Posted in Pic credits : Shubham, Poetry, Uncategorized

I see so much sense in maturity, yet it seems unnecessary

I see so much sense in maturity, yet it seems so unnecessary

To do an act, to perform, to react; the important is just a spontaneity

Where I see love with a sense of pride, coupled with some memories and colourful skies

To go beyond boundaries touching clouds in the rides

I see so much sense in maturity, yet it often seems unnecessary

Bubbles in the water may float into the minds

But the moment they burst and those ideas ignites

The framework it sets, the novation it prospects

I see so much sense in maturity, yet it seems so unnecessary

While talking to a child or ladies and fellas thrown in the wild

The rubber of emotion, so flexible yet fragile

Consumption of situation is a part of life, with all engagements compulsory

I see so much sense in maturity, yet it often seems unnecessary

An athlete is running with an innocent thought,

Without judging or evaluating that he may reach somewhere or not

Time, Distance & Speed is all he may measure to keep his passionate bond

I see so much sense in maturity, yet it seems so unnecessary

Yes, it will end on a day when it is ought

When breaths sojourn, thoughts conclude and the energies revoke

Then all the wisdom, all calculations & the assessments shall fail

It’s just what we believe while unripe still

I see so much sense in maturity, yet it often seems unnecessary

Posted in Narration, Pic credits : Shubham, Poetry, Uncategorized

A recital to my native speech ~ हम भूल नहीं पाएंगे !



वो अक्षर के जंजाल बने शब्द, हम भूल नहीं पाएंगे,

छुट्टी के दिन चम्पक नंदन, भूल नहीं पाएंगे |”

Progressive equations are always meant to bring some material advancements in life.

And so was this faintly warm summer day, which itself taught some paces towards a headway for the language which we have always loved,liked and assimilated.

Contentedly all our group members were keen to rejuvenate our mother tongue “Hindi”. I was intrigued by the memories of my own self. The affection with the language might have been a little difficult to be felt upon initially, but while giving a deep thought as I hosted the session; I had my abysmal encounters with the recollections of some very common events. I think they’re so common that each person with their roots and shoots originating from “devanagri” may feel the way as I did while compering in Hindi for the very first time.

बातों की रूह ईमान से जुड़ी, जब हिंदी में बोला

माँ के दूध की आह हुई, तब भी हिंदी में रोया |

बचपन की सलेटी पर, वो पहला अक्षर था ‘क’

और आज भी उत्तर के शोध में रोज़ पूछा जाता ‘क्या?’

वो अक्षर के जंजाल बने शब्द, हम भूल नहीं पाएंगे,

छुट्टी के दिन चम्पक नंदन, भूल नहीं पाएंगे |”

As the session progressed, remarkably all of us present there in that hall; who were initially struggling and hesitating to have a comfort with our native language, were now able to reminisce the words, sentences, phrases constituting some very interesting actualities and stories.

दादी-नानी की कढ़ाई में पकी, मीठी रसीली कहानी

हिंदी जिसकी स्वाद-याद के तरकश से बरसा पानी |

सपनों में किसी सोच की आँखें, जिस भाषा में खुलती

गुस्से में गाली भी निकले तो भी इस में ही रमती |

वो अक्षर के जंजाल बने शब्द, हम भूल नहीं पाएंगे,

छुट्टी के दिन चम्पक नंदन, भूल नहीं पाएंगे |”

Getting to know the things that we already knew somewhere deep within our self, was a lot more than fun. I was able to see the privilege and the pride in each of our eyes by the end of the session.

“The privilege” for- we have competently inherited one of the very complexed and primeval languages of the world. And “The pride” for- On that day, we substantiated our own selves that this generation is capable enough to sustain the language with the same lavishness and we’re more than eager to pass the legacy to the new ones.

रंगोली, सुरभि और तरंग सब हिंदी के प्रत्यक्ष !

गाने फ़िल्मी या पुण्य भजन हों, गाते हिंदी के अक्स !!

दफ्तर से घर तक की दूरी, करते हम पूरी !

तो क्या हिन्दी की आधुनिक शाखा, रहने दें अधूरी ??

