musings of a traveller

One for the ladies!

2010-10-03T18:31:00.001-07:00

Coaches in a mode of public transport reserved exclusively for women:a new revolution in delhi.you can see,sigh but cant enter :) hope dis makes 'em very happy!

Hum nahi sudhrenge...

2010-07-20T22:45:00.001-07:00

Outside patel chowk metro station,new delhi.overluking the board is a sulabh shauchalaya,bt naa,hum nahi sudhrenge!

Mumbai sunset

2010-06-20T06:40:00.001-07:00

Kahin door jab din dhal jaye...

Found in translation

2010-06-19T05:11:00.001-07:00

Bitha do..

@Nizamuddin rail station

2010-06-19T05:06:00.001-07:00

PLATEform!!

2010-04-09T00:47:00.001-07:00

गणित

2010-02-16T05:25:00.000-08:00

मम्मी तुम्हारी मैथ्स अच्छी नहीं।
जब वक़्त के झोले से लम्हे निकाले थे,
और हिसाब लगाया था की इतने पापा के,
इतने भाई के
और इतने मेरे;
तब एक हिस्सा और करना तुम भूल गई।
तब क्या सोचा था?
की हमारे हिस्सों में से
लम्हा-लम्हा
चुरा के रख लोगी अपने लिए?

क्या कहा?
निकाला था अपना भी हिस्सा?
तब तो वो ज़रूर बहुत छोटा रहा होगा.
क्योंकि आधे लाइफ्ब्वौय की तरह,
वो तो कबका ख़त्म हो गया।
जब की हमारा हिस्सा तो आज तक बाकी है।
रोज़ जब ऑफिस में टिफिन खोलता हूँ,
तो ढक्कन को सराबोर पाता हूँ।
उसी वक़्त के रेशों से,
जो रोज़ भर देती हो टिफिन में।

जब अक्सर घर लेट पहुँचता हूँ
और घर में सब सो रहे होते हैं,
डाइनिंग-टेबल पर दो थालियाँ रखी होती हैं।
फिर जब तुम सोफे से उठ कर मेरे साथ खाने बैठती हो,
तब सोफे पर, उसी वक़्त के निशाँ देखें हैं मैंने।

संडे दोपहर
जब तुम कपड़े धो कर
रस्सी पर टांगने को मुझे देती थी;
मैंने जब भी निचोड़ा उन कपड़ों को,
तो देखा उसी वक़्त को कपड़ों में से टपक कर,
दीवार में बनी नाली की और जाते हुए।

तुमने नींद जला कर रौशनी दी है मेरी उन रातों को,
जिनमे कभी मै देर तक जागा करता था।
ना जाने ऐसी कितनी रातों में,
वही वक़्त ओढ़ के सोया हूँ।

मम्मी, मिलें कभी मैथ्स के टीचर तुम्हारे,
तो पूछुंगा उनसे की आखिर गणित कैसा था तुम्हारा?

क्योंकि आज जब मै खुद को देखता हूँ,
तो मेरी सारी कामयाबियों पर, खुशियों पर,
पूरी ज़िन्दगी पर उसी मैथ्स के निशान नज़र आते हैं।
हमारा घर नज़र आता है,
घर के और लोग मेरे साथ खड़े नज़र आते हैं.
पर तुम नज़र आती हो,
अलग.
हम सबों की और देखती हुई,
और मुस्कुराती हुई.
तब मै ये तय नहीं कर पता -
की तुम्हारी मैथ्स खराब है,
या अच्छी?

