पुनर्जन्म

दिल कहता है फिर से जन्म लूँ....,

मां के आँचल में छुप -छुप कर
जीवन  की कड़वाहट से बचता
चंचल मन से खिल -खिल हँसता
बहन को अपने साये में ढक कर
भाई का उतरा कुर्ता पहने
नन्हे हाथ में पहली कलम लूँ

दिल कहता है फिर से जन्म लूँ

इस बार ऐसे स्कूल में जाऊं
जहाँ पढूँ इक पाठ नया सा
भूल जाऊं इस A और B को
जीवन का शऊर सीख कर
हर रंजिश से मुक्त ह्रदय ले
रस्ते को ही समझ के मंजिल
हँसता गाता आगे बढ़ लूँ

दिल कहता है फिर से जन्म लूँ


इक ऐसी महबूब मिले फिर
पाक ,अकीदत ,पूजा जैसी
हया  का दामन थाम सदा ही
हर सू बरपा दे उजिआरा;
रोशन ,नाज़ुक ,मोहसिन सी वो
बोझिल -बोझिल पलकें जिसकी
हौले से ,चुपके से ,ढक लूँ

दिल कहता है फिर से जन्म लूँ

 और फिर जब आ जाये बुलावा
बाकी कोई अरमां ना होगा
होटों पे ले गीत वफ़ा का
सृष्टि का संगीत समंझ कर
रून-झुन टपर -टुपुर सा दिल यह
बोल उठे गा अन्तर-मन से
"मौत ,देख,मैं तेरा सनम हूँ

दिल कहता है फिर से जन्म लूँ ....

नई कहकशां की तलाश ...

