ज़िंदगी की सच्चाई (GULZAR'S POETRY)

जब मैं छोटा था, शायद दुनिया बहुत बड़ी हुआ करती थी,
मुझे याद है मेरे घर से स्कूल तक का वो रास्ता,
क्या क्या नही था वहाँ,
चाट के ठेले,
जलेबी की दुकान,
बर्फ के गोले, सब कुछ.

अब वहाँ, मोबाइल शॉप, वीडियो पार्लर हैं,
फिर भी सब सुना है,
शायद अब दुनिया सिमट रही है.

जब मैं छोटा था शायद शामें बहुत लंबी हुआ करती थी,
मैं हाथ में पतंग की डोर लिए घंटों उड़ा करता था,
वो लंबी साइकल रेस, वो बचपन के खेल,
वो हर शाम तक कर चूर हो जाना,

अब शाम नही होती, दिन ढलता है और सीधे रात हो जाती है,
शायद वक़्त सिमट रहा है,

जब मैं छोटा था शायद दोस्ती बहुत गहरी हुआ करती थी,
दिन भर वो हुजूम बनाकर खेलना,
वो दोस्तों के घर का खाना,
वो लड़कियों की बातें, वो साथ में रोना,

अब भी कई दोस्त हैं पर दोस्ती जाने कहाँ है,
जब भी ट्रॅफिक सिग्नल पर मिलते हैं, वही हाई हो जाती हैं,
और अपने अपने रास्ते चल देते हैं,
होली, दीवाली, न्यू यियर पर बार एस.एम.एस. आ जाते हैं,
शायद अब रिश्ते बदल रहे हैं,

जब मैं छोटा था खेल भी अजीब हुआ करते थे,
छुपान छुपाई, लंगड़ी तंग, टिप्पी टिप्पी टॉप ,
और अब इंटरनेट , ऑफीस से फ़ुर्सत ही नही मिलती,
शायद ज़िंदगी बदल रही है,

ज़िंदगी का सबसे बड़ा सच यही है,
जो अक्सर कब्रिस्तान के बाहर बोर्ड पर लिखा होता है,
मंज़िल तो यही थी बस ज़िंदगी गुज़र गयी मेरी यहाँ आते आते,

ज़िंदगी का लम्हा बहुत छोटा सा है,
कल की कोई बुनियाद नही  है और आने वाला कल सिर्फ़ सपने में है,

अब बच गये इस पल में,
तमन्नाओं से भारी इस ज़िंदगी में हम सिर्फ़ भाग रहे हैं

कुछ रफ़्तार धीमे करो मेरे दोस्त,
और इस ज़िंदगी को जियो, खूब जियो मेरे दोस्त....

Real to Virtual....and Back!

“अब भी कई दोस्त हैं पर दोस्ती जाने कहाँ है,

जब भी ट्रॅफिक सिग्नल पर मिलते हैं, ही “हाई” जाती है,

और अपने अपने रास्ते चल देते हैं,

होली, दीवाली, न्यू यियर पर एस.एम.एस आ जाते हैं,

शायद अब रिश्ते बदल रहे हैं.........

ज़िंदगी का सबसे बड़ा सच यही है,

जो अक्सर कब्रिस्तान के बाहर बोर्ड पर लिखा होता है,

मंज़िल तो यही थी बस ज़िंदगी गुज़र गयी मेरी यहाँ आते आते,....

कुछ रफ़्तार धीमे करो मेरे दोस्त,

और इस ज़िंदगी को जियो, खूब जियो मेरे दोस्त…”

I can fall in love with Mr Gulzar for writing these lines….

Friends are always special, aren’t they? I have forged, nourished and cherished many friends over the years. It has been a hell of a journey, making new friends, rediscovering old ones, making mistakes and walking on new paths together… But over the last decade or so, I sense a change in the type of “friend” and “friendship” around me.

Let me elaborate a bit here.

