Don’t stop me

Don’t stop me I am having a good time, flying with those birds so high, dashing through those puddles of happiness, splashing in those rivers so happy, walking pass those meadows – on go. Yeah! I love these moments of freedom, where i dance and jump and laugh with no treason. It is these sensations that I love – with no promises no hearts shunned.

Hey you, wanna  share with me some moments of laughter – we’ll talk and dance and trek through those mountains. We might leave some imprints of our aura on the other forever. Maybe each other’s face again – we’ll see never. But yes these moments would be fun. Where on those wide fields – together we’ll run.

I assure you no guarantee of future – i must clarify. Permanence and eternity – oh them – I fie. I rather prefer these moments – that are in my hands. Happy or sad – everything lies in my hands. I can choose to make the most of now and laugh and dance. I can skip away some moments – all lost in trance. But that time to come – that i shun. I have no control over it. I can only live through it or sit.

It is said that our present decides our future. What fun it is to outlay such caricature. Where are the surprises and shocks that come in between. Where are those plans that never turn real – while flowing in stream. Everything changes in matter of moments. Magnificent ships suddenly attain those unwelcome dents.

I of all love those dents – after all those are like many moments. I rather take each of that blot as different slot. And there i thread them all in a large painting. My floating ship – now sinking. I know one day it would be battered and old. There would only be a story told. But before dieing into that obliviousness, I wanna attain all kinds of dents. Those lipstick marks at one time, those stormy blows in some tents.

And I love numerous shores. They come all planned at times, at times they come afore. But then isn't it thrilling to play with waves of each sea side. Like an old knife I used to feel when to one shore – unused – was I tied.

What meaning life has – if not to live it all. only entertainment we have in a fair is to play at every stall. Or maybe we can become observer of it all. without participating in either of the stalls. But even then one has to move, one needs to get in that groove. Else it would all be a failure. Coming to the fair would be a psychological stir. We would get annoyed and frustrated if we won’t participate. It would be a mere survival no matter in which state.

So smile and enter those waves so high – yeah they are indeed a fun ride. Don’t stop me or don’t get stopped. Play and live it all – without any next moment all curbed. This is the moment – to laugh and make the most of – why don’t you lie beside some sea. Listen to those waves talking of ages. Feel those eternal cycles of rages. And then switch rather to river side. There enter those streams – to their inside. and let the water chill your senses. There they dance those tingering senses. Don’t stop, don’t let anyone stop you. Yeah, the world is for you – only you.

But yes, mind it, there are others too. They too wanna live in a style – different from that crew. They too want to create their own story. They too want to contribute in our collective history. So live and let live. Together you cross every hill. World is inter dependent. Let everyone choose their own tent. never impose anyone, nor get imposed. Leave no door closed. Explore and enter all those hidden caves inside – yeah life is a indeed a fun ride.

paintings and article by - Mystical Wanderer 

बजते घुंघरुओं में झूमती सी वो

नीले आस्मां में घुलता सा सूरज
बजते घुंघरुओं में झूमती सी वो
कहीं शायद सितार बज रहा था
जाने उन मीनारों को किसने गड़ा था
भोले से चेहरे पर
वो दो तीखी आँखें
थिरकते क़दमों में
नाचती सी नाज़नीन
नदी जैसे उसे कुछ कह रही थी
जाने कब से वो वहां रह रही थी
हर रोज़ उसे वहाँ नाचना होता था
आस पास कोई नहीं होता था
बस पानी की इक अजीब सी पुकार
बादलों का खोया सा आकार
उसे नाचना पसंद था
पानी की लहरों पर
उसे गाना पसंद था
संगीत के सुरों पर
बजते घुंघरुओं में झूमती सी वो
जाने कहाँ से आती थी
कहाँ रहती थी
कहाँ जाती थी
बांसुरी की आवाज़ कभी कभी
यहां तक चली आती थी
खनकती चूड़ियों से
वो यूँ रिझाती थी
उन मीनारों को ये इल्म भी न था
वो लाल सा सूरज उनपर कैसे पड़ा था
हर पल सूरज डूबता जाता था
मुस्कुराता हुआ चाँद
कुछ ऐसे आता था
वो नाचती रहती थी
अपने उस चाँद के लिए
जो हर रोज़ हर रात
उसे मिलने आता था
बजते घुंघरुओं में झूमती सी वो
जाने क्या गुनगुनाती थी
नाचती थी वो
तो ज़िन्दगी आती थी
बारिश की बूदें
उसको बहुत भातीं थीं
उन बूदों में भी
वो नाचती जाती थी
उसे तो पसंद था
हसना गाना
नाचना घूमना
बारिश की बूदों में
ज़ोर से चिल्लाना
धीमे धीमे गीतों में
खुश हो जाना
सागर की लहरों पर
नाचते जाना
बजते घुंघरुओं में झूमती सी वो
आखिर तुम
उन मीनारों में क्यों हो
क्यों नदी किनारे तुम्हे
तनहा आना होता है
क्यों हर सपने में
सुनसान जगह जाना होता है
क्यों तुम्हे उस चाँद से
इतनी मोहब्बत है
क्यों तुम्हे दुनिया से
ऐसी उल्फत है
पर उन वादियों में
जब नाचती तुम हो
ऐसा लगता है
मानो दुनिया तुम हो
बजते घुंघरुओं में झूमती सी वो
जैसे रात और सुबह सब में तुम हो

paintings and poem by - सुरभि रोहेरा

Far off in the desert lands

Far off in the desert lands, was a woman in heavy trance. In dreads and chunks she was raving and dancing. There amidst sands she was prancing. There were some colorful caravans too. She had behind a large crew. They were all high on flower power. There sand grains seemed like shower. And yes there was ice too, Glaciers besides sand dunes.

There in the chilly night , it was all a blazing sight. There were sudden lights all blue – there in distance were other crews. Camels and wolves dancing together. there they were – all lost in clatter. They had furs and jewelries all around. colorful lights, spiritual sounds. There were echos and sudden states of obliviousness. None remembered their entity of consciousness. They were all princes and princess of some other time - Red and yellow, orange and lime.

The woman was lost in some strange ecstasy world .she was the mother nature  with a demon in her lap all curled. There she was talking to the mother earth. Her opponent were dark spirits of some other world. Upon a huge mountain she was seeing those three shadows. She was dancing, challenging those red hallos. The powers had three yellow flames. They guided that demon to play a game. And there were other demons too, struck all over those ranges like a crew. But the woman knew her task to be there. she gave them all a long stare.

There began a new game. They all had to dance – in main. She gave them eighteen performances. Of creations and destruction, of life and senses. After each performance she handed over that round earth, to women in dark upon their hearth. Before each performance she received it too. To tell about the world was the lieu. There she attained enlightenment and wisdom. There she was free, she was the freedom.

Alone she climbed upon those cliffs. Scared of none, even those cliffs. Amidst nine constellations she lied at the top. There was the real show with clouds on top. There she saw the visions of night – of civilizations and worlds, joys and strife. The clouds had their own images to show. There there keep changing images on flow.

Far off was a strange cave embolted upon those mountains. There was a huge cave and yes a head flaunted. It was all of rock like some other world. Amidst those first rays were those clouds like flock.

Then she reached the river below. There it shivered with sound on flow. the river was her own self all flowing. There all pains, in different drows going. People called that river selfish, after all in it had gone many men selfish. She carried them all without a word. Deep inside all memories all curled. But people saw the smoother surface. Called her a brutal face. Questioned her churning of memories. They didn’t know her awareness of histories. Of life and death, life and death. There inside her was stored all wrath. But then she still flowed with joy. Still she danced to her banks beside. There the nature goddess smiled to see her. There they danced together in whisper.

The river and she both were same - both nature both cosmic game. Both had a connection so intimate. Both knew each other’s state. And yet it is river that she had dreamed off long back as her partner. There she had seen water’s power. A single dip behind and river embraced her from all sides.  Jal she had named her lover. Jal was her only mutter. During those visions of meditations, it is with jal that she always collided. Jal used to show her beginning of the world. When all around was only jal. There in her visions she was on some rocky sight. With Jal below showing her his might.

she had seen those waves rising towards her raft. There in the front she had visions of colliding. With waves of desire penetrating inside, there with Jal she did collide. And then she jumped from a huge cliff into that river. There it gently pulled her back to shiver. She had had sex with that river behind. She had Jal’s power all intact with that sight in her mind.

And then her journey into that world of letters. she was the creator she was in letters. There she underwent a strange spiritual course. Through four elements as separate force. She dissolved into water at one time. At another she had all airy rhyme. Once she was all fire in her navel. at other time she was dry all sandy like that earth. After each of her journey she took a bath in the essence of life. The blue pearl drops so alive.

Once she even entered the world of ether. Everywhere was hollowness with a single sound to mutter. Om Om Om was the chant. Om the universal cunt. om was the shape of that constellation she once saw. Om was the shape of one beach where her other self she saw. with sea dashing through three sides, there with jal coming towards her to collide. And there was rain too, whooshing down on those sand grains so few. There she had Jal all around. Jal and its thunderous sound. There was the ecstasy of death in jal so alive. There towards her Jal she took a giant strike. There she entered the womb of Jal. There she finally became her – Jal.

written by - Mystical Wanderer

Prisms of Her Aura

There was a soul that was locked inside the prisms of her aura. She had in it many shades, she seeked all flora. Only she knew that the key of universe lies in her hands. That she is aware of those historical bends. That humankind needed its power and in nature was its only shower. There were many obstructions nevertheless. Every bump made her feel but less. But she used to rise up with equal efficiency. In sensations she had this fluency. She loved to play with words and their sounds. There inside was bliss abound.

