My Best Read in Recent TImes

...has been "Animal's People" BY Indra Sinha. Touching, irreverently funny and bawdy, bold and unapologetic, hardhitting and a myriad of other adjectives that come to mind when I look back at the experience of reading about Animal(Janwar) and his twisted world. One of the most endearing characters I have encountered in a long time- most certainky one of the Top Ten characters I have come across in my lifetime(a list which is still headed by The Little Prince).Hard to believe that it didnt win the Man Booker in 2007 inspite of a nomination- and since I have not read the eventual winner, lets say no more on that)
Please do read and let me know what you thought of the book

(Here is the author speaking about the inspiration behind the book)
(Here is a review of the book)
(An interview with the author that I could unearth from the cyberspace)


Posted by : Sid

A feast of fiction..online

Dear readers ,

This is great news. Please check out the latest issue of Tehelka.com online(print will be out in a couple of days , I guess). They are running a Lit special and feature a wonderful assortment of short fiction by some of the leading Indian authors. Contributors include, among others, Manuula Padmanabhan, Rajarshi Chakrabarti, Ruskin Bond , Anjum Hasan , Altaf Tyrewala , Sudeep Chakravarty et al. There is even one by the graphic novelist Sarnath Banerjee.
A very interesting array of stories- each writer was given the brief to write on "excess" and apparently thats all they had to go and exert their creative juices on. A wonderfully varied range of stories- from a confused vampire in New delhi, a kid who plays a mushroom in a school play, a doctor who specialises in cancer and vivid sexual fantasies and a philosophical peace-loving dog in south africa.
Guys- please log in and enjoy !!!!

I am not sure I will be able to get my hand on to a print copy. I hope some of you will be able to . I want too- please send. Ganesha will bless.

Posted by: Sid

In the same vein...

मधुशाला

मृदु भावों के अंगूरों की आज बना लाया हाला,
प्रियतम, अपने ही हाथों से आज पिलाऊँगा प्याला,
पहले भोग लगा लूँ तेरा फिर प्रसाद जग पाएगा,
सबसे पहले तेरा स्वागत करती मेरी मधुशाला।।१।

प्यास तुझे तो, विश्व तपाकर पूर्ण निकालूँगा हाला,
एक पाँव से साकी बनकर नाचूँगा लेकर प्याला,
जीवन की मधुता तो तेरे ऊपर कब का वार चुका,
आज निछावर कर दूँगा मैं तुझ पर जग की मधुशाला।।२।

प्रियतम, तू मेरी हाला है, मैं तेरा प्यासा प्याला,
अपने को मुझमें भरकर तू बनता है पीनेवाला,
मैं तुझको छक छलका करता, मस्त मुझे पी तू होता,
एक दूसरे की हम दोनों आज परस्पर मधुशाला।।३।

भावुकता अंगूर लता से खींच कल्पना की हाला,
कवि साकी बनकर आया है भरकर कविता का प्याला,
कभी न कण-भर खाली होगा लाख पिएँ, दो लाख पिएँ!
पाठकगण हैं पीनेवाले, पुस्तक मेरी मधुशाला।।४।

मधुर भावनाओं की सुमधुर नित्य बनाता हूँ हाला,
भरता हूँ इस मधु से अपने अंतर का प्यासा प्याला,
उठा कल्पना के हाथों से स्वयं उसे पी जाता हूँ,
अपने ही में हूँ मैं साकी, पीनेवाला, मधुशाला।।५।

मदिरालय जाने को घर से चलता है पीनेवला,
'किस पथ से जाऊँ?' असमंजस में है वह भोलाभाला,
अलग-अलग पथ बतलाते सब पर मैं यह बतलाता हूँ -
'राह पकड़ तू एक चला चल, पा जाएगा मधुशाला।'। ६।

चलने ही चलने में कितना जीवन, हाय, बिता डाला!
'दूर अभी है', पर, कहता है हर पथ बतलानेवाला,
हिम्मत है न बढूँ आगे को साहस है न फिरुँ पीछे,
किंकर्तव्यविमूढ़ मुझे कर दूर खड़ी है मधुशाला।।७।

मुख से तू अविरत कहता जा मधु, मदिरा, मादक हाला,
हाथों में अनुभव करता जा एक ललित कल्पित प्याला,
ध्यान किए जा मन में सुमधुर सुखकर, सुंदर साकी का,
और बढ़ा चल, पथिक, न तुझको दूर लगेगी मधुशाला।।८।

मदिरा पीने की अभिलाषा ही बन जाए जब हाला,
अधरों की आतुरता में ही जब आभासित हो प्याला,
बने ध्यान ही करते-करते जब साकी साकार, सखे,
रहे न हाला, प्याला, साकी, तुझे मिलेगी मधुशाला।।९।

सुन, कलकल़ , छलछल़ मधुघट से गिरती प्यालों में हाला,
सुन, रूनझुन रूनझुन चल वितरण करती मधु साकीबाला,
बस आ पहुंचे, दुर नहीं कुछ, चार कदम अब चलना है,
चहक रहे, सुन, पीनेवाले, महक रही, ले, मधुशाला।।१०।

जलतरंग बजता, जब चुंबन करता प्याले को प्याला,
वीणा झंकृत होती, चलती जब रूनझुन साकीबाला,
डाँट डपट मधुविक्रेता की ध्वनित पखावज करती है,
मधुरव से मधु की मादकता और बढ़ाती मधुशाला।।११।

मेंहदी रंजित मृदुल हथेली पर माणिक मधु का प्याला,
अंगूरी अवगुंठन डाले स्वर्ण वर्ण साकीबाला,
पाग बैंजनी, जामा नीला डाट डटे पीनेवाले,
इन्द्रधनुष से होड़ लगाती आज रंगीली मधुशाला।।१२।

हाथों में आने से पहले नाज़ दिखाएगा प्याला,
अधरों पर आने से पहले अदा दिखाएगी हाला,
बहुतेरे इनकार करेगा साकी आने से पहले,
पथिक, न घबरा जाना, पहले मान करेगी मधुशाला।।१३।

लाल सुरा की धार लपट सी कह न इसे देना ज्वाला,
फेनिल मदिरा है, मत इसको कह देना उर का छाला,
दर्द नशा है इस मदिरा का विगत स्मृतियाँ साकी हैं,
पीड़ा में आनंद जिसे हो, आए मेरी मधुशाला।।१४।

जगती की शीतल हाला सी पथिक, नहीं मेरी हाला,
जगती के ठंडे प्याले सा पथिक, नहीं मेरा प्याला,
ज्वाल सुरा जलते प्याले में दग्ध हृदय की कविता है,
जलने से भयभीत न जो हो, आए मेरी मधुशाला।।१५।

बहती हाला देखी, देखो लपट उठाती अब हाला,
देखो प्याला अब छूते ही होंठ जला देनेवाला,
'होंठ नहीं, सब देह दहे, पर पीने को दो बूंद मिले'
ऐसे मधु के दीवानों को आज बुलाती मधुशाला।।१६।

धर्मग्रन्थ सब जला चुकी है, जिसके अंतर की ज्वाला,
मंदिर, मसजिद, गिरिजे, सब को तोड़ चुका जो मतवाला,
पंडित, मोमिन, पादिरयों के फंदों को जो काट चुका,
कर सकती है आज उसी का स्वागत मेरी मधुशाला।।१७।

लालायित अधरों से जिसने, हाय, नहीं चूमी हाला,
हर्ष-विकंपित कर से जिसने, हा, न छुआ मधु का प्याला,
हाथ पकड़ लज्जित साकी को पास नहीं जिसने खींचा,
व्यर्थ सुखा डाली जीवन की उसने मधुमय मधुशाला।।१८।

बने पुजारी प्रेमी साकी, गंगाजल पावन हाला,
रहे फेरता अविरत गति से मधु के प्यालों की माला'
'और लिये जा, और पीये जा', इसी मंत्र का जाप करे'
मैं शिव की प्रतिमा बन बैठूं, मंदिर हो यह मधुशाला।।१९।

बजी न मंदिर में घड़ियाली, चढ़ी न प्रतिमा पर माला,
बैठा अपने भवन मुअज्ज़िन देकर मस्जिद में ताला,
लुटे ख़जाने नरपितयों के गिरीं गढ़ों की दीवारें,
रहें मुबारक पीनेवाले, खुली रहे यह मधुशाला।।२०।

बड़े बड़े पिरवार मिटें यों, एक न हो रोनेवाला,
हो जाएँ सुनसान महल वे, जहाँ थिरकतीं सुरबाला,
राज्य उलट जाएँ, भूपों की भाग्य सुलक्ष्मी सो जाए,
जमे रहेंगे पीनेवाले, जगा करेगी मधुशाला।।२१।

सब मिट जाएँ, बना रहेगा सुन्दर साकी, यम काला,
सूखें सब रस, बने रहेंगे, किन्तु, हलाहल औ' हाला,
धूमधाम औ' चहल पहल के स्थान सभी सुनसान बनें,
झगा करेगा अविरत मरघट, जगा करेगी मधुशाला।।२२।

भुरा सदा कहलायेगा जग में बाँका, मदचंचल प्याला,
छैल छबीला, रसिया साकी, अलबेला पीनेवाला,
पटे कहाँ से, मधु औ' जग की जोड़ी ठीक नहीं,
जग जर्जर प्रतिदन, प्रतिक्षण, पर नित्य नवेली मधुशाला।।२३।

बिना पिये जो मधुशाला को बुरा कहे, वह मतवाला,
पी लेने पर तो उसके मुह पर पड़ जाएगा ताला,
दास द्रोहियों दोनों में है जीत सुरा की, प्याले की,
विश्वविजयिनी बनकर जग में आई मेरी मधुशाला।।२४।

हरा भरा रहता मदिरालय, जग पर पड़ जाए पाला,
वहाँ मुहर्रम का तम छाए, यहाँ होलिका की ज्वाला,
स्वर्ग लोक से सीधी उतरी वसुधा पर, दुख क्या जाने,
पढ़े मर्सिया दुनिया सारी, ईद मनाती मधुशाला।।२५।

एक बरस में, एक बार ही जगती होली की ज्वाला,
एक बार ही लगती बाज़ी, जलती दीपों की माला,
दुनियावालों, किन्तु, किसी दिन आ मदिरालय में देखो,
दिन को होली, रात दिवाली, रोज़ मनाती मधुशाला।।२६।

नहीं जानता कौन, मनुज आया बनकर पीनेवाला,
कौन अपिरिचत उस साकी से, जिसने दूध पिला पाला,
जीवन पाकर मानव पीकर मस्त रहे, इस कारण ही,
जग में आकर सबसे पहले पाई उसने मधुशाला।।२७।

बनी रहें अंगूर लताएँ जिनसे मिलती है हाला,
बनी रहे वह मिटटी जिससे बनता है मधु का प्याला,
बनी रहे वह मदिर पिपासा तृप्त न जो होना जाने,
बनें रहें ये पीने वाले, बनी रहे यह मधुशाला।।२८।

