A Date with a Memory
A Marked Calendar! How does one prepare To face impending despair What do you do When you know the blues are going to hit you You see the pages of calendar turn A date with a memory awaits Passing time hasn't yet healed the burns Of a day when you were hit by a cruel twist of fate You try to move on Carefully treading down memory lane Past flashing images of a loved one gone The heart laments, aches and pains The day passes punctuated with awkward silences With the mind and heart attempting conversation What one says the other refuses Each year its the same situation Someday the mind hopes the heart shall learn To look back and remember The years of pure joy And not just one bad day in September
The Perfect Circle
Art: Circle of Friends by Susan Vannelli I pen these lines to say ‘Thank You’ on what my little one says is Friendship Day
There are indeed things to express and today’s as good as any other day
Always maintained and truly believe that friends are the family one can choose
Our most potent weapons always ready at our behest to convince, corrupt or confuse
To all the friends who befriended me or I ever made
At work, the university, the neighbourhood or first grade
Close or distant so many of you have had a role to play
In shaping me into the person I am from the proverbial clay
To those who really don’t fit the classical definition of a friend
The ones that are always around to support with hand to lend
The parents, siblings, the teachers at school and yes even bosses
The hands of God, the guardian angels, the mystery sauces
To those with whom I stayed the course and they’re but a few
You have a big heart, I know what it takes for being there, for staying true
Then there are those that distances and time pushed away
Mere pauses in our friendship for whenever we meet we just press play
To the handful and hopefully all of you know who you are
My rocks of Gibraltars, my partners in crime, my guiding stars
For a man of words I search for ones that’ll convey what I really want to say
I live and breathe metaphorically and truly it’s because of you I’m here todaySince You’ve Been Gone
Since you’ve been gone
Been trying each day
To find the strength
Pick up the pieces
And somehow move on
Days run into days
Years begin to turn into years
Yes time has tried to be a friend
But the heartache won’t mend
There’s no easy way
I look around
I see the world I’ve built
The life I live
There’s an emptiness
Despite the happiness I found
So much has changed for me
Yet so much has not
My first birthday had you carrying me in your arms
And now my first one with you in my memory, my heart closer than you'll ever be
Maybe it’s not going to change
The way I feel
Guess it’s meant to be
The emptiness is you driving me
It’s destiny even if it’s strange
Since you’ve been gone
Keep trying each day
To make you my strength
Make meaning of these pieces
Put on a smile and brave onउलफ़त
उनकी उलफ़त का ये आलम है
के कोरे कागज़ पे भी ख़त पढ़ लिया करतें हैं
ज़िन्दगी ऐसी गुलिस्तां बन गयी उनके प्यार में
के कागज़ के फूलों में ख़ुशबू ढूँढ लिया करतें हैं
हम तो फिर भी आशिक़ हैं
मानने वाले तो पत्थर में ख़ुदा को ढूँढ लिया करतें हैंदिवाली
इस बरस दिवाली के दियों संग कुछ ख़त भी जल गये कुछ यादों की लौ कम हुई कुछ रिश्ते बुझ गये भूले बंधनों के चिरागों तले अँधेरे जो थे वो मिट गये बनके बाती जब जले वो रैन भर सारे शिकवे जो थे संग ख़ाक हो गये
The Feeling
I know I’ve known this feeling Way longer than I’ve known you The love I have for you inside me Runs miles deeper than I’ve ever shown you Should I have said these words Did I let you slip away without a fight When I so badly wanted to hold you Why didn’t I try? Try with all my might It wasn’t easy at all but I survived Learnt living with a constant craving Thought that I was setting you free Unaware it was I who needed saving What if things had happened differently Had I told you would you have stayed back Would this love have grown stronger If you hadn’t missed it and felt it’s lack Does it really matter now? Now I’m with you Should I rue the extra years we could have got Or be happy for the present and a future together Looking forward to what can be, instead of what could not Here I am telling you about this feeling That’s grown stronger everyday I’ve known you The love I have for you inside me Runs miles deeper than I can ever show you
