Monday, 2 September 2019

रेडियो

यूँ तो पापा ज़्यादा शौकीन किस्म के व्यक्ति नहीं हैं, या यूँ कह लीजिये कि समय और ज़िम्मेदारी के बढ़ते बहाव के साथ उनके कुछ जो शौक थे वो कुछ पीछे छूटने लगे. लेकिन एक चीज़ जो मैंने बचपन से उनके सिराहने पाई है, वो है उनका रेडियो.

उस समय शायद एंटरटेनमेंट के इतने माध्यम नहीं हुआ करते थे या शायद यह भोपाल के कल्चर का ही हिस्सा शायद था कि वहाँ पर रेडियो और रेडियो प्रोग्राम्स काफ़ी शौक से सुने जाते थे. और इसी कल्चर में पला-बढ़ा मैं हमेशा अपने घर में एक ट्रांसिस्टर सेट को मौजूद पाता था. देश की सुरीली धड़कन विविध भारती के बहुत सारे प्रोग्राम्स जैसे हवामहल, गीतमाला, चित्रलोक, पिटारा, आज के फनकार से मेरा बचपन से ही तकल्लुफ रहा. समय-समय पर प्रसारित होने वाली न्यूज़ बुलेटिन भी कहीं ना कहीं मेरे कानों में सुनाई पड़ जाती थी. जुलाई-अगस्त के मौसम में जब बड़ा तालाब पानी से सराबोर हो रहा होता था, तो कई दफा शाम को लाइट चली जाती थी और तब इसी रेडियो के इर्द गिर्द बैठ कर हम तत्कालीन सरकार की खामियाँ निकाला करते थे. और न जाने कितनी बार रेडियो पर पापा के साथ क्रिकेट कमेंट्री भी सुनी, 2001 में लक्ष्मण के 281 रन और भज्जी की हैट्रिक तो कल की ही बात लगती हैं. 2002 के नेटवेस्ट फ़ाइनल में युवराज-कैफ़ की पारी उस फ़िलिप्स के रेडियो और पापा के साथ एक-एक शौट पर बजाई ताली के साथ, आज भी ज़हन में ताज़ी है.

समय बीता, और भोपाल में भी रेडियो मिर्ची इत्यादि प्राइवेट रेडियो चैनल आए. लड़कपन के जोश में मैं अब नए गाने और दुनिया भर की चटर-पटर सुनना चाहता था, जबकि पापा अपनी दिनचर्या कबकी विविध भारती के आस पास बुन चुके थे. इस समस्या का समाधान घर की न्यायाधीश अर्थात अम्मा ने यूँ निकाला कि जो सुबह पहले उठ कर रेडियो चालू करेगा, उस समय वही स्टेशन चलेगा. एक-दो दिन जल्दी उठने की सफ़ल कोशिश के बाद मैं भी 8 बजे की सुबह के न्यूज़ बुलिटिन की कमी महसूस करने लगा. और फ़िर अम्मा के हाथ की चाय और पापा के साथ सवेरे-सवेरे के समाचार मेरी भी दिनचर्या का हिस्सा बन गए.

कालचक्र के साथ सभी की व्यस्तता बढ़ती गईं. इंजीनियरिंग, नौकरी, एम. बी. ऐ. और अब फ़िर से नौकरी की इस चकरघिन्नी में सबसे अधिक अगर मैं कुछ अधूरा पाता हूँ तो वह सवेरे के वह पन्द्रह मिनट ही हैं. अब मैं समाचार ब्लूमबर्ग पर सुनता हूँ, बोहत सारे डेटा के साथ बातें होती हैं, एक आँख स्टॉक मार्केट पर रखता हूँ और दूसरी से चाय उफ़नने से बचाता हूँ. यूट्यूब, स्पौटिफ़ाई पर गानों की तो भरमार है, पर वो सुकून एक अर्से से कानों मसर्रत नहीं हुआ. अब तो खैर अगले महीने घर जा ही रहा हूँ. या तो अम्मा की चाय में कुछ अलग से पड़ता है, या फ़िर वो पापा के रेडियो का जादू है.

