Those were the days...

This diwali, back at home, among the last of cousins left connected said something very interesting. That they all resented me because all their parents made an example of me and my reading to scold my cousins for not being enough like "Manu dada" (that's me silly).  I was so grinning at that crib :D

And then, I rediscovered these long-lost books. And you know, I almost verbatim remembered all of those - including the song - Billi ke Bachche! Everyone was amazed but I was just... well, pensive! 

I used to spend all my time reading books. In fact, that was, sort of, my superpower - that I have read every book in every home and often, multiple times.

And then, the same me, today. I barely read the books and even when I do, barely finish them. Yes, a lot of reading has shifted online and perhaps, I read more voraciously. But then, just sitting with those books and with not a single concern in life except finishing that book, just to embark on the next one! 

The paradise is lost perhaps but the optimist in me says, the paradise regained will be written soon! 

Abhi na jao chhod kar...

A long time ago, there was a friend who was not happy with her job. I asked her, why don't you move to another place. She said, well, this place has spoiled me for any other place!

As I walk every morning to my office, there are so many birds I meet on the way. A whistling Robin, a chirping Bulbul, a hiding Coucal, a  hovering Sunbird... the strolling groups of peafowls, the laughing doves... those gliding Drongo and Bee-eaters, the sound of that elusive Barbet...! And then, almost just outside my office, this blooming Palash - the flame of the forest tree. There are birds here too, and parakeets, and squirrels, and many visitors. Ohh the sight... 

The weather, the wind, the whistling birds - this place has spoiled me for any other place!

Days of our lives

I find it really difficult to reconcile with my self. I think of myself as a disciplined disciplinarian but I am perhaps the laziest person I know. I am proud of my intelligence and range of knowledge but I am also the biggest idiot I have ever known. I think I am a sociopath, abhor most people, and think of myself as a loner - the Steppenwolf! And yet, I have had so many friends that every calendar day feels like it is special for some reason, with some friend - a birthday, a memory, a proposal, a breakup, a sweet moment, a bitter fight, a patch up, and what not!! 

Like today only, talking to Didi, I mentioned 8th November and recalled what a special day it is. In fact, November is probably the most eventful month with everything listed above. I could have celebrated today also, if only life went as per plans and I was in Indore. Then there is October - my own birthday, that of closest friends, silent crushes, and many firsts! July is also very special - with the most beloved birthdays and most bittersweet moments. 

And perhaps, every other month also - December, March, June, February, May.... Just that all that remains there is a few memories of a few moments with a few mortals... and at the end, all I have is this line:

कुछ दोस्तों से वैसे मरासिम नहीं रहे...

Aujourd'hui, Maman est morte!

Not really! But in the past few days, I thought of this line by Meursault a lot. The opening line of Camus' novel "L'Étranger" (The stranger; or, The outsider) translates to "mom died today".

Fortunately, that didn't happen with me. But my father had a harrowing experience. I arrived in Lucknow for a Diwali vacation and just out of airport, I was told that he has fallen into a delirium. He could not identify me, could not remember who he was, and his timeline of last 50 years was enmeshed badly. The details are, perhaps, unnecessary and unnecessarily painful. But the whole ordeal of two weeks amidst hospitals, doctors, tests, medicines, and worst of all - a parent not in physical and mental senses! 

There were times when I felt so helpless and ineffectual, there were nights that were just passed staring in the abyss, and there were moments of extreme loneliness despite not being alone at any moment. One such moment was doing Diwali Puja alone. Papa did a very elaborate Puja, full of paraphernalia, stretched beyond my patience, and delayed my time for fireworks. I always felt like it should finish quick. Well, this year, I did finish it very quickly and early. And on that evening, I was wishing for all the delays he could have made - I didn't want to lead the Puja and finish quickly. I was fine with all the delays and without fireworks but that was not to be this time.

Anyhow, things have, hopefully, turned for good. I also learnt a few things about geriatric care, brain, physiology, neurology, medicine, and a lot of stuff I wish nobody has to learn the way I had to. Remembered a lot of things from Atul Gawande's "Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End", a book about geriatric care which I read long ago and for no reason. 

I know things will reach someday where Meursault was. I just wish to be there, in that moment, not alone, not helpless, and not the outsider!

