The Empty Cup

It was a big night, a great night. India had won the cricket World Cup. There were cheers, tears, laughter, celebrations.. absolute frenzy on streets.
But while the people of my colony were bursting crackers or beating drums, a construction labourer opposite my building slept soundly with his family after a hard day’s work unaware of the feat his country had achieved.
But what is enthusiasm if it is not contagious? So the cricket lovers of my locality made sure not to spare anyone of the big bash.
The noise of dhol woke up the poor man also. Surprised by that sudden shadi ka mahaul the man asked my neighbour what had happened.
”We won the world cup,” my neighbour informed him proudly.
”What cup?” he asked.
”Arey cricket world cup bhai,”
”Ohh, that game, okay,” he said indifferently and went back to sleep.
My neighbour gave him a disgusted look and wanted to say something but was pulled by his crowd of friends to spread the happiness further.

Test blog

Just checking if I can post blog from phone.

Earth and Sky

A friend told me this story.

Once the Earth and Sky fell in love with each other. Both would stare for hours into each other’s eyes. He would wrap her lovingly when she would madly dance on her axis. In the day, she would get dressed with beautiful flowers and leaves. Her streams her mountains, her plains her curvaceous landscapes would make him go crazy. And in the night — unable to bear losing sight of her even for a second — he would burn the moon and stars to gaze at her beloved.
But how could the gods accept the Earth and Sky to come together? It was no to be. It was not ordained; it was against the rule book. Earth and Sky falling in love, coming together; it was unheard of! It was a sacrilege against the law of the Universe. So it had to end. And end it did.
The judgement of the khap panchayat was out. The sky and earth would not be allowed to come together; their love was butchered.
Earth was shattered. She stopped dancing; she would just revolve. She stopped getting dressed with rainbow-coloured flowers. She wouldn’t stop weeping; this was the only way she could show her love to her beloved. She would weep day and night. The Mother Nature could not see her agony. She asked the Sun to help her send her message to the Sky. The Sun took the tears of Earth to the Sky and told him how sad she was. The Sky kissed the salty water and tears welled up in his eyes.
From then the Sky would shower his love on Earth with rains and she in turn would send the same waters back to the sky through the Sun.
It rained yet again here; the lovers are romancing.

I am an investor, and I cannot overlook my votebank. – Navin Jindal

There go my people and I must follow them, for I am their leader. – Martin Luther King

The poster boy of young Congress, Navin Jindal, seems to be the quintessential follower of King’s ideology. But the times have changed and so have the leaders, if we can call them leaders at all. King’s times were turbulent, they were changing. The times of today are violent, and they refuse to budge.

Jindal understands this. He respects the times of twenty-first century which still live in medieval ages. He respects the barbarian principles laid down some hundred years ago which allow ‘righteous elders’ working under the euphemism of khap panchayats to chop off heads and limbs of their prodigal sons and daughters. These prodigals have no right whatsoever of reform; they have sinned. They fell in love and they cannot rise in their lives again, literally.

Jindal understands all this. So what if he is a phoren-return, well-educated, well-bred urban Indian youth; he understands it all. He understands that this is where his future is. He understands that he cannot go against his votebank. Jindal can fall in love but how can he forget that he has to rise in life. No leader can survive the opposition of his followers. It is the leaders who have to safeguard the interests of their followers, the followers have to be appeased or the leaders would lose their leadership.

I understand, Mr Jindal that you understand it all. I also congratulate you for adhering to King’s ideology even in these violent times. Only if King was alive he wouldn’t be very happy to know who his follower was, and I doubt if he would have supported your archaic views.

