Dreamcatcher

My thoughts meander
In first person
Through geometric patterns
Woven with dreamy glow

I am the centre of the culvert

Which bends towards you

And then disappears behind

A foliage

Of ugliest brown

Vintage solitude.

I am the incline

Of the scale

Which refuses to measure

Your lengths

In my breadths

And the hypotenuse of

Long dead human concern

Longer than the sum

Of your lengths in my breadths.

I am the radius

Of the ellipses

Which dot the ends

And enjambments

In all sentences

Phrases

Murmurs

I create and destroy

Within the haven of

Illuminated text boxes.

I am the angle

Between my desire

And your swollen ego

Acutely aware of the

Obtuse notions

You straightened in your head

At quarter past nine

Over an empty flute of wine.

I am the point at which

Reality blurs

Into forcibly conjured dreams.

Nightmares of your departure

Touched by the feathers

Of my dreamcatcher.

You left.

Nightmares left.

I am the circumference

Around the dreamcatcher

Swaying without a centre

Unlove

A few days ago, a friend quoted a line out of an earlier blog post, which went like this - "Love should never begin at admiration." This set me thinking on what I must have been thinking when I wrote it. (If you must put it in context, the post is called Anamnesis, which investigates a past love with the prism of today) Was I sad, deluded, angry, moody, troubled - or simply pensive? Or passive? Or subtly aggressive? Well, love can lead you into any of those phases, seamlessly. The awesome surprising bit is, I feel none of the love which I did then. The love which was a living thing inside me is so dead, that death would itself be baffled. The point to take note of here is, whenever something inside you dies, it kills a little pretty part of you. And then, like they say, maturity happens.

My musings today are about where should love begin - if it begins in your life at all. At a younger time, I would have fervently wished that you feel love with all intensity, as early as possible in life. Now, I would be cautious. I have seen far too many hearts shrink in size while growing up in love. Your's did not? You lucky, umm, something! Share the trick, please?

PC - @Elenalanzart

Again, where should love begin? At the first sight, erupting in little tremors all over your skin? Or in tickles, at all the wrong places? Should love be a product of what you imagine your life to be with a certain person? Or should it be a gradual flow alongwith everything that happens in life? Should it be exciting or calming? Or both? Should it give you sleepless nights or dizzying intoxications? Should it be borne out of a habit or a break from habit? Should it be a hope of being empowered, or an urge to beautify someone else's life? Don't say both! We all know about power balances and stuff like that.

I am not seeking answers. If at all I am, it is not from people who have condescendingly satisfying love lives. I want it from people who have been broken by love into a million little pieces they somehow hope to carry along. You guys are brave. But do you know the problem with being brave? No one gives a shit. It's not a distressed statement. It is the absolute truth. Calm, calculated truth. How does it fit with the musings on love? It does, because I would like to know if it necessary to be vulnerable to feel love or evoke love? Or you could be hard as a rock and yet be loved, or be thought of as capable of being loved? Not too complicated, just thinking.

The answer lies in a chaos, perhaps. Our own, unique, concocted chaos. The only underlying solution I would vouch for is that love is a better, more desirable state of life. It is something which will add a sheen to the way the life is getting reflected in your mirror. If what you desire is a partner who can sweep you away, so be it. If you need someone who can make you firmer on your ground, I wish you all luck. I, personally think you need both. Will you get both? Two years back I would have said, 'yes'. Today, I'd say, 'it depends'. And I'll sleep off without a speck of disturbing scruples.

You see, I am waiting for my muse to appear drunk in my dream and kiss me. That.

PC - Neelkamal Pandey

Picture Perfect - August 2014

I was contacted by a pleasant toned girl, named Sarbani, a while back, who had a couple of really broad based question to ask me - about myself, and the passions which have driven me thus far. Well, I answered those questions, and this frame happened. Its nice and yellow, and what makes me absolutely ecstatic is that this picture features in a campaign which as some very famous names of twenty-something persons doing stellar work in their respective fields. And these fields, of course, were those determined by their warm hearts and not cold conventions. 

