It was a summer nobody expected and least of all the young sun for whom this was supposed to be the first summer. He took over as “the sun” last monsoon from his father after bad health prevented him to keep up with the demanding daily routine from dawn to dusk. It was a low-key bginning for the young sun, monsoons proved to be a playground for the clouds overflowing with rain and he knew that he was easily overshadowed. Then came the winter, for days snow, fog & mist reigned and sun was forced to take an involuntary Christmas break. But all along he remained patient and kept waiting for the summer that held great promise to him.

He had grown up listening to umpteen stories of summer splendor and summer-time heroics of his forefathers. His grandpa used to tell him all these stories. They called his grand pa ‘white dwarf’, a name probably derived from his long white beard that complemented his perfectly white hair and his dimunitive build. People say his dad will become a white dwarf too – that’s the natural course of aging for every sun. But for now only 'white dwarf' for him was his grandpa, who used to tell him those great tales every night. A few of those tales used to be about the bravery in face of cruel winters or ingenuity when challenged by crazy storms but mostly those tales told a story about the splendid summers when sun held reign. So he grew up to believe that summer is that time of the year when no one can challenge the absolute authority of the sun, a time when sun is at his glorious best. His grandpa also told him a few tales of those tyrant suns who misused the authority and scorched the earth and mistreated her during their summer rules but all those stories always ended with a good sun displacing the bad sun and deep in his hearts he knew that when he gets his chance he will be the good sun. And it was these tales and promise of proving his worth that made young sun keep his calm and patience all through the deafening monsoon and harsh winters while waiting for the summer.

And then one fine morning when he got up and looked at the calendar the page was turned and it was summer time. And so he dumped his suit, took out his bright T-shirt and went out expecting appreciative glances. But realty was far different, that morning was slightly different from winter mornings as there was no fog or mist and snow was long gone but he could still feel the chill and when he looked down it was still dark and it was still dark because of a bunch dark clouds that were blocking out all the sun and warmth. And this was the beginning of a summer which had surprised everyone with lack of sun & warmth.

On the first morning itself he recognized one of the dark clouds who were part of that bunch; he was not a new arrival rather he has been around since last monsoon. He had first noticed that dark and handsome cloud on one of those cloudy afternoons during the monsoon. As rains took a breather, the newly crowned sun tried to announce his accession by shining through and that is when that cloud first came in his way. It was as if he was marking his territory by refusing to let the sun shine – rain or no rain – and that was the beginning of a duel between them for the attention of earth that lasted rest of the rainy season. Sun remembered clearly that during those cloudy-rainy days that piece of cloud was always his marked foe and how he had wished that he could make him disappear and shine through but then it was not to be and the sun forgot all about it as monsoon gave way to winters.

Winters brought its own challenges; none of his grandpa’s tales had prepared him for hours of grind to break free from the morning fog that used to gobble up all his time till mid-day and the frustration of yielding to evening mist as early as late afternoon. But even during those times that dark cloud, overstaying his welcome after the departure of monsoon, did manage to cast his shadow a few times on those rare sunny mornings when sun succeeded in making an early imprint. But the fatigue of continuous duel with elements of winters made sun ignore those transgressions. After all, summers were just round the corner and the sun was thoroughly convinced that the summer will set everything right or at least so he wished.

And so when he first spotted that dark cloud ruining what was to be his summer, all these memories came back to him together with lot of bitterness. He did give a few days to those clouds to clear out, hoping they have just strayed on to his way but they refused to budge. It was as if they were the crusaders who were out to convert this season into a disciple of Rain Gods or a group of bullies who have been instigated against him by that dark cloud or may be just a group of guys who held personal grudge against him. As the days passed, the young sun saw his patience wear and frustration grow and finally unable to deal with the problem himself he decided to seek counsel from his grandpa and so he wrote a long letter to him telling him all about his struggle and frustration and a summer that was seemingly spoiled and requested him for an immediate reply. And next evening as he returned home, he did get his reply that read as follows:

Dear son,

I think there is one thing that I forgot to tell you and that is – “It’s not the advent of summer that signal sun’s reign rather it is sun’s reign that signals advent of summer”. Summer is not a panacea to all your problems rather it’s a celebration of all your efforts to solve all your problems. A turn of page in the calendar doesn’t signal arrival of summer, nor does the arrival of summer means that all your problems will just disappear rather it’s up to you to ensure that by the time that page is to be turned you have vanquished all your foes and doubts and you are shining bright.

Dates or events by themselves can achieve nothing; they are just a reminder for you to make efforts so as to achieve what a particular day may mean to you. If summer meant so much to you, then those dark clouds were needed to be dealt with and done away by the time summer heralded. says .Look at the earth, people celebrate Harvest Day but that doesn’t mean that they just hope that their harvest would be ready on that day ,instead they plan and prepare for to make sure they can celebrate that day.

Nothing in this universe is yours until you have made efforts to claim it. There would always be old & new clouds that will try & cast a shadow on your joy and clouds are not to be blamed for that – that is there karma – your karma is to fight with them, make them disappear and claim your share of the earth that needs to be lit bright. And until you have done that it’s not summer no matter what the calendar says.

