टूटे सपनो का सच

बूढ़ा टपरा, टूटा छप्पर और उस पर बरसातें सच,
उसने कैसे काटी होंगी, लंबी-लंबी रातें सच।

लफ़्जों की दुनियादारी में आँखों की सच्चाई क्या?
मेरे सच्चे मोती झूठे, उसकी झूठी बातें, सच।

कच्चे रिश्ते, बासी चाहत, और अधूरा अपनापन,
मेरे हिस्से में आई हैं ऐसी भी सौग़ातें, सच।

जाने क्यों मेरी नींदों के हाथ नहीं पीले होते,
पलकों से लौटी हैं कितने सपनों की बारातें, सच।

धोका खूब दिया है खुद को झूठे मूठे किस्सों से,
याद मगर जब करने बैठे याद आई हैं बातें सच।

Where the mind is NOT without fear

My mind has been ringing with all the territorial and religious violence news that everyone around is privy to. It is definitely disturbing to see the destruction around that we have subjected ourselves to in the name of what was supposed to be a layout for better administration and a refined path to achieve the Supreme.

 

All of a sudden it seems the world is plagued in its entirety with some or the other form of communalism and religious divide. Where it isn't strictly religious it has acquired the ugly shape of human lines of control to gain command over humans themselves. Rousseau had famously said, "Man is born free..." but he failed to visualize that man will generate his own bondage. From the inhuman atrocities of ISIS in Syria to the Nuke threats between India Pakistan to the extreme Islamic militancy propagated by the Boko Haram, where are we headed and what will be our future. My future can not be isolated and restricted to my nearest locality. That will be a very myopic view of existence. Because even if I shrink my horizons and just peep out of the box peace still eludes me. When I talk to people, I end up debating. People are so full of religion that they just look through humanity. For them it is more important that they prove their supremacy over the next minor race. Terror is a state of mind and terrorism a means of existence. How close can I look if not beyond my town, my neighborhood. I just have to travel 20 kms. from my heaven to experience the freshest cases of communal violence. Close eh!! How close is my question. No one is willing to forgive, no one wants to let go, everyone is holding on. There is no exit. And no, education has not been able to salvage the situation. I sit in the company of well educated top brass. I feel left out for my secular views. We want Kashmir but we want to park our thoughts on peaceful co existence.

 

Kashmir reminds me of recently watched Haider. Marvelous, Achingly beautiful. What struck me was not the artistic rivalry between Tabbu, Shahid and KK neither the vast expanse of ice covered Anantnag but the plight of Kashmiris. Half widows, Distraught old parents, Clueless kids. "To be or not to be", how beautifully the issue has been raised. And these issues have been continuing since Kashmir was formed.

 

I have now come to think that these issues of regional and religious violence are beyond solutions. They will live as long as the human race itself. There is no solution in sight. And yes, they hold only humans. Javed Akhtar voiced straight from the heart

"Panchi Nadiya Pawan ke Jhonke

Koi sarhad na inhe roke"

 

 

One world was just a wistful thought of some philosopher who failed to come out of the reverie. For all the rest of us are wide awake.

 

शहर से थोड़ा आगे जाकर दाये मुड़ो तो सरहद दिखेगी
वही सरहद जिसके उस पार पाकिस्तान है ओर इस पार हिन्दुस्तान

 

वही सरहद जिसके दोनो तरफ सियासते है जो खेलती है
मासूमो के दिल से, दिमाग़ से

 

सुना कल रात सरहद पर फिर गोलियाँ चली, लहू बहा
वही सरहद जिसके उस पार भी लहू का रंग लाल था ओर इस पार भी||

 



 

 

 

To my Launch Pads, I like to call them TEACHERS.

But, teacher, I never will forget

A look you gave to me;

I saw reflected in your eyes

The somebody I could be.

 



 

Every individual's life is usually a perfect division of two - Student life and thereafter. Over the years, I have come to believe that there are no Good Students. There are only Good Teachers who are capable of bringing out the best in their pupils.

