Heart to Heart

                Ouf! These Jagratas Though now into the sunset phase of my life (and loving it!), with books, Bacchus (temporarily suspended) and better-half as pals for company, there are some existential puzzles that I have still   been unable to unravel: my religiosity for instance. A ‘bhakt’, an agnostic, an atheist- what am I?   Perhaps I am all of these– a shameless, self-serving opportunist. For, I do turn to gods seeking divine intervention when suddenly some serious worldly trouble rattles me to utter desperation. My old parental sanskars suddenly begin to stir and nudge me to fold my hands in prayer before my devout father’s cherished deity begging for urgent relief and rescue. Otherwise, when all is hunky dory, I stop being a bhakt and revert to my original avatar doing my own version of meditation: A pre-dawn, celestial hour it is. I am out for a walk.   Hushed silence prevails all around. I am soon at my favourite spot by the roadside. Looking east, my gaze rivets on t

                                                                  आओ सुनें क्या कौवा बोले                               काला कलूटा और बद्सूरत, उस पर असुंदर , बड़ी सी मेरी चोंच , और फिर कर्कश कायं-कायं - भला किसे मैं भाऊँ ? भैया कह लो चाहे मुझे   बुरा , पर हूँ मैं सेवक , सफाई-कर्मी भी ,  बस  खा जूठन व मांस गला-सड़ा , अपनी भूख मिटाऊँ हाँ मिले प्यार और दाना उम्दा , तो देता भी हूँ मैं उपहार , निज चोंच भर , और हूँ मैं तेज दिमाग़- यह भी दूं बतला: सुना तो होगा ही किस्सा: डाल घड़े में कंकर-पत्थर बुझाई थी कैसे अपनी प्यास पानी का स्तर ऊपर ला ! ? है मेरा परिवार बड़ा – भारत ही नहीं , यूरोप , अमरीका , ऑस्ट्रेलिया , क्यूबा भी और पूरा एशिया , तथा   विशाल अफरीका बस आप बुलायें कौवा , विदेशी कहें ‘ क्रो ’, ‘ रेवन ’, ‘ जैक-डा ’, ‘ रूक ’; छोटा , कहीं बड़ा मैं ; स्याह काला , तो कहीं मेरा रंग फीका टहनी तिनका ले , बड़े पेड़ पर बसाऊँ घर , निभाऊं आजीवन श्रीमती का साथ , मिल कर करें दोनों अण्डों-चूजों की खैर-खुराक      पर डांट डपट मुझ ‘ कौवे ’ को जग-प्यारी कोयल , अपने भी अण्डों को दे जबरन नीड़ में डाल- द

                                                                Fall and fall of Congress A cloud of weary sadness washes over me as I begin writing this piece. Not that I am enamoured of Congress or its Gandhi dynasts at all but the steady - almost irremediable decline - into irrelevance of this old behemoth  that cradled and led our freedom movement is surely a cause for national worry. Has it lost its moorings? Has some evil curse befallen it? Have Cleopatra’s dreadful ‘snakes’ sniffed and stung its body, heart and soul? Have its old sins of omission and commission come home to roost and rendered it a zombie beyond redemption? What sort of (Trypanosomial) ‘sleeping sickness’ has overwhelmed it? Could it be that the ‘Gandhis’ are scared crazy that once they relinquish hold, they will lose the political heft required to fend off the ED/IT hounds? Is it just ‘ santaan-moh ’ (filial affection), or does Sonia Gandhi reckon that if she quits, the party will fall apart for want of a comm

  Thus spake ‘Mobile’   Yeah…yup: sleek, oblong-faced, magic wonder I am mostly in your hands or bulging out of the front/back pocket of your skin-hugging jeans. Some call me ‘mobile’, others ‘cellphone’, ‘smartphone’ or simply ‘phone’. My sizes, colours, shapes and brand names vary in tune with the demands of ever-changing fashion and style. Born a bulky 2 kg on 3 April 1973 in your big, mad, chaotic world, I have had humble beginnings. But now I am a rage and given my range and sweep, I have even muscled out the humble old cousin of mine, the laid-back ‘landline’ phone into oblivion. I am now big business with several MNCs vying to outsmart each other and bring me out in ever new avatars; and therefore I am old the minute I am out of the womb!   I may be a style statement for the wannabe young but I am an indispensable go-between for meets, conferences, events management, rendezvouses, romances, and what not. Thugs and rogues use me to cheat the gullible; am an instrument for dec