Unsaid Words (Ankahe Shabd)

The burden of unsaid words is as heavy as the unreciprocated ones.

Today, we wish:

That Websites sold Dreams. May be we could log on to Dreambay.com and bid for some. Dreambay would sell suitable Dreams for all purposes and prices. Affordable prices. So that when life is pallid, we would shop rebated Dreams on Dreambay.

( If you dislike the idea, the blame is mine. But if you like it, the credit is to bridalbeer and her this post )

Today, we like:

Women's boots. leather boots. velvet boots. pointed boots. thick heeled. high heeled. chappals. sublime grey boots. robust brown. neat black. flat-soled. kids-blue. sixteen-pinks. We like them all today. Men's boot are boring. Monotonous sport shoes. Women's are varied and beautiful. Selected tastefully. Worn with pride and passion. Today we like Women's boots.

Stuck Poet

"Jahan na pahunche Ravi, Wahan Pahunche Kavi"
The Poet reaches where the sun does not, said a Hindi Poet
Yet, when the land of relationships is barren, old burnt, existing stale, and incapable of new, the Poet gets Stuck. In a black-hole. In gravity.
How we wish there were a God, an Angel, who would dispel the darkness, with the swish of a wand.
Alas, they are only a necessary fantasy.
But then, even a Black-hole doesn't last forever. So there's Hope, that light will emerge from the Black-hole
Until then we let the Poet lie fallow.

Downhill-FullSpeed

In life, Going DownHill can be fun sometimes. For example, like a KamiKazi, going downhill on a snowboard, full-speed, crashing hard and fast, only to get up everytime, for another descent. So went this blogger, on the bunny-green slopes at BreckAndRidge Resort in the Mountains of Colorado (Yeah, along with five year olds who were certainly doing better than him. One umpteenth fall this blogger fell on face, at the feet of a five year old. The little girl asked "Are you OK ?". Blogger: DumbStruck Grin. Thanks heaven, God made compassionate children).

Aside, The resigned helplessness that descends upon you, when the body has been battered with falls on butt and on face, is another fun experience. After a certain fall, this blogger laid face upwards on the slope surrounded by the alpines; watching the wind whistle snow away from the mountains. And up in Sky, thin unshapely clouds sailed swiftly by her side.

(Reader Discretion Advised on this Post. If snowboarding for the first time, please take training lessons, and begin on bunny slopes as I did)

Freedom Fighter

Jinki Tasveerain Ab sirf kitabon main baki hain. Aur jinki Awaz 15 august ke loud speaker ke tale dab gaayi hai. Unki Yaad Main.

EKLA CHALO

Walk alone.

If they answer not to thy call, walk alone;

If they are afraid and cower mutely facing the wall,

Open thy mind and speak out alone.

If they turn away and desert you when crossing the wilderness,

Trample the thorns under thy tread,

And along the blood-lined track travel alone.

If they do not hold up the light when the night is troubled with storm,

With the thunder-flame of pain ignite thine own heart,

And let it burn alone.

RabindraNath Tagore

(This post was inspired by Bose-The Forgotten Hero, Music A R Rahman, Director: Shyam Benegal )

Prinpical, Profit and Interest

Life is the Principal we borrow, Pain is the Interest we Pay, Joy the Profit we earn. It So seems to me, that Interest is always high and the Profit always low, howsoever judiciously the Principal be invested. Yet Bound by the laws(of nature), never do we default on interest, always hoping if the profit were more, all whilst clinging dearly to the Principal

I hope one day my debt will be forgiven.

Aside, I never knew Assalam alaykum meant "Peace be Unto You".

Assalam Alaykum My Friend.

Untitled

Uncertain Sky thunders today, as if to set the Sun with it's arrogant might.
The Sun will set, but not before it has colored every cloud in this Sky, in it's light.

Bachpan

"Beta Saanjh ho Chali hai, itna hi Khel kafi hai"
"Bus maan, thori der aur", balak itna kah phir
khel main magan ho jaata hai.

"Beta Diya-Batti ka samay ho gaaya hai, itna hi
Khel kafi hai"
"Bus maan, thori der aur", balak andhere main
khoi gaind dhoodhne main vyast hai

"Accha pahle bhagwan ke hath jod, phir thori
der aur khel le"
Beta bhag kar aata hai, jaldi se hath jod kar
phir aangan main chala jaata hai.

Maan ab bahar aa gaayi hai, ab khel band nahin
kiya toh pitai hogi.
"Bus, do minute aur maan, do minute aur,
Bus do minute aur" kahkar shaitan muskarata hai,
minnat karta hai

Maan ab nahin sunegi, khel ab khatm, Kal phir naya
khel hoga.

