Half-holds

Things, ideas, people, dreams
Animals, music, art, moments
Food, movies, friendships, romance
Touch us
In places we leave open for them
Pores and micro-pores
That we do not moisturize away

We thirst for them
They water us
But never quenching!
For these pores
They have nerve-endings
That attach to holes
Holes in our souls
Hollow holes like blackholes
That suck and feed
And dissipate things
Reflecting back not even a wink of light

We tend to hold on to these things
Scavenging for matter
To fill the hollowness
We hold on
With a frail appendage we fashion out of need
An appendage like a hen's foot
That hangs out probably from our backs
Our mouths
Or pelvic zones

We set the appendage upto task
While both hands work on the steering
Steering what?
The 'main' matter of existence
The sustenance
The structure
The supposed purpose
The jobs
The somethings, something importants
The smirks of self-satisfaction
Of weighing decently on scale of achievements
And even dreams!
Dreams of proving something
Marking with dark colour-ed pins
The existence of personhood
On the gray map of human history
Of self-aggrandizement
Dreams of even saving the world!
Procuring in process a tax of street-names, awards and newsprint
We steer! We swivel, we turn, we drive!
Our eyes affixed on these goals?
No, our eyes unfixed and grazing
Our eyes throwing fleeting sideway glances
At the passing greens and blues
Our eyes looking backwards
Pining the bygone innocence and littlehood games
Our eyes turning inwards
Witnessing the dirt and chaos
But quickly turning away in cowardice
In cowardice, duplicity and the magnetic heaviness of 'busyness'
Our eyes somewhere, nowhere ...
(Honestly, where are our eyes?)

We set the appendage upto task
It grazes things
Touches them
Is touched
And even beckoned
It, sometimes, picks them up
The things
It holds onto them
But how?
Distracted by the steering
And weakened by the hollowing
It holds them
But halfly
Not owning
Not ingesting
And, but, yet
Not letting go!

Sometimes,
We even marry these things
And have kids with them
And other times,
We keep dreaming
Of marrying these things
One of these things
One day
Some day!

Thus, we flow
Like asynchronous, naively-built toys
And call the freakshow, 'life' and even the 'time of our lives!!'

गुजगोष्टी - 1

तो तसा दिसत हि असेन
काळा-कुट्टा
घनदाट
त्याचं काळंपण इतकं गुळगुळीत, सपाट, चकचकीत सापडेल
कि तुझा करडा प्रतिबिंब ही दिसेल त्याच्यावर.
जमिनीवर,
जगाच्या निष्फळ, विष्टासारखा सापडेल तुला.
एकदा उचल
उचल त्याला,
तुझ्या तर्जनी आणि अंगठ्यामध्ये दाबून पहा त्याला
मऊ सापडेल तुला.
जमिनीच्या तापमानामुळे थंड,भावनाशून्य असेल,
पण चावून बघ त्याला
तंतूमय सापडेल तुला.
त्याचा रस जिभेवरून कंठात गिळून बघ
चविष्ट सापडेल तुला.
मग थांबशील का?
कि पुन्हा एक चावा मारशील?
त्याच्या चवीचा प्रवास अखेरपर्यंत नेऊ वाटणार नाही तुला?
तू उभी होतीस,
हातांच्या घडी घालून
दुरुन त्याला पारखत
त्याला काळा समजत.
आता तुझ्या खोलीत जा
कंबरेवर हात ठेव
जीभ बाहेर काढ
आणि साक्ष दे तुझ्या प्रतिबिंबाला
जांभळा रेष सापडेल!!

