गुलाबों सी पट्टी

Yeh kya hua hai mujhe?

Kaise samjhaaun, ab kahoon main kise?

Ek choti si harkat,

ek lamha bana kahaani,

par alfaazon se bandh na paaya woh,

ek itihaas jiski rachna mann mein hi.

Khwabon ke dhaagon,

Se buna liya aasman,

Jad liye rang birange taare usmein,

Aur odh ke lagne laga yeh apna sa.

Dohra ke mann me,

Woh dhundhla sa pal,

Khushiyon ki silvaton mein chip gaye,

Koi shak, koi gumaan, anchaahi hulchul.

Aankhon par bandhi,

Gulaabon si patti,

Kholne ko jee na kare kabhi bhi,

Isse yeh duniya dikhe kitni madhur si.

- © HAEM ROY

Kahaan chal pade

Galiyon ki mehek mein huye aise mashroof

Ke sadakon ka pata hum bhool gaye,

Fiza ki madhoshi mein kho hi gaye,

ke lamhon ka pata bhi bhool gaye.

  

Saundhi mitti ki khushboo bichi,

Aankhen moond hum kheeche chale,

Oas ki boondon se baatein karein,

Hariyali ki chadar par daude chale.

Patli si sadak bhi chhoot gayi,

Khushi khushi hum gum hi gaye,

Neeli chadar odh, hare bichawan par,

Thake tab do saans late gaye.

Raat ki surrati hawa suni,

Mausam jaise dharti se kare baatein,

Meethi yeh boli mein aise khoye,

Ghar wapas kaun jaana chaahe.

- © HAEM ROY

Khwaab chale jet plane par

(A song I wrote for children.)

Khwaab chale jet plane par,

1^st class savari.

Wings ho gaye hain saare puraane,

Yeh hai style kuch nayi.

Khatte se kuch oranges mein meethi chocolate candy.

Bageeche mein chippi mili dekho Santa ki red potli.

Khwaab chale jet plane par,

1^st class savari.

Birds ke saath khel rahe hain,

Hum toh chuppa chippi.

Butterflies ne banayi hai darvaaze pe rangoli.

Stars ko bhar diye hain piggybank mein meri.

Khwaab chale jet plane par,

1^st class savari.

Rainbow ke peeche chale hum,

Koi nahin hai hurry.

Treasure chest ko dhoondh nikaala pirates ne haar maani.

Fairies ke saath dance kar lein phir ho khatam ye story.

Khwaab chale jet plane par,

1^st class savari.

Pakad ke hum bhi udne lage,

Clouds se bani dori.


- © HAEM ROY

Decisions

An open road is rare,
a crossroad is always encountered,
there's the choice blindly made
or maybe pondering for hours,
and then you choose the way.

A decision is like mist,
Always hanging in the air,
fogs your eyes, blurs your vision,
but you can't move it aside, you can't feel it there.
Try and grasp at it,
it'll run away,
try making sense of it,
and it'll evade you.

Let your eyes adjust,
feel it on your cheek,
Imagine the road ahead in your head,
and jump forward.
Only then will the mist clear out,
And reveal the truth beyond.

- © HAEM ROY

Anjaana raasta

I just had this sudden urge of writing in Hindi. So I began:

Galiyon ki mehek mein huye aise mashroof

Ke sadakon ka pata hum bhool gaye,

Fiza ki madhoshi mein kho hi gaye,

ke lamhon ka pata bhi bhool gaye.

Saundhi mitti ki khushboo bichi,

Aankhen moond hum kheeche chale,

Oas ki boondon se baatein karein,

Hariyali ki chadar par daude chale.

Patli si sadak bhi chhut gayi,

Khushi khushi hum gum hi gaye,

Neeli chadar odh, hare bichawan par,

Thake tab do saans late gaye.

Raat ki surrati hawa suni,

Mausam jaise dharti se kare baatein,

Meethi yeh boli mein aise khoye,

Ghar wapas kaun jaana chaahe.

- © HAEM ROY

Perception

I fly by

past my dreams

oblivious to the shooting stars

as I stare at the little boy

who carried a basket of laughter on his back,

I look at his 9 coloured rainbow

as he rubs his crayons on the sky,

and paints the trees blue

I find my dreams rushing back

I find them flavoured with dew

Looking at the stars for the first time

I make a wish.

- © HAEM ROY

Kahaani

Sirhane padi thi ek palak

Ho gayi woh pawan ke hawale

Jhonke sang jhoomi, na hosh ka pata

Poochti khud se, kaun hoon main?

