मेरी डायरी से

  गुम चोट

खुला  घाव होता तो दिखा भी देते

खून रिसता होता, तो बता भी देते

अब क्या शिकायत करें किसी से

जब अपनों ने दी हो, सिर्फ गुम चोट |

अपने आंसु की वजह क्या बताएं अब

उतरे चेहरे का सबब क्या समझाएं तुम्हे

पढ़ सको तो पढ़ लो तुम ही

हमारी ख़ामोशी में है एक गुम चोट |

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प्रेम और वसंत

घर के सामने लगे उस पेड़ को

देखा था कुछ रोज़ पहले

सूखी निष्प्राण से शाखाओं को

जैसे जीने की कोई तलब ही  नहीं थी

हर पांत सूखी थी

काँटों से भरा था उसका बदन

और छुपी थी उसमे टूटन और

दिल को चीरती से उदास चुभन

आज सुबह ऑंखें मलते

बाहर जा कर देखा तो पाया

सूखी शाखों में कुछ नवजात पत्तियां

सुर्ख रंग की, उग आई हैं

हर वर्ष, परत दर परत

बढ़ते, फैलते, पर बूढ़े होते तने में

यौवन अब भी बाकी था

ऊष्मा अब भी बाकी थी

प्रेमी वृक्ष के सीने में

कुछ थे शायद  उमड़े आज अरमान

कि, शर्मा के प्रेयसी, पत्तियों

का हुआ ये हाल  

हर वर्ष वसंत आता है

हर वर्ष - निष्प्राण, विह्वल दिखती वनस्पति

फिर सजक हो जाती है

फिर प्रेम कर बैठती है

फिर हरी भरी  हो, लहलहा जाती है

हम मनुष्य ही क्यूँ

टूटे ह्रदय को

परत दर परत सीने में दफ़न किये जाते हैं ?

क्यूं भूल नहीं जाते किसी का मुह मोड़ लेना ?

क्यूं  माफ़ नहीं कर पाते किसी के कड़वे शब्द ?

क्यों नहीं ओढ़ लेते हरियाली की चादर ?

हरीतिमा का आंचल ?

हर वसंत....

हर वसंत....

हर वसंत....

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Phirkiyan - Life As I See It

The poem sums up my musings about human existence and life.  Life has been compared with spinning tops (hence named, Phirkiyan). 

फिरकियाँ

कौन हूँ मैं? कौन हूँ मैं आखिर?

क्यूँ हूँ मैं यहाँ?

इन लोगों के बीच, जिसे -

वे परिवार कहते हैं, कुटुंब कहते हैं

रिश्ते नाते कहते हैं, सगे सम्बन्धी कहते हैं.

मेरी ज़िन्दगी से जुड़े

या फिर कहूँ कि

मुझे अपनी ज़िन्दगी से जोड़े

वो तमाम लोग

मेरे आसपास घूमती अनंत फिरकियों से हैं.

कोई अपनी सरसराती आवाज़ से डराती,

कोई डगमगाती, कभी मेरी ओर झुकती और

कभी दूसरी ओर.

कोई मेरे आस पास चक्कर लगाती,

कुछ मुझ पर अपना स्वामित्व जताती,

कुछ अपना स्नेह बिखरती

मुझे अपने घेरे के मध्य बिंदु में रखती सी हैं.

कोई स्फूर्ति से, सटीक उछालों में चलती

जीवंत फिरकी

बता जाती कि,

जीवन आगे बढ़ने का नाम है.

तो कोई अपनी ही धुरी पर जीवन पर्यंत घूमती

निष्प्राण

केवल  जीने के लिए जीती सी.

जगह बदलती फिरकियाँ

टकराती आपस में, फिर भी

आगे बढ़ती फिरकियाँ,

उछल उछल कर जैसे

अपनी ज़मीन  टटोलती फिरकियाँ,

घूम-घूम कर गोल-गोल ये

ज़मीन पर स्वामित्व जताती फिरकियाँ.