Bonding in my time (read “the 90s and the early years at the turn of this millennium”) meant unending telephone calls (not “mobiles”) to discuss everything and nothing. There would be warning glances and signals from parents to remind about the skyrocketing phone bills, which were religiously ignored by us. Today, bonding is limited to liking the same television show page on Facebook, or following the same celebrity on Twitter.

Arguments were a force to reckon with in our times. They were usually face-to-face encounters, or rarely, over the phone. Sometimes, other friends also got involved. Word got around eventually, and more often than not, the warring parties kissed and made up in a day or two. Now, there is a dash of passive-aggressive status updates, peppered with a few cryptic tweets, followed by a wildfire of “unfollow”. Everyone within the “network” (and beyond) knows within an hour, fervent comments are made, judgments are delivered; in moments, the real topic of disagreement is forgotten.

Going out for a coffee with friends in my time was a luxury, which was cherished and enjoyed to the hilt. Coffee over warm conversation was something we looked forward to. At the end of it, we went dutch and every penny was diligently counted and shared between friends. Coffee-date today is a timeline update of  frappé, or venti soy mocha lattes with two pumps of vanilla, or ristretto complete with a toxic rejoinder of how badly the barista served the beverage.

We celebrated our friendships you know, I mean, we really did. Buying a cute hairclip or a book for my best friend, a trip to the shop that had an enviable collection of earrings and best-friend jewelry – we did it together. These days, celebration of friendship has been cocooned in bathroom selfies and colourful emoticons. Our gifts were probably home-burned, custom CDs with thoughtfully compiled music, and posters too. Now, there are apps, eBooks, and invite codes to new social networks in the name of gifts.

I reminisce often about our “girl time” - manicures, perming, movies, bitching, gossiping, romanticizing….Even that “girl time” is different today - tagging yourself at each location as you arrive, responding to texts, searching for seats near electrical outlets so that the mobile can be put on charge...

Long before the onslaught of global cosmetic brands, beauty parlors were accessible places run by the neighbourhood Aunty. “Make-up” was reserved for special occasions, and   blood red lipstick, rouge, eye-shadow, etc. needed forever to be chosen. Now, who needs makeup? We have got Photoshop and BeautyCam!

Yes, as fossilized as our days may sound, we too went out for dinners. A dinner date with friends meant a group of friends laughing around a table until the restaurant closes, and good memories for months. Now, things are simple - check-in at restaurant, like restaurant page, take menu photo, take photo of bubbly and/or umbrella'ed beverages (#Cheers!), dinner photo with elaborate description of main course and dessert (desserts that sound like “ice-cream” are a passé; think of  names like ‘lime and coconut syllabub’, ‘summer fruit pavlova’, ‘vanilla pannacotta with rose petal syrup’ etc etc). It does not really matter who you were out with….

Yes, in this era when friendships are ended with a “click’, we bade goodbye to our friends with lots of music, some crying, and poetry…

Agreed, we all continue to be socially promiscuous, making more and more friends and social contacts. But we are now losing them rapidly too, and this is not only stemming largely from people wanting to settle down and raise a family. For many years, social networks have been raising people's "friend" count, making millennials believe they have hundreds or even thousands of friends. But even with these added means of communication, I (and many of my generation) believe that the time taken to invest in a true close-knit friendship will continue to be around. Although it may become more global, the value of face-to-face friendship may never change. While the internet may allow us to keep relationships going over a much wider geographical area, but as of now, a shoulder 1800 miles away isn't as good to cry on. And unlike the labile ‘web’ emotions floating around like spores these days, real face-to-face friendships can also afford to be impulsive, but when it comes to friends, “friends” must be as constant as a compass needle. 

I Remember I Remember (Thomas Hood)

I remember, I remember
The house where I was born, 
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn ; 
He never came a wink too soon
Nor brought tuo long a day ; 
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away. 


I remember, 1 remember
The roses, red and white, 
The violets, and the lily-cups-
Those flowers made of light
The lilacs where the robin built, 
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday
The tree is living yet! 