The relation between a teacher and student descends beyond classrooms, subjects, activities, schools and all things temporary. We usually tend to remember teachers who have had a long lasting impact on us. This, not in terms of academic curriculum but more in light of evolution and development. Good teachers usually affect eternity. Their influence lasting as long as life. It is way above the awe struck infatuations that grip the students and involve trivia like dress, speech, walk and other sensory parameters.

 

There are teachers who command and then there are those who master. One particular incident I remember very well from my college life which distinguishes the two. There was an inter college debate competition and my college had not received any participation. I was walking down the corridor when this teacher crosses me.

" Why have you not given your name for the competition"?

" The subject does not interests me".

" I am sending your name, prepare well".

 

While I like to believe they needed me because I was probably one of the best, ,my ego was definitely bruised at being commanded. I said an outright No and moved out. Next day I was approached by another faculty who took me aside and said she was confident of me winning the title for our college and I should go ahead for the institute's sake. Whoa!! She won and next day I won too. Not for the college but for her. Moreover I received a beautiful souvenir from her which I still hold dear.  Now when I look back, my ego was definitely ill placed but there lies the art, knowing the students inside out and making the difference. I imbibed that as a fine theory of people management. No one wishes to be dominated over and every one needs incentive to go on.

 

I was fortunate enough to be educated in a public school during my early childhood. The best lessons in brotherhood and secularism were taught there. I had some of the best role models in community service and peaceful co existence. There were daily lessons from every religion. There was no punishment only positive reinforcement. Consequently every student was aware of self discipline not because it was a pre requisite in school but more because it was good to be in discipline.  The school had no ideology, every teacher was a champion in their own league and that as such made those years some of the best learnings of my life.

 

The curriculum today, as I see it, is so competitive that it almost over rules moral values. I fail to understand why is it becoming so difficult to teach lessons for life these days. When I see students befriending teachers on social platforms it amazes me. Despite of having some of my very good friends as former teachers it is sheer respect that draws me to them still. While it is good to have teachers as friends, the respect is fast diminishing.  The relation is becoming very shallow and superficial. The teachings very bookish and business like. Is it more because teaching is fast becoming one of the best business and probably the easiest alternative in killing time for some, unlike old times when people chose to be academicians. Or because parents have stopped empowering teachers to rear ladies and gentlemen. Or because schools have just become another example of socio economic divide engulfing the country.   Whatever it is, needs to change drastically. There can be no learning without action. It is merely churning out huge lots of educated uncivilized citizens who may earn well but will never be able to take the nation anywhere.

Woes of a Woman and Rains

This is my favorite time of the Year. Why, because it Rains this time and I love them. They bring out in me a rigmarole of numerous emotions; love, lust, passion, creativity and above all a voice to all my feelings which go unsaid and unheard throughout the year. Listening to drumming rain sing its tip-tap song while beating itself on roof tops ignites all that had laid latent. The fires of course having changed the color and form over my growing period.

While as a kid rains meant communal showers and paper boats now they mean lot more deeper and emotional. Rains to me now are akin a woman, soothing, calming and life giving. Women are to the world what the first drops of gentle rain are to the parched earth. When modest they protect, save and nurture. No one wishes for an uncontrolled, torrential and wild specimen of either though what a sight to behold they would present when thus.