Aar Kichhudin Tarpor Bela Mukti

There is an old-old and not so well-known song by Majrooh and Kishore Kumar - 

Chand roz aur 

meri jaan chand roz,

tere gham ke din

mere gham ke din

chale jayenge, kaha maan

chand roz...

One shouldn't visit old places, shouldn't read old diaries, and most of all, not search old mails. Look what I found today: 

A mail from an old student, replied in great detail, with an old favorite song, copied to an old favorite... weather has been very moist in Indore lately. It rains any time without warning. Before I say more, listen to what Anjan DUTTA is singing to Bela Bose - Few days more Bela, and then there is freedom - Aar Kichhudin Tarpor Bela Mukti !!

Go away and come back 24 years ago!

 You know a sure shot sign of old age? You start remembering a lot of your days bygone. I guess I have always been very old. And yet, I get older each day as I reminisce the past more!

And lately, I have been thinking which was the best year / period of my life. As 2023 was ending, I was certain that this would not be the best year despite my best publication record thus far, good investment decisions, and lovable travels to almost every corner of India. I think the past two years were marked by a lot of material or worldly gains but a lot more inner turmoil, a sense of loss, and getting past many personal attachments.

Well, I kept scanning the life for a patch of an year where I would want to go back again and again, nostalgically at the least if not with a time-machine too. Maybe 2016 with a lot of international travel and teaching in Thailand? Or 2018, when I got a lot of what I could ever ask for? Or 2014 with mental peace, promotion, and political wishes fulfillment too? Perhaps none of these years!

What about IIMA days? Despite the nostalgia painting those days in a lot of happy colors, I am certain that I do not want to re-live those days again. And neither the school days, which I enjoyed a lot but the childhood trauma also never left my side. 

Finally, I could zero-down on one year / period which I would love to go back to. It was around 2001, when I was in Lucknow University. The study load was low and expectations were even lower. I was sitting in business with Papa and had more money than I needed. I had little responsibility in business so I had enough carefree time too to read all the books and to hangout with all the friends. Early morning walks, daily Ganjing with Gunjan, late night beside Gomti with Parimal. I was in the prime of my health. Lucknow was easy going and easier on our two-wheels. Love life was nowhere on the horizon and that was also great in a sense, because there was nobody to worry about.

But you know what? I think it would be true for everyone. Not 2001 precisely. Duh! But perhaps the age of 18-22. That is when, after all, your life path is decided and you make all the good and bad decisions and you live with all of those. Perhaps its not the year that I miss. It's the age. 

The Beautiful Strangers

This post is pending for very very very long. I should have not written this post. I should have rather found those beautiful strangers and thanked them in person. But then, they won't remain that much of a stranger. Will they? So here are some stories from my life, when I met them for the first and the last time in life. The time, when those strangers were kind enough to do something that made them so beautiful forever, at least in my memories.

***
Those were the beautiful days of teenage. I had just gained permission to watch a movie - ALONE. I ran to the nearest theater and to the earliest show. It was the matinee show of the newly released Kareeb at Sahu cinema. However, the movie and timing and place were all irrelevant. I reached the place some 20 minutes before the showtime. Excitement, you see. So as I sat in my seat somewhere in the middle of the hall, two young guys - 8-10 years older to me - sat next to me. I was looking around and observing people and so were the two guys. They were also in a great mood, looking around and making witty commentary. They caught me smiling at their jokes and we exchanged glances, smiles, and some words of niceties. That was all the introduction we had.

After a while, all the lights lit up and intermission flashed on the screen. The two guys ran out for something. I sat there only and looked around for a patty plus cold-drink guy - the matinee luxuries I had promised myself. However, the vendors were difficult to spot and call from the middle of the rows. The audience was back in the hall by now. The two guys were also back in their seats, with patties and cold-drinks. I sat patiently and promised myself that treat will come at the end of the movie.

Just then, the two guys had some eyes roll between themselves. One of them ran out of the hall again. I couldn't figure out why but well, I was more focused on trailers for now. In few seconds, the running guy was back with additional patty and cold-drink in his hands. For me. He handed it over to me with such brotherly authority that I couldn't refuse. With great hesitation, I tried paying them. And one of them told me, a little angrily - apne bade bhai ko bhi paise doge kya?!! I had a heavy heart and the greatest ever snack of my life. So great that even 25 years later, it is fresh in my heart! 