-चांदनी गिरीजा
18-11-16

ता.क.: "प्रेमाचा रंग कदाचित जांभळा असावा"

तुटणे

तुटणे हे वाईट नाही
तुटणे चांगले आहे
भरल्या पोटात किती भोकं आहेत
हे दाखवायला तुटणे गरजेचे
खंबीर पायात किती पोकळी आहे
हे दिसायला तुटणे गरजेचे
वारा, झोकेदार, आला कि
वाकणे गरजेचे
आणि वाकले नाही तर तुटणे गरजेचे
आत्मनिर्भरताच्या गर्विष्ठ थोबाड्यावर
बूट-पॉलिश लावायला
तुटणे गरजेचे
मग धुक्यात हरवणे गरजेचे
आणि धुक्यात कोरलेल्या वाटेत
धुक्यासारख्या तलावात स्वतःचे धूसर प्रतिबिंब सापडले,
मोकळ्या केसा-मोकळ्या दुस्तर विचारांचे,
तर त्यावर सगळ्याच बांधा तोडुन हसणे गरजेचे
तुटणे हे खूपच गरजेचे

- चा.गि. 03-11-16

तुटक्यात बोलणे - 1

गर्दीत हरलेल्या बाळाला आई दिसते तर ते एक दीर्घ श्वास घेतं, तसं एक श्वास मी घेतला.
हलकं वाटतंय.

सूरवास

रफीच्या गाण्यांना
आता थोडा तुझा गंध लागलाय.
चेंबूरच्या चांदण्याची
आपल्या पायवाटेच्या तालीची
दारुड्याच्या चालीची
आणि अम्माच्या सुरेख बंगल्याची
रेखाचित्रं त्यांना आता चिटकलेत.
ऐकतांना
आता
माझ्या मेंदूतल्या नाकाला
तुझा आभास होईनच.   

विलक्षण

काळ जाऊदे रे मित्रा,
एक गोष्ट सांगेन तुला,
एका अशांत लाटेची
एका छोट्याश्या दगडाने
उठलेल्या तरंगाची
काळ जाऊदे रे मित्रा
एक गोष्ट सांगेन तुला,
माझ्या तळहाताच्या रेषांवर
उमटलेली एका मेहंदीच्या रेषेबद्दल
काळ जाऊदे रे मित्रा
शेंगदाणे खाताना,
आयुष्याचा वाटाणे झाल्याची
एक गोष्ट सांगेन तुला!

- चा.गि.

Pink

I put my hand out
For some fresh air
I got a shard
A flying glass shard
From somewhere
From nowhere
And now it has left a wound
A sweet pink wound
On my arm.
I notice its pinkness
Stand out in the brown of my skin
When I eat
When I write
When I greet
When I reach
And when I lie down.
I notice it everytime
I caress it often
I remind it often
Not to die.
I do not want this one
To heal!
:)

- Chandni Girija
05-10-16

The Perennial

One small blip
Before my graph straightens forever
One small indulgence
Before I fast forever
One small raindrop
Before I drought forever
One small...
One small...
No use!
I should let go
Once and for all
They come and they go
Multi-hued ink clouds
And blot my paper
And also wisp away
And I am left virgin again!
Ha-ha-ha
Haha-haha-ha!
I am left virgin again
Colourless
Tasteless.
And so I flow
Minding my own course
Once and for all.
I follow my tail
Touching
Almost touching
Never touching
Not once
Not ever
Forever

The Morning Song

I'm here at R-City Mall, Ghatkopar. It's 10:48 AM. Here, it feels like 5 AM. Hardly any people apart from the staff. 

Im the first customer in the food court. After being nayed at four or five kiosks, I finally get coffee at 'Malgudi - Simply South.' They have a decent menu - chettinad, neer dosa, parotta, appam, etc. (apart from the usual idli-dosha items); authentic south Indian breakfast and meal delicacies. I'm given my coffee in a green, banana leaf imprinted paper cup and two tissues (for Rs. 40 - ouch!). And I am sipping this coffee and writing this post.

It is 10:58 AM and 20 more have entered the food court. These are families and couples. I don't see any loners like me. The bustle has begun :)

What prompted me to write was the quietness of the place when I had entered it. The staff were busy in their chores readying the mall for its busy day (today is Sunday!) - cleaning, taking up their guard positions, readying counters for serving and some even sipping their first cuppa in plastic disposable cups (I would have preferred that!). 

