Saturday, October 27, 2012

A Pregnant Thought.

Ovulating at the moment.
With every passing moment.

Let alone his touch..
Even his single thought
Farthest mention of his name
Or the slightest glimpse of his skin

Makes her pregnant.

In all these moments of ..
Longing, waiting, lingering and feeding herself with his memories

She was not alone
She is not alone

Scores of love-children, she had
For, millions of pregnant thoughts walks with her..

She is ovulating at the moment
With every passing moment.. 


Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Let's?

New care can claim her.
New love can inflame her.

But..

Can you dress the wound? 
Can you ease the pain? 
How can you possibly do? 

Was it her melancholy caught on shores? 

Let's talk about you just once more 
What is it that makes you sore? 

Your pain contaminates her brain 
Conducted? X-rayed? Pain, she can't ignore! 
It surges through and through 
Like a genie let loose from an ancient lamp.

Can you save her soul? 
Insulate pain? 
Shelter her from the rain? 

Will she be washed like a pebble on the shore? 
Or swept by a volcano roar? 
The steam of rejection 
The clawing hands of need 

Let's forget our hunger 
Ride a rainbow, cloudless thunder 
Let's walk into the clouds
Let's embrace the sky. 

Let's?

Monday, October 22, 2012

Keep wondering.

Since the day, she became aware of her female-hood in amidst of flesh trade, she keep wondering, 'Why are men willing to put money down for what is so clearly faked?'

Why does the hetrosexual porn customer need the fiction of female desire to sustain his erection, instead of just naked female bodies?

And the only answer (ironically), she received from her inner/outer voices that the men aren't interested in the truth of women's experiences (She can possibly be wrong here. Correct her, if she is).

The porn customer's truth is one of paying for services; perhaps that's the only power he can claim in this interaction. But is that what gets him hard? His buying power? Why then they are (she is) advertised as prostitutes and paid to simulate their own desire?

For the man, who buys the service of a dominatrix, being 'topped' as attractive as long as it's a service. He feels in control of this fictional loss of control because he himself paid for it. Here again, he trades money for a fiction, not just for a body. Then, why do the men themselves act so unaware of this economy, when it must be an integral part of their excitement?

She is struck again and again by the parallels between the prostitution and the culture in general. The people inside -  those performing, those observing, and those managing the spectacle - are 'normal' people engaged in an activity more explicit but not different in underlying structure from much of the activity of our daily lives. Her lover quietly whispers to her (in bed) that the prostitution's only objective is to allow them (men) to define themselves and their culture as normal, because it's we (society) who call the flesh-trade marginal and perverse.

From in here, it looks like any clean division between the perverse and the normal is a false one, which allows (at least she thinks that) all kinds of oppressions to go unchallenged. It allows a father who rapes his daughter and say, 'I am not doing anything wrong. Look at those perverts out there.' It allows politicians to enact wars on drugs, wars on prostitution, wars on aliens while they trade favors with corporate dealers, pimps and coyotes out of their offices.

A part of her started to believe that prostitution does not subvert the culture, it mirrors it.

Well, she is still wondering..

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

बेखबर.

बेखबर हर एहसास से
हर दुआ से
हर याद से
हर सहमे लम्हे से
हर डरती रात से
बेखबर रहना उसने सीख लिया
सब कह रहे हैं, सही मायनों में उसने जीना अब सीख लिया..

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Substitute-d.

She woke up perspiring to the core. Getting accustomed to the sudden introduction of light, she reached out to her bedside table for water. That's when she realized the other side of the bed was vacant. She hopped out and started calling 'Mom? Mom? Mom, where are you?'

Mom came into the room with a handkerchief wiping her already puffed, red and swollen eyes. Poured water from the bottle, patting her back.

That's when, glass dropped  of the her hand waking her up for real, from the dream.

Since the time, she left her abode, all she wished to have mother beside her. But all she had, the pillow. Beside her.

सवाल.


और जब कभी ऐसा होता है कि खुद को खुद ही के कंधे पर उठाके थक जाती हूँ.. खुद को उतार के  फ़ेंक देती हूँ. कुछ इसे 'reform' कहते हैं, कुछ कहते है कि सांप की तरह केंचुली उतार फेंकी.. कोई हिकारत से देखता है, तो किसी की नज़रों से  सवालों   का धुआं उठ रहा होता है.
क्या ज़रूरी है कि हर बात सही / गलत, जायज़ / नाजायज़  या अच्छी / खराब हो? कुछ बातें, कुछ चीज़ें 'neutral' भी तो हो सकती हैं..

