Tijori (तिजोरी)
लम्हा लम्हा बीत रही है ज़िंदगी जीवन की अपनी ही एक ताल है वक्त की किसी से नहीं है बंदगी हाल-ए-जहाँ से बेवास्ता चाल है बचपन जवानी की चोटियाँ पीछे कहीं दूर छूठ गयीं ये अधेड़ उम्र की है वादियाँ बहती दरिया है, मोड़ आगे हैं कयीं कैसे ठहरें बस जायें किसी एक लम्हे में हम बिखरे पड़े हैं यादों के ढेरों मोती चमक है कुछ में और कुछ में है कम किसी लम्हे में सुबह, किसी में शाम नहीं होती भर तो ली है हमने यादों से तिजोरी वक्त के कहाँ हुए हम धनी हैं बाज़ार में माज़ी की क़ीमत है थोड़ी क्या मालूम बस सही परख़ की कमी है टिक टिक करता रहता है गजर मसखरी सुई भी ज़िद पे अड़ी है एक तू ही नहीं महफ़िल में बेख़बर ग़ौर कर ऐसे रईसों की भीड़ लगी है
Listen to Tijori – Recited by Sudhām यादें
कुछ यादें एक खलिश सी होती हैं बरसों दिल में सुलघ्ती रहतीं हैं दबती छुपती तो हैं मगर दहकती रहतीं हैं बीतते सालों का मरहम पा के भी दर्द देती हैं गुज़रा वक़्त सब कुछ भुला नहीं देता मन में बसा चेहरा धुन्दला नहीं देता तेरी मुस्कान दिल में अभी भी गूंजती हैं ये पलकें आज भी तुम को ढूँढती हैं तुम्हे याद कर यह आँखें दो बूँद और रो देती है नहीं लिखा था शायद साथ तुम्हारा होगी किसी खुदा की मर्ज़ी पर हमें नहीं है गवारा गलती तो खुदा से भी होती है यादें आ आ कर बस येही सदा देती हैं
भेलपूरी वाला
एक दिन की बात है कुछ तीस बत्तीस बरस पहले की भारी सा बैग लटकाए स्कूल के बाद घर अपने मैं पैदल जा रहा था खुली स्लीव ढीली टाई राह पड़े किसी कंकर को अपने काले जूते का निशाना बना धुन अपनी में चला जा रहा था यकायक पीछे एक साइकल की घंटी बजी मटमैला कुर्ता पहने एक सज्जन सवार था जानी पहचानी सी सूरत थी उसकी आवाज़ में उसकी अनजाना सा प्यार था “बैठो, मैं छोड़ देता हूँ बेटा” बोला वो मुस्कुराते मेरी हिचक को भी वो भाँप रहा था “तुमने पहचाना नहीं मुझे लगता है लेकिन तुम को मैं हमेशा रखूँगा याद” सवाल मेरे चेहरे पे पढ़ के वो बोला “पहले ग्राहक थे तुम मेरे जिस दिन रेडी लगायी थी मैंने” ये सुन याद और स्वाद दोनों लौट आए सालों तलक जब कभी भी बाज़ार जाता उसकी आँखों में वही प्यार नज़र आता शायद वही मिला था उसकी भेलपूरी में चाव से हमेशा जिसे मैं था खाता सुना अब वो इस दुनिया में नहीं है याद कर उसको आँखों में नमी है कहता था सब को हमेशा कहूँगा दुनिया की सबसे अच्छी भेलपूरी वही है
Memories
Memories are like the rain At times, a passing drizzle That brings welcome relief At times, a downpour With no end in sight There are times You want to reach out And every drop That falls in your palms Sets you aflutter Yet on occasion You're caught unaware Drenched and lashed Soaked in muddy despair Washed green leaves Pitter and Patter Bring a song to your lip And a spring in your step Then there are gloomy dark days Not a ray breaking through Every droplet weighing you down Drowning you each passing minute Memories are like the rain A little, leaves you wanting for more A lot, and your only friend is regret!
Unforgettable
Have you ever felt guilty for having forgotten something? Something that in normal course would never ever have escaped you.
Perhaps forgotten is not the apt word, perhaps not even the right word but in a strange sort of a way it is the word that you’ll use to chide yourself.
It is an uncanny feeling when you know that there is something brimming underneath the surface but its not front and centre as far as your conscious mind is concerned. All day, you try figuring it out but you can’t.
And then, like a bolt from the blue it hits you; BAD!! The realisation is like a ton of bricks crashing down on you.
Question is; what is your reality?
The fact that you knew something was coming, you thought about it, yet when it actually came you were not even conscious to it.
