Baarish

Baarish ki boondon men , sapnen dhul se gaye hain
mujhse nikal ke, hakikat men ghul se gaye hain
fizaa ko bulaa laao, vo bhi taras ke baahaar ban jaayegi
par baarish ki boondon kaa kyaa, aansooon si barsee jaayegi

main sapnaa nahin, hakikat nahin, unke beech ki raah tay karti hoon.
gilaa bas yahi hai, aapke saath nahin, kisi aur ke saath chalti hoon.
mohabbat ke raste par mod kaee aaye, aur maqaam bhi
doharaaye gaye ghamo ke kisse, aur dil kaee toote bhi.
thokar bhi lagi, par jane kaise kabhi aas tooti nahin
raah kuch lambi hai shaayad, manzil kaa pataa nahin
aaj bhi vahi baarish se bheegti raah tay karatii hoon
gilaa bas yahi hai, aapke saath nahin kisi aur ke saath chalti hoon

They Say, these are strange times

I must warn you before you proceed, that I do not believe in feel-good factors. I can’t write in feel-goodness state-of-mind. This is not about hope, love and happy-endings. This isn’t about the how the world is so beautiful. You have fairytale books for that. Read on…

These are strange times. These are the days of full hands and empty hearts. We’ve succeeded in changing dimensions and definitions of life. With success defined my money and failure by emotions. These are the days of overworked worried heads, and nights of drunken fights. Yes, we live in strange times.
As we hope for hope in others, ironically, we still thrive in the hopelessness within. Existing is as easy as breathing gets difficult. Smoke and dust, treachery and lust fill our lungs like once fresh air did.
We, slaves of the very machines we made, have success spoon-fed to us. And we feel we’ve earned that so-called success.
The concept of wanting more from life, always translates into money. The hunger of success and ambition for that one-buck-more feeds on our lives like termites. Eating away life day-by-day, leaving our souls hollow and weak. We crack so easily nowadays, don’t we?
We’ve long existence now, but shortened life. Like moments have been taken away by the very nature giving us birth. One day going different is an event. Life’s squeezed out of our days. And we exist, and exist some more. But we don’t live anymore.
The rustle of notes replaced the rustle of leaves so damn easily. The pitter-patter of rains, drowned out by the bling of the clinking coins.
The essence of our whole lives can be compressed with in a single day. We’ve photocopied our days. No day is different than the other even when we can make every moment more alive the previous. Why don’t we? Coz we live in strange times now.
It is the last age. Before everything falls apart. The words in books have lost in the repentance of the dead and cynicism. We have nothing to give. And seems we feel there is nothing to learn. Why not squeeze more out of life? Why? Well- Coz these are strange times, aren’t they?

Bliss is a lost concept. Completeness and satisfaction are seen as signs of the weak. Contented hearts are shunned and blamed of a lack of purpose.
We see the dark in everything bright and happy. Sadness is beauty. And love is pain. Anything beautiful is equally hurtful.
Well, did someone say ironic? It is a cynical world, and this is an article for these times.

Past goes into Yellow books

Your past- The years which have gone by... Literally flew by… the years when you felt life was a land of fairies and goodies… and your dreams carved with sugar and toffees… the years when you dreamt of the idyllic land of good and the incurable romanticism of eternal love… and the forever-and-ever love story of you and your Prince Charming…

The year when you were 14 and life was a bed of roses… and now it is a lost dream… Your Past. Life was simple then. It was basic- no questions asked, no complicated emotions felt… You were all set to live your life by the current widely prevalent societal guidelines… You were scared to call a spade, a spade… It was just a big spoon to you…

You don’t know when you started calling it a spade… you don’t know when you changed.

