Nostalgia ( Dhaniye ki Chutney)

Till date I've felt so ascertained of this proud possession 'Sumeet Mixer and Grinder' that despite its slow functioning I never ever think of departing from it. The mixer-grinder was the first gift my husband had presented to me, sensing the drudgery of grinding the masala or the chutney on the age old silbutta. It had been occupying the most prominent seat in my kitchen for the past thirty years. But, just one question," Arre, tumhari chutney to badi achchi bani hai...silbutte par pisi kya tumne?...Bhai, silbutte ki chutney ka swad hi kuch aur hai. Meri sasu ma to bas silbutte par pisi chutney hi khati hain." This pageant could have gone on for the next half an hour, had I not interrupted her in the middle of her eulogy," Nahi to, maine to khud hi Sumet Mixer-Grinder me pisi hai!". "Achcha, tabhi mujhe swad thodi alag si lagi!"- This epilogue was enough to crash that song of praise. I was left with two choices only- either to bask in the praise or to sulk at the inefficiency of my mixer-grinder. I force-snubbed the idea of re buying a silbutta by convincing my rebellion mind that silbuttas are not at all hygienic and they are sound polluting also. But actually the truth was that the maid's forbidding eyes just flashed before my eyes, enough to abort the idea before its execution.
The mixer-grinder's motor, has now started making more sound while running as if mimicking and laughing at my helplessness (Reminds me of Lalita Pawar) yet its sweet bitter utility cannot be undermined.
 (to be continued.....)

MOKSHA

मुझे नहीं चाहिए मोक्ष
मैं गरल पी कर भी
मुर्छित अर्धचेतन
रह जी लूंगी
नेत्र मूंद
तुम बनो समाधिस्त
रहो ध्यानमग्न।

मुझे नहीं चाहिए मोक्ष
हलाहल से घायल
कोलाहल में पागल
हो भी जी लूंगी
वाक्पटु बन
तुम दो व्याख्यान
रहो आत्ममग्न।

मुझे नहीं चाहिए मोक्ष
कर्मभूमि की ललकार में
पराजय का घूंट पी
कर भी जी लूंगी
छद्मवेशी बन
तुम करो प्रस्थान
रहो आत्मस्वतंत्र।

मुझे नहीं चाहिए मोक्ष
कटाक्ष-उपालंभ
की दोधारी तलवार
बीच भी जी लूंगी
जन्म मरण से
तुम हो स्वतंत्र
रहो आत्माभिभुत।

मुझे नहीं चाहिए मोक्ष
मान अभिमान
के आडम्बर में
घुट कर भी जी लूंगी
पराया बन
तुम लो मुहँ फेर
रहो आत्मतुष्ट।

SHE DWELLS IN THE LINES

She dwells-
In the broken lines of her palm,

The lines forming a maze of figures.

She finds within there-

A circle like the whirlpool
She stand there on its edge
She bends to take a peep into it
Ah...she is engulfed by it.

She moves on the-
Two lines parallel like a rail-track
She ponders and moves
The track never reaches its end
Worn and torn, she keeps moving on.

She clambers onto the-
Three lines like a mountain peak
She pants and gasps
And, the cliff gets steeper
She stumbles and slips down .

She confines herself to-
The four lines like the walls
She fidgets for the door
The rusty latch never gives away
Her fingers get bloodied.

She dwells-
In the maze of lines on her palm,
The broken lines join together.

She wears them like wings,
And soars high in the vast
Freeing herself, finally from
All the lines and confines.

लक्वाई कूँची 

कूँची-
आज तू क्यूँ
लक्वाई सी पड़ी है ?
नहीं फिरेगी क्या
आज इन पन्नों पर ?
नहीं उकेरेगी क्या आज
आड़ी-तिरछी रेखाओं
से मछुवारों के
स्वप्न जाल ?

स्वप्न जाल की
की ढीली गांठें में
अब बची है
सिर्फ तड़पती
दम तोडती
सुनहले रुपहले
मछलियों की बू. 

सफ़ेद पृष्ठ
के नीचे ताज़ी कब्रों
में दबी नन्ही लाशों
की उभरती आहों
ने छय ग्रसित
दुर्बल, परजीवी
है बना डाला।

तू उन आहों
से स्पंदित
वायुयंत्र की
सुस्कार भरी
मरसिया पर
बैले नृतयांगना
सी ही थिरक।

कूँची …
तेरे सारे रंग
हो चले हैं स्याह
पर,
तू अब इन्ही
सफ़ेद पृष्ठों पे
स्याह सफ़ेद
लपलपाती ज्विहा
लिए दानवों को उकेर।