अपने पड़ोसी से

उखाड़ फेंको ये बंदूकें,
चलो इस साल दोनों सूरज की खेती करते हैं
अगली कटाई में रौशनी घर ले जायेंगे
अपने बच्चो को नफ़रत की जगह उजाले पिलायेंगे
प्यार की गर्माहट से गल जायेंगे गफ़लत के पहाड़
अपनी वादियों में फिर से बहार ले आते हैं
सिर्फ एक बीज ही तो बोना है

The last bash

Times have changed, so have we. No more a tragedy is an event to mourn for. We are not affected by our pasts any more. We no longer can see the pain in eyes of those who survived a catastrophe. Our R&D department has done wonders, we are immune to sufferings!
We celebrate bomb blasts, riots, calamities and deaths with the same passion as we celebrate our religious festivals; actually sometimes the passion to celebrate tragedy exceeds the zeal for our private parties as well. Right from the month of January till December, we are busy celebrating festivals and tragedies, and the year passes in winks!
We celebrated 25 years of anti-Sikh riots with great fanfare. Media and social activists contributed the most in this joyous occasion. So much so, that the Congress’ Jagdish Tytler, one of the accused in anti-Sikh riots, had to withdraw his candidature from Delhi elections.
Well, that was in January. Other months did not go wasted and there were many blasts, fires and riots to mourn (read celebrate) for. We celebrated anniversaries of bomb blasts in Ahmadabad, Bangalore, Delhi, Jaipur and many other cities. In between, we also got opportunities to celebrate anniversaries of tragedies in future, i.e. which we will celebrate in years to come. Next year, we will celebrate First Anniversary of Fire at the IOC depot in Jaipur. Welcome to the list.
But the award for the most popular festival of this year goes to First Anniversary of Mumbai Bomb Blast. This Indian festival was celebrated all over the world (Here a reminder: For Indians world means the US of O) with huge fanfare and following. Our leaders were quite satisfied to see India’s global reach and also ‘demonstrated’ happiness that the world shares our sorrows and horrors. The anniversary could not have asked more as till now Yoga was the most popular Indian ingredient we offered to the world in our global recipe. Well, at home, too, the response was huge. Newspapers dedicated almost the whole edition to the event. Many continued to do so even after November 26, 2009. Magazines published special issues and of course, the anchors on the TV news channels went hoarse with their pleas to contribute in this National party.
And last but not the least, today is 25th anniversary of Bhopal Gas Tragedy. Readers don’t need any more information in this blog on this topic as the media is already buzzing with ideas and ready for the last (tentative) bash of the year. We have seen photographs, graphics, and clippings and read numerous articles on what happened twenty-five years ago. Am sure many intellectuals and activist are planning candle lit (dinner) parties to create awareness and sympathy for the victims. Many have already started. So before it all gets over, don’t miss this last chance to party hard. You never know which party may have the last blast!

वैशाली की नगरवधु

वह मंजरियों की धरोहर
वह वसन्त की साधना
वह प्रकृति का रहस्य
वह प्रेम की कामना
वह धरती का सुख
वह स्वर्ग की याचना
वह साहित्य का गौरव
वह इतिहास की कल्पना
वह अम्बपाली

आचार्य चतुरसेन की नगरवधु को बोस्की की ऍक तुच्छ भेंट

A misplaced Aila!

Tiger is endangered specie. As if Rajapakse’s annihilation of Tigers in Sri Lanka was not enough, Aila in Bengal wiped away whatever was left in Sundarbans.
By the way, coming to Aila, if it is Aila why is it in Bengal? Technically Aila should be in Mumbai (God forbid) and not Bengal. And if it is in Bengal shouldn’t it be Hoodibaba or Oyi maa! or Ohre baba? Well, I had a discussion on this with my Bong friend and he thinks this is a conspiracy by Maharashtra to undermine Bengal. Just like Maharashtra has captured most of the seats in the UPA council, the Marathis are now trying to reach out to every sector (and place, even cyclones!) in the country. Anyways, with the Marathi speaking population in Maharashtra going down to 69% from 77% in thirty years, it is quite obvious that they are trying to revive their language like this. It seemed a bit absurd to me and I suggested that he should ask Mamata to avenge this ‘humiliation’ by doing some trick on the tracks.
But while poor Didi was still deciding on the location of her office, the mob at Khusrupur dislocated many fishplates and rail coaches. Didi says it is a conspiracy against her but anyways halts at the original halts of Shramjeevi Express. But she did not take time to halt the changes made by Lalu Yadav in the catering services of railways. The pantry has gone back to the Railway Board which to common passengers like us does not make a difference as we will anyway step down with bad bowels.
Now he was in the ministry for last five years. Of course, it is difficult to let go of habits. So being a perfect chef (not or railways anymore) Lalu made Meira Kumar taste her first pickle as a Speaker. The Yadavs – Lalu and Sharad – were on each other in the House (not their house) and Kumar had to come in between them to save the first pandemonium of this session. Some would say that’s quite a threesome, but anyways the Congress is thrilled with their Meira card and expect to encash it in coming state and municipal elections.
But it is the reaction, rather the lack of it, from the Opposition benches that’s not making any sense. The BJP, it seems, has taken to the back benches after the rout in the Lok Sabha elections. Jaitley and Swaraj are proclaimed heirs now but the unannounced ones will be the ones who will rock the front seats of the party. Whatever happens, the saffron is mixing well with the RSS claiming they are one. But many political analysts are wondering why Shiv Sena is mum? Aila, Maharashtra again!

