muniya re muniya

  They laid their lives left the lands numb so that we sleep in the night's hum. But who would know in the light of freedom, sleep would still be endowed not so easily to some. Picture Credits: Tarun Thakur

  A new home is being constructed on the grave of Toona ciliata . Earlier, parakeets would sit on its branches. They would show their curvy bodies against the dense fog of a wintry morning. Today, they sat on reinforcement bars belonging to columns of the future's structure. They also have found another tree nearby, which displays its bareness before the spring. They sat like they would earlier, mourning for another loss. They wore quietude like they would earlier, against a heavy white morning. Did gossip of the town matter to them? "Oh! The winters are late! Its mid-January already! Oh, last time it was downright in November!", etc. etc. Maybe it never mattered. Maybe, what mattered was the arrival of winters, whether sooner or later. Parakeets chirped like they would earlier, when the sun penetrated the prevalent translucence. Maybe, nothing is late. Nothing is early either. Because these are relative terms which bind our gossips to a thread.  Maybe parakeets seek life

Referring to a poem which I had written sitting in my room on the roof lit by fairy lights, " Sold ", in the city of Ahmedabad. When I was writing it, I remember writing it multiple times. The process involved writing different lines at different times on different days. I started with, "there is a giant mountain behind another mountain...", and then in the following weeks I started writing about the roads, the rivers, the night. Eventually, this got sewn into a feeling which I wanted to share. A feeling of running out of affordability to make certain choices after having made certain choices. And thence came my favourite line - For the future's lure, my breath is sold .  It got published in the 'LAND' issue Volume 3, No.3 AUTUMN 2020 of The Urban Transcripts Journal where I presented the poem as an expression from a migrant student. May find the link as  Sold - a letter from the city

This is in continuation to  Dear Spiti  . Landscapes are the underpinnings of any form of life. Experimentations in the field have long been resolving ways for human needs and practices, impacting biodiversity through changing inter-dependencies. Traversing in a Himalayan region proffers a deep understanding of the relation between landscapes and their impact on life forms.  I wrote some notes from a journey undertaken in the summer of May 2019 from the Lesser Himalayas, towards the Greater Himalayas, and transcending the Trans-Himalayas.  A spectacular transition can be observed from the forest landscapes (Shimla Hills) to the barren landscapes (Spiti Valley). It is further revealed how altitude variation exacts upon to lead a cold mountain desert from a lush green jungle.  The weaving of culture into landscapes is extremely profound. I observed that while faith becomes a pioneer steward of the local landscapes, human practices can offer controlled and sensitive stewardship through th

डरती हूँ मैं कि क्या करूँ ? क्या हिम्मत रखने की गुंजाइश अभी बाकी है ? हँसते हो तुम, सोचते हो कि कमज़ोर हूँ मैं, डरपोक भी, शायद मुझे अपना बल दिखाना अभी बाकी है। तुम्हें यदि ऐसा खयाल है कि मेरी पहचान है तुमसे और मान सम्मान भी तो डरती हूँ मैं ! डरती हूँ मैं तुम्हारे इस खयाल से, हँसते हो तुम, सोचते हो, तुम्हारी उंगली पर नाचता खिलौना हूँ मैं, कि कमज़ोर हूँ मैं, डरपोक भी शायद मुझे अपना परिचय देना अभी बाकी है। और यदि तुम्हें ऐसा खयाल है कि मैं देवी हूँ ! कोई सीता या काली हूँ तो डरती हूँ मैं ! डरती हूँ मैं तुम्हारे आदर से, मुझे दिए गए सत्कार से, हँसते हो तुम, सोचते हो, तुम्हारे कर्मों को सहन करती हुई मौन मूरत हूँ मैं ! कि कमज़ोर हूँ मैं, डरपोक भी, शायद मुझे अपने रूप का अनुसरण करना अभी बाकी है। क्योंकि तुम्हारी दी पहचान है ज़्यादा कुछ ख़ास नहीं, मुझे देवी-सा पूजने का ढोंग है आया कुछ रास नहीं, डरती हूँ तुम्हारे मैले मन से जो मुझ पर अपना हक़ समझता है डरती हूँ मैं अकेले चलने से, कि कदम हर मर्द पर अब शक करता है। हँसते हो तुम, सोचते हो, कि मिट्टी से उभरी नाज़ुक गुड़िया

There is a giant mountain Behind another mountain, Lit by houses Like stars laden to its silhouette. And here I am, in a desert. Where giant are the buildings Laden with all fancy and bright, Making me blind. There is a gushing river, Schools of fish, The Victoria bridge I looked from. Beside which lies an ancient cave. And here I am, on a parapet, Watching a dead stream. Beside which lies a new road. Golden but grave. There is plenty of air, Pure and cold. Fragrance of the fresh, An elixir to breath. And here I am, amidst the puffs Of smoke, flying dust. For the future’s lure, My breath is sold. There is a forest. A forest of chirps, Of snarls, roars. Belonging to the fittest. Ensembled present of hopes. And here I am, again in a forest Of concrete, horns and honks. Belonging to the weaks Of intelligent stature. Entangled in the illusion of the past, Now, fixing futures. There is a sky so blue. Where my dreams would fly With a circus

This poem was written last month as a birthday gift to a girl who has fought with courage for many years against the odd family belief systems, lost her opportunity to complete her studies in between, lost her love in the journey, the trust of family and was caged in the social system. She cried a lot but still had faith and courage to hope for a right. Fortunately, life has poured her with happiness lately. She won the fight for her love and is living happily, her faith growing stronger. I got the opportunity to write for her as someone narrated her story to me and wanted to present her on his behalf with something special, tell her what an inspiration she is for him and everybody else. Cheers! Sketch Credits :   https://www.instagram.com/unfathomable_dreams/ Knowing the existence, Of your presence, Was something I got, Ten years back. But the sanctity and your rich spirit! My bad! I came to know lately. But I thank God again and again, Because I was brought b