Sunday Mornings

A man drowned in the mountains,
Buckled under life’s constant warnings.
I heard he kept the boy alive,
In search of sunday mornings.



गुमनाम से ईटों वाला स्टेशन

वो गुमनाम से ईटों वाला स्टेशन याद है?
जहाँ दौड़ के पापा मिल्टन में पानी भर लाया करते थे
थोड़े बड़े हुए तो हम भी उतरा करते थे
एक हाथ गेट की हैंडल पे रख के
और दोनों कान ट्रैन के सिग्नल पे रख कर।

वो अकेला सा गुलमोहर याद है?
छाओं न सही, रंग तो भर ही देता था
उस अंधी धुप में खड़ा हुआ सबको ताकता सा
उससे वो गर्मियों की छुट्टियों की महक
अभी भी आती तो होगी झुलसती दोपहरों में।


मकड़ी का जाला











मकड़ी का एक जाला
लटका हुआ सा दिखा 
उसमे अटकी हुई एक ज़िन्दगी भी  
और दिखी भूख 
जीने की 
दोनों तरफ
आज फिर एक जाला देखा
लटका हुआ खुद को पाया 
और तुम मिले वहीँ नज़दीक 
ज़ाले में लिपटे हुए डरे
हमने भी डर कर थमा दिया 
एक टूटा पंख उम्मीदों का   
और फिर साल गुज़रा 
अब भी वो मकड़ी का जाला 
सालों से अब तो 
लटक रहा है छज्जे से 
और हम लटके हैं 
लिपटे अपने जालों में 
लिपटाये उन जालों को 
सांस दबा के बैठे हैं 
आज मिला एक लटका जाला

















तुम धूप हो
कभी ओस की बूँद पे चमकती हुई
कभी मरीचिका
गर्मियों के जलते दोपहर में
रास्तों को और लम्बा करती हुई
जला मैं भी
कभी होली के पापड़ की तरह
और कभी भुना मिला
भुट्टे की कालिख जैसे
सर्दिओं की दोपहरों में
अमरुद और संतरों के बीच
अपना बीज़ गिरा
मैं सूखा, पनपा
तुम्हारी तरफ पलटा
मेरा ठंडा बदन
सुकून सेकने
फिर भागा मैं
जलते लू से
वापस उसी अंधे कुएं में
जिससे निकला था
तुम्हे लपेटने को
अपने अंदर बाहर
अँधेरा बुरा सही
पर एक जानी पहचानी परछाई है
पर तुम
तुम्हे क्या कहूँ?
क्यूंकि तुम तो धूप हो।

Hope, is for the weaker kind.

What will you give me
That i dont already have
In the crevices of daydreams
Stuck on the edges of my heart

What will you show me
That my mind hasnt already seen
No the salty havent washed them away
I only see them more frequently now

Where will you fit another challenge
That hasnt already given me a medal
Maybe some are black & blue
But i look at them everyday with pride

How will you bend me out of shape
There is no more room to dent
It’s the fire in my belly, you see
Makes my shape amber

When will you show me a new way
I’m everywhere you ever went
Im not lost, dont confuse yourself
I am already on the way to me

What is there but for me to rejoice
The planet that lives my soul
I am the god of my own journey
And i own every path that leads to it



Most of the exciting stories in my life begins with ‘when I was a kid’, and justifiably so. Nostalgia is a powerful emotion, add to it a bit of genuine innocent curiosity, and what you have is a heady mix of a drug called childhood. Though my kinder years were not silver-laced to say the least, I somehow found some beautiful corners, within me. Through sun-soaked afternoons in a small town, through volumes of books and inspiration from the boob tube. Yes, mine were the happy days. Because happiness came from within me, I didn’t need people or material things to make myself happy. Just some white paper, a 6B graphite pencil, and some comic books did the trick. Rest was taken care of by the fact that there was nothing to distract me, no TV at all times, no computers, no gadgets and definitely no social media. My social life started at school, paused in the afternoon, and started back at the playground around the evening. In between, there was just me hunched over the latest edition of Reader’s Digest. We all did something to keep us busy back then, some slept, some read and others scratched their heads trying to invent a water heater with nothing more than some chicken wire, a metal blade and a slab of wood. There was no alcohol, no weed or the Internet. My friends knew ‘How I was feeling’, not based on a status message shared to the world as a plea of help, but by who answered the landline when they called. Our blogs were mental notes; maybe that is why we still remember so much of it, even after this long. Or maybe, because we had enough mind-space to spare for things around us, we could hold the attention when someone was telling us long irrelevant details of the day. There was an opportunity to spend time with yourself, which we don’t anymore. Now we just have too many things to distract us from ourselves. Maybe it is our inherent desire to be in denial, or stay on the surface, but whatever the reasons be, we are rolling with it.

We don’t seem to peep over our walls anymore. We sit, and we let the walls around us grow higher, making us inapproachable. We have found solace in anonymity. Don’t get me wrong, I am all for personal space and individual choices. But that is not the reason. It’s not that we have grown more self-aware, or have asked more questions. We have simply turned down the blinds, and closed ourselves up.