Perhaps there are more stories. Perhaps there are more beautiful strangers in my life. There are many more beautiful acquaintances. Some day, maybe, you will read their stories too!

Unbeing dead isn't being alive

So, like each year, this year's course of international trade ended in August. And, like each year, students asked if I will be offering more courses. And, like each year, I told them what all I can but I won't offer. But unlike each year, our conversations didn't fizzle out. Some students made a WhatsApp group and we continued our discussions on *life, the universe and everything* - from geopolitics to batch politics, from economic gap to generation gap, and from campus food to *the restaurant at the end of the universe*. 

And we were not limited to WhatsApp only. Like an old man, ^no one should be alone in their old age^, I thought. And hence, we met every once in a while. And as the boys were exhausted after the last CAT, we met on the following Monday. At my home. With Snacks. From Adda. And coffee. Home-made. And we had free-wheeling chat for, maybe, 3 hours. Or may, a decade. I don't know. But we talked a lot. Or rather, I talked a lot and the guys were sweet enough to tolerate me for mere samosas! 

Anyway, our discussions drifted from CAT and career prospects to culture at IIMs to country's culture! And perhaps many other things in between. And in that flow of discussions, someone asked - Why do some people drift away? In that moment, a thousand thoughts and a million memories whirled away through my mind. I answered him something. Perhaps something like - well, people grow apart. Sometimes, their use for each other comes to an end. Sometimes they get too busy in their new life. Sometimes, they want to get rid of their old life. Sometimes people burn the bridges. Sometimes their own "karma" burns those bridges. Sometimes, relationships are killed actively and sometimes it dies of that passive disinterest. 

Maybe I didn't say any of it. But I thought of it all. And then I thought of something even worse. You know, it is good that sometimes, people drift away. You know, it is worse that sometimes, the relationships die and yet, people do not drift away. We just keep walking with a dead relationship on our shoulders and keep dying each day with a dead relationship on our heads. Perhaps it is better to drift away than to die each day. And yet, here I am with so many of them.

P.S. - To make sense of * and ^, you may want to read, respectively,  The Hitchhiker's Guide to The Galaxy and The Old Man and The Sea.

Teacher's Day

 2010 - Day of Convocation from IIMA

2023 - Sir's visit to IIMI

18 years of knowing Sir and glad to inform that his energy, wit, and wisdom have only grown to inspire us more! 

करोगे याद तो हर बात याद आएगी...

आज की रात हमको कहीं और होना था। इस ज़िन्दगी और इस शहर से, इस जगह और इस वुजूद से बहुत दूर। शायद, बीस साल दूर - वॉकमैन पर, भूपिन्दर की आवाज़ में, ये सुनते हुए कि "करोगे याद तो हर बात याद आएगी" (https://youtu.be/W7d34RW_P9Q).

पुराने घर की छत पर लेटा हुआ मैं। अपने घर के अकेले तख़त पर अकेला लेटा हुआ मैं। Emma के दौर का मैं। वहाँ से कैसे 20 साल गुजर गए, पता ही नहीं चला। कितने शहर गुज़र गए, समझ ही नहीं आया। और हज़ारों शहरों से परे, लाखों लम्हों के बाद, यहाँ फिर से एक कमरे में अकेला लेटा हुआ मैं - Emma से लेकर तुम तक भटकता हुआ मैं। Bhupinder is still singing - निग़ाह दूर तलक जा के लौट आएगी...

ओले से मतलब, बातें बेमतलब

This blog is for writing, the other blog is for photography. What happens when you want to post a photo there with a small caption and that caption extends itself to a whole poem? Do I post the poem here without the photo and the photo there without the poem? Why not post both the photo and the poem in both places? After all, I listen through photography and I paint through poetry!!

उस दिन जो घिरा था बादल 

कैसे टूट के बरसा पागल 

उसने फिर बरसाया ओले 

जैसे कोई दिल को खोले 

मेरे हाथ आया इक ओला 

ठंडा गीला, मुझसे बोला 

मैं तो भंगुर, बना बरफ़ से 

आता हूँ मैं उसी तरफ से 

जिधर गयी थी प्रिया तुम्हारी 

जिसकी याद ना तुमने बिसारी 

वो भी थी तुमको ही रोती 

थी जीवन के सुख क्षण खोती 

सुनो तुम्हे तो सब ही पता है 

उसकी फ़ितरत, नहीं खता है 

तुम ही कर लो उसको कॉल इक 

रिश्ता फिर से करो अलौकिक!