But she had seen the real face of wrath. She knew once again the same fate is to be met - In each of her journeys in numerous bodies, In each of those around those dead prosodies. She knew the dance of creation. She had also danced to destroy those nations. Shiva and Shakti united inside her. She was the puppet of time’s stir.

She knew the purpose of her with whom she had already met. There upon some hill that child was perfect. Where she used to flow right inside that river. There that child with pleasure to shiver. He used to call himself Ganesha. He called her his wife with love and nature’s pleasure. There upon some grass they got married. Those dreams of fantasy they together carried. Or maybe it was all an illusion of divine. There with him she once did shine.

He used to show her a distant star. Blue was the color of that star so far. Shiva – his father he used to point at him. at night so close used to be his skin. He used to remember his dad at times. There she lulled him in dreamy rhymes. She told him to dream of his father and meet him there. she also promised to be of him over there. he smiled and closed his eyes so lovingly. There in his dreams he met her alluringly.

Next morning was one blissful sight. He came and hugged her to her delight. Night before was still in her mind. How he had come and called her thine. He had dragged a bedding right there on the floor. with a cushion blanket he called her for sure. And there he held her palm so strong. There he had called that world all wrong. There he called his wife to sleep with him. there he was so close there oh him.

In morning he claimed to have met her in his dreams. But denied to see his father beside that stream. He always missed his father yet showed her the same. There sun was his friend with whome he used to play a game. And then there was a grasshopper. He took her to meet him in beside some flower. He fed her with apples and cherries. There with his own hands he fed her with sweet cherries.and then he used to bless her too. With a prickly leaf he used to give her finger a rue.

She didn't know what caused her to blush whenever he was alongside. She had no clue he was her only side. There in those games of hide and seek. There she became his in soul and steak. Once while playing beside that river . he left her behind to get some pebbles. There she pleaded while having fun. But her words gave her a strange pun. She was touched there that day. There he said those words as if some divine ray. ‘ i can see you. I won’t leave you. Come , hold my hand.. I am there with you’. There that moment was an epiphany for her. There her entity attained a new spur. She lost her soul along with consciousness. There she was his along with all that mess.

There she had met with her purpose of life. There was her love – so far from strife. He was there to protect her from all shortcomings. There he used to talk about some disasters coming. He said thaqt a flood was coming soon and that the world would be finished. But he would welcome his friends and rest all would be famished. There she told him to hold on and let others come too. He said, ‘ no they don’t deserve anything in lieu. But for her happiness he was ready to save even the rest. It was her happiness that mattered to him the best. There they used to play under his friend spun. There he would make her hold his waist along with a revolving spun. Round and round they used to rotate. There she drew him pictures of Ganesha in numerous states. He learned making the mangalam sign from her. He loved her pictures  so bright yet blur.

All laughed upon them even his step mom. But he used to get angry like a thunderous storm .h his eyes had the entire universe in them. Those moon like eyes were then her life’s stem. They had visuals and magic  , for whatever he said, always came out to be true, to all’s unrest.

And then one day he vanished suddenly. No  more him, no kid so manly. There she waited for him till centuries. None came back, none in those centuries. She went back then returned all to her loss. He was never again found, despite of a search in that floss. She crossed mountains and rivers to find him then. But he never came , he that devil’s stepson.

He was right  about her life , that she would meet some strife. But he had also promised to be their with her. Nut he never came to those calls of her. Maybe he was there only no more visible. Maybe that was his magic, the reason why he was invisible.  But he never came only his name. There she missed there in that evil game.

She needed none but him to her close. There her life met every day with a new close.  So many miseries, so much happened. There all artificiality she thereby shunned. She heard the voice of cosmos now and then . she let it out there through her pen. But her words were a strange mystery. They never touched human history. They rather talked of species and cosmos. There she heard them all in that floss.

He somehow was there all inside her. There he laughed there his eyes did that spur. Deep inside the layers of her heart was some pain , a glitch from the start. And now his name was a pain too. Cause he never came back in lieu. But he was still present and this she knew. He caused her cheek to blush still in hue.

 written by - Mystical Wanderer

बंद किताब के पन्नो में

बंद किताब के पन्नो में
तनहा देखा उसको
कुछ खिताबों में उलझी थी
कुछ खोई सी वो
हमने पूछा
अरे तुम्हे कैसे
किसी ने ना देखा
तुम तो इतनी हसीं हो
जैसे कुदरत की रेखा
तुम ने कितना कुछ जिया है
हमने सब पड़ा है
उंचंद शब्दों में
जैसे तुमको छुआ है

बंद किताब के पन्नों में
तनहा देखा उसको
आज भी लगता है
क्या वह तुम थी
या ये तुम हो
हर सुबह जब तुम जागती थी
सपनो की दुनिया को
सदियों तक ताकती थी
भीगे से चेहरे पर
कुछ धुंआ सा होता था
सपनो सा जहां
कुछ ऐसा होता था
तुम खिलखिला कर हंसती थी
कितना चहकती थी
हर पल ख़ुशी से
कुछ ऐसा महकती थी

बंद किताब के पन्नो में
तनहा देखा उसको
उन ख्वाबों के समुन्दर में
क्या वो तुम हो
शेरनी सी लगती थी
बाहर जब निकलती थी
कुछ अलग ही रौब था तुम्हारा
तुम कुछ ऐसा चलती थी
कभी अचानक बिन बात
बंद कमरों में बिलखती थी
कभी निकलती थी उस पार
सड़कों पर दहकती थी
कभी ना जाने कैसे
इतना चहकती  थी

बंद किताब के पन्नो में
तनहा देखा उसको
साँसों से आती जाती
क्या वो तुम हो
हमने देखा था तुम्हे
जब उन रातों को
तुम कुछ ऐसे गुज़ारा करती थी
शान से उनके क़दमों से
अपने कदम मिलाया करती थी
बनाती थी ख़ुशी से
उस धुंए में कुछ ख्याल
भर्ती थी हर सुबह के साथ
हर दिन एक नयी उड़ान
बहुत प्यार करती थी ना
बहुत शर्माती थी
कभी कभी ख़ुशी से
उनके इतना करीब आ जाती थी
पर शब्दों का खेल था शाायद
या तुम्हारे लेखक की पसंद
पर हमेशा की तरह
तुम हमें तब भी अच्छी लगती थी

बंद किताब के पन्नो में
तनहा देखा उसको
तो लगा पूछ लें
क्या हुआ सब को
क्यों वो अब
खिताबों से दूर भागती है
क्यों अब उसको
वो दुनिया नहीं भाती है
क्यों उसे
सबसे हुई है तकलीफ
क्यों नहीं होती वो अब
किसी की दुनिया में शरीक
क्यों उसे अब अनजान सा डर लगता है
क्यों अब उसका चेहरा
सपनो से ना दमकता है

बंद किताबों के पन्नों में
तनहा देखा उसको
शब्दों के ये कैसे खेल
इस कदर
छू गए उसको....

                                   -               सुरभि  रोहेरा

There are men and there are women

There are men and there are women

This is the root this is the stem

Of a world so divided

In many layers – bifurcated

Yeah i heard some news

Equality and feminism –loose

Lol was the word to be used

When all notions got fused

Law favoring women

Men favoring women

But mind you its only a news

Ever asked that rosy lady

The reason behind her hues

Aah! she won’t say it

That news would surely get hit

But that won’t prove her to be a feminist

So she hides behind that perfumed mist

How come she tell this

She is the modern miss

How come she reveal

Beyond that dazzle -

The real reel

When her man comes at night

And finds her so bright

Yeah he hits her so hard

Calling her a whore

A semen’s fart

He hits and then cries

He hugs her and lies beside

She loves him so

Yet can’t hate him more

But then she is the voice

Of women to allure

she gives them spirit

To live it all

And raise their voice

Behind every fall

To be equal to men while on work

To attack anything on lurk

But she can’t tell the world

That she is not a woman all curled

She too goes through the same plight

She too has her own fight

And yet she loves her man

She calls him – her real stem

In each of those get-togethers

She speaks of some random stabbers

But she never mentions her own case

She knows, she is not a rare case

There are men and there are women

This is the root this is the stem

written by - Mystical Wanderer

‘Hitherto shalt thou come. But no farther’

‘Hitherto shalt thou come. But no farther’

So while studying in a school all of us are taught how to read those maps with lines or boundaries separating those mountains from rivers and countries and states from each other. also there are certain invisible lines drawn marking out the areas we are allowed to go and areas for which we need permission. And then comes the forbidden morality, ‘you have certain duties and responsibilities for your own country, your own family. Visit them all if you have to, but it is your own domesticity that you have to adore’. And than there are those international obligations, the settled ones are allowed to reach anywhere, but those from uncertain births can’t cross these shores.