हैप्पी बर्थडे पापा. 💛

~ निशांत

Monday, 24 December 2018

Hüzün


I saw Tamasha for the first time three years back. I was watching a movie after some 3-4 months. And it had been almost the same amount of time since I had quit my job, wanting to do something different. And when I saw Tamasha, all I could relate to was Ved. I was Ved. I could feel him trapped in the labyrinth of a stereotypical job, with the urge of letting it all go.

Last month, when Tamasha completed three years there were a lot of articles about Imtiyaz Ali and the character of Ved. The whole movie revolves around on how a boy who had a knack for things which didn't follow the society's norms struggles and eventually gets through and does what he wants. Today while watching this movie again, realized that this movie is as much about Tara, as it is about Ved.

Sometime back, I discovered a beautiful word, 'hüzün'. Derived from the Arabic word 'ḥuzn', it represents a sense of failure in life, lack of initiative and to retreat into oneself, symptoms quite similar to melancholia.

Tara is that 'hüzün'. She crosses the line they defined in Corsica, and then spends 3-4 years drifting in solitude, a smiling melancholy, in desolation. She bears Ved when he is at his most difficult. The raw nakedness of her emotions, when she is clutching Ved with all her mental and physical strength in 'Agar Tum Saath Ho' breaks my heart everytime I watch it. Watching Tara in that instance is a poem of emotions. She waited to meet Ved in the first place and then waited once again when he goes out to find himself is what I know and will understand of 'hüzün'. In life, it is tough to be a Ved. To really understand what you are made for, what's your true calling takes more than people's lives, and some even go to their graves before they do that. But it's a tinge harder to be a Tara. Living in that melancholy, that 'hüzün' for something that is nonexistent is the toughest thing I can imagine. Life will give you a few chances to be a Ved, to tell your stories. To start afresh, do something that you really wanted all along. But once in a while, be a Tara to a Ved. Be that 'hüzün'. To Tamasha, to Tara, to 'hüzün'. 

Thursday, 22 November 2018

Bitter.


You are the bitterness of my coffee
The first sip of foam and steam
The second gulp that lights up my bones
The unsweetened reality of life
The last dredge of totality
And you stay on with me, like the bitterness of my coffee

Monday, 23 July 2018

Down


The clock ticked, she was late. Something he knew was going to happen anyway. He lit his third cigarette now, taking in the tobacco slowly. The city shimmered in his eyes and the ocean seemed to be expecting something, like his twitching nerves. Still in his blazer, he poured some scotch and let the smoke waft in the air. The conditioner was at full blast yet the room seemed hot. It was mostly his nerves acting on him. What seemed an eternity later, the door creaked and he smelled what was probably still holding his thoughts at bay, the sweet smell of lilies and a silhouette against the light emanating from the hallway.

She came in, smiling, touching her hair as she always did before coming up with something mischievous.

"Waited long, did ya?"

"I am a stickler for the watch, you know that"

She came forward and kissed his stubble, rough from his day job. He smelled like the cold breeze on a rainy damp evening, refreshing yet without a real distinction. She, in her maroon dress, arching over her heels and black earrings, fresh like a bunch of freshly picked lilies. Something that she put on only when he was in town. Yes, he was a little special.

"You didn't pour one for me? Three months and you've forgotten how you treat a lady?"

A wry smile covered his jawline, broad like an Olympic boxer, and arched into his cheeks; covered under his two day old stubble, the kind of beard she approved of.

Didn't even really wanna go
But if you get me out, you get a show
There's so many bodies on the floor, so
Baby, we should go and add some more
Are you down, d-d-down, d-d-down, d-d-down, down, down?
Down, d-d-down, d-d-down, d-d-down, down, down?

She threw her sling bag on the couch, right next to his leather bag. They didn't touch each other's bag: that was one of the ground rules they had come up with long back. She stretched her hands and looking the burning stick out of his hands and took a puff. Tobacco eased her muscles. He was still engrossed with the city lights, slowly sipping his scotch; neat with some ice. Both of them were used to their own patterns; and to each other's.

He slowly removed his blazer, now smelling like a smoker's rag and threw it again on the same couch. The couch was going to handle some weight tonight.

She puffed the last drags out of the cigarette. Her head felt a little lighter, and her shoulders a little heavy from his hand's weight. She could feel his heavy breath on her neck now, his hands slowly sliding down her back, by each inch twitching her skin, wanting for more. They went further down. Further down, on her back, on her butts, below her butts, and slowly in between them.

