Let it Rain

Boxes. Black Boxes.
Dragging themselves on the streets
Wearing themselves out
On the Weary asphalt

Wake up. Eat. Work. Sleep.
Compartments for each moment of the day
Automated life
Black and White

And it rained. Tearing the Sky
The Boxes. Worried about their Suits and Tie
And Boots. Shiny Leather Boots.

The umbrellas bloomed like Shields
keeping them dry from the rain
Let the water not touch the Suits
Let the mud not soil the Boots

Out came a Box. With his guards down
Without a Shield and a frown
Baring its nakedness
Letting the Rain Carve the soul

A smile spread itself on the blank face
And serenity took over the bones
The rainbow exploded into a million colours
Drenching the eyes as the tears rolled

The boots are still dry
Dry as the hollow boxes
They watch in horror and dismay
As the boy colours the sky

Colours as vibrant as his dreams
Red. Blue. Yellow and Green
Dreams of freedom beyond Black and White
Beyond the Tick Tock and the automated life

The boy moves through the crowd
Saying, let it rain o please! Let it rain
Let go of the Umbrellas.
Just catch the next train.

Now I see the Shields melting
Now I see faces and beings
Beyond the Black and White
You and I can be Human again

मैं उडूँगा

जला दो 

जला दो आज मुझे 

मैं उडूँगा

काट दो

काट दो पंख मेरे आज 

मैं उडूँगा

क़ैद कर लो 

क़ैद कर लो आज पिंजरे में तुम 

मैं उडूँगा 

बारिश के बूंदों के साथ भर जाते हैं घाव मेरे

और बह जाता है दर्द पानी के साथ

सपने देखने लगता हूँ मैं इस सांवले आसमां की

और उमड़ आते हैं अरमान कई, इन पागल लहरों की तरह

आखों के wiper शुरू हो जाते हैं चलना 

और दिखने लग जाता है कल, जो अब तक धुंधला सा था

पैर, जो मैले हो गए थे रोज़ के कुँत्लों से

धुल जातें हैं इस बहाव में

रोक ना सकोगे तुम मुझे

बाँध लो बेड़ियों में अपनी चाहे

काम ना आएँगी तुम्हारी झूठी खुशियाँ

कि मैंने आसमां छु लिया है आज

कि मैंने खून चख़ लिया है आज

ए बादल, आज जम के बरस 

ना रोक खुद को किसी आपे में तू 

कि मैं उडूँगा

खौफ़ की वह रात

डर से चुप थीं सडकें
चुप थे लोग और खामोश थीं आखें
आवाजें सुनाई दे रही थी तो बस television से
Breaking news जो मिल गया था उन्हें
आवाजें सुनाई दे रही थी तोह बस बादलों की
कड़कराहट से लोगों में जिंदा रहने का एहेसास जगाना
कड़कराहट से उन लोगों को जगाना
जो सो रहे थे या मुर्दा लाशों को देख रहे थे

बरसात की ही शाम थी वो
आसमान ने सूरज को परदे में धक् लिया था कहीं
खून बरस रहा था आसमां से
और ज़मीन आग के गोले उढ़ेल रही थी

धरती नम हो गयी थी उस शाम खून से
और लाशें ऐसी बिखरी पड़ी हों जैसी की कीचड

सो नहीं पाया था उस रात कोई
चाँद भी उस रात बादलों के पीछे खामोश खड़ा सब देख रहा था
खामोश थी आखें और चुप थे लोग
डर से सडकें भी चुप थी सारी

भीगा था मैं भी उस बरसात में
खेलीं थी मुझ पर भी वह बूँदें

कहो  तो, कभी लहू को पानी में समाते हुए देखा है तुमने?

That night, blood had dissolved in the rain
That night, the streets were silent with fear
Silent were the people and mum were the eyes

That night, it had rained blood
And the earth had been breathing flames

Where were you that night when the blood mixed with the water?

