For a writer everything is life… each moment verse, each breath surprise

A lazy afternoon, wrapped in the lethargy of a whole night and morning spent at office. Fortunately it is a holiday, so I can be comparatively at ease. (Only comparatively as already new work has started piling up!) I want to start reading the new collection of poems ‘the great enigma’ by Tomas Transtromer. Had bought it a few days back but couldn’t start it because of the work load.

And at around 6 in the morning when I (finally) unwrapped the book, I could’ve started with the foreword or the first poem, but then I saw the bookmark in the middle and was curious to know what poem it’ll be at. Turned out as if it was meant for me, prompting me to update my facebook status and share it with the world: Its 6am, I’ve just reached home from office and found these words by Transtromer waiting for me. “The law of gravity presses| us| against our work by day and against our beds by night.” For a writer, there is no work or home and day or night…

The title for the post comes from my love’s comment on the above mentioned update. Thanks Dee! And you can read Transtromer’s complete poem here on my other blog: http://goo.gl/A4vKa OR my facebook page: http://goo.gl/05duH OR the new Google+ page: http://goo.gl/ZUow4 :)

Remembering Sardar, not forgetting Indira

Today is the birth anniversary of the iron man of India, Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel. It is also the death anniversary of our late Prime Minister, Smt. Indira Gandhi.

Sardar Patel was amongst the tallest leaders of our freedom movement and newly independent India. In fact, today what we know as India is largely due to his efforts. Anyways, I guess we do remember our school books mentioning this particular aspect of our history. On the other hand, Smt. Gandhi was one of the strongest PMs India ever had. So strong, that once she curbed the very democracy that made her PM!

This post doesn’t attempt to be a history lesson. Though I hope that today’s youth understands the difference between a leader who unified India versus one who despite her many strong points, subverted the very idea of Indian democracy. (That particular episode, of forced emergency is not taught in our govt. controlled history curriculum.)

What this post attempts is to be a brief reminder of how we, largely fed by our media are gradually relegating those who really matter(ed) to only the history books while making gods out of those well, who don’t matter that much. See the number of ads devoted to Mrs. Gandhi in today’s newspapers versus the one ad remembering Sardar. All these ads have been carried out by the ruling party Congress or the various government ministries under its control. (And it is the taxpayers money, our money that fuels this sycophancy.) I would have been happy if it were only sycophancy on Congress’ part. Its dynastic cult is quite well-known to be talked about here.

What I’m more worried about is the gradual replacement of our true history by the one sponsored by those who have ruled us for the major part of our independent existence. Contrary to what Congress’ and its media managers want us to believe, Sardar and what he did for India is far more important than Indira and her way of ruling India. And this little, 370 odd words post is my attempt to set things right, in my own insignificantly significant way. Today is my day, our day, to first remember Sardar, while not forgetting Indira as well. Are you with me?

on her traveling away for a vacation

i can tolerate our daily distance

who is like a familiar stranger

(me in one city

you with her neighbour)

but today it is

a feeling unfamiliar

as if i'm at sea, in landlocked Delhi

while your are away, at the old kala pani

this distance is a bridge i cannot cross

this pain, too aching to be sweet

a thousand miles is too far a distance

for my heart to go and beat

doosron ko itna padha, khud ko likhna bhoola main// दूसरों को इतना पढ़ा, खुद को लिखना भूला मैं

दूसरों को इतना पढ़ा, खुद को लिखना भूला मैं
कभी तो घर आऊँगा, सुबह का भटका-भूला मैं

doosron ko itna padha, khud ko likhna bhoola main
kabhi to ghar aaoonga, subah ka bhatka-bhoola main

दुनिया के इस मेले में, रोज़ नए दोस्त बनते हैं
कितनों को मैं याद नहीं, कितनों को हूँ भूला मैं

duniya ke is mele mein, roz naye dost bante hain
kitno ko main yaad nahi, kitno ko hoon bhoola mein

रोज़ सुबह अख़बार उठाकर, दुनिया को मैं जलता देखूं
खुद की छोटी चोट बड़ी है, दुनिया भर को भूला मैं

roz subah akhbar uthakar, duniya ko main jalta dekhoon
khud ki chhoti chot badi hai, duniya bhar ko bhoola main

30 बरस के इस जीवन में, अपनों ने कई ज़ख्म दिए
तेरे प्यार के मलहम से, हर उस ज़ख्म को भूला मैं

30 baras ke is jeevan mein, apno ne kayi zakhm diye
tere pyaar ke malham se, har us zakhm to bhoola main

बाहर बारिश झूम रही है, कोयल तितली बच्चे भी
बड़े बड़े 'टारगेट्स' के पीछे, छोटी खुशियाँ भूला मैं

bahar barish jhoom rahi hai, koyal title bacche bhi
bade bade 'targets' ke peeche, choti khushiyan bhoola main

तूने ही गम दिए हैं, तू ही देगा खुशियाँ भी
छोटी-मोटी तेरी भूलें, मौला सारी भूला मैं

toone hi gum diye hain, tu hi dega khushiyan bhi
choti-choti teri bhoolein, maula sari bhoola main

Sometimes i wonder how i'll die

Sometimes i wonder how i'll die. Will it be something quick and painless, or something so drawn out that waiting for it'll become dreadful and i'll wish for the darkness to arrive early. What will i be doing at the time of my death. Will i get to know beforehand if my time is near. Cos' there is nothing more shameful than leaving a task incomplete and still i'm sure i'll have many tasks before me, incomplete while i leave. Will my family be around when it's time, will i be surrounded by friends or will i cease to exist in a distant land where nobody would know my name. I wonder if they'll cry or laugh after i'm gone. Will i go quietly like the passing out of a flame or will i rage and fight like a moth caught in that flame. Will i leave the world a better place than i found it or if i'll be amongst the nameless, faceless multitude who have lived and died inconspicuously throughout human history.

Sometimes, i really think that i don't want to die at all (but then who does) and even after death, i want to live in the memories of those who i've left behind. I think death is inevitable, and it is too early to think of death, but yeah, i would really like to be missed when i'm gone.

And oh, the fact that when i'm dying, i wouldn't like to wonder how i lived...

not a good way to start the week :) posted this last night here on the blog, after reading a bit piece by Neruda. but that doesn't mean, i haven't thought about this subject before. i guess, all of us think about death at one time or more in life. have you wondered about how it will be, when it will be :)