It’s 3.00 pm and I am stuck in the concrete jungle of ever failing dreams. But the sun is soft. Slowly breaking onto my shoulder and illuminating just my physical presence. Only I don’t recognize it. It does not burn my skin with the familiarity that I feel with the sun back home. And if I was to open the window, I know the wind would sing with my hair and caress my cheeks, warmly. But not with the fierce tenderness of the breeze back home.
The realization hits me at 3.15 pm, almost two nights and two days since my reluctant journey back from the hills. That for the last ten years that I have been adjusting with this fast life as my second abode, I’ve failed miserably. Because, no matter how soon the hills evaporate from my memory once I am back in the technological habitation, their drizzle keeps visiting me sporadically.
Think I still love the enormous climb of the slopes to the ease of the escalator. Think I still love the wilderness of the wind to the chill of the air conditioner. Think I still love the laziness of the small towns to the panic pace of every second in the city. Think I love the forgetfulness of the goat’s trails that help you find yourself to the sharp directions of the city boards, which lead you to loose yourself in the hired crowd. Think I love the tranquil flight of the birds in the valley to the mastered navigating skills of the creatures in the narrow skylines of the city.
3.30pm and I am still sulking. Around me I see happy faces, growing faces, greedy faces, hopeful faces. Not another has the shadow of loneliness painted on it. And then I smile on the loss. Their’s. Because I suddenly take pleasure in what they have probably missed. They are probably some empty vessels that have none so beautiful memories to cry on. They do not feel the grief of loss because they never felt the happiness of owning something so enthralling; the restlessness of butterflies, the carelessness of streams, the freshness of wind, the coldness of snow.
And so my heart retraces its steps and decides to settle down on the warm bed of compromises. Happy, it had something than nothing at all.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
Chup chup si
chup
Chup chup si
Yeh dhadkan
Kya jaane kya bole
Kiske afsanon se
Kiss deewane se
Karti hai batein yeh sun
Oh chup chup si
Oh chup chup si
Kabhi itrati hai
Ruk ruk si jaati hai
Anjani ek haseen
Labon ko de jaati hai
Hatheli per aksar
Gane woh likhti hai
Kanoin mein kehti hai
Nazroin se jo chupati hai
Chup chup si
Ohhhhhhhhh
Chup chup si
Chup chup si
Yeh dhadkan
Kya jaane kya bole
Kiske afsanon se
Kiss deewane se
Karti hai batein yeh sun
Oh chup chup si
Oh chup chup si
Chup chup si
Yeh dhadkan
Kya jaane kya bole
Kiske afsanon se
Kiss deewane se
Karti hai batein yeh sun
Oh chup chup si
Oh chup chup si
Kabhi itrati hai
Ruk ruk si jaati hai
Anjani ek haseen
Labon ko de jaati hai
Hatheli per aksar
Gane woh likhti hai
Kanoin mein kehti hai
Nazroin se jo chupati hai
Chup chup si
Ohhhhhhhhh
Chup chup si
Chup chup si
Yeh dhadkan
Kya jaane kya bole
Kiske afsanon se
Kiss deewane se
Karti hai batein yeh sun
Oh chup chup si
Oh chup chup si
Beyond
Beyond the sky
sits the sun,
and smile heavens
Beyond, sings the wind
and dances sand
Beyond, fly dreams
and spread moonlight on land
Beyond, our friend
life’s calling you
Beyond, our friend
is a new horizon for you
sits the sun,
and smile heavens
Beyond, sings the wind
and dances sand
Beyond, fly dreams
and spread moonlight on land
Beyond, our friend
life’s calling you
Beyond, our friend
is a new horizon for you
Friday, February 8, 2008
Mind beyond 10x10
8 dead chairs, meaningless walls and a so collapsible roof. Yet it’s the most romantic time of my being. ‘Love is in the air’ chugs pass my eagerly absorbing ears. And my mind bounces between office, friends, yesterday, today and tomorrow. The unsure grey clouds lazily drift overhead. And a warm sultry touch on my lips throws me out of the reality. The cold box of sand and iron suddenly seems cozy. Private. Smells of someone. Something. Far in the distance.
