verses – Page 2 – Abhinav Bhatt

Maidaan

पास के क्रिकेट के मैदान में अब घास नहीं उगती,
हर कहीं पैर पड़ने की वजह से अब ज़मीन बंजर हो चली है |
खेल तो अब भी खेले जाते हैं, पास दूर से बहुत बच्चे रोज़ आते हैं,
दिन भर चिल्ल-पों मचता ही रहता है, मैदान यह सब चुपचाप सहता है |

बाउंड्री पर अब झाड़ भी सूख चूका है,
कोना कोना मटमैला रूख चूका है |
गेंद जब सरक कर कोने की दीवार पर आके टकराती है,
कराह उठता है वो मैदान जैसे कोई सुई चुभो दी हो |

नाराज़ तो होता है लेकिन बच्चो की ख़ुशी देख कर लौटा देता है गेंद,
उसे तो इंतज़ार रहता है कि अँधेरा हो और बच्चे घर लौट जाएँ |
शाम ढलते ही बाउंड्री के बाहर वाले पेड़ो पर पक्षी लौट आते हैं,
सुरीली से करतल ध्वनि उस मैदान को गाके सुनाते हैं |

उन्ही पेड़ों से रोड-लाइट की रौशनी जब छन के आती है मैदान पर,
कोई नहीं होता क्रिकेट खेलने वाला, असली तब आता है मज़ा उस मैदान को |
पक्षी भी सोचुके होते हैं तब तक, अलग सा सन्नाटा छा जाता है,
बाउंड्री की दीवारें तत्पर रहती है अँधेरे के लिए, मन ही मन मुस्कुराती हुई |

थोडा और अँधेरा ढलने पर, दीवारों पर फूल खिल उठते हैं,
थोड़े थोड़े अंतराल पर, जहां जहां रोशनी नहीं होती |
चहचहाते हैं फूल, अठखेलियाँ करते हैं,
मैदान खुश हो उठता है, पेड़ो से रौशनी और कम कर देता है |

जब तक फूल आपस में व्यस्त रहते हैं, निहारता रहता है सुनसान मैदान उन्हें,
दिन भर जो बंजर रहा, जैसे अँधेरा होते हैं वसंत ऋतू आ गई हो |
जो दिन भर हुल्लड़ बाजी और शोर शराबा होता रहा,
अँधेरे में वहीँ वायलिन और सैक्सोफोन बजने लगते हैं |

जब कोई गुज़रता है मैदान के बाहर से, कोशिश करता है मैदान के फूल disturb न हो,
गुजरने वाले को जिज्ञासा भी होती हो, तो होने दो, मैदान तो फूला नहीं समाता |
थोड़ा सा कभी बाहर वाला भी मुस्कुरा देता है फूलों को देख कर,
मैदान को आँख मार कर इशारा कर देता है, कि लगे रहो, अपने को क्या |

कुछ तुनकमिजाज़ियों को फूल पसंद नहीं, खांस कर वो जता देते हैं,
फूल भी समझ जाते हैं, कि अँधेरा काफी हो चला है |
उलझी हुई अपनी डालियों को सुलझा के बिछड़ जाते हैं,
मिलेंगे फिर यहीं, इसी वक़्त कह के एक बार फिर से बंजर कर जाते हैं मैदान |

2013

कवितायेँ लिखने मैं हाथ कुछ तंग है मेरा,

कभी कभी तो लहजा भी थोडा सा भंग है मेरा |

हिंदी में पहली कोशिश है, फिर से शुरू करूँ, खुदी से कुछ बात,

माफ़ करना, खा जाऊं, अगर मैं मात।

स्ह्याही के कलम की तरह, हिंदी कहीं छूट सी गयी थी,

फॉर्मेलिटी की गलियों में, भटकती कहीं रूठ सी गयी थी।

गलती से घुमते फिरते, जब पड़ती है हिंदी अख़बार पे नज़र,

भाग कर उठालेने का, अन्दर बजता है एक buzzer |

अंग्रेजी में तो बड़ा सरल है राइम करना,

फेविकोल को अल्कोहल से जोड़ के पेट्रोल के मायने बयान करना |

शब्दों के ढेर से जब निकालने पड़ रहे हैं अल्फाज़,

लगता है, नौसीखिए से बजवाया जा रहा हो जबरदस्ती कोई कठिन साज़ |

खैर, यह मकसद नहीं था की मेरी waste कोशिश की चर्चा करूँ,

बस यही था की इस साल फिर से कुछ नया करूँ,

2012 कुछ हद तक मेरा रहा,

बाकी समय हम सब से बहुत कुछ लेता रहा,

आशा है की इस वर्ष, खुशियाँ ज्यादा, गम कम रहेंगे,

थोडा गिरे भी तो, फिर से उठ खड़े होने के लिए हम कहते रहेंगे!

