It was one of those special nights in Jaisalmer.
Jaisalmer..A city of desert..a city of history..a city of Rajputs..a city once captured by the Khalji dynasty. And it is also a city of very simple people who smiles at every word keeping their daily hazards of poverty and pains in shadow.
It was a quite night, after dinner I just went for a walk around the hotel when suddenly I felt something.
Something new happened.
Something touched my hand.
I looked up towards the sky.
And once again the touch came.
The touch of water droplets.
Little liquid drops of sheer amazement in this city of desert.
And soon it started raining.
Clouds floaked in the vast sky.
Winds rushed.
Sands gripped the roaming air.
And within that from all around came running people shouting almost chanting, ‘Barish! Barish!’(Rain..Rain!)
Their eyes full of wonder, happiness and ecstacy.Some hugged each other,some ran across the desert,some jumped,some shouted in their local dialects..there..in front of me lay a group of local –people to whom today again is a night of magic! As clouds hardly stops at Jaisalmer. In the whole Rajasthan broadly. Maybe this rain came after 3-4 years!
Thus to all these people..the colour and touches of rain appeared special.
Special like the first touch of a woman!
And at that moment within the vast epitome of the brown sand dunes and the ripple marks I saw a girl.
She is hardly twenty.
And she like an open spirit running all over the desert!
Her hairs open like a fountain.
Her face blushing with some innocent godly beauty.
Her naked feet creating ripples all over the sands.
Her yellowish Choli(blouse) and green ghagra(skirt) getting wet and soaked in rain.
I got mesmerized and went on looking at her.
A mere local Rajasthani girl appearing in my eyes as the most beautiful lady of the world.
Again the splashes of rain.
Again the winds sharp.
Again the lightning blue through the white desert.
Again far across..two camels along with a caravan move on slowly..bells ringing from their neck.
Again the rain drops touching and pouring down the girl’s body.
Her hair.Her neckline. Her hands.Her feet.
And her lips.
Wet lips.
Winds crossed her and swept me.
I shivered.
The winds carried something more with it than the rain.
Beneath the Golden Fortress on the top of the mountain..within the seven hundred years old city..within the scattered broken historical buildings..the smell of a local Rajasthani girl of Jaisalmer slowly spreaded throughout my body..
A smell..a fragrance of a silent love.
I kissed it!
Friday, October 8, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Words Images and Myself
Me
Some words are never spoken..
Some faces are never known..
Some people never fades out..
Some roads are yet to to be stepped in..
Some places are yet to be explored..
Some nights are sometime special..
Some moments holds uncherished desires..
Sometime one is lonely..very lonely..
Sometimes only one question rings on..rings on..
What I want?
What I want?
What I want?
She
I saw her standing over the platform..all alone..
A desolate Station of a chilled November midnight
Not a soul anywhere except her..
Has she lost the road or came there anyway?
Has she in wait for someone..her lover coming in the up-train?
Trains came..one up..one down..
No body got down
Neither she got in..
And the train disappeared among the foggy night..
At that moment she turned her eyes
and kept on me..
I shivered!
May be I have seen her earlier, yes I did..
I met her on the stairs of Varanasi on the bank of the Ganges..
Or I met her on a boat in the mid river?
Or is it in the busy streets of Calcutta?
Or in a narrow muddy strip of a remote village?
I don’t know..
I saw her standing..all alone with eyes on me..
I smiled..
May be I have seen her nowhere
May be I have seen her everywhere
As she is nothing but a very simple woman..
On whom I found my piece of love..!
I saw her standing over the platform..all alone....
Some words are never spoken..
Some faces are never known..
Some people never fades out..
Some roads are yet to to be stepped in..
Some places are yet to be explored..
Some nights are sometime special..
Some moments holds uncherished desires..
Sometime one is lonely..very lonely..
Sometimes only one question rings on..rings on..
What I want?
What I want?
What I want?
She
I saw her standing over the platform..all alone..
A desolate Station of a chilled November midnight
Not a soul anywhere except her..
Has she lost the road or came there anyway?
Has she in wait for someone..her lover coming in the up-train?
Trains came..one up..one down..
No body got down
Neither she got in..
And the train disappeared among the foggy night..
At that moment she turned her eyes
and kept on me..
I shivered!
May be I have seen her earlier, yes I did..
I met her on the stairs of Varanasi on the bank of the Ganges..
Or I met her on a boat in the mid river?
Or is it in the busy streets of Calcutta?
Or in a narrow muddy strip of a remote village?
I don’t know..
I saw her standing..all alone with eyes on me..
I smiled..
May be I have seen her nowhere
May be I have seen her everywhere
As she is nothing but a very simple woman..
On whom I found my piece of love..!
I saw her standing over the platform..all alone....
Thursday, September 2, 2010
The Footprints
The rain came suddenly.
Sanchita never expected that out of that maddening beauty of horizon , the mixing of different shades of red purple and blue would be replaced by dark grey clouds in such rapidity. Though the air spell that , even the sky showed the signs but as Sanchita was sitting with face towards west she hardly saw that arrival of heavy clouds.
And thus she was caught in the rain badly.
She is running fast, parallel to the river side. With big droplets of rain pouring, running is really not the easiest , specially for a Kolkata girl like Sanchita. She now began to curse herself for not bringing her maternal brother. Buro asked her multiple times to accompany her but Sanchita refused . She for the first time came to visit her own village , Rajpur , a mere spot in the district of Murshidabad. And thus she wanted to get a feel of the place and to enjoy the smell of the sowing crops , the wet fragrance of grass, the partial brown un finished Khowai road, the sound of tractors spreading water, the grazing of cattles in the field and obviously , the vast sky which gradually disappeared where the
village ends only again to start a new beginning.
However her adventure has now most unexpectedly reached a climax.
She is running. Her hairs blowing , dupatta in wind, struck tightly to neck , her green salwar with her every step adoring new splashes of mud.
The wind is tremendous. The reddish appearance of the horizon has vanished with twinkle of eye, and it is replaced by diversified shades of clouds. And these towering
Cumulonimbus clouds looks really alarming.
While running Sanchita turned her head to the river. The small river , which is a distributary of the Ganges is now adored with waves waves and waves. The level of water is rising with great force. There is not a single boat in the river.
But there were some. Just minutes earlier. The Majhi(boatman) know the signs of nature.
And the evening light also has disappeared
It is really dark now.
Suddenly Sanchita stood still much in surprise.
As before her lay no road.
The path has vanished into scattered slums.
Sanchita confused turned her head and started walking in her right but again stopped.
Because suddenly in front of her a lantern is shown and somebody said her,
‘Odike noy!’ (‘Not that side’.)
Sanchita more surprised found that a young boy is standing before her holding the lantern.
The boy is tall, wearing a dhoti and a open-chested shirt. He asked Sanchita now,
Where she would go.
‘Mukhujye Bari. Tumi Cheno?(Mukherjee House, do you know the road?)
The boy didn’t said anything and started walking showing her the way.
The boy left the road and stepped in the sand.
Sanchita asker her to go through road but the boy said her that she is totally in the wrong way and for finding the right track they have to work some distance through sand.
So Sanchita started walking silently.
The outpour of rain has increased…. so did the velocity of wind…. grains of sands hitting eyes now and then…. the boy is walking slowly but gently…. his lantern caught in his left hand giving light to Sanchita…. The flame of lantern within the glass is shaking fiercely in this terrible wind…. a Deshawali song of a Majhi coming through the rainfed air …. the wordings still crystal clear…. water of the river coming in small splash and touching the feet of Sanchita and then disappearing in the wet brown sand…. the spots of her feet getting lost every minute in the mud with arrival of more raindrops…. Sanchita thought to cover herself in dupatta but it is of no use…. she is totally wet…. the sounds of thunder ….
the flash of the stormy evening with a sharp bluish light.... Sanchita forgot about her condition…. she started enjoying again .. as if she is walking through the road of eternity..
She is almost getting lost in some other world…. when her hypnotism broke ….
She looked forward….
There is not a single soul in the riverside except two of them ….
And she heard that boy is saying to her….
‘Abar adike….’(Now this side.)
They left the riverside and took the left hand road.
And within five minutes Sanchita recognized the road to the house and within
next five minutes they are approaching the Mukhujyebari , a renowned ancestral house of the village.
Coming near the door the boy stopped.
Sanchita felt that the darkness has increased suddenly.
She soon found the reason.
The light of the lantern has got out.
The boy is standing quietly…. his whole body wet…. Sanchita looked at him and thanked him and then suddenly took out a fifty rupee note and extended it towards the boy….
“ Na Didi….Ami ar janya..’(No, Didi.. not for this..)
The boy not saying a single word more , turned back and started walking.
Sanchita called him.
But he has gone.
He knows very well the way to the river.
Sanchita kept stranded in the rain.
She realized that she had done a wrong thing.
She should not have offered him the money.
She stared towards the ever increasing darkness and rain.
And at that moment she found her brother came running towards her with umbrella asking her where she was …. and ending…. ‘ You have lost the road certainly!’.
‘I did’. Sanchita said softly.
And then she told her brother about the boy.
‘Which boy’.
‘Who showed me the way from the riverside.’
His brother not paying any more importance took her inside the house.
But Sanchita decided that tomorrow she would go to the slums and find the boy and apologise to him.
She went next day. But she didn’t found him.
She gave the description, there are many like him but none was him.
Sanchita came back to Kolkata.
She went Rajpur many times after that.
But she never found him.
Ten years have passed.
Married Sanchita came again with her little son.
She is standing in the open balcony of the old house.
A beautiful view of the river can be seen from here.
Sanchita stood alone.
After so many years she still remembers that boy.
She now thanks God that she never found him.
Because she never wanted to meet him again after so many years.
She in this ten years have felt.. a truth.
That boy is an unique shelter to her.
Or may be.. her unfulfilled apology has turned into an unexplained love.
The wind smells rain.
Sanchita closed her eyes….
She can see….within the horizon…. an evening storm…. a fierce wind…. a song of a Majhi….the trembling lights of lantern….a slow but gently moving figure of a boy…. his footsteps….
engraved in sand….
Sanchita kept on walking.
Sanchita never expected that out of that maddening beauty of horizon , the mixing of different shades of red purple and blue would be replaced by dark grey clouds in such rapidity. Though the air spell that , even the sky showed the signs but as Sanchita was sitting with face towards west she hardly saw that arrival of heavy clouds.
And thus she was caught in the rain badly.
She is running fast, parallel to the river side. With big droplets of rain pouring, running is really not the easiest , specially for a Kolkata girl like Sanchita. She now began to curse herself for not bringing her maternal brother. Buro asked her multiple times to accompany her but Sanchita refused . She for the first time came to visit her own village , Rajpur , a mere spot in the district of Murshidabad. And thus she wanted to get a feel of the place and to enjoy the smell of the sowing crops , the wet fragrance of grass, the partial brown un finished Khowai road, the sound of tractors spreading water, the grazing of cattles in the field and obviously , the vast sky which gradually disappeared where the
village ends only again to start a new beginning.
However her adventure has now most unexpectedly reached a climax.
She is running. Her hairs blowing , dupatta in wind, struck tightly to neck , her green salwar with her every step adoring new splashes of mud.
The wind is tremendous. The reddish appearance of the horizon has vanished with twinkle of eye, and it is replaced by diversified shades of clouds. And these towering
Cumulonimbus clouds looks really alarming.
While running Sanchita turned her head to the river. The small river , which is a distributary of the Ganges is now adored with waves waves and waves. The level of water is rising with great force. There is not a single boat in the river.
But there were some. Just minutes earlier. The Majhi(boatman) know the signs of nature.
