Friday, 20 July 2012

Somewhere In Between


Somewhere in between,
Filled with regret and angst,
I stand,
Thinking
The unending frustration
Of this aimless reality
Where I am
Unable to touch
The ends
The odds
The willingness
The curiosity
To move forward
To see through it
It is gone
Lost somewhere
Amidst expectations
And dreams
And will
And life overall
I feel
Tied and tired
And hopeless
Somewhere in between
I am struggling
To know the reason
And purpose
Of this life
Somewhere in between
I stand clueless
Angst ridden
Unwilling
And inhuman

Thursday, 19 July 2012

Right? Not Always.......

On Indian roads, in the evening, when lampposts are turned on, the whole environment seems orange. After all there are only 3 colors one could render, if, in case someone would even think about it, and they were black, grey and orange. Orange would be an after effect because of the light from the lampposts.  An unknown man stood, with 2 other men, on the footpath. It was quite late in the evening, and that footpath ended near the traffic signal, which as always, turned red suddenly. Another man driving a sedan stopped at the signal, waiting for it to turn green.

He was going back to his place, and on his face he looked exhausted. That was all one could really figure out if someone could really see his face. He didn’t push his window shields of the door of his car up, they were pulled down, so he could see everything that was happening, around, not many other vehicles were there with him, on the signal, waiting for a green light. He looked around, on that pavement, 3 men were standing and talking, their activity made him curious. One of them, stood in between, not literally but as he saw it, 2 of them faced each other, the guy in between could see their cheeks, in a way he was standing, and his face was visible to the guy driving and the sedan guy could see the cheeks of the other two guys, but from the opposite ends.

The 2 guys facing each other were calm, too calm to be harmful. The guy on the right of the sedan guy pulled out a blade, one with broad width, sharp edges and shiny surface. He stuck its tip almost on the abdomen of the guy facing him, if he made a move, the knife would tear the muscle and make its way inside, damaging internal digestive organs and lead to possible hemorrhaging.

The sedan guy looked around. At a distance, behind his car stood a man on his motorcycle wearing a helmet and he didn’t shake his head or nod to check if something was wrong there. On his right there was an SUV parked. A red colored, SUV, huge in size. Possibly, there were travelers inside, one could listen music being played inside that car and a bunch of people having fun, what they were talking about, continued to be inaudible. Behind that SUV there was an auto-rickshaw, that guy was possible smoking, all he could see through the hind window of his car and the front window shield of the auto rickshaw, was a flaming bud, that moved out of his mouth and back, he too didn’t seem to be bothered about the activity that was going on at the pavement. He looked at the traffic signal timer, 43, 42, 41…. One second at a time, the number displayed there, above the signal automatically subtracted itself by one. He looked back at the 3 people at the footpath, the guy with blade, had hidden it, he kept one hand on the other guy’s shoulder, and was talking, telling him something, the listener listened calmly, the third guy rested on one of the cemented blocks along the footpath, he was looking down, not making a move, he seemed to be helpless.

The guy who was talking was trying to console him for something, the listener, following his gaze, he probably was seeing speaker’s 2ndbutton on his shirt. The sedan guy checked the counter. It was still counting backwards, 23, 22, 21. Till now nothing had happened, on the pavement, loud enough to attract attention, but the faces of the three people, told something else, the speaker had a blade and he was too peaceful, too peaceful to be someone really moral. The sedan guy, wondered, he should call the police? Or perhaps he should wait and see, what happens. He didn’t know what these people were up to. This city was not under surveillance, at night time, if this place would be traffic free, bad things could be done, and people could leave without a trace. The timer was ticking, 13,12,11….. if he stays and sees what happens next, it could take time. What if I wait and nothing serious happens, or may be these people are talking and will leave after sometime? He thought, he could not avoid a possibility though. If he called the police, there were more possibilities, they might hold him, they might ask him a set of questions, if this was a possible crime, then he could be called in as a witness, and in case all this turns out to be nothing that serious, then unnecessarily he will face humiliation from the police, if this blade guy is a real criminal, the sedan guy could stop him now, but what if he becomes a trouble in the long run and a dozen of other possibilities, he looked at the timer……. 3,2,1 and the green bulb lit, he powered up his engine, geared his car moved past the signal, for once, he did check what those guys were doing, through his rear view mirror.