Her skin twitched further, wanting for more. It was almost midnight. He unzipped her dress from behind, it was a one piece and the only piece she had tonight. He didn't like to waste time with frugality. and she wasn't in mood either after waiting for three months.

He slipped the zip further, almost touching her butt crack. Her back gleamed in the yellow light coming from the room's only bulb. He touched it, finger by finger, caressing it inch by inch, going down, flicking her ass again. The dress went even lower, her ample bosoms now kissing the breeze from the conditioner at full blast. Her nipples became harder, and her heartbeat faster.

She turned, pushing him away. Their eyes locked for a second, like two fighters before a fight. And then she pulled him closer, pulling his shirt. Unbuttoning it as quick as she could, his chiseled body slowly emanating in the light. Two seconds later there was no shirt and there was no one piece either. Two seconds after that, both had no clothes on.

Everywhere I look are peoples' hands
Thrown up in the air to help them dance
Come on, baby, catch me if you can, I
Know you don't have any other plans
Are you down, d-d-down, d-d-down, d-d-down, down, down?
Down, d-d-down, d-d-down, d-d-down, down, down?
Are you
Down, down, d-down, down

She pulled him closer, him waiting for this moment all along. Their lips touched, his raw and dry from all the smoking; her smelling and feeling like the cherries from her makeup. She kissed them slowly, moistening them. Yes, now they were primed. He put his hands on her back, pulling her closer, his libido rubbing against her thighs. She dug her hands in his hair, and they both stuck to each other like opposite poles, eyes closed, they kissed like lovers separated for decades; she making sure sure no hair on his head was left untouched, him making sure no inch on her back.

Are you down
Down, down, d-down, down
Are you down, are you down, are you d-d-d-down
Are you down, are you down, are you d-d-d-down, are you
Down

His hands moved below her back now, on her buttocks; ripe like a summer fruit. He didn't stop, they went further below again. She quivered like a dry leaf in autumn wind. He picked her up slowly. They switched off the light in the room, and let the one in the loo do its job. They liked it dimly lit.

The couch was bracing for impact all along, the bags were pushed on the floor, and the blazer slid behind the couch itself. He sat buck naked on the leather, her legs wrapped around his waist. They had closed eyes yet again; him finding his way to her neck. The conditioner was switched off as well. They liked it hot.

Her hands were now flung in air, playing with here own hair. He continued, below his neck. Her breasts now a little moist from the sweat ready to pour out. He always liked this part, start of something that they both desperately wanted. Her nipples, now almost at a teasing distance from his lips, as if inviting him to gorge on them. He duly obliged, and kissed them slowly, touching them, pressing them. She almost went breathless. She knew what was coming but it left her dazed every time it was about to happen. She bent backward, reverse arching and he went further down. Her bellybutton placed like a crown jewel on the empress below.

Her hands now touched the floor, her legs straightening little yet inviting him for what they had really been craving for. He stopped right above her waist, giving each other a moment, and then plunging further downward into her thighs.

Oh she moaned, and how she moaned. She lost all she knew of time and space and people. She was in pure ecstasy. He made sure she didn't catch her breath. It tasted like it always did, salty with scent that no other woman he had been with had. Maybe it was this that brought him back every time to this city? There was something about her that made his blood reach his libido faster than his eyes blinked. She brought something in him that no one else did.

You know we could put them all to shame
Now isn't the time to play it safe
Isn't this the reason that you came, so
Baby, don't you let it go to waste
Are you down, d-d-down, d-d-down, d-d-down, down, down?
Down, d-d-down, d-d-down, d-d-down, down, down?