वो अक्षर के जंजाल बने शब्द, हम भूल नहीं पाएंगे,

छुट्टी के दिन चम्पक नंदन, भूल नहीं पाएंगे |”

Posted in Pic credits : Shubham, Poetry, Quote, Short Story

पिछली गली से गुज़रा…(memories from the years past year)

Some people are too particular about their past events and carry-over imprints of the same in their present day. He was old enough to put too many words for his thoughts. So while I sat with him over a cup of tea, I tried his expressions and some slow broken phrases be translated as in here:

बस पिछली गली से गुज़रा तो ये याद है आया,

कि पहले भी तो कुछ ऐसे ही शुरू किय था |

जब सर्दी के कारण कंबल से निकल ना पाया,

हाथ रेवड़ी, गजक मूंगफुली भरे हुए थे |

और क़िस्सों से बातों की लंबी झड़ी लगाए,

ताश के पतों की बाज़ी भी सिमट रही थी |

Winter always greets with a smile and keeps our eyes glued to a foggy colourful painting. This man was dressed extravagantly in his Raymand blue solid blazer and Tag Heuer designer glasses. I was trying to figure out that how and for what reason, this man found an insignificant tea-stall at the roadside of Galleria market worthy enough to spend few hours. While he offered me a seat at his table and tried to make some conversation, a constant outstare was maintained by him at me.

बस पिछली गली से गुज़रा तो ये याद है आया,

यूँ ही एक वादा तब भी खुद से किया गया था |

जो पूरे हफ्ते, फिर कुछ दिन और फिर, लम्हो में खोकेर,

एक मीठी धीमी खुश्बू देकर लौट गया था |

चलते चलते सर्दी ने जब ली अंगड़ाई,

मेने भी किए कंधे उँचे छोड़ रज़ाई |

Since it was the first day of New Year, he was keen to talk about events from the ones that are a story now. The one’s which are too generic, the universal memories which happens with almost all regular people. In one way or the other we all kindle a candle in a similar manner during the dusk and set the same off before the drowsing sleep. Although we might get grouchy about waking up to the same morning but honestly we have always relished the night-time.

बस पिछली गली से गुज़रा तो ये याद है आया,

तब भी तो कुल्फी फालुदे का था एक मौसम |

जब मेने चलती बस से उतर देखा था मेला,

घूमा खेला, किया माप तोल, पर लिया ना ढेला |

गरम हवा के साथ भी एक एहसास जुड़ा था,

अक्सर जिसकी तपस में अब भी खूब हूँ हस्ता |

The sun falling on our table shall be termed as an unalloyed afternoon and its pleasant warmth gave his thoughts an oomph of expression. While he told me how his summers were equally good as winters, still he always ran towards the later one. Until the day he realised that these weathers are an easy replication of one another, they tend to have differentiated skins yet they have the same essence of blood flowing with in them supplying memories to the organs of life cycle.

बस पिछली गली से गुज़रा तो ये याद है आया,

तब उसकी भीगी छतरी से एक जुड़ा था रिश्ता |

सड़क पर पिंडलिया डूब रही थी लेकिन फिर भी,

मेरे ख़्वाबों की नाव हवा में झूम रही थी |

जेसे दिल ही दिल में रूठ के मुझसे कोई कहता,

कहीं हम भी बिन हुए रूबरू तुमसे, ठहर ना जाएँ |

The old man was continuing with some beautiful moments from his life being expressed with each sip of tea he took. And once the cup was empty he began to lift his feet very patiently, slowly and start taking his shimmering foot wears off. I did not ask for the reason for he was doing this rather just maintained being an audience for him. He stood with a support of a half-filled water drum kept along with the table we were sitting on and walked bare foot towards his Car parked across that wet and muddy lane.

बस पिछली गली से गुज़रा तो ये याद है आया,

कुछ बात अधूरी, याद अनकही और इतराए वादे |

इनसे ही तो तब भी मेरा साल था गुज़रा,

कितने स्वादिष्ट पकवान से लगते, हैं ये सारे |

पूरे होकर क्या ये भी होंगे इतने ही मीठे  ? ?

