Love, digital

Hey, Hi

Conversation began,
With joy & expectation,
Extending to late nights,
But it was never enough,

Ping giving goosebumps,
Texts turning to love letter,
Blushing during calls,
Mobile is new identity,

From their’s becoming ours,
Seeking opinion in tiny matters,
To reminding each other’s routine,
It felt like eternal connection,

Finally meeting was planned,
Venue was deliberated,
One accounted likes,
And dislikes of another,

Still it gave jitters,
Butterflies in stomach,
Conscious about attire,
An anxious demeanor,

But first look humanised,
The robotic image,
Pictures paled before reality,
Pings are now chatters,

Scared to initiate,
It was like connecting,
For the first time,
Starting all over again.

From the streets…

Jackie, Madho, Rancho, Rango. We are popular as ‘Fantastic Four’ in neighbourhood. No outsider can trespass the area without our permission. We stand by our brothers and sisters in all circumstances. That’s the reason both elder and younger dogs respect us. We are undisputed king of the area from Clock Tower to Railway Station which is quite fertile. Due to presence of temples, hotels, bus stop, slums and bunglows, there is never any issue of shelter and food for survival.

The beggers at railway station are our biggest caretaker. They share alms and look after us in ups and down. They get ample food, blankets, medicines, money from kind persons & social organisations. I don’t understand how they still remain begger after receiving so much aid. And festival season is bountiful, whether it’s Eid, Diwali, Christmas or Prakash Parv. We concluded that it’s a business too. Do nothing and make merry off people’s guilt & pity.

Saturday is feast day. Lot of god fearing people feed us for taming their rogue planets. We enjoy our day with chapati and milk near Shani Mandir. Tuesday are fine too when people visiting to Hanuman Temple buy us biscuits and bread. However we love to hangout at nearby cafe where girls buy us maggie, soup, coffee, muffins and sometimes even bring delicacies from home. They feed us with their soft hands and stroke softly on our back with lovely pats on forehead. We really enjoy by the jealous look of their hungry boyfriends who crave to switch places with us.

Another reason for visiting cafe is to get glimpse of Queenie & Softy. Jackie and Madho are crazy for them. Me and Rancho tried to persuade them that they are rich foreigners while we are just commoners. There is no match. But love begins where rationality ends. Both of them keep lurking around master of girls in garb of getting food. They sometimes even try to touch and lick them. Rancho warned that them to be cautious else we could be banned from cafe.

And it happened one day. High on hormone, both the couples got caught in compromising position. We were chased off that day. But things did not end there. Male guardians of Queenie & Softy came to the cafe next day and beat us with sticks and stones. They used their influence in municipal authorities for organising sterilization drive in the area. Due to Jackie and Madho, whole neighbourhood had to suffer. Everyone got punished without their mistake. We cursed both of them for their misdeeds and adventurous love affair.

While in pain, one of the eldest dog known as Dinu Chacha visited us. He shared our pain and said your are lucky to be alive. Humans disown their own children who love someone from different community. And their Khap Panchayats kill when love flourishes in same clan. Be thankful to be a dog where you may get killed in road accidents but atleast you don’t die for love.

प्यार का पिंजरा

बड़ी आस थी प्यार में गिरने की,
जब हुआ तो खुद की नज़रो में गिर गया,
वो प्यार नही, प्यार का पिंजरा है,

कहते है उनकी हाँ में मेरी हाँ है,
उनकी ना में मेरी ना है,
मेरी अब न हाँ है न ना है,

मेरा सही भी गलत है,
उसका गलत भी सही,
न जाने क्यों
अब गलतियां सिर्फ मैं करता हूँ,

मेरी ख्वाब कब बदल गये,
उसकी ख्वाहिशों में तब्दील हो गए,
इल्म ये मुझको भी नही है,

प्यार कब मेरा हवस बन जाता,
कब वो काफी नही रहता,
अब ये उसका ही फैसला है,

मैंने खुद को बदल लिया,
तुम पहले जैसे नही रहे
ऐसा उसने कहा,
बेबस होकर भी गुनहगार मैं ही हूँ,

छोड़ना चाहूँ या रिश्ता तोड़ना चाहूँ,
आँसुओं से पिघल जाता हूँ,
मोहब्बत की माया में बंध जाता हूँ,

समझौतो से गुरेज़ नही,
इश्क़ में फना होने का भी गम नही,
पर शरीर आत्मा पर बोझ मंजूर नही,