सकुशल समझो मुझको, सकुशल रहती यदि साकीबाला,
मंगल और अमंगल समझे मस्ती में क्या मतवाला,
मित्रों, मेरी क्षेम न पूछो आकर, पर मधुशाला की,
कहा करो 'जय राम' न मिलकर, कहा करो 'जय मधुशाला'।।२९।

सूर्य बने मधु का विक्रेता, सिंधु बने घट, जल, हाला,
बादल बन-बन आए साकी, भूमि बने मधु का प्याला,
झड़ी लगाकर बरसे मदिरा रिमझिम, रिमझिम, रिमझिम कर,
बेलि, विटप, तृण बन मैं पीऊँ, वर्षा ऋतु हो मधुशाला।।३०।

तारक मणियों से सज्जित नभ बन जाए मधु का प्याला,
सीधा करके भर दी जाए उसमें सागरजल हाला,
मज्ञल्तऌा समीरण साकी बनकर अधरों पर छलका जाए,
फैले हों जो सागर तट से विश्व बने यह मधुशाला।।३१।

अधरों पर हो कोई भी रस जिहवा पर लगती हाला,
भाजन हो कोई हाथों में लगता रक्खा है प्याला,
हर सूरत साकी की सूरत में परिवर्तित हो जाती,
आँखों के आगे हो कुछ भी, आँखों में है मधुशाला।।३२।

पौधे आज बने हैं साकी ले ले फूलों का प्याला,
भरी हुई है जिसके अंदर पिरमल-मधु-सुरिभत हाला,
माँग माँगकर भ्रमरों के दल रस की मदिरा पीते हैं,
झूम झपक मद-झंपित होते, उपवन क्या है मधुशाला!।३३।

प्रति रसाल तरू साकी सा है, प्रति मंजरिका है प्याला,
छलक रही है जिसके बाहर मादक सौरभ की हाला,
छक जिसको मतवाली कोयल कूक रही डाली डाली
हर मधुऋतु में अमराई में जग उठती है मधुशाला।।३४।

मंद झकोरों के प्यालों में मधुऋतु सौरभ की हाला
भर भरकर है अनिल पिलाता बनकर मधु-मद-मतवाला,
हरे हरे नव पल्लव, तरूगण, नूतन डालें, वल्लरियाँ,
छक छक, झुक झुक झूम रही हैं, मधुबन में है मधुशाला।।३५।

साकी बन आती है प्रातः जब अरुणा ऊषा बाला,
तारक-मणि-मंडित चादर दे मोल धरा लेती हाला,
अगणित कर-किरणों से जिसको पी, खग पागल हो गाते,
प्रति प्रभात में पूर्ण प्रकृति में मुखिरत होती मधुशाला।।३६।

उतर नशा जब उसका जाता, आती है संध्या बाला,
बड़ी पुरानी, बड़ी नशीली नित्य ढला जाती हाला,
जीवन के संताप शोक सब इसको पीकर मिट जाते
सुरा-सुप्त होते मद-लोभी जागृत रहती मधुशाला।।३७।

अंधकार है मधुविक्रेता, सुन्दर साकी शशिबाला
किरण किरण में जो छलकाती जाम जुम्हाई का हाला,
पीकर जिसको चेतनता खो लेने लगते हैं झपकी
तारकदल से पीनेवाले, रात नहीं है, मधुशाला।।३८।

किसी ओर मैं आँखें फेरूँ, दिखलाई देती हाला
किसी ओर मैं आँखें फेरूँ, दिखलाई देता प्याला,
किसी ओर मैं देखूं, मुझको दिखलाई देता साकी
किसी ओर देखूं, दिखलाई पड़ती मुझको मधुशाला।।३९।

साकी बन मुरली आई साथ लिए कर में प्याला,
जिनमें वह छलकाती लाई अधर-सुधा-रस की हाला,
योगिराज कर संगत उसकी नटवर नागर कहलाए,
देखो कैसों-कैसों को है नाच नचाती मधुशाला।।४०।

वादक बन मधु का विक्रेता लाया सुर-सुमधुर-हाला,
रागिनियाँ बन साकी आई भरकर तारों का प्याला,
विक्रेता के संकेतों पर दौड़ लयों, आलापों में,
पान कराती श्रोतागण को, झंकृत वीणा मधुशाला।।४१।

चित्रकार बन साकी आता लेकर तूली का प्याला,
जिसमें भरकर पान कराता वह बहु रस-रंगी हाला,
मन के चित्र जिसे पी-पीकर रंग-बिरंगे हो जाते,
चित्रपटी पर नाच रही है एक मनोहर मधुशाला।।४२।

घन श्यामल अंगूर लता से खिंच खिंच यह आती हाला,
अरूण-कमल-कोमल कलियों की प्याली, फूलों का प्याला,
लोल हिलोरें साकी बन बन माणिक मधु से भर जातीं,
हंस मज्ञल्तऌा होते पी पीकर मानसरोवर मधुशाला।।४३।

हिम श्रेणी अंगूर लता-सी फैली, हिम जल है हाला,
चंचल नदियाँ साकी बनकर, भरकर लहरों का प्याला,
कोमल कूर-करों में अपने छलकाती निशिदिन चलतीं,
पीकर खेत खड़े लहराते, भारत पावन मधुशाला।।४४।

धीर सुतों के हृदय रक्त की आज बना रक्तिम हाला,
वीर सुतों के वर शीशों का हाथों में लेकर प्याला,
अति उदार दानी साकी है आज बनी भारतमाता,
स्वतंत्रता है तृषित कालिका बलिवेदी है मधुशाला।।४५।

दुतकारा मस्जिद ने मुझको कहकर है पीनेवाला,
ठुकराया ठाकुरद्वारे ने देख हथेली पर प्याला,
कहाँ ठिकाना मिलता जग में भला अभागे काफिर को?
शरणस्थल बनकर न मुझे यदि अपना लेती मधुशाला।।४६।

पथिक बना मैं घूम रहा हूँ, सभी जगह मिलती हाला,
सभी जगह मिल जाता साकी, सभी जगह मिलता प्याला,
मुझे ठहरने का, हे मित्रों, कष्ट नहीं कुछ भी होता,
मिले न मंदिर, मिले न मस्जिद, मिल जाती है मधुशाला।।४७।

सजें न मस्जिद और नमाज़ी कहता है अल्लाताला,
सजधजकर, पर, साकी आता, बन ठनकर, पीनेवाला,
शेख, कहाँ तुलना हो सकती मस्जिद की मदिरालय से
चिर विधवा है मस्जिद तेरी, सदा सुहागिन मधुशाला।।४८।

बजी नफ़ीरी और नमाज़ी भूल गया अल्लाताला,
गाज गिरी, पर ध्यान सुरा में मग्न रहा पीनेवाला,
शेख, बुरा मत मानो इसको, साफ़ कहूँ तो मस्जिद को
अभी युगों तक सिखलाएगी ध्यान लगाना मधुशाला!।४९।

मुसलमान औ' हिन्दू है दो, एक, मगर, उनका प्याला,
एक, मगर, उनका मदिरालय, एक, मगर, उनकी हाला,
दोनों रहते एक न जब तक मस्जिद मन्दिर में जाते,
बैर बढ़ाते मस्जिद मन्दिर मेल कराती मधुशाला!।५०।

कोई भी हो शेख नमाज़ी या पंडित जपता माला,
बैर भाव चाहे जितना हो मदिरा से रखनेवाला,
एक बार बस मधुशाला के आगे से होकर निकले,
देखूँ कैसे थाम न लेती दामन उसका मधुशाला!।५१।

और रसों में स्वाद तभी तक, दूर जभी तक है हाला,
इतरा लें सब पात्र न जब तक, आगे आता है प्याला,
कर लें पूजा शेख, पुजारी तब तक मस्जिद मन्दिर में
घूँघट का पट खोल न जब तक झाँक रही है मधुशाला।।५२।

आज करे परहेज़ जगत, पर, कल पीनी होगी हाला,
आज करे इन्कार जगत पर कल पीना होगा प्याला,
होने दो पैदा मद का महमूद जगत में कोई, फिर
जहाँ अभी हैं मन्िदर मस्जिद वहाँ बनेगी मधुशाला।।५३।

यज्ञ अग्नि सी धधक रही है मधु की भटठी की ज्वाला,
ऋषि सा ध्यान लगा बैठा है हर मदिरा पीने वाला,
मुनि कन्याओं सी मधुघट ले फिरतीं साकीबालाएँ,
किसी तपोवन से क्या कम है मेरी पावन मधुशाला।।५४।

सोम सुरा पुरखे पीते थे, हम कहते उसको हाला,
द्रोणकलश जिसको कहते थे, आज वही मधुघट आला,
वेदिवहित यह रस्म न छोड़ो वेदों के ठेकेदारों,
युग युग से है पुजती आई नई नहीं है मधुशाला।।५५।

वही वारूणी जो थी सागर मथकर निकली अब हाला,
रंभा की संतान जगत में कहलाती 'साकीबाला',
देव अदेव जिसे ले आए, संत महंत मिटा देंगे!
किसमें कितना दम खम, इसको खूब समझती मधुशाला।।५६।

कभी न सुन पड़ता, 'इसने, हा, छू दी मेरी हाला',
कभी न कोई कहता, 'उसने जूठा कर डाला प्याला',
सभी जाति के लोग यहाँ पर साथ बैठकर पीते हैं,
सौ सुधारकों का करती है काम अकेले मधुशाला।।५७।

श्रम, संकट, संताप, सभी तुम भूला करते पी हाला,
सबक बड़ा तुम सीख चुके यदि सीखा रहना मतवाला,
व्यर्थ बने जाते हो हिरजन, तुम तो मधुजन ही अच्छे,
ठुकराते हिर मंिदरवाले, पलक बिछाती मधुशाला।।५८।

एक तरह से सबका स्वागत करती है साकीबाला,
अज्ञ विज्ञ में है क्या अंतर हो जाने पर मतवाला,
रंक राव में भेद हुआ है कभी नहीं मदिरालय में,
साम्यवाद की प्रथम प्रचारक है यह मेरी मधुशाला।।५९।

बार बार मैंने आगे बढ़ आज नहीं माँगी हाला,
समझ न लेना इससे मुझको साधारण पीने वाला,
हो तो लेने दो ऐ साकी दूर प्रथम संकोचों को,
मेरे ही स्वर से फिर सारी गूँज उठेगी मधुशाला।।६०।

कल? कल पर विश्वास किया कब करता है पीनेवाला
हो सकते कल कर जड़ जिनसे फिर फिर आज उठा प्याला,
आज हाथ में था, वह खोया, कल का कौन भरोसा है,
कल की हो न मुझे मधुशाला काल कुटिल की मधुशाला।।६१।

आज मिला अवसर, तब फिर क्यों मैं न छकूँ जी-भर हाला
आज मिला मौका, तब फिर क्यों ढाल न लूँ जी-भर प्याला,
छेड़छाड़ अपने साकी से आज न क्यों जी-भर कर लूँ,
एक बार ही तो मिलनी है जीवन की यह मधुशाला।।६२।

