बारिश की बूँद

आज भोर एक अजीब वाकया हुआ I मेरे छप्पर से ज़ोर - ज़ोर से छाती पीटने की आवाज़ें आ रहीं थीं I मैं ग़ूनूदगी की हालत में अलार्म घडी के बजने का इंतज़ार कर रहा था I उन आवाज़ों ने मेरी बचीखुची नींद - जो ऊँघ की शक्ल में तब्दील ही हुई  थी - भी छीन ली I मैं खीज से भर गया था I नींद जब पूरी खुली तो मालूम हुआ बारिश आयी थी I बारिश रो रही थी I यह मेरी नौकरी पकड़ने के बाद पहली बारिश थी I  एक दौर था जब मैं इन आवाज़ों से भोर के वक़्त काफ़ी सुकून महसूस किया करता था I लेकिन इस बार ऐसा कुछ हुआ नहीं I मुझे ऑफिस में नौ घंटे दिलचस्पी से काम करना था I इसके लिए मुझे कम से कम छह घंटे सोना था I लेकिन बारिश ने तो मुझे पूरे दो घंटे पहले उठा दिया था I

 मैंने डपट के बोला - 'कहीं और चली जा, दो घंटो में मुझे उठना है I'

बारिश और भी रो पड़ी और रोते रोते बोली - 'मेरी एक बूँद खो गयी है, मिल नहीं रही है, आपने देखी है I'

'जा देख ले, कहीं होगी किसी पेड़ - पौधे के पास, या किसी आवारा कुत्ते के कान पे बैठी होगी I'

'भाग जा यहाँ से, बेवक़ूफ़! एक बूँद के लिए रोती है I'

बारिश रोती रही और रोते - रोते उसने ज़मीन को निगल लिया I फटकार लगाने के बाद मैं भी औन्धे मुँह सो गया I थोड़ी देर बाद नींद टूटी I बारिश का बिलखना, किसी का ज़ोर - ज़ोर से किसी का दरवाज़ा पीटना और अलार्म क्लॉक की उलझन पैदा करने वाली मशीनी आवाज़ - इन तीनों ने मिलकर मेरी नींद के परखच्चे उड़ा दिए थे I मैं बिस्तर से उठ कर खड़ा हुआ और चप्पल को पैर में डालते हुए देखा कि एक बूँद मेरे 'कमरे' की फ़र्श पे पड़ी थी I मैने उसे उठाया और खिड़की से बाहर फेंक दिया और रोज़ की तरह तैयार होकर ऑफिस निकल गया I बारिश भी तब तक थम चुकी थी I 

      

A Visit to the Zoo

Recently I visited a zoo. By the word 'zoo' I mean its usage in a popular and technical sense. So I visited the zoo! Caged animals appeared morose and sulky to the human eyes in general. I overheard some of my own species ruing at the plight of the poor creatures. Some expressed disgust mentioning utter depravity of the mankind that has sunk to such a level that it derives amusement at other's misery. Schadenfreude! And some were playing crude pranks (I lack better words!) with the animals - throwing stones, sticking them through the fencing, snapping the tails etc. Still some were enough moved to offer human eatables to the animals, without caring about its digestive implications. I think they all - if we disregard the pranksters to an extent - were committing a grave error called anthropomorphism i.e. applying human emotions and behavior to judge a fellow animal. I found it quite absurd though in no way I meant to demean my fellow animals. On the contrary I glossed over the possibilities of these beings at higher spiritual pedestal and thus more evolved. My mind too sprouted some reasons in support. I reflected about our own existence and our relation to the society. The way we have social and personal chains all around us, the way we are forced to confine ourselves to a place or restricted from moving to an another place, the way we do our diurnal confined foraging job that ensures food at fixed periods of a day blurred some deeply etched boundaries. All these ramblings, like a deft artist began to paint the picture in my perception. I could see two zoos existing at the same time. As if both saw each other and some subtle conversations transpired between them making one amused and the other - allow me my share of anthropomorphism - crestfallen, sad and at best apathetically withdrawn. My analysis had profuse measures of anthropomorphism. Therefore, I had to confine these vagrant thoughts in the deep cellar of my mind. My thought train was derailed when a boisterous ranting came knocking at my doors of perception. It was a young man bemoaning the 'misfortune' of the caged lion. His lofty oratory on freedom was cut short when something resembling a mobile phone hanging in chains around his neck began to ring. With a marked agility he received the call. The call made him docile and submissive. All his noisy rhetoric evaporated. He had a brief fawning conversation interspersed with many 'sirs' in between. The residual uproarious way of talking surfaced once again when he asked the other guys accompanying him to leave. He added - "Cancel the show! We may have to work overtime tonight and appraisal too is at hand". With these last audible words I saw them leaving in a hurried fashion. At this point of time the lion too displayed his eloquence. It was just a routine roar or a dig at the other man's freedom, it was hard to discern. I too started to leave reflecting on the difference between confined freedom and free confinement. Again it was hard to discern.