यक़ीन-ए-इश्क़
भुला पाओगे नहीं ये यक़ीन है मेरा जाओ फिर भी तुम्हें ये मौक़ा दिया कहाँ पाओगे ऐसा जैसा प्यार मेरा लो ये भी दुआ दे आज़ाद किया नहीं देंगे तुझे आवाज़ फिर न देखेंगे कभी फिर कूचा तेरा भुला देंगे सब कुछ तेरे ख़ातिर न याद कराएंगे कोई वादा तेरा दूर कहीं जा कर दुनिया से मेरी नया अपना जहाँ बसा लेना भूले से महक न आए मेरी काग़ज़ के फ़ूल सजा लेना गर याद फिर भी आए जो मेरी आँखें अपनी बंद कर लेना दिल तोड़ेंगे तेरा ख़्यालों में तेरी तुम बेवफ़ा मुझे फिर कह देना ये इल्ज़ाम भी अपने सर ले लेंगे बस तुम अपना सब्र रख लेना इश्क़ किया था माफ़ भी कर देंगे बस एक फ़ूल मेरी कब्र पर रख देना
धुन
अनसुनी सी एक धुन है लफ़्ज़ जिसमें गुम हैं सुर उसके सासों से सजते हैं और देती धड़कनें ताल हैं दबी हुई थी कहीं वो सालों से जाने किस पल के इंतेज़ार में ख़ुद से ख़ुद बेख़बर हो के मानो कुछ ढूँड़ रही थी फ़िलहाल में एकाएक दिल के ढोल जब बजने लगे सहमे सुस्त पड़े पैर थिरकने लगे होंठ बजाने लगे जब यूँ ही सीटियाँ हाथ दोनों जब स्वयं लगे देने तालियाँ लय बन लहर दौड़ गई है जो जीवन को जीवन्त कर रही है वो हर तान से एक नई तरंग जो उठती है इश्क़ नाम है धुन का - वही ज़िंदगी है अनसुनी सी एक धुन है लफ़्ज़ जिसमें गुम हैं
The Benefactor
If one were to hear how Dheeraj and Uma got together, the story would have all the elements of a typical Bollywood potboiler. Love at first sight, strife, parents opposed to the relationship, you name it! Theirs is a relationship most of their friends swear by. But this is not a testament of their love, it’s a tale about how they started their married life.
It must have been the late eighties or the early nineties at best. Dheeraj was in the final year of his Bachelors in Science. Our man however harboured hopes of becoming a poet…a “shaayar”. Never had the courage to tell his father though!
The evenings in the boys’ hostel of Jamia Millia were renowned for their “mehfils”. Aspiring shayars would gather and exchange views over endless rounds of tea & cigarettes into the wee hours of the morning. Dheeraj under his pen name “Gaafil” had gained considerable repute. A name that had started finding a mention in the haloed corridors of the Sahitya Akademi.
Uma had just completed her BA in Journalism and had joined the Mass Communications program at Jamia. Incidentally poetry was a passion of hers and in the few months that she had spent in Jamia “Gaafil” and his poetry had a special corner in Uma’s heart. I did say the story has the elements of a pot-boiler didn’t I?
It took two years of travelling in the same “U Special” and Uma Parthasarathi joining the Mass Communications program for Dheeraj Singh to find courage to speak with her. Notes with poetry and walks from the bus stand eased them into falling in love with each other.
Time fleeted. Dheeraj was now a part of a theatre troupe and Uma had found employment with one of the TV News channels. Their offices were in Connaught Place and the Coffee House became their haunt.
Neither of their parents were for this relationship. While Dheeraj’s father was opposed to the concept of love in general, Uma’s father had a range of issues. For starters, Dheeraj was a North Indian, to top that he was younger that Uma and finally he barely was earning! The only voice of reason was Uma’s mother who very pragmatically suggested Dheeraj change the one thing he could; find a job!
Everyone at the Coffee House knew and rooted for Dheeraj and Uma. Their standard order comprising 1 Veg Cutlet, 1 Plate Idli, 1 Masala Dosa and 2 Coffees would be ready to serve even before either of them reached the cash counter to place the order. The cashier Rampal Yadav an elderly gentleman, would look forward to Dheeraj and Uma each day.
They would take the same seat every day discussing everything ranging from work to the new ways their parents would come up with for them to separate.
“Add 3 plates of Gulab Jamun to the usual today Chacha,” said Dheeraj to Rampal ji as he approached the counter. “It’s celebration time!”
“What’s special? Are you getting published finally?”
“Even better Chacha! We got married!!”
Both Dheeraj and Uma seemed happy. Rampal ji couldn’t but help notice how pretty Uma was looking in her Kanjeevaram. They did make a fabulous couple indeed.
They kept their marriage a secret from their parents till they could no longer keep it one. The pressure was mounting on Uma to get married and she was left with no choice but to reveal the truth.
