कुछ ज़्यादा ही !

कुछ ज़्यादा ही दे दिया.
बिन मांगे, बिन कहे
कुछ ज़्यादा ही जुड़ लिया

अब फिर गुस्सा सा आता है,
कि तुमको इसकी कद्र नहीं,
क्या पता शायद
इसकी ख़बर ही नहीँ.

बिन माँगे न सही,
ज़रा पुछा हुआ सा,
मेरे प्यार का हिस्सा तो मिले,
फिर कैसे न रखूँ मैं,
ये ज़रा से शिकवे गिले !

जो तुम्हारा था सब,
उसे भी अपना कर बैठ गयी.
अब तुम जो माँग रहे हो वापिस ,
क्या कहूँ! उसे कहाँ कहाँ समेट गयी !

और जो मेरा था,
वो भी तो दे दिया.
बिन मांगे तुमने,
मेरा सब कुछ तोह ले लिया!

अब क्या लिया मुझसे,
खबर नहीं जो तुम्हे इसकी,
वापिस क्या माँगू तुमसे उन चीज़ों को,
मोल भाव ही नहीं जिसकी.

बेफ़िक्र, बेज़िक्र- अब तुम जो चल दिए.
गुस्सा अब खुद पर आता है.
मैंने क्यों तुमसे वह वादे निभाए,
जो शायद तुमने कभी नहीं किये.
कमीज़ के बटन की तरह
तुम टूट कर जो आज़ाद हुए,
न जाने, कुछ धागे मुझपर
अब भी अड़कर रह गए !


PS: Trying my hand on Hindi again. An ode to all those who silently give and silently expect the love in return as well. After all it is called ‘Being Human’ whose love is often Unrequited Love 🙂


Peach nail paint, sometimes beige too,
the White of her feet
and the same peep-toe shoe

Somethings never change
Yet somethings do…


A decade back perhaps
the day I first saw her
Breeze blowing away her silk scarf,
and her long skirt floating forever.

There was something about her smile
and those eyes which defied
a black and white frame,
the endless banter- I hardly listened,
It got me insane! Insane!!

Oh Boy! she made me coy!
As her voice into my ears drift,
my gaze stuck to her feet,
my eyes, I could hardly lift!

Those feet peeped through the patialas
They were careful of the grass they tread.
They wouldn’t kill those ants
or trample the flowering reed.

Those feet walked miles,
miles into my world of imagination.
Those feet walked miles,
miles away from my contemplation.


Years later, I would hear the voice again.
Only, it’s no more a banter.
There’s still something about those eyes,
that makes one wonder…

“Do years get into a man,
or a man gets into the years gone by…?”
They fill each other so perfectly,
without asking ever a why!

Those feet peeped through
the pleats of her saree,
the peach nail paint
on the feet of the fairy.

And the brown peep-toe shoe
Somethings never change,
Yet somethings do.

A dragonfly struggled, stuck in the mud
those feet shuffled, careful not to hurt.

The mad crowd jostled by,
oblivious of the ground.
Those feet silently guarded
the little winged thing they’d found.

I bent down to pick it up
and saw her smile again.
She would never know,
those little things on her feet
have caused my heart so much pain…

Although knowing it couldn’t fly ever,
I set it free on a shrub.
Like 10 years back one day,
I had set free my love.

I asked, “Happy Now?”
those lips twinkled,
those eyes smiled.

The peach nail paint
and those toe rings few
the white of her feet
and the peep toe shoe

I wish I could ask,
“Why somethings never change,
Yet somethings do??”



PS: In India, the Toe-rings are considered as a symbol of marriage. Most of the single women do not wear those.

): हँसी (:

लोग पूछते हैं मुझसे,
“तुम इतना कैसे मुस्कुरा पाती हो ?
तुम झूठी हो जो
खोखली हँसी हमें दिखती हो!”

परवाह मेरी मुहसे भी
ज़्यादा करते हैं!
लोग मेरी हँसी से
काफ़ी डरते हैं !!

परवाह उन्हें ये नहीं,
कि वो खुश क्यों नहीं ।
फ़िक्र बड़ी इस बात की,
कि मैं मायूस क्यों नहीं ?!?