The guy visible in the middle of the two was now looking away, the guy who was speaking started unbuttoning the listener’s shirt as he was drawing his knife out, and the listener was looking beyond the speakers head, his gaze towards another traffic signal tower or may be beyond it, towards the sky.
The sedan guy left the clutch as he pressed the accelerator lever and set his vehicle in motion as he saw one guy unbuttoning another guy’s shirt with a knife in his hand until he took a right turn, round a circular construction. This circular construction was established to avoid traffic jams. As he went right, that pavement slowly transitioned into the round circular construction in the rear view mirror, housing greenery and statues of people, politicians mainly who contributed in building the city, in between a Mahatma Gandhi Statue was raised.

Tuesday, 17 July 2012

That one step!

One step backward
If I take
I feel
I will fall
One step forward
If I take
I feel
I will walk
In the wrong direction
So I stop
Stop to think
But the reality
Doesn’t allow me to move,
Who should I ask?
The right
Or
The wrong
My right
Is wrong
For those who expect
Right for them
Is wrong
For me
In this world
Of those dependent
Union of right and wrong
Is possibly the only right
But in this life
Why is it
That everything is fuzzy
Those, not as lucky as I am
Why are they so happy?
Is happiness not my destination?
This reality compels me
To wait,
For how long
I am not sure of
Every moment,
Bites
Impatience asks me
To take a step
But this fearsome
Reality
Compels me to think
One step backward
If I take
I feel
I will fall
One step forward
If I take
I feel
I will walk
In the wrong direction
So afraid I am
So tired I am
To take,
That one step
In my life.

Monday, 16 July 2012

Of Being a saint

Vishwas Naagar, was strolling inside a garden. It was a beautiful place, amidst Himalyas, in Himachal Pradesh. From a distance one had to walk on his feet to reach out to that place. It becomes cumbersome for 4 wheelers to reach there because of clumsy road with narrow width. Quite a scenery it was, white snow clad mountains lapped this botanical garden. At this point, where he was standing and studying the pattern, he observed symmetry.

They had constructed a maze, though not as confusing as one could be, but after every third wall built with boxwoods, there was a cube, that encapsulated flowers like rhododendrons and tulips and lilies, that color pattern repeated itself, though with a different set of flowers, exotic ones at times, and they maintained it well. The curious truth of a hill station is one can’t stay there for a lifetime. Parts of it may be, not in totality. After all one needs urban lifestyle and many times also a reason to show off success.

 Naagar was a journalist and did stories on tourism, travel, culture, art etc. He very well understood, long ago that the day he would start reporting, politics, crime and other things would not be his forte.

To this botanical garden, he made his way with the help of a musician friend. Very few people knew about it, because it was slightly remote, limited visits here had allowed better maintenance.  The weather there was pretty cold, it usually was chilly there, but today it appeared slightly on the other, colder side. Even at 2 o clock in the afternoon it felt as if it was a morning and it felt really fresh, with clouds floating around together moistening roses that right now, were on his right. The whole garden, because of clouds, wetted. And every color around him, glossed.

Vishwas knew reality, he had to go back to his office, and write about this place, while his heart was unwilling to do so. If he could, he would stay here, nearby somewhere. But after all, urban men had responsibilities, and those who were strong willed enough to do what they wanted to, for them, their responsibilities were not compulsions, they accepted them happily and Naagar was one of them. Unlike most of the other Indians, who would not really choose anything by themselves and later on the responsibilities of a human being turn into compulsions and very sadly they pass by them. He turned around to move towards a forest. That was basically on the other end of the garden and quite a distance to walk, as it was not exactly within the perimeters of the garden, and moreover slightly on a height.

