Bhoora gubbara

Kareb ek do din pehle main market mein ghoom rahi thi ki achanak meri nazar rang bheerange gubbaron par padi. Mujhe gubbarein bade pasand hai. Meri icha si hui ki ek gubbara khareed lun. Fir laga abhi rehne hi deti hun, ek ghar pe bhi to hai aur fir abhi kaun change ke jhamele mein padega. Gubbarein wala change mangega aur mere paas panch sau ka ek note hai. Aaj rehne hi deti hun. Wahan se main aage badh gayi aur wapas apni car mein baith kar ghar ko nikal gayi. Gadi mein baithe baithe mujhe 20 saal poorani ek baat yaad aayi.
Main 7-8 baras ki rahi hongi, apni badi behen ke sath market gayi thi. Meri behen mujhse 7 saalbadi hai to mujhe apni Ma si samjhane lagi thi. Mummy ne usse kuch samaan lene market bheja tha. Wo mujhe bhi sath le gayi. Uss din cycle puncture thi to hum paidal hi market gaye the. Market se samaan leke laut rahe the. Kaafi der se meri behen dekh rahi thi ki meri nazar gubbaron par hai. Saara samaan lene ke baad wo mujhe hath pakad ke gubbarein wale ke paas le gayi. Mere chehra chamak utha. Aise laga market aana safal hua. Wo gas wale gubbarein the. Waise to mujhe gulabi, peele , laal gubaarein ache lagte hai. Par uss waqt uske paas bhoore rang ke gubbarein the. Gubbarein apple ki shape ke the. Upari hissa peela tha. Maine jhat se gubara le liye, iss firaq mein ki kahi yeh baat aade na aaye ki tumhe ye rang pasand nahi hai to rehne do kabhi aur el lena.
Gubbarein leke hum kuch aage bade. Raastein mein baat karte jaa rahe the. Main gubbara paake aise khush thi ki jaise paani dekh kar registaan hota hai. Aur meri behen mujhse shayad kuch zyada khush thi. Baat karte karte hum main road ki taraf pahuch gaye. Didi ne mera hath kuch kas ke pakad liya. Aur sath yeh bhi kaha ab dhyaan se, gubbarein se ghar jaake khel lena. Maine didi ka hath pakad ke sadak cross kar rahi thi. Achanak hawa kuch tez hui aur gubbara mere hath se fisal gaya. Gas ka gubbara tha to kuch upar uda wo. Didi ne mera hath tab bhi pakde rakha par samaaan zameen pe gira diya. Kuch kudi wo, kuch bhaagi mujhe leke, par gubaara upar udta gaya. Main usse jaate dekhti rahi. Hum dono wahi ruk gaye aur upar udate gubbarein ko dekhte rahe. Main kuch mayoos thi aur mujhse zyada didi. Usne kharche ke paison mein kuch bacha ke mujhe wo dilaya tha. Fir wo kuch sambhali, aise dikhaya ki kuch nahi hua hai. Laut ke samaan uthaya, mera hath kuch zyada kas ke pakda aur aage leke jaane lagi. Main ab bhi uss gubaarein ko dekh rahi thi. Door asmaan mein wo udd raha tha. Bhoore rang ka gubaara, pata nahi ab kahan hoga.
Itne saal beet gaye. Zindagi badal gayi. Aur ek wo din tha aur ek yeh din hai. Jeb mein paise lade hote hai, market mein har shape ke gubbarein milte hai. Main gubbara nahi ab gubbarein le aati hun. Par wo bhoora gubbara aaj bhi mujhe yaad aata hai. Aaj bhi mujhe kahi mile to le lungi main wo gubbara. Aur iss baar main usse jaane nahi dungi.

Confession

While we all are busy searching for age defying creams, posting absurd status messages on social networking sites, partying hard for random reasons, there are few things we overlook and how. I am not moral policing as there is nothing wrong in doing that. It’s a free world with free wills. I am homebound these days so I tend to think about things which I may not have thought, otherwise. May be, it is the after effect of staying in a plush society with lots of greenery around, away from the maddening crowd. I see it as a rare commodity these days.

Every morning, crooning of birds wake up, sometimes I sit in balcony watching them for hours. I keep a book on birds by my bedside to learn which bird have I spotted today. Sometimes I take notes also, but that is when I am at leisure, which again is rarest of the commodity these days in my life.

