I Miss Home - Place Called Home

'I miss many places. Home is the place I miss the most.'

I was doing Facebook this lazy Sunday morning and my attention was caught by a quote shared by one of my favorite page. The Quote said:

"I always wonder why birds stay in the same place when they can fly anywhere on the earth. Then I asked myself the same question."

I instantly thought of home. Home.. Just the thought of home made me feel safe, warm and cozy like a baby-bird under wings of his mother. It was 2002 and I was 13 when I left home. For my studies and since then I could never be home for a enough. And when I became homeless, I realized what actually a home is. We are like kites flying in the sky attached to home with a thread. No matter what we do and wherever we go, this thread always keeps you connected.

"Home is where one starts from." Said T.S. Eliot. I often see in Hollywood movies when a soldier is tired of fighting long wars (I particularly am fond of movies based on WW-II), they have only one wish,"When the war will be over, I want to be home." Homesick, by Sela Ward is the autobiography of a Southern American girl who moves to NY to fulfill her ambitions and becomes a well known actress but she remains strongly attached to Mississippi where her home is. While writing this post I feel like reading the book again.

It is our childhood that strengthens our bounds with home. Those mischievous activities, that childhood within those four walls, that love of grandparents, that small yard which became our playground... those all precious memories keep calling. This fast moving life and sky touching ambitions! If I did not die in an accident, I will die in my nest. The nest where I was born.

I Know You Will Keep Me Alive

What if I go, leaving you back someday?

I know you will cry, feel lack and pray

Believe I, gave you reasons,

To sit by riverside, think and smile.

Like a fire burning in heart,

Like running blood in veins,

Sweet memoires; and you’ll survive,

I know you will keep me alive.

You will think of me and smile,

Think of old days those were good,

In the spring, in summer,

On swing and in the wood,

You will sip on cup of tea,

That time you will think of me,

Close eyes, and you will smile,

I know you will keep me alive.

Look you will at my snaps,

You will wander through the maps,

On we’d walked a day,

And this is when I’ll come,

Your hair, my fingers play,

You will feel of me and smile

I know you will keep me alive.

Sayonara 2011

As 2011 is going to be a memory followed by unfolded tomorrow and looking forward with a very positive outlook, I raise my glass in reminiscence of the glorious year, “To friends and to friendship.”
Situations are always there, sometimes in favor and sometimes against; but say time flows with its own swiftness, careless from everything. How true! 2011 has been all about going along with time. All my life I carved for love, this year taught me friendship. Since always I read in lines that love is above friendship, this year I realized. To write names of people is not a necessity because they already know their place in my life but yes! This year has given me few people as the gifts which belong to me forever. Friends, you make my world and I am really in love with you.

Second best thing happen to me is increase in my love for literature and by the end of the year I am at a point from where I can be sure that I will write a book someday. I have developed a group of people who regularly read my writings and come up with their appreciation and criticism. Though they are few in numbers and receive my numerous thanks for spending their precious time to read me and write me back with their valuable responses.

Lesson of the year is, “Keep a faith in people and they will never break a promise.” Here are few random incidents of the year:

1. My sister gave birth to the little champ and now I am a happy mamu of 3 kids :)
2. An outline of my novel has been written and at least I have an idea of climax.
3. Watched the whole Twilight movie series and loved it beyond degree. Now anticipating its final part in November, 2012.
4. Can Love Happen Twice? Book launch. First time met a bestseller face to face.
5. I will be a graduate next year :)
6. And now just in last week of 2011 I have changed my job and seeking for a better career with new opportunities in my new organization.

I would like not to write a long article saying lots of things. I would love to cherish them in my heart for always rather. Thanks to everyone who made my 2011. Thanks to 2011 which made my people. Sayonara.

Your valuable comments below:

The Piano Girl

She was alone and she was gifted. She could stop the world from her music. She lonely used to play her piano in her little shelter by side of river. I, every day listened her music and every time I heard, I was lost.
I am once again lost when she does not play anymore. God knows where she has gone. But wherever she is, her music always echoes in my ears and steps down into my soul. I miss the girl with the piano.

