३१ दिसंबर की शाम...

ना दुआ ना सलाम
राजाना सी आयी
और दीवार से कलेंडर
उतार कर ले गयी
३१ दिसंबर की शाम...
- anonymous

शायद ज़िंदगी बदल रही है!!

A poem by Chandan Pratap Singh, which has landed in my mailbox multiple-times during last week or so:

शायद ज़िंदगी बदल रही है!!

जब मैं छोटा था, शायद दुनिया
बहुत बड़ी हुआ करती थी..
मुझे याद है मेरे घर से "स्कूल" तक का वो रास्ता
क्या क्या नहीं था वहां,
चाट के ठेले, जलेबी की दुकान,
बर्फ के गोले, सब कुछ,

अब वहां "मोबाइल शॉप",
"विडियो पार्लर" हैं,
फिर भी सब सूना है..
शायद अब दुनिया सिमट रही है...

जब मैं छोटा था,
शायद शामें बहुत लम्बी हुआ करती थीं...
मैं हाथ में पतंग की डोर पकड़े,
घंटों उड़ा करता था,
वो लम्बी "साइकिल रेस",
वो बचपन के खेल,
वो हर शाम थक के चूर हो जाना,

अब शाम नहीं होती, दिन ढलता है
और सीधे रात हो जाती है.
शायद वक्त सिमट रहा है..

जब मैं छोटा था,
शायद दोस्ती
बहुत गहरी हुआ करती थी,
दिन भर वो हुजूम बनाकर खेलना,
वो दोस्तों के घर का खाना,
वो लड़कियों की बातें,
वो साथ रोना...

अब भी मेरे कई दोस्त हैं,
पर दोस्ती जाने कहाँ है?
जब भी "traffic signal" पे मिलते हैं
"Hi" हो जाती है,
और अपने-अपने रास्ते चल देते हैं,
होली, दीवाली, जन्मदिन और नए साल पर
बस SMS आ जाते हैं,
शायद अब रिश्ते बदल रहें हैं..

जब मैं छोटा था,
तब खेल भी अजीब हुआ करते थे,
छुपन छुपाई, लंगडी टांग,
पोषम पा, कट केक,
टिप्पी टीपी टाप.

अब internet, office,
से फुर्सत ही नहीं मिलती..

शायद ज़िन्दगी बदल रही है.
जिंदगी का सबसे बड़ा सच यही है..
जो अक्सर क़ब्रिस्तान के बाहर
बोर्ड पर लिखा होता है...
"मंजिल तो यही थी,
बस जिंदगी गुज़र गई मेरी
यहाँ आते आते"...

source: http://hinditvmedia.blogspot.com/2010_11_01_archive.html

प्राण, यदि तुम साथ दो तो, आज जीवन के बिखरते रूप को साकार कर दूं...

I had scribbled these verses, during a long 24-hrs train journey - Bhopal-Bina-Katni-Bilaspur-Champa - to reach the coal-mines of Korba. I was 27yrs then, and just 2yrs into my first job. And was dealing with multiple changes happening with my Life - both outside and inside... as it was unfolding then (thankfully, life has kept unfolding such surprises even now :)...


प्राण, यदि तुम साथ दो तो,
आज जीवन के बिखरते रूप को साकार कर दूं...

ह्रदय की गति में निहित यति, पूछती है अर्थ अपना,
सांस के बोझिल, थके पग, ढूंढते गंतव्य अपना,
एक विस्मृत स्वप्न जग कर, मांगता सन्दर्भ अपना,
...प्रश्नचिन्हों को मिटा कर, स्वयं को आकर दे दूं....

आज युग की साध को आराध्य जीवन का बना लूं,
जो कभी सोयी हुई थी चेतना, उसको जगा लूं,
बाँध लूं नभ को, धरा को आज बाहों में छिपा लूं,
...प्रेरणा को आज जीवन का नया आधार कर दूं...

अनगिनित पथ हैं पथिक के, भ्रम दिशाओं में छिपा है,
लख्श्य से अनजान हूँ पर, ह्रदय में सपना लिखा हैं,
खोजने-मिलने-बिछुड़ने की अजब जीवन-प्रथा है,
इस प्रथा से, इस व्यथा से, आज फिर अभिसार कर लूं....

प्राण, यदि तुम साथ दो तो,
आज जीवन के बिखरते रूप को साकार कर दूं...

...such scribblings/verses were a great way to remain 'centred to self' (a term I discovered much later) at that time - and learn to deal with the dilemmas of an unfolding life

गीत गाता हूँ, किसी दिन बाँध चंचल काल का पल...

Keshav Pathak was one of my 'resident poets' - among many others... as I was growing up...
He wrote what made sense at that time when you are in your mid-teens - to look life from a perspective from when you would be leaving...

As I grew, I forgot him - and then - later - tried to find him too... I couldn't so I guess, he remains an unknown poet on the internet

...what I do retain are some of his verses from my diary of '70-71 - dont know/recall when/why I jotted them down - but they did make the context of growing up then...

गीत गाता हूँ, किसी दिन बाँध चंचल काल का पल,
चेतना अपनी बना दूंगा स्वरों की एक हलचल,
मौन का जब बाँध टूटेगा, घड़ी हो गी प्रलय की,
क्या नहीं इस मौन में हलचल छिपी मेरे ह्रदय की?....

and another one...

हे चिरंतन, ठहर कुछ क्षण, शिथिल कर ये नर्म बंधन,
देख लूं भर-भर नयन, जन, वन, सुमन, उडगन,किरण धन,
जानता अभिसार का चिर-मिलन पथ मुझको बुलाता,
कौन गाता? कौन गाता?...

..and

मृत्यु, प्यारी मृत्यु, मन की मीत, आ तू पास मेरे,
बोल कानों में कि प्राणों में समां लूं बोल तेरे|

Amen!...

टूटी हुई लकीरें ले कर हाथों में, कितने ही मासूम बहारों के सपने

टूटी हुई लकीरें ले कर हाथों में,
कितने ही मासूम बहारों के सपने
बिखर चुके हैं मरू की जलती रेती में
दूर हुए हैं वही, कभी जो थे अपने...

पर इससे क्या! - हम सपने नए बनायेंगे
कुछ सपने जो जीवन की जलती रेती में
अंकुर फोड़ेंगे हंसती हुई बहारों के
भीगी आशाएं लिए झुलसते सीने में...

...पर अंधे सी लाठी जैसे मेरे सपने
कब तक सह लेंगे बोझ थके इन हाथों का
कब तक बेराह भटकने को दे अर्थ नए
आशाएं देगा दीप अँधेरी रातों का...

अंधियारे में ही उल्हझ, बुझा दूंगा दीपक
सपने बिखरा कर स्वयं बनूँगा इक सपना
जो स्वयं खोजता था साथी अंधियारे में
बन कर रह जाएगा साथी केवल अपना...

- May 11, '73

मौन अधर भी कहते हैं कुछ...

केवल मूक हुई है वाणी
इतना भी तुम सम्हज ना पाए
मौन अधर भी कहते हैं कुछ...

कविता बन जाती स्मृतियाँ
चाहे कितनी भी सूखी हों,
बीती ऋतू की लुटी कहानी,
पुस्तक-पृष्ठों में मुरझाये
सूखे पुष्प सुनाते हैं अब...

आड़ी-तिरछी रेखाओं के
अर्थहीन जाले दिखते हैं
जिनकी लेख नहीं पहचानी
जिस रहस्य को समझ ना पाए
अर्थ वहां भी रहते हैं पर...

31-3-'72, Lucknow

****

...islands in the stream

Something reminded me of this chance-encounter which had happened more than 3-decades back. I had recorded it in some other context 5 years later...

so dug it up today... (going through old diaries throws up new insights about oneself :)

This is an excerpt from a long post dated 3/4/'80 in a diary - more a letter than a diary-entry then... it had another personal context

"...It was the late evening of 7th Nov '74. I was sitting on my hold-all on the Kathgodam station, waiting for the train, which would take me to Lucknow. There was still some time for the train to come to the platform, and there was the last page left in my diary which contained my experiences of love, disaster and recuperation... I took out the diary. I wanted to complete it before I leave Kathgodam and Nainital, and reach and start anew in Lucknow.

I was flipping through the pages when I heard a voice addressing me. It wa a small boy, begging me for two rupees. He was wearing a khaki knicker and half-sleeve shirt, which was half outside his belt. His hair were dishevelled, and his eyes were genuine and hopeful.

Why do you need money, I asked him. he wanted ot buy a notebook for his study. I asked him about his parents. The mother was dead, and the father was a sweeper.

He repeated his request. I felt that I had humiliated him by asking questions. I gave him two rupees and he ran off.

I looked at his fleeting figure, and suddenly, I was out there - looking at this encounter beween me and a faceless, nameless kid...

(I was born in Lucknow - the youngest son of a government officer. In May '74, my father was posted in Nainital... In the last week of Oct, my father had fallen ill and I had to rush back to Nainital, escorting my mother.I had intended to return to Lucknow on the 4th, but had fallen ill, and had to postpone my return journey)

...From the event of my birth to the postponement of my return journey to Nov 7th, countless event had transpired to force this encounter between me and this kid. It had turned out important for me (considering that I still recall and record it even now, more than five years after it happened). Maybe it also contributed to his life.. Maybe!... I'll never know...

And as I watched this encounter, I could see the arbitrary-ness of the whole episode, irrespctive of its value. The image of islands in the stream floated before my mind - and touched and got transfixed upon the core of my being...

