Refugees of the Road.

आते जाते खूबसूरत आवारा सडकों पे
कभी कभी इत्तेफाक से
कितने अनजान लोग मिल जाते हैं
उन में से कुछ लोग भूल जाते हैं
कुछ याद रह जाते हैं |

While travelling through these beautiful yet nomadic roads,
Sometimes coincidentally we meet some strangers...
Some, we tend to forget, but there are some who leave an indelible mark in our lives....

These words by Anand Bakshi, beautifully sung by Kishore da talk of a profound truth of life. Of life's endless journeys. And how we meet interesting people along the way. No, they are not friends, neither are they acquaintances. But they become an important part of you life.

I have been travelling on the life-line of Mumbai everyday for about a month now. Everyday has been a new experience for me. Everyday I see new faces. Everyday a maddening rush. A peerless fury. A screeching cacophony.

In all this randomness, I have been lucky to discover a pattern. A face. A Person. Who boards the train nearly same time everyday. In the same compartment. And stands right infront of me. An occasional glance, a shared smile. This is all that is exchanged. But still the face remains what it is. A face. Probably in his late 50s. I don't know the name of the person. Neither do I know his destination.  Everyday upon reaching the platform, I look for this familiar face in the crowd. And am relieved upon finding him. And this has become a routine for every day of the week. But its nothing less than a miracle. In times when it takes years or even lives to become familiar to someone, an unique friendship germinating without words, which is something that words would never be able to explain. Infact, words would take away the sanctity of the moment.

But today, as I rushed to the station to catch the Andheri 0851 Slow, I didnot find this face. Looked out for some time. Probably I was late. Probably he was. Probably he took a leave from work. Many possibilities ran through my mind till the train arrived. And my day went on. With a blip. With a glitch. But not without hopes of tomorrow. Hopes of a familiar tomorrow.

This Maddening Madness...

  

 

“Aisa paagalpan nahin chalega… Yeh lyrics hain? Kal Times of India uthake le aogey aur kahoge issi pe dhun banana hain…”

This is how R. D. Burman first reacted when he read the page given to him by Gulzar. "This madness won't work...You call these lyrics?? Tomorrow you pick up the Times of India and say lets' compose a tune out of this..."

Indeed it was Madness. The Madness which gave birth to the evergreen song 

'Mera Kuch Saaman, Tumhare Pass Pada Hai...' with words such as,

एक सौ सोलह चाँद की रातें, एक तुम्हारे काँधे का तिल

or probably

पतझड़ है कुछ…है ना?
पतझड़ में कुछ पत्तों के गिरने की आहात
कानों में एक बार पहन के लौट आई थी
पतझड़ की वह शाख अभी तक काँप रही है
वह शाख गिरा दो, मेरा वह सामान लौटा दो |

Just an ensemble of meaningless words...weaving such deep a meaning! Madness indeed it is. 

What is this madness? For me, this madness is going to sleep at an unearthly time. And waking up even later...just to fuel the insane passion. This madness is to completely overhaul the life. This madness is to get back the person I once was. And this madness is to make the dreams real.
This Madness is trying to find meaning in this cacophony. This Madness is trying to find meaning in this silence.
It is this madness that has kept me going this long. It is this madness that has made me who I am today.
So, why do people say this insanity, this madeness is deleterious? Why do they do all in their power to curb this madness labeling them a menace to the society? And why do these 'sane' people not dream mad dreams or imagine crazy things?
It is these mad crazy things that have led to the birth of numerous ideas and subsequent tryst with reality. Be it the idea of relativity, that of the universe or heck...this computer I am using to put forth my madness.
So, no matter how mad or insane it sounds...no matter how crazy it looks...or no matter what other people say...never stop that madness within you. Cause it is that madness which is the only hope for keeping you going on and on and on.
Madness. Isn't it?