CHERISH with HARISH

I got up early and i slept again. I definitely got up, but did i sleep well? With men dying in the mountains, and kids crying next to the dead bodies. I could not sleep at all. I just got up...

That open window, right above my pillow, has happy questions, with unhappy answers. The sun rays enter, wake me up, from dreams, unseen and unknown. Just because of that window, that open window above my pillow, that I keep forgetting my doubts and my problems, unseen and unknown. Questions I have, about life and death, murders and suicides. I stare into that window, and miss my parents, who are happy just with the memories of my happiness, all unseen and unknown. So, it is just this windo, which answers my questions, all unseen and unknown. JUST THAT OPEN WINDOW and nothing else.

न सोच न समझ , न सच न झलक , न मंज़िल न कोई रास्ता , क्यूँ बेरंग से बढ़ रहे , किस रंग में बेरंग हो तुम ? किस रंग में ? न माता न पिता , बस हैं कुछ दोस्त साथी , जो आज हैं , पर देखा न उनके संग कल , वो जाने हैं आज क्या हुआ , पर न भनक उन्हे बीते हुए कल की , क्यूँ बेरंग से बढ़ रहे ? किस रंग में बेरंग हो ? किस रंग में ? आज का दिन गुलाल का था , न था लहू का , न था हिंसा का , न था मदिरा का , न था गुमने का , कहाँ से आए ये रंग ज़िंदगी में ? किस रंग में बेरंग हो तुम ? किस रंग में ? किस रंग में ? किस रंग में ... © के॰ हरीश सिंह 2013

This is the awesome translation which our very own Sambit Kumar Pradhan did. Love it: वो माँ ... वो माँ, जिसने अपना बेटा मुल्क से मामूली मुद्दे पर लड़ते हुए खो दिया। खिड़की पे बैठे वो याद करती है अपने बेटे को, वो बच्चा, थका, पसीने में तर साँझ के खुशगवार खेलों की मुस्कान लिए भागा आता था रोज़ उसके पास। खिड़की पे बैठे वो याद करती है अपने बेटे को। वो मुल्क क्या है जिसके लिए वो मरा? क्या वही राष्ट्र-गान है जो वो स्कूल में गाता था, और उसके रौंगटे खड़े हो जाया करते थे? क्या वही मुल्क है ये, जिसके लिए वो मरा? वो मुल्क क्या है जिसके लिए वो मरा? अनजानों को मारना सीखा था उसने, सिर्फ इसलिए कि वो उसके मुल्क में घुसना चाहते थे। वो इस मुल्क के माइने कैसे बताए? वो कैसे इस मुल्क को अपना और उस अनजान को अपना दुशमन बताए? क्या वो उसे मारता अगर वो उसे सड़क किनारे किसी चाय वाले के यहाँ मिलता? कैसे मारता वो उसे, क्या उस अनजान की माँ नहीं होगी? और वो कौन सा मुल्क था, जिसके लिए वो मरा? उसे कहा गया लड़ने को, अनजान अनछुए इलाकों के लिए- हालत खुदकी उतनी ही बुरी जैसे दुश्मन की। वो फिर भी लड़ा उन से, स

जाना था जंगपुरा , पर गलत मोड ही था , जो मुझे निज़ामुद्दीन के किसी कोने में छोड़ गयी , वो बस! थी वो हरी बस , पर सपने रंग बिरंगे लिए , मैं चल पड़ा जंगपुरा की ओर। इतनी ठंडी हवा , की जेबों से हाथ ही न निकले , सिकुड़कर चलता रहा , वो गलत मोड ही था , जो मैं चल रहा था। गाडियाँ इतनी तेज़ , की पालक झपकते ही सब गायब , देखा मैंने की मैं ही हूँ , जो चल रहा था। गलत मोड जो ले लिया था। पर चलते चलते मैंने वो सब देखा , जो मैं कभी गाड़ी में सूंघ भी न पाता। मेरी बंद कविताओं के वो सुलझते खुलासे , मेरी कहानियों के वो अंजाने अंत , मेरे उन बेसुरे गानों के वो सुंदर सुर , सब साफ दिखने लगा मुझे। वो सब जो मैं कभी गाड़ी से सूंघ भी न पाता। मैं जो चला तो मुझे आया ये समझ , की सही ही कहा था उस महान कवि ने , की मोड़ कभी गलत नहीं होते , बस इंसान गलत होते हैं। बस इंसान गलत होते हैं। बस इंसान गलत होते हैं।

With the Ganges at its spiritual best, I saw him look at me, his eyes said that the river is his, I agreed, and with some unexplained happiness, I met, the dog who ruled the river... :)

