Wednesday, February 18, 2015

अर्ज़ी

मेरे खुदा तू ही जाने तेरी क्या मर्ज़ी है
मेरे मासूम दिल की तुझसे बस इतनी अर्ज़ी है
कि दर्द अगर दे, तो सहने का सबर भी देना
ज़िन्दगी चाहे ले लेना, मेरे जीने की वजह ना लेना । 

Friday, February 13, 2015

Remembering

Today, I stopped. I realized I wanted to remember.

It's been snowing for days. It was good at first, but slowly I got weary of it. I complained about the inconveniences and the mountains on the ground. Icomplained about the gloominess and just prayed for it to end. In all that weariness, in that constant running for cover, I didn't notice.
Or maybe I did, but I am not sure if I noticed enough to commit it to memory.
So I could remember.

There is something special about the present, every present, that is very very easy to ignore. We often romanticize the past, however past is but an accumulation of presents. There's something unique, irresistible and irreplaceable about today - this place, this time, and this version of me.
I wanted to remember.

So I stopped walking, let my arms free and my eyes wander. I smelt, I felt and I tried hard for my mind to remember this moment. Later, I took a few pictures, but pictures preserve but a fraction of reality. I let the snow flakes fall freely all over me until my hair was white and my lips blue. I looked at the surroundings - both the legacy and the potential of this place I find myself at - and tried hard to fight the feeling of insignificance for my life. I lost the fight when I saw how each snowflake kissed the ground and melted away like it never mattered - it represented every moment of my life thus far, passing me by, not mattering.

It is hard to value every tiny little - but unique in its own right - individual snow flake when you stand in an ocean of five feet snow. But they have to matter because it is them - those individual snow flakes - that combine to form the ocean of snow. Every moment in our life matters, if only a little, because their corpses accumulate to become the person we become and the life we've lived.

At long, one tear escaped my cheek. I was trying so hard to remember, but I knew I was failing at it. But the tear froze, and soon became indistinguishable from the droplets freezing and falling all over me. That's when it hit me that my individual grief is trivial and indistinguishable.

If I want to matter, I need to move the snow.

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Coffee

The city was asleep under a blanket of snow.
It was the third day of a snowstorm that had painted the city white and dropped mountains of powder everywhere its arms reached. All activity had abated as people waited, weary and warm inside their heated homes. They were trapped, but the storm didn't care. The storm continued to rage.

She walked around alone, marveling at how the snow made the earth glow up in the night. She liked the solitude, the calmness that the blanket of snow provided. Everything had slowed down, perhaps with the sole intention of giving her time to absorb everything that had happened. The winter made it hard to pinpoint the true cause of her frozen heart. She welcomed the ambiguity.
It was cold outside. And inside. She didn't care.

Flakes settled on her coat. She rubbed her fingers against her palm inside her coat one more time. Damn, she should have brought gloves.

Everything felt surreal. The leafless, colorless, still atmosphere around her was a far cry from the springy smoggy jungles she had left behind when she had hopped onto that plane. It had been four days now, three longer than had been planned, but she didn't mind too much. She was trapped here, she was trapped there. At least here there was no expectation to move forward.

Her eyes settled on a homeless man making an igloo out of the snow that continued to fall unabated. Loss did not have to translate to helplessness.

The breeze picked up and she felt her lips turning blue. She saw the open coffee-shop. A little rest wouldn't hurt. Besides, she wanted to watch that man finish his igloo. She went inside and took a window seat, after asking for a cappuccino.

Her mind wandered back in time again. The truth stared in her face. Actually, it always had, but she could no longer deny it. But she wasn't ready to confront it, and hence she had run. The business trip was a good excuse. She volunteered when someone pulled out last moment. At that time, she needed to put some time and space between them.
Now, she understood that both time and space had made their homes - permanently - long ago. There was nothing to save, nothing to confront.

She leaned back and closed her eyes. Moments and memories floated by. Her hands - by now warm - could feel the way he felt when she touched him. She rubbed her fingers over her palm, until the feeling was no longer there.
It was over.

She opened her eyes and saw someone putting her cappuccino in front of her. She looked at the cup, and saw someone that looked a lot like herself.
Only unbroken.



Her eyes traced the man who had handed her the coffee. He was the only one working in the shop at the ungodly hour where the only customers other than her were a teenage couple. He was the one she'd placed the order to when she came in, but she hadn't looked at him until now.

She stared at him for a long time before he finally looked at her and their eyes met. Neither could break the gaze. Neither talked, or smiled. In ten seconds, from ten feet away, they became friends.

Outside, the storm had abated. The snow glowed, but the air sparkled with freshness. The plowing, the paving and the melting would start in the morning, but for now, everything was just right.

She picked up her cup of coffee and walked the seven steps to the counter.
"I'd like to share my coffee."

He smiled. In seven words, in seven steps, they became soulmates.


Thursday, February 05, 2015

Ilzaam



Kuch tumhaare, kuch hamare, kuch dard benaam sahi

Dard baantana zindagi ki fikrat hai, zindagi par ilzaam nahi



*************************



Pehli aandhi mein ghar bikhra, doosri mein khwab lut gaye

Teesra to toofan tha, jeene ki wajah bhi le gaya

Khudgarz lootera saanson ka, aakhir kaar aaya to magar

Bin kuch liye bas hum ko khud ki tabaahi ka ilzaam de gaya

Sunday, November 30, 2014

Truth

Poetry suffices most of the time
but sometimes clarity demands prose.
To treat, you need to diagnose.

I wonder if truth spills out in a ramble
and if so, whether it can ever be found
Hiding beneath the frivolous, the profound


Thursday, November 13, 2014

Main shayar to nahi

Main Shayar to Nahi
Magar ae haseen
Jab bhi teri aankhon mein jhaankta hoon
Gazal khud-b-khud likhi jati hai
Tere aane se mehekti hai zindagi
Tere jaane se saans theher jaati hai
Jeene ki aarzoo teri muskaan mein hai
Marne ka bahaana bhi hai wahi kahin
Main shayar to nahi
Magar ae haseen
Woh lafz jo keh sakein tum kya ho
Kisi shayar ke paas nahi

Sunday, November 09, 2014

बुखार

ना जाने तुम बोतल में क्या ढूँढ़ते हो
मैं नज़रों में शराब कब से उतार बैठी हूँ ।

किस दर्द की तलाश करते हो आँखों में मेरी
मोहब्बत का बुखार कब से उतार बैठी हूँ ॥

Ek aur nazm

यूं तो मसले बहुत हैं ज़हन में 
शायरी में उतारे जाने को 
ये कलम मगर बेगैरत बेहया है 
कागज़ पे पड़ते ही 
लफ़्ज़ों को फुसला लेता है 
एक और नज़्म लिख देते हैं 
फिर हम तुम्हारे नाम की । 

Monday, November 03, 2014

Yaadasht

Bhoolne ki beemari ho gayi hai shayad
Or maybe it is just a sign of age
Khayal aajkal bante hi ho jate hain ojhil
Even before they could reach a page
Aaj kai logon ke naam bhi yaad nahi
Whose phone numbers I could recite in sleep
Na jaane kitni baatein seekh seekh ke bhool gayi
Wastes time, re-realizing realizations deep

I don't often recognize my own words
Apna hi maazi aksar anjaan lagta hai
Sometimes though a twitch returns, feeling familiar
Yadasht ka na sahi dard ka to rishta lagta hai
But happiness seems much harder to preserve
Lafzon mein nahi theherta woh samaa
Maybe art is a consolation, as someone wise once said
Khushi ko shayari ki pehchan kahan

Monday, October 20, 2014