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 !