a universe of beggars

There was a boss of a news channel and there was a beggar at a locality temple
the boss went to the temple every day
every day the beggar along with many others -
old, women, girls, kids, sick, orphans, bastards and a couple of dogs
chased him and other devotees
day by day
for a penny, a fruit, prasad leftover, whatever
they intentionally or unintentionally irritated him and other devotees
the beggar fought for life every moment
the boss had a life to crow,
grow higher and further
at boss' workplace, he made his teams do the same to fetch livlihood for them all
unconcerned with intricacies of lives of everybody else

cried wolf too many times

No one seemed to take him seriously. He got intense in telling how many times he had seen deaths of human beings. On roads, in gutters, in infernos, in clashes, in innocence. Sometimes for the sake of just fun for some.
He thought he undid to them the otherwise cleverly knit webs of talks and deeds of admen or media brothels few, of which he was a part, working overtime for illiterate politicians and inhumane rich. He could see the journalism of today generally losing its meaning, relevance. One believed no one today.

give stars a flying kiss and hug the sky

When you enjoy refusing to talk to self,
boasting of ``nihilism'',
immersing in nothingness

silence will frighten you, dear,
so speak
converse with clay, birds, river, clouds, light.....
and hear them

mandi

mandi mein ho tum
kya sochate ho

yeh mandi hai

jo dhire dhire tumahare ghar aa pahunchi hai

tum ab chehara chhupate ho

besharmi se haske dikhate ho

tumahara ghar ab mandi mein bikau hai

to a noble soul

Ruh se uthi awaz mein ek alaap ho tum
Alameen ho
Ghana badal ho
mithi hawa ho tum
Sabke jazbon ki lau ho
Suhani shaam, paq subah ho tum
Ik chhoti si nazm
Bahut ghahari ghazal
Sabke zabin ki raunaq ho

a mind voyage

Ek bada shahar aisa bhi hai
jahan tum nahi,
na tumhari yaad hai
andhera sa hai, chuppi hai, udasi hai
magar ye sab apne lagate hai,
jab tum nahi hoti
har roz, yeh shahar chhod ke,
us aur chala jata hoon
laut ata hoon jab
phoot phoot ke ro ke
man pathhar ho jata hai

standing tall

there are only few trees in chandigarh which still stand tall

your eyes breathe relief to look at them

your body feels fullfilled looking at them

there but are only few such trees

how humane dialogues they have with the clouds and the universe

growing with seasons every moment

they look at us sighing in nod -

there are but a few people standing,

many felled already

how long would the poisonous bushes bluff us

halt you *.##*....

Many things, this 75-something former IPS officer would not understand about chandigarh, its discotheques, cafes, recklessly driven cars by neorich brats, self-inflicted sleaze in schools, killings of poor and rich alike, snatchings, crimes inolving journalists, elite.

Thinking, driving he noticed a teenager girl sobbing her heart out as another boy in the driving seat ((along with another boy sprawling in the rear seat)) with animalish looks as their car stopped at the transport traffic lights, besides his.

Something unusal, fatherly, sprang up in the mind of retired police officer and he politly inquired from the girl with hands signs if she was okay. the girl cupped her face hopelessly with her palms as if to muffle her sobs and push her tears back in her eyes.

the boy saw it, lowered the motor-powered pane and shouted at police wala, halt you mf, sonofabitch, ***** jyada hoshiar banata hai kya ***** and pulled over, jumped the signal mingling conversantly with other similar luxury cars rolling down the carpet roads.
the police wala looked around aghast. no eyelids were batted.

graffiti

A city beautiful
inhabited by clever, sly, lifeless people,
inhaling gases, yelping talks
living furniture pieces
thinking others, poisoning self
hearing nothing
seeing nothing
not even graffiti

(pic: sanjeev sharma)

Thanx mere maula

Thanks very much my lord for associating with some songs in hindi masala movies which, I must admit, are well composed and sung and soothing. However, most of the modern hindi filmi stuff continues to be sickening and plagued with jarring and insane music. An insult to the listeners. Also, even the songs about hindu prophets, the scene continues to be wretched and disgraceful.

Period

silence might speak truth, scared she quickly killed it by inserting a cd of (unaware whose) Kishori Amonkar into the player. Amid the alaap of marwa, she raced through her day's past happenings including handling sucked-up fellow journalists day by day with despise. But.

A glimpse of another woman in another vehicle with tired eyes on the traffic signal pushed a memoir into her eyes as she saw scenes of herself being exploited from step to step to be where she was. Only her heart knew where it hurt. Period.

was that necessary ? Whatever, but happy ? she asked herself and a smile twisted her lips as she told herself - yes.

In a moment, a question but hit her like a lightening - would that woman be happy ?? as she gets lost in chaotic traffic snarls of Chandigarh.

Around the same time, in the same city, a bunch of reporters at a newspaper office, bragging with bellyfull of laughters. ``the other day, i and my friends consumed that sweeperess and her teenager daughter together. we had latched all doors from inside and had them to their bonemarrow though they kept on begging ``veerji na...., veerji na karo, haath jodati hun''. But are we not supposed to be us... the jats'', summed up one to other junior reporters with animalish smile.

Period

graffiti since 80s

The nation gave herself to the politicians
and then to film actors
Her soul, body, all what she possessed to cricketers too
They but slogged to promote their run-of-the-mill sons, daughters. Created caucus, couterie, lobbies,

partnered in newspapers, TV channels
their wards became heir of their this keep thus

of people and places

Of people we meet, places which haunt us, attract us, amuse us, sadden us. places which make us happy, people with their own worlds, big or small worlds, sad or happy or both
Huge bells of churches, temples ring, reverberate in Indore, Bhopal every evening hundreds get desperate to assemble there to outsing each other in carols or aartis
a divine aroma flows in the winds, so much unknown to many ugly cities
Lovers sit idle there for hours, platonic love they live and die with
or sob in silence, untill another passion consumes them, so naturally
Red Church, Indore, Khajrana temple, Indore
Numerous temples in Bhopal, the sole ta-ujul-masajid (mosque), Bhopal
qawallis at several dargah, assemblies in so many churches,
spiritualism is a pious potion, so unbinding a soul
places which drive people to live up, light up the life into its absence

(pic: sanjeev sharma)