मग़ज़ खांचों को निलाम कर दी हमने                                                           फुर्सतों में कमबख्त फिर भी सोचना पड़ता है 

श्‍वेत दम्भ, श्‍वेत विरक्ति श्‍वेत संस्कार, श्‍वेत क्रांति दादी  के नुस्के भी श्‍वेत, साहित्य के नायक भी श्‍वेत श्‍वेत अभिव्यक्ति, श्‍वेत आत्मविश्वास श्‍वेत रात्रि... श्‍वेत अब सर्वव्यापी श्याम चरया जा रा हुं श्‍वेतसागर की ओर। इक डुबकी संभवतः पूर्ण करदे मुझे भी

On a Monday morning, early in the office premise, when I did not hold the swinging glass door of the building for the lady four steps behind me, she uttered without stopping or looking at me, "Where have all the men gone?” I instantly regretted not having held the swinging door and give it a slip exactly when she entered. I felt bad. I usually do hold the door for a lady. But it was a tense morning. I had many thoughts I was struggling to get rid of before I entered office. It just skipped me. In retrospect, I could not help but wonder though. Did she deserve it? Can she demand this from me? Would she have held the door for me? But I am an able bodied man. She looked like an abled bodied woman too. A reasonable counter argument obviously is that nobody can demand you to be ‘nice’. You just are. A seemingly harmless matter, ‘popular chivalry’ is intrinsic and deep-rooted to the inequities in our society. I think I understand how the idea of men with the righteous au

कहना होता है काफी कुछ तुम्हे इतना की हाँथ भी हिलाती हो और मुँह भी खरीदती तो नहीं तुम बातें? के भाड़े पे लाती हो? कभी औज़ार बना कर झगड़ती हो तो कभी इकरार ना करने के बहाने बनाती हो जब न कहती हो तो आखें तक बोलती हैं तुम्हारी जवाब खोजती हैं आखें जवाब मांगती है कभी न पूछे सवालों का छलकने का आलम हो जाता है कई दफ़ा मिलाता हूँ आँखें तो झुक जाती हैं मानो डरती हैं जवाब से हाँथ फिर चलने लगते हैं, मुह भी किराने से एक और थैली बातें खरीद लायी हो तुम 

कश्ती कुछ इस कदर साहील को पोशीदा कर रही है, ज़मीं से इश्क़ का हमे इल्म हो गया जज़ीरे का कोई फ़रेब भी अब है मंज़ूर कोशिश-ए-मंज़िल में डूबना भी मुनासिब हो गया

So my muscular neighbour begins his ascend of the jackfruit tree with the dexterity of an orangutan. He climbs, swings from one branch to another till he reaches that coveted jackfruit. The li’l kids below have been throwing stones at it since morning but achieved nothing except making a few birds shriek. The boys were glad the messiah of the colony was at the job because frankly, nobody else could have dreamt of climbing up a tree that steep. Mr T often came to the rescue of those in desparation in the mohalla. Often, in action, he'd wear something as basic as a pair of shorts, as of letting us commoners know how easy of a task it was to him. Today his choice of garment was just a towel. Yes you read it right...a towel. Say what you will but any Indian boy who has ever had to wear even a dhoti, knows how wearing it while doing nothing at all can still qualify as multi-tasking. But there aren't many challenges beyond Mr.T's abilities. By this time, the colony had as