...and so, human relationships became a product of spatio-temporal proximity, bound within a zone of probability; friendships became the sociometric cliques; and love became a hypothetical construct...

... It was an important 'critical incidence' of growing-up - though, it took me some more years to discover that there is so much meaning and richness in that "arbitrary-ness" of life's unfolding... in those moments when the islands in the stream touch each other in a random encounter....

Splinters...

From the hindsight of a 55+, this 20+ romantic was perhaps taking a stock of his life and relationships - past, present and unfolding then - (as he has kept on doing since then) as he was moving to another stage in life...

Those were emotionally turbulent times, when one had to deal with so many changes happening in one's life... one's own growing sensibilities; (clumsily) grappling to take ownership of one's relationships; coming to terms with becoming "adult"; trying to define the meaning of life, love and ideology for living; dealing with the excitement and trepeditions about a future which was to unfold (for which one was frankly ill-equipped then)...

Amongst all those happenings in life then, these verses were written on 27/04/'76

To M...
When I was a child
I had carved a rainbow
of glassy dreams
It stretched from me to you
- or was that your image?
Then one day you came, and I said:
let us climb to the apex of our dream.
My dream was fragile,
and collapsed from the weight of our individual realities

And today when we meet,
the splinters of my colourful dreams
pierce our breath.
We look at and pass each-other
in nostalgic silence...

To A...
Do you remember!
...that glass-house of dreams
that we had built?
It had wings
and we used to fly...
Then one day a gush of breeze
brought us down.
Our palace of dreams
crashed on the rocks...
The splinters flew around
and got into our eyes.

Now, we look at each other
with distorted vision,
and our common memories
irritate our injured eyes!!

To you...
Do not say, love,
that I am surrounded
by glittering stars.
These are splinters
of my crushed up past.
They do not shine,
but reflect the moonshine,
you bring with yourself.

But do not approach me,
you'll bruise your sole.
Wait for me,
and I will reach you one day...

I am learning to fly!

Adios! Shantanu Banerjee... a friend, an amazing person

well.. as life goes on, one learns to say those final "good-byes"...

I had met Shantanu first time in early '90s, when he used to be with Telco (now Tata Motors); I had joined XL then... he used to come to take sessions in our MDPs at XL. I remember him as a warm "whole" person (dont know how else to articulate this)...

He left Jamshedpur and joined Pepsi... then headed the HR for other organisations (Electrolux, Bharti Airtel, Steria, etc.)... and off and on we kept in touch for one reason or the other...

I had known that he was the guitarist of his batch - but it was only when the '81 batch came down to XL for their "Silver Jubilee Reunion" in '06 - when I (and many other who were on the campus then) realised that here was a talent who could play 11 instruments with same ease sitting on the JLT... he just flowed!

Some months back someone had called up and had told me about his growing cancer - and it seemed surreal to believe - and yet one knew...

So, when yesterday afternoon, Shruti da's (his batchmate) call came from Blore to say that he will perhaps last another day or two, one just kept one's fingers crossed...

... and then early this morning's SMS said:
"Shantanu Banerjee passed away early today at Bangalore. His body is being brought to Kolkata for the final rites."

... well, that's how it will happen to all of us - one way or the other...

So Adios, Shantanu - it was good touching base with you when you were here...

God Speed and God Bless!...
you will remain one of those voices/lives, I will carry with me...

ऐसा भी तो हो सकता था...

Last evening, I had posted this pic on my photoblog, which I had taken on a beach of California... it was a romantic/nostalgic capture of a precious moment of some unknown lives which crossed mine...

While posting it, the caption/ a phrase "ऐसा भी तो हो सकता था..." cropped in my mind. Apparently it triggered something in mind - and so after almost two decades, today I penned-down/ keyed-in some verses...

So now I can claim that I am once-a-year-poet for last two years :)... the last one too, was stimulated by a phrase a year back - 'गर रहे सलामत ये पागलपन...

anyways... here are the random meanderings

ऐसा भी तो हो सकता था...

फिर एक हवा का झोंका आ कर मेरी यादों को छूता,
औ' बादल का एक टुकड़ा फिर से मेरे आँगन में रुकता
गाता फिर से वो राहगीर, जो एक समय साथी मेरा,
दिल रहता वही भिखारी, मेरा मन भी बंजारा रहता...

ऐसा भी तो हो सकता था...

वो बच्चा जो गिनता रहता, बूँदें बिजली के तारों पर,
कुछ सहमा-सा एकाकीपन जो खोज रहा छोटा सा घर,
उस जीवन के छितरे टुकड़े, जो कभी-कभी मिल जाते हैं,
'ग़र जी उठते वो खोये पल, तो फिर वो पागलपन होता..

ऐसा भी तो हो सकता था...

इक पगडंडी जो टूट गयी, इक राह कहीं पे छूट गयी,
कुछ रिश्ते आगे बढे नहीं, कुछ साथ चले पर चले गए,
ऐसे डगमग से जीवन में, लोगों से, यादों से सीखा
चलते रहना, चलते जाना - शायद जीवन यूँ ही बहता...

ऐसा भी तो हो सकता था...

गीत बन आई अधर पर, सोनजूही याद तेरी...

We met - first time - back in '72 (seems so long back - yet it feels as if it was just yesterday), when we connected in the University (Lucknow)...

some of my friends (some of them are not there now - or I can trace back) would recall him as "Santee Joe"

A poet by heart - an army man by vocation now... (life takes us to destinies where we never wanted to go in the first place - at least in our generation)

we still talk once in a while and I visited him almost decade back...
... being a chronicler of lives which crossed mine, has some advantages of recalling people who contributed to my growing-up...

गीत बन आई अधर पर
सोन-जूही याद तेरी...

शाम यूँ लहरा रही
मानों प्रणय की याचना में
मौन साधे -
गुनगुना दे
ज्यों कोई भाषा हृदय की...

छिप गई गहराइयों में
वेदना सी
डबडबाये नयन की अभिव्यक्ति अंतिम...

सांस में अंधड़ समेटे
चिर प्रतीक्षा में थके पग

राह पर फिर ठेलती सी
आंसुओं से लिख गयी वह
जो ना कह पायी अधर से
याचना प्यासे ह्रदय की....

जाने क्या सोच के ऐसा ना किया...

Looking back though a haze of memories, this song/lyrics by Jaan-Nisar-Akhtar gave meaning to many of us... as we (my co-travellers - Sumu, Lootu, Santee, Nuppa, etc.) were coming to terms with our newly-discovered sensuality/ libido in our early/mid-teens then...
...and these lyrics took those impulses/fantasies to another orbit... (Sigmund Freud be damned for calling it "sublimation" :0)

[I still recall the lyrics and the song, in my mind... but would still like to listen to it once again... Manna Dey...

प्यास थी फिर भी, तकाज़ा ना किया,
जाने क्या सोच के ऐसा ना किया...

बढ़ के हाथों में उठा लेना था,
तुझको सीने से लगा लेना था,
तेरे होठों से, तेरे गालों से,
मुझको हर रंग चुरा लेना था...
....जाने क्या सोच के ऐसा ना किया...

हाथ आँचल से जो टकरा जाता,
एक रंगीन नशा छा जाता,
तेरे सीने पे खुली जुल्फों को,
चूम लेता तो करार आ जाता...
....जाने क्या सोच के ऐसा ना किया...

दिन हसीं रात में ढल सकता था,
मेरा अरमान निकल सकता था,
तेरा मर्मर से तराशा ये बदन,
मेरे हाथों में पिघल सकता था...
....जाने क्या सोच के ऐसा ना किया...

Indian Business History.. or so I think/found as it happened

some 5-6yrs back, I had started this quest to find the roots of "Indian Business History"
.. could never complete it, since life took another direction, and I realised that

"business" may or may not be about "management" (still researching why all "management" schools started calling themselves "business" schools:)

as an HR professional, there is 93% Human Resource outside the corporate/business boundaries (which contributes to 60% of GDP... whichever way it is calculated), and so there are more professional "HR" skills required to make them more productive..

...and so, my plan to convert this 2-session presentation into an elective, went for a toss. I still do it for our induction program, though
... but also know that I will never go beyond this... so thought that it may be a good idea to let it loose...
:0)

Indian Business History - Madhukar Shukla, XLRI Jamshedpur

जीवन भर के नाते हैं सब....

Those were the days - many, many years back (somewhere in late '70s) - when one was madly in love with life as it was unfolding, with someone in one's life (and who later departed to occupy some other universe)... and with life in general

...when I had scribbled these verses

...even though perhaps the "जीवन भर के नाते हैं सब...." doesnt hold in some ways/ anymore now (having said farewell) - and life moved on in its course...

बोलो प्रेयसि! किस पथ जाएँ
सारे ही पथ भाते हैं अब...

लहरों पर हंसती प्रतिछवियां
सागर में खोती सरिताएं
आज सभी से शब्द चुरा कर
अधरों पर अमृत बिखराए
गीत चिरंतन गाते हैं हम....

कविता बन जाती स्मृतियाँ
चाहे कितनी भी सूखी हों
बीती ऋतु की मधुर कहानी
पुस्तक-पृष्ठों पर मुरझाये
सूखे फूल सुनाते हैं अब....

जीवन की भटकी पगडण्डी
उल्हझ गयी तेरे केशों में
हम चंचल, मोहित दो राही
पलकों पर कुछ स्वप्न सजाये
जीवन-दिशा बनाते हैं अब....

तुमने जो माँगा है, प्रेयसि!
वो तो है अधिकार तुम्हारा
बाहों में आ कर रो लें या,
थक कर आँचल में सो जाएँ,
जीवन भर के नाते हैं सब....

