज़े ठीक से बंद है.

बहुत ठण्ड थी.. उस रात....

सुबह उठा तो ,हाथ पैर सब ठंडे पड चुके थे, किसी तरह ऑफिस जाने के लिए तैयार हुआ. सुबह टीवी पर, वही समाचार पढने वाला था, उसने भी आज मोटा काट पहन रखा था. कल रात ठंड ने पिछले ५० साल का रिकॉर्ड तोड़ दिया था.  रजाई... कार की डिक्की में डाल कर, मैं ऑफिस के लिए निकल पड़ा.

चौराहे पर पहुँचते ही, नज़रें उस बुढ़िया को ढूढने लगी,पर वह कहीं नज़र नहीं आई.
वो प्लास्टिक की पुरानी पन्नी (खाने वाली), और वो फटे कपड़ो का ढेर वहीँ था.

मैंने दो बार गोल चक्कर लगाये, पर वो कहीं नज़र नहीं आई.

पैर दो बार ब्रेक पर भी गए....पर ..

याद आया .. पिछली रात ठण्ड बहुत पड़ी थी...
उस समाचार पढने वाले ने भी यही कहा   था.......

मैं कभी फिर ... उस चौराहे के रास्ते से ऑफिस नहीं गया....
सच कहूँ तो ... उस दिन के बाद कभी हिम्मत भी नहीं हुई....

और वो समाचार पढने वाला... अब भी रोज़... टीवी पर .. ठंड की बातें करता है.....

रजाई... अब भी... कार की डिक्की में पड़ी  हैं.......

Photo Courtesy:
http://www.alexsohphotography.com/oldlady/oldlady.jpg

वो रोज़ आता है....

वो रोज़ आता है...

झांकता है ... खिडकियों से... पर्दों में सुराख ढूंढता है...

मेरे चेहरे पे नज़र रहती है उसकी...  वो खूब निशाने लगाता है..

वो रोज़..   आता है...

मैंने कई बार मुह फेरा.. करवट बदलकर..

मैंने चादरें ओढ़ कर खूब उसे भगाया.. 

वो किसी अपने की तरह .. फिर भी मुझे जगाता है..

वो रोज़ आता है..

परिंदों की कुछ आवाजें.. टकराती हैं जब ठंडी मध्हम हवाओं से..

काली रातों की स्लेटों में .. वो लाल स्याही फैलाता है.. 

वो रोज़..  आता है.. 

चेहरे बदल जायेंगे  .. घर बदल जायेंगे ..

खिडकियों पे होंगे परदे नए

वो छप्परों में पड़ी दरारें ढूंढेगा नयी .. टूटी खिडकियों से .. फिर टकटकी लगाएगा..

वो रोज़.. हर रोज़ आएगा..

हाँ ... मौसम की पहली बरसात थी...

हाँ ... मौसम की पहली बरसात थी...
कुछ दूर साथ चले थे हम....
आपस में कुछ बातें की थी...उन टकराती  उंगलिओं ने  ...
बूंदों ने न जाने... कितने घर बनाये थे.. तुम्हारे हाथों में...
सड़कों पे पानी बहा था.. वक़्त की तरह.....
आसमानों में रंग भर रखा था... काले बादलों ने..
 कुछ गुनगुनाया था तुमने... बिजलियों के संग...

हाँ ... मौसम की पहली बरसात थी...
कुछ दूर साथ चले थे हम....

फिर दफ्तर निकल जाऊँगा..

रोज़ शाम को घर पहुँचता हूँ .... दरवाज़े के पीछे लगी उन खुठिओं में ... दफ्तर की बेड़ियाँ टांग देता हूँ ...
गला रोज़ की तरह आज भी तंग है... पैरों को वापस  जमी पर रखने का दम .. अब बचा नहीं....
नींद...  शाम से आँखों पर दस्तक दे रही है... हाथों की उन दो उंगलीओं में कलम के  निशान अब भी हैं...
मेजों पर पड़ी उन मुर्दा  फाइलों  की तरह.. मैं भी पड़ा हूँ अपने बिस्तर पर... कुछ सोचता हुआ सो जाऊँगा..
कल उठूँगा सुबह ... बेड़ियाँ उतारूंगा उन खुठिओं से... पहन कर ... फिर दफ्तर निकल जाउंगा...

दरवाज़े पर ताला लगा कर... ख्वाइशों को  घर में  बंद कर... फिर दफ्तर निकल जाऊँगा..