And the evening light also has disappeared
It is really dark now.
Suddenly Sanchita stood still much in surprise.
As before her lay no road.
The path has vanished into scattered slums.
Sanchita confused turned her head and started walking in her right but again stopped.
Because suddenly in front of her a lantern is shown and somebody said her,
‘Odike noy!’ (‘Not that side’.)
Sanchita more surprised found that a young boy is standing before her holding the lantern.
The boy is tall, wearing a dhoti and a open-chested shirt. He asked Sanchita now,
Where she would go.
‘Mukhujye Bari. Tumi Cheno?(Mukherjee House, do you know the road?)
The boy didn’t said anything and started walking showing her the way.
The boy left the road and stepped in the sand.
Sanchita asker her to go through road but the boy said her that she is totally in the wrong way and for finding the right track they have to work some distance through sand.
So Sanchita started walking silently.
The outpour of rain has increased…. so did the velocity of wind…. grains of sands hitting eyes now and then…. the boy is walking slowly but gently…. his lantern caught in his left hand giving light to Sanchita…. The flame of lantern within the glass is shaking fiercely in this terrible wind…. a Deshawali song of a Majhi coming through the rainfed air …. the wordings still crystal clear…. water of the river coming in small splash and touching the feet of Sanchita and then disappearing in the wet brown sand…. the spots of her feet getting lost every minute in the mud with arrival of more raindrops…. Sanchita thought to cover herself in dupatta but it is of no use…. she is totally wet…. the sounds of thunder ….
the flash of the stormy evening with a sharp bluish light.... Sanchita forgot about her condition…. she started enjoying again .. as if she is walking through the road of eternity..
She is almost getting lost in some other world…. when her hypnotism broke ….
She looked forward….
There is not a single soul in the riverside except two of them ….
And she heard that boy is saying to her….
‘Abar adike….’(Now this side.)
They left the riverside and took the left hand road.
And within five minutes Sanchita recognized the road to the house and within
next five minutes they are approaching the Mukhujyebari , a renowned ancestral house of the village.
Coming near the door the boy stopped.
Sanchita felt that the darkness has increased suddenly.
She soon found the reason.
The light of the lantern has got out.
The boy is standing quietly…. his whole body wet…. Sanchita looked at him and thanked him and then suddenly took out a fifty rupee note and extended it towards the boy….
“ Na Didi….Ami ar janya..’(No, Didi.. not for this..)
The boy not saying a single word more , turned back and started walking.
Sanchita called him.
But he has gone.
He knows very well the way to the river.
Sanchita kept stranded in the rain.
She realized that she had done a wrong thing.
She should not have offered him the money.
She stared towards the ever increasing darkness and rain.
And at that moment she found her brother came running towards her with umbrella asking her where she was …. and ending…. ‘ You have lost the road certainly!’.
‘I did’. Sanchita said softly.
And then she told her brother about the boy.
‘Which boy’.
‘Who showed me the way from the riverside.’
His brother not paying any more importance took her inside the house.
But Sanchita decided that tomorrow she would go to the slums and find the boy and apologise to him.
She went next day. But she didn’t found him.
She gave the description, there are many like him but none was him.
Sanchita came back to Kolkata.
She went Rajpur many times after that.
But she never found him.
Ten years have passed.
Married Sanchita came again with her little son.
She is standing in the open balcony of the old house.
A beautiful view of the river can be seen from here.
Sanchita stood alone.
After so many years she still remembers that boy.
She now thanks God that she never found him.
Because she never wanted to meet him again after so many years.
She in this ten years have felt.. a truth.
That boy is an unique shelter to her.
Or may be.. her unfulfilled apology has turned into an unexplained love.
The wind smells rain.
Sanchita closed her eyes….
She can see….within the horizon…. an evening storm…. a fierce wind…. a song of a Majhi….the trembling lights of lantern….a slow but gently moving figure of a boy…. his footsteps….
engraved in sand….
Sanchita kept on walking.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
The Man with the Lantern
It was twenty past twelve.
And through the shades of midnight the Rajdhani Express suddenly halted.It was unexpected as Rajdhani stops only in some stations..clearly it was nothing but a matter of signal..I can hardly take bed so early thus I stood up and peeped through the glasses.
And I got stranded.
A beautiful night awaiting for me outside.
The station was totally empty..over the glasses I saw some yellow green leaves running scatterdly over the platform in winds..sky clear..stars shining at regular intervals.
It became tough for me to remain within the train.
I walked from the AC –Sleeper class,opened the door and stepped into the station.
As my feet touched the platform, a wind swept me which bear an unknown fresh smell
.Is it a smell of the soil?
Is it a smell of the cattlefields?
Is it the smell of the tree, its branches?
Or is it the smell of the night?
I don’t know but I felt the smell contains ingredients from all of it.
I looked front. There was no trace of any signal.
I started walking. The scattered leaves now roamed over my feet.
The wind blowing in different tunes..the sky looks amazing..no trace of clouds..a faint moonlight spreading herself over this unknown station at this particular night..the air is cold..
I stared at the mesmerizing view of the night which lay before me.
The station though almost empty has a view of solitary loneliness..only a light of the lamppost of the station glowing and pouring on a banyan tree..the tree is old with numerous branches..some green..some yellow..some without leaves..some with leaves shaking in winds..throughout the station beneath the the blue sky the banyan tree with all its shades of colour and spreading of green leaves among the yellowish image resembling as if the only symbol of life..behind the plots of cattlefields..behind some bushes..I saw ..quite far from here..a hazy layout of a steep plateau like structures..from which direction the winds are suppose to be blowing..there was hardly any sound in the place except..the clattering of a night bird..the flapping of its wings..a dog running through the fields parallel to the tracks..a cow standing in the night over the grazing fields..sometimes nodding its head unconsciously..all pictures of loneliness..all a piece of singleness trying to hold the epigraph of time..of life..all sketches of solitude..all pictures of a different world which made this night,this moment,this station so very precious to me..
I thanked God that the train stopped here..
It was really unique..far from all the resemblance of our known world..far from the sorrows and daily struggles of survival..this night showed the vast epitome of the world..lesson of feeling the world for some moment instead of only running and searching for meaningless worldly things..a desire of surrender to this world..to open myself completely and absorb all the wonderful gifts that the nature had to offer..a raga of timeless sensations..a feeling of individualness which can be so pure..so mouthful of essences of rendezvous..
I looked again in front..
Still no signal..
I prayed silently.
That may these moments continue as long as it can, let the signal be not sounded,let it be delayed..let it be delayed..
Suddenly there was a sound.
It gradually came near.
And then to my great surprise, I saw a person appeared from the darkness, behind the banyan tree..
He was an old man..with hairs a mixture of black and white..his face..a conglomeration of ripples..showing his age..his eyes..looking for someone..his hands..holding a lantern..the light now falling on my face..
And then a voice came..a voice which initially was of amazement but gradually reached that of shouting..
‘Harish..tu aaya..?’
The light of the lantern was now totally on my face..a heat coming from the lantern..
I was finding it utterly difficult to open my eyes comfortably..
I did after a while as the light got removed as the person now holding my hand.
‘Harish, mujhe pata tha..tu aayega..akdin na akdin tu jaroor aayega..kahan tha beta tu itne din..’
The old man before me almost looking at me as if he found his lost treasure..he went on speaking some meaningless words..which was enough to realize that there was some mistake going on.
I removed my hand and said in Hindi that I am not Harish and there must be some mistake.
The old man laughed..again tried to hold my hand..he said in a very soft voice.. Tera gussa abhi tak hai..’
I got disgusted and shouted ‘Choriya mujhe! Hat jaiiye Ihanse!’
Maybe my voice reached a higher pitch.
It broke the silence..a bird flew away from the nearby tree..within the scattered light of the platform another person came running and said, ‘Master sab, signal hogaya hai..ab chaliye..’
Hearing his words I looked at the old man, he is wearing a black suite and also in his left hand he has a lantern..indeed he is the stationmaster.
He looked at me strangely.
Winds swept between us.
A cluster of dust whirled.
Moonlight now in strips kissed the shaking leaves.
The stationmaster in disbelief once again hold my hand and said… ‘Tu Harish nahi hai?’
I nodded.
He kept looking at me for some moment.
The moonlight touched the old eyes, Is there any droplets of water?
He started walking back slowly.
Instead the other person who came later on and holding flag in his hand and appeared to be linesman said to me that to forgive the stationmaster. He said he was a poor man who lost his son twenty years back. His son Harish went from here but never came back. Thus the old man for these twenty years hoping each day as each train passes through this station that one day his son would come back.
But it never occurred.
Today also, it didn’t.
‘Usko maf kar dijiye babuji, who bhi Insaan hai’(Forgive him as he is also an human being) The linesman hold my hand and then ran back towards the station room.
Soon the signal was shown.
The green light flashed.
I boarded the steps of Rajdhani.
The train started slowly.
The yellowish platform passed.
The beautiful banyan tree passed.
Its dancing leaves passed.
The blue sky with numerous stars passed.
And then passed the ‘board’ on which the station name was written.
The light of the station as well as the moonlight fell on the name.
‘Paharganj’.
Another wind splashed.
I looked at the signal room.
There is the linesman.
And there is that old man.
Waving flag tiredly, slowly with the lantern in his left hand.
As the train was passing I saw that the old man was looking towards me as I stood in the door.
Did the flag and the lantern trembled?
Or is it just an illusion of mine?
I came back to my seat.
Through the looking glass I saw moonlight kissing all corners of the earth outside.
The outside world with all its people and their emotions was running again parallel to the train.
Another station came.
Passed.
Another came.
Passed.
I closed my eyes.
I can still see the old man with the lantern in his hand and saying with his eyes fully lighted and with a desire of all his life, , ‘Harish..tu aaya?’
His eyes waiting for the answer.
He is living his remaining life for that answer.
A little answer.
And I behaved with him roughly almost treated him like a beggar?
Why?
But what else I can do?
I opened my eyes.
I found my eyelids wet.
I am crying.
Looking outside through the moonlit landscape of the night I slowly uttered one word.
Sorry.
But the word ‘sorry’ never appeared such meaningless to me.
-------------------------------------
------------------------------
And through the shades of midnight the Rajdhani Express suddenly halted.It was unexpected as Rajdhani stops only in some stations..clearly it was nothing but a matter of signal..I can hardly take bed so early thus I stood up and peeped through the glasses.
And I got stranded.
A beautiful night awaiting for me outside.
The station was totally empty..over the glasses I saw some yellow green leaves running scatterdly over the platform in winds..sky clear..stars shining at regular intervals.
It became tough for me to remain within the train.
I walked from the AC –Sleeper class,opened the door and stepped into the station.
As my feet touched the platform, a wind swept me which bear an unknown fresh smell
.Is it a smell of the soil?
Is it a smell of the cattlefields?
Is it the smell of the tree, its branches?
Or is it the smell of the night?
I don’t know but I felt the smell contains ingredients from all of it.
I looked front. There was no trace of any signal.
I started walking. The scattered leaves now roamed over my feet.
The wind blowing in different tunes..the sky looks amazing..no trace of clouds..a faint moonlight spreading herself over this unknown station at this particular night..the air is cold..
I stared at the mesmerizing view of the night which lay before me.
