Orphaned desire

It is an orphaned desire.

Sickened by the halfmoon dew
on my lip stained verse
half sung,
half awaiting perhaps -
the heal on scrapped knees.

Did you, did you ever see the words lisp?

Your own words -
breathing in my vaporous syntax
frozen in the nights of skinny details.

Indeed they were yours
will remain only yours -
Making love to the cliffs and folds
of the endless sky,
to the steel grey gun of a steely resolve.

Can i ask?
Did you ever feign love, then or now?

Each time those reluctant tears well up
Those sharp tearing fingers scrap the throat
Can i ask then,
Could you possibly feign it enough?


It is a mild smell on my skin -
Lazy and reluctant whispers of fragrances.

Cut deeper, much much deeper
Let the blood cleanse
the muscles
the bones.

Cut deep enough to leave a gap.
A wide yawn in that thesaurus full of desires
A skinny limb to those yellow, fading branches.

Empty the trash cans
the memories
the nothing-something stains, marks.

Erase, erase.
Cut and scrape.

And at last collapse
with a tired thud.

Drugged, intoxicated
Totally totally destroyed.
Totally broken.

मैं और सुबह

बेशर्म सी सुबह

मुंह उठाये चली आती है.

हर रोज़ -

बिना पूछे.

नेपथ्य में एक और दिन बीत जाता है

और उसके साथ ही एक संभावना.

बड़ी अजीब सी दुनिया है यहाँ

जहाँ किश्तों में ही ज़िन्दगी का रंग है

जहाँ तिल तिल कर जीना ही

एकमात्र सच है.

इसलिए बस एकदम ऐसे ही

तिल तिल कर आती है ज़िन्दगी

हर रोज़

बिना बुलाये

मेरे पास

सुबह की बासी उबासी में लिपटी

रात के सपनों का क़र्ज़ उठाये

शायद एक नई उम्मीद की खातिर

या शायद

ज़िन्दगी को जीने का बहाना बनाने.

कौन जाने क्या बला है

हर वह कल वाली सुबह

कल वाला ही दिन

कल वाली ही बात.

क्यों और मैं

शाम का धुंधलका.

खुली छत

बुढ़ाता आसमान

हल्की सी हवा

खड़ी मैं .

एक अजीब सी ज़िद

बिना बात की

गुत्थी सुलझाने की ज़िद.

कई क्यों के जवाब को

हर गली में छान मारती.

माथे पर बल

उछ्रिन्खल कल्पनाएँ

बनावटी धैर्य

एक फीकी मुस्कान में लपेटती

कई प्रश्नवाचक नज़रों का उत्तर.

पर मन संतप्त

उस क्यों के लिए बेचैन.

सिगरेट की आखिरी कश

लम्बी, खिंची सांस

सिगरेट का अंतिम सिरा

जला हुआ.

ध्यान भटका.

और इधर

उफ़!

हाथ जला.

अस्तित्वबोध!

Love is it? - Part five

ट्रेन जब स्टेशन पर रुकी तो रुचिका ने अपने बेटे को गोद में उठाते हुए एक चौकलेट थमा दिया. सामने रजनीगंधा के फूलों पे नज़र पड़ी तो अचानक अतीत के पन्नो से कुछ शब्द छिलक आये. कभी कभी सोचती हूँ कि जीवन के जिस जिस मोड़ को छोड़कर आगे बढने की कोशिश की है, क्या वे कभी टकराने की गुस्स्ताखी नहीं करेंगे? मिलना तो नहीं चाहती उन बीते, रीते लम्हों से, पर सोचती हूँ कि अगर कभी टकराकर मिल गई उस से तो क्या खुद को इस नई मैं में छ्पुती छुपाती उसे बिलकुल अपेक्षित कर पाऊँगी ?

"हवाओं की तरह तुम मुझसे मुखातिब हुए. दूर किसी पथरीले चट्टान पर, चुपचाप, मैं खड़ी हवाओं से बातें कर रही थी. तुमने अचानक मेरी मासूम दुनिया में दस्तक दिया.मैं थोडा अचकचाई, थोडा सा घबराई - पर कहीं ऐसा लगा जैसे ज़िन्दगी किसी अनुभव से टकरा गई हो. मेरा रोम रोम पुलकित था. न जाने मन में कैसे भाव उमड़ रहे थे. तुमने मुझे अपने आप से वाकिफ कराया. शायद मैं काफी अनजान थी. धीरे धीरे खुद को जानने और समझने लगी. अपने आप को पहचानने लगी. कल तक मैं जिंदगी जी रही थी. तुमसे मिलकर पता चला कैसे जी रही हूँ. कल तक मैं रिश्तों को समझती थी. तुमसे मिलकर उन्हें निभाने की सीख मिली. तुमने मुझे हर इंसान का महत्त्व समझाया. मैं स्वयं होकर भी स्वयं से सबको जोड़कर महसूस करने लगी. शायद काफी अजीब हो सब कुछ. पर मुझसे बिन कुछ कहे, तुमने मुझे काफी समझदार बना दिया. हमारी आपसी बात काफी कम हुई लेकिन तुम्हारे द्वारा कहे गए कुछ गिने चुने अल्फाज़ भी मेरी ज़ेहन में उतर गए. तुम दूर होकर भी हर पल मेरे पास खड़े मुस्कुराते रहते. और तुम्हे शायद पता न हो पर मैं स्मृतियों के पटल पर ही सही पर तुम्हारे आस पास मंडराती रहती. फिर जिस तरह सोपान दर सोपान तुमसे करीब हुई थी, उसी तरह कदम दर कदम खुद को तुमसे अलग करने की कोशिश करने लगी. तुमसे जुड़कर ही समझ पाई की हर बार पाना प्यार नहीं होता. वह तो निरा स्वार्थ होता है. किताबों में पढ़ा था की त्याग भी प्यार का ही एक रूप होता है. लेकिन मैंने त्याग नहीं किया. त्याग तो उसका किया जाता है जिसे कभी पाया गया हो. मैं तो यह भी नहीं जानती की तुम मुझसे जुड़े हो भी या नहीं. और हाँ मैं सांसारिक शब्दकोष में अपने एहसास को बांधकर खोना नहीं चाहती. धीरे धीरे मैंने तुमसे जुड़े हर एक निशाँ को मिटने की कोशिश की. कई बार लिखे शब्दों को दोबारा लिखा पर कोशिश की कि तुम्हारे शब्दों को, तुमसे जुड़े अल्फाजों को खुद से अलग कर दूँ. हाँ, यादें हैं जो नहीं जाती.कोशिश करुँगी कि वे भी कहीं किसी तरह गुम हो जाएँ. उन्हें भी कहीं दफना दूँ. सुना है वक़्त के साथ स्मृतियाँ भी धुंधली पड़ जाती हैं . शायद समय के इस अनवरत क्रम में तुम भी मेरे अतीत की अतल गहराइयों में समा जाओ. बस एक ही गुज़ारिश है, कोशिश करना कि मेरे अतीत से बाहर झांककर मेरे वर्तमान में दस्तक मत देना. मैं शायद एक बार फिर दोबारा अपने आप को संभाल न सकूँ. बड़ी मुश्किल से एक कदम उठाया है. इसके बाद शायद और हिम्मत न बची हो मुझमे.

इतनी दूर चले आने के बाद इसे पढ़कर साहिल ने बस इतना ही कहा, "बस एक बार कह तो दिया होता, रुचिका." और रुचिका ने एक लम्बे अन्तराल के बाद कहा, " साहिल, अगर तुम सब जानकर भी चुप रहे, तो यह प्यार नहीं एक प्रतिद्वन्द था. और मुझे बस तुम चाहिए थे. तुम्हारी जीत की शायद कद्र ही नहीं कर पाती मैं."

Love is it? - Part Four

This was due for a long time now. The February sun glided past on the veranda kissing the pillars and pilasters and shading the free expanse in a grey apparition. Radhika sat there knitting the complex threads of wool. A steel grey muffler it was. For Nishith.

They had met just twice. Only twice. But they knew each other like souls mates. Or this is what she thought. In this world distances of geography hardly matter. It all began on a silken Saturday.

Nishith had a way with words. He could write almost anything and let readers swoon to the rhythm. Radhika chanced upon the same one day and it all began. The interaction on world, life and everything that a writer could compose and an auditor could fathom. Radhika's lonely life after she lost Dhruv seemed to gain a new verve and meaning each evening on her laptop. But they never moved beyond the literary realms. There was a control and a sense of freedom in the mutual touch they shared on the fabric of the stories Nishith wrote. Fresh and new. Like minted dew. Like the sun each dawn.

Nishith's work went down in the final call up for the literary fest. Radhika learnt about it in the interview that happened on one of those lazy evenings after work. She got down the memory lane and searched for that one meaning that sociability offers. Recognition? Respect? Loneliness? Or plain evasion? A new way to efface one's self? She smiled and continued with the last few pages of Nishith's novel.

It was an informal corporate meet at her office that weekend. Radhika had to go despite herself. In an olive green dress and loose hair, she looked very much the spring that April. This is what Nishith said when he saw her. After inane, crisp introductions, Radhika realised Nishith's wife, Ambika was her company's lobbyist. Sipping the drink and stumbling out the remnants of their conversation on his blog, they let the party groove and move while time stood still on the stony porch they sat on.

