Tag Archives: love

~ चाहत ~

तुम्हें चाहना तो मना था,
और पाना  जैसे ग़ुनाह ।  

न चाह  कर भी  चाह  लिया ,
न जाने ऐसा क्यों हुआ !
ज़िन्दगी इक ओर खींचती ,
और तुम खींचते इक ओर ,
बावली हो पड़ती मैं,
कि बह जाऊँ किस छोर। 
तुमसे ऊपर ज़िन्दगी को चुना ,
लगा आसान है। 
कहाँ मालूम मुझे,
मेरी बेपरवाह रूह बेईमान है !
न चाहकर भी तुम्हें चाहती ,
फ़िर ख़ुद को इसकी सज़ा सुनाती। 
उस  सज़ा के चार पल में भी,
तुम्हारे ज़िक्र का  दो लम्हां  चुरा लेती। 
मैं तुमसे प्यार न करूँ,
इसलिए खुद से लड़ लेती,
तुम मुझसे चाहत न रखो 
इसलिए  तुमसे भी झगड़ लेती … 
अपने आप से इस जंग में,
थक गयी, हार गयी मैं !
तुमसे परे कभी कहीं-कहीं …
में अपनी  ख़ुशी जब खोज लेती ,
“तुम माईने ही नहीं रखते,
ये खुद को साबित कर लेती”
माईने अगर तुम रखते नहीं ,
तो में किससे क्या साबित कर रही हूँ !?!
मेरे ज़हन में तुम्हारे ख़याल को मारती,
मैं क़तरा क़तरा मर रही हूँ। 
न जाने तुम्हें भूलने की चाहत में ,
में अपनी राहत खो बैठी,
सौ नुक़्स  निकाल लिए तुममें,
सौ गलतियाँ भी ढूँढ बैठी….
फ़िर  पता नहीं क्यूँ… 
आख़िर ,
उन गलतियों पर भी मुझे प्यार आया ! 

~ हिचकियाँ ~

बड़े दिनों बाद हिचकियाँ आयी हैं आज,

ऐसा लगा मानो किसी ने ,
“Miss You too” कहा हो। ..
सड़क पे गोल -गप्पे खाते हुए,
बारिश की पानी पर छप -छपाते हुए ,
इक पुरानी अधूरी कविता को पूरा करते हुए,
गुरुद्वारे में सूजी का हलवा खाते हुए ।
हिचकियों ने आज मुझे कुछ याद दिलाया।
या फ़िर , “तुम आज भी भूली नहीं !”
इसका एहसास कराया।
पड़ोस के बच्चों से बच्चा बनकर खेलते हुए ,
बाज़ार में भिंडी का मोल- भाव करते हुए
सुबह नींद से जगकर मुँह धोते हुए,
खाली शीशे में कहीं तुम्हें ढूँढ़ते हुए…
पिक्चर देखते – देखते बेवजह हँसते हुए
ऑफिस के लिए क्या पहनूँ ये चुनते हुए ,
आरती की थाली में अगरबत्ती जलाते हुए
रात को तकिये पर दो बूँद टपकाते हुए….
बताओ !
मेरी हिचकियों से यहाँ ,
तुम्हे वहाँ हिचकियाँ तो नहीं आयी थी ?
आज वक़्त के सूनेपन को,
मेरी हिचकियों ने भरा
शायद तुमने मुझे,
कहीं याद किया हो ज़रा !
कमबख़्त ये हिचकियाँ भी बड़ी ज़िद्दी होती हैं !
ये हिचकियाँ मानती नहीं कोई दूरियाँ।
ये हिचकियाँ समझती नहीं मजबूरियाँ !
इन हिचकियों से थक कर
शाम को घर लौटकर,
तुम उधर अपने घर की घंटी बजाते हो,
मैं इधर अपने घर का ताला खोलती हूँ। …



The woman who pretends to read the English paper, just to be clicked wise!

It has been exactly an year without you. I cannot say that I miss you, I feel your absence and there are tears in my eyes.Yet there is no void without you, somehow you refuse to go and stay put in our lives. And weirdly cruel it might sound to you out there, but each time I remember you, I just cant stop laughing at the silly,funny and annoying acts that you merrily did. I am imagining you in that Universe where you are stealing those white stars thinking that they are Milky Bar chocolates. You were a sweet old nasty rebel who lived the world the way she wanted to.