He picked her up from the couch and they crashed on the bed together. She licked his thumb, almost pleading him not to stop. And he obliged, pulling her legs apart, thrusting his libido inside her. They both moaned together this time and their eyes locked again, for a second time. But this time they were not the fighters who were locking horns a few moments earlier. Now they were more like two runners running the same relay, passing the baton back and forth; as they wanted to win together. He moved deeper, and her eyes almost rolled backwards. How much had she waited for this, and maybe even for him. And he moved again. And again. And again. And again. Her eyes were shut again, her legs wrapped once again on his wait, pulling him even closer. She felt his spine, rigid and pulsating, digging her finger nails deeper into his skin. Closer and more she wanted, and he did exactly that. Their pulses were now almost beating together, and getting faster by the second. There moans now coming together, sounding like lovers who had stayed away from each other for decades. She was numb from the pleasure, and her thighs wet from what she feeling. And then, they picked up another gear, both into each other even faster and closer than it could get. She pushed him away, rolling him to the side, his libido still throbbing inside her. And she kissed his cigarette smoked lips moving her body on his, digging her nails on his chest, clawing his nipples, grabbing his throat and sticking her own thumb down his tongue. She was the queen of her life story, riding her favorite lover like queens do. Both now had lost every understanding two people have. Eyes shut, they moved together closer to the conclusion. And it hit them like a blast, as if someone had let a dam explode, and she collapsed on him; both covered in sweat exhausted but content beyond definition.


Every single thing is feeling right
Started as a quiet Friday night
I don't really think that we should fight this
What if we don't stop until it's light?
Are you down, d-d-down, d-d-down, d-d-down, down, down?
Are you down, d-d-down, d-d-down, d-d-down, down, down?
Are you, down, down, d-down, down
Down, down, d-d-d-down
Are you down, are down, are you d-d-down
Are you down, are down, are you d-d-down, are you
Are you, are you, are you d-down-down
Are you, are you d-d-d-down, are you
Down, down, d-down
Down, down, d-down

She opened her eyes a few minutes later, he was in the loo though. She reached out for his smoke pack, to find her favorite burst flavor was there in parallel with his heavy tobacco smoke. His back glistened in the light, scratches from her nails on it. Sweat slowly poured between from his hair on them, giving him a twinging sensation. She smiled to herself, smoke wafting from her nostrils to the roof of the room. Slowly, she picked what was left of her, or what was waiting to be undone from the bed; the cigarette pressed between her lips. She held him from behind, kissing off those sweat beads, touching his chest and blowing smoke on his face. The mirror now showed neither of them, just a cloud of smoke and two sets of lips arching for each other. He turned to lift her on to the basin, taking the smoke away from her hands. They had found their way again into his hair, waiting for what was about to happen, again.

Are you down, are down, are you d-d-down
Are you down, are down, are you d-d-down, are you
Are you down, are down, are you d-d-down
Are you down, are down, are you d-d-down, are you
Down?

Saturday, 15 July 2017

वो कमरा



मैं जब भी 
ज़िंदगी की चिलचिलाती धूप में तप कर 
मैं जब भी 
दूसरों के और अपने झूट से थक कर 
मैं सब से लड़ के ख़ुद से हार के 
जब भी उस एक कमरे में जाता था 
वो हल्के और गहरे कत्थई रंगों का इक कमरा 
वो बेहद मेहरबाँ कमरा 
जो अपनी नर्म मुट्ठी में मुझे ऐसे छुपा लेता था 
जैसे कोई माँ बच्चे को आँचल में छुपा ले 
प्यार से डाँटे 
ये क्या आदत है 
जलती दोपहर में मारे मारे घूमते हो तुम 
वो कमरा याद आता है 
दबीज़ और ख़ासा भारी 
कुछ ज़रा मुश्किल से खुलने वाला वो शीशम का दरवाज़ा कि जैसे कोई अक्खड़ बाप 
अपने खुरदुरे सीने में शफ़क़त के समुंदर को छुपाए हो 
वो कुर्सी 
और उस के साथ वो जुड़वाँ बहन उस की 
वो दोनों दोस्त थीं मेरी 
वो इक गुस्ताख़ मुँह-फट आईना 
जो दिल का अच्छा था 
वो बे-हँगम सी अलमारी 
जो कोने में खड़ी इक बूढ़ी अन्ना की तरह 
आईने को तंबीह करती थी 
वो इक गुल-दान 
नन्हा सा 
बहुत शैतान 
उन दिनों पे हँसता था 
दरीचा 
या ज़ेहानत से भरी इक मुस्कुराहट 
और दरीचे पर झुकी वो बेल 
कोई सब्ज़ सरगोशी 
किताबें ताक़ में और शेल्फ़ पर 
संजीदा उस्तानी बनी बैठीं मगर सब मुंतज़िर इस बात की 
मैं उन से कुछ पूछूँ सिरहाने 
नींद का साथी 
थकन का चारा-गर 
वो नर्म-दिल तकिया 
मैं जिस की गोद में सर रख के 
छत को देखता था 
छत की कड़ियों में न जाने कितने अफ़्सानों की कड़ियाँ थीं वो छोटी मेज़ पर 
और सामने दीवार पर 
आवेज़ां तस्वीरें मुझे अपनाइयत से और यक़ीं से देखती थीं मुस्कुराती थीं उन्हें शक भी नहीं था 
एक दिन 
मैं उन को ऐसे छोड़ जाऊँगा 
मैं इक दिन यूँ भी जाऊँगा 
कि फिर वापस न आऊँगा .
.
.
मैं अब जिस घर में रहता हूँ
बहुत ही ख़ूबसूरत है 
मगर अक्सर यहाँ ख़ामोश बैठा याद करता हूँ
वो कमरा बात करता था .
.
~ अख़्तह साब