Hope that helps

Love
Grandpa

When he finished reading the letter, he changed back to his night suit and then took out all T-shirts from his cupboard, the ones he was wearing since the day he saw that calendar show summer, and replaced them with his winter suits. As he went to bed he knew that his summer is not spoiled but only delayed and it’s up to him to shorten the delay.

“Can you see today?” I asked him.
“Well, what do you think, I am blind? I can see everyday, it’s just that on few days all I can see is darkness” he replied.
“And is there a light at the end of tunnel today?” I asked him smilingly. You may later feel that this was a little mean but two of us have come a long way for me to be overly sensitive about his situation.
“Well, you think you have such a handsome face that if I can see I would call you instead of some young pretty lass. Now would you pour me a coffee.” he said laughingly. He loves to laugh at his jokes.

He is a unique case. He is suffering from occasional blindness. Now, I don’t know if a disease like this is even remotely considered a possibility in medical science but for him it was a reality that he woke up to everyday. There are days when he can see a day in all its glory and there were other days when all he has to work with were shades of darkness. There is no method in this madness, he could see on a Monday and go without vision for 3-4 days or can play tic-tac-toe with sight with each getting alternate chances. You can think of him as a blind who can see on some days or someone normal who turns blind on several days.

“You know Siddhartha I think I am unfortunate in a fortunate way.” he quipped as we sipped our coffee.

I knew what he is talking about. “Well, that’s one way to look at it, you could even call yourself plain lucky, not many people who can’t see, sleep with a realistic hope that when they will get up next day, they would be able to see.” I replied.

“I know Sid, not to have something is unfortunate in its own way but when you have something but you are constantly living with a fear that it would not last, sometimes it saps all the joy of owning it. There are people who are born blind, they have never seen a rainbow they can never tell what a rainbow is like. World is merely a collection of words for them – it’s sad but then they don’t feel that acute pang of loss when someone says aloud how beautiful the rainbow is. But I know what a beautiful sight it is to look at the nature putting colours on sky with single brush-stroke and so in that moment of disability I feel cheated. Once that moment pass I thank my stars for that I have at least seen what a rainbow is like and I can definitely see it again. And trust me, it indeed is reassuring. But Siddhartha, insecurity in vision and momentary frustration in blindness; they just end up ruining too much.”

“But that’s not right, why do you worry so much about tomorrow, why not just let yourself deal in today? Why try and insure joy for tomorrow and in the process end up spoiling the today?” I offered him some seemingly wise counsel.

“Because its human nature and I am one. You know what man strives for – Happiness - it’s different from joy. It is lasting and comforting. We never plan for joy, we always plan for happiness. I wish I was a gambler, staking everything on the present, saving nothing for future. But I am not. When I look at the morning sun, I want to get used to its pleasure only if I can promise myself that I can have it everyday. But the moment, doubt make its way in my mind, whispering in hushed tones that tomorrow while the sun may still be there but for me it could be a dark day, I just don’t know what happens to me. I no more care for the sunshine at that moment – I see no joy, all am left with is self pity.”

“Hmmm, you know what you should do, you should instead absorb so much from the moment that it last you a few days.” I said trying to give him instant solution.

“Siddhartha, Ask someone who lost someone close or faced an impending loss. And you would realize that one can never get so much from someone that he wouldn’t miss him when he is gone. More you get, more you will miss. Loss has something about it which can never be compensated by over-filling. And that’s why we all fear loss. That’s why we all fear living a moment to the hilt because when that moment is gone, the emptiness hits you like a rock. Insecurity is just a messenger of loss. What I fear is my loss of vision. I lose it every other day but that doesn’t diminish my fear of loss - it only heightens it. Fear only grows with time. You can try and not flinch in the face of fear but denying the existence of fear is mere immaturity.”

I couldn’t disagree with him. We all grow up try being heroes or supermen. We forget man is fallible, he does get scared. We preach heroism but moment someone takes off his superman mask and come down from pedestal of strongest and wisest – it becomes difficult to tell them what to do. All along I was trying to tell him what a perfect person would have done, but the moment he pulled out his certificate of imperfection, put it in front of me and asked me – Now that I am imperfect tell me what should I do – I was suddenly lost for words.

But he was not.

“You know Siddhartha, it’s very strange, but I am more relaxed on the days I can’t see, probably because I think hopefully tomorrow won’t be as bad as today. Its hope that keeps me relaxed. But on the days I can see when ideally things should be better, things are worse because what plays constantly on back of my mind is that tomorrow would be worse than today. I spend hours thinking what I would do when I won’t able to see tomorrow. It’s as if vision is merely a preparatory camp for blindness. I never really figured why Tomorrow is so important but it is. They all say what you have today is more important than what you can have tomorrow but all my life I have realized what I can have tomorrow has always been more important for me than what I have today. I will sleep a happy man through all the strife today if you can promise me happiness tomorrow. Why is tomorrow so much more important than today, Siddhartha?”

“Probably, because life is actually a collection of one today and lots of tomorrows. Everyday we wake up to innumerable tomorrows looking into our face. A tomorrow that we have not seen, we don’t recognize and which can completely undo all that today may bring. Just think of it, Tomorrow is like that superpower that in a single sweep make all that we cherish today insignificant. Come to think of it, you are right, a terrific today can be thrilling but it’s the knowledge that tomorrow has been secured which would actually sooth our nerves.” I paused at this moment to look at his reaction.

