जुगनू

जुगनू

आजकल रात जुगनू मेरे छत पे
झुण्ड में मंडरा रही है
अनजाने में ही सही लेकिन मुझे
तेरी याद दिला रही है

इक पल जलती , फिर बुझ जाती
जैसे सुख दुःख का एहसास कराती
कम ही सही,
पर प्रकाश तो फैला रही है

एक जुगनू बैठ हाथ पे
शायद कुछ गा रही है
अफ़सोस! उसकी एक बात भी
मेरे समझ नहीं आ रही है

स्तब्ध हूँ मैं बैठा
देख उसकी कोमलता
है छोटी सी, पर पल भर को ही सही
अंधकार को हरा रही है

उड़ चली हाथों से
झुण्ड में वो समा गयी
मानो स्पर्श से मेरे
हो वो शर्मा गयी है
तेरी याद दिला गयी है …

………..अभय………..

 

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Maiden Century

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Maiden Century

Well, in cricket, first century is always very special for any Batsman. When I was notified by one of the reader and later by the WordPress as well, that I had garnered 100 followers here, this event is more special for me than any of the cricketer would feel after hitting his first century. The reason is very simple. A cricketer can again hit a century, but this phenomenon is not going to happen again, as I hope, followers will tend to get add on from this tally.

My journey on WordPress, is associated with an incident. I generally preferred, in past,  to keep my poems and other write ups  close to  heart (which I still do, but not all) and occasionally revealed to the people, whom I deemed that they will understand it and value it. I kept my writings in a Diary, which contained nearly all my creations. I lost that Diary in  a journey. I was baffled and frustrated by this happening. Some of the poems I still remember, but many of them have gone forever. Due to that loss, I stopped writing for a while as I was not getting the feeling.  Then came a suggestion from a friend to write a blog, which initially I hesitated. But the fact that it will not meet the same fate of my diary due to its digital nature, I agreed upon.

When I joined WP, I find it a different world altogether. Exciting things happening around. New authors in making. Outbursts of emotions. Improvised writing and many more.

Yet, I find a terminology called “Follower” in WP very vague and unjustified. In my opine, followers in real sense are the appreciator, booster, motivator, critique and even guiding lamp for the author, who through their constant feedbacks encourages writer to improve their writings. By their motivating words, author gets a sense satisfaction, which is the oxygen for them.

On this occasion, when I reach this small yet significant landmark, I thank all of you who appreciated me even when my writing was not so good,  read the whole write ups when it was not very exciting, gave your valuable time when it the is most scarce thing in the world.

Thank you once again!!!

मेरे हिंदी के दोस्तों, इस अवसर पर आपको धन्यवाद कहे बिना तो मैं रह ही नहीं सकता. मेरी अधिकांश रचनाएँ हिंदी में ही है, अंग्रेजी समझ कम आती है और उसमें भावना आना तो मेरे लिए नामुमकिन ही है, और बिना भावना के कवितायेँ नहीं लिखी जा सकती. पर क्या करें फॉलोवर बेस अंग्रेजी से भी है और देश में अंग्रेजी प्रायः सभी समझते हैं खासकर जो इन्टरनेट का उपयोग करते हैं. इसलिए शुरुआत अंग्रेजी से की पर खत्म हिंदी से कर रहा हूँ. हिंदी के प्रति विशेष लगाव है और रहेगा.

आगे भी अपना आशीष बनायें रखें…

…………………………….अभय……………………………..

What is Life..

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Representative image

Hello Friends,

After reading the topic/heading of my today’s post you might have an inkling that I may discuss some philosophical aspect of life in this write up. But, to tell you the truth, it’s not a philosophical article, rather a narration based on some events.

Old age is a truth of Life. But when we remain young, we hardly grant our thought towards this immutable reality. Especially the influence of western culture, prominence of nuclear family, new modes of entertainments, introduction of Old Age Homes etc keeps the old away from the youth and children, in turn, keeps away one aspect of life that most of us has to go through.

I am blessed to have my grandfather with me. But the sad part is that he is now ailing from past few months and his condition is deteriorating as the time progresses. “Old age in itself is a disease” once I have heard this term, now experiencing through him. He is unable to perform his regular activity not even to take his meal by himself. Though, he is in sound mind with full consciousness and memory, yet physically challenged due to perils of old age.

Yesterday night when I was lifting him from the bed and supporting in a way that he can take his dinner and medicine, he narrated a story that compelled my eyes to go wet. He told me to keep his head in my lap, I obliged. He started.

My Grandpa to me….

“You know, when you were around 4-5 years old, you had a habit of harassing someone who was going outside the home. You just started crying, shouting to carry you wherever any one goes out, so that you can accompany him and enjoy the outing.

One evening, I was the victim. I was going towards the market to purchase some groceries, and you, as usual, started crying to come with me. Your mom persuaded, papa coerced, but in front of your determination every one gave up, including me. But I made a commitment out of you, that in the course of journey you will walk yourself and never ask me to carry you in my lap or on my shoulder. You readily agreed on these terms and conditions, which I knew, you din’t have any intention to obey it.

We started walking towards market place. Barely 50 steps we have taken, you said, with utter innocence, “Baba Godi” (Grandpa please carry me in your lap while walking). I smiled, but shouted “don’t you remember your promise and if you will not walk then we will return home.Then you reverberated, “Yes, I do remember that but……” and started walking with heavy feat.

Just after nearly 30 steps we have marched forward, you again came back to the same agenda..”Baba Godi!! now I am extremely tired”.

But I was testing your patience and enjoying the expression you were giving, which was just like as a true artist. Then suddenly you spoke something which touched my core of the heart. You said, “baba, don’t you know how little I am, my legs becomes tired after a long walk, so please carry me in your arms/lap. I promise you when I will become young I will also carry you in my lap”.

His narration was over. His head was still in my lap. His eyes were wet. He pronounced. I am looking now “You are fulfilling your promise”.

I was speechless. Pretended to be tough. Gave him the medicine, which was prescribed for him for the night. Requested him to chant and remember the name of the Lord and said good night.

I was in quagmire about to share the event, but thought that many of the readers, once they will read, can relish and find their sweet memory associated with their grandfather/mother.

Life is just emotions. How you perceive emotions. How you respond to the emotions. A special trait, which differentiates the Livings with the Dead.

Isn’t it?

मैं और तुम

surajchanda

मैं और तुम

 

मैं सूरज बन आता हूँ

तुम चंदा बन जाती हो,

तिमिर चीर कर मैं

पास तुम्हारे आता हूँ,

और तुम अपनी छटा

कहीं और बिखराती हो !!!

 

लाख यत्न कर,

मिलन की आस लिए

बन बादल मैं,

आसमान पर छाता हूँ

तुम बारिश की बन बूंदें

धरती पर उतर आती हो!!!

अगणित तारे सदियों से

देख रहे इस खेल को,

मैं भी हूँ मूक बना

और तरसता मेल को

पर मन में दृढ विश्वास लिए

सोचता हूँ, एक दिन ऐसा भी आएगा

सूरज चंदा साथ में एक दिन

विश्व भ्रमण को जायेगा!!!

 

बुँदे कहेगी बादल से

कुछ दिन नभ में ही रुक जाते हैं

फिर दोनों मिलकर इकट्ठे

धरती की प्यास बुझाते हैं!!!

…………अभय…………

शब्द सहयोग:

तिमिर: अंधकार या अँधेरा