A life spent too soon

Sometimes, grown-ups device weird tales to manage children. Yet, they seldom realise how those narratives will affect the child's thinking, especially when the child is curious, imaginative, or ponders over bygone tales a lot.

So, long back, a teacher told us to talk less for the reason that - and here the tale begins - we are given a lifelong quota or a budget of everything, including the spoken words. And if we speak too much too soon, we will exhaust the budget early on in life and will remain muted for the rest of our life.

Well, it was an effective narrative to influence the 10 year old me. And 20 year old me too. And 30 year old me too. And as I come to think of it, I guess, I always thought of that tale as a genuine idea. Maybe, it is. Maybe, we are given a lifelong quota or a budget of everything, like spoken words, like breaths, like sleep, like steps, like love. And sometimes, we exhaust that budget way too soon. And that is when we are rendered incapable of speaking any more words, or breathing any more breaths, or sleeping any more dreams, or walking any more distances, or loving any more loves.

It must be a genuine tale... Because I think I have exhausted some of those budgets... maybe, except for the breaths. A lot of those budgets. Like my  budgets for dreams, my budgets of loves, and my budgets of life.

ज़िन्दगी तूने मुझे कब्र से कम दी है ज़मीन,
पाँव फैलाऊँ तो दीवार में सर लगता है।

Life goes on... sans loves!

A few days ago, some student club asked me to guide a nature walk plus trek. A few days later, I was asked to repeat the course on a nature walk, which comes with a lot of photography, bird-watching, walks, and talks.

There was a time when I'd have jumped on either or both of these opportunities. But not anymore. I just want to run away from people, progressively more and more so.

Today afternoon, I felt like reading from the new poetry books that I received recently. I walked out of the office with the book and thought of several places to sit and read. However, as I walked to each of those, I found one or few people nearby. At the end of it, I just took a long searching walk and came back to my office.

Once, very long back, I had written on this very blog that if I ever have to quit one among poetry, photography, writing, and reading, I'll go crazy but won't be able to quit any. Looks like I spoke too soon. Looks like all four are over. Reading and writing except for professional pressures, is almost over. The camera bag has caught fungus and I have not opened it for many months now. Poetry too, reading once in a while may happen but writing has not been possible for the whole of this year.

I don't know how will I sustain it. I don't know how will I spend my days here. I don't know how will I live. But I guess I will... after all, I never thought I will go on with a life sans love! And yet... here I am!!

Who breaks the thread?

Who breaks the thread -

the one who pulls, the one who holds on?

History repeats itself - first time as tragedy, the second time as ... as a very lonely, ignored, forgotten, and sad tragedy. Don't believe? See the first time here. And the second time? O you sweet innocent idiot!

So this 2019... I have written a lot of blog-posts this year... as many as reaching back to the 2012 score. But don't worry... no other records will be broken. All the records stop here. They will standstill. Now. Forever.

Why, You ask? Well, as I told someone, and as always, I will repeat myself, Here, Again:

You'll know the moment you know that you cannot know. There ain't no right or wrong answers. There are not even right or wrong questions.
Relationships (and life) are not about winning or losing, holding or pulling, remembering or forgetting...
The only important thing is that the thread is broken... all threads break... all things fall apart... and at the end, all men die (which doesn't imply that all men live.)

Well... what else to say but sing away in shadows with the good ol' pal of sad moods - Leonard Cohen:

And I loved you

when our love was blessed

And I love you

now there's nothing left

But sorrow

and a sense of overtime

And I missed you

since the place got wrecked

And I just don't care

what happens next

Looks like freedom

but it feels like death

It's something in between,

I guess

It's closing time!

चाँद में परियाँ रहती थीं

On a Saturday evening, sitting in the office, writing endlessly to meet the self-set impossible goals and then, not meeting them. And yet the good things are - taking several walks in the constant drizzle, sipping multiple cups of flavored teas, and playing random songs.

The day started with SD Burman tracks (the ones composed AND sung by him). The day went through the 90s' pop and film songs. Like there was a pop song with some 5-6 twins dancing throughout to celebrate their 'Yariyan', then there was one with some IITian band dreaming to make more 'Paisa', then there was the melodious Yes Boss, the naughty 'Minnat' from Paheli, and also, the freakish one from Road.

