Mr Ahmed and his Diary

 

13th October 2011

“Tuition and computer classes are more important for them than you dad. Will you be answerable if in future they’re not able to bag high paying jobs. Will you give them the luxuries they require with your meagre savings and your idiotic wordplay etc. activities? They don’t need your fables; they need real education which isn’t possible for them as long as you’re around being a distraction.”

“Yes I know they’re your only source of entertainment. Therefore, we’ve decided you to shift to a retirement home where you’ll find many like you. You can talk to them all day long because just like you they’re also free for the rest of their lives.”

“Of course it’s your home and on important occasions you can come here. In fact, we’ll make sure that every year we celebrate your birthday at our home but at this moment you’re becoming an unnecessary burden on us.”

“I guess you should be relieved that I’m not selling this home like Meher wanted. She wanted us to shift to Mumbai with the money we’ll get after selling this house. However, I’ve told her that you’ve struggled a lot to build this house and thus we’re not going to sell it until your death.”

“Yes dad I’ve talked to the authorities, we’ll be leaving this weekend once I’m done with my official tour.”

This was the last conversation I had with him before leaving the house. My son, my dream, my nightmare.

I have no regrets, I have always lived my life on my terms and do not want to be a burden on anyone.

*****

That was the last entry in the diary lying on the berth no. 55, side lower of Goa Express. The owner of this diary had forgotten it on that berth before getting down at his destination. Except this entry, there were entries about the activities with his grandchild, younger generation’s perspective towards life and some related to his late wife.  I looked for the address or any other kind of information about the owner but none was present except ‘Mr Ahmed’ written on the first page.

“Adnan Ahmed M66 55 SL” displayed the 3AC compartment’s reservation chart along with the information that he was travelling from Pune to Gwalior.

“Do you remember this hand towel and the watch?” A police constable came up to me and asked.

He showed me a mustard coloured hand towel and a round dial HMT watch.  The golden polish of watch’s frame was peeling off at places and the black strap wasn’t looking as old as the watch. Certainly the owner of the watch got the strap changed recently, the watch was working perfectly but I noticed there was a crack on it as if it had a fallen off owner’s wrist.

It was Mr Ahmed’s watch. I remembered, asking him the time while waiting for the train to depart from Pune railway station.

*****

“4:30”, the man wearing a white kurta pyjama replied in an emotionless voice. He didn’t even bother looking at the person asking him the time.

There was something about him that attracted me. He looked lost in his own thoughts as I tried hard to concentrate on the novel I had bought to keep me occupied during the journey. However, after every few minutes his presence was distracting me. He had a look of serenity on his face, as if the man had nothing to lose or gain as if he had lived his life without any regrets. A smile was plastered on his face all this while, but it wasn’t a smile of expectation or some beautiful thought, it was an expression of contentment.

I tried striking conversation with him but monosyllables were all I received in reply.

Throughout the journey he kept his head rested on the windowpane and was looking somewhere far, as if searching for a clue amidst the blue sky, beyond those patches of white clouds. And as I sat there, with all the hustle bustle of the train, I found a look of peace and calm on his face. There was something about him, he wasn’t upset, neither was he happy.

 Does he have any emotions? Was the question popping up in my mind whenever I stared at him. Then suddenly he got down, leaving behind his diary at one obscure railway station.

*****

“Do you remember it?” The constable shook me breaking my thought process.

“Yes I do. It belongs to the man sitting on the berth no. 55.”

“Are you sure?” Constable questioned.

“Yes, but what happened?” I asked but constable just thanked me, and left. Before I could ask him again I spotted some blood stains on the hand towel.

“This can’t be true, he didn’t look like a man who….” Then it hit me,

Gwalior was still 2 hours away.

 

 

 

 

 

Pariyo si…

नीले आसमानों में कुछ काले बादल,

बादलों में बारिश की कुछ बूँदें,

बूंदों की मासूमियत,

सच बोल,

उन्होंने वो तुझसे ही पायी हैं ना?

 

बागों में फूल

फूलों में रंग,

रंगों वाली एक इन्द्रधनुष की रेखा,

सच बोल,

वो अपनी उँगलियों से तूने ही बनायीं है ना?

