Another Phase in Life

What is this...this restlessness,
which wants me to get up and go
search for a dream, look out and see
a thousand myriad colours, a rainbow,
water flow under a bridge,
the flowers bloom, the sun rise,
butterflies zoom and

the world at large, lazily rumble by .

What is it...
That tells me to let go and just be,
that tells me that somethings finally,
are just meant to be,
some words are just meant to be heard,
and not reacted upon,
some thoughts are meant to come,
and change you somehow..


What is this...
this soul searching, this search for nirvana
this restlessness, which just does not let me be

Why at this stage, I search
not for wealth, not for a car
but for peace,
not for a party
but for the company of friends
not for noise, but companiable silence
not for a great passion
but for a great emotional bonding
not for a great passionate love affair
But ...spirituality
For peace, for solitude, for happiness

डर लगता है

कुछ उलझे हुए सवालों से डर लगता है
किसी की निगाहें रोज़ मुझे कुछ कहती हैं
और मैं उन्हीं उलझे हुए सवालों में और भी उलझ जाती हूँ
उन सवालों के जवाबों से डर लगता है .

कभी कभी दिल में कुछ तो हसरत सी होती है
उन हसरतों के ख्यालों में कही हुई कुछ बातें
उन बातों के इशारों में मैं शायद अपने को समझ पाती हूँ
बस, उन बातों को समझ कर डर लगता है .

वो नज़रें जो रोज़ यूँ मुझे देखती हैं
कि कुछ कह ही देंगी, या शायद कुछ कहती भी है
कुछ जानती हूँ, कुछ शायद जान रही हूँ

पर क्या करूँ, जानने में भी ..डर लगता है

कुछ जान कर अनजान बनी रहती हूँ
अहसास के दरवाज़े पर खड़ी रहती हूँ
दहलीज़ से बढूँ, पाँव और बढाऊँ
बस.....इस चौखट के उस पार से डर लगता है .

एक हलके से अहसास की थपक होती है
दिल के किवाड़ पर अजब सी दस्तक होती है
वो दरवाज़ा जो बंद कर के रखा है
उसके कांच की चटकार से डर लगता है .

दीखता है उस पार मुझे बहुत कुछ
खुश होती हूँ उस पार का मंज़र देख
सोचती हूँ कि कल पाट दूँगी इसे लकड़ी के पट से
और रोज़ रुक जाती हूँ... कि कुछ और देख लूँ
इसी हिचकिचाहट में...

रह गया है वो कांच का दरवाजा..
जो रोज़ दिखाता है.., वो ही नजारे, वो ही निगाहें, वो ही सवाल
जवाब हैं, जानती हूँ, पर जान कर भी
अनजान बने रहने का मन करता है
बस्स्स्स्स... इतना ही डर लगता है
मुझे.....अपने ही आप से डर लगता है.

Writing...A fresh beginning, or an old compulsion?

People...well meaning souls, that is, tell me to...write. You write well. Err..me? write well...huhhhh??

Ok..maybe i write good mails....and i think i write well when I am conversing with someone. Even if that happens to be a pal on the other side of the mailbox, whom i would not have spoken to in ages.

So what is great? Many people write well. And many make a living out of it, and others make a killing out of it. So what, if I just manage to make not a shilling out of it . Pah...

I gave up writing long ago... writing a diary, that is. That was what i poured myself into. Not poured, but outpoured. The angst of youth and the pain and the uncertainty of finding myself was all poured outside. Those diaries are lost ...in all probability to the raddiwalah, who must have sold them off to the chana wala or the pan thela wala, and those sheets...inked in pen, inked in pencil, inked in love, inked with anger, linked with friends, mixed with tears, sprinkled with smiles, must now be forgotten somewhere.... covered in grime, soot, dust, pan juice, and what else. But somewhere, what was in those diaries is also lost, and happily, willingly forgotten. Some of those thoughts remain, and will continue to linger....till I am. Because somewhere along the way, those thoughts became me.... .

So now, the moot question is ...shall i begin to write, on a new vein? What for? Is it needed? Or begin where I left, and continue with a sizeable blip , and move on towards tomorrow? I think the latter. It feels good to write. Cathartic.

So now i know why there are so many bloggers. They can ramble on and on...and they can write....or rather talk....to the world, to themselves, to favourite people, at random. Who knows you OUT THERE, anyway!! I love this anonymity. There are bloggers, some of them friends, who blog....to overcome that feeling of anonymity. But I love this void..... where there is just me....maybe, someday the exhibitionist in me will have his??/Her?? way and I will like to call others onto this blog and comment on my posts. But now, I am content in my cocoon. Content to just punch in keys and bunch up my steadily falling thoughts, into a posie... hopefully full of some content and some meaning, to be fragrant enough ....sometime.