'Naxal' love survives - my very first full stage play...

NAXAL love survives, my very first full stage play.... was a success. learnt a lot these days and found great people as friends, colleagues and juniors 2 wrk with...

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...

The Dream...

There was a time,

When i would dream of it at night,

and get up from my bed

in fear

in destitude

in desperation

and never sleep again for the fear of dreaming it again..

and then one day, it happenned....

There was a time,

when I would wander in lunacy and sleeplessness,

and find myself asleep at benches,

and on the corridorr stairs...

There was a time,

when I would walk out from home for work,

and find myself at the temple,

and on empty roads...

which we had once traversed together...

And then came a moment...

which changed everything...

It smothered me with its footsteps.

It burned me in its furnace.

and killed the 'that' in me,

which had taught me

To live

To dream

To fly...

Now,

I do not sleep at night.

'My Dream' does not let me...

Coz

I have learnt now

that

Dream was not what i would see in sleep,

Dream is what does not let me sleep....

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..?

Those brown twinkling eyes...

With this post, I intend to discover the change that creeps in the vision of a child of seven to a young girl of nineteen. As a child, I always loved the night sky, and I would spend a lot of time observing it. And, though I love it still, but a change has crept in ‘the vision’ of my two brown twinkling eyes… and this change encompasses the truth that all elements of the universe have a common soul and are connected… happy reading…

Those brown twinkling eyes...

Those pair of brown twinkling eyes would observe daily, The vast sapphirine night sky. Without an inch of ennui or tedium, they surveyed it daily. They knew every change it made. They were aware of its ineffable hue, of the glimmer of the innumerable stars it held, of the gleam of the countless constellations and galaxies it possessed, they knew it all. There would be something in those eyes, I’ll like to mention. An innocence. An enchantment. A spark. A dream. But, something else too… something like clouds heavy with unshed rain, something so overwhelming, that it would overpower itself and make the lips cry aloud to the vast unsuggestive blue-

“You are so beautiful. I wish I was a part of your world!”Today, those eyes are twelve years older. But, they’re still brown. They still twinkle. They still have that enchantment and gleam, that spark, that dream. Just two days back, when I made a very crucial decision of my life, those two brown twinkling eyes took me, after a long time to the topfloor of my house; and I got reminded of those childhood days of mine.

I stood there holding the railing with my warm hands, gazing at the night sky. A blast of a strange neutral air blew towards the east; the east which harbours both day and night, light and dark, hope and despair. I had just taken a decision. And a big one. I was at peace now. The breeze blew swifter. My hair and the blue gown I was wearing drifted me ahead. I felt myself borne onward along a mighty current whose source seemed to be in the very beginning of things. I was flying. Flashed before those two brown twinkling eyes pictures of the past; when I had learnt to ride a bicycle, when I had scored a hundred in a subject for the first time, when I had sent a gift to a friend as an acquaintance so as to see her smile, when I was declared my school topper, the investiture ceremony, the shields… everything was as fresh before me as it was then, years back. My heart pounded with joy.

And then, as the breeze touched my ears, I heard a melody, a melody on the guitar… a memory brimmed those two brown eyes and they burned with tears. I was crying. Those tears trickled down to my palm, by and by, and in few moments my palm was full of drops of those crystalline tears. I saw a glitter on my palm. It was a glitter from my tears which shone brighter than the Sirius, The Ursa Major, The Orion. I was reminded of all the stars and constellations I had seen till now. There was a twinkle again in those wet brown eyes. And there was something else too; something so overwhelming, that it overpowered itself and made the lips cry aloud to the vast unsuggestive blue-

“ I am so beautiful. You are a part of my world.”

As I said this, I felt my heart shone, as now it contained the sky in it. The light inside me was more illumined than the limpid moonlight that shone on my body. It was richer, more solemn, more significant and holy.

I lifted my face up to see the enormous azure sky.

Those two brown twinkling eyes now contained him, The Sky.

Aye Zindagi...

Aye Zindagi…..
This is not my favorite song. Yet, its very special for me, and so, it deserves to be a part of this post in my blog. Though, it was always there in my heart as well as in my music collection, since the time the music of the movie ‘Filhaal’ was released; but a few days before, it just came back to me, and so, I share it here…


Aye zindagi! Yeh lamha jee lene de!
Ho…
Pehle se likha, kuch bhi nahi,
Roz naya kuch, likhti hai tu.
Jo bhi likha hai, dil se jiya hai,
Yeh lamha filhaal jee lene de.
Yeh lamha filhaal jee lene de.

