तेरी याद बहुत आती है

Staying away from you is difficult, even if it is for a short while.
Happy Bithday Parul - 2016

यहाँ कोई गुनगुनता नही,
तेरी याद बहुत आती है.
सुंदर सा कुछ दिख पता नही
तेरी याद बहुत आती है

सुन्न कोई बुलाता है,
लेकिन जाने क्या बताता है.
भाषा भी कोई और लहज़ा भी कोई और.
जाने क्या कहना चाहता है.

लेकिन तुझे दूर रहकर
इतना मजबूर रहकर
फिर से जाना है की प्यार है
ये लम्हा बेकरार है

कमी तेरी बहुत सताती है
तेरी याद बहुत आती है
जल्दी बता तू कब आती है
तेरी याद बहुत आती है

 

I loved Stairs

He was sitting in the courtyard, when I passed by he called for me and slapped me asking, “What were you doing?...”

I was in full merry mood for it was summer vacation and we were playing games of twilight; I was 10. The world changed, I didn’t cry but I wept.

I loved stairs. It was summer vacation and like every summer vacation we went to our village, to meet our grandfather and grandmother. Adding to it was the fun of spending the whole afternoons in mango orchids; we had large mango orchids. It was a total change in style of living; we came from a small town but with decent amenities to a small village with none.

No electricity to start with made the days hotter and nights darker. But the hotter days could be spend in shadows of trees and the darker nights on roof tops gazing at clear starry skies.

The summer vacation extends to nearly one month and we made a point to spend the last week at our maternal grandfather place in Begusrai.

That is were the stairs were. The apartment was a two storey old building. It was difficult to understand what color it use to be, but now it was pale yellow.

The building might not have undergone maintenance for about 10 years, may be before my birth. But it did have that cozy feeling that attracts peoples to live in a neighborhood where you know who your neighbor is.

Now I hardly know what the surname of my neighbor is that also because everyday I see the sign board on their closed door while passing on stairs on my 2nd floor flat, I hate climbing these stairs. I used to love stairs.

We were playing hide and seek, the other kids were from neighborhood I can hardly remember one name now but there were at least ten then. On the terrace there was a dried water tank, cemented and large enough to cater to the whole building must have been abandoned due to leakage problems of that old building. The tank lied at one edge and there was only one way to go in there that was to climb the sidewalls and hang to the end of the tank and pull self up and then jump in. It was a dangerous ordeal, if I think of it now, but it provided a good hiding place and who cared to think deep those days of thoughtlessness.

I did hide myself with great dexterity and I did win the game as no one found me, but then with win came the price, when I came out of the tank some kid have already told my “Nanaji” (my maternal grand father) of where I was.

It was getting dark and the game was over so I rushed downstairs and at the doorstep in the courtyard, there was Nanaji sitting in the armchair. I skipped his mood but he asked me to stop, I don’t remember which happened first me turning to him or his hand coming for my cheek. It was a shock for me till he said “What were you doing? Where were you?...”. I do not remember what he said next but with my trembling feet I stood there. He must have made me aware of the danger of climbing the tank before dismissing me but the unusual slap was enough for me to not remember anything afterwards. I don’t remember if he ever slapped me or even raised an eyebrow ever again. And I went in it was dark outside and darker inside, I went for my bed lied on my stomach with my head concealed in the pillow I wept. I didn’t cry but I wept.

To this day I still cherish those stairs and the sweet slap; I wish I could have had more of such memories.

I used to love stairs; I use lift now.

The Writer’s Guilt

"I don't know about your past much. And who is this girl who keeps messaging you on g-talk and scrapping you on Orkut and you keep ignoring her?" The wife asked ignorantly.

"She was my class mate in school. These school friends always try to bug me. I have been ignoring them from a long time; they don't seem to understand, Losers." The husband replied nonchalantly.

"It’s nice to have old friends, isn't it?"

"Those were not the best days of my life. I don't have any thing to cherish only sour moments."

"Why don't you tell me about them? May be after you have done telling me it will not remain as sour as you think it is."

"Oh! You don't know that."

"Then let me know."

"Ok. It was a time when I was in 12th grade. The time seemed so good then but when I think of it now it haunts me.

I used to write stories back then. I don't know why, but my class mates use too cherish them a lot, specially the girl who keeps bugging me. I wrote many articles for school magazines and for newspapers.

"My teachers use to praise me as if I was an asset. People use to like me for nothing. They didn't even read the article.

"It was nostalgic. Then one day I thought of not writing for them anymore but writing didn't die in me. I started a novel.

My imagination was taking me places and I kept going. I was wondering whether my characters were fictitious or real. I use to talk to them; I used to dictate them; I was god. The power of decision was taking a toll on me, for I could decide about the times and lives of my characters. After some time I didn't had the idea of what I was writing or what I was imagining. The story was killing me. I went and went. It was getting frustrated. The characters were getting sad. It was then that I thought to end it and I did.