So one tries to read about them all and explore bit more. But then there are accepted notions and the limits to which world can let you explore. Even the R.T.I;s have certain ways, certain loopholes. Imagine you ask the reason for a specific proceeding. They reply that is the way it happens in reading. So you divert your head to certain other explorations- Those cliffs and valleys in your own country, maybe your own home’s intensities. But then, there are limits too. It is all a cluster of black holes, beyond which you can’t get through. Reason of your life or that unwelcome strife, the way you feel happy at times, the way artificiality glitters – everything simply exists as if it has to be that way. You can’t question it, or deep in prisons of your own confusions – they will make you sit.

Then there is that woman with all her alluring ecstasy, she comes so close to pull you out of your own world, she would even lie in your lap all curled – but naah!! She has her own limits. You can please and tease her, expect no more. She might do a favour or two , but to your eternal wishes – she has no cure. She can’t promise you with her presence forever. She can’t even say that you would always be her better. She has many choices and she likes to explore them all. She has her own limits, her own principals – it is within those notions she explores.

Then there are those fixed rules of your work profiles. You need to reach at a certain time, have to behave in black and white. You can work as much as you want , but be innovative – oh no!!! They need mechanic humans – how dare you say, ‘ lets explore’. Innovation is a word in cinema i guess. But i see almost the same stories on same shores. Same emotional perversities, same stories imposed. Yes, there are few fascinations too – those stoires of some huge loot, or may be an alien or two jumps into the scenario – fulfilling all our selfish wishes before vanishing to its own scenario.

Then there are novels written too – on how to be different from the crew. You have to be happy to be different . gotta believe in something that is attained by few. You have to attain some confidence, but yes for some job or other trivial thing in lieu. And yes, you are not allowed to let yourself loose while in a society, it has to be your inner control, your personal curfew. Why give others a chance to control you. Control yourself before anyone gets a chance to turn you to crew.

And then they say, you are given one life – explore to the fullest – and become someone different from the crew.

 Written by - Mystical Wanderer

सरकारी दफ्तर

बड़े खेद से कहना पद रहा है
आज हमें सरकारी दफ्तर जाना है
यकीन मानिए
ये कोई युद्ध से काम न होगा
इतना कागज़ी काम जो करवाना होगा

सुनिए भाईसाहब
ज़रा एक मोहर लगा दीजिये
हमने सब लिख दिया है
आप बस एक नज़र देख लीजिये

'दिखाई नहीं देता
मै चाय पी रहा हूँ
मै क्या यहाँ
यही सब करने पड़ा हूँ'

भाईसाहब
लंच का समय
एक घंटा बाद है
हमे आप का
सारा वक़्त याद है
देखिये
ज़्यादा वक़्त ना लगेगा
एक मोहर लगाने में
आखिर कितना वक़्त लगेगा

'हिम्मत तो देखो
हमें वक़्त सिखाएंगे
जाओ मै कुछ नहीं करूँगा
अब चाहे ये पैर भी पद जायेंगे'

नहीं नहीं
मेरा ये मतलब नहीं था
देखिये काम ज़रूरी है
वरना कोई और वक़्त भी सही था
सुनिए
एक मोहर लगा दीजिये
मेरा काफी ज़रूरी काम है
काम हो जाए
फिर हम दोनों को आराम है

'जाओ जाओ
कभी और आना
ये हमारा चाय का वक़्त है
सुबह आना चाहिए था
भला ये भी कोई
आने का वक़्त है
नहीं तो बड़े साहब के पास चले जाओ
वो कुछ कर देंगे
यहां से निकलो अभी
वरना हम सब रद्द कर देंगे'

देखा, कहा था न
आंसू निकाल देते हैं ये
सरकारी दफ्तर वाले
चलो चलते हैं
करते हैं इन कागज़ों को
उन बड़े साहब के हवाले

सर, ज़रा इन कागज़ों को देख लीजिये
बस एक मोहर की ज़रूरत है
हमारा काम कर दीजिये

'अरे ओ
सर अभी मीटिंग में व्यस्त हैं
दिखाई नहीं देता
इन सब कामों के
सर कितना अभ्यस्त हैं
अरे तुम्हारा तो एक कागज़ है
जानते हो उनके पास
ऐसे कितने आगाज़ हैं
आ जाते हैं
जाने कहाँ कहाँ से
रख जाओ अपना कागज़
मोहर लगवा देंगे
किसी पहर पे'

पर हमारा ये काम ज़रूरी है
आज इसकी आखिरी तारीख है
वरना ये पूरी कोशिश
अधूरी है

;तो हम क्या करें
पहले जागना चाहिए था
जाओ रखो अपना कागज़
हम नहीं करते कुछ काम
अब क्यों उठे हो
करते रहो थोड़ा और आराम
लो रख लो इसे अपने पास
कभी और आना
और हाँ अगली बार ये मनहूस चेहरा
यहां मत दिखाना
और भी तो दफ्तर हैं
अपना काम वहीँ कहीं कराना'

ऐसा ना कीजिये
देखिये बच्चों के लिए मिठाई ले लीजिये
हमारा काम है बहुत ज़रूरी
हम कर लेंगे
साड़ी जी हुज़ूरी

'अच्छा रुको
इधर दिखाओ
ये लो तुम्हारी मोहर
कहीं और दिखाना
आगे से ये तेवर
कैसा वक़्त आ गया है
कौन कौन छा गया है
जाओ निकलो यहां से
हो गया न काम
जाओ अब करने दो आराम'

क्या? क्या कहा?
हो गया मेरा काम?
क्या सच में
और नहीं करना पड़ेगा व्यायाम

अरे नहीं
कल एक और कागज़ पर दस्तखत कराना है
कल फिर एक सरकारी दफ्तर जाना है

-    सुरभि रोहरा

Modern world - a closer look

After thoughts on - Elliot's Wasteland

Elliot’s wasteland is a strange epiphonic moment where he observed his society around and noted down all its trivialities. All corruptions and degenerated values, sexual perversity, zombie like existence of its citizens – all threaded ever since centuries. He meditates upon issues of past and present and after a thorough reflection of a degenerated life he offers his own remedy. It is a rhetoric poem with visuals, myths, classic literature and modern realities all tied together penetrating into each other – becoming participants in an unreal city which could be any of the modern metropolitan like London or Paris or which could even be Jerusalem.

So the vision begins with the theme ‘burial of the dead’ which could be a burial of both fertility god or any burial in a Christian church. Whatever diva death takes it is always followed by a rebirth in a natural cycle. The month of April ensures such a rebirth when earth revokes from sleeping winters into a new beginning of spring. Where leaves all dead covered under the icy layers of time once again get ready to see on trees – their new springs. It is such a month of celebration but not in the modern wasteland. The modern wastelanders avoid this month and they are still caught in the memories and desires of winters where they had hibernated into warmer places and were all doped in pleasures akin.

The narrator of poem is Tiresias who represents humanity and he is indulged in a conversation with a German princess who denies anything to do with Russia and laments the arrival of spring. she is a rootless creature who is completely detached from her family, life and loves to travel around. A globetrotter by nature she misses her cousin with whom she might have got intimate in winters on mountains because there she felt free to get into any kind of sexual pleasures. Shower of rain is something to get protected from for her as she was unaware of rain’s regenerating powers.

Tiresius then describes the spiritually barren wasteland around which was dry and directly under a scrunching sun. There was no shade for the wastelanders except probably the red rock which represented either spirituality or Christian church. Shade of red rock was different from man’s shadow which is behind him in morning and ahead in evening, symbolizing death which is behind a new born and awaits its meet with the person once a person reaches his old age. He mentions man’s most natural fear – fear of mortality – fear of turning to ‘a handful of dust’.

Then happens further description of the wasteland with its prior most corruptant – guilty love. Tiresias brings forth two such cases both from mythologies. One was a youthful love out of Tristan and Isolde – a love story by Richard Wagner, where Tristan dies waiting for his beloved near a sea but she never appears despite of calm waves and a clear sky. Another instance is of a hyacinth girl who awaits her lover who at one moment of passionate intensity long back had even lost his senses for her love. But now, he denies to even know her. Both these cases highlight the futility of sex without marriage. They talk about degrades sexual values and their ill-effects upon modern wasteland where emotions have turned to momentary sensations and there is no loyalty, no responsibility.

And then comes an eternal symbol of tarot cards which Egyptians used to use in order to forecast the rises and falls of river Nile, the source of life and fertility. However in the degenerated modern times, tarot card are used to perform an illegal function of fortune telling. Madame sosostris, a modern fortune teller is sick and fears law due to which she performs forbidden fortune telling in the secrecy of a degraded city.  Some of the tarot cards she offered probably to the narrator ‘Tiresias’ are symbols of Elliot entire poem in crux.