Delusions of a Newsoholic

Few days back I witnessed a tennis match. It was between 'The Mind' and 'The Universe'. The ball made up of 'God's Particle' was being used. 'The Mind' appeared agitated and frantic, 'The Universe', on the contrary, was very calm and composed. 'The Mind' served frenetically and 'The Universe' returned every move with a marked coolness.

While the match was in full swing, I collided with a man named Mr. Rue Mar. I apologised for the unintended collision. Mr. Rue Mar appeared to be in excessive haste. He barely noticed my apology and continued blurting out something.

"This is the end of the world! We all going to die. Apocalypse, Qayamat, Mahapralaya - take your pick." - uttered Mr. Rue Mar.

"Does it even matter?" - I retorted jokingly.

"Yes, it does, such a knowledge makes me robust and that's how I'll reach your living room too." Mr. Rue Mar voice grew portentous. "Hurry up! Take your pick. I have places to go, people to meet and money to make."

"Well, Mr. Rue Mar, come in whatever form you like to, it hardly matters" - I replied in an assuring manner.

"Alright, I need to go, Mr. Box is waiting for me for quite sometime." Mr. Rue Mar left in a hurry. Weird, that's what I thought about him.   

Meanwhile, in the match, 'The Mind' was having good control over the ball. Still, the ever expanding 'Universe' was unperturbed. 'The Mind' was visibly aggressive and was pushing its limits. It made 'The Mind' to acquire a degree of expansiveness. And, quite uncannily, it appeared to gain mass and size. After sometime the match resembled more of an elaborate size chase. 'The Universe' expanding unendingly, 'The Mind' pursuing it incessantly and the ball made up of 'God's Particle' shuttling uselessly.

'The Growing Mind' made me notice the grandeur and spread of 'The Tennis Court'. I grew concerned, more due to the fact that the present arrangement seemed inadequate for the containment of 'The Growing Mind'. Ruminating about this question seemed more interesting than the tennis match. In between I reached my pocket for something. There I found the ticket of the match. The price of which made me grudgingly sad. It was in millions. I started deriding myself. Last week only Mr. Beg Gar had come knocking at my doors. The guilt of prodigal spending created a vivid picture of that day. That feeble knock began to reverberate in my conscience. The conversation went something like this.

"Yes, who is this?" I asked sternly. I normally prefer a serious and to a degree harsh disposition at my gate. I have reasons for it. I live in a locality where mostly 'The Other 99%' of the population resides. So, it helps me to discourage them from coming to me for every kind of help. Kind of self-preservation technique. Still, I do get visits sometime.

"I need your help. Please open the door." - came a meek response.

On opening the door I found an emaciated man with a timid appearance. "My name is Beg Gar. I live nearby. I am in dire need of money. You are a man of wealth and honour. Please help me for God's sake!"

Such words hardly penetrate me. They have been so commonly uttered that meaning has vaporized from them. They are just words. I think they are just words for the speaker also. A kind of conversation starter between 'Mr. Beg Gar' and 'Mr. Rich Man'. Well, I thought so up to this point of time.

"What abomination caused you to deny your self-subsistence Mr. Beg Gar?" I usually talk in an ornate manner to these wretched people. It helps me to create an awe.

"I lost my job last week. Next month I have my daughter's wedding. I need some help to feed the guests" - Mr. Beg Gar said cravenly.

"Mr. Beg Gar, society, community gathering, feasts are all things of the past. It was invented at a time when concept of personal property was non-existent. Everything was shared. We have evolved much now. Individuality, self-gratification, self-fulfilment rule now. Why bother about feeding the guests? Get off the past, Mr. Beg Gar, earlier the better!" With these eloquent expressions I used to get the better of these people. Ironically, even I did not comprehend much of what was said. Nevertheless, these senseless preachings gave me an intellectual leverage over them. Mr. Beg Gar due to his financial obligations listened earnestly to my blathering. I too obliged him with some crumbs. Mr. Beg Gar quite reluctantly moved away from my doors. I still remembered that.

A million dollar ticket for this boring inconsequential match brought forth all the sufferings of  'Other 99%' before my eyes.

I was also reminded of the dreaded criminal Mr. Can Sir who has vowed to quench his blood thirst by killing thousands annually. Had I avoided this match and donated a part of it to Mr. Beg Gar and a part of it in eliminating Mr. Can Sir, I would have earned much admiration and could have been saved from this torture too. How does it matter whether 'The Mind' wins or 'The Universe'?