"I took the manuscript and gave it to my class mates to read it. They read and kept it in circulation. They used to say me that I should publish it. There praises were obnoxious. I use to think why people try to stay so happy and why they always try to portray it. They live a life of herds, of following and listening.

"But the fact that the story was over was not so easy for me. I was wondering that I will also become like others, ordinary. I was lost, disappointed and depressed. I had nothing left. No more characters to talk to, no one to dictate, none to be killed. And I killed the most important person in my life, now I don't have anything to live for. So what should be the end of my story go back to being a regular kid at school or ...

"I was thinking all that lost in time and space when I saw a big truck coming my way. I was in the middle of the highway in the night on my bicycle. It was dark and became darker as I don't know what happened next.

"I was in hospital for a long time, going in and out of my consciousness. The accident was the best thing that happened to me lately. It wiped all my fixtures with my story and it was strange that I didn't think about the story for a long time. It cleared my head and I was breathing easy.

"When my classmates came to meet me I asked them about the story. They started to talk about their favorite characters and who read it and passed it to whom. This girl was also there. Everyone was saying that they read and passed the manuscript to other. And it happened so that the manuscript was lost, no one new who had it last.

"I recovered and went back to school but I never found the manuscript again. It was lost. I don't know whether it was lost for good or not.

"That's my story. I moved on and now I am here with you."

That left the wife astonished and speechless.

"Wow! You never told me that before. I don't know what was in the story you wrote but your story is lovely. I think you should get in touch with your school friends." She said.

"No. They are just a bunch of looser. Don’t you see how desperate they are to get in touch with me, and this girl, I think she had a crush on me. I did everything to avoid them. There is this common friend who also works in my company; he was saying that she came to the city looking for me. I warned him not to tell her about me.”

“That’s so mean of you.” Wife went away to another room saying this.

“There may be something important that she came to the city looking for you. Right?” She came back.

“I doubt that.” He replied strongly.

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A few months later the friend of writer busted into him in a mall. After the usual greetings the writer introduced his friend to his wife.

“I have something to tell you.” The friend said.

“Remember the girl I told you about who was looking for you for over a month. She died last week of leukemia. Apparently she was here to give you something. Her parents were looking for you too to fulfill her last wish. You asked me not to tell anyone about your whereabouts, so I didn’t. But I think you can at least do this for her. Talk to her parents.” He gave the phone number to the writer and went away.

“It’s so sad and you took pride in keeping yourself a secret. I think you will not call her parents either. After all they are looser. They lost their girl.”

But he did. He called her parents. They just asked for his address and asked him to acknowledge when he has received the package, as this was their daughter’s last wish. They blessed him long life and wished only if she could have met him the last time.

He was sad and become more when he received the package. There was a note with the package. She left it for him. It was unopened, no one dared open it; and with great dare he did.

“I hope this letter find you in good hope, because hope is all I have left now. By the time it will reach you, if ever, there will be no hope for me. I could have given you this long ago. But then I felt it’s my duty not to. Here I give you your story back. The story is grave but good. I and everyone who knew you back then when you wrote this think that you should be publishing this and many more. You deserve fame and this will bring you what you want. I stole this book and hid it for this long. I will like to apologize for that, but then I felt that the story will kill you if I would have given it back to you. It seems the books wanted a life and it will have mine. I hope and I hope for you.”

He was not sure what to feel. But the tears in his eyes said it all. He handed the note to his wife. He hoped that the girl was still alive and hoped if he could talk to her. His thoughts and his knowledge gave way to hope to fill his heart.

The story that has been.

And she killed him.

---Some time ago---

The night was young and she was sitting by the side of the road overlooking the ocean. People come for a stroll there. "Its always pleasant here in Bombay at this time of the year", she thought or someone said it to her. She was not sure; she didn't had any thought for a while that she was sitting there; calm, serene and in a state of total thoughtlessness. She didn't have that for a long-long time.
"I said, it’s always pleasant here in Bombay at this time of the year." Oh! It wasn't her; someone was trying to have a conversation.

"It’s Mumbai, sir". And he sat there by her side acknowledging his mistake. As if the mistake and correction had brought them together. So much so, that they sat there silently without saying a word. No one broke the silence as if they had all the conversations that needed for a life time and now all they need is the close proximity of each other.

She suddenly stood up and started, just a few steps later she turned and looked at the man. He followed, once again without a question. Oh! She had a calling. It wasn't her youth that chained him, it was something else. He traveled half the way around the world after half of his life to find solitude and she was sitting there in the same search, still they were. It seemed to them like their search is over.

