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कहानी

नई दुनिया

एक दुनिया है हमारी

नहीं यूटोपिया नहीं

क्योंकि साक्षात है

रियल है

कई बीघा तक

ज़मीन का फैलाव

खेत, खलिहान

पर्वत, झरना

बादल, सूरज, चाँद

हमारी दुनिया में लेकिन

कोई रास्ता नहीं

पगडण्डी नहीं

किसी वाक्य कि

मात्र कि, नुख्ते कि

लेकिन हम वहां

खो नहीं सकते

जब पथ नहीं

तो भ्रष्ट भी हो नहीं सकते

हम वहीं पर मिलते हैं

बरसातों में

भीगते हैं संग हमारे

शब्द भाव

बह जाते हैं

समां जाते हैं

कहीं दलदल, कीचड़ नहीं करते

यह दुनिया सच्ची है

कसम से!

मन करता है

सबको बुलाॐ

इसमें भागीदार बनाॐ

लेकिन मेरी ये अदभुत

दुनिया

सार्वजनिक नहीं.

SHOES

Splashing through the rice fields Sonu was running back home. His shoes were choked with mud but he didn’t seem to care any more.

Sonu was eleven. His father, a farmer, took deep pride in sending his kids to school but it burnt a hole through his pocket. Mother drew the monthly budget in advance and needs were met as per priorities she set.

Sonu had been waiting for new shoes. The old ones were frayed with wide lace holes, withered sole and were discoloured. But it was going to end. His shoes were on the shopping list.

All was quiet at home.

“Where is father? Aren’t we going today?”

Sonu rushed to the kitchen where mother was grinding coriander.

“Aren’t we going today?” He blurted. But mother did not lift eyes from the grinder “we’ll see…” Sonu’s face fell, he might have to wait for another week. Sonu saw mother smiling and rushed out angrily. Being a boy he was not supposed to be bothered about this stuff… the looks and clothes… it is what his sisters thought of and he laughed at, but today everything was different.

As the family moved down the village lanes, Sonu kept pace with father. His brother trailed behind grumpily, it was not his turn this month.

As they reached the haat, the girls went with mother, the boys with father. They stopped before a seller who had shoes on display. That pair! Sky-blue stripes tapering at the end, blue laces, cushions, blue sole, sparkling white base. He often dreamt of owning something like that but they never bought expensive ones like those, settling for less flashy ones.

The seller noticed and handed the pair to his father, emphasising what a good buy they were.

Soon, Sonu was trying out the pair. He didn’t realize when they bargained and paid.

When he came out of the haat, Sonu had the new shoes on, the old ones rested in a box. He was numb to everything except the soft feel at his feet.

On way back, Sonu was alone. With his new shoes on he wanted to stamp his way through every puddle. But how could he be so callous? His friends had not yet seen the shoes and they already seemed to have lost their sheen.

He sat under a tree and unlaced his shoes regretting his mindless treatment of them.

He wiped the dirt off the sole with the end of his shirt. When the work was done he put his old shoes on and packed the new pair in the box.

Now, he splashed through the puddles, ran after the ducks, around the community pond and up his favorite tree.

A teeming number of dragonflies sat on the grass where the fields ended. He caught one by the wings, slid a thread through its body and left it to fly, while the other end of the thread was still in his hand.

He would show the boys his new shoes. They would gasp with wonder; they would beg him to let them try.

The village came in sight, it was time to wear the new shoes.

But where were his new shoes?

Under that tree by the puddle! He shot back.

Past the community pond, the ducks called out to their young playmate but he was in a tearing hurry.

Sweat trickled down his forehead and a film of tears cast over his eyes.

“Ill find them there! Ill find them there!”

Past the swarm of insects, the puddles and reached the place.

They should be here - he muttered on and on as he stormed the place.

He tore the tall weeds away, went round and round and round the tree.

He could have dug the earth had he left any energy. He slumped under the tree.