I like the morning bustle, when the day prepares itself for the day. It is interesting to watch the beginnings. People are fresh, bathed, groomed; their eyes are bright even if slightly betraying the fading touches of sleep. The rhythm has begun. Nothing has happened yet to mar it or alter it in any way. I am reminded of the morning shots in movies, the 80s Malayali movies. The first shot shows the rising sun or luxuriously spread, green rice fields or birds chirping in the trees or butterflies fidgeting around plants or gorgeous monochromatics at the sandy river bank. The second shot would pan from bottom to top and still at the house - a small, neat structure, a modern bungalow or a sprawling ancestral building (taravadu), depending on the social rank of the characters being portrayed. I loved these scenes. The drama would gradually unfold from these openings. Someone would be hurt, loved, nurtured, enamoured, disillusioned, birthed or even killed in the chain of events that followed. And then would come the night. The director would indicate this through the night jar and a zoom-out shot featuring the moon and wispy, inconsequential clouds. No matter what, the house would go to sleep. 

Same happens with our days, isn't it? The cycle continues. And we roll along, don't we? I roll along too. The way I rolled in the rotating rings at Essel World - clasped safely, I did complete 360° circles as the ring rolled on the ground. Whoa that was one ride!
Yet, it is nice to step out of the ring sometimes and simply watch. Merge with surroundings, become a non-entity, a non-identity, where no one knows me and no one bothers about me. 

It is 11:32 AM. I approximate 50 people in the food court. It has become noisier with talking and clanging of plates, spoons and ladels. Crossword must have opened. I have fulfilled my duty of handing over my chetan's BOSE earphones to his colleague. They will now safely reach London and my cousin will enjoy healthy-sounding music. I must complete my whim of the bookstore visit and return home soon. Amma and to-do tasks are waiting.

 

 

सकाळचा चंद्र

निशा कशी जलमय होती
आता सकाळ असा दुष्काळी
जणू
मी तरंगत होते
एका भव्य लाटेवर
मग
निद्रेतच छटा कशा बदलत गेले
गडद...
मग फिकट
शेवटी
डोळे उघडल्यावर
निव्वळ, अनवाणी, पांढरा!
मी तीरावर येऊन पोहोचले!
कळलंच नाही!!
जमिनीवर पाय टेकलेत
आणि आता मी चालतीये
खिश्यात हात घालून
दोन-तीनदा माघे वळून पाहते
आता हसू येतंय
माझ्याच प्रलयावर!!

आकृत्या

माझे डोळे मधाळ आहेत
तपकिरी
प्रकाशाचा थेम्ब पडताच
निखरून उठतात
मी चालतेय
आणि मला आकृत्या दिसतायेत
चौकटी
वर्तुळ
लहान, मोठे
मी त्रिकोण
चालतांना पाहते
मावतच नाही
कुठल्याच आकृतीत
आता ओढ हि कुठे वाटते?
ओढ वाटली तरी
ओढ ओढून तरी कुठे घेते?
मग आकृतींचांही ओढ वाटत नाही
कसला चौकट? कसला वर्तुळ?
आणि कसला त्रिकोण?!
वाकुन पाहते स्वतःकढे
मला धूर दिसतं
स्पष्ट, रंगहीन, मोहक
हम्म...
हेच नाही का खरं?
हेच नाही का बरं?
कुठंही मावुन
मावत नाही
माझ्यात ही मावुन
मावत नाही
मी आहे
अगदीच आहे
तरी मी नाहीये
मी वाहतिये
- चांदनी गिरीजा

कारी जख्म

यह रोना हैं ईशक का
हर पिढी का गाना हैं
यह जहर हैं मीठा सा
हर कंठ में फँसा हैं
यह चिंगारी हैं 'होने' की
अस्तित्व का मतलब बनाने की
जिसे जमानेने लालसा से घी पिलाया हैं

धुंदले नजर पे जरा चष्मा बिठा दे
अपनी काठी खुद ही काट दे
यार अब बस भी करते हैं!!

- चा.गि. 25-07-16

Hide Tide :D

"नशीबत हा फुलांचा

का सांग वास येतो

हासून पाहिल्याचा

नुसताच भास होतो"

टप-टप-टप

पड़ती हैं बारिश की बूँदें 

और शुरू होता है यह गीत

समुंदर की लहरों कि तरह

पहले धीमे-धीमे

हल्का-फुल्कासा

फिर तेज

डुबाने जैसा

अाज खिल उठा है पूरा कमरा

मेरी हँसी की रौनक से

देखो

मेरे अपनों के चेहरों पर

सूरज बेहया अपना तन फैला रहा है!

