नासूर

In a relationship, theres always that one person who loves the other more. That one person is always willing to go any extent to keep the other happy....stupid fella.....but then its always an experience....the fact is the more hurt you are when things come to and end....the more stronger you become when you come over it.....

This is an ode to all those give all their heart and soul to their relationships...rest kindly buzz off ;)


नासूर
----

एक ख्वाहिश है अब की ज़िंदगी यूँ ही रहे,
इक दूरी सी रहे, दरमियाँ बना रहे,
एक सन्नाटा सा है हर मोड़ पे अब,
बस यूँही बसर, ज़िंदगी तन्हा सी रहे

ऐसा नही के तुम थे ही नही,
जब थे, तो बस तुम थे और कुछ था ही नही,
ना थे, तो ये अश्क रुकते थे नही,
अब बहना चाहें तो भी ये बहते नही.


एक वजूद है मेरा, जो भूला था तब,
तब तुमसे था सब, अब मुजसे हैं सब,
तुम नही हो अब और यहाँ,
अब मैं हूँ इस पूरे राह समा,

आगे बढ़ गये तुम जल्द ही सब भूलके,
हम भी भूले पर ज़रा ज़रा करके,
धीरे से भूले, हम अब नासूर हैं,
पर आप दिल के हाथों अब भी मजबूर हैं.

V.V.Vikram

Karma Sutra

To all who discriminate based on caste, creed or any other form of discrimination, you ignite the fire of rage and violence. Its a vicious circle because the fire never extinguishes

In the dark alleys of abuse and violence,

I have grown, watching it all, in shock and silence,

With loved ones gone now, I feel so lonely,

I have learnt to take it all, now things dont hurt me.

Dont gimme this bullshit bout cause and effect,

The guy with the trigger is the guy who is set,

I never meant to harm, but what did i get,

Karma is a bastard, you read about and forget.

I am a gangsta now, so what should i do,

I never meant to be one, life made me to,

I will kill them all if I really have to,

I find solace in revenge, yeah every moment I do.

V.V.Vikram

रहगुज़र (My 50th Post)

This is a special one. I started blogging in 2008 with the intention that I needed to have a concrete hobby on my CV. This is the 50th today and I am pretty happy that I have taken a liking to blogging. I have tried to bend towards the creative side in my posts and not blog the traditional way (experiences and opinions) and hence the 50th has taken a longer time.

I wondered what it should be...english poetry which was my usual stuff, a short story which i have begun to write off late or probably an experience. Then i realised that my 50th should be about what i write best..my hindi poetry and so this is an ode to all the ghazals i listened to since class 5th which have made me a huge fan of urdu and hindi nazms..a special thanks to my dad who always played quality music at home when i was young...my poetic sense truly comes from there...

तब मैं क्या था और अब मैं क्या हूँ,

तब जला था और अब धुंआ हूँ,

सब कम ही था और ग़म भी था,

पर इक मस्सर्रत थी जवां,

अब सुकून हैं, थम चुका हूँ,

उस जुस्तुजू को खो चुका हूँ.

जब चला मैं, जहाँ गया मैं,

हर कदम पे था रक़ीब,

अजनबी से इस शहर में,

अब मैं ही अपना रहनुमा हूँ.

रहगुज़र था, रहगुज़र सी थी मेरी बेचेनियाँ,

हर सफ़र में था जुनूं और हर सफ़र इक कहकशां,

एक इन्तेहा है ज़िन्दगी अब इस शहर में हर तलब,

काटों भरे इस शहर में, अब इक गुलिस्तान ढूंढता हूँ.

तनहाइयों में चल पड़ा था , सोचा की कल मिलेगी ज़िन्दगी,

शहरों की इन दलदलों में लेकिन दब रही है ज़िन्दगी,

सबको ही सब कुछ दिया, देने को अब क्या रह गया,

माँगा नहीं था आसमान, बस पूछ लेते हाल-ए-दिल,

अब भी खुद का सोचते हैं, कैसा शहर है सोचता हूँ.

