The Gaze

Here I am,
trying desperately
to see in you-
Gazing hard
hoping that
my gaze will turn
you transparent
and i shall finally
get a look into
that opaque inside
of yours.

After trying
seconds turn
in hours and
hours in days
which lead to
weeks and months
that have now
turned in years
and i finally
have attained
comprehension of
the fact that
I and you
live in parallel
universes.
In mine
we're one already
and in yours,
we're acquainted
to each other.

~~Fatte

भौकाल

यद्यपि हिंदी व्याकरण में तीन काल होते हैं- भूत काल, वर्तमान काल एवं भविष्य काल किन्तु यू पी में एक काल और होता है- भौकाल।

तो जहाँ दुनिया का हर काम पहले तीनो कालों में होते हैं, हम अपने कार्य सम्पन्न करने के लिए भौकाल का सहारा लेते हैं।
हमने कल जो भी किया था वह भौकाल में था, हम जो आज कर रहे हैं वह भी भौकाल में है और जो कार्य हम कल करेंगे वह भी भौकाल में ही होगा। हम हैं ही ऐसे अखंड भौकाली। हमें क्रोधित कर दो फिर तुम्हे हम बताएं की क्या होता है प्रचंड भौकाली।

हमसे यह प्रश्न कई बार हमारे कई सीधे सरल मित्रों ने किया, की आखिर यह भौकाल है क्या? भौकाल का शाब्दिक अर्थ क्या होता है। क्या करें बोहोत ही असमंजस में डालने वाला प्रश्न यह। भौकाल को समझा या परिभाषित नहीं किया जा सकता। भौकाल महसूस किया जा सकता है बस। जिस दिन आप भौकाल का मतलब समझ गए समझ लीजिये आप भी भौकाली हो गये।

क्या यह क्यों आवश्यक है पूछ रहे हो? भौकाल पे प्रश्नचिन्ह ? छुटकऊ एक पान लगाओ बे अब दिल पर लगने वाली बात पूछ ली गयी है।
भौकाल आत्म ज्ञान है- भौकाली को अपनी श्रेष्ठता का ज्ञान होता है। जिस व्यक्ति के जीवन में भौकाल न हो वह इस मानव समुद्र में गुम हो जाता है किन्तु भौकाली को लोग याद रखते हैं। यदि आपमें भौकाल है तो आप स्ट्रोकलेस वंडर से सिक्सर सिद्धू बन जाते हैं.. अन्यथा आकाश चोपड़ा की तरह रिटायर हो जाते हैं।
बिटवा यह याद रक्खो भौकाल जीवन का सार है, बिन भौकाल जीवन बेकार है। अब जब बात निकल ही पड़ी है तो भौकाल का महत्व बताने वाली एक कहावत भी सुन लें, यदि आप भौकाली हैं या भाउकलियों के साथ रहे हैं तो आप अवश्य अवगत होंगे इस कहावत से:

*Word Censored * फटे तो फटे, भौकाल न घटे।

लेकिन हम बोल क्यों रहे हैं यह! यदि आप भौकाली नहीं हैं तो अभी तक आपको समझ नहीं आया होगा की हम ये भौकाल का भौकाल बना क्यों रहे हैं इतना। यदि आप भौकाली हैं तब तो आपको भौकाल के बारे में जानने के लिए मेरी आवश्यकता नहीं।

अछा रुकिए यू पी की शब्दावली से कोई और शब्द ले कर आते हैं आपको बताने के लिए।

तब तक अपना भौकाल टाइट रक्खें

फत्ते भौकाली

आज का संगीत

आज एक महाशय ( एक मित्र के मित्र) को फेसबुक पर दुखी होते पढ़ा की हमारे देश में संगीत की कितनी दुर्दशा हो चुकी है एवं यो यो हनी सिंह और बादशाह जैसे गायकों ने भद्दे भद्दे गानो ला कर समाज प्रदूषित कर रखा है। हमें यह बात कुछ जँची नहीं तो हमने उस पोस्ट का जवाब कुछ यूँ दिया:

"यद्यपि हमारी और आपकी जान पहचान तो नहीं है, किन्तु आपके शब्दों भीतर कहीं दबा छुपा विरोधाभास देखा तो स्वयं को रोक न पाया। सोचा अपने विचार प्रकट कर ही दूँ, शायद इसी बहाने मित्रता हो जाए।