He was smiling and I knew what he was smiling at. What I had just said was diametrically opposite to how I have started but both of us have been through this before. Arguments are like battles, both parties are just concerned about defending their line but conversations are like long walks, even if you start on two different sides of the road you end up getting to the same side and it never matters who crossed over, no one really cares about it.

“But as I said, I might be unfortunate but in a fortunate way. At least there are days when I can see light at the end of the tunnel. Just that you always want a little more than what life brings you and I am no different. Probably one of these days I will find a promise of tomorrow that can keep my today pretty and peaceful. And I guess then it would all be fine.” he said smilingly.

And I just smiled back. His blind eyes were beginning to see a dream and I was not about to disturb that dream.

He again woke up in the middle of night. He figured it must be around 3 in the morning. At first when he started getting up in night, he used to keep his watch close by to see the time. Now he just has to look out of the window. One of many lessons time taught him that he never thought himself capable of learning.

It was another dark night, clouds held rein over the night sky but thankfully it was not raining. He absolutely detested that sound of rain lashing against the window pane during the nights. Initially, when he used to wake up to find rain beating hard against the window, he used to feel like screaming at the top of his voice to silence that rain. Now, he just prays for a rainless night before going to bed. But not so long ago, he loved the sound and sight of rain.

He poured himself some water from the jug and started sipping it slowly. He was not thirsty but this is one of those routines that he had invented to spend these almost unending hours. At first, he got himself some books to keep company but then he realized that eyes that can’t sleep through the night can also not read through the night. He stayed awake for three consecutive nights without turning a page and then he realized that sipping a glass of water in dark is a better bet against the night than making oneself conspicuous in the light of table lamp. Now all his books sit in the shelf opposite to his bed, reminding him of days when life was still about hope, ambition and dreams.

And life indeed was good to him till not so long ago. But then he played and lost the most important gamble of his life. Fate conspired with his dreams to make him give up all he ever owned in pursuit of one thing which he can never own. And he fell for it. He staked his entire self to win something which he then realized could never be his to keep. And so at the end of it, all he was left with was a sense of betrayal and bitterness. His dreams betrayed him, his fate embittered him. And they took away everything - his sound sleep, his enthusiasm for life, his little joys and mobility of his lower body.

As his half-paralysed body lay on that hospital bed waiting for dawn to arrive, he suddenly heard the sound of raindrops hitting the window. Another of his prayer went unanswered...

And so he stood again in the battlefield of Kurushektra with a feeling of déjà vu. It felt exactly the same. Same as it was a day before. No one else remembered it but him. Only he knew that what is going to start in few minutes has played out earlier also.

And he also remembered how it has ended. Abhimanyu was standing again in Kurushektra just a day after he got killed by Jaydrath. Army of Kauravas had the same Chakravyuh formation. He was still the only one who knew how to get into this chakravyuh, he still didn’t know how to get out of it. But this time only thing that has changed was that now he was aware that last time he got himself killed battling his way out of that Chakravyuh.

It was not supposed to be like this. Battle of Mahabharata was to proceed without him. He had played out his part and he was no more to be part of this. But he wanted another shot. Life rarely gives another shot but he insisted. As he stood before God in Heaven, he asked Him to let him live that last day of his life once again. He wanted to get it right this time. He wanted to beat Kauravas, he wanted to be the victor and so as he insisted, God relented. And so Abhimanyu got another chance.

He had thought that this time he wont make the mistakes he made earlier, he would be more cautious now, he would benefit from his knowledge of past. But suddenly as he stood in his chariot moments before conch was to announce beginning of day’s battle, he realized none of that was to happen. He didn’t even know if he made any mistake last time – he hardly did, he was also as cautious as he could be and knowledge of past was hardly an asset as it only reminded him that his best was not enough last time, that no matter how hard he tried he still couldn’t figure a way out of chakravyuh. And he suddenly realized that there is nothing that could go any different this time. If he chose to enter the chakravyuh, he would not get out. And then he remembered face of God as He agreed to let him go and live that last day again. He had just smiled, just as you let the kid has his way knowing fully well that he still can’t change anything.

He suddenly realized how naïve he was to think that he could change the course of life, that he could challenge the fate and come out winners, that just because has lost once before –he would win this time.

And then he heard the conch, and he made his way to chakravyuh. Knowing fully well how it could end but hoping it would end some other way. But when have hopes ever got better of fate? It all played out just as it did a day before. Jaydrath killed Abhimanyu again. Fate & life conspired to get their way once more.

While putting together few words recently, I realized they ended up looking like couplets.
So thought will post some of them here...