"Goodbye, Nishith."

"Would you be my muse, Radhika?"

Radhika left for work early that Monday. Had a very tense and hectic week ahead. Driving down the roads of the maniacal city she learnt of the literary prize that embarked Nishith on his new journey to stardom. Life it is.

The reinvocation of the mythical Urmila in Nishith's text, the reincarnation of Krishna's Radha in his writings jolted Radhika's sleep into a steady delirium of her past with Dhruv. The memories of Dhruv's mother hugging her daughter-in-law tight when her son failed to turn up for her call or when Dhruv reverentially passed on all his property in Radhika's name before leaving for Spain - all seemed to soak her in the dew of her tears till early morn. And then she had Nishith's line in his novel to her rescue. "I want you to fight for me against me."

She felt like she is losing herself in the myriad hues of life - career, love, marriage, Dhruv and everything that life introduces as important and inalienable. Radhika became whatever they wanted her to be. Where she was in the roles she played, she seemed not to care a bit. A doting wife, a perfect daughter-in-law, a successful professional and many many more Radhikas emerged out of her closet with each demand. She gave herself away completely. As Nishith said, "You held all of them as willing prisoners in your personas, Urmila. Ever cared if you deserved a ground too?"

And she could just say,"Life is too short for installments, Nishith."

The kind of rarity she felt in his company came with a lot of silent distance. The odd thing about the kind of conversation they had was that there was so much unsaid in the said and said in the unsaid that gradually the nothings acquired lot more meanings than somethings spoken and discussed. Perhaps it was the charm of the unknown, the unexplored, the untouched that had her acquiesce to the strange emotion between them. It was a coming together of the simple spilled realities into the two separate lives they lived, in two separate columns of the world.

Nishith was a successful writer. The paparazzi seemed to offer him a lonely respite from the constant evasion of his self and its effacement in the fabric he wove in his works. While Radhika accepted the same as her warm quilt, Nishith discarded each shred of his longing in those fine curvatures of expressions. Yes, they fit so well.

It was another warm Sunday when Radhika sat in her garden, overlooking the wide entrance of her house, reading the few pages of Nishith's new novel. She was all in tears, lapping up each word that spilled out in the frozen moment as blood drops on the ethereal, white snow. She allowed each of those to drench her in her commitment to the life she swore she would offer herself. For once it was not a symbol but a structure, a definite solved problem of suspended tension, of balance, of security in the counterthrusts.

She was convinced she wanted her reality now. Real like a naked need. Not like a surrender or an obeisance but like a willing capture of herself in Dhruv's soul. Like an embrace out of her complete acceptance of her own being. Not the hopeless erasure of the ego when you love someone but the very clear understanding and recognition of the 'i' when she could say, "i love you"...even for once, if at all - without any demand, any expectation, any care, any desire of mutual reciprocation.

When Dhruv left her to face the world here, she discovered the truth behind pulling the house together all this long - the abundance with which she had sacrificed herself in her devotion for everything Dhruv was. The surplus 'love' and extravagant emotions she felt all this while appeared vulgar and contemptuous to the integrity she had, she desired, she knew she commanded. With that one goodbye, she let herself close in a corked bottle, lid shut with a final snap. She knew that she failed in keeping Dhruv to her by letting him go free, by allowing herself the luxury of unsurpassable trust on her own dutiful love. She failed in fathoming that love is never only duty or devotion. Perhaps that is why she could never love because everytime she tried, her 'i' melted into his oblivious existence.

Nishith's words gave her a fragrance of discovery. A compulsive impulse and an intuitive power to decide her fate - all on her own, for once. She read Dhruv's mail again. Visualised him exactly as he would have said, "I am coming back, Radhika. Love."

Moments erase merciless memories. Or this is what one has heard them say. Do they erase or do they merely lighten the charcoaled markings? The intense pain and dilemma behind forcing that smile on a creased, papery face - past innocence fades with time.

"Is my feigned smile enough to allow him to love me and for me to tolerate being loved in return? For godsake, can one ever get rid of love by any means of closure, at any negotiable price or unnegotiable compulsion? Or is this closure life itself? A finalised beginning? Can love acquire newer forms?"

Radhika and Dhruv together visited Nishith for his party. She clutched him tightly. Dhruv gave him one reassuring look and that itself said everything she had ever wanted to hear. His lips opened to mumble something when she stopped him and went to Nishith.

"Meet your muse, Nishith. You fulfilled her, unknowingly."

Dhruv smiled at Radhika, rediscovering her and his love. Radhika threw a parting glance at Nishith and wrapped the muffler around his neck. Thereafter, together they walked in the rains of life, beating sunshine and braving the winds.

It came with the winds. Like a breeze that had always nursed it along its curling spine. Like a desire too strong to be resisted. Like a loss as soon as one finds something. Like Radhika would say, "I love you, Dhruv." Like Dhruv would say, " Where were you for so long, Radhika?" Like Nishith would say, " I would never lose you Radhika. I could never find you to be able to say so."

Like all these spilled realities nourish themselves from above. Like one loves and loses, time and again.

मौन और शब्द

• • • • • कोई चुप्पी मौन नहीं होती.

          चीखते उद्गारों पे लगा प्रतिबन्ध होता है मौन.

          
          

          शब्दों की अजीब नगरी में छुपा सच होता है मौन

          शांत, गंभीर विशेषणों की चाशनी में आरोपित

          किसी अल्हड़ व्यक्तित्व का सच होता है मौन .

          हर विस्मृत की गई आवाज़ की अनुगूंज होता है मौन .

          
          

          शब्द मात्र छलावा है

          धोखा, फरेब , झूठ .

          सृजन मात्र है उन तरकीबों का

          जिनसे मौन पर पर्दा डाला जा सके ,

          जिनसे इंगित चेष्टाओं के गाम्भीर्य पे

          मतलब की बात थोपी जा सके .

          
          

          शब्द बांध नहीं पाते

          जज़्बात और आरोपित लक्ष्य को .

          मात्र असफल कोशिश होते हैं शब्द

          मन से गुण को पाटने वाले संकरे पुल

          जहाँ सिद्धांतो के चढ़ावे पे

          भेंट चढ़ जाती हैं कई अभिव्यक्तियाँ .

          
          

          जैसे परदेस में बहते आंसू

          सिसकियों की भाषा नहीं बन पाते

          वो टूट जाते हैं

          निस्सार सामाजिक संबोधनों में .

          
          

          वैसे ही जैसे वो मजबूत कंधे

          नहीं बन पाते बिखरे उन केशों का आलंबन .

          जैसे शर्माती सर्दियों की धूप

          नहीं चूम पाती पूरे आँगन को .

          
          

          शब्द होते ही हैं अपूर्ण

          मौन का एक लघु , पेचीदा परिचय .

          
          

          मौन होता है सच

          शब्द चीखता असत्य ...

I am where...

I walked those paths again.

Yellow remembrances -

dry leaves on the beaten path

cobwebs on the uncared corners

some stale fragrances in sleepy whispers.

I walked again.

Heart skipping beats with each step.

Purple bruises -

steps on crunchy fallen leaves

screech and squelch.

I shiver,

get back,

retrace -

afraid, frightened

tears, nightmares.

More tears.

A seductress lane.

Serene, golden grey -

alleys that end in wide armed pilasters -

comforting, inviting.

The turtle peers out

the shell gives way

crawl i say -

soft, tentative.

Softer lights through the tunnel.

Choked vision.

Run, run i murmer.

The legs tired

breath short

preserving rot and muck

Get back, get back - i scream.

The stable pilaster smiles

as always.

I turn back,

look again stealthily.

A long deceived smile i return.

Outside air, in the open.

Teasing me with caresses.

I am on the run -

again.

This time to nowhere -

as always.

Indulgent smiles

enchanting affection,

demanding everything -

but my own self.

Neglected i lie

somewhere in the alleys

Lost or found?

Can't decide....:)

Confessions and ruminations on 'life' at home after seven years....

I came back to Delhi yesterday, after my longest stay back home ever since i left the place. One month at a stretch. It feels good. And worse or better to be judged after the after results, i feel different, almost changed, transformed. I am no longer me in more than one ways. Firstly, apologies to all my friends who painstakingly reviewed my texts and snippets of lines here and there. The story is delayed for lack of enough creative drive. Secondly, i have no clue what do i intend to write on my blog today. May be it is my elation after so long a sabbatical from the virtual world, that i just wish to pour in words without caring if they mean anything at all, if at all they attempt to.

I did not venture out this time in Patna. One month i was absolutely at home barring one day when i caught up with some buddies at PMCH while on my way return from a school teacher's house. This was strange for i am not really the domestic type. Stranger still for i enjoyed every moment. It was quiet, serene and beautiful.