I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing, 
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing ; 
My spirit flew in feathers then 


That is so heavy now, 
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow. 


I remember, I remember
The fir trees dark and high ; 
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky : 
It. was a childish ignorance
But now it is little joy
To know I’m farther off from Heaven
Than when I was a boy. 

পাহৰা নাই

আজি বহু কথায়ে মনত পৰিছে

বাস্তবিকতাৰ পদূলিত লুকাই থকা অতীতৰ সোঁৱৰণীৰ কথা

আৰু কেতিয়াবা কোনোবা এটি জীপাল ৰাতি

সাৰ পাই উঠা ধূষৰ সপোনৰ কথা

পাহৰা নাই মই,

বিশ্বাসৰ আঁৰত মুখা পিন্ধি মনে-মনে চাই থকা অবিস্বাসৰ চাৱনি

আৰু মোক অঘৰী কৰি তোলা সেই আহিনৰ দুপৰীয়া

মোৰ দুৱাৰদলিত আজিও অবিস্বাসৰ ধোঁৱা...।

মই পাহৰা নাই,

শাওণৰ সেই ভৰ দুপৰীয়া

এখন নিতাল চহৰ আৰু এটি নিমাত ৰাষ্টা,

দুটি অচিনাকী অনুভৱ

আৰু কিছু আধৰুৱা কথা...

আজিও মোৰ মনত আছে

জেঠৰ সেই অকলশৰীয়া ৰাতিটো

আৰু হঠাতে ভাঁহি অহা এটি নেদেখা সপোন;

পাহৰা নাই আজিও,

সোণাৰু ফুলৰ দলিচা পৰা নৰকাসুৰ পাহাৰৰ

একা-বেকা কোনোবা এটা কেকুৰীত

মই অসাৱধানেৰে গছকি অহা এটি হাঁহি

আৰু চিৰজীৱনলৈ নিঃশেষ কৰি পেলোৱা সৰলতা...

Awkwardly awkward

Admit it! Even the most gregarious of us have faced one awkward moment or the other. I mean one of those problematic occasions with long silences, sporadic coughs, and people saying isolated things like, "Well, isn't the weather horrible these days?”

Before I proceed to the general situations that make us feel like fools, let me narrate a personal incident. It happened a few years back in Delhi. I was on the way to meet a friend of mine, and mid-way, I asked my spouse to stop the car so that I can buy some goodies for my friend. I bought some chocolates and sweets, and returned to sit in the passenger seat of the car. Regaling my spouse about the great deal on the chocolates I got at the store, I was miffed when there was no response from him. (‘He is unappreciative of my purchase at such a good price’ – this was my thought). I looked sideways from the passenger seat to tell him how indifferent he was, and lo! I was staring at a complete stranger with beard and an uneasy smile. Even in the darkness of that night, I remember the poor guy’s face illuminated sporadically by the oncoming traffic that evening in Delhi. I do not wish to go into the details of the earful I had to bear from my spouse that day, but yes, I did learn the literal meaning of the wise old saying “Look before you leap”! I also learnt that every car that looks like mine need not be mine, though it might be parked in the exactly same place where I had disembarked from it.

Imagine another situation which we all come across very frequently. The crowded elevators (‘lifts’) that take forever to reach your floor and you are caught inside with complete strangers looking at nowhere and everywhere. Your eyes get locked with the serious looking man who has a tic, and you find yourself looking away only to stare into the eyes of the lady to your right with smoky eyes. You give the ghost of a smile, and wait for the repercussion. Add to that the awkward “aahs” and “it’s taking so long” expressions, and you have nothing to do or say.

Ever had your laptop hooked up to a projector for a work meeting with your boss and received an email from a buddy with read something like “How is your crocodile of a boss? Chewing your brains”????

