The hazy grate of a morning

The hazy grate of a morning, churning out brightness, through wads of  fragmented clouds, accompanied by cool and moist breeze that flows through a gaunt figure, lying on a four legged steel frame. The figure
doesn't appear to move much, lost amidst its acts. What acts? There is no semblance of movement, but there is no quietude either.

It appears to be lost in oblivion, with shapes passing through it. Though lethargic, its in motion, answering questions put across it, fighting the urge, the compulsion, and the compunction , all together in a moment.

In that class

"Cold war, though not as destructive as the pernicious world war II , perpetrated an unprecedented race for weapons and covert acts of destruction by individual nations, in particular Soviets ."

While madam, wallowed in those historical facts, I wallowed in the sight that presented itself from across the grills of window. A branch of mango tree, with its greyed leaves, swayed in the gentle breeze. The breeze that caressed my face draped in sweat beads,twinkling. The breeze that carried with itself the faint cadence of a genset working far away.

An anger

 Why is it that a person must be an achiever to prove himself? Why shall I be defined by what I have achieved? Is it all worth  it? What have the achievers done so different for the mankind?

I am just a boy willing to live merrily , with peace in this world. Why should I prove my presence with an achievement? Why should I have a goal in order to portray myself as a worthy being?  What shall be my worth anyway? My worth isn’t more than  216ft. cube of  land. Till that day arrives can’t this world allow my soul to roam about in hope and peace and hearth?

नौकरी में ही सब है!!

"नौकरी  में ही  सब  है ", जब  ये  शब्द  मेरे  कानों  पे  परे  तो  में  तिलमिला  उठा | इस  सत्य  को  तो  शायद मैं  भुला  ही  चुका  था , मानो  जैसे  ये  शब्द , सत्य  और  असत्य  की सीमा  से  परे  हो गए थे  , जैसे  कि  मेरा  अस्तित्व  इसी  सत्य  के  अन्दर  बसा  हुआ  है , और  मैं  इसकी  "सत्यता" पे  कभी  ऊँगली  उठा  ही  नहीं  सकता | पर  आगे  आने  वाले  शब्द  थे , "तुम  अभी  नहीं समझोगे ", मानो  जैसे  अंजली , राहुल  से  कह  रही  हो , "कुछ  कुछ  होता  है  राहुल , तुम  नहीं  समझोगे ". पर मैं  समझता  हूँ , कम  से  कम  समझने  का  दावा  तो  जरूर  करता  हूँ , वरना इस  निर्दयी  और  निमार्मिक  नौकरी  के  पीछे  दिन  रात  क्यूं  भागता | पर  शायद   में  उनकी  दृष्टि  से  नहीं  समझ  पा  रहा  था , क्यूंकि  विगत  शब्द  मेरे  बाबूजी  के  मुख से  निकले  थे |

The Vultures of freedom!

From the clueless union of two souls,
    Was I conceived, to tread on this world!


Cast was I into the mold of their culture,
    But the shell was broken down and I was taken by the vultures!


Those vultures ate up the moss of society on my soul,
    And when I died, caught in those talons, my rebirth met my pristine soul.


And I became a vulture too, to eat up the moss society creates,
    Although, I am left alone and weariness grates.

अँधेरी रौशनी और तुम !

तुम कौन हो ? थोड़ी सी छुपती , थोडा उमड़ती !
जैसे अँधेरे में छुपकर, धूमिल रौशनी बिखेरती!!

यूँ होता है तेरे होने का एहसास, उन अँधेरी उजालो में,
कि बस घिरा और उलझा हूँ लाखों सवालों में!

तुम मेरी मंजिल तो नहीं, ना ही  तुम मेरा रास्ता हो!
पर तुम संग , यही लगे की हमारा हमेशा का वास्ता हो!!

What If ...

What if I were a labor born,
With a different hum and a tragic song.
Would've quoted Marx and inspired revolution.
Would've witnessed fall and mired in convolutions.
But who could say, I may have been a Stalin.


Yet, I am a bourgeois child of education,
create wealth and unwary of rations.
Ideas and theories rule my day,
even though I falter and get asway.
But who could say, I may not be one.

When they met ... again ... VII

He sighed and looked around. His face bore signs of confused pleasure and bewilderment . She stood there in front of him, with the baby still cradled in her arms. It was not hers , off course, but how did that matter. She was joined to it's fate, for now and maybe forever. The child too seemed to have had accepted her as its mother.

And she herself,as beautiful and coy as he had imagined, stood in her eyes. But more than her corporeal primness, something else appeared to be emanating from her, something that had no parallel in words . It was only to be felt and dwelt in.

As it happened . . . - VI

"You appear to be lost. Where do you think you want to go?", the old man asked him. But he, sitting by his side kept looking in the oblivion. "You seem to me to be the affected one, the kind, lost in itself. I know where I am heading to, but you seem lost, even with me, and that's a rarity.", the old driver remarked with smirk sprawled over his face.

He didn't bother to take note of those words , yet out of irritation he blurted , " I am of the kind who has just left everything behind himself ,at the instigation of a reasoning mind which wallowed in rationality and failed to take practicability into account. And now, when I have debased myself and failed at the application of my own thoughts, I do not see any merit in it. I can't see people around, I can't go back to my old world, and most sadly, I can't think practical any more. Of your help , I am grateful, yet I would wish not to be lectured by some moronic cart driver."

A rosy click.