Some interesting and soul searching moments graced my stay. The primary one being the visit to my school teacher. I would like to maintain anonymity of his name and the particulars. But the sight of a fast-ageing man in his late sixties, trying to salvage his ever cheerful spirit by very creative and very beautiful attempts at stamp collection, painting, various kinds of craft was very very refreshing. The pain and problems of old age, lonely couples and the need to see their sons and daughters through a promising career despite themselves was heart wrenching. Just wondered, if life actually becomes so complicated, so busy to allow time to rule you than otherwise. Should it?

I was invited by my alma mater to teach English to class eleventh and twelfth students for a couple of days. It was to put it in one word, exhilarating. I was proud at the honour, really excited at the prospect and most strangely very very expectant. I can't believe i actually jittered for a moment as i did the first day of my first major inter school debate. It was strangely smiling a moment considering it was definitely not the first time i was taking a class. In fact, the strength of classes at Army School are much smaller as a matter of AWES policy. It was nostalgic. To see some very old students in the school giggle and stealthily say, "Arey ye toh assembly conduct karwane wali didi hain" and some new ones to stare and remark, " Bahut strict ma'am hain yar", some naughty and lively attempts to pass witty, situational comments, the frantic scampering off the corridors when teachers (and yes me too!) walked on the same was so nostalgic. Coincidentally, i taught in the same class i had once studied in. Memories flooded, i got misty eyed once but well camouflaged all with a stern attempt to write something on the board.

Maa and papa left me with my youngest brother in Patna for the village for almost half of the time i stayed there. It was fun yet inspiring. To see them pack up and leave explaining how difficult it is for baba and dadi to live alone and that when situations favour them with their son's and bahu's company, they would grab every opportunity, was a little puzzling at first. Afterall, maa and paa were the ones who called me home. But later in my solitude, in the peace of the entire house, i realised how they have taught me the various lessons of life at various stages through these silent, subtle, muted gestures. I feel proud and really lucky at being brought up under them. I missed them but well to live with the disaster kid and manage all his culinary whims and fancies at home was a daunting task in itself. I enjoyed my stay and my productive time with books.

One of my cousins is getting married may be earlier next year. She is a year elder to me. I had not been able to talk to her for some undefined reason after hearing the news. Worse still, i had acted abnormally awkward at moments she tried reaching out to me and trying to talk about the same. I still can't fathom why i behaved so. But well, i did. May be got more scared about thinking about the whole thing than her. May be i could not imagine her in her post-marital roles and saw the glaring disconnect with what we had been all these years and what will become of her after the official declaration of being tied up. I mustered courage and talked. It was lovely to hear her out and cathartic to help me loosen up the stupid reflex in me. We reminisced about one rainy day in Ranchi when all of us siblings drenched ourselves to the skin on our way back from an adventure trip in Ranchi to some undefined forested outskirts of the city while elders back home were scared to their guts at the prospect of around six-seven of us missing. Well, i confess the plan was mine but for my seemingly innocent face was saved while our elder cousin bro got a severe thrashing of his life. We laughed our hearts out. And thankfully, reconnected as we always were.

I observed the Navratra puja this time. So unlike me, for i am not strictly religious in my faith. And surprisingly loved the ritualistic routine of getting up early in the morning, reading the texts and shlokas and all such attachments. Well, i could not fast for the obvious foodie in me gave up the first day itself. But i atoned for my departure from the dictates by observing a nirjala fast on Durgaashtmi. I would never forget maa's expressions at looking at my photographs on Navami. I had observed Kanjak puja and invited two girl kids to savour seven prasad items i prepared early morning. Maa is still aghast at my transformed religious fervour. And so i am. I still can not relate to this me who is suddenly drawn into institutional religion without a prior rational thought process. I seem to be just doing things i like at the moment rather than my earlier habit of proper dissection of whys, hows, whats. Crazy!

Diwali was fun. Funnier was my maa's insistence to make me sit for "Naak pujna hai tumhara" much before the Lakshmi Puja. As a child, i cried my heart out at not been worshipped on this day. I whined and got everyone irritated until they gave in to worship me for as i argued then that one keeps hearing the entire year round that "Ladkiyan lakshmi hoti hain." Precisely for that reason, on the day of Lakshmi Pujan, why can't girls be worshiped than only some symbolic photograph or idol. I thought that my stupidity and childishness was forgotten long time back but for the actual pujan on that day. It was funny and crazy to see maa and papa touch my feet but somewhere they earned a new respect albeit our differences in opinions on mutually controversial issues and positions. I learnt the new meaning of committing to what one believes in rather than following customs and rituals and religion blindly. I learnt how labels like conservative and liberal, traditional and modern are not strictly and mutually exclusive.

I know that this seems like a stream of consciousness blabber in a blog. But may be the seasonal fever and bad cold is getting on to me. May be i am missing home so bad that i could no longer concentrate any longer on this month Yojana's discussion on Non Governmental organisations. My be this post will ease out my emotional slur.

In the hope of learning more about different facets of life, newer dimensions of people i seem to have known for so long, in the hope also that the nasty cold gets better, i sign off for now.

And indeed apologies for the delay in the story i claimed to have written. I seem to have lost that craving to pen something down back home. May be with time, the urge will grow again. The texts are promptly saved, the peripheral lines etched in my mind, waiting for that impulse to take over. Thank you all for being patient and liberal with reviews here, on my mail, texts and facebook.

Love - is it?? Part Three

They say life moves on. And that it surely does - with super random pace. Friends get busy with work, relationships, career etc. etc., leaving only a trail of aromatic whispers behind. Nostalgia yes! But more than that a realisation that all is apocryphal, temporary - nothing lasts. Not even love.

It was a bright sunny Sunday. The sun mercilessly stared through the glass panels in Vrihad's bedroom. A severe headache gripped him. Oh yes! Last night was the party! May be the hangover. Vrihad reached out for the empty water jug. Frustrated, got up to grab a bottle from the refrigerator. The television glared and blared at him. Gaping at its night long, committed entertainment to no one in the hall, Vrihad switched it off. Smells of stale beer, dusty shoes, leftover pizza. All leave - everyone - leaving trails of memories behind.

Pavani and Vrihad sought divorce after a seven-years long marriage. Thankfully, they had no children to fight over and further complicate things. What went wrong is futile to think about. After all marriage is not all rose-tinted like a wedding - only smiles, only bling, only sheen. It has to be renewed each day, to be cared for each passing moment. And it is difficult. Difficult to wake up and see the same person every day, difficult to find cuteness in the irritating habits of the other any longer, difficult to keep respecting the passion for work and sense of social responsibilities in the other half, very very difficult to remain cocooned in the former days of courtship. Marriage is lot of compromise, lot of patience, lot of trust and above all lots and lots of commitment. And if any one of these begin being shaky, slowly but steadily, the edifice crumbles.

Vrihad realised a tear drop on the newspaper. The Sunday suddenly seemed bleak and boring. After all, one can not expect each day and night after 30 to be a college-goers bliss. Friends have to have their own family time. Colleagues have to have their space.

Yes, space. And suddenly Vrihad remembered that beautiful day with Pavani. That day when he realised, "This was it that i wanted!"

"Vrihad, i am out for a friend's home warming party. You want to join me?"

"Nah sweetie! I shall pick you up in two hours or so. I would better lounge around for some more time."

Pavani smiled, nodded and shut the bathroom door. This is what he looked for in their companionship. Mutual freedom, space, independence. Not being crushed by unnecessary social obligations, mutual friendship calls etc etc. Grabbing a mug of beer, he lovingly looked at the fresh-out-of-shower Pavani, getting ready for the bash. He went to her and looking deep in her eyes said, "Thanks Pavani! I am so damn lucky to have you in my life! Unlike other women who stifle one with love, you don't. And still you love me so much more."

Pavani's mouth opened for an affectionate laugh and she patted Vrihad on his forehead, "Mr. i-am-so-feverish-last night! Do not forget to pick me up in a couple of hours. I want some time with you too. This space is merely to atone for the day long engagement you have with me."

They kissed and she left.

The apartment, empty and insipid, stared at him all this while. Vrihad realised it was time for him to pay the dhobi, newspaper-vendor, cook...holy crap! He had left the milk to boil in the kitchen. He rushed inside to find a charred pan, staring teasingly in his face. Vrihad drank another glass of water, placed an order for a brunch and tried to occupy himself with the newspaper.

"US decides to withdraw troops from Afghanistan". And this headline transported him to his world with Pavani - only just a few days ago.

"Vrihad, i need to work out a paper for my lecture this Friday, honey! Drop me to Prof. Verma's place. He is a brilliant scholar of international relations. By the time you finish off catching up with Sharad, i shall be done with my discussion too." Pavani peered out of the kitchen cabinet to catch Vrihad shaving in the mirror.

"Yeah sure!" Vrihad muttered under his breath.

On their way to return, Pavani said, "Mmmmmmm....what about a lunch outside today, Vrihad? I am a little busy with work for this international seminar"

Vrihad blurted out, " No Pavani. I want to go home. Can you not reserve these articles and papers on days other than a Sunday. It is the only day we have, honey!"

Pavani glared at him, "Vrihad, it is a mega event. I need to work yar. And this US-Afghanistan thing is too complex and historical to be grasped in a day. I am sorry, i need my space to work. These two weeks i am super busy."