Officer there told them it housed a lot of pigeons, unique and varying in colors. He went inside the forest. There was a patch, without dense vegetation. A man varying saffron cloak stood there, feeding the pigeons. He looked like a Buddhist saint, who observed Vishwaas Naagar coming, he smiled and nodded to say hello, to which Vishwaas reciprocated. Vishwas approached him, and could not resist from talking to a very charming personality, “Hi, I am Vishwaas”, “God bless you, my name is Ashok”, said the saint. “Whenever I find a saint, a lot of questions pop up in my mind; can I ask you a couple of them, if you don’t mind?” asked inquisitive Vishwaas. “Please ask, though I can’t guarantee I can answer all of them to your satisfaction, but I can try, for sure”, he replied in a charmingly polite manner.

“People tell me, a saint knows answers to all questions, really?”
“My dear friend, there is no difference in being a saint or being anyone else, knowing answers to every question doesn’t make you one, knowing answers to your own questions does, and you immediately establish the foundation once you step out to find the answers to your questions, when you take a step forward in your search for truth”.

Vishwaas nodded, he looked at the hoard of playful pigeons in front of him. He thought may be staying here, is his ultimate truth. He was continuously thinking about a lot of things, what should he ask, or he should simply cherish the moment. The problem lied there, he was pretty content with his life, and he knew that nothing can be perfect.

“I can see, something leaves you confounded, speak, as you should, don’t worry about what I will or anyone else will think, it doesn’t make a lot of difference, really”, Ashok, was not really a very old man, rather a young man, and like any other human being he liked talking, and he liked listeners.
“Ashok, what if, you are inside a class and you have a teacher in front of you, but you don’t have questions?” Asked Vishwaas, abruptly.
“Perhaps you are sitting in the wrong classroom”, replied the wise young saint, smiling, pleased by this situation.

“And what if the teacher asks me a question?”
“Then teacher is trying to evaluate whether he is successful in doing his job or not”
“And what if the teacher simply takes his class, and he doesn’t ask anything from his students, students don’t ask anything from the teacher?”

“Well, then that would be a perfect situation, a perfect disorder, failure for both, the teacher and the students, Vishwaas, this life is a classroom, whatever around you is your teacher, and you are the student. If you do not question the correctness or wrongness around you, then you fail as a student, and your surroundings fail as your teachers. You are here, amused by the prettiness and poetry of this place, but what if, it existed only to attract? Truth is not what you accept, but what you find, by asking and looking for it”
“If it exists to attract, then it would attract me to something good or bad?”
“Not necessarily, few things exist only because they look good, that is their purpose. They don’t lead you anywhere, or solve a bigger purpose”

Vishwaas could absorb what he said, perhaps, beauty never lied in looks and anything that looked good, but we simply run behind them, in this world, filled with greed and brutality, he looked at the saint, who was just not afraid, not afraid of anything, he was, in true terms, free, but this never meant that everyone should be one, after all everyone is needed in this chaos, may be this chaos needed lost individuals, to maintain stability to it, or perhaps, add poetry to it.

Tuesday, 10 July 2012

The Hands that build India


This title, is a modified line of a song “The Hands that built America” taken from the soundtrack of the film “Gangs of New York” which plays during the end credits that start rolling right after a violent battle between gangsters for dignity and satisfactory survival concludes. The staggering irony is, it is shown in the movie that America which developed into a nation of Empire States and WTCs, as the movie’s tagline suggests, was born on streets. India and America are two different countries, they faced different problems and their needs and dreams and requirements are different, but what continues to be a common truth, for any country let alone India or America, is that any country for its development needs men who would fight for their existence, because like any creature who can feel, its existence matters.
Around 5 lakh engineers were produced in India in 2011, out of them only 17.45% are employable. With more than 113 universities and over 2100 colleges, this is a generation of confounded, angst ridden youngsters, who are afraid to run away from their houses, invent a job for themselves, and then return with success written on their Ts.

Or they just accept the shortcut, buy a degree, find a job and then forget about life. Life that doesn’t really exist, but since there is a bed to sleep, a fancy shirt to wear and someone to talk to, it doesn’t make a lot of difference. Every year, since the day I joined an engineering college, there is a youngster, calling me, asking me, which engineering course he/she should choose and I ask him/her why, you want to join engineering, they tell me, because they can find a job easily.
Why is it that merely finding a job is the last resort. Inside an office in front of a computer someone may/may not do anything that he/she might really enjoy doing, but because they’ll earn money, rather easily so they are ready to do anything. And to be precise I am a part of that youth, and us lazy generation don’t think.

