Sunday, 24 September 2017

Nazar - Mystic eyesight

It was yet another normal day when I went to a doctor for routine check-up of my eyesight. The doctor passed a judgement! While I had gone to her for a better eyesight, she triggered a psychological turmoil. The visit not just stirred some emotions but also agitated the almost solidified ink of my pen which had otherwise succumbed to the daily din of  mundane matters. I stood puzzled at the doctor's remarks, trying to unfolded the mysticism behind my eyes, as my thoughts transformed into a rhythmic composition...

नज़र
“आपको चश्मा पह्नना होगा”
डाक्टर कहते हैं, “आपकी नज़र कमज़ोर है”


मैं तर्क् करता हूँ, दलील देता हूँ
“मुझे तो मीलों दूर सूरज यूं ही दिख जाता है”  
मुझे घूरते, गुस्से से समझाते 
“तेरी आंखों का पर्दा खराब है  
उस पर सही तस्वीर नहीं बनती”   


मैं फिर बहस करता “डाक्टर साहिब,
आँखें खराब होना क्या नज़र खराब होना है ?
वो ग्रंथ लिखने वाले होमेर की भी
क्या नज़र कमज़ोर थी?”


नज़र तो आँखों से नहीं, जिगर से है उभरती
आपकी स्क्रीनों से नहीं, मेरे सपनों से है सँवरती


आपके इलाज से नहीं , मेरे परवाज़ से है बहती
बेजान बोतलों में बंद दवाइयों से नहीं
आपकी सुइयों और सलाइयों से नहीं 
ये ग्रंथ पढ़ने या भाषण सुनने से नहीं

नज़र के लिये लाज़मी है, एक आग का होना
क्योंकि
नज़र आँखों से नहीं, दिल से है उभरती
आपकी सक्रीनों से नहीं, मेरे सपनों से है सँवरती


आप तो सिगरेट पी कर,
अँगारों को पाँव तले कुचल देते हो
मैं उसी आग को
हाथों में पकड़
जिगर से हूँ लगाता
अपनी छाती पर पड़े
नाखूनों के निशान
कतरा‌‌ ‌- कतरा हूँ मिटाता

आप उस आग को धुएँ में उड़ाते हो
मैं उसकी गर्मी से भाप हूँ बनाता
अपने रोम रोम को उस से हूँ नहलाता

आप डाक्टर हैं, आप काबिल हैं
आप आग से बचाने के लिये मेरा हाथ खींचते हैं
पर इन हाथों में अजब एक फितूर है
दुनिया के हर रिश्ते का शामिल इनमें गुरूर है

हर सुबह जब मेरी नन्ही, चंचल खुशी
अपनी पँखुरी सी उंगलियों से
मेरे गालों को है सहलाती
तो
हाथ बढ़ाने की यह फितरत
कहाँ तक है रुक पाती ?

इन हाथों में वाकई अजब इक फितूर है
जिगर पे हाथ, हाथ पे अँगार,
जिगर से लहू, अँगार से भाप
देता मेरी नज़र को नया रंग, नया नूर है


भाप की सफेदी, लहू की लाली से मिल
मेरे हर अंग में नया रंग है भरती
मेरे हर अंग में नया रंग है भरती

डाक्टर साहिब,
नज़र तो आँखों से नहीं, जिगर से है उभरती
आपकी सक्रीनों से नहीं, मेरे सपनों से है सँवरती
आपकी सक्रीनों से नहीं, मेरे सपनों से है सँवरती.......


.....अमित



Saturday, 27 May 2017

Wanna Cry

The writer’s block, which caused a three month hiatus between this and my previous post, was trounced by a tender query!

We were dining at a recent family get-together, when this little boy, all of 10 years, did not like the food that was served. He had come, dreaming of a feast but was disappointed with the spread.  His mother scolded him, “Eat whatever is served”

He started crying.

“Stop crying. I have told you so many times, Boys do not cry”, he was ordered.

Hungry and heartbroken, he retorted, “Mama, why cannot the boys cry?”

Pointing towards his sister, he questioned his mother, “She cries so often but do you ever say that girls do not cry? Why impose this limit on me?”

Before his mother could react, her phone rang up; she instantly picked up the call, visibly relieved from the uncomfortable query.

I watched silently, pondering at the child’s query - “Mama, why cannot the boys cry?”

To disengage from the subject, I picked up the day’s newspaper. Alas! The headlines said

“Wannacry…”

The world was shaken. So was I.