हसरत से निगाह डालता परिंदों के घरों पे
ढूँढता हूँ हर शाम इक अपना सा मकां

वोह मकां जिसमे ना जफ़ाओं का गुज़र हो
मुस्कुरा के ढले और जहाँ वस्ल की शाम

हर दम रहे करीब मेरी नाज़ुक सी वोह मोहसिन
वही शोख ही कभी दे मुझे महबूब का नाम

रूए -रोशन से उजाले हों जहाँ शाम -ओ -सहर
जुल्फों के अंधेरों में कटे उम्र तमाम

कभी मिला ही नहीं था अब ऐसा भी नहीं है
मैं ही गुज़र गया समझ के गैर का बाम

The Imminent

Jayanthi Ranganathan Mishra looked into the full length mirror in her bathroom and decided : not bad. Not bad at all. At 23, she had managed to side -step many of the `done things' which her peers at the college so gigglingly boasted of : she hadn't got a face job done, had never shot for 'a product-Ad', and had never succumbed to a full date, whatever that meant. Though not pretty by conventional standards---- she had that stubborn `Madrasi light tan---- which tube after tube of 'Fair and Lovely' had not been able to lighten----she had many things going for her. She was very tall, statuesque and had very dark curly hair. Her eyes had a very special way of merging and melting into each other whenever she felt shy, which, incidently, was quite often. Dark, inscrutable- she had all the boys doing mental somersaults to figure her out. On the cerebral side, she had a Masters in literature and had imbibed quite a few thing from her study of it : she would never sell herself short, would never use her charms to further her career, `would make her own destiny' and would go `the road less travelled by'. Add to it her filip repartee, and you could say that she had quite an `attitude'. It was a lethal combination."yeah, you are a bit of an OK, Janu", she told herself.
                                                               But today the usually unflappable Jayanthi was not so sure of herself, even though she had been waiting for this moment for long : fly the nest, `realise her full potential'----her favourite teacher's favourite line----forge her own identity and ,a few years down the line, marry for love and have her own little Jayanthis. Today she had got three `calls', through Naukri dot com from three multinational companies for interviews.The nature of the jobs offered was not very clear to her except that, in each case she was to report directly to the CEO. That's great, she thought, putting her nervousness aside.
'Life, here I come ", she sang to herself.
                                                                 Today was her first interview in her own Chennai. She put on her best `Maheshwari' cotton saree, even though  it was not the proper outfit for such an organisation. She took a cab and reached the daunting campus complex of Cerberus Computers. The waiting lounge was full of plush garish chairs.Ugly, thought Jayanthi. But not so the the stunning array of ah-so-modern girls sitting on them, But then when she was summoned, pleasantries exchanged, Jayanthi sat down and looked at the man. Her first thought was what Lil Red Riding Hood must have had after looking at the wolf. "SoMiss, ah, Jayathi",he began "My business involves extensive travelling, even abroad. Indeed an intelligent girl who can handle all the nitty gritty of office work, and also look after all my needs.There are no speciffic duty hours .We can be away for days on end But you will be very comfortable, we'll stay at the best hotels.Your yearly package would be rupees ten lakhs plus perks.Jayanthi's mind did a double take.She had never imagined that kind of money. But a warning bell jingled in her brain "All his needs", what did he mean? Then the answer hit her with the force of a juggernaut."You bet", she thought,"You crusty, miserable Cocker Spaniel, I will take care of your needs, with a kick on the seat of your infernal pants". Her idealism had taken a severe beating that day...
                     The next interview was in Bangalore. However, the scenario was almost the same except that the Boss was dressed in an Ivy-League suit, was urbane, suave, and was utterly Kool,"There's hope here", thought Jayanthi. As he started the interview, Jayanthi, Icarus-like, came crashing back to mother earth: travelling, .five-star hotels Salsa, late nights, the entire Page-3 works.Her heart sank. She walked out, wondering about this fetish for five- star hotels among the CEOs of this world.
                   It took Jayanthi a full week to steel herself for the next interview at Mumbai .During this period, she had often checked and rechecked her premises Everything she had believed in , till now, seemed utterly and horribly wrong. What did the Robert Frosts of this world know about this world anyway ? Dreamers all, worthless, misleading, benighted souls, she thought, tears streaming down her face. Once, she had even hidden her face in her Amma's pallu, crying, as if her heart would break. Her Amma had stroked her head, wiped a silent tear off her own cheek secretly and had said nothing. Jayanthi, slowly, under her Amma's knowing caresses, had calmed down.When she raised her head, her eyes were `washed'..clear and understanding.
                      She reached the office of `Udai Katoch International' in Mumbai in a better state of mind. She hadn't fully got rid of her lofty ideals but now, they were just there, like a dull ache that refuses to go away.She was dressed in the regulation short skirt and jacket. She had shortened and permed her hair and to put it mildly, looked ravishing, "Hello, I am Udai, just going out for lunch.Would you join me?" She agreed.
This was going to be different, she thought. Udai looked like a decent man, was dressed conservatively and in his own way, was kind of handsome.They reached The Taj, he pulled a chair back for her to sit and ordered for both of them.."You can call me Udai", he said, trying to put her at ease.
                      As one delicious course of meal disappeared after another, each accompanied by the right kind of wine which appeared as if by magic,Udai elaborated upon the nature of his business, his wife, his five-year old daughter,and how he got to spend very little time with his family since he had to travel a lot, Listening, jayanthi began to relax. A warm glow had begun to suffuse her face. Probably, it was the wine.Suddenly, he stopped and looked at her enquiringly,certain that she had understood the nature of her work.
                          "Oh damn it all to hell Udai",she blurted. "But I like quiet resorts in quaint little hill stations. Big hotels are just not my cup of tea,

Udai just grinned.
                