हो सकती हैं?





Monday, May 21, 2012

Yun hi..





Last night, (rather say early morning, very early earning), happened to catch 'Rajigandha' on MoviesOK. Sigh! Vidya Sinha. How many times it happens with us that we see and fell in love? It happened once again, last night, for umpteenth time. For Vidya Sinha, for Amol Palekar , for that very feeling of romance. :-)

Also, am reminded (read 'couldn't resist') to share one of the loveliest poetry written for Vidya Sinha by one of writer-friend Vimal Chandra Pandey, fondly called Vimal Da. 

Read and fall in love with her, via Vimal da's words. Yun hi.. 

***************************

समय बहुत ख़ास है दोस्तों
इसमें सिर्फ़ ज़रूरी बातों पर ही ध्यान दिया जाता है
लोग विशेष, रिश्ते इश्तेहार और शहर बनता जा रहा है अजायबघर 
ऐसे में मेरे पास एक ऐसी आम बात है
जिसका महत्व सिर्फ़ उतना ही
जितना खीर में किशमिश का

फि़ल्मों के शौकीन पिताजी ने कभी भेजी थी एक चिट्ठी तुम्हें
जिसका जवाब भी दिया था तुमने 
वह चिट्ठी और अपने हाथों से भेजी गयी तुम्हारी तस्वीर
आज भी सुरक्षित है पिता की संदूक में

‘‘न जाने क्यूं होता है ये जि़ंदगी के साथ’’
गाती तुम उतनी ही मासूम हो आज भी
इतिहास खुद को दोहराता है
इस बात का विश्वास दिलाता है मुझे मेरा मन आज
जब कैटरीनाओं और करीनाओं के ज़माने में
चिकनी चमेलियों और उ ला ला से घिरा
मैं तुम पर मरा जा रहा हूं विद्या सिन्हा !

ज़मीर का पोस्टर लगे बस स्टॉप पर
तुम जैसे मेरा ही इंतज़ार कर रही हो
रजनीगंधा के बासी फूल गुलदस्ते से हटा
अपने चेहरे जैसे ताज़े फूल लगाती
कैसे सहेजती थी तुम इतनी सहजता 
कि लगता था तुम्हारे घर का दरवाज़ा खुलता है
मेरी बालकनी के सामने

तुम्हारी सूती साड़ी और खुले बालों को याद करता मैं
बड़ी शिद्दत से सोच रहा हूं
आम चेहरे वाली तुम्हारी सादगी भरी सुंदरता के हिस्से
क्यों आयीं दुनिया भर की जद्दोजहद
क्यों आती है ?

समय के एक प्राचीन घर में सुरक्षित है तुम्हारी त्वचा की वही कांति
चेहरे की वही सादगी और आंखों की वही मासूमियत
जो अब संग्रहालयों में भी देखने को नहीं मिलती
तुम फिल्मों की नायिका हो यानि एक कल्पनालोक की वासी
यह मानने को मन तैयार ही नहीं ऐसा सादापन है तुम्हारा
हम आज के समय से ही पहचान पाते हैं अपने कल को न विद्या !

तुम कहां चली गयी हो विद्या ?
फिल्में तो फिल्में हैं
आम जि़ंदगी से कहां गायब हो गयी हो तुम ?
न किसी खिड़की से झांकती दिखायी देती हो 
न किसी बालकनी से नीचे देखती

ये बहुत असहज बात है
जिस पर हंसा जायेगा जल्दी ही
सबको कहीं न कहीं जाना होगा
लौट कर घर आने की बात कहना एक चुटकुला माना जायेगा
ऊंचे स्थानों पर सबको बैठ कर फीते काटने होंगे
और अखबारों के पन्नों पर या टीवी पर, नहीं तो पत्रिकाओं में छा जाना होगा
अपनी कहानियों, कविताओं नहीं तो अपनी हत्याओं से
सपनों के सुलगने में सबसे बड़ी आग होगी
प्रेम अवकाश की तलाश में बारिश में भींग रहा होगा

जब गायब हो रही हैं सभी सहज चीज़ें, सहज लोग, सहज जीवन
सभी को खास बनने की भूख है
ऐसे ख़ासमख़ास समय में तुम जैसी आम को याद कर
तुम्हें प्रेम कर
मैं कविता लिखने के अलावा और क्या कर सकता हूं विद्या ?