Vrihad looked at her. He nodded and gave her a peck on the forehead. "Yeah Pavani! I understand. Sorry yar! Wait! What about i cook something for you today?"

Pavani threw a disinterested glance at Vrihad. "It is okay, Vrihad. We shall order."

This was the beginning. Days after the seminar, which was a huge hit in the intellectual circles across universities, Pavani got enmeshed in more research papers, more projects, more assignments, more meetings.....Sundays were Mondays and weekdays were of course, working days. Vrihad's hectic week-long work in the law-firm guaranteed him no respite before ten and sometimes eleven at late nights. He reached home to eat cold dinner, a sleeping Pavani and of course a short night to rejuvenate for a new day.

Slowly, the oil crisis in the world, the judgements on Salwa Judum and the politics of Libya and Tunisia grew more important for both Pavani and Vrihad than catching a movie on the one Sunday they got, cuddling on the sofa once in a while, eating ice-creams from the same bowl - these became 'cheesy, juvenile and nonsensical' gestures within a very short span of time.

Vrihad thought of talking to Pavani. "Pavani, Maa wants to visit us for a couple of days. I was wondering if you could spare sometime at home after classes.'

"Vrihad, i need to work in the library yar. I need references and sources. I can get manuscripts and books issued. But then, you know, work-efficiency is much more there than at home. Why don't you take a couple of days off."

"Pavani, you know the current turmoil in the legal situations yar. I can't, unless i wish to shoo away some very powerful clients. Try to understand Pavani. It is a little difficult. Look, when you worked like a workaholic for your seminars, i did not complain. But do you realise, we have no time for each other now. Look, i am not complaining......"

"Yeah right! Vrihad, i know what you mean. You want me to baby-sit your Momma when you build a lucrative career and i sacrifice my work for being a homely married woman! Brilliant, Mr.-i-am-all-for -gender-equality!"

"Pavani, Relax! I am merely requesting you to spend some time back home, AFTER your classes get over. And not to baby-sit my mom, but to just be here at home, working in the other room if you wish too....It is ok. I shall manage. I shall say, i could not get the tickets or something else. You enjoy your workaholism."

"Vrihad, this is preposterous! Yes, yes, why won't you? After all, i am the one anyway, to carry the tag of being the negligent daughter-in-law always. Go ahead! Do what you want to!" And she burst out in her tears.

Vrihad looked at her in disgust and stomped off.

The door bell rang. Vrihad collected the food and decided to get a quick shower and wash out the morning fatigue before digging in the meal. In the shower the bitter sweet memories of Pavani assaulted him again. How they shared the happiness of Vrihad's first job salary in the quasi-rain of the shower! How they celebrated Pavani's first success in the literary festival's seminar on the rooftop on a moonlit night! And it all seemed just yesterday. How adorable Pavani looked with her wine-sipping lips and ringlets of hair caressing her cheek that evening! Vrihad emerged out of the shower.

Memories are the worst faculties of a human mind. They store so much, they torment so much. Why can we just not live and let things be? Why is it always important to remember birthdays, goddamn "first kiss day","first date day", "proposal day"...and what not! Vrihad stared at the food and felt fresh onslaught of tears on his face.

"I still love her so much. After all the humiliation, disrespect and bitterness that the past few months offered to me with Pavani's new and fresh ways to insult and instigate me, how can i still love her so much? Is she right when she says,"You men have zero self respect when you fall for a woman!' Whatever it is, i love you Pavani. I love you so very much!"

Vrihad got up to grab some alcohol again. Chugging deep gulps of the same and forcing himself to eat the ordered mess of food in the plate, Vrihad realised it was long before she actually signed the divorce papers that she had exhausted herself of the love for him. Just as their wedding was a formal solemnisation of their love in the respective societies they hailed from , those papers were merely to announce an end to their mutuality. He began to feel sick. He began to feel giddy.

Pavani got home late and announced calmly, in her usual, sophisticated, pretty and silken voice,"Vrihad, things are just not working out between us. We don't talk, we don't laugh, we do not spend time together. Look, it is none of our faults, you know. Reality post-marriage is different. We become habituated to each other after sharing so much after a couple of days. There is no romance left in our lives, Vrihad. Let us call it off."

Vrihad looked at her in dismay. "Pavani, are you saying we should consider divorce?" His voice shattered, just as a crystal glass on a concrete slab.

"Oh! Come on, Vrihad! Don't be such a Puritan! It is ok. It is not the end of our lives yar. We can still be friends. Just that, off late, i have realised it is increasingly becoming taxing for me to see you around. I confess honestly, Vrihad, i do not feel anything for you anymore. Forgive me, Vrihad, but please let me go. I can't bear all this."

"Pavani, you merely need a break, sweetie. Nothing more. Look, i have seen you all these years. Trust me, give ourselves some time. It will all work out."

Pavani looked at Vrihad and said, "Vrihad, you do not know about it perhaps, but i am also involved with this colleague at work."

Vrihad looked crushed.

He broke down, all of a sudden. He signed the papers and asked her to leave his apartment at the earliest. Pavani was inconsolable too.

Before leaving she hugged Vrihad. "Vrihad, i am sorry. I know i have hurt you. But trust me, when i say this. It just happened. This equation between us. Just as we gelled so well because we had common passions to talk about, Aniket and i bonded for the common interests in the subjects. It makes work easier for us. It makes lives simpler for us."

Vrihad looked at her with a stone dead expression. "This 'us' and 'we' does not include me, Pavani. I am a crumbled man. I have lost faith in myself."

"Oh, come on Vrihad! As it is you are so busy with work. Trust me, all this will fade away with time. See, anyway, things have changed between us drastically. You never compliment now. We never enjoy quiet times together. All that is left to our marriage is crumbs of leftover exhibition of lust - nothing more, Vrihad. Which, by the way, is easier to procure anywhere."

"Pavani, are you punishing me because 'i' did not have time for you? Because "i" fell short of love for you? Is it always necessary that men pay compliments every alternate day to their women in order to convince them of their love? Is love all about words and crooning sweet nothings in the ears all the time?"

"Vrihad, you are indirectly accusing me now. May be it is a mutual fallout. Maybe it was a wrong decision to begin with. But whatever it is, Vrihad, it is all over from my end. You look out for yourself."

Pavani said this and left the apartment, robbing the house of its homeliness.

Vrihad had had enough of beer and food for the day. He slouched on a sofa, opened his laptop to finalise tomorrow's work schedule. Work was the best way to drown oneself, apart from beer, of course.

Vrihad opened a mail that Pavani had sent, perhaps moments ago.

"Just wondering, is love never enough? Sorry for what i did, but next time, i say from experience, you do not try to immortalise change in forced permanence. I loved you exactly as i loved Aniket. Nothing more, nothing less. But even that was transitory, Vrihad. However, i would not leave him for the simple reason that i can not keep changing men in my life as fresh clothes each day. Just realised that it might be difficult to continue to love eternally but it isn't to live without it. You just need to grow immune to its call. Maybe i learnt it from you. Thanks."

Vrihad deleted the same and twisted his face in a cynical smile. Yes, love indeed is never ever enough, wondering if it ever was, would he have failed in making her understand all this?

Love - is it?? Part Two

It was deja vu. Similar words had reached him six years ago.

Samarth hurried back to his apartment to check his mail the last time. Was he dreaming? Did she actually say she wanted to see him? Clutching the next flight ticket to Delhi, he made his way to the airport. Aparna's melting voice ringing clear in his ears.

"Samarth, i want to meet you once."

No sooner did he hear this, than he got the first flight to her city. Among the many sordid moments in their relationship for the past couple of months now, this call convinced Samarth that they might just be together again. For the last time. He would make all amends. He would change for her completely. He would do all that she ever wanted, and much more. Aparna's innocent and reassuring smile clouded all his apprehensions with hope now.

They met in their small little corner in campus where it had all begun. Samarth had reached much before Aparna arrived. The days just flashed by his eyes. Aparna shedding those tears and looking at him with those searching eyes, his hug which she said reassured her that she could make all wrongs right given that he was with her, their first kiss, their stretched conversations on life, Brecht, sex, career, Marx, malignant cancer cells - everything, everything under the sun jolted the bygone Samarth from this version of him that lay all ruined and incomplete, all half in her absence. Samarth knew, just knew that Aparna was his life.

Aparna came and sat down. Not even a moment passed when she looked up at Samarth and said, "Look Samarth, it is all over. I know you could have been convinced by all these months of ignoring you. But i just needed you to see that i am happy with my status quo. I just needed you to see that i do not need you anymore..."

Samarth cupped her face in his hands. Teary-eyed and almost broken, he muttered, " But i need you Aparna. I just can not live without you. Look, things will work out. I assure you with finality this time. I will do exactly as you say. But please, for godsake, do not leave me alone."

Aparna got up and went out to get coffee. Samarth cried and fresh onslaughts of memories and moments all gone assaulted him in her absence. Aparna was a charming, vivacious girl - very popular for her beautiful ways and intelligence. She was this girl who made things go right just by her magical presence. And suddenly from this one day, she refused to smile. She did everything that she was supposed to do but it seemed as if she was punishing herself with her own life. It was then that Samarth chanced to come in her life. What began as a partnership in the annual cultural festival of college developed into this meaningful, inspiring relationship between them. Aparna got hold of her life ravaged by her widow mother's malignant cancer status and Samarth got a new dimension to his life with this wonderful girl's presence in his life. Together they broke university records academically, coincidentally got into the same work profile in the same company. They had begun to believe that all was perfectly planned for them from above. They were happy. They were just brilliantly happy.

