muniya re muniya

ये रेंगती हुई सड़क ज़होर की ओर बिठा गई है डर घूम जाने का दिला गई है भरोसा फिर भी, रास्ते का जिसपे इठला रही है ये सरकारी बस, कंडक्टर भी झूलता हुआ युँ किराया बटोरता एक तरफ़ से ये पहाड़ नीचे खाई को घूरता हुआ जैसे टटोलता है कुछ सन्नाटे में मांँगता है वक्त साथ में मगर ये बस ज़रा आवाज़ करती  है धड़धड़धड़धड़ धड़धड़धड़धड़ बिखेरती हुई शोर ही शोर ऊपर से ये रेंगती हुई सड़क ज़होर की ओर...

I dream. I would be there. On the border. Guns and Arms. Eyes on unrest. Mind vigilant. With a proud heart. And Love. Still there in my heart. Somewhere deep. I dream. I would be there. In the school. Colourful chalks and duster. Teaching them about life. And its ways. Bending down on rough roads. Mending the matrix. Of a tough lattice. With terrific energy. Just as the young. And fire. Still there in my heart. Somewhere deep. I dream. I would be there. Writing with a fountain pen. On chunks of papers. My story, your story, our story. And everybody's story. For us. For them. Perhaps make us gauge. Over little things. And smile. Still there in my heart. Somewhere deep. I dream. I would be there. Visiting the world. And capturing in the eye. Taking notice. Of the unfathomable culture. On the world map. Spending evenings. In utter silence and awe. With You. On the side. And drink. Still there in my heart. Somewhere deep. I dream. I would be there. Living a life of 10 to 5. Breakin

The world is small. And some people are meant to run like a loop in your mind and in your life at times. Maybe that is how people come and go. Maybe that is how people meet and stay, sometimes leave. And when there is strong resistance inside your heart about wanting to leave or of wanting to let go, things fall into place without much ado. After they left the movie hall, Muniya and Anaira strolled towards the market. Some sunsilk...Some handkerchiefs...Some vicks...The moment they stepped out of the shop and began walking back, there, Muniya's eyes pointed out at him. Chamkeela stood looking back as if he had already seen and knew where was Muniya. Muniya in utter surprise brought Anaira to meet the stance. Oh yes! It was Chamkeela...But how come? A surge of happiness ran inside Muniya. Chamkeela was someone Muniya could not explain about. Like there are leaves on the tree... strange to the relation. Like a cactus in a desert... unaware of its strangled existence. Like a less tr

[ #1 : NOTES FROM DALHOUSIE ] A clear day is all I wait for after rains. And a few rays of the sun at such a time at Dalhousie would pull you out of your coop. Once they arrive, the monsoons! Misty evenings, white sky, new insects arrive by default. And no wonder why we find all the nearby Punjabis travelling to here during scorching summers. Its a cold charm. "The Pouring Sun...Blazing Summers...All Despite...Dalhousie is respite!" A shower in the early morning with sun peeping by the noon, a white sky follows in the evening for a pleasant walk into the misty road where everything wet succumbs to the dark silent night as if no sign of life till the death of the moon. I walk. Out at 6:45 evening. Or perhaps 7. Its the time of the day I wait for and pray it doesn't rain. Mostly it rains near and about the time if it does so I am almost saved. Call it a near miss, my evening walk and the unpredictable rains. Its the gush of people at the Subhash Chowk on the

And I found myself murmuring during the first rays of the sun. "Teaching is such a noble profession. But you see most of the things have been digitized now and the impact which a teacher had over the students by scratching the chalk on that blackboard has gone missing. That flair of teaching has its own grace." Half sleepy - Half awake : I am not able to make the why and wherefore of it.