The Backdoor

Shantanu Ranganathan Mishra looked around.He was standing at the kerb of a busy street. Endless streaks of light zoomed from nowhere to nowhere. It was a scene straight out of a Stanley Kubrick film. Once he had,almost hypnotically,stepped into the lights. He was pulled back with a shout of anger.He did not even see his saviour.
                 He cursed. He was already sorry he had decided to leave the faceless familiarity of his small village to make a `life' for himself in the 'other world'. For wasn't he the only QUALIFIED young man in his village?And didn't he often watch `The Bold and the Beautiful' on his new Tata Sky ? But the invitation was there. Too, too tempting like a cobra under wraps. It promised the proverbial Pot of Gold and the Holy Grail : the mother of all jackpots.And he was unhappy where he was---- sick of the grime; the pond with its vile water, and sick of the ponderous, huge women who had come to resemble the buffaloes they scrubbed with devilish glee. Most of all, he was sick of the relentless yearning for female company. In his 22 years, he had never talked to one, let alone touch one. For him, an unhooked blouse was the closest anybody could come to paradise At nights phantasms assailed him.Often he would wake up, panting, and would curse his parents for begetting him in that abominable hole.
There was a wild uproar when he had broached the matter. His father, with his stony stare, his mother, with all the melodramatic blandishments verging on a typically Indian emotional blackmail ; his sister---- for him, the sun rose and set on her---- all teary eyed. For her, he had almost changed his mind-Almost. She had shaken her head, slammed the door of his small room, and had bolted the door from outside.
Shantanu escaped through the backdoor and here, he was. He walked five kilometers to the building which boldly proclaimed : Sigourney Weaver Enterprises. The name looked vaguely familiar to him, Stepping inside, he gingerly touched the heavy glass door. It seemed to open on it's own volition. As if in a dream, he crossed the reception the huge waiting room and knocked on the door which said 'Vice President Operations'. "Come in". He opened the door.
                                     The woman that he saw sitting on the far end of the desk didn't resemble any of the warty harridans that he had seen. There seemed to be a luminous halo about her. Just one look was all it took and, in the elegant phrase of his college days, he was "struck by a thunderbolt" She was looking at him too,queerly. Probably, she had never seen a man blushing before. That was enough for her.
       He became her slave - running errands, arranging her meetings, carrying her briefcase, trailing her with armfuls of shopping bags. Slowly, she reeled him in .Once she `allowed' him to apply enamel to her nails, watching his rapture with something like a long forgotten wistfulness.On one occasion, she even let him give her a foot massage : Seventh Heaven...
           And then, six months later, he had blurted it out..those dreadful words. They were in a hotel suite. They had gone to Bombay to attend a meeting of the entire India Inc. He stood waiting, a hang-dog look on his face, hope and despair playing `tag' in his eyes. He pleaded, he cajoled, he was on his knees. He bolted the door from inside and sat against it. She looked at him with a glance that he could NOW fathom. He lowered his eyes.
When he looked up, she was gone...
How could he know that seven star hotel suites have a backdoor too...?
Just like the one in his small house...

कतरे  कतरे में नया सागर ढूँढने के लिए
उसी सेहरा में मुझे लौट के जाना होगा
तेरी निगाह से उत्तरा हूं तो बतला दे
क्या तुझे फिर से रकीबों से चुराना होगा ???

क्यूँ ही कल ?

ना अब जफा का ज़िक्र कर
ना अब वफ़ा का जवाब दे
रोज़े -हशर तो अभी दूर है
ना हिसाब ले ना हिसाब दे

कई पा चुका हूँ मैं राहतें
अरमां भी कितने निकल चुके
ला फिर पढूँ ज़रा गौर से
मुझे हसरतों की किताब दे

फिर सीख लूँगा मैं भूलना
अभी और थोड़ी शराब दे
मदहोश रात का फरेब फिर
मेरे यार का मुझे ख्वाब दे .....

भूली दास्तां.......

बंद लबों पे हो जुंबिश, हो जुबां पे लरज़ ,
अश्क-ए -पा से छलक जाये गर आँख मेरी 
टपक ही जाए गर छाला राह-ए -उल्फत का ,
जान जाना तू , अजनबी दोस्त मेरी 
उसी काफ़िर ने फिर किया है याद मुझे ;
पर इस बार उसके दामन को तार -तार समझ ,
तर्क कर दूंगा उम्मीद दिल -नवाजी की ,
लौट आऊंगा उसी घर उसी दयार में 
किसी मज़ार में दफ़न है जहाँ मोहब्बत मेरी 
शुरू वहीं से हुई थी इक हसीं सी बात 
अब उस बात का आगाज़ तक भी याद नहीं
है कहाँ वोह कहाँ मैं ,कौन बर्बाद नहीं ...