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.
2015 is coming to an end, and with that a phase of life draws to a close. In wishing you all a very happy 2016, and indeed, the rest of your life, I also wish goodbye to the days that have passed… This poem is a celebration of the era that draws to a close today – childhood, with all its vicissitudes and victories, with all its charms and challenges, with all its memories.
I hope you had a great 2015. I wish you all the love, hope, strength, and fulfilment in 2016!
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.
Was pondering upon what I would want from the year 2015, and I formed my thoughts in these verses. Hope you read it, and like it!
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।
Gulzar (Click on the image for source.)
There is, arguably, no escape from the ephemeral nature of Life.
We sail on a sea of motion, where the tides of Time and Chance decide our destinations as much as the forces of Will and Desire. Life is lost and found in the finite moments of tranquility that exist in the storms that ravage, ceaselessly, these waters. And we are all, always, fighting for these moments.
Which is why, at times, it seems prudent to forget the big picture, let go of the dream of the golden shore of destination that awaits on the other side. They will come, yes; but for what it is worth, we could always breathe a little. Make do with the simple pleasures that abound in the featureless commonality and redundancy of Routine. Love ourselves a little.
We know not when the wind will change its course, we know not what the weather gods decide, we can never foresee what the next moment will bring. But if we enjoy what we have, when we have it, no joy is too small to be celebrated.
I have written earlier of Gulzar’s celebration of everyday objects, occurrences, and experiences (here and here, for your reading pleasure). This piece, instead, is about everyday sentiments.
Music: Anu Malik
Singer: Asha Bhonsle
Gulzar (Click on the image for source.)
There is something about first love. The magical lose of sense, the pure, unadulterated flights of fancy, the audacity of hope, the rebellion from order…
How often do we manage to reach these again?
Since we can’t, we can always listen to this…
Music: Vishal Bhardwaj
Singer: Mohit Chauhan
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…
The Bombay suburban trains – colloquially referred to as the ‘locals’ – are a fascinating experience.
A strange, harmonious-amidst-chaos world in this city that is little-harmony-amidst-massive-chaos. They are a legend unto themselves, an embodiment of this city, a symbol of its liveliness, anarchy, and beauty, an icon. Maybe it is the innate desire for journeys that endears them to us, maybe the perfect cultural and socio-economic pot pourri that they carry each day, or perhaps it is, bereft of imagination, just the convenience of travel they offer in a city that is too large for its own good.
Just like this poem here, the following is something that just erupted on a ride I took on the suburban rail today.
Hope you like it…
Longing (Click on the image for source.)
There’s something to be said about sadness – it brings out some rather vivid creativity from within. I don’t know what the reason or the relation is, but it sure is something that I’m sure most of us have, at some point or the other, experienced.
This is the product of one such experience of mine. I’d love to hear what you think of it.