 First card is of a drowned Phoenician sailor who represents fertility god whose sculpture was drowned every year in the river. However this time there is no possibility of revival. Modern wastelanders have simply denied making any efforts for the dead god’s rebirth. They have rather become indifferent to both religion and the need for their spiritual regeneration. Belladonna, the lady of the rocks represents a modern lady who has the power of a seductress . she is good at playing game of chess , i.e , the game of seduction between men and women. Third image has a man with three spades that is king fisher himself. Three staves of ‘trishool’ are the three fold paths of mankind’s generation which is also Elliot remedy for spiritual revival, i.e., to give, to sympathize and to control. Picture of a wheel symbolizes the cyclic degenerated lives of civilizations and civilizations, the circles of life and death and the people’s futile will to control their own fate. It also brings forth the zombie like life of modern wasteland where people get up, go to work, come back to gulp something, get into some sexual intercourse and sleep off only to repeat the same cycle again the

next day. It is also symbolic of the cycle of seasons and the flux of life and death. Then appears the one eyed merchant representing further degeneration of modern cities. Earlier sailors used to carry both religion and sexuality from their lands , but now one eye represents sex without religion , i.we lust. One such sailor even invited Tiresias to a cheap hotel later in the poem to get into a homosexual one night stand – later in the poem. Another card which is blank is symbolic of the religion that merchant used to carry but it is no more visible to the modern wastelanders. They can’t understand the spiritual significance of the merchant or the religion which he carries. Card having a hanged man represents both the dead fertility god and Christ who is crucified. Christ or religion is instead hooded and madame sosostris can’t identify him. the last card with a crowd running in circles become the miniature of London or any such modern city where people live a cyclic dead life of following their routine works being indifferent toward their life or religion.

And then he creates another unreal city like London where the people are zombie walking up across

the mountain over London bridge. The brown fog around symbolizes their obliviousness to religion, spirituality or even their own existence. They are kind of sleep walking – round and round in the cycles of everyday life only to die one day. Every morning at 9 a.m the church bell tolls calling them to church’s shade. But they deny to listen any of it. they walk in their own sway. 9 a.m is also the time when Christ was crucified. But the hour means nothing to them except their office time.

There amidst the rows of robots he suddenly identifies one as his friend. Stetson he called him, wasn’t he the same he had met far back in mylae in a  Punic war . And here one transcends through time. Making wars of all times – connected in one eternal rhyme. And he asks, whether the corpse he had buried long back is safe or if it had begun to outshine. also, to keep him safe from dog as dog is man’s friend and may dug that corpse out in no time. Corpse represented the dead religion, dead fertility god or truth and dog was human conscience. Allegory of dog with his digging nails and man’d friend was from woolf and foes from Dante's inferno’s time. And here connects inferno with London and paris – all same – in same rhyme.

Towards the end of this section he calls Stetson a hypocrite and his brother.  And here all differences get even further. Spiritual degeneration is omnipresent and he and Stetson along with every wastelander are equally responsible. There is an essential sameness of human experience of all times.

And here begins the second scene further opening the previous box. Out emerges the game of chess with a beautiful lady in lavish frock. And the scene of his room is well describes. Aromas and perfumes, pictures and light. A chandelier with seven candles burning so bright - Mixing that shimmer with her jewels’ light. There is a cupid all carved upon her mirror, another behind its wing with an eye on shiver. And there on a mantel piece was an antique of a golden bird too- symbolizing the change of philomel in her suffering’s lieu. The bird was once a princess who was raped, her own brother in law – king jereus to be blamed. But god turned her into a golden bird – out came she to sing her hurt. Alas modern-land can’t understand the song she sang. Alas, it was but a jug jug frozen in that ivory stand. And hte fire beside had colourful flames too, creating a smoke with window’s wind’s rue. There the carving upon the fire place – of a dolphin came to life. Those colorful stones – such lavish sight. The satins and jewels all bring the picture of Cleopatra in rape of the lock’s architecture.

The lady instead is from a modern city. So used to satins and all its artificiality. The constant knocks of wind under the door. Made her lust for the arrival more. There out of ecstatic excitement, there were her hair – right on stand. And came the man much awaited. She had bad nerves that night, she said to her lover. ‘speak to me something’ she said with a quiver. She inquired about her thoughts and silent presence. What is it you always thing with such mental absence. The lover painted a sordid scene of rat’s alley and bones and dead men in scene. Lady gets horrified with the picture. There happened hamlet’s Gothic structure.

What is it that noise she asked . nothing but the wind was her lover’s response. And there upon nothing they emphasized. Like in Alice in wonderland ‘nothing’ was not personified. ‘ those were pearls in his eyes’ said he to act intelligent. Lady knew its empty rent. She warned him that if he won’t speak then she would take a city sneak – just the way she was, open hair and half dressed blouse. She asked about their further steps of action. What would they do tomorrow, would there be any attraction. But he brought again the boring mundane life, the same morning showers, the same human plight. And mentioned that they would wait for a knock at the door – may be for death or may be some surprise guest in store.  The theme basically remains the same – the mordid life – everyday the same game. Man was the living proof of a modern man. Hollowed words – without stem. And people like him were all under spiritual degeneration -  All given to imitation with no creation. And they all lived a hollowed life - Repeated unions, repeated strife.

And then arises another cloudy vision.this time from lower horizon .a club scene with narrator now a lady – talking to her friend – lil – a sick lady. She warns her again and again out of her own mouth. There in the club she told her about her approaching spouse. Albert who had been fighting in the war since four years. Albert is now coming home after many years. And there she tells lil to gear up and look good. As Albert has suffered alot and must have some time – good .that lil looks ugly , sick and old now .that Albert would be wooed by some other lady somehow. Lil mentions the abortion pill chemist had referred. The thing to be blamed for her looks so daggered. And her friend scorns that she should be ashamed- for looking so ugly and letting her child get killed. That what were marriages for of not to borne children. That Albert deserves some kind of fun. Lil frustrated with her friend replied, if Albert would get another wife , then she would know whom to thank, and she was aware of her degraded rank. The backdrop had again reminders of time – with a waiter’s constant final line. ‘Hurry up please its time. Approaching Death was the symbol of passing time. And there it ends the club scene along with second section. Good night sweet ladies – a hamlet’s extrapolation.

And then enters Buddha’s fire sermon – the scene where he preached that world was a lust game .that all around was fire of lust. And world is burning in it with sex and thirst. And thence enters another scene of tiresius beside a river bank. There he wanted to write about city’s ship – on the verge of sank.

There the scene is of a winters where suffers gaiety has left and all of its summer splinters. Men and women during sunny times, came here to get into their useless sexual persuels and now have left for some other rhymes. The rich sons have not given their numbers to those young girls of modern times. But it doesn't matter after all. its a business – this sex in recent times. No cigarette cases or floating clothes or other such wastes in the river Thames. Yes they have left – them with their games. Here the poet sites beside Thames and leman and other such river banks – connective rivers from centuries, building temporal stands.

But the scene is same – gothic with elements sordid. Rat alleys, broken bones and clattering teeth in the background. The degraded life of modern wastelanders. Approaching death was the sheer reality. Degraded city, decayed artificiality. And a rat approached with its slime belley , while tirius was fishing expecting regeneration in his alley. While dead bodies and rattling sounds, with rats behind and clattering ground – was consistent presence there in background. And there he heard those horns and motors. After short intervals – those sudden splutters.

And there comes Sweeney  with horns on his motor, with dark desires to meet Mrs. Porter.listening to those children singing chorus in a church long back, had sir Parcifal been full of lust. The same degradation is here teleported. Mrs. Porter – a brothel keeper with sweeney all flaunted.  She with her daughter are shown washing their feet, not with plain water but that soda of street. Alas these modern times where artificiality is so preferred. That to appear fair and better complexioned , soda water they preferred.

And then we enter back to narrator’s life. Tirisius once meeting a Smyna merchant at one time. There the Syrian merchant of tarot card revives. There the death of religion outshines. The merchant  even invites tirisius – out for a one night stand in some cheap hotel. Modern cities degrading to such cheap stupor – homosexuality – with sex having no life’s stupor. Pleasure the only principle of life. Pleasure the reason for this eternal strife.

Sexual perversity is further enhancified when there enters the typist – an icon of their time. She works from morning till the closure time. And then she gets up to reach back to a tedious rhyme. The time when even sailors return to their homes. There the typist meets her daily chores. Poor room, poverty yelled, right with one divan and tin plates so gelled. She washes her clothes and hangs them on windows, she piles her clothes and eats in the same square meadow. There on that divan she lies all tired. There enters the lust – carrier – a clerk all wired. Tiresius claims to have seen it all – both being a man and as a woman installed. There he sees the clerk trying to seduce, failing which she shuns her muse. There he attacks right into the act, there she does nothing to react. She lets him do whatever he wants. There upon her he finally kisses a patronizing faunt. She sighs a breath of relief as he leaves. And a little walk here and there to get her thoughts released. An animal intercourse had just happened without feelings the girl for a moment looked a t ceilings. And then she tied her hair like a robot, and there played her gramophone. Imagine the foolish girls’ obliviousness to religion, not a moment spent in reflecting, no regrets to shun. In goldsmith’s vicar of wakefield the lovely lady had committed suicide. There in modern world there is no guilt ride. But sexd is like a daily activity. The same monotoneous routine with the same aritificiality.

