Zindagi Choclate hain!

गर्मियों की आलसी धुप में लेटे कुछ पल  अचानक मेरे दरवाज़े पर दस्तक दे गए ... मैंने जब दरवाज़ा खोला तो वोह मेरे आंगन में यादों के कुछ पुराने पिटारे छोड़ गए थे .... मैंने नीले आसमा की तरफ देखा तो दो तीन सफ़ेद से बादल यूही आवारा लडको की तरह घूम रहे थे . मुझे ऐसे लगा जैसे उनमें से एक मेरी ओर देखकर मुस्कुरा रहा था ... मैं भी पलटकर कर मुस्कुराया ... सच कहू तो अजीब भी लगा और अच्छा भी ... मैंने चौककर अपने आस पास देखा ... किसी ने मुझे मुस्कुराते तो नहीं ना देखा ... उस वक़्त आँगन के आम के पेड़ और गेंदे के फूलके पौधे के अलावा वहां कोई नहीं था ...  मैं उन पिटारो को अन्दर ले आया , कुछ तो एकदम नए से लग रहे थे और कुछ पर धुल सी जमी थी . कुछ थोड़े बड़े थे और कुछ छोटे से ... मैंने एक पिटारे से धूल हटाई और धीरे से उसे खोला ... अन्दर झाँक के देखा तो उस पिटारे में मेरे ही ज़िन्दगी के कुछ बिखरे पन्ने समेट कर रक्खे थे ... और मेरे बचपन की कुछ चीज़े पिटारे के कोने में सम्भाल के रक्खी हुई दिखी ... एक पेंसिल, चन्द सिक्के, एक गेंद, नानी के हाथ का बुना स्वेटर और  मेरी स्कूल का युनिफोर्म ... शायद यह पिटारा ज़िन्दगी की भाग दौड़ मैं कही गुम हो गया था . मैंने बड़ी सावधानी से उन पन्नो को पलट कर देखा तोह उनपर एक आधी लिखी नज़म थी और एक अधूरी कहानी ... वक़्त की बारिश में भीगे उन पन्नो में कुछ चेहरे भी नज़र आ रहे थे ... चेहरे जिन्हें मैं भूल चला था ... कुछ चेहरे बीते समय की निशानियाँ बन चुके थे और कुछ समय का शिकार ...  मैं रुक गया, एक अजीब सी सीलन से मेरा पूरा कमरा भर गया ... ऐसी ही सीलन नानी की दीवारों पर मैंने कई बार देखी थी ... गर्मीयो की छुट्टियों में जब बेमौसम बारिश होती थी तब नानी के घर के छत से कुछ बूंदे दीवारों पर फिसल आती और उन बेरंग दीवारों पर अपनी निशानियाँ छोड़ जाती ... कई साल मैंने उन बूंदों की आयतों  को पढ़ा हैं, मानो वोह उस घर में कभी बसनेवाली खुशियों के अफ़साने बताती वक़्त में कैद थी  ... मैंने अपनी हाथो से उस पिटारे को बंद कर दिया और कमरे की खिड़की से बहार झाँक कर देखा ... वह आवारा बादल अब नहीं थे, एक मिनट के लिए ऐसा लगा जैसे इतवार को मोहल्ले में शोर मचाते कुछ बच्चो को किसी ने गुस्सा करके भगा दिया हो ... आसमा बिलकुल खामोश था ... मैंने फिर एक पिटारे को खोल दिया ... मैं थोडासा  चौंक गया। पिटारे के अन्दर मेरे हाथ के लिखे कुछ ख़त थे , वोह ख़त जो मैंने कभी डाकघर में डाले ही नहीं ... मैं तो सोचता था की यह सारे ख़त कभी किसी के हाथ नहीं लगेंगे .. हाँ शायद मैं गलत था ... यह ख़त मेरे उन दिनों के गवाह थे जिन्हें मैं उस मोड़ से घसीटकर मीलो दूर छोड़ आया था ... मुझे डर हैं की वोह लम्हे कही उसी मोड़ पर खड़े मिले तो? मैं डर गया और पिटारा बंद कर दिया ... आज मैं पूरा दिन इन पिटारों को खोलता रहा, कुछ में से हसी के बुलबुले निकले तो कुछ मैं से खामोश ब़ेजुबा नज्मे ... अब शाम होने को हैं,  इस बात का यकीन हो रहा हैं की ज़िन्दगी चोकलेट हैं .... दो तीन बेस्वाद परतो में लिपटी ...  दिखने में काली सी ..मगर बेहद मीठी .. ज़िन्दगी चोकलेट हैं! कभी ग़म की गर्मी में पिघ जाती हैं तो कभी मुसीबतों के डीप फ्रिज में जम जाती हैं ... जिसे देखकर चेहरे पे मुस्कान छा  जाये ... दो टीन परते बेस्वाद हो भी अगर, तो कोई उसे फ़ेंक  तो नहीं देता ... नन्ही उंगलियों के गर्मिसे जब यह पिघल कर चुलबुले होटो को छूती हैं, जितना मजा खाने वालो को आता हैं, देखने वाले भी उतना ही लुफ्त उठाते हैं ... अपनी हाथ में नहीं तोह क्या हुआ, यह ज़िन्दगी चोकलेट हैं! 

