कुछ चीज़ें बेशकीमती होती है - नानी का घर

एक और याद, एक और खज़ाना। … मेरे भाई और बहने शायद इन पंक्तियों में उस कल को देख सके जो अब बहुत बदल गया है…। ममेरे , चचेरे भाई और बहने कुछ जो बड़े होते होते बहुत बड़े हो गए और कुछ जो बहुत बड़े हो कर भी इतने बड़े नहीं हुए… उनकी याद में लिपटी हुई कुछ बातें…उम्मेीद है एक मुस्कान चेहरे पर लाएंगी.... मुझ से वो मुस्कान सांझी करना अगर हो सके तो । … इस के बाद कुछ दिन तक मै इसी खजाने से खेलूंगा … कुछ दिनों बाद फिर आऊंगा शायद और कुछ ले कर

वह बचपन वह बारिश वह स्वाद 

कुछ चीज़ें बेशकीमती होती है 

जैसे पुरानी गली में नानी का घर 

नानी से भी पुराना नानी का घर 

और घर से भी पुरानी, पुरानी गली 

हर किसी का हर किसी को जानना 

हर किसी का हर किसी को पूछना 

टूटती दीवारें सुनाती घर के इतिहास की गाथा 

वही कहानी हर जाने अनजाने से फिर फिर सुनना 

चरमराते दरवाजे के उस तरफ से 

पुरानी भव्यता को न देख के भी देखना 

रात छत पे, नवारी मंजो पर लेट कर 

तारों से और सारों से घंटो बतिआना 

बातों का फिर सपनों में बदलना और 

सपनो का बारिश की बूंदो से नम हो खुल जाना 

बूँदों को लांघ कर बिस्तर समेटना 

और खिलखिला के दौड़ना बरसाती की पनाह में 

बरसाती में फिर बातों से सपनो तक टहलना 

वो गली, वो घर, वो छत, वो बरसाती 

और बातों के स्वाद में घुली बारिश की मटमैली  महक 

कुछ चीज़ें बेशकीमती होती हैं 

जैसे छोटे छोटे दोस्तों के बड़े बड़े मंसूबे 

---------------------------------

------------------

---------------------------

कुछ चीज़ें बेशकीमती होती हैं - बचपन और बारिश

२ बातें आप से बांटी और बहुत ही अच्छा लगा,आपकी कुछ पुरानी यादें ताज़ा हुई और मेरा मन और भी लिखने का हुआ। तो एक और याद बाँट रहा हूँ आपको अच्छी लगे तो बताना , मेरे पास जो खजाना है वह मैं भेजता रहूँगा। …… तो अब एक और…… बचपन और बारिश एक ऐसा रिश्ता है जो सारे विश्व में सदियों से एक सा ही रहा है…बिना कुछ भी बद्ले… अगली कुछ पंक्तिया उस रिश्ते की याद में

कुछ चीज़ें बेशकीमती होती हैं 

जैसे मानसून की पहली बारिश 

उस बारिश की बहती धार में 

आकाश और धरा से एकसार होता बचपन

स्कूल से लौटते हुए ठहरे पानी में कूदना 

भीगी किताबों को छुपाते हुए बहानो को ढूढ़ना 

पकड़े जाने पर बादल, बारिश और ईश्वर तक पे दोष धरना 

कान पकड़ के माँ-पापा से फिर न दोहराने का वादा करना 

वादा करते करते अगली बारिश की राह तकना 

मानसून की बारिश और बचपन का अटूट रिश्ता 

उस रिश्ते के स्वाद सालों बाद भी उतना ही ताज़ा 

वह बचपन वह बारिश वह स्वाद 

कुछ चीज़ें बेशकीमती होती है 

जैसे पुरानी गली में नानी का घर 

---------------------------

---------------------------

-------------------------

दादी और नानी बारिश की ही तरह, बचपन के साथी, और ऐसे साथी जिन से माँ और पापा तक डरते हैं फिर कोई भी घर हो या कोई भी युग.... जब तक आप अपने बचपन की बारिश को याद करते हैं तब तक मैं कुछ और ढूंढ़ता हूँ पिटारे से.... १-२ दिन में बांटूंगा मेरी एक और बेशकीमती चीज। .... 