जो बाकी रह गया, पूरा करवाएगा आने वाला सवेरा,

दो हज़ार तेरह, साल हो यह तेरा!

The Sarcasmic Verses

To be born again, one needs to die, and to dive deep into the dead sea, one needs to spark a controversy, and to spark that topic which can be controversial, one needs to take on something which is beneficial to someone, that something or someone has to be rigid and inflexible and stubborn, so something’s happened as I headed to the JLF in the Pink City that is my very own.

O, their shoes, if not Japanese, were at least made up of posh Italian leather and with time they didn’t weather, hoji these English trousers you see were wrinkled and still wrinkle free, their hats if not for USSR or any country included in that, were certainly showing to their class still after being poshly poshest posh the what, the gentry at the festival reminded everything in actuality we are not. The kids with heavy cams, the writers and authors with interesting names, the aunties with big round bindis and open hair certainly oozed the intellect with the smoke they were puffing, the French bearded literature class with heavy eyelids showed the scholarly text, they were snuffing. And the girls there were simple voila, why to comment over them, some of them were 9.6 and others were 10 on 10.

As it is not usually written in the preface of the book that it is banned in certain countries so I downloaded and read, where freedom of expression and speech is not as free as it seems, the democracy we live in is subject to certain communities to please and appease, secularism is a joke for the banks where they secure plenty of votes. The book may have its spine, but the Government lacks one, neither have they crossed or let anyone else cross the dreaded line and that in the end turned out to be fine.

The show was actually going on fine as no one who were actually present in JLF were actually bothered about Salman Rushdie abstaining against his own will. The thoughts and intellect which was flowing in the air was totally healthy and not at all ill. The colors and the speakers at JLF were just beautiful. The crowd, a good mix of photogenic youth and intellectual veterans, was busy hustling bustling to get better view/seats in the tents and marquees. The sessions happening were full of knowledge and opinions, some of them were given by people we love and some we fake love like we cry while cutting onions.

This year’s Lit fest might not have helped The Diggi Palace actually, since it was getting difficult to hold the crowd there, it might be moved to somewhere else or some restriction on entry might be applied, as it is much needed critically. The basic show got overshadowed by a not so required set of events, but time to time, things should happen to reveal the no-so-clear motives of our beloved governments.

P.S.: This is my account of JLF and the controversies hovering over it. The language of the post evident somewhere and somewhere not is what I got from the banned book itself. I tried reading it but after 2 pages, I realized that it requires intellect of some other kind. And also it is banned so why bother. Meanwhile, below is a glimpse of how things looked there. Keep reading.

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If all goes well

part one

I whispered to you the name of the place, where we could meet in solace. It wasn’t between the right or the wrong, it was rather right there all along. You hinted to me that you understood, or at least I thought that you would. It wasn’t very distant, rather it was pretty close. I believed it idiotically being in a chirpy mood so I couldn’t decipher you who was still a bit morose.

part two

Optimism took me there, it was indeed very cold, I stood there telling myself that I should wait there and rather take an oath, I could still feel my heartbeat beneath the layers of the cloth. Time went by, you didn’t come, I knew it already though, but still I waited because I hope you come, wrongly so. Then I heard the news which might have made you even sombre, it sunk into me and I felt like the a dwindling project going from green to amber.

Let bygones be bygones as they say, time heels everything per se, I hope the days to come will bring you some cheer, so if all goes well, I’ll wait for you on the other side of this year…

—

Image Courtesy: A link posted by Smashing Magazine or Neuve or some website obviously. I forgot again.

P.S.: This post is a part of an experiment. And I am talking about JLP in this post. What did you think?

Update [29 Dec 2011 21.37 PM]: JLP: Jan Lokpal. And some grammatical mistakes corrected. 😐

Rhyming is dying

No crushes to crush, no destinations to rush,
No paints to brush, no memories to flush,
No unsuccessful infatuations, no twisted situations,
No ugly conversations, no heated discussions,
No job interviews left, no plan of bank theft,
No skills to adapt, no mistakes to correct,
No affairs to end, no fragile castles of sand,
No topics to trend, no broken relationships to mend,
No trains to stop, no height to atop,
No hurdles to hop, no dirt or blood to mop,
No bed to sleep, no hedge to creep,
No ocean so deep, no shoulder to weep,
No song to dance, no scenery to glance,
No looking through lens, no burning romance…

One day it will be back, sense it may lack,
Rhyming is dying but I’ll keep on trying.

