Khoj hai mujhe…
Meri saans ki,
Band dhadkan ki,
Ruke dil ki.
Khoj hai mujhe…
Thodi tamanna ki,
Halki khwaaish ki,
Beete waqt ki.
Khoj hai mujhe…
Ek pukar ki,
Najhuk hasee ki,
Buland awaaz ki.
Khoj hai mujhe…
Udte parindon ki,
Neele aasmaan ki,
Nayi pehchaan ki.
Khoj hai mujhe…
Manzil ki,
Maksat ki,
Dilerr sahaas ki.
Khoj hai mujhe…
Apni.
Milna hai mujhe…
Khudse.
Judna hai mujhe…
Mann se.
Khoj hai mujhe…
Anant Moksh ki.
What happens…
When clouds of gloom engulf you.
What happens…
When you lose road to dark bushes.
What happens…
When you realize your eyes see ‘black.’
Puzzled vibes. Sorts of intrigue. Much suspense and a handful of drama.
Meet Black – The significant.
Its the ultimate vibrant hue around us. Our basic habitat in which we live most of the time. On general terms black is perceived as the opaque layer of life, which avoids contact with light. But, have you ever pondered Black itself is light?
Rare, but true.
How?
‘Blank’ can be white. But ‘Black out’ is black. The phase of black out then meets the phase of blank creating rays of unseen light to seep inside and search new paradigms.
Close your eyes. Shut your mind. Now you belong to the dark room. Allow the inner conscience to awaken and speak. Lets, first clear all stir and empty the soul. You will find the purest aura of radiant black throwing positive energy around to transcend in different plateaus. The naked black allows you to connect with your inner self and transform you to a higher level of yourself, which then seemed unknown. Black gives fresh air to outgrow from your current bubbles and breathe a different you. Its yogic in form and immerses you in immense tranquility. The mind beckons peace. Stunning thoughts once again pour fresh blood into the stream. New dimensions, untraveled paths, youthful strength and goodness of life – become the focal points. It’s healing. Well, its black.
Now, who am I?
I am mindful.
And self aware.
I am stunning.
Still elegant.
I am reviving.
And evoke style.
I wear attitude.
And look sexy.
I am distinctive.
Still sophisticated.
I am fluid.
And seamless.
I am deep.
To absorb pessimism.
I command power.
And augment celebration.
I chose ‘Black.’
Black opens the mind’s eye. It teaches to visualize who and where I want to be. It gives undying faith to all beliefs. It envisions the road of what I want to journey on. I didn’t lose road in woods. I discovered the road less travelled. Black – the spot, which I took to be a dark stain, actually turned out to be the tint of new hope and new beginnings.
Black is eternal.
You rise from the dust and you go back to the dust. Man is created from ashes to merge back into the same ashes. When life ends, the soul meets the eternal black. The gulf of universal cosmos absorbs and dissolves it in a wide blanket of black. Black is thus soluble. It dissolves. It floats. Still, Black stays. Once again it is re-born to the chakra of karma. Black is non-perishable.
In you I see,
A million stories.
Some to capture,
Some to release.
Lets release,
Dry empty eyes.
Cocooned shells.
Little nothingness.
Hollow space shacks.
Suspended opinions.
And, some aimless desires.
Together lets capture,
White spaces.
Reigning designs.
Thinking pads.
Creative kick starts.
Endless possibilities.
New opportunities.
Focused goalposts.
Black dots.
And, seamless patterns.
Blank Canvas,
I say…
Is nothing.
But a perception.
Of shallow thoughts,
And captive ideas.
No boast to praise,
No toast to raise,
I hit a simple truth,
Feminine… I am.
Feminism is me.
The bold individualism.
The attitude in my sleeves.
The mark of silent attention.
The comfort of my jeans.
The scars on my skin.
Allow me to grow thick and thin.
Enthral bold experiences.
Skill thrilling adventures.
Sail mighty endurances.
Toughen gentle resolves.
Perceive grim battles.
Aim me to stand high and tall.
The womb of world,
Calls me names.
Ripping through shuttering eyes,
My feminism cuts barriers ahead.
For new terrains and green plains.
Feminine… I am.
Feminism is me.
Usool bade bedhangi hai,
Na hai uski jaat.
Kaise kahe badi woh baat,
Kya tum jaano uski kitni aukaat?
Usool bade bedhangi hai,
Kitne lagaye anginat rok.
