it's time to act rationally...

it's been a week since the terror attacks have shocked the city...the mumbaikar resumes his daily routine and continues to walk the same streets soaked in the blood of his brothers...he has no other alternative, he says....the families of the martyrs are still mourning...wondering whether their sacrifice will ever be honestly and equally rewarded...the families of the deceased are in grief, the loss is irreplacable...the govt's compensation cannot return their beloved they think....the politicians are happy, now is the chance to get power and show him the door they say...the PM condemns the act and promises action....some of the mumbaikars hold candles and march to the gateway expressing solidarity to the dead and anger towards the system...all very well said....but not at all done....

the anger continues to stem and the fear of uncertainity continues to haunt...the newspapaer raises some basic questions which are discussed and debated upon in trains,busstands, canteens...just about everywhere....everyone has an opinion and everyone knows a solution...we all know who has brought us to this state..we all know that we are being puppetted by a bunch of fools...we all know that terrorism has no identity...we all know that we need powerful machinery and strong governance...we all know that none of our representatives at the parliament truly represent us....we all know that democracy in our country is a big joke....we all know this...and what we do is keep this knowledge in our pockets...

when we say,"rise mumbai..let's do something"....what are we thinking...when we hold candles and protest what are we actually expecting...have our voices ever been taken into consideration? have we ever been loud enough?...if we don't vote for this party and get some other party to power, is it going to solve our problems?,,,aren't we being forced to choose between many wrong options..? when we say let's do something....what are we wanting to do?....

i say lets' all float our own political party..all of us who are angry...all of us who love our city,our nation...all of us who are educated and are aware..all of us who have been doing something for the society at the back end...all of us who want to change and more than that who know what to change....all of us who care not for power,money but for the individual within us and for the individual who makes this society...when i say let's rise...i mean truly rise and take the reigns in our own hands...

we need to fight and fight hard...against terrorism later...but first against the inertia of our mind and then that of our society...are we ready to do that?

some more scattered thoughts...

i am a true mumbaikar...n by dat i mean i spend a major portion of day commuting....n wat makes me a thorogh daughter of the soil is dat i use all d veins of this mega-city...to stretch from one place to another...i.e. the BEST (n truly the best!!)bus and the local trains....
in my daily happy adventures one thing that has consistently come to my notice it dat we mumbaikars are very accomodating....for instance...wen a bus comes to a stop...we all cling to the handle wid our might and throw ourselves upon the crowd...n then as the bus begins to roll out the unfortunate ones who cudn't get it...run along wid the bus....wat i have observed is dat while there r ppl already standing on the big toe alone at the edge of the door...but yet wen they see someone battling so hard..they fidget and make place and try to get the person in.......and to me it appears as some kind of exchange and understanding of the struggle...or maybe it is like sharing of frustration,,,,and that ironically becomes the worst part if the city....while we share frustration we indavertently encourage it also...we help because we have suffered....we ease the pain but somewhere we r unable to kill the cause...this largely symptomatic way of dealing with situation has permeated not only our way of living but also the thought process of the citizens...n dats why wen ders a bomb-blast of some calamity all of us unhesitantly help each other...but in doing so we salute our spirit which has already been killed....

some scattered thoughts....

sometimes i just stand on the edge of the terrace and try to hold the sky in my eyes...the evening sky dressed in sublime colours of beauty, purity and poignance....the setting sun on one side and the moon waiting at the door expecting a permission to enter...at this point...and this point alone...i think the sky gets to feel it's own indentity...just itself and all it's colours....not the holder of night neither the bearer of the day...just the sky....like any person would feel after he acquires his long-lost self, after he kills all the thoughts of abnegation and attachment, after he decides to quit being someone he is not intended to be....the sky stands thus...and in it's shelter stand the moon, the stars and the night...awaiting their turn....the sky picks them up....and lets them run over...to gather another day and another morning....

maybe that is the reason all of us love the evening sky....in it's emancipation (even though for a short while)...we see the purpose of our existence....

The Winds Flow

sometimes it has the face of peace
allaying all the parchment and distraught
and sometimes it just assumes a determined force
the one that destructs...and one that bellow
and the winds flow...the winds flow....

the winds flow
carrying the message; they know
Under the evening sun
on the autum leaves;
they tear their path
and ahead they go...
the winds flow...the winds flow...

the barrenness doesn't trouble them
and the colours don't fascinate them
the apostles of faith and grandness
they succumb to none; but they may bow
the winds flow...the winds flow...

the sea? they laugh on her face
and make noise to kill it's slumber
and over the waves they ride
into the night's glow
the winds flow...the winds flow...

the august winds
have the heart of a hero
a spirit of success
a sound of life
a breath of dream

they touch all; and change all
yet none know their fountainhead
and none know when they are dead
for on all mortals; just one knowledge they bestow....
the winds flow...the winds flow...




