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उसने लिखना छोड़ दिआ

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उसने लिखना छोड़ दिया  मैंने पुछा क्या हुआ  तो वो थोड़ी देर तक ठहरा  फिर जैसे कुछ गेहन सा सोच के बोला  अब शब्द नहीं मिलते  मै भी आज चर्चा के मूड में था  तो मैंने भी कह दिआ  शायद ये अच्छा ही है  हो सकता है तेरा दर्द जो तू इतने दिनों से  रह रह कर इन कहानियों में बहा रहा था  अब खर्च हो चला हो  शायद ये एक ख़ुशी का मौका हो  एक नयी शुरुआत हो  कुछ खुशनुमा लिखने की कोशिश कर  उसके चेहरे पे एक अजीब सी कसक थी  जैसे वो था यहाँ  पर असल में कही और बैठा था  किसी याद के आंगन में बतियाते हुए  और मेरी बात सुनकर जैसे भागता हुआ आया हो उस गली से  वो जब दौड़ने के बाद हाँफते हुए  जो थकान चेहरे पे आती है  उसी चेहरे के जैसे देख रहा था मुझे  मैं जानता उसे कई सालों से हु अब  तो मुझे लगा शायद मैंने कुछ ज्यादा ही कह दिआ  थोड़ा भावुक सा तो है वो  कहीं मैंने कोई दुखती सी नब्ज़ तो नहीं पकड़ ली उसकी  वैसे काफी बेहूदा सा खौफ है ये मेरा , मैं सोचूं तो  अब दोस्त होना भी क्या एक इम्तेहान बना लूँ  कब क्या कहूं, कब चुप रहूं  कब बस सुन लूँ, तो कब ये न कहूं  इतने चेहरे तो एक दोस्ती में होते नहीं  ये डर है मेरा, वो बोला  जिसके चलते अब

The Creaking Chair - Part XXX

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  29 th May 1954 Cat Stevens couldn’t have captured the emotions I feel right now better than how he did in the song “Father and Son” Now this song has been and I am sure will be one that would be close to my heart all my life and for multiple reasons As I write this today though, I feel pulled the anger and frustration of the high-pitched voice of the son in the song and ‘I know I have to go away’ To be frank I should not have much to complaint about if I look at it from the idealistic way I have a room to myself at my parent’s house my privacy doesn’t get overly infringed and I can practically do what I wish to as long as it is in my own quarters and does not draw enough attention I get good food and don’t have to worry about cooking it I can get and borrow all the books I need from the local library and devour them in my room in my solitude while I also write down all my pent up thoughts in my multiple diaries and most importantly I don’t have to see or hear domestic quarrels or

The Creaking Chair - XXIX

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  08 th  July 1999 I have been told I suffer from an elevated sense of  narcissism and I don’t think I can deny the allegations you decide to agree and accept things when they are repeated from multiple loved ones and time over time I think I even get a sense of pride in the title, if it can be called so it goes with being a narcissist I am told – a circular cycle I have also tried to dig deeper into the reason of why it should be so I am otherwise quite a humble character if I were a part of a movie or a character in a book I would be one of those on the edge characters those whom you don’t etch themselves in your mind when you finish the book but who linger on the periphery, with a few moments clearly remembered But I digress from the point and linger on my own narcissism, again No surprises.. what I want to write about is an introspection which you would have guessed by now is on my narcissism Yesterday I was speaking to Atul and in the backdrop of the fact that the world is going t

Ek sawal

Ye jo bar bar khiche chale ate ho tum Un ginti ki yaadon ke pas Bina kisi mansube ke  Aksar na jante hue bhi jab fir se rubaru ho jate ho  Tum un ginti ki yaadon se Kabhi socha hai aisa kyu karte ho tum? Badi ajeeb si hai ye tumhari kuch aadatein  Aksar Raton ko jab sab apne ghar ke andar so rahe hote hain  Ek Anjani si talab si uthti hai tumhare andar  Aur nikal padte ho tum us rat ke agosh me  Akele, tanha se, tehlte hue  Un galiyon me jaha par sangat ke lie hota hai chand Aur ek sukoon se bhari hui thandi purvai Aur hota hai sannata, isi ki talash me nikalte ho na tum? Kabhi socha hai magar aisa kyu karte ho tum? Aise to bada shauk hai tumhe  Apne ghar ko sajane ka  Kai nai si cheezein khareed ke late ho  Kabhi sandali ki khusbhu wali agarbatti To kabhi Buddha ke chehre wali wo peeli light  Har ek nayi koshish us ek kone ko dhundhne ki Jaha tumhara Dil Sambhal jae Jise tum apna chota sa khud ka kona keh sako Fir chahe waha gadda bichakar ya zameen par hi let jao Aur kabhi man kare t

The Creaking Chair - Part XXVIII

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  9th November 1988 When I was a kid, I was rarely exposed to any foreign language movie or play we came from a humble background and were just catching up to the so called ‘upper middle class’ and we had certain values which we adhered to and certain unsaid ways of living that changed when I moved to Delhi for a couple of years for my first tryst with life as an adult – that is when I could relate to the movies & plays I saw this was also the time when I had fought with my father in my effort to join the armed forces That was the beginning of a curve in my life that took me to twisted routes of ups and downs, of joys and sorrows, of adventures and misfortunes but none of them did I regret or feel sorry about even today had I not taken that route, I would possibly not have spent my time in Paris or Madrid I may never have met Paul or Jamie or Harshita or Vani ; I can go on with the list  all treasures in my memory vault I explored the emotion of love and the tickle in the stomach t

The Creaking Chair - Part XXVII

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  17th October 1988 ‘Of evenings that smell of you’ Often times I have written about heavy clouds in an evening sky  and many a times of winter or summer evenings  all coming with their own character of restlessness, calm or anger but there have been only a few instances when I have written of a casual evening one that is uncharacterized by anything unusual, rather is surprisingly plain As I remember now, such evenings belonged to you, beautiful in it’s own serene ways And such evenings were divided in two phases in my life one was the phase when I spent those evenings with you  whether you were physically present around me  or we were separated by distance, yet connected by spirit and the other phase is one with memories  of you, of a distant me and of us  of reminiscence and stories and letters on the balcony But most of all I remember the evenings when I felt restless  and you getting out of your evening bath would come to sit besides me and my chai and the fact that your smell made

The Creaking Chair – Part XXVI

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  07th April 1988 ‘A commentary on struggles and injustice’ this was the pamphlet in my hand  as I entered the market place in Toulouse on this Sunday afternoon I was out to buy some croissant and wine for an evening of recluse in my immaculately neatly kept apartment  a fetish I had developed recently and was slowly developing great pride in It was supposed to be a dialogue followed by a rendition of Warsaw concerto  and the orations would focus on the themes of ‘human spirit and resilience’, ‘the fundamental nature of the oppressor” and  ‘the anatomy of a revolt’ to my Sunday slumbered mind these sounded quite grand  but then the name of one of the speakers stood out to me  We had dated for sometime during my stay at Marseille  and I realized how organically had we drifted apart  The fact that the passage of time between us was so vivid in my head  was a revelation for me – I had barely thought about her for the last 5 months and it had been only 5 months since we bid our farewells t