The station though almost empty has a view of solitary loneliness..only a light of the lamppost of the station glowing and pouring on a banyan tree..the tree is old with numerous branches..some green..some yellow..some without leaves..some with leaves shaking in winds..throughout the station beneath the the blue sky the banyan tree with all its shades of colour and spreading of green leaves among the yellowish image resembling as if the only symbol of life..behind the plots of cattlefields..behind some bushes..I saw ..quite far from here..a hazy layout of a steep plateau like structures..from which direction the winds are suppose to be blowing..there was hardly any sound in the place except..the clattering of a night bird..the flapping of its wings..a dog running through the fields parallel to the tracks..a cow standing in the night over the grazing fields..sometimes nodding its head unconsciously..all pictures of loneliness..all a piece of singleness trying to hold the epigraph of time..of life..all sketches of solitude..all pictures of a different world which made this night,this moment,this station so very precious to me..
I thanked God that the train stopped here..
It was really unique..far from all the resemblance of our known world..far from the sorrows and daily struggles of survival..this night showed the vast epitome of the world..lesson of feeling the world for some moment instead of only running and searching for meaningless worldly things..a desire of surrender to this world..to open myself completely and absorb all the wonderful gifts that the nature had to offer..a raga of timeless sensations..a feeling of individualness which can be so pure..so mouthful of essences of rendezvous..
I looked again in front..
Still no signal..
I prayed silently.
That may these moments continue as long as it can, let the signal be not sounded,let it be delayed..let it be delayed..
Suddenly there was a sound.
It gradually came near.
And then to my great surprise, I saw a person appeared from the darkness, behind the banyan tree..
He was an old man..with hairs a mixture of black and white..his face..a conglomeration of ripples..showing his age..his eyes..looking for someone..his hands..holding a lantern..the light now falling on my face..
And then a voice came..a voice which initially was of amazement but gradually reached that of shouting..
‘Harish..tu aaya..?’
The light of the lantern was now totally on my face..a heat coming from the lantern..
I was finding it utterly difficult to open my eyes comfortably..
I did after a while as the light got removed as the person now holding my hand.
‘Harish, mujhe pata tha..tu aayega..akdin na akdin tu jaroor aayega..kahan tha beta tu itne din..’
The old man before me almost looking at me as if he found his lost treasure..he went on speaking some meaningless words..which was enough to realize that there was some mistake going on.
I removed my hand and said in Hindi that I am not Harish and there must be some mistake.
The old man laughed..again tried to hold my hand..he said in a very soft voice.. Tera gussa abhi tak hai..’
I got disgusted and shouted ‘Choriya mujhe! Hat jaiiye Ihanse!’
Maybe my voice reached a higher pitch.
It broke the silence..a bird flew away from the nearby tree..within the scattered light of the platform another person came running and said, ‘Master sab, signal hogaya hai..ab chaliye..’
Hearing his words I looked at the old man, he is wearing a black suite and also in his left hand he has a lantern..indeed he is the stationmaster.
He looked at me strangely.
Winds swept between us.
A cluster of dust whirled.
Moonlight now in strips kissed the shaking leaves.
The stationmaster in disbelief once again hold my hand and said… ‘Tu Harish nahi hai?’
I nodded.
He kept looking at me for some moment.
The moonlight touched the old eyes, Is there any droplets of water?
He started walking back slowly.
Instead the other person who came later on and holding flag in his hand and appeared to be linesman said to me that to forgive the stationmaster. He said he was a poor man who lost his son twenty years back. His son Harish went from here but never came back. Thus the old man for these twenty years hoping each day as each train passes through this station that one day his son would come back.
But it never occurred.
Today also, it didn’t.
‘Usko maf kar dijiye babuji, who bhi Insaan hai’(Forgive him as he is also an human being) The linesman hold my hand and then ran back towards the station room.
Soon the signal was shown.
The green light flashed.
I boarded the steps of Rajdhani.
The train started slowly.
The yellowish platform passed.
The beautiful banyan tree passed.
Its dancing leaves passed.
The blue sky with numerous stars passed.
And then passed the ‘board’ on which the station name was written.
The light of the station as well as the moonlight fell on the name.
‘Paharganj’.
Another wind splashed.
I looked at the signal room.
There is the linesman.
And there is that old man.
Waving flag tiredly, slowly with the lantern in his left hand.
As the train was passing I saw that the old man was looking towards me as I stood in the door.
Did the flag and the lantern trembled?
Or is it just an illusion of mine?
I came back to my seat.
Through the looking glass I saw moonlight kissing all corners of the earth outside.
The outside world with all its people and their emotions was running again parallel to the train.
Another station came.
Passed.
Another came.
Passed.
I closed my eyes.
I can still see the old man with the lantern in his hand and saying with his eyes fully lighted and with a desire of all his life, , ‘Harish..tu aaya?’
His eyes waiting for the answer.
He is living his remaining life for that answer.
A little answer.
And I behaved with him roughly almost treated him like a beggar?
Why?
But what else I can do?
I opened my eyes.
I found my eyelids wet.
I am crying.
Looking outside through the moonlit landscape of the night I slowly uttered one word.
Sorry.
But the word ‘sorry’ never appeared such meaningless to me.
-------------------------------------
------------------------------
Monday, August 23, 2010
The Call
I have somewhere togo..
I have nowhere to go..
I feel like breaking the shackles and start a run.. for life..
I feel my Journey shifts its course with each shine of an ageless star..
I found the canvas of the known city with sketches of untouched unknown..
I found the world of vanity fair with shades of faces and masks..
I saw the birth of a melancholy disease lying
I saw lying just beside where love opened herself
I saw some wrong letters posted in unknown addresses..
I saw a different language with different expressions unfold..
I found horizon being too small..sometimes..vast ..unique..
I found the boats dwindling in turbulent waters with dimmy yellow lights..
I found still an invitation is there..
And I am coming..just coming..
I have plenty to offer..yet I have nothing to offer..
I have with me the shadow of past and the dreams of a future..
I am walking along with ..the distance of the night..
I am walking through the known corridors and unknown streets of my beloved city..
Can anyone recognize me?
I have come..I have arrived..!!
Thursday, August 19, 2010
On the Ruins of a Forgotten Temple
I am standing on the ruins of a forgotten temple
The temple has no Goddesses
Only layers of time errected
Like invisible inscriptions
The script, yet to be deciphered
The air around flowing as if trying yet again
To unfold the undeciphered letters of time
All around me
Are engraved
Wonders of time
Stories of unknown people
Who on the brink of being Known again remained unknown
A turn of oblivian towards the annals of closed chapters
As if these forgotten ruins are waiting anxiously
For a Nemesis of time
And as I stood stranded on the
Rocky ground of this broken temple
I found
That within
The fragments
Of historical ruins
Different fragments of me myself
Getting mixed..as if lost
A beautiful surrender of melancholy moods
I kept standing
Only like the extinct root of the forgotten time and days
Lay the broken shrine ....
Where bloodspots
are still not
removed!
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Some Midnight Thoughts
(From Pages of my Diary)
The Midnight came with a beautiful solitary tune of a flute!
A cresent shaped moon adore the sky with the very threat of those floating white clouds ..the leaves of the trees shaking as if with a soft touch of a woman..
Outside the window the world looks like a fairy tale..and this reigning framed moment of dream may be what it is called peace indeed..and these moments..each single grain of time are precious as they departs with twinkle and a new comes. but this momentary vision isn’t it all? As time goes on..night..then day..then again night..as if in a brilliant rhythm set by nature..like a strings of a tanpura..
But still we are in a run..just running ..for what I suppose no one knows..Where? That is too uncertain.
Me too running and running like an hypnotized maniac..
And in the process we often speak some words which are half understood..
Write Thousand undeciphered letters and words..
And thus it seems like that We are like in a journey ..when with the whistle of a train ..our journey is on..the magic of known people..unknown faces..different stories..shades of silence..in black and white..a strange game of departing in dark and coming back to light continues..running stations like cascades..the sudden halt in a lonely station..
As if I am no one..as if I am someone..as if I am nowhere..yet somewhere.. and in search of words and a different meaning ..of life..and love..
Like the sudden stop of no signal the train start moving again..as if it has crossed its speculated hour of existence and presence in this particular mapless remote station..
The outer world of silence breaks and again starts running..
Along with us..
And in its way with a striking thunder streak of lightning..
In the Bluish light ..a cry..a cry of the midnight..
One finds..the earth is shaking
And then getting broken into
Piesces and piesces..
And suddenly..
A naked Primitive earth is shining in an ageless light of the moon and the stars..
One find..there there is a meaning..
There is an answer.. of thousand unanswered questions..
Somewhere being written..
Like the last words of Tagore..
“The First sun of the First day
Questioned
The new born soul
Who are you?
No answer came.
Years passed and passed
And the Last Sun of the Last day
Uttered the Last Question
On the Western Ocean..
Who are you?
No Answer came!”
The Midnight came with a beautiful solitary tune of a flute!
A cresent shaped moon adore the sky with the very threat of those floating white clouds ..the leaves of the trees shaking as if with a soft touch of a woman..
Outside the window the world looks like a fairy tale..and this reigning framed moment of dream may be what it is called peace indeed..and these moments..each single grain of time are precious as they departs with twinkle and a new comes. but this momentary vision isn’t it all? As time goes on..night..then day..then again night..as if in a brilliant rhythm set by nature..like a strings of a tanpura..
But still we are in a run..just running ..for what I suppose no one knows..Where? That is too uncertain.
Me too running and running like an hypnotized maniac..
And in the process we often speak some words which are half understood..
Write Thousand undeciphered letters and words..
And thus it seems like that We are like in a journey ..when with the whistle of a train ..our journey is on..the magic of known people..unknown faces..different stories..shades of silence..in black and white..a strange game of departing in dark and coming back to light continues..running stations like cascades..the sudden halt in a lonely station..
As if I am no one..as if I am someone..as if I am nowhere..yet somewhere.. and in search of words and a different meaning ..of life..and love..
Like the sudden stop of no signal the train start moving again..as if it has crossed its speculated hour of existence and presence in this particular mapless remote station..
The outer world of silence breaks and again starts running..
Along with us..
And in its way with a striking thunder streak of lightning..
In the Bluish light ..a cry..a cry of the midnight..
One finds..the earth is shaking
And then getting broken into
Piesces and piesces..
And suddenly..
A naked Primitive earth is shining in an ageless light of the moon and the stars..
One find..there there is a meaning..
There is an answer.. of thousand unanswered questions..
Somewhere being written..
Like the last words of Tagore..
“The First sun of the First day
Questioned
The new born soul
Who are you?
No answer came.
Years passed and passed
And the Last Sun of the Last day
Uttered the Last Question
On the Western Ocean..
Who are you?
No Answer came!”
Monday, August 16, 2010
The Boatman on the Ganges
‘Babu bhalo achen?’
I am sitting along with a friend in a roadside stall on Outram Ghat. Afternoon slowly slipped away and changed colour to evening and now after sunset the sky reflecting vibrant colours of wonder. In front of us is the Ganges river, the orange sky with its purple shades reflecting in the moving waves of the water and presenting before us almost a naturalism masterpiece of Abanindranath Tagore. And at that time, the question came.
‘Babu Bhalo achen?’( How are you Babu?’)
Again the question and now I turned and saw that a boy is standing wearing a button less shirt and half pant standing before us.
His face holding a smile, his face appearing dark as he is standing back to light.
I nodded.
‘Babu, nouka chorben?’ (Will you like a boat ride?’)
‘No’, I said. At this moment I am busy talking with my long-lost friend Abhi and no mood in disturbing our trip down memory lane.
‘Babu, aj saradin kno rojgar hyni, babu..’
(He again asked me for the ride and said that today he hardly earned anything as there are no customers.)
Now Abhi speak out.
‘Ai bollo to lagbe na, bhag..’! ( Abhi, almost scolded and asked the boy to go!’)
The boy again looked at me, and then with a more dark face went away.