Only Three Allowed...

Year 3011, the trees have all vanished, the sky was now covered with a thick blanket of smoke and there was snow everywhere. Oxygen was now being supplied by pipelines to the houses. I got married 8 months back; dad was in govt institute so we got our extra quota of oxygen in the house. He was now not keeping well, was on oxygen supply mask and would talk less; he hadn’t moved out of his bed since weeks, would only move his eyes. I knew it was only a matter of few days.

My wife was pregnant, she was expecting in few weeks. Along with my father’s health I was now also worried about the new Govt rules, only three persons were allowed in a family, if you are already three, you cannot have a child or a fourth family member. Even I was allowed to marry when my mother passed away a year ago.

I had already received a notice when her pregnancy was detected, they had insisted for an abortion, my lawyers are still on it, but they say that I stand a very weak chance.

3011, my Dad, my wife and myself, only three could live. Times have changed they were allowing four a few years ago. Times have changed.  I had even thought of committing suicide, so that at least my child could live, but then it would be difficult for her to live alone with the child.

Today, she was uncomfortable, labour pain had started. I called for the ambulance it would reach in some time. I was confused, scared. The department people will be at the hospital surely, they would not let us have the baby. I called my lawyer, he said he was helpless. I kept gazing at the ceiling thinking.   

The ambulance reached, started honking at the doorstep. The nurse came in and took my wife to the ambulance. I just asked them for few minutes so that I can go tell my DAD that I will be back in some time.

I went to his room, he was still, in very deep sleep perhaps, it was 3 AM. The oxygen supply mask was still there on his nose. He had to be given pure oxygen, doctor had ordered it. I put my hand on his head, caressed his head and kissed on his wrinkled cheek. I would do this daily before going to office. I looked at the wall , the photograph was still there, me sitting on his shoulders, I was five then. My eyes were moist , tears dropped on the bed sheet, it missed his hand by few inches. With one hand still on his head, I moved my hand towards the oxygen valve and closed it slowly.

Sitting inside the ambulance, I went numb, could only hear the faint cries of my wife and the nurse comforting her. I hadn’t spoken a word after I sat in the ambulance.

As soon as we reached the hospital my wife was taken into the operation theatre. The doctor came to me with a form, along with the department people.

“You will have to abort this kid, you cannot have him”

I said,  I will have to call my father and ask him.

They allowed me one phone call.

I came back from the phone booth after few minutes and said.

“.....................................................He is not picking up”

We had a baby boy......... 

अल्फाजों को मेरे...  डांट कर चुप कराती है...   खामोशी मेरी..... कितना शोर मचाती है..... 

वो इंतज़ार करता रहा...... करता रहा....... मेरी खामोशी..... मेरा जवाब था.....

कल तुम्हारी बातें की थी.. चाँद से .. आज आसमान में...कुछ तारें कम हैं...

सिर्फ मेरे होठों के कुछ अलफ़ाज़ देखे .... मेरी आखों की दास्ताने... न पढ़ी उसने....

वो खिलोने बेचने वाला.. खिडकियों से झांकती...  बच्चों ख्वाहिशें ढूंढता है...

ये सूखी पत्तियाँ रोज़ आती हैं दरवाज़े पर... शाम को..... तुम्हारा पता पूछतीं हैं....

सुबह टुकड़े मिले ... तकिये के नीचे... ख्वाब थे कुछ... जो रातों में टूटे थे ...

अपनी तनहाइ से इस कदर प्यार है हमे.... धड़कने ज़रा  तेज़ हो.... तो दिल घबराता है....

घर के बाहर , वो पुराना पेड़ बरगद का....  वक़्त को रोके अब तक खडा है....

मोबाइल के बटनों को दबा दबा कर.....  न जाने कितने रिश्तों की साँसे रोक चुकें हैं....,,

माँ.. धुआँ अब भी आँखों में लगता है... इस टूटे चूल्हे पर नज़र पड़ती है जब भी..

माँ तेरे बुने..... उस लाल स्वेटर में.... तेरे कुछ अधूरे ख्वाब नज़र आतें हैं....

आइना लगातें हैं जो अपने घरों में.... अक्सर.. खुद को नज़र नहीं आते...

ज़िन्दगी..... तू जो न मिली होती..... तो मर गए होते.... 

वही शक्श बैठा है  खामोश महफ़िल में....... जो दास्ताने सारी लिए बैठा है.....

Twitter par tweet kar kar ke karna kya hai...