तस्वीर और तस्सवुर

2009-08-18T13:09:00.000-07:00

सुना है तस्वीरों में यादों की रूह रहा करती है।
ज़िन्दगी से हाथ मिला ये चालें चलती है।
किसी तरह;
किसी तरह,
हाथ में उठा लो बस पुरानी कोई तस्वीर
और नज़र गिर जाए
धूल खाते, मुस्कुराते चेहरों पर।
बस नज़र भर की मोहताज हुआ करती है
फिर घुल जाती है नस-नस में नशा बन के।
हंसाती है, रुलाती है।
गुज़रे हुए लम्हों में खींच के ले जाती है।
हर लम्हा बराबर एक ज़िन्दगी के।

वक्त पर चलना चाहा है कभी?
कभी चाहो तो उठा लेना पुरानी कोई तस्वीर,
और फिर कान लगा के सुनना
जब पाँव तले लम्हे कड़कडाएंगे,
पतझड़ के पत्तों की तरह।

वक्त के सफर में

2009-07-25T23:34:00.000-07:00

इस शहर में मैं अक्सर वक्त से टकरा जाता हूँ। यूँ तो दिन भर चलते चलते कभी वक्त का एह्सास नहीं होता। कभी कभी जब नई-पुरानी इमारतों के जंगल के बीच साँस लेते कुछ खंडहरों से मुलाक़ात होती है तब वक्त सामने खड़ा नज़र आता है। एहसास होता है की हम पहले बाशिंदे नहीं हैं इस शहर के। हमसे पहले जाने कितनी जिन्दगियाँ, कितनी सभ्यताएँ रह चुकी हैं यहाँ , जी चुकी हैं दिल्ली को। वो सब अपने कुछ न कुछ निशाँ छोड़ गईं हैं, जिन्हें हम खंडहरों के रूप में देखते हैं। क्या हो अगर ये खंडहर किसी दिन फिर से जिंदा हो जाएँ अचानक? कुछ बोल पड़ें? क्या कहेंगे ये?

कल जब मेरी मुलाक़ात अग्रसेन की बाओली से हुई, तब मैं यही सोच रहा था। बारहखम्बा और कस्तूरबा गाँधी मार्ग - दिल्ली की दो ऐतिहासिक सड़कें, जिन्होंने पनाह दे रखी है दिल्ली के कई ऐसे निशानों को जिन्हें सिर्फ़ ये शहर और इसके लोग ही नहीं, दुनिया के कोने- कोने के लोग पहचानते हैं। British Council, American Centre, Max Mueller Bhawan, Bharatiya Vidya Bhawan, Hindustan Times मुख्यालय, Statesman House, Modern School - जाने पहचाने इन पतों की फहरिस्त काफ़ी लम्बी है। इन दोनों दिग्गज सड़कों के बीच, किसी भूले हुए अँगरेज़ अधिकारी का नाम लिए एक सोई हुई सी सड़क है, हेली रोड। ये सड़क जहाँ अपनी एक बांह फैलाती है Tolstoy Marg से मिलने के लिए वहीं से शुरू होता है एक छोटा सा सफर, जो आज से शुरू होकर आज ही पर ख़त्म होता है, बस बीच में कुछ देर कल के पास रुक जाता है।

आप भी रुक कर देखें तो वक्त के कुछ क़दमों के निशाँ यहाँ नज़र आएँगे, इस बाओली के रूप में। जहाँ तक मैं जानकारी इकट्ठी कर पाया हूँ, ऐसा कोई भी ऐतिहासिक सहारा नहीं है जो इसकी पूरी कहानी बयाँ करता हो। माना जाता है की इसे शायद द्वापर युग - महाभारत जब की कहानी है - में महाराज अग्रसेन ने बनवाया था। चौदहवीं शताब्दी में अग्रवाल समुदाय - अग्रसेन को जिसका जनक माना जाता है - ने फिर से इसे बनवाया था , या इसकी मरम्मत करवाई थी।

