Sunday, February 5, 2017

हड़बडाहट में ठहराव

सुबह से शाम की भगा दौड़ में है जीवन. पानी पीना भी गलास में, श्थिर से  बैठ के नहीं होता. 
हाथ में रंग बिरंगी बोतले लेके चल रहे है. मनो बैठ गए तो गाड़ी छूट जाएगी, ऐसी छूटेगी की दुबारा दिखेंगी भी नहीं / 

सुबह उठते ही मोबाइल का जागरूग इन्टरनेट छिखने लगता है, उठा  लो भाई नहीं तो फेसबुक मौसी, व्हाट्सएप्प चहाची और इंटेलेक्चुअल हुए तो ट्विटर भाबी बुरा मान जायेगे. 

और अगर सफ़ेद कॉलर वाले नौकर हुए तो अंग्रेज मालिक का मुनीम मेनेजर चीड़ जायेगा/

नास्ते करना भी सिर्फ कहना नहीं है, वो एक विंडो ऑफ़ रिलैक्सेशन है, टीवी चलो, न्यूज़ तो लगेगा मोहले के सरे लडके सूट बूट वाले बन गए है/ गाने के नाम में जो माथा फोड़ चीख़े सुनाई देती है/ मानो सुबह से मैदान भी न गए हो हमारे अति शुर में डुबे गायक / गायक है या भोपू के जीते जागते स्वरुप/

आदमी करे तो क्या करे?

एक उपाय है, ऐसा लगता है हमको /

एक बार अगर हम अपने हिंदुस्तानी, कर्नाटिक संगीत की कोर देखे तो शायद/ माथा न फटे हमारा/
एक तो शांति से फिर से मुलाकात हो सकेगी/ अपने पूर्वजो की धरोवर से पहचान हो पायेगी/
संगीत के नाम पे छल हो  है उसकी जानकारी होगी / 

क्या  पता वीणा फिर याद आ जाएगी/ बाँसुरी, सितार 'कुल' जेनेरशन को ठहराव की समाज  देजाय/

आपके  सुनने के लिए कुछ youtube लिंक्स है / उमीद है कुछ फायदा हो जाये/


Sunday, January 22, 2017

बिना पैंदे की क्रांति

कमजोर  था पैहले, अब  कार्य  हुँ /
अकेला दुब रहा था पहले,
अब मोहले को साथ लिए गिर गया हूँ /
बड़ी बड़ी बातें थी , दुनिया जीतने की,
थोड़ी सी जो समाज ने आँख दिखाई,
क्रांति उडी कान से,
पैंट उत्तर गयी पिछवाड़े  से,
बाप ने दी जो धमकी दी,
आँख से बह गयी नाली,
चले थे बाबु शेर बनने,
फटी ऐसी की कुत्ते भी हँस दिये ,
गधों ने भी  ली चुसकी ,
पुछा, ओ बे क्रांतिकारी ,
कैसा लगा , फटने में आया मजा ,
हा हा हा /

घर के चम्पक भी मुस्कुरा लिये,
सारे बकलोल भी बने मुखियाँ,
क्रांति की , खाप ने ले ली भैया/

किताबें जोरखी थी शेल्फ पे ,
मोटी मोटी, लॉन्ग लिव रेवोल्यूशन वाली,
उसने भी शर्म से झुक ली,

बड़े आयें थे हीरो बनने,
चुतिया बन गए,क्रन्तिकारी साहब /

शर्म का समुंद्र तो था ,
डुबने  की हिम्मत कहाँ थी?

क्रांति की ऐसी लगी,
कोसो दुर भाग गई,
कमजोरिन छुप  सकी ,
कायर्ता भी दिख गई /

आइने से पर्दा हटा/
बिना पैंदे का बस लोटा दिखा /

Being the good boy to everyone!

