Even ‘she’ is someone’s daughter !!


“This time I need an unflowered one…yes, yes any amount”,his satyriasis spoke gagging the person at other end.

After few hours when he was ’bout to turn the nob of Room no. A-435, Hotel Ashoka ; he saw his own daughter nervously waiting inside, through the flying curtains.

Stunned. Bedazed. He deleted the contact named ‘dealer‘ from his cell permanently. Shattered.

 

 

My thirsty eyes.


The other day I was going through an editorial from a photography magazine. I came across a wonderful sentence which almost changed my approach towards this wonderful hobby.

“You will not….cannot…own a moment by simply capturing it”, said K Madhavan Pillai.

Then I realized I should feel, sense the subject before clicking it.

The stale paper foil, shaky hands and the blur spectacles frame expresses enough.

All humans are equal. But some are more equal than others.
(This picture is inspired and hence the caption)

The gallant stains speak 'bout its commitment.

Life resembles so much. Too many colours to see them clear.

An image is much much better than words, when it comes to peace.

Hypocrisy and Communism


Raman and Aamir stopped by a roadside thela (a type of open kiosk) to eat omelette after a heated argument on hypocrisy and Communism and how being a communist was as good as a hypocrite.

While they were savouring, a car stopped by and a man in mid-thirties with his son (‘round 8 years) came to eat up the last omelette. After eating the omelette, man was explaining to his son addition of numbers, who was too dim to get it.

“See Neelu…one omelette is for 23 rupees. We had two omelettes…..so we should pay 23+23=46 rupees.”

The Son gave an unsure nod. Raman and Aamir were watching the didactics carefully.

Father handed a 100 rupee note to Ramu, a school drop-out who aids his old master in running kiosk. Ramu quickly removed 54 rupees from his old, ragged money-bag and returned it to his customer.

It didn’t surprise the father. Obvious.

Aamir called Ramu and asked him pointing towards the sky, “Upar kya dikhta hain” (What do you see above)??

He replied without any hesitation, “Bhaiya, Badal dikh rahe hain. Teen rang ke- saafed , neele aur kale. Neele aapki tarah jinhe suraj pareshan karta hain. Kaale meri tarah jo hamesha rote hain. Aur saafed…jinke bare me jaante sab hain lekin bolta koi nahi. Ghar jaldi jana bhaiya, yeh kale badal barasne lag gaye na fir aafat aa jayegi. Saare aasman me cha jayenge aur fir neele aur safeed badal dikhenge hi nahi”

(Brother, I can see clouds. Clouds of three colours- white, blue and black. Blue ones are just like you, always troubled by the sun. Black ones; just like me which keep crying and white ones…everyone knows who they are but no one speaks about them. Go home early, brother. If these black clouds start pouring in, it’ll create troubles. They will cover the whole sky and then blue and white clouds will disappear).

That day won't be far away then....when you'll see all similar faces, all alike and just one colour : Red

His answer dumbfounded Aamir plus Raman.

Both had their own stringent and inflexible views on Communism as well as hypocrisy. They thought from two pair similar of eyes, yet very much differently.

After Ramu’s answer, they felt their opinions were nothing but very much alike.

“You think he knew everything??” asked Raman.

Aamir kept looking at a cycler pedalling a housewife with her mundane luggage.

“I’m going to Kolkatta Raman. Arnabjit bhai needs me more there.”

Faiz Ahmad Faiz’s words hemmed in Aamir’s heart.

Chashm-e-num, jaan-e-shooreeda kafi nahi
Tohmat-e-ishq poosheeda kafi nahi
Aaj bazaar main paa-bajolaan chaloo

Rakht-e-dil bandh lo, dil-figaroon chaloo
Phir hum he qatal ho aain, yaroon chaloo

(A wet eye, a shaken life is not enough,
The accusation of a hidden love is not enough,
With feet in chains, Let us go in public today.
 
Pack up your belongings O Injured heart ones!
Let us go friends and get killed once again.)
 

Boundless….Limitless…Measureless


I love photography, ’cause there are no dead-ends, no finish lines and no boundaries.

Still a long way to go....

 

Silent I'm, so only not looked after...

 

I'm rusted...yet I'm unbent.

 

Indian Palm squirrel flaunting marks of Rama's five fingers while building its dreys.

 

The miscible fusion of old and not so old....of exploited and not so exploited.

 

They come, They wait and then they go.
Unfortunate ones stay for long and for sure.