Is it the weather or just a co incidence, I suddenly find myself surrounded by lot of news, audio and visual on issues pertaining to women. It all stirred up with Indira Nooyi's confessions of 'Women can't have it all'. Since then it has been a high tide. Stories, videos, podcasts about women vehemently supporting or opposing Nooyi have flooded the media and brains. I believe what she meant by her now infamous confession was that women have to make a choice at lot of junctures. This is absolutely true. I have been fortunate enough to grow in the  company of women who have been quiet successful in their own rights and have battled it out with elan. They all are thriving examples of different genres of fight with the society be it living single and independent, walking out of troubled marriages and staying happy, leading life on their own terms post marriages or deciding to choose careers over anything else. Indian society does make it difficult for women and that is exactly the point. Why not men? No, I am not a supporter of the sexist anti men movement but I do have a critical viewpoint on the condition of women in India. A single man will lovingly be cajoled amidst a group of aunties on choosing the right woman and taking his own sweet time. Whereas a woman by her own parents will be chided every now often and coaxed on getting hitched as soon as possible. Why the discrimination? It is women who make the society, it is women who make men, it is women who make the world worth living and yes, women do not rape either. Then why is the society still so anti women. We might have made several laws over the years to protect women but in reality nothing has moved. All women however educated have to face a discrimination at some point. A subtle case in point be that of the duties expected of a daughter in law. Well, what about the son in law. Why was not he traded for an equal role.

There are women who have risen above all and decided to live a life straight out of their hearts but such women are not held in very high esteem in the society. The onus to change lies solely with the women. No body else will ever learn a lesson if not us. Women need to get out and live life on their own terms pleasing none other but their hearts. I would rather sum this up with one similar example quoted to me by my mother. "Whatever milestones you achieve in your career, what would matter is if you can make your chapatis round". Who said I could not keep a Maharaj :)

What Three Verbs and Three Adjectives best describe you?

My friends, enough of me and my thoughts. Today's question is all about YOU, because.....I wish to know more of you. So let's hear it.


WHAT THREE VERBS AND THREE ADJECTIVES BEST DESCRIBE YOU


Come on shower me with your answers.....waiting.

Neighbors on Prowl

If there ever was one community of people I have always been apprehensive about, it is the NEIGHBORS.  They come in such shapes and sizes putting the Creator to shame. They can be a blessing in disguise or a pain in the right place. Singles like me are more prone to their misfortunes and blessings.  Handling the neighbor is nothing less than a full time effort which needs lot of backend support. Hence single occupants are always at a loss in ‘mending wall’.

My neighbors so far have never had any problems with me. God fearing individual that I am, I strictly abide by what the bible tells us. It says love thy neighbors and love thy enemies. Little did it know the terms can be used interchangeably.

While my neighbors have been at peace with me, I am afraid I can’t say the same about them. *SIGH* I have had some noteworthy incidents with them.

During my growing up days, my parents were exemplary specimen of social artwork. They made the world look like one huge family and this family cost us kids dear. In the absence of my parents, this extended family voluntarily took to our upkeep and maintenance. One fine day I decided to give them all a run and host my friends for a nocturnal jamboree. I told my friends to sneak in at 11PM when all would be dead. Poor things parked kilometers away and walked those extra miles. No sooner had they laid their hands on the gate my otherwise languid drowsy dog started howling at the top pitch. My poor friends ran as if in a Marathon. Somebody on a nightly chore would have definitely mistaken them for robbers. As for my dog, he had partnered with the community for few bones. Whatever happened to loyalty and faithfulness?

Couple of years back I shifted to Gujarat for my professional commitments. Whoever has been to this part of the world will vouch that Gujratis do not mingle much outside the community. I lived in a Gujrati locality. Prima facie the elderly aunties seemed harmless blessing me with smiles and ‘kemcho’ during evenings. No sooner I experienced what Jane Austen famously said, “Every man is surrounded by a neighborhood of voluntary spies”.  Their smiles were just a façade to fish out events from my life to spice up their daily kitties. One of the old farts was a puffed up, vainglorious, full of herself relic who would invite me purposely for displaying her state of the art facilities.  So skeptical I became of all those aunties that I absolutely stopped bothering about doorbells unless it was the secretly coded pattern of the bell which only my close ones shared.  

I can yap endlessly on the numerous such incidents that have transpired since my childhood and  have all had their share of sorts in making me a recluse that I am today. One of the most important lessons I have learnt while renting out is, “Either do as your neighbors say or move away”.