--Vikram

Beyond

Sometimes I tend to stare beyond boundaries,
A sense of utopia prevails then,
For a moment or two to me,
It seems like I live the perfect life.

My thoughts then fly like a kite,
Not knowing to what extent they can go,
Unaware of what may happen next,
They guide themselves towards the unknown.

And then in a second I am back,
I find myself staring at a wall,
I try to look beyond again, but in vain,
The kite has been cut, it has gone down.

It sets in so deep, this loneliness,
It engulfs you like the quicksand,
It pulls you in so that you cannot see,
How shall I now stare beyond those boundaries?

V.V.Vikram

An Imbroglio...When life becomes a soap

First of all, apologies for the language in the story...cos its just that. This was written way way earlier and some of you may have read it prior. Cheers ;)





I know I have gone crazy. I have turned eccentric. But this is the way I want to be. At least for a while. This is how I want my life to be.Small thoughts. Shortsightedness. Impulsive decisions. Oh !! how much I have suffered.Or have I? Let callousness prevail.

I have no name. Well I do. But I do not want to reveal it. Why? My F@#$$ wish. Call me what you want. Arrogant B!@#$d. Son of a B$#@. I care the least today.I have a bunch of air tickets in my hand. I am off on this world tour. The POA is even more interesting. Around the world in 80 days. I am not kidding dood.The plan is just that. I am running away from the shitty lanes of Karol Bagh. I am no longer going to veer my konked up santro through the Delhi traffic. I am going to travel in Business class and stay in the best hotels. I saved all my life. So why the F@#$ should i compromise. I compromised all along.


About the trip. In the next 80 days I will be in China, Malaysia, Tokyo, Sydney, Chile, Brazil, Chicago, New York, London, France, Germany, Italy, Russia and back in India. Only the best places. I am not going to travel to shitty places like Africa and spoil my mood. I want to be ecstatic. The trip has been planned exactly for 80 days. Well I am going to repeat a Jules Verne. Actually I havent read the book. But what the heck, I will still repeat history. And oh yeah baby!! I am going to write a book on my experiences. So watch out Mr. Verne. So F@#$ my wife (well someone else has been doing that these days), F@#$$ my boss(trust me, that can happen..literally) and F@#$ that whore (even they need more than just an intercourse these days).



Long ago and yet not so long ago, I was Just a mediocre. An average guy with a happy married life and a decent job. At least I thought it was like that.

My wife turned out to be a S@#&
----------------------------------

An average looking woman, my wife, a homemaker, was a blessing in disguise. Unlike the trendy women of Delhi who cribbed about everything possible in the world and cried about equality at the end of every damn conversation, my wife was more practical and very caring. She cooked, watched soaps and did her night duties pretty well. But can people be so perfect?

Right out of the penthouse books, became the story of my married life. I returned home early one day to find my wife being bedded by my smart neighbour who was just out of college. When I caught her red-handed, I was heart broken. She wept and yet had the audacity to tell me that I was an average office going piece of shit whom she had never hoped to marry. She left for her mother's place soon. And I sent the divorce papers within a week.


My Boss just "loved" his subordinates
-------------------------------------

My boss was a very jovial man. He started the largest book store in Delhi. Soon it became a chain and he became a millionaire. I was the only guy who reported directly to him. So much was his dedication towards work that I cared the least about the grapevine that spoke crap about him.

When he heard about my divorce, he hugged me and consoled me. I found it a bit wierd but I just needed it at that time. He called me home for a drink that night. My boss was a widower and both his sons were in the USA. That night after a three rounds of drinking, I was sloshed. The pain and the betrayal had forced me to drink. My vision had blurred and the last thing i remember was my boss putting his arms around me. The morning was a revelation. I was sleeping next to him. I was naked. My boss was fast asleep and lay naked too. I was hurt, shattered and was amazed at how quickly things were happening.

In a dazed state i Just left his house. I put in my resignation in a week's time.