It was peril unleashed – that, too, without any gender discrimination. Saboteurs did not choose whether the sufferer was a male or a female, boy or a girl. They hijacked for ransom. The paper mentioned news - and showed images - of men and women alike, cribbing at the loss of valuable data. Apparently, the loss of data today is as painful as the loss of a good feast to our young lad. The hackers, however, were true epitome of equal opportunity. They followed gender neutrality unlike the mother who treated the manifestation of sentiments by boys differently from that by girls.

Like her, most schools of thoughts believe that men are not expected to cry. I was told by smart seniors and elders that girls do not fall for guys who cry. I believed their words for some time.
(How many girls fell is best kept beyond this blog!)

From Gladiators to Bahubalis – men have been expected to be ambassadors of fortitude; despite the existence of Laxmibai or Joan of Arc!

An untrue depiction - not just of history but also nature; nature loves symmetry, humans dictate otherwise. Emotions have been distributed equally among all human genders. Homo Sapiens is perhaps the only species that sheds tears, not on account of biological need, but in response to emotions experienced from stress, pleasure or pain. 

Our tears are children of emotions. A cry is as comforting as a cuddle from a child.
  
Unfortunately, we, under veils of hypocrisy, have denied that comfort to boys, nee men. First, the doctrine - boys do not cry; second, the dictum - crying in public is a cardinal sin, protect the rarity of a male tear!

Nevertheless, a few brave men have shown defiance - George Washington cried in public while taking oath as President of America in 1789; Jawaharlal Nehru wept after a soulful rendition of Mere Watan ke Logo; Sachin Tendulkar shed tear on his 100th hundred; and not long ago, Narendra Modi cried in Parliament; A cry in public – either by a man or a woman – is a form of social signaling; it may be perceived as weakness but is symbolic of life; it is a statement of one’s existence; it is the fragrance of a feeling; it is reality unfolded; and above all, it is nature’s call !

To alter quote (original quote) my friend Manu, “Truth glimmers through mosaic of tears”

Psychologists have established that emotions do not evaporate. When there is an urge to cry, shed a tear, else vent out in rage. While “The man who cried” was just a one-off movie, there are many a men who cried, cry and want to cry but abstain due to public ignominy - they act everyday! Restraint on masculine expression takes dangerous forms – anger, revenge, bullying, rape and even murder. To cut this, let us unmask the truth and unfold the reality. While we support women’s liberation, I wish a moment is also spared for men’s clamor for catharsis.

Crying is certainly cathartic - for men and women alike.

“Take some water” a soft voice attracted my attention. The telephonic break had altered the mood. The mother was now cuddling the little boy and wiping her tears, as he sobbed.

I gladly saw the inverse of 'women weep, men wipe'.

Was there permanence in her turnaround or was it merely a portrayal? I mused. A change, however, had been triggered.

This reinforced my belief in the adage that nothing can stop an idea whose time has come. A recent study has, in fact, stated that the number of times a modern young man cries in public is three times more than his father.

I had just been a witness to a pleasing technological interruption of a cell-phone that did wonders. Technology is driving the human wellness today by counting steps, reminding to drink water, tracking sleep pattern and so on. The complex web of emotions is, so far, away from the domain of technology but time may not be far when we have reminders set to indicate that it is time to cry!


Any Angels who Wannacry!

Tuesday, 14 February 2017

The Valentine ‘SALE’


I woke up to a pleasant weekend as some buds had bloomed in the balcony. It was an apt onset of spring!

The newspaper advertisements reminded me of the forthcoming Valentine’s Day. As the kids got busy with their assignments, I proposed to take my wife – married with me uninterruptedly, for fifteen years – out on a romantic amble.

The offer was tempting. She grabbed it with both hands. I suggested a stroll in the lush green meadows around the golf course; she decided to have a round of the market and then settle for some feast.

I baulked, she remained steady. Alas! I did not realize the timing of my offer. It was ‘SALE’ season. A chasm lay wide between my idea of romance and hers.

I succumbed.

The shopping arcade was overflowing with people. The entire city seemed to have descended there. Shopping, perhaps, was the only occupation left to the world on weekend. Nevertheless, I could spot some young couples sitting glued to each other in certain nooks, corners and side benches. Concretisation, I felt, has deprived these urban lovers the fun of dancing and hiding around the trees! The green writers who penned Ye haseen vaadiyaan, ye khula aasmaan have, not without reason, graduated to other subjects, leaving for history the eternal message of kya mausam hai, aye deewaney dil chal kahin door nikal jayen….

The heartthrobs no longer aspire for ‘kya mausam hai’.

“Kya! 'Sale’ Hai?” is perhaps the new norm.