आज सजीव बना लो, प्रेयसी, अपने अधरों का प्याला,
भर लो, भर लो, भर लो इसमें, यौवन मधुरस की हाला,
और लगा मेरे होठों से भूल हटाना तुम जाओ,
अथक बनू मैं पीनेवाला, खुले प्रणय की मधुशाला।।६३।

सुमुखी तुम्हारा, सुन्दर मुख ही, मुझको कन्चन का प्याला
छलक रही है जिसमंे माणिक रूप मधुर मादक हाला,
मैं ही साकी बनता, मैं ही पीने वाला बनता हूँ
जहाँ कहीं मिल बैठे हम तुम़ वहीं गयी हो मधुशाला।।६४।

दो दिन ही मधु मुझे पिलाकर ऊब उठी साकीबाला,
भरकर अब खिसका देती है वह मेरे आगे प्याला,
नाज़, अदा, अंदाजों से अब, हाय पिलाना दूर हुआ,
अब तो कर देती है केवल फ़र्ज़ -अदाई मधुशाला।।६५।

छोटे-से जीवन में कितना प्यार करुँ, पी लूँ हाला,
आने के ही साथ जगत में कहलाया 'जानेवाला',
स्वागत के ही साथ विदा की होती देखी तैयारी,
बंद लगी होने खुलते ही मेरी जीवन-मधुशाला।।६६।

क्या पीना, निर्द्वन्द न जब तक ढाला प्यालों पर प्याला,
क्या जीना, निरंिचत न जब तक साथ रहे साकीबाला,
खोने का भय, हाय, लगा है पाने के सुख के पीछे,
मिलने का आनंद न देती मिलकर के भी मधुशाला।।६७।

मुझे पिलाने को लाए हो इतनी थोड़ी-सी हाला!
मुझे दिखाने को लाए हो एक यही छिछला प्याला!
इतनी पी जीने से अच्छा सागर की ले प्यास मरुँ,
सिंधँु-तृषा दी किसने रचकर बिंदु-बराबर मधुशाला।।६८।

क्या कहता है, रह न गई अब तेरे भाजन में हाला,
क्या कहता है, अब न चलेगी मादक प्यालों की माला,
थोड़ी पीकर प्यास बढ़ी तो शेष नहीं कुछ पीने को,
प्यास बुझाने को बुलवाकर प्यास बढ़ाती मधुशाला।।६९।

लिखी भाग्य में जितनी बस उतनी ही पाएगा हाला,
लिखा भाग्य में जैसा बस वैसा ही पाएगा प्याला,
लाख पटक तू हाथ पाँव, पर इससे कब कुछ होने का,
लिखी भाग्य में जो तेरे बस वही मिलेगी मधुशाला।।७०।

कर ले, कर ले कंजूसी तू मुझको देने में हाला,
दे ले, दे ले तू मुझको बस यह टूटा फूटा प्याला,
मैं तो सब्र इसी पर करता, तू पीछे पछताएगी,
जब न रहूँगा मैं, तब मेरी याद करेगी मधुशाला।।७१।

ध्यान मान का, अपमानों का छोड़ दिया जब पी हाला,
गौरव भूला, आया कर में जब से मिट्टी का प्याला,
साकी की अंदाज़ भरी झिड़की में क्या अपमान धरा,
दुनिया भर की ठोकर खाकर पाई मैंने मधुशाला।।७२।

क्षीण, क्षुद्र, क्षणभंगुर, दुर्बल मानव मिटटी का प्याला,
भरी हुई है जिसके अंदर कटु-मधु जीवन की हाला,
मृत्यु बनी है निर्दय साकी अपने शत-शत कर फैला,
काल प्रबल है पीनेवाला, संसृति है यह मधुशाला।।७३।

प्याले सा गढ़ हमें किसी ने भर दी जीवन की हाला,
नशा न भाया, ढाला हमने ले लेकर मधु का प्याला,
जब जीवन का दर्द उभरता उसे दबाते प्याले से,
जगती के पहले साकी से जूझ रही है मधुशाला।।७४।

अपने अंगूरों से तन में हमने भर ली है हाला,
क्या कहते हो, शेख, नरक में हमें तपाएगी ज्वाला,
तब तो मदिरा खूब खिंचेगी और पिएगा भी कोई,
हमें नमक की ज्वाला में भी दीख पड़ेगी मधुशाला।।७५।

यम आएगा लेने जब, तब खूब चलूँगा पी हाला,
पीड़ा, संकट, कष्ट नरक के क्या समझेगा मतवाला,
क्रूर, कठोर, कुटिल, कुविचारी, अन्यायी यमराजों के
डंडों की जब मार पड़ेगी, आड़ करेगी मधुशाला।।७६।

यदि इन अधरों से दो बातें प्रेम भरी करती हाला,
यदि इन खाली हाथों का जी पल भर बहलाता प्याला,
हानि बता, जग, तेरी क्या है, व्यर्थ मुझे बदनाम न कर,
मेरे टूटे दिल का है बस एक खिलौना मधुशाला।।७७।

याद न आए दूखमय जीवन इससे पी लेता हाला,
जग चिंताओं से रहने को मुक्त, उठा लेता प्याला,
शौक, साध के और स्वाद के हेतु पिया जग करता है,
पर मै वह रोगी हूँ जिसकी एक दवा है मधुशाला।।७८।

गिरती जाती है दिन प्रतिदन प्रणयनी प्राणों की हाला
भग्न हुआ जाता दिन प्रतिदन सुभगे मेरा तन प्याला,
रूठ रहा है मुझसे रूपसी, दिन दिन यौवन का साकी
सूख रही है दिन दिन सुन्दरी, मेरी जीवन मधुशाला।।७९।

यम आयेगा साकी बनकर साथ लिए काली हाला,
पी न होश में फिर आएगा सुरा-विसुध यह मतवाला,
यह अंितम बेहोशी, अंतिम साकी, अंतिम प्याला है,
पथिक, प्यार से पीना इसको फिर न मिलेगी मधुशाला।८०।

ढलक रही है तन के घट से, संगिनी जब जीवन हाला
पत्र गरल का ले जब अंतिम साकी है आनेवाला,
हाथ स्पर्श भूले प्याले का, स्वाद सुरा जीव्हा भूले
कानो में तुम कहती रहना, मधु का प्याला मधुशाला।।८१।

मेरे अधरों पर हो अंितम वस्तु न तुलसीदल प्याला
मेरी जीव्हा पर हो अंतिम वस्तु न गंगाजल हाला,
मेरे शव के पीछे चलने वालों याद इसे रखना
राम नाम है सत्य न कहना, कहना सच्ची मधुशाला।।८२।

मेरे शव पर वह रोये, हो जिसके आंसू में हाला
आह भरे वो, जो हो सुरिभत मदिरा पी कर मतवाला,
दे मुझको वो कान्धा जिनके पग मद डगमग होते हों
और जलूं उस ठौर जहां पर कभी रही हो मधुशाला।।८३।

और चिता पर जाये उंढेला पत्र न घ्रित का, पर प्याला
कंठ बंधे अंगूर लता में मध्य न जल हो, पर हाला,
प्राण प्रिये यदि श्राध करो तुम मेरा तो ऐसे करना
पीने वालांे को बुलवा कऱ खुलवा देना मधुशाला।।८४।

नाम अगर कोई पूछे तो, कहना बस पीनेवाला
काम ढालना, और ढालना सबको मदिरा का प्याला,
जाति प्रिये, पूछे यदि कोई कह देना दीवानों की
धर्म बताना प्यालों की ले माला जपना मधुशाला।।८५।

ज्ञात हुआ यम आने को है ले अपनी काली हाला,
पंिडत अपनी पोथी भूला, साधू भूल गया माला,
और पुजारी भूला पूजा, ज्ञान सभी ज्ञानी भूला,
किन्तु न भूला मरकर के भी पीनेवाला मधुशाला।।८६।

यम ले चलता है मुझको तो, चलने दे लेकर हाला,
चलने दे साकी को मेरे साथ लिए कर में प्याला,
स्वर्ग, नरक या जहाँ कहीं भी तेरा जी हो लेकर चल,
ठौर सभी हैं एक तरह के साथ रहे यदि मधुशाला।।८७।

पाप अगर पीना, समदोषी तो तीनों - साकी बाला,
नित्य पिलानेवाला प्याला, पी जानेवाली हाला,
साथ इन्हें भी ले चल मेरे न्याय यही बतलाता है,
कैद जहाँ मैं हूँ, की जाए कैद वहीं पर मधुशाला।।८८।

शांत सकी हो अब तक, साकी, पीकर किस उर की ज्वाला,
'और, और' की रटन लगाता जाता हर पीनेवाला,
कितनी इच्छाएँ हर जानेवाला छोड़ यहाँ जाता!
कितने अरमानों की बनकर कब्र खड़ी है मधुशाला।।८९।

जो हाला मैं चाह रहा था, वह न मिली मुझको हाला,
जो प्याला मैं माँग रहा था, वह न मिला मुझको प्याला,
जिस साकी के पीछे मैं था दीवाना, न मिला साकी,
जिसके पीछे था मैं पागल, हा न मिली वह मधुशाला!।९०।

देख रहा हूँ अपने आगे कब से माणिक-सी हाला,
देख रहा हूँ अपने आगे कब से कंचन का प्याला,
'बस अब पाया!'- कह-कह कब से दौड़ रहा इसके पीछे,
किंतु रही है दूर क्षितिज-सी मुझसे मेरी मधुशाला।।९१।

कभी निराशा का तम घिरता, छिप जाता मधु का प्याला,
छिप जाती मदिरा की आभा, छिप जाती साकीबाला,
कभी उजाला आशा करके प्याला फिर चमका जाती,
आँखिमचौली खेल रही है मुझसे मेरी मधुशाला।।९२।

'आ आगे' कहकर कर पीछे कर लेती साकीबाला,
होंठ लगाने को कहकर हर बार हटा लेती प्याला,
नहीं मुझे मालूम कहाँ तक यह मुझको ले जाएगी,
बढ़ा बढ़ाकर मुझको आगे, पीछे हटती मधुशाला।।९३।

हाथों में आने-आने में, हाय, फिसल जाता प्याला,
अधरों पर आने-आने में हाय, ढुलक जाती हाला,
दुनियावालो, आकर मेरी किस्मत की ख़ूबी देखो,
रह-रह जाती है बस मुझको मिलते-िमलते मधुशाला।।९४।

प्राप्य नही है तो, हो जाती लुप्त नहीं फिर क्यों हाला,
प्राप्य नही है तो, हो जाता लुप्त नहीं फिर क्यों प्याला,
दूर न इतनी हिम्मत हारुँ, पास न इतनी पा जाऊँ,
व्यर्थ मुझे दौड़ाती मरु में मृगजल बनकर मधुशाला।।९५।

मिले न, पर, ललचा ललचा क्यों आकुल करती है हाला,
मिले न, पर, तरसा तरसाकर क्यों तड़पाता है प्याला,
हाय, नियति की विषम लेखनी मस्तक पर यह खोद गई
'दूर रहेगी मधु की धारा, पास रहेगी मधुशाला!'।९६।