That mother, who lost her son, fighting over an issue as trivial as the nation. She sits next to the window and remembers her son, this young boy who would come running to her, all sweaty and tired, with that happy smile of the evening games. She sits next to the window and remembers her son. What is the nation which he died for? Is it the same national anthem which played in his school assembly, and gave him the goosebumps?  Is it the same nation, which he died for? What is the nation he died for? He was trained to kill unknown people, just because they wanted to enter his 'nation', How could he define this 'nation', how could he call that person his enemy, and his nation his 'own'. Had he met him at the road side chai-wala, would he have killed him. How could he kill him, didn't that man have a mother too? What is the nation did he die for? He was asked to fight for regions, which were unknown and unvisited, a condition as ba

February 2013, Jungpura, Delhi. This is the weather I have always loved about Delhi. The February sun is like the best thing you could ever get. It is comfortably cold and I am very happy that it is COLD. I had missed the cold ever since I moved to my days n Ahmedabad and Mumbai. So I am back! The one year spent at Mumbai has been quite rewarding in terms of work experience. I just want to be free now. What is freedom? How do u define it? Freedom is defined as being able to do anything anytime, irrespective of the timing, or the place where you are. That I believe, is freedom! I wanted a change of space, which I have. Will (hopefully) get a nice place to stay. And I want to write and keep writing... "In this nice and lazy weather, with sleepy eyes,  I write and get lost.  From the lost world, i hear sounds of Delhi I have lived in.  It is the same city which has survived ages and still stands upright with all the walls and the gates.  As I write, I wonder what is r

शुरू सही ही की थी कविता, सही शब्द, सही विराम, पर कहीं बीच में, थम सा गया हूँ। पता नहीं क्यूँ? विचार बहुत हैं, असीमित। ख्याल बहुत हैं, असंख्य। पंक्तियाँ भी बहुत हैं, अनगिनत। अब कैसे लगाऊँ? क्या लगाऊँ? कहाँ लगाऊँ? बस बीच में, थम सा गया हूँ। पता नहीं क्यूँ? गीत भी लिखना शुरू ही किया था, सुबह की गर्मा-गर्म कॉफी के साथ, सही अल्फ़ाज़ बने, और बढ़ा गाना मेरा, पर अब न समझूँ, की कोरस क्या होगा, पता नहीं कहीं बीच में, थम सा गया हूँ। पता नहीं क्यूँ? न मैं थमता, और न ही सोचता, ख़ुश हूँ की मैंने शुरुआत तो की, थमा हूँ, पर रुका नहीं, विकल्प अब भी जारी है। थम ज़रूर गया हूँ, पर कविता, अब भी जारी है। सोच अब भी जारी है। जारी है...  

Every morning, at the Andheri station as I stand, I see millions of dreams, multiple lives, fighting with each other, over-taking each other, amidst all the announcements of the trains coming, I see the train, the shining Local, all set to accomodate all the dreams inside. We all jump up on the dream on wheels. The journey begins... Each train is a world in its own right, Full of races, full of people getting late, full of noises, full of illogical jokes people laugh on, full of the Mumbai I see and know of, full of ...Life, There is a reason why are they called the dream on wheels! As I stand waiting for Bandra to come, I see a group of people playing music and singing, these are all religious songs, as loud as the train sounds are, sung in voices which are absolutely brilliant, in terms of power and talent. The train approaches Bandra, I see them stop singing, packing up, They are all office goers, who just sing for the time to pass. Absolutely awesome

In the early morning darkness, all alone, I wait for light. With a couple of buses in motion, and an odd taxi on the road, I sit by that wait for sun-rise, I just wait for light. Last night was darker than the darkest, but some wise man told me to wait for the sunrise. He said it makes one happy. The whloe night i have been waiting, checking corners, waiting for it to glow, I just wait for light. There were no spaces to rest, nor was the will to, with so many good stories about the sun, I spend the whole night being awake, i just wait for light. They asked me to leave. They asked me to sleep off. They offered me money and coupons. They were all active men of the dark. But I, just wait for light. It is so early that it is not even morning yet, but I can feel it coming. So dark, that you know that there can be light anytime. I just wait for light. The breeze was painfully cold last night, but suddenly it feels good. The skies had no indication of light the whole night, but now, i see so

This hot summer afternoon, I sit next to the lake, An artificial lake they made a couple of years ago, With a massive afternoon in the center, Cooling everything around, From the ducks in the lake, To the breeze around. I sit there facing the cool droplets hitting on my face, And I wonder how true the truth is, How real is the reality? Are the people who walk around the lake real? Or is that sweet smell of water falling on the mud more real? Are the Gods we worship more real? Than the ‘heroes’ we see on celluloid? I ask, as I sit next to the lake… Are the people whom I see every day more troubled, Than the people I face inside me? I still wonder who is more real. Are the smiles around more real? Than the crying sounds I hear in the background? I ask as I sit next to the lake… These are unimportant questions, coming up from deep inside, these are doubts which won’t make a difference, but yeah, I ask as I sit next to the l