Dheeraj and Uma set off house hunting.
“Three thousand a month and three months rent in advance,” Dheeraj said, concern writ large in his voice.
“Don’t worry, I have fifteen grand saved up,” said Uma reassuringly. “It’s small but I love it. Plus Patel Nagar to CP is also convenient.”
During the course of the next few months they went about converting the house they had rented into a home. Of course, their meetings at the Coffee House continued.
“It’s gorgeous and I know it would be just perfect for our setting.” The excitement in Uma’s voice was palpable. She was talking about a sofa-set she had seen at Panchkuian Road.
“I should be hearing from the agency too. I have penned a few jingles for them. We could use that money.”
“Who said anything about buying it?” Uma said.
“Okay, atleast tell me where you saw it. Let me check it out too.”
The next day when Dheeraj walked upto the cash counter Rampal ji hesitantly said, “Need a loan beta?”
Dheeraj who perhaps was not in the best of the moods erupted saying, “Doesn’t that signboard behind you say No Credit Chacha ji.” Rampal ji did not push the matter further. Dheeraj and Uma finished their lunch and left.
“Hey!! That’s the one I was talking about!” Dheeraj and Uma were walking back home from work that evening when she pointed out to a hand-cart laden with a sofa. The man seemed to be asking for directions.
“Hmm…nice indeed,” Dheeraj commented. They climbed up the stairs to their first floor apartment secretly yearning for the sofa.
Uma had just put the kettle on the boil when the door-bell rang. She opened the door to find the man who was pushing the hand-cart at the door.
Uma turned and gave Dheeraj who had joined her a hug.
“You are so bad!! You wanted to surprise me did you?” said Uma playfully punching Dheeraj.
Dheeraj was too dumbfounded to react.
“You have the wrong address…I think,” he said hesitantly, aware that Uma would be left heart-broken.
“You are Dheeraj Singh. Aren’t you?” asked the cart man.
Dheeraj nodded.
“Then this is yours,” he said pointing to the sofa-set.
“Or else,” he continued, “Pay me the charges and I shall carry it back.”
Dheeraj looked at Uma almost as though seeking agreement and said, “Okay leave it here. I shall pay a visit to the shop tomorrow.”
The sofa set placed where she had always imagined it. “We could probably give some advance and pay the balance in installments,” Uma suggested.
The following day Dheeraj and Uma skipped lunch at the Coffee House and made their way to Wadhera Furniture House on Panchkuian Road.
“The sofa set has been paid for. We only deliver against full payment,” the shop owner said. “An elderly gentleman had come down, he saw the piece in the show window, made payment in cash and gave this delivery address.”
“Could it be Appa?” Uma wondered aloud. “I did mention that I really liked a sofa-set when I was speaking with Amma the other day.”
“There’s a public telephone nearby, call them.” Dheeraj said. “Tell them that we shall pay them back gradually.”
“Hello Appa! Thank you so much Appa! I knew you would come around one day,” Uma gushed as she spoke.
“Wrong number.” With that a curt voice at the other end of the line disconnected the call. Uma started sobbing uncontrollably.
Sensing the situation Dheeraj suggested that they take the rest of the day off, grab a bite at the Coffee House and head home.
“Where’s Rampal ji today?” Dheeraj asked the person manning the cash counter.
“Oh! I am sorry he passed away. Did you know him?”
“What…..how???!!!!” Uma shrieked.
“He was crossing the street on Panchkuian Road a few days back, when he met with an accident. Must have been six or six thirty in the evening. A car jumped the traffic signal and ran over him. Right outside Wadhera Furniture House….”
It’s twenty years since they got married. Dheeraj and Uma have two lovely daughters now. Dheeraj is a Creative Director in one of the leading ad agencies and Uma an Editor with the same news channel that she had joined.
If ever you are invited to their residence, you shall find that the pride of their house still is the sofa-set and a picture frame with Rampal ji’s photograph on the wall right behind it.
The Colour of Love
Dear God Only you know when You made this blunder You sent down Adam and Eve And for them you created this world to live You added colour and made things bright But this fickle human mind you created Was filled with emotions To each of them man gave a colour And added to the commotion Red for passion, Blue for fright Green for jealousy though not quite But the colour of love man just couldn’t decide So dear God send down a colour A colour so new and pleasant A colour that spans ages The past, the future and the present A colour to paint this world with And make a place worth living It just might be her colour and mine You just have the name to find!