(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!”
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
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!
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