 

सुनसान रास्तों पर कोहरे से घिरा,

खड़ा हूँ मैं

और रह रह कर किसी की खुशबू  का एहसास हो जाता है आज,

सच बोल,

इन कोहरे की परतों को चीरती हुई,

मेरे नज़दीक तू आई है ना?

 

मेरे हाथों में एक गिटार,

गिटार की तारों से खेलती मेरी उँगलियों,

और बन जाती है कुछ नयी धुनें,

सच बोल,

कल रात सपने में आकर,

तूने ही गुनगुनायी  है ना?

 

जंगलों से गुज़रती एक राह,

उन पर कुछ क़दमों के निशाँ,

ले जाती मुझे मेरे बिछरे यार के करीब,

सच बोल,

अपने कोमल पैरों से,

वो निशानों वाली चादर तुने ही बिछायी है ना?

 

काली काली ये रातें,

और खोया खोया सा मैं,

आँखों से दूर आज नींद मेरी,

सच बोल,

अपने जादू से,

तूने ही चुराई है ना?

 

एक खाली कागज़,

उस पर सरपट दौड़ती कलम,

और कुछ अनकहे अजनबी शब्दों से बनती एक कविता,

सच बोल,

अपनी इन आँखों से,

तूने ही बतलायी है ना?

 

Neele aasmaano mein kuch kaale baadal,

Baadlon mein baarish ki kuch boondein,

Boondon ki masoomiyat,

Sach bol,

Unhone woh tujhse hi payee hai na?

 

Baagon mein phool,

Phoolon mein rang,

Rangon waali indradhanush ki rekha,

Sach bol,

Woh apni ungliyon se tune hi banayee hai na?

 

Sunsaan raaston par kohre se ghira,

Khada hun main,

Aur reh reh kar kisi ki khushboo ka ehsaas ho jaata hai aaj,

Sach bol,

Inn kohre ki parto ko cheerti hui,

Mere nazdeek tu aayee hai na?

 

Mere haathon mein ek guitar,

Guitar ki taaron se khelti meri ungliyan,

Aur ban jaati hain kuch nayi dhunein,

Sach bol,

Kal raat sapne mein aakar,

Tune hi gungunayee hai na?

 

Junglon se guzarti ek raah,

Unn par kuch kadmo ke nishaan,

Le jaati mujhe mere bichre yaar ke kareeb,

Sach bol,

Apne komal pairon se,

Woh nishaano waali chaadar tune hi bichayee hai na?

 

Kali kali ye raatein,

Aur khoya khoya sa main,

Aankhon se duur aaj neend meri,

Sach bol,

Apne jaadu se,

Tune hi churayee hai na?

 

Ek khali kagaz,

Uss par sarpat daudti kalam,

Aur kuch ankahe ajnabee shabdo se banti ek kavita,

Sach bol,

Apni inn aankhon se,

Tune hi batlayee hai na?

 

Photograph by: Sarika Gangwal

Written by: Abhinav Chandel

Behen

No Ordinary Cinderella … The only person who cherished me, made me feel like I was a somebody, instead of a nobody. The only person that truly cared, the only person that mattered to me…My Sister. – Sarika

“बहन” वो तो सबकी होती है, आपकी भी होगी पर हमारी नहीं थी…. उनके आने तक|

हम रहीम खान, उम्र १८ साल, नसबंदी कॉलोनी, दिल्ली के रहने वाले हैं, अम्मी और अब्बू १६ साल पहले दिल्ली आये थे जिला फिरोजाबाद (उ.प.) से| आर्थिक स्तिथि ऐसी थी की अम्मी और अब्बू दोनों का काम करना ज़रूरी था| पास में ही बन रही एक इमारत में मिस्त्री के तौर पर काम मिला था उन्हें, हालाँकि मसला ये था की पीछे से हमें कहाँ छोड़ा जाए| बगल में ही रहती थीं वो, आरती चाची की बेटी| मज़े की बात बताएं, हमने कभी उनका नाम ही नहीं पूछा | सब उन्हें गुड़िया कह कर बुलाते थे, और हम गुड़िया दीदी| उन्ही ने ज़बरदस्ती हमारी ज़िम्मेदारी अपने कन्धों पर ले ली थी| उनके अम्मी-अब्बू को भी काम पर जाना पड़ता था, इसलिए हम उनके नए दोस्त बन गए| हमारी उम्र ढाई साल और वो ७ साल की|