मेरे आसपास सरसराहट हैं

हवा का वेग हैं, सुगंध भी है.

कडवापन भी है

अधिकार भी है, तिरस्कार भी है

आवाजें हैं, गंध है, भावनाएं हैं

कुछ टूटी सी आशाएं हैं,

उन लोगों की

जो कहलाते हैं -

रिश्ते, नाते, सगे सम्बन्धी

जान पहचान और साथी दोस्त.

पर फिर भी नहीं समझ पाई हूँ अब तक

मैं कौन हूँ?

क्यूँ हूँ यहाँ?

इन सब के बीच

इन सब से दूर

इन सब से जुडी हूँ मैं

या मुझे जोड़े हैं यह सब.

यह अनंत फिरकियों का संसार हैं

अगणित फिरकियों का कारोबार हैं

ये जीवन.

- RESTLESS

Ma, I Wish I Was Beaten Black And Blue : A Poem On Emotional Abuse

Dear reader, here is a poem on emotional abuse in relationships.  A married daughter tells her horror story of emotional harassment and mental abuse, which the mother does not want to understand, as she herself is helpless, but does not want her daughter to know it.

I WISH I WAS BEATEN BLACK AND BLUE

Ma,

I wish I was beaten black and blue.

For a hurt is never an offence for you

for a taunt doesn't even count,

for the words never leave a wound

to show the hatred abound.

You say, I have to bear with the insult hurled

for I am an Indian girl.

Remember the day you slapped me , Ma?

We cried together, for it was love.

I see no remorse in his eyes though

You say "but he loves you",

I wondered through and through.

You say, I have to bear with the insult hurled

for I am an Indian girl.

When I was pushed, I was surprised;

When I was slapped I wanted to shout;

And when I am pinned down to the bed

I close my eyes and remember you say that

I have to bear with the insult hurled

for I am an Indian girl.

You ask me show where he hit you?

But, what do I show you Ma?

A slap on my face doesn't cut my lips

a push till the wall doesn't leave a bruise

a hit of elbow on my breast

hurts... but doesn't leave me blue.

I wait endlessly to be beated black and blue

all these years

I have waited through.

I suffer, because I am not yet burned

I suffer, because I have no bruise to show

I suffer because for the world

the piercing of the soul matters not

I suffer because I am not beaten black and blue,

I suffer because I am not beaten black and blue.

Many women in marriages suffer emotional abuse all their lives from their partners or sometimes from other family members. Such verbal hurling of insults can have serious effect of a person's psyche, it can lower one's moral and self confidence, apart from making her dwell in self pity. Unfortunately, there was nobody to even acknowledge that such a problem exists, even in well off and educated families. Just 2-3 years back, the definition of "Domestic Violence" has been enhanced to cover emotional harassment also under The Protection of Women from Domestic Violence Act 2005.   

A word of caution. On the one hand, women should be aware that nobody has the right to put them down, even emotionally, on the other hand they should not misuse the provisions to settle petty scores with the family in which they are married.

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(This is a series of posts I am writing on women issues in India. To read more see the label "women issues that baffle me" on this blog)

The Crumbled Flower

With the bloom of the flower, I move on

With the break of the dawn, I move on

With each heart ache, I learn to let go

With each barrier built, I learn to forgo.

I am just a weak mortal

looking for meanings, as I ponder

I shall crumble, as a dry

I know my fate,

I know the set dye.

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Suspended Emotions

image courtesy: dannystaechs.wordpress.com

A girl, who just left her dolls 

but yet to feel the blush of youth,

stands on the terrace of her home...

her cheek gets tickled

by the first rain drop of the season...

Overjoyed she looks to the sky....

wants to get drenched completely.....

may be that's the time,

she knows what SHE is.

 

The clouds were dark,

(or was it her first lover

dark and handsome ?)

the breeze brought

the fragrance of wild flowers;

she closed her eyes to feel it.

Those first few drops on the dry soil,

worked up the aroma...

(that beautiful fragrance of the wet soil,

which nothing can match in this world)

"Ah"! she said, "today it's gonna rain,

my first rain, and my first dream to be loved"....

