Nazm: Ehsaas-e-Zindagi

Ek aaine pe nazar padi to dekha.
Mere saare gham jhankte the meri taraf.
Vo chot jo khayi thi bachpan mein,
Ab bhi maathe pe baithi hai.
Aur jo beemar pada tha main ek dafa,
Uski silvatein bhi maathe pe ataki hain.
College ki kuchh yaadein bhi.
Aankhon ke neeche aa basi hain.
Har ek raath ki ayaashi,
Kuchh gehre gaddhon mein kaali hai.
Aur tere jaane ka gham.
Uski to main kya baat karun.
Mere jaate baal, meri jaati hansi.
Meri jaati zindagi, meri aankhon ki nami.
Sab pe tere jaane ka asar hua.
In kuchh saalon mein main.
Kayi dashak boodha hua.
Ye saari nishaniyan hai meri jaddojehed ki.
Ye saari kurbaniyan hai, meri zindagi ki.
Kuchh faqr bhi hai inpe.
Kuchh sharm bhi.
Is shakal mein sab galat hai, sab bikhra hua.
Par hai ye sab mera pehchana hua.
Ek cheez magar khatakti hai.
Is tooti hui hasti mein bhi kuchh jhurriyan pehchan ki nahi hai.
Aankhon ke kinare bani ye nadiyan,
Jaane kis mausam aayin thi.
Shayad tere hone ki gawah hain ye.
Par inme ab bhi ye chamak kyun?
Itne saalon mein bhi,
Inme itna sukoon kyun?
Kya ye bas, mere maazi ka junoon hai.
Ya shayad,
Tere aane ki khabar ka fusoon hai..

Nazm - Malaal ab bhi hai

Yun muhabbat to nahi hai par tera khayal ab bhi hai.
Sookhe patton mein zindagi nahi par aag ab bhi hai..

Koi intezaar nahi raha teri aahaton ko ab mujhe.
Teri yaadon ka sannatta mera humsafar ab bhi hai..

Jis kaagaz pe likha tha humne afsaana-e-muhabbat.
Vo kaagaz to jal gaya, shayad koi raakh ab bhi hai..

Duniya se maanga tha maine hisaab sahi-galat ka.
Jawab mein zamaane se mila jo aaina ab bhi hai..

Zindagi kamyaab ho sakti thi, khush bhi shayad.
Tera haath chhodne ka, mujhe malaal ab bhi hai..

Ek marz to hai

Yun ab aansu to nahi hai par dard to hai.
Tere jaane ka zikr nahi magar dars to hai..

Tujhe paane ka mujhe junoon to nahi.
Chahana tujhe magar, mera farz to hai.

Tujhe bhool to jaun main magar.
Teri yaadon ka mujhpe koi karz to hai..

Raat aayi aur gayi teri baaton mein.
Har baat pe teri ek sher, arz to hai..

Jeena tere saath naseeb na tha mera.
Aur jeena tere bina bhi, ek marz to hai..

Death of a love story

There was a time when she could not have thought of not loving him. There was a time when he was her everything. That time has passed. Now, it was not just that his death would not hurt her, it might even give her a guilty pleasure. She did not want this to happen. This was not in her nature. But boy, did she hate him with all her fervour.

He thought he did not love her. Maybe he was right. Yet, he thinks often if he made the right call. Whether he made a hurried decision in the wake of his overconfidence and carelessness. Nevertheless, the decision was made and was now irreversible. He had to live with this. He was living with this.

Love was not lost between the two. It just turned so bad that it turned to hate. It was present in all its glory and if the two ever collide, it will have the impact as same as the first time they met. Everything would just be a negative of the bright colours of the reality.

Cut!

It is a play by Ed Monk.

I enjoyed when I read it for the first time. I enjoyed it when I acted in it for the first time.

And now, I finally have seen it how it should be made.

This time, I am not on the stage, but in the audience. The play did made me regret that. I wish I was a part of the play. I wish I was a part of IIMACTS.

Still, I have a feeling that I am lucky. For this play, done by my seniors, I would rather watch.

They didn’t choose a language, mixing Hindi and English (and some mute curses!) with ease. They took the play and made it their own. I enjoyed that and I am sure, many others did too.

A play is never perfect, it is too live to be perfect. However, the flaws do not matter when the performances rise to the occasion.

Not just the performances of the actors but performances of those mute silences, performances of those running arounds for the scripts and the performance of the real confusion.

It was not what was said that mattered as much as what was left unsaid.

It is their last performance for us. It is time for them to go back to the real world. It is time to say Cut!

Not an Eulogy

People die. My grandfather passed away. I am not sure if I have processed it well or not at all. A life that started in a mother's arms, in a remote village. A kid who must have been innocent, cute or naughty. A young man who decided to leave the farms and see the city life. A man who married and had to see some of his children die at a young age. A father of four sons who decided to bring his family to the city to give his children better opportunities in life. A man who saw his sons marriages. A grandfather to eight grandchildren from 2 to 28 years old. He began a family tree which started from a village. He gave his son the platform to become an engineer. His grandson studied in some of the best colleges of the country and has been to other countries too. It was all built on the base of that one man. This is not an eulogy. I don't think I can do justice to it. This is just an astonishment at how much a man achieves in his lifetime and how many stories might still be hidden in his heart when he takes his last breath.

Stories

I love telling stories. I love hearing them too. But writing them becomes tedious. Hopefully, someday I will have the zeal for writing them as much as I have about creating them. Until then, I will keep trying to find inspiration to write however it may come.

In the meantime, please read this little piece. Inspired by this Writing Prompt from Reddit. 

[WP] You are a powerless human who is known to be the source of all superpowers in Earth. To end all conflicts, heroes are out to kill you. Meanwhile, the villains protect you.

I present to you - Inertia:

https://medium.com/@kp297/inertia-76c0599e697c#.a5iho1dyb