Monday, June 30, 2008

एक शहर था

एक शहर था, जहाँ ओस्मानिया यूनिवर्सिटी के सामने खूब शान्ति हुआ करती थी; आज वही सड़क पर गाड़ियों और बसों की आवाजाही से बहुत प्रदूषण और शोर के अलावा और कुछ नहीं होता। कभी देखने को मिलता थी हरियाली की एक घनी चादर; आज ऊंचे-ऊंचे मकानों की एक लम्बी,ना ख़त्म होती कतार ही दिखती है। एक अजीब सी परत ढके हुए इस शहर को, जिसको कुरेदने पर एक और ही सूरत नज़र आती है आज। ज़्यादा घूमता फिरता नहीं हो, फिर भी एक अजीब सी थकावट हो जाती है इस शहर में। बहुत सारी गुथ्थियाँ है इस शहर को बांधे हुए, हाथ पकड़े हुए है इस शहर की नब्ज़ पर। क्या जाने, क्या है इस शहर की फ़िज़ा में; बस, एक शहर था।

Friday, June 27, 2008

एक शहर था

हैदराबाद में आकर सब कुछ बदल गया है। क्या यह विधि का विधान कहा जा सकता है?शायद हाँ। किसको मालोम था के जो इंसान अपने घर से इतना जुदा हुआ था उसको एक अनजान शहर और अनजान लोगों के बीच जाकर रहना पड़ेगा?

यह शहर बड़ा ही निराला है। कई बातें तो बिल्कुल ही समझ नहीं आती हैं यहाँ के बारे में। लोगों का हज्जुम बनता जा रहा है यह शहर; न जाने और कितने लोग इसमें और समा पाएंगे। कुछ अजीब खासियत है इस शहर में-यहाँ समय अपनी ही रफ़्तार से चलने की जुर्रत करता है। किसी की परवाह नहीं करते समय और हालात यहाँ पर-सभी इसके यहाँ मोहताज लगते हैं।

यहाँ पर लोग भी बहुत अजीब तरह की खामोशी साधे हुए बैठे रहते हैं, मानो एक गुस्सा, एक उदासी, एक मांयुसी है अपने इस शहर की चरमराती हालत के ऊपर; मानो लोगों को इस शहर पर तरस आता है। एक नज़र भरकर तो देखना होता है सिर्फ़; और बाहर के लोगों को तुम अलग से पहचान पाओगे तुम। बस, अजीब सी बात है इस शहर की-वो तहजीब आज गायब लगती है कौमी परेशानियों के परदे के पीछे यहाँ पर; मुस्सल्मान और हिंदू लोगों के बीच एक दरार दिखती है, जो जल्द नहीं भरने वाली है। झंडों और मूर्तियों की राजनीति बहुत देखने को मिलती है इस शहर में। लगता है, मानो इस शहर में इंसान को कुछ ओ ना हो, इन दोनों चीज़ों को कुछ नहीं होना चाहिए। लोग कहतें है-एक शहर है; मैं कहता हूँ-एक शहर था, जो भीड़ के शोर-ओ-गुल में कहीं आज दफन हो गया है; जो गोलकुंडा के किले की दीवारों में कहीं चुन दिया गया है, जो रामोजी फ़िल्म सिटी की चकाचोंध में अंधा हो गया है। जो स्नो वर्ल्ड की नकली बर्फ के नीचे कहीं दब गया है, जो इस लगातार चलती भीड़ नें कहीं खो गया है।

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

I get baffled by the autorickshaw drivers of the city; sometimes it seems that they are a force unto their own, who do not care about what people who commute undergo through. They have strange systems when it comes to meters-each meter shows me a different distance for the same stretch of road that I cover each day. So should I now pay for a cumulative average, or should I quit the habit of asking meters to be run? It is a difficult question to answer.

Monday, June 23, 2008

In a new city, a new life has begun. A life without any family, with friends left far, far behind. And yet, there seems to be no sense of sadness or grief within me-only a void emotion comes up on digging deep within my own self. Why is it so? Am I an emotionless creature? Or is it that I am too practical to enjoy life?
Hyderabad/Secunderabad is a strange city. The phrase oft quoted in a movie of M F Hussain suits it brilliantly, which says that
सब लोग चल रहे हैं, दुनिया यहीं खड़ी है
Which, roughly translated, would mean that the world is still; its the people who are in constant motion.
The city has a strange sense of direection to it. I often feel lost in the endless number of people walkin around me, all with a sense o fpurpose, while I have nothing on my mind except that I need to reach work on time. So many people, so many hues and colours to them; and yet, to me it seems a dimly lit city when one sees it from the prism of the rainbow's colours. Everybody is in monochromes-I never see ariot of clours or haapy faces in this city. Is it because under its currents lies an anger, or a frustration, or a deep sadness over the loss of its original character? Its hard to say anything.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

The Call of Evil

The violin strains softly into the night
Wailing out emotions its player into it has infused
The bow rubs across the strings held upright
Sometimes slow, sometimes fast the notes effuse
As we slowly try to hear out this ghostly night

What does he play, we do not know anything
But for the fact that the notes that he raises from the else dead strings
Hit my conscience to the deepest core
Pointing out within myself, chinks in the image I present afore

The moon, it seems, hangs over us, frozen as it stands in its place
Spellbound as though it is, netted in the fine mesh of the way
the notes have been weaved together
Mesmerizing us, making each one of us rooted in their allotted place

To the very core these delicate threads of notes whip me
As pain surfaces in my eyes as tears, and I wipe them away
Even as the notes of the violin makes the bad in me shiver violently
And I sit transfixed to my chair, the violin trapping me in its way

Time stands witness to this encore, failing to seep through the hourglass neck
As the evil sense rises, shattering myths of the existence of good like never before
Malice and rumor run for cover aboard the deck
of human emotions, hither-thither, which never reaches its destined shores
The cascades of vice fall forcefully down on us
Trying to escape the four walls of music
That pulls them out and just thrashes
Until they turn numb, senseless to me

Shaken me to the very core has this enchanting melody
That spews sweet hemlock of the five senses and the soul
Writhing them, making them gasp for breath
Twisting their arms, crushing them like dried leaves

I fall to the ground, tears of guilt and conscience in my eyes
As the violinist takes his bow, leaving his audience mesmerized
Not a single clap, not a single utterance of praise
As everyone sits rooted to the spot
Having felt the call of evil
Reach out for them with its full might

Sunday, June 1, 2008

Sometimes people tend to have a lot of hatred pent up within them for no reason at all. This anger is spewed out in the form of venom that is vitriolic in tone and razor sharp like a Sabre, having enough potential to hurt people who read about themselves on the so-called public forums of expression. To be honest with you, even I tend to get angry with a lot of people. But should we all be spreading the poison in this manner? Myth tells the story of how Lord Shiva drank the poison Halahala to save the entire world from its danger, and yet he remains perhaps the purest of figures that can be imagined in the whole of the Hindu god pantheon. Anger is a poison which can only lead to nothing but death and destruction, and it is always best to drink it up-you'll realize that it tastes bitter to you as well. If you cannot drink the poison and spew it out instead, earn to apologize for it then; if you fell, however proud of what you did, then my friend, you really need some psychological help, to say the least!!!!!!!

The Economic Slowdown Needs Immediate Address

The Buck Stops With the Duo (Courtesy: Bloombergquint) The fracas in Maharashtra notwithstanding, things are at a critical juncture ...