And now, the day is probably going to end with some soft Sufi melodies, like 'Tu Maane ya na Maane dildara, assa to tainu rab manya' or some long-forgotten ghazal of Jagjit... to celebrate the nostalgia and to celebrate the good ol' lost days, like:


मुझको यक़ीं है सच कहती थीं जो भी अम्मी कहती थीं

जब मेरे बचपन के दिन थे चाँद में परियाँ रहती थीं


एक ये दिन जब अपनों ने भी हमसे नाता तोड़ लिया

एक वो दिन जब पेड़ की शाख़ें बोझ हमारा सहती थीं


एक ये दिन जब सारी सड़कें रूठी-रूठी लगती हैं

एक वो दिन जब ‘आओ खेलें’ सारी गलियाँ कहती थीं


एक ये दिन जब जागी रातें दीवारों को तकती हैं

एक वो दिन जब शामों की भी पलकें बोझल रहती थीं


एक ये दिन जब लाखों ग़म और काल पड़ा है आँसू का

एक वो दिन जब एक ज़रा सी बात पे नदियाँ बहती थीं


एक ये घर जिस घर में मेरा साज़-ओ-सामाँ रहता है

एक वो घर जिस घर में मेरी बूढ़ी नानी रहती थीं

It ain't over till it's over!

It was around 1999 or so when I would wake up quite early and jog to the stadium or to the parks or to the Gomti riverbank to watch the sunrise. In those days, there was an old man, who would sit along the same riverbank, singing all along for alms - 

क्या जाने कब भोले भण्डारी, आ जाएँ खुद बन के भिखारी 

कहीं द्वार से लौट न जाएँ, आ कर के भगवान् ... 

So what reminded me of him and his song today? Well, the inspiration or the emotion may appear from anywhere, and most often, from the most unlikely places... 

I know I am pretty late in watching this but finally, I reached the final season of The Big Bang Theory. As I was watching an episode (S12E3), Raj had an epiphany. He was meeting a girl for an "arranged" marriage. He was interested in talking about flowers and the decorations but the girl was interested in talking about the taxes and finances. In that moment, Raj fell silent and said, "I can't do this... There is something you may not know about me but... I am a hopeless romantic.... And this isn't the story I want to tell my grandkids." You see, the inspiration or the emotion may appear from anywhere, and most often, from the most unlikely places! 

In that moment, I too had an epiphany. I would tell you another funnily ironic bit now. Today morning only, after eons, I started the old favorite playlist of Kishore Kumar sad songs. And as I am writing this, our good ol' KK is singing - ख़िज़ाँ के फूल पे आती कभी बहार नहीं... 

P.S. - Did you notice after how many years I am writing so many posts! Now don't guess why...  the inspiration or the emotion may appear from anywhere, and most often, from the most unlikely places...

कहाँ पे आ गए हैं हम

Today, someone told me to write stories because I wove something for that someone. Before that, an old blog-friend told me that my writing reminds them of someone big and admirable.

Some days ago, for the Nth time, a student told me to have a stand-up of my own. Before that, an old friend met after a long gap and asked if I had published my poems yet.

Sometimes, I wonder, if that is what I should be doing? Perhaps, yes if so many feedbacks are taken into account. Sometimes, I wonder, if I will be happy writing and writing for pleasure like that? Perhaps, yes if my inner-response is to be believed. Sometimes, I wonder, if that is where my expression, my liberation, my repentance is? Perhaps, yes, if the lightness of my being post-writing is weighed in.

And then, I wonder, why don't I? Because life is too demanding? Because some short-term goals are too close? Because I am chasing the other mirages for now? As always, I have no answers. Or perhaps, as always, I have the answers but I am too scared to look at those honestly. Or perhaps, not only my answers but also my questions are wrong too.

Alas! Someone has already written what I am feeling right now -

न ज़िन्दगी विमुक्त है न मृत्यु का कसाव है

कहाँ पे आ गए हैं हम ये कौन सा पड़ाव है।  

असत्य है न सत्य है विशिष्ट द्वैतभाव है

कहाँ पे आ गए हैं हम ये कौन सा पड़ाव है।  

आज डायरी में लिखना पड़ा !

कल रात बारिश होती रही और कई बार मन किया कि बस भीगते हुए चलना शुरू कर दूँ उस बारिश में। उस समय लगा कि चलता रहूँ समय और दूरियों के पार। उस समय लगा कि सदियों और शहरों की दूरियों के पार जाकर तुमको बाहों में भरकर चूम लूँ। 

फिर सवाल जागा कि तुम हो कौन जिस तक मैं ऐसे ही चलता हुआ चला जाऊं? अब तो कोई भी नहीं, जिस तक मैं ऐसे बारिश में चलता हुआ चला जाऊं सदियों और शहरों के पार, समय और दूरियों के पार। फिर मैं वापस घर लौट गया, बारिश में बिना भीगे। खाली तन के भीगने से क्या होगा,  जब मन सूखा ही रह जाए। 