In the mean time, 'The Growing Mind' had grown into a behemoth. It was uncontainable. Still, 'The Universe' had set some new standards to meet. It seemed there was no end to it. Suddenly, 'the big bang' was heard. 'The Mind' had exploded. 'God's Particle' rained from everywhere. The spectators wallowed carelessly in them. It was hard to tell whether they were happy for the ending of the match or for the new beginning this 'big bang' may herald.

I, too got hit by the pellets of 'God's Particle'. It struck painfully on my head. I lowered my head to protect myself from the impinging particles. And, when I raised my head I found myself in front of my glaring computer screen. I adjusted my glasses. News related to Higgs Boson discovery, Nadal's Wimbledon upset, Occupy Wall Street were opened in different tabs. I was really dreaming or deluding or I just got lost in all these web surfing, I don't know...I really don't know...

Death of a Writer

Unlike a working professional, days of a week hardly mattered for a seventy year old writer Mr. Singleman. What mattered instead were periods of a day like morning, noon, evening, night and everything in between. Just as a working professional prepares oneself for the weekend long consumption of morsels of 'happiness', Mr. Singleman used to wait for some periods of a day, depending on what he was writing. He believed that different periods of a day had different stimulating effects on his writings. Same events evoked different emotions in him when mused at different periods of a day. Additionally, his writings and characters were attached umbilically to his past experiences and events. Therefore, the notion of disparate interpretations of a single event - that took place on so and so date and time - was equally disturbing and enriching for Mr. Singleman. Since it induced contradictions in Mr. Singleman's works and at the same time enabled Mr. Singleman to tell numerous different tales from the same experience.

Temporal vagaries of interpretations vexed him. He once wrote about his profuse weeping in the morning over a context that exploded him into a laughter frenzy the previous night. Mr. Singleman's characters fed on the concoction of his experiences and memories. And, despite Mr. Singleman's relentless efforts, they bore signs of contradictions. Critics too have charged Mr. Singleman for the same reason. A charge to which Mr. Singleman often responded with his glib talking, citing a certain psychoanalyst by the name of Erik Erikson and his Theory of Eight Development Stages of an individual and how virtues are formed at each stage due to inherent contradictions present in the individual at each stage. "See, contradictions define you" with this line and a triumphant grin, Mr. Singleman used to dispel the charge.

But only Mr. Singleman knew how best he used to avoid the inherent contradictions. Therefore, Mr. Singleman performed his writings with meticulous planning. Always ensuring that particular content and characters were consummated at a particular period of a day. Hence, it was not only a matter of what to write but also of when to write. But, morning in the form of dawn has always encroached upon the night. Whatever be the level of encroachment, the whole writing exercise used to be dauntingly tiring.

Particular characters cohabiting a particular period of a day, spawned a whole habitation of characters, where they were asked to work at a particular time and rest for rest of the time. In a refined sense of speech Mr. Singleman's mind was a city, a walled city, with characters dwelling in them. Mr. Singleman himself once quite disparagingly remarked that his mind is a jail with innumerable cells in it. He cited imprisonment of characters as his compulsion, otherwise there will be a glut of contradictions in his writings. He mentioned that he opens different lock ups at different periods of a day, gets the work done and confines them again within its four walls. Mr. Singleman often boasted that blood and tears of his characters was the ink that he used in his writings. 

And quite understandably, Mr. Singleman is loved for his poignant description of pathos inherent in everyday life.

Mr. Singleman died last night. His body was found in the morning. A congealed stream of blood was conspicuous on Mr. Singleman's nose. Mr. Singleman's much awaited work 'The Prisoners' incomplete manuscript was lying on the table. Mr. Singleman's pen with its ink dried was lying nearby. Mr. Singleman's sudden demise has been attributed to brain haemorrhage. Nobody knows the exact cause. I know. I am the jailor of that abattoir. I freed them all..... 

ठहाके

कुछ एक वाकयात ऐसे भी देखें हैं जिस पर पहला 'रेस्पोंस' हंसी के ठहाकों का रहा है I सोचता हूँ तो 'अलिफ़ लैला' के जिन्नों या 'रामायण' के राक्षसों की भी याद आ जाती है I लेकिन जब लफ़्ज़ों का पिंजड़ा टूटा है तो सिर्फ बेबस, परकटे चिड़ियों के सिवा उन लम्हों में मैने कुछ नहीं पाया है I या यूँ कह लीजिये कि ठहाकों और दर्द के चिहुंक का फ़ासला कुछ इतना रहा है जितना कि एक तीर को कमान से निकलने और निशाने पे पैबस्त होने में लगता हो I यहाँ मैं वैसे तीन प्रसंगों को रखना चाहूँगा I हो सकता है कुछ एक बातें सवेंदनशील हों या फुहश या अश्लील भी हों, मगर सच मानिए हकीक़त ही ऐसी है I धैर्य, विवेक और 'ह्यूमर' से काम लीजियेगा I

 (1.)