The slippers, the clothes you left away

Picture Courtesy: Photoblog MSNBC

A dog, “Leao”, sits for a second consecutive day, next to the grave of her owner, Cristina Maria Cesario Santana, who died in the week’s catastrophic landslides in Brazil, at the cemetery in Teresopolis, near Rio de Janiero, on Jan. 15. Brazilians braced for more rain Saturday, fearing further landslides after walls of muddy water tore through towns and claimed some 550 lives in the country’s worst flood disaster on record.

It is not that I am under some sedation or this blog has turned into a sad dead blog but this picture above was seriously touching. So I couldn’t help but thinking about the loved ones who go away. But it goes like this:

The slippers, the clothes you left away, who is going to use them? Will you come back to regain back your props someday?
Your spectacles are still lying there on the table, your writings, that stationary there is unmoved, will you come back to tell me some fable?
Your wit, that toothless smile was yet so clever, we discussed politics, and well of course Cricket, when will those day come back, I wish forever,
You advice which I tried to always listen, as a mission, I tried to complete your banking transactions, will you come back the next summer season?
Your diary which still holds addresses of people you met, I am amazed by the memory you had, will I ever be able to reach the standards you set?
By the way did you meet other people who left us unexpectedly? If you meet, tell them I loved them as much I love you, I wish them to live that part of after-life very happily,
I am sorry if I ever did something wrong, Sir it was unintentional, I cannot even promise to take care of people you left alive, I am here no, you know it, but I will try,
There is something stuck in my throat, I don’t know what, but I am coughing as I am writing, what effect is this? With your wishes, I did reach somewhere in life. Should I cry or gloat?
Ahh, I am unable to complete this post, so stopping it now, I try but I cannot be ever again your host, out of everyone in this world I miss you the most…

In my closet

When you come home bloody tired and totally worn out,
You expect some hot tea to chew or sip that green sprout,
When you enter your kitchen to grab some sane food,
They watch you coming, tch, you can’t do nothing dude,

For them you are nothing but just another distraction,
For them you are nothing but an unwanted living fraction,
They are not in a count which you count like one or two or three,
They’ve their colonies laid out there, and that you cannot even see,

You enter the dark kitchen and turn on the light,
They hear your footsteps before you ever come in their sight,
They wrap up any meeting and go invisible before your next stride,
They forget their differences, you are the prey, and they stop the fights,

You bend a little to open the closet to take some bhujia to eat,
They watch your every move from hiding, and notice you sweet,
You change your mind and turn your attentions to biscuits,
The aroma travels fast, they smell it even from behind the circuits,

They don’t give a damn about your day in office,
All they care is that where you keep your buns and muffins,
They are dependent on you, on your mess, on your ill deeds,
They love when you spill a little, i.e. their source of multiple feeds,

So when you open your closet, you just… just you freak out,
They are red aliens, they make you red, you see and then you shout,
They are plenty in number and you can’t keep them from reproducing,
You cannot outnumber them, try if you can, I’ll see you cussing me refusing,

Your BP goes higher, your nerves go stern,
You forget every manner, the education you learn,
Bring me the 6 weeks challenge, I need to buy the Laal-Wala hit,
Oh crap, what’s this dust around here, is this cockroach shit?

I will kill the mother’s mother of this tiny red roach,
Being the most violent person alive, close your eyes insect lover, don’t watch,
I’ll crush you beneath my feet, spray your generations away, you red black clown,
You will forget screeching in night, you will cripple if I keep you upside down,

But wait oh, oh god, what are you doing, climbing up my body, I am shivering,
Oh damn, you had it enough, you brought all your clan, ouch, you prick, was it your sting?
Oh bloody, you brought your whole army, let me call 911, 100, 108,
I feel light, oh you picked me up, I am feeling light, no weight,

I see you covering me from head to toe,
It was right, you reap, what you sow,
Ahh, so you implanted me with your venom, I see light through the tunnel,
The stings were deadly it seems, it was forcing my whole body through a funnel…

Sorry roaches, sorry flies, it was my mistake, not you, I came into your home, I am sad,
Now when I have died, here are my last words, I got killed just for saying, all humans werent’ that bad…