[Oh life! Please let me live this moment!
Ho…
Nothing has been written from before,
Every day you write something new for me.
Whatever has been written, I have lived it all with my heart.
Please, let me ‘live’ this moment I am in.]

Masoom si hansi, bewajah hi kabhi,
Honthon pe khil jati hai.
Anjaani si khushi, behti hui kabhi,
Saahil pe mil jati hai.
Ye anjaana sa darr, ajnabi hai magar,
Khubsoorat hai, jee lene de…
Yeh lamha filhaal jee lene de.

[Sometimes without any reason, an innocent smile blooms on my lips.
I often encounter a happiness whose source is unknown to me, swimming at the shore.
This unknown fear I have, is really unfamiliar to me.
But, its beautiful, let me live it…
Please, let me ‘live’ this moment I am in.]

Dil hi mein rehta hai, aankhon mei behta hai,
Kachcha sa ek khwab hai.
Lagta sawaal hai, shayad jawab hai,
dil phir bhi betaab hai…
Yeh sukoon hai, toh hai
Yeh junoon hai, toh hai,
Khubsoorat hai jee lene de.
Yeh lamha ‘filhaal’ jee lene de.

[It resides in my heart, it swims in my eyes,
This dream, which has not yet fully developed.
It appears as a question to me, but may be it is an answer,
But my heart is still desperate…
If this is solace, then, yes it is.
If this is passion, then yes, it is.
But, its beautiful, please let me ‘live’ it.
Please let me ‘live’ this moment I am in.]

This moment is life! I’ll live it.

The Empty Street...

GOD HAS HIS WAYS.

For hours I had lain in a kind of a disturbed torpor and at ever-lengthening intervals, a flash of pain darted through me, like the ripples of sheet-lightning and thunder which had caused the lights of the whole of Pantnagar go out that night. It was 3:00 a: m and I woke up all of a sudden with a jerk and with my hands desperately searching for some water in that eerie darkness. As I got my bottle, I quaffed all its contents in no time. Only when the chilled water explored my guts, I realized that I was alive. My lids burnt with tears. The walls of my room began to make me feel claustrophobic and I ran out to the end of my wing, to the staircase and till I reached the window upstairs. The eerie darkness all around made me feel hysteric, and I felt like yelling out and weeping loud.

As I lifted up my liquid eyes, there before me was The empty grey street running outside the hostel.I thought that people walk on it the whole day. Lovers stroll on it and she hears what they whisper into each other’s ears. She listens to the transactions the businessmen make, to the fights between two best friends cycling over her… she listens to every one who walks on her. But, at night, when it’s dark and lonely, when people have reached their destinations, no one cares to listen what her silence speaks. No one cares to feel what lies beneath the sheet of smothered dust- that lonely heart which craves for just one listener.

“He hears me” she said.

“He?” I asked in amazement.

“ He, the vast shadowless blue sky… He listens to my silence. He knows that beneath this smothered and crampled dust lies a fire, a fire which lights the Earth’s core. I am not lonely. He too spends the whole night with me awake because He can feel my silence and because He cares…”

“You say He cares!” I exclaimed in sarcasm, “He never approaches to wipe away your tears, when you cry. He’s never there to celebrate your happiness with you. He’s so so far away…”

“Ya” she smiled. “ He never approached me to wipe away my tears. He just send the wind to do so. He never celebrated my happiness with me, He only smiled at me to tell me He was happy for me. His smile is the sunshine, the limpid bright sunshine. And when I see Him smile, it lits the candles of the answers of all the queries of my life. BUT, DOES NOT EVERY ONE HAVE THE RIGHT TO SUNSHINE?”

I kept looking at her trying to understand what she was saying.

“But, not everyone craves and prays for his smile. Not everyone is devoted to Him the way you are…” I still protested.

“But everyone has the right to it. I can’t own him. He is the vast azure sky. That’s how it’s written- ‘MAKTUB’” She whispered in an entreating tone.

“MAKTUB” I Said to myself. “It’s written” says Coelho in his novel, ‘The Alchemist’. “How true…” I thought.

“ So,” I asked her a last question, “Will it go on this way? Will God always keep you deprived of His love?”

As I said these words, the lightening and thunder increased all of a sudden and in a few moments, it began to rain heavily; as though The Sky himself wanted to answer my question.