जबसे हमने, वो कहते हैं ना की होश संभाला है, तभी से बस उन्ही को अपने सामने पाया| बचपन में अम्मी बताती हैं, रोज़ सुबह तैयार होकर आ जाती थी हमारे घर पर| फिर सारा दिन वो खुद ही हमें संभालती थी, कभी मंदिर ले जाती थी अपने साथ, कभी पास वाले बाग़ में, तो कभी उस इमारत भी ले जाती थी जहाँ हमारे अम्मी और अब्बू काम करते थे| हमारी पहली याद तब की है, जब हम चार साल के थे| रोज़ दोपहर खाना खाकर, हम छत पर चले जाते थे और हर दिन की तरह वो हमें पतंग उडाना सिखाती थी| खैर पतंग उड़ाना तो हम आज तक नहीं सीख पाए, पर पतंग उड़ाते हुए वो हमें जो कहानियाँ सुनाती थी उनसे कुछ ज़रूर सीख गए|

उन्ही दिनों हमारे जन्मदिन पर उन्होंने हमें एक कलम तोहफे में दी थी और फिर अब्बू से लड़ाई कर हमारा दाखिला पास में ही एक स्कूल में कराया| अब्बू चाहते थे की हम उनके साथ काम पर लगें, पर गुड़िया दीदी की बात को अब्बू ना टाल पाए| गुडिया दीदी भी हर रोज़ नाईट क्लास में जाती थी और वहां से जो भी पड़कर आती वो हमें भी सिखा देती थी| शायद इसीलिए स्कूल की पढाई हमें कभी मुश्किल नहीं लगी|

यूँ तो गुड़िया दीदी बहुत सख्त थीं हमारी पढाई को लेकर, पर एक बार हमारे अब्बू ने हमें स्कूल से भागकर क्रिकेट खेलते हुए पकड़ लिया| उस दिन सच में बहुत मार पड़ी थी, और शाम को जब गुड़िया दीदी हमें पढ़ने आई तो अब्बू ने उन्हें हमारी शिकायत लगायी| गुड़िया दी बस हंस दी, जो हमें रोज़ पढाई को लेकर डांटा करती थी वही हमारी चोट को उस शाम सहला रही थी| वैसे वो हमारा बहुत मज़ाक उडाती थी, पर प्यार भी हमें खूब करती थी| हर साल राखी हम उनके घर और ईद वो हमारे घर मानती थी, अपने हिस्से की सेवियां हमें खिला दिया करती थीं|

बस इसी तरह हमें एक बहन और उन्हें एक छोटा भाई मिल गया| और एक बार हम जब फिरोजाबाद जाकर वापस आये तो पता चला वो जा चुकी थी| किसी को कुछ नहीं पता वो कहाँ गयी पर १२ साल का रहीम एक बार फिर अकेला हो गया था| शायद गुड़िया दीदी जानती थी, की एक दिन उन्हें जाना होगा| तभी वो हमेशा हमसे कहती थी, की उनका सपना है की हम एक अफसर बनें और किसी अच्छी जगह एक मकान बनाएं| वो कहती थी जिस दिन हम अम्मी-अब्बू को लेकर नसबंदी कॉलोनी से रवाना होंगे, वो बहुत खुश होंगी|

वैसे आज हमारी १२वी क्लास का रिजल्ट आया है, फर्स्ट डिविजन आई है| हम खुश हैं, पर शायद वो होती तो और खुश होते| आज भी ये कहानी लिखते हुए हमारे होठों पे वही कविता है जो वो हमेशा हमें सुनाया करती थी| हम उसी कविता से आपको अलविदा कह रहे हैं

“इन नीले आसमानों के तले,
मुश्किलें खूब आएँगी,
पर धूप चाहे जितनी भी हो,
परछाईयाँ तुम्हे ज़रूर दिख जाएँगी

इन काले बादलों के नीचे,
जो कभी बारिश में फंस जाओ,
तो इन बूंदों से दोस्ती करलेना,
भीगोगे नहीं तुम, बस कुछ अनुभव चुरा लाओगे

और फिर उन अनुभवों को,
एक धागे से पिरो अपने गले में बाँध लेना,
फिर अपनी धडकनों की ताल पर कदम बढ़ाना
देखना जीना तो तुम बस यूँही सीख जाओगे”

 

Photograph by: Sarika Gangwal

Written by: Abhinav Chandel 

Bachpan, woh kya hota hai?