मदिरालय में कब से बैठा, पी न सका अब तक हाला,
यत्न सहित भरता हूँ, कोई किंतु उलट देता प्याला,
मानव-बल के आगे निर्बल भाग्य, सुना विद्यालय में,
'भाग्य प्रबल, मानव निर्बल' का पाठ पढ़ाती मधुशाला।।९७।

किस्मत में था खाली खप्पर, खोज रहा था मैं प्याला,
ढूँढ़ रहा था मैं मृगनयनी, किस्मत में थी मृगछाला,
किसने अपना भाग्य समझने में मुझसा धोखा खाया,
किस्मत में था अवघट मरघट, ढूँढ़ रहा था मधुशाला।।९८।

उस प्याले से प्यार मुझे जो दूर हथेली से प्याला,
उस हाला से चाव मुझे जो दूर अधर से है हाला,
प्यार नहीं पा जाने में है, पाने के अरमानों में!
पा जाता तब, हाय, न इतनी प्यारी लगती मधुशाला।।९९।

साकी के पास है तिनक सी श्री, सुख, संपित की हाला,
सब जग है पीने को आतुर ले ले किस्मत का प्याला,
रेल ठेल कुछ आगे बढ़ते, बहुतेरे दबकर मरते,
जीवन का संघर्ष नहीं है, भीड़ भरी है मधुशाला।।१००।

साकी, जब है पास तुम्हारे इतनी थोड़ी सी हाला,
क्यों पीने की अभिलषा से, करते सबको मतवाला,
हम पिस पिसकर मरते हैं, तुम छिप छिपकर मुसकाते हो,
हाय, हमारी पीड़ा से है क्रीड़ा करती मधुशाला।।१०१।

साकी, मर खपकर यदि कोई आगे कर पाया प्याला,
पी पाया केवल दो बूंदों से न अधिक तेरी हाला,
जीवन भर का, हाय, पिरश्रम लूट लिया दो बूंदों ने,
भोले मानव को ठगने के हेतु बनी है मधुशाला।।१०२।

जिसने मुझको प्यासा रक्खा बनी रहे वह भी हाला,
जिसने जीवन भर दौड़ाया बना रहे वह भी प्याला,
मतवालों की जिहवा से हैं कभी निकलते शाप नहीं,
दुखी बनाय जिसने मुझको सुखी रहे वह मधुशाला!।१०३।

नहीं चाहता, आगे बढ़कर छीनूँ औरों की हाला,
नहीं चाहता, धक्के देकर, छीनूँ औरों का प्याला,
साकी, मेरी ओर न देखो मुझको तिनक मलाल नहीं,
इतना ही क्या कम आँखों से देख रहा हूँ मधुशाला।।१०४।

मद, मदिरा, मधु, हाला सुन-सुन कर ही जब हूँ मतवाला,
क्या गति होगी अधरों के जब नीचे आएगा प्याला,
साकी, मेरे पास न आना मैं पागल हो जाऊँगा,
प्यासा ही मैं मस्त, मुबारक हो तुमको ही मधुशाला।।१०५।

क्या मुझको आवश्यकता है साकी से माँगूँ हाला,
क्या मुझको आवश्यकता है साकी से चाहूँ प्याला,
पीकर मदिरा मस्त हुआ तो प्यार किया क्या मदिरा से!
मैं तो पागल हो उठता हूँ सुन लेता यदि मधुशाला।।१०६।

देने को जो मुझे कहा था दे न सकी मुझको हाला,
देने को जो मुझे कहा था दे न सका मुझको प्याला,
समझ मनुज की दुर्बलता मैं कहा नहीं कुछ भी करता,
किन्तु स्वयं ही देख मुझे अब शरमा जाती मधुशाला।।१०७।

एक समय संतुष्ट बहुत था पा मैं थोड़ी-सी हाला,
भोला-सा था मेरा साकी, छोटा-सा मेरा प्याला,
छोटे-से इस जग की मेरे स्वर्ग बलाएँ लेता था,
विस्तृत जग में, हाय, गई खो मेरी नन्ही मधुशाला!।१०८।

बहुतेरे मदिरालय देखे, बहुतेरी देखी हाला,
भाँित भाँित का आया मेरे हाथों में मधु का प्याला,
एक एक से बढ़कर, सुन्दर साकी ने सत्कार किया,
जँची न आँखों में, पर, कोई पहली जैसी मधुशाला।।१०९।

एक समय छलका करती थी मेरे अधरों पर हाला,
एक समय झूमा करता था मेरे हाथों पर प्याला,
एक समय पीनेवाले, साकी आलिंगन करते थे,
आज बनी हूँ निर्जन मरघट, एक समय थी मधुशाला।।११०।

जला हृदय की भट्टी खींची मैंने आँसू की हाला,
छलछल छलका करता इससे पल पल पलकों का प्याला,
आँखें आज बनी हैं साकी, गाल गुलाबी पी होते,
कहो न विरही मुझको, मैं हूँ चलती फिरती मधुशाला!।१११।

कितनी जल्दी रंग बदलती है अपना चंचल हाला,
कितनी जल्दी घिसने लगता हाथों में आकर प्याला,
कितनी जल्दी साकी का आकर्षण घटने लगता है,
प्रात नहीं थी वैसी, जैसी रात लगी थी मधुशाला।।११२।

बूँद बूँद के हेतु कभी तुझको तरसाएगी हाला,
कभी हाथ से छिन जाएगा तेरा यह मादक प्याला,
पीनेवाले, साकी की मीठी बातों में मत आना,
मेरे भी गुण यों ही गाती एक दिवस थी मधुशाला।।११३।

छोड़ा मैंने पथ मतों को तब कहलाया मतवाला,
चली सुरा मेरा पग धोने तोड़ा जब मैंने प्याला,
अब मानी मधुशाला मेरे पीछे पीछे फिरती है,
क्या कारण? अब छोड़ दिया है मैंने जाना मधुशाला।।११४।

यह न समझना, पिया हलाहल मैंने, जब न मिली हाला,
तब मैंने खप्पर अपनाया ले सकता था जब प्याला,
जले हृदय को और जलाना सूझा, मैंने मरघट को
अपनाया जब इन चरणों में लोट रही थी मधुशाला।।११५।

कितनी आई और गई पी इस मदिरालय में हाला,
टूट चुकी अब तक कितने ही मादक प्यालों की माला,
कितने साकी अपना अपना काम खतम कर दूर गए,
कितने पीनेवाले आए, किन्तु वही है मधुशाला।।११६।

कितने होठों को रक्खेगी याद भला मादक हाला,
कितने हाथों को रक्खेगा याद भला पागल प्याला,
कितनी शक्लों को रक्खेगा याद भला भोला साकी,
कितने पीनेवालों में है एक अकेली मधुशाला।।११७।

दर दर घूम रहा था जब मैं चिल्लाता - हाला! हाला!
मुझे न मिलता था मदिरालय, मुझे न मिलता था प्याला,
मिलन हुआ, पर नहीं मिलनसुख लिखा हुआ था किस्मत में,
मैं अब जमकर बैठ गया हँू, घूम रही है मधुशाला।।११८।

मैं मदिरालय के अंदर हूँ, मेरे हाथों में प्याला,
प्याले में मदिरालय बिंिबत करनेवाली है हाला,
इस उधेड़-बुन में ही मेरा सारा जीवन बीत गया -
मैं मधुशाला के अंदर या मेरे अंदर मधुशाला!।११९।

किसे नहीं पीने से नाता, किसे नहीं भाता प्याला,
इस जगती के मदिरालय में तरह-तरह की है हाला,
अपनी-अपनी इच्छा के अनुसार सभी पी मदमाते,
एक सभी का मादक साकी, एक सभी की मधुशाला।।१२०।

वह हाला, कर शांत सके जो मेरे अंतर की ज्वाला,
जिसमें मैं बिंिबत-प्रतिबंिबत प्रतिपल, वह मेरा प्याला,
मधुशाला वह नहीं जहाँ पर मदिरा बेची जाती है,
भेंट जहाँ मस्ती की मिलती मेरी तो वह मधुशाला।।१२१।

मतवालापन हाला से ले मैंने तज दी है हाला,
पागलपन लेकर प्याले से, मैंने त्याग दिया प्याला,
साकी से मिल, साकी में मिल अपनापन मैं भूल गया,
मिल मधुशाला की मधुता में भूल गया मैं मधुशाला।।१२२।

मदिरालय के द्वार ठोंकता किस्मत का छंछा प्याला,
गहरी, ठंडी सांसें भर भर कहता था हर मतवाला,
कितनी थोड़ी सी यौवन की हाला, हा, मैं पी पाया!
बंद हो गई कितनी जल्दी मेरी जीवन मधुशाला।।१२३।

कहाँ गया वह स्वर्गिक साकी, कहाँ गयी सुरिभत हाला,
कहँा गया स्वपिनल मदिरालय, कहाँ गया स्वर्णिम प्याला!
पीनेवालों ने मदिरा का मूल्य, हाय, कब पहचाना?
फूट चुका जब मधु का प्याला, टूट चुकी जब मधुशाला।।१२४।

अपने युग में सबको अनुपम ज्ञात हुई अपनी हाला,
अपने युग में सबको अदभुत ज्ञात हुआ अपना प्याला,
फिर भी वृद्धों से जब पूछा एक यही उज्ञल्तऌार पाया -
अब न रहे वे पीनेवाले, अब न रही वह मधुशाला!।१२५।

'मय' को करके शुद्ध दिया अब नाम गया उसको, 'हाला'
'मीना' को 'मधुपात्र' दिया 'सागर' को नाम गया 'प्याला',
क्यों न मौलवी चौंकें, बिचकें तिलक-त्रिपुंडी पंिडत जी
'मय-महिफल' अब अपना ली है मैंने करके 'मधुशाला'।।१२६।

कितने मर्म जता जाती है बार-बार आकर हाला,
कितने भेद बता जाता है बार-बार आकर प्याला,
कितने अर्थों को संकेतों से बतला जाता साकी,
फिर भी पीनेवालों को है एक पहेली मधुशाला।।१२७।

जितनी दिल की गहराई हो उतना गहरा है प्याला,
जितनी मन की मादकता हो उतनी मादक है हाला,
जितनी उर की भावुकता हो उतना सुन्दर साकी है,
जितना ही जो रिसक, उसे है उतनी रसमय मधुशाला।।१२८।

जिन अधरों को छुए, बना दे मस्त उन्हें मेरी हाला,
जिस कर को छूू दे, कर दे विक्षिप्त उसे मेरा प्याला,
आँख चार हों जिसकी मेरे साकी से दीवाना हो,
पागल बनकर नाचे वह जो आए मेरी मधुशाला।।१२९।

हर जिहवा पर देखी जाएगी मेरी मादक हाला
हर कर में देखा जाएगा मेरे साकी का प्याला
हर घर में चर्चा अब होगी मेरे मधुविक्रेता की
हर आंगन में गमक उठेगी मेरी सुरिभत मधुशाला।।१३०।