Even a Wh!@# wants love these days
------------------------------------

Life in a way had become tragic. I laughed at times at the way things were turning up. Yet most of the times I wept bitterly. I cursed God and wondered what I had done wrong. I was at home jobless. Then one day I decided to take a walk around connought place in the night. Thats where I bumped into a Wh@#$. She looked like one but she definitely had a grace. Like all of them, she slid a small piece of paper into my pocket. I called her that evening, unable to take the loneliness anymore.

We met often. I did what my wife had deprived me off in the last month and she did her job. We conversed a lot after those lovemaking sessions. It had been over a month now and I had not found a job. That is when life took another big turn. I had made her pregnant. I thought it was normal for her till she told me that she had feelings for me and wanted this child. I was flabbergasted. I abused her of using me and left the Wh@#$ house.

I had become extremely cranky and irritated when i decided that was time I be to myself. I spoke to my closed ones and they suggested that I take a break. It was then that I saw the funny adaptation of 'Around the world in 80 days' which starred Jackie cHan. What a fool?? It struck me that this was it. I had become mad and yet I wanted act like I was insane. I sat one whole day on the internet and planned a world tour that would last exactly 80 days.

Here I am today, at the airport of New Delhi. Am off to China.

V.V.Vikram

Life In Words

The post has been written with the thought that Life is like a game of scrabble. All of us are like individual letters who come together to form a word. Then slowly more words are formed around us and a journey begins and ends as the game gets over. A new journey begins again with a new game.


Many years earlier, I was a mere letter,
I was single and yearning to give meaning to life,
You were a letter too, leading your own life somewhere,
Then we came together to form a word.


As words formed around us, the game improved,
But soon the board became congested,
We became stagnant and so did our importance,
We realised we were now entrapped in our squares.


Then we were removed from our squares,
We were now placed in different ones,
There were empty squares now between us,
We now led different lives.


And then one day we bump into each other,
This time the words around form slow,
We spend more time and find new meanings,
We enjoy as we know the game shall end.


Then in one moment, the game ends,
I shall be picked out soon and so shall you,
But we shall meet again, so lets just smile,
We shall form a beautiful word again,
So we shall meet another time.


V.V.Vikram

A Wall At Harisava Street

The Harisava street comes alive on a sunday. For that an outsider would say that a Sunday is just an excuse for the Bengalis. But Harisava street is an exception. One of the darkest streets in Calcutta, the Harisava street is in Kidderpore.

Close to the port, Kidderpore historically was inhabited by the fisherman clan. Hence even today the street is mostly inhabited by the lower-middle and lower classes and not to mention the faint smell of dead fish throughout the day. The Harisava street has tall buildings which are no sky-scrapers but are the old chawls built for the british soldiers to rest. The buildings are so high that they cover the sun almost till noon and for the rest of the day a little after noon. And in
one such building lived Dibyendu Bhattacharya and Proloy.


The Vintage writer
--------------------

Dibyendu Bhattacharya looked out of the window, his hand held on to the rustry grill. He was waiting for the 'Jhalmudi' wala to come. Sundays was when he would come a little early than usual. Dibyendu coughed and cleared his throat. He had kept all the empty packets of milk under his bed and his writing table so that he wouldnt have to walk to the bathroom every time to spit the phlegm. He would spit in the empty packets and dispose them once a week.

The Jhalmudi wala arrived at the window. He mixed his spices to produce magic. That is what Dibyendu called him-'The Magician'. The Jhalmudi always tasted the same, not a pinch of spice less or more, just as Dibyendu wanted.

Dibyendu picked up the Telegraph. It pained him when he read through the paper. So much had changed about the paper in the last two decades.Dibyendu had retired as the editor-in-chief of the telegraph in 1988. Since then the standard of news had degraded and the sanctity of the media had been lost.

Dibyendu had not stopped writing though. He was known for his views on politics and his anthology of political essays was widely read and appreciated. Just as Dibyendu finished with his Jalmudi, the bell rang. It must be Joyeeta, his maid who had been with him and taken care of his since his wife had passed away.