Still hoping that they were somewhere here

They were gone. He did not know what to do; too many thoughts came at him in one instance. He did not even know what to think.

We could have helped him with some philosophy-that life has a bewildering sense of hum our and a painful manner of teaching the living her ways. But it would have been of little consequence to him.

As the sun began to set that forlorn figure made its way back home. His clothes were choked with mud, his shoes were worn and old.

BUS RIDE

Am nearing the bus stop …three of them giant and stately... the busses I mean… not stately… but old and tragic like ‘stateliness’.

Oh its moving… run… stop… gone! What rubbish..first thing in the morning miss bus to office!

Now wait. How long? Don’t know the frequency, should just stand here under the tree.

Maybe not. The first day at office, I waited for Manisha under the tree, and a bird sent down its golden thing on my shoulder. Manisha kept assuring me that it brings good luck… didn’t contest her. Drop in a smile at such occasions… like spreading a carpet over portholes. But a person has to stand somewhere… under the tree or under the sun …actually one can stand under the shade as well.

But maybe I don’t want to.

Why am I pecking at my nails?

Now what’s this man looking at? He’s staring at my bitten fingers. He’s saying something… about the next bus?… Don’t know sir.

The woman sitting there is looking up, says it will go in sometime. She is muttering something again…the man nods at her and looks at me I am expected to nod too, I do it. Its too hot and everyone is too dull to understand. But we take consolation in company.

Why…am …I…eating…my… nails.

Stop it. Huh!

The man is staring at my fingers again.

Ok the bus is moving, yes… am on… first no second seat by the window. This one’s not reserved for women; I should shift to the one that is. But why should I? am neither pregnant nor old.

Ok the bus has started. Bye!!

Gust of hot air hits my face. A tinted world opens up through my sunglasses. A blue-brown world devoid of the dazzling, the sun and the heroes. Living like a toy drummers. Its been this way since tragedy died. She who was forever pregnant with values is no more. So meaninglessness nibbles away souls quietly turning us into toy drummers.

Leave your fingers aside Pooja!

Have we only reached Munirka??

The bus is crowded. My shoulder’s hurting… this man sitting next is putting all his weight on me.

Idiot… why did you have to sit here… couldn’t you have taken the woman’s seat?

Should I tell him to shift? It will create a scene. ‘These days girls think no end to themselves.’ OK Ill shift a little. The bastard! He’s sticking his thighs to mine.

Speak up.

No why should I speak up?

If he can have fun why cant I?

Think… think like him, doesn’t the touch please you. Or think it pleases you.

O shut up it doesn’t! His weight on my shoulder is unbearable.

Ok wait, if you can’t enjoy it let him not enjoy it as well. Be stiff, sit still, and let him have no pleasure out of your softness.

Bullshit... excuse me, will you stop putting your weight on me and will you please shift that side?

That’s done.

He’s a dreadful guy.

People are smiling.

What a sea of humanity. At one go you are everyone and at the one you are no one.

Is this to which I must contribute? This mess? Don’t know if I want to be a party.

These multiple voices in my head! One says I can never be a mother. That I might father i.e. provide for the resources but I cannot mother i.e. give a system to live in because so lost in the echoes I don’t have a system myself.

The truth is out and the journey’s up.

STREET SAYS

Wound my way through remains of old cities

Through Dickensian London, down Eliot’s wastelands

Twisting now through Delhi and Bombay.

One timeless eye trails through,

Sits by me, and conjures

The time playing on my two sides.

I see the specter of life around.

Curious, are the dreams they sell

Painful, the innocence they sold.

Much has changed,

Since the revolutions blossomed in my alleys

To the cars stuffed in my mouth today.

Of little houses turning into shops

And of little shops brought down

Few have known the losses I suffered.

And when people are out to play, those are the days,

When rackets and cricket bats spin the lanes,

Few though.

