More of bard speak

Long journey is long journey. Boring, frustrating, tumultuous and soul searing at times. Once I pass the intimidating gate, I know, there is no stopping. Yet there are waiting periods and buffers.. even inside the cabin, when I know it is just about few more moments, captain announces delays in taking off...anxiety mounts...palpitations of new world surface all over me...
Bard was alone in the journey. Bard is alone in the wait, surrounded by people unconcerned.
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Engine has started. There is some respite as the air-conditioner started as well. Anxiety of the journey is coming to an end. As restless souls get ready for cocooning, Bard is ready for the transforming leap into the new world.
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Plane turns and crawls towards the runway. Weary eyes and tired souls are looking at the endless emptiness that is dazzling with the million lights along sides. A single machine with hundreds of living beings inside is standing in readiness to fly at this long empty stretch of road. There are no hassles of traffic and no guides anymore. Bard is shivering with the strange sensation of deja vu. O Lord, may be divinity is next!
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As the engine picks up speed and the giant ostrich runs on the road alone, leaving all the guides of the ground gaping wide, Bard is holding the seat tight. "Am I flying or being flown?" The great question wanders his mind-space.
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Reflections of a flying gandharva

REFLECTIONS OF A FLYING GANDHARVA

Even amidst the nothingness of 33,000 feet above the ground, there are rough patches. No road is bump free. No river is smooth as silk. No relationship will flow like butter all the time. There are patches of turbulence. The great ship sails ahead, precariously balancing for some moments but not stopping…..
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When I have entrusted my wares to the ship captain, there is faith that it will reach the destination with me. What avail is doubt anyways? Ship is programmed and the captain is duty bound. There is redemption from worries if I believe enough.
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All those who care for me, came till the entrance gate. They can not see me off inside the aeroplane. Protocols of the world make you travel all by yourself. I have to find my seat and fend for the luggage space. Bigger the journey, lonelier would it be.
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At the alien land, I see the familiar voices…these are some fellow countrymen trying to figure out signage as I am trying. Lure of exotic lands, pulls many minds; I came to know only when I reach there.
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Once I am on plane, I am secured. I am assured of my journey and mind becomes calm. Body is rested and I fall asleep; As carefree as if being in mother’s lap. All the industry to catch a flight, gets you a mother’s lap to travel. O great mother…
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Clouds have a different world. They hang in nothingness and they are nothing as an individual. Still the life on earth depends on them. Life giving nothingness, the shining effervescence of the almighty’s power, I bow to your sheer magical existence.
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People sit next to each other, but do not converse. The clothes on the body bind there souls. There are knots to be opened and glass panes to be broken. When will the next plane to Bodhgaya arrive?
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With trembling hands I touch the alcohol on board. It is intoxicating and it is numbing my senses. It appears to be a luxurious trap. I am on board the fast flight and there are ‘luxury codes’ to be followed. I saw white swan flying below….free and swift…like the wish of the almighty.
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In the long course-way to departing hall, there are shops of either side. Enticing all to fill up the bags before they leave. Memories of the close ones, fill the travelers bags in no time. This is the time to weigh the options; who really needs your gifts.

Captain says the outside air is at -40 degrees. Machine is keeping the comfort of 25 degrees inside. When I move in these high planes, there are systems to take care of my mundane minimals.
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Once you rise above the clouds, one can see that all that dark clouds are but a layer, behind which there is a shining sun.
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Even if Sun is not currently visible fully, I continue traveling to east, Sun would be with me all the while.

Tamil Triumph

from an...unplanned.walk to Kali temple...I had to turn toward Ayappatemple....the rhythmic and intense chants with traditional instrumentswere captivating..South India has a purer and more ancientHinduism...After a night of reading Indian philosophy (for thepresentation)....mind was in a surmise, full day.Wish I could learn Tamil...I stayed for half an hour there...and wept...looking at the intensityof devotees...good vibrations...I am learning the language ofvibrations....yes..night 1.00 am I happen to read the name 'Mira bai' and couldn'thelp crying....I am inching closer to the unspoken prayers....one day i will becomeone.

Chanting on the road

Its looks like return!Along the way Bard has been through the tumultuous days. Rapture torupture, the heart went sore...Emotions bind, but uncontrolled emotiontires...Back to the old bylanes of sleepy town...Bard chants the couplets ofTukaram...loud and clear..O Lord...do you hear...Life is on a Columbus journey...only echo is my own sound..such asea...such a distance...such a tiny mole of existence...out to see theother end of the sight...every one travels alone..those who don't, geta different India.Bard does not meditate..meditatation brings fixation...how will Tukramand Gyaneshwar chant in karoake otherwise...