मई का महिना था I सूरज आसमान से पिघल कर गिर रहा था I गरम हवा जिस्म को निम्बू की तरह निचोड़ रही थी I मैं जमशेदपुर स्टेशन पर खड़ा खड़गपुर लोकल का इंतज़ार कर रहा था I इंतज़ार की बेचैनी और गर्मी हर मिनट बढते ही जा रहे थे I तभी एक भिकारिन-अपने बच्चे को बगल में चिपकाये-मेरे आगे आकर खड़ी हो गयी I मैने कुछ छुट्टा निकाल के उसे दे दिया I फिर वो बगल में बैठे एक अंकल के पास गयी I अंकल अचानक से बोले-"नौटंकी करेगी!" "कुछो हुआ नहीं कि भीख मांगे ला चली आयी I" अंकल चालू रहे-"गरीबी बुझती है ?" "गरीबी में ममता सूख जाती है, और ई जो पेटुक्की को सुटकैईले है, ओक्कर गालो चिपक जाता है I" "और इतना आराम से उहो नहीं रहता है, चिल्लाते रहता है, गरीबी में ओक्कर भूख भी बढ़ जाता है I" "और सूखले ममता को चूसते रहता है I" " गालो देखा लईका के कितना फुलल है, तुहो देखो तोहरा भी कितना फुलल है, पिलाती काहे नहीं है रे इसको I" इतना बोलना था कि मैं ठहाकों से फूट पड़ा I आज भी ठहाकों की गूंज सुनायी देती है और, तकलीफ़ से मन भर जाता है I क्या ग़रीब का ग़रीब होना काफ़ी नहीं जो उसे ग़रीब दिखना भी चाहिए I क्या उसका हाथ फैलाना काफ़ी नहीं जो उसके हाथ कमज़ोर और बेबस दिखने भी चाहिए I हम अमीरी का दिखावा कर सकते हैं,ख़ुशी का ढोंग कर सकते हैं, पर ग़रीबी, लाचारी और बेबसी का नहीं I हम नकली हंसी तो पहन सकते हैं पर आंसुओं को नहीं I भला आंसुओं से 'प्योर' भी कुछ हुआ है ?    

(2.)              

शाम का वक़्त हो रहा था I अम्मी भी दिन से ही सब्ज़ी ख़रीद के लाने के लिए पीछे पड़ी हुईं थीं I मैं सब्ज़ी लाने बाज़ार निकल गया I वहां एक शराब की दुकान थी I सब्ज़ी वाली शराब की दुकान के आगे ही सब्ज़ी बेचती थी I एक नौजवान एक सिपाही के साथ शराब की दुकान पे आया I सिपाही-"कौन सा है जी ?" युवक ने एक बोतल की और इशारा करते हुए कहा-"यह वाला I" सिपाही ने 'ऑथोरिटी' से बोला-"हाँ रे निकालो इ वाला!" "कितने का है?" दुकानदार ने जिहुज़ुरी अंदाज़ में सत्तर रुपये बताये I सिपाही थोड़ा और ऊंची आवाज़ में बोला-" हाँ पचास रुपये दे दो I" दुकानदार पचास में देने से इंकार करने लगा I सिपाही भी पूरे ज़ोम में आ गया और शराब की बोतल पटक दी, और उसकी माँ-बहन को याद करते हुए बोला-"नहीं पियेंगे, ऐसा है तो नहीं पियेंगे I" ऐसा बोलते हुए वो चला गया I शराब की छींटें सब्ज़ी पे पड़ीं और बोतल का टुकड़ा उस बेचारी ग़रीब के सर पर लगा I शराब पड़ जाने की वजह से मैं सब्ज़ी लौटाने लगा I हमदर्दी जताते हुए मैने पुछा -"ज़्यादा ज़ोर से तो नहीं लगी न ?" सब्ज़ी वाली ने मुझपे गरम होते हुए बोला - "बेसी बक्तूति न करियाह, लेबे ला है तो लो, न तो जो!" शराब की दुकान वाला झाड़ू लगा कर कांच साफ़ कर रहा था I वो ठहाके मारने लगा और ठिठियाते हुए कहता है-"इहो आज चढ़ायेले है I" मुझे भी हंसी आ गयी I मैं हंसते हुए आगे बढ़ गया I हंसी जब हवा हुयी तो एहसास हुआ कि इस बाज़ार में हर कोई 'आउट' है I सिपाही ताक़त के नशे में चूर है, दुकानदार मुनाफ़े के नशे में और मैं मज़हब के नशे में, तब ही तो मुझे दो किलो सब्ज़ी में दो बूँदें शराब की ज़्यादा भारी लगीं I बेचारी का सर फटा, सब्ज़ी तौलाने के बाद नहीं बिकी, फिर भी मैने उस टिपण्णी पे हँसना बेहतर समझा, पता नहीं वो कैसा नशा था ?