लहू में नाहाई वह बूँदें

साल की पहली बारिश
बूँदें कल गिरी थीं सुर्ख ज़मीन पर
समा सी गयी थीं जैसे वह बूँदें ज़मीन में
सुकून मिला था धरती को कल
अरसों बाद प्यास जो बुझी थी

भीगा तो मैं भी था इस बरसात में
खेलीं थी मुझ पर भी वह बूँदें
आ गिरे थे सपनों पर, जो झुलस रहे थे अब तक
धुल सा गया था मैं
और घुल सा गया था खून इन बूंदों में

कभी लहू को पानी में समाते हुए देखा है तुमने?

Have you ever let the droplets play their music on your soul? 

Have you ever come out of the cozy shelter or your umbrella?

Have you ever let the drops pour life in your burning dreams? 

Felt the rain so closely that you can see your blood getting absorbed in the rain?

Uninspired

 

सोच रहा हु
कि सोच की स्याही में
लिख डालूं सब ख्याल मन के
पर दिखता है तो सिर्फ अँधेरा
और बीच बीच में बिजली का कड़कना  

खिड़की खोल के देखा
छम छम बारिश की बूँदें खिड़की की सिलो पे नाच रही थीं
अरे, यह क्या! कैलेंडर पे नज़र डाला
नवम्बर का ही महिना था
आसमान पे बादल घिरे हुए थे
और मन सुन्न हुआ चला था

Its raining like it should when winter is standing knocking at the door. In these times, while everyone is busy searching for a shelter to avoid the untimely rains I am looking out for inspirations. For putting down words on the paper. For laughing. For going to sleep. For waking up. Heck, I am looking for an inspiration even to have a thought. Much have I read about the state of thoughtlessness, the state where the mind is totally blank, void of any thoughts. And now as it hits me, I know how it feels first hand. And no song no music, no...no words can bring them back to life.
So what do I do for this? I set out on an unplanned trip to a land people call the place of infinite muses. I listen to music. I talk to new people. I make new friends. I even spend a few evenings wandering. Wandering aimlessly. For hours. Looking for an inspiration. But it escapes me every time. As this famous Guns & Roses goes, 

Do you need some time...on your own

Do you need some time...all alone

Everybody needs some time...on their own

Don't you know you need some time...all alone

I know it's hard to keep an open heart

When even friends seem out to harm you

But if you could heal a broken heart

Wouldn't time be out to charm you

 And as I look out for it in the words I write I just see meaningless congregation of characters, put together like an anomaly! Like the November Rain! At peace. But uninspired.

Bhristi Pore, tapur tupur...

Tapur. Tupur. Tapur. Tupur.
Wet Roads. Umbrellas. Full of Colour.
Cool wind flowing by. Imagine.

मौझ्वा करे क्या जाने, हमको इशारा
जाना कहाँ है पूछे, नदिया की धरा
मर्ज़ी है तुम्हारी, ले जाओ जिस और
जियरा रे झूमे रे ऐसे रे जैसे बनमा नाचे मोर

सावन का महिना, पवन करे सोर
जियरा रे झूमे ऐसे, जैसे बनमा नाचे मोर

This gorgeous and soulful melody weaved by Laxmikant Pyarelal in the words of Anand Bakshi conjure up the magic of Rains.
Rain. A weather romantics awaits. A weather which brings such incredible melodies to life. A weather which itself sings the song of life.
Just a few days back, I decided to take a walk on the Marine Drive. And it was raining heavily that evening. Raining from the heavens. O, what an evening it was. I was walking alone, but felt like someone has been walking with me on that road for ages! And this song had been reverberating in my mind!

जिनके बालम बैरी, गए हैं बिदेसवा
आये हैं लेके उनके, प्यार का संदेसवा
काली मात वारी घथाये घनघोर
जियरा रे झूमे ऐसे जैसे बनमा नाचे मोर
सावन का महिना, पवन करे सोर
जियरा रे झूमे ऐसे, जैसे बनमा नाचे मोर

It felt like deja vu. It felt like I have been there ages before. I felt lost. Yet I felt that I knew the place inside out. I could see my footsteps all over the road. The road wet with vivid memories of a similar rainy evening. The green grass. The dripping leaves. The Moist zephyr soothing the senses. I felt like I was living the imagination, the dream of some poet praising the rain through their colours.