And this one day changed life for them forever. After their job training, Samarth got posted in far south and Aparna was given the prerogative to settle in her hometown given her family condition. They bade emotionally choked good-byes to each other. Perhaps unaware that life would change for them forever.

Aparna came back. She handed over him his coffee mug and insisted on thrusting that sandwich in his hands. After a few silent sips of their once favourite coffee, she began, "Samarth, it is not always necessary that two good people end up making a perfect couple. We all were kids when we indulged in this love-shove business yar. Look at this. I was emotionally wrecked at that time. I found a genuine friend in you. And, come on, you did confess, didn't you, that to date the most popular girl in campus was like the coolest part of this relationship for you? Samarth, we needed each other, mutually. We were friends with benefits. But it ought to get over yar."

Samarth looked at her with utter disbelief. "Aparna don't tell me all that you said right now was true! I did not date you because you were the most popular girl in campus! Never Aparna! I stood by you because i did not want to see a talent as you go waste over her family issue. Love was gradual between us, Aparna. We did not date like star-struck couples. We thought about each and every step all through before we plunged into a commitment. Please do not say we were friends of benefits, for godsake! Aparna, do those evenings of togetherness hold no meaning at all? Do those converstions on......"

"Oh! Shut up Samarth! I am independent. I am smart. I am beautiful. Earn as much as you do. It is juvenile to think Samarth that college days' romance last forever. I need a man different from you, you know. I can't imagine wasting my time and emotions in managing a guy all my life. I need a man. I need someone who is more mature, much much more mature than you. Someone who is strong enough to be able to hold me, control me. Someone who inspires me. Someone who is better than me in all respects, Samarth. Someone i can look upto. Someone who treats me as an equal because he can afford to do so, because he is better than me. Because he isn't insecure about losing me. Someone who respects me for what i am because he believes and trusts his own love enough to guarantee my love for him for the rest of our lives. Samarth, it's all over between us. Look, i am sure, you would be thankful to me to have made this call early on in life before much damage is done."

"Aparna, don't tell me, you manipulated my emotions all these years. Don't tell me i was all but a temporary need for you. I feel used, Aparna. This is not what you were. Ok, what is it? Am i too clingy? Did i ever stop you from doing what you wanted? For Godsake Aparna, what is it?"

"Don't shout, Samarth! I have given you enough reasons for my decision to part ways. I am bored of this love between us. I am bored of this routined call everyday and prying questions about how my days were, whom did i meet, what did i wear and so on and so forth. I need someone who is settled, not a struggler trying to get his way through. I want stability in your and my life, Samarth. However hard you try you can not jump four years hence and work things out for us. It is over because i am no longer a person who lives in the present. I have changed. I think about investments now. I envision a future better than what it can be with you. Samarth, i called you because i wanted you to see the new me."

Samarth gazed blankly at Aparna. She was not the girl he knew. She had changed. He got up and said, "Just answer me one question Aparna? Did you ever love me, even once?"

Just then her phone rang. She picked up and asked the person on the other end to wait outside. She got up and hugged him.

"Take care of yourself Samarth. You need to support your family. They have huge expectations from you. Trust me, five-six years down the lane, you will not regret this decision."

She moved out of the campus, got in the taxi that stood there waiting for her. In a few moments it disappeared on the winding roads. Shattered, Samarth came back to Chennai.

And after these six long years he got this mail. He re-read it once again. Tears rolling down his eyes, he got hold of his car keys. The flight was to leave for Delhi in another hour. He was wondering what could he possibly do with that condolence visit? Should he actually go?

He read the letter for the umpteenth time.

Dear Samarth,

By the time this letter reaches you, i shall be gone forever. I was detected with cancer too in the later stages of Maa's illness. I knew you already had lot of stuff to take care of back home. I did not want to be a burden on you. I spoke all that i spoke that day to make sure you work hard enough to get to the place you are now. And well, i am happy that you did. Just do me a last favour. I have bequeathed my property to the nursing home for cancer patients. Please see to it that it reaches the requisite hands in time.

I needed to fight against myself to do this. Forgive me and carry on with your life.

Love,

Aparna

Love - is it?? Part One

Siddhant frantically looked for that one emotion in Avani's eyes. But all that could pass in those dark recesses were indifference, a cold detached air. She wasn't mad at him, she did not hate him, she did not ever accuse him with anything. She was merely cold towards him. Siddhant stood as hungry for her love as the street urchins are for one decent meal in a day.

"How do you manage to look so beautiful all the time, Darling!" Siddhant said and planted an obligatory kiss on Avani's cheek.

Avani looked at him straight and asked, "For how long are you going out Siddhant?" He looked at her again, a little perplexed.

"Avani my work profile demands travel, dearie. I can't help it. And you know i can't afford to take you to all the places i visit for work, don't you? Why do you always complicate things for me? Look, you knew this even when we were dating, right? I need my space. I need my sanity to work in peace. Avani, be the girl you were ya! You had this spark. You were vivacious, naughty, full of life, you were MY Avani. What changed for you so drastically yar? We are married. But that's about it. Why have you changed so much? I am getting sick of this Indianised, archetypal feminine self in you!"

Siddhant slammed the washroom door and left the bedroom to Avani, as cold as the dead stones on a winter night. The sky had begun to embrace the bleeding early morning sun on the horizon. Avani got up and made her way into the kitchen. She had to finish off with preparing breakfast and fixing up lunch for the day before Siddhant could drop her to her college on his way to the airport.

"Avani, i forgot ya. Take Maa for her routine check-up today. And yes on your way back from work, ask my secretary to hand over to you the file for a collaborative project with Sanders& Brothers. Yar, i am sure you could write a really decent proposal for the same. And mail me the same by late evening. The success of this project has the potential to make us the best service providers in the country. Avani, i am so happy ya. You indeed are the best." With this Siddhant placed his hand on her hands and lifted it to kiss her. Avani moved away and reached out for the steps on the college gate."

Siddhant reached for dinner that night. "Hey sweetheart! I am sorry i was rude today. Took the last evening flight to catch you for dinner. Well, i shall take the early morning flight to work out the rest of the stuff there. I am at the door. Dying to see you." Siddhant beamed through the call.

Avani opened the door with her enchanting smile. She hugged him and muttered a muffled 'Thank You' in his ears. Siddhant was greeted by the party in progress. He just figured out it was Avani's birthday he completely missed out on. Any probability for a shop being open at this unseemly hour was an impossibility. By then Shashwat, Avani's best childhood friend and her colleague now had opened the wine for the night and raised toast to Avani's beautiful charm. Siddhant stood enraged. He stomped off to his room making a hasty retreat from the party. Avani got back in a short time winding up the party soon.

She snuggled close to Siddhant. "I knew you would come today. Somehow i just knew you would".

Her doe-eyes filled with the mist of her unending love for Siddhant. She hugged him tight. Siddhant harshly pulled himself away and said, "Stop playing this emotional drama now. Why the hell did that bastard turn up? Just because i happen to be out for business tours, you presumed the right to compensate for my time by calling him over in my absence? Avani, since how long have you guys been doing this? I know i was late, i know i was negligent. But in that case how does that good-for-nothing lover of yours have the right to give you a surprise celebration in my absence? He could have collaborated with me, right? We could have planned things together, right? Do you think i am a fool, Avani? Tell me, for how long have you been sleeping with him? "

Siddhant held her arms so tight that they began to hurt. Avani could barely speak. Tears flowed down on her cheeks incessently. Just then, one of her glass bangles broke and tore her skin on the wrist. She got up and left. The next morning Siddhant left without a word to return a week later as scheduled.

Avani realised she was pregnant. She was happy. Very very happy. She waited for Siddhant to return for lunch, prepared his favourite meal and draped his favourite saree. Siddhant came over late and on learning of the news took her in his arms and together they weaved dreams on the fabric of the life to come. Suddenly, his phone rang. He hung up in a while and said," Avani, yar go for the check-up alone. I know you are a strong, independent girl and anyway would have desisted me from doing this. I am sorry but i am out for another month now."

Avani gaped at his face and nodded. She kissed him a goodbye and cried the whole day, cancelled all her classes and drowned the house with her wails and moans after Siddhant left. Something had snapped in her today.

The days stitched and unstitched similar patterns on their marital trousseau for two years now. Avani asked Siddhant for a divorce. She said she will take care of Maa but does not wish to continue in this house. She said something had failed to keep the home they made in this concrete alive. She said she wanted to shield Mrinal from all this. She said she wanted her own life back. She said because Siddhant is busy, she would take all responsibilities of Maa as long as she is alive. Avani said she wanted her space. She said she wanted to breathe out of love. She assured she would fulfill her roles as a mother and a daghter-in-law without seeking any response and assistance from Siddhant. She said she wanted to be freed of his 'love'.

