स्वान्त

साथ, साथी और साधन
इनका समागम इतना दुर्गम
के दुर्लभ जैसा सुखी मन,
स्वान्त सुख में जो करता भ्रमण
रममाण होता जाता, जैसे देखके दर्पण;
भी करले अपने सुख से यही प्रश्न
के भाई साथ तुम हो मेरे या मैं तुम्हारे,
साधन से तुम्हें पाएँ या तुम खुद वो ठहरें;
कर दो हकीकत बयान भैया
वरना ‘स्व’ में अंत पानेवाली यह गाथा
कही वही से ना शुरुआत करने लगे
ना ले आयें अपने साथ, ना निर्माण करें वह व्यथा
जिसमें नीव खोजती यह संस्था
बनी-बनाई, सदियों पुरानी
जिसकी अमर्याद मर्यादाएँ
नदी की तरह बहती
पहुंची उन पांथिकोंके चरणों तक
जो खुद इस अमर्याद का रहस्य खोजते
मर्यादाएं लाँघकर, भ्रमण करते, रममाण होते,
जिनके पग भी तभी रुकते जब
इस अमर्यादसी संस्था का उत्तर
पाते वो एक दिन उसी नदी के नीले जल में,
मुह धोते, अंदर झाँकते, खुदको पाते;
नदी और उनकी आत्मा का एक सजीव स्त्रोत
एक ही होने का वो जब करते उद्घोष;
वोह फिर टहलने लगते
‘स्व’ की नीलाई तले बसे ‘स्व’ की हरियाली में
और फिर खो जाते
‘स्व’ के अंतराल में
‘स्व’ की खोज में अखंड, अंत तक
‘स्वान्त’ आने तक.

मणि कौल को समर्पित.
:(मुझे आज तक (यह कविता लिखने तक), मणि कौल की कोई भी फिल्म देखने का सौभाग्य प्राप्त नहीं हुआ. ना ही उनके बारे में कुछ ज्यादा जानने का. सिवाय एक विडियो के जिसमे वोह ब्रेस्सों के बारे में बात कर रहे थे. और फिर वहाँसे उतरकर ‘स्वान्त सुख’ के बारे में बात करने लगे. जाहिर हैं फिल्म उनका स्वान्त सुख पाने का माध्यम था. उन्ही चंद शब्दोंसे प्रेरणा लेकर प्रस्तुत कविता लिखी गयी हैं. मैं समझता हूँ यह क्रमप्राप्त हैं के इस कविता का समर्पण मैं उन्हें करू.)

THE AMBITIOUS AND THE NON-AMBITIOUS

There’s a basic difference between people with and without ambition. And that is DREAMS! People without ambition do not understand the concept of dreams. For them, this world is a reality and they have no clue (and no ambition again to know) why they are here. For them, its an act of God! For those with an ambition, a parallel reality exists - a reality which is more real than the present state of affairs around them. It is precisely because of the fact of their constant revisiting THAT reality, rather living in it, that they can dream of a reality better than the real reality around us, today, at this point. It is because of their dreams and ambitions that the world today can even think of being a better place than what it is. These dreams, however small, however unimportant on a first look CANNOT be disregarded. As, it is because of the power of these dreams, realised and otherwise, that those not having an ambition get the power and the hope to keep living on, hoping that something better might happen.
They don’t realise it – the non-ambitious – that they are actually living off the power of dreams of these ambitious souls. And if ever told, they would never even like to accept it. They would in fact deny, stating a million other tangible reasons citing the reasons of their existence. Oh yes, things like money, power, people and the likes of it. In the Indian context, I think the latter makes a big difference. The people! A large amount of the common mediocre middle-class here lives for other people, not realising that an immense amount of time and energy is spent in attending to and taming the egos of these other people, who they are thriving off. Innumerable long phone calls back home, sorting photographs in family gatherings, commenting on friends’ facebook pages digging out the same kind of banal humour that they have been exposed to through the works of Bollywood and other mediocre literature around them. Well, the word literature can be quite misleading here. Because this today’s generation of the non-ambitious has never ventured in that direction. For them, literature to its farthest limit comprises of thick textbooks that they used in their graduation courses. Otherwise, Bollywood and prime-time television are just enough to satiate their thirst for getting ENTERTAINED.
For such people, the ambitious and the dreamy becomes a difficult lot to accept and have around them. For they are constantly reminded of their mediocrity and the absence of a DRIVE to DO anything. As a character in a famous adaptation of Hamlet says to the latter, “If I was Hamlet, I would do something with anything.” Its about time, the non-ambitious come to think about doing SOMETHING with their lives. Because the ambitious are becoming more and more dreamy. And with all this information available to them at their fingertips, they might get lost in the big, big world of KNOWLEDGE. And unless you, the non-ambitious, do not feel the need to get enlightened by this KNOWLEDGE, you are going to be left far behind. So much so, that by the end of your life, if at all you see the white light and your entire flashes in front of your life, you would never be able to witness the CINEMASCOPIC drama that life can be.

