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?

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

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.

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..

चादर

वो जो सिलवटें तुम छोड़ गई थीं
उस नरम चादर पे
वो मैंने वैसी सी ही रहने दी हैं
ये चादर अब मुझे समतल पसंद आती भी नहीं

और रात जब आती है
तो उसके अँधेरे में
मैं सिमट सा जाता हूँ
उन सिलवटों के पास ही

~ निशांत

Inheritance

The Desais had lived twenty yards across Abhilash's home for three generations now. Set in the corner of a sprawling locality, their house was the crown jewel of Sector 7, Lajpat Nagar. The Desais lived in a beautiful house. It had a vintage iron gate, resting on two strong pillars like the head of a wrestler resting on two strong shoulders. Inside was a lush lawn, speckled with rose bushes on its sides. The walls gleamed white, with vines ruffling your head as you moved in. A couple of shining cars completed the driveway. The mantelpieces looked archaic yet they had a a sense of longing about them; the type you want to photograph and make into a postcard. Red tiles adorned its top, much like a cherry garnishing a pudding. Kissed by sunlight at different places during the day and caressed by a breeze blowing through, it was a house that made you want to stay, to live, to breath. A house that you wanted to call home.

The Desai family had a booming business. They were a renowned family in the locality and the city, and each its generation was born as if only to add some weight to its name. Something a kid growing up would not want his neighbors to be like. Something Abhilash's family quoted often to give examples. The Desais had two sons, both a bit older than him. Both on their way to top American universities while he was a kid; and in them when he was a bit older. It was like a catching up game he played with a shadow which was already ahead of him. Everywhere he went, the Desais' sons, yes the ones who lived in that laal kothi were a mile ahead at best. It was as if everything associated with the laal kothi was quintessentially top notch, a benchmark that preceded almost everything in Sector 7, Lajpat Nagar.

Soon enough, life changed gears; wafting and breezing at a pace Abhilash had never witnessed. School was followed by college and then a job away from home. While it was a pain to be away, he was secretly relieved to be away from it, away from a living embodiment of him not being the top dog, not being constantly reminded of him being only a so and so. He got more engrossed than before, finding and making a name of his own. Things started turning upside in some time. He was no longer overshadowed by a a name or a house that didn't belong to him. But it was always a part of it when he thought of home. The intensity did wane but it the house next door was and always going to be a part of his home.

*****

Abhilash had not even properly stepped on the platform. Porters and rickshaw owners surrounded him with their typical hollering. He thought of boarding one from the stand but the luggage in his hand was heavy. He was coming home after almost five months. Three heavy bags softened his initial urge to bargain. So he asked the driver nearest to him to pick up the bags carefully. He didn't want the phone he bought for his dad or the savories to be damaged. The driver asked where to and like an old scar that reemerges on a cold winter day, he told him to take the first turn right off the Link Road to Sector 7, Lajpat Nagar. Opposite the water tank, besides the laal kothi.

Soon he was coasting, back into a plethora of memories. It was as if he wasn't just going back to his home, he was going back to everything that he had left behind when he moved out for his job some two years back. His old school, his old hangout places. The food joints. His college. The old fort gleaming in the morning sunlight. The football field. The roads.  Every single time he came back, the awe of getting back was still the same.

A little bit of moisture here and there, maybe the wind or maybe the emotions. The driver knew where to go; a location not unknown and a landmark recognized by most. A turn later he was standing was standing opposite the water tank, besides a pile of rubble and dust, broken bricks and yes, his own home.

It was a mix of emotions: yes he was home, his Dad was waiting for him at the gate, but there was no sign of a splendid house that used to be right next to his. All left of it were a few decimated walls, some hinges yet to be extracted and a uniform clad eating his beetle leaf, standing guard. He did move in, he did touch his father's feet but there was a look of complete bewilderment that occupied his face. A sense of betrayal maybe, when your bête noire decides to shut the shop down without even having the courtesy of telling you that it is over. 

Desperate for his answers, he looked at his father who sensing his quizzical looks first asked him to come inside. Soon he came to know the story: how the aging and ailing Desais had decided to sell off the business and their sons who were settled abroad took them along with. The house too was decided to be deposed. The house, the Desais house, the laal kothi was sold with a heavy heart. Four generations and a countless memories later, the laal kothi was finally disassociated from the Desais. The new owner decided to make amends and stamp his own mark; and tore down the house brick by brick. It was as if somebody had sucked the soul out of Sector 7, with everyone quietly lamenting the act in their dining rooms. Abhilash quietly came in his room and lied down. There was an uneasiness that gripped his heart. As if somebody had decided to go behind his back and had managed to undermine his own identity, and in a way his own home.

What he felt was exactly what makes a house a home. A house is made out of brick and mortar, has a defined boundary and has a location. A home is an emotion, it is a sense of belonging which encompasses imagination. It is recluse, it is hideout. It is a fortress. It is invincibility. It is stability. It is not just bricks and mortar; it is a living entity, which breathes and eats and sleeps. It has a soul, it has its parts. We are those parts, who complete it. And sometimes it is not just the people who live in it, it is even those who don't. It stands on a bigger piece of land than its papers say; it stands and commands and defines an entity bigger than its boundaries.

A home is not just a house, it is inheritance.

घर लगता है

तुम हो तो
यह घर लगता है
वरना इसमें
डर लगता है

वार नहीं करते हैं वंदन
और वही हवा अब
करती है साँय-साँय
सन्नाटा रहता पसरा
नहीं गाता अब कोई बिन बताए

तुम हो तो
यह घर लगता है

और जब ढ़लती है शाम
पास आते हैं साये
कोई नहीं लगाता दीपक
जो उन्हें दूर भगाए

तुम हो तो
यह घर लगता है

और स्वाद भी फ़ीका ही
लगता है रोटी का
पेट तो फ़िर भी भर ही जाता है
मन को कोइ कैसे समझाए

तुम हो तो
यह घर लगता है

और कभी थक कर
जल्दी आँख भी लग जाए
तो कोई नहीं
उठा कर बोलता थोड़े गुस्से से
कि तुम कैसे सो गए
मुझे बिन बताए

तुम हो तो
यह घर लगता है
वरना इसमें
डर लगता है

~ निशांत