Ash immersion of TELEGRAM

As decided by the BSNL, July 15 will be the ash immersion day of the humble telegram service. The last mortal remains of this long dead service will be officially immersed in the brimming river of communication technology.
 Considered now as humble for being edged out by other fastest and cheapest modes of quick and urgent communication, it was at its prime in the decades of 60-70, when its arrival generally created havoc and dread in the heart of its receiver, apprehending some shocking sad news. Though it would be fairly unjust of me to speak of this service, the then popular mode of communication among those who wanted to send urgent messages, celebratory or otherwise, in such a way. However, I can't help recall those scenes in the Bollywood movies, in which the doorbell rings in the dead of night sending shivers to the peacefully sleeping residents. The panic button is pushed all the more with the postman announcing 'TELEGRAM, Sir'. With faltering steps and racing heartbeat, the person fumbles for the pen and reading glasses to receive that most unwanted and unexpected visitor at that ominous hour of night. His/her heart seems to be wrenched out by that clenching grip of unknown fear. Soaking in his/her sweat, the person signs with shaking hands in that handwriting that seems to be some encrypted code. Left with no choice, finally the message is read and... I don't want to draw the climax scene as the cinema-lovers are quite apt in figuring out what happens next.
 Well...such was not a scene always. There were anticlimaxes also, bringing smile and cheers to everybody's face. But, bad and sad memories last longer that sweet and fleet memories.
 So, here we are to bid adieu to this great time immemorial service TELEGRAM and immerse ourselves in the sweet and bitter nostalgia.
 Am I making a fuss of this relic? But, what do you make out of this postmortem of the relics by the Indian Telegraph Services? It is just like excavating the grave of the formidable practice "Better late than never" and we Indians, no doubt, are exceptionally good at it.
The Telegram service had virtually started showing its signs of ageing with the vast network of telephone services reaching every doorstep from the metro cities to smaller towns and then the rural areas. And, finally it breathed its last with the boom of mobile phone services, made cheaper to access every household irrespective of financial status. The BSNL is rather too late in waking up to the tech revolution in its late planning to deploy the telegraph staff members to mobile services, landline telephony and broadband services which ought to have been done long before.
The curtain yet to be drawn over the staging of this life-drama of Telegram Services is still 30 days ahead and one can never predict the end in our nation where a big political farce is made of small petty issues by our great political figures. Till then, let me bask in the nostalgia of TELEGRAM.

The Open Window

THE OPEN WINDOW

Every feat is a closed window,
Every petal is a closed flower,
Every page is a closed story,
Every hour is a closed day,
Every wing is a closed flight,
Till opened, unfolded and unfurled...

The dying day finally collapsed into the stretching arms of the evening, which had resolved to settle down with calm and rest spreading the wings of darkness on the wrought and weary souls.

 That small Hibiscus plant with a deep yellow flower, placed outside on the French window, took a full view of the new surrounding and sighed on his seclusion.

 "How happy I was there in the nursery, under the sun, among red, pink, orange and white fellows! It is getting dark and here, I am all alone outside this closed window with strange faces peeping at me from inside the room."

Getting too self conscious and shy by the stares, the yellow Hibiscus slowly folded in all its petals and prepared itself to rest in the new surrounding. "Oh, How tired I feel! That transportation from nursery to this window had been so bumpy!"

And the little Hibiscus prepared itself for the long night ahead in that new surrounding. After a few hours the lights were switched off and darkness intensified around making the little plant comfortable. "Now it's okay in the dark, with no one peeping and poking at me."

The plant dreamed of his friends, the open sky, the sun, the rain, the moon, the stars and the chirping birds.  Though sometimes, his dreams got disoriented with distant faces and strange voices.

A feel of slight tremor brought him out of the dreamland. He squeezed his eyes."Is it daybreak?" Feeling still droopy, he stretched his hand. "Hey...Fellas! Good morning." Finding  no response, he opened his eyes, blinked them thrice to recall the whole scene.

"Ah...Who shook me to cause my little yellow bloom get detached from me?" But, the next moment, a sigh slipped out, "What a fool I am...This was to happen with that bloom. Though the change and shift caused it to happen a little earlier, I must not blame others", brooded the little Hibiscus.

Thus, the little plant, after a little grieving over the lost bloom, gathered its wit and courage to explore the new surrounding and was happy to find the closed window now thrown open. He took a look inside and saw many of his fellows...a thorny one with pink flowers, a creepy one coiled around a moth-stick, a small bamboo like in several pots. Immediately a sigh of relief escaped from his lips,"O' Lord in Heaven...How kind of you to let me have this space at least in the open!"

Feeling a little relaxed, he glanced around. "Aha...I could see the sky here too, though the window roof obstructs my way but the trees,the birds, the squirrels, all are here. Of course, I could not experience that rainfall last night...could feel only a few drops of it. Well, not so bad after all,...those were enough for my size and that tall window saved me or else I could have been swooped down by that heavy downpour."

The little Hibiscus smiled in the gentle morning breeze feeling the warmth of the thin slanting rays of sun upon him. "Now, let me groom and bloom here, out on the open window."

And, a few days after, a bright yellow flower bloomed in all its mirth, perching on the window berth.

[ Happy souls are contended souls.]

Water colours

Doing a water colour is a slowing down activity for me. But, at the same time. it is like a feat to win over and therein comes the real obstacle of being a novice. What so ever, I keep on amusing myself with splashing the colours on the sheets, gifted to me by my son who is my mentor too.

                                                                   1. Money Plant

2. The Closed Window

3. Shoe rack 

4.The Brook