The nude windows suddenly pull themselves together under the heavy curtains of my imagination. The chairs turn into an inviting irresistible couch and I see a lamp somewhere. Standing proud. Actually like a blackmailer threatening to spill my feelings. And then I hear him, a bed away. Unsure but eager. Sane but drifting. In love but removed.
Suddenly the sound of tinkling glasses syncs in with the change of the song on my i-pod and brings me back to the noise and commotion of a half-alive office. I resist. But the steaming coffee however is too alluring.
Coco smell mixed with ‘singing my pain with his fingers’ dawns upon me the realization of being in two places, simultaneously.
So picking up that coffee mug I assume it is a wine glass. Sorry, Wine bottle, cause that is how I like it.
I close my eyes and take a sip, cold breeze dances by and I feel him breathing down my neck. I open my eyes half expecting to be looking back at his. I giggle aloud. It’s my little secret that none knows in the crowded room around.
Another sip, he’s holding my wrists in his hands. A smile escapes my lips (wonder what the 60 years old gentleman to my left is thinking about my absurd behavior). I feel weak in my knees. Thousand butterflies flutter their wings inside my stomach. His hand slips through my hair, lightly resting on the back of the neck.
The song changes to ‘she’s always a woman’; the sound of a typewriter’s key assures me that reality is an arm away. Another sip and his arm slips around my waist. I pause. This does not seem right. But hey imagination has no strings attached. He pulls me closer to him. I can hardly breathe in his soft embrace. His finger brushes my hair off my cheek. My heart is leaping. Fearless but fearful. Free yet bounded. Excited but withdrawn. Leaping yet frozen. Leading on but withdrawing. To be or not to be.
My being floating in his arms. I feel the shadow of his face burning mine. We’re loosing the distance. His grip tightens around me. His fingers pull my face closer to his.
‘Yahan sign kijiye’, ‘wise men say only fools rush in’, ‘Hello madam’, ‘can’t help falling in love’. A rude jolt on my shoulder and I lose him. Forever? At least for now. Am back in the noisy office signing a much ignored paper.
The nude windows suddenly pull themselves together under the heavy curtains of my imagination. The chairs turn into an inviting irresistible couch and I see a lamp somewhere. Standing proud. Actually like a blackmailer threatening to spill my feelings. And then I hear him, a bed away. Unsure but eager. Sane but drifting. In love but removed.
Suddenly the sound of tinkling glasses syncs in with the change of the song on my i-pod and brings me back to the noise and commotion of a half-alive office. I resist. But the steaming coffee however is too alluring.
Coco smell mixed with ‘singing my pain with his fingers’ dawns upon me the realization of being in two places, simultaneously.
So picking up that coffee mug I assume it is a wine glass. Sorry, Wine bottle, cause that is how I like it.
I close my eyes and take a sip, cold breeze dances by and I feel him breathing down my neck. I open my eyes half expecting to be looking back at his. I giggle aloud. It’s my little secret that none knows in the crowded room around.
Another sip, he’s holding my wrists in his hands. A smile escapes my lips (wonder what the 60 years old gentleman to my left is thinking about my absurd behavior). I feel weak in my knees. Thousand butterflies flutter their wings inside my stomach. His hand slips through my hair, lightly resting on the back of the neck.
The song changes to ‘she’s always a woman’; the sound of a typewriter’s key assures me that reality is an arm away. Another sip and his arm slips around my waist. I pause. This does not seem right. But hey imagination has no strings attached. He pulls me closer to him. I can hardly breathe in his soft embrace. His finger brushes my hair off my cheek. My heart is leaping. Fearless but fearful. Free yet bounded. Excited but withdrawn. Leaping yet frozen. Leading on but withdrawing. To be or not to be.
My being floating in his arms. I feel the shadow of his face burning mine. We’re loosing the distance. His grip tightens around me. His fingers pull my face closer to his.
‘Yahan sign kijiye’, ‘wise men say only fools rush in’, ‘Hello madam’, ‘can’t help falling in love’. A rude jolt on my shoulder and I lose him. Forever? At least for now. Am back in the noisy office signing a much ignored paper.
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