So does that mean that our conscious mind builds these memorials and in a foolish sort of a way holds on to feelings of pain and angst whilst our sub-conscious mind takes a more practical approach and treats these occasions more matter-of-factly?
I reckon there is merit to the argument that if time is the best healer of wounds and if, with passage of time you reach a stage where the only memories that remain are the happy ones, then, not remembering an occasion in effect is a part of the healing since the reason you primarily wanted to remember the occasion was an unhappy one.
There is no point building memorials, they never are happy places. Sometimes its just good to forget. Its our minds way of telling us that we have indeed moved on.
All that is required is perhaps a remembrance and it comes in that fleeting moment of quiet acknowledgement. The real deal is mustering up courage to embrace reality.
So here’s to our sub-conscious mind doing its bit for keeping our “Happiness Quotient” up.
Fact of the matter, there are somethings you don’t need to remember, invariably they are also the things you cannot forget.
To end, in good old fashion a few lines from a song made popular by Nat King Cole
Unforgettable, that’s what you are
Unforgettable though near or far
Like a song of love that clings to me
How the thought of you does things to me
Never before has someone been more
……Unforgettable in every way
And forever more, that’s how you’ll stay…
The Elixir
The memories of my past are fast fading Idols of my childhood years are disappearing Takes a moment for me to realise age has caught up Decades have passed since, that mid-life has struck The question I ask, is it living in denial? Some persistent experimentation or obstinate trial Or an inexplicable belief that there’s time left on the clock That the ship of life is setting sail not readying to dock Such is and fortunately so, the journey of life We hang on to the joys to help us tide the strife What better time than youth, times of unfettered existence High on life, dreams in our eyes, oh! that exuberance Wish one could order some of those days “to go” Our little perk up snack when life hits a low Then you look up and find that helping hand The party pack you did carry, your friend!
Who Stole My Diwali?
Diwali has always been my favourite festivals especially, as a kid growing up in Delhi. It was a festival that came just at the perfect time in the calendar no matter which way you looked at it. It was the much needed respite from school, weather-wise it signaled the onset of winter, it meant a lot of dry fruits being passed around (a novelty if you belonged to a middle class family), new clothes for everyone, the whitewash, the putting up of lights, the rationed fire-crackers, mother spending hours in the kitchen making some traditional sweetmeats and of course all the mithai that came in from outside! Everything about the festival was bright and bordered opulent; middle class family remember?!
This year unlike any other year in my life none of the gift boxes that we received contained any dry-fruits or even mithai! I know as a recipient its bad manners to complain about the gifts that one has received. It obviously is the “givers” prerogative. But seriously not one box containing dry fruits or mithai??!!!
Marketers, yes my own tribe, have over the years stolen Diwali. They have used the all the vile and guile in the 4Ps to rob me of my Diwali. The beautifully packaged gift boxes containing products from the slow moving inventory pile. Delightfully priced combo offers on the run of the mill placed conveniently in the ever accessible department store or online. Finally promoted with messages on various media with emotional and economic innuendos.
The days when one went to the Lajpat Nagars and Karol Baghs of the world to buy dry fruits in bulk had been replaced a decade ago by the enterprising business who made the assortment packs in fancy baskets and partitioned cardboard boxes wrapped in transparent colour paper. One let that pass because as one giving the gift it took away the pain of making packages at home and as a recipient the assortment brought in even the more expensive hitherto untried varieties of dry fruit into the household.
Some wise guy or guys came up with the idea of why Diwali joy should be restricted to sweets alone and over time combo packs or gift packs full of “namkeen” corrupted the Diwali gift boxes. Not to be left behind the fruit juice folks jumped on to the bandwagon. Suddenly, dry-fruits and mithai were vying for space and attention.
. Visiting one of those big pandals put up for Diwali by your neighbourhood “ABC Sweets” and buying the different kinds of mithai was such a ritual. The chena murgi, the kaju katli, the smaller dry gulab jamuns and rasgullas and scores whose name doesn’t matter but you would try out. All gone! This year I didn’t need to lose my patience with the bhaiyya because my boxes weren’t getting wrapped or there was no one to attend to me. A situation that was unimaginable as recently as two years ago.
I guess change hits you when it finally hits and it did this year. We received an overwhelming number of boxes of chocolate. If you too have been at the receiving end of this chocolate box attack you would have by now realized that there ain’t too much variety. I am bored, my kids are bored and a week after Diwali by refrigerator is still full of boxes of chocolate!
So those of you who are reading this and are amongst people who did send a gift box. You robbed me! You ain’t getting any dry-fruit or mithai from me no more!!