अब इन ठंडे फसलों को,
दूरियों की ताप देनी होगी,
नही तो, सुन्न हो ही गया हूँ,
किसी दिन एकाएक शिथल पड़ जाऊंगा

‘Bewafa’ Biscuit

The story starts
When she thought
It’s dirt on my hand
Which actually was
Half melted chocolate

Got impressed
To find that I am
Baker by profession
Cakes, cookies, crispies
Are my bread & butter

Special request were made
Extra efforts were put in
Bakery oozed new aroma
When flavours of food
Mixed with perfume

Innovative recipes were tried
New varieties were born
Shapes of love were designed
Thoughtful packings came up
The shop became love hub

Only to find
That biscuits are
Fueling love
In which
She is burning
For a biker

She just
Changed a syllable
Of vocation
But
I changed
My business
Now no more
Sweet biscuits
They turn you
‘Bewafa’

दिल की सिगरेट

मैंने जिससे मोहब्बत की
उसने मेरी अरमानों को
जली हुई सिगरेट के टुकडे की तरह
पैरों तलों रौंद दिया
मेरे फेफड़े भी जल गए
दिल भी टूट गया

वो कहती है की
उसने तो ऐसा कुछ नही जताया
अरे तो फिर ये धुंआ क्यों उड़ाया

वो शायद
दिल की सिगरेट पीने का शौक रखती है

इस शौक से फेफड़े तो पता नही
उसका दिल ज़रूर मर गया है

Mea culpa

I regret that moment,

The moment you
were disappointed,
got angry,
became despair,
gave up,
moved on,

You may have
grumbled curses under your breath,
hit me an invisible bludgeon,
kicked in the shin,
punched in the stomach,
thrown water on my face,

I wish you to have done it all,
shouted in place of deafening silence,
reprimanded rather than ignoring,
broke bones instead of hopes,
slapped as opposed to staring,
unleashed your wrath,

Atleast you would have spat,
the venom of bitternes,
latched the broken chains,
dumped the past,
moved to sort differences,
ironed out the wrinkles,

And healed our relation
the Japanese way,
mending cracks with gold,
ornated with fine shining lines,
the pot of relationship,
brandishing unbreakable bond,

Neither one of us is perfect,
but imperfection binds us,
the acceptance of errors,
differentiates us,
each anomaly is a stepping stone ,
to reach acme of Xanadu.

Love in times of corona

Today is our 20th wedding anniversary. We planned to have our customary dinner date. Considering our work schedule, the dinners are rare occasion. I being a marketing man and she working as consultant, airports, cabs & hotels started giving us homely feeling. But due to Corona fear, the business has slowed down. With time available in excess now, I decided to prepare dinner at home itself. It has been long since I have picked up ladle and knife in kitchen. I had to depend my maid to locate things. But my hands still knew how to make the signature dishes Malai Kofta, Pyaz Pulav, Bharva Bhindi, Lachchha Paratha and Sevaiyon ki kheer. The aroma of spices made me nostalgic. It took me to early years of marriage when I wooed her by cooking skills. How she used to sit on kitchen shelf, irritating me by hiding things or finding faults in my methods. Once she handed me amchoor powder instead of garam masala and whole gravy was ruined. We had to eat maggi. But with love in the air, that too felt like having a Valentine’s dinner.

It’s ancient history now. After we lost our child due to one of these mysterious fevers, we became mute and kind of blamed ourselves. We reminded each other of the tragedy so immersed ourselves in work and started travelling extensively to avoid home. We looked for peace outside or became accustomed to agitation inside us, it’s incomprehensible.

She returned from office with plan to dine out as usual. As she entered home, she was surprised to smell the aroma and shockingly asked me “What are you doing, Uday ?

I welcomed her with Thandai and told her “Hi Roshni, the meeting got cancelled so I came early and thought of cooking at home for change”

She replied “We could have gone to a restro. Why did you take all the trouble ?”

Things had become so dead that any uprising of emotions was resisted. We feared that even an iota love will bring back the dark memories.

I replied her “I have prepared restro like food. You freshen up. I will prepare the parathas”

She said “Wait, don’t make all of them at once. You cook them too much and it becomes like papad.”

And the nagging was back. But the old times too. She was happy to see the spread on table but resisted the expression. We were cooking together. That was some global warming to our arctic iceberg. I wished her Happy Anniversary with spoon full of sevaiyan. Tears welled up in her eyes. It was time of emotional.turmoil. I too became sentimental and we consoled each other. We had never cried together. I believe sometimes tears are necessary to wash off the past. It’s an irony how a deadly virus revived love which was killed by another of its kind.