!!!!!! मैं हूँ एक आम आदमी !!!!!!

मैं हूँ एक आम आदमी |

सब मेरी बात करते हैं |

मेरी फ़िक्र में वे चर्चाएँ आम करते हैं |

कोई फाइलों के कागज़ पे मेरी कहानी लिखता है,

तो कोई मुझे टोपी पे डाल पहनता है |

आम आदमी की बात हर ख़ास आदमी करता है|

हाँ मैं वही एक आम आदमी हूँ,

जिसकी सब बात करते हैं !!!

मेरी रोज की जिन्दगी ही मेरी लड़ाई है,

और वो सब मेरे लिए लड़ते हैं!

जब कुछ नहीं बदला सालों में,

क्या कोई बदल देगा कैमरें के सवालों से?

एक अथाह जिन्दगी, गुमनाम चादर डाले जीता हूँ |

हाँ मैं जीता हूँ !

मैं वही एक आम आदमी हूँ,

जिसकी सब बात करते हैं !!!

'आम आदमी' मेरा नाम नहीं,

मेरी कोई पहचान नहीं !

फिर क्यूँ आज सब मेरे जीवन पर नजरें डाल रहें ?

नहीं चाहिए मुझे चमक कैमरे की, और ना ही सभा की ताली |

है बस जिन्दगी एक आश्रा, मुझको जीने दो,

हूँ एक आम आदमी, ना बनाओ मुझे गाली !!!

मौत की बरात

अँधेरे का हुआ बसेरा, 
छिप गया कही सवेरा!

चिता भस्म की गंध से,

हुई अपावन वसुंधरा!

बेमोल हुआ मानव,

नंगी हो गई मानवता!

गंगा, ब्रह्मपुत्र के देश में,

बहने लगी लहू की धारा!

यह कैसी लगी आग, 

किसने लाई मौत की बरात!!!

दिल में भड़े थे अंगारे,

हाथों में थामी थी तलवार,

आँखों पे धर्म की पट्टी थी,

जुबा पे इंसानियत की ललकार!

लुट गया था जहाँ,

बिखरी पड़ी थीं खुशियाँ,

कदम कदम पे धब्बे थे,

बच्चे तक ले रहे थे सिसकियाँ!

टुटा था भारत सपनो का,

गम था बस अपनों का,

बाजार भी कम पड़ गया...

मांग था इतना कफनों का!

यह कैसी लगी आग,

किसने लाई मौत की बरात!!!

(Photo Source: Google Image, Search Word: Riots in India) 
(Hindi Typing: Google Transliterate Tool)                                  

DHAMI - A Short Story

Dhami was her name. There is no literary meaning to it, nor did happen any elaborate discussion when she was named. Someone just said it and others followed. Carelessness is life in villages, and it can be deceptive at times as well.

It was one of those regular days when Dhami had put the night lamp on the front of the house, and was preparing for cooking when she saw a packet kept on the wooden box. She rushed to check and it contained a dress for her, the same yellow churidar which she has been asking for last 2 years.

“Bapu(Father), did you bring this for me” she asked Sukhiram, her father, sitting outside.

“Yes Beti (Daughter), wear it” replied he and started collecting buckets and ghara (earthen pot) to bring water from the well.

“Naah...I will wear it on Deewali, not today” she replied.

He gave her a terse look and said, “You have been asking for it for last 2 years and you don’t wear it when I have brought. Go…get ready and I will accompany you to well today.

They walked towards the well. It was a very small path through the fields which were ready for harvest. They walked along, Dhami ahead and Sukhiram following her. It was a winter evening and had already gone dark. Villagers get habitual of their path and routine; and the habits get so engraved in them that they lose need for any physical support. They reached the well in moon light and Dhani started filling in buckets. One…….two…three…….but Sukhiram stood still. He had been silent all the way.

She was wearing the yellow dress which he had brought. Dhami was his first child. He still remembered the thrill when he had seen her for the first time. He had raised her in arm and proudly said ‘meri bitiya’ to the assembled relatives. Later on she turned into a dutiful daughter and he was a doting father. He would put her on shoulders and go to field, to market. She was very talkative and would keep asking him numerous questions. Some Sukhi would answer, some he would let pass. And today…..she is 25 years old, a marriageable age. He had been looking for prospective grooms for last 2 years…….but not able to fulfill their demands.

 Sukhil came out of his thoughts; Dhani has picked the fourth bucket and was bringing the water up. This is the moment Sukhi, He thought. Just don’t think……..go forward………..it’s all dark………..nobody is here…….sukhi……….sukhi……….go ahead.

“Then why are you telling all this today” asked Mayank, the Dr. Mayank sitting beside Sukhiram in Hospital.