Mohallon se woh aise guzre,
Apni dagar woh likhte chale.
Usool bade bedhangi hai,
Bin taal ke taan chedte rahe.
Par taalim se jude bane,
Yahan, wahan suron ke saaz lagate gaye.
Usool bade bedhangi hai,
Sanaton mein siskiyaan rote hue.
Toofan ka sanket dete gaye.
Jhujte rahe… par jeet ki kashti paar karte gaye.
Usool bade bedhangi hai,
Mukam ki dorr kheechte hue.
Raah mein faasle badhate chale,
Manzil yunhi fateh paati rahe.
Usool bade bedhangi hai,
Unhe banaye kisne?
Mann ka sawaal bana usool,
Raaz mein jawab de gaya usool.
Oye yaaron…Thoda samjho inhe,
Usool bade bedhangi hai!
Is destiny my sorrow…
Or the reason of the deathly gallows!
Could it be my rejoice…
Else, my true respite!
What is destiny?
Who maketh it?
Thou is my choice.
My armour. My shield.
I am its creator.
In me lies its destruction.
I crumble it.
I resurrect it.
A spell of dark nights,
Stands a white stallion upright.
Paving the dim twilight,
I cross the dense woods.
Reigning a ride of pride,
I mount for my destiny.
Landing on happy surfaces,
My eyes greet ‘Monsieur Monk.’
Hands out two omens,
He demands; make a choice.
Son…choose black, choose white,
Carve thou best luck,
And climb the fate ladder.
O great monk, I replied…
Black is the robe of my scar.
White is my lucky star.
While I adorn the black,
I rise in the glowing white.
I maketh my own ‘Destiny.’
Destiny ain’t a choice to life.
Destiny is my way of life.
Om shanti…
Om shanti…
Om.
Chant. Recite. Scream.
Scream Loud.
Hello, anyone in there?
Can you hear me?
Its me. Hellos…
Ever wondered does God hear us? Do our prayers reach him? Since childhood our deep-rooted cultures taught us to pray. Prayers upon the first rise, prayers for the first morsel, prayers before bed. Prayers say it all.
‘Prayers’ – the tiny messengers to God.
From my kidding days to greying today, I’ve mastered my prayers thoroughly. As time grew my mental maths got much weaker but my prayers grew larger and stronger. Unshakable pillars engraved inside me, I guess.
Truly undisputed. Aren’t they?
What is a Prayer?
It often makes me ponder. On a simplified note I’d rather say its my heartfelt convo with my 3.00 am buddy – God. Also it could be some kinda group talkathon which reels loud mantras and shlokas in bold chants. Is it a propaganda too of the societal rights and the wrongs we follow. Can prayer be ‘The spiritual habitat?’
Can a prayer compel me to look deep within and know the real me?
Prayer with Technology
Today, everything comes at our comfort lap. We need not seek hibernation in Himalayas and meditate with penance for days and months to reach out to God. Google Apps saved us. Our lives are much sorted. Technology helps us bridge the gap. Prayer is more of an User experience (UX) today. With the flexibility in its nature it offers an adaptable interface. One can program it and re-program it much to his/her suitable needs. All it takes is a simple tweet with a send button no matter where you are. The scores pomp a million views with a thousand likes on your desktop. I’m sure it has reached the palmtop of God too and now your prayer ought to be answered in a quickie.
Are we nurturing a generation of mockery to follow the wisdom of Ai rather than the power of our own heartfelt?
I am stalking God
I follow God everywhere. Why? Because I fear. My fear is gripped tight underneath my heels and takes me places far and near. The dilemma of ‘What ifs’ is a choco-block in my head. Am I inviting some bad episode? Its like a game. One rule missed and the bad omen gets a ‘life’. The fear allows me to trade with God. Commerce is in my DNA. Bargains and exchanges become the primary oaths of my prayer.
Am I challenging the very being of God and the immortal strength in prayers?
I am an Atheist
I don’t pray. I don’t believe in it. I don’t know its type. The non-prayer is my real type – my true religion. That’s my pattern. Prayer ain’t in captivity but in liberation. Prayer lies in a simple connect with the nature. The painter is an atheist. He hyms a prayer with his abstract. He worships the hues of his palette. His picture paints beautiful dots with God. The writer is an atheist. His pen conveys volumes of meaningful and desired conversations with God. The yogi is an atheist. His meditation is a path of zen to God. The warrior is an atheist. Courage is his release. And the strength to knock life back in its boots is his sole path to God.