क्या गलत था, और क्या सही, क्या बड़ा था, और क्या छोटा, इन्ही उलझनों में तो फंस के रह गयी, मैं और तुम, तुम और मैं। आज भी हम यहीं देखते रहे, कि क्या-क्या है तुम्हारे पास, और क्या मेरे पास, और इसी में सिमटी रह गयी, लड़ाई तुम्हारी और लड़ाई मेरी। बस इसी लड़ाई में, फंस्स कर रह गई, सोच हमारी, ज़िन्दगी हमारी। क्या मेरा, क्या तुम्हारा।

That one day I prayed and prayed, in the far off lands I know, I saw that enchanted temple, I just saw that enchanted temple. I concentrated harder, and the visuals became clearer, of that pure enchanted temple, so clear, so true. I closed my eyes harder, I breathed with so much ease, I saw the enchanted temple, with more clarity and honesty. And then, passing through, all the channels of concentration, came Ma's voice, "Harish, come for dinner..."  And I opened my eyes, in shock, I was back in my room, with all the everyday things, around me, above me. I got up and left for food, I sat down with Ma's and Pa's love, tasty was the food, indeed, but I just could not take out, the visuals and the thoughts of, the enchanted temple...

(I wrote this poem in my hospital room . I was lying down with me sitting under this random picture in my hospital room, which had a couple walking away from the camera. And...it was raining! :) That photograph on my wall, right above the bed, it had so many untold stories, so many of them. That young couple, walking away from the camera, with hand in hand, had so many things to tell me, but more importantly, it had so many things to tell each other. What if I knew the girl, or the boy, or anyone, but they never turned! What if...? I had so many questions, so many doubts to clear, but none of them turned, none of them. It was just a plain photograph on my wall, right above my bed, with so many untold stories...

It was raining that day, Right through the day, Into the night, It was raining that day. It reminded me of Aaji, Of her presence and her stories. As I thought more of her, I thought more of her stories, Of why did they end like the way she wanted them to? Or why did they end to teach us a lesson? Sitting at the window, I thought more of her stories, Of why did the tiger agree to get back to the cage, Of how could the Brahmin speak like a human-being, To that tiger, who had just jumped out of the cage, Of why didn’t the tiger protest? Or may be eat that Brahmin up? Why couldn’t the tiger protest? Aaji was not there to answer my questions, Some questions, stay as questions. With no answers, none whatsoever. Dear Aaji, Rest In Peace.

When you work so hard, that you don't realise how tired you are. When you don't eat for a long time, and you start losing that feeling of hunger. It is then, that it is all dreamy! When everything moving around you, is at a surreal pace. When you see that people are alive, just because they breathe together. It is then, that it is all dreamy! When you want to SLEEP, but more than that, you want PEACE. A slumber where you know, that there would be no tensions after waking up. Here, reality looks like a dream, a dream, which you are just a part of, a dream, where your actions won't change anything, a dream, where being tired is just a state of mind. It's all dreamy! It's a race, where everyone is running, no winners, no losers, just running! But it was your choice, your decision, you chose to run, you enjoyed it. It is no doubt dreamy, but you are loving it, so DREAM ON...

Some where between the ocean of clouds, and the cloudy ocean...I learn to swim...I learn to fly!

हम तो बस यूं ही  अंधेरे में रोशनी ढूंढ रहे थे, हुमे क्या पता था की हुमे अंधेरा इतना भा जाएगा।

कौन गहरा ज़्यादा? वो चमचमाता समुंदर, अंदर जिसके, बसते कई अनजाने से शहर? या वो तेज़ बहती नदी, गुणगान में जिसके जलते वो अनगिनत दिये, और गाये जाते वो असंख्य गान? कौन गहरा ज़्यादा? क्या वो खाई गहरी, भीतर जो छिपाय बैठी, पर्वत के सुंदर राज़? या वो ज्वालामुखी, जो दबाय बैठा है शतकों की आग, मन में अपने? कौन गहरा ज़्यादा? क्या ये आसमां ज़्यादा गहरा, जिसमे समा जाता, वो शीतल चंद्रमा उस खौलते सूरज संग? और वो तारे मानो सपने हो... टिमटिमाते, चमकते, छोटे...पर अनगिनत, सपने ही हो। या गहरा वो कुआँ, जो नानी के घर में, पीढ़ियों से शांत बैठा है, कई कहानियाँ छिपाय, राजाओं की, कहानियाँ गहराई की? कौन गहरा ज़्यादा? गहरी तो है उड़ान, उस कौवे की, जो न देखती कोई मुल्क, न कोई मजहब, देखती तो बस वो भूख, उड़ान भूख की। या शायद गहरी है मेरी नींद, अनजाने ख्वाबों में जो ले जाती किसी और लोक में, बंद आँखों से मुझे इतना कुछ दिखलाती, खुली आँखों से जो मैं सोच भी न पता। कौन गहरा ज़्यादा? गहरी है कहानियाँ, जिनके अंत दे जाते सीख? या गहरा है हर दिन, जिसके अंत में है,  अगले दिन के शुरुआत