I knew a damsel, in my neighborhood,
Her hut was across; in meadows, past wood
Magic in pinkish fingers, pre-blessed by God
Which became preternatural, by nature’s applaud.

Her fingers flew, on keys like breeze
Birds stopped chirping, rivers did freeze
She had no companion, to listen to her song
Lonely played harmony, and sobbed along.

One day I by chance, happened to listen her tune
“Collect firewood,” when mother ordered; my fortune!
Arpeggios; born in piano, sailed through on air,
Melodious than an ode, delicious than éclair.
Stood I un-blinked, forgot heart to pound,
Earth impeded to gyrate, heavenly soothing sound.

That was the day, and the day is this
I went every day, none chance did I miss
Indulged in her music, lost in compositions
Between me and her, piano became preposition
That was a day, and a day is this
Where is she gone? Crave! How much I miss.
Some say she sings in the court of heaven
Some said her songs were the holy daven.

Wherever ye hath gone, I feel thy harmony
Aft never heard, that marvelous symphony.

Your valuable comments below:

A Cup of Coffee

AN EVENING, FRIDAY AUGUST 19TH, 2011
Yesterday... while moving to home, I was passing by Rajouri Garden, a voice announced,“The next station is Rajouri garden. Doors will open on left. Please stand clear off the doors." West Gate Mall was right in front of my eyes, crowded with student, shoppers and love-couples like always and there inside the mall is a coffee shop. A coffee shop, which has always been my favorite place to recharge myself with my most favorite drink 'Coffee Café Day Cappuccino'. But I have not taken a coffee there once in last six months.. in fact its been a little long than six months.

Because there was a promise; Oh! Let me correct myself. Because there is a promise. Promises never die so there was a promise, there is a promise and there always will be a promise. So I was saying I was passing by Rajouri Garden and a coffee shop, a promise, a face, a cup of coffee to be shared.. all flashed in front of my eyes. A blended feeling of anger, anxiety, grief charged with negative ions and this negative energy made me thinking of breaking the promise. I intended to go and have a cup of coffee... alone. "Will I have to have the coffee alone?", I asked. Was I asking to myself or I was asking to the one who made the promise? I got up. Immediately the girl standing next to me, who perhaps was much eagerly waiting for me to get up so that she can take my place, occupied my seat. There was a very strange feeling I was sensing while making my way to Metro door. I was forcing my feet towards Metro door and some mighty resistance inside me was pulling my legs back. I wanted to have the cup of coffee and at the same time I wanted not to.

A battle of thoughts was going on inside me. Should I? Should I not? Should I? should I not? Fighting with my own thoughts, so unconsciously I eventually deboarded the train. The thought-war was still on. “Should I?”, I asked. “Why should not?”, my brain replied. "Promise? Of what promise you are talking about, Ashish? The promise which will never be kept, which does even not matter to the person you are thinking of. Stop being such a mad man for someone who does even not care your feelings. She does not even remember that there was a promise”, my mind kept on giving me logic forcing to descend myself downstairs and pouring that warm cup inside my throat as soon as I could. But then heart spoke, “It was not a deal Ashish when it was made; it is a promise and promises are to be kept. Keep it. For a lifelong time.” And the heart said further,”I so much strongly believe, she also will keep the promise. You both will have that cup of coffee together someday” I sadly smiled. The next Metro was standing on the platform. I joined the crowd stuffed in the train, wishing to reach home and throwing my tired body on bed. My heart had won; the promise had been kept. Forever.

Your valuable comments below:

Birds : A Feel of Freedom

When I was small I loved watching birds. This was one of my most favorite activities. This bird watching would start at six in the morning when many dozens of grey colored wild pigeons would gather their morning meeting at my rooftop. Colored around the roof railing would turn into grey. This early morning chirp always sounded me like some musical notes. Few pigeons, I guess male ones, would turn round and round as if some singing-dancing competition was going on and winner was supposed the get the most gorgeous of the lot. Slowly… slowly… one by one all of them would open their wings and fly far away iin the sky in the hunt of grain seeds.

