सपनों का बाज़ार

पिछला जून का महीना और हर रोज़ की तरह होता घर का कलह कलेश । आर्थिक ज़रूरतों को पूरा करने में असमर्थ पिताजी और परिवार के हर सदस्यों की आंखों में दिखाई देने वाला एक भयानक डर। रात को भूखे पेट सोने का डर , घर की कच्ची छत गिर जाने का डर, अपना अस्तित्व खो देने का डर, फ़ना हो जाने का डर। एक दिन इस डर से भयभीत हो मैं निकल गया घर की देहलीज़ से बहार और चलता रहा जहाँ टूटे कदम मुझे ले जाएँ। चलते चलते कब अपनी गलियां पीछे रह गयीं कुछ पता न चला। चलते चलते कब अनजान गलियों की रह पड़ गया कुछ पता ही न चला। नज़र घुमा के देखा तो चारों ओर ऊंची ऊंची आलिशान इमारतें । अपने आसपास देखा तो चींटीयों के तरह भागते हुए हजारों लोग। घबराकर तेज़ चलना चाहा तो किसी कोट सूट पहने बाबू की बड़ी गाड़ी से टकराकर गिर पड़ा । उठकर अपने आप को संभाला कपडों पर लगी हुई धूल को साफ़ किया और चलने की कोशिश करने ही लगा ही था की कहीं से एक सायेरण की आवाज़ सुनाई दी। आवाज़ सुनते ही देखा की हजारों लोग जो पहले अपनी अपनी दिशायों की ओर जा रहे थे सायेरण बजते ही एक तरफ़ भागने लगे। टकराकर कहीं गिर न जाऊं मैंने भी उनके साथ साथ भागने शुरु किया। टूटी चप्पल ने दम तोड़ दिया तो नंगे paaon गरम ज़मीन पर भागता रहा। देखते ही देखते कब एक अंधेर नगरी में दाखिला हो गया पता ही न चला। हर तरफ़ काल घनघोर अँधेरा। चिल्लाने की कोशिश तो आवाजें कहीं विलुप्त हो गयीं। पीछे मुड़कर वापस जाना चाह तो हजारों लोगों की भीड़ मुझे आगे लेती गई। कुछ देर बाद एक और सायेरण की आवाज़। सायेरण बजते ही सब कदम थम गए और इंतज़ार करने लगे । हर तरफ़ शान्ति ही शान्ति और हर तरफ़ चुपचाप न जाने किसका इंतज़ार हुए हजारों लोग।