{P.S.: I do not know where to place this piece..for all i know this is not a poem..neither is it a text...bt i guess thoughts which have transparent understanding need not oblige any claasification...!!!}

The Happy Man’s Song

I went in search of a happy man’s cloak
Only to return empty-handed
I was upset; I was agonized;
So I decided to pull happiness towards me.

With this thought,
I sucked in the colours of the rainbows
The fragrance of the daffodils
And I swallowed the melody of birds
The greenery of the leaves
I pulled within myself the radiant sun, the quiescent moon
And took in me the happy spring

The mixture thus churned in me.
But…
But began to spread in my veins
Like the poison of the serpent
And so I swelled, and swelled and swelled
And bursted
And I died.

My soul was taken and placed at the feet of Divine Mother
But She forbade me ‘moksha’
My thirst was not quenched
My soul was still restless.

So I came back
In a new form

This time,
I seized in the infinite expanse of cosmos
The irreversibility of time
The triumphant waves of the ocean
And I pulled in the speed of the wind
And I grabbed in the forces that control nature

The mixture thus churned in me
But again spread like vermin
I swelled, and swelled and swelled
And bursetd
And I died.

Yet again I tried to take solace at Her feet
And yet again she sent me back.

This time I thought,
Lets’ take what I never took before
And so,
I borrowed the tears
I pulled in me the agonizing wails, the banishing howls
I took in me the dead, decayed, decomposed
I swallowed the dirt, disability and helplessness

And the mixture churned in me
And it began to flow through my veins
This time healing every part it touched
I started feeling as I never felt before
I swelled this time in eternal bliss
And swelled, and swelled, and swelled
And bursted
And I died.

Only this time to never return again.

Shadow of Night

The crows caw trying to awken darkness
The lake stands still afraid to break the moon's reflection
The owls search prey and bats screech
The artificial lights smuggle glory
The press prints unending story
The depressed are crying
The rest are dreaming

The world is loudly quiet
The dip of tap is limpid
The terror of the ghosts is placid
The burdened eyes hate dismal slumber
The stars dance to a windy number

The hollowness of space....a tireless charmer
The cumbered earth and her lonely harbour
The poet who knows not to write
The collocation of words...her only might

Is it the black...or absence of colour?
Or a blindsight that hardens at rear
She may not see but provides a sight
Yes there does exist...shadow of night!!

Leap

The last sigh,
Of an intricate mind.
The last sound,
Of a deaf voice.
The last breath,
Of a broken heart.
The last equation,
Of an alzeimered brain.
The last flight,
Of a tarnished wing.
The last touch,
Of a lepered hand.
All propel another realm
Of some things which begin
Where many others end.

खोज

बहुत दूर से चले आ रहे थे,

अब लगा की लौट जाए

पर जब पीछे मुड़कर देखा तो जाना

की आशियाने के लिए

हम जन्नत छोड़ आए...

बहुत कुछ पाने की तमन्नामे

हमने बहुत कुछ खो दिया

जो सपना पहले आखोंमे झिलमिलाता था

अब तेज़ रौशनी बनकर चुभने लगा

लगा जैसे सपने सच करने के लिए

हमने हकीकत से रिश्ता तोड़ दिया

जन्नत की तरफ़ चल रहे थे

न जाने कैसे जहन्नुम का रास्ता चुन लिया?

बस इतना-सा ख्वाब कहते,

इतना बड़ा कैसे हुआ?

और ये मन भी?...

एक पाने के बाद, दूसरा क्यों चाहने लगा?

आगे की चिंतामे

हमने कल को भुला दिया

सम्पूर्णता की खोज्मे

शून्यता को खो दिया......

Daughter of the Streets

She stands at the same place
Plain faced, bright-eyed innocence
Arms always forwarded----alms whatelse?
Yet there is no lust in those eyes
"What am I asking for?"
Consequences? All unknown!

She tosses her hair
Like any actress
But here the face is not painted; neither masked.

There are abrasions,
She has to endure.
A flipped coin and she skips
But before she can smile-
her hands are emptied.
Her stature repoised.

There are dreams, but blurred.
There is no language in her mind
No sympathy. neither apathy,
So emotionless...yet so alive.

"Childhood is a bliss", they say
She stretches the same journey
For her womanhood will be exploited.
Daughter of street that she is, will only produce her likes.