We chatted for almost an hour and then Abhi got up, he had an appointment.
I looked at the watch.
Twenty past six.
I thought for a walk along the Ganges.
I started walking.
Walking alongside a river is always a pleasure. I remember that in childhood, my father used to bring me often here..the scent of the river..the trees..the gentle drop of a scattered leaf from the trees..the flying birds..their clattering for homes around evening..the different types of people who gather around..the jump of some naked children in the water..the anchored boats rocking gently over the waves..the sounds of a Steamer bisecting the air..
‘Troot……..!’
Again a sound from a moving Steamer or locally called ‘Launch’ surprised me and make me back to reality.
And I noticed that in these twenty years many things changed, but the atmosphere around the Ganges still remained more or less same.
Far across I can see the light of the ice cream parlour ‘Scoop’ shinning bright.
I walked on.
As I came towards the Ferighat where the boats are anchored I noticed the boy.
Over an anchored boat that boy is sitting and dipping his feet inside the water.
I walked towards him.
And as I approached him, I found that at the side of the boat written with an unprofessional artist and bold letters ‘Harankheya’.
The name itself again made me nostalgic and at once I recognized that boat belong to Majhi named Haran, and not only that from childhood, I knew that person..
Haranmajhi!
I went back twenty years and saw that a boy holding his father’s hand came in one early morning..the day was Mahalaya( An auspicious day marking the arrival of Devi Durga on the earth)..my father came to take a dip in the holy Ganges and utter sacred hymns in memory of our ancestors, a custom locally called ‘Tarpan’..father went to the Ganges and I unable to see the incident among the crowd and jumped over the deck of a small boat..as I stood there I suddenly found that the boat is sailing away..I turned back and saw that the boat was moving and a person wearing loincloth holding the baitha in hand sailing the boat smiling and saying, ‘Chalo Khokababu tomay aktu ghuriye ani..’and he really took me for a tour around the Ganges for ten minutes and when we are back my father smiling offered him money but that boatman with dark brown body and hands as if made of steel said, ‘Na Babu, amni Khokababuke ghuriye anlam!’(No need for money Babu, I just took your son for a fun tour!)..before we leave we came to know that his name is Haranmajhi..from then on each month my father brought me here twice a month..not only because my father himself liked him but also because I now come to know that he wanted to sow in his son..fragrance of some other world..where real teachings of life begins..I can remember those days clearly..sun setting around the Ganges, far across the tower of the Fort William can be seen as then there was no Vidyasagar Setu..Haranmajhi went on speaking on his own..about his ancestral land in Barisal..his land..Padma river..how they were thrown out of their own land after independence..his fight with a crocodile once near the Sundarban delta..once how he almost got caught in the hand of the decoits..how much he love to spend nights in open river..sometimes he sings..one of his common Bhatiali song was..
‘O Paran amr kon kul theke kon kule niye jas re more..’
sometimes while sailing how he mixes Khaini in his two hands and place it delicately within his Biri rotten lips..often he use to say me, ‘Khokababu jabe amar sange..anek dure tomay niye jabo..jabe..chalo beriye pori..;no doubt I was absolutely ready to move but as usual it is an invitation to a new world and it never occurred really..then I grew up..got busy in study and I still can remember about dreams where I saw Haranmajhi saying..’Khokababu..jabe amar sange?’ Then days passed..time passed..Haranmajhi gradually got lost within my daily busy schedule..
Haranmajhi to me is not only a boatman or ‘Majhi’ but he was once my childhood hero..who sailed away miles after miles in waters..in new lands..in new places..meeting different interesting people of whom one can dream of..Haranmajhi may be was a very simple man and maybe he have never sailed away anywhere else except the limited corners of the Ganges around the Outram Ghat..but he was according to me..just like some Voyager like Vasco Da Gama or Columbus..
Haranmajhi was my childhood.
And I never wanted to lose it.
As the evening sky slowly gathered all colours of heaven I started walking.
My Childhood is not lost.
Only it is now within covers.
As I am carrying my childhood within me ..similarly my dreams of Haranmajhi would also go on sailing..sailing far..far..
into a land of eternal Romance!..
I am sitting along with a friend in a roadside stall on Outram Ghat. Afternoon slowly slipped away and changed colour to evening and now after sunset the sky reflecting vibrant colours of wonder. In front of us is the Ganges river, the orange sky with its purple shades reflecting in the moving waves of the water and presenting before us almost a naturalism masterpiece of Abanindranath Tagore. And at that time, the question came.
‘Babu Bhalo achen?’( How are you Babu?’)
Again the question and now I turned and saw that a boy is standing wearing a button less shirt and half pant standing before us.
His face holding a smile, his face appearing dark as he is standing back to light.
I nodded.
‘Babu, nouka chorben?’ (Will you like a boat ride?’)
‘No’, I said. At this moment I am busy talking with my long-lost friend Abhi and no mood in disturbing our trip down memory lane.
‘Babu, aj saradin kno rojgar hyni, babu..’
(He again asked me for the ride and said that today he hardly earned anything as there are no customers.)
Now Abhi speak out.
‘Ai bollo to lagbe na, bhag..’! ( Abhi, almost scolded and asked the boy to go!’)
The boy again looked at me, and then with a more dark face went away.
We chatted for almost an hour and then Abhi got up, he had an appointment.
I looked at the watch.
Twenty past six.
I thought for a walk along the Ganges.
I started walking.
Walking alongside a river is always a pleasure. I remember that in childhood, my father used to bring me often here..the scent of the river..the trees..the gentle drop of a scattered leaf from the trees..the flying birds..their clattering for homes around evening..the different types of people who gather around..the jump of some naked children in the water..the anchored boats rocking gently over the waves..the sounds of a Steamer bisecting the air..
‘Troot……..!’
Again a sound from a moving Steamer or locally called ‘Launch’ surprised me and make me back to reality.
And I noticed that in these twenty years many things changed, but the atmosphere around the Ganges still remained more or less same.
Far across I can see the light of the ice cream parlour ‘Scoop’ shinning bright.
I walked on.
As I came towards the Ferighat where the boats are anchored I noticed the boy.
Over an anchored boat that boy is sitting and dipping his feet inside the water.
I walked towards him.
And as I approached him, I found that at the side of the boat written with an unprofessional artist and bold letters ‘Harankheya’.
The name itself again made me nostalgic and at once I recognized that boat belong to Majhi named Haran, and not only that from childhood, I knew that person..
Haranmajhi!
I went back twenty years and saw that a boy holding his father’s hand came in one early morning..the day was Mahalaya( An auspicious day marking the arrival of Devi Durga on the earth)..my father came to take a dip in the holy Ganges and utter sacred hymns in memory of our ancestors, a custom locally called ‘Tarpan’..father went to the Ganges and I unable to see the incident among the crowd and jumped over the deck of a small boat..as I stood there I suddenly found that the boat is sailing away..I turned back and saw that the boat was moving and a person wearing loincloth holding the baitha in hand sailing the boat smiling and saying, ‘Chalo Khokababu tomay aktu ghuriye ani..’and he really took me for a tour around the Ganges for ten minutes and when we are back my father smiling offered him money but that boatman with dark brown body and hands as if made of steel said, ‘Na Babu, amni Khokababuke ghuriye anlam!’(No need for money Babu, I just took your son for a fun tour!)..before we leave we came to know that his name is Haranmajhi..from then on each month my father brought me here twice a month..not only because my father himself liked him but also because I now come to know that he wanted to sow in his son..fragrance of some other world..where real teachings of life begins..I can remember those days clearly..sun setting around the Ganges, far across the tower of the Fort William can be seen as then there was no Vidyasagar Setu..Haranmajhi went on speaking on his own..about his ancestral land in Barisal..his land..Padma river..how they were thrown out of their own land after independence..his fight with a crocodile once near the Sundarban delta..once how he almost got caught in the hand of the decoits..how much he love to spend nights in open river..sometimes he sings..one of his common Bhatiali song was..
‘O Paran amr kon kul theke kon kule niye jas re more..’
sometimes while sailing how he mixes Khaini in his two hands and place it delicately within his Biri rotten lips..often he use to say me, ‘Khokababu jabe amar sange..anek dure tomay niye jabo..jabe..chalo beriye pori..;no doubt I was absolutely ready to move but as usual it is an invitation to a new world and it never occurred really..then I grew up..got busy in study and I still can remember about dreams where I saw Haranmajhi saying..’Khokababu..jabe amar sange?’ Then days passed..time passed..Haranmajhi gradually got lost within my daily busy schedule..
Haranmajhi to me is not only a boatman or ‘Majhi’ but he was once my childhood hero..who sailed away miles after miles in waters..in new lands..in new places..meeting different interesting people of whom one can dream of..Haranmajhi may be was a very simple man and maybe he have never sailed away anywhere else except the limited corners of the Ganges around the Outram Ghat..but he was according to me..just like some Voyager like Vasco Da Gama or Columbus..
Haranmajhi was my childhood.
And I never wanted to lose it.
As the evening sky slowly gathered all colours of heaven I started walking.
My Childhood is not lost.
Only it is now within covers.
As I am carrying my childhood within me ..similarly my dreams of Haranmajhi would also go on sailing..sailing far..far..
into a land of eternal Romance!..
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
A Lonely Smile
The evening sun has just touched the shades of pink.
Piesces of floating clouds sailing as a flight of pigeon dipped in white colour. A soft wind blowing with traces of warmth and also with a hint of cold. A chilled November night is approaching.
I swapped my jacket and zipped it.
I stopped.
In front, there lies four different roads, all sloping down the rocky path of the Amber fort. But all the roads appeared different to me. And slowly I realized the truth.
I have lost the road.
This is not the way by which I came to the fort. Though I came by walking along with others but now I must be in the wrong way.
I stood and thought for a moment.
A sharp wind swept me.
Temperatures dropping seriously.
I started walking the road that I am so long following.
I glanced at the watch.
6.45PM.
No, the bus would not wait for me as already thirty minutes have passed than the scheduled time.
The road is sloping as like many roads to the fort. I calculated, the bus stop must be 4Kms from the fort gate.
So a long way to go.
But gradually I came to realize that this sloping road can end up anywhere else but not at the busstop, because what it looks, that I am gradually coming near to a village.
Straw thatched houses can be seen in the surroundings.
Though hardly any people around.
Must be all have gone for business near the market area and to the fort and would return at night once the tourist returns.
I thought about again turning back and go to the path through which I came but the idea seemed to be in vain because then also there is no assurance that I will be finding the right path.
Another chilled wind passed me.
November cold is really grasping.
At that moment I saw a group of local Rajasthani girls passing .They are wearing colourful Rajasthani dresses and holding some in their clothing bucket , it appeared that they sale these dresses with other utensils and jewelleries to the tourists.
I approached them at once and asked “ Bus stop ka rasta idhar hai keya?”(Where I can found the road to the bus stop?)
The group of girls stopped.
But no answer came.
I gain asked the same question.
Now a girl replied.
“Sab, ap galat raste pe aa gaye hai..Busstop us par hai..”
(The bus stop is on the other side)
I was about to turn back when that girl came forward and said, ‘Chaliye, main apko dikhata hoon!”
She took a totally different path and soon we again entered the fort from the back side.
A light blue shade of the crescent shaped moon slowly spreading through the evening as it is becoming ripe. Wind,with sharp teeth blowing at regular intervals.
We turned another lane of the fort.
Yes,now I can follow the map of the fort which I explored so long and which led me to miss the bus and lost the road.
There..just right is the Dewan –e-Aam..further left..the Ganesha Poll and straight from that within the royal palace chamber is the astounding Sheesh mahal.