बचपन,

वो क्या होता है?

ये जाने बिना ही हम बड़े हो जाते हैं

खुदकी ज़िम्मेदारी हम छोटी उम्र से ही बन जाते हैं

 

खुशियाँ,

वो क्या होतीं हैं?

ये जाने बिना ही अपने दुखों पर मुस्कुरा देते हैं,

और हकीकत ना सही सपनो में ही हम अपना घर बसा लेते हैं

 

खिलौने,

वो हमारे लिए कहा होते हैं?

चाय की दुकान जहाँ काम करते हैं,

वही पड़े पत्थरों से गुट्टे खेल लेते हैं

जो कभी माँ संग सफाई करने गए,

तो मेमसाब से ही कुछ टूटे हुए गुड्डे गुड़िया ले लेते हैं

 

आइस क्रीम,

हाँ वो देखने में अच्छी लगती है, पर हम पर कहाँ फब्ती है?

पर कभी कभार वो गोले वाला बरफ थोड़ी दे देता है,

मेरा छोटा भाई उसी में खूब मज़ा ले लेता है

 

टीवी,

वो हमारे नसीब में कहाँ?

बापू संग जब होटल में बर्तन मांजने जाते हैं,

वही थोड़ा देख आते हैं,

फिर वो मालिक जोर से चांटा लगा कर कहता है,

वेटर का बच्चा टीवी के सामने क्यूँ खड़ा रहता है

 

इज्ज़त,

वो गरीबों के लिए थोड़ी ना होती है?

हमारा काम तो बस हर उस बोझ को उठाना होता है,

जो औरों की शान खिलाफ होता है

 

पैसे,

हाँ वो थोड़े बहुत मिल जाते हैं,

आप १ घंटे में १००० रुपये उड़ाते हैं,

हम उन्ही १००० रुपियों से अपना महीना चलते हैं 

 

खाना,

हाँ कभी कभार भरपेट  मिल जाता है,

माँ के हाथों से जो कभी थोड़ी दाल रोटी पेट में जाती है,

सच्ची मुच्ची फिर उस रात बहुत अच्छी नींद आती है

 

स्कूल,

आपका मतलब वो पास वाली इमारत,

जहाँ बहुत सारे बच्चे बसते लेकर जाते हैं?

हाँ, वहां जाने का मन तो करता है,

पर बापू की मार से डर लगता है

वो कहते हैं, ये इमारतें हमारे लिए नहीं

हम तो इन झोपड़ियों में ही सही

 

नाम,

याद नहीं माँ ने क्या दिया था,

कभी जरूरत भी नहीं पड़ी,

माँ बेटा कह कर बुलाती है,

और बाकी दुनिया की तो छोड़ दो,

शायद हमें अपने बीच नहीं देखना चाहती है

 

हाँ याद आया, मेरा नाम आशा है ….

 

Bachpan,

Woh kya hota hai?

Ye jaane bina hee hum bade ho jaate hain,

Khudki zimmedari hum choti umar se hi ban jaate hain

 

Khushiyan,

Woh kya hoti hain?

Ye jane bina hi apne dukhon par muskura dete hain,

Aur haqeeqat na sahi sapno mein hi apna ghar basa lete hain

 

Khilone,

Woh hamare liye kahan hote hain?

Chai ki dukaan jahaan kaam karte hain,

Wahin pade patharon se gutte khel lete hain,

Jo kabhi maa sang safai karne gaye,

Toh memsahab se hi kuch toote hue gudde gudiya le lete hain

 

Ice cream,

Haan woh dekhne mein achchi lagti hai, par hum par kahan fabti hai?

Par kabhi kabhar woh gole waala baraf thodi de deta hai,

Mera chota bhai ussi mein khoob mazaa le leta hai

 

TV,

Woh hamare naseeb mein kahaan?

Baapu sang jab hotel mein bartan maanjne jaate hain,

Wahin thoda dekh aate hain,

Fir woh maalik zor se chaanta lagaa kar kehta hai,

Waiter ka bachcha tv ke saamne kyun khada rehta hai

 

Izzat,

woh gareebon ke liye thodi na hoti hai?