One to one interactions between people have become a rarity, due to time constraints and to a large extent cue to mobile phones which makes connecting to someone a cakewalk. A lone human being talking animatedly with hand gestures and all may look like a possessed one, that is until you see the Bluetooth hanging against his ear. And nothing can be more embarrassing than replying to someone you think is talking to you, but actually he/she is on the Bluetooth. Another situation where most of us have been in – when a person is waving and we think that it is directed at us and we wave back with a smile, only to realize moments later that it was meant for the person standing behind..

Birthday parties are another source of awkwardness too. I know that this may sound impossible, but think of that awkward moment when people are singing the “Happy Birthday” song and gradually after the first stanza everyone’s voices trail off, and you have no idea where to look. And talking of birthdays, imagine that horrible time when a proud father/mother shows you the photo of a wrinkly newborn and asks you ,”Isn’t he cute?” (By the way, do not all the babies look uncannily similar?)

Internet has indeed made life wonderful. Unlike the ancient days, we need not work up a sweat to search for information. Everything is available at the click of the button. But what about that terrible moment when your computer screen freezes on an embarrassing site, and your Dad just walks in?

I, for one, have a general problem of photophobia, especially in the bright summer sun of Assam. But like almost all female members of my species, I feel that “kajal” makes my eyes appear beautiful. And I dread the times when I meet someone I looked forward for long to meet up with, and my eyes get watery and my companion thinks that I am crying!

Striking poses in front of the mirror in a public bathroom to select the best possible profile for photographs (and for impressing the special ‘someone’), and you don’t notice when someone walks in, and you pretend to wash your hands or to adjust your dress. Yes, I admit to being a victim of such a situation more than once.

It is good that people have an increasing fascination for “size zero” figures now, which means that they have a miniscule appetite too. But there are gluttons like me too, who cannot tolerate hunger pangs for too long. And those really awkward situations when mortals like me are sitting in a really quiet place, and our stomach starts to growl…..

Some awkwardness can lead devastating consequences too. Just try to think of that awkward moment when you call your wife by another woman’s name! I know, even the possibility of doing something like that makes the heart act funny…

Stashing memories

There are memories and there are memories. I take pride in my capability to remember a good chunk of my past. My family and friends heavily rely on me to recollect names and incidents hidden in moth laden almirahs and dilapidated suitcases. But as I look back, I realize that the sets of memories I have can be broadly classified into two categories - there are certain memories that I rehearse, and there are those memories which I live with…

Let me elaborate a bit. The first category- the rehearsed one – goes something like this. Hundreds of things happened to me over the last couple of days. The second bite of my sandwich, the red light near the hospital where I earlier worked, the new dress which my colleague lovingly gifted me.....It will so happen that tomorrow, I will remember almost none of them. And the concept that I would remember something that happened to me when I was twelve is ludicrous. What actually happens with this set of memories is this; after it (whatever that thing I ‘select’ to remember) happened, I start telling myself a story about that event. I begin to develop a narrative about this turning point, about the relationship with my colleague or with the road or with my car. Yes, I may do this ‘narration’ with a bit more sincerity – after all, lots of people have had similar experiences, but none of them are telling themselves quite the same story about it as I do. And over time, the story is rehearsed. Over time, the story becomes completely different from what a videotape would show us, but it doesn't matter, because the rehearsed story is far more vivid than the video ever could be. And so the story becomes my memory, the story gets rehearsed ever more, and the story becomes the thing I tell myself and to all those who glorify nostalgia. I know that my narrative determines what the memory will become.