"What's in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet". While Shakespeare attributed these lines to Romeo, didn't he arrogate complete authority of the flower to the olfactory sense exclusively. In this picture above , the ocular sense emanates and redeems its due glory.

A revolution for men.

We urgently need a revolution . One that would free us from the troubles and tortures of an oppressive authority.Who are the perpetrators ? They are everywhere , even in your own house, just as in mine. And we are victimized , by them, not only for our time but also in our thoughts .
It's been too cliched to talk about the oppression of women against men, you heard me right, women against men, yet its worth raising one's voice once again. None of the voices raised have been powerful one, although . Why, don't you know the weapon of mass oppression? Television sops, of course.

Bangalore Nights.

Bangalore nights are special, especially since it's the representative of the pristine city , uncrowded and unpacked. What gives the feel of heaven more so is the cool climate of the night, the breeze blows gently against oneself and chills him. It's so special since you can drive on road , hassle free.

Tonight (Sunday ) was one such beautiful night. Moonlit streets, cold breeze swaying you on its bosoms, and silence of a lazy road with a gusty motor racing on it. Trees on sidewalks had their silhouettes drawn up with vivid starkness. The way ahead seems to be approaching you faster than you would want it to. But, except my motor, none are in hurry. The entire panorama had almost dissolved itself in the moonlight and gentle wind caresses the tarred way ahead .

An inexorable Bihar.

Imagine a civilized society. A society where people lived fearlessly, citizens pursued happiness and had access to the means to that purpose. Pride in tradition coexisted seamlessly with modernistic values. Human life drew respect and had significant value. Wouldn't that be an ideal definition of a political state? It's hard to say if India stands up to that ideal, but certainly Bihar is an antithesis. A perfect contrast, rather.

Her Departure - V

When she woke up, it was almost daybreak. She was tired, but the sleep had helped invigorate her a bit. The baby was still sleeping by her side. She felt its breath on her fingers and sighed. She looked around for him in a hazy glance, and then laid back on bed once again.

4th Idiot.

Obviously, that's what you and I are feeling. Three were there , in the movie, and fourth who else but us. And it works in general because many of us didn't choose our path of our own volition , but were made to choose, by peer pressure, parent pressure and finally sheer luck. And sadly there wasn't any Aamir Khan in his philosophic avatar to open our eyes. To make us nod in acquiescence and guilt, when he says, "Excel in what you do and success will eventually follow". Sadly, I could never say that to my surroundings,which have gone by, which impressed on me the need to immerse in books , to excel with great marks, to be number 1 in studies. Oh ! Aamir where were you!

Dilemaa - IV

And then it vanished, just like those ripples last night,as if it never had been there. He realized suddenly what he had been doing since last night. He was inebriated with his own ideals, and perhaps in his own fit of realization he had overwrought himself. It wasn't strange for him to wallow in this dialectic with himself, but yesterday , he had given up. He gave up all that he had created, all that he had clung to, all that he had borne till then.

Moving ahead - III

The city precinct wasn’t too far and after walking a few miles, he was out of the city. Rain had stopped altogether now, paving way for an imminent, clear sunrise. Despite of all that he had been through, he wasn’t tired. Yet, the quietude around him, made him feel sick. Solitude is bliss, but loneliness is wearied. With divided mind he wished that he met someone around. Yet, not a soul appeared to be present, till the distance he could see.

Between Them - II

"You are right on both account. Providence hath had it ensured that I do not belong to the streets, and nor does the child lying here, has been given birth by me. But do you really need to know the other crass details? So long as we are similar , social standing and professional stature shouldn't matter. What transpires between us, and what originates from us is what we need." Saying that she slipped onto the bed, by the side of the baby.

He & She - I

"If there is any chance of doing it, its now. Come ! Take a jump! This will be the last jump you will ever need." He stirred. Squirmed. Gave a ponderous look around. And the laid back. How could he? No! No! Its just not so. Its not right. I am out of my mind right now! Gimme some time, to get back normal. Fantasy shall not override reality. Oh! but I cannot, I can't think straight, damage is irreparably done. But I still hesitate to take the plunge. Oh! all the pain, fear , pangs of separation. I cannot bear it all, my conscience it too weak for that. Let me try to be sedate. To sleep. To pass this time away, this wretched time, this pernicious time, this time which has stolen my sense of earthiness. Oh no! I know, there is no time. Time is just a frame in my mind. But don't embarrass me of my own idea. Its only an idea, its not me. I am different. I am wretched, I am weak , I am human. Oh no! I know, Human is all, he is power, he is creator and destroyer, he is wretched, but not without ideas. Even , if all of humanity were to stand up, right in front of me and grovel , to give myself up , I wont, yet I for myself, am so ready to give up, because I am losing to my own self. Man is power, but he is powerlessness to himself. Power to itself is not power. Its nothing. I am nothing. Oh no! what am I talking! Its all nonsense, I am a nonsense.

Crime and Punishment

Fyodor Dyostovesky , in his book, has so deftly posited the contrasting ideals that the reader, as Raskolnikov aka Rodya, keeps wondering which side is he on. It moves on like a delirium , not only for the characters but also for the reader. In the ravings and introspection of Raskolnikov reader loses himself. And yet, it never becomes predictable, and always keeps the reader guessing. Besides the ideological and psychological standpoint, the book fares well as a masterful detective novel. The language is rich and sumptuous. After reading the very first page, I knew, this is the kind of book one would love to read.