रिम झिम गिरे सावन, सुलग सुलग जाए मन
भीगे आज इस मौसम में, लगी कैसी ये अगन

पहले भी यूं तो बरसे थे बादल,
पहले भी यूं तो भीगा था आँचल
अब के बरस क्यूँ सजन, सुलग सुलग जाए मन
भीगे आज इस मौसम में, लगी कैसी ये अगन

With Kishore Kumar singing in the background, Pancham And Yogesh stirring the heavens to pour magic, it feels that the rains have washed the soul of all the earthly dirt and left only pure love. As I kept walking through the path trodden at some point of time in history, I felt like a child. A child searching for a piece of paper. So that he can build a boat at set sail in the dreamy rain.
And how can the description of an rainy evening be complete without Gulzar. And this was another song playing that evening when I was having a walk through the lanes of my Dreams. A Lata ji song with Pancham touch to it...

अब के ना सावन बरसे,
अब के बरस तो बरसेंगी अँखियाँ

जाने कैसे आब के यह मौसम बीते
बीतेगी जो तेरे बिन,वह कब बीते
तेरे बिना सावन सुनने
तेरे बिना अब्ब तोह यह मनन तरसे

Yesterday...

याद है, एक दिन मेरे मेज़ पे बैठे बैठे
सिगरेट की डिबिया पर तुमने
छोटे से एक पौधे का एक
स्केट्च बनाया था
आकर देखो, उस पर फूल आया है |

These beautiful words by Gulzar can be translated as,

"Remember, the other day while sitting at my desk,
you had sketched a tiny plant on the cigarette box,
come and see, a flower has bloomed on it"

The other day. Seems so like Yesterday. There was a time when I used to look up to that Yesterday. The past. How I used to idolize Yesterday. So much so that all my dreams resided in yesterday. I hoped that my tomorrow would resemble my yesterday. I was unaware of the lovely flower that has bloomed today. I was blind to the magic that tomorrow would unravel. And the rains changed it all. The experience of the first showers in Mumbai after a really long time has opened a whole new window for me. A window through which I can view the beauty of tomorrow. A window on whose sill I can sit and watch the rain drops soak the world in a blanket of freshness. Where I can feel the soothing zephyr take me to a world of joy. To a world where the past dissolves into a Future of the dreams. where the dreams are not hollow.

So, with the onset of rains, I took a permanent seat on this window sill. Joined a class to learn a skill. Set-up a workstation right in my room. Continuing the over-haul I had planned out last month. Continuing the change I had dreamt of. Not of yesterday. But of tomorrow.

With the hope that Tomorrow will be a better than Yesterday.

ज़रा आकर देखो तो, उस पौधे पर फूल आया है |

 

The Nadir

I have hit the Nadir

Is it not evident?

I have not posted in about a month.
Not read a new book during that time.
Have not seen a movie in its entirety.
Have not come out of the room.
Except for eating and classes. The latter too can not be counted. One confinement to another.
While I am typing this, am already thinking of reasons not to.

And my table is a mess. Well, it is not as messy as yesterday.
And No one has seen the mess tomorrow.

So, I have hit the nadir.
Call it the Writers' Block, Creative Diarrhoea, Stonewall or even the Trash.
But I have not been like this Before. I can blame it to many problems.
Exams. Wars. Flu. Heart. Rains.
But at the end of the day, its the words that fall apart.
Am trying Asemic writing. They say that helps. But trying it on class notes? From my experience, I'd say otherwise.
They say it is a way to climb this abysmal nadir. This gaping hole.
But the more I try to come out, the more it pulls me in.

Am still searching for words.
Lets see what tomorrow plans.
Plans.
Lets see.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone!

