Ek Prem Katha Ke Naam

Jeevan mein honi chahiye ek prem katha,
Hona chahiye koi kissa yaad karne ko,
Nahi to kya rakkha hai, gehri sansen lene mein
Saans ruki aur khel khatam

Jeevan mein hona chahiye ek sapna,
Ya sapnon ka ghar,
Nahi to kya rakkha hai eent pathar ki chardiwari mein,
Mahine ki bandhi kishton mein

Jeevan mein hona chahiye koi junoon
Hona chahiye ek jazba chand ghar lane ka
Nahi to kya rakha hai chandrayaan ke safar mein
Batorne gaya hai chand ki mitti

Jeevan mein jaroor honi chahiye ek prem katha,
Hona chahiye koi kissa,
Nahi to din aur raat ki daud mein
khatam ho jayegi kahani,
Dil ban jayega khoon pump karne ki machine,
Aur Jeevan bina jiye hi jiya jayega

HALF THE MOON (WALKER)

Late 80s in a small town of Jabalpur in Madhya Pradesh.

Pop music here was called "English Music" and Jackson was its highlight. Even those who did not ever hear his music, knew about someone called "Jaiksan" somewhere in America. They also knew that he could dance - almost like Mithun Chakraborty - who then was the larger than life Disco Dancer of the silver screen.

MJ's new album "BAD" was a great rage among us - school boys then. Though we could only understand "I'm Bad, I'm Bad" in the whole song and religiously sang along whenever the phrase came up, it was his moonwalking we swore by. Practicing the smooth backward slide of the feet on dusty school grounds ruined our nice and dandy Bata shoes- but nothing stopped us.

Around the launch of this album, an English magazine "Sun" announced to release a four-part doorsize poster of MJ in his black dress with hooks and trappings, an image which was featured on the BAD album cover.

Now Sun was not a magazine which school boys could pick every now and then . Also the publishers being intelligent publishers released a part of the poster every month starting from his shoes. The wait for the next edition was unbearable.

Because it was summer holidays, my father bought my eldest brother, who obviously had better Jackson-gyaan than I, an edition of Sun, which carried the first part of the poster - the King of Pop's shoes.

A month later, my brother also managed to get the second edition of the magazine and we could create MJ upto his waist. Many a days, I would imagine where I would put up that poster. When nobody was around, I would try pasting the two portions of the poster to see how the whole picture was shaping up.

But as life would have it, we could never get the next two editions of Sun.

Was it Dad's anger over grades (his not mine as I scored decently) or something happened that we could not go to the lone bookstore in town, I was left with half the Moonwalker. Despite this, I preserved the two parts of the poster for more than a year, praying that I might get two more editions of the Sun to complete the picture.

MJ went up to give us more hit numbers and we grew up to sing along with his songs -verbatim.

Today he is dead, in a twist of fate, leaving an unsung concert- just like my incomplete poster of half the moonwalker.

DOORSTEP TO DOOM

Mein kabhi kabhi khud ko
Paap ke dar pe paata hoon,
Sab kuch dekhta hoon
Khud kuch karta nahi
Paap ke bare mein sochna bhi
Kya kufr hota hoga?

Yun to zindagi bina paap ke bhi ji jaati hai,
Par us khoon ka swad chakhne ko
Kyon mann mujhe keechta hai,
Khada kar deta hai us dehleej par
Jiske paar nahi koi khuda,
Bin khudaon ke bhi kya zindagi hoti hogi!

Wahan ka nazaara bhi bada dilkash hai,
Jaise befikr jiye ja raha hoon kisi aur ke din,
Par us dar se laut kar din-o-raat mere,
Na jaane kiske hain, kyon hai khwamakhwa

Yun to ram ke karam se
Sab kuch hai
Paap ke siwa,
Thode pheeke se lagte hain
Kabhi Kabhi ye din
Kya Karen? Kya Dehleej Par Karen?