Twitter par tweet kar kar  ke .. karna kya hai....
Yehi jeena hai doston to marna kya hai...

Followers ki ginti ka hisaab....  roz kartein hain..
maa ko par roz... ek phone karne se dartein hain..

Unfollow hone ki chinta....  har pal sataati hai...
purane doston ki call lekin .. humesha miss ho jaati hai..

mentions baar baar check karne ki...  aadat si ho gayi hai....
bachhon se roz  hone waali masti  ..  jaane kahaan kho gayi hai..


Roz naye naye  hashtag banaatein hain....
Office chaahe.. late ho jaatein hain..

Blog par  likhtein hain... roz kuch naya naya .....
biwi ki puraani khwaaishein .. ab tak baaki hai..

faltu si har  tweet retweet kar detein hain...
par padosi ko dekh ke .. duur se hi hass detein hain..

TL ki raftaar roz badhi si  jaati hai......
Zindagi ki ruk si gayi hai  ... ye chinta nahin sataati hai...

Doston..

Twitter par tweet kar ke .. karna kya hai...
Yahi jeena hai doston ko marna kya hai...




inspired by : Lage raho Munnabhai...

Shahrukh Khan

(Based on True Incidents and Characters)

Take this talk to him, talk to him please. I had no idea why she was behaving this way suddenly and why I needed to talk on the phone and with whom? Talk to him, as the tears rolled down her eyes. I had seen her cry in movies, sitting by my side holding my hand. I always used to carry a neat handkerchief whenever i went to movies with her, i knew her, I knew her tears. My handkerchiefs were a mess, but were clean white, crisp, folded neatly and unused, when I was with her in movies, always. I took care always but I didn’t have a clean one today, as we were not in a theatre watching a movie. But then I had to stop the tears. I had to....

With no idea in the world, I took the phone. SHAHRUKH KHAN... a kid’s voice almost sobbing, SHAHRUKH KHAN.... SHAHRUKH KHAN.... now he was almost crying... I stood there frozen. I had no idea why there was a kid sobbing at the other end of the phone, sobbing saying SHAHRUKH KHAN again and again.

SHAHRUKH KHAN... he repeated almost tenth time. Hello... h h h ee lllo.... I was not a good mimic, but I thought I could do a decent job for a kid. I didn’t know why I was doing this, but I said hello like the bollywood actor does in films. The kid at the other end came to life. SHAHRUKH ITS YOU ?? I said yes it’s me.... it’s me Shahrukh khan... who are you.....? Now I wanted this conversation to happen, I saw her sitting beside me, looking at me, still wiping the tears as i mimicked shahrukh. Though I was talking to the kid on the phone my eyes were still questioning her. They must have asked about 1000 questions to her and she didn’t say a word but the kid on the phone was answering all my questions now. I am Krunal he said. Oh Krunal, so how are you? Do you watch my movies, yes yes he said. I have seen them all, I want to meet you. Hey Krunal, cannot meet you, I am quite busy you know.

But we can talk, tell me about you, your school, your friends. My God !! I was doing a hell of a job as Shahrukh, perhaps the stage thing I did in college was coming out of hibernation inside me. The kid was not answering any of my questions, he had his own, I answered them all, and when i realised his questions weren’t ending, I told him I will call him back later, I had to go for shooting. He didn’t agree at first but then I promised to call him back and I said bye, as Shahrukh says in his movies. bbb bb yyyeee kkkkkk Krrrunaalll, he liked the kkkk rrruuu naalll part very much and laughed but the girl sitting beside me was still wiping her tears, damn the handkerchief. If only I had carried a clean one.

As I disconnected the phone, she started speaking as if she had all the reasons in the world, why this kid on the phone wanted to speak to shahrukh khan.

Was i ok ?? The out of hibernation actor in me asked, asked before she could explain anything.

Yes you were, you were perfect. I knew you could do this. That’s why I chose u didn’t I ? Then she told me, he was a boy, a small boy 8 yrs old, had severe autistic problems, had occasional fits and his conditions was deteriorating day by day. But one thing he was very close to his teacher, the girl I was standing right next to. The girl, who still had her eyes moist.

His favourite hero was Shahrukh khan and occasionally during those fits, he would repeat Shahrukh khan I want to meet shahrukh khan and one fine day, she promised that if he behaves well, she will make him speak to Shahrukh khan. And thus all happened. I seemed to have impressed him, he really thought that he was speaking to Shahrukh.