Siddhant looked at this new Avani. As beautiful as ever. Her mauve saree carefully draping the sleeping Mrinal. Her unkempt hair loosened all over her waist.

"Avani, you have changed. Why are you talking like one of those feminist women from your goddamn novels and recommended movies? I love you Avani. I am sorry. But don't look at me like that. Don't seek divorce. I would crumble without you. Please come back, Avani. I would love you more than Shashwat. I would keep you happy Avani. Please don't go away."

Avani looked at Siddhant with an icy cold, detached yet compassionate look. "Siddhant, i am moving out from the place. I have left the job and have decided to settle in the hills and work with the tribals. Do me one favour. Attend Shashwat's wedding on my behalf today evening. He has decided to solemnise his live-in with Gauri after six long years of togetherness. I am taking Maa out for her check-up before we move out tomorrow. Sign the divorce papers and leave it with the advocate. I am leaving to never come back. But take care of yourself.

She said this and gave him a a lingering look. There was care, there was calmness, there was responsibility, there was compassion, there was honesty, there was HIS Avani's confidence. However hard he searched in those beautiful eyes, he could not find love. It seemed as if he was never there with her ever. It seemed he was not what he had been.

कैनवास

बड़ी बेतक्कलुफी से उसने सामने पड़े कैनवास पर पानी का जग उढ़ेल दिया . लाल , पीले , हरे और नीले रंग गहराते , फीके पड़ते मानो अतीत , वर्तमान और भविष्य को गडमड कर चले . टप्प टप्प कर एक एक बूँद रंगीन छीटों से निर्मला के सुन्दर पावों पर इन्द्रधनुषी रंग बिखेरने लगे . निर्मला शांत, स्तब्ध, एकदम निर्विकार सी अपने उस कल्पना जगत के झलक की रंगीन बर्बादी को निहारती रही.

उमेश कल ही लन्दन से लौटा था. कारोबार के सिलसिले में अब वो महीनों घर से बाहर रहता. आता भी तो चाँद घंटों के लिए - शायद इसलिए की उसकी जिम्मेवारियां कभी कभी उसके अल्ट्राबिजी शेडयूल पर शर्मिंदगी और उपेक्षा की नज़रें गड़ा देती. तब उमेश निर्मला को ऐसे चूमता मानो उन सिमटे लम्हों में वो अपनी ज़िन्दगी का सारा प्यार, निर्मला के प्रति अपनी सारी संवेदनाएं उसे सौंप कर मुक्त होना चाहता हो. और फिर अचानक सब शांत, सब चुप - एक पसरा सन्नाटा, निरर्थक अंतराल.

निर्मला ने धीरे धीरे अपनी दुनिया रंगों के बीच समेट ली. भूरे, काले, मरून, बैगनी रंगों के विस्तार में डूबता उसका मन पीले, नीले, लाल, हरे रंगों में बिहंस पड़ता. निर्मला ने रंगों को अपनी साधना, अपनी कल्पना, अपनी कामना और अपना सम्मान बना लिया था. और ये सब एक ऐसे ढर्रे में होता चला गया जहाँ वो न जानते हुए भी जा गिरी और जब उठी तो उसकी दुनिया रंगीन हो चुकी थी.

उमेश और निर्मला ने साथ रहने का फैसला किया था. बारह सालों के रोमांस के बाद उन्हें लगा की इतने बड़े शहर में साथ रहना अधिक सहूलियत भरा होगा. दोस्तों ने इसे प्यार का नाम दिया, परिवारवालों ने पागलपन का. पर इन दोनों ने एक मौन सहमति का - किस बात की, ये शायद खुद भी नहीं जानते.

शाम हो चली थी. निर्मला ने ज़मीन पे चू चुके रंगों की परत को पैर के अंगूठे से सहलाया. ज़मीन पर एक विचित्र से रंग की छाप बन रही थी - ऐसा रंग जिसे नाम न दिया जा सके; सभी रंग थे उसमे पर किसी एक का स्वतंत्र रूप नहीं था. उमेश और निर्मला पहले हर शाम, साथ में खिड़की के आमने सामने बैठे, क्षितिज को निहारते, सूरज को डूबते देखते. साथ ही चाय की अंतिम घूँट लेते. अब तो याद भी नहीं की पिछली शाम साथ कब गुजरी थी.

कॉल बेल बजी. निर्मला ने अनमने भाव से दरवाज़े की ओर कदम बढाया, की होल से देखा. हलके फिरोजी रंग की शर्ट की बटन खोलता, टाई ढीली करता उमेश बाहर खड़ा था. निर्मला ने दरवाज़ा खोला. उमेश ने ज़मीन पर रंगीन, मटमैले पावों की छाप को देखा, निर्मला को देखा और एक फीकी सी मुस्कान के साथ उसके बालों को सहलाया. पूछा, "चाय नहीं बनाओगी?"

निर्मला कैसे समझाये खुद को की साथ रहकर भी वे एक दूसरे के नहीं हैं. एक स्वतंत्र उच्छ्वास है इस रिश्ते में. निर्मला उमेश को नहीं कह सकती किं आज कहीं मत जाओ. उमेश तो शायद ही कभी किसी से कोई अपेक्षा रखता हो.

निर्मला ने चाय बनाई. उमेश ने चाय के प्याले को कैनवास के एक सिरे पर रखते हुए धीरे धीरे सारी चाय उस पर उढ़ेल दी. एक विद्रूप से भाव को चेहरे पे समेटते हुए कहा, "निर्मला कल से किटी इस घर में शिफ्ट कर रही है. तुम चाहो तो यहाँ रहो या फिर पीछे वाला एक कमरा खाली करवा दो.

निर्मला शांत, निशब्द, चुप, किंकर्त्तव्यविमूढ़ सी बैठी शून्य को निहारती रही. उमेश ने चाय की दूसरी कप पी और डूबते सूरज की अंतिम किरण को निर्मला के चेहरे को चूमते देखा. उसने कैनवास पर काला रंग चढ़ाया और घंटों निर्मला को निहारता, उस पर उँगलियाँ, रंग और ब्रश फिरता रहा.

सुबह हो चुकी थी. निर्मला ने कैनवास पर उमेश की निर्मला को देखा, उमेश को देखा और कुछ देर में अपना सूटकेस पैक कर ले आई. उमेश ने बाहर टाक्सी का इंतजाम कर दिया था.

बगीचे में चोरी से घुसता सिन्दूरी सूरज शर्म से लाल था. निर्मला ने सामान रखा और दोबारा अन्दर आई. किचन से पानी का जग लाया और कैनवास पर दे मारा. कैनवास के अधसूखे रंग कई धाराओं में अट्टहास कर चले.

उमेश स्तब्ध था. उसने धीरे से कहा, "यही परिणति है निर्मला. यही प्यार है शायद. मत जाओ न."

A bite at Arundhati's anti-Anna sandwich...

I am no Anna-fan. I have reservations against his version of the
Lokpal Bill as i have against the government's and the recent one by
Ms. Aruna Roy. But i do support the need for a strong and effective
Lokpal at any cost. In this article i shall try to deconstruct the
arguments put forth by Ms. Arundhati Roy in the article published on
the opinion page in The Hindu on the 22nd of August 2011. I shall
launch the rebuttals by mentioning the location of Ms. Roy's arguments
in the said article.

The first paragraph begins by calling the movement "embarrassing and
unintelligible" and assumes in the conclusive assertion that it is a
movement about Anna Hazare only. The point, Ms. Roy, is that you
forget it has members like Prashant Bhushan on his panel to satisfy
your assessment and parameter of 'intelligence'. Mr. Pashant Bhushan
is a person, Ms. Roy, with whom you have collaborated a number of
times in campus protests on various issues. Reality check needed, the
humble, Ms. Roy for there are people like Arvind Kejriwal who have
been spearheading and master-minding the movement since its inception.

Paragraph fourth : Ms. Roy says the Jan Lokpal Bill (JLB) "will
administer a giant bureaucracy...." Either Ms. Roy seems to have not
read the Bill or seems to have not been able to "intelligently"
comprehend the same. The JLB is merely a bill that seeks to construct
a strong Lokpal at the centre and Lokayuktas at state level to act as
curative or a preventive bodies in the present context; to deal with
systemic corruption in governance primarily at the top levels of
bureaucracy, ministries etc etc.Ms. Roy's subtle assertion, and a
factually incorrect one comes at a point in time in the article after
she has categorically labelled the same as "draconian" and declared a
factually flawed version of its understanding. Ms.Roy, are you too
influenced by the linguist Noam Chomsky(which actually you are as you
say) to argue a case which in terms of philosophy would account to
misleading vividness based on flawed, dramatic premise? Or is it an
intentional act of abusing language to inflate the degree of your
assertion so that two wrongs make a right.

Paragraph fifth: Ms. Roy's grand narrative of the common woman's grief
and dilemma is exactly what the JLB seeks to address, if Ms. Roy
chooses to read the bill sincerely and with an 'intelligent' mind that
is. Ms. Roy, the public declaration of individual government servant's
work profile in the Citizens' Charter, as demanded by the JLB, will
make it easier for any "her" to be aware of the vulnerability of any
government office to come under Lokpal's surveillance. Also, the
Lokpal is merely to investigate and prosecute the corrupt officials
and not to help her get a license to set up her business.