कुछ हवा का ज़ोर था, कुछ बादलों की मर्ज़ी थी
वो उड़ गए वही से, जहाँ छीटों की कुछ ज़रूरत थी
-------------------------------------------------

किसी ने पी के भुला दिया ग़म को
किसी ने रो के बहा दिया ग़म को
इक मैं हूँ जो ना पीता हूँ, ना रोता हूँ
इसलिए तमाम रात, आँखों मे गुज़र करता हूँ
-------------------------------------------------

रश्क करता हूँ मैं सितारों की किस्मत से
काश की मेरे पास भी हर रात , मेरा चाँद होता
-------------------------------------------------

अब तो तुम ख़्वाबों मे भी नहीं आती मेरे
कोई भला किसी से कहाँ इतना ख़फा होता हैं
-------------------------------------------------

चलो कुछ देर और इंतज़ार किया जाएँ,
किसी उम्मीद से रोशन जहाँ किया जाएँ,
दुआएँ असर होने मे वक्त लेती हैं
इतने जल्दी मायूस ना हुआ जाएँ
-------------------------------------------------


Album Recommendation for the day:

While my attempts at poetry may not cut much ice with many but hear the Poems CD of Dus Kahaniyan. It has got some terrific pieces of poetry by none other than Gulzar. You better brush up your urdu though as it does have fair sprinkling of not so common words but trust me its a must hear.

My current fav from this album:

तुझे भूलने लगा हूँ मैं अब... & उसे फिर लौट के जाना हैं ये मालूम था ...

There are lots of things I like about night.

Like darkness which hides you from constant glare of the world, quiet that let you steal some moments of peace, solitude that let you be yourself.

After a long day, night is like nature’s gift to you. A gift, wrapped in a beautiful starlit sky and laced with a ribbon made of moonlight.

It's so beautiful and fascinating and still people spend it sleeping…

I wonder why...

It was just 5 in the evening, on a normal day this time of the day would have been mildly lit by a sun preparing to call it a day, but not today. It was dark as a night outside, clouds held the rein, flashes of lightning were warning about the thunderstorm that was readying itself to strike and destroy. May be the cloak of darkness was borrowed by the storm to hide the destruction or may be it was just another tool of its, when you can’t see clearly, you often get sucked in by forces of self-destruction.

But thunderstorms just don’t appear out of blue. It was raining since morning, clouds were building up and light was fighting a losing battle since day-break. No one can complain that storm just slipped in, whoever didn’t see it coming was guilty of either looking the other way or closing their eyes in a hope that all this would just blow over.

Clouds were roaring now and it has started raining harder. How strange it is. Same rain that till yesterday was a welcome relief, a thing of beauty, an object of romance has suddenly turned into a terror, a dance of destruction. There were people who waited for rains, waited to take a walk in the light drizzle or get drenched in the mild one. Waited to smell the fragrance of raindrops falling on the soil. Waited to sit by the river to see raindrops creating ripples in the river. Waited to pick freshly washed flowers from the garden. Today all of them were scurrying for shelter, praying that rains go away, wondering if those summer days albeit a little hot and dry were better than the current madness. How strange it is that situations and events can turn something that was an object of desire till so recently into a distant disenchantment.

But wait, not everyone was hurrying for shelter. There was a lone soul out there, looking up in the sky as if challenging the storm for a duel. He too had waited for rains and he has not yet given up on his dreams. It was pouring hard, nothing like what he had expected. But he was ready to brave these rains, in a hope that at some point they would relent, skies would give in to his desire and storm would pass on to let him dance in the rain. But hopes, that’s what storms enjoy destroying most. Longer he stayed out, harder it rained. Each shower was striking at his confidence, trying to weaken him, making him to give in. But he held out. He fell few times but every time he stood up again. Each thunderstorm comes with a shelf life, and in only that much time it needs to destroy all dreams, desires and hopes. If one can hold out for that long then storm does blow over. But you hold out not by hiding but by facing up. And that’s what he was doing. The storm was running out of time. Soon victory was to be his…

And then the lightning struck.

And this time he fell for one last time, not to get up ever again.

Storm won again. Storms always win. They always do.

I just wonder, why?

She was painting the morning. I walked up to her and sat by her side. It was a beautiful morning and she has made it look absolutely stunning on her canvas. But admiration is not what I was about to voice ;-)

“So, you again busy painting a picture that has no part for me? “ I asked her teasingly.

“Who says you not there? You are pretty much a part of this, why don’t you find yourself? “ She said those last few words looking right into my eyes with a wicked smile playing on her face.

I didn’t have a choice but to pick up the gauntlet. And frankly I enjoy such games :)

It was a painting of a day break, with wide expanse of the river with blue water seen from top of the cliff, sun just making its way in his usual splendour and sky looking fresh and beautiful in early daylight.

So where can I be in this painting?
And instantly I noticed the morning sun, yes that’s what this painting is about. That’s what every morning is about - the sun, the central figure and isn’t it what I am to her. So if am there in this painting, I can’t be anything but the sun.

“Easy it was” said I, pointing to the sun.

“You wish it was that easy, would you mind looking harder.” she said laughingly.

So, I looked harder this time. What could she have in her mind. Where could she have hid me here? The sky, oh how could I have not thought of it first. It has to be the sky. Sun sets but sky is always there, looking at you and there for you whenever you want to look upto it. So that’s what she thinks about me. I was feeling good.

“So, sky it is, rite !!!” I said smilingly

“Naaaah, you were sharper and smarter earlier. You are losing it. Try again.” Her tone had that naughty tinge to it. She knew I don’t like to be to be proved wrong and she could see that it’s her turn to have some easy fun at my visible discomfort.