Here is the description to this photo - 

Driven by her passion for writing, Saumya is the content strategist at Drizzlin. She loves the world of written words. But according to her, this field is not seen as professionally sustainable.

While she struggled to make it big in IAS exams, writing stayed with her like an undying passion and today, with close to 2 million hits on her blog, and being published in 3 separate genres of books - she can confidently claim joy and peace.

I wish more power to all those trying to heed the call of their heart. Dream Big, Begin Right away!

Thanks for the recognition, The Education Tree! 

Beaten By Bhagath by S. V. Divvaakar - A Review

"In a sense, fiction authors are like vegetables. People have their preferences, without the need to rationalise or to justify why they like one vegetable more than the other, or even why they hate some vegetables." - S. V. Divvaakar, Beaten by Bhagath (Page 164)

I am getting back into the book review groove after a considerable hiatus. I am rusty, but I hope not to the

extent that writing my thoughts becomes difficult. The book which marks my return in to the world of book bloggers is an interesting read titled 'Beaten By Bhagath', the second novel of S. V. Divvaakar. Upon reading this book I realized that Mr. Divvaakar touched a raw connect with me somewhere. Last week, I got down with a friend to write a poem about the art of writing a poem. The author of the book being discussed here has done much the same - he wrote a book about the process of writing a book, and the uphill, back-breaking journey that lies beyond. Even before I begin commenting and describing my experiences with this book, I must admit, I have taken my lessons - locked them away in the warning box which I will open again when I have to wade through the world of publishers and readers.

This is the book with the easiest synopsis. As I said earlier, it is a book about writing a book. It, however, is not restricted to that premise. There are branches to this grand framework, all, in some way or the other relating to the psyche of an aspiring writer, and giving the readers a stark perspective into what harsh realities await him when gets out to put his baby, the product of his sleepless nights out in the world, in the hands of a reader. An executive in a big corporate entity, our protagonist, BB, could have easily led a demanding, yet snug existence, had his boss not praised his writing skills one day. This appreciation led him to the world of glittering dreams about becoming a famous, widely read and revered author, much like K-10 - who is the fictionalized monolith dominating the world of popular fiction in this book. Easy to note that Mr. Divvaakar here has played with nomenclatures to arrive at a pun closing in on one author I enjoy reading - Chetan Bhagath. The writer traces his journey back to the hostel days where K-10 and BB studied together, and then, for the major and more important part, the story discusses, in a light tone, of what happens after a book is written.

There are struggles associated with being an author. The writer, while writing a book, is in flux - much the case with BB - traversing through past inspirations, present aspirations and hopes for future acclaim all at the same time. By taking the example of a fictionalized hero, perhaps Divvaakar prints a quasi-autobiographical account and exposes the readers to the demands of the publishing industry. The process is hard - from having your manuscripts rejected to dealing with all kinds of eccentricities that the marketing of a book brings with itself. It, in fact, leads you precisely into the calculation of the humongous sums of money one needs to spend in order to earn a lot less from the direct sales of his book. The author also includes the social media aspect here, where 'likes' are bought and contests are run so as to get readers interested in the book. How much of that do we see going around these days? Well, check my Facebook home page someday and you would know. How frivolous concepts like celebrity launch are of utmost importance in this industry which is going more commercial and shallow each day is just one of the many eye opening things in the book. In this world, a book is definitely judged by the cover, and the hype that is created around it. One sufferer in the entire process, as comes out in this story, in a rather acute form is the family of the author.

Beaten by Bhagath is not didactic in its tone. It is more in the form of a personal account, a memoir. The language is simple, with no ornate dialogues, metaphors or symbols which are difficult to negotiate. It is a breezy read, which I took two days to complete - but you might take just one if you are dedicatedly with the book. Instances narrated are relatable, and analogies, like the one in the quote at the beginning of this post are innovative, funny and they help drive the point home, albeit via a circuitous route sometimes. The narrative lacks polish, and the book fails to be gripping - you stick with it not out of fascination but to know the chain of events. If you're not much into the world of publishing, this one definitely is not for you. On the back cover, this book calls itself a reality fiction - pretty much an oxymoron, but perhaps true for this one.