“Look!” she said in a calm and satisfied tone, “THE FATHER TOUCHES THE LADY AND LOVES HER, AND CREATES IN HER WOMB, A MIRACLE CALLED LIFE. HE TOUCHES ME DEEP INSIDE MY SOUL, LIKE THIS THROUGH HIS TENDER RAINDROPS, AND CREATES IN MY WOMB THIS MIRACLE…”

“MIRACLE?”

“YES” She exclaimed, “THE MIRACLE, THAT I AM ABLE TO GENERATE LIFE AND SUPPORT IT. HE GIVES ME THE HONOUR OF BIENG CALLED, THE MOTHER EARTH…”

I was astonished. Speechless. Dumbfounded.It was raining heavily. The distance between the sky and the street had been filled by th raindrops. What the world calls a simple shower, is actually one of God’s noble ways that the smothered lonely soil could touch the vast mysterious sky and unite with him, so that the circle of life moves on! Really, God has his ways! And they’re beautiful.

I had got my answers. The unrest accumulating in my heart from the past so many days had finally calmed down. I walked back to my room humming these lines from one of my favourite songs-

“ Isn’t it a wonder,
That I can see, a change in me…
But I won’t go back, coz that’s behind me…
And after all, strong words are spoken,
My heart will never be, never be, never be broken…”

As I was walking on the wet street the following day for my classes, I saw a fresh green creeper emerging from the mud. I smiled and continued my journey.

FAITH

Just visited The Harmandir Saheb or The Golden Temple and I really need to write this post. Situated in the middle of a wide lake which serves as an abode of innumerous fauna of fish, this radiant structure of gold is visited by thousands of pilgrims almost daily.
As I was walking on the burning marble leading to the temple, there was something in the air of this place which soothed the unrest accumulating inside me from months and stirred the most indistinct and the most intimate of my thoughts-

What makes human beings so insistent?
What causes them work so hard at building a small temple at such a remote spot?
What causes them to put their life at stake for its protection and functioning?
What makes people visit this place again and again without bothering any of the four dimensions of space?

I looked at a couple in front of me with a newly born baby in the gentleman’s hand, while standing in the queue for entry in the temple.
What had brought them here in this scorching heat?
What had brought me there?

These lines by P. Coelho, from my favorite novel echoed in my ears-
“The Buddhists were right, the Hindus were right, The Muslims were right and so were the Jews. Whenever someone follows the path to Faith and sincerely follows it, he or she is able unite with God and experience miracles.”

I entered the temple. The august carvings of Gold and the sacred ambience of the place left me dumbfounded. I bowed and then climbed upstairs. The view of the lake from the upper floor was magical. I entered the shrine and bowed again. As I lifted my covered head, I felt as if some unknown hallowed power had gripped my soul. I felt pushed towards the wall. I felt as if He lifted my body from the floor and took my head in His hands. SANS SIGHT. SANS SOUND. SANS TOUCH. SANS EVERY THING BUT THAT FLEETING AND POWERFUL MOMENT.
Two big tears rolled out of my eyes on my burning cheeks and I whispered-
“THY WILL BE DONE.”
I opened my eyes. Everything was as before; sound, vision, touch, everything. The moment had passed. The miracle had occurred and I had understood. I was still shivering.
I covered my head with my dupatta which had fallen down and departed from that abode of aurum.
As we were leaving for Langar, my friend, who had accompanied me in this pilgrimage, asked me-
“So, how did you like the place Gazal?”
I paused for a moment and then looked at her-
“Some places are like that. They can suffer through wars, persecutions and indifference, but they still remain sacred.”

AND WHAT KEEPS THESE PLACES SACRED FOREVER?
FAITH.

COMING UP....

That dark stormy night, He spoke to me all over again, and things changed since then. Yes, He spoke to me; He, who creates and destroys; who binds and separates; and who’s is the kingdom of heaven. He spoke to me again. He speaks, through signs around you and via his own ways. You just got to be a patient listener. That night, I listened to what He wanted me to know. He communicated with me through Her. She, the lonely, muddy and thin street, running outside my hostel and who was as lonely that night as I was inside my hostel walls….

My world had turned upside down. There are times in your life when you are left with tussels and conflicts; between believing and not believing, accepting and rejecting; letting go and being in love forever.

“Can we be in love forever?” was what I asked her and what she told me can just be felt…

coming up soon with "THE EMPTY STREET"...