Emerald

I strolled my way into the bustling Pragati Maidan book fair. It was a bright morning with hordes of young and enthusiastic faces around, walking into various tents of their choice. The dusty ground was swamped with colorful pamphlets and sky with paper festoons. I walked over and under, almost purposelessly, in search of nothing. I loved walking around anything that had books. I loved their smell. Their touch. And here, with books, there were people and festivities of books that I could never embrace in a local bookstore. Amid these flurry of thoughts, I stumbled upon a mid sized yellow paper book, with a emerald colored cover. An extremely modest cover, yet very attractive, something that I couldn't lay my hands away from. I flipped to the first page and began to read. It started with a little verse on spring, metaphorical though; on how the falling leaves of life is not an everlasting autumn. What may seem as a dry spell, is never a drought. The barks may seem to be aged with sorrowful summer but hope does get rekindled. The leaves sprout and springs life back on earth. Just when I was getting submerged in the depth of words, a girl in emerald skirt walked across me. She was tall and composed. Her hair waved as she looked through the pile of books. As she removed her hair and tucked them behind her ears, her long perfectly cut earrings held  a few strands as if they were flirting with them. Her white tunic top, worked well with sprawling emerald skirt. She wasn't like anyone that I had seen around for a long time. Collected, deep, involved and very comfortable in the madness around. She picked up a couple of books and went out of the shed. I followed. She walked towards the other stalls, briskly, admiring the energy around. Just like the earlier tent, she flipped a few books here, almost same and walked out. It wasn't that I was stalking her. I have never done that. Here I was getting pulled by her calmness into her. She was introducing herself to me, unknowingly and I was getting interested in that. As she moved out of another tent, she walked into the sprawling green gardens towards the local tea vendor. With ease, she bought one and sat down, elegantly arranging her stuff around and spreading her skirt. She then pulled out a book from her abstractly textured cotton bag and started reading while sipping her tea. Pulling up my breath, I walked up to her to talk. As I walked closer to her, she revealed a lot more about her to me. Her eyes were tired. Her fingers were slender. She had a bit of grey. I sat next to her and looked at her closely. With every second I was moving closer to her. Then she started talking to me. She told me of her tumultuous childhood. I was taken aback. It felt as if I had that childhood. It felt that I lost those friends which she had, it felt it was my house that got mowed down not hers. I could feel those butterfly dreams of hers that never found wings and got clenched every time she found little hope of swinging them in air. As i could feel her journey, she went on to talk about her adulthood. Growing up to be this beautiful girl with imperfections that made her real. We looked into each other's eyes and she smiled. There was a world between us. She had moved out of her pangs. She was free. I went to her small house, her abode, pretty, decorated, yet simple just like her. It was her day. She still had sleepless nights. Zillion stories between her and stars. They were my stories too. I was her for that moment. As the nights flipped over and days became years, I realized she had grown old now. Her eyes more tired and wrinkled. There was no family around. Her journey had left her weak but content. The barks had sprouted leaves. It was dark. Delhi had folded into its evening. The hordes were sprinting back to their metros. I was sitting distant alone at the green gardens. The last page of emerald covered book had a blank sheet. I carried her on my back and left for my place. 

बादल

पर्वतों की विशाल धारा से, 

निकला क़ाफ़िला बादलों का,

दुनिया और दुनियादारी से ऊपर,

एक मौज में अपने ही सफ़र का,

धूप से खेल, हवा से मेल,

जैसे जीवन की कठिनाइयों को समेट,

रुकना नहीं, बहना यहीं 

तो मेने भी पूछ लिया यूँही

अरे सुनो जाना कहाँ है 

यूँ उड़ते बेपरवाह 

ज़माना देख रहा है तुम्हें 

क्या जवाब दोगे लापरवाह 

बादलों ने देखा मुझे अचरज से 

जैसे पूछ लिया मेने कुछ बेढंग से 

वो उड़ते रहे और मेरी और मुस्कुरा के कहा 

उड़ना ही मेरी मर्ज़ मेरी दवा

उड़ना ही तो मुझे है आता 

जब तक हवा से मेरा नाता 

ना थमूँगा चाहे हो कोई पर्वतमाला 

जो ताप सूर्य का बरपा

तो किसी नीरे किसान के लिए 

या

किसी मासूम की काग़ज़ी नाव के लिए 

स्वयं को त्याग दूँगा 

किसी कल्याण के लिए 

मेरी काया का क्या घमंड 

फिर लूँगा में जन्म 

फिर पकड़ूँगा पवन का आँचल 

फिर बह चलूँगा नील गगन 

गीत

शब्दों से शब्द मिले,

और मिले खनकते तारों से,

तो बन पड़े गीत निराले,

गीतों से गीत मिले,

तो अविरल चल पड़ी गीतमाला,

बन पड़ी सफ़र की धारा,

एक पैर पे नाचा बंजारा,

भुला तृष्णा जो फ़क़ीरे ने खनका एक तारा,

गीतों से द्वेष मिटे, गाँव मिले,

जब गूँज पड़े क्या मंदिर मस्जिद गुरुद्वारा,

गीतों में रिश्तों की कुंजी,

नन्हें, गीतों से जाने माँ की परिभाषा,

दम भर के गीतों का ताल मिलाके,

टूकड़ि करती ना वहम ज़रासा,

गीतों से पंख पाती अभिलाषा,

क़दमों को मिलता उद्देश्य नया सा,

उत्सव गीत से, उल्लास गीत से,

गीतों के परिणय से अभिव्यक्त होती जीवन की गाथा 

सच तो है

है अपने चेहरे में सिमट के जा रही ज़िंदगी 

लकीरें कुछ तो बता रही कहानी अनकहीं

आँखों में नमी लिए घूम रहे हैं आवारा 

चेहरे पे सब बयान और चेहरा छुपा रहे

इस महफ़िल से उस महफ़िल घूम रहे उमीदज़दा 

शोर में दिल का सुकून ढूँढता रहे नादान

देखा है ज़िंदगी को करवटें बदलते पल में 

नज़र को तरसते थे जिनकी, नज़रें चुरा रहे उनसे

क़सीदे पढ़ते थे अपनी ख़ुदगर्ज़ी की 

अब भीक माँग रहे वक़्त से यादों की

क्या क्या समेटोगे यहाँ बिखरा पड़ा बहुत कुछ

आप अपने वादों के रहे ना, ना किसी की यादों के

incomplete stories

Characters find a name,
in the bodies of fantasy and live,
the real, is a script in making,
situations occur and characters behave,
confront, exude, discharge,
and so happen other stories,
similar or dissimilar, 
with names and places,
the stories of that world and this,
their characters concur,
relationships spring,
and emotions emanate,
glee to gloom, and more,
travelling between worlds,
some call it life, some fortune,
all in travesty, 
nothing finds an end,
all stories remain the same,
incomplete,
all characters incomplete.