I will give it 2 stars on 5. Hope you have a good time reading this one!

Book Details 

Author - S. V. Divvaakar

Publisher - Frog Books (Leadstart Publishing)

Published - 2013

Book Source - Review Copy

Genre - Fiction

Price - Rs. 125

Pages - 193

I love when authors send a personalized message :) 

Hum Aapki Kyun Karein? - Guest post by Neelkamal Pandey

Hum aapki kyun karein?

Aapne humein paida kiya, toh kya?

Aapne kiya, hum hue! 

Hum humaari sehmati se toh nahi hue.

Hum aapki kyun karein?

Aapne humara laalan paalan kiya, toh kya?

Aapne kiya, humne liya!

Humein karke zimmedaar toh aap hue.

Hum humaari sehmati se toh nahi hue.

Hum aapki kyun karein?

Kehte ho bahut suvidhaayein di hain, toh kya?

Aapne di, humne li. 

Arre suvidhaayein thi tabhi toh di na. 

Ismein hum kahaan kasurvaar hue?

Hum humaari sehmati se toh nahi hue.

Hum aapki kaahe karein?

Doosre se tulna kyun karte ho?

Har race mein kyun bhagwana chahte ho?

Aur usmein bhi awwal number lavana chahte ho.

Ghode toh hum hain nahi, 

Kiya toh aapne manush hi hai. 

Aur who manush aaj niraash hai.

Tulna karna, race bhagwana hi hai

Toh bhai ghoda paalo na.

Manush par kaahe apna daav laga rahe ho?

Woh toh khud sansaarik jue mein vyast hai.

Us se kyun aas laga baithe ho?

Dekho, tulna karna band karo.

Ghadi, ghadi shikaayatein band karo.

Aapne kiya, ab hum ho gaye hain. 

Apne pairon par – ladkhada hi sahi – 

Par khade ho gaye hain.

Hum ab jad-buddhi nahi hue.

Hum humaari sehmati se toh nahi hue.

Vishwaas rakho, who bhi dridh.

Karenge hum kuchh adbhut, yeh kar liya hai pran. 

Parajay sweekar karenge nahi

Jeevan ki aapa-dhaapi mein ghoomenge nahi

Karenge, nishchit karenge

Vilamb hoga, samay lagega, nishchit woh bhi

Ban-na hai peepal ka ped,

Jhaad patte nahi.

Apne diye hue sanskaaron par vishwaas rakho

Thoda hi sahi, par dil ke paas rakho

Sanskaaron ke diye se bahut se aeb jalaane hain.

Atah sansaar ko apna loha manwana hai.

Aur phir,

Phir aapse wahi prashn poochhna hai.

Ki kyun kare hum aapki? 

Aaj tak nahi hare jeevan ke jue

Hum humaari sehmati se toh nahi hue. 

- Neelkamal Pandey

The poet

About the poet - Kamal, as he is known to me, is one very unique and talented kid. I have not known him for long, but in that brief period, I have seen him grow and mature - in manners difficult to put in words. He has overcome inhibitions - and the above poem is one big and priceless example of the same. Even though it begins with a strong statement, lets all understand, this poem seeks not to disrespect or subvert any established notions  - it merely is a plea, which reveals the heart which many of us felt heavy with while growing up. It is an expression, to let out that which is stifling and restricting. It is a request, a sensitive one, to be trusted for one's abilities. It is that which  most of us can relate with.

This kid is a beautiful addition to my life - and discovering him, and knowing about him has been a process I have enjoyed a lot. Among his many facets now known to me, another is that he is a prolific painter along with being a poet. Below is a painting he made as a dedication to Nirbhaya - the braveheart whose imprint will remain on our collective psyches. I only wish Kamal keeps exploring himself and the world around him, and is able to arrive at a destination which does justice to his talents. 