पर क्या खोया?... पर क्या पाया?...

Those were the pangs of growing up back then... and trying to (not) commit my "terms of engagemnts" with the world around me, as I was growing up then....

...these verses were jotted down on Jan 27th, '74 (I was around 19yrs old then) by a person (the other "me"), who I hope to meet one day - once again...

...insha-allah

जब-जब राह मिली तब-तब,
अपने पर बंधन सा पाया
जब-जब भटका मैं तब-तब
कुछ खालीपन सा घिर आया!..

प्रेम मिला, स्वीकार सका ना,
दायित्वों से भाग उठा,
प्रेम-रिक्त जीवन से लेकिन
पल ही भर में उकताया!...

किसको खोजूं? क्यूँकर खोजूं?
जीवन के आधार कहाँ हैं?
प्रश्न बुने, कुछ पल फिर मन को -
बहलाया... या, भटकाया?...

सत्य बना हर पल की सीमा,
हर पग मंजिल का परिचायक
सांस बनी जीवन का दर्शन,
पर क्या खोया? पर क्या पाया?...

Teacher's Day: The Last Lecture

In a few moments,it will be another Teacher's Day...

(while teaching/preparing-for a course on "Cross Cultural Management" I realised that Japanese' term for "I/Me" actually means "between the people"... we carry thousands voices and lives as we live, grow and learn... The Web of Life, in Capra's terms)

...and so, this post is for all those (so many) from whom I learned and continue to learn:

• ...some who sit/sat through my classes...
  
  
• ...some whose classes I sat through (cursed them then, but value what I learned from them - now! - not necessarily what they taught!)..
  
  
• ...some who pass(ed) on the road below my balcony - and also those little ones of the XL community, who play in the basket-ball court beyond the road..
  
  
• ...some who I encountered in a brief ephemeral moment of this Brownian Motion, called Life - and inadvertantly, they left a thought, an image, an idea... to germinate, grow - take shape...
  
  
• ... some I grew up with, and they helped me to find my bearings in this topsy-turvy world - and also
  
  
• ...some friends and co-travellers, who took the other fork on the road, and went to inhabit another prophesy...
  
  
• ...some who support(ed) my life - the lady who cleans the road and the staircase, the 'bahadurs' in the campus, Rahila "Chachi", Nanki who would buy and cook for us then in late '70s ...
  
  hmmm..well... the list can go on infinitely... but to add one more
  
  
• ...some whom I "met"/came to know about in this virtual world of blogs, Ryze, Orkut, Facebook, YouTube, etc...

One of those virtual encounters, back in 2007, was with Randy Pausch - never met this Carnegie Mellon Prof... who gave his "Last Lecture" knowing fully well that he will not last more than a few months (he expired on July 25, 2008)

...and yet in some ways, I "met" him (and learned much from him)... yes, this vibed with me since I had known another teacher/ friend/ co-traveller in my life, who too in her own way articulated The Point of it All before she took the other fork on the road...

So this post is to celebrate life of another of my teachers
[...er - this is the original 76min video - not the Oprah Winfrey show kind, which too is availblle somewhere on YouTube - definitely not meant for the ADD junta :0)]

But if you can spare 76 / 34,164,000min of your on average life (65yrs), this is worth watching - and will be a tribute to a person


Randy Pausch: The Last Lecture

yup! "we can't change the cards we are dealt; just how we play the hand!"

...Life being the greatest teacher of all!!

मेरे मौन गीत..

er...the fact that now I make my living by blabbering around with a GoG ("Gift of the Gab", for the novices) has nothing to do with these verses - मेरे मौन गीत - written almost 40years back (39 to be exact:)...

..but then that was another time, another era (though hopefully, not another person)


साँसों की सरगम पर
ह्रदय की ताल पर
मर्म के शब्दों को
संजोया, पिरोया मैंने...
बस यही हैं,
मेरे मौन गीत!

जीवन के समतल पर
समय की हलचल पर
शून्य की शान्ति में
तैरते-उतरते से
भटकते रहे,
मेरे मौन गीत!

प्रेम के आँचल पर
जीवन के अस्थिर मेघ पर
तेरे स्वर का सहारा
खोजते-खोजते
स्वयं खो गए,
मेरे मौन गीत!...

[Oct 17, 1971]

...of Meena Kumari, Harlequin Complex and the "year of '72"

...that was when I was just 17yr old, back in '72!

... I was still trying to come to terms with my life (and with the vague awareness of a 'sense' of death/ that it will not last... was trying to grapple with the inconsequentiality of being/life, Harlequin Complex... with trying to be twice-born - a द्विज)...

...and that was when an idol, Meena Kumari (for me, and many of my other co-travellers) then - died. Gulzar came out with a book of her verses, and HMV with - I Write, I Recite

That spurred many poems from many of us then.
these were mine...
...as I used to sit idle on a chair in the varandah of B-52, Mahanagar, Lucknow, looking at the setting sun (thankfully, I had a family who let me "be" - though, not sure if I was allowed to 'be' me - by 'design' or by 'default'...not that it matters anymore :)

...in any case, these were the few verses from that year, that era...(recovered from from some old diaries)

--
शाम घिरती उदास राहों पर
मेरा सफ़र निढाल हो जाता
दूर से इक पुकार आती थी
वो भी खामोशियों में खो जाती
धुआं-धुआं-सा मेरी कायनात में घिरता
घुटी-घुटी-सी दरख्तों में कली मुरझाती
कफ़न में और मुझमें पास फासले होते
डरा-डरा सा ढूंढता हूँ अपनी परछाई

***
थका-थका सा बदन
कदम कुछ बुझे-बुझे से हैं
सांस भी बोझ बन कर
जम रही है सीने में...

...लग रहा जिस्म टूट-टूट बिखर जाएगा
कैसा माहौल है ये
बेसुरी ख़ामोशी है

उफ़! किसे ढो कर मैं लिए जा रहा हूँ
ज़िन्दगी की लाश है
या साँसों में जकड़ी मौत!

***
साँसे रह जाती सीने में
धुंधली सी ग़ज़ल बन कर
धड़कन भी बुझती सी तार छेड़ जाती है
जिस्म डूबता-सा है
दर्द भरी लहरों में
ज़िन्दगी एक कसक बन
रह जाती है दब कर...

शाम एक खामोश-सा
साया बन घिर आती...

...ऊबे हुए दायरों में
धुआं-धुआं छा जाता,
ख्वाब की खुमारी सा...

...तभी,
कोई नग्मा
रात की अंगड़ाई का
सूखे दरख्तों में कलियाँ पिरो देता...

और मैं हैरान सा
खोया-खोया
खोजता-खोजता
खुद ही खो जाता हूँ...

Remembering "me" - then and there..

Sometimes, I would like to go back in time and meet this person - an earlier "me"- who wrote these verses, when I was 21-yr old/young...


चिर-यज्ञ की समिधा-सा जलने को आतुर
एक वेदी ही तो मांगता हूँ,
या - अपना यज्ञ-कुंड भी, मुझको ही बनना होगा
अपनी ही अग्नि में, अपने ही कारण जलना होगा ||

शाम के सूरज की पिघलती परिधि-सा
मेरा अस्तित्व
पेड़ो की चोटी पर खिंचे,
सूरज के पीले पद-चिन्हों से
पूछ रहा पश्चिम का पथ...
..या अपने ही जीवन के अस्तांचल मैं
मुझको पिघलना होगा...

कितनी सीमाओं के केंद्र-बिंदु बिखर गए
धरती पर,
बांधते परिधियों में धरती अम्बरतल को,
लगता है रचना ये, बंट-बंट कर टुकड़ों में
बिखर-बिखर जायेगी...

...टूटे अस्तित्वों को,
बाहें फैला कर के
घेरे में भरना होगा...

कुछ सोच कर फिर, पाँव मेरे रुक गए...उल्टी दिशा में मुड़ चला|

There were 3 of us at one time - though (one of us not there anymore)... but we grew together,
and I grew with them...

I still remember the date - July 8, '70 - when we three met - by some quirk of fate -for the first time in Colvin College, Lucknow

For me that meeting became a long journey - a sort of journey to self-discovery in which we provided images to each other to chase/challenge/explore/...to find

...as we discovered our evolving selves...

This was poem, which in some ways blended with Siddhartha (the movie and the book), which I was growing up with then...

प्रेम का चंचल पवन
सुखमय सुवासित
और कुछ मदमत्त सा,
था चल पड़ा
पीड़ित उरों की टोह लेने के लिए|

देखे हमारे दो नयन
थे मूक, थे दयनीय
प्रेम छलक रहा था अथाह

उस मूक वाणी में कथा
वे
सब व्यथा की कह गए |

...सुन चल दिया तन
कुछ तुच्छ सा, कुछ हीन सा
समझा, स्वयं को रो पड़ा |

"आ, छाओं में कर ले शयन |"
कैसी मधुर आवाज़!
...मैं बढ़ता गया

कुछ सोच कर फिर
पाँव मेरे रुक गए,
उलटी दिशा में मुड़ चला |

[ps: not mine obviously (but written by one of us 3 who still is around...]

Of no account!...

...one keeps discovering one's roots... lines/verses which molded one's sensibilities to the nuances of those 'romatic'relationships, as one was growing up

I discovered this poem - of no account! - today (by someone called Mamta Chaudhry - don't know/remember where it was published), which I had jotted down in one of my diaries back in '74 (I must have been 19yrs than)

...but I can still resonate with her depth - and expression (as I must have, when I had scribbled down these verses)...