Hamara kaam toh har uss bojh ko uthaana hota hai,

Jo auron ki shaan ke khilaaf hota hai

 

Paise,

Haan woh thode bahut mil jaate hain,

Aap 1 ghante mein 1000 rupiye udaate hain,

Hum unhi 1000 rupiyon se apna mahina chelate hain

 

Khaana,

Haan kabhi kabhar bharpet mil jaata hai,

Maa ke haathon se jo kabhi dal roti pe mein jaati hai,

Sachchi muchchi fir raat bahut achchi neend aati hai

 

School,

Aapka matlab woh pass waali imaarat,

Jahaan bahut saare bachche baste lekar jaate hain?

Haan, wahan jaane ka mann toh karta hai,

Par baapu ki maar se darr lagta hai

Woh kehte hain, ye imaaratein hamare liye nahin

Hum toh inn jhopdiyon mein hi sahi

 

Naam,

Yaad nahin maa ne kya diya tha,

Kabhi zaroorat hi nahin padi

Maa beta keh kar bulaati hai,

Aur baaki duniya ki toh chod do,

Shayad humein apne beech nahin dekhna chahti hai

 

Haan yaad aaya, mera naam aasha hai…

 

Photograph by: Sarika Gangwal

Written by: Abhinav Chandel 

New girl in the town

She’s the new girl in the town, no one knows where she’s from or what’s her name. However, she has become the topic of discussion everywhere. They all want to know about this beautiful girl, but do they really want to know about her? I guess some things remain beautiful only in mysteries.

They’re scared to talk to her, they think it might shatter their imaginations about her. They’re scared to touch her, what if she turns to dust. They just want to stare at her, you just want to stare at her. This new girl in the town, she’s your…….

No, I guess she’s everyone’s new crush.

She’s so beautiful,
What can I say,
And look at that smile,
Seriously what can I say

Look into those eyes,
And feel your soul stir up,
You seriously think,
There’s something I should say

Look at her skin,
That immaculate complexion reflecting
All the beautiful dreams
I am too distracted, to say anything

Look at that beautiful masterpiece,
And close your eyes,
Now do you feel the need
For something to be said

And tell me if there’s something still
Left unsaid, or wait
Don’t say it, because there are
Thousands of stories left unsaid, in her eyes
I have picked mine, and you pick yours.
Now let your imagination fly in those blue skies

And say if you want to,
But I know you won’t be able to.
Because I know the feeling,
A feeling so pure, that you won’t be able to explain
But then when do we have to explain everything,
We’ll just look at her, and let the serenity fade away our pain

Just look at her,
And zip your lips,
Just look at her,
Your worries today, she’ll eclipse.

And what more can I say,
There’s nothing I will,
There’s nothing you will

Seriously, what can I say..
 Photograph by: Sarika Gangwal

 Written by: Abhinav Chandel 

Intezaar Karunga Tumhara

Last evening while walking through the woods, a piece of paper flew and landed at my feet. It was a love letter without any name on it, which might have lost its destination or maybe the last sign of a love that doesn’t matter anymore, said the friend walking along with me. But hey, who said that a love stops mattering because it doesn’t, a love lasts forever. Sometimes as a tear, sometimes as a smile.

However, it reminded me of him. He made me proofread a letter he had written for her. I didn’t know who he was, I just met him during one my visits to a nearby village. He said if she’d say yes then he’d invite me to his marriage, he never did.

I guess he had forgotten. But I still haven’t forgotten that letter.

His first love letter…

आज सुबह ही अपने गाँव पहुंचा मैं, बड़ी कड़ाके की ठण्ड थी| हल्के कोहरे को चीरती हुई जब बस अपनी ही मस्ती में आगे बढे जा रही थी, तो कुछ नारियल के पेड़ दिखाई दिए थे| वही पेड़ जहाँ बचपन में न जाने कितना वक़्त पकड़न-पकड़ाई खेलते हुए बिता देते थे| याद है, एक दिन तुमने कहा था, “सुनो जब हम बड़े हो जायेंगे तब भी इन्ही पेड़ों के पास आया करेंगे, मुझे और इन्हें भूलोगे तो नहीं?” फिर तुमने पास पड़े एक पत्थर पर उस पेड़ पे हमारा नाम उकेर दिया था और कहा था की आज से ये ‘हमारा’ पेड़ है|