रात को बिस्तर में लेट कर बारिश को सुनते हुए, कुछ पुरानी कवितायें ढूँढीं। उनको अपनी ही आवाज़ में रिकॉर्ड कर के सुना। तब जा कर मन कुछ शांत हुआ। और आज सुबह तुमने फिर से शांत होते पानी में पत्थर फेंक दिए।

आगे की बात जानना है अब तुम को ना ?!! लिख तो देता मजाज़ के या जॉन के या बच्चन के या दुष्यन्त के या पवन के शब्दों में.... लेकिन कभी कभी जो होता है, वो अपने शब्दों में लिखना पड़ता है। और वो सब ब्लॉग पर नहीं लिखा जाता।

आज डायरी में लिखना पड़ा !

रूह लखनऊ में अटकी है, देख गोमती तर जाएगी

I often ask people in my class, where are they from? For often, it reveals a lot about them. Yes, it may lead to some stereotyping but well, clichés become such because they survive the test of time.

However, at times, I received a puzzling response. People couldn't pin-point because their families shifted a lot. Each such time, I felt a little pity for those because they are rootless ones. They don't belong to anywhere. I wondered and pitied the nomads the same way.

In fact, I read somewhere that when Punjabis shifte to much sought after Canada or UK, they do not sell out the land in their pind (village) for generations because that is where they belong to. That is where their roots are.

I always have known that I belong to Lucknow and Lucknow belongs to me. Although, for a long while, I've felt a bit irritated with the place and somewhat disconnected too because all my friends have shifted away, home is shifted to a new one, and city has also gone on without me. But something more happened today.

Someone asked for some antique shops in Lucknow and I couldn't recall anything. Someone asked for some routes and I couldn't recall anything. In that moment, I understood what those Punjabis would have felt when they sold off the land in their pind. In that moment, I didn't know where do I belong to. In that moment, I felt that tremor of rootlessness.

P.S. - it doesn't matter where and how it happens but when I die, I want to be cremated beside Gomti because no matter where I live... that is where I belong. That is where I have always belonged to.

दिया दूर नहीं जात

I may have told you earlier, maybe somewhere on this blog or some day in thoughts... that I often live my life by simple adages... some simple rules or some simple ideas to live by. One of which is this - दिया दूर नहीं जात ! The full couplet (दोहा) from Bihari (बिहारी) is as follows:

ऋतु वसन्त जाचक भया, हरस दिए द्रुम पात 

ताते नव-पल्लव भया, दिया दूर नहीं जात। 

It means - when the season of spring comes as a vagrant, the tree parts with (as if donates) its yellow leaves with glee. As a result of this largesse, the tree gets new leaves when spring comes in full glory. So whatever you give doesn't go away from you, it comes back.

It is this last phrase - whatever you give doesn't go away from you, it comes back - that has often stopped me from doing wrong and often inspired me to be the better person than I would have been otherwise. So why this sudden recall? Well, on one of my worst professional days' morning, when nothing was moving and old despairs were haunting back, someone knocks on my room. That someone just wanted to say thanks and a few good words for what I had done for that someone a while back. While there was no expectation of any thanks when I guided that someone, it felt good to know that I have not totally wasted my time here.

If you noticed, I may have told you earlier, maybe somewhere on this blog or some day in thoughts, that before I die, I just want to make some positive changes in the world... well, if not for everyone like a superhero, at least for some individual's worlds! And when I finally die, I just want to leave in peace, leaving people with a thought that he was a good man, not totally in vain.

In that moment, that day, I although smiled but I almost cried somewhere deep inside... for in that moment, I knew that I have not lived in vain. For in that moment, you see, whatever I had given, came back to me! 

सुनोगे?

मेरे पास बहुत सारी कहानियाँ हैं। बहुत सारी कविताएं। ढेर सी नज़्मे। हर नज़्म के पीछे की कहानी, हर कहानी में एक ग़ज़ल, हर कविता की कई कहानियां।

किस्से, शेर, छंद, इतिहास, समाज, धर्म, शास्त्र, विज्ञान, गल्प, जीवनी, हास्य, व्यंग्य ... और भी बहुत कुछ।

कभी तुम जो साथ आ के बैठो और ऐसे ही बात चल निकले तो तुम्हे हर शहर से जुड़ा कुछ सुनाऊँ। हर उम्र से, हर दौर से, और हर दुख से जुड़ा कुछ। कुछ सीख वाला, कुछ शरारत वाला, कुछ मुहब्बत वाला, और कुछ बिल्कुल बे-सिर-पैर वाला भी।

