in shabdon se pare
ek duniyaa hai alag
ungliyon ke poron se ris kar
umadta hai dhamniyon mein
dhadakta hai sangeet ban kar
jise na ankhen padhein
na kaan sun sakein
chu sakein sirf jise
aisi kavita hai yeh
aisa hai uska hona, mere saath
a feeble attempt at translation.
beyond these words
written for the tongue
there is a different world
seeping from the fingers’ pores
waves in the veins
throbs as music beats
something which the eyes can’t read
and the ears can’t listen
can only touch
it’s a poem like that
that’s her being with me, is like
we come across so many people in life. familiar, unfamiliar, people whom we like, and some perhaps dislike. faces which generate an instant smile, others whom we might even frown upon. friends, for whom we wait on our side of the road, with open arms, as they come towards us. and loves, for whom we can’t wait any more and want to run into their arms, across that busy road.
we met this sunday afternoon at the ‘sahitya academy’ intersection. and m glad i resisted my urge to run & hug her, blindly crossing the busy road 🙂 there was an art exhibition on, which she’d seen already, but wanted to go through again, with me in tow.
i liked the sculptures, she liked the paintings, ‘histoscapes’ more. of all the exhibits, i think our unanimous favourite was a tribal couple’s sculpture. they carried their whole material belongings with them, and perhaps love in their heart. the best bit was how the woman carried a hen, a pot and practically her whole existence in a wicker basket. funny, how we see love in inanimate objects. or is it somewhere within us?
roaming through c.p., sitting nowhere in particular, eating bhel and patties and sipping mountain dew and chai…we almost talked nothing, an occasional remark, a chiding, a question, some answers…or it seems that howsoever much she talks, its not enough…then three hours went by…merged into moments that i can only recall now and whisper to myself…memories that we’ll share in the days to come, like how i forgot my wallet on the pattie-wallah’s stall and how i forgot to pay the cold drink vendor, how she wished for a chai and the chai-wallah materialised and how difficult it gradually became to take leave of each other. three pauses, totalling twenty minutes for a five minute distance and you can gauge how difficult it becomes to separate…
…hmmm. long after she’s gone, her presence still remains. her eyes, her smile, her voice and her touch, it’s not about the words i use, it’s the days i’m living. they are poetry now. do wish me more of these.