Tag Archives: memories

Ailing Fighter!

I turn the pages from the past,

Memories from which have still not run fast.

I write and edit,

And see how my own words misfit.

I wonder if ‘I’ really wrote that?

And rate it again for being it so tad.

And yet you call me a writer,

While all I deem myself is an ailing fighter!

 

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यादें

वो घुंघरू की जँकार

वो झिलमिलाता ताल.

 

वो बजते ढोल

वो सरगम के बोल.

 

वो थिरकते पैर

वो नशीले नैन.

 

वो दिल धड़कता

वो साँसे झूमती.

 

वो मन मचलता

वो अनकही ख़ुशी.

 

वो ज़िंदा होने का एहसास

वो ज़िंदा रहने की प्यास.

 

आज सब बहुत याद आ रहे हैं.

That Flower!

 

Remember Monica and how clean freak she was?

 

Yep, I am compared to her often. And I have to admit that I am pretty much the same. I will crib when I will see that I have to sleep on the wrong side of the bed, or when the coffee cup is kept on the table without a coaster, and things like that. Things, which no one bothers about.

 

But she also has that door. Remember, which no one knew for so long and when eventually it was opened; it had all kinds of garbage stuffed inside. Yep, I have that too. Well, it’s not a door, I have a big box full of old things, which my folks call unused, unwanted garbage. But I call it memories. Yes, I have stuff in there, which I will never use in my life, and yet I refuse to depart with them. Things from my nursery days, to yesterday! From crayons, to mementos from every place I have been to, memories with all kinds of people I love and care about!

 

So, come Diwali, my people will pester me to clear at least something away, and every year I pretend to clean something out, only I never throw anything out. I make space, I cram things, but I have not yet discarded anything, and nor do I have any such intentions for near future. So today, I sit and pretend just like every year, to clear things out, to clean my room. (The irony is, it’s already cleaned, but since it’s Diwali, I still have to do it!) So, I am utilizing my Sunday this way, and I run across some really old stuff!! This stuff I haven’t met in a few years now!

 

I open that box full of memories,

I take out everything, crayons, to paints, to some Barbie accessories, to slam books, to school photographs, to college memories..

There is a list, I will not bother you with.

A book comes out,

It’s a novel.

I don’t remember reading it.

The blurb brushes my memory.

Yeah, I have read it.

But it wasn’t my favorite.

It was a book read and forgotten!

Then why did I find it here?

I drank that old book smell!!

And as if it was magic, I knew why it was there!!

 

I smiled!

Blushing would have gone too far.

But I smiled, all the same.

And closed the book shut.

Not sure whether to go ahead and look at it.

I hold that book for a while, turning and twisting.

Trying to figure out my next move.

 

Oh what the hell, there’s no bomb inside.

 

I go ahead and open it.

I couldn’t find it.

My heart literally, literally skips a beat.

WHAT THE HELL!!

Where is it?

What did I do with it?

 

Didn’t you say you were going to throw it, anyway?

 

Yeah, but I said so, I didn’t do it.

Definitely not!!

 

So where is it?

 

I scan the pages frantically, and just when I am about to burst (I don’t know with what) I find it.

 

And there is a big smile on my face.

I don’t deserve that smile.

That smile isn’t anymore mine.

I don’t even want that smile back.

But I smile anyways.

And I close my eyes and get drunk

Drunk in that stale smell of books, and words,

Of love and feelings,

Of that naivety and all the firsts.

 

I brush away the tears,

Pretending to be sneezing amidst the dusts.

I sober up from my past,

And I smile anyway.

 

This is what I find there:

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I know you can’t even make out what this is!

But it’s special all the same.

 

Years have passed by,

People have come and gone,

Feelings have changed,

Oh, the people have changed,

I have changed,

But this still remains special.

 

I smell that old smell one last time,

Tuck it inside the book again,

And close it as delicately s possible.

I don’t want it to rust,

Not now, anyway.

And read a couplet, that I attached in the midst of the pages,

That last time, I had an encounter with this.

 

Vaqt beet te der nahi lagti,

Umra guzar gayi, kai saal beet gaye,

Par tujse mulaqaat kabhi fir hui nahi.

 

Aaj fir mila hai wo tera diya nazrana,

Jise ab tak sambhal k rakha hai,

Kuch murja sa gaya hai,

Par ab tak apna sa lagta hai.

