चलो कहीं डेरा डाल लेते हैं

This year has begun with great promise: one made by me, some made by life. After all the running around and hassles of the years gone by, there looks to be signs of peace.

There is hope that we can settle down (in more ways than one), let go of the trifles of everyday living, and rest.

 

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Winter in the City

Here’s something I had written earlier, forgotten about completely, and rediscovered recently. Since summer is still marauding us these days, I think publishing a poem about winter still makes sense.

After all, aren’t we all in a perpetual yearning for the beautiful days of the past or the beautiful days of tomorrow? Aren’t we all just looking for an escape even when we know there isn’t one?

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All Vacations Must End

At times, your words don’t come from you. They are too powerful to belong to one voice, their meaning too deep for one tale. Recently, I uttered some of this sort. They were said to someone I know in a jovial tone, without much thought gone in their formation.

And yet, when I reflected on them, I was saddened. Extremely. By their weight, the lost possibilities they spoke of, the grief of demise they had. Moved, I wrote this poem, and made those words its title. Let me know how you like it.

 

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दोबारा

रिश्तों की उम्र कौन माप पाया है?

कुछ सदियों ज़िंदा रहते हैं, हमें शेरों-कहानियों में मिलते हैं। कुछ पूरी ज़िन्दगी अपने पैरों पर खड़े होने में लगा देते हैं, कुछ पूरी ज़िन्दगी हर दिन जीते हैं। हर एक की अपनी उम्र होती है। हाँ, कहानियां सबकी एक ही लगती है मुझे।

काफ़ी रिश्तों को क़रीब से देखा है मैंने। पाया है की जहां ख़ुशी है, रंग हैं, वह सब लोगों के अपने हैं।  पर जहां कलह है, दुःख, रुस्वाई है, उन सबकी एक सी पहचान होती है। ऐसा लगता है की मानों एक को देख लिया हो, तो सबको देख लिया। हम उन्ही मसौदों पर रूठते हैं, वैसे ही बेगैरद लहज़े से बात करतें हैं, उसी दर्द से बिछड़ते हैं, वही आंसू रोते हैं… सब वही है, हमने कुछ नहीं सीखा है। इन्ही उलझनों से गुज़रने का नाम हमने ज़िन्दगी कर दिया है। यही चेहरे, यही मोड़, यही सब चलता रहता है, एक के बाद एक, दोबारा…

इन्ही किस्सों, कहानियों, दोस्तों, और लोगों के ग़म को देखा है मैंने, और उसे संजो के ये कविता लिखी है। उमीद है कुछ पसंद आएगी।

 

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बातें

कल किसी से बात चल रही थी। उनकी एक बात से कुछ ख्याल आया, खूबसूरत था। उस ख्याल को उनसे बातों बातों में यूँ पिरोया।

गर अच्छा लगे तो कहिएगा…

 

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Reading Gulzar – Musafir Hoon Yaaron

Gulzar (Click on the image for source.)

Gulzar (Click on the image for source.)

And there it is, we’re almost done with 2013!

Tomorrow, we shall renew our pledges to destiny. Tomorrow we shall try to rise again, with newer hopes. Tomorrow we shall resolve anew to fight for all that we desire. Tomorrow we shall plunge again into the waters of uncertainty, and swim tirelessly toward our place in the sun.

But all that will be tomorrow.

Today, tonight, let us celebrate ourselves. Let us bask in the glory of that what we have achieved. Let us celebrate the warrior in all of us who refuses to lay by the side, and continues walking no matter what. Who doesn’t get bothered by the ups and down, who keeps to the road and journeys on forward!

All you wise, wonderful people – love yourself!

And have a happy new year!

Film: Parichay

Music: R. D. Burman

Singer: Kishore Kumar

Lyrics: 🙂

Here goes…

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Ghosts

The last post might have led you to believe that I am quite bitter at the end of the year. But that’s not entirely true!

The end of any particular thing makes me quite emotional and vulnerable, and Nostalgia rather frequently gathers its dark clouds and pours forth memories and miseries in a storm I am quite incapable of withstanding. From this storm of friends and lovers, good times and bad, hopes and hermitages, alliances and accords, come scenes that were once lived.

I see them, feel them, but they are distant. I cannot touch them, but only endure them in moments of pathos and hopelessness. My friends, should you read this, know that I remember our time together. I am grateful that I found you, and you me, and of all that passed to this point. I am happy that I will always have you.

What time is once past is finished, and yet we keep going back, like ghosts.

 

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Her

Her (Click on the image for source.)

Her (Click on the image for source.)

Shakespeare once wrote a play that he couldn’t name. Ultimately, he went with ‘As You Like It’, leaving his audience to name and interpret what they saw the way the saw fit.

Now, yours truly is humble enough to recognise he’s no Shakespeare, or even comes close. But he was in a quandary quite similar with this post.

Let me know if you like the name, and, of course, the poem itself. It is something very different from what I usually write, and she who I’ve to thank for this will know how grateful I am to her.

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