इतनी कहानियाँ और सुनाने की इतनी हसरत। इतनी कहानियाँ और सुनने की इतनी हसरत। काश हमारे पास थोड़ी सी फ़ुरसत भी होती।

जब फ़ुरसत हो, आना। जल्दी आना। तुम्हे सुनाये बिना ये कहानियाँ मैं भूलना नहीं चाहता।

टूटने का सुख, छूटने का सुख

I accidentally broke my phone today. It was my first ever breaking up the phone incident of life. All the earlier shifts and transitions from one phone to another were by choice. Therefore, the problem of shifting data or numbers never happened before. However, this time, I realize that I do not have any numbers or photos or songs or notes to start my new phone with.

You know, it is uncomfortable for a while but somehow, poetically sweet too on some level. For the past few years of loneliness, I have had a progressively thicker (??, maybe longer) phonebook with names and numbers and addresses and emails... and each time I scroll through, there is none to talk to, none to sit silently with.

And now, I have been given a clean slate (well, almost...). This was the best way to prune the whole list... Although I don't think I will have a lot of numbers to talk to still but now I see the funny side - I won't have a list to scroll through either.

Sometimes, breaking is good too. Sometimes, leaving is good too.

क्या ये जनम हुआ तमाम

There is a song by Sherry Mann titled Yaar Anmulle, full of college and youth nostalgia. There is a youtube series by TVF titled Kota Factory. There was a TV show in 90s titled Just Muhabbat, touching on teenage love and life around that. And there are thousands of coming-of-age sequences, which fill every one of nostalgia. 

Watching the first two of the above recently filled me with loads of not nostalgia but introspective regrets... I always thought that I have lived a full life. Once I actually claimed to someone that I have lived through everything that can be there. However, none of those were my experiences. I was a nerd, I was a bully, I was a lover, I was a fighter, I was a star, and I was a lot of other people at many times... but now I realize that I was just lost! 

I perhaps did a lot of things but everything at the wrong time... It was always too early or too late or too old or too young or too little or too much or too quick or too delayed... And it is at this stage of life, when I want to learn, want to love, want to live... but someone whispers in my ears - 

क्या ये जनम हुआ तमाम

हाँ ये जनम हुआ तमाम

P.S. - I always told someone that I am the cursed child of God, 

who will live for others and will never get anything for his own contentment. 

I never thought I would find my story written as a subscript to that of Harry Potter's.

भीड़ में अकेला आदमी

You know, last night, I walked up to that favorite spot of mine on this campus. As always, i just stood there for a while, watching lights floating in the dark.

That spot is a narrow road between a cut-rock on a slight elevation. When you are on one side, you have no idea what lies on the other side. It fills me with a childish excitement, which I have forgotten long long ago. And then, the road opens on this slight elevation, where I can perch. I can perch in peace and keep looking at those lights of vehicles floating on that long and dark road. As those lights appear and vanish in darkness, it feels nice that at least someone is reaching their destination.

Yesterday, I recalled why I love this scenario so much. Because 20 years ago, Parimal and I would find a similar spot beside Gomti in Lucknow. We would sit on those stairs on the bank, watching those lights appearing and vanishing on the other end of Gomti. I loved that whole scene - flow of water, stillness of dark, briefly interrupted by some flickering lights, someone to talk to, someone to stay silent with.

I had a similar spot in Ahmedabad also, where I would stand for hours. In the new campus, at the 132-feet road end of the academic block. I would stand there and people keep rushing, running, driving to somewhere.

In all those places, what I loved was that crowd is away from me without any idea of my existence. And yet, I could have the choice of being with or away from the crowd. I dreamt of my house in the same way, on an isolated, remote place.

I used to say, for me - one is company, two is crowd. I never thought it would become so true that I would just want to be away from everyone and everything and everywhere. You know, no matter how much I am surrounded by crowds... I am always alone - that's my secret.

Lost in the lonely lanes

During a super short visit this time to Lucknow, opened my library at home today. The library, which has over 2000 books, collected since I was age 10, arranged with every possible care, each book read so many times, and I still remember each one of those, in every possible way. Each time, I'd enter the room, open some particular shelf, and I'd know where lies the piece that wishes to talk to me in that moment.

And yet, today, something strange is happening. I am trying to find some favorites and there is not a trace anywhere. I have scanned three thick collections over and over again but there is no trace, no recall, no clue of any sort. I'm not sure if I am unhappy, sad, pensive, lost, dejected, or .....!