City walks

Bard is usurping into elite alleys, singing the melodies high and clear.
People are yet asleep.
It is cold outside; freezing cold…
His voice has a high pitch, resonating with hidden strings of soul.
Melodies, that are fierce and true, like the primordial sundrenching the earth with first sense of warmth.
Somebody has come running, to greet him on the road…
- Lookinbard

Bard returns

Life's truth are easy. When speed kills, take a pause.When pause dithers your energy, push the accelerator. When you have no idea whether you are speeding or you are dithering, meditate. When meditation does not bring focus, drink two glass of water, and play with a kid for two hours, the way he wants...
Bard paints a easy scenario of uneasy methods. People in the village are all getting ready for the great revolution. Everybody is dressed in the best fineries. There is hum and there is glitter. Young are full of speed. Old are trying the catch-up. Children are just a tag-along. The great procession of prosperity is about to turn into a tornado. Who knows?
Bard is vigilent. Swift with the business, soft with the soul. There are great projections in his mind. But there is the royal protocol- bow. Who can stand the whirlwind. Who can take the blow and spring back into inspiring straightness?

When there is interspersed silence, he stands on the edge with a flickering lamp. There is wind...but there is light. There is hum, but there is calm. There is bard, but there is no one.

Pondy Muses

On the banks of Pondicherry beach, bard watches the waves hitting the rocky bank. Not every waves has energy; not every rise is powerful; not every hit is thundering; There are quiet patches in between the two thuds. There is a build up, that is interspersed with some light and some bold strikes of energy. Far beyond, the look is still serene, while the edge is turbulent.

My last birth was as a Tamil; singing the grand legacy of Dravidian songs, with might red soil and blue waters of the sea as a company. The reflective glances of the youth; method and simplicity of the experienced, grace and perseverance of the feminine power all are embedded in me. I nurtured the Aryan culture and saved it from extinction from the up north.

At Aurobindo Ashram, there is an aura of nothing ness. There is more serenity in the flowers on the Samadhi then the person begone. At least that is what the picture presented to me. No messages for commoners, only the learned, rather highly learned can dare to launch on to Aurobindo. For others, that is only an image of a seer and not the seer himself.

What can divide humanity more then having a ‘black town’ and ‘white town’ in India (erstwhile Pondicherry). Red caps of the police men are an oddity. Red is a scarlet red almost; does not come from the Indian palette. White man divides, brown man unites, and the black remain enslaved in the warps of time. ‘There should be no religion’, shouts the board in Aurovile; in the land of great Shankara who saw the unity in diverse existence (Advait). Such contrasts are possible in the land of the sublime; the land of essential; the land of eternal and the land of possible. Salutes to the spirit of India!

When the peace dawns, let me be meditating in the open sea stretches of southern tip. South is the east of India.

मधुरिमा कब तक

उलझेतारों से लड़ता कब तक,
एक अकेला जगता कब तक
रात गहराती नींद सताती,
सूने आस्मान को तकता कब तक।

एक अकेला गाता फिरता
गलियों का बेबाक सिकंदर,
सुर्ख लबों पर सूखे मंज़र
देख सिसकता जाता कब तक।

भोर हुई लो चली ज़िंदगी,
रफ़्तार पलों में सिमटी सिमटी
हर पल डर कर, हर पल मर कर,
चिर सत्य झुठालाता कब तक।

अब समय आ गया मधुरिमा,
आकाश तरंगों में जीने का,
अंतरतम के प्रबल तेज से
जर्जर मन को सीने का,

हर शाम क्षितिज के धुंधलके में
नत मस्तक हो कर करूं पुकार
एक देव, सिर्फ एक पुजारी
कुछ वचन पुष्प तुम करो स्वीकार।

मधुरिमा 4

तुम मुड़ कर देखती हो
तो हृदय में आहात होती है
तुमरे स्पर्श से मेरी प्रार्थना के शब्द
बदल जाते हैं।
तुम नही होती हो पास
तो मेरा मन मुझसे दूर होता है।
इस तरह तुम्हारे प्यार का असर
है कि मैं अपने में नही समा रह।
लक्ष्मण रेखाओं के पार
सोने कि लंका कि तरफ
मेरे पर मुझे खींच रहे हैं
अब तक जो निष्चल था
Us पानी को झिंझोड़ रहे हैं ।
बस ये ख्याल रहे
लंकाओं को बांधना मुझे आता हैं
लांघना नहीं।

काम उस कदर हो कि नाकाम कभी न हो

मधुरिमा 3

हे मधुरिमा,
तुमने मेरे मन के अँधेरे और उजाले देखें हैं,
मेरे मन के आवेग और संताप को जाना है,
हृदय में बहती चिर यौवनी प्रेम सुधा को पिया है,
मेरे मष्तिष्क कि तीन रंगी धारियों को छुआ है,
मंदिर में जब सब नाच रहे थे,
सिर्फ तुमने मुझे रोते देखा है,
जब में खुद को ढूंढ रहा था,
तुमने मुझको पाया है।