One morning I woke up to the same sound and got out of bed to make tea. I came back to my room. I was talking to my husband when I heard sounds in the kitchen, I ignored it thinking it is the maid. And just then I saw a she monkey and her baby in my bedroom balcony, I freaked out. Rushed into the kitchen just to make sure things are in place as I remembered that I had left the kitchen door open to let in some fresh air. And what do I see, a giant red-faced monkey sitting on kitchen floor with casserole in hand, nibbling on previous night’s chapattis with some homemade achaar. We it hushed it away and have been keeping a close check on the kitchen door, ever since.

The same incident repeated. In fact, monkeys visit our home and other homes around almost every day. I don’t like the site if monkeys, maybe because they resemble us so closely. Anyway the agenda is not that. The point is will our kids live up to this day when they would be able to see monkeys in home or will we be running a save monkey campaign sooner or later. Why don’t we appreciate things which are there now, why do we rare for things which we lose or have lost, fat being an exception. We have managed to scare away rich heritage, what is a monkey then. May be it is still found in abundance as it knows how to deceive people, like we do all the time.

We all love wildlife stories whether they are in granny tales or in Ruskin bond journals, or may be in a lame journal as this one. There are instances which draw our attention towards them, but it is sad that those instances are rare. After thinking about these issues for long, I may still chase the monkey away, but with little more respect. Even if it is short-lived. And not with a stick, may be by shouting. Just may be.

SUNDAY EVENING

At 7:30 on a Sunday evening, I am sitting and watching India-South Africa match with my Dad. And I am doing it like after ages. He looks at the watch and then me. I know what he wants , but wait for his signal. And there he gestures for a glass like he always does. By now I am already half up to fetch him his favourite scotch (it has been maturing for a while) or wait may be whisky (he hasn’t that for a while). Just then he says the most astonishing thing in the world- can you bring me a glass of warm milk with adequate amount of sugar and good amount of bournvita. And don’t put any water in it. I am already too stunned to react and all I say is wait who puts water in bournvita. While I make bournvita for him I wonder who drinks HOT BOURNVITA ON A SUNDAY EVENING. While my thoughts are hanging around the blurb over my head, I watch him relishing his hot-sweet bournvita with childlike innocence.

And I remember something and everything settles in and around my head. I remember he turned 60 last autumn.

ON THE OTHER SIDE OF MY WINDOW

There is a bird that comes and peeps inside my home every day, in hope that I would leave the windows open for it someday. Without fail it hits the clean long windows with its needle like beak. It is untouched by the fact that we humans leave no windows open for life to enter.

I can still watch it in front of me, trying and trying but not stopping. It is not even scared of loosing the strength of its beak...I wonder if I have a connection to this bird. I know it by the name of tailor bird and it probably knows me as just another being or does it distinguish me from others. Earlier it used to run away as soon as I went any closer. But now it knows I mean no harm to it. Sometimes it pecks on my window in hope and sometimes in desperation. I don’t know what it has with this home, must be something.

I am amazed with its energy. It flies back to the other end and then comes back with full force in hope that this is the last time it will have to try. I think of drawing the curtains to tell it should not live in hope. But something inside stops me. My love for this friend is growing each day. It never fails to come by, no matter what day it is, no matter what condition it is.

My fear is that someday when I leave this window open, it will come inside and see what world lives within; it will never look back at this window. I fear losing this beautiful friend and so I never open this window. I don’t want it to know what lives within. I don’t want to kill its hope and so I will never open this window.

The white-blue umbrella

I sat below the white- blue umbrella; looking tastefully at the life under it. I discover a star when I look above. I keep staring at it in hope that it is doing the same. Suddenly I see the umbrella moving or is it me. No it can’t be me. I have not moved from my place for a long time now. The star twinkles and I realise it can see me. We exchange pleasantries and then it is time for it to move on. I keep looking at the white-blue umbrella in vague hope that I will discover another friend.

Such is life, if you don’t move from your place people will come and go. What will remain is faint memories or sometimes vivid. But one thing that will always remain is the white-blue umbrella. It will not move; if you move it moves with you; if you raise your head, it will open arms for you; if you love, it will bestow love upon you; if you cry it will shower affection on you; if you laugh it will whirl around you; if you move it will move along; if you dream, it will chase along with you; if you don’t move it will stay along with you.

If you move, it will move along with you; if you don’t move it will stay along with you. And while I was lost in thoughts, it looked upon me. And while I sat there, it sat along with me.