मेरी हाला में सबने पाई अपनी-अपनी हाला,
मेरे प्याले में सबने पाया अपना-अपना प्याला,
मेरे साकी में सबने अपना प्यारा साकी देखा,
जिसकी जैसी रुिच थी उसने वैसी देखी मधुशाला।।१३१।

यह मदिरालय के आँसू हैं, नहीं-नहीं मादक हाला,
यह मदिरालय की आँखें हैं, नहीं-नहीं मधु का प्याला,
किसी समय की सुखदस्मृति है साकी बनकर नाच रही,
नहीं-नहीं किव का हृदयांगण, यह विरहाकुल मधुशाला।।१३२।

कुचल हसरतें कितनी अपनी, हाय, बना पाया हाला,
कितने अरमानों को करके ख़ाक बना पाया प्याला!
पी पीनेवाले चल देंगे, हाय, न कोई जानेगा,
कितने मन के महल ढहे तब खड़ी हुई यह मधुशाला!।१३३।

विश्व तुम्हारे विषमय जीवन में ला पाएगी हाला
यदि थोड़ी-सी भी यह मेरी मदमाती साकीबाला,
शून्य तुम्हारी घड़ियाँ कुछ भी यदि यह गुंजित कर पाई,
जन्म सफल समझेगी जग में अपना मेरी मधुशाला।।१३४।

बड़े-बड़े नाज़ों से मैंने पाली है साकीबाला,
किलत कल्पना का ही इसने सदा उठाया है प्याला,
मान-दुलारों से ही रखना इस मेरी सुकुमारी को,
विश्व, तुम्हारे हाथों में अब सौंप रहा हूँ मधुशाला।।१३५।

पिरिशष्ट से

स्वयं नहीं पीता, औरों को, किन्तु पिला देता हाला,
स्वयं नहीं छूता, औरों को, पर पकड़ा देता प्याला,
पर उपदेश कुशल बहुतेरों से मैंने यह सीखा है,
स्वयं नहीं जाता, औरों को पहुंचा देता मधुशाला।

मैं कायस्थ कुलोदभव मेरे पुरखों ने इतना ढ़ाला,
मेरे तन के लोहू में है पचहज्ञल्तऌार प्रतिशत हाला,
पुश्तैनी अधिकार मुझे है मदिरालय के आँगन पर,
मेरे दादों परदादों के हाथ बिकी थी मधुशाला।

बहुतों के सिर चार दिनों तक चढ़कर उतर गई हाला,
बहुतों के हाथों में दो दिन छलक झलक रीता प्याला,
पर बढ़ती तासीर सुरा की साथ समय के, इससे ही
और पुरानी होकर मेरी और नशीली मधुशाला।

पित्र पक्ष में पुत्र उठाना अर्ध्य न कर में, पर प्याला
बैठ कहीं पर जाना, गंगा सागर में भरकर हाला
किसी जगह की मिटटी भीगे, तृप्ति मुझे मिल जाएगी
तर्पण अर्पण करना मुझको, पढ़ पढ़ कर के मधुशाला।

By:Harivansh Rai Bahchan

posted by:Sid

Jo Beet gayi so baat gayi

Often you come across poems that inspires you, forces you stop and ponder. This is one such poem by the great Harivansh Rai Bachchan. Pursue this:


Jo Beet gayi so baat gayi
Harivansh Rai Bachchan


Jeewan mnein ek sitaaraa thaa
Maanaa woh behad pyaaraa thaa
Woh doob gayaa to doob gayaa
Ambar kay aanan ko dekhho
Kitne iskay taare tootay
Kitne iskay pyaaray chhootay
Jo chhoot gaye fir kahaan milay
Par bolo tootay taaron par
Kab ambar shok manaataa hai
Jo beet gayi so baat gayi

Jeewan mnein thhaa woh kusum
Thhay uspar nitya nichhaawar tum
Woh sookhh gayaa to sookhh gayaa
Madhuwan ki chhaati ko dekhho
Sookhhi kitni iski kaliyaan
Murjhaayi kitni wallriyaan
Jo murjhaayi fir kahaan khili
Par bolo sookhay foolon par
Kab madhuwan shor machaataa hai
Jo beet gayi so baat gayi

Jeewan mnein madhhu kaa pyaalaa thaa
Tumne tan-man de daalaa thhaa
Woh toot gayaa to toot gayaa
Madiraalay kaa aangan dekhho
Kitnay pyaalay hil jaatay hnain
Gir mitti mnein mil jaatay hnain
Jo girtay hnain kab uthtay hnain
Par bolo tootay pyaalon par
Kab madiraalay pachhtaataa hai
Jo beet gayi so baat gayi

Mridu-mitti ke hnain banay huay
Madhhu-ghat footaa hee kartay hnain
Laghhu jeewan lekar aayay hnain
Pyaalay tootaa hee kartay hnain
Fir bhhi madiraalay ke andar
Madhhu ke ghat hnain madhu-pyaalay hnain
Jo maadaktaa ke maaray hnain
Way madhhu lutaa hee kartay hnain
Wah kachchaa peenay waalaa hai
Jiski mamtaa ghat pyaalon par
Jo sachchay madhhu se jalaa huaa
Kab rotaa hai chillaataa hai
Jo beet gayi so baat gayi.


Sent by: Sumit Kr. Chand
Posted by: Ranjan

Often, as we grow old, the places where we live start growing on us. Conversely, our environment is as much shaped and influenced by us as we are influenced by it. The people we grow up with and the places we grow up in, forms a comfort zone which is very personal in nature. This is our recluse where we seek shelter and comfort whenever we are hurt and let down. We believe that this is the setting where you would never be judged, where there is no measuring yardstick, where the old friend will patiently hear you out. He will agree that you have been let down, back stabbed and not treated well at all. The old trees, the old tea shop, that cement bench below the trees will surround you like sympathetic friends.

For me, this comfort zone remains an elusive truth. I grew up in Sindri, a small town of Jharkhand (it was Bihar then). Tucked farwawy in a corner of Bihar, it was full of fresh air, vegetables and nice people. The Bengalis were a closely knit group who found their identity through cultural events and Calcutta and Jadavpore University alumney.

Just when I started to step into adolescence, when you really start to identify yourself with the place and culture (you know what I mean, right?) my father retired and we moved to Kharagpur. Most of my uncles were professors at the IIT and my father thought the scholarly environment would groom me to be a future IITian. Although I could never get into coveted institute, but its culture got into me. I fell in love with books, music and lazing around. Believe me if you want to just laze around, doing in particular while enjoying yourself all the time, no one can beat a small town. The cycle rides round the campus, free net surfing at the institute when Internet was a unheard term in India, long hours at the ramparts of the empty stadium, good times which will always be with me.

And then job happened. I moved out of Kharagpur and got thrown to the bad bad world out there. I got posted to Mumbai, Gujrat, many places in Bengal, and finally Kolkata. Now I have settled down here in Kolkata. Brought my parents along, bought a house, and trying to think this as my home.

But unsuccessfully. After changing base so many times, now I find it difficult to relate myself to one place. A part of my heart lies in Sindri with foggy memories of sweet childhood. Kharagpur is more pronounced, with the events being of more recent times. Some of my friends still live in there. Its been almost three years now I have left kgp, and I have been making plans ever since to visit the place. To catch up with friends and walk by the old school. But every time a plan is finalized, typically something or the other crop up and plan gets postponed. Slowly, like Sindri, Kgp is getting foggy too.

I feel lonely when I walk home from the bus stand after a tiring day. Nothing much to look forward to most of the times. There are occasional parties and get together among the colleagues or acquaintances, but they lack the genuine warmth. The big city is engulfing me. Slowly, but surely.

****


You ask me about the country whose details
now escape me,
I don't remember its geography, nothing
of its history.
And should I visit it in memory,
It would be as I would a past lover,
After years, for a night, no longer restless with passion.
With no fear of regret.
I have reached that age when,
one visits the heart merely as a courtesy.


-Faiz Ahmed Faiz.
Translated from Urdu by Agha Shahid Ali.


Posted by: Ranjan

Application for a Driving Licence

I recently came acrsoss this poem by Michael Ondaatje. Its a small and wonderfully written piece. Pursue this:

Application For A Driving Licence
Michael Ondaatje

Two birds loved
in a flurry of red feathers

like a burst of cottonball
continuing while I drove over them.

I am a good driver,

nothing shocks me.


Best wishes,
Ranjan

Logical reasoning

A Harvard scholar, Mr. Sean Goldstein approaches a learned Rabbi telling him that he has a Doctorate in philosophy, and would now like to learn the Talmud to round off or complete his knowledge. After summing him up for a few minutes, the Rabbi told him " I seriously doubt that you are ready to study Talmud. It's the deepest book of our people. If you wish however I am willing to examine you in logic, and if you pass the test I will teach you Talmud. "

The young man agrees. Rabbi holds up two fingers " Two men come down a chimney. One comes with a clean face and the other comes out with a dirty face. Which one washes his face?

The young man stares at the Rabbi. "Is that a test in Logic?" The Rabbi nods.

"The one with the dirty face washes his face" He answers wearily.

"Wrong. The one with the clean face washes his face. Examine the simple logic. The one with the dirty face looks at the one with the clean face and thinks his face is clean. The one with the clean face looks at the one with the dirty face and thinks his face is dirty. So the one with the clean face washes his face."

"Very clever" Says Goldstein. . "Give me another test"

The Rabbi again holds up two fingers " Two men come down a chimney. One comes out with a clean face and the other comes out with a dirty face. which one washes his face?

"We have already established that. The one with the clean face washes his face"

"Wrong. Each one washes his face. Examine the simple logic. The one with the dirty face looks at the one with the clean face and thinks his face is clean. The one with the clean face looks at the one with the dirty face and thinks his face is dirty. So the one with the clean face washes his face. When the one with the dirty face sees the one with the clean face washing his face, he also washes his face. So each one washes his face"

"I didn't think of that!" Says Goldstein. " It's shocking to me that I could make an error in logic. Test me again!"

The Rabbi holds up two fingers " Two men come down a chimney. One comes out with a clean face and the other comes out with a dirty face. Which one washes his face?

"Each one washes his face"

"Wrong. Neither one washes his face. Examine the simple logic. The one with the dirty face looks at the one with the clean face and thinks his face is clean. The one with the clean face looks at the one with the dirty face and thinks his face is dirty. But when the one with clean face sees that the one with the dirty face doesn't wash his face, he also doesn't wash his face So neither one washes his face"

Goldstein is desperate. "I am qualified to study Talmud. Please give me one more test"

He groans when the Rabbi lifts his two fingers "Two men come down a chimney. One comes out with a clean face and the other comes out with
a dirty face. Which one washes his face?

"Neither one washes his face"

"Wrong. Do you now see, Sean, why Socrates logic is an insufficient basis for studying the Talmud? Tell me, how is it possible for two men to come down the same chimney, and for one to come out with a clean face and the other with a dirty face? Don't you see? The whole question is narishkeit - foolishness - and if you spend your life trying to answers foolish questions, all your answers will be foolish."