Ode to Nirbhaya by Neelkamal Pandey

Let's Grow Up Together

Dear PACH,

Can we call it the best group picture, like ever?

You're growing up into a terribly demanding kid. Kid, yes. You're that insistent, even nagging, and you cannot, just cannot stand any lack of attention from those who nurture you. I am a case in point. At the conclusion of your tenth edition, I had made a promise to myself, that for about a month and a half, I will maintain a safe, sane distance from you. But then, you crept into my dream, as a definite vision of what could a perfect incarnation of yours look like, and I jumped right back in. You see, I like holding your hand and leading you there, there where we all imagine you should be. I am privileged you grip my hand right back, and trust me. And then we travel together, in a caravan, of course, of a growing urban tribe of poets, and arrive at surreal junctions like the one which just went by. Lets talk a little about it to each other, shall we?

I was talking about you to Navin ji the other day, and one thing we concluded was that your setting this time was impeccable. Karan Bhola and Cheistha Kochhar need to be thanked for allowing us to meet you in the amazing, pristine, beautiful Sri Aurobindo Centre for Arts and Communication, which also serves as the Young India Fellowship Programme campus. It was green, and of course, that made our already hyper, young environmentalist, Aavika, chirp even louder with glee. We expected it, of course. That is one of the cooler things about you PACH. Your family has members who are known by their distinctive traits, distinctive preoccupations, distinctive inspirations and styles and perspectives on life - but they all seamlessly blend together to make you into the vibrant tapestry of gem-like thoughts. Hell yes, you're studded with all precious, not semi-precious, ideas, which are brought to table by people who dwell on comics, superheroes, first crushes, unrequited love experiences, nature, creatures, languages, family, bonds, individualism, devotion and innumerable other incongruous, yet complimentary motivations. You, its all you PACH. 

When we invited you to take it all out, and how you obliged us! 

Do you know the best thing about being where we were? The fact that we were under an open sky, not bound by any space. I could, for once, see poets relax, find their own comfort zones, walk around, freshen up their thoughts, loosen up their bodies and drink in both the chill and the sun with equal alacrity. May be you should always call us to places like this - which are free, so our thoughts could travel free. Well, poetry is a medium of travelling, to distant lands, to hearts of people - and this, of course, I learnt from Ekanksha, in an exquisitely worded introduction. Oh, introductions are the special things about you. People like talking about themselves, we love hearing about them - it all just adds up perfectly. PACH, perfection is boring. Don't be perfect - just always be better than what you were the day before. It has kind of been the trend so far, so, lets not pressurize you in that direction. 

The beautiful amphitheatre of SACAC

Three huge paragraphs, and I have not even arrived at the point, the pivot, the peak, the prime reason why this PACH was a touch above from the others. Actually, leaps and bounds ahead of all previous ones. This reason is a name - Ashok Chakradhar. A poet who is an institution in himself. While anticipating his arrival, we were hoping to meet a celebrity, one who would enamour us, meeting whom was what our collective dreams were made of. However, the actual tryst with him proved to be astonishing and humbling, both at once. In him, we met a listener, a poet and a teacher - not a celebrity. He came, he became a part of you PACH - and he took keen interest in both, knowing you and commenting on you. All good comments, goes without saying. 

Chakradhar sir was eager to listen, laugh and appreciate. Whether it was Govind narrating his love story in broken Hindi, or Dipalie finding solace and silence in her beloved's grace; whether it was Mago's poem which tickled Newton and Einstein, or Anup's ingenious, rhythmic verses giving brief lessons on living - Ashok ji heard them all with interest and enthusiasm. Aditya's ghazal needs no commenting upon anymore. Aavika, our little environmentalist, impressed Ashok ji with her naughty Sunday song, dedicated to an imagined lover. I had a short vain moment when Ashok ji appreciated Daastaan, the poem closest to my heart after 'A Thousand Times Over'. He mentioned something about having tears in his eyes after my recitation, but I will let that pass, lest I not be able to control this pride knocking so firmly on my door. The true show-stealer, however, was this poet who calls himself 'Umar'. His poetic dimension was so well hidden from me, that to this day I marvel and sense disbelief in my heart regarding it. While Ashok ji, but obviously, was mighty impressed with his compositions, I could only let my tears lose in response. His words were filling me up so much, that I actually wanted him to stop! Now that, PACH, is something new I experienced. 