(3.)

यह वाकया बचपन का है I मैं, मेरा भाई और मेरी बहन मेला घूमने गए थे I एक दुकान पे गेंद से निशाना साधने वाला खेल चल रहा था I सही निशाना लगने पे खिलौने इनाम में थे I एक आदमी काफ़ी देर से कोशिश कर रहा था I थोडा बेचैन और परेशान भी लग रहा था I हर नाकामयाब 'थ्रो' पे थोडा उत्तेजित भी हो जाता I मैं वहां खड़ा होकर सब देखने लगा I मुझे यह सब कोई नौटंकी लग रही थी I जब भी वो 'मिस' करता, शर्मिंदा होकर मेरी तरफ देखता और परेशान हो जाता I आखिरकार उसने 'हिट' कर ही दिया I इनाम में उसने हाथी माँगा I मगर दुकानदार ने यह कह कर नकार दिया कि तुमने 'लाइन' के आगे से 'थ्रो' फेंकी है I वो आदमी अड़ गया I काफ़ी देर बहस हुयी I मुझे अभी भी यह नाटक लग रहा था I और, मैं हंस रहा था I उसने दुकानदार के हाथ से हाथी छीन लिया और उसका हाथ ज़ोर से ममोर दिया I शायद उसने उसका हाथ तोड़ दिया था I धक्का देकर और, हाथी को दबोच कर वो भाग गया I दुकानदार ज़मीन पे गिरा दर्द से कराह रहा था और रो रहा था I मेले का कुछ ऐसा 'एक्सपिरिएंस' था मेरा कि मैं मेले में हर कुछ नौटंकी मानता था I आज भी लोग मुझे बोलते हैं की मैने खूब ताली बजाई थी दुकानदार के ज़मीन पे गिरने पे I सड़क चलते जब ठहाकों को सुनता हूँ तो एहसास होता है की आज भी मेलों को लेके मेरी धारणा बदली नहीं है, लगता है किसी की नहीं बदली है ?

 

    

आपबीती

 कल भारत-पाकिस्तान का क्रिकेट मैच हुआ था। हालांकि नतीजा नागवार रहा पर सामान्य जन-जीवन पर इसका कोई असर नहीं पड़ा। मेरे मामा-चाचा कहते हैं कि एक दौर था जब भारत-पाकिस्तान के मैच में दो गुटों, मोहल्लों, दोस्तों और अक्सर तो एक ही घर के सदस्यों में तना तनी हो जाती थी-एक वाकया तो बाप का बेटे को घर से निकालने का भी है। वतनपरस्ती और गद्दारी के हवाले भी दिए जाते थे।

उस ज़माने में ज़्यादा एलेक्ट्रोनिक्स गैजेट्स तो थे नहीं, इसलिए जो भी एकाध टीवी सेट्स होते थे वो चौक-चौराहे की शोभा बढाते थे। इस बहाने लोगों का मिलना भी हो जाता था। पटाखों वालों की तो मौज होती थी। हो भी क्यूं ना, कम्मेंट्री जो इनकी भाषा में होती थी।चौके के लिए अलग आवाज़ का पटाखा, छक्के का थोड़ा तेज़ और विकेट गिरने पे रॉकेट का गिनगिनाना। गली चौराहे पे जब आदमियों की इतनी भीड़ हो तो भला कुत्ते कहाँ चुप बैठने वाले, वो भी भौंकते रहते थे। और, कभी कभी तो कुत्तों में लड़ाई भी हो जाती थी। पर ऐसा तो कुछ भी नहीं दिखा मुझे। शायद लोगों के पास अब इतना वक़्त नहीं है कि दूसरों की पसंद-नापसंद जानें, या फिर गैजेट्स वगैरह इतनी प्रचुर संख्या में लोगों के पास उपलब्ध है कि सबको एक साथ सड़क चौराहे पे इकठ्ठा कर दें तो आदमी कम और सामान ज़्यादा हो जायेंगे, झूठमूठ की परेशानी हो जाएगी। और तो और, सब इतने महंगे दामों में खरीदे गयें हैं कि उनका इस्तेमाल करना भी ज़रूरी है-पैसा है वक़्त नहीं-इसलिए जो भी वक़्त मिलता है आदमी पैसे से खरीदी हुई चीज़ों पे बिताना पसंद करता है। या फिर यह भी हो सकता है कि लोग अब पहले के अपेक्छा ज़्यादा लिबरल और टॉलरेंट हो गयें हैं? और, इन सब मामलों में ज़्यादा प्रतिक्रिया नहीं व्यक्त करना चाहते हैं। लोग ज़्यादा देशभक्त हो गयें हों, यह भी एक संभव कारण हो सकता है या फिर लोग अब क्रिकेट को देशभक्ति से ज़्यादा जोड़ते हों? हो यह भी सकता है कि कुछ लोग डर रहें हों, दूसरों की भावना का ख़्याल कर रहें हों, अपने दिल की बात जुबां पे नहीं ला पा रहें हों?
सवाल ही सवाल थे। मैं इसी मानसिक उधेड़बून में उलझा हुआ अपनी क्लास में दाखिल हुआ। वहां मैच की ही चर्चा हो रही थी। समीर मुझे आता देख बोला "और, कल तो तुम बहूत खुश हो गए होगे। " अपने आप ही मेरी सवालों की गठरी से एक सवाल निकल गया "क्यूं?" "जीत गयी तुम लोगो की टीम "-समीर ने जवाब दिया। अमर और विजय ने समीर की इस टिपण्णी पे खिंचाई कर दी। मैं कुछ नहीं बोला और पानी पीने बाहर निकल गया। रास्ते में मेरा दूसरा सहपाठी समिर मिला। मुझे कोने में लेते हुए बोला-"भाई कल मैच देखा?" मैने हामी भरी। "मज़ा आ गया भाई, मल्लिक भाई ने मचा दिया । "
मैं फिर चुप रहा, क्या बोलता मैं?