After a while of stroll, she broke the silence. "Are you in the intension of having sex with me tonight, if so, its not going to happen." This might be the obvious doubt that had creep her mind and this may be due to sudden increase in blood flow because of the walk.

He didn't reply and continued the walk. At some level he knew that this question didn't came from her. Neither did she insist for an answer, she was worried that he may leave if she did. After all she found her solitude for the night. Now, she didn't want to break the silence anymore. The only sound that was around was the sound of the little traffic and that of the waves.

"Why were you sitting here all alone? Isn't it unsafe?" That brought her sigh of relief. "Ah! I don't care whether its safe or not. I was here for what I wanted. You too might have heard a lot about India and the recent developments around here. They do trembles the mind for a moment but then its heart's choice and it’s his search."

"Search for what?" He asked, even though he thought that he knew the answer.
"What did you come here to search? I don't think it was your long lost dream to walk the streets of every big city of the world and see how it feels being there at night; though I always thought of doing so, but not at night in the early morning. Always wanted to feel the streets of different countries in the morning and see the faces of happy men and women coming for a walk or a jog. Everyone looks so happy when they are out there in the morning. I have rarely seen a tensed face."

"So you want to see how it feels to be happy in other countries."

"May be!”

"Then why don't you go and do that?"

"I was waiting. I was waiting for you to come and ask this question." She replied looking into his eyes with a playful glaze, the word came out of her from some movie she might have seen lately. And with a smirk he rejected the reply. "I don't have that kind of money." She had convinced him now.

“Now what? What do you intend to do?”
“Do you think I have an answer? I haven’t thought of it anyway. And if I had even faintest idea what to do next, I would have not been here. Right?”
Yes he understood. How couldn’t he, he was there because he also didn’t had faintest idea what he was doing there and where from there? It was getting breezy. And the feel of breeze stroking their face from side made them realized when they were a kid and how they just ran through the breeze. He wondered how he could even run for so long back then.  And now he is old and tired. Only things that hasn’t change is the fact that, even back then he could run with anyone strange or known and he could run any unknown places. He used to get lost back then and he wants to get lost now. He stopped for a moment. Were those his thoughts? He carefully thought again. He can remember his childhood. But then they say that ignorance is bliss. He was able to connect to his childhood again but then the knowledge that he did make it short lived. Never mind, he thought. He was happy for the smallest of the moment.

“Hey! Have you ever felt like reliving the moment?”
“Why?” She asked.
“I just felt like as if I am a child again. Have you ever felt that?”
“You ask too many questions?”
“So what? Just tell me.”
“That’s a stupid question. You yourself have felt like that many a times.  May be you are feeling it after a long time.”
He was a little embarrassed. But that felt right. Again it was like the embarrassment that he might have felt at some stupid question he would have asked when he was just a kid.

“Don’t think aloud, you may spill your thoughts.” She smiled at him and he acknowledged.
“It must have been way past mid-night. Right? Today is my birthday.” She said.
“Wow!”
“Are you not going to wish me?”
“You already have your wish fulfilled. Many happy returns of the day!”
Thoughts were bouncing in his head like crazy balls. He was in total communion with his childhood now and was remembering some birthday party that he might have had or he might have been to.

She was wondering of some wishful thinking that might be fulfilled that night, for she believed that anything she wishes for tonight may be granted. She had few lonely birthdays but this was special. She had lonely before but she had found her solitude today, tonight. She thought of what she said to him about thinking aloud and gave a little smile to herself.

“What are you giving me for a gift?”
“What can I give you? You have given me the most memorable moment of my lifetime. My search is over, as you said. I don’t know what I have found. But I don’t want to do anything anymore.”

“Then give me your life.”
“It’s yours.” He has never been so submissive for he has been very successful, the kind of success normally people urge for.

 

“I would wish for the night to never end, the time to stop for me right now, right here.”

She took out a gun from her purse and shot him.
And she killed him.

 

He died happily ever after.

Desire

If my desire has some form, this may be it.

Solitude

Breakup letter

Oh my dear Chori

Dekh maine tera naam bhi bhula diya hai
Dil ke cirkuit se tera IC bhi hata diya hai
Ab to single bana ghoomta hoon
Orkut ke profile se committed bhi mita diya hai

Teri saheli ka profile pasand aa gaya hai
Uska chehra aab aankhon main sama gaya hai
Hot girls community main uski rating hai high
Uska figure hai uff, lifestyle hi-fi

Dekh saach saach kehta hoon
Mujhe tujme koi interest nahi
Jitne tere bajoo hain
Utna to mera waist nahi.

Waise bhi tu na mujhe
Na mere doston ko bhati thi
Jab bhi main date pe le jata
Tu bahut jyada khati thi.

Ab bas kar mera khoon peena
Mujhe bhi hai kuch pal jeena
Ab tera saath na de paonga
Tujhe chood ke main bhag jaonga