Ek choti si harkat,

ek lamha bana kahaani,

par alfaazon se bandh na paaya woh,

ek itihaas jiski rachna hai bas mann mein hi.

- © HAEM ROY

Blast from the past

I love the rains. On most occasions. But after being deported to Andheri east for work, my romanticised 'South Bombay' picture of the rains has been washed away. Literally and otherwise. My love for puddles has been replaced violently by a desperate search for dry ground. The immunity of the city has been so badly attacked, it seems that soon the island city will be an 'underground island city'.

And as I reminisce of how I usually felt very poetic during the rains, I am left thinking of how poetry would be in this scenario. Imagine if Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Byron and Shelley, with all their creative and poetic juices intact, were born in Bombay - the present.

An example of a Shakespearean sonnet 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day', as I see it now:

Shall I compare thee to a rainy day?
Thou art more dirty, making me asphyxiate:
Rough winds do shake the umbrellas we take,
And smoke and grease hath leave me no breath:
.... (and i skip to the last 2 lines)
No longer men can breathe or eyes can see,
No long lives left, only choking, suffering and misery.


Maybe, the cynical Eliot would be more fit in these times. His Waste Land is quite apt, with some minor 'tweaking', as we say here in Ad Land:

July is the cruellest month, breeding
Instects out of the dead land, mixing
Smoke with gutter, stirring
Dull roads with acid rain.

The vagrant wind

The whoosh of a wind as it swings past my ear
Whistling a tune, pleasant but unclear
A huge bag slung on its shoulder
The fuzzy fog trapped inside.

Hopping past the meadows
Ignoring the trees that beckon
Brushing the flowers with a touch
Scampering away merrily, grinning to everyone.

A tinge of mischief hidden beneath its folds
Spurts of giggles every now and then
Sprinting across as you look away
Sneaking away to the corner.

In the lands far and near,
As it explores what we so fear,
Rings a hollow laugh, a merry cheer
Left behind by the vagrant that swishes past.
- © HAEM ROY

I can manage

When the tide turns on me

When every step beholds a rock

I'll be fine

Cos I can manage.

When the world seems lost

And I grapple with directions

I'll be fine

Cos I can manage.

As you worry about your own

Go on with your life

Don't bother about me

Cos I can manage.

When I need someone

I'll hold my own hand

Don't look back at me

Cos I can manage.

But don't worry for when you are low

Or just need a push to go

It's you who I'll look at first

Cos my own I can manage.

- © HAEM ROY

Dec 04, 2008.

The lonely bungalow feel

The sweet smell of grass envelops
dew hanging mid-air
mist tying you up all around
a gush of darkness approaches the ground

stars float about, having their siesta
the moon has just stopped bothering
the cottage before you stands in a permanent shadow
the trees covering its promiscuity

and as the crickets begin their speech
the tiny world silently listens
tip-toe, whisper or scream
No other sound will get ears

a wave of eeriness and you walk faster
wanting to get away, but being pulled back
as you crunch the gravel along the road
it's always a wide stretch - behind you or ahead

all your senses alert almost
your Mind wafting away
hushed whispers are all your mouth can manage
seems like someone's carried your voice away

your lonely cottage is your Den
the shadows around it ignored
a tiny lamp your constant companion
the trees sharing the secrets hidden from you
with restless peace your heart keeps beating
as you sleep enveloped by the Lonely Bungalow Feeling...
- © HAEM ROY 
1.10.08

Ode to the brave train traveller

This was originally written for the Open Humour Blog:

To the brave train traveller

Thou brave child of Alexander the great
Thou who fights long battles with fate
O’ lucky bearer of the choicest insults
Enlightened thou be, by the foul-mouthed cult.

Ye rise early, crosst many roads
Before thy might the villains bowed
Ascending a wagon full of faces so vain
Thousands to battle, hundreds will be slain.

An umbrella beest thy sword,
With closed eyes as thou climbs aboard
Elbows be thy armour and shield
Thy feet danceth when the hands are sealed.

Protecting the land where thee sets foot
Forever it seems, thou will stay put,
Jostling and pushing hath no effect
Thy strong body suffers no defect.

None dareth rise up against thy might
For if they do, you are all set to fight
The teaching of years, the words in thy mouth
Flying like bullets, at those vagrants uncouth.

None can attempt a feat like thee
Hanging by a finger, avoiding that tree
Standing up to that army twice a day
It ain’t that easy, to battle everyday.

