December songs - Stories you carry within...

जाएगा भी तो कहाँ 

तू ये कारवाँ छोड़कर ?

तू ये कहानी लिए ,

बैठा है किस मोड़ पर ?

पलकों पर तेरी 

- जल रही है -

हाथों पर तेरे 

-बदल रही है -

Photograph clicked at: Lbsnaa, Musoorie, India

The law of everything.

" तू क्या ढूंढता है ? तू क्या जानता है ?

तू किन कायदों को, लिखा मानता है ? 

 रुका तू कहाँ है ? बुझा तू कहाँ है ?

तेरी आग तो तेरे अंदर कहीं है । 

तू सैलाब भी है,बस समंदर नहीं है । 

जो उठ जाए खुद में,तो किनारों को तोड़े ।

या पिघलाए धरती और पहाड़ों को मोड़े ।

वो संगीत तेरा,तुझी में तो है बस

चल अब देखतें हैं,

इसे कौन,कब,कैसे पहचानता है । 

There is a law of everything.
But then, do you know?
Have you cared to wonder,
who writes it?
There is gold and fire in every being here.
But then, its all about
- when -
and
- who -
ignites it.

Photography: https://www.instagram.com/p/BITC09dBonM/?taken-by=gazalbharadwaj

Diminishing volumes of the rising mountain.

Sometimes, some words become a trigger to more words, thoughts to more thoughts, volitions to more volitions. 
I am thankful to a blog friend, for one such trigger. In a recent beautiful verse, Susan triggered this very poignant question-
http://susanspoetry.blogspot.in/2016/01/ascension.html#comment-form
"What are we to the atom “earth”?  How vast is

the space between particles in our mystery?"

And so are from my ink

more thoughts from thoughts,

more words from words,

more volitions from volitions...

Diminishing volumes of the rising mountain.

We are

the reason the atom spins

a reason produced from its spinning.

We make it

stable or unstable

cold or warm

clearer or hazy.

We are

the particles

of our own mystery

measuring spaces

between-

what was and what is,

what is and what should be.

And like particles we oscillate

between dream and fear

between here and there.

Here

we resolve

the mystery

of the particles

which give us mass.

There

we destroy, disintegrate, diminish

our volume

when we kill, burn, wreck

or just ignore

our present and our past.

Our volume diminishing

and mass multiplying with layers and cloaks,

our density increases.

Hence, our hearts are heavy today with achings.

Are we not turning cold?

But cold air sinks.

Is that why we are sinking?

as a species.

We are becoming 

a diminishing mountain

a drying lake

a barren desert

a psychotic prancer.

We are becoming

the space

between the particles

of our mystery, forgetting

that we were supposed to be

its answer.

Sanity

My sanity.
Does not mean.
That I had been untouched by evil.
Or that the malice prevailing on the earth,
had not striked here...

It just means.
That I,
did not let it adhere...

And there is sanity in my heart.
As long as 'My Lord' dwells here.
And He shall desert me never...

Another Historical Day...

Last time I was there;
Wanting to do the impossible.
Wanting to hold 'Sand' in my hand.
I knew;
It shall trickle away...
And today, my palm is empty.
Only some marks remain.

But I'll be there today.
Once again.
To face the irony.
To ask myself once again.
If the sand was at fault, or Me...

I had never lost them. They were indited in me, from the very beginning. Even when one odd day I found I was over, 'they' were operating within, imbuing me with an invincible desire to go on..
My colours survived the dark..
They could not perish in the dust that had scattered the ashes of the unextinguished hearth of my soul. Today they rekindled the fire that once ‘lived’ and ‘loved’…
They gave me the strength to vanquish those fears… to break those walls…

And even when my being shall come to an end and life would close,
My ineffable hues shall pervade…




This is one of the sketches i drew during my post laser surjery period in january. and many more... fifteen black and white days restored in me my innate 'colors'...

COLORS

It had been just two days after my eye surgery. I had just returned from Ambala the previous evening, and two days of nothingness were enough to blow the hell out of me. I had another 15 days to go during which I could not read or write, watch computer or tv screen or even look at my mobile screen; these are the some post laser surgery precautions you see!

