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..!!

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!

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 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!..

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.

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!

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.