Wednesday, September 21

that one moment...

It was a moment... a precise moment... a fraction of time pitted against 28 years of living when it came back to me... a moment of joy...against infinite moments of reasonably lived life...
A hectic day, a gruelling assessment centre, a call on people , putting a tick or a cross against another life of hopes, ambitions, needs.
A day of reckoning for some fuelled by a tick... hopes truncated by a cross.
It was therefore a night to assauge a lacerated self.... and so I stumbled into Bottles and Chimney at Hyderabad.
The yellow light.... the blaring music... people dancing to the music...swaying with their reasonably led lives....it was a precise moment...when the yellow light flickered in my conscious.... the trance playing at bottles and chimney seized me to a moment of bliss before my life claimed me back.
In that one moment .....poetry came back to me... poetry locked in a chest of drawers with clothes I dont wear any more .... the bright pink scarf I picked up in a gush at Fashion street years ago or the lemon top which hugged my uninhibited self on a Matheran trek... a yellow blob of sunlight in a rain washed jungle...my poetry sat with my discarded clothes ... locked in a chest of drawers ....while I wore my reasonably lived life.
Something in me that night walked to my old drawer while yellow lights and music guarded the my here and now. the drawer... it made a noise as I pushed it open... as though it wanted to be sure, that I hadnt forgotten its untouchable status,that it was discarded,that it was not meant to be... yet I pushed it open, picked up the pink scarf, held it in my fingers, the musty smell of years of neglect filled me.the stench of the untouchable.
And there it sat, the yellow papers. my poetry. my spilled self over sheets of paper.. the code of the combination lock called me. lost and forgotten.and my life came back to me.... a fish thrown out of the aquarium into the sea, the sea of her belongingness. and then it swims... first unsure, then sure, then brave,then bold, and then never to stop.
I wrote a poem wearing a bright pink scarf on the back of a tissue paper.... a self spilled on the back of a tissue paper at bottles and chimney... a self you can wipe your careless fingers with.a self you can fold and keep in the wallet.
My spilled self...
chingari hein Jindagi jala ke dekho sulaag jayegee
mere pehlu mein aa jao, tumhari jindagi badal jayegee
akeli hein raat, andheri hein raat, ek paheli hein raat
raat to ek mom hein, kuch der mein peeghal jayegee
sapna ek thama hein, koi raasta ruka hein, kitna dhuaan hein
gum ho jayo isme, tumhe jindagi mil jayegee
kachcha sa dhaga hein, palo ke moti hein, dil na bandha hein
sanjo ke rakho, lamhon mein piroyee jindagi beekhar jayegee
dara hein maan,rootha hein maan, jala hein maan, paglaa hein maan
koi kahani jo tum suna do, aaj jindagi bahal jayegee

7 comments:

Ajit Chouhan said...

Wah kya baat hai........Amazing .Nothing much 2 add i suppose.

shuchika said...

Thanks... for reading my blog so regularly.

another thing I couldnt go to those two links , tell me how to go about it.

Ajit Chouhan said...

Shuchika just visit www.hrfundablog.blogspot.com and u'll find the two links on the right side top end section of my links.Anyways i m sending the link once again u can visit the link and also join the groups.

www.coolbihari.blogspot.com
(u'll find amitabh's comments 2)

www.hrfundablog.blogspot.com
(gud place for HR people)

Now let me tell u one thing ur writing deserves serious admiration and critical appreciation and i frankly speaking i dont have the credentials to pass comments about ur great works.
But from whatever i cud appreciate its just fab............keep it going and i hope u dont mind if i recommend ur blog on my blogpost.

shuchika said...

most of the admiration in the world stems from identification so if what I write is great people who like it have an eye for it....

I am ok with u recommending my blog... it is very nice of you to do so.

amitabh comments on all blogs but mine...that happens if you grow up together...familiarity breeds "a groan not again feeling"

about writing yes... i wont be able to stop writing...

the fish in aquarium... knows her sea of belongingness..nothing gives me the joy writing does, it has its own journey,own learnings, but its me... the only part of me that has grown on me...

I dont want to write for anything or anyone..it isnt worth the effort, i want to write because there is something within which would needs expression which if not expressed...not spilled would be like stale water ...with nowhere to flow...

and i shall go to the coolbihari site...and groan even the HRfunda site.( familiarity...thy name is strategic)

Frog Books said...

Good one, really cool and also lyrically touching, it's quite sentimental too, about solitude, the night, the lonliness, the quietness. but you shouldn't have marred it with lots of dots. save for it, an almost-perfect ode to thyself.

Frog Books said...

Good one, really cool and also lyrically touching, it's quite sentimental too, about solitude, the night, the lonliness, the quietness. but you shouldn't have marred it with lots of dots. save for it, an almost-perfect ode to thyself.

Anonymous said...

Hi
reading the stuff ur sure of onething the stuff you want to convey r "genuine heartfelt",,,gr8 job