This capture is amazing for the smiles spread all around, especially on 'Umar' sahab's face

Ashok ji himself couldn't hold back, and he recited something in front of us which the world as yet does not know about. I'll keep the specifics of the composition to myself, since all my letters to you PACH are sort of a public affair, but what I will let out is that in my view, his poem was a PACH epic. It was long, but it only kept getting better with each succeeding part. The tone, the rhythm, the vocabulary and the recitation - each was a lesson, each leaving us absolutely bewildered. I felt certain emotions the dictionary has no terms for - and I know for a fact that I share this bewilderment with you PACH. There is no way you do not understand this feeling. Sir was full of grace, humility and the lasting image I will carry of his will be that of a teacher sitting in the midst of 35 odd students, teaching them about Abhida, Lakshana and Vyanjana...

In hindsight, I cannot believe sir gave me a high five for a naive comment during his recitation :)

And the shawl! Looked so perfect on him. You do very well know how much more I want to talk about Ashok sir, but then, there are other poets I MUST make a mention of. 

Dipalie said something very intriguing and remarkable about you PACH. She said, if the air around and within you is canned and carried to different places, will creative genies cast their spells on everyone they come in contact with? Essentially, she was giving voice to the shock and awe I experience when first time poets, or people who are still nascent in this realm of writing churn out completely incredible, top level verses. I mean, so many have come to your gatherings admitting that they never write, of if they write they don't write in a particular language, and that they don't share their creations with anyone or in public. Now, how many of those very people have gifted you surreal words and expressions you want to neatly and carefully compile together in a treasure trove of poems which will undoubtedly leave the world stunned? The number is too good to be true. 

Iti, Ekanksha and Mago - three outstanding poets PACH is blessed with

When we last met you PACH, people shared too much. Right from the beginning, where Ekanksha put our day long journey on the perfect track, till the very end, by those melodies stolen from Rafi sahab and Jagjit ji's corpus, each moment you breathed, I lived a little more. The Elephant in the Room, by Vaishali, left a giant impact on each heart. Navin ji's reflections on truth, which went from lived experiences, to philosophical abstractions to realistic deconstructions was akin to a compilation drawn from our collective childhood. Jyoti and Anup's duet was soft, lyrical, lilting. Anurag's composition reflected mature thoughts and word usage. Neha's poem, read in absentia, was rich with genuine devotion expressed in unforgettable phrases. Mansi always adds that spontaneity and ebullience to the group. Ghosts of Neha Bawa's past still haunt my heart. Iti, demure and dignified, touched each soul with her ode to the most special, umbilical bond which life grants us. 

In his smart winter attire, the writer par excellence

And, even though I feel out of breath recollecting such vast list of poem, each uniquely special and remembered by me, I cannot help but make a distinct mention of Kamal, whose poem was so amazing, that I cannot even begin to describe it in words. "Hum Aapki Kyun Karein?" is a simple question, but demands some understandably difficult answers. I want a larger world to read that poem, PACH - it had so many echoes which have so far only reverberated within the walls of heart. I invited him as the next guest blogger on Nascent Emissions - I think he will agree. 

The photographer-painter-poet

All these, each one of these, make you so special. PACH, you cannot be a lifeless concept. You are growing, one meet at a time. The pace of your growth has been scary, but hey, some crazy magic works here, remember?

I want all this love, disbelief and fondness to grow, as you grow. I want myself to grow, as you grow. You keep acquiring newer meanings for me, dear PACH. Its an enormously satisfying, calming feeling I am blessed with in time present. 

