Connoisseurs

We make some sort of friends throughout our lives. But we still call the ones we made in our early youth our actual friends. We meet and recount those same stories again and again. Stories of innocence, bravado, carelessness, gall, audacity, stupidity, masti, hansi, khushi, shararat. Why do we keep going back to hear what we already know? Because these friends are connoisseurs of us. They are the timekeepers of our past selves that was made of something wonderful. And through their stories, that wonder, that experience of us being more than what we are today, is kept alive. They are our witnesses. And we are theirs.

“मुझे मुझसे मिलने के लिये

एक पुराने दोस्त से मिलना पड़ता है”

आगे

 ज़िन्दगी में देखने को नज़ारे अभी और भी हैं 

हमारे हिस्से के बचे मैखाने अभी और भी हैं

रुके हैं तो मतलब ये नहीं कि चलना नहीं आता 

जीने को बचे सफ़रनामे अभी और भी हैं

Blog Tense

I miss my blog friends. I miss the blogging world. I miss those nooks and crannies of the internet where lonely souls found each other, away from the prying eyes of the flamboyant citizens of facebook. I miss chancing upon inspired writing, encompassing emotions, and life caught in crisp phrases. I miss the windows into the spirits of poets and philosophers who had become friends without ever setting eyes on each other. I miss going back to a post and finding comments, a coming-together in tiny digital scraps. It was an exciting treasure hunt, almost like a game of tag. I miss discovering new blogs through theirs, like meeting friends of friends. I miss how their creativity fueled mine, how their writing gave me a diverse palette and showed me that beauty has many forms and there are many techniques to express it. I miss how we became better together. I didn’t know then that we needed each other.

Now about a decade has passed. We all have become embers, trying here and there to take a breath before fading again. We revisit the old nooks and crannies, trying to dust off the cobwebs. We find unseen comments posted ages ago. We try to reach out, and miss each other by years. Building a life gets in the way.

I wish I could live life again, instead of just building it. I wish I could get to know them again and find comfort in each other’s experiences. So what if whatever we churn out is crap. Creating is a gift unto itself. I wish we would come back together and start weaving stories again. There is no us without even one.

I miss my blog friends.

चमन में इख़्तिलात-ए-रंग-ओ-बू से बात बनती है

हम ही हम हैं तो क्या हम हैं तुम ही तुम हो तो क्या तुम हो

- Aziz Nabeel

Depression

 इतना कभी टूटे हो क्या तुम?

आँसुओं को भी भूले हो क्या तुम?

खुद का अहसास भी गवाँ चुके

इतना भी कभी बिसरे हो क्या तुम?

Talaash

 मैं खोयी नहीं हूँ, बस घर की तलाश है

एक टुकड़ा ज़मीन और चैन की तलाश है

गुज़री कई मकानों, कस्बों, शहरों, देशों से

पंख बहुत बड़े हैं, मुझे जड़ की तलाश है

नदी सी मैं बहुत बही मुझे पहाड़ की तलाश है

अपने बहुत मिले पर अपनेपन की तलाश है

एक दो बार घर मिला भी था, क्या फिर से मिल पायेगा?

सवाल वही की कहाँ से हो, बस जवाब की तलाश है

Romance and all that

चुनना इश्क़ सच्चा, सादा ही सही

अकेले जूनून में बस ज़र्क़ है बाबू

प्यार और रोमांस एक बात नहीं

जताने और निभाने में फर्क है बाबू

Bisou

Cacooned in my bedsheet

covered head to toe

comes another one to warm me up

not an inch to show

And then a kiss on my sleepy head

This is love, his pure bisou