Paragraph Sixth:I wonder why Ms. Roy chooses to attend seminars and
protest meetings by liberal elitists who basically work in the
language of symbols that are as "aggressive and flag waving" as she
alleges the Anna-supporters to be.

Paragraph seventh and third: It is indeed unfortunate that Irom
Sharmila's fast could not gain as much of a mass support as Anna got
but to dismiss the ongoing as populist is to dismiss the opinions of
millions of thousands of common men and women who have been attending
the same with as much of fever with which you speak on NBA, Ms. Roy.
Yes, India is by and large a bourgeois society. Yes, that office goers
did not identify with other causes as much as they did with this one
in the same spirit. Yes, more and more urban people have been lending
solidarity to the same. But Ms. Roy had you chosen to take a pulse of
the ailing thousands of Indians, or people residing in India as would
prefer to address them politically, you would have known for a fact
that villagers from Haryana came to attend the movement too. There
were large scale demonstrations in Ralegan Siddhi. These are, Ms. Roy,
if you know the Indian demographics correct, not people from the urban
conglomerates. Further, eunuchs from Haryana too came to register
their protest in favour of Anna's stand. The surviving victims of
Bhopal Gas Tragedy too lent out their voices in his support. So, Ms.
Roy, kindly do not resort to clubbing these sizeable numbers in your
pompous plethora of sophisticated tag in some arbitrary and extremely
fascist linguistic jargon. These are the also among the 'marginalised'
who you think have absolutely no representation in Anna's movement.
Ms. Roy, if you choose to hear out Anna a little more, you would have
appreciated the fact that he did talk about farmers' protest and other
issues apart from the JLB. Humble Ms. Roy, the country for the time
being is merely focused on one issue because no movement can bite on
too many issues to chew the cud properly. Perhaps grapes seem sour to
you as not many support your stand on issues more than once.

Ms. Roy you had come to campus to attend a meeting by agitating
academicians against semester system in April. You said on being asked
and i quote,"The whole Anna thing is bullshit!" I wonder, how you
managed to pen an article on "bullshit" so feverishly. Also,if coming
to attend the agitation then was an act of solidarity to 'people' at
large celebrating the right to express themselves in a democracy, i
wonder how to rate your argument on scale of determining a stand
vis-a-vis elitist politics. Is your support for democracy only then
when a small coterie invites you to attend a protest or when your
"love-bites" to media, as you cynically used the phrase in a similar
meet at campus supporting Valentine's Day celebrations, are deep
enough to bypass the popularity of a "fresh-minted saint", as you
chose to call Mr. Hazare in your article?

You did not attend the slut walk. Does that mean you do not support
the feminist cause. You did not speak about the terror attack when
Mumbai wept. Pardoned then, when Taj was attacked, may be because it
targeted the capitalists. But even this time also you did not. They
were plebians in Zaveri Bazar who were hit. Does that mean, Ms. Roy,
you do not share any one these concerns. When you are entitled to not
lay hands on every issue that demands as immediate attention as say
the Kashmir controversy, does not the same argument apply to other
'popular' leaders of their times? Do members of the civil society also
have the right to choose which issues they wish to address without
being slotted in neat categories by liberal democrats who are as
staunch in their views as say the far right RSS. Ms. Roy, in order to
be an activist or a mass leader, you need not always be an
anti-capitalist, anti-establishment, anti-government each time. There
are people who 'intelligent'ly work within the system to clean it up.
So. Ms. Roy, when you say that Anna and and the Maoists are one in the
sense that they seek to overthrow the government, i demand my right to
differ be respected. Maoists resort to callous violence to overthrow
the state power. This mass upsurge seeks to make the government
accountable and answerable by absolutely non-violent means. Anna never
demanded UPA to step down from power. He has been asking him to merely
table a bill in the parliament. Identify the difference, Ms. Roy.

I agree that Arundhati Roy has a notable observation to make regarding
the absolute silence in the Jan Lokpal Bill on corporate corruption.
But unfortunately she fails to propose a model on how to try to cater
to putting a check on the same. Ms. Aruna Roy has a couple of
constructive interventions to make in her version of the Lokpal Bill
too. The need of the hour is to work for bringing a collaborative
definition of a strong Lokpal instead of merely dismissing this mass
movement as bourgeois humbug. Hope Ms. Arundhati respects and
appreciates the law of democracy in terms of not just championing the
trumpet of the freedom of expression but also the humility and
'intelligence' to listen to what others have to say. And hope that
civil societies collaborate structurally and ideologically to
contribute their dutiful bit in bringing up a strong Lokpal Bill.

To the suddenly shaken us....

Corruption is a systemic and, in the present context, a systematic mechanism of abuse of power one holds in his or her position. It not only depreciates the moral climate of the political, social, sociological and other manifest aspects of public life but fails the very essence of a democratic setup. To think about completely rooting out this flaw that has become inherent and congenital to the DNA of the public office via a structural framework is therefore an anticipated and a natural response to the subjects under a flawed and corrupt government. Therefore, the UPA going on strategically stupid and politically poor moves to contain the Anna fever by extremely unconstitutional and really illogical steps puts up a very sad state of affairs. However,with due respect to the Anna fever, one needs to identify the key contentions between the twin drafts of the Jan Lokpal Bill and the Lokpal Bill tabled by the members of the civil society and the government respectively, trying responsibly to tap the potential of the mass movement in an informed and involved debate so as to bring in affirmative action to call for accountability in the governance.

First things first. In terms of the credibility and efficacy of bringing in transparent accountability in offices meant to work "for the people", the Jan Lokpal Bill clearly wins over its counterpart. But to hail it as the panacea for all ills is again a case of mass hysteria ruling over rational and logical wisdom. It is necessary to understand that the need for a structure that brings the higher echelons of power under scanner is the immediate and absolute necessity of time today especially when so many scams and open and brazen display of foul play has revealed the dangerous faces of various governments at the state and central levels robbing people of thier rightful share of services, resources and of course the exchequer. Therefore, the fact that PMO, top executives, bureaucrats and the judiciary need to be put up for scrutiny is for all of us to support and extend solidarity to in this combined fight against corruption.

In a parliamentary democracy, to put the PM in the hands of civil society members to be punished if he breaches his code of conduct is fundamentally problematic, especially when technically he enjoys his elected status. In such a case, his office can be deemed an exception. As a model, investigations against him can happen under the vigilant eyes of the Lokpal and after arriving at findings against him, the judiciary can take charge in punishing him within a strictly stipulated time period and under open scrutiny to the public eyes. Also, the Lokpal's office too should be put into scanner and any allegation against his misconduct be punished via independent and open investigations against him where people have full access to proceedings of the investigations under way. Also, the corporate honchos and the politics-economics liasion need to be taken to task too especially when cases like Karnataka have emerged as prime examples of engineered corrupt ways. The selection of the Lokpal is a problem to counter which no workable model emerges from my head.

It is also important for us to understand that despite the fact that BJP and CPI, CPI(M), RJD and almost all national parties have stood up for Anna, most of them categorically deny their support to the Jan Lokpal Bill. The need of the hour is to focus the debate around this Bill rather than hero worship a single individual. In fact the trend generated out of venerance by the mob has been manipulated long enough by the media to hike up TRPs and by political parties to create vote banks. It is but obvious that cries to support democracy and fight against corruption would be backed up by all. At a point in time when BJP or any political party can clearly not and will definitely not leave the mass hysteria for it stands to win so much by backing it up, one needs to make them accept categorically their support for the Bill. These vultures need to be stopped from playing dirty games rather than submitting their genuine support for the movement. Till date the various governments have played on the rhetoric of "either you are with us or against us". The time has come when we take them on the offensive. Either, they submit their written support for the Jan Lokpal Bill with constructive and clear interventions and points of clash or they leave the movement immediately to launching their own rhetorical flourish with a free spirit. Indians have long suffered from their lip service anyway.

Further, the media needs to play a pro-active role in materialising this entire aspect. Instead of focusing on useless questions and showy journalistic fervour, it must adopt an involved and stirring debate. In all the protest meetings i went to, invariably the entire gamut of electronic media was engaged in this emotional and sentimental rendering of the protest venue and atmosphere. This needs to change. As members going out to lend support to the movement instead of appearing as mere props to the TRP boosting coverage, one can take charge of actually utilising the space to shift the perspective of the mob hysteria to an involved and a healthy debate.

Anna's fast is totally in the democratic spirit. Just as one has the right to freely abuse him in a press conference on really shoddily investigated allegations and unchecked verbal diarrhea of totally unparliamentary language, Anna or anyone for that matter has the democratic right to stage protest in any form. More so, because in a historical context when voices of dissent to the governmental structure and policies are met with callous and indifferent ears and at times with rampant , violent and unaccounted force and coercion, one needs to put a stern and inflamed foot forward to assert a position, especially on an issue that has unprecedented support across parties, ideologies etc. etc. Hence, the fact that Anna has emerged as a national crusader for a strong Lokpal needs to be respected and supported by all.