Well, hold on, my doorbell is ringing. Guess it’s my movers and packers guy. Yup, you got it right….I am moving away. J

Refugee for Life

This belongs to a time when I was learning life as such. It was Delhi and the summers there. While doing my internship I had nothing much to do on Sundays and other offs. Having heard a lot about Delhi University and the life it saw every Sunday it used to be my hangout.

It was one such Sunday when I saw a young feeble girl crouched over what looked like a mass of handwritten papers strewn all around. I was drinking tea and with no one to give me company I decided to offer her. She instantly accepted. Her name was Rezah. Over innumerable glasses of tea I learnt she was a Bangladeshi Refugee who like thousands of them had crossed the border along with her mother. With no source of income she had taken up this writing of various forms. Later in the day she took me home to meet her mother. It was anything but home. A worn out charpoy was the only fixed asset of this shack. Her mother must have been in her early 60s. Frail on the body but definitely not at heart, she welcomed me with a warm hug as if a long lost daughter.

Once with them it was difficult to believe life in such ruthless terms. They told me refugees do not exist, for either of the governments. They do not have any rights, whatsoever. Well, so much for the government taking measures to improve the quality of life. They were, just the two of them for each other. I have always thought that to be the worst punishment ever inflicted on any soul. An over populated universe with no one to share your existence with. Whether it was sympathy or the warmth they became my family for sure. I used to join them whenever I could with all three of us eating together and talking about what mattered to us. 3 months flew by like this when one day I reached the shack to see the mother daughter duo curled up in a corner with tears streaming down their faces. They opened up to my questions after what seemed like an hour long comforting. Some barbarians at the campus had plundered her honor while she was returning home. As if that were not sufficient she was beaten mercilessly. I was shocked beyond belief. These incidents are a distant reality till they come time checking at your door.  Such surrendered were they to their destinies that these hospitals, police stations were not meant for them. Asking for help was only increasing the agonies.  I was appalled at this wretchedness of life. For the first time probably and the hard way it jolted through me. Yes, it was different. They lived but they did not exist. The entire documentation of states and governments had failed to earn them a life. I cringed at this brutal joke that was cracked at their expense.

After giving them medicines and food, of whatever bare they could eat, I headed home. Invariably I was only pilferaging their sorrows which they wanted to hold dear. For the next couple of days I could not muster the courage to meet them. When I finally went there a week later I found the mother alone. Her face was a torment of emotions with tears having dried in their pursuit of endless streaming. She handed me a letter. I opened the letter with a quivering heart, Rezah had decided to end her struggle in life. She no longer wanted to be at the mercy of this territorial divide. How, where, she did not mention. All it said in the end was to take care of her mother, if possible. My brain stopped functioning, my senses grew numb. I had to hold on to the charpoy to keep steady. From the distance I could hear her mother requesting her whereabouts, asking why she had not returned home from last 3 days,  what was to happen to her as if she had already realized Rezah was not meant to return. I had no answers. Guilt weighed heavy on my heart. I might have been able to save her life had I given her my comforting shoulder, a ear to hear and not run away like a coward. Was that too much to bargain for a life. I stayed overnight with her mother, though neither of us spoke. Perhaps we were both trying to sort our destinies. As the sun rose, I made her tea and sought her permission to step out for some time to buy stuff for the house and apply for leaves in my office. Not daring to look into her eyes, I made my way out.

Once out I smelled the sun. Was it a different day or was my mind too fogged to care. I wandered aimlessly for around an hour trying to clear my mind. It must have been late afternoon when I decided to head back. I reached home... to a vacant charpoy. I looked around but in vain. I sat in the house cursing myself for hours but the last occupant of the shack did not return. My mind reverberated with the pleas of Rezah. To the letter she had bound me to, her mother had sought liberation, for I could not locate the letter anywhere. Was it relief that was flowing through my body as I latched the door. I could not decide what described me better....Insensitive or Practical.

To this day I think of Rezah and thousands like her. We fight for water, electricity, housing and they.....merely to be acknowledged.