थोड़ा चकित हुआ मैं, बोला 

सुन, तू तो है भंगुर ओला 

शाश्वत प्रेम का तुझपे असर क्या 

रिश्तों की गर्मी की खबर क्या 

फिर से उन आँखों में खोना 

मतलब बेमतलब का रोना 

जिसने तोड़ा मेरा भरोसा 

उसको न कोसा न बोसा 

अब जा पिघल, तू फिर से जल बन 

नदियों में मिल फिर बादल बन 

उसके घर की तरफ तू जाना 

तो उसको फिर ये बतलाना

रस्ते बिछड़ के फिर नहीं मुड़ते 

दर्द पुराने यूं नहीं उड़ते 

रखेंगे उनको यादों में

लेकिन उनसे अब नहीं जुड़ते!!

 

That special day

How to make a day special? 

A worthwhile 14 February is when I receive two books on three of my favorite topics! 

 

back to what it had become

Once someone analyzed my blog posts for each year and told me, my writing has declined in frequency.

Once that someone asked me to write more and, sort of, became the motivation to write more. 

Today, I noticed, I am back to the same frequency as I had fallen to. 

Every day, I notice that Life, or something like that... is back to what it had become.

Anyway, don't go counting now. Just know that I am fine.

It's my superpower after all - I am always fine!

Sweet November

November! 

The month of nostalgia for me. Well, every month is a month of nostalgia, if you are old enough. But even by my standards, November is more special than others. For this is the month that contains most of my sweetest (and some saddest) memories. 

It is the month of promotions. The month of writing CAT. The month of ruining CAT and cracking CAT. And then, the month of changing the track of life forever. 

The month where food palette changed to include Chowk's Makkhan. The month where dew drops started to increase. The month where the school times changed for an extra 15-minute nap. 

This was the month when Meha met an accident and we thrashed the car that hit her. Sounds scary? It was. But that was also the beginning of an 11-year long love-story of Gunjoo and Meha (which culminated in their marriage btw)!! Not everyone in my life-story is sad, you see!

It is also the month of most of my birthday treats with friends because October was always lost in Dashehra-Diwali vacations. The month of ice-cream statue of liberty, the month of picnics and group photos, the month of sitting beside the rivers or in sunlight or below stars, all for no reason. 

It is the month of the first kiss and the biggest break-up, both of which incidentally happened on the same date, years apart. November is the month of some of the most-treasured peoples' birthdays and little wonder, the most-treasured ones hurt the most too.

And November is the month of the sweetest hint of pinkish-winters that I love. While everything of the above is lost for long now, I am thankful for those winters still somewhere round the corner. And for those memories of the Sweet November!!!

उस मन में किसका ध्यान था ...

Aaj Karwa Chauth hai. The day of fasting for the long life of love (or, at least the life partner, as the two need not be are not the same often)! 

A friend from Lucknow has been constantly posting for 2-3 days now about his experience around the festival. Frantic, frequent, festive details. Fumbling, flabbergasting, funny details. Factual, fanciful, factitious details. 

And what do I do? What else can I do but reminisce? After all, nostalgia is my destiny, remembering is my curse.

I remember the time when someone wanted to fast for me. It felt awkward. The same awkwardness, when someone touches my feet. I feel humbled by the burden of greatness thrust upon me by the act of touching the feet. Same way, I felt humbled by the tinge of divinity seen in me. What did I do? 

Well, whatever I did, I wrote about it, albeit long after. 

You know, I imagined, if she still fasts for someone else! What if she fasts for someone else but, while fasting and praying, thinks of someone else? Well, maybe, that is how I live on despite no such intentions!

याद के जंगल में अब 

कोई नया साया नहीं, 

बाद उसके इन नज़ारों 

को कोई भाया नहीं ।  

तीज पर या चौथ पर 

उस मन में किसका ध्यान था ? 

उम्र बढ़ी बोलो किसकी 

जब उसने कुछ खाया नहीं ।  

उसकी कुछ बातें नयी 

तुम ही सुनाओ ऐ रक़ीब, 

बस पुरानी बात है 

मैं और कुछ लाया नहीं । 

An idea whose time never came!