पिछली यादों का पता नीचे है 

http://nuancesofbeing.blogspot.com/2015/10/blog-post_11.html

http://nuancesofbeing.blogspot.com/2015/10/blog-post_11.html

कुछ चीज़ें बेशकीमती होती हैं - धूप

लगता है बारिश और चाय की याद आपको भी वहां ले गयी जहा से मुझे उन पंक्तियों को लिखने की प्रेरणा मिली थी। ………

मैंने वादा किया था कुछ धूप की आंच बांटने का … तो जहाँ उस दिन छोड़ा था वहां से शुरू करते है.... अगर आपने उस दिन वाली पंक्तिया नहीं पढ़ी तो उनका पता नीचे है....
http://nuancesofbeing.blogspot.com/2015/10/blog-post.html

-------------

---------

सालों पहले की बारिश 

उस बारिश के गीले लम्हों की भीगी हुई याद 

कुछ चीज़ें बेशकीमती होती हैं 

जैसे गर्मी में दोपहर की चमकती सी धूप 

उस धूप की आंच से तपे हुए से बदन का 

शुक्रिया सुनती शाम की गुनगुनी ठंडक 

उस ठंडक में गली के नुक्कड़ से खरीदी 

डंडी वाली कुल्फी होंठों से अंतर्मन तक 

शीतल फुहार से बन के घुलती 

उस घुलती ठंडी मिठास के साथ शाम का रात में घुलना 

रात के काले रंगमंच पे चमकते चाँद और तारो का खेल 

उस खेल को आँगन में चारपाइयों पे उलटे लेटे देखना 

और उस खेल में अचानक पूरब से आती ठंडी हवा का लुत्फ़ 

और उस हवा से भी ताज़ा दोस्तों की ठिठोली 

सालों पहले की वह ठंडक पहुचती सी गर्मिया 

कुछ चीज़ें बेशकीमती होती हैं 

जैसे मानसून की पहली बारिश 

---------------------------

-----------------------

------------------------

बारिश हर उम्र में एक अलग एहसास जगाती है…। और सब से पहले बचपन और बारिश का साथ....उस साथ को साँझा करूँगा १-२ दिन बाद…। 

पढ़िए और मुझे बताइये कहीं कोने में वह याद गर्मियों की ने करवट ली क्या?

कुछ चीज़ें बेशकीमती होती हैं

An Ode to the things that are so priceless and almost timeless, things that one can ignore occasionally but can not lose from the mind..... Sharing a few such items in next few days starting with the one today.
Apologies for the fiends who font read Hindi and I tried to translate but could translate the words and not the emotions so I gave up (for now...will try again) .......

सोचता हूँ यह पड़ के शायद कुछ मन के कोने से बातें आपको भी याद आये और आप अपनी बेशकीमती चीज़ें मेरे साथ भी बाँटें। ……

कुछ चीज़ें बेशकीमती होती हैं 

जैसे खिड़की के पक्के कांच पर गिरती हुई बारिश की कच्ची बूँदें 

गिर के टूटती हुई उन बूंदों को देखना 

हाथ में थामे हुए गर्म चाय का गर्म प्याला 

चाय की गुनगुनी चुस्कियों की आवाज़ का स्वाद 

कुछ ज़बान पे छूटता और कुछ कानों में घुलता हुआ

उस स्वाद से मिली-भगत कर सांस को चटकाती 

रसोई में बनते हुए पकोड़ों की मिर्चीली महक 

उस महक में मिलता खट्टी मीठी चटनियों का रस

सालों पहले की बारिश 

उस बारिश के गीले लम्हों की भीगी हुई याद 

कुछ चीज़ें बेशकीमती होती हैं 

जैसे गर्मी में दोपहर की चमकती सी धूप  ………। 

---------

---------

---------

--------

आप बारिश में भीगने के एहसास को सोचिये। 

धूप की आंच १-२ दिन बाद 

आपकी राय की प्रतीक्षा रहेगी....... 

Did I miss.......?

It went past me so fast that I was almost sucked into its speed, almost fell. But kept my feet firm on the ground and stumbled and balanced and managed not to fall. In a few seconds it was gone way past me. I felt lucky for a fraction of moment that I didn’t fall. But then I was sad, almost mournful that it was gone.

Was it a train? Was it an opportunity? Was it a friend just running past me at jet speed? Was it family giving up on me? Was it something I knew? Was it something I have never experienced in my life? Or was it the life itself, which jetted past me? Almost pulling me into it and I almost missed being pulled into it. Was I saved or did I lose a chance?

I will never know as it went past, way too out of sight now.  I am standing here unsure if I should rejoice on being saved, cry about missing whatever it was or wait for another one of these to come. No answers, but if it was the life itself then you will not get another one, a small-self says mockingly.

Don’t know if you ever felt it but I feel this, very often these days. The same scene unfolds again and again and I am upset, sweaty, teary and unsure. I open my eyes look around, it is just me in the room. It is way past mid night. So it must have been just a dream I think, but that thought I know is just a false consolation.