Last night I sat down,
to tabulate our love sheet..

You gave me:
Seven sidelong glances,
a magic walk in the rain,
the skylark in your hair,
the stars in your voice.
Many moth eaten moments...
A few misty promises.
intervals of interest,
before the curtains fell.

I gave you:
My out of focus sunsets,
the song which I could never sing.
the ritual of not caring,
that crumbled under your kisses,
that part of my mind
marked "No trespassers"

And in my will,
I left you the world
you still owe me:
A lifetime of loving,
a sorry you cannot say,
for being my tomorrow,
as you were my yesterday.

Reading it today after so many, many years, I could relate to me/us-then-in-that-time-and-era as we dealt with the issues of growing up... it had helped making sense of certain relationships then...

...though I really dont know if these verses resonate with those who occupy the space now...

रातों के साए घने...

long time back in '73.. I had asked a girl (who I had known during '62-'65, when we used to be in the same school) if she knew this song - she did and sang.. and so we became life-long friends... she became my मुह-बोली बहन, my soul-mate (we shared our bdays too)... later, she was a sort of "guardian" in Bhopal when I joined my first job (and we exchanged the roles a couple of years later, when she had her life-issues)...

...well, the Saturday-Night nostalgia :0)
as life goes on... and one remembers the people one grew up with who are not there around any more...

सफरनामा...

It is funny, how things fall in place in life!

My last post - about a fortnight back Shifting Base... random, useless musings was about moving on......

...and though I have just about shifted my office after 15 years or so - that too on the same floor of the building - ... it was also a shifting of a "base" in life - discarding many artifacts in life which one had kept "just in case", even as my interests and priorities have changed since then.

It was also re-discovering some lost artifacts in life, which one had forgotten about - which fell into place like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle one calls life...

One of them was this poem which a friend of mine (some of my old friends of that time will recall him as Santee Joe) had sent to me a few years back - we had met first time in 1972 in Lucknow University, had studied together, had participated in each other's life, loves/longings, falterings, hopes, failures... we went our ways too - me where I am, and he in Army etc... we still keep contact, talk to each other once in a while, and some years back I had visited him and stayed with him with my daughter in Ooty where his wife teaches now....

Since he had sent me this hand-written poem - and knowing him I know that this would be the only copy of the poem - सफरनामा - I had kept it somewhere safe... to be discovered today!...

..reading it today again was that moment when things/memories/images.. (so many of those stories which we live) fell in place, where lives intertwine in ephemeral moments - and somthing starts making sense in a very intuitive, tacit sense....

In any case, this is what I re-discovered... (as if he wrote 10-years back for me for today):

उम्र के हर पड़ाव पर कुछ तो
रुक कर लिखना है सफरनामें में

I
राह में कौन सी सराय पड़ी,
कौन चश्मा था मीठे पानी का?
किस परीज़ाद की सुराही से
छलक कर जाम हाथ में आया?
कौन अपना नहीं था यूं तो पर
वख्त बे-वख्त मेरे काम आया!
मैं भला कौन था, कहाँ का था?
किसके आशीष से परवान चढ़ा?
और डगमग कदम-कदम कर के
मील-दर-मील में गया चलता..
कभी सहराओं में भटकता था
कभी तूफ़ान से उलझता था -
मेरी यायावरी का था मकसद
मेरी मर्ज़ी बने मेरा रस्ता....
मैं बियाबान का, खलाओं का
निविड़ एकांत का पुजारी था...

II
फिर सुबह बादलों के पीछे से
मुझ्को सूरज ने झाँक कर देखा |
मैंने अंजूरी में रौशनी भर ली
और मन में उसे उतार लिया
जब चली सर्द हवा तब मैंने
धूप को सूद पर उधर लिया
धूप का क़र्ज़ यूं रहा मुझ पर
शाम मैंने उसे उतार दिया ||

III
घने जंगल के उस किनारे पर
एक दहके अलाव की बात!
और मैं एक मेज़बान बना -
मेरी हमराज़ बन गई वह रात ||
इक खजाने की तरह थी वह शब -
थी किसी चांदनी का नगमा या...
किसी के सोये हुए दर्द का राज़ |
वो कोह-ए-नूर का फ़साना था -
पर मुझे और कहीं जाना था...

IV
राह पर रंज-ओ-ग़म अकेले थे
भीड़ थी, दिल जलों के मेले थे |
मयस्सर थीं तमाम वो खुशियाँ
जिनको पाने से पैर बांध जाएँ |
और ऐसी बनीं मानस्थितियाँ
कि ख़ुशी से जहान रंग जाए |
झीनी चादर पे कोई रंग चढ़े
पर ना था रंग इबादत सा कोई |
प्यार का रंग रौशनी सा था
खुशबुओं का इन्द्र-धनुष सा था |
इसी महक से सरोबार था मन
अब भी इस फ़िक्र का ग़ुलाम हूँ मैं |
आने वाले पलों कि झोली में,
यही अबीर डाल दूंगा मैं |....

V
सजी थी बज़्म चाँद-तारों की
अंजुमन एक कदरदानों की |
धुल जब नाच उठी सहरा की
झड़ी सी लग गयी सवालों की..

"कौन है जो हवा में शामिल है?
कौन वो जिसकी आँख का मंज़र
इक इशारे से बांधता पुल है?
किसका हर हुक्म एक लम्हे में
ब-सर-ओ-चश्म बजाती है हयात?
सूबह से शाम खुशबुओं में पेज
बीज बोता हुआ हवाओं में -
क्या वो मौसम का कोई माली है?
या गुलिस्तां का वो भिखारी है?
या है ईसा का कोई रहबर
बांटता जो ज़कात राहों में -
दर्द-मंदों को बक्श दे जो शफा
इश्क ने नाम दिया जिसको वफ़ा?"

इसी के आस-पास मेरा वजूद
वही ग़रीब-नवाज़ मेरा रसूल |
मैं फ़कत खाक-ए-इश्क का कतरा
मैं उसी आब-ओ-हवा का दाना..
तलब चमन-तराश की मुझ्को
पारा-पारा मेरा सनम खाना!

रूह में बाँध ज़फर की अजान
यूं लिखा जीस्त का सफरनामा ||

[written on 06th May 2001, Mysore. Sent to MS on 06 Oct 2003 from Thanjauur - Santee]

Shifting Base... random, useless musings

Rationally, when I look at this, it is a stupidest, maudlin kind of feeling... It is, after all, just shifting from one room to another... on the same floor, same building...
...and this is/was just an office... not that I came here often...

And yet, this seems like a major shift in life... I have occupied this room for almost 10-15 years (don’t even remember when I shifted to this room...). It was/is a nice room, tucked away in a corner in XL.. A kind of personal space, where I could be
...I have/had a room - like my life - piled up with all sorts of useless clutter... which are also fond memories of people I met and came to know (project reports/ PLPs which helped me to learn the dilemmas/aspirations of another generation/ random artifacts of events in this institute which became my life.... blah, blah)... And even if I carry them, somehow they are - and will remain - tied to this room...

I will remember this room where I had some of the most amazing conversations/ fights/ bondings/ got the opportunity to know and learn of a generation who will occupy the space in time to come....

The place where I will shift is actually larger, more spacious... has more windows and is better "equipped"....
...in some ways, I look forward to this - and, yet, will miss this private corner I had...

Oh, yes!.. I will carry the table which I had accidentally "inherited" to my new abode!....

...and in the next one week, this room too will become a fond memory of life lived....
well!....so be it!... life goes on...

Fringe-benefits of... well, living my life!

There are a number of fringe-benefits of being in teaching profession - most importantly, one learns something everyday.

There are other fringe-benefits too (specially, if for someone who has stuck around in the campus for now 2 decades): e.g., one meets some of the brightest, most talented - and weirdest - of people in the class, and gets in touch with real "Lives in Progress" (an old book by Robert White, which used to be my favourite back in 70s); one learns the changing values and perspectives across generations (and learns to accept the feeling of having played one's inning); one learns to live and underand the consequence of one's actions over years; and in one of routine days, one gets a chance of getting that snuggly-warm feeling for being remembered by someone whose life one touched inadvertantly, completely out of the blue...

That's what happened to me this evening, when I received this mail. Though I know the exercise which he mentioned, but frankly, I don't even recall if I ever used it in XL... Maybe I did, or maybe he mistook me for some other colleague... In any case, the very fact that after almost a decade he still remembered something which he learned during an hour of interaction with someone - me or someone else - made my day :).

This is the mail I received:

=========
I am sure you won't know me - I joined BM(D) in 20xx, but discontinued after completing a year. Since then, it has been pretty much a tumultuous but enjoyable journey for me. Right after dropping out from XLRI, I took the entrepreneurial plunge and co-founded XXX in 20..., a test prep providing company. It had been a great learning story there - we pooled in all our savings, launched our products, incurred losses in the 1st year, faced death, raised angel investment, bounced back and now it is growing at about 100% every year.

I moved out of XXX in 20..., and went solo. I founded YYY, a technology enabled test preparation solution provider for Aus, UK, Ireland and New Zealand tests. I had assumed my prior experience of XXX would make the 2nd round of entreprenuership easier, but I realized that labour pain is as painful the 2nd time as it is the 1st time. The 1st year in YYY was equally tough. However, we have now crossed that blink-and-you-die phase, and slowly but surely moving towards stability. We are now a 38 strong team, and growing pretty fast.