To me prayer is what I send as a signal wave in nature and in return mother nature gifts it back to me. Prayer is in chaos and love, both. Its in a gentle smile, a warm hug and a cheeky peck of simple love. It’s a loud unheard voice of my inner silence. It’s the small humdrum of my soulspeak. Prayer is the faith of my will. It’s a discipline that I strictly follow obey its rules by heart. Its in the sublime power to submit to the light of my inner self and come in unison with the outer cosmos. Prayer is to heal me with my rights and wrongs of life. I call it my safety belt – my very own being.
I ring a prayer everyday. Do you?
Main aisa kyon hoon?
Main waisa kyon hoon?
Aksar main sochu yoonh…
Raaton ko na soye…
Lootera koi churaiye chain,
Khuli potli… nikli toli,
Shikayat bani badi kahaani.
Kyon na aage badha…
Maksat ne mukam ko choda,
Haar bhi lagi itni nyaari,
Main bana ‘Mr. Sthaayi.’
Maa ki daat chila ke boli,
Teacher ki maar zor se padi,
Pitaji ne phir haari baazi,
Dost ne bhi de di gaali.
Din bane hafte,
Aur hafte beetein saal,
Mann se goonji ek pukar,
Arz kar pyaare… ‘kaabil’ mere bhai.
Phir ek din aaya,
Naya daur laya,
Chal uth mere sher,
Bola… Main hoon kaabil.
Mann ka kona tatol,
Oorja ki kiran ko khol,
Bana apni raah khud,
Aisi soch tu bol.
Tera aks hoon main,
Saamne khada hoon main,
Thoda bheetar jaankh,
Apni manzil ko talash.
Aao nayi umang rache,
Jag ki rekha ko jode,
Khwaab jaga hoonar ka,
Hounsla bana laajawab.
Band moothi ki duniya choti,
Khuli hatheli ka aasmaan niraala,
Alag soch ka banja taara,
Kaabil hai; maa ka laadla.
Main aisa kyon hoon?
Main waisa kyon hoon?
Kore panno pe likhu yoonh…
Main ‘Kaabil.’
Kaabil meri soch.
Soch se rahe pehchaan.
Pehchaan se saara zamaana.
Zamaane se aage main.
Mujhse meri zindagi.
Zindagi se mera wajud.
Wajud se mera kaam.
Kaam se mera naam.
Clutched in shackles of bondage,
Peace is my destination.
Running cold shivers to the spine,
Tranquility is nothing but a perception.
I walk the aisle of fire,
Draining the truth in vain.
My gumboots ran cold in chilly snow,
Warmth is nothing but a perception.
Cold blood baths wet my land,
Loathing cries pain the new widow.
Sacrifice inherits delirium,
Revenge is nothing but a perception.
Violence ain’t any solution,
Vengeance is no justice.
The able mind to strum the right chord,
Happiness is then a real perception.
Happiness strings music,
Music plays harmony,
Harmony bridges freedom,
Freedom unveils salvation,
Salvation is then nothing,
My only ‘true perception.’
Ae musafir…
Ruk zara,
Dekh, yahan…
Thoda wahan bhi…
Aankhen band kar,
Mann ki nazar khol,
Paaoge mujhe,
Meri rooh ko.
Mere ehsaas ko.
Main bani aarzoo,
Main rahoon sach,
Pehchaan mujhe…
Main hoon woh,
Main thodi si ‘Chhapak’.
…Na dekh mera rang,
Na dekh mera roop,
Main pyaari Chhapak,
Keval dekh; mera mann.
Nazar na rakh kayar,
Aankhein na juka sharam si,
Main masoom Chhapak,
Dua kar; zamaana rahe paak.
Andhere ka mooh kaala,
Ujaale pe kyon laga taala,
Main timtimati Chhapak,
Sitaaron sa; mera aashiyana.
Dard ki na koi bhasha,
Satya ki na koi zubaan,
Main adbhut Chhapak,
Insaaf bana; jeevan ka saath.
Phir ek daur aaya,
Hua naya janam,
Mita nishaan kalank ka.
Badal ne bahein kholi,
Hawa ne khuli saans li,
Gun gunati main yunhi boli,
Main thodi si ‘Chhapak’.
Ami
Passions 