आपको एक कहानी सुनाता हूँ:

एक बालक ने अपने घर के बरामदे में खड़े हो कर राह चलते एक व्यक्ति पर एक कंकड़ फेंका। कंकड़ भले आदमी को लगा किन्तु उसे बच्चे पर क्रोध नहीं बल्कि उसकी बाल सुलभ हरकत पर हंसी आ गयी- वह बालक को देख कर हंसा और आगे चलता बना। बालक को लगा उसकी प्रशंसा हुई और वह और उत्साह इसी प्रक्रिया को दोहराने लगा। आज वो लोगो पर बड़े बड़े पथ्थर फेंकता है- जिन्हे चोट लगती है उन्हें गुस्सा आता है और तमाशबीनों को हंसी।
यदि बालक को पहली बार डांट पड़ जाती वह शायद ऐसा न करता। या अगर तमाशबीन हंसना बंद कर दें तो वह अकेला पड़ जाए और शायद इस भय से पथ्थर फेंकना बंद कर दे की कहीं नाराज़ होने वालों में से कोई व्यक्ति हमें एक कंटाप रख न दे।

मैं ये मानता हूँ की कला यानि की आर्ट अपने श्रोताओं/ दर्शकों के समाज का प्रतिबिम्ब होता है। यदि हमसे एक पीढ़ी नीचे के यह किशोरवय बालक इन गानों को सुनना बंद कर दें तो कौन हनी सिंह और कौन बादशाह। हमारा दुर्भाग्य यह नहीं है मित्र की आज हनी सिंह या बादशाह भद्दे गाने गा रहे हैं। हमारा दुर्भाग्य यह है की हमारे और हमसे एक छोटी पीढ़ी के बीच संवाद का अभाव इस अधीर स्थिति में पहुँच चुका है की जो हमें भद्दा लगता है वह उन्हें कर्णप्रिय प्रतीत होता है। यदि हम अपनी खुशफहमी से बहार निकल कर विश्लेषण करें तो हम शायद यही पाएंगे की समस्या तो हम लोगों में ही है।"


हमें यह नहीं पता उन्हें बुरा लगा या भला. उम्मीद यही करता हूँ हमारा तर्क अवश्य समझ आया होगा।

I can't NOT Give a fuck.

Today, a friend doing his MBA, sent me an application form- some summer internship application form that he has applied for as a part of his MBA Syllabus.
There was a portion which had to be filled by a close friend of the applicant and I being one, was sent the form. There were three questions
1) Applicant should start doing…
2) Applicant should stop doing…
3) Applicant should continue doing…
The friend had to answer these questions based on his knowledge of habits of the applicant.
So as you know… when you speak about a friend you don’t talk with respect. My first impulse was to trash my way through- to give silly immature answers to everything that was being asked.
Being foulmouth and cracking stupid jokes is what we- the people of NIT Jsr enjoy the most.( OK maybe foulmouth part I like a little more than others :P). We laughed away everything. Never ever paying seriousness to absolutely anything- it was a way of life our dear friend Kunwar Akhilesh Singh, being the only sensible guy amongst us, never approved of. He would get irritated if we created a ruckus shouting at novelty while having the Friday night dinner. He would shout at me if started my abuse chalisa at a public palce. We found a way to even make fun of this seriousness of KAS- christening him chacha for his sobriety against our extravaganza of “I- don’t and won’t- give –a- fuck”.
We were not being wrong- we were being our age, enjoying the autonomy from the supervision of our family, doing as our heart pleased. He was not wrong- he conducted and still conducts himself with the typical responsibility of a middle class Indian Child.( Or Maybe he was also behaving his age? :P Sorry Akhislesh couldn't resist the joke- it was on. :P)
Anyways, so my first impulse was to ridicule each and every question of the form with all the skill that I had gathered in those four years of learning. An impulse which was more of a hangover of the perpetual inebriation of NIT JSR in which the sole moto of everything that you do is “Not- a-fuck-shall-be-given”.
In fact till now I have done that- these MBA Guys keep giving you link for their online surveys- Sachin, Sahu, Auddy and Prabal- if you have read the reults of your online surveys you gave me to fill- I have done serious fuckjob with answers given the anonymity online surveys offer :P
But just as I was about to act on that first impulse- I read the complete form. The part of the form other than the 3 questions I was supposed to fill. It was an actual form. Something serious from the real life that we are all part of. If I fucked with it, he would just have filled something sensible in it and sent it on his own and not been a part of the joke. He would probably not even have laughed- maybe he’d have been frustrated if I did that.
As soon as I realised that it was a responsibility of behaving like a grown man that I was trusted with- that I am supposed to give real life serious meaningful and truthful answers to the questions, I had a sinking feeling. Like some ball had been dropped in my stomach.
I have had this sinking feeling earlier too- when Rajath got married. Then also, I had felt the ball dropping in my stomach. The feeling of finally having grown up. But that was a happy occasion. There was another emotion of being firecly happy for him which probably overtook the sinking feeling. Whatever small intensity of sinking feeling remained- I drwoned it in Rum and Whiskey with Prashant and Rajath.
But today the magnitude of the sinking feeling is much higher. The mass of the ball dropped in the stomach is multiple times more than that time. And I am sitting here alone- We can’t drown anything in Rum and Whiskey on our own. We need the comforting company of friends to crack all those sex jokes that only we laughed at and to let that river of profanities flow.
As I realise that I can’t even drown anything in ethanol on my own… the feeling worsens.
I slowly accept that I have grown up and I have to be responsible.
When one said “Abe pyas lagi hai bohot”, a dear friend’s favorite response used to be “ Haan Muh Khol abhi pilata hoon pani”. I have come to realise that such jokes can’t be craked now. They are history.
If today I go to the very same dear friend and say “abe pyaas lagi hai bahut”, he’d probably qietly go to fridge and give me a bottle of water.
Maybe once in a year or two when few of us Get us and rivers of Ethanol flow… we’ll help ourselves to a few of these- feasting hungrily on the small Joys that these Jokes give. Laughing on punches that none on planet earth other than we people will laugh on.
This sinking feeling is an acceptance of the three and half year long denial of the fact that the days of perpetual inebriation on “i-don’t-give-a-fuck” have ended. ‘A fuck’ has to be given as many times as it is asked for… Maybe it’s for good that I have finally realised this.