A salute to the master kicker,
The uncrowned king of trains
The soldier that bravely battles fate
And steps out alive, injured but not slain.

- © HAEM ROY

For those interested, the above verse was an attempt to parody the heroic couplet style of writing that was prominent during the Renaissance age. It is characterised by exaggeration and grandeur, making the subject seem almost divine. Another characteristic is the form which is rhymed couplets in iambic metre, though this one is not in iambic metre. (do you even know how tough it is to calculate it, let alone write in it!)

*Definitions*:
The heroic couplet, lines in iambic pentameter rhymed in pairs(aa, bb, cc), appeared early in English — it was Chaucer's favorite meter — and came into vogue in poetic drama in the seventeenth century, but in the eighteenth century, in the hands of masters like Dryden, Pope, and Johnson, it became for many years the dominant English verse form. Its name derives from its use in seventeenth-century "heroic" (epic) drama and poetry.

Alexander Pope's Rape of the Lock is an excellent example of a parody of heroic couplet, and very very funny too.

SOMETHING'S MISSING

a vOid - hOllOwness
Breeze drilling through you
It’s not just your ReflEction in that puddle
that’s restless, It’s a ReflEction of you.

An incomplete WhOLe you feel like
A leaking jar –
filled to the brim
You don’t know where that bastard piercing is
that’s draining the you out of yOu.

- © HAEM ROY 
[For the curious, the capitals and placement of lines is on purpose.]

Kuch Lamhe

Some nazms that I penned some time ago

KUCH LAMHE:

1) Taaron ki shaant timtimaahat
Aur andhere sannate ke beech
Uthti awaaz jo failaye madhoshi
Andhadhun samaa mein hai ye roshni ki nazuk aahat

2) Suryoday gagan ki rangeen chadar odhe
Raat ki thand mein garmahat ka aagman
Oas ab kho rahe apna astitva
Ruke nahin jeevan ka chalan, bas ab dikhai pade

3) Ped ke patton mein dhup ki luka-chippi
Kabhi kabhi vayu maharaj ki dakhal andazi
Thake musafir aur ped ka saath to suna sunaya hai
Par dhup aur vayu hi hain is rahi ke humrahi

4) Varsha mein paani ki boondein khelti ajab raas
Kabhi tez ya madhdham koi na keh pata
Josh mein aa gayee to sab Ram-bharose
Aas-paas na dekhti kuch… anjaam sarvanash

5) Phool jab pathjad ke hruday se khilte
Toh soonepan ko chod dete soona
Par gar hota na pathjad bahaar se pehle
Toh kya phool itni muskuraahat faila pate?

6) Saanjh ki lapet mein phir sab aane lage
Kuch jeev shuru, kuch thame, par jeevan toh abhi bhi chale
Bheeni mitti ki mahek ghulti raatrani ki sugandh se
Sab kuch abhi bhi sada-sa manmohit lage

7) Subah uthte hi palkon ke saamne chaye dhundhlapan
Sapnon ki duniya ke nishaan abhi bhi
Nidra aur jaagran ke beech ki ajab sthiti
Jab hosh dagmagaata, shantata ke dariya mein behekta man

8) Palkein jhapakte hi, oas ki boonden khaari,
Khud mein koi raaz samaaye,
Girte aur ho jaate hain ye toh nadaarad
Par de jaate hain ahsaas halke, jab ho jaati hain yaadein bhaari

9) Madhraatra… Kehte hain ki hai sannaata
Toh phir kya hai vo jantuon ki nishani
Woh tarraana, madhur awaazein
Aisa anokha shor kyon koi na sun paata?

10) Ant kabhi ho sakta hai samaapt?
Kya shuruaat bhi nahin anth ka aagman?
Chakravyuh mein ghoom, vipda mein phase

Gar yahi sochne baithe, toh kya manzil hogi praapt?

- © HAEM ROY 

Comfort has to be sought

Comfort is naturally a very relative term by all means. Every person keeps aiming for his/her comfort zone at every point in life. The way one chases comfort keeps reminding me of how men chase women, playing all tricks, trying to woo her in all possible ways, trying to figure out what makes her click and leaving no stone unturned. Comfort is no less than the stubbornest of women, probably even worse, as it keeps eluding you, and just when you think you are settled in its lap serenely, disturbed not even by dreams, a humungous pin decides to lodge itself in your backside.

The problem more often is deciphering what exactly YOUR comfort zone is. It is misjudged and one is left scurrying about in pursuit of something which eventually is futile. Only on reaching do we realise that we probably seek something else, and the mad run begins again.