Contributed By:
Sumit Kr Chand

This is a poem I recieved from my physics teacher recently(we are still in touch, and now he teaches me life). I do know who is the poet, neither do I know the name of the poem. But I found it inspiring, one of those little pieces tells you don't be scared of the many waters of the roaring sea, keep trying till you reach there.

***

Lehro(n) se darkar naukaa paar nahi(n) hoti,
Koshish karne waalo(n) ki haar nahi(n) hoti

Nanhi chee(n)ti jab daanaa lekar chalti hai,
Chadhti deewaaro(n) par, sau baar fisalti hai.
Man ka vishwaas rago(n) mnei(n) saahas bharta hai,
Chadhkar girnaa, girkar chadhnaa na akharta hai.
Aakhir uski mehnat bekaar nahi(n) hoti,
Koshish karne waalo(n) ki haar nahi(n) hoti.

Dubkiyaa(n) sindhu mnei(n) gotakhor lagata hai,
Jaa jaa kar khali haath lautkar aata hai
Milte nahi(n) sahaj hi moti gehre paani mnei(n),
Badhtaa dugnaa utsaah isi hairani mnei(n).
Mutthi uski khaali har baar nahi(n) hoti,
Koshish karne waalo(n) ki haar nahi(n) hoti.

Asafaltaa ek chunauti hai, ise sweekaar karo,
Kyaa kami reh gayi, dekho aur sudhaar karo.

Jab tak naa safal ho, neend chayn ko tyaago tum,
Sangharsh kaa maidaan chhodkar mat bhaago tum.
Kuch kiye binaa hi jai jaikaar nahi(n) hoti,
Koshish karne waalo(n) ki haar nahi(n) hoti.

Cheers,

Ranjan

He who Finds a Friend , Finds a a Treasure

Once again, back to a translation .... Well not exactly a perfect translation. Maybe we will call plagriased.

Friendship

Gulping food in haste
Catching a crowded bus

Hang on the footboard
Rush to the office

Escaping the growl of the boss and
Pestering of the colleagues

Clarifying a million doubts
For a buxom typist

And slide into the seat
To push pencil .... and

Lunchtime arrived

When I came close to the window
Opened the Lunchbox

Like always, peeped in the Baby squirrel.



The original is fairly old , about 2 decades maybe, wish the poet saw life today. These all are still there, but ... Only no space for the baby squirrel to peep in ...

Posted by: T. Shrikanth (T.S)
Visit TS' Blog

A Divine Experience

Thanks to my irresistible urge to make others read this piece by Kannadasan, the greatest of all modern poets in the languages that I have known, here is it, the translation of a simple and most profound explanation of God!!

God

What comes out of Birth, I asked
Take birth, He said

What comes out of Death, I asked
Try dying, He said

What comes out of Life, I asked
Try living, He said

If everything is only experienced
Why You, I asked

God came just a bit closer, and said
Experience is what I am

Posted By: T. Shrikanth(T.S)
Visit TS' blog

Greatest Human Expression

This is probably not an age of poetry, as they would say! But the entire poetry of human civilisation has been written long back, with its different manifolds. Events have been witnessed with lyrical eagerness, now and then, unfolding myriad images which have stirred the human imagination.

How can I possibly live without poetry? My mind reflects. My mind travels back and forth layering with it the ensemble of all the gems & diamonds of some of the human expressions which I would like to put up for all and posterity.

Robert Louis Stevenson, had immeasurable depths of expression. He has always inspirid me. I would like to showcase here one of his ingeniuties. Follow this,


WHEN THE SUN COME AFTER RAIN


When the sun comes after rain
And the bird is in the blue,
The girls go down the lane,
Two by two.

When the sun comes after shadow
And the singing of the showers,
The girls go up the meadow,
Fair as flowers.

When the eve comes dusky red
And the moon succeeds the sun,
The girls go home to bed
One by one.

And when life draws to its even
And the day of man is past,
They shall all go home to heaven,
Home at last.


Best Wishes,

SRD

The last shelter

This is a time of fear and distress. A time when the parents, the wife, the children live in constant fear the moment their loved ones step out of the home, and relax only when they come back. This is a time when neighbours view each other with suspicion just because they worship different God. An abandoned bag in the street, which hardly raised an eyebrow yesterday, today raises an alarm. This is a time of us and them. Of fragmented culture and homes. This is a time when simplest of the gesture is analysed for ulterior motives. This is a time of suspicion. Of fearing the worst.

This is a time of terror.

In these turbulent and violent times, let us go back to poetry. Because a poem is the final friend who stands by us in our worst of times. And they are also the mirror, through which we view ourselves. They compel us to acknowledge inspite of the cruelty, finally it is the human spirit that triumphs. And no terror in the world can choke the voice of poetry.

Poetry are the last shelter of humanity.


Following are two poems from Nabarun Bhattacharjee, and late Shamsur Rahman, two of our mainstay poets. While the former is from West Bengal, India, the latter was from Bangladesh. Another example how poetry transcends geography and boundaries, and sing of humanity.
Bhitu manusher pash theke,
Je kobita sore jai,
Sei kobita holo sobtheke bhitu.
Jar payer tola theke,
Mati shore jache,
Take je kobita bhorsa dei na;
Se kakhono mati khuje pabe na.
Shite kunkrano, jobuthobu, hotobhombo
Buro o kukurder samne
Je kobita agun hoye jwole na,
Ta puriye dewai bhalo
Saaf janiye dilam
Kobita shombondhe eei holo amar kobita
NABARUN FATARU.

By Nabarun Bhattacharjo

***

Gorilara dole dole torighori Kameez patlun
Pore Mazjid guro kore Ar agun dhoraye
Debaloye; Manusher swapner bosoti pore, Taja
rokto boi pothe; Tras tarito juboti muuk hoi
Jutobodhho laloshar lokloke nishwashe ebong
gorilla ra kromoshho shonkhaye bare Shohore o Grame.

Kaalpurusher mukhe poreche bistor chunkali,
Surjer jwolonto chokh theke obirol asru jhore,
Prithibir drishho dekhbe na bole surjo bondho kore
chokh, dupurei ghor omaboshha name dike dike.

Galiber gazalera ghatoker astrer chayaye
Asrupat kore nishidin, Robindrarachabali
byarthotai, opomane obonoto; miloner bhogno
shetu dekhe Nazrul noshtho nire buk chapran.

Kanna o ase na ar; protibade shorahoto pakhi,
Ja kichu gaurabdripto trosto shob bibore lukaye.
Manushke dekhei manush pranpone palabar
Poth khoje, bonno poshuder aj boro hashi pai.

By Shamsur Rahmen

love,

Ranjan

Feluda revisited

Feluda has always fascinated the Bengali. Which is surprising because, Feluda had many attributes which are as further removed from the Bengali habits as possible. Bengalis have a general tendency of going over board in anything, which is defended as the Great Bengali Emotion ("Aabeg"). But often, it takes away the "beg", that is speed in Bengali, in a greater sense of the word. The aabeg, perhaps takes away the focus in many a cases, trifle and trivia encompasses us. That way, Feluda was a great exception. He also had, what Sidhu Jetha said, doors and windows of his mind open, another trait which we once possessed, but sadly lost over the years. He also lacked the usual Bengali traits of sudden passion, the fiery response to the smallest provocation, and these helped him to track down smartest of the criminals like Maganlal Meghraj.

Perhaps, he represented all that a Bengali always wanted to be. Tall, lean and handsome, he was the embodiment of sharpness. He had deep knowledge in certain fields and working knowledge in almost all fields of general knowledge. (which is a sharp contrast from Holmes, who believed in specialization of knowledge, having deep understanding of chemistry, a branch of science, while blissfully unaware of the old scientific fact that the earth goes round the sun. Although this seems a little far fetched today.).

Another feature of Feluda is that he is not an armchair detective. Unlike, say Byomkesh Bokshi, the memorable sleuth of Sharadindu Bandyppadhyay, his stories are adventurous and often involve physical fight( Some of Byomkesh’s stories also have physical encounters, Shajarur Kata, for example, but they were exceptions and not the rule). The fact that Feluda is physically very fit helps him in his clashes with the goon. In “Bombaier Bombete”, he matches the Karate instructor cum stunt master in the mat, surprising him. He does yoga every morning. He believes a healthy mind resides in a healthy body. In Sonar Kella, he tells Mandarbabu, “Amar abar ektu shokal shokal otahar bodobhesh ache” ( I have the dubious distinction of being an early riser) . To this Mandarbabu ( the villain in the film ) says” Tai apnake eto fit dekhache”(That is why you look so fit.). Fitness is one aspect which most Bengalis ( and Indians in general) aspire, lack and admires and Feluda’s fitness makes us admire him more. Here is one final example of brain with brawn.

But apart from these two, the Bengali also aspires for another quality, the culture. Feluda embodies the Bengali love of culture, and the disdain with which hypocrisy and greed is treated. All these and everything a Bengali stands for creates the milieu which constitutes the environment where the Bengali Bhadrolok thrives. The Feluda stories mostly take place in the period of mid ‘60s to late ‘80s . and are replete with the such Bhadrolok Bengalis. Each story is a glimpse of contemporary Bengali life with light discourse in matters of varied interest. Satyajit Ray was a great reader of scientific publications, and read the Span every month. He was also a great fan of Isaac Asimov and Ray Bradbury (of Fahrenheit 451 fame) and his inquisitive mind often gives us a glimpse of itself through the different elements that keep surfacing through the stories. This culture and its practice made the Feluda stories intellectually stimulant and saved the Bengali from the disgraceful act of perusing a crime thriller with no food for thought.

But above all, Feluda represents the Bengali spirit. Many say he is the alter ego of Ray, which may not be entirely wrong. Ray was the last Bengali Renaissance man and his spirit can be fest many facets of Feluda’s character, his quest for the truth, his all encompassing knowledge, his willingness to learn above all his great humanity. Though Ray is with us no more, his mindchild Feluda marches right on through generations of wide eyed Bengali children. Long live Feluda.

Posted by : Ranjan

Discovering the joys of reading...

Sometimes reading a book compels us to read another one. It starts a chain-reaction. After completing "Sei Somoy" by Sunil Ganguly, I almost set forth to collect everything about 19th Century Kolkata. Thankfuly Sunil attached a list of references and these are still available. I owe my gratitude to those book-shop owners in Kolkata who work somewhat like a co-operative society. I still remember the day when I visited College Street first time way back in '93. I had to just mention the title/author's name and they started the search in earnest. I never felt the same sense of urgency anywhere else. May be its because of the severe competition there.

We like to read books, however I sometimes ponder over the fact that we unknowingly tend to confine our world in a particular set of subjects. Don't we read a particular genre of books? I tried but could not generate interest in varied topics. May be books are comfort food for mind…and there are newspapers and enclycopedias for rest of the spectrum.

We read snippets from different great books in school, but not complete ones. However though the selection was varied, some from Great Authors, most chapters never hinted at the original compilation. That age was best suited for those books!! And then I got hold of a "rapid reader" in Bengali that actually & solely was devoted to do this !! One day I wish to own all those books that Mr Borgohain listed in "Boi Porar Ananda" (The joy of reading books)………...