And it happens often now... I think I know where have I kept those things but they are nowhere to be found. I think I know where that piece of poem was but there is no rhyme that meets that stuck and forgotten verse. I think I knew these roads and city and streets and places but I keep searching for familiar corners sans a resemblance. I think I know where I had left those people but they are not there either.

Seems that for all those things, poems, places, people - I remained waiting there for far too long and all of them moved on, leaving me behind without a trace, no recall, no clue!!

अजीब शख्स है नाराज़ हो के हँसता है

It's quarter to one in the night and I am in bed to sleep. I suddenly recalled something - and now I've forgotten that too - and I laughed. It was something ironic, something tragic, something very difficult... And yet, I laughed.

Well, not the first time... I remember those exam days, when I would be totally flabbergasted and thereafter, would laugh a lot. Everyone in the exam hall would be more flabbergasted though and thought of me as a genius to laugh at such a difficult exam. I wasn't but that is what they thought.

What was I laughing at? The exam? No! The situation? No! The irony? No! Myself? No!

Well, I laughed at the constant irony of finding myself in the exam like situations, where I would be totally helpless. I laughed at my helplessness. Because that is one feeling I hate. I hate being helpless truly, deeply, madly.

Just for your information, these days, I laugh a lot!!!

Warped in a time-warp

10th day since reaching back the place which is designated as home. While the space is altered and reached, the time zone is warped somewhere in between. So I am regularly getting up at around 4.30 before the break of dawn. So I am routinely feeling sleepy in the afternoons by dusk.

But the jetlag has brought something more interesting and perhaps, nostalgically beautiful. As I got up so early daily, I either roamed around the house doing random cleanups or just sat out in the balcony, like right now. The morning breeze - cold, soft, and fresh - took me back to the days when I got up so early by choice. When I was in Lucknow, I'd get up at 4.30 and leave by 5 for a walk on the Gomti banks, in Rumi Park, or the stadium.

The same gentle and cold breeze with the same smell caressed me back then too. Just that, I was walking or running back then, not lazily sitting in a chair, writing a blog post which probably three people (including myself) will ever read.

Nonetheless, I am happy, for a change, to regain a chip of that nostalgia. Someone used to call me a long-term optimist. And here I am - finding joys of jetlags.

The life of Sisyphus

What would one do, when he is stuck in an alien country in a distant continent with no work, nearly non-functional internet, inclement weather, little inclination to read, and people one doesn't identify with anymore?

Wait!! Why does this sound so much like the usual life over the past few months? Ok, well, there is work but rest of that...?!!

Visiting New York with two friends-cum-colleagues for a conference. Weather has been harsh, conference has been boring, willingness to go on tours has been shaky, and energy to survive people even less.

Still about three days remain to reach the place called home. Although the willingness to run away from New York has been high, I don't know if I have craved for the return. Surviving one day at a time has become the norm. Constantly longing to be somewhere else, constantly willing to be someone else, and constantly wishing to be sometime else.

I wish if it was possible to just get lost or just hide. If it was possible to choose the company I keep or to change it to no company at all. I wish it was possible to be with those whom I wish to be with rather than those which social norms ask for. I wish it was as easy to avail as it is to write.

Someone in the hall just played the lines:

न उम्र की सीमा हो न जन्म का हो बन्धन...

फिर कुछ इस दिल को बेकरारी है...

For some days now, I am thinking of starting a poetry vlog.

Yes, yes... I know you remember all those dead, failed, or shut blogs. There were two on economics and public policy but I made those too rigorous and eventually, deleted them. Then there was one with my poetry but it became too popular and I deleted that too. The photo blog ran for, maybe 10 years and although tiresome, I still had a lot to post there. But then, I made a commitment - the next post there would be when we start a proper temple at Ram Janmbhoomi in Ayodhya. There was at least one more blog lost deeper in the memory lane.

But as always, this time, it's different. First of all, there are too many things to say to too many people in too many ways... And as you know, too many bridges are burnt now. So maybe, a bridge here, a step there will do the trick.

Also, it will be a video log (therefore called vlog) this time. There's a lot of my poetry, which I want to recite. And there is a lot of back story and context with each one of those. Somehow, you know, writing has been tedious and perpetually delayed lately. I hope it goes easier in video than writing. Another reason of video instead of writing is that I write mostly in Nazm (equivalent to free verse). While ghazal has a meter and therefore, rhythm of its own, nazm requires a rendition.

So the thought is bubbling and maturing in my head slowly. And as always, I'm running short of time because of all the other nothings I have occupied myself with. But this time, I hope to be vlogging better than blogging earlier.