Winters are here. Let's promise each other some warmth and some awesome balmy days we spend holding each other's hands. 

With love and bright hopes for future, 

Saumya 

PS - I have to admit, that at times, so much happens during a single PACH meet, that I find myself incapable to registering and processing it all. It is for this reason that writing these letters is so important for me. This is where it all sinks in. This is all like being in love. For so many of us.

In the subtle glow of setting sun...

Pyaar is PACH

Dear PACH

You know writing to you means a lot to me. A lot more than these letters are ever able to convey to you. I always thought of you as this grand entity, to whom I could write a lot of letters, about the kind of difference you make to my life - and you would give my letters a cursory glance, a benign nod at most, and then forget about it, allowing it to sink somewhere in the deluge of fanmail you get. But you, PACH, you're different. Nervous and excited, as I entered your ninth carnivalesque gathering, little did I know that you would have ready for me letters and notes and colours and brush-strokes - an entire collection of artistic treasures in response to all these words and love-filled gestures I have sent your way. Its only someone with a heart as large as yours who could have managed it - yes, you!

"P aur CH ki shaadi se kaam achchhe hue hain
Mubarak ho aapko, PACHche hue hain!"

 

Remember that day you were born? Oh, I am talking of your rebirth - not in that faraway land, but in my own backyard. That was the day you filled me with mirth, and filled three other quiet quills with inspiration. Yes. You were born as an inspiration, or better still, you were born to inspire, to motivate, to instil in tentative minds an urge to explore their dormant creative facets. I am not kidding - you can ask them around. Yes, you can ask those very faces who were waiting to burst into cheers and laughs from behind the colourful door at Bade Bhaiya's house. Tell me, aren't you glad that genuinely amazing people like Bade Bhaiya, Bhabhi, Sripriya and Amma associate themselves with you? That they not only open the doors of their house, but also of their hearts for you? That their love reaches you not just via the warm reception you get, but also through the aroma of most sumptuous, home-made food that is laid down specially for you? That Manmohan bhaiya always manages to find time to share his compositions with you despite having ultra-busy schedules? Also, aren't you, like, totally flabbergasted to have someone like Sandeep bhaiya add dollops of exuberance to your already lively existence, and then, to have him invite you over for a snug session somewhere in the chilly month of December? Yes yes, I know you are excited to go over and revel in the mutual exchange of happy, positive energies - but there is time till we get to that. 

Bade Bhaiya - "Larger Than Life"

S P Uncle, Manmohan Bhaiya and Sripriya -
I consider myself lucky to have met them :) 

I am not able to get over the love that poured out of sweet dish which Amma made for us. And the subtle cheer which Ambika bhabhi carried in her personality. And also the wisdom which poured out of S. P. Uncle's simple versus drawing a contest between technology and traditions. This time when we all met, there was a perfect confluence of enthusiasm and sagacity - an experience that can only be felt, not delineated. When the teacher and taught are present in the same room, with no walls separating them - as spectators what you get are little hints into what 'perfection' in life comprises of and what the true definition of a 'blessing' is. It all happens when you go places, PACH. And you are zooming around at a pretty mind-boggling speed. You still give us ample time to sit down and savour moments and allow them to seep deep into our beings. How you manage such crazy, magical, impossible, contradictory acts - well, its time I stopped asking you that banal question. 