या फिर अश्वो की रफ़्तार से ताल मिला के,

ये भी मुझको दुनिया के इर्द गिर्द ले जाएँगे |

कोने कोने के कस्बों में समय बिता के,

रस देंगे फिर से एसे जो गुदगुदा सकेंगे |

Yes, very likely even I was amazed at this eccentric old man and looking at my expression the young boy who was serving me tea answered “arey bhaiya, ye chacha pichley 6-7 saal se naye saal ki pehli taarikh ko ese hi chae peekey naye chamaktey mehangey valey jootey chhod jaatey hain yahan…” This man comes here only once a year and for no particular known reasons leaves his shoes behind. As the boy took those shoes and walked at the back of his stall he shouted “happy new year chacha”

बस पिछली गली से गुज़रा तो ये याद है आया,

कि एसा ही एक साल मेरे हर साल मे गुज़रा..


और यूँ ही गुज़रे वक़्त सा फिर यह लम्हा आकर….

बस पिछली गली से गुज़रा तो ये याद है आया||

Before he sat in the backseat of his black tinted Jaguar, he turned towards us very slowly, waved his hands and then moved in for the next drive. While he waved, I think I saw his lips moving slowly. Although the boy had never cared for a reply and was engaged back in his kettle & cups immediately after he had shouted.

May be the old man wished him back for a decent New Year again, like the one before….!

Posted in Pic credits : Shubham, Poetry, Short Story

The beauty of her….सुन गीत वो मीठी लोरी के, खन खन चूड़ी से खेले हैं..|

This world might not have been a living celestial body, if we were kept secluded from the streams of colourful emotions and sentiments. While the majority waters on this planet are blue and sour, yet the rivers and the lakes are sweet and gratifying.

I have always been thoughtful of how nature has been so endowing to the mankind which is supplemented by the fact that we are born in the hands of this special lady who is yet another effective result of incredible skillset of nature.


A mother is an undefined beauty that one can possibly dream off, so I thought of her while my train was rushing at a massive speed cutting through the woods of Morena, Madhya Pradesh. The fragrance of her kept me reminded of different striking phases and compelled me to some “kaagaz and kalam”……

सुन गीत वो मीठी लोरी के, खन खन चूड़ी से खेले हैं

छम थिरक रहे उन तारो से कल ही तो गिनती सीखें हैं

अभी यूँ ही तो हम बड़े हुए, वो बचपन के जो सवेरे हैं

आज भी उठ नींद से जागे तो पुच्कार सुरीली सुनते हैं

Glare of that morning through those dry mountains and green forests was restful and similar to the bed-time stories that were knitted by her in the dark nights. My thoughts were interrupted by this chai vala bhaiya at the Gwalior Railway Station peeping through the window panes in my papers, while offering some tea and biscuit….

दिन डूब रहा तो याद है कि बिस्किट के ख्वाब खरीदे थे

नमकीन कलम की स्याही से जो सपने लिख खट्टे मीठे थे

अब याद नहीं कितने किस्से रातों को सुन के सोते थे

अक्सर ही यह सब आस पास से बुन रखे हुए से लगते थे

Although travelling alone may sometimes be boring and non-constructive for some people but not for me, I am always surrounded with unimaginative thoughts that are seldom ignited in me while I am with some company. These sorts of little insignificant habits are indeed a genetic swing from her..

तुम जो भी बोला करती हो, वो साथ भी है और पास भी है

जाना बातों ही बातों में वो ज्ञान सिमट के रखा हुआ

जो सोच रहे वो भी तेरा, जो सोच चुके तुझसे सीखा

अपने व्यवहार की तारीफों में जो खुशबू है वो तेरी है

While defining a mother, everything is metaphysical. A sheer image of her being around us, is so lyrical that one may write a song without words and that will be so much of a melody that it won’t be a mandate to get into any symphony.

यह दृष्टि जिस से शुरू हुआ उसकी आवाज़ भी तेरी है

लम्हो लम्हो की बारिश में वो भीगी छतरी तेरी है

एक रेत के टीले पर लिपटा वो सूखा पेड़ है हरा भरा

जो दिया है वो सम्मान भी है, एक साज़ भी है – तेरा नाज़ भी है

Finally I reached my destination and while I set my foot on platform, I found this station a lot different from the one i was used to; at New Delhi. Satna is a quiet place and scarcely populated; what I wondered was that although the city has lot of industries, yet the place like railway station is almost vacate at 2100 hrs of the day.