The music of gramophone teleports tirius to queen victoria’s street. There he reached the end of thames street. That was the land of poors , the place where fishermjen lived. The same place where played mandolin with some fishermen to sing. There he had heard those tragic tales, the songs of those poor girls in rhythmatic wails. And then tirius returns to his present time - The polluted river and its darkened rhyme. There he once again lost in visions of past. The time when queen Elizabeth sailed with leicester  with a blast. The ship was adorned with red and gold. There it sailed as the wind did bore. And yet Elizabeth was leicestor’s mistress. The same perversity, the same mess. Antony and Cleopatra qenter yet again, some other time, but the same rant.

Each girl had the same plight – lusty city and no will to fight. All had been undone somewhere or the other. all had sanf together and then in different flutter. The first was raped in Richmond and kew in a boat . the second was raped in london’s street Moorgate. Her own lover had raped her and then had regret. But he couldn’t have understood her feelings. He after all had different way of dealings. The third was yet another rape case. in yet another picnic place. margrate sands the place was called. In neglitude and povert her life crawled. the one who ravished left to not return but she with her life had nothing to return. Her life was a big nothing and so was of others. The song of their rape they together sang.

And there ends this section with st. Augustine’s sermons. Here he mentions the root cause – sexual perversion. The sexual perversity and religious decline – the degenerated modern land with its fecundity beside. The miseries of poors and high class too. The game of chess with fire sermons in lieu.

And there tirius transcends to the time of a phonecian sailor – plebas was his name – who had died in sea’s squalor. Long back phonician sailors had skilld to catch the rhyme of sea waves. Their rise and fall was a language they used to tell. But here in this degenerated modern land, phlebas had forgotton all about the divine hand. So waves one day gave him a shock. A current of waves came like a rock and dragged him below the sea. There his materialistic persuels got free. all his desires along with boned got chutned and churned in the sea’s dome. There he lived his entire life line – only that it was in reverse order this time. From youth to old age he saw amidst waves. How he died with his ill-doings and fate. And lost was his body along with whirlpool- there ended his earthly drool.And this is shown as a lesson – for those of us who try to control our fates. One must have that faith in god and his doings. Depending on religion is always better than our own ill-doings.

With this appears the last section of picturesque and one reaches crucification phase. There he was arrested with torch lights and and frostly silence. At the call of his release, There was on roads a sudden violence. So Christ was crucified and yet he had not died. He was alive in the hearts of his followers. But now there are no such stirs. Faith is dieing, so is the Christ. The one who didn’t die then is now dieing.

The spiritually barren modern wasteland  has other attributes too. It is rocky and dried and has no water for relief from loo. This takes one to king quester and his journey. In search of holy grail to chapel perilus had he went. There the was was dry and rocky. There was no water even the wind was cracky. Their sweat had dried in scrouching sun light. Wherever one saw, there was no water in sight. They wished for water without any rocks. Or even with rocks but with water in ample stock. But when they reached the church above, they found Nothing but a four walled room with dusty storm. Even the bones out of those graves were peeping, there the wind there that dryness reeking. A distant jug jug of cicada and his jarring sound – further tortured their ears as it seemed like water’s sound.

And then a sudden shift brings forth Christ's two disciples who were walking once to the biblical wasteland – Emmaus. The first deciple hallucinated a third image beside. But none he found whenever he looked to his partner’s side. Again and again he asked about that presence. That hooded brown figure that in direct vision had absence. But he found none – so to speak in body. And yet there was Christ as somebody.

 There we return to modern wasteland. With many wastelanders walking in deadly stand. The people are uprooted from their roots and family. The a woman cries so silly.was it Mother Europe herself crying for the plight of her daughters and sons? Was it the old woman crying at the death of Christ or her fertility god in shuns? There seems to be a city in the dusky hours of evening right at the top of the mountain. And yet at times it is visible at times it is abstract and without a stem. All towers of churches seem to be falling down. The towers represent religion and all that it had as its sound.  No religion, no authority, rootless waste land with its artificiality.

The wastelands are all linked – may it be Jerusalem, Athens, Alexandrian , Vienna, London or any such street. Every wasteland was decaying with same heat. These  city people had neurosis and hysteria. Imagine a woman playing music on her own hair stands in media. At night, there seem to be strange creatures – bats with baby faces are their features. They try to crawl, fly, lean down some darkened wall. There are buildings all upside down. Bats represented the decayed generation. Upturned towers were decayed religion. Though there were church bells heard still, but each was equally ignorant of its fill. There are empty wells and cisterns that sing any song now. They represent sterile religion and decayed spiritual sound.

Here tirisius takes his readers- all the way back to the journey of  king quester. There along with open graves was a cock who crowed loudly. Symbol of a dawn arriving stealthily. The dawn was  a carrier of hope – hope of regeneration , a reconstructive hope. And there those empty clouds suddenly caused a thunder. Possibility of rain hence got slender. A mild breeze brought rain along, there was spiritual regeneration’s first sound.

From one rain we reach to another which had happened long back in India as a miracle. There once upon a time was a dry drought without a rhyme. Even the ganga had gone dry and lifeless. There was no water left anywhere else. Though Himalayas had some black clouds. But they seemed all empty shrouds. Ans there was no pain and with no water were they all in sheer pain. So the men and beasts of the jungle sat together, they those prayers to god they mutter.

Prajapati the lord of thunder appeared . da da da the thunder hence outleared. The three sounds had huge meaning in them. Data dhayadhvam damyata were the three stems. To give, to sympathize and to have self control – all three had their own roles – to bring a spiritual regeneration in their land – there with reviving rain splashed on dry sand.

And here Elliot finishes his poem with a remedy to his problems. Their he holds the three fold path as its stems. That to give completely is important along with empathising with others. And if one loses one’s control than he can reach to his destiny neither. For modern wasteland – spiritual regeneration is required. Through the three fold path is that state acquired. So the poem of London Street traveled through countries and time, and there they found their solution in Vedas in rhyme.

 written by - Mystical Wanderer

Brecht's ' Life of Galileo'

Brecht – a 20^th century modern playwright – who underwent huge historical happenings – the Hiroshima atomic attack, world war and yes the social and political changes in his society. With his post modern  ideologies, he had his unique notions of theater. Theater for him was a wide field to be filled with both information as well as entertainment. Society needed not an escape into those Elizabethan romantic lures, rather a place to instill new ideas and challenge their society in order to bring significant required changes in the mechanisms of human minds.

In order to treat all these themes of the labyrinth of historical inventions with his day’s social and political structures – he gave rebirth to Galileo – the 16^th century scientist who like any other artist or inventor had faced authoritative sectors of his own time, despite of huge intellect and scientific potential in him. though the play is a systematic light collage of various events of galileo’s life but Brecht has given certain varying attributes to the persona of his central character. Galileo’s individuality hence varies in all three versions of the play. The first version in German has Galileo as a person so optimistic about his discoveries getting reception in the world which has to give its way to those proofs. Second version with Laughton performing Galileo includes a passive, flawed person who had no option but to give those church and political authorities in order to continue with his studies. This was written blending German and English with a monologue altered towards the end. Also, this was the time when American invention – atom bomb – had caused huge disaster, so Brecht’s idea about science and its benefit for mankind had changed. Hence brecht’s Galileo accepts his failure to be a responsible scientist more than a good scientist. Third version was again in German and had less of details of luxury attributed to pope with his wide robe.

The story begins from Galileo – a professor in the university of pusa, with his caretaker – mrs. Sartyr who takes care of him and her son – Andrea , the most trusted disciple of Galileo with whom he shares all his discoveries. Galileo is facing financial problems and is getting less time for personal studies because of his teaching schedules. He is shown to be a man of appetite with humor and a careless attitude.  Unlike other scientists usually shown as dry and half – lost, he rather gets involved with people around him and has huge faith in common men. To meet university’s demands of a huge scientific invention in order to receive amount, he steals the idea of telescope so popular in Amsterdam market but still not known in Italy. He not only received a prize for it but was also later penalized for the same. However, this led him to improvise the uses of a telescope.

 he used it to make significant discoveries about the universe. First being the rejection of Ptolemaic system – so blindly believed during those times. Church authorities believed that man being the center, universe couldn't have been possible without all celestial bodies encircling it – and that included all stars also sun. Ptolemaic system was based on Aristotle’s model of cosmos where earth and universe were half spheres and with one moved the other. People from centuries had faced difficulty in explaining Aristotle’s mathematical model because the eyes saw something different, yet none had the power to challenge beliefs of centuries.

Galileo realized that Copernicus’s heliocentric explanation of universe was true once he observed moon’s surface like that of earth and Jupiter having similar moons like that of earth. He noticed the way of Venus and also marked Saturn’s rings. However he had mistook Saturn to be yet another star. Nevertheless, his discoveries were remarkable and he wanted everyone to share that knowledge. He was one liberal person who didn't want those discoveries to be piled up in his own studies or even be limited to those records of church authorities. He rather wanted the world to know that they had wrong notions about the world and there was no reason for them to accept their poverty and servant-hood as their fate with that god or church authority as center. That after all, earth and moon were all pieces of stone and the universe was working on its own in some pattern without having god – anything to do in it.