She swirls in ecstasy......

round goes her long, flowery skirt,

with the little anklets tinkling with rhythm;

 

Off goes her ribbon,

which just kept her hair so tight.....

her arms stretched wide open,

she closes her eyes,

and faces her lover in the sky...

the dark dark cloud

with a smile,

anticipating the cold rain drops on her face,

she swirls once, swirls again,

and again and again........

But not a drop of rain......

not a single drop.

Her emotions are suspended - somewhere in between,

just like those rain drops,

which so wanted to reach her,

but are suspended in the air now.

 

She can see, she knows its for her,

but can't reach them, can't touch them.

She stays there

with her skirt, which just went round in a circle

clinging to her with force

before settling down.

She looks up at the sky

with hair still flowing.

It's a suspended emotion

for both of them

no one knows the reason why...

two lovers have to stay away

is it a choice or is it destiny?

all she knows is that

her lover has suspended emotions.

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When you sprinkled the dew drops

This poem is the expression of a plant.

When a seed is nurtured well, it grows up into a beautiful plant. But when the person, who helped instill the life in that little seed wants to drift away, what does that plant, wrenching in pain, wishes to become ?

 

When you sprinkled the dew drops

you didn't know

there lied a seed buried deep

under the wraps of the soil.

When you sprinkled the dew drops,

you didn't know

that the seed - dry, dying

cocooned in its tough shell

got the moisture of the droplets

which you just let go.

As a pitcher overflowing with water,

as a heart overwhelmed with love

would shower it on anyone

that comes its way.

When you sprinkled it , you surely didn't know.

When you levelled the wet soil

you didn't know

you will fill the seed with desire -

to break free from its pea like mould,

to get a feel of the hand which gave it life.

As you sat close by, watching with tenderness

filling its heart with unexplainable joy

the plant grew and buds bloomed!

Raising its arms, and swaying in joy,

the plant stood looking at the sky

thanking for the life bestowed on it

when it thought, it was left with no more ;

thanking for the happiness showered on it

when it thought it didn't deserve any more.

While it thought, it was a serene calm

that has blessed its existence,

it was the screeching silence of

nobodyness around it.....

And the sad and limp, little plant murmered :

"As the days passed, so did the ecstasy

and suddenly, like a hasty traveller

you just got up to go past me ?"

"Or is it the sand storm that scared you?

is it the evil ways of the winds

that made you change your path?"

"But, now, I only wish I grew up as a cactus

I would have stored in me

(in my ugly stout body)

the rustle of your voice

the warmth of your breath

the sweeping touch of your eyes

the spark of your being

the frangrance of your soul

and that one fleeting moment of love.

I wish I was a cactus,

cursed to live without its life fluid

yet grounded, standing stiff, proud of itself,

with thorns all over : the branches shrunk with pain,

I wish I was a cactus

for I would have dwelled forever

on the dew drops sprinkled on me

without looking up at the sky again

as it hardly rains in desert,

as it hardly ever rains in desert.

When you sprinkled the dew drops

I am sure, you didn't know that.

A Restless Mind With
A Sensitive Heart.

lonely

At the middle of the night

dark, cold and silent

I wake up often

out from my restless slumber.

I feel my limbs heavy,

hair dishevelled and

heart so lonely.

As I toss on my bed,

I often think --

where are the lips

to kiss me back to sleep;

where are the fingers

to run through my hair;

where are the hands

to pat my back, bare?

where is the chest

I can dig my face in ?

and

feel my warm breath touching

his bare skin.

where are the arms

to hold me, oh so tight

where is my man

who will cuddle me right ?

On each night I wonder

what makes lovers stop

crossing those imaginary barriers ?

what makes marriage weigh

like heavy logs and bundles

why marriage makes people

become perfect strangers?

Meanwhile,

I  just curl up like a baby unborn

and just wish

I was in my mother's womb

for that's the only place

when we are loved 

and are not judged.

safe,

protected and

warm.