When excitement was on its uphill journey 

I hope the superboss does not mind this little transgression I am going to make while whispering something into your ears. I remember this day I gave my mother a long-ish letter, written in my unbelievably grotesque handwriting, with a lot of random crayon strokes forming the background. She said nothing, merely read it and smiled - and this day, I know she was happy and proud. But more than either of them, she was surprised - because she did not think I was capable of such expressiveness (and yes, I am trying hard not to sound vain, but PACH, I know you understand. PACH always understands). I wrote that letter for no specific occasion; only because I felt like doing it, and invested great hours into perfecting each sentence, so my mother understands how important she is to my life. The sense behind narrating this non-eclectic incident to you is to try and approximate the immediate thought which occupied my head between the end of surprises and beginning of introductions. PACH, you surprised me. Well, I know thats what you intended - but no! Its not the surprise that surprised me - your capacity and capability did. Your skills and warmth did. Your eagerness to love did. Your will to share did. Your remarkable maturity did. The gleam in your eyes did. So much more did. I feel like telling you what I often tell Anup - whoever gave birth to this phenomenon, it now has acquired a life of its own. It just knows where to go, how to progress. 

"Poore PACH ka jama chittha, ek jagah chipkaya hai"

You have little idea of what you pulled off. Given a week's distance, I am in a better position to understand and appreciate the spectacle. To Neha, I need to say - I cried. I should have been howling, but I could not understand half the buzz which surrounded me. Its a great feeling to be subdued once in a while - take my word for it. I might try and repeat the mommy metaphor here - but, you get the drift. 

One day, we'll read and not eat this one :) 

Dear PACH, how does one pack so much together? Do you know what all? Drama + Mad laughs + Chocolates + Feelings + Love + Tears + Sugar + Bling + Disbelief + Riddles + Poems + Colours + Energy + Creativity + Blessings + Beauty + More disbelief + Even more love + Wishes + Fishes + Hugs + Tales + Some more love... and I'm cutting short this list only because I am too sleepy. You can still know that you made me feel infinitely special. I can go ahead and say that this was one piece missing from the jigsaw of life. Only you were capable of putting it there with all crazy, gaudy shades. 

This picture carries one of the rarer, photographed smiles of
perhaps the most prolific poet I know - Navin Dutta. I'm learning from him, each day. 

He just might be narrating his letter to his future wife here.
Wonder how many would be scurrying in his direction after hearing him out. 

I came back home and I cried. Shamelessly. I cried remembering the surprise and the things that followed thereafter. I couldn't get over the fact that people from such diverse backgrounds and experiences sat down together and shared anecdotes without any fear or inhibitions. My favourite part of the day was when a voice that has alternately and ironically been called the fairer, but second sex found expression in a poem which contained echoes from a pleading womb. A few of us related incidents where our gender became our curse, but then, the elders in the gathering assured us that things are changing - that daughters are the glory parents are eager to embrace. PACH, I felt secure among all those good people, and I am carrying the satisfaction of having arrived at a good and pure place in life. 

Nautanki! But bahut pyaari wali

Aastha didi - why could have I not met you sooner?

This letter is not even close to its end, but, I would quote the tiny princess of PACH here and rest my quill till the next (festive) tryst with you. Also, because I am sleepy and will drop dead in next five minutes. So, as Aavika says - "Kuchh baatein adhoori rehne diya karo, mann bhara rehta hai."

You see that guy in his staple red shirt?
I am proudly his fan! 

There, right there are seated some of the most awesome poets Delhi has been witness to. 

PACH, among the many epithets you've acquired, I love it when they say - Love is PACH, and PACH is love (I heard both). I'll thank you once again, with a kiss this time. I am happily, crazily in love with you. 

More love, 
Saumya
(Panda)

Alter ego. Happily so!

PS - We're meeting next a day before Diwali. You're all like family now, and it only makes sense to share some sweets and hugs with you on this grand, bright, merry occasion. No firecrackers, unless they are of the Mago variety which cause laughter mayhem whenever lighted. Even if you have never been to PACH, and are reading about it for the first time, trust my word and book this Saturday for us. Drop a mail to poetry@pach.in for an invite. We're looking forward to you all! 

I wish I had preserved this!

Heights of craziness is this - gifting me Afremov. How?

(Thanks Kamal!)

Daastaan... Adhoori si

 Chand nikla nahi tha shayad us raat

Par sitaaron ki chamak saath chal rahi thi

Kya hum ja sakte hain wahaan dobara?