River - can I be the river? Now I was not too sure. Is it the image of all encompassing expanse of the river which makes her think of me? Is it the unstoppable restlessness of river that reminds her of me? Is this what I am? The river - in depths of which she can drown herself so as not to be found by anyone else ?

“Is it the river?” For the first time, I was asking her rather than telling her.

She just nodded her head to indicate am wrong again.

Now, it was no more a game for me and neither was I enjoying it anymore.

“I know - must be these stones and pebbles. One of these must be me right. Guess, that’s the best I mean to you.” It was no more about the painting now. I myself could notice the irritation in my voice, there is no way she could have missed it.

“Nooooooo” she resisted the provocation.

I got up. I have had enough.

“So, have you given up?” she was in no mood to let me off the hook that easily.

“Rather, I guess, you have given up on me” sarcasm was dripping in my voice. I knew I started it this but then I have never been a good loser. I started to walk away from her.

“Did you notice the bird ?” she asked me from behind.

“Which bird?” I turned back and asked.

She showed it to me on the painting. For the first time I noticed a tiny bird on the left side of the painting, soaring up the sky.

“The sun, the sky, the river - they were just part of a setting – a pure and pristine setting for this bird to take to sky. But this painting was never about them, it was always about this bird. And, this bird is you - my dreams taking wings - my hopes soaring high. “

She finished but her eyes were still asking me if I have any unanswered questions left.

I walked up to her and whispered a sorry.
Now I knew, she was not just painting the morning.

It has been a while since he had gone there. He was the only one who had key to that place. But he was so busy trying to play catch up with life that he could hardly take out time for himself recently. Even today he had no intention to go there but an appointment that lasted lot less than what he had expected and left him with lot more time than he had calculated for made him take a walk up there.

He unlocked the door and went in, it was pitch dark. It takes time for eyes to adjust to the dark and he knew that well. He waited, but during that wait, it seemed as if he was staring a darkwall with nowhere to go. It was scary; someone else might have turned and taken the door out. But he stood there, one must be scared of life at times, fear at times is the bridge that brings one back from fantasy to reality. It took longer than usual but when he started seeing the cob-webs, he knew he could see in dark. Yeah there were cob-webs. Webs made by those tiny spiders who find an ignored corner for themselves and then surreptitiously start weaving a web, which you don’t even seem to notice till those delicate yet complicated webs appear out of blue in their full glory (or lack of it). He wanted to brush them away but now it was not that easy. He kept getting entangled in them, and after some effort he cut through few of them to move forward. He reached out to touch the books on the shelf, there was a thick layer of dust on them, a heap of unopened letters from friends and acquaintances were lying on the centre table. There was lot of heavy furniture around. He always liked to keep furniture to the minimal; it allowed him space to move freely around. When did he order all this? He went up to his favourite floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the garden. Earlier, he used to sleep on the floor by this window and when he used to get up in the morning, first rays of the sun used to meet him by this window. They always used to bring a pack of relaxed smiles with them. He looked around but there was no such pack there. Thick curtains on the window were keeping out both the sun and smiles. He tried to pull the curtain but he couldn’t, he didn’t remember putting a curtain on the window but there was one right now and he didn’t know how to pull it off. Dark and dusty rooms which have stayed close for long carries an unsettling smell and a damp feel, he couldn’t miss it. It was a depressing setting, he wanted to relax. He took a chair but it made a creaking noise as if it could give way to his weight anytime. It didn’t break but as long a he sat there, he remained conscious that it can all snap anytime.

He tried hard to remember when did the bright, airy place of his turned into this damp, dark and dusty place. Did someone else come here while he was away? Don’t know why we always start by blaming others for all that befalls us but he corrected the course. No one could have come here - He was the only one who had key to this place. He recalled he had ordered those window curtains last summer when he had started sleeping late and used to feel irritated by sun on his face in the morning. He had stopped opening his letters around the same time, he only read and replied to sms. And that furniture, he liked them in the shop and he kept bringing that home and before he knew that room resembled the shop, just that it was never meant to be that way. Yes it was all his doing. It was all coming back ...

He sat there and looked around. There were things that needed to be cleared and things that needed to be cleaned. There were curtains to be removed, stuff to be fixed and windows to be left open for fresh air to get in. He felt good that he at least knew what ought to be done but he was still at loss to figure what ought to be done first. He sat there brooding for some more time but on some days if you don’t get it right at first, no matter how often you try you just don’t get it right.

He decided he would come again the next day. It was anyways getting late. So, he made his way out. He got out of the door and then took out the solitary key to this place – key that only he has - he then locked the door to his mind and walked away.

