maykhana

har shaam peena yahan
agar jaam nahi
toh jeena kahan

(playing with words)

one evening

we sat by the creek
me and my heart
the flowing water reflected the evening light
and we followed the flow
me and my heart

some kids came and played
in a gentle wind the trees swayed
new shoots on old barks
their leaves were tender green

water overflowed the banks
and fell making a fall
we watched it make the ripples
me and my heart

baatein

jo tere labzon main nahi
woh tere chehre ne kahi

andekha

us hansi ke piche
sagar se gahra dard chupa hai

apnapan

apno ki kuch baaton ko
humne nazarandaz kiya
jo baat ko pakdenge
toh apne apne kahan rahenge

akaran

hi aankh bhar aayi
humne toh kuch socha bhi na tha

bahalana

har tamanna apne anjam mile yeh jaroori toh nahi
tamanna zindagi se hai zindagi tamanna se nahi

tasveer

dhalti shaam ne aaj phir
aasman rang diya hai
tere chehre par

A Simple life

What is a simple life? Is it where you go about your daily work with an ease of manner. Where you spend time with your friends and family, daily. Where you are not burning yourself to climb the ladder, where you have the time to enjoy the shade of a tree in the summer afternoon. Where you have the time to sit with a stranger, or take a stroll at the sunset. Where you can spare a dime for the needy, a kind word for the unfortunate, maybe a helping hand for the stumbling. Is it all that and more? It sounds like a retired man's life, really.

Jaded

You've tried everything in your capability. Done everything you could possibly. And then you dont get it; it doesn't hit you that moment. It hits you later one day, and you feel lost. Totally. And on top of that, you get advice. Do this, try that, this is what you should have done, this is what you need to work upon, this is how you get there, blah. The absurd thing is that the person advising you is trying to help you, but it worsens the situation. Then there is self-doubt, loss of self-esteem, loss of motivation. And you dont know what to do. As time passes by you heal up, gather yourself and struggle again. Only to find yourself going through the same scene, same act, same result. It's just that the other actors have changed. Then you give up the fight. That's when you are jaded.

Phark

haath ki lakeeron aur samandar ki lahron main yahi phark hai
ek badalti nahi, dusri thaharti nahi

dost

is daman main woh dua nahi
jo tere sar lag sake

jindagi

tu ohjal na ho jaye kahin
is dar se palken nahi jhapkeen

Passing

It is a pretty night tonight. The drive back to boulder, I saw white clouds spread across in the distance, spread as if a painter had taken a brush and smudged the sky white and grey and black. There, on one mountain was a really white cloud, the dark underneath and white made a good scene to the eye. It has rained in the evening and there were puddles of water on the apartment complex road. The trees washed in rain seem to shine more brightly in the streetlight; the streetlight continues to burn as the night passes. Soon it will be dawn, the birds will awake, and life will move.

He was probably sixty or more. We used to call him Baba, the name we had picked up the first time we had tea at his stall in second year. His stall was favorite morning and evening haunt for the students. We used to get a cut for two rupees and full for four. Evening, generally my roomie or some friend and I would go hang out there, read newspaper, or discuss. Baba was tall, long faced. He had a flowy white beard, mustache and still had hair on his head. He would normally wear grey full sleeves with shoulder straps, like the armymen. He would always hand out glasses and I thought he wouldn't know who had taken how many. It a was trust based system, I think. He wouldn't talk much, but he was very lively, animated. Sometimes we would get to watch him make tea from scratch, if we had reached early. He would have rolled his sleeves, would throw stuff in his big vessel; soon his arms and forehead would be filled with sweat and he would be making noises. "BRRroooommm". In joy or to entertain his audience, I dont know. Maybe both.

For three years, I must have gone to this place every evening, sat under that huge tree next to this stall while traffic passed by or stood in some other corner, talked with people, argued, listened, laughed. I have forgotten all of that, and it is not a memory which has remained significant. I don't recollect any incidences which happened there barring one, to my surprise. What I can visualize is the evening color, the tall full grown tree and it's roots seen outside the earth, Baba in his grey, making and serving tea, fumes rising from the tea and faces of my friends, people I knew in that time. I can almost see the scene, I just cant go there. It is past.