In meetings people literally argue, how much they struggled and they are just not happy about it, and I don’t understand in case someone really loves about whatever he/she is doing why would someone not be happy about his struggle. The point is nothing really matters in terms of growth and development, all that matters is pay scale, people who can be afraid of us, someone outside may get attracted to the enigma that one can create and for that our generation is ready to sell our souls.
Or perhaps, it was hard coded in our system? Just to breathe through our lives we accept slavery, maybe because to show off a seal we do it, and we ignore that we are not really contributing towards better living standards. People here sit inside offices late, because we are afraid that this, whatever we have, if it is lost then it is a done deal and there is no way out. Or maybe because we know that there is nothing else that we can do.
And we are the hands who build India, who are plain clueless, afraid of severities which are hypothetical. And because we are lazy, we don’t want to try, not anymore. If something falls our way, we’d grab it, be it job or life. We wait for something to happen and nothing really happens and we just move on, after a point all of us are frustrated, angry, disappointed. And we still carry on, we don’t have anything fruitful to talk about, so we talk about people around us. We find entertainment in troubling others around us, to see someone troublesome in trouble gives us a cheap thrill, and we don’t realize that it is just sad.
And then people talk about social improvement, charity, issues that are impactful globally, but what about the issues impacting us? Every act of brutality is an after effect of prolonged sadness, because it is after all an extremely passionate move, of some one really passionate about something, unfortunately his passion got directed in wrong direction.

And because we just gave up, we no longer wish to fight for ourselves, we are still not free and though Englishmen have left, we have not left our mentality of being a slave, somewhere at some stage of time, we have been afraid to complain, afraid to stand up for ourselves because we are just dependent, we were dependent and perhaps will be for the rest of our lives and don’t want to lose those who feed our dependence. Because, may be have this inherited and because may be we will pass it on to the future, and like we are hearing for last 10 years, we will become a super power in next 10 years, we will keep hearing it for the rest of our lifetimes, and I blame no one else for such a situation but myself, because I didn’t put up a fight with reality, where somewhere in between I lost my search for truth and accepted whatever crossed my way, stopped fighting for something that would add meaning to my existence and I will, forever be guilty, for contributing my hands towards building a flawed India.  

Sunday, 1 July 2012

क्या फर्क रहा


उन शीशे के टुकडो में
तराजू में
आदतों में
अजीब शिकायतों में
मतलब ढूंढते रहे हम
किस्मत को कोसते रहे हम  
आपस में लड़ते रहे हम
इंसान होने का बोझ
लाद लाद कर
झगड़ते रहे हम
खुशियो के मौके
ढूंढते रहे हम
मन बवंडर में उलझा रहा
तो मुस्कान होने पर भी
क्यों खुश न हो सके हम
जब इच्छा ही न रही
तो क्यों खुद को तकलीफ देते रहे हम
दुनिया की उम्मीदों को
तसल्ली देना
अपना धर्म क्यों बना बैठे हम
इसी आवेश में
जहां खुशी से उदासी और उदासी से खुशी
सींचने लगे हम
जहां ज़िम्मेदारी और मजबूरी में
कोई फर्क न रहा
जहाँ सद्भावना और मुसीबत में
कोई फर्क न रहा
वहाँ
जिंदगी जीने और काटने में
क्या फर्क रहा || 

कहाँ खो गए हम


भटकी हुई भीड़ में
शेहेरो में गलियों में
लोगो में
दुनिया में
कभी हम
बड़ों का हाथ थामे
खड़े रहेते थे
अब न तो वो हाथ है
न वो समझदारी
न ही दिशाएं
बस भीड़ है
लोग हैं
दुनिया है
और शोर है
तब एक डर सा था
उम्मीदों को तोड़ने का
अब डर सा है
सपने टूटने का
इस दुनिया में
जहाँ सिर्फ शोर है
इस शोर में
इन लोगो में
इस भीड़ में
एक डर सा है
न जाने  
किस रस्ते पे
किस मोड़ पे
किन उम्मीदों के मेले में
किन उपदेशो के आडम्बर में
समझ नहीं आता
कहाँ खो गए हम ||