अपने सब यार नाम कर रहे हैं

बड़े-बड़े शायरों को तो बहुत बार पढ़ा होगा इधर...  आज कुछ उनको सुनो, जो करीबी दोस्त रहे कभी।  उनकी कलम, उनके इमोशंस, उनकी बातें ज़्यादा अपनी लगती हैं।  

God send thee

consolation,

when you tear 

yourself apart

and find him

missing...

ये आनंद सर ने कभी लिखा था। क्यों लिखा था पता नहीं। हमको क्यों याद है ये - ये पता है।  लेकिन तुमको तो पता है कि हम बताएँगे नहीं।  

वो लड़की लौट कर आए अगर तो बोलना उसको

वो लड़का आख़िरी दम तक तुम्हीं को याद करता था

तुम्हारे नाम उसने सर्दियों में ख़त भी लिक्खे थे

जिन्हें वो ख़ुद ही पढ़ता और इक बच्चे सा रोता था

वो लड़की लौट कर आए अगर तो ये भी कह देना

वो लड़का बेवफ़ा था आदतन ये सब वो करता था

ये पीयूष मिश्रा ने लिखा था - माने कम फ़ेमस और ज़्यादा अच्छे वाले पीयूष ने।  पीयूष की लिखी कई बातें डायरी में छुपा रखी हैं हमने (और कई दिमाग़ में)।

और "एक ख्वाब सी लड़की" थी, जो दोस्त बनने से पहले ही चली गयी।  उसने कभी ये कहा था : 

हमें बिंदी नहीं चूड़ी नहीं, कुछ भी नहीं जँचता 

हमारा हुस्न है सारा हमारी आँख का काजल

कई आँखों ने देखे थे हमारे लम्स के सपने

फ़क़त उसने ही देखा था हमारी आँख का काजल

ये अंतिम शेर क्यों पसंद आये ? क्योंकि उस आँख का काजल.....

ख़ैर, आखिरी नज़्म हमारी सुनो - 

तुम्हारे इश्क़ में 

पागल था 

जब,

तो ज़िन्दा था।  

आदमी ठीक हुआ 

जब 

तो मर गया आखिर।

सब कुछ सीखा हमने, ना सीखी होशियारी

All children, except one, grow up. That one child is buried deep inside my soul. I miss him a lot. Like Jaun Eliya says:

साल दर साल, और इक लम्हा

कोई भी तो न इनमें बल आया।

ख़ुद ही इक दर पे मैंने दस्तक दी,

ख़ुद ही लड़का सा मैं निकल आया।।

So that young chap does come out often, these days more so, as I keep talking to, who else but, myself. All it requires is a random trigger.

 Sometimes, that trigger is an online post about Lucknow, sometimes that trigger is a talk about architecture of school buildings, and sometimes it's a book on child psychology. I have done a lot of psychological analysis on my childhood, reasons of a lot of people's behaviours, insecurities, my responses, coping mechanisms, and a lot of bruises. Well, I don't think I have the power of writing all that without a nervous breakdown. So let it be! Coming back to triggers!

Today, it was Antakshari event under the "Hindi Diwas" at the institute. Our team won the first prize. And as I was enthusiastically discussing with chhoti didi all those possible songs that we could have sung, didi recalled a Mukesh song. 

I generally avoid listening to Mukesh - Raj Kapoor songs. They remind me too much of my Nanaji. I think, among all the elders of my family, I felt closest to him. He often sang Raj Kapoor songs to me, when I was 6 or 8 till about I graduated. Thereafter, his voice started shaking too much to sing. I talked to him a lot, learnt a lot from him a lot, and loved him a lot. He was not a great parent but tried being a good grandfather, to me at least. I wasn't there in Lucknow the day when he passed away. I had classes that morning when his last rites were performed. I didn't even feel the need to try to be there that day. In fact, I didn't even saw him in his final few years.

But since then, I have missed him often. I always remember his birthday although I don't remember his last day. Anyway, he remains one of those few, who gave me varied perspectives in life. Not all of those were in form of long talks. Some were simply a Mukesh - Raj Kapoor song. One of those is in the title of this post, but his forever favorite was:

आबाद नहीं, बरबाद सही

गाता हूँ खुशी के गीत मगर,

ज़ख्मों से भरा सीना है मेरा

हँसती है मगर ये मस्त नज़र

दुनिया मैं तेरे तीर का 

या तक़दीर का मारा हूँ

आवारा हूँ....

चुप जो रहते हो...

I read somewhere that if you ever wonder like - "does it happen to me only?" - the answer is most definitely NO. So I am sure that it has happened with you too and not only once!

Do you remember how there was a time, when you used to talk to someone... daily.... for hours... about nothing? Do you remember how there was a time, when your day was not complete without talking to them.... daily.... for hours.... about nothing? Do you remember why you stopped talking to them? This is where our stories might differ. 

I don't know why I (or they) stopped talking to them (or me). And it always went from daily to never, or in some cases, almost never. And more than that, the real problem is that in some cases, I know. I know what happened. And why. And maybe it was the same for all the cases, one way or the other.