Posted By: Somabho Bhattacharjya

" The time when I believed in The Frog Prince "

Saturdays have always been my favourite day of the week and I still maintain that!! But two decades back it had an absolutely different thrill factor attached to it. It so happened that my father had to work half days on Saturdays and while on his way back home he would always buy a new book for me. I can't recollect when it started or till what age it went on, but without doubts, that was a moment I still hold very close to my heart. 12:30 till 1, was the most unbearable half an hour. Time would just not pass, thinking what he would buy me this time. Would it be another Read it yourself - Ladybird book or would it be a classic or another fairytale.

Right at 1, when the doorbell rang, I would spring myself up and rush to open the door. It was an innocent excitement that I can never be able to explain. I would try and greet him and not make it obvious that I had been dying for the last half an hour to discover what would occupy me for the next 7 days. But strangely he always read my mind. And there it came out wrapped in a brown paper with the name "Good Books" written on it in bright red. My father always bought books from "Good Books". Well, in the small town where we lived, that was the only bookstore renowned for a great collection of English books. But I also think he really believed in the name!

The first thing that I always did with a new book in hand was to smell the pages and measure the thickness. Once that was done, I would read the summary and the finally dive into it. I remember, I started my reading with the easy to read "Ladybird" books. They had the suitable reader's age mentioned at the back and it always made me feel proud if I happened to be younger than that printed on the book cover. Hansel and Gretel, Heidi, Treasure Island, The Secret Garden, Spiderman are a few still etched on my mind. Another kind which I loved reading were Russian fairy tales. But I remember always struggling with the long Russian names like Ivan Tsarevich. Baba also bought me fairy tales starting with "Once upon a time in a far away land" and ending with "and they lived happily ever after". This time of my life was ruled by Snow White and the seven dwarfs, Rapunzel or The Frog Prince. I wish life was anything close to it! But back then it made so much sense.

Baba did regulate my reading. I have no recollection of him buying me comics. According to him, they did not fall in the category of books and are a waste of time and absolutely did not enhance your language skills. Hence I would have to satisfy myself with the Phantom comic strips in the newspaper. The times he did buy me any was when he was trying to infuse Hindu mythological stories into me or familiarize epics of Ramayana and Mahabharatha. I would not read them otherwise unless I was lured with the pictures of kings and palaces nicely drawn in bright colours. So that’s when "Amar Chitra Katha" came into the picture. Amar Chitra Katha also came out with stories of Akbar & Birbal or Tenalirama which were my favourites like any other Indian kid. I loved to read them over and over again and would secretly wait for somebody to ask me to tell a story. When that did not happen, my sister was always the easiest target when I wanted to hone my story telling skills.

Perhaps Baba realized I was growing up, when I refused to believe in Santa Clause and stayed up late to catch him put candies in the socks! That was roughly when he graduated me to "Classics". The list was long but so was my appetite. By that time I had turned into a voracious reader. Count of Monte Christo, The Last Mohicans, Treasure Island, Little Women, Pride and Prejudice, Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, Oliver Twist, Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde, Great Expectations were all gulped down in a row. It was a fever that I had caught on and we both refused to leave each other.

It was then that one of my friends introduced me to a special someone and it was love at first sight or rather love at first read! My love affair with Enid Blyton went on for quite a long time. I read in the bus stop, in the bus, in the lunch break, sometimes in the class hiding it in a book, back home when I should be doing homework, in the bathroom and then finally inside the blanket in torchlight. It felt exactly like gorging huge amount of food down the food pipe with water as if you have to starve for the rest of your life and this was your last chance. This is my definition of a page turning novel! The other kind of book which you only read when you have time, I call it "chewing the cud reading" like the cows do whenever they have time and are not creating havoc in somebody's garden! That’s the kind of reading which I am currently involved in.

But back then my life revolved around the Famous Fives and Secret Sevens. George or Georgina was my favourite because she was rebellious and always did what she wanted. If only my parents knew why I was being difficult and suddenly wanted to wear my hair short and keep a dog named Timmy, Enid Blyton would have been banished for lifetime. Baba thought he was dealing with adolescence here but in reality he was also paying for it every Saturday! I didn't exactly realize when the tomboyish and rebellious George gave way to the beautiful young detective Nancy Drew who drove a car and also had a boyfriend. I was growing up and so were the characters in my books. Not that I left reading classics and all the good books from "Good Books", but I would rather fall asleep over a Nancy Drew at the end of the day. It was like dessert after a meal, the sweet taste which you want to linger on till late.

Baba never bought me a Nancy Drew or did not know when I read my first Mills & Boon. But looking back, I realize he made sure that I read the right thing at the right time. He had taught me how and what to read just as he taught me how to walk and talk. Today I buy my own books but some part of me still longs for the brown paper wrapped surprise on Saturdays.

Posted by : Somali Dasgupta

Feluda! Naos!

Today I would like to talk about the most important topic of my life “The Inimitable Feluda”. My tryst with him started long back, when once on my winter vacation to Kolkata, being left with no company as all my cousins were too busy with their exams, one of my good aunties had the finer sense of handing me a copy of Gangtoker Gondagol, fresh and vibrating, to the eyes of a 10 year old kid. It was a moment which can only be compared with the enlightening moment of Gautam Buddha. Frankly I don’t see any other explanation to it. Since then it has been an exhilarating journey. Feluda novels are not just like any other ordinary thriller or detective novels, but an atmosphere in itself where you experience a world full of finer tastes and mental exercises. They represent a vortex full of intelligent dwellings and knowledgeable pursuits. Each of the stories has a new and fresh flavour to it.

Feluda’s stories have been written mostly during the 70s and 80s when Kolkata was very different. People were more culturally inclined, to be fair to the current generation; they had more time to it. But because of that scenario, all the characters in the stories are mostly quintessential bengalies with great respect for different art forms and cognitive studies, which made the stories all the more enlightening to read. The stories show that beyond mundane everyday pursuits, there are higher things to learn, to achieve, to realize, once you free the doors and windows of your mind. I won’t be doing a justice if I also don’t mention the entertainment value of these stories. They have been created in such a way that people of any generation can thoroughly enjoy it even if they don’t want to be too analytical. Feluda stories have also been translated into several languages including English. So if anybody who does not speak Bengali, can also get hold of them in their respective languages. Mr. Ray, if not for his unforgettable films, would always be remembered for painstakingly taking the task of creating lights in the life of some nondescript two-legged creatures (one of them being too busy now for jotting this down) by bringing Feluda to our lives. Hail! Mr. Ray!

SAURAV RANJAN DATTA

Kuch to log kahengey......

...or isnt it "unka kaam" any more to 'kehna"???

Over the past few weeks since this space saw daylight, there have been a steady flow of visitors, or so our blogger id tells us. And that's hardly surprising . With our collective PR skills in play (largely involving threats to unsuspecting victims involving cricket bats and their skulls in close juxtaposition, in the event of their not visiting the site) , we expected people to check us out.

But what is surprising indeed is that all of them have preferred to keep a low profile- silent visitors who passed us by without so much as a hello ( or a F@# You, for that matter). A couple of comments from some apparently less reticent readers (or reader, since both were received from anon sources) were all that we had to be content with.

And all this while we were expecting people to talk to us, comment upon our initiative, at least call us names for subjecting them to the tripe we have been unshipping on this space. And what do we get- nothing!! No Sirree,no bouquets and more importantly, no brickbats either- none, zilch, nada!!
So folk, please don't pass us by in silence. We are polite and friendly people , always ready to say "yours too" when you shout "up yours ' to us. Please speak up!!!!!!



And if this good-natured plea to your better senses are not enough to wake you out of your slumbers, please do start taking that cricket bat and skull thing seriously-- its about time too!!



Posted by: Sid

A Brief Mourning

Wrote this after coming back from a lovely vacation almost a year back. My first and so far the last attempt ..





I lived but only for a few moments
And I returned to eons of death..

My soul rejoiced in the company of my solitude
And I came back to the loneliness of the flock..

I discovered freedom
And I spurned it for bondage..

I looked beauty in the eye
And I walked away to the hideous..

I paused briefly to come alive
And then I continued to exist.....


(my first foray into what verges suspiciously around the field of the poetic..my apologies to the limited readership , may God bless them, for inflicting this on their tasteful psyche. I will only remind them that God sends such things only to try us.....hence, suffering is a noble experince)

Posted by : Sid

Surface-tension in a forgotten land

Siddhartha Deb, the acclaimed author of the novel “Surface” , not only shares his name with me but also his place of origin. We both hail from one of the most remote regions of the country- North-East. In his book Surface, Siddhartha Deb not only weaves a tale of socio-political intrigue and psychological thriller but he brings to life a region that , in spite of 60 years of being a part of the republic , still remains distant from it as South Pole remains from downtown Silchar.

The protagonist Amrit Singh is a mercenary journalist stuck in a dead-end job with a once-glorious Calcutta newspaper The Sentinel ( unmistakably a take on The Statesman). He is asked to cover the North-East region, an otherwise neglected and unimportant area which nevertheless needs to be represented on the rag-sheet for whatever its worth. Amrit, however uses the opportunity to shake free of his shackles and go all out in pursuing his dreams of investigative journalism and embarks on a story that he feels is typical of all that is wrong with this God-forsaken part of the country. Soon, he finds himself in a quagmire of political conspiracy, the social conditions , the acts of destruction and overall chaos that is a part of life in the Region.
Although the book is essentially a story of thrill and adventure , yet the author does a more than credible job of representing the Seven Sisters in an honest and realistic manner. The plot is often interwoven with facts ; historical events and places serve as platforms for the story to develop. A lot of historical background is provided and the present conditions follow as natural evolution from thereon. Most importantly, as a person who hails from the Region, I can vouch for the authenticity of the authors depiction of the people living in the Region, their customs and way of life, their issues and problems, their fears and complaints. Deb successfully presents the political turmoil and the widespread insurgency in the Region , explain lucidly the various reasons for the same , and manages to present the case of both the parties ( Insurgents at large and the Government) with no partiality to either.
The story , though fictional , is extremely realistic and touches a chord because even the fictional characters and events emerge out of reality. The elusive Mr Malik, a mysterious humanitarian activist , is loosely based on Sanjay Choudhury, the Bengali activist from Bengal who had won many accolades for his projects in Majuli(a river-island in Assam and one of the most impoverished and underdeveloped part even by the North-East standards) and who was kidnapped and killed by the Ulfa rebels .
Very little has been written or filmed on the problems that plague one of most beautiful parts of the country that is North-East.. Since Independence , the region never had a moment of peace and stability. Currently there are more than 200 rebel groups fighting the Indian Government and /.or each other. And the people, the people with the kind of honesty and innocence that can be retained only within the hills and ravines of Paradise, are caught in the crossfire. Most of the original rebel groups dating from the time of Independence owe their genesis to an indifferent central administration and the complete lack of understanding of local culture and ethnic sensibilities of the region on part of the government.