But at the risk of sounding biased, I admit that it is the second category of memories that I favour. I do not need to ‘recollect and stash” these memories. Let me give a few examples. I know that summer is fading when the krishnachura leaves starts to litter the lawns of the beautiful homes in my city and the morning air began to tickle a bit. Evening smells of fragrant erasers and sharpened pencils, durga puja time has this strange yet familiar premonition in the air, and winters bring in the fragrance of wood smoke. Winters also taste of chocolate cakes and coffee, and home-made laalmohan topped with sugar syrup. Funnily, some of my best (and worst) memories of the second category are associated with a few people in particular. Making this narration a bit intriguing, let me call one such person “Rumball”.. When I think of Rumball, my mind drifts to an old-fashioned wooden chair where an old grandma sits wearing a pair of white mekhela sador with a dark blue border. Rumball transcends me to a time when frustration was shown by breaking pencils, when a lovingly prepared cup of tea tasted like nectar, when cousins stealthily made phone calls to suspected “girlfriends”, when red-green colour blindness was an issue to reckon with….I realize that even when I way away from my home, I habitually thought of Rumball when things were not going well in my life..Yes, Rumball might be metaphysical, a caricature of my ideal imagination…

Then there are 'things' that bring back a flood of memories..A masculine watch reminds me of my father (and his HMT watch), ambassador car is synonymous with my annual trips to visit cousins....

Any narration on memories will be incomplete without the memory of our first love (without any doubt, I put this one in the second category). Get hold of anyone in an honest moment, and they will tell you that their first love was unforgettable. No matter at what stage of life you are in, that familiar song playing on the television, the small puddle of muddy water that you crossed holding his/her hand or memories from that perfect evening, many moons ago, when you were still in your teens can still catch you just unaware. Like most firsts, it will hold a place in your personal history. But there is also a flip side to this - those people, who pine after their first love are probably doing so because they are unhappy about something in their current relationship but are afraid to confront it. That means when we are lonely or unsatisfied in a relationship, we tend to look back at our first love instead of dealing with whatever our current issue is. Sounds harsh, but I feel it is true to some extent. 

"Some live in moments...Some live in memories.."

JUST A THOUGHT....

Long back, way before even DD metro came, there was a serial....PACHPAN KHAMBEIN LAAL DEEWAREIN...starring Mita Vashishth and Aman Verma...It revolved around the emotions of a young man for an older woman....Mita Vashishth made a huge impression in my mind, playing a powerful role...

I happened to have a quick look at an absurd diabolical serial about a dead lover coming back to seek revenge...Just wondered, that inspite of being technologically backward, non-digital, simple days almost more than  25 years back, even the content on TV was far more futuristic and meaningful. That was the time Indian television was warming up to some really good content. Rich in stories, an amazing collection of actors and some truly engaging storytelling meant that the television was the place to be.

It's such a nuisance (strictly my personal opinion)...the sanskari bahu with her angelic traits , the sasuma with streaks of white hair and evil plans, the vamp with her gaudy fashion sense, lavish sets, close ups of the cast (well, way too close) and of course an overdose of melodrama. Put in a ghost and lo! You have a soap with top TRPs...Almost all of them are strikingly similar and predominantly clichéd. Each episode begins with a five minute introductory recap, followed by ten minutes of commercial break and around ten minutes of the actual serial. And as though this wasn’t enough, these ten minutes actually lack any progress in story!

There aren’t any shades of grey in the characters. The adarsh bahu wins over everyone’s heart, performs all good deeds. Then there's the stream of dadis, nanis, buas, maasis and the endless supply of relatives who are ready to celebrate, dance, rejoice and cause enough problems to the demure bahu. Throw in the designer saris, the trademark mangalsutra and the glob of sindoor and you have a TOP serial ..The naagins, tantrics, witches, ghosts and signs of good and bad omens add more spice to the already flavoured plots..

Maybe life is too easy now because of the availability of domestic helps and of processed food that are ready to eat, and people have enough time .. These soaps are the best way to keep people occupied (you can count me out if this list). For some, like who have a busy life in joint families, these soaps are an avenue to be part of another world...Especially for a home-maker, caught in the duties of a wife, daughter in law and mother, who isn’t an office-goer and has limited interaction with the broader society, these soaps not only entertain her, but have also become an integral part of her life...

All explained, I wonder, isn’t it time the regressive nonsense metamorphose into something more meaningful and realistic?