Friday, July 16, 2010


He was sitting silent in a dhaba with a glass of vodka in one hand and half smoked cigarette in other. Unlike his colleagues, he sat uninterested, avoiding any intellectual arguments over good,bad and their parametric justifications. A radio kept on a shelf was broadcasting some hindi song, which, Ravi thought, relates to his life...

"चौराहे पर,
 राख़ बन उड़ जायेंगे,

 रास्ते फिर से,
 आँधियों से टकराकर,
 भीड़ में जुड़ जायेंगे...

 ये समन्दर
 भूखा बहुत है,
 सबको एक दिन खायेगा,
 देखता हूँ कब तलक
 तू खुद से यूँ लड़ पायेगा..."

He was not a regular Dhaba vistor. The "Daru Parties" at dhabas appeared him more as a forum of its attendees to speak their desires, dreams, frustrations, lusts, pains, etc. than any celebration.  However, at his visits to the dhabas, he fantasized audience to be convinced of his two abstract musings - Human emotions are continuously collected within them and dhabas are easiest available sink for their eruptions;  human definitions are incomplete without their post drunk state documentation, else their avaricious, bestial and hypocritical avatars remain uncaptured. Often, he also compared these parties with prolonged sexual intercourses, which start slow in murmur, giggle and smile, get louder, wilder, faster and end up as emotional less attachments of strangers. More than that, he was confused whether these celebrations are more like a social badge, which people add to upgrade their hierarchies in the so defined social animal system or a necessary tool for people destitute of understandings of truth to temporarily peel of layers of their discomforting emotions. Infact, at times he considered the whole idea of celebration a waste. Interestingly, his contemplations and arguments about the requisiteness of many of these parties used to fade away as his involvements in them geared up.  

Ravi denunciated his belief of self existence as an iconoclast unique species long time back; but he could not get rid of his belief about society till recent. He graduated from a glorious literature school in the country, which was known never to sleep. People could be found discussing, sharing, speaking, hearing, writing and reading their thoughts at any time of the day. They talked about life, love, literature, revolution, reservation, politics, science, war or probably anything and everything. Umpteenth amount of thoughts exchange, stacks of books and considerable amount of writings left different impacts on different people. 

During first year of his stay, some Asian country witnessed a month long civil war, which shattered its economy. Millions of families were ruined and news papers could only capture devastations. The topic knocked everyone's door. His college got flooded with the discussions. While the burning topic sparked many dead clubs and literary societies, the overdose of it forced Ravi to start hating social systems, revolution and interactions. While this batch mates were exploring themselves discussing Mahatma Gandhi, Che Guevara, Marxism, communism, revolution, etc, Ravi used to read all the anti-social theories. He spent all his years of graduation staying alone and reading books. 

Society, for him, was yet another dustbin, where he could throw his least intellectual ideas. Ravi rarely talked to people, and whenever he talked, his motive was to express disrespect, make mockery and convince them inferiority of intellect compared to him.  Their anger appeased his ego as he considered anger as a defence mechanism of impotents and handicaps. Revolutions, for him, were tools to glue all the ignorants, hungry and useless people for some unknown reasons. Once during a class discussion, when people linked hunger, suppression, capitalism, etc to revolution, Ravi left a note writing ...

"किसकी लपट में जलने को, 
 तुम इतने बेताब हो,
 काली हवा में बह रहा जो,
 अंधे से सैलाब हो. 

 ये भूख है किसी भेडिये की
 तुम चीख़ कर मर जाओगे.
 तारिख में कब्र पर तुम्हारे,
 सज जायेंगे कुछ लफ्ज़ -  " यह तुम्हारा भी इंक़लाब था".

 इंक़लाब हो, इंक़लाब हो !

He never expected to make millions from his writings. His writings received a severe jolt during his college days, when his best work "आग से ठंडक"  was highly ridiculed, mimicked and disrespected. But, he assumed his dustbin works to feed him atleast. Unluckily, his literature could not feed him for more than few initial months as it faced severe competition from others dustbin works. Ravi had to leave the city and move to a near by village for his living. He, then moved from one village to another, sometimes as a postman, sometimes as a school teacher and sometimes as a bus conductor.His iconoclastic approaches couldn't fetch him anything and his lonely existence could not grab any attention. His writings and understandings on human behavior and psychology were nothing more than a myth for him now. 

He craved pain,but he could not endure it for long. To continue dustbin writings for his survival was more like committing suicide for him; he feared death, so couldn't think of suicide. It was an indication for gradual metamorphism to him. He was not reluctant for change. He never wrote that changes make people impotent. Even much before his college days, he accepted a change when he ran away from his home and altered his surname. 

The dhaba matured in state from murmur to howling. In the midst of that din, Ravi sat uncomfortable and perplexed. He was frustrated, as he was not able to focus on the torrents of thoughts rolling in his mind. Lots of vodka, whiskey and bear intoxicated ambiance of the dhaba. A sudden drizzle and subsequent petrichor made it more romantic. Someone sitting at a table near to their team was reciting ...

"और मत पिला साकी
 बेआबरू दुनिया मुझे मैखना समझ बैठेगी,
 अपने ग़म का दामन,
 बेवजह मुझसे जोड़ देगी..

 मैं तो निकला था
 उस शाम, 
 तनहाई में खोने की तमन्ना थी;
 काश पहले से समझता,
 दुनिया, पैमाने से यूँ रिश्ता जोड़ देगी..."

The last village, where he got settled was Pipidiha, a village at the border of two states. He started socializing with more and different people to add dimensions and reality to his understandings. He made connections over there, and started paying more attention to any occurring social changes. He changed him enough to behave as a social animal, although, he still resisted to fit all of his thoughts in the social frameworks. Before coming back to the city, he also participated in a strike organized by his village people against drinking water problem. His slogan captured special attention of media..

"प्यास मेरी है, तो हंगामा भी मेरा ही होगा,  
 छीन के ले आयेंगे नदिया, यदि न्याय ना होगा. " 

Some newspaper company from a city noticed and inquired about him and offered him a position of journalist. He started writing about social issues. His works were appreciated, and his column "शोषण" was highly rated.

Last night, there was a sudden unrest at the border. People from state near to Pipidiha were demanding separate state for long time. Some innocent villagers of Pipidiha resisted the civil war, as a result of which, they were slayed in the name of revolution. All the newspaper chased the news madly. The discussion flooded media more that the Asian civil war, which Ravi heard during his college days.

The revolution was much more senseless and devastating. Today, his colleagues organized a "daru party" to discuss the rebel. Everyone had their own deep opinions. Ravi could just hear some words - socialism, liberty, poor, nation..

The song of the radio continued

"बुलबुला दीवार में दरार बनकर उभरेगा,
 आज बारी तेरी है;
 जिंदगी के इस हवन में,
 अपनी तू आहुति देगा ? ..."


लोहा, लक्कड़, ताला, चक्कर घिच-पिच कर के बैठा है बाहर से चमचम करता है दिल अंदर से ugly है मौसम, पानी, सात समंदर गलियों गलियों घूमा है...