On the rest I limp with kids rushing for classes,

Blush with girls under the glare of toweled men in balconies

Skip my rickety days to spicy music from cigarette shops.

Hush the heavy tread of women available for the night.

On the rest I live with people wanting to move out,

Live with voices mumbling, screaming,

‘Money! Money more than ever’

Sing to the eye that dreams up dead days,

Of the spices in my breath,

Of the marriages in my cleavage

Of the fun we had then.

NAME GAME

Let us play

One little game

In that let us give

Everything a name.

A name for every thought,

Every strain of human heart

For each emotion that heaves.

and the slightest flicker of genius.

Let us give a name

To every drop of tear.

A name for every pain

For every little fear.

A simple signifier for all.

To a world thus labeled

Shall everyone belong.

A life so well defined

With everything within the

reach of mind.

No anxiety of acceptance.

Each as powerful as another.

and what with the drudgery

of our present lives,

forever attempting, to identify

to belong to the identified.

That world so free

of this anguish

for that world let us play

This name game.

( I do not know whether it is right to have a logocentric language. Would it be a better world if we could talk of everything? Where words would never fail? I try to dream of a life where everything has a name. But would the internal biases of the language go even then? Isn’t all the world struggling to belong to a dominant language ?)

MONSOON’S WEDDING

The apparitions of dusk

Lend Her the bridal charms

Scarlet robes, velvet hair

Her gathering darkness

growing darker still

Shy…She wraps

Her arms around you.

Her embrace is the

sip of Lithe

In Her gusts

She sends afloat

Wild messages of love

The twinkling in Her

Expanse is all you can see.

Then on She is

Twinkling no more

She dazzles sparkles

rains down on you.

The magic is complete

She the bride making love

You the groom awestruck

Paralyzed all night

In Her downpour

Whimsical, bashful

Slowly then…

Draws Her tresses apart

The light from Her face

Soft and warm morning

She is the mother now

Indulgent …loving

Growing brighter

Stronger still…Larger

And now, decked with oppressive colours

Sickening opulence, decaying surfeit

Jarring senses, ravishing Herself

The voluptuous whore

Degrees by degrees

She mellows down again

She sits again as yesterday

In Her blushing charm

And for several thousand years now

She sits a virgin

Trapping the naïve heart

In the yarn of Her season.

MONSOON’S BETRAYAL

Down she descended

To the darkened shore

Of Bombay: and never

Had I seen her so,

When loving her colours

Or living her moods:

Never that face so

With evil clouded

Never that spirit so

With caprice depraved.

She washed my life

Once, with love, clean of

Tropical dust and heat

She hurls down

Vengeance today.

With a drugged gait

Her spoils surveying

At first it seemed

With scorn viewing

Human death and decay.

But in her face, too strong

To hide, sorrow and dismay.

Floods welled up,

I could see, around

The banks of her eyes.

I must slip away

But she knows.

A look piercing through

My back way to where

The heart used to be.

Winds fury about her,

Waves lash behind.

I was scared

You can bet.

I knew she could

Not understand.

But over her furies

I screamed polite

“I must move ahead…

he bound me to shores unseen.”

Her, I did worship

Once, for her scented aura

did yearn…

but condemned forever

to the tether of time

I will be carried away…ahead

“Where will you go next?”

it was her,

“dead to your own degeneration?”

“I shall raze it all …

Your rheumatic construction.

Filthy flies to my expanse: ha!

Squash them that’s what I shall do.”

My once beloved,

Malicious and murderous.

My ashamed silence

Angering her even more.

I must let her know

‘I have grown too strong

My love, too big for

Your embrace and scorn.

My millions will build anew and better

Will proof themselves of you.’

‘should have spared her that part.

‘Betrayer…betrayer’

She laughed and lashed

‘Betrayer …betrayer’

Hurled her bulk this way and that

‘Betrayer …betrayer’

dissolved into

A weeping drizzle:

Incessant sobs, on and on

For weeks on end.