Sir, I wanted to mail you to say a big THANK YOU. I did not have a chance to attend your courses, but you took an one hour session for our batch in the initial months. While you were discussing a lot of things, the seniors were preparing for the dunking phase of Bxxxxd :) [die-hard Xlers of recent years will know what the 'xxxx' stands for:0)]. You made us play a game that explained how we human beings have a great sense of timing, hence speed, but a terrible sense of direction. (You had asked us to guess the time, and also the north direction. While were were spot on about the time stuff, our sense of direction was wayward).

Many of the last 8 years I spent was in the wilderness.

That small game helped me understand how important it was to set a direction, and work towards it. And, that is one exercise that I share with all my team members.
==========

So, what was my learning for the day?

Many actually, but perhaps most importantly...

That, in the Brownian movement of our "lives in progress", those mindless hello-goodbye encounters keep reverberating in some other lives for many years...

That, there is an in-built responsibility to other lives in all our interaction, connected as we are - and will remain connected...
and

That... life is sure worth it - actually a blessing - with all its inadequacies and contradictions - its joys, sorrows, guilts, elations, frustrations, longings, losses, fulfillments... In its ups-and-downs and myriad hues....when one fine evening, you suddenly receive a mail from an almost stranger ("stranger" being an artifact of my own clouded/cluttered memory) you had met almost a decade back, with a subject line "To Sir, With Love"

In any case, it is a snuggly feeling to have, when one hits the sack! :)

Omar Khayyam & Me - 5

XXIII
And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend--ourselves to make a Couch--for whom?

My Translation:
हम, कलिका बन खिले -
धरती ने प्रेम दिया
गगन ने गीत दिया,
और हम निखर गए...

सूरज ने तपन दी,
पवन ने झझकोर दिया,
और हम बिखर गए,
धरती के आँचल का श्रृंगार बन कर...

कि हम, खिलें, महकें,
अपनी ही सुरभि में,
झूम-झूम बहकें,
और बिखरें धरती के आँचल पर...

...बनायें एक और आँचल
कि
हम पर गिरें जो पंखुडियां...
उन्हें चोट ना लगे

Omar Khayyam & Me - 1
Omar Khayyam & Me - 2
Omar Khayyam & Me - 3
Omar Khayyam & Me - 4

इशरत-ए-कतरा है दरिया में फना हो जाना...

Somehow, as one grows, every year adds to the number of cherished co-travellers whom one sadly outlived... Many of them younger to oneself!

Some days back, a common friend had sent me a mail: "What I have to share with you is painful - Kokila is critically ill and is in the ICU for the past 15 days. There is little hope, except for a miracle...She is heading for multi organ failure and all this within a span of a fortnight. It started as high fever and before anyone knew anythign, it developed into a major crisis. "

I prayed for that miracle, which did not happen....

And now suddenly when she has left, some of those small trivial moments/occuring become significant, e.g.,..

...I have wrist-watch of more than 2-decade vintage... It was gifted to me when I left ASCI, Hyderabad, since during those years I did not buy a watch (mine had fell down from a moving train during one of the tours)... I used to just peep-in into my colleagues' cabins or ring them up to find time. The "system" worked fine, since that way I got to interact with them everyday). Kokila was a young bubbly girl who had joined us - full of enthu, warmth and energy...

When I decided to leave ASCI in '88 (though remained informally part-time with the college), Kokila told me, "now you better get a watch, and we will give it to you"... And so that's a gift which I cherish...

Today, this everyday wrist-watch suddenly became significant for me...

After leaving Hyderabad in '90, we hardly had any contact. I know she had communicated with Geeta some time in early '90s - their common interest being the gender issues...

About 3-4 years back, I was in Hyderabad, and rang her up. After so many years, I was not even sure, where to start.... in the meanwhile, she had left ASCI, had co-founded an organisation - FORDE ...Her warm, cheerful and reaching-out words still ring in my ears: "Hi rascal! Where have you been all these years?!! No news!" and we chatted for a long time...

And then today I received this news which I was fearing to receive: "Kokila Parthasarathy, just 50, passed away today after 15 days on the ventilator. Undiagnosed infection led to multi organ failure. A vibrant and ever cheerful Kokila, who was globe trotting till her sudden illness is no more. It is very hard to believe it..."

Good bye, Kokila!

...too much wine, too much song...

A very old and dear friend of mine - of more than 3 decades vintage - recently posted a message on FB "...added Singing to her interests."...

And I wanted to write back that through all these years, I recalled her only from this Terry Jacks song - of that golden era of our lives... "Seasons in the Sun" which she used to sing then (FB unfortunately does not allow such msgs):


Seasons in Sun (Terry Jacks, 1974)

...and then I realised, that so many of my friendships - most of them lasting a lifetime (feel guilty to admit that it was their lifetime... for having outlived so many of them... and miss them in my life-space) were built around songs, music and poetry that we shared...

...like the one with one of my "soul mates" (my sister, guardian and ward - at different points in time in our lives... When she left, I lost a segment of my life which we used to share since 1962)


Ishrat-e-Katraa (Ghalib) by Shumona Roy Biswas

..and then today, I suddenly chanced upon a treasure - Zamfir - on YouTube... I got introduced to Zamfir during mid '80s by another of those co-travellers (now no more with me - bless her wherever she is now)... We used to freak-out on "Einsamer Hirte/The Lonely Shephard"


Gheorghe Zamfir - Einsamer Hirte/The Lonely Shephard

...and the immortal "She" (not many would relate her to Rider Haggard... we, a part of a generation, grew on that legacy)


Gheorghe Zamfir - She

Well, well... lives go on (specs and sparks as they/we are in the benign indifference of the universe) - and as Ghalib wrote (and Shumona di' gave her voice to the verses:

इशरत-ए-कतरा है दरिया में फना हो जाना...

कुछ सम्बन्ध ऐसे होते हैं...

कुछ सम्बन्ध ऐसे होते हैं
जो खोटे सिक्कों की तरह
मेरी जेब में पड़े रहते हैं...

उनका खनकना मुझे अच्छा लगता है,
पर उनसे
एक मुट्ठी भर सपने भी
नहीं खरीदे जा सकते...

****

कुछ सम्बन्ध
एक मचलती पगडंडी की तरह
मेरे पैरों के नीचे से फिसल जाते हैं,
और मैं भटकता रहता हूँ...

और फिर एक दिन,
स्मृतियों के जंगल से,
वे निकल कर, वो मुझे फिर से जकड़ लेते हैं,
और मैं, दिशा-हीन, एक बार फिर,
उन पगडंडियों के साथ,
भटकता रहता हूँ....

****

कुछ सम्बन्ध ऐसे होते हैं
जो जीवन की परिधि के
परे होते हैं...

और उनका भावनात्मक समीकरण
धातु-जगत का कोई भी तर्क
नहीं सुलझा पाता है...

****
April 19th, 2010 - Remembering Geeta - on her birthday

A life woven around couplets and poems...

Today, I (re-)discovered a very very old diary, which I used to keep, when I was growing up - and in which I used to scribble down things - quotes, poems, couplets (शेर ) which I would come across (in books, magazines, conversations with friends/co-travellers of my life, songs, etc.), and which would help me to make sense of my own scattered life...

Reading those, I also realised the influence they had on my mid/late teenage mind, and - for good or bad - molded me as a person... at least, gave me a sense of meaning to those numerous things which happen to you when you are - with very inadequate capabilities- trying to find 'what the hell this is all about!'

Some, I still remember, but many of these personal roots I had forgotten till today I re-discovered them...

...in some ways, this post is to acknowledge those many unknown poets/ शायरs who were with me when I was growing up

Here are some - maybe 2-10% - of those couplets (from amongst the hundreds, which are there in the diary)... in no particular order - each of them was a part of 'sense-making' :

उगां कि मुझ ग़रीब को, हयात का ये हुक्म है,
समझ हरेक राज़ को, मगर फरेब खाए जा।
***

मंजिल मुझे मिले ना मिले, इसका ग़म नहीं,
मंजिल कि जुस्तजू में मेरा कारवां तो है।
***

कुच्छ ग़म नहीं कि उनकी निगाह-ऐ करम नहीं,
हम भी अलग हैं, अपना मुकद्दर लिए हुए।
***

एक बार ही जीने कि सजा क्यूँ नहीं देते,
गर हर्फ़ गलत हूँ तो मिटा क्यूं नहीं देते।
मोती हो तो यूं पास ना रखने का सबब क्या,
पत्थर हूँ तो रस्ते से हटा क्यूं नहीं देते॥
***

जो सोचिये तो बहुत सिलसिले, बहुत रिश्ते,
जो देखिये तो जहाँ में, हर आदमी तनहा।
***

कहना चाहा तो मगर बात बनायीं ना गयी,
दर्द को शब्द में पोशाक पिन्हाई ना गयी।
और फिर ख़त्म हुयी ऐसे कहानी अपनी,
उनसे सुनते ना गयी, हमसे सुनाई ना गयी॥
***

गए हैं हम भी गुलिस्तान में बारहा लेकिन,
कभी बहार के पहले, कभी भार के बाद।
***

भटकने कि आदत सी कुच्छ पड़ गयी है,
कई बार मंजिल ने हमको पुकारा।
***

ऐ मौजे हवा! दे इनको भी,
दो-चार थपेड़े हलके से।
कुछ लोग अभी भी साहिल से,
तूफाँ का नज़ारा करते हैं॥
***

डूबने वाले ये किनारे पर क्यूँ-कर है,
मौत आई तो किनारे पे भी मर जाएगा।
***

मेरी ज़िन्दगी वोह मसल्सल सफ़र है,
कि मंजिल पे पहुंचे तो मंजिल बढ़ा दी।
***

ऐ आसमान, तेरे खुदा का नहीं है खौफ,
डरते हैं ऐ ज़मीन, तेरे आदमी से हम।
****

पुरानी और नयी रौशनी में फर्क इतना है,
उन्हें मंजिल नहीं मिलती, इन्हें साहिल नहीं मिलता।
***

हमें खबर है कि हम हैं, चिराग-ऐ-आखिरी-शब्,
हमारे बाद अँधेरा नहीं उजाला है।
***

अगर जाना है तुमको पार
बहुत है तिनके का आधार।
और मत सोचो मेरे मीत,
कहेगा क्या तट से संचार॥
***

रागिनी एक थी आंसू की मेरी उम्र मगर,
रही जहाँ भी वहां, रौशनी लुटा के रही।
और जब ख़त्म हुयी मेरी कहानी जग में,
आधी दीपक नें कही, आधी पतंगे नें कही॥

... and of course, that was also an age when it is natural to keep falling in love :)... so there were an equal number of romantic couplets too :0)... in some other posting later...