He leaves university of pusa to go to Florence which was less flexible but more returning in monetary terms.  He convinces church authorities to publish a book ‘dialogue concerning the two chief world systems’. Though Galileo’s argument was wrong but the way he furnished his book – the dialogues he gave in the form of direct speech and mocked his friend – a mathematician – later pope – all that made church as well as the political authority a rival out of him and he suddenly became an atheist for the world. He argued that tidal waves were due to earth’s moments  as opposed to another scientist who rather believed that they were due to lunar effects. His decision to let the entire world know about his newly discovered explanation of universe – that too not in Latin but in the localized dialect that every layman used –again became a reason for both Catholics and Protestants who for one moment became one – together to save that conservative opinion of saving their own domination by explaining hierarchy as god’s will.

Hence, after a series of interrogations, he was forced to recant his discoveries and accept that his works had no premise. His students got disappointed with his conduct and the affect of social and political changes became apparent as many changed their beliefs including a priest who though had huge faith in Galileo’s discoveries yet returned to church’s dogmatic blind beliefs once Galileo recanted. His favourite student Andrea also got disappointed and upset with him. For many years Galileo lived under house imprisonment along with his spinster daughter Virgenia. He was however allowed to continue his studies and receive visitors with a strict check upon his publishing.

It is in the last scene where Andrea visits the blind old decayed Galileo in his house. Galileo still has that humour and appetite left in him. However, he accepts his failure as a responsible scientist and told Andrea about a book he had written consisting all of his discoveries. It is here that the future generations along with Andrea forgives him for giving up science and rather appreciates his efforts. After all he had sacrificed his life – his entity – for science to survive. But Galileo denies any such names, rather claims to have his own self interest in all these decisions.

Nevertheless, the play ends with a positive note, where Andrea easily smuggles his book ‘discorsi’ out of Italy and there was a new hope for the world – a new beginning,  new dimensions of science – that changed the way world looked at itself – even till  the time of Brecht.

Galileo’s discoveries later inspired Newton’s theories; rather his first law of motion was a product of galileo’s observation that if a certain object moving in a certain direction at a certain speed would remain moving infinitely the same way, if not disturbed by an external force. Galileo had made many scientific discoveries which included his revelation that all objects dropped at the same rate despite of their varying weight and sizes.  he explained the workings of  simple  tools like liver and pulley. Call it physics, astronomy or any other dimension of science. Galileo had land-marked significant journeys in every field.

So, what made Brecht write so much a scientific play? What was the reason to showcase an old scientist on stage when after him so many discoveries had been made? Why him – to be specific, and why that theme? Well, the theme was not science. It was knowledge and its encounters with power and society. it was to bring out that ever since history, every word of truth has to struggle through a no. Of dominant forces till the time it creates its own facts and gets approved to be truth. It was to mark the victimhood of a man who wanted common man to be a part of communal bliss. This was to bring out the humane side of a scientist who despite of being flawed had made significant discoveries and yet, even he had to undergo martyrhood in front of those oppressive systems of society and yet that man won- atleast his knowledge did. The aim was to bring out the responsibility of science which had power enough to create nuclear energy yet could have turned equally oppressive and destructive.

The picturisation included most of Brecht’s beliefs where having a historical setting immediately compelled the audience to not identify , rather have a critical distance of culture, beliefs and ideologies and yet see their workings were similar. It was to make them understand the victim and oppressor in each one of us and our society, the possible damage that can happen and the imprisonment that most of us live in – just to have our secret desires run free. The ending monologue though didn't go with Brecht’s belief as he believed that conclusion shouldn't be drawn in any play and that a play needed no climax scene. Galileo’s final speech and his acceptance of failure of his social status of a scientist – was indeed a climax and had huge role to manipulate with the spectator’s mind. 

However, Brecht did succeed in creating an epic of infotainment. The three versions, connection with various artists, and his own flavours made sure a success for the play. His aim was to make people understand Althusser’s system of ideological apparatus.  That dominant ideology is always designed to ensure its smooth success along with state ideologies. That a truth is a truth coz everyone believes it to be so. That any truth could become a fact if another ideology gains dominance over the previous truth. So, being rigid about any notion or belief is equivalent to blinding yourself to wisdom and reality. Servant-hood or being the masters of our own life – both were merely our state of mind and had nothing to do with god, religion, political structures or any other dominant beliefs.

So charged and monumental was the play that we still read it and we still feel all aroused with galileo’s play and all happy with science’s triumph. So much of power politics is same even till now that the society seems to be running in circles with various names. So all it needs is to take a turn or two and explore with those alienated eyes – some historical facts, some silence of wise. And there you attain wisdom in simple fiction of reality. How else life could be defined but Galileo as every man’s formality. 

Written by - Mystical Wanderer

हिमाकत नज़रों की

हिमाकत है ये नज़रों  की
भूल कुछ पलों की

मचलती सी वो निगाहें
जब हम पर पड़ती हैं
जाने कैसा
जादू सा करती हैं
लगता है
मानो अंग अंग
 छू रही हैं
लगता है
जैसे कुछ धीमे से
कह रही हैं
गुदगुदाते से वो अरमान
छूते हैं  आसमान
चहकती सी वो आवाज़
जब सुनते  हैं कान
इक नज़राना ही काफी है
हमें उनका हो जाने  के लिए
इक आवाज़ थोड़ा दीदार काफी है
हमें मदहोश होने के लिए
साफी सी वो नज़रें
थोड़ी नशीली लगती हैं
मदमस्त सी वो पायल
कुछ ऐसा छनकती है

मचलती सी वो निगाहें
जब हम पर पड़ती हैं
हम खो जाते हैं
उनकी नज़रों में
कुछ ऐसा जादू
वो करती हैं

Mystical Wanderer

Meaning of my existence

While trekking through those cliffs I at times wonder, is it all worth it – encountering nature, nature’s plunder; making myself vulnerable to death even more, facing all those torments of thunder. But then when I see those lights – the red and blue thunder, I get a strange peace – in that voice of wonder. I feel that thrill , that ecstasy of the sound. I feel I am to no one – bound. Yeah, that freedom has its own beauty. Aah this lust for being free, free both from soul and body.

It is when I think about those moments so mundane – everyday the same game, same waking up – though in protective womb. But there is always a possibility of some bomb. But imagine the same getting up and eating, going to same places, same boring meetings. Where is the fun in it – that burger you may catch or that one moment so fleeting? Where is that breath of relief – after trekking to those cliffs so isolating.

I can’t live without mountains – the rivers the freedom they provide. I won’t call myself rootless, it is nature that I always desire. Not that I can live without people. I know they have their own importance- but it is mundane that suffocates me- the daily routine that I always want to shun. I just can’t handle this concept of a schedule –clutching yourself to that man made time. I want to flow with natural time’s own rhyme.

It is those heights that make me realize the meaning of my existence – which is not very immense. I might be a part of this entire cosmos, but from there high above – I am just a dot – hidden in some mountain floss.

Ever seen the entire city from that window of a plane? It is just blocks of green and brown – all scattered in various plots of a video game. No human is visible from that height. Just blocks of buildings – in some dotted sight. A few kilometers and we become invisible to the world. And imagine we have such high notions of ourselves in some bed all curled.

I wonder where those furs and diamonds go then when I look from that height?  No tiles visible , not even that kid smiling from some ride. No proof of life at all, except maybe a line of lights. For that you need to fly at night – and look real close to see that road of some sight – with a traffic turned all mobile.

But then are we just those cars or roads or even those patches? Are we those dancing people – lost in obliviousness – smoking chillums on some hilly sides? Who are we? What are we here for? What is the purpose of our life – is it to create our own strife? Yeah, we are now aware of many diseases - some are even cured i have heard. But wasn't there a news for some new killer disease the other day – or so I heard.

I ask, what are we running from or rather, what is it we are running for? Money could be a possible answer. But that is what I find all wrong. True, it has huge significance. How else do u expect to have some system in a world. But it becoming a purpose of life – that is what is the wrong turn.

And then I trek above only to reach yet another height. I look below at that world I keep leaving behind. But don’t I return to the same world again. And that is the world that brings any food at this height.  I think everything is fine. Everyone should  choose their own choice. For me it is here – these repeated heights. I find bliss beside rivers and seas and even forests’ nights. I love nature and the desire it instills inside.  I like those mansions too- but yes, of time passed by. those monuments and their transcendence – in some other time – some other rhyme. I love to get lost in those illusions – of me as a nature goddess or some princess on flight – all living so free in some other time – passed or yet to come bye.

Who knows it is all truth that comes to my head – in those instances of imaginations. Or maybe they are all my creations of illusions in times of seclusion. But they work for me nevertheless – those flights of imagination and yes these creations. And I find thrill while letting those rivers flow by me – with me lying below on those pebbles – all chilled so free.