Of the days of

Our young love

That strength is left

No more in her.

She bleeds I know

But knowledge is nothing.

Once again I watch her

Once again she sits

Her lissome hues

To lure me still

She yearns still…still unlearnt

While my ship drifts to shores unseen.

LESSON

For years i was

branding pages

with ink,

before i finally

learnt,

how to fill a page…

That drawing-sheet

looked blank

to me, till…

a chewed pencil

in tiny hands

pointed out

the apple

sitting in

a corner…

tiny and

disfigured

How could

i

have missed...?

really, it

filled

the entire page.

I DON’T LIKE FLOWERS

Seven times they go ‘round the fire,

Seven times people pelt them with

petty prayers and pretty flowers,

blossoms and blessings.

Wilting even as they reach

The dreaming duo.

OM SWAHAA!!

For hours he exhorts upon them,

The wonders he can do.

For hours he is drenched in

The intermittent hail of

Violated faith and wilted flowers,

Expectations, efflorescence.

Failing even as they rise up to the

Towering leader.

VANDE MATRAM!!

Several hundred lines of evening recitals

He chants to cymbals and bells.

Mechanical pauses eliciting offerings, of

Bargaining prayers and blossoming decay

Pleadings, petals.

Mute even as they drown, the

Priest, the master and

Their eternal cacophony.

GERM

My Teacher danced

The dance of my life.

With Him I tried to dance at first

But with His steps

The earth so shook.

For Him I tried

then to sing,

but with His roar,

the world trembled.

Him I tried

To admire then,

but with all His

light my sight was blinded.

With folded hands,

I try now to worship,

but the confusion of His dance,

disjoints my thoughts.

The blood on His feet,

The death in His hands,

The destruction He feeds,

Drowns devotion.

This dance of life

If I were left to dance…

A dance of my own,

With beauty and rhythm,

With grace and dignity,

Would I not reject

This gross divinity?

CONCLUSIONS AND CONTINUITIES

Allow my mind

Some limitations

Grant it please

Certain conclusions

And rest shall be ok.

Tell him please

There is a truth

And tell him then

What it is

And rest shall be ok

Everything down

In binary codes

There or not there

Let us then banish

The in-between.

Either present

or absent

black or white

devil or God

not human please.

Yet all meaning

Like the mortal falls

And killing continuities on

Lovely certain takes a toll.

Lay down please

the rules of the game

so one who plays by them

shall win.

Static beauty static life

Let us all be this

And let it conclude at that

But The curse

shall never let that be

and drag our little minds

to walk the dots…

dots getting smaller still.

BEING GOD

Born to one

But I want to live

a thousand lives.

Owner of one

But I want to bank

A million I’s.

Today I could be

A fierce virago.

Tomorrow

A Sacrificing widow.

Maybe then

A lovely maiden

Having played

A wrinkled nun.

Let me live them all

All in one,

In one little life.

What else would

God be like?

Living a thousand lives…

Would he not be just

Another actor?

An actor like

us all?

A talented actor

Maybe.

A heart for all?

With compelling need

To know us all?

What else would God Be?

Than a mere actor?

A NATION’S ANTHEM

i must forever Hide
Hide my body
Its curves.
Hide my spirit
It’s music.
Hide my dreams
Their colour.

“Hide it all…”
They say,
“Hide your blush
Your smiles
Your stains…”
“Hide it all child!”
They told me once,
“It’s filth beneath
Keep it out of sight
Just shove it away1”
‘Uphold the values’
‘Obey the norms’

So i must…
Bear the cross
Of being
The Good Girl
So i must…
Bury love
Stifle passion
Burn desire
i must be kneaded out of shape
if i am a sphere
i must fit them, the Triangle

Cheers Society!!
Cheers Tradition!!
For them i drown
Own voice
i confound
Own words
i forever hide
The dirty truth

Of being… a… woman…. shhhh!!!!