Two Friends

                                                      1

Samir and Sameer were childhood friends. Conditions of both lied somewhere around the mean of affluence and destitution. Their precarious position in the social strata provided them with the luxury of indulging in frivolous palavers. Both valued their flippant discourse as a mark of intellectual prowess. From rational viewpoints to personal invectives, topics ranged from mundane matters like cricket, girl, movie etc. to deep philosophical domains like life, reality, theology, politics etc. Both tried to get the better of the other.

Once during their usual confabulation, they digressed into the domain of religion and nation and their relationship. Extremely acerbic remarks were exchanged. Both accused each other's community of same charges. You receive pampering and patronage and we get the raw deal. Things rarely went this far. Finally both sides agreed to a solution. It was decided that both would spend a month in each other's locality. And, then it would be decided that who are appeased and who are second grade citizens.

                                                     2

Samir informed his family members about his one month absence. He cited college internship as a reason. With minimal of belongings, he left for Sameer's locality. Sameer's locality was better planned. Less clustered houses and even lesser clustered roads. A couple of good public schools operated in the locality. Samir still remembered his initial days in his own locality. How he had to rummage through his locality for a good school. It was really agonizing. No school was beyond class X in his area. And, it was Sameer's father who helped him get admission in a school located in the adjoining locality. Memory of which filled Samir with a sense of gratitude. Vagrant thoughts slowed him down, yet he kept sauntering down the street. The scrambling eyes located a signboard with words 'TO-LET' written over it. Samir knocked at the door. A rotund man in his mid-40s opened the door. Samir-"I saw your signboard.". The houseowner interjected and in a welcoming manner asked Samir to take a look of the room. The room was located in the back and was in a decrepit condition, bearing a telltale signature of its long time abandonement. Meanwhile Samir faced a barrage of questions related to purpose of stay and native place etc. However, revelation of full name led to the moment of brief lull. The houseowner then tactfully refused and asked Samir to look for some other room. Samir reasoned hard, but the houseowner did not budge.

Samir was again on the road, mulling about the little lie he should have told. In a fix, he weighed intention versus action and finally decided to play with little guile. And, thanks to appellative tweaking, Samir got the room.

                                                    3

Sameer convinced his family about his one month break mentioning college excursion. He packed his belongings and moved out. After much haggling he managed to get the auto and reached the locality. Samir's locality was a ghetto. Jostling crowd, clustered houses, narrow streets and profusion of eating joints and restaurants. Rich oily smell was wafting through the air. The locality was clumsily designed with complete disregard for human habitation. With a handful of schools and that too sub-standard, Sameer was dismayed by the wretchedness of the place. He grew weary of the dwellers. People engrossed with palatal pursuit with scant appreciation for education and other uplifting institutions, pondered Sameer. Lost in mental derision, Sameer was ambling down the street with eyes scouring the possible signs of tenancy. Luckily, he found one. He knocked at the door. A corpulent man with dull disposition greeted Sameer. With face all puffed up, it was hard to discern the emotional content-if any-of his expressions. Sameer enquired about the available room. The houseowner without uttering a word gestured Sameer to follow him. The house from inside was well furnished, neat and uncluttered. It was a big respite from the menacingly chaotic outside. This wide difference in orderliness between inside and outside confounded Sameer. Meanwhile, Sameer was asked some questions to which Sameer responded with adequate satisfaction of the owner. In the end the owner asked Sameer to submit ID proof. The owner said ruefully about the perilous time we live in. "Every new tenant in this locality has to do this.  "Signs of end times - you have to carry certificate for being human." He sighed lugubriously.