The only people I could locate were some very few middle aged coolies, a station master, a single tea-staller and a young lady sitting at the corner of the ticket counter’s window holding tiny hands of her little girl and making her scribble some letters on a handy chalkboard.

कांधों पर टांगे जो बस्ते, वो कथन उनका अधूरा था

बिन पकड़ तुम्हारी उंगलिओ से, क्या लिखावट बेमानी ना होती?

यह अर्थ भावार्थ इस रीति का, क्या सन्दर्भ अधूरे ना होते?

अलंकृत जो संसार हुआ, क्या सब वाक्ये बेसब्रे से ना होते?

While I sat in a taxi towards the motel, I marvelled if mothers are mothers because they impersonate their own mothers?? Or they learn to be one eventually and inevitably..

कुछ अभी अभी की बात ही है, जब संजोया सोना चमक गया

वो शीश महल की मखमली चादर को ओढ़ सफेद सवार हुआ

लाखों खुशियों को दर्पण देने चाँद बना और कान बना

वो कान बना उन बातों का जो तुमने हमने करनी है

There is lot to feel, think and express while having a mother in our mind. And so did i..!

While checking into the room of a super deluxe luxury suite of five star hotel of that city which was available at a cost-effective price much to my amazement.

I laid on the king size bed with a smile…

And few enduring phrases that I spoke while my eyes were sealed with a sound sleep after a long exhausting journey; are the ones:

वो लेख लिखा था जो तुमने

अब उसको प्रस्तुत करना है

कुछ धूप अभी फिर चमक रही

तो फूल अनगिनत खिलने हैं

विचार की आँच पर रखा तवा

अब समय को उसपे पकना है

I was able to remember only the above said, out of the lot that I whispered the previous night.

So I opened the same “kaagaz and kalam” impatiently and concluded the verse.

हम शान भी हैं, हम मान भी हैं

हम नाज़ तुम्हारे भी तो हैं |


 सुन गीत वो मीठी लोरी के, खन खन चूड़ी से खेले हैं

छम थिरक रहे उन तारो से कल ही तो गिनती सीखें हैं ||

Posted in Pic credits : Shubham, Poetry, Quote

@ cashless pockets..

Aaj fir lambi kataar me waqt bita ke bhi korey kaagaz ko rangtey na dekh paye…. 

Dilli ki sisakti sard sadak pe yun kehte hue Vo silee jeb main ek or paiband lagatey nazar aye..

Kuch achanak kho gya esa sa ehsaas tab hua, jab khaali jebo se Ye note, chawwani-athanni ki tareh hi khankhanaein!

Maalum hua hawa mein kuch gandh bhi saanso se abhi hi mal malai…

Toh swachta ki varnmala se bani neeti pe noto ki machine bhi jhadjhadai..

Taalio se alankrit hue bhaashan pe humne bhi khoob ki waahwhaai…

Or naachti gaalio pe bhi humne khoob taal milaai..!!

Kuch karishma buntey bunatey har mod pe Ye Adam Smith bantey nazar aye..

Nahin nahin karke har roz hi humne akhbaar ki paperboat mein khabro ki gehrai napaii..

Par Voh..

Vo to apni cashless pockets me; bin hasi, hauley se, dhimey se kal ke intezaar me fir muskuraye..!!!

Posted in Pic credits : Shubham, Poetry

Morning is the soul’s night..!