Not even a day passes without thinking of you atleast once before I sleep. And honestly when I had outgrown your lap, I hadn’t found time enough to remember you so often.  Now that you are unreachable, your penguin walk comes strutting before me- always, all ways and there is no escape.

Bou is my Bou. She wasn’t the grandmaa a Jeje Maa is supposed to be. She was the Mummy, the friend, the teacher, the Cartoon Network, the enemy, the Punching Bag, the Family Clown, the all… while I was talking those first steps in my life.

I distinctly remember how she would enjoy the tough times she had while handling the unruly me, while Mummy was away doing her Post Graduation. She would oil my hair and I would punch her for damaging my hair style and later make her shampoo it. I was in Kindergarten and none less than a hyper-melodramatic moronic kid. I would forget my homework at home and she would nervously run to school, carrying all my notebooks, not knowing which one could be the forgotten homework copy for which I could be punished. Then she bribed my Ayaas there for sneaking that notebook to me.

She would make tiny clay utensils for me to play kitchen-kitchen. She would drag me to the gents barber shop to chop off my  bird nest like hair, lest I wailed to have the Madhuri Dixit hair do for school. No hair= No care! She would fight with all the people who picked up fights with me. She would tell me endless stories until I finished my  food or fell asleep. Now, she has gone to sleep forever.


Bou, Mommy and Me.

Bou! We would be annoyed at your extraordinary skills of stealing anything sugary and forbidden. We would laugh at your never ending desires to dress up like a 20ish bride. You never failed to sneak into my cosmetics and consume the entire bottle of perfume, lotion , nailpolish , despite having your own. You always thought mine was better- you out-rightly naughty woman! And of course pluck those exotic roses from the garden in the name of offering them for Puja and then they would pompously sit on Goddess Lalita’s Bun (Head+ Pitch Black Tassil – Hair) 😛

We would frown at your never ending chatter about all the irrelevant stuff in the world, while you watched the repeat telecast of a previously watched episode of a mindless soap and took pride in predicting the next scene before it came. When you were asked relevant questions about the ‘n’ number of mischiefs you had done throughout the day and the crate of ripe mangoes was found empty- you knew where to divert the attention and feign innocence. When you were silent, your Ludo dice would endlessly clang in its tiny box. You would play Ludo by running all the 4 colours yourself and being your own opponent. You never trusted our ability to be a player of your match and never were you ashamed of cheating to win. You crooked woman! I often wonder, if you took revenge on us for raising all the nasty kids in the family for 2 generations,and hence suitably being a bounty combo of All-in-one-Oldie!


She was the Fuljhari, the Diwali Dhamaka!

I had so many dreams of getting you so many things with my first salary, making you proud by becoming someone someday. When I think I reasonably became one, I didn’t find you much proud. I think, you were always infinitely proud of me irrespective of how big I was in years, or seemed to be by ‘big’ accomplishments. You were a merry and content lot- always. I thought of buying you more of those fancy bangles that I got for you always… and those silver payals, you were unhappy that they didn’t make much sound like that of a bride! My Bangles , my payals were with you till your last. I wish I was there too.

I regret that I couldn’t buy you the promised new Ludo Set, couldn’t play Ludo with you one more time- where no matter what , You always won. I never can fight with you again, over the loud volume of the TV, over the spilled nail-paint bottle, over eavesdropping on my telephone conversations with my friends…

You have never complained of less attention, of being old, of being made fun of, of being scolded or of being in pain- even while you writhed in that heart attack.You had come to this world, a wailing infant. You lost your mother before you could understand what a mother was. But you never failed to be the best Mother for the kids and kids of the kids… and you dreamt of raising my kids as well!  You loved us all infinitely, nurtured the child in me immeasurably. But when you turned a child, I got impatient and fought with you. I can never forgive myself all life through, although I am still in doubt whether you picked up those fights intentionally and actually enjoyed them.

You were a messy, illiterate, unsophisticated, funny lady. You Bou! But your spirit, uncomplaining attitude, never ending cheerfulness, infinite ability to endure pain, never getting mad at us for all the jeering- I wonder whether my education could ever teach me that.


You, who claimed to be my husband’s second bride.