कुछ देर हुई तो सामने से एक रौशनी दीप्तिमान होती हुई नज़र आयी और फिर एक विशालकाय मानव के दर्शन हुए। ७ फ़ुट लंबा, काले रंग वाला एक विशाल मानव। सब लोगों ने करतल ध्वनि से उसका स्वागत किया । उस विशालकाए मानव ने अपनी ऊंची आवाज़ में सबको सम्भोदित करते हुए कहा,'' आपकी प्रतीक्षा समाप्त हुई। विश्व की सबसे बड़ी स्वप्न नगरी में आपका स्वागत है। आशा करता हूँ की आपकी निद्रा मंगलमय रही होगी। मैं आप सबके सपनों के पूरा होने की कामना करता हूँ।'' इतना बोलते ही सामने दीप्तिमान रौशनी अंधेरे में तब्दील हो गयी और उसके साथ ही विशालकाय मानव भी अंधेरे में कहीं लुप्त हो गया। सोचने लगा की वह मानव किस निद्रा की बात कर रहा था । शायद स्वप्न नगरी तक तय की जाने वाली यात्रा ही आज के मानव की निद्रा कहलाती है। अपने आपको सँभालने की कोशिश करने ही लगा था की चारों ओर प्रकाश ही प्रकाश होने लगा । तारों के समान लाखों ही बल्ब रंग बिरंगी रौशनी बिखेरने लगे । रौशनी से आँखें चकाचौंध होने लगीं । कुछ समझने की कोशिश करने ही लगा था की अपने आपको छोटे छोटे जादूगर का लिबास पहने बच्चों से घिरा हुआ पाया जो की ठेलों पर अजीबोगरीब यंत्रों से लोगों को बहला रहे थे । पूछने पर पता चला की उन अजीबोगरीब यंत्रों से लोगों को सपने दिखाए जा रहे थे । आगे बढ़कर मैंने भी सपने देखने चाहे तो मुझे धकेल कर एक लम्बी कतार में सबसे पीछे खड़ा कर दिया गया । सब लोग बारी बारी से सपने देख रहे थे। जब मेरी बारी आयी तो मुझसे पूछा गया ,''बाबूजी कौन सा सपने देखना पसंद करोगे? " पूछने पर पता चला की वहाँ हर तरह का सपना दिखाया जाता । मैंने भी कई सपने देखे । कभी अपने आपको राजा के सिंहासन पर विराजमान पाया तो दूसरे ठेले पर एक badii sii आलिशान गाड़ी को चलाते हुए। कहीं अपने आपको दुनिया के सभी ऐशोआराम से लड़ा हुआ पाया तो कहीं दुनिया पर राज करते हुए। कहीं अपने आपको सब सुंदर महिल्याओं से घिरा हुआ पाया तो कहीं गौतम बुद्ध की तरह मोक्ष की ओर जाते हुए? सपने देखते देखते पों के छले भूल गया। सपने देखते देखते घर की टूटी हुई छत और भूख से बिलकते हुए छोटे छोटे भी बहनों को भूल गया। सपनों की चकाचौंध से भरी हुई आंखों को मलते मलते जब अपने जीवन की सच्ची सामने आयी तो एक धक्का सा लगा। सपने टूटने का धक्का। चलते चलते कहाँ पहुँच गया और क्या कुछ देखने लगा ज्ञात होते ही डर गया। डर कर वापस जाना चाहा तो पता चला की बहार जाने के सब दरवाज़े बंद हैं क्यूंकि सुबह होने में अभी काफ़ी समय बाकी है। थक हारकर एक कोने में बैठ गया अपने जैसे हजारों लोगों को सपने देखते हुए देखने लगा। सपनों का ऐसा बाज़ार और छोटे छोटे ठेलों पर बिकते हुए बड़े बड़े सपने । सपनों को देखने की धक्काशाही में लगे हुए हजारों लोग और उनके मन में उछल कूद करती हुई सपनों की तरंगें। कहाँ वास्तविक जीवन में पत्थर के समान कठोर मानव तो कहाँ सपनों के संसार में बच्चों के समान मासूम से चेहरे। हर पल जीवन से लड़ते लड़ते, अपनी आर्थिक ज़रूरतों को पूरा करते करते शायद हम सपने देखना भूल जाते हैं। सपनों का यह बाज़ार उन्ही सपनों को दिखाने का प्रयत्न करता है। सपनों का पूरा होना तो शायद हमसे ज्यादा हमारी किस्मत पर निर्भर करता है पर उनको देखना तो पूरी तरह से हमारे ऊपर निर्भर करता है। सपने हमारे कठिन और कहीं न कहीं निर्जीव जीवन में एक कम्पन का काम करते हैं। यह ससब सोच ही रहा था की फिर से एक सायेरण की आवाज़ सुनाई दी। सब लोग आवाज़ सुनते ही उसी रास्ते पर वापस भागने लगे। अपने अपने घरों की ओर । शायद सपनों को पूरा करने के प्रयत्न में। सपनों के बाज़ार में कब समय निकल गया पता ही न चला । स्वप्न नगरी बंद हो रही थी। ठेलों को काले कपडों से ढककर वापस दुकानों में लेजाया जा रहा था । स्वप्न नगरी से वापस आए तो सुबह हो गयी थी।

भाग-२

आज सुबह जब उठा तो अपने आपको पसीने से तर पाया। बदन बहुत टाप रहा था। नींद से आँखें भरी हुई थीं। शरीर ऐसा पीड़ा से तड़प रहा था की जैसे कोई कीलें थोक रहा हो। पिताजी दूकान जाने के लिए तैयार हो रहे थे। माँ रसोई में उनके लिए नाश्ता बना रही थी। उठने की हिम्मत नहीं हो रही थी। नींद खुलने से पहले शायद कोई सपना देख रहा था। सोचा की फिर से सो जाऊं शायद वो आधा अधूरा सपना फिर से आकर पूरा हो जाए।

गरीब...