Mystical Wanderer

जब सब कुछ हर वक़्त रहे

ज़िन्दगी की इस दौड़ में
जाने कितने आते हैं
कुछ साथ रहते हैं हमेशा
कुछ पीछे छूट जाते हैं
कितनी अजीब होती है ये ज़िन्दगी
कभी कोई पराया कभी कोई ज़िन्दगी
कभी किसी के होने का
एहसास भी नहीं होता
कभी किसी के ना होने से
इंसान सब कुछ है खोता
क्या कुछ ऐसे नहीं हो सकता
की सब कुछ हर वक़्त रहे
वो प्यार वो गुस्सा
सब कुछ अपना रहे
पर तब तो साथ रहेगा सब कुछ
वो गर्दिश सा बहुत कुछ
तब मौत भले ना होगी
पर कोई पैदा भी होगा कहाँ
दुःख नहीं आया
तो ख़ुशी भी मिलेगी कहाँ
पर ऐसे भी तो हो सकता है
कि जो हम चाहें
वही हो जाए
हमारी मर्ज़ी से
हमारी ज़िन्दगी में
वो खुद भी आये जाए
सब कुछ वैसे ही हो
जैसे हम चाहें
हर ख़ुशी हर गम
हमारी मर्ज़ी से आये जाए
पर कोई तब गम क्यों मांगेगा
और क्या पता कोई अपनी ख़ुशी में
किसी का गम ही मांगेगा
और हर एक कि इच्छा पूरी हुई
तो क्या हो पायेगा
फिर एक नयी परेशानी
एक नया बाज़ार बन जायेगा
फिर कोई ऊपर
कोई नीचे होगा
फिर कुछ न कुछ
हर कोई भींचे होगा
नहीं
ज़िन्दगी अजीब ही सही
हम नहीं चाहते इतना कुछ देखना
पर ये भी तो एक पहलु है
चलो इसे यूँ ही देखना
कुछ शब्दों के इस घरोंदे में
कुछ पलों कि हिमाकत में
आखिर अजीब सी ज़िन्दगी को
कुछ नया दिखाना बनता है
कुछ सपने देख कर
थोड़ा मुस्कुराना बनता है

written by - Mystical Wanderer

कुछ नहीं पहना था उसने

कुछ नहीं पहना था उसने
या शायद पानी की इक चादर थी
चाँद  भी  तो  था वहाँ
चांदनी की उसे आदत थी
मुस्कुरा कर भर लेती थी
बाहों में उस चाँद को
खिलखिला कर उड़ाती थी
उन लहरों को यहां वहाँ
किलकारियाँ सी मारती थी हवा
जब झूमती थी वो कहीं
गाती गुनगुनाती
क्या जादू सा करती थी
बादलों की आवाज़ से भी
वो नहीं सहमती थी
उसे पसंद थे तूफ़ान
लहरों से बातें करती थी
हवा में उड़ना उसका शौक था
जाने कैसे वो चलती थी
राहें जैसे सपनों का जहां
zindagi को कुछ ऐसा pakadti थी
usko पसंद था hasna gaana
dard से kahaan वो darti थी
जब पीछे पड़े ज़माना
कुछ ऐसा वो भड़कती थी
बारिश को पसंद था उसका चिल्लाना
वो बारिश में फुदकती थी
वो चाँद था उसका निशाँ
उस चाँद को वो तकती थी
रात की तन्हाइयों में
वो कुछ ऐसा महकती थी
कुदरत भी आ जाती थी वहाँ
जहां kadam वो रखती थी
उसे नदियां पसंद थीं
नदियों से वो बातें करती थी
घंटों नदी किनारे बैठकर
जाने क्या क्या करती थी
कभी कहती थी वो नदी है
कभी नदियों पर चलती थी
नागिन सी आँखें कमर पर कसकर
कुछ ऐसे आहें भरती थी
रुक जाता था जहां इक बार
जब वह दो दम भरती थी
राहों पर गुनगुनाते हुए
कुछ ऐसे वो चलती थी

written by - Mystical Wanderer

वक़्त क्या हुआ है

अरे सुनो
बताओ तो
वक़्त क्या हुआ है
क्या हम इसे जियें
ये कोई माँ की दुआ है

अरे ये तो रो रहा है
सड़क के किनारे
क्यों खो रहा है
इसे तो खुश होना चाहिए
ये आज़ाद है
पर इसके
कई भाग हैं
कुछ भाग तो भूखे भी हैं
कुछ में दर्द भरा है
हाँ कुछ में है खुशहाली
पर सभी चाहते हैं हरयाली
आखिर ये कैसी छटा है
वक़्त की ये कैसी खता है

अब हमें कोई रोता अच्छा नहीं लगता
अरे वक़्त तू नहीं है
एक अच्छा प्रवक्ता
अच्छा वक्ता  बनना है
तो पहले बनो अच्छा श्रोता
सदियों से
यही तो है होता
सुनो उनकी
जो तुम्हे चलाते हैं
झूठे वादे करते हैं
झूठी कसमें कहते हैं

अरे तुम रट क्यों हो
थोड़ी रौशनी ही तो कम है
बाज़ार में देखो
कितने रंग हैं
क्या??
तुम वो रंग पा नहीं सकते
इतने शोर में
कुछ गा नहीं सकते
अरे छोड़ो
गाने में क्या रखा है
उस दुकान में देखो
वहाँ एक टी.वी रखा है
उसमें तो सब दिखता है
वो दुनिया वो गाने
सब बिकता है

हाँ तुम उसे खरीद नहीं सकते
पर हाँ
तुम देख सकते हो
लेकिन रुको
उसे ज़्यादा देर मत देखना
वो जेल भी भिजवा सकते हैं
क्यूंकि उसे कहते हैं घूरना
फिर अगर कल को कोई
आई गयी हो गयी
तो देखो सब क्या कहेंगे
कहेंगे तुम चोर हो
अरे
तुम्हें गुलाम कर लेंगे

अरे अरे
रो क्यों रहे हो
देखो वो कुछ लोग आ रहे हैं
जानते हो वो कौन हैं?
वो तुम्हारे लिए ही आ रहे हैं
इन्हें मिलें हैं
ढेरो पैसे
ये तुम्हारी
किस्मत बदलेंगे
देखो कैसे
ये तुम्हें पढ़ाएंगे लिखाएँगे
ये तुम्हें
एक अच्छा वक़्त बनाएंगे
कल ये तुम्हें काम भी देंगे
देखो
अब ये तुमको रंग देंगे

पर ये क्या
ये तो कहीं और जा रहे हैं
बंद शीशों के पीछे
ये क्या छुपा रहे हैं
रुको
तुम इनसे भीख नहीं मांग सकते
ये ही हैं वो
जो देते हैं तुम्हें धोखे
इन्होने तुम्हें
कुछ और बनाना था
पर क्या करें जनाब
उन्हें राष्ट्र संवारो सम्मलेन
में जो जाना था

पर तुम दिल छोटा मत करो
देखो तुम कुछ भी करो
बस तुम्हें रोना नहीं है
तुम्हें इन राहों पर
खोना नहीं है
अच्छा एक काम करो
ये लो कुछ रुपिये
कुछ काम करो
भीख माँगना अच्छी बात नहीं
अब तुम कुछ आराम करो

कल सुबह
बाजार में निकल जाना
वहीँ  होता है
बड़े लोगों का
आना जाना
वहीँ जा कर कुछ देखना
कुछ काम माँगना
कुछ पूछना

ऐसा ना हो
की कल तुम भी सड़क पर हो
देखो मैंने कुछ रूपए दिए हैं
अब तुम सड़क पर मत सो

अरे ये क्या
तुम ज़रूर कुछ गलत खरीदोगे
मेरे मेहनत के पैसे को
नशे में खो दोगे
नहीं, वापिस करो ये पैसा
तुम्हारा वक़्त ही है ऐसा
मैं कुछ नहीं कर सकता
अरे मई नहीं हूँ
कोई प्रवक्ता
जाओ
मेरा वक़्त जाया मत करो
मुझे कहीं जाना है
ये सब नाटक
यहां मत करो

अरे सुनो
बताओ तो
वक़्त क्या हुआ है
क्या हम इसे जियें
ये कोई माँ की दुआ है

Written by - Mystical Wanderer

खुशियाँ भी अजीब होती हैं

खुशियाँ भी अजीब होती हैं

कभी इतने करीब

कभी इतना दूर होती हैं

कभी अचानक

खूब सज कर

घर पर आती हैं

कभी न जाने क्यों 

दर्द भरे गीत गाती हैं

कभी चहक कर देखती हैं

वो आँखों में चमक लिए

कभी अचानक तरसती हैं

जाने क्या गम लिए

खुशियाँ भी अजीब होती हैं

कभी इतने करीब

कभी इतना दूर होती हैं

कभी पूछती हैं हमसे

क्या हाल जनाब

सब सही से?