चाहिये एक विषम

एक दिन का राशन
एक साजन
एक प्रेम मनभावन, पावन
एक लगन, सनातन
एक ही शपथ का एक बार पालन
कभी पलायन
कभी स्थापन
एक एक पल का सजीव उद्घाटन
एक एक पल का फिर नवीन चलन
अपलम् चपलम्...

दस दिशायें, दस अवतार, एक हि अहम
फिर भी एवम
घट घटता जाये
तगडम् तगडम्
रुकती जाये, थकती जाये
नयी ताजा कलम
जैसे ओझल होता आंखोंसे
गया, पुराना बलम.

ना हूँ बला, ना हूँ अबला
शाम से हारा मेरा यौवन
ना हूँ गंधार ना ही पंचम
जीता जाऊं एक मजधार का मन
सर से पतन और पैरों में धन.

एक उठे कभी... विचार, सोच, प्रतिबिंब या सम
फिर जाये थम
एक कवी का आलसी मन
सो जाये
निरंतर, निर्मम, बेमन!

चाहुं अब मैं एक विषम,
बस एक विषम
अनंत ही हो जिसका धर्म
थम जाये, सो जाये
पर फिर हो उगम
घटनेवाले घट की भान्ति
दौडा जाये तगडम् तगडम्
अपलम् चपलम् दुनिया के संग
संसार मे दंग
भरपूर उमंग
पर एक तरंग.

डुबती जाये फिर स्याही में कलम
थिरकती जाये, लहरती जाये
एक क्षण, और वो ही लक्षण
के सम पे हो जाये मिलन
दोनों छोर, हम
और विलीन होनेवाला एक गगन
समा जाये सब सगुण, सरल

पर फिर भी बचे एक सज्जन
सोला आने में एक कम
या फिर ज्यादा
जो हो विषम
मेरा एक विषम
मेरे एक दिन का राशन, एक साजन
मेरा एक प्रेम मनभावन, पावन...

कुटुंब

कुणा एका तपस्व्याच्या घरी
जेव्हा काळीज जन्माला आलं
त्याचा धगधगता भाता पाहून
बाळंतीण म्हणाली, "हे माझं नाही."

सुईण काळजाला फटके मारत
ते रडायची वाट पाहत होती
तर तपस्वी काठीवर हात ठेउन
रामदासांच्या पोझमध्ये उभा होता

शेवटी काळजाला पाणी फुटलं
"हुश्श" म्हणून सुईण उठली, बाहेर आली
पाहते तर तपस्वी अंधारी येउन पडला होता
लाल-पांढरी काठी मात्र तशीच उभी होती

बाळंतीणीने मग काठी उचलून
तपस्व्याच्या पोटावर तीस वार केले
सुईण बघत उभी होती
काळजाला थोपटत पगार मागत होती

तेवढ्यात जवळपास कुठेतरी स्फोट झाला
दोन्ही बायका काठीवर स्वार
हॅरी पॅाटर सारख्या उडून गेल्या
आल्या तशाच सडून मेल्या

स्फोटामुळे काळीज उडून
झाडाला जाऊन लटकले होते
आणि तपस्व्याच्या छातीतून
रक्ताची पिचकारी उडत होती

आता हळूहळू पिचकारी
लांबपर्यंत जाईल
वीस वर्षांनंतर
काळजाच्या तोंडाशी पोचेल

मग काळजाला हुशारी येईल
आणि तेव्हापासून काळीज
आईच्या दुधाची तहान
बापाच्या रक्तावर भागवेल

On Melancholy Out Of Sheer Love

On other occasions of life
When Love subsides
Beyond the confines of necessary things;
One needs to beckon it
To come back
And hold one's hand.