It was a day in making for many days now... Today, I tore off all my personal diaries. All 8 diaries. 20 years of writing. About a thousand pages. Everything. 

In between, I looked at some pages. Somethings were always fresh in memory. Some faded thoughts reappeared. Some forgotten names were recalled. Almost everything made me a bit of emotional, a bit of nostalgic, a bit of sad, and a bit of irritated. There were friends, strangers, estranged friends, friendly strangers, teachers, students, loves, laughs, moments, fights, loves, kisses, hugs, tears, and everything that had been there in the past 20 years! 

While tearing everything away, I kept some random pictures or thoughts in between. Like, in the struggling years, a page had only this written - "I am an Idea whose time has not come!". Another page had random thoughts written, like this one: 

And I wrote not on pages and margins only but sometimes, even the diary covers had some messages. Like this: 

And in between those pages, there were the stories of my Lucknow days, when life was shaping up, my IIMA days, when life was full of events and challenges, my longing for Lucknow and then, disenchantment with Lucknow, Indore and IIM Indore days, my travels to different places and for different purposes. There were the stories of all the love I got, all the love I missed, all the loves I kissed, and all the love that couldn't be. There were the lists of my happiest memories and the best moments of life and the best people in my life and the loveliest loves of my life and the superpowers I want and the places I wanted to visit and the milestones I wanted to cross.... 

In essence, like I wrote in this blog post here about my autobiography, today - I destroyed all the notes for that story. Pretty soon, I am planning on deleting on a lot of other stories and stuff as well. Why - you ask? Because I am an idea, whose time never came. And never will. At the end, all that remains is this - a bag full of wasted life, forgotten memories, and ideas, whose time never came!!!

Nanaji

Aaj Nanaji ka birthday hai. 

It used to be a special day for all of us in the family. I don't remember when it ceased to be special. Nanaji is no more. I don't even remember when did he pass away. All I remember is that I was heading to take a class that morning when Didi called. I took the class, I took the lunch, and the day went on as usual. I did not meet him in his final few years. I guess it all went downhill after he moved away from this room, where the picture below was taken. After that, distances were huge and he was not himself ever again. I was not close to him in his final years and did not see him in his final days. I don't know what would we have discussed in those days, as he was more bitter than usual and forgetful too.

I am also forgetting things now, some by design, some by default. But I remember that growing up, he had a huge influence on me. He told me tons of stories, I asked him tons of questions, and we spent so much time in intense discussions that the others in the family often wondered what we two had to talk about. Today, I also don't know what we had to talk about but all I remember is that those were some of my best discussions. 

Somethings that I do remember are that he wrote accounts, exercised daily, had a poor childhood, dropped out of school after his mother passed away, rose to the middle class with hard struggles, and loved Raj Kapoor. In fact, he was my window to Raj Kapoor songs and also, to Kundal Lal Sehgal songs. That is why I learned a lot of RK songs in my early years.

Yesterday, I heard a lot of those same songs again.

Yesterday, I sang those songs till my jaw hurt.

Yesterday, I wish I could sing a few more songs with Nanaji.

जीत जाओगी अगर तुम हार जाओ

एक उम्र आती है जब व्यक्ति यह समझता ही नहीं, स्वीकार भी कर लेता है कि उसका जीवन, उसके अनुभव अद्वितीय नहीं।  यह सब कोई न कोई और जी चुका है, कोई न कोई और कह चुका है, कोई न कोई और लिख चुका है। जब भी अपने जीवन को देख कर कुछ लिखने का मन होता है, याद आ जाता है कि यह तो कोई और ही लिख चुका है। जैसे कि ये लिखा था उषा प्रियम्वदा ने पचपन खम्भे लाल दीवारें के पृष्ठ ११४ पर: 

"वह नील से यह कह न पाई कि तुम मुझे भुला देना, या समय सब भुला देता है।  सांत्वना के ऐसे घिसे पिटे शब्द उसके होठों पर न आये।  वह जानती थी कि कुछ रेखाएँ ऐसी भी होती हैं, जिन्हें समय भी मिटा नहीं पाता।  भूलना क्या होता है ? मन समझाने की बातें, कायरों के बहाने ! जो कुछ नील ने उसे दिया और जो कुछ नील ने उससे पाया, उस विनिमय ने उन दोनों को साधारण व्यक्तियों से अपांक्तेय कर दिया।  