It is necessary to note that in the case of corruption in a country as populous, as large and as diverse as ours, a foolproof mechanism to tackle the same within a structural model is next to impossible. But to leave hope or to rubbish the efforts is indifferent and irresponsible too. Also, the hypocritical optimism behind the whole movement as a sure shot way to eliminate the menace from the roots needs to be clipped for a sane and balanced assessment of the status quo . Let us realise that the Jan Lokpal Bill can at the maximum be a preventive or a curative step to better the existing system and not a constructive one to build a new one. Despite all fair claims of hope, at the end of the day self custody, self restraint, self morality and individually strong moral conscience would decide what kind of an order we wish to be a part of.

On August 17 when i moved out to register my presence at the Chhatrasal Stadium, a seven-year old girl old girl in my locality said to her mom, "Anna baba ko arrest kar liya hai."

I stopped and asked her, "Who is Anna?"

She said, "Gandhi ji".

I pushed further,"Kyun arrest kiya?"

She replied, "Kyunki TV mein keh rahe hain ki woh lad rahe hain?"

I continued," Toh accha hai na, ladna toh galat baat hai. Police ne toh sahi kiya."

She disagreed with emphatic shaking of her head, Nahi nahi didi, woh keh rahe hain ki sab cheezon ki mehngai kam karo. Toh ye toh achha kam hai."

The cynic in me could merely smile at her innocent yet apt grasp of the happenings. I had the courage for the first time to say "Amen" to her last words.

The long lost rhyme..

The sun blinked
a dreamy smile...

Collected ravages of dry geraniums
mouldy fragrance of desiccated bark
slish slash on heavy waters.


Of dreams - thousands dreams..

There was a hill once
kissed by the morning rays
caressed by the breezy days
slapped by the sooty nights.

Until all that remains now is
dust - powdered ruins..

He said he misses her
I wonder if it is she he meant
or her smiles, her talks
or what all she stood for?



The sky embraced
another sleepy day -
long drawn, insipid.

A wait like Sisyphus..

Hmmm

A soiled napkin on the floor

used spoon

empty champagne glass

fag ends of burnt cigarettes

lip balm from L'Oreal.

I am fired from life

cursed to live in opulence.

Breaking necks of violent silences

breaking all - in one go.

A snap heals all

a year long emotional drama

bottled up hurt, anger also(perhaps)

Sometimes all - in one go.

I am tired

a little bored

more determined

To just begin

afresh rather - sans complications.

Of Monster, Bournvita and us...

"If i were to fly" was a favourite topic i used to compose essays on when i was a kid. In the hot summer afternoons when day naps were essentially a part of our small household in Patna, i used to gently slip out of my mother's embrace after she dozed off. What a thrill it was! Shutting the doors of her room, my brother and i resumed our adventures into the endless worlds of play acting, playing cricket and well, 'stealing' and gorging on milk powder and Bournvita. Later convinced that we were kids pronouncing babarism incarnate, my mother started giving us puzzles to solve or essays to write before we went ahead with our misdemeanours. Her siesta, henceforth, was rendered trouble free for sometime.

It was one such day when i realised that my brother had painted a monster on his white sheet. Not much of an aesthete he had been in paintings and artistic works but the figure that emerged on the sheet gave me such a fright that i was sick for a couple of days. On one of those afternoons of my 'sickness', we had been asked to write this essay on "If i were to fly".

The sun was furiously staring on the white-washed walls of the house. Maa was sleeping inside and we had successfully managed to perch on the cot in the shed outside our room. Suddenly, i realised Saurabh had vanished. I assumed he must have been out to use the loo. Unable to trace him for more than half an hour now, i panicked. I called him out with no response elicited from either the washroom or anywhere. I searched everywhere. Frustrated and a little worried, i made the last attempt to trace him in the corridor. No Saurabh. I went into the kitchen, seething with rage by now. Somehow, i was sure, he must have been hogging on the 'stolen' delicacies, without me. There was no Saurabh. Instead i saw his white sheet, yes, the same which had the monster drawn on it till yesterday, on the slab. It bared its white teeth all over, with no trace of either my brother's stroke or the monster's face on it. By now i was sure i lost my brother.

Tears rolling down my cheeks, vision blurred and throat completely choked, i stared imploringly at the white sheet. By then i felt a sudden pull. It seemed as if the bared teeth opened and tried to suck me inside. I grew helpless and the next moment i realise being spirralled into a strange world of whiteness all around. My body seemed to reel very fast in this unending spiral. It was as if sitting on the spinning top and being paraded inside the white white world of freshly washed draperies, hung on the dhobi ghats.

After few odd moments of my strange journey, i fell with a thud on the white marble floor. Saurabh was sitting luxuriously on a seat of what seemed like a Milkmade box. He held a huge Nestle milk powder packet in his hands and was grinning widely while enjoying big mouthfull of the same. All my sisterly love vanished in a jiffy. I snatched his packet, slapped him hard and there we were fighting again.

Suddenly the monster appeared out of nowhere. I shrieked in horror. My brother hugged me and asked me to keep quiet. The monster was red with rage. His bulbous eyes emanated flashes of fire and we could no longer see anything except his gigantic body by now. Calling out our names he said, "This is the precise reason i have both of you here today! Fighting like uncouth, wild animals in the jungle, you have always disturbed my sleep and peace. Today i shall eat one of you and shall end my troubles forever."

I began to wail piteously. I begged him to leave us once and promised that we would never ever fight again. The monster seemed unrelenting. My brother and i hugged each other tight and cried for long now, convinced that one of us would die soon. The monster picked me up. He slapped me on my cheek and asked me to shut up. He spoke again," I love Saurabh for he gave me a place in your beautiful house by drawing me up. And he shall always enjoy unlimited stock of delicacies from now on. Soon after i eat this puny, little wretch up, i shall send you back my dear, Saurabh, into your sweet home. And every afternoon, after you sneak out of bed, you shall find your gift ready near the sheet of my drawing. You can either come to my house here, as you did today or have it while you do your mother's homework each day"

By now, i was wailing uncontrollably. Saurabh moved forward and bent on his knees. He asked the monster if there was no way to save me. He promised we would never fight again and also that i would not demand any share from the stock that the monster would send him each day. He also cried buckets of tears and kissed the monster's hands. Perhaps the huge creature took some pity on us. He said that he would be back in a moment and vanished.

I looked at Saurabh with frightened eyes and he merely smiled at me in a faint way. He asked me," How did you reach here, tiny rat? Why did you come here? He can easily finish you up in one go, do you know? Why do you always try to act oversmart?"

By now i had lost all my love for him. I threw a really bad face at him and said, "Here i am really worried if you had drowned in the loo or been kidnapped or murdered! And here are you,selfish mouse, enjoying sumptous meals in this ugly monster's house! I hate you! I simply hate you!"

Saurabh cut me through and exclaimed," Oh Miss i-am-so-generous! Ask yourself if you did not steal my chocolates the other day and had me scolded instead. You lousy liar! It is good that i did not tell you about my secret friendship with this monster! Huh! Listen, do not try to bully me now! Here i am trying to save you and you are being so ungrateful!"

I could see my vision blur again. A fresh onslaught of tears assaulted my eyes. I choked and said in a broken voice ," I am sorry Saurabh! Save me from this horrible creature. I shall never ever steal your stuff. And i will also return your Cosco ball that i took to school everyday. I shall instead share those chocolates Sharma uncle got for both of us when you had gone out to buy milk from the shop". With this i broke down into a huge wail.

Saurabh looked at me with tender eyes. He said," I will also return your violet Camlin pencil. I am sorry. I took it from your bag to take revenge."

Both of us hugged each other. Saurabh's eyes shone when he saw an eraser tightly clutched in my fingers. Meanwhile, the monster returned. he looked at us and asked Saurabh to have his Cadbury while he should enjoy his meal. He laughed a racuous laughter and picked me up in his filthy, fat hands.

Saurabh was deft enough to rub the eraser on his hands. Lo and behold! His arms vanished. The monster snapped a very furious glance at his side. He jumped in rage and kicked Saurabh hard. Poor Saurabh! He hit the milky white floor and the eraser landed near me. I took no time to erase the monster's legs. By now, the monster lay on the floor and snapped at me. My face broke into a puddle of blood. I let out a huge scream.

Saurabh erased his eyes and there the monster lay struggling to see. Meanwhile, the nose, ears, forehead kept vanishing with masterly strokes of the erasure. I kept groaning in pain and Saurabh kept erasing even the tiniest marks of the monster.

The next moment i realise a pillow descending on my face. My brother asked me to hush up lest we wake up mamma and passed on the open Bournvita bottle with a spoon dug inside. I hugged him tight and thanked him profusely. Saurabh looked puzzled. I asked him if the monster would not reappear to punish me if i had his share with scared eyes. He gave me a quizzical look and said,"Silly! it is already one hour that you have wasted in your sleep. Finish off your essay before maa wakes up!"

I felt my 'bloody' face with my hands. Ascertained that it was a dream, i decided to keep the Cosco ball with me. After much thought, i opened my pencil box to share those chocolates that Sharma uncle had got for us.