Life @ 1:30 am...

It is 1:30 am and I am staring at this screen... The entire world seems to have gone quiet after creating a supernova of noise the whole day. Now what I listen is the silence of millions of working hands...As I write this blog spot, somewhere from far I can listen the passing train... Life is as still as the night that is just passing by. I want to hold it and pause the entire universe for a moment...

At this strange hour, when the night is sleepy and day is not yet around, I realize that I am me. Not a husband, not a son, not a brother, not a colleague nor a friend. I am just me. All of a sudden I feel time has come to a halt. I feel like the last survivor on this planet and maybe someday, someone will read this and realize that there was once a "me" on this earth. How else would anyone know about me? It is so calm and quiet here that I can hear my own breathing. After a long time, I can feel my own breathe. I am astonished at the rhythm it has. Not a single beat is being missed. Feels  like I am alive. I look at my hands... Hundreds of lines that determine my destiny, but not a single one that tells me about my present...This is the time when I feel that the shadows of life are longer than my age. Showing me all the memories that I left far behind. The yellow afternoon, the gray school, the green rains and the colorless rainbows that I have seen just flash in front of my eyes. I see my mother holding my hands walking down the lane to helping me to get in the school bus, I see my father returning from office at 5:30 pm on this Bajaj Cub - I see my childhood running bare feet in the lonely lanes of forgotten time. I just need a life this calm and quiet. Not a riot of so many colors and so many sounds. All I need is my orange childhood and the music of my breathing. I want to run in the open spaces and dip my self in the ice cold water, I want to scream and yell and I want a story to tell... I want to end the run and stop and look around. 

I am not sure if there is a tomorrow, I am not sure if there is a now, but I feel alive more than ever. I wish I could capture this time in a bottle and throw it far far away into the ocean. Not because I want to let the time go, but now I don't want to see it end...Because I know, tomorrow when I wake up, the air will be filled up with noise and chaos, all the stillness will be consumed in the vast ocean of people. Trees will again become lifeless and the breeze will die on the glass panels of my air conditioned office. The aroma of this night, will then be replaced with sweaty people and their puffing lungs... 

And me? I will once again put up the mask of another role and mix into the lifeless crowd...

India listens by eyes

Yes, you read it right... India Listens with Eyes...

I have always been astonished by the fact about how few critical issues fell on deaf ears. It would give me real tough thinking on why we ignore the voices of millions in pain, grief and agony. But today I have my answers. I feel like  Buddha- enlightened, aware and more importantly, relieved... A sense of freedom prevails within me. All the chaos , the conflicts have now stopped. I have my answers.

India Listens With Eyes.

It is not what you talk, how you talk, to whom you talk, where you talk or when you talk. It is who are you. In this democratic nation,where everyone has equal rights, only a few enjoy the privilege of being heard.

Someone in my city has been fighting cancer for long and has been requesting donations for undergoing a treatment that can afforded only by top 10% of the Indian population. But no one heard her. One so called cricketer "Prince" has just returned from a cancer treatment (well, his survival chances were always 100%) and now is endorsing some "nariyal tel", retail shops and "power capsules" using his cancerhood. His fans feel that he is much more stronger than Lance (with 40% of survival chances). I do not blame them. For them, he is the ONLY person on earth with cancer who has fought back (ofcourse with hell lot of money he had and all the media attention he generated). They hear with eyes. Otherwise, they would have certainly helped the family of the Greatest Indian Sportsman - Dhyanchand and not left them on streets with a life that resembles the ignorance we display for the glorious past.

It took one Amir Khan to tell people how bad are the medical facilities in our country. He even cried for it! But then what about the thousands of cases that are pending in the courts against so many doctors and hospitals?

In a country where words are bought and faces are sold, I feel dejected by the ignorance we show for the real heroes we have amongst us. Girisha, On behalf of the entire country, I say a sorry to you. But then you are not a cricketer who has made a lot of centuries (21% against minnows) and evaded taxes on a gifted car or you are not even a cancer patient who will now represent my country and make millions out of it... You are not a celebrity who was kissed in a party that you will be invited to a talk show, neither you steal music from English songs for us to consider you to be a host of a reality show. You are a mortal common man, just like the remaining 109 crores. And you deserve this treatment.

Welcome to the club of people who listen with eyes and ears are merely meant to hang glasses to read what your eyes missed!