Such are the only moments
That make one privy
To the immense power of melancholy
That realises in the heart -
An ocean of sadness and longing
Of Love and wanting.

A force that only drives you closer
To Love;
For all those times
When it had been out of your mind.
(But not your heart.)

And you want to embrace it
With the force of that newly acquired power
Of melancholy!

Momentary Deliverance

Stolen thoughts have been buried somewhere in the near future.
As the mystery train that travels through time
Comes to pick my garbage in the morning;
Of memories and desires that I shagged off through the night
I still skip a beat
For my children of yesterday that went down the drain
Without seeing the darkness of the womb.

As the sun burns over my hair in the morning
I try to click over exposed images of the light filtering through them;
They come out all charred
And the spaces in mind reserved for special thoughts,
Done up exquisitely in red to seem like a developing studio
Give in to the blue hue of timelessness and vacancy.

Regression...
Doesn't deem fit to be quite the phenomenon.
Its a simple word - Falling.

I fall through the rising debris of my semen -
Like a sperm,
Through dead sperms of thought
And recoiled reflexes of action.

Its a state, I have been told -
A phase, a stage, a passing moment in time.
It comes to everyone
And thus is non-new.
I struggle to catch those soothing momentary glances
Who could tell this on my face
And not through some virtual altar
Before which I am kneeling
More since I lost my virginity of the trained mind.

It remains to be a dream to rise again,
And will remain to be so.
Until some fit, bearded, white, old man
Comes to me
All dressed in white
And through his long white hair
Tells me that this was how it was meant to be.
Maybe I shall then rest in time.

But as things stand now,
While it is all still black
Or dark maybe;
While tonight's night is still passing
And the debris rising
Why not I take a moment to console myself
Saying this is how it is meant to be
And rest in the moment
For the time to come?

Star

You know I was once a star
A star in their skies
Glimmering
Shining
They pointed at me from their shanty towns
Far far away
Into the intestines of the country
And said I was theirs...
Owned by them
I owed them
My shine
Their gaze
My haze.

I had a job once!

One day the star in my eyes vanished
I opened my eyes
To a bright, beautiful world of mine
A world of thorns,
Of stones
Of water
And of the night.
A world of fields
And of the villages
To which I belonged.
I left the city

I left my job!

Today I thrive
Strive to thrive
In the clouds of my own doing.
I find my star
In the bright sunlight
Scorched by satisfaction
And still not see it.
In the night
They miss it.

And we continue
They, on the moon
From where they keep falling
Onto the earth
To die
One death after another

I, on the sun
Where I write
I live.

Weeping in vengeance

Tonight I am gullible.
Take from me whatever you like
And leave me empty!

For the sins,
There needs to be space
From tomorrow...

Long, tumultuous;
Is the journey on barren virtues.
Admire

Oh Love! If you can't
And give me some warmth,
Grant me a little moist...

In which to dip my eyes
And pretend to cry
For the passing night.

The bright, brazen sun
Of the morrow
Will bend a little more,

For the burden
Of the lush, green evils
Is more to account for.

Mother and I at the Railway Station

The train leaves in five minutes
The rails prepare to rip
The wheels, to rape!

As we wait
She slaps me
Hard
Once
I hear a constant buzz
And a minute passes

A tear wells
Then in her eye
Salty
Round
All her dreams just dies
In the minute that lived

I am cut into two
By the sob that could have killed
Indefinite
Disproportionate
I try all permutations digitally to get even
Not more than a minute, the manual had read

The bugle blowed
She tells me
I couldn't hear
Handicapped
Both
We realise, after a minute of preliminary tests

Her womb was twisted
And I cried foul
Orphaned
Aborted
It seemed like only a minute ago

The wheels now deliver the first blow
The rails shriek
There's no penetration

They are paired parallely
Its an orgy of orgies
The orgasm amongst orgasms

Multiple orgasms later
She dies

My Roots

They see me walking on invisible road
Their fragile hearts eager to hold me

They lend a hand
I go blind
They cant see
I miss my hands

So, I run

A long slimy tongue
Now misses my touch

I slip off it
And land in the mouth
Of he who talks of Him

I denounce God
And God eats me!