I want to cry out aloud today, because you are gone. But when I remember you, countless happy memories dance before my eyes and your silly smile makes me smile too. I wonder if I will ever be able to leave the world with as much grace as you. I still can’t remember the last time I saw you hurt, sad or in tears. How could nothing make you sad Bou !?!



4 Generations in a frame. We cant miss her. She is unmissable.


“When Children are small- they talk and you laugh.
When Children grow big- you talk and they laugh.”

I wish I hadn’t laughed, I wish I had been more patient. I wish I had played Ludo with you one more time. I wish I had let you pluck all those yellow roses, Oh my Lalita Devi! I wish I had watched TV aloud with you- even the 6th repeat telecast. I wish I could talk and I wish I could laugh on you, one more time…

Bou, today you smile in a garlanded portrait in my Puja room…that serious looking, somber image doesn’t suit you well. It makes me nervous… You better become that goofy, whacky woman who cant live one day in her life without annoying people or making them laugh…

Bou. I hadn’t really realized how much I have loved you all my life…


You are the Love of our Life.


Bou! You are and always shall be picturesque, the brightest colour of our life’s portrait.

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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.

LOVE. Lost and found.

A Hindu married a Muslim,
And two sisters grew in the womb,
Little then did they know,
They will build each others tomb…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ● ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ● ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ● ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ● ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Borders are like birds,
They will fly wherever they want to.
Nations are like clouds,
They will drift wherever they like to.

But people are the skies,
They will have to stay back,
To witness all birds and clouds,
Good-bad, light and dark.

Soldiers, wars, battles, gun fights,
Matters trivial, wrongs and rights…
One after the other, shot after shot,
The opportunity for love- lost.
Mountains, rivers, valleys and snow.
What do we fight for,
Do we really know?

We are warring over the Indus,
So much blood, so much loss!
Diplomacy determined, treaty after treaty.
But let’s sign just one for, only water and humanity

Long back the two sisters separated,
From a womb- beaten, exasperated.
The blood evaporated,
In the two lands devastated.
But their love reverberated.
Somehow it was fated…

Across fences, across borders,
Across politics and Army’s orders.
Across Namaste and Namaaz.
Singing stories of sisterhood,
That once was…


Nations emerged, religions evolved,
The hatred remained, but the love too revolved.

Across Diwali,Holi or Eid,
Connections emerged from deep beneath.
Untying knots, tied by cynics,
Uniting hearts, broken by fanatics.

Why haven’t we learnt anything from,
Your Ammi and my Mummy,
Who were Mothers with a big heart?
Why do we build  such Narrow Nations,
Where love breathes its last?

Why can’t we prize peace,
Over guns and grenades?
Why can’t we silently separate,
But yet not part ways?


Long ago, A Muslim married a Hindu,
And two sisters were born,
To tell the world a story,
With so much to learn.



PS:  I grew up learning that nations could be friends or enemies too. And that nations could love and hate, just like you. And this brought along the story that  history had to tell and with it so many notions of good, bad, ugly…hostile or friendly.
But who were the nations? Were they not the people who lived in them?
And how can nations hate, when their people loved each other?

I never could understand the “facts” that history presented.
I never could understand the “acts” that present demanded,
but yet had to be drawn from history.
Couldn’t we just start fresh- reset, rewind, unlock and clear our mind?
Shed the burden of the past?

And then one day, I was fortunate to meet the people, whose nation I had so long known. It struck me then that, had I known that there could exist a love unknown? I met Maria Imran here. We instantly fell in love with each others thoughts, and perhaps with each other too.
Two people-from two religions, from two nations, from two lands, across one border, from one womb of time.
Both were devout patriots, both religious. And perhaps that united us more than it could have divided. Gradually the bonds grew stronger, until I had fallen in love with this tiny part of Pakistan, yes in  Maria Imran.
She had written a piece about me and I had been overjoyed, overwhelmed with tears. I had wanted to dedicate something to her, but never found my words worthy of her. Yet, today on Eid, I thought of gifting her this, my love.
Meri Pyaari Maria.
Hope you like my Eid gift.
The stories that we knew, weren’t that true.
But we have begun new stories now…and hope these would turn true.
The rest of our story waits to be written with time.
Until then , I Believe,love is lost.And found.

With love,
From across the border.