दैनिक कार्यों में रत हो कर, नाते-रिश्ते निभाते हुए भी, अब वे पहले से नहीं हो पाएंगे, क्योंकि उनका कुछ अंश एक-दूसरे  जाएगा ... किसी छोटी सी बात, किसी की हँसी, किसी के देखने का ढंग या किसी अपरिचित की कमीज़ के रंग से नील फिर जी उठेगा।  अलग होने के बाद रहना राख के ढके कोयलों पर चलना होगा।  न जाने कौन सा अंगारा दहकता रह जाए और पाँव जला दे।"

तो अब बताओ, इस बात को दोबारा कहने से क्या ही होगा! इसीलिए जब कोई फेसवॉश हाथ आये तो, कोई जलेबी वाला गाना सुनाई दे जाए तो, या कोई डब्बा रख कर ढक्कन फ़ेंक देने की ही बात कर दे तो ... और ऐसे कितने ही मौकों पर एक अंगारा सुलगता सा लग जाए तो ... 

तो ऐसे में बहुत कुछ याद आता है, बहुत कुछ मन से हो कर गुज़र जाता है, और बहुत कुछ कहने का मन कर जाता है है।  और फिर एकदम से याद आता है कि जो कहना था, वो तो पंकज बिष्ट ने लिख दिया था १९९२ में अपनी कहानी - उस गोलार्ध में - 

"तुम ठीक ही कह रहे हो।  'टाइम इज़ द ग्रेटेस्ट हीलर।' असल में, समय के साथ कुछ हद तक सब ठीक ही हो गया है।  हम अपनी - अपनी दुनिया में हैं।  पर हम पेड़ नहीं हैं कि इस पतझड़ के बाद फिर से वसंत आएगा।  बीता समय अंग-भंग की तरह है।  उसकी क्षतिपूर्ति नहीं हो सकती।  स्थितियों के साथ समझौता ही किया जा सकता है। अगर रहना है तो स्थितियों के मुताबिक़ ढलना होता है।  अपनी कमी को स्वीकार करना होता है।  अहं और आक्रामकता ज़िन्दगी नहीं है।" 

मैं अपनी पुरानी डायरी खोलता हूँ, इन सबको पढ़ता हूँ, और फिर कहने को कुछ रहता ही नहीं।  फिर खुद से भागने को रेडियो खोलता हूँ, गुलज़ार का एक गाना चल रहा है - 

तुम्हें ये ज़िद थी कि हम बुलाते, हमें ये उम्मीद वो पुकारें 

है नाम होठों पे अब भी लेकिन, आवाज़ में पड़ गयीं दरारें ..... 

उसे भी बंद करना पड़ा। यहाँ से भी भाग कर एक किताब उठायी है। गणित की किताब और पहले पृष्ठ पर लिखा मिला है - जीत जाओगी अगर तुम हार जाओ।

कहा था ना ...

 कहा था ना - मैं मरूँगा नहीं! 

So sample these - It is only me who is holding back myself, not you. The moment I decide, I can compose beautiful poems. The moment I decide, I can click wonderful birds. The moment I decide, I can change lives for good. The moment I decide, I can ...!

जब भी चाहेंगे ज़माने को बदल डालेंगे, 

सिर्फ कहने के लिए बात बड़ी है यारों 

उसकी ऑंखों ने झूठ बोला था

You know how, there are times when you idolize someone and then... you don't! Well, I've been that fallen idol and I have had a few as well. 

Driving to my office today, a Gulzar song was playing these lines:

लिखते रहे हैं तुम्हें रोज़ ये मगर,

ख्वाहिशों के ख़त कभी भेजे ही नहीं....

I felt that. 

You know how, there are times when you idolize someone and then... you don't! Gulzar is one such fallen idol for me. Although I still like a few scattered lines and thoughts by him here or there, mostly I feel like resenting. And how do you resent to a fallen idol? By a retort perhaps. Like it happened the other day, I read a couplet by Gulzar:

ऑंखें थीं जो कह गईं सब कुछ,

लफ्ज़ होते तो मुकर गए होते। 

and retorted as follows:

उसकी बातों का गिला क्या करते,

उसकी ऑंखों ने झूठ बोला था।