हमारा पेड़, जहाँ हम रोज़ आया करते थे स्कूल के बाद, याद है एक बार मास्टरजी ने पकड़ लिया था| तुम्हारे बापू ने तीन दिन तक तुम्हे घर में बंद रखा था और मेरे बाप ने मेरी जमके पिटाई करी थी| पर हमारा मिलना कभी नहीं रुका, और एक दिन नए मास्टरजी ने पकड़ा था| न जाने क्यूँ मुस्कुरा दिया थे वो, शायद वो भी किसी के साथ कभी इन पेड़ों की छाओं तले वक़्त बिताते थे|

याद है हर शनिवार को तुम मेरी पसंद के दाल चावल लाया करती थी अपने टिफिन में, कहती थी क्यूंकि हम रविवार को नहीं मिल पाएंगे इसलिए शनिवार का स्पेशल, और फिर चुप चाप बैठ मुझे खाता देख मुस्कुराती रहती थी तुम| हाँ और मुझे आज भी याद है, हर शनिवार घर जाने से पहले मेरे गाल को चूमके कहती थी “मुझे मिस करोगे न तुम?” और मैं इस डर में रहता था की कहीं तुम मुझे न भुला बैठो|

आज इन्ही पेड़ो को देख तुम्हारी फिर बहुत याद आ रही है, यहीं तो हम दोनों ने जाना था एक दुसरे के प्यार को और कसम भी खायी थी की शादी करेंगे तो एक दूसरे से वरना नहीं| देखो आज भी तुम्हारे इंतज़ार में बैठा हूँ|

जब कॉलेज गया था मैं, तब भी हम आखरी बार यहीं मिले थे| तुम्हारी आँखों में आंसू थमने का नाम ही नहीं ले रहे थे, याद है मेरा हाथ घंटो तक पकड़ कर बैठी रही थी तुम उस रात| और फिर उन्ही पेड़ों के नीचे ही हम सो गए थे, खैर सोये कहाँ थे बस जाग कर तारे देखे थे सारी रात | फिर सुबह जब तुम्हे बोला की मैं कॉलेज नहीं जाना चाहता, तो  मुझे चांटा मार कर तुमने कहा था “बुद्धू कॉलेज नहीं जाओगे, तो मेरे पिताजी  से मेरा हाथ कैसे मांगोगे| उन्हें तो एक पढ़ा लिखा दामाद चाहिए|” और जब मैंने तुम्हे साथ चलने को कहा, तो तुमने “पिताजी  अकेले पड़ जायेंगे” कह कर टाल दिया था|

देखो आज मैं शहर से वापस आ गया हूँ, ये पांच साल कैसे बीत गए पता ही नहीं चला| अब तो नौकरी भी मिल गयी है, और शायद मांगने लायक हो गया हूँ| चलोगी ना मेरे साथ तुम, जहाँ भी मैं ले जाऊं और बनोगी ना मेरा साथ, की कभी गर जो मैं गिर जाऊं| पांच साल हो गए तुम्हे देखे हुए, बस खतो के द्वारा ही तुम्हे जाना है इस समय में| क्या आज भी मुझे तुम उतना ही प्यार कर पाओगी? आज तुम्हे अपने गले लगाने के लिए मेरे पास एक हाथ कम है, क्या अभी भी मेरे गले लगना चाहोगी?

ये ख़त तुम्हारे दरवाजे पे छोड़ रहा हूँ| जो अभी भी अगर प्यार करती हो, तो आ जाना उन नारियल के पेड़ों के नीचे, इंतज़ार करूँगा तुम्हारा उसी फिरोज़ी शर्ट में जो तुमने मुझे कॉलेज जाते वक़्त दी थी|

इंतज़ार करूँगा तुम्हारा…

 

Photography by: Sarika Gangwal

Written by: Abhinav Chandel 

 

My morning raaga

No Name No Face: There’s something about backless dresses, Maybe it’s the element of surprise and the fact that from the front, a dress can look totally demure, yet a glimpse of the back reveals exposed skin and a nod to all that makes women alluring. I tried to give it a classical look! – Sarika

Another day, and another morning I’ll spend staring at her. While she sits in the veranda, and lets the sunrays reflect off her beautiful dusky skin. Creating a wonderful maze while making me explore her some more.