BOMB-BAI - 26/11

Epilogue
The blood on the newsprint has dried black like ink. The wound is still fresh underneath the crackling dead skin which has begun growing around it. A tempting itch could just open its mouth again.............
The Event
The 25 inch monster sitting atop a pedestal in my drawing room has been spewing gunshots, grenades, fire. I am sitting through it - like under a spell - Am I suffering from Stockholm Syndrome? The siege on the city has kept me hostage before the television from morning till late in the night. Splinters of breaking news are all around me and I fear to get up and walk through it. One might just pierce my heart I feel. It is better here on the beanbag. Maybe I could stay here forever or as long as the terrorists want me to. Its so safe around here. The water bottle next to me - I could just reach out to a helping of snacks. I guess I can live for a couple of days with a bottle of water and some snacks. Well if I just sit here on the bean bag I could conserve all my energy and anyway passivity hardly burns any calories -any way I sympathise with my captor. With so much happening its so difficult to catch up. Maybe my exasperation too will make me lose energy. I should remain calm. I hope I changed the batteries of my remote. I am busy with some serious channel surfing...I should have an eye witness account of every bullet fired, every shrapnel that became alive and stuck deep into some one's skin. As dead bodies start piling up my eyes begin to grow heavy but a screaming headline shakes me up. And then another. I could smell gunpowder in the air. Can someone please open the windows? I have the urge to curl up and sleep and put out the noise. But it is just getting louder and overpowering. Its so claustrophobic was there a bomb explosion here? The soot of the black smoke is writ all over my face, I am gasping for air but they are closing on on me. All of them ..walking right into my house and spreading around behind the television, in the bathroom, in the bed room, in the kitchen, on the loft i know I am cornered...i know i am caught It was not a great idea to stay on the beanbag. I know now I would last only till my captors want me to. One of them thrusts a gun into my chest, orders me to strip. Ashamed by the many set of eyes watching me I begin to undress. First the shirt then my trousers, I stop, one of them pulls down my underwear, another kicks me in groin, I twist in pain clutching my crotch as the make a ring around me. Two of them start pulling my hands away while I desperately try to cover myself . they have stretched me across the floor on my back. I close my eyes in fear they begin laughing hysterically, I can imagine them rolling in laughter and over the noise one of them screams. "Look at you! Bloody Eunuch".

Back To Blogging

It was in January last year that I started my blog - with all fanfare (strictly in the heart). The spark burnt with a 1000 candle power intensity and was out even before I could put up my second post. It happens with many of us. We start on a journey weaving spectacular plans only to realise that consistency in a dynamic world is the most difficult feat to achieve. But it does not mean that I had not been writing. Though the output has been a bit slow...i did write ...when the heart was low, when gun-totting youngesters ravaged the city and even when I had reasons to smile back on life.
Starting today, I would publish whatever few tales and poems that had kept me occupied for the most of 2008. It also marks a restart to my blogging. I hope this time, the pursuit to consistency reaches a definite destination. Cheers

Monsoon Song
Baarish Sanjh Ki
Aisi lagti hai,
Jaise tapta hua din,
Thak ke baras pada ho dhara pe

Dhaunkani si
Phooolti sanson ki
Nikal gayi ho hawa
Kisi gubbare ki tarah,

Aur Kaandhon pe lada
Paani ka bhari badal,
Bus Sambhala na gaya
Baras pada

Tez Baarish Mein
Bheegti Dharti
Bharne lagti hai apne ank mein
naale-o-nadi

Aur Phir Bojh Se
Farig Hokar
Aasman Uda Uda
Khula Khula
Dhula Dhula

Jaise madmast hua
Pekar Koi Sindori Sura

SAALGIRAH PE...
Saalgirah Pe,
Kya Doon Tumko,
Pyaar Chalega?
Chand Ki BaateinHui Puraani,
Toote Taron Ka Kya Karna,
Khwab Chalega?
Phool Ki Kushboo Kab Rehti Hai,
Tez Dhoop Mein, Jal Jayega
Ek Chhanv Chalegi?
Ab Soch Lo Jaldi,
Time Nahi Hai
Din bhi Raat mein Dhal Jayega,
Pyaar chalega?Khwab chalega?
Ya Phir Mera Saath Chalega?