Jagrata strikes again! We live in ‘saffron’ times. ‘Hindutva’ is everywhere: in the air we breathe, food we eat, sleep we sleep, dresses we wear, greetings we exchange, songs and bhajans we sing, speeches we make, slogans we shout, people we meet, sounds we hear, arguments we exchange, movies we go to, news we watch, videos and messages we read and share, places we visit, sights we see, brides we wed, rehris we buy fruits and vegetables from, lawmakers we vote for or against; as also in streets, parks, pubs, clubs, vehicles, vans, tempos, trucks and bulldozers. Dressed garishly, garlanded, and flaunting a big red kumkum tikka on the forehead, it pops its grinning, growling head even when least expected in our daily lives. On mobiles too it sneaks in unbidden and armed, baring its fangs and cracking its whip to turn a light-hearted tete-a-tete between two good friends into a sour and bitter cocktail of main-main-tu-tu. At times, like a raptor, it swoops down from the high skie...
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What would my dream PM be like? In this many-phased ‘Election ‘24’, with my tryst with the polling booth drawing nigh, I sat thinking– away from the din and bustle replete with empty bombast and bereft of reasoned discourse. I shut-upped the shouting “lapdogs” masquerading as expert, know-all TV anchors with one angry finger-tap on the remote. The little stupid device in my hand – the mobile – that has held me captive and robbed me clean of so many priceless hours and years with its claptrap served sizzling hot by WhatsApp university, I junked in the nearest closet. I also powered off my laptop which I employ to serve you my ‘Heart-to-Heart’ dishful: though not without a little wrench. For, of late, with a naughty twinkle in the eye, I am trying to woo Chatbot GPT to help me indulge in some fanciful things in the virtual world! Alone under the cool shade of my own ‘Bodhi’ tree – the neglected but resilient Kanakchampa in the corner of our compound – I sat to address the one big q...
In conversation with Bharat Mata Loud thunderclaps of ‘Elections ‘24’ awoke me from sleep with a start last night. Groggy and in a state of dreamy half-sleep, I was visited upon by, who else, but our Bharat Mata (henceforth BM). She was dressed in a tricolour of our national flag looking proud but forlorn, sad and weary– her high and wide forehead creased by ripples of worry. I bowed to her with deep love and respect and sought her ashirwad to help me become her true son who would guard her honour and adhere to the dharma of ahimsa and bhayichaara. I also sang Gandhiji’s favourite bhajan: “Vaishnav jan to tene kahiye...” and Bhimsen Joshi’s soulful ‘Mile sur mera tumhara…” to cheer her up. Then we began talking. Here is how our conversation ran: Me: Why are you awake so late in the night our revered Bharat Mata? BM: Son, like you, I was also disturbed by this cacophony and claptrap of ‘Elections ‘24’: hate speeches, uncouth language, undignified barks at opponents, outrageous...
नदिया की आवाज़ भोर जब निद्रा त्याग लेती है अंतिम अंगड़ाई , मैं निकल पड़ता हूँ सूनी सी राह मेरी मनभाई सिमट रही होती रैना जब व चाँद सितारे ओझल , देख जगते सूरज की आँख- सुर्ख , गर्मायी श्यामल पर्वत भी जब लगता तकने पूरव को ; लगते पेड़ झूमने , सुन भागती रात की आहट और निंदिया रानी कहती: “अब आऊँगी कल , ले पिटारी सपनों की- कुछ मीठे , कुछ नटखट I” सन्नाटे की पसरी इस झीनी चादर को चीरती तो बस कुत्ते की भौं और अपने ही कदमों की आवाज़ कहीं सीधी डगर , कहीं मोड़ - जैसे जीवन में - फिर वह पथ , जहां नदिया भोर का नित करती आगाज़ जहां देवदार , तो चील कहीं , देख मुझे , ले भीनी मुस्कान , लगते मेरी जग-भटकी , रूठी रूह को ब हलाने और दूर उधर से बहती नदिया कहती: “एक कान इधर भी , हैं मेरे दामन में भी जिंदा बहुत से अफसाने I ” ...
Why must I vote for Change? Agree or not, but ten years is a very long time for any political party to hold the country’s leash at a stretch. And when we are a ‘mother of democracy’ as we boast, urgency of change becomes akin to a therapeutic beam of light to shine on the murky corridors of power… or a good broom to sweep away the accumulated muck and stink from the Augean stables. For, power is a vicious fiend, a hydra-headed monster. If not reined in in time, its ever-growing, menacing tentacles begin not only to sting and bite but also undermine the very pillars on which a supposedly benevolent and people-friendly – but inherently shaky edifice of democratic order – stands. We have already seen how power breeds corruption, fosters coteries and insidious nexuses when a political party – any political party – has a long, uninterrupted run. It assumes more serious dimensions when we know that 42 per cent of our sitting lawmakers have serious criminal charges against them. Power...
मेरी कविता को कुछ ना कहना कह लो भला-बुरा मुझे चाहे जितना , पर मेरी कविता को अप्रिय कभी कुछ ना कहना यह तो है स्वप्न-देश में जायी , कोमल , शिशु-सुंदर , चंचल पर भोली , मेरी पूजा का गहना न जाने यह पाप-पुण्य , छल-कपट , सच या झूठ ; लाया हूँ इसे उतार , नभ से सीधा धरती पर हँस के सुंदर-रंगीं ’ पंख पहन , उड़ आवारा बादल सा बन , चाँद-सितारों को बहला फुसला कर दिव्य-लोक में गंगा-जल से नहला , इत्र-सने फूलों का वस्त्र पहना , प्रेम-रस से सींचा है इसे कई दिन उगते सूरज से ली है आशा की उजली किरण , चाँद से मासूम हंसी , और तारों से टिमकता भोलापन दोस्त मेरे , यह क्या जाने नफरत की भाषा ? ना यह जाने कलह , द्वेष व बैर , यह तो है परी-लोक से आई फैलाने प्यार की धूप , हरने जग में पसरा तम , सुनाने नग्में प्यार के , यह है...