As Dibyendu stood up, the bell rang again and then once more. It could not be Joyeeta then. She would wait for him to open the door. It was Proloy, Dibyendu's neighbour. Lean and Nimble, Proloy was the irritating neighbour of Dibyendu or at least that was what Dibyendu thought of him. The irritation had nothing to do with Proloy's attitude but it was to do with what Proloy and his generation stood for. It was something Dibyendu could not relate to and unfortunately every mannerism of Proloy's reflected that standpoint.The other unfortunate part for Dibyendu was that Proloy was a columnist in the Telegraph as well. He wrote a popular column for the youth, the content of which Dibyendu detested. He must have come to borrow a packet of milk, as always, thought Dibyendu.



The Gay Columnist
------------------

Proloy had been living in Kidderpore since he was born. He could not imagine himself living outside. Hence, after he became a columnist at Telegraph and started earning, he shifted within Kidderpore itself. He adored Harisava street and somehow Proloy felt that the darkness stimulated him to write. It was as though his creative stimulus reacted to the faint luminiscence than anything else.

Though there was one more reason to move. Since his childhood, Proloy was a loner. Both his parents were highly read and had a bent towards literature and there were no marks for guessing Proloy's professional bent. Yet, somehow Proloy was different. He would never go out and play and rather go out with his mom to buy clothes, vegetables and loved it when she bargained. He loved watching his mom putting on make up. He always felt that men were deprived of a lot when it came to fashion. As years passed by, Proloy realised that there was a woman inside him that yearned to get out but could not because of social stigmas
attached. Worst things happened when he hit upon guys and could not control it.

Revealing the same to his parents had caused a huge hue and cry. His mother was supportive but lost hope when she realised that it was not a passing phase. His dad had threatened him and told him that he should get out of the house.And that is what Proloy did. His columns gained popularity and he soon became one of the leading columnists in the Telegraph.

He was proud of it and hoped that his parents thought the same. Then one day, tragedy struck when he heard of his mother's death. His 'maa' was no more. He was shattered. For once he thought his 'baba' would call him back. It never happened.


A Birthday forgotten

--------------------

It was Proloy's birthday and he wanted to see his Baba once and get his blessings. Every year Proloy would go with a cup of Kheer to his Baba's house. His ears would yearn to hear a wish and his shoulders would warm up for a hug. The ego though was too huge and the shame too damning for his father. Today was yet another birthday and there was yet another hope. He rang the ball. He rang it twice and then again. The door opened. The disgruntled Dibyendu looked on.

"Eei samanya kichu apnar jono" (This is something for you), said Proloy. His father did not utter a word.

"I thought it was Joyeeta", said Dibyendu. "Hows is work and all?", he asked.

"Good. My columns are being appreciated by everyone", said Proloy.

"No heart and no soul. Your generation is about quick bytes and short cuts. They will never understand true writing", said

Dibyendu skeptically. "And by the way, how has the taker become the giver. What is this kheer for?".

"Have you forgotten Baba? Its my birthday today", said Proloy in a strangely innocent way.

Dibyendu stopped walking. It was his son's birthday and he had forgotten. His Tuktu's Birthday. Thats what he called him when he was young. Thats what he named him when he was born. His heart felt heavy. He turned around. He put his hand on his head and said, "Happy Birthday Son. Hope you have great year ahead."

Proloy was hoping he would say more but Dibyendu kept the kheer and did not say a word. Proloy understood and took leave. As the door closed behind him, he could feel his eyes turn misty. He wished things were normal. He wished his baba understood. He wished so much that his baba would call him back.

Dibyendu on the other side was experienceing the same. Pain, emotions, guilt. He wanted to forgive his son but somehow could not. He felt ashamed of his son for what he was and that ashamed him about himself.

Life had to move on. Inside the chawls of the Harisava street lived many Dibyendus and Proloys and yet the street looked and sounded ecstatic on a Sunday.

V.V.Vikram