A Painting--- Destroyed

It was a beautiful landscape, oil on canvas with hills and trees and rivers. Meadows ending in flower bushes just next to the farm and so much more. The artist had obviously spent months of thinking and creating this piece. Truly it was a masterpiece. It was done so beautifully, kept so alive that one could almost see the farm animals on the far side of the canvas graze. No wonder when one creates a masterpiece like this, the attachment and proud come in heavy doses. It was certainly the most prized painting by the painter.

While the painter was busy creating more art work to augment the masterpiece he had created; the master piece itself was not getting as much daily attention. And then there came the notorious bunch. The kids from the neighborhood. The group that was notorious for doing nothing but bad. They saw the masterpiece and decided to own it. But how could a number of kids own one piece of painting.

Question was difficult but solution as they thought was not as much of a problem. They would simply divide the areas on the painting and own those. So the farm goes to the fist and the mash goes to the second and then the far side mountains to the third and so on. While they had spoken of the ownership still they would argue about the extent to which their dominion on the masterpiece expended. Each one wanting to bleed into the next one’s territory.  The arguments started becoming heated and soon there will be punches and knuckles involved with the arguments.

Again the solution came easy. Since they didn’t take the pain of creating it so they didn’t care at all about the whole creation. They were just concerned about the parts that they had reserved as their own dominion. The big buy in the bunch; one fine day picked a piece of dark carbon stick and started drawing lines on the painting, dividing everyone’s territory in a manner that he claimed was just. The poor painting was smudged and no longer look like the masterpiece that the artist had created. 

“Wait this is the bush on the side of the river so it is a part of the river that I own.” One kid claimed. “No the bush is mine” the other kid retorted. And that lead to disagreement about drawn boundaries and a fight like they never had before.

The loud arguments and the sound of fists breaking on the teeth and backs were heard by the painter who so far has quietly been working in his studio next door on his next creation. He came running and tried to end the commotion, but soon he saw his painting. His masterpiece was ruined, it had jiggered lines all over the place. Right around the lines on some spots were smudges of blood that some of the fighting kids have shed while, “saving his territory”.

Sad and angry at the same time, the painter looked at them and….

I will not tell you what the painter did but you think for yourself if you were the painter what would you do in this situation?

After you have answered, look at a world map and the beauty of the rivers and valleys and rain-forests and mountains and so on. Now bring the international border lines on the same map. You will see how we the people have ruined the painting that the master painter so painstakingly created to its perfection. Think hard now and answer, would it not be fair for the master painter to give you (and me and everyone) the same punishment that you had decided for the kids who ruined the painting?

Fabric of Life

Life; as we fondly call it; what does it exactly mean? Is it the days, months and years that we have lived and that we hope to live in time to come?  Or is it just the moment that we are in, the moment that is NOW?

Be it the collage of the database built from years of being alive or the moment that is NOW; it still has many faces in it besides our own. There are the friends, the parents, the coworkers, kids, spouse and many. Some right next to us and some at the corner of the frame; but they are there. And then some who are way too close in some pictures and way too far in the others. The collage that life is cannot complete without these other faces. The other faces of those who are our own, in some way. They are the universe that we are the center of, and they make us what we are and what we will be.

Now envision if the face that is close to us in that bunch; may be the closest and not only in one picture but in many, spanned over years. So close that many times it almost mixes with our personal image. We can see a part of our own in that image and a part of that someone in our image. And one day if that face just moves away. Taken away by distance, disease, death or divorce; contemplate how that will change our image of our self in the collage going forward.

Can the places where our image has merged with theirs be whole after that? Would that leave scarred lines where it held together? Would it pain when touched in those areas? Would it heal? Would it be shaded over by some other image or some other color over time? And would it leave a scar that never fades away?  Contemplate; is the life what we are ourselves or is it the “me” in a sea of others who make it we and then the world. Think if one of those is altered would that world still stay the same?

Again this thought like many others are passing in the mind. Why am I thinking this? My reasons are my own. I look at the collage that I call as my life and look at all those faces that are near me in many frames. Almost all; and then some faces that came and went and some that stayed in the far corners. Amongst all these the thread is woven to make the fabric of life. One thread pulled and the fabric will be torn. It will necessitate to me mended. Even after mending it may never be whole.  I look at the collage again and vow to each of those faces that I will be careful to protect the fabric and many of us are woven in this together.

Life…. I am not sure what it means. But I remember the dialogue from Kung Fu Panda; “Scars don’t heal; wounds do”; “then what happens to the scars” Kung fu panda asks with childlike honesty; and with the same honesty he replies to his question without waiting for an answer, “may be scars fade” I am sure underneath some faded scars the pain persists as those are scars left from where the life was torn.

Life is precious; so is every single face in that collage. That is all that I can say about life.