दीवारें

सुना था दीवारों के चेहरे होते हैं कई
पर अब तो चेहरों पे दीवारें बन गयी हैं
रूह घुट सी रही है कहीं

आपसे कहना है...........

बहुत देर से गूंज रही है सिसकियाँ सन्नाटों की
कुछ तो कहिये के यह खामोशियां पिघल जाए
दिल में चुभ गयी है, होठों से सिली हुई है कहानियां
यह आवाजें चुप में भी सदियाँ लपेट रहीं है
"गाँठ आज खोल ही दीजे", सरसराती हवाएं
कानों तक आ लौट गयी पुकार के नाम आपका
कुछ तो कहिये, बस अब कह भी दीजिये..............
हताश हो अर्जियां मेरी फिर न खाली हाथ जाएँ

TAMARIND SAUCE

The other day I met Mr. A
In the market place
After exchanging a few pleasantries
He asked me finally
“What do you do nowadays?”
I stuttered and stammered
Coughed apologetically
Bowing my head, counted the toe nails laconically
Perhaps a tad too long
“So, no work is it?”
He gauged my hesitation quite easily
I said,” No, not that!
Actually I am concentrating on poetry.”
He looked aghast,
“What??? You write poems!
Well! My God! I did not know that for sure!”
“No, no, nothing extraordinary.
Just a few lines here and there”, I blushed.
“But still”, Said Mr. A
Squinting his eyes against the sun
While a hint of humour played in them
When next he spoke sarcasm dripped
From his every word,
“Well!Well!Well!!!
Children aspire to become
Doctors, Engineers, Lawyers
You’ve become a poet
An achievement undoubtedly for some!”
I suffered in silence
As he continued after a while,
“Filling up blank pages with worthless words,
You must be making your mother very proud!”

Something stirred inside me
I don’t know what
But a few droplets of pain did sting my eyes
That night in a fit of rebellion
I threw away my diaries and notepads
Filled with “worthless words”
Where the dusty newspapers were stacked.
Next day was Sunday
My maid in a flurry of spring cleaning
Sold away the newspapers and
the jungle of “worthless words” just for a few pennies

***

A few months later………..
It was a winter noon
I was dozing in the sun
When my mother came up to the terrace
With a packet full of roasted nuts.
Thrusting the paper packet in my hand,
She said,“Good for health, have some”.

I took the packet and upturned
As I did so my eyes fell on
The scribbles shining in the sun
The writing looked familiar
Oh yes! It was mine
So, were the thoughts penned in pensive mood and mind
I could not read them but
As my vision blurred
It was not the dew drops
But tears that flowed unstopped
A little girl and her words
That had washed away in the flood of
Cruel snide and taunts
Worthless he had said
Not fit for competitive exams
But those were my thoughts
Precious to my soul
As the droplets smudged
The pouring of my heart
Somewhere in the midst of the barrage of tears
I was cleansed of my sin
Life had come full circle
The muse of a worthless being
Had returned to her in a packet
Of roasted nuts, useless though it may seem!


(This poem refers to a time when many a households earned a modest living by making paper packets from discarded paper, newspapers, books, diaries and note books)

MIRTHLESS

Myopic eyes stared hard
Into a pair of shriveled palms
Ochre designs of an unknown pen
Blackened now with grieving stains
Of t he rubbed the grubby grease
With a bony thumb lacking ease
Hours ticked by in warring muse
With God perhaps a wordless ruse
And then he shifted his vacant gaze
To the limitless yonder, his face
Crowding with bewildered haze
Shrugged his shoulders brittle and bent
Clutched the air with creased hands
Failing which shook his head
I stood watching him instead
Oscillating between dread and hope
Perhaps it’s better not to probe
But bumping into my questioning gape
The ancient cheeks did suddenly break
Into toothless mirth as the words fated
Echoed wild in a deep brood
“Dunno what went wrong and where
Gal., the lines looked so damn smooth!”

PAINTINGS OF JAMINI ROY (CONTD)

AN ORDINARY LIFE

Do I present a bleak portray?
Do I distort the truth anyway?
Do I image with a jaundiced eye?
When I glibly say
That there is an “ordinariness” to our lives
A staleness which permeates
Every nook of breath
As we proceed with the
“Goings” of life
Birth, adolescence, marriage procreation,
Decay and death
With an accepted ease
Without raising an eyebrow
We chart a path well trodden
The same way as we do
Millions before have done
There is nothing new
We do not question
We do not venture astray
But just walk by like wandering gypsies
Perhaps in quest of the final call of the day
When a meteor strikes the earth
A crater dents the crust
We look at each other and accusingly say
“You did dare break the rut
Doom befalls you next”

Am I wrong when I say
There is an “ordinariness” to our lives
Which is here for aeons to stay

A LONE BOTTLEBRUSH

Winter is here

I can feel it in the air

In the greyness of the morning

In the freezing atmosphere

The leaves are listless

The plants stand to attention

There is no glee, no mirth,

No ejaculation!!!

Only a baited breath

A composed grief

A listening to the wind

As though a premonition

Soon going to be unleashed

It's the beginning of November

An autumn exiting dolefully

And invasion of winter

A conquest won unopposedly

A chill leaves me shivering

Perhaps a hint of the future

But in this bleak facade

As I look up and see

A lone bottlebrush in the park

Waves and winks at me

There's more to life my friend

Not just cold, chill and grey

A rush of red in a stagnant green

That is what "Nature" has to say