As a kid, you used to think that when you grow up, you will fall in love with that one man… that knight-in-shining-armor… and live happily ever after… live that fairytale of Cinderella…

It is like a lost dream now… all that you felt then has undergone a phoenix-like transition… and you have vanished… Correction- Reborn… your dreams differ… it’s like having a dream of a dream…

Now you are all grown-up, ok- fair enough- 24 isn't old-… and strangely you’re not in love as you had dreamt you will be… and you’re satisfied… now you don’t know if you can share those coming 50 years with another man, fondly known the "Prince Charming"… all that you had thought of, 10 years back seems like a dream of another person… not yours… and you don’t know how on God's green, (red blue- all coloured) earth YOU could have had a dream like that!!!

When you look into the mirror, the person you see is content… and you like that individual… and you want to see the same person whenever you look into the mirror, for the rest of your life… there is no man to share that space in your reflection.

So where do we go from here? Where do we head towards? 'Coz you're still a woman; you're still expected to get married and have about 2 healthy babies, and look after your house and husband (notice how Prince Charming transforms into Husband post wedding bells go cling-clang)

Where does this end? and For heaven's sake, Where did this start? I can't ask "why me!", as it isn't that unfortunate really.

Past gone into the yellow books... those old fairytales books, which Ma read out to you at your bed side. They've gone yellow with age.

And so have the dreams.

What the Love songs don't sing of

I look at you, and your hand holding hers
And I look into your eyes where I see only me
As I smile at the tingling pain in my heart.
This is what the love songs don’t sing of
Of the ironies, jealousies, and searing hurt.

We live in each other’s quiet distant gaze
We stay together, even as we stay apart.
We are still “we” and it is still “us”.
This is what the love songs don’t sing of
Of the separation and quiet togetherness

When we will grow old, and think of these days
We will pine to come back to each other as we do now
How life doesn’t change and holds still in time.
This is what the love songs don’t sing of
Of the life gone by through the still waters of time.

Of the dried flowers stacked away in the dairies
Of the lost winters, left cold by the fireside
Of the springs blown away by the autumn winds
This is what the love songs don’t sing of.
Of the silenced love and tears buried alive.

Of the music which trickled down the memory hills
Of the perfect blue skies, torn apart by sun rays
Of the dearness of emotions, and sameness of days
This is what the love songs don’t sing of
Of bitter, sweet, and tightly held good-byes.

She sings of lost seasons

She sings of lost seasons.
Of days that passed her by.
She- a mother of three today,
sings of seasons gone by.

She sings years when she thought that
Life was bubble-gum and candy-land.
And that Sky are made of ice lollies,
& feet touched sugar-kissed sand.

She sings of that shining armor
And of dreams of that white horse.
And that it all just stayed a dream.
And she sings of the lovers lost,

Sweet dreams, my children!
Sweet dreams, she sings today,
Go away to that land of lullabies
She sings to the three children, she tucks away.

Gray Winters

The hands loses warmth,
And though the heart breathes fire,
Yet, the cold chills the bones and the heart,
The winters seem nearer than ever...
These gray winters

Past present and future merge into an ever-shrinking black hole...
No clarity… no escape…
The mist of winters, settles too soon in our lives...
The haziness of these times...
Of these gray winters…

The summer clarity, the spring freshness melts
Into listless mornings…
The sun doesn’t help anymore…
The tantalizing sunshine touches the earthy skin and fades away…
The coldness of these gray winters.

The heart lies deep within…
Still, cold, and frozen…
The cold awakens the senses to the pain…
Yet, the heart sleeps
In these gray winters.

The love still left untouched…
Dormant, to death
Awaiting the sunny summers
Would it lie slumbering
throughout these Gray winters?

I still wait to see the blooms this winter…
The snow and the frail heat…
This winter… too grim…
Too gray a winter…
Long wait through these gray winters.

Life goes on...

It was a rainy Saturday afternoon. And she made love for two, in her empty apartment.
He wasn’t around. A decade of nights had passed, since she last saw him.
She thought of him. And thought some more of the wretched night.

What emptiness! What death of a life!

That night, they spoke.
She intently heard to him speak about the woman he loved.
And she spoke of her engagement to another man.