Woh baat sun-ne ko jab dhadkan machal rahi thi?

Chaand keh kar pukara tha tumne mujhe

Tab halki si muskaan mein sharm sama gayi thi

“Pagal” kehkar matha thapthapaya tha mera

Kyun? Kya main woh ehsaas tum mein jaga gayi thi?

Amavas ko dhang se na samajh paaoon

So tumne chand se muqabla kar diya mera

Khush thi ki roshni ban gayi hoon tumhari

Par yeh bhi yaad ki chaand samete hai andhera

Poori qaaynaat par noor chhalkata, phir chhupata

Woh ek raaz, ek aas, ek aarzu, ek gumshuda chehra

Tum padh nahi paaye mere khamosh andhere

Ab dushmani kar baitha hai zindagi se savera

Thake kandhe par sar, haath mein tumhara haath

Main chali ja rahi thi machalti chahat ko dabaye

Sard raat thi, laal shawl ke neeche dil thithur raha tha

Par yaad is kambakht ko tab bhi tumhari saanson ki garmaahat aaye

Tumne hi kaha tha, thandi hawa pyaar ko bhadkaati hai

“Paas raho, ab chhoti si doori bhi sataaye”

Tabse kitni sardiyaan, ya kahoon sadiyaan beet gayi hain

Thandak phir badan ko choom ke gayi, par tum toh na aaye

Saal bhar mein se bas sardiyaan yaad reh jaati hain ab

Aksar tumhari baaton ki chaadar ke peechhe chhup jaati hoon

Na bebas hoon, na badgumaan, na pyaar kam hua hai mera

Main toh mushkil yaadon ki bhi dhun bana, usse gungunaati hoon

Dua ki chaukhat pe baithe dekha hoga tumne mujhe

Andar jhaank ke, main waapas bhaag aati hoon

Sochti hoon ki pyaar maang, tumhe chheen kar le aaoongi

Par wahaan tumhara aks dekh, tumhari khushi ke liye lalchaati hoon

Meri baatein, meri kahaaniyaan yaad hain tumhe?

Sunte-sunte tum aksar thak jaate the

Kabhi hans padte, toh kabhi tok dete, kabhi na samajhte

Baaton ke matlab musalsal, sirf lafz badal jaate the

Suno, azeem lafzon ki riyaasaton ke beech dekhna

Wahin kuchh chhote gaaon hain jinme maayne samaate the

Saath chal rahi, tum kaise meri aankhein padh paate?

Un dono mein hi toh raat ke bewatan kisse timtimaate the.

Woh raat chali nahi wahaan se, waqt mein tham si gayi  hai

Woh daastaan bhi badhi nahi aage, kaali syahi mein jam gayi hai

Waqt jo kilkaariyaan marta, gudgudee karta

Waqt, woh aansu chhupata, siskiyaan dabata

Waqt jo waqt jaisa nahi tha

Waqt, jo par lagaaye khada tha

Jise yaad kar, muskuraate ho tum abhi 

Jise bhool aaye usi raaste, usi raat kahin

Postscript

Aansu behte hain kabhi kabhi

Par muskaan honthon pe tik gayi hai

Tum mujhe apni kahaani toh poori suna gaye

Humaari daastaan magar adhoori reh gayi hai

I could not have found a better artist than Afremov, yet again, to express in pictures what I have attempted to in words. When I recited the above poem in front of my classmates at college, one of them said in a tone of surprise, "Saumya, you are really romantic at heart!", and I was left scratching my head, wondering, how did she miss that! Another friend who heard it said that to have written all this, I MUST have felt an intense amount of love. I prevaricated, but smiled to myself. In my reckoning 'intense amount of love' is a euphemism of sorts. Adding figments of fiction to life is fun, but it also sometimes makes a spark into a conflagration. Building castles of love is not the most advisable thing to do, but hey, its a risk worth taking. I'll end the nonsense here. 

This is my first genuine attempt in Hindi. PACH made me do this. That same crazy, magical PACH.