आधुनिक भारत के कई पड़ाव अपने कैमरे में क़ैद करने वाले फोटोग्राफर रघु राय ने जब इस बाओली को अपने कैमरे में उतारा था तब इसमें पानी भी था। पर आज ये पूरी तरह सूख चुकी है। बाक़ी हैं तो चंद सीढियां, सीढियों के इर्द-गिर्द बनी दीवारें और दीवारों में बने खोह। मै जब सीढियों से नीचे उतर रहा था तो ऐसा लग रहा था की मानो वक्त में ही उतर रहा हूँ। सीढियां आखरी माले तक जाती हैं, जहाँ से बावली की असली शुरुआत होती है। वहाँ काफ़ी कचरा और थोड़ा सा जमा हुआ पानी है , जिसकी वजह से एक बदबू सी आती है। एक माला ऊपर खड़े हो कर आप नीचे देख सकते हैं और सोच सकते हैं कि कैसी होती होगी ये जगह जब इसके तीन माले पानी के नीचे हुआ करते थे। गुम्बदनुमा इसकी छत पर चमगादडों का राज है, जैसा की हर भूली हुई इमारत में होता है।

सामने नज़र आने वाले इस पूरे ढाँचे के पीछे एक उदास सा कुँआ भी है। अगर पानी सामने वाली बावली में हुआ करता था तो फिर इस कुंए कि क्या उपयोगिता थी, समझ में नहीं आता। ख्याल सिर्फ़ इतना आता है कि बावली सामने है, तब तो बिसरी हुई है। पीछे कि तरफ़ गुमनामी कि ज़िन्दगी जी रहा ये कुँआ कैसा महसूस करता होगा।

Believe me or not,dats me!

2009-06-17T23:23:00.001-07:00

A rare idol of Lord Kartikeya,son of Lord Shiva,at the Patna Museum. I knew of Kartikeya as a warrior,the commander of the army of gods. Here,he is shown as a music lover too. The museum also houses a statue of a dancing Kartikeya! Beat that!

Bhaya

2009-06-08T22:56:00.001-07:00

Written on a city bus in patna.city buses are a relatively new phenomena for patna,a city that used to run on shared 6-8 seater autorickshaws and pedal-driven cycle rickshaws till just a couple of years back.There wasnt much room or need on these modes of transport for displaying the route.With the coming of these buses,this too is a new phenomena for the city.Notice the local dialect's effect on the language.The "bhaya" is the local equivalent of via..:-;-)

Sansad ke galiyaaron se ek shaam ki tasveer..

2009-05-25T03:23:00.001-07:00

Sultanpur Bird Sanctuary - You are unwelcome

2009-01-04T04:07:00.000-08:00

This is a notice erected outside Sultanpur Bird Sanctuary in Haryana. This was my first trip to a bird sanctuary, so m not too sure if all of them carry similar threatening notices. What i am sure of is that i have never seen anything like that before. You may not be able to view it properly in the pic, so heres the transliteration -

YOU A HUMAN BEING ARE MUST UNWELCOME (WHERE THE BIRDS ARE CONCERNED THAT IS) THEY DONT LIKE HUMAN BUT THEY CANNOT TELL YOU TO LEAVE, WE KNOW THAT THE WORD "PARK" CONJOURS UP VISION OF GREEN GRASS, SHADY TREES AND SOMEWHERE COOL TO EAT. YOUR PICNIC AND ALLOW CHILDREN TO RUN AROUN PLAYING GAMES, SOMEWHERE TO PLAY YOU TRANSISTOR FED WITH A CASSETTE OF THE LATEST POP MUSIC. BIRDS DONT LIKE POP MUSIC (THEY DONT LIKE RAVI SHANKER OR BEETHOVEN EITHER), SO AS THIS IS A BIRDS PARADISE PLEASE HELP US MAINTAIN IT IN SUCH A MANNER THAT WILL BRING THEM BACK TO US YEAR AFTER YEAR TO ENJOY THE SAFETY AND PRIVACY WHICH, WITH HELP AND COOPERATION, WE WILL CREAT FOR THEM.

NO FOOD OR PICNIC
NO MUSIC
NO GAMES
NO ALCOHOL
NO NOISE

IF YOU DO NOT RESPECT THE WISHES OF THE BIRDS YOU WILL BE TOLD TO LEAVE NOT BY BIRDS BUT BY HUMANS.