It had been two and a half months of running away from the things I did not want to face. All these days I had kept myself absorbed into my English and history books apart from my daily B.tech schedule; but now these 15 days I was all alone, all by myself and a black and white world. i was afraid. afraid to face myself and that unsatiable void that had now become a part of me forever...

My friends had been taking good care that I do not feel lonely and would make frequent calls. I had just got up an hour ago and my throat was still full of the foul taste of my eye drops. My mind had become a battlefield. Whole of my past two and a half years were flashing in my mind and would come to halt at that one devastating moment as a song gets stuck in a gramophone record. “STOP!” I almost shouted in fear, when there was a phone call from a friend. I pressed the button to take the call. The sensation of touch is perhaps the greatest of all five human senses; as when you’re deprived of any of the four, it fills up the gap.

“It’s getting over me. I can’t bear any more. I can’t bear this nothingness. Can’t read, can’t write.. can’t do anything! Hell. It’s killing me…” I broke off.
Even this one consoled me as all my friends would, in there respective calls and visits. But this one came up with something else too. Something different. Something which struck the chord.

“ Why don’t you do this Gazal?” He came up with this suggestion, “ask someone to get some A4 sheets for you and some colors, and whatever comes in your mind, just take it out on paper. If you can’t write, you can obviously draw…”
“ Draw without seeing what I’m drawing?” I protested instantly.

“Yupp. That’s a technique you see to dig out the things we often put at some shady corners of our mind. When you get well, check out your drawings and interpret what they say. They’ll tell you everything about you in these 15 days. You’ve got a good chance Gazal. Go on… talk to yourself. Colors speak...” He exclaimed.

“I fear… I don’t want me to go back to that… And I know this technique of yours would pull it all out. I don’t want to… I’m afraid…” I whispered hesitatingly.

“Now don’t say that to me!” he scolded back, in his same familiar tone. “ That’s not all you have in you! There’s so much more. Your passion, your spark, your dreams, your colors… Try it… And they’ll all come out.."

He had reached his grandma’s residence. We ended the conversation. But something within me went on.
“Should i?” or “Should I not?”

I called up Geetika. She was to come to meet me in the evening.(And she was coming with a pizza, as she had promised!). I asked her to also get a sketch book and a pack of crayons for me…
And this is how it began….

I just scribbled with whatever came to my mind. And then when i could see partly after a week, faired my scribblings a bit and added on to them... I was amazed. My friend was right. Colors speak..

COLORS SPEAK IT ALL...


When a soul draws you close...

When a Father feels his shadow...
(the 'father' who stands patiently when you come running to hug your mother on getting a prize, he keeps looking at you with the same satisfaction and 'awe' with which he first felt and touched you...)

This was not just a post 'the 3 idiots' hangover, but much more...

And the best part, this friend who had advised me to do this secretly disappeared for about a week. No contact at all. Cell switched off. I got worried. Later on told me He had gone on a 'one week exile' which he really needed. As for me I feel His exile did me good for probably God wanted my sketches to speak it all..

And they did...

For colors speak...

क्यों?

जब शाम होती है,
सूरज ये ढलता है,

हाँ, उस समय मेरा,

मन क्यों मचलता है...?

खग सारे अपने,
घर लौटते हैं जब,

पग मेरा घर से,

बाहर क्यों निकलता है...?

समंदर की लहरें,
जब शांत होती हैं,

मन का ये सागर,

यूँ हलचल क्यों करता है...?

जब जब मेरी ये,

उम्मीद टूटे है,

क्यों आश का एक,

दिया दिल में जलता है॥?

जब दिल सभी पर,

यकीन करने लगता है,

तब क्यूँ मुझे कोई,
अपना सा छलता है..?

जब जब मेरा ख़ुद पे,

विशवास टूटा है,
क्यूँ तेरे वास्ते दिल में,

विशवास पलता है॥?

क्यूँ तेरे वास्ते दिल में,

विशवास पलता है...?

जब शाम होती है,

सूरज ये ढलता है,
हाँ, उस समय मेरा,

मन क्यूँ मचलता है..?