aastha

Har roz subah prarthna karti,
hey dev,
"mere udane ki chahat se
mujhe andha na karna"
apne kutir ko sambhal paun 
mujhe itni himmat dena
mujhe andha na karna..

~ extract from "pinjada" Written 22.08.2011

सेमल

सेमल 

“it reminds me of those days when in bihar. this time around the cotton would sprout off a tree in my colony which I tell you, would have easily put a skyscraper to shame. Aur toh aur around this time the wind takes a eastern turn, poorvaiyya kehte hain, and the cotton would swirl around in sinuous grace..uff, mai bhi yadon mei beh nikala :)

Basant has always meant a lot to me. Be it with the romanticized version of it, rather versions of it which I was acquainted with along the days of my childhood. There is certainly this whole new feeling of liveliness which is put into action by this season. It all starts with Makar Sankranti and the shift the solar phase into the northern skies. Normally is din toh naashte mei dahi chiwra hota tha, the curd would specially be prepared the previous night, and because the nights were still hungover in winter, we used to cover the curd with blankets to get them to settle. And Voila! It worked fab. Then afternoon mei aawale ke ped ke neeche. Nahi Nahi! Imli ke ped ke neeche aawle ki khichdi! Haha, ye zyaada kar nahi paate the, par ma ke school mei ek ped tha zaroor hamari dawaat ka mehmaan. Hasi aati hai ab is bachapane pe. Tum bore toh nahi ho rahi?

Makar Sankrant jaata toh basant ki panchmni aati. Bihar would now ostentatiously put itself to the ritz for the saraswati pooja. Hum log bhi pandal daalte, every year with new new themes and the nasty neighbors would try to copy ours because evidently it was best in the neighborhood…. J Hamare sheher mei ek kavi rehte the, his birthday would be celebrated on this day as Amrit Mahotsav or the Puritiy Festival. He was quite weird, although in a nice way. He would sleep, literally sleep with stray street dogs, would have no lock on the doors of his house so as to facilitate easy locomotion for these free creatures, including humans. He would have atleast a hundred livestock at his residence at any given time of the day. So raat ko basant pachmi ke din Ma, mai aur didi log pahuchte the is ‘brahman’ sabha mei perform karne ko. All together this day would remain very very busy…

Aise kya dekh rahi ho? Ro nahi rha hoon, yaadon ke jharokhe se bheeg raha hoon instead….

pata hai, ek budhe chacha rehte the , udhar hi kone pe. Though the walls of his house was painted in peacock blue and sparkled with the growing sunshine, he always seemed a bit desolated, thode nakhush. Semal se unke bachpan ki ek doosari inning shuru ho jati thi. He would start collecting the cotton, and dekhte dekhte he’d start spinning the yarn on his gandhian charkha. This was usually the time when we as kids would drop at his place and play around for sometime. Chachi khaja(sweetmeat) bahut accha banati thi. I still remember the taste although it’s been so so long. Its funny actually I remember quite a lot about him. It seems as a child also I knew that I would be narrating this to you. Accha toh who chacha rui bunte rehte. Aur mai ghoorta rehta. Shaam hote, dhibiya(open lantern) nikal deti chachi. I would anticipate him to start talking as we did everyday but he would not. Anxious and desperate I would start asking him random questions about his life. From what I remember he was a Batoh some time in his life. Now a Batoh or a batohia is person similar to a postman but yet different. He would go around the villages singing and talking to the women in the hinterlands about their grievances and proposing solutions for it. After my uninterrupted inquisitive inquiries he would start to tell me about his life and the history of my town. Warm and wonderful !   Ab tak daal bhaat mei chauka lagne lagta tha unke ghar mei. Chachi kehti ruk jo, khaleiha, tohar mai ke bhi kabhi bulaava. But I would need to leave, otherwise mom would create a ruckus at home. And I did leave. Retired for the day!

So yes, ye ped bahut emotional kar deta hai mereko. Accha hai tumne ye foto khichi hai iski. Par who jo ped mere dimaag pe khicha hai uska koi jod kahan?”