पेडों से छन के, किरणों के रथ पे, धूप छत पे उतरी तो थी
फिर जाने क्यों वो, मेरी चौखट पे आके, ना जाने कहॉ मुड़ गयी

थोड़ी उनींदी , थोड़ी जगी सी, सुबह ने आँखें खोली तो थी
फिर जाने क्यों वो, करवट बदल के , मुह फेर के सो गयी

भीगी हुई सी, छीटे उड़ाती , बारिश ने मुझको बुलाया तो था
पर जाने क्यों वो, मुझको भिगोये बिना ही, जाके बादलों मे कहीँ छुप गयी

बन के, संवर के, चन्दा से सज के, रात घर से निकली तो थी
पर जाने क्यों वो, मुझ से मिलने से पहले, थक के कही सो गयी

यूं तो नहीं हैं कि खुशियों से मेरा, कभी मिलना हुआ ही नहीं
मगर जाने क्यों वो, जब भी मिली हैं, रुकी हैं पर ठहरी नहीं

In all those fairy tales we read as a kid, there was plenty of magic and all that was needed to create that magic was a wave of wand or snapping of fingers. Magic was always instantaneous and spell always used to last a long while. Unfortunately, there ain't any such wands in reality and try snapping but it won't bring you anything other than few raised eyebrows. In real life, one needs to work really hard to create any magic and if you succeed to create some, there isn’t any motor that’s going to keep the spell going for ever. Real life magic just lasts for a short while and then it fades away unless you can quickly get back at weaving it all over again. So often, I wonder if I could just sit back, relax and enjoy that spell for much longer. But then I have realized that’s not how it is meant to be.

How it works is that every time you want to pull that rabbit outta hat, you need to work right from the scratch. Ok, may be not from the scratch but from somewhere not too far from there. And if you are pulling a rabbit out of that hat daily – 3 times a day, then sometimes you just expect that bloody rabbit to come back and quietly slip into the hat at the designated time. Why can’t he spare me the effort? Why should I always create him from nothing? Why can’t he already be in the hat once in a while for me to just pull out?

I wish it was like that and I know it is not and this gulf between 'want' and 'have' is something we all gotta live with. Unless ofcourse, someone can wave a wand and change it....

Sometimes you wish life could be like fairy tales, so that they can have happy endings.
Sometimes you wish miracles are for real, so that you can count on them.
Sometimes you wish clock can be turned back, so that you can change the course of events.
Sometimes you pray because you want to believe someone out there can make it right.
And Sometimes you hope against hope because that’s the only thing you can do now.

-sid

“Train No. 2926 New Delhi-Bandra Paschim Express is running late by an hour. Inconvenience caused to passengers is deeply regretted.” so blurted the public address system at New Delhi railway station.

He was to take that train to Mumbai but now he’ll have to wait for another hour, may be more. He made his way through the crowd to platform no.1. It’s 4 in the noon, Delhi can be brutally hot on a July afternoon & today is one such day. He entered the waiting room & searched for a place to sit. There were people all around, more on the floor than on the chairs. He looked around for a while and just when he was about to turn & get out in despair, Public Address System came to his rescue. Some train, which was running 6 hours late, is finally going to arrive on Platform no. 5. A sudden activity caught the waiting room as soon as the announcement was made. Bags started getting packed. People were shaken back to life from their afternoon nap. It seemed as if the whole waiting room was waiting for this train to arrive. He knew that this is his chance, get a place now or never & then he made a dash to his right where an elderly couple has just got up. Luckily for him there were no competitors & on reaching the chair he himself felt embarrassed for the haste he has shown.

It’s after taking his seat that he first noticed her. She was sitting pretty near to him. He was sitting on last seat of the row & she on the second of one right in front. She had earphones plugged to her ears and was probably listening to some music. Hers was one of those faces that always turn few heads and soon he noticed that there are more than one head turned towards her. Dressed in a faded blue jeans & a strawberry colored T-shirt with hair left loose, she instantly grabbed his whole attention. Her black sunglasses, which for some strange reasons she had not taken off even inside the waiting room, were complementing her fair complexion suitably and were adding to her charms. He kept looking at her for a while, for once he was not complaining about lack of punctuality of Indian railways.

On the floor, near her, an old lady was taking a nap, the sweat gleaming on the old woman’s face suddenly made him aware of the heat & humidity. He strolled out to get himself a coke but he came back fast. There was not much activity now in the waiting room lots of people were having their nap. There were few who were listening to music & few others reading. And rest of them, were just wearing bored expressions. He has resumed both his seat and his vigil. The old lady at her feet in the meanwhile got up. She rubbed her eyes, looked for her luggage and then she asked her the time. Oh so finally he’ll get to hear her voice. He waited but she didn’t respond, probably she is listening to the music quite loudly. The old lady touched her knee & asked her again. Now a reply will come for sure & sure did it come. He expected a polite voice telling the time but instead what he heard was “I don’t know”. It was polite no doubt but it was not the way it was said but what was said which shocked him. He looked at her wrist she was not wearing any watch but then all this while she was looking at nothing else but the big clock in waiting room on the wall right in front of her. She could have told the time & she should have told the time. By now, the elderly man sitting next to her had told the time to the old woman. It was 4:30 pm.

It was a small incident but suddenly that lovely face ceased to be an object of admiration for him. Her behaviour towards the old lady has shaken him out of his spell. He even rebuked himself for getting swayed by her looks. After all, what makes a person beautiful is their character and not just cut of face. He felt a little better after making these lofty conclusions. In ten minutes since that incident he has already pronounced her guilty, pronounced himself an accomplice to the crime and then let himself off with a warning. He was feeling like a man who has just been told that he has been granted a presidential reprieve - sorry but relieved.

