Kuch din

Kuch din huye main sundar kam hoon
Kuch din huye kitaabon ke panne peele parne lage
Kuch din huye ek cup chai zyada lagne lagi
Kuch din se bambai bohot akeli hai

Kuch din se akhbaar mein khabrein kam hain

Kuch hamara bhi khana peena band hai
Kuch din se cigarette gale ko lagne lagi
Kuch din se baarish bhii nahi hui.

Already. Already.

I am going through a continual déjà vu - everything has happened before, everything is happening again. Have I been here already? Lived it already? Lived in layers upon layers, as if the time never passed?

And then, more importantly, what does it leave me with? What can I then possibly write that I have not possibly written before? Is there a new emotion left somewhere or have I exhausted them all?  

All of this reminds me of Nietzsche's Eternal Recurrence. And how much I want to read all of him.

कुछ और बकवास

बहुत बहुत बहुत मुश्किल है. यूँ दिन का रात करना। दीवारों को बस ताकना नहीं, वो तो सब करते हैं, दीवारों से आँख-बचाना। सिर्फ मुश्किल नहीं, शर्मनाक मेरे लिये. समझ नहीं पाई कि शर्म किस बात की।

इतना सुन्दर तो है ये घर. बस दिक्कत है की ये मजबूर करता है सोचने को. ज़रूरत से ज्यादा और वह भी जो सच नहीं। बिलकुल नहीं। 

आए हैव बीन हम्ब्लड! किताबें काफ़ी नहीं!

बहरहाल, कुछ दिन की बात है अब. यूँ अकेले में बड़-बड़ करना बंद हो जाएगा। वापसी हो जाएगी। 

PS: मुझे जेल हो रही है या मेरी रिहाई?

Gravity

Gravity. The movie actually lifts you a few inches into the air. You're afloat while you watch it and when it ends you simply glide out of the theatre. Weightless. And Clooney..a treat to watch. Ever the unputdownable among men.

फूल-प्रूफ़

नेहा. सब कुछ समझना इतना भी ज़रूरी नहीं। तुम्हें क्योंकर लगता है कुछ है भी समझने को. जियो और ख़तम करो! हाँ ठीक है, माना तुम्हें कुछ (अच्छा, बहुत कुछ) बुरा लगा. तो क्या? लगा. लगा. लग गया.

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आज दिल्ली याद आ रही है. घर याद आ रहा है. कुछ देर को ही सही 'घर' जाना है. कुछ ही दिनों में परेशान हो कर निकलना है वहां से, बड़बड़ाते हुए शायद. तब ही तो वहां जाना, वहां से निकल भागना, सब एक सुगठित प्लान सा लगेगा। फूल-प्रूफ़! ऐसा नहीं की मन में आया और चल दिए कही भी. अरे! हमें तो पता था की हम परेशान हो जायेंगे! और कुछ साल बीतेंगे तो कहेंगे खुद से - आह! कितने दूरदर्शी थे हम!

सच ये है की इन आँखों में नाम-मात्र भी दूर-दृष्टि नहीं है. कभी तो लगता है दृष्टि ही नहीं है. इधर-उधर गिरते-पड़ते चलते हैं. कुछ दरवाज़े खट-खटाते हर शाम. फिर खुद ही से कहते हैं, "अंधे हो क्या!"

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क्या बकवास लिखा है! और तुम पढ़ते भी गए!

monday rains

I'm in Thane. Just had methi parantha at a small joint here that goes by the name 'My Kitchen'. Sometimes when I get ready early and have time to spare I come here to have my breakfast. Very boring, very sada and very delicious. The place used to feel hostile earlier, what with everything written in Marathi on the huge flex board menu right above the counter. But I am not here to talk of flex boards and the like. I'm writing because it suddenly started to pour. I don't have an umbrella and so have to wait here till the rain subsides, even my bag is made of cloth. And while I was having my coffee, served in a thin paper cup and continued to read my book..I had a sudden urge to write. It must have been the rain that did it. And so here I am.

I think the rain will come down a notch or two in a couple of minutes. And I will start walking towards my place of work. I will spend another day working, writing..and taking in the same bits of poetry again and again as if it were all written to reassure me. A song or two might follow and then some philosophy I might give in to. I would chit chat a bit with people at work and then I would go home once more. Tedious few hours would pass and I would secretly enjoy myself while all the same lamenting my being lonely.

Yes, I love it here.

15 minutes later

No. It didn't stop raining. In fact, if anything it is pelting harder and I am not happily disposed in the same eatery anymore. I took a longer route to the work place for reasons that had better remain undisclosed, and in the meantime it started to pour again. And I'm standing under a shed in a shanty. Praying my slippery slippers wont give me away today. I don't want to fall on my butt.

30 minutes later

At my desk now. All drenched and dripping. Having waited under a tree and a tin shed for as much as I could, I finally started to walk back. Mid-way it again poured. Running was not an option given my slipping-prone chappals so I had to walk even more slowly. One foot at a time.

Prophetic

How prophetic can it get? As if what ever title I give to this blog would turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy, staring me in the face. Foot in the Door hurt me hard enough, thought I would never be able to walk by myself again. Rushing in would meet the same fate I know. Fool that I am. But then, how do they do it? The 'wise' ones. How do they put a brake on the flow of words. Doesn't it make for a screeching silence? A screeching halt, that never quite ends? And if they are able to do it and survive, (oh yes they thrive) why can't I?

Jane wo kaise log the jinke pyar ko pyar mila?!

Sweet abandon

Daresay I am falling for myself again, savoring the emptiness around. The sweet absence and the abandon. Of roaming around the house wearing nothing but a t-shirt, two sizes too big, a cig between the fingers, a book clasped to the chest, messed-up hair tied untied alike. Sitting In the balcony, on the floor, on the kitchen slab and pick up from where I'd left. Put on old music, soaking it up; fingertips brushing against the wall, the surfaces, the cold tap water, empty utensils - the mundane beauty of it all. Countless cups of black tea in either of the two mugs, as if taking turns. Now red, then yellow. Cooking in the evening; glancing across endless possibilities. Now and then breaking into an impervious smile.

Want to not let go of these times.