- Deepshika ke liye

photo credit : Mere agarj Akhilesh Bakshi.

maai

Maa Meri Maa

Maa, Impala pe ghumaunga zaroor

Gadi banate bhi na honge ab wo

Par dhoondh ke launga zaroor

Impala pe ghumaunga zaroor

Kya kahun,

Tumse kehne ki zaroorat nahi

Jab jab ghabda jaate hain

Saath chali aati ho

Door rehke bhi ,

paas gungunati ho

Thodi thodi sardi lagti

Naak se jo behta pani

Chinta karti tum kehti

Kyu karte yeh nadani ho

Bada banane ko mujhe

Door jo bheja tumne

Khud tadapati rehti harwaqt

Aur sunati harroz ek kahani ho

Maa, tum fikar karo nahi

Ham rahenge bilkul ache

Jee lo jeevan khud ke liye

Par ham jaante hain

Ki jeevan toh hain tumhare bache

Babu babu kahke hamein

Bulati jab bhi bhi tum

Lagata ki so jaun us aanchal mein

Na jaun kabhi usase door

Ab  impala toh dhundhna hai

Milega toh zaroor

Tum bas dhyaan rakho apna

Impala pe hain ghumayenge zaroor

tumhara lalbabuaa

sunny!

uda.firse.mai

आकाश की इस उड़ान में

उडाता रहा मै रोज़ अपने परों को फैलाकर

असक्षम्ताओं के गड्ढों को लाँगकर

ऊँची ऊँची उड़ान भरने की चाहत में

उडाता रहा मै रोज़ अपने परों को फैलाकर

परों पे अटके धुल के कण, झटककर उन्हें,

ख्वाइशों के पोटले को दाबे अपने परों में

जलती खुदगर्ज़ दुनिया को छोड़े पैरों तले

हूँ इस रोमांचक उड़ान में मै एक पंछी हौंसला धरे 

खेलूँगा, उडूँगा, भरोसा है खुद पर

उडूँगा, खेलूँगा, दुनिया को चिढ़ाकर

खेलूँगा, उडूँगा, हसरतों को जमाकर

उडूँगा, खेलूंगा, अपने परों को फिरसे फैलाकर ||

© आदित्य शंकर

The Speaking Freshman

“Ab ham sabhi bahut haste hain”

Indeed. But laughter is an understatement. It’s rather a bunch of teenaged specimens from some psycho-analysis laboratory bursting out in a hysteric outrage of insane emotions. Quite a heavy line, but trust me the laughter is more “khatarnaak” than this.

But it’s good that we are laughing, at least it takes away the tension associated with EE111 assignments. EE 111 Assignments are epic, the first stage involves people slogging in their respective rooms for understanding what is being asked, after 10 hours or so, the second stage commences with everyone shifting their bases to one odd room chosen totally randomly (Yes, we do put in those 6 hours for IC 102) and have ourselves indulging in group studies. It doesn’t take really long for the third stage to begin; actually there is no predefined boundary. The group discussions proceed to babel of confused frustrated minds, and i mean that quite literally, visit a EE freshie wing the night before the submission and you ought to get the feel of a fish market. But by the end of the third stage, we have completed what was asked for, the assignment, and realise the power of unity (making good citizens it seems). Next day we go for the quiz just to realise to our unprovoked dismay that we know nothing at all. - “Bhool gaya sab kuch, yaad nahi ab kuch.”

“Man, its too risky to go this way” – exclaims a friend while we enter the gg building, still sceptical on the probability of getting pooped upon. But even this exclamation has a sense of overjoyed belongingness associated with it; i mean who doesn’t enjoy birds having a nice time pooping on themJ. After the ordeal of crossing audaciously,  we bask in its glory. The department of electrical engineering, that’s what sets us apart (i mean who has all the birds welcoming them with a white carpet!), and synchronises us in a harmony of individual minds flocking together.

“My name is Manjunath, and i am not a madrasi”-touche! I take the privilege to write a few lines for our revered IC 102 professor Manjunath D. I was about to begin my daily struggle with probability now, and thought it better to put down some words for this course. Probability couldn’t be better, to hypothesise would be to bore if it weren’t for the chalks sacrificed for the betterment of the class. IC102 has been a very linear ride for us. The state of not understanding anything coupled with the state of what-to-do-I-am-getting-no-marks, have proven to be as painless as possible. Mr. Seldon M Ross would make a perfect sadist, for his not including the answers for the textual exercises. But whatever it may be, IC 102 has been an interesting experience of its own. (Do you agree? Yes/no/don’t know/don’t care!!)

