Category: Poems and Lyrics

Courtesy: sweet-tea-theology.com

फिर मुझे पुकारा है…..
तेरी चाहत ने, तेरी आहट ने
तेरी आवाज़ ने, दिल के साज़ ने
तेरी धड़कन ने, तेरी उलझन ने
तेरी साँसों ने, तेरे अश्कों ने
तेरी आँखों ने, तेरे होंठों ने
तेरे हाथों के गरम छूने ने
तेरी याद ने, तेरी हसरत ने
तेरे प्यार ने, तेरी उल्फत ने
तेरे दर्द ने, तेरे ज़ख़्म ने
तेरे हसीन ख्यालों के वहम ने
तेरी हंसी ने, तेरे रोने ने
मेरे ज़हन में तेरे होने ने
तेरी आँखों  की मधुर मुस्कान ने
तेरे दिल में उमढ़ते तूफ़ान ने
तेरी आहों ने, तेरी राहों ने,
मेरे आगोश में उलझी बाहों ने
तेरे लबों से थिरकते गीत ने,
जो मिल के बनाया उस अतीत ने
उन वादीयों ने जो हमारे संग बहकती थी
उस कोयल ने जो हमें देख चहकती थी
उन फूलों ने जिस में तेरे प्यार का रंग था
उन हवाओं ने जिनका हमें संग था
उन बातों ने जो कभी ना होती थी खत्म
उस अदा ने जिसने ढाया था मुझपे सितम
तेरी मस्ती ने, तेरी हस्ती ने,
तेरी गलियों ने, तेरी बसती ने
तेरी खुशबु ने, तेरे खवाब ने
ऐ मेरे चाँद, तेरी माहताब ने
हर तरफ शोर है, फुसफुसाहट है
हर तरफ  तेरे क़दमों की ही आहट है
मेरा बस एक ही सवाल तुझसे है रूबरू:
“किस की मैं सुनूँ और किस की ना सुनूँ?”

Pic courtesy: en.wikipedia.org

Cardboard cutouts of crepuscular birds
Silently flap their wings
In a jagged arrowhead
Over chaos, despondence, carnage
Riding into the dusk of 2011.
End of Act I; thank God it’s over.
The audience awaits the next Act
That would miraculously usher in:
A nation riding on wings of Hope
Justice, Equality, Dignity, Amity, Knowledge.

Act II; oh, how we awaited it?
Suddenly, there are no tears,
No poor and naked,
No hopeless suicides,
No communal violence
No rapes, no child molestations
No loot, no guns, no bombs.
No Hindus, Muslims, Christians and others
Telling us that their god is the only real God.

Suddenly, a tinsel sun is lowered on stage,

And glimmers over a ‘clear stream of reason’
Leading its way slowly but surely
‘Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit’
And young children waving tricolors
Appear singing, “Jai Hind”
To accompaniment of a gentle flute.

As a dazed audience starts leaving
From gallery, stalls and aisles;
The oft repeated comments,
In the applause, are:
“If a play called ‘New Year’
Can usher in all this,
Why can’t we stage it everyday?”

Dear Friends,

Christmas is here again,
And so is New Year,
I go down memory lane,
And share our news here.

After retirement we made home,
In Kharghar, Navi Mumbai.
It’s neither Paris, nor Rome
Nor even London or Shanghai.

But it is our home and hence,
We are always in love with it,
It would give us joy immense,
When you honour us with a visit.

 

We have with us, my mother,
And it’s great blessing indeed.
To have at the table none other,
Than who gave me my first feed.

 

Arjun, our elder lives on his own,
He has emerged as a critic,
No, folks, don’t grunt or groan,
It’s only of Western & Pop music.

Arun, the younger is in Hyderabad,
As an animator in Rhythem & Hues,
Yes, mohawk is still his hair fad,
And he often blows our fuse.

Lyn, God bless, is as sweet,
As when we were newly wed,
To taste her cooking is still a treat,
She keeps us happy and well fed.

 

We miss our Roger dear,
The youngest of our boys,
He is not with us this year,
To share our smiles and joys.
(But, he will always be with us)

 

So that is about all of us,
We hope to hear from you, dear,
We wish you a very Merry Christmas
And a Happy New Year.

With lots of love, regards and best wishes,
Mom, Lyn, Arjun, Arun, Roger and Me

वो लौटा रहें हैं मेरा सामान,
और जला रहे हैं सब कुछ,
मेरी आरज़ू है सितमगर
मेरे अश्क भी जला दें

ताके दिल के समुन्दर में
वो तूफ़ान फिर ना उभरे;
जो मरहले खड़े थे
उन्हें ठोकर से मिटा दें

काश हम ना होते वो ना होते,
और ये आरज़ू ना होती
तेरी आँखों में जो सरूर था
वो सरूर भी हटा दें

मैं भूल गया हूँ सब कुछ,
तेरे प्यार की नज़र में
मेरी कौन सी है मंजिल
मुझे कुछ तो अब पता दें

अब दिल न हो, प्यार ना हो,
और ना रहे उनकी यादें,
कोई उनसे जाके कह दे,
मेरी हस्ती ही मिटा दें

Vo lauta rahe hain mera saamaan,
Aur jala rahen hain sab kuchh,
Meri araz hai sitamgar
Mere ashq bhi jala dein.