Thats the cycle of life. Comfort keeps eluding, wrong judgement manifests itself at every turn, and mirages keep blinding long sight.

But to look at it from a better perspective, even though the destination may not be a permanent comfort zone, it definitely is not worthless. One can treat it more like a pitstop, a refuelling junction. The bliss of reaching the mountain peak may not be there, but there is a definite respite from the endless turbulences of the journey, and the motion sickness. A nap for an hour, some food, a calming of the senses before you are back to the grind.

I found a similar 'comfort-post' recently. Something cliched yet unfailing - books. Sometimes the processes of our own mind are so complex and confusing, that you fail to keep pace with it. You don't understand what is happening and it is almost the verge of a breakdown. Everything around you seems like its spinning, and that its bent on knocking you down for sheer sadistic pleasure. Probably you can do something to stop this, but that would be possible if you grasp what is happening!

Those are time when you try and seek the comfort zone. You desperately need it. The chase obviously beings you to the 'nap and food break'. And i ended up with a book, that helped me drown the world around me. I shut myself to the rivers and island world of 'The Hungry Tide', an all-time favourite of mine, and revelled in the fictional characters and emotions the book offered me. The pace and gripping narrative of the book played their part in keeping me glued, even at a re-reading. And in time, the storm within me had settled, I don't know how, as I took things in their stride. The smile was back, and I was not being knocked down. (Even if I was, I probably turned into a huge, green giant who could not be knocked down!) As for the tiny pins that were being flung at me constantly, I learnt to deflect them in a way that they barely scratched me.

But I still seek my mountain peak
Momentary posts may refuel me
But my eyes are set on a destination I cant yet see
Till then I try to be happy with breeze that whistles by.

- © Haem Roy

A UNI-VERSE ABOUT A UNIVERSE

Walking along the brim of the universe
I decided to peep into the bowl,
Walking along the edge on top
I could see existence as a whole.
Moving, running, circling
Chasing other forms
Playing throwball- 'There goes a comet'
Or simply cheering along.
A huge hotch-potch of all games
Being played all at once
Clashes, fights, jumps and roars
Everything living a life of its own.
Every form affixed a place
Every game having rules
I could see them, predict or imagine
Believing this is how it works.
But beliefs are fragile,
brittle and unstable,
mirages and illusions,
fairytales and fables.
Looking from the brim,
I couldn't figure it out
Everything had changed
All jumbled around.
A huge upheaval
the games are changing
A change of positions
Chaos between settling down.
Illusions faced me
As old expectations arose
Broken by the suddenness of the change
Images broke down, defroze.
The change was constant,
The illusions around me fluttered,
I looked at the universe around me
Surprised, shaken and bewildered.

- © HAEM ROY
10th November, 2007

Try it!

Have you ever tried talking to them? Have you tried playfully asking them nonsensical question when they come begging to you, like you do normally with kids? And have you had the fortune of seeing the smiles on their faces?

Project Care, conversations at the sea side, smiles while I am walking, talks in the train... lots of times and lots of smiles I can remember.

I say, TRY IT. Its worth it.

The smile that was still there

A ragged pair of shorts on the plump body lay

debating whether to fall or not,

tousled hair more like the styles of today,

dark skin contrasting with the cream interiors of the local train;

staggering steps automatically finding their way.

Approaching you as soon as you are seen taking a bite

from your food, the lunch leftovers,

Hovering and staring, eyeing the bit,

Trying to pick it from your very fingers;

Not asking for money no whining no crying,

Not even a frown, no beggar seemed he,

Walking aimlessly without a word spoken

Just looking for something for a starving tummy.

Used to the urchins wandering in the trains

And stopping the gush of pity that flows,

You just hand over the food to him

As he grabs the offering, reminding you of scavenger crows.

You watch as he gobbles

And are filled with a feeling so different,

It’s pity, though not so distressing,

Sympathy – with more of compassion,

Sorrow – for the state, the extent of wasted lives,

Happiness – for having removed life-taking hunger,

Wonder – at something that so mysteriously arrives,

All mixed up somewhere deep inside,

None ready to subside.

The food is over, but the hunger lingers,

As he looks at you with grateful hope

Though he knows he can’t get any more.

And then he looks at you

With eyes that strike,

Sad, tired, yet twinkling,

Black and beady and uncannily bright;

And then you see the sign, the sign that says it all,

A smile of brown and disfigured teeth,

A smile despite the hunger, despite a lack of reason,

A smile, that has innocence hidden beneath.