 

Jazbaat, ehsaas, shayad badal gaye honge

Tere, aur shayad mere bhi.

Teri ibaadat ki umeed nahi, Sirf ek unkahi arzoo hai,

Isilye is murjaye gulaab ko bhi ab tak sambhal k rakha hai!

 

I smile,

I reread.

I close the book.

I pack the box.

And put it away.

I know not till when!

 

 

PS: I will hit publish before I change my mind about publishing the Hindi lines. I know it’s not great, it’s novice, and very childlike. But I presume that we all do these kind of stuff once in a while 😀

I Am!

I am—yet what I am none cares or knows;
My friends forsake me like a memory lost:
I am the self-consumer of my woes—
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes
And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed
Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life or joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;
Even the dearest that I loved the best
Are strange—nay, rather, stranger than the rest.
I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass below—above the vaulted sky.
John Clare.
Unknown
If you have known me for a while, you’ll know that I fall in love very easily, and even more easily when the person I fall in love with, writes so beautifully, (or the thing that I fall for is such a wonderful poem) expresses so wonderfully, almost speaks what I want to speak without even having to say it. So after my love for Kamala Das, Sylvia Plath, Bronte sisters, Emily Dickinson, Pablo Neruda, (and of course some Urdu poets which I have come to know about very recently) now I have fallen for this very beautiful man/poet John Clare. Yes, he is my new love, and this poem is my very new addiction that I am reading again and again and yet again.
No, I am not cheating on the others, oh come on I could never do that.  I think I just have an open relationship with all my lovelies. 😉

When Your Friend gets Engaged!

Wasn’t it just yesterday when we used to fight with each other for really nothing?

When we used to fuss over the group projects, and who would do it entirely, while everyone of us would just take the credit?

When we used to fight for notes?

When we wanted to duck behind last benches and avoid eye contact with teachers?

When we used to make plans, and unending plans of hanging out at each other’s places.

When we used to tease each other by saying who’d get married first?

When we would go to extremes to just make an ‘April fool’ of somebody.

When, we’d just finish our tiffin boxes way before the recess?

When we’d smile cunningly when someone’s crush passed by?

When we’d go to the same coaching only to be together and just kill more time?

 

Wasn’t it just yesterday, when we’d roam about the whole day, and open our books the night before the exams, and yet manage to pass?

When we’d get together right 15 minutes before the exam bell, and yet manage to explain the entire syllabus to each other?

wasn’t it just yesterday, when we were kids (Okay, at least teens) and had no trouble what so ever.

Where and how did we grow up?

 

Going to a distant relatives wedding, or your elder sister’s wedding is way different than going to your own friend’s engagement party, the one friend whom you know since childhood, with whom you grew up. Where did the  years go by?

I really can’t believe one of us is getting married, who knows who would be there next, on the stage, smiling and accepting wishes from others.

I must say, as much as I am happy for this dear friend, I am scared  too.

 

Fact or Fable

Deep memories submerged within,

Sweet, sad, happy and a little evil.

Time elapsed, and I kept treading,

Only to have thought, that someday

I will lose every inch of it.

 

But today, despite the tiresome days and nights,

A mere thought, a small talk,

Even the tiniest prospect of the past,

Passes a solid sensation onto me,

Shaking me to the core,

Sending shivers down my spine,

Making everything of the past, again mine.

 

How does it happen?

What is that feeling?

Why does it not go?

What would it take to go?

 

I am tired of this notion,

Constantly restricting all my gesticulation.

What is that feeling?

I am yet not certain.

 

I keep asking myself

Was the feeling ever true?

Or could it have been a delusion?

Or part of it fact and a part fable?

 

I have no answers,

As usual,

But for certain,

I have all the questions.

 

The Pictures

So my little expedition has some good parts too, and that I am going to show with the unprofessional photos here.

The foodie me will definitely start with the photos of the deliciousness.

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And now comes all the traditional Gujarati accessories, Of course I wouldn’t return without getting something from it.

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The beautiful lake.

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Some pictures from the zoo.

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Birds giving me all kinds of poses

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Some garba dancing to the beats of water drum

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Because it was dear cousin’r birthday: (Or we just needed a reason :-p)
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Me twirling around:

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Well, there is always certain kind of madness with us-

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And yet, I am happy that I am back, in time for Diwali.