The marble floors of the fort in this soft moonlight looking like a flowing river.
The girl went on.
I asked her, “How long will it take?”
“Aur dus-panra mins sab.”
She is walking fast. She is a young girl , hardly 20-22, her neglected strips of hair floating in wind over her forehead,her green skirt also sailing in wind and her yellowish rajasthani choli glittering sometimes in moonlight.
We passed the Sheelamata Temple.We again walked straight and then again left.
I can see over the sky the large walls of the fort over that in dark the towering shade of Aravalli range.I can also see the Maota lake far down and the whole Jaipur city below which looks like now in night as a strings of emeralds with a mesmerizing pink.
‘Beautiful’ I acclaimed almost in silence.
The girl went on.And then asked “Hamara sahar acha laga sab?”
“Khubsurat” I replied.
She went on walking.
She look like an open spirit of nature..simple..pure and in full flow.
Now we are sloping down, the narrow rocky road beside which the roadside stalls with various commodities can be seen.
We passed them.
Again we came to a bushy rocky path where the girl once stopped and said “ Sab zara samalke aaiye..aage rasta toota hai..”(Just careful the road is broken in front).
I stared at the girl. She looked really sincere as a guide.
Within five minutes I came to the bus stop. Though now almost 8.20 PM , no buses are available, though some arrangement can surely be done.
‘Bahaut Shukriya’ I turned to the girl and then took out my purse.
‘Nehi Babuji..mujhe kuch nehi chaihe..”She raised her hand in protest.
I looked at the girl. She may be right. Money can’t buy everything, now it appears almost like an insult.
“Shukrira” I once again uttered and then took out my mobile and clicked it for a snap.
‘Keya sab?’ The girl got amazed.
I said her in hindi that I want to remember the girl who has showed me the right way and then showed her the snap in my mobile.
At that moment, must be the moon reached her climax..
All clouds disappeared from sky..
The winds became tender..
The five hundred years old city of Amber became all quite for a moment..
I don’t know what exactly happened.
But I saw the girl before me..her eyelids trembling..so her lips..and her eyes holding an ocean of happiness and then for a moment she touched my palm and said, “Shukriya sab, shukriya!”
I got stunned for a moment.
Sometimes a moment can make you so special.
The girl was about to turn when I asked her once again her name.
The girl turned towards me and looked at my face.
And smiled again.
Just like the snap of the mobile.
And then said in a soft voice.. ‘Jhimli’!
And then turned back and went away.
I stood for a moment and then rented a jeep and came back to hotel.
The whole night I thought about the moment.
A snap,can appear such valuable to someone?
A snap can give such happiness to someone?
Next morning I came back to Amber fort again. I need to find the girl. Because I want to give her the print out of the snap.
A thing which she can only treasure.
This time I cautiously followed the road and came to the spot where I found the girl.
But the girl was not there.
The thatched houses were there.
I asked someone, even the security guards of the fort but no one can tell anything about her.
I waited till afternoon and then till evening.
But there was no trace.
Only when, I was about to comeback a shopkeeper asked me.. “Keya nam bataya apne?”
‘Jhimli.’
‘Ha, abhi pehchana lekin whoh to sab ek banjara thi, aaj hi nikal gayi aur koi jagah ke liye’(She is a nomads or a ‘Banjara’ and she today went out for some other place.)
A Banzara!
I thanked the shopkeeper and then came back to Jaipur.
I never found her again.
I met numerous girl after that,came across much beautiful faces but none of them ever appeared to me such innocent such beautiful like that one face captured in my mobile in a moonlit night beneath the foothills of the old Amber Fort.
Thus sometimes when I am alone and when I feel like loosing the road to life or in a verge of loosing mood I slowly open my mobile and that snap.
The snap of a most beautiful girl.
With a lonely smile.
Piesces of floating clouds sailing as a flight of pigeon dipped in white colour. A soft wind blowing with traces of warmth and also with a hint of cold. A chilled November night is approaching.
I swapped my jacket and zipped it.
I stopped.
In front, there lies four different roads, all sloping down the rocky path of the Amber fort. But all the roads appeared different to me. And slowly I realized the truth.
I have lost the road.
This is not the way by which I came to the fort. Though I came by walking along with others but now I must be in the wrong way.
I stood and thought for a moment.
A sharp wind swept me.
Temperatures dropping seriously.
I started walking the road that I am so long following.
I glanced at the watch.
6.45PM.
No, the bus would not wait for me as already thirty minutes have passed than the scheduled time.
The road is sloping as like many roads to the fort. I calculated, the bus stop must be 4Kms from the fort gate.
So a long way to go.
But gradually I came to realize that this sloping road can end up anywhere else but not at the busstop, because what it looks, that I am gradually coming near to a village.
Straw thatched houses can be seen in the surroundings.
Though hardly any people around.
Must be all have gone for business near the market area and to the fort and would return at night once the tourist returns.
I thought about again turning back and go to the path through which I came but the idea seemed to be in vain because then also there is no assurance that I will be finding the right path.
Another chilled wind passed me.
November cold is really grasping.
At that moment I saw a group of local Rajasthani girls passing .They are wearing colourful Rajasthani dresses and holding some in their clothing bucket , it appeared that they sale these dresses with other utensils and jewelleries to the tourists.
I approached them at once and asked “ Bus stop ka rasta idhar hai keya?”(Where I can found the road to the bus stop?)
The group of girls stopped.
But no answer came.
I gain asked the same question.
Now a girl replied.
“Sab, ap galat raste pe aa gaye hai..Busstop us par hai..”
(The bus stop is on the other side)
I was about to turn back when that girl came forward and said, ‘Chaliye, main apko dikhata hoon!”
She took a totally different path and soon we again entered the fort from the back side.
A light blue shade of the crescent shaped moon slowly spreading through the evening as it is becoming ripe. Wind,with sharp teeth blowing at regular intervals.
We turned another lane of the fort.
Yes,now I can follow the map of the fort which I explored so long and which led me to miss the bus and lost the road.
There..just right is the Dewan –e-Aam..further left..the Ganesha Poll and straight from that within the royal palace chamber is the astounding Sheesh mahal.
The marble floors of the fort in this soft moonlight looking like a flowing river.
The girl went on.
I asked her, “How long will it take?”
“Aur dus-panra mins sab.”
She is walking fast. She is a young girl , hardly 20-22, her neglected strips of hair floating in wind over her forehead,her green skirt also sailing in wind and her yellowish rajasthani choli glittering sometimes in moonlight.
We passed the Sheelamata Temple.We again walked straight and then again left.
I can see over the sky the large walls of the fort over that in dark the towering shade of Aravalli range.I can also see the Maota lake far down and the whole Jaipur city below which looks like now in night as a strings of emeralds with a mesmerizing pink.
‘Beautiful’ I acclaimed almost in silence.
The girl went on.And then asked “Hamara sahar acha laga sab?”
“Khubsurat” I replied.
She went on walking.
She look like an open spirit of nature..simple..pure and in full flow.
Now we are sloping down, the narrow rocky road beside which the roadside stalls with various commodities can be seen.
We passed them.
Again we came to a bushy rocky path where the girl once stopped and said “ Sab zara samalke aaiye..aage rasta toota hai..”(Just careful the road is broken in front).
I stared at the girl. She looked really sincere as a guide.
Within five minutes I came to the bus stop. Though now almost 8.20 PM , no buses are available, though some arrangement can surely be done.
‘Bahaut Shukriya’ I turned to the girl and then took out my purse.
‘Nehi Babuji..mujhe kuch nehi chaihe..”She raised her hand in protest.
I looked at the girl. She may be right. Money can’t buy everything, now it appears almost like an insult.
“Shukrira” I once again uttered and then took out my mobile and clicked it for a snap.
‘Keya sab?’ The girl got amazed.
I said her in hindi that I want to remember the girl who has showed me the right way and then showed her the snap in my mobile.
At that moment, must be the moon reached her climax..
All clouds disappeared from sky..
The winds became tender..
The five hundred years old city of Amber became all quite for a moment..
I don’t know what exactly happened.
But I saw the girl before me..her eyelids trembling..so her lips..and her eyes holding an ocean of happiness and then for a moment she touched my palm and said, “Shukriya sab, shukriya!”
I got stunned for a moment.
Sometimes a moment can make you so special.
The girl was about to turn when I asked her once again her name.
The girl turned towards me and looked at my face.
And smiled again.
Just like the snap of the mobile.
And then said in a soft voice.. ‘Jhimli’!
And then turned back and went away.
I stood for a moment and then rented a jeep and came back to hotel.
The whole night I thought about the moment.
A snap,can appear such valuable to someone?
A snap can give such happiness to someone?
Next morning I came back to Amber fort again. I need to find the girl. Because I want to give her the print out of the snap.
A thing which she can only treasure.
This time I cautiously followed the road and came to the spot where I found the girl.
But the girl was not there.
The thatched houses were there.
I asked someone, even the security guards of the fort but no one can tell anything about her.
I waited till afternoon and then till evening.
But there was no trace.
Only when, I was about to comeback a shopkeeper asked me.. “Keya nam bataya apne?”
‘Jhimli.’
‘Ha, abhi pehchana lekin whoh to sab ek banjara thi, aaj hi nikal gayi aur koi jagah ke liye’(She is a nomads or a ‘Banjara’ and she today went out for some other place.)
A Banzara!
I thanked the shopkeeper and then came back to Jaipur.
I never found her again.
I met numerous girl after that,came across much beautiful faces but none of them ever appeared to me such innocent such beautiful like that one face captured in my mobile in a moonlit night beneath the foothills of the old Amber Fort.
Thus sometimes when I am alone and when I feel like loosing the road to life or in a verge of loosing mood I slowly open my mobile and that snap.
The snap of a most beautiful girl.
With a lonely smile.
Friday, July 30, 2010
The Gift of the Monsoon
At last you came..
I waited for long with a desire of a thirsty wings of a bird to fly
But now as the moment came when you came finally
I have nothing to offer you
Except lostness and solitude.
The moment you came....
A hush of sharp wind swept the city of gray concretes
The begging bowl dropped from the hands of a wrinkled beggar
With scattered pieces of coins
Two college girls passed me running with their eyes half-closed
A swarm of dust strangled the traffic for seconds
And then the last ray of sun shaded away from the day
And my sun-burnt red face got the first touch of the Monsoon
My pains..my anger..my frustrations and all the daily hazards
Now got soaked in the water droplets
Making me nothing
But Pure..Very Pure.
And then you came
In drops..in showers..in twinkling eyes..in dancing eyelids..in tottering lips..
In open hands..in soaked hairs..in muddy shoes..
In Loving soul..
And in the first blooming of the first letter..first word..
The first tune of rhythm..
Another ordinary evening which turned special
As I got a poem..
I started walking in the rain..
I walked completely soaked..
Behind me the city looked green washed in rain
The scent of the wet soil in air..
I walked
I walked..
And I smiled..
I can loose everything but still I would be special
I would be different
As I have the gift of words with me..
The sheer amazement of poetry..
Which is my truth
My Private Honour!
I waited for long with a desire of a thirsty wings of a bird to fly
But now as the moment came when you came finally
I have nothing to offer you
Except lostness and solitude.
The moment you came....
A hush of sharp wind swept the city of gray concretes
The begging bowl dropped from the hands of a wrinkled beggar
With scattered pieces of coins
Two college girls passed me running with their eyes half-closed
A swarm of dust strangled the traffic for seconds
And then the last ray of sun shaded away from the day
And my sun-burnt red face got the first touch of the Monsoon
My pains..my anger..my frustrations and all the daily hazards
Now got soaked in the water droplets
Making me nothing
But Pure..Very Pure.