He looked at her again. Her face has lost none of the charm. Shades on her eyes still have all the prominence & her smile was as beautiful as before but as he looked at the old woman sitting on the floor combing her hair, all the memories of that incident came back rushing. And those memories were not disturbing him but rather making him feel good. He was priding himself for the fact that he still valued the character of a person more than the beauty. He was patting himself for how he genuinely revolted against her haughty attitude. He basked in the glory of being a perfect hero who didn’t let temptations get better of his values. Biggest of egoists would have been surprised with the ease with which he was finding one reason after another in to indulge in extended self admiration.

His train of thought was brought to a halt by public address system when it roared, “Train No. 2926 New Delhi-Bandra Paschim Express will be coming on platform no. 3 in few minutes. We wish you a Happy Journey.” He checked his ticket and put the bag on his shoulders, he looked at her to steal a final glance. But even she had got up, her back was on his side, he wondered if they would be in the same train. Elderly man by her side picked up the suitcase and the two bags they had, so she will not even help pick any luggage, he sighed and pitied her upbringing. But he still waited for her to turn back before he makes his way out of the waiting room. She turned, her black glasses were still firmly on her eyes but there was something new in her hand - a walking stick. The old man helped her out of the room as she felt her way out with the blind stick. Old woman on the floor got up and took her seat. Wall clock struck 5 right then. He stood there still for a while, held back may be by the weight of his perceptions and prejudices. But then he hurried out, he didn’t want to miss the train; he had already missed enough for the day.

He read the mail again on his blackberry, eleventh time since morning as he settled into the cab that he had just flagged. He had an urgent meeting in another 20 minutes, his first instinct after settling into the cab was to look at the documents for his meeting but then he picked up the phone and scrolled to that e-mail again.

He saw the mail for the first time when he got up in the morning. It was worse than what he had feared. He read it once then got off the bed and read it again to confirm that he is not dreaming and all this is for real. It indeed was real.

Cab suddenly braked on the traffic light, he looked out - it was getting a little cloudy, there are days when weather mirrors your mood and there are other days when the weather mirrors in your mood. But his day has not been gloomy at all. He didn’t forget to pick his breakfast at subway, he breezed through his meetings and telecons with the usual gaiety, had a hearty lunch and heartier laughs over the lunch with his colleagues. It was like any other day, just that every time he had a moment with himself all alone, he couldn’t stop himself from getting back to that mail.

He reached his destination five minutes before the appointment; his meeting lasted 40 minutes and was a productive one. As that was the last thing on his agenda for the day so he took up the offer from his host to go for few drinks. No, he was not trying to get drunk and forget what was happening miles away. He was just spending a Friday evening the way it ought to be spent. He went to his favourite Chinese restaurant for dinner and it was only at midnight when he took a cab back to the hotel that he looked at that mail for the twelfth time.

“She has gone in a coma”. That’s not how the mail had begun, neither were these the last words, but these were the words that shook him when he first read the mail. He stayed at these words. He was still trying to comprehend the magnitude of those words. He didn’t believe it when he read it in the morning. He didn’t believe it when he kept calling her number for last 2 days at hospital and got no response. He didn’t believe it when he had talked to her 3 days back before leaving for London and she had said, “I think, I’m dying.” And he was not ready to believe it still.

Shock manifests itself in various ways, sometimes it takes form of tears, sometimes it evokes anger, very often it brings anxiety and tension and there are also times when it numbs you but he was showing symptoms of none of that. His shock has obliterated every symptom of shock. It was not that he was hiding the pain, he had just driven the pain away because he had refused to believe anything that could hurt him has happened. He was aware of reality but he has refused to live it. He didn’t try call her number, he didn’t even try and call her friend, he didn’t worry about what would happen to her because he has stopped acknowledging that something has happened to her.

He has reached London just a day before; he has to stay here for at least a week. And till he flies back, there’s nothing he can do. He agreed to come to London only when doctors told him she is out of danger, he was postponing this trip for almost a fortnight now and finally he decided to steal a week. After all, it was just a week, he thought he would be back by the time she is ready to be discharged. He talked to her before leaving for London. They talked for a long time, she was scared and it showed. He attributed that to all the medical setup she was seeing around her. But he was more scared than her and she knew how much he wanted her to get all right. Every time he used to tell her “it’s gonna be fine”, she understood that he was telling it to himself rather than her. And she knew that she needed to make him believe that she would be fine because in that moment he needed that belief more than her. So as they kept talking she hid her fears, made him believe that his words has calmed her nerves and when finally when he left he was sure she would be fine and she was sure that he is sure of that.

He reached his hotel a little after midnight, he was a bit sleepy but he didn’t want to sleep yet. He surfed channels for a bit and settled on re-run of a soccer game he had missed last week. Two of them used to talk at this hour usually but today he didn’t look at his phone even once. He was not expecting any call and neither had he got any call to make because he knew it won’t be answered because it can’t be answered. It’s scary when you live through something like this without being scared and he was doing exactly that. You get anxious when you expect that something worse can happen to you, but what about those moments when you know worst has already happened. Do you get scared or do you get fearless? For him this was the worst that could have happened. You and I may say that this could still get worse but for him that was an impossibility. For him low has already been reached, his frame of reason and faith has genuinely excluded any possibility of anything worse.

