I am waiting

I am waiting, For a time when stepping out in the sun amidst people, Will not be with a mind shrouded in fear, For a time when one will not ache and long at length,  To meet and hug those who are near and dear.
I am waiting, For a time when despite the gentle breeze and warmth of the sun,  Getting up in the morning will not feel so sunken, For a time when travelling the untraveled and travelling it all,  Will be without a hitch and its idea, not so forsaken.
I am waiting, To undertake that rail travel and go back to my place,  Where love is unadulterated and care, unconditional Where all its trails are committed to memory by rote,   And where the night echoes with its characteristic lull
I am waiting, For a time when there is no bargain between safety and leisure, Where the mind has its sanctuary and is not rusted, In the hackneyed and the bickering that arise when you live too close, For a time when our wisdom is not so stunted.
I am waiting, For when there is a balance between d…

तू हासिल नहीं

तू नायाब भी है, तू शामिल भी |  तू हुक़्म भी है,तू साहिल भी |  यूँ तो तेरी सल्तनत की रिवायत सुनी है हमने, आज तेरा ज़िक्र तो है, पर तू हासिल नहीं  |

Glossary: नायाब : difficult to find सल्तनत: Kingdom रिवायत: Narrative


Staring into nothingness, With wind ruffling the hair, And the incessant chatter of thoughts in the head,  The creases along the hand are laid bare.
In two minds, and a soulless pursuit, With a heart that’s there and yet not, In the skin of the game I want to know nothing of, An array of possibilities, sought and dropped.
With the reflection in the mirror I can barely recognise, From what I was to what I’ve become, Treading the trajectory of those countless illusions, With every passing second, to those illusions, I succumb...

A hundred thousand questions

A hundred thousand questions, I ask of you In quest for the soulful, In a hundred thousand way of silence you answer, Of the hackneyed and the hopeful...


और फिर कुछ ऐसी हवा चली, कि परत दर परत उतरती गई, कुछ ऐसे बे-नक़ाब हुए अपने ही आइने में, कि जिसकी रिफ़ाक़त में हुए थे मसरूफ़,उसी से हिज्र में बेपनाह तस्कीन मिली।
तू ही बता कैसे करते जुस्तजू उस सिलसिले की जिसकी यारी में हमें रूहानियत न मिली? अश्क बहाते भी तो किसके तसव्वुर में ?  जब तेरी छुहन दिल की चौखट से ही लौट चली?

कुछ बे-हर्फ़ से हैं हम आज, कुछ शर्मिंदा भी, मोहब्बत का नाम ऐसे ज़ाया किया, उफ़ यह हमारी बे-फ़िक्री। तू तो बस दरिया में दूर तक फैला था एक सराब, जैसे रोज़ ,मौजूद-ओ-मयस्सर, कोई  मुलाकात।

बे-नक़ाब : unveiled  जुस्तजू: quest रिफ़ाक़त: companionship  मसरूफ़ : engrossed हिज्र : separation तस्कीन : comfort/सुकून/satisfaction  रूहानियत : soulful अश्क : tears तसव्वुर : imagination/ thought बे-हर्फ़ : speechless ज़ाया : waste  बे-फ़िक्री : casual attitude सराब : mirage/illusion  मौजूद-ओ-मयस्सर : easily available


Dehradun is nostalgia. Like an old hand-knit sweater of yesteryears unearthed suddenly from an old wooden shelf. Or stumbling upon a handmade birthday card with sweet nothings scribbled all over. Or your last day school shirt copiously inked in kept and unkept promises of your friends. A sliver of time etched in the indelible state of what used to be.
When the early April morning still wore a half-sleeve sweater and the month of June alternated between sunshine and a heavy downpour. When an impromptu ride to Mussoorie was the biggest adventure ever and a halt at the Maggi point was the most romantic destination in the world. When the guests insisted on being served tea and morning breakfast in mother’s dew laden, well-carpeted garden to enjoy the breath-taking view of Mussoorie. And when at night, the sky lit up with a hundred thousand lights of the houses in the hill and you could actually feel the stars at your arm’s reach.
Dehradun is nostalgia. Nostalgia of the smell of Sunrise rusk…


एकरातपलकझपकते मैंनेरातसेपूछा, जबमैंसोतीहूँ,तोतूक्यूँपहरादेतीहै?