And then you came
In drops..in showers..in twinkling eyes..in dancing eyelids..in tottering lips..
In open hands..in soaked hairs..in muddy shoes..
In Loving soul..
And in the first blooming of the first letter..first word..
The first tune of rhythm..
Another ordinary evening which turned special
As I got a poem..
I started walking in the rain..
I walked completely soaked..
Behind me the city looked green washed in rain
The scent of the wet soil in air..
I walked
I walked..
And I smiled..
I can loose everything but still I would be special
I would be different
As I have the gift of words with me..
The sheer amazement of poetry..
Which is my truth
My Private Honour!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
A Night in the Lost Land
I am standing before a rock.
A brownish black moisture ridden age old rock. Beneath the deep blue sky and the boundless moonlight and the dancing shades of tree leaves in a land of utter silence , I again observed the rock. On it are engraved with little sharp letters..J.P. From the dust covered and wretched stretch marks of the rock, it looks like the letters are written much early may be several hundred years ago. Or may be I am mistaking, the search of exact time and period is meaningless without a carbon test but still I feel, that the letters..those two letters means something special..a story..a romance of the gone days..when this vast tract of popular land was nothing but deserted and only jungles abundant. And within such wilderness…those misty tunes of ancient nature..themes of lostness..natural canopy of sublime moonlight..windy scarce nights..days of endless rain I tried to retrospect a figure of a man roaming within these area and dropping and bending before rocks amd may be one day in a mood of eternal wanderer engraving in this rock those very two letters..
J.P.
James Princep.
In this place, this remote village far away from Sanchi..a famous spot of Madhya Pradesh in such mood of exploring travelers one can remember of only one man..James Princep..a rich East India Company merchant, the assay-master of the India Government Mint, Calcutta, a brilliant Archaeologist and the Secretaryof the Asiatic Society who not only was also a numismatic to find out descent of the Gupta coins from the Kushan prototypes and the Punch-marked system of coin manufacture in India.
Again I looked at the letters.
Moonlight is little less now it is now being sliced by moving flocks of clouds. Winds a bit harsh at this hour of the night of the month of August.
Looking at the engraved letters on the rock I again tried to think that for years a man lying in this land of jungles and mapless remote tracts with surrounded numbered inhabitants and coolies, each day trying to study the mysterious letters on rocks and edicts and each night spending almost sleepless under fire dedicating himself to only one work..to solve the mysteries of time..the letters offering wealth of untold people and land and their deeds..the curve of the letters..the bend of the letters..the sharp cut..the steep rise..the numismatic diagonasi of different writings of various civilisation..I try to think about the man who by himself changed the course of Indian History and Indian Archaeology and thus finished the unfinished work of Sir William Jones after forty years of his death when in 1837..one day he found the link to solve and decipher the scripts and locate the word ‘Danam’ (gifts) in numerous inscriptions and the similarity of Brahmi Script with other Writings..
‘Babu, ustaraf mat Jaiye, khatra hai!’
Suddenly, a voice came from behind.
I got so much absorbed in my thinkings seeing the letters J.P. that it took time to cone to presence.
I turned and saw a young boy is standing, he is wearing only a loincloth, his upper part naked, his hairs uncombed for days.
‘Khatra?’( Danger?’) I asked.
‘Ha babu, pahar ke upar bhalu hai, Bara sap bhi hai’(In the Jungle up the hills there is bear, snakes too!)
‘Aur keya hai?’ I asked again smiling.
‘Cabe hai Babu?’
Cabe kya?’
The boy started describing me.
And then I found out that ‘Cabe’ means ‘Cave’.
I got excited.
Caves? Kahan?’
The boy pointed up the hills.
I started to walk.
The boy came along with me.
‘Ap nehi ja sakte Babu’! Oonha koi nehi jata! Jungle hai!’
(The boy prevented me to go there as there is deep jungle and no one goes there.)
‘Kis taraf hai?’(Which way, the cave?’)
The boy again pointed his hand towards the hills.
It’s much upwards and in this night without any arms and instruments and a group it is impoosible really to go there. I nooded and agreed with the boy.
I stopped.
And then asked the boy his name.
‘Shahu Babu, Rambilas Sahu.’
I again questioned him that what he is doing here at this hour?
‘Chaukidar ne bheja mujhe aapko bulane ke liye.’
I undersood that the Chaukidar of the House where I am staying for the night send him to call me. The house was empty and it was one of my friend’s ancestral home. I love remote places and specially I always wanted to spend a night here in this village just miles away from Sanchi.
‘Aap jaoge pahar ke upar Babu?’
The boy asked.
I nodded.
‘Kal subah main apko le jaoonga!’
The boy promised me that tomorrow morning he would take me up the hills but tomorrow early morning I have to depart to Bhopal, as next day I have to reach office.
‘Aur Kabhi aa jana Babu! Mera nam yaad rakhna.. Shahu!’
I will definitely remember the name of the boy. And I really wish that one day I would return here to go up the hills and explore the caves.
I again looked at those two letters..J.P.
May be these two letters means something else.
May be it do not denote whom I thought..but to me the initials which I found within a rock in the foothills of Sanchi would always represent the man who deciphered the Brahmi Script and Ashokan Edicts..James Princep..
I handed over the boy, a twenty rupee note.
Shahu smiled.
An innocent smile of the village boy.
‘Next time I would surely go up the hills with you Shahu!’
I smiled and started walking.
And then again stopped.
Then turned and kept my eyes over the hills.
Night is ripe now..some birds flying high..searching homes..a night bird with a sweet melancholy tune filling up the air..moon again shining with its full glow..sky deep blue..stars shining near the horizon..Far across over the hills the Buddhist Monument of Sanchi can be seen..its brilliant architecture..and far upwards..much higher..almost near the summit..some dark mysterious rocky structures can be seen..are the the caves?..I decided to come back here once more..may be within those caves..some more romances of history waiting for ages footsteps of civilized men to bring wanders of time..in limelight..
Or may be I would never come back here..
Let if there are some hidden wonders of history are preserved within the caves..let it be remain there..let something should remain which would still arose amazement..wonders ..in this so called civilized world..where men are climbing and climbing all stages of success and wanders..trying to remove all mysteries by their teachings..
Let some thing should remain..
For which may be a simple man..like this innocent village boy Shahu can live on..
And being illiterate still can draw such wonderful innocent smile..
I again looked at the caves..
Let the mystery remain..
Let some script still remain undeciphered..
I walked on.
A brownish black moisture ridden age old rock. Beneath the deep blue sky and the boundless moonlight and the dancing shades of tree leaves in a land of utter silence , I again observed the rock. On it are engraved with little sharp letters..J.P. From the dust covered and wretched stretch marks of the rock, it looks like the letters are written much early may be several hundred years ago. Or may be I am mistaking, the search of exact time and period is meaningless without a carbon test but still I feel, that the letters..those two letters means something special..a story..a romance of the gone days..when this vast tract of popular land was nothing but deserted and only jungles abundant. And within such wilderness…those misty tunes of ancient nature..themes of lostness..natural canopy of sublime moonlight..windy scarce nights..days of endless rain I tried to retrospect a figure of a man roaming within these area and dropping and bending before rocks amd may be one day in a mood of eternal wanderer engraving in this rock those very two letters..
J.P.
James Princep.
In this place, this remote village far away from Sanchi..a famous spot of Madhya Pradesh in such mood of exploring travelers one can remember of only one man..James Princep..a rich East India Company merchant, the assay-master of the India Government Mint, Calcutta, a brilliant Archaeologist and the Secretaryof the Asiatic Society who not only was also a numismatic to find out descent of the Gupta coins from the Kushan prototypes and the Punch-marked system of coin manufacture in India.
Again I looked at the letters.
Moonlight is little less now it is now being sliced by moving flocks of clouds. Winds a bit harsh at this hour of the night of the month of August.
Looking at the engraved letters on the rock I again tried to think that for years a man lying in this land of jungles and mapless remote tracts with surrounded numbered inhabitants and coolies, each day trying to study the mysterious letters on rocks and edicts and each night spending almost sleepless under fire dedicating himself to only one work..to solve the mysteries of time..the letters offering wealth of untold people and land and their deeds..the curve of the letters..the bend of the letters..the sharp cut..the steep rise..the numismatic diagonasi of different writings of various civilisation..I try to think about the man who by himself changed the course of Indian History and Indian Archaeology and thus finished the unfinished work of Sir William Jones after forty years of his death when in 1837..one day he found the link to solve and decipher the scripts and locate the word ‘Danam’ (gifts) in numerous inscriptions and the similarity of Brahmi Script with other Writings..
‘Babu, ustaraf mat Jaiye, khatra hai!’
Suddenly, a voice came from behind.
I got so much absorbed in my thinkings seeing the letters J.P. that it took time to cone to presence.
I turned and saw a young boy is standing, he is wearing only a loincloth, his upper part naked, his hairs uncombed for days.
‘Khatra?’( Danger?’) I asked.
‘Ha babu, pahar ke upar bhalu hai, Bara sap bhi hai’(In the Jungle up the hills there is bear, snakes too!)
‘Aur keya hai?’ I asked again smiling.
‘Cabe hai Babu?’
Cabe kya?’
The boy started describing me.
And then I found out that ‘Cabe’ means ‘Cave’.
I got excited.
Caves? Kahan?’
The boy pointed up the hills.
I started to walk.
The boy came along with me.
‘Ap nehi ja sakte Babu’! Oonha koi nehi jata! Jungle hai!’
(The boy prevented me to go there as there is deep jungle and no one goes there.)
‘Kis taraf hai?’(Which way, the cave?’)
The boy again pointed his hand towards the hills.
It’s much upwards and in this night without any arms and instruments and a group it is impoosible really to go there. I nooded and agreed with the boy.
I stopped.
And then asked the boy his name.
‘Shahu Babu, Rambilas Sahu.’
I again questioned him that what he is doing here at this hour?
‘Chaukidar ne bheja mujhe aapko bulane ke liye.’
I undersood that the Chaukidar of the House where I am staying for the night send him to call me. The house was empty and it was one of my friend’s ancestral home. I love remote places and specially I always wanted to spend a night here in this village just miles away from Sanchi.
‘Aap jaoge pahar ke upar Babu?’
The boy asked.
I nodded.
‘Kal subah main apko le jaoonga!’
The boy promised me that tomorrow morning he would take me up the hills but tomorrow early morning I have to depart to Bhopal, as next day I have to reach office.
‘Aur Kabhi aa jana Babu! Mera nam yaad rakhna.. Shahu!’
I will definitely remember the name of the boy. And I really wish that one day I would return here to go up the hills and explore the caves.
I again looked at those two letters..J.P.
May be these two letters means something else.
May be it do not denote whom I thought..but to me the initials which I found within a rock in the foothills of Sanchi would always represent the man who deciphered the Brahmi Script and Ashokan Edicts..James Princep..
I handed over the boy, a twenty rupee note.
Shahu smiled.
An innocent smile of the village boy.
‘Next time I would surely go up the hills with you Shahu!’
I smiled and started walking.
And then again stopped.
Then turned and kept my eyes over the hills.
Night is ripe now..some birds flying high..searching homes..a night bird with a sweet melancholy tune filling up the air..moon again shining with its full glow..sky deep blue..stars shining near the horizon..Far across over the hills the Buddhist Monument of Sanchi can be seen..its brilliant architecture..and far upwards..much higher..almost near the summit..some dark mysterious rocky structures can be seen..are the the caves?..I decided to come back here once more..may be within those caves..some more romances of history waiting for ages footsteps of civilized men to bring wanders of time..in limelight..