He had called his fiancée "a comfortable compromise". She had never met her.
He didn’t know her fiancé. Honestly, neither did she.

She hated herself for being there. But she smiled - a smile too polite to be believed and to be taken as genuine.
She was about to attend his court marriage after 3 months.
She wanted to go there as a witness. To the courtroom drama.

They had loomed over each other’s lives for long 15 years.
Even when he had other girl friends, even when she was in other relationships.
They both had pervaded in each-other’s lives.
They knew they can never truly be with each other.

He had compromised on his love and needs.
He didn’t have any wishes or wants any more.
She settled with the thought of separation.
He would move back to their rickety little home town with his wife.
She would fly away to Canada after marriage.
They had different courses of life staring right ahead of them.

He asked why could they never be with each other?
She smiled and said nothing.
Every single moment of love which she felt with in her, was always out of his reach.
She never cried. She never believed him.
He wanted to lie in her arms all days. And he loved her.
They fell in love with each other at different times in their lives.
The times never coincided.
It was the futility of emotions, which wouldn’t ever see the light.
They both had questions in their minds.
For which they would never seek answers to.
It always ended in the same way. The Parting.
They looked at each other, ordered for their drinks and laughed.

It was probably to be the last night that she could be with him- alone.
With a different life right outside their doors, they laughed at the years gone by.
And they laughed at the years which would come, where they would have to sit with each-other with their respective spouses.
And how she and his wife would be gossiping in the kitchen.
And how he and her husband will talk about the stock market and politics in the drawing room.
And how they can never truly be with each other any more when that time comes.
It would then be a glance from the hallway and a casual smile, or may be a handshake or two; with all past passions buried in a smoke of smile and courtesies.
They laughed like it was a parallel reality, away from them.
Like it would never happen
They laughed about the kisses they could have had. And the love they could have made.
So they made up for the lost days and years.

They made love for the first time.

That night was like a mythical creature. It was a legend and a lie.
A story of the untold, which could arouse fear and ecstasy. The Nameless Night.
And it should have lived longer than it did.
The past and the future entangled into that one dark night.

The love they could have had.
The love they never would have.

They lay with each other the whole night.
She couldn’t let him go. And he held tight.

She couldn’t stand him after the night was over.
His thoughts flooded her mind all the time and she could run away.
He packed and quietly took a bath. She wore her clothes.

There was no guilt. There was no pain of parting.
Somehow, they had parted ways long before, but the door was never closed.
They had finally closed doors on the life they could have had.

They never said good byes and kissed their ways away.

She would go back to her life.
Try and fall in love with her fiancé.
He would go back in his flight with his fiancée.

To world, both were still good old friends.
Lies concealed the creaky bed.
Work and perfumes erased the smell of the skins.
Time erased the mark from her body.
But her mind stayed stained.

She thought more of the wretched night in her empty flat, as days went by.
She didn’t know how. That night was over.
And life still went on.

Dreams on the Racks

Running helter-skelter
To keep life’s clock ticking
No time to stop and stare
No intention to breathe
Life or existence- I ask myself
We- Apathetic robots.
Success defined by money
And failure by emotions
A suited, booted, tired crowd,
Walking with mobiles and laptops
We whiz around in those flashy cars
But we won’t stop to let the old lady cross,
Or stop the li’l urchin from crying.
We won’t stop to look at the rain,
Unless it gets us a traffic jam.
We won’t stop to feel the winter chill
Unless it stops our nightlife
We won’t feel the summer sizzle,
Well- we have our air conditioners
Family too far away…
Long-forgotten cousins and relatives.
Life is a clock…
We let it tick with the same pace…
Wishing we could turn it back
And the live the days we hurriedly passed.
And we realize, it is too late…
To pursue, those dreams
Which we kept on the dusty racks
Of our old cupboards.
Those sketches and paintings.
Those lyrics and poems…
Our monotony broken
Only by the iridescent memories
Of the dreams on the racks