कुछ ऊंची ऊंची
कुछ तनहा तनहा
कुछ तनहा सी ऊंचाइयों से देख रहा हूँ
हर पल करवट लेती नीचे की जिन्दगी को,
कुछ सहमी सहमी
कुछ फना फना
वहाँ की रोशन गरीबी
और उस गरीबी में साँस लेते
ऊंचे ऊंचे सपनों को टूटते बिखरते हुए
देख रहा हूँ ।
जुलाई के मौसम में छत से बिखरती हुई
बारिश की बूँदें
और उन बूंदों से गीली होती हुई
बिस्तर की सुस्त सिलवटें ,
मेज़ पर रखे अख़बार के पास
पापा का बंद चश्मा
और कुर्सी के पास रखी उनकी
फटी हुई चप्पल पर लगी हुई
मोची की कील ,
ठंडी रसोई में पापा के लिए चाय
बनाती माँ
और माँ की खनकती हुई चार चूडियों को
ज़मीन पर बिखरे हुए
देख रहा हूँ ।
अलमारी में बंद मिठाई का कनिस्टर
और माँ की सादी से बंधी
अलमारी की चाबी को
चुराती हुई बहिन,
हर दिन दीवारों से उतरता हुआ कच्चा रंग
और उस रंग से भरी हुई
दरारों को हरपल गहरा होते हुए
देख रहा हूँ ।
दादी के चेहरे की झुर्रियां
और उन झुर्रियों के पीछे छुपा
सालों का अकेलापन,
वोह पीतल के गिलास पर
लिखा घर का नाम,
और पतलून की फटी हुई
पोक्केट से फिसलती हुई
दुकान की चाबी,
इस गरीबी में साँस लेती कई जिंदगियां
और उन जिंदगियों की छोटी छोटी खुशियों को
धीरे धीरे दफन होता
देख रहा हूँ ।
चलना शुरू किया तो कब कदम दौड़ लगाने
लग गए पता ही न चला ।
कुछ मुश्किल लम्हों की देहलीज़ पर करके कब
हँसना भूल गए पता ही ना चला।
आज पहली बार ज़िन्दगी की ऊंचाई में
अपनी गरीबी को महसूस किया है मैंने ।
आज दोस्तों से भरी हुई इस शाम में
अपने अकेले होने का एहसास किया है मैंने ।
पर सब कुछ बिखरा हुआ सा
धुंधला सा महसूस हो रहा है,
और शायद कहीं न कहीं
इस सब बिखरे हुए में अपने
आप को खोज रहा हूँ मैं...

questions???

Recently some questions have begun to molest me sometimes. I ponder for hours together but then find myself in a serious dilemma. They not only question me as a person but they question my moral integrity, they question my responsibility as a human. I don’t know why but I find myself speechless whenever they knock on my door. I fail to answer them fluently, confidently. I fail to answer them from my heart. I always get entangled in the war of right or wrong. When I look around I don’t find the answer difficult but when I apply the same to myself the situation becomes tense and incomprehensible.

Given a situation if I happen to be at a position where I have a free access to money making business which in moral sense is seriously unethical and illegal, would I still resort to bank up all the money I can within a given time span of my tenure as a responsible officer?

Given a situation if I happen to get a chance when I can avenge
A person who hurt me a lot and vanish his existence from the world would I resort to stab him in the chest and go scot-free?

Given a situation if I happen to succeed myself to a higher level in terms of status and luxuries by deceiving the only friend I have, would I still resort to stake my conscience to satisfy my mortal existence?

Would I or would I not?
Should I or should I not?

I fail to answer.
I fail to comprehend.
But I find myself stained…

Words…

Words too hate me sometimes
I think many a times,
Silently they manage to slither
Away in corner,
And hide there
For hours together,
Peep through the
Holes too small,
And stealthily whisper about
My despair.
Far stretched in the memory
When the distant shadows
Begin to hurt like arrows,
And the white of the paper
Shines its emptiness with glory,
The hands tremble and
Drops the pen in fear,
Spills the ink on ground
And spoils the linen with tears.
The words watch the show
And rejoice the victory
With grace,
Even begin to retreat
To the foreign land with a
Promise not to return to the base.
Cautiously they walk away
In darkness,
Deciding not to leave
The footprints behind,
And warily eat away the hustle
That breaks the softness so kind.
They have gone too far
And hidden somewhere in the
Lonely woods,
So begins the endless search
For the friends of the lonesome nights
And the desperate moods.
In time,
The mind would wither
Away the blazing sense
And the heart would tear apart
The emotions so tense.
The murky night longs for the
Golden bowl,
Like a shriveling body quivers for the
Lost soul.
The hope lingers that the
Time would come
Coz’
The poem still needs an end,
Coz’
The poem still needs an end…

Space around my coffin…

Sleeping in my coffin
I hear them cry
With their hearts out,
When the words of adulation
Begin to flow
I prefer to turn around
And die for a moment again,
They load my coffin
With the dead flowers
And pray for my safe journey
Through heavens
And the worlds beyond.
I am lying there for
Years and days
Waiting for someone
To set me free,
But death seems to be a tricky
Affair, not as easy as it
Seemed to be.
She comes and sobs and
Lies to me
As she used to do when
I was around.
I lived a life of false pride
And had a similar end.
The soul lingers to
Escape the fake world
Space around my coffin
Still waits for the one
With a true heart,
The soul would wither away
Without the truth.
Because it has been a long time
Since my demise,
So now
the dead man wants to die,
For once and for all…

An autobiography

Part 1

A monster by nature,
A speck by size,
An insect by birth,
Seemed to be crawling
On and on,
Till I killed it for once
And for all,
Got relieved for a while,
But then it started again
This continued for hours
Together,
When I finally decided to
Give up.