You grow up on values that teaches you to live for others, being good means sacrifices, being good means living for your parents and everyone around you. At no point in our lives we are taught to live yourself. All of us growing in Indian family goes through this dilemma, some stays with it some don't. Those who stays with the values are the good boys, the cynosure of everyone, the role model for every other kids to follow. You are the piece of statue that is showcased all around.
But deep down, there have been moments when you wanted to say NO, you wanted to break that silent statue that you have made yourself to be. You move your structure one bit, forget moving you try shaking the thick mould that you have been living all along. BOOM, you are hit with those emotional family bounding, you are told how you have been their role model, all they have in the world is you. But the,YOU, is not what they want, all they want is, you to stay the statue that they love. Your voice will disturb their delusion. The delusion that they accepted as truth where you don't disagree, you don't live, you don't have desire, you don't have the rights to commit a mistake. All you have the rights to do is follow the command, the wish of their image of yours. The moment you speak, you are the cause of their pain, the embarrassment of their life. You suddenly is the reason for all hell that might broke, WHY? Because you choose to speak this time. Because you express your desires. You expressed who you are and you dared to break the delusion.

What happens next? Does the statue speak up. If yes, then you are the lost hope, your the evil,the reason of pain. What if you don't speak up, you play along the illusion, you remain the statue they loved. What you live with, you live with regret. you live with loneliness, you live with concealed tears, the suppressed desires, you make the mould thicker that made you the statue in the first place. you hide yourself, you mask yourself and you carry on You kill the person who you are but you live to be the good boy that the family always desired you to be. You give in and you live to die each day. The feeling of being coward kills the very person you are, it kills the principle you believed in. But then death of your desire will be celebrated, your dying emotion will fuel the light of their lives, you live too see celebration of your demise in the most brazen display of social norms. The battle is lonelier, you shall drag.

And the story of, 'Being the Good Boy' continues!

Saturday, February 13, 2016

Democratizing Saraswati Puja, All conquering revolution!


For ages, as far as Indian society existed, Sarswati Puja has remain the domain of the educated elites. Each year, on this faithful day of Sarswati Puja, these elites would wake up early, do their chores, place the murti, books, pens beside the Saraswati Mata murti. Offer the Puja peacuflly confined to their homes. It use to be extremely personal, confine to the homes of the educated. This remain the trend in each educated homes. The most they do for others to know is chant mantra, blow the sankha and distribute prasad. Some progressive ones will visit schools, but the company always remain of the educated. The gathering constituted of students and their parents. No one from outside the community was allowed. It strictly remain private, no frills whatsoever. The school kids, the degree holders and those who loved the gyan, that was the community, nothing beyond.

This was disturbing and not democratic enough in this great democratic nation. How can only educated kids were allowed to offer puja to goddess of knowledge in such orderly, peaceful manner. It took years but the revolution happened, the bastion of peaceful mantra was finally disturbed. The street thugs had their messiah, the likes of Honey Singh came to their rescue. The daru party songs arrived in the scene, it was time to bring out this festival, too, from the clutches of elites and into the street. The overnight pandals were erected, large giant size woofers were ordered. The morning private puja was now on the street, no one was disallowed. The thugs had snatched their 'RIGHTs' back. The first song that blared was, 'karenge daru party' followed by the honey singh anthems. The thugs celebrated hard, partied harder. They had won the frontier, the goddess was brought to the reach of one and all, even to the ones who never cared for books or pens. The final victory in the evening was a grand affair and it ended with who would be strongest to gulp most number of beer bottles. A gala win was won and celebrated.

Thus the revolution and democratization happened!!!

Thursday, September 10, 2015

धुल

कई दिनों से किताबों पे जमी धुल
मानो निहार रही थी।
आज वक़्त मिला तो एक एक करके
धुल हटाने लगे।
हर किताब को हाथ में लेते ही कुछ
जिये हुए लम्हेँ आँखों के सामने थे।
आस पास मानो एक पुरानी फ़िल्म चल रही हो
फ्लैशबैक, में कहानी कह रहा हो कोई
कुछ, पुरानी डायरी के पन्नों में कोई
और जी रहा था,
मदहोस पागलपन में झुम रहा था
एक मुस्कराहट थी आज उसे उन पन्नों
में जीके, एक वक़्त था जो जी चुका था कोई।