A tele-conversation which made my day... :0)

My bank and credit card company (both same) are very generous and gracious. They keep telling me what a 'jolly good fellow" I am to the banking industry in general and to them in particular....

...and so, I deserve to be rewarded for having an account with them.

Everyday send me a couple of SMSs - and call me up on phone - with magnanimous offers of un-solicited loans and/or low EMIs against my my meagre bills on the card...

Though I am grateful to them for making feel part of the debt-ridden "India Shining" story - but even though I have the option of ignoring the SMSs, their "offers" on phone sometimes do become a distraction.

So I was well-prepared today with a "counter-offer strategy" today when the call came. Here is a rough transcript of our conversation:

Caller: Sir, I am Amit calling on behalf of xxx cards. Am I talk to Mr Madhukar Shukla?

Me (M): Yes, what can I do for you

Amit: Sir, I am happy to inform you that we have identified you as one of our Preferred Customers, and would like to offer you...

Me: Oh, really? - thanks!.. er - can you please hold on for a minute.

And so I went around the house, stood on the balcony looking at nothing - timed my absence for 3 minutes, before I came back... The poor soul was still there.

Me: Oh, sorry for keeping you waiting... What did you say was your name?

Amit: Amit, Sir!

Me: Yes, Amit, you were saying...?

Amit: Sir, you are one of our "Preferred Customers", and have been paying your bills on time. So we are happy to offer you...

Me: Offer? Thanks, Amit... Btw, you have a nice and polite voice...

Amit: Thanks, sir.. As I was saying, we are happy to...

Me: How old are you, Amit?

Amit: Sir!!?

I could imagine him looking at the script on his screen with bewiilderment...

Me: Amit, you seem to be such a nice person. How old are you?

Amit: uh... er.. Sir?

Me: how old are you, Amit?

I was playing safe - knowing something how the BPOs work, I was sure that he can't abuse me and hang-up on me - the "preferred customer", ahem! :0) - his supervisor (who may be listening - or can listen to the tape) would have fire him!

Amit: Sir.... why? (and then broke into his script) I want to inform you that you are our preferred customer, and we would like to offer you...

Me: Amit, how old are you?

Amit: 25 yrs, sir!... As I was telling you, you are one of our preferred...

Me: Amit, are you married?

Amit: er, no, sir!...but I wanted to inform you that you...

Me: That's great, Amit - I guess, you must be getting a decent salary for making these calls?

...and who can say that s/he is getting peanuts for spamming other people's phones, when his company is listening to him/her...

Amit: yes sir, my company looks after me quite well [I admired him to be able to say something besides parroting from his screen] but as I was telling you...

Me: Oh, that's great!... Amit, why don't you get married? You are such a nice polite young man, and have bright future ahead of you. I have a nice girl I know, who would be just right you

Amit: ...[silence]

Me: Amit, I too have an offer! - I can get you married!... Please do send me your bio/cv

Amit: [l....o...n...g silence] Yes sir, Can I call you later sometime. We are happy to inform you...

Me: Sure, Amit - it was nice talking to you..
------------

Disclaimer: the above conversation is imaginary - us, b-school profs are a serious lot, and we don't play such pranks on those who are toiling hard to increase India's GDP from the "service sector"

Dis-Disclaimer: it was one great fun of 5-min entertainment today - made my day!! :0)

losing a life, and regaining a 'lost' life - on the same day!

Life has enigmatic ways of compensating... On the same day, one can lose a life, and one can also regain (in some ways) another lost life

On the day when Manu succombed to the Pune German Bakery blast, I was drafting this posting, which was left incomplete at that time...
(and realising that it is important to close the loops/ 'windows' in life - if only for oneself - today, I sat down and completed it)

==================
Some months back, when Yahoo! had sent out a mail informing that the "free" Yahoo! Geocities was going to be closed down on Oct 26th, '09 - with an option to transport one's site to a paid Yahoo! domain, I was in a quandry:

I had a Geocites site which I had created to preserve some cherished memories of a person - not just for myself, but also for many others who had valued that life. Creating that site was an act, not only of celebrating a life, but also of sharing - of creating a 'commons' for all those who were part of it.

Yahoo!'s mail told me that suddenly, that 'commons' had got usurped by the 'markets' - which required one to pay to share memories (the issue not being how much to pay! - but the fact that one has to pay!)...

Underlying this belief was also an understanding of the original architecture/rationale of the Internet - of an era, when "Hackers" were the "Heroes of the Computer Revolution" - the good guys, who built the Net, and when the "Nerds" represented the dark forces of narrow commercial interests.

In 2005, when one of the greatest Hackers of his time, Tim-Berner Lee - the scientist who invented the World Wide Web, had started his blog, he had written in his first post:

"In 1989 one of the main objectives of the WWW was to be a space for sharing information. It seemed evident that it should be a space in which anyone could be creative, to which anyone could contribute... Now in 2005, we have blogs and wikis, and the fact that they are so popular makes me feel I wasn't crazy to think people needed a creative space."

While downloading the files from the Geeta's site, which I had made, I had wondered if there can be a way to download all sites - and preserve not just what I had created, but also what all others had created to share. Not being a techie/"hacker", I did not know how that can be done - though knew that it can be done!... I had felt helpless, and had mourned the demise of the efforts of so many millions of people to share...
(Btw, being selfish, I did also opt for Yahoo!'s option to pay to maintain that site - paid the money, booked a site-name - but have not heard anything from them since...)

...so today, while searching for something else, my belief in the essential - though forgotten - "Hacker Ethics" of the internet got vindicated, when I chanced upon a website:
http://www.reocities.com/...

The person did this herculean Samaritan task was obviously the quintessential hacker, as defined by Eric Ramond:

"Hackers solve problems and build things, and they believe in freedom and voluntary mutual help. To be accepted as a hacker, you have to behave as though you have this kind of attitude yourself. And to behave as though you have the attitude, you have to really believe the attitude."

I loved and admired the Open Letter to Carol Bartz, CEO of Yahoo! from the "hacker", Jacques Mattheij, who had taken the pain and effort to keep a monumnet of collective efforts alive - hats off to you, Jacques!.... He articulated a thought which I had when I received the mail from Yahoo! - but so much more cogently... So let me quote:

"When the Taliban decided to blow up those antique statues a while ago there was worldwide uproar. Thousands upon thousands of people spoke out against it, recognized that what was lost here was a unique statement of the cultural state of mankind, a sense of loss was felt by all.

In the name of religion, culture was destroyed.

And now, perhaps unwittingly, Yahoo! has committed a similar act. When those statues were blown up it was clearly an act of vandalism. That we are not in our lifetimes going to travel to Afghanistan to see them is a small detail.

But Yahoo! GeoCities pages were a monument too, and were accessible to (and accessed by) millions from all over the world. It was not just a business unit, it was something that mankind made, that Yahoo! had custody over.

It was a monument that stood as testimony to the birth of the World Wide Web, something that will surely occupy the scholars of the future. To Yahoo! it may have simply been a bunch of bits on some hard disks. But to humanity is was much more than that.

In the name of commerce culture was destroyed."

Thanks, Jacques!... for...

...for reaffirming that cultures/civilizations grow and develop through the conversations/contribitions of ordinary people - and not through commerce and Intellectual Property Rights...

...for saving a large portion of a collective endeavour of millions of those ordinary people to share and create those conversations...

...(on a personal/ selfish level).. For restoring the website - Remembering Geeta

------------
Postscript:... And just to add, the original "hacker culture" is thankfully well and alive... I also found that someone (don't know who) created http://www.oocities.com/ - restored the page at http://www.oocities.com/geetas_page/ too!

क्या जीवन का ध्येय यही है?...

I guess, I was lucky to have some remarkable co-travellers in life, when I was growing up - poets, activists, romantics, thinkers (as much as one can be one is in one's teens)... essentially us, who had this "sense of destiny" then...

Here are the verses written by one of them, I had met first time - I still remember the date, July 8th, 1970 - in the corridors of Colvin Taluquedar College, Lucknow... This became one of those cherished relationships, which has lasted a life-time - I attended his daughter's wedding this December - and realised that time flies... and one day we too will sail out of the Middle-Earth!

anyways, the verses:

जीवन के आगे जीवन है,
जीवन के पीछे जीवन है,
पर जीवन की खोज मृत्यु हो,
क्या जीवन का ध्येय यही है?...