The Shahrukh talked once or twice in a week and his voice was getting better and better,but the kid on the other side wasn’t. It seemed his condition was getting worse day by day. The “hellos” on the phone got a little softer and the questions fewer. But still Shahrukh had to talk, every time me and her met, Shahrukh spoke and trust me it was like a stage performance for me doing it before her.

I was now quite attached to the kid, the same way she was attached, I asked a lot about him. It seemed his training was going on well with her but he wasn’t doing that good, he would now cough between our conversations, would go mum, I had to now coax him into talking. I asked questions, but they all weren’t answered. Still his love for Shahrukh was there, the happiness in his voice that he was speaking to Shahrukh was always there, it never faded. It was the same when we first talked, and the best gift I got, while talking to him was the smile on her face, the way she kept looking at me, when I talked.

Then one day, she called, she wasn’t sounding good. Something had happened it seemed. One word she told me and it would like paragraphs for me, one word and I would know everything she had in mind. Even if she didn’t say anything I would read her eyes.

I knew, Krunal was not ok, there was something wrong. She told me he was now in serious condition and she wanted to see him. I picked her up from her home. On way to the hospital, a fifteen minutes drive, tears were rolling down her eyes. But she was not crying, but she was tough she was courageous.

We reached; she straight away got down and was on her way up. She knew me, she knew that I wouldn’t have the courage to face him, to see him. I was the weaker one at heart amongst us. I understood her silence and her way of exit. I parked the car and sat on a bench just outside the hospital gate. She knew how I weak I was, she knew me.

Thinking what would be going on up there, how was the kid, what would his condition be and would she be able to control her tears in front of him. She was his teacher after all. Teachers never cry before their students, never. I knew she wouldn’t. I kept waiting, kept thinking.

After ten minutes I could hear someone running down the stairs. The steps were fast, loud perhaps because of the silence in the hospital. The bench was close to the hospital gate, she looked at me, waved her hand, gesturing me to come inside. She didn’t look in my eyes, she just gestured. I got up fast and when I was just about to reach near her, she started running back towards the room. I held her hand stopped her and asked, what happened? Why are you running? She stopped, I looked in her eyes. We don’t have time, he doesn’t have time, he is sinking, he is almost unconscious, but he was mumbling shahrukh khan, that’s the only thing he is saying now, I want you to see him, do something. She said all this in one single breadth. I was silent now, what I should do, what I can do, I cannot face the child. Over the phone it was ok, but facing him? You know, I can’t, I just can’t, i am not as strong as you are, I am not...

Just be there, just come, she said with a stern voice, like a teacher. We reached the room, there were people standing outside the room, perhaps, relatives, hoards of them. He was there, on the bed, unconscious. His mother was sitting beside him, she was not crying, she was prepared, perhaps she had accepted what was coming. No one in the room knew me, besides her, no one…

I went near to the bed, she held my hand, held it very tightly. She knew how weak I was, she knew I could break down at any moment. She was the one who cried in movies, but she knew, how weak I was, how soft I was. She would always stare at me at traffic signals, when people used to knock at our car window to ask for money and when subconsciously my hand went to my pocket, she would hold it and say, you melt down so easily, you are too soft. I would listen to her as I knew she was correct.

But I really didn’t know how to handle this, there he was lying down. I had never met him before, never seen him before. But I was supposed to be his hero, Shahrukh the hero I was.

I stood beside his bed, his hand was still, with a needle inserted inside a small vein, and it was still, life less but the fingers still moving now and then. I felt her pinching me, she was still holding my hand standing just behind me, I looked at her, looked into her eyes. I understood, I moved my hand closer towards his, I touched his hand and as I touched his hand. I saw his eyes open. He looked here and there, looking for the one who was touching his hand and then he found me. He looked in my eyes, kept looking, I didn’t know what to say, what to do. I pressed her hand, she pressed mine. I again looked into his eyes, then his lips tried to move, tried to say something. I bent over, held my ear close to his mouth, to hear what he wanted to say, I kept waiting, to understand what he was trying to say, to hear what he was trying to say. I kept waiting, with her holding my other hand. I heard some voice, I put my ear closer to his mouth and I heard "Shahrukh Khan….. Shahrukh khan" then he was silent… silent forever. The Shahrukh stood there, looking at his closed eyes, the Shahrukh he created, the Shahrukh he wanted to meet, tears rolled down my eyes.

I looked back towards her. She was not there, the Shahrukh stood there alone, wondering, how he recognized me.

Years after.. I still wonder….