Heart to Heart

  अलविदा रुत बरसात  देखा है क्या मन की आँख से कभी बरसा की रुत का वह   दिलकश नजारा नभ को लपेटे बादल   की मटमैली चदरिया , रिमझिम वारिश का संगीत प्यारा गगन और धरती का यह अनोखा मिलन ; बिजली की चमक , बादलों का नगाड़ा पहन हरयाली का पैराहन अनूठा , कुदरत   बन गयी   हो मानों दो प्रेमियों का अखाड़ा कभी निशा के दामन में छुप , कभी सूरज के मुखड़े पर बिठा के काले बादल का पहरा आकाश आसक्त प्रेमी , धरा नव-प्रेमिका घबराई सहमी- क्या खूब है प्रेम दोनों का गहरा ! पेड़ झुके और गुमसुम , गंभीर पर्वत , पंछी चंचल , सुरीले: देखते ही बनती है यह छटा सुहानी दो आशिकों   की मानों यह हो आँख-मिचोनी , यह मदमस्त क्रीड़ा , यह अद्भुत   कहानी   भोर-बरसात भी है सपने के पन्ने पे   लिखी इबादत- कुदरत बन गयी हो जैसे कवि कोई मतवाला पहन उतरे   है जब यह मखमल की चुनरिया , चढ़ा हो जिसमें बादल का रंग औ ’ सूरज का उजाला फैला के जब अपना दामन धरा पे , निकल पड़ती है ठुमक ठुमक , हो जैसे एक परी सी दुल्हनिया खिल उठता है मन देख उसको हर शिखा का , हैं पेड़ झूमत...

  Wayanad: wails and valour The saviours; and the saved ‘Wayanad’. A sparkling gem of pristine beauty. The green oasis that munificent Mother Nature has  bestowed on the lap of beautiful Kerala. And, overnight, “Wah Wayanad” has turned into “Oh  Wayanad”. What was once a metaphor for nature’s wonder and beauty now shudders with shrieks and  screams of suffering people and sighs and wails of orphaned children giving us goose  pimples of unspeakable sadness over the havoc. Why then we wouldn’t shed tears of shock and horror  at the tragic devastation visited upon it this monsoon? A man-made disaster it is, as a renowned  ecologist Madhav Gadgil has said; aggravated of course by heavy incessant rains. See what the dirty,  greedy, insane human hand with his axe and spade, chisel and hammer, machines and mechanics has  wreaked upon this jewel in Kerala’s crown. Prajeesh: who turned 'god' Bhavana: the 'super mom'   Looking at the whole spectac...

  “Na dainyam, na palaaynam” In the sunset years of life, we often dig up old memories from the caverns of our lived history. They come in myriad avatars: some delightful and naughty, some wrapped in sorrow and guilt, some sizzling with blush and shame, and some raring to leap out to tweak your ears for foolish, silly blunders and acts of omission and commission. But yet, what an interesting panorama they present on the whole before you of the unfurling, flowering and then slow fading out of an individual in the journey of life. The little story above (published as 'middle' in The Tribune, 21 Jan 2015; read the text below) is about a little misdemeanour engineered by me (with my pals) as a schoolboy in our bid to awake to freedom, as it were, from the well-intentioned but rather overzealous imposition of an extra class by our math teacher. What had made it worse was his addictive love for the ‘rod’. And, to complement and supplement it, his sharp, acid-coated tongue that coul...