This has been a ritual from past few years, every morning she gets up early, takes bath, drapes herself in a piece of cloth and sits there. All this while thinking that I’m sleeping, but I’m not, how could I miss a chance stare at this marvel of nature every morning. Her free flowing hairs are trying to cover her smooth back, it still holds the imprints of my fingers. Her piquant face is staring into the oblivion as her appealing eyes still contains the recollections from last night.

I guess she knows that I am awake, and therefore, I think it’s her way of giving me an early morning gift. I don’t know, maybe, she just wants to spend some time alone and I don’t want to snatch that space from her. Like an emerald her eyes are shinning as she turned her gaze towards the sparrow sitting on the windowsill, I wonder what that sparrow might be thinking. I guess it might be wondering, if it has arrived in the heaven by mistake and is she a goddess?

A goddess with a smile so pure that it makes world a better place every morning. And her neck so alluring, which still doesn’t fail in making me fall into a well of cozy emotions, every time I kiss that slender piece of marvelous artistry.

Every morning as I search for her scent on the bed sheet, my thoughts debate amongst themselves because I am still undecided if she is a human or a fallen angel. Her touch does not feel like a human’s, it still ignites a fire in me whenever her thin and long fingers caress my hair. On the other hand, maybe she is an angel, because how else can I explain the sweetness in her voice that puts me to sleep every night.

I am looking at the mango tree in our courtyard dancing with the wind, I wonder if the tree dances like that every morning as soon as it gets her first glance. She is still lost in her thoughts; I guess she’s wondering how is she going to wake me up. Like every day, by covering my face with her hair, when as always I find myself surrounded by a mesmerizing darkness and then she places a kiss on my forehead, with her soft and enticing lips. Or is she going to make those random figures on my palm with her soft fingertips, she knows I love those innocent games she plays with me.

It has been fifteen minutes, since she is sitting in the verandah next to the lamp. I guess every morning the lamp derives its fire from her skin, and later radiate that brightness to light up our nights. Maybe, just like I derive my life from her presence, every day. In next few minutes, she will get up and walk towards the bed, her anklet will make a soothing sound, to make me aware of her arrival.

And she will walk like a song, a beautiful song with each of her body part creating a hypnotizing tune, and like every morning she will make me fall for her some more. She’s a beautiful song…

My morning raaga.

Photograph by: Sarika Gangwal

Written by: Abhinav Chandel 

Caterpillar and the cutest girl I have ever seen

Lying in the green grass on a December morning, she saw a caterpillar crawling towards her. She observed its movement as it surged towards an unknown destination.

“Atleast it’s still crawling,” she thought while wondering about the difference between herself and that tiny creature. She tried to smile but a tear rolled down her eyes wiping away all the hints of the smile.

Her beautiful skin was glinting the purest of sunrays, and her black hair were weaving magic around the guy sitting a stone throw’s distance from her. His gaze was fixed on her as he tried concentrating on the book he was reading.

She was lost in her own thoughts. Thinking about the days gone by, thinking about ‘him’.

5 and half years ago, when he proposed her in front of the whole batch; it felt like the happiest day of her life. She too loved him but never knew that the person she used to stare through her classroom’s window since her first day in college, would echo the same emotions. She had found a perfect lover in him, as she always wanted. College became an excuse to meet him, late-night phone calls  took place of her dream to be a designer; her grades dropped but their relationship grew from teenage lovers to fiancés.

She remembered the nights that she spent staring at the diamond ring he placed on her soft and slender fingers; everyone said that her fingers made the ring look even more beautiful. She also remembered the nights that she spent staring blankly at the ceiling after she found him in someone else’s arms, a month before their marriage.

Few more tear drops rolled down her cheek; they reflected the sunlight like a pearl into the eyes of the guy sitting nearby. He wanted to approach her, but something stopped him. He decided to observe the girl; he wanted to witness where the next few moments would take her.

She wiped those tears and continued staring at the caterpillar. It had encountered a stone in its way, just like the one she had encountered six months ago. As the caterpillar desperately tried to cross the stone unsuccessfully, her gaze became even more intense. She thought about the five years with her ex, when like an idiot, she threw away her dreams.

The caterpillar took notice of its surroundings, and realized crossing the stone was its only option, or else it would deviate from its path. It started crawling over the stone, again but unsuccessfully and fell down. She almost removed the stone but something stopped her. She decided to observe the creature; she wanted to witness where the next few moments would take it.