As sun went up higher in the sky and some heat would bring drops of sweat on foreheads, I very well remember, little sparrows would attack in our red court yard to eat grains of wheat which my mother had kept to dry in the sunlight. My teacher always told me to love animal, birds, humans and being an obedient student I never interrupted those little creatures from eating their favorite food. I would hide somewhere behind any door and watch them how neatly these birds take each seed in the beak and then swallow. Minutes and sometimes hours would pass by while I was enjoying watching this attractive food party going on in my yard. An angry voice of my mom would disrupt this gathering and all of them would fly high together in the sky with a big noise making. Sometimes I have received a good scolding from my mom for enjoying this game instead of protecting wheat from, in my mother’s tongue rascal-all-time-hungry-birds.

We children, most of them of my age, were always great hunters of nests of birds. Some of us were excellently self-trend in climbing on tress and finding secretly built hidden shelters of birdies. Most of nests were found empty and sometimes with three or four eggs. None of the case was exciting for us. We were keen only for cute looking tiny chicks. Unlike their mothers these small chicks were not covered with feather. We would find them, look at them and would feel so much love for these small wonders as if they are our own children. We were prohibited from touching them. We were told that if we will touch chicks; they would die. Now whenever I think of my childhood, the nest hunting; a smile automatically spreads on my face. How naughty and stupid we all were.
Since I know, I exist, I have seen a parrot caged in house of my uncle. His family is very fond of pt birds. And sometimes even two parrots at the same time. Specialty of those parrots is that they speak in human voice. My aunt has worked very hard in teaching them how to speak few certain words. One more strange fact about those parrots is that all of the parrots they have (or had) all were addressed with the same noun, “Patte”. Sharp, clear and loud voice of Patte,”Patte bhukhe hain.” (Patte is hungry.) attracted attention of every person in the family. Among visitors in our family Patte was a center of attraction. But in my own thinking it is sin to cage a bird and keep them within boundary of few inches for their whole life. God gifted birds with wings so that they can fly high and can feel joy of freedom.

I don’t know why we human cage such pretty gifts of God. Perhaps because we ourselves are cages in our own boundaries and somewhere inside we derive pleasure by caging others or maybe we love these natural flying machines so much that we want to live around them or maybe they kill loneliness and frustration we have in our boring busy life. Whatever the reason is, what is not right is not right. Anyway, it is thinking of each individual and it better to leave on individuals to select their choices.
Years have passed and everything has changed with the time. But I notice there number of birds around us has tremendously decreased. God knows where all the birds disappeared but I really miss watching those birds in the sky until they disappear far somewhere in the sky. Where is that feel of liberty? Sometimes, I, jailed in my flat come out in my balcony in the time of evening in hope to listen chirping noise of those old mates and what I get to see is human made aluminum birds flying in the sky from IGI Airport to far somewhere to some destination and I satisfy a child inside me by gazing at painted, big and noisy birds till they do not vanish somewhere in the sky.

Your valuable comments below:

Daddy You!

Placing my signature with my Montegrappa
While writing a cheque to my expensive son,
Nostalgia and a travel fourty years back when I
Always gave my best to fill little piggy bank.
Still I remember it was shaped in smiling pink swine,
A narrow slit on its head so that every day,
I can stuff its stomach and rejoice and count.

How I used to count those glittering coins,
Before I would send them to safest place,
And mark one dot for every tens;
Dots those filled pages of my hand made diary.
My childhood, I know was not luxurious as my son has,
And I had to skip Costly Strawberries
So that my tiny piggy does not sleep hungry,
I would not eat those toffees and save;
And save pennies to hide in womb.

