Bhulbhulaiya

भूलभुलैया

कभी-कभी ये
नीरव और खाली कमरे
भूलभुलैया से है बन जाते ,
जहाँ रास्ते तलाशने
में ही बीत जाती 
है रात,
रात के गहराते
अँधेरे में
नीद का सुखद
पड़ाव कहाँ ?
यहाँ तो है छत
उडी हुई
भित्ति की दीवारें
सुराखों भरी जमीं
इनसे बचते बचाते 
हो जाती है सुबह
एक थकी सी
सुबह।

Rest- Sweet Sauce of Labor

Every evening, with hurried steps I return from my workplace to my cozy home. Usually I switch on the TV and place myself on the sofa with a cup of black/green tea...relax and enjoy my freedom and solitude which have become synonymous with my living. But, as the weekend starts approaching, I am gripped with a vague sense of some uneasiness....experience some sort of tumult propelling me to break free from the routine, from the imposed inhibitions...to become a rebel...to flee to some unknown place with strange faces..... finally, I become a refugee, resolved  to explore my own space, from where to derive an ounce of strength to overcome this turmoil. 

Juvenile

Juvenile.... Juvenile!

Juvenile...Juvenile,
For an act so vile!
Just four months to go,
So, be merry and cheery,ho!

Fear not....Juvenile!
Sleep well and giggle.
Enjoy your sweet sixteen,
For the dead Albatross is in.

Wipe not....Juvenile!
The stain will not pile.
Just rub your forehead,
Stamped there's 'RAPIST'.

Juvenile....Juvenile,
For the act so vile,
Live long on the crucifix,
Till the thorn of sin pricks.

O' Damini,

In your pain,
In your cry,
In your fight,
In your plight
The nature too, recoiled.
The sun,  didn't shine
             upon the embittered souls,
The fog thickened enveloping
              the ragged and stilled mob,
The cold intensified,
               clogging the pulsating heart.
The Tri-color Flag, too didn't flutter...
               confessing the disgrace.

           
                

A Rambler in the Ruins

O' rambler! come ye

Come,O' rambler!
Feel the engraving
On this tombstone.
Here's is an epitaph
A song sung,
A story told.
Read, grope,
Feel and hear.

But, O' rambler!
Cleave and clench not
The hushes of the
Unseen and unsung.
Scattered in the remains
Are there buried,
Awaiting for long
To be sung.

Sing, O' rambler!
But do not stifle
The calm and serenity
With clamor and clash
Lest the dead
should awake
From the slumber
And bury you there.

Fear, O' rambler!
Do not spoil
The idle beauty
With your claws
And tear not
The remains
Left only of
The decaying past.

Come, O' rambler!
Sit on its balustrade
A gnome,
With freckled skin
From the sleepy vaults
Of the concave
Would whisper away
A freaky tale.

Wait, O' rambler!
Clog not your ears.
An elf would dive out
Of the green, murky pond
Sit on its cemented slope.
It would murmur away
A forgotten lore
Of the tides of time.

Hear, O' rambler!
The drooping leaves
Sighing in the breeze
On the doom
Of the debris
Camouflaged
With red and green
Satin wraps.

Weep, O' rambler
Weep with the
Dewy drops
Gleaming on the
Bushy hedges and
The grassy lawn
On the fading sheen
Of the fleeting time.


O' rambler, come ye!
Lone ye come
To listen to
The unspoken ones
To feel
The impaired ones.
To heal
The forsaken ones.

( On the Dargah-e-Maner Sharif)

A Strange Encounter

Travelling by train is a miniature of our life-journey. We arrive at the station, board a train to our destination, meet so many strangers, interact with them, and finally depart waving good-bye to them. Sometimes, a brief encounter leaves us with a strange yet sweet remembrance now and then to be renewed at every journey we make.
My train to Bangalore 'Sanghamitra' was running 6 hrs. behind its scheduled time because of the intense fog, a regular feature in Winter, and had reached Allahabad at 7.30 in the morning.
She was a woman of approaching forty-five, clad in plain clothes - a woolen scarf, blue shawl, floral printed saree paired with a handbag with its seams open and a gaping zip showing the bulge of clumsy tits and bits. She clambered onto the foot rails of the train which had just started  gathering up its momentum. Somebody acted wisely pulling the chain to save her faltering steps. The next moment she was inside the A.C.II compartment gasping and panting with an embarrassed smile on her lips, which usually comes when one is caught red handed in the middle of an unapproved act.
Recovering from that initial unnerving jolt, she said,"Can I sit here for a while?" A few nods of approval enabled her to sit by my side.
She started mumbling to overcome her embarrassment " This is how one falls from a running train while trying to board...legs slip from the foot rail...so dangerous! What can I do...all the trains are running so late...not a single train has arrived today since morning and I have to be in time to join my duty."
I asked,"Where do you work?"
"I'm in the Force posted at Mirzapur."
Just then the pantry car vendor arrived with his tray of breakfast in his sing-song voice,"Bread-Cutlet, Bread-Omelette..Sir!"
I ordered only for omelette and asked him how much I'd have to pay for it. "Twenty-seven Rupees, auntie."
Not having enough change, I handed him a fifty rupee note. He took it and started foraging his pocket hanging out from his soiled apron. "Ma'm, Why don't you have a full b'fast of bread and butter? I don't have loose change to return you."
Meanwhile, the stranger woman had been contemplating over the entire situation. "Do you have bread with butter? How much will I have to pay for it?"
Distracted by the wistful look in her eyes for bread and butter, I asked the vendor to keep back the change of three Rupees and give the bread and butter to her.The vendor readily obliged me  with a sweet smile.
She hesitatingly said that she would pay for it. "It's so rushy and hectic in the morning, preparing b'fast and sending my three children to school that I hardly get time to have a cup of tea for myself. Then this rush to catch a train to reach on time....ch!"
Remembering my early days of commuting to Patna for B.Ed. classes, gulping down just a few bites in order to catch the Shuttle train, I insisted expressing how much pleasure it would give me sharing the b'fast with her. Some deep urge in me derived satisfaction from the whole situation; the woman, relishing the b'fast of bread and butter who had to be on her job empty stomach for earning bread and butter for her family.
I kept talking to her about her children and her work while she ate. The train had started moving again but had changed its track. I expressed my doubt. "Are you sure that this train is to stop at Mirzapur?" 
"Yes, day before yesterday, I boarded this train and it stopped at Mirzapur station."
"But I doubt it as it has changed its route" I said.
She made a call to get it confirmed and then alighted as the train had started catching on the speed. From the window, I saw her asking some G.R.P.F. men who pointed to the other side of the platform. Till then the train had gathered its full momentum and the sight of the stranger woman was lost in the fleeting views of the platform leaving me to marvel at that strange encounter.

मोमबतियां जला लो

जला लो, जला लो 

और जला लो 

आज और
मोमबतियां जला लो
गूंगी जुबां औ
लकवे भरे इन हाथों से
दम तोडती
इंसानियत पे
एक और मोमबत्ती
जला लो। 

सुंदर दिखती हैं 

मोम्बतियों की
ये जगमगाती पंक्तियाँ 

पर तले सिमटे
उस अँधेरे को 

मत भूलना
बुझने से पहले 

उसे भी जला दो
खुद भी पिधल जाओ
पिघल, पिघल बह जाओ
उस सिमटे अँधेरे को भी
पिघला, बहा ले जाओ।