Or may be I would never come back here..
Let if there are some hidden wonders of history are preserved within the caves..let it be remain there..let something should remain which would still arose amazement..wonders ..in this so called civilized world..where men are climbing and climbing all stages of success and wanders..trying to remove all mysteries by their teachings..
Let some thing should remain..
For which may be a simple man..like this innocent village boy Shahu can live on..
And being illiterate still can draw such wonderful innocent smile..
I again looked at the caves..
Let the mystery remain..
Let some script still remain undeciphered..
I walked on.
Monday, July 26, 2010
The Sketches of a Corporate Monk
But still there is the call..
The call of the road..and I found that within days I am on a new tour..
Having no notion of where to go..how to go.. but just walk on..
Like the monks walking in search of divine bliss!
The term “monk” may be a sure exaggeration..
Much justified in this 21st C would be the term Corporate Monk!
I travelled across the countries for official works..sometimes just for travel..and I come across certain sketches of life..
I remember that day when I spent the night in a park..I walked on for long..but I stopped..as in the busy Gariahat(a hub of Calcutta) road I saw a dirty boy wearing a torn shirt with no buttons licking an already drank bottle of Pepsi..with a beautiful smile in his face..for a moment it appeared to me that is the Face of God..one evening I saw a farmer walking through the streets of Sector V(IT Park) like a lost man..among the corporates he is almost looking like an unmatched paradox..a clown..but as he passed with grains of rice in heaps in his hands..I saw his eyes bearing an utter ignorance to all of us.. another day as I am returning from Delhi and the Rajdhani crossing the Ganges over Allahabad I saw from the window that a man..dipped in the Ganges praying with hands together..it was a moonlit night..the Ganges shining white in moon..the moving train..its designs of the moving windows and the yellow lights floating scattered over the white water..suddenly I shivered..as not only before me I saw an scene but it was life at its pure..there the vast nature in full flow..and there in the river a single man standing unmoved as almost like a solitary soul in the holy river..I met a coolie in Shahjahanpur station who brought me a chilled cup of tea in a chilled night and as the train moved and I went to give him money..he said smiling.. ‘Nehi babu..ap mahman hai!’(You are a Guest Babu!)..from where this may be illiterate poverty-stricken old man got such philosophy..where from?I saw a lonely woman watching the train passed over a lonely station as it was all her life meant for..an utmost desire flashing in her eyes.. I saw a blind old lady everyday coming at Hazra more and sitting and waiting for his boy to come as from there he got lost..I saw a small boy climbing a tree just beside a plateau in Orissa..it is a very common scene..but the brown plateau with the green fields and the tree with red flowers and the half-naked boy climbing it in motion..the scene..startled me..in an early morning..when night still hanging and the dawn slowly blooming I saw a Baul walking with ektara in hand..over the Lalmati or red grains soil of Santiniketan..again a picture of an alone man making her way through the vastness of the earth..
All the pictures put together will represent its vastness and again if the pictures like fragments are kept scattered it would show the individualness and completeness of life still..life is a mystery and I love to get folded in that mystery..thus I also continued with my life..
And thus now I felt I should hold these in words..
These invaluable moments.
As nothing but..
The Sketches of a Corporate Monk..!
Friday, July 23, 2010
Chittore Revisited
I really wanted to spend a night in Chittore.
And thus when one day I got a chance I took it.
I was struck in work there and thus have no option but to stay a night there.
From the day I started loving History, from the day I became a student of archaeology,and the day I became an Junior Archaeologist….it was a dream of mine.To face history….to spend nights in historical places.
I finished my dinner within ten thirty and then came and sat down in a chair. The sky was filled with spongy clouds which is kissing the moon and adoring her light. The wind was blowing gently though it also sometimes brought dust with it.
After taking an hours rest and when no one in the whole house seemed awake I slowly slipped out of the house. I started walking slowly. I took the road towards the fort. It was a steep sloppy surface . the sky is now totally clear and the moon was shining in her own majesty. The moonlit night was slowly gripping the night of Chittore.
I passed the temple of goddesses Kali. I passed some houses built of rocks which had their origin in last three to four centuries ago. Within some wrecked houses I found fire was burning. Maybe in this cold weather some shelterless person earning warmth.
A shadow of a person appeared before me in distant near. The shadow almost tottering came towards me and then asked ‘Brijesh keya? Lakhan ka dukan keya bandh ho gaya?’(A meaningless question to someone )I ignored him and went on walking. That person again said something. It was useless answering him as he was drunk and not in sense.
The wind touched me with a splash. I looked upwards. Clouds were gathering and breaking up. Much like my feelings ….astonishment..wonder..joy..happiness..yet a feeling of despair all coming..gathering .. and then breaking up.
To the left side of mine was total empty steep slopes ran down almost down to the foothills of the town. In my right side broken houses ,scattered pieces of rocks some illegible memorablia, almost like an inscription, numerous bushes and trees and dark dimmy small houses on the steep slopes….and more than anything a different strange smell..a smell which denotes old things existing in the present day earth which is itself an amusing and pecuiliar feature.
I came down to the gate of the fort. There ought to be some security here but I cant saw any one of them. I smiled. I went inside and thought if anybody asked me my motive for such an night ride it would be difficult to explain them. But what would not be difficult was showing them my ID card of A.S.I.
A whole new world awaited inside. It was simply mesmerizing . The light of the moon now flooded everywhere. I came and sat over a rock near Vijay-Stambha which Rana Kumbha has built to commemorate his success. It was a glorious architecture symbolizing the best specimen of Rajput architecture. I have seen it numerous times but never in such a moonlit night. I have seen moonlit Taj , this is an experience comparable to it. The tower of Vijay-Stambha was looking totally white as if it was built of marble and it seems the white light was pouring down from there to the ground and then throughout everywhere. The moon light has started writing a lyrics in her own tune in the modern world with themes of past.
It was a night which I never forget..
I went to Chittore later also sometimes.
But never found that sizzling touches of moments like that night.
May be I have changed..may be I have become old..thus lost those senses of romanticism..
But still remember that one night when..
Time stopped at Chittore!
Thursday, July 22, 2010
The Wild Truth
Sometimes I think life is a brilliant wonder..
Sometime a soothing orchestra of wet drops of rain..
Sometime life is all about passing by through a distant whistle of a running train..
Sometime again it is an urge or a nemesis of a break away run..
...........And the run begins from cascading the known from the open world of unknown..and thus
I found myself totally exposed..walking alone beneath the horizon..
As I walk I found myself..
On the pitch coloured road of the vast world..
Following the engraved footsteps and footprints of the millions who have passed
For ages and decades and centenary..
May be the name of this particular road has changed..may be the name itself is a misinterpretation of epigraphed regionalism..
May be the grains of daily struggles of life is itself now a rich history..
May be the pattern of ages has changed the passion of needs..
May be the whole known surroundings has been fragmented into a new..totally new identity..
May be underneath my feet the history remains silent for ever knowing everything..
May be the reason for growth and cause of destruction..
Of each period..each empire..each event..
But as I walk I found out with a shiver..
Beneath my feet the road..the path.. can loose everything ..except..
The wild truth..
The touch of a new man walking on a new road on a new Journey..
Friday, July 16, 2010
One Night in a Remote Station..
It was twenty past twelve.
And through the shades of midnight the Rajdhani Express suddenly halted.It was unexpected as Rajdhani stops only in some stations..clearly it was nothing but a matter of signal..I can hardly take bed so early thus I stood up and peeped through the glasses.
And I got stranded.
A beautiful night awaiting for me outside.
The station was totally empty..over the glasses I saw some yellow green leaves running scatterdly over the platform in winds..sky clear..stars shining at regular intervals.
It became tough for me to remain within the train.
I walked from the AC –Sleeper class,opened the door and stepped into the station.
As my feet touched the platform, a wind swept me which bear an unknown fresh smell
.Is it a smell of the soil?
Is it a smell of the cattlefields?
Is it the smell of the tree, its branches?
Or is it the smell of the night?
I don’t know but I felt the smell contains ingredients from all of it.
I looked front. There was no trace of any signal.
I started walking. The scattered leaves now roamed over my feet.
The wind blowing in different tunes..the sky looks amazing..no trace of clouds..a faint moonlight spreading herself over this unknown station at this particular night..the air is cold..
I stared at the mesmerizing view of the night which lay before me.
The station though almost empty has a view of solitary loneliness..only a light of the lamppost of the station glowing and pouring on a banyan tree..the tree is old with numerous branches..some green..some yellow..some without leaves..some with leaves shaking in winds..throughout the station beneath the the blue sky the banyan tree with all its shades of colour and spreading of green leaves among the yellowish image resembling as if the only symbol of life..behind the plots of cattlefields..behind some bushes..I saw ..quite far from here..a hazy layout of a steep plateau like structures..from which direction the winds are suppose to be blowing..there was hardly any sound in the place except..the clattering of a night bird..the flapping of its wings..a dog running through the fields parallel to the tracks..a cow standing in the night over the grazing fields..sometimes nodding its head unconsciously..all pictures of loneliness..all a piece of singleness trying to hold the epigraph of time..of life..all sketches of solitude..all pictures of a different world which made this night,this moment,this station so very precious to me..
I thanked God that the train stopped here..
It was really unique..far from all the resemblance of our known world..far from the sorrows and daily struggles of survival..this night showed the vast epitome of the world..lesson of feeling the world for some moment instead of only running and searching for meaningless worldly things..a desire of surrender to this world..to open myself completely and absorb all the wonderful gifts that the nature had to offer..a raga of timeless sensations..a feeling of individualness which can be so pure..so mouthful of essences of rendezvous..
But at that moment the signal was shown.
The green light flashed.
I boarded the steps of Rajdhani.
The train started slowly.
The yellowish platform passed.
The beautiful banyan tree passed.
Its dancing leaves passed.
The blue sky with numerous stars passed.
And then passed the ‘board’ on which the station name was written.
The light of the station as well as the moonlight fell on the name.
‘Paharganj’.
I came back to my seat.
Through the looking glass I saw moonlight kissing all corners of the earth outside.
The outside world with all its people and their emotions was running again parallel to the train.
Another station came.
Passed.
Another came.
Passed.
But I know I can never forget this remotestation which gave me nothing but a sense of solitary individualness..and gifts of unpredicted beauty!
And another thing..
A smell of lonely romanticism!
And through the shades of midnight the Rajdhani Express suddenly halted.It was unexpected as Rajdhani stops only in some stations..clearly it was nothing but a matter of signal..I can hardly take bed so early thus I stood up and peeped through the glasses.
And I got stranded.
A beautiful night awaiting for me outside.
The station was totally empty..over the glasses I saw some yellow green leaves running scatterdly over the platform in winds..sky clear..stars shining at regular intervals.
It became tough for me to remain within the train.
I walked from the AC –Sleeper class,opened the door and stepped into the station.
As my feet touched the platform, a wind swept me which bear an unknown fresh smell
.Is it a smell of the soil?
Is it a smell of the cattlefields?
Is it the smell of the tree, its branches?
Or is it the smell of the night?
I don’t know but I felt the smell contains ingredients from all of it.
I looked front. There was no trace of any signal.
I started walking. The scattered leaves now roamed over my feet.
The wind blowing in different tunes..the sky looks amazing..no trace of clouds..a faint moonlight spreading herself over this unknown station at this particular night..the air is cold..
I stared at the mesmerizing view of the night which lay before me.