Part2

I transformed myself into
An insect…

Part 3

Now we crawl together
In unison…

FACE INSIDE THE VEIL...

A veil
of apparent ignorance,
A veil
of mocking innocence,
And a long history
of violence,
Written in bold
on my very face.
Am I the doer?
Or
the sufferer?
I fail to answer every
now and then.
Am I the murderer?
Or
The murdered?
Is the question
I often ask myself.
It is I, who created the world,
It is I, who flattened the structure,
It is I, who is to be blamed
for the food of the vulture.
I know too much,
I know it all
The source, the medium
And the victim
but still I bemoan the mass
that gathers for the dictum.
What fills me inside is about
to overflow,
What withers my conscience is about
to outlaw.
Its all dark everywhere
with no day or night,
And would I be redeemed?
Or
Simply crucified?
Nothing seems to decide
my plight.
I raped and killed and robbed
And got the same in return.
Should I call myself a man?
Or
A dog in disguise?
It needs to be answered
before the tables eventually turn…

THE HOURS

In 1923 Virginia Woolf writes a philosophical masterpiece of her life ‘Mrs. Dalloway’ while going through a psychological turmoil of understanding the whole purpose and end of her life. 30 years down the line, another woman named Laura Brown married to a World War II veteran, raising a small boy, reads the same while being pregnant and finds herself in the same mental conflict. 50 years from then another woman Clarissa Vaughn, a present day version of Mrs. Dalloway so named by her one time lover and now AIDS stricken writer Richard living in New York, plans one of her renowned parties for him after he receives a prestigious poetry award.

There is a common link that joins the lives of these three modern, educated women who are going through the most difficult times of their lives. Virginia Woolf is a renowned writer, married to a caring husband and also psychologically compromised according to the physicians. May be her sexual preferences are different or may be it is just the emotional outburst which gets manifested when she kisses her sister. But one thing is sure that she is not satisfied. Her failure to convey or change the things through her writings may be the reason she decides to find a better refuge by ending her very life. Rather a better way of conveying the message she always wanted to. On the other hand the second woman having a lovely family too craves for the missing link that would complete Mrs. Dalloway’s life. She not only decides to commit suicide but also prepares hard by leaving her son crying for his mother. But she finds herself too weak for that and decides to leave her family and start the things afresh. It is a suicide in a way too though not physical but internal. The third woman nursing her terminally ill lover, living with her lesbian partner dies every second whenever she craves for the things that she can’t have or can’t change. Though, in the third story it is the male who commits suicide by jumping from the window of his sick, gloomy apartment.

The movie is a masterpiece in itself. It is too hard to understand the spiritual quest of the three women in the movie. But the message is clear. We don’t need a reason to die though we need a reason to live. The movie is a justification that one has the right to end his or her own life whatever may be the reason or whatever may be not. It is too difficult to accept that death may not be the end of one’s life but the state which is beyond the realm of understanding of mortal beings. It would be called escapism or cowardness by the people who form a society but the same society also creates the situation which forces someone to end his or her life. Whatever it is, it really was an enlightening experience watching the life unfolds and taking a new way of living – death.

for all those who are fighting with themselves...

itna to jaanta hun main...

Apni rah chalte chalte
Ladkhadate dagmagate hue
Suraj ke samne andhere se
ladta hua main,
Akela nahin
Yeh jaanta hun
Shayad,
Shayad koi aur bhi hai
Darmiyan harpal,
Parivartan ki koshish mein
Apne aap se ladte hue,
Saath hain
yeh ehsaas to hai mujhko
Par chhukar dekhna chahta hun
Tumko,
Cheekhon ke is kautuhal mein
Har waqt apni har pe rote hue
akela nahin main
Yeh jaanta hun
Shayad
Par phir bhi tumhari awaz
Sunkar mehsoos karna
chahta hun
tumko,
Is ladai mein
har koi hai akela
yeh jaanta hun kabse
par phir bhi in aankhon se
ek bar
apni jaisi ladai ladte hue
dekhna chahta hun
tumko,
milna aasan nahin hai
itna
itna to jaanta hun main,
shayad kuchh zyada bhi
mang raha hun
tumse,
saath ho mere tum hamesha
mana yeh jaanta hun main
par phir bhi kabhi chalte hue
bheed mein milo to
hans dena
bas ek bar
taki apne akele pad jane ka
bhram toot jaye…

who's inside the web???