Taa ke dil ke samunder mein
Vo toofan phir na ubhre.
Jo marhale khade the
Unhein thokar se mita dein.

Kaash hum na hote vo na hote,
Aur ye aarzoo na hoti,
Teri aankhon mein jo saroor tha,
Vo saroor bhi hata dein.

 Main bhool gaya hoon sab kuchh,
Tere pyaar ki nazar mein.
Meri kaun si hai manzil,
Mujhe kuchh to ab pata dein.

Ab dil na ho, pyaar na ho,
Aur naa rahein unki yaadein,
Koi unse jaake keh de,
Meri hasti hi mita dein.

The court was assembled
Splendid and majestic
People looked down
Awaiting the arrival of the King
A bugle…hushed silence…pronouncement
And then he walked in
With the edge of his robe
Held by minions behind
He took his seat
At the throne.
This is what he said:
“Last week when
I went hunting
I came across a pond
In a recess in the forest
With clear and placid waters
I looked down
And saw it all
Truth, Beauty and Perfection.”

He looked down at them
Mere mortals
In the presence of the Monarch.
He laughed derisively
Enjoying his power over them
No one could deny
His having found
Truth, Beauty and Perfection.
As he laughed
He looked horrible
Uglier than the Evil.
A far cry from
Truth, Beauty and Perfection.
But the King won’t know this;
There wasn’t a pond in the palace
And the king won’t go hunting
Until next season
When the pond wouldn’t be placid
And the water would be muddy.

I heard a flutter,
And there it was
On my window sill.
It looked small and frail
But with restless energy
And eyes alert and moving
Smelling danger and
Chance to peck.
What lovely combination
Of colours and shades, I thought
And freedom to move
With abandon.
You can keep people out
And even dogs and cats
But you can’t
Keep birds like that out.

I wanted to hold it,
Caress and
Feel the warmth of its belly
And be protective.
But, as I extended
My hand to do so
It flew and
Landed on the other window
I quickly moved there
And it flew
To the tree
And stared at me
Out of reach.
I envied the freedom it had
To fly the skies
And reach places I can’t.

I can’t, and it can
I was jealous of its colours,
Flight, independence
Anywhere, anytime
Even on the water
Over electric cables
Roof tops and ledges.
I, wanted nothing
But to be like it…
“Just a bird in the sky”.
“Rather be a sparrow than a snail.”
And then….. a gunshot
A violent and helpless flutter
And it fell like a ripe fruit from the tree.
Bruised and bleeding.
My fancy fluttered and died.

Why would anyone
Shoot down a bird
That brings as much joy
As a butterfly fleeting amongst flowers?
Will we ever
Make Darwinian Theory
Stand on its head?
Don’t caresses and whispers
Stand a chance
Against shouts and screams
And barks and roars?
Is Life an unequal race?
Can Beauty protect itself?
Does anyone know?
A Bird is what we want to be;
But, a bird is what we shoot…
Because….we can.

The radio played:
“I am a Paloma Blanca
I am just a bird in the sky
No one can take
My freedom away”
We pretend
But, we detest freedom
Of birds, animals, people
No one can fly
No one can soar
We have enough means
To shoot, kill, bring down
“Get in line,
Do this, do that
Follow…
Or else.”

It arose from the sea,
As vapour,
Still not fully formed as a drop.
There was unbound excitement
At being born, created
A separate entity
Proud to be by itself
Rather than mixed in the salt of the sea.
As it took shape,
Amongst millions others,
It was conscious,
As do all of us
That it would be carried
By forces beyond its control
To far places and people
To lose its identity again when it’d fall.

“Where would fate take me?”
It mused as winds carried it landwards,
“Will I fall on a tree and hang
On to the leaves for dear life?”
“Or will I fall in a pot hole on the road
To be cursed by drivers and walkers alike?”
“Or worse, on a heap of rubbish,
Carrying stench in the air?”

“If I am lucky,
I may fall on the Ganesha idol
In a procession
But then, I shall be quickly
Back into where I was born and arose:
The vastness of the sea.
My friends and I may also fall in the milkman’s pot
And he’d rejoice for increased sale.”

“I have no choice
But, I don’t want to be part of a gutter.
God, I am small and feeble,
Be kind to me,
Let me be valued,
By myself and not
As part of the gang
Together called ‘rain’.”

The cloud that carried him,
Deposited him
On the cheek of a small child,
Naked and hungry,
On a street in Mumbai;
Where it mingled with a single tear
That shot from her eye
On the death of her mother in a bomb attack.

“God”, it said,
Let a hundred drops fall
To wash the sin of
What man has done to man.
But, they should never
Forget that single tear from her eye.
I don’t want to be born again
And again, and again, and again.”