जीवन कहाँ शांतिमय होगा,
जहां शांति है वहाँ ना जीवन,
पर मैं शांति खोजता फिरता
आदि शांतिमय, अंत शान्ति है,
शांति मध्य में भी मैं ढूँढू
क्या जीवन का ध्येय यही है?...

जीवन के तो अगणित पथ हैं,
हर पथ के अगणित राही हैं,
एक पथिक बन मैं भी जी लूं,
क्या जीवन का ध्येय यही है?...

वृक्ष एक बढ़ता जाता है,
नीचे एक पुष्प कुसुमित है,
वृक्ष कहे बढ़ाते जाना है,
फूल कहे जग महकाना है,
एक दूसरे से वोह पूंछे,
क्या जीवन का ध्येय यही है?...

पास बही जाती हो नदिया,
शीतल, चंचल, गहन सौम्य सी,
मेरा मन हो विकुल प्यास से,
पर मैं प्यासा बैठ किनारे,
बात जोहता रहूँ मेघ की,
क्या जीवन का ध्येय यही है?...

इधर हमें कर्त्तव्य पुकारे,
उधर ह्रदय कहता, जीने दो,
चीख-चीख कर आस कह रही,
मुझे बचाओ टूट रहीं हूँ,
मैं सुना, अनसुना सब कर दूं,
क्या जीवन का ध्येय यही है?...

जब आँखों से नीर बह चले,
और हूक सी उठे हदय में,
तब अपनी अमूल्य पीड़ा को,
भेंट चढ़ा दूं मुस्कानों की,
क्या जीवन का ध्येय यही है?...

जिस विशाल नभ की छाया में,
बाल्यकाल है अपना बीता,
जिसने भेजा चन्द्रकिरण को,
भरा हमारा अंतर रीता,
उस विशाल मंदिर को ताज कर,
विचरें इक छोटी कुटिया में,
क्या जीवन का ध्येय यही है?....

दो आँखे हैं, दो आंसू हैं,
चार नयन हैं, दो मुस्कानें
झुटला कर इस अटल सत्य को,
उतराऊं झूठे दर्शन में,
क्या जीवन का ध्येय यही है?...

मुझमें है मष्तिष्क, हृदय है,
मझमें काम, क्रोध, और भय है,
जो अपना है उसे दबा कर,
रूप देवता का कर लूं मैं,
क्या जीवन का ध्येय यही है?...

Hangover... of a life!

Waking up
with a cramped body,
and a foul smelling mouth...reminiscent of last night's whisky...
processed with cigarette fumes

- which left,
a sticky taste,
and glued me to bed...

This morning, a meeting point:

...of countless threads,
from eternity to today

...of the last evening,
when we touched each other
with raw words,
stretching from one peg to another

...of an evening a week back,
when at a speed of 60kmph,
I travelled from love to loneliness

...of a year back,
when I embarked upon a journey,
to meet my hedonistic Shadow

... of a decade back,
when I looked inside myself,
and was overwhelmed, and inspired,
by its naive incompleteness

... of a life-time back
when pushed out of the womb,
I suffered my fall....

Events conspired:
... to weave the inevitable,
and I was born
...with a numb memory
of a dim, faded, unspent communion
of the evening before!

(26/01/81- IBP Guest House, Korba)

...and next day, I walked to the post-office and sent a telegram..

this is a part of the continuing Operations "Life-Upload" :)

almost 30 years back, on a lonely rainy afternoon in Bhopal - in a dingy flat in Arera Colony- , I had scribbled these verses... they also marked a crossing of threshold for me.....

आज फिर,
एक उन्मत्त स्त्री
सरीखी वर्षा...
और एक सिहरन
जो मुझे
इस घुटी हुयी सीलन भरे कमरे में,
झझकोर देती है॥
..और पास आ कर बैठ जाती है, पूछती है,
"तू अकेला क्यूं?"

...और मुझे याद आता है:
कई साल पहले
मैंने इन्ही पन्नों पर लिखा था:
"क्यों की मेरा जन्म
अकेले हुआ था,
मरने पर
साँसे मेरी रुकेंगी,
मेरी
अकेले!"

और याद आता है
मेरी आठ साल की उम्र के परिवेश
से
उठता हुआ यह गीत:
"जोदि तोमार डाक शोने ना कोई
एकला चलो रे॥"

और उस सिहरन
का वो प्रश्न
मेरी यादों के साथ
उलझ कर
एक गाँठ बन जाता है...

शायद ये अकेलापन
ये अकेले रहने की आदत,
ये अकेले रहने के विवशता
स्वयं एक गाँठ है,
जो मैंने
अपने अस्तित्व की खोज में
अपने पर डाल ली है...
और अब...
ज़िन्दगी के साथ किया ये समझौता
जीवन की सार्थकता से दूर,
एक बेमाने की विवशता बन गया है....

शायद,
सार्थकता और विवशता में
केवल समय की दूरी है...
शब्दों में बुनी अपने अस्तित्व की प्रतिछवियां:
- किनारे बैठ कर, लहरें गिननें वाला.. कवि
- कभी ना रुकने वाला... अकेतन
- जीवन की परिधि पर बैठा... कहानीकार...

... और इनकी तह में छिपा
एक मासूम खोजता एकाकीपन।

ये सब,
स्वयं को आंकने के,
स्वयं को मापने के,
स्वयं को पाने के...
...प्रयत्न थे
...जीवन के उन पलों में सार्थक थे....

लेकिन आज, जब
- कवि तैरना चाहता है,
- कहानीकार, जीवन की परिधि से उतर कर... जीना चाहता है
- और वह भटकता पथिक - अकेतन - थक चूका है....
और किसी झोपड़ी के दीपक को
अपनाना चाहता है...

तब यह सार्थकतायें,
यह प्र्तिछावियाँ
एक जंजीर बन जाती हैं...

...शायद,
ज़िन्दगी के साथ किया ये समझौता
मिटाया जा सकता है,
शायद,
कोई और समझौता किया जा सकता है,

...क्योंकि, यह अकेलापन
अब सागर का शांत किनारा नहीं,
साबेरिया का निर्मम परिवेश है,॥

जिसे छू कर,
मेरे अन्दर एक सिहरन उठती है,
..और पूछती है:
"तू अकेला क्यूं?!"

..and next day I walked to the post-office and sent a telegram: "Leave it all, come, let's live together..."

स्वयं को खोया, स्वयं का सार पाने के लिए - २

स्वयं को खोया स्वयं का सार पाने के लिए - १...
स्वयं को खोया,
स्वयं का सार पाने के लिए...

जब प्रणय की अर्चना में
कामना के गीत उगते,
जब कृत्रिम जग की प्रथा में
सांस के पग जा उलझते,
जब ह्रदय की वासना
जीवन-दिशायें खीचती थी,
पूछती थी अर्थ अपना,
व्यर्थ-सी स्मृति उभर के...
...क्या चले थे हम यही संसार पाने के लिए...

भटकने देते स्वयं को,
उस भटकने में दिशा थी,
उलझती पगडंडियों में
भटकना जीवन-प्रथा थी,
मार्ग ही गंतव्य था, चलना
स्वयं में ध्येय था,
मिलने-बिछुड़ने की अधूरी
तृप्ति में, संत्रिप्ता थी...
...भटकता था प्यार भी जब प्यार पाने के लिए...

Goodbye, Holden Caufield!...

....for someone who grew-up as an uncertain, nervous, ill-at-ease apprehensive adolescent... books and authors - Richard Wright, Albert Camus, Sartre, GB Shaw, Ayn Rand, Oscar Wilde, etc.... - were a comfortable and safe reality to relate to.

I realised that, during last one week - while I was busy with the SE Conference, two of them with whom I grew - Eric Segal (Love Story... still wonder why it turned out to be prophetic) and JD Salinger... and who contributed to my growing up, left the planet.

JD Salinger's Catcher in the Rye - and Holden Cuafield - were one of such anchor for me then...

So, I dug out this register from IITK days ('76 roll number 610062 :), where I had scribbled some of the conversations of Holden Caufield which made sense to me then - and still do:

========
Conversation between Holden Caufield and Mr Antalini:

“It’s this course where each boy in the class has to get up in the class and make a speech – you know Spontaneous and all. And if the boy digresses at all, you’re supposed to yell “Digressed” at him as fast you can. It just drove me crazy. I got an F in it.”

“Why?”

Oh, I don’t know. That digression business got on my nerves. I don’t know. The trouble with me is, I like it when somebody digresses. It’s more interesting and all.”
========

Conversation between Holden Caufield and Mr Spencer.

Mr Spencer: “What’d he say to you?”

“Oh… about life being a game and all. Andhow you should play it according to rules. He was pretty nice about it. I mean, he didn’t hit the ceiling or anything like that. He just kept talking about life being a game and all that, you know.”

“Life is a game, boy. Life is a game that one plays according to rules.”

“Yes, sir. I know it is. I know it.”

Game, my ass. Some game. If you get on the side where all the hot-shots are, then it is a game, all right – I’ll admit that. But if you get on the other side, where there aren’t any hot-shots, then what’s a game about it? Nothing. No game.
======

Mr Antolini to Holden Caufield.

“The falI I think you’re riding for – It’s special kind of fall, a horrible kind. The man falling isn’t permitted to feel or hear himself hit the bottom. He just keeps falling and falling. The whole arrangement is designed for men who, at some time or the other in their lives, were looking for something their environment couldn’t supply them with… So they gave up looking. The gave up before they even got started.”
=======

and this last one, which is sort of "scripty"

Holden Caufiled to Phoebe:

“…I keep picturing all these kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody’s is around – nobody big, I mean – except me. And I am standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff – I mean, it they’re running and don’t look where they’re going, I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That’s I’d do all day. I know it’s crazy, but that’s the only thing I’d really like to be. I know it’s crazy.”