Hope

"Everyone hopes for something" Once a man asked "What do you hope for ?"
"I hope to get rid of my hopes" said I
The man laughed "You are insane"
"Who is not" said I
"How can one live without hope" said the man, with squinted brows
"One cannot" said I
"So you want to die"
"No. I want to live without hope"
"You are insane"
"Yes, you are, totally insane"
"INSANE YOU ARE"

Sunrise Mountains Tea and Happiness

6'o'clock. Wakeup, peek outside the window. No colors yet; horizon is cloudy, hope for colors, guess there will be colors. Brush Teeth, examine tooth-decay. Contemplate about going to a dentist, conclude teeth aren't bad, drop the idea. To the kitchen, Look West. The Flatirons peak is glowing red. Run to the bedroom window. Look East. Bride Red color with folds of clouds. Look West. Can barely See the mountains. Some Birds are awake now. Listen to them for a while. Back to the big glass window in the hall. The color is slowly flowing down the peaks. Put tea in microwave. In a while the mountains will be all glowing red. Tea is ready. The mountains are entirely clothed in red now; clouded-murky sky in the background. Good contrast. Uplifting scenery. Red Clad Sadhu. Bride wearing Red. Momentary Colors. Tea and colors dissappear quickly; thoughts continue. Happiness is like this. With every sip, the color diminishes. And it dissappears quickly, over before you even know. And then only the taste remains. It's all blue now. The murky blue reigns. Some snow still on the mountains. Thus begins another cloudy day.

Dad and Daughter

Every morning they wait for the 205 bus at 28th and Iris. Dad and Daughter. Together, along with his bicycle. She is about six and he must be in his early thirties. They don't talk much. Usually they are dressed in blue. Dad in blue jacket and jeans. Daughter in a blue coat with light brown fur. He always waits (holding his bike) until the bus comes, daughter gets in, and bus is out of sight.

Today he must have had some work, he left on the bike as soon as the bus left. Bus crawled ahead, bike gained speed, away from each other. He turned back to look at the bus. Once, twice and again, balancing awkwardly on his bike, he kept turning back. Daughter didn't see him, seated from where she was.

And he kept turning back until the bus was out of sight.

Buried Deep

Old building. Dilapidated. Broken pillars, half-standing walls. An unprotected well somewhere inside, with creepers surrounding its darkness. Love once bloomed in this building's garden. Now weeds are on a rampage. So many stories are buried here, waiting.

Waiting that someday someone will unearth them.
Someone will listen for the long dead, someone will read the writings on the walls. Someday someone will dig deep.

Until then, there is lifeless peace.

Sundry Romances

Those inconsequential moments, when the eye-meets-an-eye or a mutual presence is felt. Sometimes they terminate abruptly, sometimes they fade in time.

Like a middle-way monk (madhyamargi), we don't crave for them, but we are not averse to enjoying them, as and when the Sundry Romances present themselves.

But then, we must be careful; Sundry Romances deceptively contribute to false ego. Other than that, no harm in enjoying a flower or a fall-leaf.

Why write ?

Early morning, gulls in boulder are already up. Gliding lazily, they swoop down once in a while, to gather food crumbs. Some are busy manoeuvering in the morning breeze.

Oh such a lovely day today. The little sparrow begins practicing her flight lessons. She flits back and forth to a few trees, rests for a while, pecks at something and lesson time again.

As the eagle soars high in the colorado noon-sky, I follow it's ascent. Slowly, steadily, with each flap it rises, higher and higher. There is a strong current from the mountains. Now the eagle is mighty high, wading peacefully in the current.

The evening is already sleepy. The geese are returning to the sun in a victory formation. They have flown long and wide today.

Night has set in, the stars are out playing poetry, and I am still wondering why birds fly ?

traveller

Chourahe par aaya Raahgir anjaani raah pakad chala. Logon ne rok kar poocha "Bhai kuch pata bhi hai kahan ja rahe ho ?" Raahgir ne kuch na kaha, muskaaraya, aur phir se chal pada. Manzil ki talash use nahin, poochne waloon ko thi.

The traveller at the crossroads took an unknown road. Some people stopped the traveller and asked "Man, do you even know where you are headed ?". Traveller, said nothing, smiled and moved on. Destination was on the minds of the others, not the traveller.

fragrance

I am on my way to work. Morning sun greets me.
There is quite some activity amongst the leafless trees. The birds are chirping loudly, as if to wake up the trees, from a long sleep. There is a certain freshness in the air.
A sudden fragrance hits my nose; Familiar. A ride on the wings of memory, back to a home far away in Ujjain, India, where it's early morning. I enter the kitchen, mother is preparing breakfast. She has opened one of the four windows to let the morning air in.
Rest of the windows remain closed; to maintain a certain privacy.
"Maa, dekho Dargaah se kitni acchi khusboo aa rahi hai".
Mother see, such a good fragrance comes from the Dargaah (A fakir is buried here).
"Haan, Kabhi kabhi aati hai. Tu yahan baith kar padh".
"Yes, Sometimes it comes. You sit here and study".
Mother becomes busy again in the kitchen; in a while we will have poha and chai.
I look outside, brown and green trees fill my vision; not far away is the Dargaah, surrounded in greenery.
Bound. Back. The Bound has come. It will take me to the Bolt stop. Bound, Bolt, Jump, Skip, Hop are bus names here.
I take a deep breath, and step in.

living

It is difficult. It is difficult to live as if there was no tomorrow. Or no next. It is equally difficult to live as there was no yesterday. No past. Such are the tastebuds of mind. Sweet and sour and spicy thoughts, it likes them all.

Aside, I eagerly await the spring flowers that will bloom in boulder; the tulips, the wild flowers, the cherry blossoms and the roses.

I long for the buzz of the spring, when bees and birds will be busy alike, the trees and grass will be green again, and together, the stream and I, will hum a song of joy.