कभी यूँ गले लगाती हैं

जैसे ना मिले हों

जाने कब से

पर कभी वो हमारा 

पता भूल जाती हैं

कभी कभी हमें

वो बहुत याद आती हैं

खुशियाँ भी अजीब होती हैं

कभी इतने करीब

कभी इतना दूर होती हैं

कभी नज़र चुराकर

हमसे कुछ छुपाती हैं

कभी जाने क्या सोच कर

यूँ पास चली आती हैं

कभी तो बटुए में

अचानक घुस जाती हैं

कभी दिल में यूँ अचानक

जाने क्या गुनगुनाती हैं

और कभी अचानक 

वो ओझल सी हो जाती हैं

लाख उन्हें पुकारो

फिर भी ना आती हैं

खुशियाँ भी अजीब होती हैं

कभी इतने करीब

कभी इतना दूर होती हैं

Written by - Mystical Wanderer

लहरों के हिलोंरों में

लहरों के हिलोंरों में
खेलती सी वो
कभी मुस्कुराती देखकर
उस भीगे से चाँद को
ओस की बूँदें
मानो बह सी रही थीं
उसके बदन पे
जैसे कह रही थीं
की आओ थोड़ा और करीब
कुछ और पास
ज़िन्दगी में मिले हैं
ये लम्हे कुछ ख़ास


लहरों के हिलोंरों में
खेलती सी वो
आँखों में जैसे
कोई चमक सी थी
अधूरी सी प्यास
मानो दमक रही थी
हवा भी बह रही थी
उसके मिलन में
जैसे उसे उड़ना हो
नीले गगन में

लहरों के हिलोंरों में
खेलती सी वो
ज़ुल्फ़ों में उसके
कुछ नशा सा था
धुंधला सा आस्मां
खुला सा था
वो धीमे से हंस रही हो जैसे
मन ही मन हमसे
कुछ कह रही हो जैसे
नहीं जानते थे
क्या चाहती थी वो
उन भीगे पलों में
क्यों खिलखिलाती  थी वो
पर आज भी करते हैं याद
उन लम्हों को
लहरों के हिलोंरों में
खेलती सी वो

Mystical Wanderer

कुछ पलों के अपने

हाँ देखे मैंने

वो दौड़ते अरमान

वो भीगे सपने

वो दिल दहला देने वाले

कुछ पलों के अपने

दरिया में डूबती नाव

रेत पे दौड़ते सांप

जंगल की अँधेरी raat

समुन्दर का वो खौफ

हाँ देखे हैं मैंने 

वो दौड़ते अरमान

वो मुस्कुराते चीते

मौत को खींचे

वो बादल की आवाज़

वो बारिश जैसे तेज़ाब

सागर में भभकती आग

वो आँखों में सैलाब

रातों में शबाब

हाँ देखे हैं मैंने

वो दौड़ते अरमान

गुनगुनाते ततैये

उस दर्द को  लिए

मौत से बत्तर ज़िन्दगी

खोई राहें और आवारगी

वो दर्द भरी क़रर्राह

वो जबरन निकाह

खोई सी एक निगाह

हाँ देखे मैंने

वो दौड़ते अरमान

जिस्म पे वो लाल निशाँ

कानों को चीरते बयान

वो जिस्म की नुमाइश

डूबती सी ख्वाहिश

पानी से फूली लाश

आँखों में काश

जैसे न बुझी हो - कोई प्यास

 हाँ देखे मैंने

वो दौड़ते अरमान

वो भीगे सपने

वो दिल देखला देने वाले

कुछ पलों के अपने

Written by - Mystical Wanderer

Gyres of our Entity

Gyres of our entity – includes those endless lives and deaths and their atrocities. Some celebrate life, some cry over those that die and in between enters all those tears and smiles. Some worry over their careers while other send their time seemingly precious to burials. Is it all worth it after all? all that morality – the rise and fall?

Yeah, i saw those mountains, cliffs and water falls. Nature, cities – their mounts and falls. Some were charming – i tell you. Patient, beautiful and aah that spectacular view. There were some rivers – flowing right through their hearts. There were strange roads built upon them those loaded carts. And it was bliss to follow some unknown lanes , far off from boring mundane. I ask – till when? Those that were once beautiful are no more – the same. Yeah those floods and droughts –are those here i allowed? ‘Life goes on they say’ , what halts us here – if I may?

I saw that lady once. She was passionate riding upon that wave. Wild and free her spirit was – if given her way. She could have stopped hearts from beating. To see her - world was fleeting. Alas! She had that dark notch inside. she wanted to remain always on a ride. Land was not her domain. Domesticity – a further ride. Rootlessness was what she loved – out of that world – and its ugly sight. But she was beautiful – I must say. She had her wish in any way.

This takes me to that club one night - High up with a moon in sight. There were glasses all around – all darkened from inside. One could have looked outside never inside. And that was its charm  - that visionary plight. It worked in the secrecy of fecund moments – for rest of the world – it was yet again a boring night. The club had smokes of illusions – all seemed fine from that height – the world and its hazy

Ever been to a dentist – a girl went there once. She was sitting in a waiting room – reading those magazines so bright. Alas!! There was a bitter view – the naked ladies with their gaudy crew. Adults, grownups everywhere – those mounts – all stare. But she hated the ugly sight. She hated it all – that woman beside, those powders and creams, those lusty streams. More she noticed – more was her plight. She didn’t want that world so bright.

The same girl one night went upon top of a mountain. There was the key – to kill all her strain. She looked below upon that stream so low. She looked above upon that carnal dove. she knew she would have her way – to jump down was her only way. There she lost a part of herself. There from that cliff- jumped that self. And she smiled on the top then. There she was – a hollowed stem.

Once out of many births – i was a man. Battles and fights were my love – like every man back then. I wanted to kill and plunder and win it all. when at wars , i had no notions of ethical trolls. I wanted that lady riding upon those waves. Aah! To imagine her – my heart still raves.  Just a glimpse and i had my adrenal rushing through many cliffs – there inside her – lied my bliss. I wanted to consume her –and have her all. to gulp her down my throat – was the call. But there from a cliff she died – there my wish – jumped down – right beside. But i was strong – i must say – i forgot her all – there that day.

Amidst many places – sky is my favourite sight. It has that freedom and that free side. But at times i feel it all closed – like that lid upon a hollow bottle.  And sky seems fake – and all its notions. There is a word in man’s dictionary called – horizon. Funny where sea and sky meet then? Is it the beginning of that rainbow i saw one day? Or maybe horizon was towards its end. But i am sure – rainbow is a scientific phenomenon. The magic of sun and water vapours. Aah to see it in real – my head spurs. But why didn’t i touch it then - Sky and that horizon? Maybe it was all a cipher – the view and my spur. But it was spectacular – i must say – world, word, real and its filler.

Riding upon the waves of few rivers – i reached that sea in lee. A steam boat it was i guess – a wooden clog on spree. I was lying towards the edge – feeling those waves dash by me. a dying sun i saw there – with fishermen calling home waving to me. i waved them back – those silhouettes in that sea – rugged oars with their poor clothes – they were tired but free? There were tigers too – out there somewhere amidst mangroves. But i saw none – but the marks of their paws. Like those men in sea and in shadows. But the place seemed so unreal to me with its sway –such beauty with peace – if i may say.

I at times crave to go back to semiotic – or may be right now i am in one. aah the peace imagined to be taken care by that loving hand . to be fed and loved without any effort – to be always in milk without any dirt. There is love and music and yes some boundaries – they have their limitations – the ovaries. Like i can twist and turn inside these walls. I can even listen to those external calls. I love it all at times. But everything has its limit – these times. At times i feel like coming out. Anyhow i have to be out. Tomorrow is the date of operation. Bubye my walls – you i shun. But it feels good to stay inside – this love and care and the mild ride. But outside is fun – if i may saw – a this heart and its empty sway.

Once on a hilly road i saw a vixen. Right ahead of our car – it was on a run. Her eyes were blazing – in that night. Aah such mystery in that sight. I had heard stories of myths beside fires. I so wanted to own her. Her eyes were a killer – this i must say. Outshoned at moon – was their ray. She ran and hid inside that forest. I thought it was some hallucinatory dust. But she out came she – in that night. Aah that forest – and those eyes. It was a lucky sight – i must say, after all it was all a game.

Far off on one such cold night – there on hills and snow – that ride. Up and down glide they so nice. There with giggles there she wriggles. It is one happy sight – that love and sensations – no more plight. Beside each other they snuggle to chat. She reads a poem on rat. They dance on those rhythms of desires – she in white – beside those fires. And then they run towards that sea- In some other season, in some other country. Colourful lanterns with lights – they see them all – in a boat beside. The boat lies on a shore with none in sight. They talk then laugh at a rainy ride. There besides a raging sea – they dance and sing – facing that sea on three sides and a forest completing that ring. It is indeed that girl’s plan – i should forsay – to be happy anyhow in any way.

 Once i saw a handsome man. Aah the skin so raw like stem. His eyes had that glitter inside. he wore a smile – at all times. Upon his shirt were neat lines – yelling his masculinity and intellect behind. He had a sense of humour too - To make me laugh – to make me woo.  He had a green band around his wrist. In our walks in that fog he removed that mist. He loved to talk most of the times. He was charming initially but then changed those times. He wanted to keep me all to himself – he wanted to gulp me down – deep inside my shell. I wanted to save crush for better times. To give it all to him when in some other rhymes. But i wanted to keep some for myself too. He was not the only one i wanted to woo.  I wanted those wild forests and words and many such nouns. So him i denied – him i still denounce. I pity that other girl he once had – to imagine she jumped from that cliff for that lad. But he was a keeper – i must say. He loved me in atleast in some way.

So the gyres of our entity has these strange tales – they make one feel that picture rail. And one travels to new places all the times. Each compartment has new rhymes. The treks are strange too. Metallic and interconnected they go. I pity those tracks right below my wheel. I keep speeding but they remain in the same zeal. There are fixed and don’t go anywhere. They just help me reach from somewhere to somewhere. But being those tracks i have realized one thing – from beginning to end – i am one thing. I begin myself and i do hte ending. I am on move i remain standing. This is indeed a strange gyre – if i may say. It keeps on moving, it pulls me to stay.

written by - Mystical Wanderer