Andto top that off, power supplies , civic amenities and infrastructure are so rare in the region that people like us who manage to venture out of the squalor have to deal with a culture shock of 24 hr power and water supply! Every year floods drown a huge chunk of a land & most parts become inaccessible from the mainland- supply of food and other necessary items cease except for the rations dropped by the Army Choppers. And if you think its limited to only the more remote areas, think again- this situation is quite rampant even in places close to Guwahati, a relatively more developed city.

Amidst such state of gross neglect and apathy, a literary attempt as that of Siddhartha Deb come as a welcome change. As a pure work of fiction and a thriller its outstanding with a compelling page-turner quality about it. Dont go buy my oengthy discourse on the socio-politacl issues in my previous paragraph- the book only captures these in passing and as a backdrop, it doesnt indulge in lecturing about these affairs.

As a canvas for the portrait of the forgotten beautiful Seven Sisters and life in these hills, its simply a work of genius. Surface often resembles a reportage, shedding light on some remote untraversed regions. However it retains all the qualities of a truly engrossing novel that fills an important gap- a source of illumination in the pockets of darkness in North-east India.

(Other works by the same author here )

Posted by: Sid

Drama Unfolded at Gyan Manch

An evening of solitude. As is always the case with me that my evenings are always deprived of any good company, owing to the fact that I am too shy to have a girlfriend and all my friends are too busy with their girlfriends, I generally take different course of literary action to spend them. Yesterday (i.e. Nov 26th'08) was one such day. After getting off from the office in the evening and with no option to go anywhere, not understating my taste of literature, I headed towards the Gyan Manch to catch the ongoing Odeon Theatre Festival. It was a rare day at the festival when they were showcasing one of the most talked about dramas, one of the most controversial, the drama which changed the perception towards drama - Luigi Pirandello's 'Six Characters in Search of an Author". After getting in, I was seated comfortably amidst a crowd which comprises mostly of people from the Jadavpur University and some very sophisticated elderly crowd. Gradually and slowly as the play took its different twists and turns, it dawned upon me that the crowd around is more on the mission to keep their status symbol intact rather then to get into the intricacies of the ongoing play. Whispering went on and on and the subjects varied from attending some minister's party at the weekend to the new sari exhibition going on at Ice Skating Ring. Soon my eardrums couldn't distinguish between the enlightening words of the upstage and downstage, however to leave at the middle would have been a sure sign of a cultural proletariat. As far to speak about the drama and as per my eardrums could make it, one must say that the Troupe, which were made of the students of Jadavpur University English Department and directed by Prof. Ananda Lal, had done a fair job of it. It is always a great tradition with the aforesaid university that they nurture talent and showcase true art in its truest sense. Now, to get back to the play I would rather not comment on the interpretation of the actors, having not read the play myself, one shouldn't do that. I would say that the arrangements of the scenes and the acting gave an impression that the director (Mr. Ananda Lal) has done his homework very well. Rest of the reviews I would give once the festival is over and I am able to catch more plays. Till then stay tuned...........

Posted by Saurav Ranjan Datta

Non-sense and Non-sensibility

Huko-mukho Henglaa



Kumro-patash


As a lone child growing up alone, if there is one friend who has been a source of much mirth and amusement in those lonely hours it was undoubtedly my paperback volume of Abol Tabol (which literally means non-sense in bong slang) by Sukumar Ray. Such was his genius that he can still transport his readers to a fantastic trip and make them laugh out loud or giggle uncontrollably he is the versatile genius Sukumar.

Sukumar , from an early age, started dabbling in literary non-sense. He not only showed a superb talent for satires and humorous essays and stories but it was the nonsense verse through which his superhuman power of imagination came to fore. Over a brief lifetime (1887-1923) , he had created hundreds of poems in which he created a horde of imaginary but adorable creatures with absurd names and idiosyncrasies, characters with unique and extra ordinary descriptions. Be it the peerless "Ramgorurer Chana" , a group of creatures who have banned laughing or smiling in their domain, who avoid running into southern wind lest it tickles them into laughter and get a nervous breakdown when they detect the faintest hint of a smile on any face; "Kimbhut"(Wierdo) the amazing story of a nameless creature that desires qualities like elephants trunk, lion's roar, cuckoo's melodious voice etc and ends up with all these qualities. Or the one with the singing sensation "Bhishmalochan Sharma" who starts singing on a fine summer day and endangers all life and property with his powerful vocal cords- and he is finally put to a stop when an unappreciative ram decides to put a stop to the ordeal by forcefully charging into the maestro's behind . And these creatures, chraracters and incidents are described with such startlingly vivid and sincere descriptions and in such clever language that its diffucult to believe that they actually do not exist!

Tyesh-goru

As a child I remember that it was my window to a fantasy world where everything was possible and nothing was mundane. I can never get over the fun I had with such creatures as Kumropatash , Ramgorurer Chana , Teshgoru, Hukomukho Hengla and several other such characters who came alive in those verses and the superb sketches done by Sukumar himself. If you show the picture of any of the creations of Sukumar Ray to any well-read Bong of my generation or older, and he will immediately name the creature and even tell you which poem it belongs to. Such is the indelible impression it makes on a child's mind with seemingly effortless charm.

As an adult , you probably get to enjoy Sukumar's work even more- because now you can appreciate the barbs of satire and caricatures behind the innocent and non-sensical words and pictures. Ramgorurer Chana is a prime example of caricaturising the grumpy world of intellectuals who have banished fun and laughter from their livesl. My entire family, including my parents , wife and young nephews and niece just freak out on Sukumar Ray.

Ram-Gorurer Chana

Sukumar Ray has often been compared to Lewis Caroll and Edward Lear. But I firmly maintain that Lear was not even close to the league of Sukumar Ray in terms of sheer imaginative faculty and the diversity of the work he has done. Sukumar can make you fall out of your armchair holding or aching belly whereas Lear induces fleeting smiles . Also, Sukumar is way ahead in versatility . Caroll comes close enough, but in my humble opinion , falls short of matching Sukumar. I am a great admirer of Caroll and his "Alice in Wonderland" and other works( The joy of reading "The Walrus and The Carpenter" has been one of the most memorable experience of my childhood). But Sukumar's imagination is something that you just cannot fathom unless you read him in original Bengali.

Sukumar Ray's works- poems, plays and stories, have been translated several times including once by his illustrious son Satyajit Ray. But unfortunately a lot os lost in translation and since the beauty of the works lies to a great extent in the language and play on words that it is impossible to capture the full range of their charm in English or any other language. However, you may try our this link which has both Bengali originals and English translations of selected works by Sukumar. And also there is this book which you can try

(The pictures are illustrations by Sukumar from some his famous poems)

Posted by: Sid

Books for all seasons

Its an old story, the kid was not at all interested in any of the text books of his school. So the mother came up with an idea to give him comics and fairy tales to get him into the habit of reading. We in India don't actually gauge the intelligence of our moms to make a house a home, had they been given due importance and a voice, this country would have been a different place altogether.

Anyways that little brilliance from my mother not only opened an ocean of treasure in front of me, but also has given me a lifelong friend whom I cannot leave and who wont leave me easily under any circumstances. Books are truly a celestial gift to create a path of glory for humankind. They are the tools which would take the race to explore all its hidden unexplored magic. They are there with you for ever.

Posted by Saurav Ranjan Datta


Updated by Sid:
Its a brilliant and astute post from SRD!! We live in a moment of great despair in modern times when the reading habits among the younger populace is at its lowest . And it will be not be far off the mark to say that parents are largely to be blames for this sorry state of affairs. While there are arguments that kids have many more temptations , which are also far more exciting than reading a book in solitude. But that's only half-true. All said and done, its the way the parents shape the taste of their kids that really defines a kid's preference. I do not for a moment suggest that parents should be dictatorial and deprive the kid of picking and choosing his pastimes and hobbies. But I am sure there is a lot to be said in lovingly encouraging a child to the habits that will enrich his life for ever.-as our parents did when we were growing up. They bought us books, they read to us , they stoked our interest by narrating exciting tales from the epics and we just could not resist the temptation to read them in their entirety. That reading can still be exciting to kids is evident from the long queues one notices of children and their parents lining up at bookshops for latest Harry Potter releases. I am sure this passion can be encouraged to spread beyond Harry Potter as well.

Battling the shadow

For many years, I fought valiently for a noble cause, resisting the charge of the internet against good old books.

I grew up on books, and before I knew, they became an addiction. Later they proved to be more addictive than all the dry and liquid stuff consumed at high school and college days. In fact, to think about it, they were soporific (for the uninitiated, that’s sleep inducing) while the books proved to be stimulating.

To me, a large part of the recipe of the stimulation lied, apart from the content, in the process of reading, feeling, touching, and caressing. In fact, a new book often felt like a woman, a new woman in life. You have to handle her carefully, keep your senses open. Because you are reading her for the first time, you have to go slow, sometimes read between the lines. You feel her for the first time; her smell is new to you.

Perhaps, the best way to read her is to go to bed with her, once the initiation is over. Then you lie down with her, hold her really close to your bosom (ok eyes for the older, cant one ever get a little romantic?) and delve deep into her, loosing and finding yourself.

And Chris De Burgh after that, "And then, when it's over, I have tender hands, To hold you through the night, darling, My tender hands will hold you through the night."

I held on to the books and tried to breathe solace to my sad, womanless college days. And then, she changed into her new avatar.

The Internet came, saw and took prisoners. With the rest of the things, books changed to e-books. Reading, like dating, became virtual, open, subject to scrutiny, and untouchable (not in the Indian parlance though, that’s caste system and a whole hog of colonial baggage under the mattress). You no longer walk into a bar (read bookstore), spot her at the corner, eye her for sometime and then tentatively approach her. If you are lucky and skillful enough, conversation rolls on and might turn out to be an all nighter, testing all your skills. Now, you meet over the Internet, believe in what she says about herself ( and vice versa), and both try your best to convert the virtual into realty. And if you are lucky and willing to stoop that low, you two might even make out virtually. UGH.

Reading, no longer is lazing around with that book, carrying it with you all the time, going back to it again and again.. Now you google/yahoo/whatever on the internet, locate it, and read it on the screen, sitting bolt upright all the time. Your posture during work and pleasure becomes identical. You become a robot, a machined baboon. Days of lovemaking is over.

I, like many, revolted. I hung on to my paper books and perhaps even tried to justify my computer ignorance/aversion with my distrust to e/virtual reading materials. So while I saw my friends gathering information in a jiffy, I ploughed through the pile of books. E books were a strict no no, and I used the Internet mainly for sending mails. I felt like a crusader.

Then I changed job and my new job entailed a lot of use of the internet. Soon, I realized what is known as the information superhighway. I mean, I wanted to know about Impressionism and Monet in particular, and Wikipedia zindabad (that’s long live in Hindi). I wanted to know about the major poets of the romantic era, and I can find a list of them along with a list of their selected poems in a jiffy. Now I can take a printout of them and find them in my bookstore. I no longer have to rummage through the whole hog or seek help. That’s how I find the Internet useful. References, cross references and more references. I now use the Internet as the ultimate begetter of lost treasure and sunken ships.

I have struck truce. And it feels good. I still go to bed with a book, but now I know, at least have a vague idea about my latest valentine.

The battle is over.

posted by Ranjan