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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