Ten years of life or maybe more

Was what it took for that being to be so,

And was the time worth it

When now he has to forage for a meal, a leftover bit;

Yet, the smile is still there…

A satisfaction strangely soars,

A still it is, no picture perfect,

It haunts you, flashes often, out of nowhere,

Humbles, reminds, touches a chord

The smile that was still there.

- © HAEM ROY

EVERYDAY....

Just penned this in between studying... a sorta break between struggling with Ideology and Structuralism or the likes...

EVERYDAY…

Everyday…
I sit upon the very same wall.
Staring, gazing
Looking at the nothingness around it.
Everyday it’s the same routine.
I know I have to climb it daily
I know I have to sit and stare
But still that knowledge is not enough
‘Cos there is the fear of falling
Or hurt that I may have to bear.
What if I do not climb the wall some day?
What if I decide to penetrate the nothingness?
It will be a new experience
An entry to the unknown, a new door,
Made by my decision to stray.
The new way may be a dead end
Or a myth with monsters
But it’s different, I dare say,
Better than the wall
And its endlessness,
Better than the fear of falling.
The door opened may have just rocks.
But, a door has been opened
Leading me out of the nothingness…
Everyday…
Is now another day…
Taking me with my blindfolds
Allowing me to feel it
Everyday…
- © HAEM ROY 
3rd April, 2007

WROTE THIS IN CLASS TODAY...

I CAN SEE ME

Picking up a steel spoon,
In it, I can SEE me;
Scrubbing the floor tiles,
Once they’re clean, I can SEE me.
Looking out the window,
The civilization outside roars,
Turning back in, In the window glass,
I can SEE me.
Walking down the road,
Shops have glass doors – shut,
But walking in them with me,
I can SEE me.
The large mirror at the dressing table,
Shows me a world so similar,
In it too, mimicking my actions,
I can SEE me.

Away from these distorted worlds
When I try to find me,
I can feel, I can sense, But I can’t SEE me.



- © HAEM ROY

VACATIONS OVER...(sob, sob)

CUTTING THROUGH

A yellow bird
Flits
from tree to tree.
The grass spying on it.
The wind distracting everyone
as its laugh still echoes after it runs away.
The corn stalks gossiping about
the crazy squirrel scurrying.
The bees and butterflies
trying to chase the wind;
but the smiling flowers woo them back.
The sun taking a nap high above
softly aware of all the activity.

The purring turns into a roar
as the motorbike cuts through the little world
And moves ahead.

- © HAEM ROY 


Sigh! The vacations are gone. They have disappeared without a trace and we have been dragged back to routine and more. The laziness still hasn't subsided and I have to keep telling myself how bad the situation is and how much i need to do. Maybe that'll "bring some tension into my head" like my best friend says. I desperately need that being the kinds who works best under pressure.

Today, I was feeling quite light. The cold, yet pleasant weather with the end-of-Christmas feel brought a certain bounce in the air which affected me. I was lazy yes, but yet bouncy and very spirited too. I felt like being a prankster, jumping around college, talking away endlessly and just being, just existing. It felt nice, burdenless for once.

Until we got the warning and exam instructions from teachers of course. But well, the spirit finally overpowered the tension for the day at least as I went around shouting greetings and smiling as widely as I could.

For the heavy part, we also had a nice discussion on the evil in man and its inherentness. Svagery, crime, etc and the state of the world today and the attitude and emotions of the people in this age and time. This was a discussion that emerged from a combination of my earlier entry which was still plaguing my thoughts and a study of Golding's The Lord Of The Flies in class. The book talks about the very same thing and is quite a shocker in many ways. Here, children are given the quialities that are generally attributed to adults and it adds to the surprise and shock. All value systems are questioned. For me, that led to a questioning of present mentality and future possibilities. Sometimes I get surprised at the fact that I get so deep into something and get so reflective. In other words, I do surprise myself at such times thanks to my own thoughts and the tangents and digressions and theories they adopt.

Back to the light part - I was enjoying the feel and mood and was cuddling up in my oversize sweatshirt, which I quite liked. And I left college relatively early today too, which is something rare. The best part - the survey guy, Krishna, in college. I filled a questionairre for him and earned 100 bucks!!! Yaaaaaay!

(That I spent 280 bucks in buying Rebecca and Look Back in Anger is a separate fact and I WILL NOT allow that to interfere with my elation on getting some money at least!!)