मैं हूँ इस दहलीज़ पर, कि समक्ष एक अलग दुनिया है ... जो बुला रही है चीख-चीख कर, जैसे खींच रही है... जानता नहीं आगे क्या है ! बस ... भरोसा है | और शायद उम्मीद... कुछ... खुद से... वही परछाईं आगे बुला रही है , आँखें... मीच रही हैं | पीछे देखूं ... तो जैसे वक़्त की तीखी सूईआं हैं,  जो कभी ... किसी की हुई नहीं | यही अफ़सोस लेकर... मैं बढ़  रहा हूँ ...  कि वो घड़ी रूकती कहीं, तो दो पल मैं भी ठहर पाता, और साथ में इनके यादें हैं...  भर-भर कर... उस एल्बम में, जो फ्रिड्ज के ऊपर रखी है,  कहानियाँ संजोये हुए ... आगे है एक  मौका सा...  बढ़ने  का ...किसी रास्ते पर,  जो बुला रहा है सींच-सींच कर, जैसे रुकने के लिए मैं कभी बना नहीं ! और अब रुका भी हूँ ... तो किस चीज़ पर ? जहाँ पुरानी पतंग और नई डोर,  मिलते हुए दिख रहे हैं | मैं  हूँ ... इस... देहलीज़ पर ...

Class XII. CBSE Board Exams.  First Exam - English. March 2013. English was one such subject that always saved my percentage. And it was one such subject I never worried about. I studied it in a quick. Not because I was extremely over confident of my command over the subject but because English just happened to me. Perhaps the credit went to my immense reading habits since Class V. Its just the reading and those stories that somehow fortunately landed me right grammatically. But I had nothing to boast about because I did not know the tenses and how to convert sentences from one tense to the other. Honestly, I still do not know. I continue to try. So the only thing I always did in the 'Section-B : Writing' of that question paper was - follow the instinct, play with words for they fantasized me and pour some good cursive handwriting. And it worked. So once again I was writing and writing and time was running. For the first time in my life and sadly in the last English exam of m

I am perfectly kept in one corner Of that grand wooden almirah. Pressed. With my mates. I am the last thing  Being hurriedly picked up. And pinned. I am not a tweet. I have a deeper history. I catch the cold In the winter's race I cling to the dust Of the playground maze. Crumpled during the recess I provide a niche To the loudy sneeze. I remain pinned. But I am not a tweet. I have a deeper history. Caretaker of tears That run after a wound I bring back the smile I fly and dance along For a kilometer, a meter or a mile. No matter the rains, cold or summers My function, but position, Doesn't regard weather. An eavesdropper to the story after story I remain pinned to the little's shirt. I am not a tweet. I have a deeper history, A Plain White Handkerchief I am.  Safely Safety-pinned  To the little's grey sweater.

Dedicated to team-mates on ending days of college. Could it get more better? These evenings spent in  the Lawn  Tennis court with the team mates who wont be there after a month. I am here. But the people I began with won't be. The Badminton court would not look the same. The ground would not host the same set of games. An end is approaching while a begining is on the hold. Swinging in an emotional flux, I wonder how people come and touch your lives, make you learn and teach you lessons. Encourage you. Pull you down. Push you forth and make you explore your potential. Reminiscing would take us nowhere but remembering and treasuring would. And here I take a trunk of moments. And I say, "Thankyou".

On A Random Day HILL ARCHITECTURE Revolving around the quiet reserve of the hills, it is the architecture that resiliently responds to the climate on the hills where the structures are allowed to rest in the lap of mountains and buildings cling to the terraces creating a setup befitting a picturesque frame. The vernacular architecture in the hills effectively survives on the fundamental materials locally available letting the architecture not overlook but surrender beautifully to the nature. Though merging, it still emerges. Swinging in architecture :  " This piece is based on a random architectural observation and how a simple façade could be thought provoking drawing the lines on hilly realms." A s I sit swinging under the partial shades of the Deodars, I am caught by a carved design on .   the wall parallel to the level of ventilating windows. Ventilating windows, high enough as I see them for a single storied residence. This floral attempt as I percei