This crossroad

I stand on a road. Many such roads are there around me- Going in every direction possible. there are people- countless people. Some are working with spades and shovel. Dripping with sweat. some are just walking... near and far they are walking.

As i stand here and look at them- the outlines are not very clear. The features of this scene are not very sharp.i certainly am not drunk then why can't I make out the details of the scene. Why are these people working? Where are they going? where do these roads go. why are there so many roads? What exactly is happening.
When I set out I guessed I had a plan. I guessed I knew where was I going. Plan! Ha! Who was I kidding. I wonder if there was anything as feeble, as vulnerable and as weak knee'd as my plan.

My plan was an illusion that I had. It was a mirage that provided attestation to my extortionate sense of self worth that led me to believe I could dictate my destiny. Could I be more flawed. Now that I realise this... let me try and figure out which road should I go. Ha! Like my choice matters!

THIS street

There were roads- which I loved to travel,
Slippers in feet and wearing THAT combination,
Of some t shirt and dirty jeans
I loved to walk on… those roads.

I used to walk,
I used to Jump, Play and laugh.
With those Slipper wearing,
T shirt and dirty jeans Adoring Playmates.

But gone have the slippers,
The feet have the leathers of finest make,
Gone is that combination-
Of dirty Jeans and Tee,
To be replaced with crisp Pants and shirts.
Gone are the jump play and laugh
And have been replaced by the void-THAT void.

This void when acknowledged,
Threatens to engulf you- reminds you,
That you are alone,
In a street crowded with people.

This street is not the same as
The road I travelled in slippers.
That road, for some strange reason,
People say I’m not allowed on.
I’ve outlived my quota of that road,
Oh, ok I agree…
Anyways that road was too good to go on forever.
But why is this street this difficult to walk on?

On this street,
The finest leather in feet
Alone and sweating… I’m running,
Racing with people,
For god knows what!!

i'm....

I'M drunk.
yes! I am.
They say,
You shouldn't speak
when drunk
OK! I won't.
FUCK! I'll write.
Yes, I will.
I want to write.
But i can't.
Words elude me,
when i wish,
they'd espouse me, the most!
They do.
This treachery of words,
I fail to comprehend.
oh, I so don't understand.
Perhaps, these two had a fight-
words and 'Old Monk'
I am sure they did.
Chuck it. Let 'em fight.
I don't want to write.
Not Anymore!!