World of the piggy, trust me so mysterious,
I would pick it and guess weight inside,
And would shake it to listen the sound,
Heavier the sound; more coins gobbled,
And a curios smile would increase my eyes.
Counting on fingers counting days and dots,
I flipped through pages of tiny diary
Thirty one… thirty two… and a two bucks coin
Three hundred thirty two and I open
The chamber of secret - mysterious I told,
Trust me a complete three four nine.


“Was it God who always multiplied?”
Those faces of heads and tales or perhaps
My wooden trunk was blessed with some magic
No I can’t be wrong in marking dots nor at maths
In which I always excelled entire class
My childhood spent asking how God! How
How it happens?
And now when I am father of a son,
I murmur to myself,”Oh, daddy you!”

Little Lambs

 

Like every November, winds are cold,
Weather is pleasant, rays are mild,
And beautiful days take less time to fold.

Birds open their wings and love to sing
Cows walk slow and river dance with flow
Trees whirl with air, sun doesn’t now glare,
Eyes have no complaint this gorgeous season
To be unhappy there is no reason,
Sun dipping deep far behind rock,
Faraway in jungle terrible lions roar,
High clock tower announces four,
And I am worried why my sheep are not home,

I take my hat and whistle to my pets,
“O! My cute sheep. Come before sun sets?
“Little Lambs! Do you remember the way to home?
And if don’t know why do you roam?
In backyard garden or in mango trees field,
Where are you hidden, no-one is to shield,”
I pass by market streets and go by bakery shop,
Search seeps everywhere in the green crop,
In Aunt Lucy’s nursery, I know my sheep sits,
There I will find my sweetheart little lambs.

“Aunt Lucy, Aunt Lucy, did you see my sheep,
Are they eating behind old wooden boats?”
Either they are in cauliflower field or they,
Surely grazing in grass ground, surely I can say,
In entire place, I searched round and round,
Nowhere I could my little sheep found.

Now I am afraid… where lambs and sheep,
Agonized I so much, drought my throat,
Where are tiny babies, God! Just save.
There are many big creatures in dark cave,
Dark is darkening show them right way,
Soon bring my lambs back from fields of hay.

I praying, I sobbing, coming back to home
And what I see seven cute lambs
Being loved by mom.

Uljhan

Tumhe lekar main badi uljhan mein rahta hu,
Har waqt kyon mein tumhe sochta hu,
Kyon nahi bhul pata main wo bita hua waqt,
Wo bikhre hue panne, wo dher sari yadein,
Tumhe nahi pata mai kitna dard sahta hu,
Tumhe lekar main badi uljhan mein rahta hu.

Tumhe ek khat likhne se pahle,
Sochna padta hai hazaro baar mujhe,
Pata nahi kya samjhogi tum, aur
Ye bhi nahi pata ki jawab likhogi ya nahi,
Ya shayad tum bhi mere khaton ki tarah,
Jawab likhkar jala deti ho aur karti ho,
Koshish un jale hue khaton ki rakh me,
Likhe hue shabd padhne ki..
Pata nahi samjhogi ya nahi per samjhane ki koshish karta hu
Tumhe lekar main badi uljhan mein rahta hu.

Jab tum sulate the mujhe apne dupatte ke tale,
Kitne khush hote the tum jab,
Pyar se kahta tha naam tumhara ek baar,
Aur kaise tadap jate the tum sun’ne ko meri aawaz,
Agar hum nahi batiyate the mahaz ek raat,
Kitna ladte the jhagdte the hum,
Per har baar aa jate the tum paas mere,
Kyonki na door tum rah pate the na main hi,
Jane kaise mahsoos kar lete the mera dard,
Fir mere sath mera dard baat lete the,
Bahut thak ke so jata tha jab main,
Jane kahan se aa jaya karte the sapnon mein batein karne ke liye,
Wo guzra hua pal main bahut yaad karta hun,
Tumhe lekar main badi uljhan mein rahta hu.