Sunday, 9 July 2017

The Bus Stop.

So after a minor detour to Hindi poetry I am back to prose. A month and a half of MBA has brought us right at the base of Maslow's pyramid. This post connects some old thoughts with new experiences and some contemplation about the future.

This incident happened sometime in April last year when I had just moved to Ahmedabad and was struggling to find my feet. A new place, a new language and a completely new set of people. My first encounter was with a well known demon called house hunting; bachelors simply are shooed away right from the security post (despite the fact that we overpay and sustain the entire PG industry as a whole).

So while going back to my guesthouse after another day of futile search, I boarded the BRT bus. Now here I was, one day old in a new city asking the locals which bus to board and which stop to get off. Some noble souls though did guide me and I found my route and a bus. I still kept asking every few minutes when and where to get off. There was this guy though who boarded the same bus and I thought that we were headed for the same stop. So at the next stop I saw him rushing out of the bus and I pretty much followed him as well. And yeah you guessed it right, it wasn't where I was supposed to be. So once again I asked some people for directions, went back to the junction, boarded the correct bus and reached my guesthouse late enough to miss out on dinner.

But don't we go through this same exercise every day? Aren't we all too anxious to jump off or get on a bus that we were never supposed to go by in the first place. I was in the right bus and on the right route. I knew where I was headed and I probably would have made it to dinner had I not panicked seeing this other guy get off. But I did and ended up at the wrong place. Just because the guy ahead of me picked his bag and left, I had this twitch of a response to follow him.

And this is what that happens every single day around us. Seeing how others act drives our own functioning, our decision making. Had no one helped me to find the way back, you never know where would I have landed up that night. There is no compulsion that people will help you get back to where you were you were intended to reach. So think, listen and chose wisely. Stay the way you wanted to be and keep things the way you intended. It is not at all necessary that you lead a pack, but lead yourself. And also, never forget the people who help you to find your way back. And if you ever get a chance, help someone find their way back as well. Be there for someone when they need it. Good karma never goes to waste!

Ciao.

Saturday, 22 April 2017

शहर

चल दिये तुम भी
अपना बोरिया बिस्तर उठाए
आए तो थे तुम बड़े शोर शराबे से
अब जा रहे हो यूँ पैर दबाए
जितना सोचा था मैंने
उससे तो तुमने काफ़ी कम ही दिन बिताए

क्या रास नहीं आया तुम्हें
मेरी इमारतें मेरी रौशनी या मेरे खाने?
तुम लोगों के लिये तो हैं ये सब
मेरे ठाठ बाठ और ये मैखाने

सुन ऐ शहर, अब तू बड़बड़ा मत!
हड़बड़ा मत, खड़बड़ा मत!
क्युँकि तुझे ज़रूरत मेरी नहीं
इन रौशनियों और मैखानों को चालू रखने की है
ताकि मेरे जैसे तो आते रहें
और तू आबाद रहे
और तू रहेगा भी
पर मुझे इन सब की आदत इतनी भी नहीं..

और हाँ तू थोड़ा दूर ही रहना अभी मेरे भोपाल से
तेरे जैसै एक और शहर की अभी हमें ज़रूरत नहीं..

अलविदा अहमदाबाद..