-- विमल चन्द्र पाण्डेय 


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Thursday, April 26, 2012

Seen Unseen - An evening in Dharavi.


On that narrow lane off '90 Feet Road' in Dharavi, a truck can block all view ahead. Yet, in such a place, a curious crowd had gathered under fluorescent yellow-orange shamiana that Saturday evening. There were local women and children dressed in their shiny best. There were those from lands beyond Dharavi in their ethnic kurtascool tees and what not. Passersby wondered what all the commotion was about. And as fleeting glances deepened into interest and the crowd spilled into the street, the organizers knew that this was going to be one exhilarating evening.

By the time, I reached there, a water bottle had been got into the system.. (that's what excitement did to us, to me) for I was going to see the 'Slumdog Millionaire' fame Dharavi.. (that's how non-mumbaikars knows the place).  As this post is about 'the' evening, so let me hold my thoughts on whether Danny Boyle did any good OR just-glorified-the-slum in a bad way.

So, the assembled had gathered to attend an exhibition by SNEHA on health. They were calling the exhibition Ghar Pe (At Home).. it was an installation of art pieces made by the local participants (mostly kids). I was in awe, for every piece evoked a particular aspect of health and was the culmination of almost an year’s efforts in creativity, conversations and skill acquirement. eg: mosquitoes embroidered on windows, photographs spread on utensils and dreams moulded into ceramic slippers, colored chits on turquoise wall with kids' name and their dreams.. they were just some of the examples of household items that were afflicted by a healthy dose of messages via this form of art, this form what I was experiencing for first time. Day of many firsts, i say!! 




The inaugural was preceded by a frenzy of photos taken by and of the participants of Dekha Andekha. 
The hall that is part of Ganesh Vidya Mandir was painted a turquoise green and saw almost two hundred and fifty visitors that evening. Among those who burst with excitement into the exhibition was Akku Behn, a middle aged sweeper from the neighbourhood. For Akku Behn, who had never been to an art exhibition before, the art pieces made by our participants led her to say that it is great that women are doing something different. And then in the crowd, was the little boy who wanted a fabric globe off a dream slipper to play with. And there was the sound of many an air kiss blown into the noisy room. :-)


Kids who had just been felicitated were exuberant when they saw visitors were paying *close* attention to their art pieces. This was yet another moment when a craftswoman metamorphoses into an artist and they recount a terrific time explaining their art to curious visitors. Zarina from the photography group feels that this exhibition is sure to bring about change in the neighbourhood.
As the street lights came out, the crowd  ventured outdoors. But I could see that everyone who had come there that evening, returned with a bit of turquoise.. including me.  :-) 

Thursday, April 5, 2012

शहर और वो

दौडते क़दमों का शोर
बेचैन पुतलियों की ख़ामोशी 


होंठों पर मुस्कराहट
आँखों में हिकारत 


हकीक़त का आईना
ख्वाबों का झूठ 


ख्वाहिशों का आसमान
उम्मीदों की ज़मीन


मोम सा पिघलता दिन
पत्थर सी कड़ी होती रात


किसी के मिजाज़ की गर्मी 
और.. किसी के लफ़्ज़ों का सर्दपन


सब.. ये सब मिलकर भी रत्ती भर बदल नहीं पाए हैं..
उम्मीद उस की, आज भी उसी की तरह 'हठी' है.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Iss Lamhe Ki Duvidha


Din dhalne ke thodi der baad

Raat aane se thodi der pehle

Thoda sa late 'lunch' kiya, thodi si jaldi 'dinner' 

Chai banayi, shehriyat ka namoona, laptop on kiya

Kuch adhoora likha huya poora karna tha

FB par kuch apney status par aaye comments ko reply kiya

Kuch dosto.n ke status ko 'like' kiya, kuch par comment bhi kiya..

Twitter pe login kiya, dekhne lagi toh dekha ek tweet

Kisi ne tweet kiya tha, MAA KE HAATH KA BANA GAZAR KA HALWA

Chai toh meri meethi hi thi

Maa ki yaad mein girey aansu ne meri meethi chai ko namkeen kar diya.. 


Ab duvidha mein hoon..
Aansu piyoon ke yeh namkeen chai?