Anyway, I'm old. I'm tired. Of this rollercoaster. Of coming close. Of moving on. Of reminiscing. Of forgetting. So now, I just talk to myself. Seriously. I record my own poems, blogs, thoughts - all in my own voice and listen to myself. Maybe that is one voice that will not stop talking to me... daily.... for hours.... about nothing! 

Anyway, do you want to know what I figured out? Do you want to know what I know? Do you want to know why? Do you want to know who? Well, why don't you talk to me.... once again! 

तुम आज मुझसे ख़फ़ा हो तो कोई बात करो,

चुप जो रहते हो, मुहब्बत का गुमां होता है !

Naguva Nayana Madhura Mouna

Aeons ago, I remember, when I was teaching for the first time and a student told me about a trick to solve some queueing in operations questions. I sat with him for an hour to learn about it and he was amused because I was readily accepting of not knowing something and was willing to learn from him, a junior by a few years.

I suddenly recalled this a few days ago. Reason - because some students requested me to discuss a random assortment of topics in an open-ended session. I did. The final question was that why would I know such random things. I couldn't answer that then, so as always, I made up an answer then and there. However, later on, I wanted to go back and tell them that I am always curious and never ashamed of learning. Never ashamed of learning from anyone, even if that is a junior, a student, a friend, or a passer-by through my life. 

On a Saturday afternoon, sitting in my office, trying to write something, and failing yet again! I opened youtube and let it take me wherever the music goes. Youtube took me to a song - Naguva Nayana Madhura Mouna. 

I know I heard this song earlier. I remembered the song because I was trying to learn something. In fact, I know that you know that I love songs of so many languages. Because I am always curious and there is always some reason to learn something new. In fact, just the other day, I picked up a thought from the unlikeliest of places. I learnt this from Instagram: 

I think this is enough learning for a Saturday afternoon! 

जिंदगी की ये बे निशान सड़क... आ रहा हूँ के जा रहा हूँ मै

 Yesterday, a friend mentioned this: 

Short questions, shorter answers, such deep ramifications. I don't have the energy or the will left in me anymore to say all that. I would rather let Jaun Elia speak!

कौन हूँ क्या हूँ क्या नही हूँ,

राज़ ये खोलता नही हूँ मैं

एक दिन अपने दर पे दस्तक दी,

और फिर कह दिया "नही हूँ मैं"! 

It sounds like that desolate

It's been days since I read or heard any poetry. Writing has been any way out of the question for a while now. In fact, I think, I have not even quoted a random verse during all my conversations. And not even had a "conversation" in a long while. How long was that? Perhaps a few months, perhaps a lifetime... who knows! 

There is a lot of nothing happening, so to say but well... before I digress, here is what finally triggered some thoughts a day or two back. A friend tried translating a verse of Meer Taqi Meer. I counter-translated some more verses and shared those with him. Well, imagine if this is the most happening and fun thing I did in a while, how was the boring part? I know you know that. Anyway, I digress. Don't guess, just read. Who knows if you will see the poet me ever again or ...!!! 

हस्ती अपनी हबाब की सी है

ये नुमाइश सराब की सी है

This existence - a bubble or a bait

All like a Mirage to demonstrate 

चश्म-ए-दिल खोल के इस आलम पर,

याँ की औक़ात ख़्वाब की सी है

Open the inner eyes, for this world 

Nothing but a dream desperate 

नाज़ुकी उस के लब की क्या कहिए,

हर एक पंखुड़ी गुलाब की सी है

What to say of her rosey lips,

like the fragile petals, so delicate. 

नुक़्ता-ए-ख़ाल से तिरा अबरू

बैत इक इंतिख़ाब की-सी है

That beauty mark on your eyebrow

like a rhyme, a rhythm too great

मैं जो बोला कहा के ये आवाज़,

उसी ख़ानाख़राब की सी है

As I bespoke, she says 

it sounds like that desolate.

I am fine!

I have said everything! 

And so many times! 

On this very blog! 

Whatever I say even to myself now, it seems like a repetition of the same thing, same thoughts, and same sorrows. Everything is stale. Every thought, every word, every idea, every sorrow, every pain. So here is a very very very old thought, and yet, by my memory of this blog, perhaps not stale, not repetitive, not already written about. 

When I look around, I find it surprising how people are so happy and so contended and so ecstatic. As I understand, they fall in two categories. One, who pretend well. Two, who have an animalistic existential level. But those, who are capable of deeper thought always have a trouble in this shallow world. They crave for something deeper always and the deeper they go, the shallower they feel. Ultimately, they strangulate themselves in the layers of those depths, they choke on their knowledge, they loose breath in the depths of their loneliness. 

Does it make sense to you? No? Right! It won't make sense to shallower ones. And to the ones in depth? Well, they are far beyond this level to bother. Nonetheless, just wanted to say from the depths of my sinking - 

P.S. - I have been trying to listen to classical music for a long while. However, except flute, I could never feel any deep connection with any other instrument. Listened to many, liked a few, but never felt attached to any except flute. Right now also, some flute is playing. Do you know why? No? Ohh...!! I thought you would understand me a little better from that distance. If ever you understand that, let me know. You know I am always there to listen. Even if I am not happy, I will be fine enough to listen.