It has happened to me before. It is happening again. Come the rains and the memories just flood the heart. And all I am capable to do during these times is to sit on the window pane, look outside and just feel the moment. There are poems, many poems which can be narrated during these times, but this one has some sublime effect on me. And I just go in a trance as I read it aloud...

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W. H. Auden

Some thoughts have a way of creeping up and leaving a mark behind. The rains have this effect on me.

And it Rained...

Clouds start to cover the sky with their dark, gloomy feathers, giving a darker shade of grey to the day. A creak here, a thunder there. Birds chirping across, seeming to make a sprint towards home. The flowers reflect whatever daylight there is left, like tiny glowing lamps switched on before the twilight. The zephyr shifts gears and gushes through the leaves, giving them an invitation to roam the earth with them. The roads clear up. Kids run to their homes. Markets start rolling up.

With a slight warning with sprays, heavens start pouring with all the unexpressed emotions pent up over the last few days.

Rains.

The sky frowned and cries
And tears begins to fall down
Each drop cooled the ground.

And with each drop, heart brings back the memories. Memories, now found between the pages of that old textbook, that broken pen, that precious piece of paper, that old song which still stirs the strings of the heart. Memories. That paper boat. That broken umbrella. That music cassette. That conversation. That Bus. That seat.

looking back we will
and to relive memories,
we once had as friends.

My encounter with rain goes back to my primary days. A friendship of a lifetime was to be moulded. The rains. The long waits on the bus-stop. Those games we played. The pranks we pulled. The plans we made to conquer the world. Wreck havoc in class. Make the life of that bully miserable. The days went by trying to fly in the wind with the umbrella. The sketches of the teachers we made on the pages of the notebook. Pages long lost. But etched in the memory forever.
And then rain washed it all away. Just like the downpour had heralded it.

I feel so lonely.
A friend across the country
Memories left here.

And then it rained. Once again.

lonely rain and wind
awakened from restless dreams
your warm embrace missed.

The Days spent waiting for the class to end. The gates to be opened. That seat in the bus. And be mesmerized. Those cold sigh. Those difficult syllables shying away. Those Short walks to home. Those missed opportunities. Those surges of courage to speak. The laughter. The park. Those pestering kids who just would not learn to stay mum. The Wait. The moon covered in clouds. The wait. The pain. The wait.

Rain. It is these tiny drops of water that precipitate on our hearts and wash away the dust off the memories. Sitting by the window, as I look at these drenched leaves, it takes me to a different plane of dreams. Suddenly life seems so distant. With every falling drop, life seems to pass away to sepia, leaving behind a trail of memories. Memories which we can only chase. Never relive them again. Never touch them again. Like chasing the rainbow. Like rainbows.

Saturated clouds,
Thunder and lightning, boom, flash
Rainbows follow rain.

Rains. I hate it. I love it. I believe I cannot ever get away from the rains. No umbrella, no shelter can protect my heart from the rain.

In the words of Rabindranath Tagore from 'The Rainy Day':

Sullen clouds are gathering fast over the black fringe of the forest.
O child, do not go out!
The palm trees in a row by the lake are smiting their heads
against the dismal sky; the crows with their dragged wings are
silent on the tamarind branches, and the eastern bank of the river
is haunted by a deepening gloom.
Our cow is lowing loud, ties at the fence.
O child, wait here till I bring her into the stall.
Men have crowded into the flooded field to catch the fishes
as they escape from the overflowing ponds; the rain-water is
running in rills through the narrow lanes like a laughing boy who
has run away from his mother to tease her.
Listen, someone is shouting for the boatman at the ford.
O child, the daylight is dim, and the crossing at the ferry is closed.
The sky seems to ride fast upon the madly rushing rain; the
water in the river is loud and impatient; women have hastened home
early from the Ganges with their filled pitchers.
The evening lamps must be made ready.
O child, do not go out!
The road to the market is desolate, the lane to the river is
slippery. The wind is roaring and struggling among the bamboo
branches like a wild beast tangled in a net.

And it rained. Making me chase the rainbow. Bringing back more memories.