Raatein wo bhi yaad hain mujhe,
Jab jaaga karte the hum dono ek sath,
Aur puri raat kiya karthe the guftgu,
Kabhi chale jate the door ek dusre se aur kabhi,
Door reh ke bhi lipat jate the hum dono kabhi kabhi,
Aur lagti tha ki ye sardi ki lambi ratein,
Itni chhoti kyon hoti hain,
Per aaj mujhe tumhare bina jane kyon,
Garmi ki chhoti raein bhi badi lambi lagti hain,
Ye ratein… jagati rahti hain mujhe puri raat,
Aur dilati rahti hain tumhari yaad, bahut sari yaad
Tumhari yadon me puri raat sochta rahta hu
Tumhe lekar main badi uljhan mein rahta hu.

My Days With You

A morning I open up my eyes
And gaze out of window
Breeze blowing gently through leaves
Singing and floating nightingales
And it reminds me
My days with you.

Another pleasant evening I walk
Side by the endless sea
Weaves run and kiss my feet
Steal sand away from underneath
And it reminds me
My days with you.

Again a night under sky
I sit and stare magic of stars
No sign of cloud but a drop
Falls and is saved by palm
And it reminds me
My days with you.

Tum Aur Diary

Jab bhi kabhi likhne baithta hoon
Main hamari is diary mein
Dar lagta hai
Kahin gandey na ho jayein
Panne iske

Aur is dar se, likhne se pahle;
Main apne haath dho leta hoon
Lekin jaldi hi
Dar jata hoon ek baar fir;
Haath dhone ke baad
Ki is tarah toh
Ho jayenge geeley
Panne diary ke hamari
Aur ragadta hoon tauliya
Haathon per apne
Aur baith jaata hoon
Pankhey ke niche
Fir uske baad…

Main apne haathon ke sukhney ka intzaar karta hoon
Kyonki main tumhe aur is diary ko bahut pyar karta hoon.

Your valuable comments below:

Sookhe Hue Phool

Meri kitabon me rakhe jo murjhaye hue phool hain
Unki bhi apni ek kahani hai…
Mehak tazi hai abhi tak in pattiyon mein
Ye pattiyan to mere dinon ki nishani hain
Kabhi palatne lagta hu waqt ke wo bite panne
Jinme chhupa rakhi hain maine apni tamam yaadein
Ho jati hain mere zehan me taro-taza
Jo baat bahut hi purani hai
Mehak tazi hai abhi tak in pattiyon mein
Ye pattiyan to mere dinon ki nishani hain..

Feb-23rd, 2009

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The Unknown Girl

Woh anjaan ladki
jiski ek nazar
mere dil ke kore kagaz par
kheech gayi kuchh lakeerein
kuch aiesi lakeerien
jinhe chah kar bhi
bhulaya nahi ja sakta
mitaya nahi ja sakta
anjani, ajnabi si
woh anjaan ladki.

bhure balon wali
jisne mujhe dekha to ek baar
fir bhi laga yun
jaise...
ussne kuchh dekha hi na ho...
...dekh kar bhi sab kuchh
pyari si, bholi bhali
woh anjaan ladki.

jisse dekh kar mere dil ki
thahri hui hasraton ne
li ek mithi si angdai
hue mere armaan jawan
machi kuchh halchal
iss sune dil mein
masoom si muskurahat wali
woh anjaan ladki.

jisske bina chehra mera
hai shant, chupchap
thande kafan sa dafan
per dil me ufanta hai dariya
naino se bahti hai nadi
chahte hai didar karna
jiska mere naina...
...bas ek baar
mujhe tadpata
tarsata chhodkar jane wali
woh anjaan ladki.

hai wo mere liye anam
par fir bhi
usse yaad kiye bina
aati nahi hai neend
aur...
jab aati bhi hai to
aaker khadi ho jati hai mere saamne
unn mithe khwabon me
aur kahti hai
apni ussi
dhimi mithi aawaz me
'i love you too'
tab tootti hai meri neend
aur nahi pata hu usse kahin
aas-paas, door door tak
fir, ek bar fir
hoene lagti hai barish
meri pyasi aankhon se
fir bhi nahi samajhti mera haal
woh anjaan ladki.

Jan, 2007

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