The station though almost empty has a view of solitary loneliness..only a light of the lamppost of the station glowing and pouring on a banyan tree..the tree is old with numerous branches..some green..some yellow..some without leaves..some with leaves shaking in winds..throughout the station beneath the the blue sky the banyan tree with all its shades of colour and spreading of green leaves among the yellowish image resembling as if the only symbol of life..behind the plots of cattlefields..behind some bushes..I saw ..quite far from here..a hazy layout of a steep plateau like structures..from which direction the winds are suppose to be blowing..there was hardly any sound in the place except..the clattering of a night bird..the flapping of its wings..a dog running through the fields parallel to the tracks..a cow standing in the night over the grazing fields..sometimes nodding its head unconsciously..all pictures of loneliness..all a piece of singleness trying to hold the epigraph of time..of life..all sketches of solitude..all pictures of a different world which made this night,this moment,this station so very precious to me..
I thanked God that the train stopped here..
It was really unique..far from all the resemblance of our known world..far from the sorrows and daily struggles of survival..this night showed the vast epitome of the world..lesson of feeling the world for some moment instead of only running and searching for meaningless worldly things..a desire of surrender to this world..to open myself completely and absorb all the wonderful gifts that the nature had to offer..a raga of timeless sensations..a feeling of individualness which can be so pure..so mouthful of essences of rendezvous..
But at that moment the signal was shown.
The green light flashed.
I boarded the steps of Rajdhani.
The train started slowly.
The yellowish platform passed.
The beautiful banyan tree passed.
Its dancing leaves passed.
The blue sky with numerous stars passed.
And then passed the ‘board’ on which the station name was written.
The light of the station as well as the moonlight fell on the name.
‘Paharganj’.
I came back to my seat.
Through the looking glass I saw moonlight kissing all corners of the earth outside.
The outside world with all its people and their emotions was running again parallel to the train.
Another station came.
Passed.
Another came.
Passed.
But I know I can never forget this remotestation which gave me nothing but a sense of solitary individualness..and gifts of unpredicted beauty!
And another thing..
A smell of lonely romanticism!
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
The Passanger
“Hey auto, stop!”
Tapan is about to press the accelerator when a person almost jumped and slide within the auto in the seat just beside the driver. Tapan took speed and soon like a swinging river overtook two cars and one new Euro-II bus and in joy and bit of unknown ecstasy uttered “Sala..”
It is almost evening. In this month of February all traces of cold has gone now and now its time for the soultry summer, the horrible summer of the tropicals. The road is busy now. Tapan while driving thought that three more up down trip today from Gariahat to Behala and then he would pack up for the day. He again glided his auto through the busy avenues of New Alipore and then has to stop as the signal is red.
He uttered again, the very word, “Sala!”
Just a matter of one second. If he haven’t slowed down for the pedestrian to cross over he would be through..
The red light of the signal along with a looming light of a Levis showroom made the darkness faint within. And in that light Tapan’s hands in the steering got slightly trembled.
The bright light has fallen on the face of the passenger who is sitting just beside him.
“Tapan na?”(Is it Tapan?)
The person asked.
Now there is no doubt.
Tapan nodded.
‘Yes Sir.’
Indeed it is Premen Sir.
He was the headmaster during his schooldays in Chetla Boys School. His spectacles has changed, his face bear more wrinkles,his hairs all white now and more than anything Premen Sir has got very thin..his health has deteriorated.
‘How long you are here Tapan?’
‘Three years Sir.’
‘Have you passed Higher Secondary..?’
‘I am a graduate Sir..B.A. In 3rd Div.’
Premen Sir stopped.
But Tapan can read his face and the next question. Why..why Tapan then in this line?
‘Sir Father died suddenly..two sisters still unmarried..no pension..’ Tapan while saying found that to describe his situation is just like a Bollywood film of 70’s but alas the storyline has changed now in Bollywood but in real life it still remains.
His hands moved.
As the signal is green now.
Soon he came back in the road of Chetla and in a busy weekday evening of Calcutta..it is the peak hour..this 6-8 P.M. ..all the people have hurry to return home..why people take so much risk in just for the sake of returning home..why?
‘I will drop at Rashbehari’.. Premen Sir said after a while.
‘Sir, you stay at Behala..right?’
‘Yes, but now have to go many places for tution..’
‘You still do tution?’
‘Yes Tapan,..It is two years I retired, the pension is very low.. what else I can do?’
Tapan kept quite.
Then he suddenly remembered and said ‘How is Mashima?’
‘Your Mashima has left me five years ago..’
Tapan stopped. He didn’t expect that.
He gentled the speed. He is driving quite slow.
The passengers in the back..two young girls busy in talking..and another guy..impatient ..often looking at the watch..Tapan thought he must be in a hurry. He felt a bit relieved that may be the conversation between them has been luckily got ignored..
‘Tapan..you remember that..you,in class VI got a prize from me..for your recitation of Rabindranath’s poem “Africa”?
Tapan tried to remember.
‘And do you remember that when one day, you must be in class VIII then and in a day of heavy rain when you are having an off period..I went to your class..and told you the story of “Postmaster”(A Story of Tagore named Postman) and I suddenly found someone was crying..it was you..’
Tapan’s hands again trembled.
What rubbish is Sir going on telling? Who is he speaking about? It looks now as if it is a story of some another birth..some another age.
‘Tapan byas ekhane nambo!( You drop me here Tapan!)
Tapan in his stream of thoughts forgot that he is crossing Rashbehari now.
Tapan stopped.
Premen Sir got down.
Then he handed him the money.
‘No Sir, please!’
‘No, Tapan..you should take..’
‘No, Sir please..’
Premen Sir took the money and pushed inside Tapan’s palms. Then he kept his hands over his shoulder.
‘You have to take this Tapan..toke to banchte hobe baba..Amie je toke manush korte parlam na..bhalo thakis..!’
(You have to survive Tapan and how can I forgot that it was me also who failed to give you a good future..Be well my son!)
The signal is green again.
Premen Sir went and got mixed in the crowd of the pedestrians.
Tapan started the engine again and he doesn’t know how he came to Ballygaunge. He almost has a vacuum in his mind. As he dropped the last passenger he parked his auto in the autostand of Ballygaunge station and walked towards the rail lines.
There over a heap of bricks he sat.
And then he remembered Premen Sir’s words.. Amie je toke manush korte parlam na..bhalo thakis..the memories of the prize..Africa poem..the story of Postmaster..how he dreamt of becoming a Postman then..he laughed now..indeed he has become in a different way..collecting people from different places and dropping them at different destinations..indeed a postman!
Tapan in an undeciphered words shouted suddenly and then he found that he is crying..the eyes have got wet after a long time..and it is indeed a very disturbing and a new experience to Tapan.
Tapan didn’t remember how long he sat there but he can realize that within the signals..the iron rail tracks..the fishplates..the cry of some home lost birds..some Khistis(raw slangs) from the local wine shop thrown at him, “Ki re Bokachoda Magi chai?..(You Bastard need girls?)..the separate talks of the passer by..the whistles of a coming and distant trains..the fight of two dogs..a sharp wind blown from no where..the sky a canopy of flocking roaming white clouds..Tapan felt a surrender to the past..the school days..his friends..his love for knowledge..Premen Sir..but along with that he like Newton’s law of motion .. experienced an opposite force..and in that momentum he found himself back to the present which is horrible..struggling..but indeed the moment which he is still living on..he have to carry on..in some way..some means..his dream of getting still a good job..with his low profile qualifications..Tapan found that surrounding him are images of his own broken fragments..and as he is trying to collect them altogether they are getting again broken away..an irresistible game has been played in front of him of being lost and being found again..
Tapan stood up.
And through the slowly falling shades of night he came back to the auto stand started the engine and after a while shouted in clearly spoken words..
“Behala..Behala..Taratala..Chetla….”
----------------------------------
Monday, February 22, 2010
Beneath the Aravalli..
I do not know at present what date is today.
What time. What part of world I am.
Though in my conscious part of the mind I knew all these.
But sometimes..moments touches you with a different attitude. Sensation.
When the winds slowly touches you.
Your feet start moving.
Your eyes full of amazement.
Your mood in a complete mood of submission.
And like this with different segregated versions of myself within me..I started walking.
And then again stopped at the next moment .
I saw that I am standing just beneath the Aravalli.
And just over there, over the range of Aravalli is the moon.
The Full moon.
The earth around me is totally a canvas of blue and white.
Little crispy sounds of tottering leaves from the trees.
A hush sound of a truck passing through the highway.
A faint sound of a Dholak being played somewhere.
Where it is being played?
Is it coming from that distant house up the hills?
Or is it coming from some straw-thatched huts much much below down?
A night bird went flying with a shriek yet soft clattering noise.
A distant..very distant whistle of a train which may have come from the way of Ajmer..in this highway to Udaipur.
I walked towards a half-closed road side Dhaba.
Where most of the people are slept.
Some over Khatiya.
With Blanlkets.
Or local rajjais.
Only one burner is burning and over it hot smoke of tea is rising.
A pleasant warmth of tea in this freezing cold.
I took a cup of tea.
And then sipped.
Ah! It’s Heaven!
And then again I saw the moonlit Aravalli.
Except this road side shop nothing is there.
I remember the view I saw from the window.
The scenes of wild nature. As the bus came crisscrossed through the rugged hilly roads.
I took a deep breath.
A fresh air welcomed me.
An air of pure nature.
A bushy smell of the leaves of the trees.
A strange smell of the surrounding hills.
A an unknown experience of an unknown life.
Which I always wanted to live. But how much can I?
I started again walking.
Can not I go a bit near to the hills. Is it not possible to touch the silky light of the moon with my all hands open beneath the hills?
Can I go and stay here in any one house here, for one night..for this night..will I not get any shelter?
And as my feet moved on..
I heard..
“Bus chod raha hai sahib!”(Sahib, the bus is about to depart!)
I stopped.
I again looked at the midnight moon and the bluish white Aravalli.
For a fraction of moment I resigned completely from the present world..I felt the silence the nature offered..I saw around me pictures of a remote place..scattered canvas of life sketches of people of whom I never saw..of nature..the sublime moonlit midnight nature at its real beauty..and for a moment ..flashed in my mind scenes from Bibhutibhusan’s Aranyak..as if I am not below the Aravalli but I am wandering in the outskirts of Labatuliya..how far is Labatuliya from this particular place of Jaipur-Udaipur highway I do not know but now in this mid night it seems that must be all milestones..all kilometers..all state boundaries..all human made borders has vanished..and may if I go walking up the hills I can distinctly found some men who like Labatuliyas’s farmer have never known what mirror is..and never have seen his facein life .. may be there outside some straw thatched hut some Rajput woman is waiting for collecting the bare minimum food from the leftover..may be up the hills in around the summit..there.. remains..still a lost kingdom and a lost king like Dobru Panna..and much within the language of the winds legends go on speaking the arrival of some fantasies..some angels..some..lost forgotten men ..warriors from the gone days..may be I have managed to come here this particular night by some magic..by the gifts of my fortunes..may be each day the bus stops here..each night different men and women drop here..and get astonished like me..or today..this particular night is very special..this night..these moments are created only for me..
I uttered silently..
I uttered silently a wish as the shadow of the Aravalli fall over the sleeping village across the highways..
A wish.
A promise.
I would come back here once again.
I have to go on travel this astounding world as much as I can.
I do not know I can ever do that or not.
But I promised myself.
I would travel.
I would roam.
I would see as much the world I can.
And more than anything..
I should live a different life.
A Silent wish made from a pure heart just beneath the full moonlit Aravalli will not come true?
Is it too much to want?
Or is it too less?
I slowly walked on.
And smiled.
And then jumped on to the bus.
My journey is on again.
And I am again..
A different man on a different road of a different world.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)