BY ORDER:
CHIEF WILD LIFE WARDEN, HARYANA

Nizamuddin: A much awaited trip

2008-11-07T02:48:00.000-08:00

You just can’t have enough of this city. There’s no end to the treasures it holds within its streets and by lanes. As I parked my motorcycle at the beginning of a crowded lane in the enigmatic Nizamuddin area of south Delhi, I was wondering whether this was something like the rabbit’s hole that led Alice from a familiar world to a wonderland. The feeling grew stronger as we waded through a sea of white-capped people, who were emerging out of the grand madarsa nearby or from the several small restaurants lining the lane on both sides. Some were returning from the dargah that this lane led to - my destination. An old monument caught my eye just as the row of eateries ended. The old building of red sandstone stood alone and in the dark, forgotten just like a tree by the roadside merges with the surrounding milieu. I kept staring at it for a few seconds and moved on, quickly allowing the next sight to grab my attention. We stopped at the tomb of Mirza Ghalib, wondering how he came to be entombed so far away from his residence at Ballimaran in Chandni Chowk. A lady was begging me for alms, to whom I said, “Aage jaao”. She replied, without a moment of hesitation, “Aage se hi toh aa rahi hu”. I carried on the conversation, saying, “Toh aur aage jao”. But she had the last word, as she went away telling me in the manner of a reprimand, “Aage jaao, aage jaao…Allah ke ghar me aaye hain, gharib ko kuch de nahi sakte.”

One is often tempted to give alms to beggars, but one doesn’t know what, actually, is the right thing to do in such situations: give alms at that instance and encourage begging, which has become an organised racket in most big cities, or shoo away the beggar with an “aage jaao” and risk committing the sin of not helping somebody who might be in real need of one’s help. As the poor woman went away, her chiding made me wonder that maybe she was actually in need.

But I digress. We went on and encountered two rows of innumerable shops, again on either side of the lane, selling several versions of the Holy Quran, trinkets, chaadars, flowers, incense sticks and a few other articles to be offered at the mazaar. They were ferociously vying for our attention, calling us on the pretext of depositing our footwear with them. My friend, not a first-time-visitor like me, selected the shop she was familiar with. We deposited our footwear with the shopkeeper, washed our hands, purchased the necessary items to be offered at the mazaar, covered our heads, and surged ahead. As the end of the rabbit hole neared, we could hear faint strains of a qawwali and the accompanying clapping. After paying obeisance at the tomb of Amir Khusrau, said to be the greatest follower of Nizamuddin Auliya - the great sufi saint whose tomb is the most famous one in the area and also after whom the locality is named – I saw the qawwals sitting in an open area facing the tomb of the saint.

They sat amidst listeners, comprising locals as well as foreign tourists. What they sang was barely comprehensible but people sat mesmerised. So did I.

Swinging my head to the tunes, I promised myself that I would come here some other Thursday and sit throughout the performance.

A brief visit to the baoli situated within the campus and we were heading out of the place, with me wondering that sometimes, how easily old wishes come true just like that. In order to go back home with a ‘complete’ experience, we also stopped by at one of the eateries and had some mutton biryani and chicken leg. My friend suggested we have some phirni too, but I was already full. And not just with the food.

2008-10-21T01:09:00.001-07:00

2008-10-21T01:08:00.000-07:00

2008-10-09T00:42:00.000-07:00

कोई उतार दे मुझे तुम्हारी आँखों में,

बस तुम्हारे सोने से पहले;

तुम्हारी बंद पलकों के नीचे,

तुम्हारे साथ, कैद रह जाऊँगा रात भर :)

2008-08-08T07:28:00.001-07:00

Do u thnk such images shud b publshd or shown by media?do respond..

delhi n its kids

2008-07-10T02:56:00.000-07:00

Sure does...