Morning is the soul’s night,

B’cz it may sleep while our senses seek sight

For the deepest hour that plays its silent blues,

It often rises yet keeps thousands of instinct dues

No matter what the morning is to speak tomorrow,

The soul is yet to close its latest chapter with no sorrow

A tree which stands in a lamp shade mesmerising the fuddled night,

Life has its beauty, it wonders flying through leaves in sky so lewdly white

The one adjoining road with a path so bright beating the dusk,

And yet is another one; a lane so blind, so shady & turning so brusque

Keepers are at a distant, imaginations persistent,

Wondering what reasons being arranged by the mornings’ assistant

A warm heated metal is often melted into a wine,

The glasses so divine pouring lullabies malign

Morning is the soul’s night,

B’cz it may sleep while our senses seek sight

It is known by masters, the beings, the greens,

That Sun is to shone in a while with a smile

But seldom do they find that this morning always brings,

A tenacity to embrace the river as longest as Nile

So in spite of tomorrow of future and of past,

Where journeys are on sprint regardless of parting companion

It’s the time in midst of creation and of extinction so vast,

Let’s do nothing but inhale a deep thought with the uproots of this banyan

And moving small pauses for melody of life; either left or right

Keeping a recall for the farthest star of light

Since morning is the soul’s night

B’cz it may sleep while our senses seek sight!

Posted in Poetry, Short Story

And i sat with Ghalib..

Ishq mujhko nahin, vehshat hi sahi; meri vehshat teri shohrat hi sahee…!

It’s not always an unpleasant emotion to be unknown of the fact if “One is being loved or not by the person it loves”. However there remains a complaint with the beloved.

But this whinge is rather a sweet one like a rasagulla which also has that wild fragrance of gulaab and magic of this spongy emotion generating a sugary syrup as you pass the same through your lips.

That day while I was sitting in that rickety bus rolling down from the hill;

A smile kept me stretching my lips from ear to ear,

By whatever means a connection had established between her and myself;

So what if she considers my affection as a mere trap of a moment and nothing else,

Honestly even I hadn’t had, a slightest idea of the pureness of my fondness for her;

Some insanity was ruling me from inside and drawing a desperate attempt of getting attracted towards this lady

Now the hefty noises of transport; a little brawl that happened with traffic police over dupattas hung at the window panes of bus by passengers for anti-sun; and that good for nothing yet too expensive ‘on the way coffee’ was leaving a sweet and lovable sort of memory.

It is impossible not to keep myself being remembered of that outmoded Sher-e-punjab restaurant in the midst of scrambled market of lakkad bazar. And that magnificient glimpse of her face & fingers together, brought Ghalib singing his nazmein within and through my arteries and veins.

A stare was maintained until returned; may be conversations were flowing without the medium of sound.

So it happened what was recited;

umr harchand ke hai barq-e-Khiraam, dil ke Khoon karne ki fursat hi sahee..!

We saw each other not just for a moment but for moments,

Even if the contact was established resembling a strike of lightning; it was a whole set of galaxy which revolved around the hearts.

Within those moments existed the longest romantic era,

I expressed she consented, although she wasn’t that shy as I expected.

Her expressions were sound enough to ask me a set of hundred questions;

May be it was a pre-requisition to design an entrance of affection.

The waiters served the orders, cleaned the tables, people going in & out. With that the spark on her face started to turn cold & dim, for she was unable to seek answers of her interrogations.

So again I recited;

ham koee tarq-e-wafa karte haiN; na sahee ishq, museebat hee sahee…!

Well I had no intention to make my affection a religion for her and if it was to be kept for a debate, a discussion or any dialogue; I preferred keeping the same as a dilemma.

Atmosphere amongst those two tables kept across were now tensed yet drenched in love. Even though she wasn’t convinced with my untold answers, she was still bound by the gaze of my eyes.

By this time the girl sitting by her side noticed this unconventional situation and interrupted our symphony. They whispered in each other’s ears and concluded with some agreements.

Meanwhile I noticed she wasn’t sitting by herself but with twelve more of her family members, may be she was also reminded of this fact;

she stole herself from me and tried focusing on her dine.

Yet she had a smile, the one almost similar to mine

Senses were scented by those dilemmas beautifully resented

Still the conversation did happen without words and even without expression

By this hour, the family paid for the dinner and it was time for us to detach.

While she approached the exit, I escorted her with my sight. Our eyes met for the final moment, she made a gesture by her hand on her heart, smile at her lips and affection in her eyes. She walked off, as I finally murmured with Mia Ghalib again-

yaar se cheda chalee jaay, ‘Asad’; gar nahee wasl to hasrat hee sahee..!

The teasing and talking with the beloved shall end never. If union doesn’t happen, the desire for it remains; may it be!