तुम मेरा देव हो प्रिये,
मेरा अस्तित्व तुम्हारा चढावा है,
मुझ हिम शिवलिंग पर,
उष्ण गंगा बनकर उतरो,
बह जाने दो वो सब, जो अस्थिर है।

चिर काल के हृदय में,
शंख धवनी के साथ जब,
मैं जब नया जन्म लूंगा,
माँ, तो तुम ही होगी मधुरिमा।

मधु १

हे मधुरिमा,
तुम मुझ पर एहसान हो सृष्टिकर्ता का,
जो मेरी कविताएँ चुकाएंगी।
तुम्हारा प्यार मुझे लील लेगा,
इसका भय है मुझको,
तुम्हारे प्यार में कविता का जन्म ,
मुश्किल तो नही होगा, पर उसमें दर्द रहित स्वर होंगे,
जो पहले कई बार दोहराए गए होंगे।

ओ मधुरिमा,
तुम आंसू कि एक बूँद हो जो,
मेरे गालों से चिपटी हो,
(दोनों) असहाय हैं,
एक दुसरे के साथ।

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और कुछ कुछ

अपना मिलन अभी दूर है,
मन मद में चूर है,
शाम गहराती जाती है ,
अजीब सी उमस है,
कभी भीड़ तो कभी तन्हाई सताती है

कभी कभी अनायास
मंदिर से भजनों की गूँज सुने देती है,
कभी यकायक तेरी नज़र से
मेरी नज़र मिल जाती है
मैं कुछ बोल नही पाता हूँ ,
कितने फासले हैं अभी तक,
कितनी तीव्रता है तेरी नज़र में,
कितना असहाय और बेबस हूँ मैं ,
कबसे इंतज़ार में जागता हूँ
और इसी आशा में सोता हूँ,
कब तेरे जलजले आएंगे ,
और मुझे बहा ले जाएँगे,
पटक देंगे मुझे मीरा के पूजा स्थल पर,
या तुकाराम के पन्द्धारपुर में,
या फ़ेंक देंगे मुझे आलंदी के जंगलों में,
जहाँ में झोली में पत्थर बीन कर,
तेरे मंदिर में फेंकुंगा ,
और फूट फूट कर रोऊंगा,
कैसा पागलपन होगा वो,
कैसा प्रेम होगा वो,
शायद मैं तुझे फिर
नज़र नहीं मिल पाऊं
तेरे चरणों में जगह ज़रूर
बना लूँगा

More

तेरी एक दृष्टि पड़ेगी करुणामयी,
रामकृष्ण बन जाएगा
जो रात दिन रोएगा, माँ माँ चिल्लाएगा ,
गली गली सोएगा, पगला जाएगा,
दिनों-दिन पूजा करेगा, ठोकरें खाएगा,
छत पर जा कर 'तुम कब आओगे' गाएगा
मष्तिष्क सुन्न हो जाएगा और संसाआर बधिर बन जाएगा
क्या तब तुम आओगे?
अंतरतम में बजेगी वीणा,
बाह्य स्थिर हो जाएगा,
अपने जन्म से सृष्टि के प्रारंभ तक,
प्रज्ञा के हर प्रकाश्मायी प्रसंग तक,
जब वो तेरा आव्हान करेगा,
अगिनत आत्माओं को छूकर ,
खुद जब वो पानी हो जाएगा,
क्या तब तुम आओगे?

जब ध्यान, प्रश्न रहित होगा,
जब ज्ञान वस्तु रहित हो जाएगा,
अस्तित्व कि परिभाषाएँ जब बदलेंगी
तत्त्व निर्गुण हो जाएगा ,
हज़ारों कबीर पैदा होकर,
लाखों मीरा तेरा नाम गाकर
मिटटी हो जाएंगी
शायद तब तुम आओगे

Raftaar pe mera nagma

रफ़्तारशहर में, रफ़्तार कशिश है
ठहराव का आँगन धुआं धुआं है
कौन रुके और झांके भीतर
बेताब समंदर कुआँ कुआँ है

सुबह हुई फिर सूरज निकला
धुप वाही खुशनुमा खिली
सदियों से इंसान को जिससे
नई उमंग नई वजह मिली
अब देखो किस कदर धुप से
इंसान परेशान होता है
देर रात जो जगह हो बन्दा
देर सुबह तक सोता है

कितना कौतुक कितना दम था
हर मकडी के जाल में
नदी किनारे तकते बीते
कितने दिन यूँही साल में
कुछ और जोश था कम होश था
समय कुछ ठहरा ठहरा था
जलजले में बह गयी वो बस्ती
जहाँ खुदा का पहरा था

ज़िंदगी की खुशबुएँ दब गयी हैं रफ़्तार में
हर रस्ते पर जामे मुसाफिर, बिज़ली गुल बाज़ार में