Sameer was  bit flustered, since in all these conversations, he had not revealed his surname. Sameer nodded in appreciation and promised to submit it later. The owner handed Sameer the key and a brief sermon on do's and dont's.

                                                     4

Within a matter of one week, both found there quest to be flagging. Few days of solitude had debilitated these loquacious creatures. They spent most of the time sleeping. While awaken they both longed for their gregarious lives. Even in their soliloquy, they conversed with their own past rather than with the society they had come to comprehend. They found all these exercise boring. Truth, they realized, is best concealed and undeclared. Truth, in itself, is so banal and trite that it has to build a facade of myths and tales. Valorizing and demonizing is a part of this construct. Culture, society are all contraptions devised to bring liveliness in otherwise, vapid human existence. The truth exists in myriad yet simple forms. All we need to do is to choose one and believe in one. However, conclusions were more due to bereftment. So identical was their disposition that both had similar epiphanies in around same time. They called each other and decided to call this whole thing off. 

                                                    5

Both prepared themselves to leave. It was their last evening in their temporary neighbourhoods. At around same time a bomb exploded somewhere in the city. Fear, gloom and panic spread inexorably. Everywhere people were glued to the newschannels, wilfully magnifying their fear and unknowingly becoming accomplice to these dastardly acts. With publicity even failed acts can terrorize.

Sameer's ghetto bore a deserted look. All eating joints closed down. Street wore a deserted look. Fear was reigning supreme. Sameer observed a different fear, a fear to which he was oblivious so far. Fear of being wrongly accused and mistreated. These acts victimized these population both directly and indirectly, Sameer mused. The police was patrolling the locality. An uneasy lull prevailed in Sameer. Their fragile and malleable reputation made Sameer feel sorry for them.

Meanwhile, Samir's locality was draped in dejection. There were some fringe elements who tried to exploit the conditions by their vitroilic rants but the people remain indifferent to such overtures. They maintained a remarkable degree of calm and resilience exigent of such situations. The police was vigilant on the street.

Next day police were verifying the antecedents of tenants in both the localities.

Sameer so far had not submitted his ID proof. His houseowner was visibly upset. Policemen interrogated a great deal of him for such laxity. Sameer was finally taken to the police station.

At around same time, Samir too was in trouble over his fake name. Samir was also taken to the same police station. 

Both when saw each other, could not resist a smile The policemen observed the connection and enquired " Do you both know each other?" Both nodded affirmatively. The cops somehow thought of cracking the case. Both were kept inside the jail and preliminary investigation on their identity was initiated.

Inside the jail, in the company of one another, they found their lost freedom. Breaking the week long layer of taciturnity, both began to relish their usual jabbering.

I was also in the same cell. I was locked up here for the charges of obscenity in my writings. Indifferent to my presence, they both continued their callow chit-chat. I too had grown weary of facing obscenity charges and spending a night or two in the police station. The tag of 'threat to morality' was becoming unbearable. So, I decided to write about the puerile blabbering of these two individuals. I asked for pen and paper. The cops jeered at me and tauntingly remarked "Ab kya likhogey Mastram". Ignoring their gibe I began to write: Samir and Sameer were childhood friends. Conditions of both....... 

Tales of Words

Etymology meaning 'true sense' in Greek is the study of origin of words. And, indeed in truest sense, knowledge of it enlivens their whole existence. It makes them more than their meaning. We speak through words, but it is through etymology  that these adorable creatures speak. Listen to their myriad voices, you will find a musical cacophany of every human emotions ever conceived.
Here I am culling some of those tales from 'desi' vernaculars. Hope you enjoy them!

Bohni : It is a social and commercial custom especially of North India and Pakistan that refers to the first sale of the day. 'Bohni' happens on cash-only basis and ideally without discount. The practice originated in early 18th century in weekend markets of Lahore. The tradition was such that the first sale on every market day was made to a dwarf, ostensibly for auspicious reasons. A dwarf  in Hindustani is known as bauna, hence the practice 'Bohni/Boni'.

Satyagraha : Meaning insistence on truth in Sanskrit. The practice of satyagraha can be conveniently attributed to Gandhi Ji, but the theory, however amorphous, was eclectically extracted from the works of Henry David Thoreau, Leo Tolstoy and to an extent Rabindranath Tagore. Moreover, it is further fascinating to note that it was not Gandhi Ji who coined the term. In 1906, South Africa, during the incipient stage of his political career, Gandhi Ji advertised an open competition in his newspaper Indian Opinion. After sieving through numerous entries, one proposed by Maganlal Gandhi was finally selected. Magan proposed Sadagraha meaning insistence on purity (Sada in Urdu meaning pure and Aagrah in Sanskrit meaning polite insistence). After minor tweaking Satyagraha was finally chosen.