खुश जब मैं काफ़ी होती हूँ ,
उस दोपहर फ़िर काफ़ी रोती हूँ।

नज़र जो लगती है मेरी हँसी को,
ज़माने की ।
क्या करूँ ! मेरी फ़ितरत में नहीं
हँसी छिपाने की ।

हँसती रहूंगी मैं ,
चाहे कितनी भी खोखली क्यों न हो।
दो ऑंसू ही टपक जाएं,
ज़ख्म कितनी भी गहरी क्यों न हो।

रोते हुए जो आई थी,
हँसते चेहरे दिख गए थे।
हँसते हुए जो जाऊँगी,
दुनिया रोती रह जाएगी …

शायद। …. शायद ?

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Today she met with an accident,
As she lay dying,
people passed by her.
deciding to plunder even her mortal remains.

Robbing her of her torn robes,
and her trinkets- one after the other.
lynching her layer by layer,
a sight to shudder!

Tears oozed through her bruises,
blood gushed down her eyes…
As the road moved on,
oblivious to her cries.

Vehicles blamed her for the traffic jam,
people didn’t bother to pretend humane.

And she lay lifeless, wincing,
in excruciating pain,
shriveling up lonely
in the crowded lane…

No FIR was filed, no help offered,
no sympathy was shown, none bothered.

As she breathed her last that day,
she pleaded to God- her one last say,
“Lord! sprinkle some humanity to the humans,
your compassionate creation, the genius ones!!”

she wouldn’t ride cars,
nor would she own homes,
But wouldn’t she own her own breath?

Shouldn’t she have the right to live?
Even if she isn’t the “fine human”.

Yes, what if she’s a Tree?
The Peepul or the People-
Today, I don’t know whom to pity!!



Once, I sat through a traffic jam in a road blocked by a fallen tree. It was a beautiful Peepul tree that we claimed had encroached unto our road. It was chopped off that day and lay there in the middle of the road, bringing the traffic to a halt. It was huge and people struggled to move it out of the way. They decided to rip it apart branch by branch, to clear it out easily.

They blamed it for the traffic jam it had caused- as if dying such cruel death, lynched layer by layer- was its own choice!

It was such a painful sight. And all I could do was write poetry…

The Peepul or the People- Truly, I don’t know whom to pity!!




Nature is a poem minus words,
a thousand chosen couplets,
from the dreams of the Gods.


Diamond dew, on flowers frail,
silver storms at the ocean’s tail.

Butterflies in flight,
and their shadows on the soil.
Sparrows snuggling,
after a days toil.

A leaf dancing solo
through the summer air,
from the eerie eucalyptus
on the laterite chair.


Waters, seemingly flowing
aimlessly to the world’s eyes.
Yet reaching their own predetermined goal,
breaking away from their Earthly ties.

beetles and bees busy preparing,
for the blank white winter’s cold.
Grasses growing little twigs above,
but strong roots beneath, deepening their hold.

saplings tender, so full of life,
peeping from nowhere,
from lifeless lands, barren, bare!


Clouds or cotton balls?
In skies jungle,
the foxes fumble
and the Lion mauls…

The Touch me not, shying away..
like from a lover’s touch
on an unexpected day.

Gulmohur red and gold as a bride,
Silver firs talking to the clouds with pride.
“You may shine silver.
But more Silver I do hide”


All comes and all but goes,
where each being with harmony grows.
lives and believes and departs one day,
leaving behind withered and gray.
to rot beneath this earthen pot.
in a form that it was not.


Majestic mountains might seem mini.
Even tiny Ants have duties many.
Big and small.
Nature has them all.

Each to teach a lessons few,
to rediscover life,
one thought one knew!

O Nature!
No poet’s pen can pen down your beauty,
No painter’s brush paint your bounty,
No photographers’ frame can capture your colour.
No philosopher’s thoughts testify your valour.
No princes’ treasure can buy your riches ,
No prophet’s wisdom preach what Nature teaches.


O Nature!!
Invisible you are in a drop,
and anonymous the drop in the sea.
Your Majesty! I could never comprehend thee!

No Hymns hummed for this hero.
No Songs sung for this soul,
You cannot relish it in plucked fragments,
you ought to rejoice it in whole.

O Nature!
The mysterious teacher!!


I am in love with my hometown’s serenity, its solitude. Sunabeda is the Mountain’s daughter, brought up by soothing sunshine, reprimanded by torrential rains, pacified by winter fogs, … It has a poem scripted on each leaf, flower and cloud. It has magic in its breath that makes each one a poet. And I am no exception!