Ek Shaam Ismat Aapa Ke Naam

2008-06-02T00:27:00.001-07:00

Went to see dis play yesterday. A tribute to the rebellious Urdu writer, Ismat Chughtai.
Presented three of her stories. One of them was Saas (I had forgotten the names of the other two by the time the first one's presentation was over..hope 2 google em out soon and include here)

A good presentation, and an evening well-spent, i must say. Deepak observed that this was far better than watching Race. I think he ought to have been a little more judicious with his comment. Cos Race was trash. It was nothing in comparison to a good play. It was nothing in comparison to anything. Heck, it WAS nothing. Period. But its ok deepak, mai teri bhawnaayen samajh gaya.

The play brought back memories of college days, in more ways than one. We had been introduced to Chughtai, like several other literary greats, during college. It was a short-story, Lihaaf (The Quilt), and the most sensational one of our entire three year course, for us boys at least. (oh come on, i m just being honest! It was on lesbianism, for heaven's sake!)

The stage, the actors, the sutradhaars, the song and dance. Everything was reminiscent of our own "acting days". Of course, the wind of the thought "why did i not choose this field" ruffled my inspired-by-the-moment-mind several times.

Disillusioned

2008-05-30T03:38:00.000-07:00

if i bang my fist in d wall,
wud it dent arjun singh's chin?
even if it did,
with the help of some voo-doo,
wat help wud dat be
to the issue at hand?

but dats wat i m doing,
cos i kno that protests are ineffective,
and rallies are such a sham,
petitions are mere formality,
and movements are always a failure.

i wud prefer sighing at injustice,
and saying "this must stop,
i wud be told y dont u do smthng,
n i wl say "deres no point".
a colleague would crack a joke,
and i wud laugh,
close the newspaper report on the agitation,
pack my bags, go home,
and d next day wud be d same.

why? u ask, cant it be any dfrnt?
and i tell you, "u r such an idealist, my frend.
not me, i'm 'disillusioned'."

2008-05-26T02:35:00.001-07:00

wanderlust (finally, a poem on my favrt topic)

2008-05-22T23:50:00.000-07:00

as i sit in dis cubicle
n think of things far far away
one sensation runs through my spine
repeatedly,
urging me to get up,
abandon everything keeping me occupied,
n set out,
on a journey unplanned.

a journey on which i see places i've only heard of,
or seen in pictures;
or maybe even those i've never heard of,
meet new people in old lands,
peep into their lives,
leave a part of me there,
and take a part of them along.
hear a new poem, learn a new song,
feel d waters of a new river on my face,
feel d wind atop a new mountain
ruffle my hair,
enticing me to stop right there,
but i see a new village in a valley nearby,
and i descend towards a new experience.
i wanna see, i wanna hear,
how tagore's songs keep women happy in the fields,
how kids derive joy from jumping in puddles,
d rain dat i complain of as i get wet on way to work,
how does it make those kids jump with sheer joy.
i wanna hear d bauls' songs,
i wanna follow them to see their life,
ive heard their society is different from ours,
what that difference is, i wanna see.

ive heard deres a pond or a spring behind every house in kerala,
how happy would dat make d ppl living there.
ive heard ladakh has d world's highest motorable roads,
do d ppl there really feel "on top of the world"?
ive heard in d desert u cant see anything for miles,
but the sand,
if i lay in the sand
would u be able to see me,
or wud i also become a small part of the vast desert.
ive heard it never stops raining in mawsenram,
i wanna see do kids jump in puddles there as well.
ive heard wives of sunderbans' fishermen
pray for their lives ever time they go to fish,
i wanna see what they feel,
when i tell them of the comforts i live in.

as i talk of comforts,
like a camera zooming out,
my mind has come back to the city i live in,
back to my work,
back to my cubicle.
is dis a place which has me tethered?
or is dis d source of d wanderings of my mind...

sahara pranaam!

2008-05-20T11:03:00.000-07:00

lamha

2008-05-19T03:36:00.000-07:00

use to chhor aaya, but lamha chura ke,
chupke se,
jeb me rakh lia.
raat to takiya ke niche rakh ke soya,
n subhe se baar baar use jeb se nikal ke dekh raha hu,
aur yuhin muskura raha hu..