My Shadow, Free.

My Shadow, free

For it moves beyond the confinement of my body

for it breathes the fresh air when I stand behind The caged window,

For it roams the streets when I can muster courage to step out in the balcony, 

My shadow wanders, Free.

That Light source that lights up lives, Gives birth to my free existence.

In my shadow world, I can be everything I’v ever dreamt to be.

My shadow world lets me... explore the naked body, for my clothes don’t matter there.

Beauty products are not relevant, for My Face is all black there.

There I feel young, Un-wrinkled by the words of the wise old Real world 

The Dupatta covering my head here, slips down and spreads wide to become my wings there

My hands always tied up on the bed or in action to feed the dependents, become birds taking a flight or a fish exploring the beyonds of the ocean

My shadow world lets me be, The Me-reality never allowed me to be.

A Complete Day of 'You'!

Mesmerized by a complete day of 'You'
I feel strange when you get up to leave

Pangs of Desire in my stomach
Hunger for your voice in my mind
for the comfort-full nap on your right arm and the pecks

here and there.

Missing you is a becoming a habit, O! so profound!
your fragrance houses my body, cologne too
and dreams of you spill over my everyday reality

I am loving you in a manner
unknown to my past, incomprehensible to the present mind.
perhaps, unknown to the oxford too!

May be, I am not close to being an archetypical lover
may be, I am beyond the cliche's
I am just getting lost in our makeshift world, the one so refined!

The Friend by Choice, A Lover By Chance.

The friend by Choice, A lover by chance
Sings the romantic inside

With disconnect on thoughts
yet the same string of emotion

Synergy of learning
Despite  the varied perceptions

Comes together, our paths, for the divergent desires
or we split the paths when our thoughts conspire

Confutes my artificiality
Yet takes in all:
The perfectionist, the messy affair, the non real
that makes up 'me'

My friend by choice, and the lover by chance!

An Icon, is it?

When you’re an icon, you’re not just a person—you’re a myth.

In fact, the myth Is what transcends into reality when it’s a face you recognise the myth with. An icon is a representation of the ‘wow’ factor a celebrity carries along with him/her. The persona and the attributes we assign to the icon are largely created by the media, be it any. Human in its form, but an icon dazzles, an icon fascinates, an icon is worshipped. An icon, at times replaces God. Their life in reality is of absolute negligence in front of their reel life which is relevant, exciting and in all its content ,all  set to be evocative.

But what is it , as Herwitz puts it, “What is it about film and television culture, the star system, and consumer society that have made the shift from the human form to icons”? The answer lies in our aspirational values, our human abilities of acceptance  and dependence on the media to create ‘opinion ‘ and thus, perspective. We let the icon rise above the culture, above the masses. If we give it a thought, the icon seems powerless to an individual, but  in fact  we, as individuals and a social set up are powerless to the awe, excitement it generates or carries. We submit, subconsciously or consciously to the larger than life image that has been created for the icon..

Plus the brand value an icon generates is immense, for they themselves rise from being a  brand to a cult. It helps a brand stand out, stand tall, adds to the brand recall and serves an an assurance. They are the communication and the communicators for the brand

Despite the fact, that the life of an icon may be short lived and  at the end, its the paparazzi that makes an icon , the icon he is. His reality does affect it.  But the power bestowed on them to shake the emotional appeal of masses is immense, and perhaps, the reason for them letting go of the real to be the reel.

वो अनकही सी बात...

"वो चुप चाप खड़े एक कोने में

घंटों बस निहारती थी

उस शेल्फ पर पड़ी किताबों के धीर को

निहारना तक तो ठीक था,

पर जब जाती थी उसके करीब तुम

तो सोचता था , की काश,

काश की मेरी धधकन उन किताबों में समां जाती

जान पाति तुम की तुम्हरे देखने भर से

कैसे मेरा heart rate कर लेता था normal  को पार

सोचता था , तुम्हे घंटों निहारते हुए उस library में मैं

की ऐसी कोंसी थी बातें , जो करती थी तुम उन किताब के पन्नों से

देखा तो होगा ही तुमने मुझे वहां बैठे हुए, मुझसे आके कुछ कहती, में सुनता बिन पलक झपकाए

कभी कभी ये नाचीज़ सोच बैठता की सिर्फ मेरी तरीकें हैं मेरी attention पाने के,

शायद  पगला सा जाता है ये मनन , जब खुद के लिए धधकना बंद कर दे...

जाने कितने ही पन्ने यूँ ही पलते हिं मैंने,

कितनी ही पंक्तियाँ हैं लिख डाली

तुम्हे ताकते ताकते, इसी कुर्सी पर बैठे

शायद ग़ालिब भी एक बार इस आशिक की शायरी ज़रूर देखना चाहेंगे..

हाँ शायरी से याद आया,

वो जो ग़ालिब की किताब में वो शायरी का पन्ना मिला था तुम्हे

जाना चाहती थी उस शायर को जो जाने कैसे करता था किसी की हया से मोहब्बत,

डूब गया था किसी की आँखों की गहराई में इस कदर की मुरजिम वापस निकलने को न था तयार..

दाल दिया था उस किताब में सोचकर की शयद जान लो की वो मुरजिम मैं ही था ...और वो आँखें थी तुम्हारी, वो हया थी तुम्हारी...