Caterpillar stayed immobile for few seconds, as if it was nursing its injuries and repeated the procedure. This time the tiny creature was successful, a faint smile appeared on her lips.

It was her 23rd birthday, as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. On that December morning, she felt alive once again as the sun had covered her in its warmth; she had finally freed herself from the shackles of his memories but most importantly she felt like smiling for the first time in last six months. Her bangles clinked, producing a beautiful sound as if to celebrate that moment.

She got up, and started walking towards her home. She took a few steps forward and glanced at the boy sitting nearby her. He was reading a book, A thousand splendid suns; it was her favourite novel and something she always wanted her ex to read. She knew that he was staring at her from past few minutes. Suddenly, his face appeared from behind the pages; it was sporting a charming smile. She replied back with one from her side.

“Home and birthday party can wait a bit more,” she thought as she walked towards him with butterflies in her stomach.  She was in love with herself, with the surroundings and I guess with the book reading guy as well. They were happy,

The caterpillar and the cutest girl I have ever seen.

 

Photography by: Sarika Gangwal

Written by: Abhinav Chandel

Nadaan Baarish

I was at Juhu everything was covered in little rain drops, it was drizzling. I was walking with my favorite coat as people rushed along, they began opening umbrella’s over their heads, while these two kids were all drenched and selling peanuts in the crowd. I wanted to give them my umbrella but when I asked they said, “No rain is FUN” 🙂 – Sarika

मेरे चेहरे पे अपने निशाँ छोड़ जाती
नादान बारिश
मेरे बिखरे हुए  ख्यालों में
तूफ़ान कुछ और जोड़ जाती
नादान बारिश

बचपन की दोस्तियों में मुस्कान भरती
नादान बारिश
उन बेवक्त आये आंसुओं को मुझसे फिर अनजान करती
नादान बारिश

छत्री के अन्दर छुपे मेरे बदन को
हलके से छूकर जाती
नादान बारिश
और उनके भीगे बदन को कुछ और गुदगुदाती
नादान बारिश

मूंगफली के उन दानो को और मीठा बनाती
नादान बारिश
मेरी अन छुई यादों की फिर एक स्लेट बन जाती
नादान बारिश

उनकी आँखों में फिर एक चमक लाती
नादान बारिश
उन मासूम चेहरों को और खूबसूरत बनाती
नादान बारिश

Mere chehre pe apne nishaan chhod jaati
Nadaan baarish
Mere bikhre hue khayaalon mein
Toofaan kuch aur jod jaati
Nadaan baarish

Bachpan ki dostiyon mein muskaan bharti
Nadaan baarish
Unn bewaqt aaye aansuon ko mujhse fir anjaan karti
Nadaan baarish

Chatri ke andar chupe mere badan ko
Halke se choo kar jaati
Nadaan baarish
Aur unke bheege badan ko kuch aur gudgudati
Nadaan baarish

Moongfali ke unn daano ko aur meetha banati
Nadaan baarish
Meri anchui yaadon ki fir ek slate ban jaati
Nadaan baarish

Unki aankhon mein fir ek chamak laati
Nadaan baarish
Unn masoom chehro ko aur khoobsurat banati
Nadaan baarish

Photograph by: Sarika Gangwal

Written by: Abhinav Chandel 

My Favourite Character

While exploring through the stack of books,
I felt a soul-piercing gaze on me.
And as I lift up my head,
I see these two eyes,
Right behind the rack where literature entwine
Staring right into mine.

I wonder is she the one
I have been searching all this while,
In the numerous books, in the various poems.
Is she the one, amidst the desert of my
Chaotic thoughts, calm and mesmerizing Nile.

I read those eyes,
And wonder what they are trying to whisper into mine.
I am confused, if I should ask what has been
Causing a commotion in my mind,
A question of the strangest kind.

Just then, she speaks to me.
As if she has already read my words
In a voice so soothing with those dark eyes shining bright,
“Yes I’m the one you were searching for all these years,
Your favourite character from the story you’re yet to write.”

And as I look back at her,
After collecting the blank pages
That just fell down my hands.

She has disappeared,
I guess somewhere into those blank pages
But I know I’ll meet her again one day.

My favourite character,
From the story I am yet to write

Photograph by: Sarika Gangwal
Written by: Abhinav Chandel