Had someone followed him since morning, knowing what had befallen him. They would have had no difficulties reaching to a conclusion that he is a heartless cruel piece of rock. After all, but for his repeated effort to find in that mail some hope to cling to, there was nothing that may suggest that he has been saddened by the news that the morning sun brought. Had there been a device that could have figured what’s going in someone’s mind, still he stood no chance as there were little if any threads of anxiety or pain running in his mind. He has not reacted to the news at all, not when he read it first, and not on any of the countless occasions during the day when that crossed his mind.

This was his act of defiance, his challenge to providence. He stood there alone in large battlefield called life and called out the fate to throw at him all it can. It was like that torture-room situations, where the victim when tortured doesn’t writhe in pain but laugh at the face of perpetrator. And he was doing exactly that. He lived his day just like any other day because he wanted to mock the fate. He didn’t pray to God to make her right because he wanted to shame the God to have put her in that state. He just switched off the night lamp and closed his eyes, he was tired, it takes a lot of effort to take the world and his battle had just begun.

She was still asleep.

He got up from his chair and looked out of window; it was a dark night and all was so still outside, not a single indication that any life exist in the dark outside. There were still few hours to go before dawn would break. He turned back to look at her and then decided to wait at the window for a bit longer. While there was no moon outside and there was a dim table lamp glowing inside the room but still room seemed darker to him than pitch black night.

When they had just met, they used to talk well into late in the night. He remembers this time of the day from those times. With his phone on the ear and night made darker by the shadow of big neem tree right outside balcony of his room, he had seen lot of these nights grow old and weak till they give way to a fresh dawn. He wanted to go out and sit in the garden outside with her, but she was asleep.

He took his chair again ad closed his eyes; he had not slept properly for last few days. Last seven days to be precise. It was last Monday when she got admitted in the hospital, doctors told him it’s a simple surgery and she could be back home by in a day or two. He believed them; he convinced her that it would all be fine. After all these doctors spend their lives learning how to get these surgeries right. He was sure, she was not. But she went along because he wanted her to. He wished he had listened to her. She was still in the same position as she was when they brought her back from the operation theatre. Doctors say she has not responded well to the treatment, she is unconscious for six days now.

He took a deep sigh and opened his eyes to look at her. He has tried it so many times in last few days, hoping every time that as he would open his eyes he might see her looking at him. That’s how it used to be when he used to lie down on her lap and close his eyes, she would keep talking and he would keep listening, and every time he opened his eyes, she was looking at him with her deep black eyes. He longed to see those eyes looking at him again.

For first two days, he believed when doctors told him that she would be conscious soon. They appeared confident and he drew his confidence from theirs. It was on Wednesday night when he started to get jittery, he started questioning them, he stopped believing what they said by Friday. He had it figured that it’s beyond doctors now. He has now started hoping for a miracle, he always believed in miracles. But as he sat in dim light of the table lamp his faith had begun to give way to fear. For the first time in his life, he has begin to fear that he might lose her, such a thought that had never entered his mind from the time they had first met. At first when they met, he didn’t mind letting her go but slowly she became so integral to his life that he just never thought of a life without her. And now suddenly he has realized that this could be a possibility. He shuddered by the whole thought, he wanted to shake off all these negative thoughts. He wanted to believe that she is just taking a bit long to get fine, that’s all. He needed someone to tell him, it’s all gonna be fine.

He got up and looked out of window once more, night was still dark. But suddenly he realized something had changed. He could hear the breeze knocking against the window, dead of night was finally being challenged. He stood there listening to sound of wind hitting against the glass window. No one could tell what that sound was trying to tell him, but he stood there listening for hours and had it not been for first signs of dawn break he wouldn’t have noticed that it must have been hours.

And then he turned and looked at her. She was still asleep in the same position, but he was not worried, it seems he knew she would get up today.

And she did.

-siddhartha

There are tears of joy,tears of pain and tears of sadness.
But when it come to smiles, there is one for almost every emotion and situation.
Just think about it for a moment !!!
There is that self assured smile of achievement and a sorry smile of failure.
There is that relieved smile for a job well done and a lame smile for a job spoiled.
There is that inviting smile when we want to start a conversation and a distancing smile when we no more want to continue one.
Sometimes we smile to bring someone near and sometimes we smile just to keep someone away. There are smiles that tell you a thousand things and then there are smiles that hide much more.
We smile to hide our irritation and we also smile to show our enthusiasm.
We smile when we like someone and we also smile away when that someone like somebody else.

We smile when we meet a friend after long and we also smile while waving a bye to a friend whom we may not see for long.
There are smiles that make strangers feel at home and there are smiles that make you a feel a stranger in your own home.
There is that playful smile when you are with someone you love and that regretful smile when all you have is her memories.
And then there are those thousand of smiles, which would just quietly slip onto your face as you watch a kid play ,a bird fly or a rainbow decking the sky.

-sid

Song recommendation for the day :
From the movie Arth...lyrics by Kaifi Azmi & music by Jagjit Singh

Tum itna jo muskura rahe ho...........
kya gham hain jisko chhupa rahe ho
Aankhon me nami, hasi labon par.......
kya haal hain, kya dikha rahe ho !!!