As an obedient companion, I kept walking with her searching for a long one-piece dress. With my eyes glued on the show-windows, I suggested one dress vividly displayed on a mannequin. She remarked that it was not one-piece. We moved. Another shop; another suggestion; another dress - it was not long enough! A few suggestions and many shops later, she decided to try a couple of dresses.

I run the risk of making this piece too long by narrating my experiences outside the fitting room. They deserve another independent write-up.

Nevertheless, none of the dresses fitted her, though to me, all were suiting her. We proceeded further. She entered a showroom ‘Step-in’. With a quick glance around the shop, I held her hand saying that this is a shoe shop and they would not be having “a long one-piece dress”.
“So what? I need a high heel sandal as well”

I proposed one; she turned it down – not high enough. I proposed another; she turned it down again – I would look taller than you in this. I stood agape – thinking of myself two hours ago when I floated my idea of romance– now standing curtailed both in love as well as height. She was undaunted. I was asked to look at the feet of a young lady trying new leather slip-ons – How are these? I politely declared that these did not have HIGH heels. So what? Aren’t they beautiful?

My clarity changed to confusion and valour vanished.

I nodded in acceptance. She tried but complained of shoe bite. The shoes, I think, had sensed my feelings. We moved out again in search of “a long one-piece dress”

As we crossed an eatery, she realized that it was time for some repast. Indian/Continental/Chinese or …?

My gallantry had gone. I cut her short by pointing at the nearest eatery – a Punjabi restaurant, few steps away. She pleasantly agreed. As we took those small steps, I bemused how the ‘Sale’ tags had been key culprits in our saga, nee my saga. While the Sale may save some money, it takes a mammoth toll on the time value of lovers and humans. The discounts visible in terms of money do not take in account the latent losses in terms of extra time in parking, waiting, searching, scanning and fitting and above all, the loss of love. Still, many call it a date! To preserve romance in the air, Sale bonanza should also come with something similar to the statutory warnings on cigarettes. Till the time that happens, shopaholics may take a cue from Corporate world which calculates and values the time of its employees - to the last minute - in cost to company assessments.

With shrunk sentiments, I sat looking at her as she glanced through the menu, the eatery just played

Chittiyaan kalaayiaan ve, tere hisse aayiaan ve,
Mann jaa ve…    mainu shopping karaa de….


Smiles simultaneously crossed our lips as we looked, in calm, into each other’s eyes for the first time in this six hour date! 

Sunday, 22 January 2017

Raj nahi Sewa : Service, not Rule


In my last blogpost (Myriad Musings: Old Man and ‘She’) written towards the end of year 2016, I attempted to portray the grey areas of ‘waiting’.

While the ‘old man’ taught me one perspective of waiting, it was a ‘she’ who commenced the New Year with a tete-a-tete on another perspective. Continuum of ideas remained uninterrupted, though the years changed.

A friend, visibly disturbed the other day, asked me that why she ought to respond to people’s queries first and not wait till she cleared her own office backlog.

“Raj nahi Sewa”, I replied instantly.

A frown on her forehead explained her discomfort in assimilating what I said.

I attempted an explanation, pointing to an advertisement on the newspaper lying on my table - ‘Raj nahi, Sewa’.

It is tagline of one of the political parties in my native state Punjab, which goes to elections in a few weeks from today. The word ‘Raj’ implies Rule whereas ‘Sewa’ implies Service. When you are in command, you may wield a stick and parade your might; Or you may be modest in deportment and be at service.”

“No. To Rule, one needs to legislate and exert a command on others, not be subservient” she interrupted. “Even the tagline assumes that ‘Rule’ and ‘Service’ are mutually exclusive and cannot co-exist. The conjunction ‘nahi’ (meaning No) eliminates any commonality that one may tend to see in these terms.”

I smiled.

“If the end is Rule, Service can be best means.” I retorted. “By tracking the last mile and reaching a customer’s doorstep for every convenience, the e-commerce maestros are ruling the roost now. The customer is experiencing a new paradigm of service. Raj and Sewa co-exist here.”
“Some people radiate humility from same positions from which others exude arrogance.” I continued. “APJ Abdul Kalam and Lal Bahadur Shastri remain the epitome of ‘Sewa’ for positions which are seats of ‘Raj’!”

“But,” she argued, “it is a Self versus Others battle. I cannot let my tasks wait on account of others. I am not denying any service. Yes, timing is an issue.”

“Reminders never breed romance; alacrity, however, can make you a darling” I snapped back.

She instantly gazed at me in astonishment. I was unfazed.

A moment passed. Words were not necessary.

Pointing at the advertisement in the newspaper - ‘Raj nahi, Sewa’ – she asked me, “Will you vote for this?”

I wondered whether her question was purely political.

Clueless.