Amen!

Omar Khayyam & Me - 4

LXXII
And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop'd we live and die,
Lift not your hands to It for help--for It
As impotently moves as you or I.

My Translation:
सुने आसमान पर
हाथ उठा कर
मिटा रहे हो कौन सा गम...

उल्टा खाली प्याला
जो अधर में ही रुका है
जिसकी मदिरा का
हर कण सूख चूका है...

उतना ही असहाय है,
उतना ही नपुंसक है,
जितने तुम और हम।

a thousand songs back again...

These verses were part of the growing-up phase - had fallen in love with them...and then had forgotten them...

I am not sure, why I was trying to locate these verses (by Pritish Nandy) since last few days/weeks... but did finally find them scribbled in a diary today:

I have been freewheeling, double dealing for too long,
rambling, gambling chasing a song: It’s been
long since I met myself, after weeks and weeks
of hanging around. It’s been long since I paid my dues
and headed homewards searching for you.
It’s time you came and took me back,
a thousand songs back again...

Omar Khayyam & Me - 3

Omar Khayyam's Rubaiyat: XLVI:
And fear not lest Existence closing your
Account, and mine, should know the like no more;
The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has pour'd
Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.

My Translation:
मरने के बाद भी,
हम मिटेंगे नहीं।
आने वाली पीढ़ियों में
हमारा अंश होगा...

...इसलिए नहीं कि हमारी आत्मा उनमे होग़ी
याकि वोह हमारी संतान होंगी... ।

बल्कि इसलिए
क्योंकि पानी में बुलबुले
उठते रहे हैं
..और उठते रहेंगे॥

...और सब बुलबुले
एक से होते हैं...

Omar Khayyam & Me :0) - 2

here's one more

Omar Khayyam's Rubaiyat: XXXV:
Then to the lip of this poor earthen Urn
I lean'd, the Secret of my Life to learn:
And Lip to Lip it murmur'd--"While you live
Drink!--for, once dead, you never shall return."

My Translation:
झुक कर जीवन के प्याले से, माँगा मैंने अपना परिचय,
जब अधर हमारे टकराए, तो छलक गया बोला मधुमय,
"वो घूँट तुझे जो बहका दें, वो ही तू है, तेरा परिचय,
पीता जा जब तक साँसे हैं, फिर तू होगा ना तेरा विस्मय।"

Omar Khayyam & Me :0) - 1

Omar Khayyam's "Rubaiyat" was a great discovery when I was growing up (still am :)... but then I was 16-17yr old), and one of the goals was to translate it into Hindi.

Well, I did try - though all the translations were in different meters/rhythms... here is one:

Omar Khayyam's Rubaiyat: XXII:
For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to rest.

My Translation:
कुछ प्रेम मिला, सौंदर्य मिला
कुछ जीवन की अभिरुचि जागी,
साँसों की मदिरा पी-पी कर हम,
मदमस्त हुए हम अनुरागी

कुछ घूँट गले से उतर गए
कुछ यूं ही बह कर बिखर गए
फिर छोड़ चले खली प्याला
चुपके से मधुशाला त्यागी...

Passing lives.. Mrs Keti Jilla - RIP

I guess, one needs to get used to such passing of seasons/lives...

Keti - a very chubby, exhuberant and efficient - person... Geeta's first secy, when we came to XL in 1990.

She retired in mid '90s - and since then I think I must have met her maybe only once or twice - but each meeting was a warm occurance, a kind of continuation of conversations from the past..

...and so this morning, when I received this mail from Director's office, the flow of time stopped for a moment to take a note:

"We have received the sad news this morning that Mrs Keti Jilla passed away this morning at TMH. The funeral will be held this afternoon [January 18] at 3.30 pm in the Parsee cemetery.

For those who do not know Keti, she was a Secretary of XLRI since 1968 and took early retirement on 11/10/95. Keti was very hard working and sincere in her work. She has worked for 4 Deans during her tenure: Prof. Joe Philip; Fr John Prabhu; Prof. Sudas Roy and Dr Jittu Singh. "

Keti's funeral took place today the same place, where some 17-18yrs back, we had gone to say our goodbyes to her young son...

...but today, I could not make it say bye to her!

so in some ways, this posting is to say: Good to have known you, Keti...good-bye, and may you RIP...

A page in life which does not exist anymore...

From a website which I made for her, which too does not exist anymore...
---------------

This was uncanny, and I have no explanations. Around the time when Geeta had written that poem, I was writing, what I thought would be my first novel. As a 20 year old, I thought I will become an author (the fact that I ended up writing managment books is the kind of compromises one lives by...)

Ashoo's story was to be narrated as a flashback to this beginning (ending?) - but the story never went beyond this point...

...or maybe it did - though I never penned it down...
-----------

It was in her last days, when gripped by a sense of deja vu, I dug it out from my old papers... it still puzzles me why and how I wrote it...

This, perhaps, is the longest night of my life. There are moments which do not sum up, do not form the continuity we call the life. All around me I can see the fireflies of flickering moments - disjointed, engaged in a Brownian movement... and the night is so long and unending. Maybe it is an eternity where nothing happens, but everything has happened, or is about to happen. There is no present, but an irrevocable past, or a future that never happens - that’ll never happen... a gnawing sense of emptiness...

Maybe that’s where she has gone...

It is a night and I should be dreaming. But I remember throwing away my dreams in the calm and benign waters of Ganges this very evening. Can there be a night without dreams? Can day break without night passing away? Will there ever be a dawn now?... I can still feel the sensation in my palms. The priest had asked me to take handful of ash, as he chanted the mantras, and throw it in the river. It was now, just a cluster of ash, which knew no past, no future. Ash, which has the destiny to flow with the river, making the outline of a sad dusky procession the calm ripple of the waters. There was no way in which I could trace its past... what was that ash? where had it come from? where was it heading to?... There was a total silence. there was no answer.

And then, as if mechanically, I had bent down and picked up a handful of ash in my hands. Maybe it was hot; but heat has a tactual connotation. What I felt was more than tactual. The touch went deeper than the skin, the nerve fibres, the cerebral cortex. What I was holding in my hands was not ash, but the burning, hurting, splinters of what I had known to be my dreams... once. My handful of crushed dreams. Or whatever had remained of them. They pierced me right through the skin and cut me in that immense depth which I could not measure in my body - yet, which was my own. And on the rhythmic chant of mantras I threw them in the flow of the mute river. And silently watched them being indifferently carried away, away from me.

The phone call had come in the afternoon. She is dead, someone, who did not know the meaning of his own words, had informed me impersonally. Is death so sudden?... I had wondered... so accurately and conveniently assessable in the course of time? I had seen her dying in bits and pieces, for so long. And a part of her is still within me, fighting for a life, and gradually losing itself to an oblivion. People do not die all of a sudden. They fade away, gradually. Gradually, they start fading out for themselves, and then also for others. Death is a slow consumer, like python. Only python is not everyone’s destiny, but death is. Is the whole process of living, a process of dying, of fading away gradually?

Or was it my own death - my own process of fading away - that I was fighting against in her death? Was she dying in me - or was I dying in her death? “A part of us dies in everyone’s death, anyone’s death”, she used to say. I never agreed with her then, but maybe she was right. We live in others; we die with them. How would we know the feeling of “I am alive”, if we do not see other people living, if we are unaware of what it is to feel that “they are alive”? Life, I have often felt, is a relative concept? Europidese was right when he said, “who knows life is death and death is life”. Maybe this process of living, which is a process of dying - of decaying, and of fading away - is actually the process of living, of growing... Maybe we do not die a death in each parting, with each person. Maybe we grow and expand in each death, to fill up the void that is created by the departed soul. Maybe each death is an opportunity for us to grow and grasp the rationale of what once was life. Maybe...

Isn’t one’s own death different from other’s death?

I often try to imagine other people’s death - what would I feel if one dies? But I can never imagine my own death. The situation is meaningless. All feelings, imagination, awareness, cease with one’s own death. That “he or she is not” is a qualitatively different phenomenon that “I am not”... what, then, is the rationale of one’s own life?

What, I wonder, was the rationale of Ashoo’s life - or of her death, if you please - for herself? Could there be a part of her self, which was beyond her death, and which could experience, could know the rationale? In her last days, I had often tried to seek an explanation to these querries in her eyes. But somehow in the opaqueness of her lifeless smile and empty eyes, I could fathom no depth which could answer me. She used to sit and gape at me with a smile - which was another name for non-recognition. Often I felt myself non-existent in front of those unseeing eyes. The doctor always tried to be helpful, “This often happens in tumors,” he would tell me. “Such disorientation and impairment of memory is usual in such cases. In fact, the growth of tumor tissues often hampers with the sensori-motor functionings. She may not even be aware of your presence due to impairments in occipital and frontal lobes...” as if this could compensate for a void I could see developing in her. Maybe he was right - in fact, I am sure he was.

But wasn’t he forgetting the Life, in order to save it? With all his jargon, he could not tell me what had happened to her life - to the memories of those events - which constituted her life.

He agreed that her consciousness of herself, of her memories of her life, was clouded forever... What, then, was she now? Of course, she was alive, because her heart was still beating, her blood still feeding the cells which would consume her. But could she be aware of her existence? Could she with any authenticity feel her being-ness? If she couldn’t recognise me, could she, at least, recognise herself? Was she lost to herself? Forever?...