काश खुद देने की हिम्मत होती

जब कुछ दिन आई नहीं थी तुम लिब्ररी मैं, तो मचला सा जा रहा था ये मनन, ज़िन्दगी में पहली बार तुम्हारे घर फोने लगाया था मैंने उस दिन.

याद है वो, " can you please return the book you've issued, I need it for my research"

बस बहाना था तुम्हे बुलाने का...

इतना कुछ था कहने को तुमसे ,जानता नहीं था की कैसे करूँ हाल-इ-दिल बयां मैं..

बस, येही कलम थी, और येही पन्ने, इस आशिक का बयां..

बहरहाल सुना है, की कुछ दिनों में लाल जोड़ा पहनने वाली हो तुम, क्या ये...

वाही जोड़ा है जिसमें हजारों बार देखा है मैंने तुम्हे?

हां.. सपने भी ना..."

आज ये Diary मिली है उसकी,

बहार उसे देखने गयी,

तो जनाब नाच रहे थे, बारातियों के साथ...

घर के रहते थे तुम इतने पास

फिर भी फोएँ घुमाया था जिस दिन

सोचा था मिएँ शायद कुछ ख़ास बोलना चाहते थे तुम

हां.. ख़ास..

किताबें सिर्फ पढ़ती थी, ताकने का शौंक नहीं है मुझे,

पर याद हो , तू तुम बैठा करते थे किताबों के पीछे वाली row मैं,

कहते हो की मुझे देखते थे, तो कभी मेरी उस तिर्चि नज़र को क्यों नहीं देख पाए जो तुम्हे मुझे देखता देख , मंद मंद मुस्काती थी...

जान तो गयी थी, की ग़ालिब साहब की आड़ में तुम्ही शायरी को अपना अंदाज़े सन्देश बनोगे..

पर इंतज़ार था वो सब तुम्हारी जुबान पे आने का...

इतनी हिम्मत नहीं थी की खुद का हाले दिल बयां का पाति तुमसे,

हाँ, लाल जोड़े में ही कड़ी हूँ मैं..

जानती नहीं , की तुम्हारे खवाबों वाला ही है के नहीं...

पर हाँ. जिसके लिए पहना है,

ये ज़रूर मालूम है , की वो...

वो नहीं है जिसे खवाबों में मैं  देखती आई थी...

हां... सपने भी ना...

I too have a dream!

Deep Inside, In  chambers within the chambers of my heart  that are visible.

Stemming out of all the dreams I'v had about them, thus far

out of my unexpressed passion to achieve them

out of my unexplored capacities

out of my unrealised potential

Dreams

Thankfully, I never pushed them deep down, and cover them up with the mud of my restrictions and failures and fears

They have always been that deep rooted.

I wonder how , how they survived the failing times,

how they survived when I cleaned my slate of dreams and desires.

how they survived the myriad attempts to Kill all that was inside the heart.

how they survived the ruthless being I had become

how they survived the coldness of my heart

perhaps, i need not  contemplate the 'why' and the 'how'

'They did survive' is what matters.

its like that old picture you find, which you'd been looking for. That old crush's phone number, you stole from the school register. That old memory that strikes randomly leaving a smile.

lemme now take charge.

After all, My dreams too have their dreams of seeing the morning Sun. !

Mumbai Local and that thing with him!

" I think we need to move on" Said she He disconnected saying the voice was cracking and he could hear naythin.

this left her confused and awkward in its own right. She after so much of inside struggle had finally confronted him that they needed to separate their ways, they needed to look ahead of their relationship in life which was drawing both of them back, She finally had told him and herself that she wanted to move on, it just wasnt working for her.

but now it was a strange situation she was left with. was it that the guy ignored or more so, intentionally didnt acknowledge what she said or was there,in reality, a network problem. Standing at the railway station, lost in this dilemma, she had already missed her train to Andheri. She was on her way to meet an old friend. He had just returned from a long vacation in Mexico. Mexico the land of enhancement, a land that still held culture, a land of folk and art, a land of People, a land of Latino Musica! Ah Mexico.

She had been a traveler at heart. Right from the time discovery showed this show on travel, and she used to ge up at 8 in the morning to watch that on holidays, to just before her PG time, She had just been traveling and now she had this 'oh so common in a B school photography keeda' as well! Well honestly, she had already been into it, just that she could now flaunt it with her so called DSLR! Anyways, We'd return to her interests and her , in a little while!

So, she had already missed her train to andheri and the next train coming her way was a Bandra on, that gave her more time to ponder over 'what may sound like a normal conversation to anyone outside of radar of what was going on' and she might seem so silly for investing so much of her time in just thinking about it.

so she decided to just sit down. luckily or unluckily, she found a place to sit.

a old women, came and stood beside her. The station was not that empty or that full. She offered her  a seat, but the women didnt wish to sit. I would call her aunty for the ease of it and infact that's how the protagonist here, addressed her. So, aunty was  a lean old women dressed in a gown so to say. Being from Mumbai She could guess that aunty was a Parsi. yeah, We do assume, we do see people though 'Stereotypes'!

So they started chatting, infact it was more of a monologue! Aunty wanted to speak and decided to do so!

our girl was lost in her own translation of things, but aunty went on!

... to be continued!