There is a web that exists I know. Some people also call it mayajal, some also call it matrix. Life is too different inside from the one that exists outside. Enlightened men say that the world is inside this web. It has to be taken out. Otherwise those cluttered inside will die a miserable death and will not find refuge anywhere else. They will suffocate from each other’s secretions and will not find a place for air to breathe. Those outside feel pity for the ones inside. Those inside feel the same for those outside but in a different way. I know I have to find the truth and existence of the web and the people inside is some part of the whole truth, may be a trivial one but also an important one. It is also said that the whole purpose of life should be to find peace and contentment. And the ones inside are always at peace and contented. They have accepted that He exists and the fact can’t be questioned. Those outside are in a constant search and ultimately they find themselves in a state of unending dilemma. The situation worsens when they start questioning the things they once accepted as truth and find themselves contradicting with their own philosophies. But they will not stop because it’s not in their nature to stop. They can get tired for a while may be a little or too frustrated but they will not stop. They have to find an answer. There will be a lot of enlightened men at their disposal who are ready to lead their paths and promise to bring salvation in their lives. Another possibility is that they will shun all the saints and decide their own path. But the truth remains that they will have to struggle a great deal before they reach anywhere else. Whether they find it or not, it’s difficult to say but they will suffer a lot. And in the end, irrespective of the fact they are inside or outside, they get enlightened or not, will die the same miserable death.

So who’s inside the web? The ones inside who are happy and leading their lives by accepting the things as they seem to exist or the ones outside who may or may not find the truth but have chosen to remain dissatisfied and frustrated till they reach their destination, which also is too hazy many a times.

Oh..! The picture seems to be confusing.

But who has put this web around me???

WHAT'S DEATH TO THEM???

A 55 year old man suffering from a terminal illness (having a fancy medical name), lying in a stuporous state in the air conditioned ICU of a modern hospital with numerous tubes inserted into every orifice of his body. What’s death to him?

A 3 year old child suffering from a congenital heart disease, getting cyanosed whenever he tries to move his limbs or make a noise, unaware of his survival, caring only about the activities of his free spirit. What’s death to him?

A 21 year old young soldier ‘survivor’ of a mine blast injury, with both his legs amputated above the knee, having a whole life of merciful dependency in front of him, bearing the brunt of words of his old parents every time he is given the food. What’s death to him?

A 40 year old farmer having a family of 5, working in the harsh weather conditions of the tropical land, waiting for about 8 months to get the fruit of his harvest, when suddenly the floods take away everything he dreamed of. What’s death to him?

A 15 year old girl married to a 50 year old perverted drunkard who beats her like an animal, spits at her face every time she decides to open the mouth, eats her soft flesh with the sharp of his teeth to soothe his barbaric fantasies. What’s death to her?

A 60 year old writer who tried to be true to his ideologies his entire life, not getting carried away by the cheap commercialization of the successful world, tries to look back and finds that his life has been nothing but a failure to the world he wanted to change. What’s death to him?

A 30 year old woman nursing her sick paralyzed husband, fighting with his death every second of the day, tries to be committed to her dharma with full conviction, at the same time kills the outburst of her sexual desires every time she retires to bed. What’s death to her?

Death to all the people mentioned above, irrespective of the situations they are in, if it can be anything; it would be definitely be better than life. It would be a transformation that would mean a freedom from all their suffering and pain. Death to all these people would mean a new life, a new birth. Death for them is a possibility. Death for them is the ultimate nirvana…

'a short piece about death'

Dazzling through the lights that
surround me like vultures
eating and tearing apart
the parts of my flesh,
a burst of pain rushing through
my nerves
forbidding the
string of thoughts arriving at my destination,
I yell with pain
And cry for help
Then suddenly
Something strikes me from inside
And it all gets over.
A truth
A philosophy
Whatever it may be
The next moment is going to take
All away
And there will be no more pain
And no more cry.
The end of my struggle
The meaning of my existence
All have an answer in one.
Whatever I do
Let it be right or wrong
It doesn’t even matter
if I win or lose
the winner is already
knocking at my door
I fear to open
I tremble to answer
It has always been there
Mocking at me
when I dress like a hero
feeling sorry for me
when I try to break it open
it has pushed me
several times
and asked me subconsciously
the answer has always been the same.
There is no escape
I know
But this pain is too addictive
Its all going to end in a fiasco
But still I want to be the soldier
The time will come
May be it has already come
The question is ready
This time
it will not wait for my answer
The door has been broken
but the task is still undone.

“are you ready?”
It asks for the last time
And carries me far away….