Daam : Colloquially speaking daam means price or value in Hindustani but very few would be alive to the fact that it was a copper coin introduced by Sher Shah Suri between 1540 and 1545 alongwith much celebrated silver coin called rupiya to which present day name of Rupee owes its origin (which in turn is derived from raupya meaning silver in Sanskrit). Still fewer would know that the English phrase "I don't give a dam[n]" is supposedly of desi origin. Although its veracity is disputed by many etymologists but it does feature as one of the possible explanations.

Vahshi : In Urdu it means barbarian and is used to describe the man of macabre disposition. It derives its meaning from an eponymous Ethiopian slave hired by Hinda to avenge the death of her father, Utbah, at the hands of Abu Hamza, the uncle of Prophet Muhammad, in the battle of Badr. Hinda vowed to eat the liver of Abu Hamza. In the battle of Uhud she quenched her thirst of vengeance when Vahshi surreptitiously impaled Hamza's back with his javelin.  

Nautanki : It refers to folk play and tamasha in Hindustani. Colloquially it is also used for people who act with pretense. It derives its name from an eponymous princess in Punjab called Nautanki Shahzadi as she used to be weighed in nine silver coins. Her delicate beauty was talked far and wide. A young man Phool Singh was once gibed by his in laws while he was knocking persistently at their door "You haven't wed the princess that you are in such a hurry" piqued at this remark, Phool Singh, with the help of her gardener, married the princess and brought her home. This tale formed the content of a popular folk theatre of northern India and was aptly named Nautanki. Such was the success of this play that Nautanki  became a generic name for all such folk plays.

Chak De Phatte : Literally it means to keep house in order in Punjabi but it originated as a war cry for the Khalsa. Using Guerilla tactics the Khalsas used to attack the Mughals, usually camped near the canals. The Khalsas used to have a separate team stationed at the nearby bridges, which were made up of Phatte, colloquial for woods. When the retreating unit used to return, Chak de Phatte used to be the signal to dismantle the bridge. This way they prevented being chased.

Shampoo : A simple hair care product with a fascinating etymological evolution. It is derived from Hindustani Champo which literally means to knead the muscles as in massage. The practice of shampoo itself started in Eastern Mughal Empire, particularly with Nawab of Bengal, as a head message. This practice was first introduced in London by a Bengali entrepreneur named Shaikh Din Mohammad in early 19th century. He, alongwith his Irish wife opened Mahomed's Steam and Vapour Sea Water Medicated Baths in Brighton. His method of baths followed by champi (shampoo) earned him the sobriquet of Shampoo Doctor.

Hobson-Jobson : Talking of etymology of 'English' words with desi underpinning one cannot keep onself away from Hobson-Jobson, a colloquial history of Anglo-Indian contact. Compiled by Henry Yule and Arthur Burnell, its appellation is itself a matter of great etymological interest. In Anglo-Indian English, Hobson-Jobson referred to the festivals, particularly to Moharram. The term is derived from the wailing practice of Shia Muslims during Moharram. As a matter of fact, it is the corruption of Ya Hasan, Ya Hossain which is repeatedly chanted by Shia Muslims during their mourning. 

Munshi : It is of Persian origin and rather than occupation, it was an academic degree bestowed on those who have achieved proficiency in languages.The Mughals relied on the services of these individuals and instituted a clerical post by the name of Munshi. In India due to hereditary nature of occupation, it became a surname for those people whose ancestors had received this title.

" In Memory of an unnameable woman "

Her memory laid deep in my heart buried

Digging it up made my thoughts bleed

Impregnated by togetherness and gestated by mourn

Memory like a baby was thus born

An ageless creature that fed on time

It led me on a bygone journey sublime

Within its temporal stride

  I found all the moments my life comprised

Baby took me to a strange place

There were copious footprints with no human trace

It was a desert of time with moments strewn around

and a teary ocean that made the surround

I sat beside the ocean calm and deep

Reflecting on the promises to keep

Baby was playing with the ocean and sand

A puzzling sight I could not understand

And there came a tempestuous blow

The wind called remorse started to flow

Few grains of sand got inside my eyes

Moments of heartache and despise

I looked at the ocean calm and deep

I immersed my head to soothe my eyes

An ocean met with an ocean with a profound disguise

The ageless baby again took me on the wings of imagination

Reminding me
"Memory is history with corroboration and sans it a delusion

I am the reality you create

I am the void you fabricate

I took place in a distant past

I am there as long as you last

I am not real or fake

But you have a choice to make"

Overwhelmed by the didaction

I dug up the debris of time

Killed and buried that poetical rhyme

Thus, I exorcised the apparition

And felt a sense of submission