समय और कवि

जब से पैदा हुआ तब से देख रहा हूँ इसे
जंगलों से महलों में पहुँच गया मनुष्य
वो आसमान के तारे गिनने वाला बच्चा
आज चाँद से कंकर बटोर लाता है
आग से हतप्रभ हुई आँखों में
सैंकडों अणु चमकते देखे मैनें
उसकी हार पर मुस्का चुका हूँ
जीत पे नाचा भी हूँ मैं
जब पहियों को पर लगाए उसने
तो सोचा कि बडा हो गया मेरा मनुष्य
पर कैसे बडा हुआ ये
कि आज भी बच्चो की तरह लडता है
इतना ऊँचा उठा
कि दूसरों को नीचा दिखाने लगा
धरती और ईश्वर को बाँटते-बाँटते
गोले-बारूद बाँटने लगा
ऐसा बडा हुआ कि बचपन भूल गया
भूल गया कि जनेऊ जाति के लिये नहीं
ख्याति के लिये पहना था
रंग भेद का नहीं
स्वेद का परिचायक होता है
मैं चाहता था कि बढे मनुष्य
पर आज कहाँ बढ रहा है ये
एक बेडी तोड, दूसरी पहन लेता है
स्वयम् अपनी राह का पत्थर
बढते-बढते रुक गया मेरा मनुष्य
कवि मुस्काया, बोला
तुम तो समय हो, निरन्तर चलते हो
इसलिये सदा बढने-चलने की ही बात करते हो
ये मनुष्य है, ठहरना जानता है
बस यही नहीं जानता कि ठहरना कहाँ है
जिस दिन मनुष्य जान जायेगा कि उसे ठहरना कहाँ है
उसे कोई नहीं रोक पायेगा

Ghalib on a visit to Delhi after 15th Lok Sabha elections

हमको मालूम है जन्नत की हकीकत लेकिन
दिल के खुश रखने को गलिब ये खयाल अच्छा है

घर हमारा जो ना रोते भी तो वीरां होता
बहर गर बहर ना होता तो बीयांबां होता

हुआ है शाह का मुसाहिब फिरे है इतराता
वगरना शहर में गालिब की आबरू क्या है

ये ना थी हमारी किस्मत कि विसाल ए यार होता
अगर और जीते रहते यही इन्तज़ार होता

नख्श फरियादी है किसकी शोख ये तहरीर का
कागज़ी है पैरहन हर पैकर ए तस्वीर का

कोई मेरे दिल से पूछे तेरे तीर ए नीमकश को
ये खलिश कहाँ से होती जो जिगर के पार होता

वफा कैसी कहां का इश्क जब सर फोडना ठहरा
तो फिर ऐ संग ए दिल तेरा ही संग ए आस्ताँ क्यों हो

है अब इस मामूरे में कहत-ऍ-ग़म-ऍ-उल्फ़त असद
हमने ये माना कि दिल्ली में रहें खावेंगे क्या

तुम जानो तुम्हे गैर से जो रस्मो राह हो मुझको भी पूछते रहो तो क्या गुनाह हो

रगों में दौडते फिरने के हम नहीं कायल
जब आँख ही से ना टपका तो फिर लहु क्या है