                                                                                                    

“Mera Naam Aditya hai, aur mai Vidyut abhiyantriki ka vidyarthi hoon” (my name is Aditya and I am a student of electrical engineering). And so begun our introduction with sophomores of our batch. I had got the Kashmir(the upper shelf) view in the small pigeon hole rooms of H2 and my introduction had begun the cascade of falling intro dominoes. With random sentences and their derivations, with guys having a nice flirting in Kashmir and the regular Gali fights, the introduction was fun for everyone. It really helped do one thing for sure, opened up a communication corridor with our seniors. (But one thing I wanna urge to the main building is to let these sophomores teach every freshmen the FREQUENCY TIME GRPAHS officially, as IC 666 probably!)

I don’t know but with the first semester nearing its end, I feel as new as I was five months ago, yet there is a sense of complacence which sets in with every passing day. A sense of being at home.

Thank you Iit Bombay.

Ever Euphoric

Aditya Shankar.

Kaho na..

kaho

kya meri duniya mei tumhe rang kam dikhe?

haan mat bolna.

sawaal nahi tha|

duniya meri itni bhi kali na thi jo tumhe veeran si lagi,

gulal si bikharti zindagi ke palon ko

muskurate hue jiya hai maine,

holi ke bhang si har ek ahsas ko

piya hai maine.

afsos par, ki tum

ek bhi rang na dhoondh paaye.

are buddhu! nazar toh daudao zara

rang kaha na milenge,

bahane na banao|

pata hai ki tumhe pata nahi

mujhme hai umadti bhavnayein kaisi.

sach kahun toh mujhe bhi pata nahi|

par rang ki ek chata 

zaroor bikhari hai,

abhi abhi,

tumhi ne toh bikheri hai...

par tumko  toh dikhta nahi

lekin nahi,

meri duniya mei rang

hain kam nahi...

Aditya

Metamorphosis

Metamorphosis

 “With the last stroke of her luck and with the zeal to change her fate, she waves, flutters around, with all the energy escaping her poor body, she moves closer to death. I stare, a lot, trying to figure out what is exactly the feeling my mind has being a mute witness to the suffering of the poor one.
The cycle continues, life to death, cradle to grave. As Shakespeare had said, we are mere players on the stage of the world with our own entrances and exits. Indeed, rather than death what surprises me are the stages and roles of man in his life and in all the lives he touches upon. "

Egg to a caterpillar, metamorphosis one.

Everyone in their lives have certain initiation points. It might be circumstantial, emotional, economic or in varied other manifestations. Both everyone has it. Initiation is probably the time when the fabric of one’s life starts taking its colors and the texture it ought to retain for quite some time.

Caterpillar to Pupa, metamorphosis two.

Love, it seems to me gets one his second big change. It did for me. And for most of the first time lovers, the feeling is so passionate, dominating, and exposing. Its vile, vicious and vivacious all being at the time you need to focus on discovering yourself. It all boils down to prioritizing then, after you have tried to sort out things, you realize that it’s a deeper chaos. A babel of sounds reverberating around, of passion and compassion. Love teaches you the difference between the two and once you realize, you actually have a powerful tool for your ordeal in life.

And the butterfly soars high,

Yet to experience this stage personally, but I feel there comes a time when your self-identity is so oppressed being encapsulated in the disguise of your apparent self that it breaks free. Revolutionary or not, doesn’t matter but I guess a time comes when all the hopes and dreams start taking shape and you start walking a lonely road, Conventional or nuveau, it doesn’t matter, it’s the time one starts making an impression, carving a niche for himself. The way you look, the way you interact, the way you love; all of them have been customized to suit your panache.

La finale…  “and the wings bereft of the soul, stop fluttering and she departs”

The niche is carved, the impressions made, a slow departure to oblivion, a silent one. Blissfully in solitude. Contended in faith. The Metamorphosis concludes.

*p.s. pokemon enthusiasts can refer to the above as evolution, caterpree->metapod->butterfree, J*