“I have lived with this truth for 30 years, doctor. I won’t live long…….want to go in peace. Tell my wife tomorrow that Dhami didn’t slip in well” said Sukhiram. His eyes were dark and body frail. Mayank was holding his hand. Sukhi took a deep breath and was gone.  Mayank put off the light and closed the door.

हार....है क्या?

हार....है क्या जिससे डरता हूँ मैं?

वह तो बस एक ठहराव है, जिस पे संवरता  हूँ मैं!

हर हार से बढ़ता हूँ मैं!

हर हार से संभलता हूँ मैं!!

  

वो जिन्दगी क्या जो बस दौड़ परे?

थोड़ा चलें, थोड़ा रुके, 

और मोड़ प़े जो हम फ़िसल पड़ें,

क्या हुआ उससे, उठ कर फिर भागे!

चलते रहे, बस चल दिये.....

हर हार से बढ़ता हूँ मैं!

हर हार से संभलता हूँ मैं!!

हार संघर्ष का अंत नहीं, बस एक भाग है!

हार से होते नहीं हतास कभी, करते उसको पार हैं!

हार तो यलगार है,

आगे बढ़ते रहने की पुकार है,

हर हार से बढ़ता हूँ मैं!

हर हार से संभलता हूँ मैं!!

                                               - मुकुल प्रियदर्शी

Photo Source: Google Image, Search Word: Defeat

An Ignored Truth - A Short Story

“35 years…..35 long years, still it seems just the yesterday when I took oath as a first time MLA” Mayank Chakrdhari thought, sitting on his favorite chair having two lions carved on both of its front legs.

The chair was gifted to him in a large felicitation ceremony when he, later, became the Chief Minister of state. It was the biggest rally of that time. City Maidan was full to the capacity. It was flooded with his cutouts and party flags, and when Mayank Chakrdhari raised his arms in acknowledgement, whole ground had come to life, at once, with a big naara of “Mayank Chakrdhari Jindabad”.

Mayank switched on the TV and the same scene was playing again today. The difference this time was that it was not for him. It was the felicitation ceremony for a new leader. City ground was again filled with people, cutouts, flags and TV crews. Earlier there was only Dordarshan and it took around two days for news to reach people. Now everything was on TV, live. The new leader was made to sit on a similar chair on which he was sitting.

“History repeats itself, only the Actors change” sighed he.

Lawn of his house was full of flowers. Gardening was his new hobby. He has brought the best varieties of flowers, nurtured them for months and in this winter season, lawn was filled with different varieties of beautiful flowers. He looked at it proudly and asked Shayamlal, his helper of many years, to bring the chair in lawn, along with the newspapers. Afternoon sun was glowing in a cool winter day.  There was a time when this lawn used to be filled with people, never allowing the grass to grow. It always had barren spots in the middle which Mayank disliked immensely. But now though the grass has grown, uniformly, all over the lawn, but what he missed, now, was the company of his people.

Mayank had wanted to promote flower export from the state during his tenure because climate and soil were suitable for horticulture. But he was forced to shelve the plan as his colleges felt it would seen as generous grant for his castemen- he belonged to a caste which was known for gardening skills. He agreed and rejected the proposal from a private enterprise which wanted to enter into an agreement for flower export from the state. Many other such projects were also shelved for one or other similar reason. Later on, same colleagues questioned his commitment towards the development of the state. Mayank closed his eyes and a faint smile of realization was apparent on his face.

He asked Shayamlal to call the new leader. He wanted to wish him. Shayamlal informed that he could not connect to the new leader. Mayank didn’t say anything and simply nodded his head, but deep within, he knew that the new leader had refused to talk. Mayank was not even invited for the function. In his prime, Mayank could not attend all the functions he was invited for, and now he waited for invites so that he could meet some people. It was very lonely at this secluded quarter. His son had moved to US, daughter was happy with her family and wife left some years ago out of illness.

“Yeh duniya agar mil bhi jaae to kya hai….” these immortal lines came on their own and he started singing.

Mayank left the lawn when the Sun went deep west and went to his bedroom. He didn’t open the door till afternoon next day. Worried Shayamlal knocked on door but got no reply. Intuitionally, he informed both, police and ambulance, together. News spread like a wild fire and the new leader announced that Mayank would be cremated with full state honours. People kept pouring in to pay their obeisance to the departed soul. News channels ran special programs on him for the whole day.

“The world which had rejected him in life, has embraced him in his death” thought Shayamlal, standing in the corner of the house. He brought some flowers from the lawn and put them along the body of Mayank.

(Embedded photo courtesy Google Images)