 

'Jadi tor daak shune keu naa aashe tabe ekla chalo re'
(If they answer not to thy call walk alone)

 

You don't need mundane things to grow. You just need the passion to fly high.

Victory and Defeat


“You smoke too much lately. Is it that you’re craving for love??” jested seven months pregnant Rahi.

Abhay kept on puffing with new vigour thinking ‘bout Kavita eluding his wife, mentally as well as physically.

Abhay and Rahi were college sweethearts. Both had common interests like Mumbai, hostel life, soft rock, definitive literature, clove cigarettes, painting and poetry. Except for he loved it on the couch and she enjoyed it on the bed. They tied knots two years after their Masters in Business Administration. They knew each from head to toe.  She typically followed the other side of the Arabic matrimonial equation that is curtailing her liberty to move alone and secretly basked it. But he was a classifiable and predictive north Indian stud with a good physique ready to flirt with every other juicy girl he came across. Her parents dissented strongly after she eloped with him. Still she considered herself lucky as far as her marriage was concerned; reason being his intelligence, romanticism and tomfoolery.

Before marriage, things were different at least for Abhay. He was very much interesting, creative and expressive in the first place. Their ‘mental-intimacy’ clearly outdid physical involvement. She first proposed him during their masters, he rejected as he had a crush on some already set-aside damsel. As every XY chromosome bearer is a loyalist slave of testosterone, he was no exception. They both got together within a month. It was his second relationship while she never earlier dated due to societal obligations. And yes, he sensed some void in their affinity but couldn’t express his incertitudes to emotionally unstable and already imbalanced wife especially after her father left for heaven’s abode due to heart attack.

Everything was so foreseeable in their deadening relationship and so only they decided to turn into parents hoping that a child would light up their benighted aroha. Typical Indian couple!!

He brought her same pineapple cake since years on birthdays as clichéd surprise. Looking at his eyes on dinner table, she would pass on knowing what he needed. They knew each other too much to express in words. Eyes did all the conversation. He too realised that such quixotic stuff seemed good only in poems. Both were unknowingly going deep into the web weaved by ‘too much of love’.

Kavita:  fair, slim and aphrodisiacal girl who came in as intern was the new protagonist in his life. She as a single child always resorted to surrogate relationships after her parents separated. He started butterflying her hoping to complete his incomplete life. And it clicked between them. Never earlier did he experience such calmness and solace but his heart was torn apart thinking about unborn child. As always he thought she was the one, his soul mate. She was one devil-may-care lover and never took him that seriously for obvious reasons. His kinship with Kavita reached a celestial point and there was no looking back after that.

Rahi was admitted into a hospital during her last month. She easily noticed guilt in his eyes but kept mum. She kept on asking with her eyes, ‘Is she more beautiful??’ Once, such a great debater lost life’s most important case with a straight defeat. He did nothing but closed his eyes in reply trying hard to cry but couldn’t. Wild damaging and negative thoughts took over him.

Allah blessed Abhay with a baby girl.Rahi died during pregnancy owing to excess blood loss from her body.

He entered the hospital ward with mixed feelings. Went near his wife. Took her hand in his hands and tried hard to cry, again he couldn’t. Then he turned his eyes towards the new-born, her eyes clearly resembling Rahi’s. He was taken aback by the ‘Is she more beautiful??’ look which the baby gave him.

Tears came down his cheeks for the first time in life. He tried controlling his feelings….but eyes kept on pouring as if they were separated from his body, mind and soul!

Gulzar saab’s grave voice hemmed into his ears:

”Kisi mausam ka jhonka tha
Jo iss deewar par latki tasveer tirchhi kar gaya hai

Gaye sawan mein ye deeware yun seeli nahi thi
Na jane kyun iss dafa inn mein seelan aa gayi hai
Daraarein pad gayi hain
Aur seelan iss tarah behti hai jaise
Khushk rukhsaaro par geele aansun chalte hain”


(A quivering touch of weather, was it??
which has swung your photo-frame.

Last monsoon, these walls were as dry (and strong) as dead leaves;         
This time, however these are damped and damaged.
And the dampness crawls on the wall,
Just like tears leave a trail on (somebody’s) dry cheeks                           
A quivering touch of weather, was it??)

Love


There are few people who come into your life. They play as protagonist and you support their role, but suddenly there is a void in your life and their starring role in your life comes to an abrupt end.

They certainly go but change the definition of that very word which matters to you the most…and that word is called ‘Love’.