रोशनी की किरण

मेरी अाँखों से जाकर

उनकी अाँखों में टकरा रहा है

और उनकी अाँखों से

दीवारों पर

दीवारों से छत पर

छत से फर्श पर

और बाढ़ की तरह

यह सिलसिला

बढ़ता ही चला जाता है

अाज खुशी से फुली न समाई हूँ...

- चाँदनी गिरीजा 

Jaded

matter, events, and even, or most importantly, feelings are so transitory. i sit at one window and watch the sunset one moment. i bask in its glow. i blink. or i sleep. when i open my eyes next, it is drizzling outside in a bright afternoon. even my window has changed. it is not oaky, varnish-y, angular anymore; it is splintered and weathered. so what do i do then? storm? rage?
a few months back, when i was able to see it, a part of me would laugh at this see-sawing. now i don't even feel that need. now it is knowledge, that existence has a lot of see-sawing. now, while i exist about and also see-saw, i also watch. i am the lizard with eyes always open.

[sleep is a strange rejoinder. strange not so much in itself, but the starkness of the different realities it enjoins. while one side of the night rocks and wheels, the other side emerges as mundane and calm. sleep is a curious netherworld. in the nether-dust, i sometimes meet slivers of myself in emphatic truths. and later, i forget. but sometimes, i remember, and go, "oh!"]

when so many waves arise, and i know they are waves, why would i ride them? i do not feel like. i do not feel like reading the news. are these not a few of the trillion bubbles that arise and burst, arise and burst? why en-bubble then?
'pursuit of happiness.' can happiness be pursued? isn't it that wave that will eventually tide down? or that bubble that will ultimately burst? i do not want to pursue. pursuit seems to be a force acting in opposite direction of Truth. why then? and what for? that 'butterfly' of Ruskin Bond?
"For all its hardships and complications, life is simple. And a nature that doesn't sue for happiness often receives it in large measure.
Happiness is a mysterious thing, to be found somewhere between too little and too much. But it is as elusive as a butterfly, and we must never pursue it. If we stay very still, it may come and settle on our hand. But only briefly. We must savour those moments, for they will not come our way very often..."

i am still. but not for that butterfly. fly-butter can come when it wants. i am just still. i am a still lizard with eyes always open. and i am gurgling with contentment.

P.S. the title is a misnomer. still, just, love the word.

Rain Again

You drizzle on my face
And at each touch of water
I feel pores
Opening
While I thought there were none
These pores
They expand
Like lotuses
And bloom into holes
Before I know
I have evaporated away
I am flooded
With you
I am frantically
Paddling
Gasping
For one last shred
Of myself
To pull myself out
Yes, I succeed
And here I am!

- Chandni Girija 14-06-16 23:42

none

there is a terrain beyond the earthly shackles of righteousness, pretense, selfhood and even rational cognition ... pure and pristine ... filled only with only the most organic and truest fibres of connectedness
who is there? me? a 'you'? nope ... there is no one there ... it is empty ... it is a 'none' 

I have no epiphanies to make, only silence - to seek, to dwell and to give. 

Singular. Separate.

Let's take that twig and break it into halves. You keep one half, and I shall keep one. Let's rub them against each other and rub longer. So that, one day, they shall catch fire. Then let's each of us, take the twigs to our mouths and swallow the flames. In a gulp.
We had had a twig. To share. Now we have fires in our stomachs. Singular. Separate. 

अखंड

Profundity. Silence. Quietness. 

Completeness. Fulfilment. Wholeness.

Peace. Stability. Centredness. 

Contentment. Smile. Clarity.

Acceptance. Wisdom. Growth. 

Truth.

Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.
- Rumi

काळजी कधी सोयी प्रमाणे नसते; जर ती सोयी प्रमाणे असते तर ती काळजी नाही सोय असते.