Tuesday, November 3, 2015

Addiction and the addict

Addicted to nicotine
I inhale you
Drags after drags
Chocking my lungs
With patches of vices
Unable to withhold
I spew grey smoke
And watch them
Spiralling
Going up and away
Making shapes
Of contaminating hope
From grey to brown to blue
Digging in to the void
Of a sky
Spread around me
With limiting silhouttes
Of silently watching trees
Testimony
Of my wild thoughts, wicked intentions
And a love
That fills the breach
Like a transparent glue
that binds us together
The addiction
And the addict.

(Mrityunjay)

Wednesday, September 9, 2015

तुम्हारे मुस्कान का विस्तार

कुछ हिले
तो देखूँ
बादलों के पीछे
तुम्हारे मुस्कान का विस्तार।
हवा है
जो ठहरी है तो ठहरी है
सत्ता है
जो हर बात पे बहरी है।
बाहर का सत्य
दिखाई नहीं देता
अंदर का कुछ भी
सुनाई नहीं देता
मैं तुम्हारा,
पर छूटा जा रहा हूँ,
एक ऐसा आगत
जो बिन आये ही टल गया
एक भविष्य
जो विगत में ही ढल गया
तुम अपनी जीत में
हर हार को नकारते
चले जा रहे हो
उस धुँधले क्षितिज की ओर
जहाँ की भोर भी
अँधेरी होती है।
मैं छूटा जा रहा हूँ
पर टूटा नहीं हूँ
अब भी
प्रतीक्षा में हूँ
कि जब बादल हिलें
तो देख पाऊँ
तुम्हारे मुस्कान का विस्तार।
(मृत्युंजय)


Thursday, July 23, 2015

झेलम के प्रति (To JHELUM)



एक ऐसे समृद्ध भू-भाग में
प्रकृति जहाँ
कल्पना के बिम्बों-सी
रचती है हर पल एक रचना,
झेलम,
तुझे ही नहीं आया बचना?

काली-करैल मिट्टी के
तटों से बँधी
कृशकाय काया में
उमड़ता मटमैला जल
जैसे नाचता कोई नीम-पागल।
हंसी उड़ाते,
संग भागते
लम्बे पोप्लार के पेड़ कतार में,
सुना है
उनकी भी नस्ल डुबो दी
तुम्हारे लोगों ने
व्यापार में।
सिरमौर
तुम्हारी बर्फीली चोटियों पर
अहर्निश चलती है
फौजी बूटों की
उठा-पटक
लगी रहती है
उनको
घुसपैठियों की भनक
झरनों के छलकते यौवन में
अब अल्हड़पन कम
धधकती
विपुल वासना
अबोध हवस का तम

पशमीना, सेव, अखरोट,
नक्काशी भरे हाथों की ओट
में
सर्दियों की कांगड़ी की तरह
छुपके पनपते अंगार
आराम देने की आड़ में
रोग-व्याधि के आगार।

झेलम,
सुना है अतीत में
कबीलों से लेकर मीलों तक
प्रेम की सदाशय लहरियाँ गाते
झूमते बौद्ध, हिन्दू,
ईसा के अनुयायी
यहूदियों की
कुछ खोयी
टोलियाँ भी यहाँ आयीं।
सतलज, चेनाब
और रावी के संग
तुमने घोले बड़े सारे रंग;
फिर ऐसा क्या हुआ
इतिहास में
कि सबकुछ
परिणत हुआ परिहास में?

झेलम,
पूजा करके कोई खून करे
या नमाज पढ़के जिबह,
बढ़ता है दोनों से कलह।
इसी कलह की
प्रताड़ना में जल
सूख कर तुम बन गयी
नदी से नाला,
तुम्हारी घाटियों में भी
भर गया है
इस देश का घोटाला।
नहीं तो
सभ्यताओं का पोषक
तुम्हारा जल
यूँ विष की तरह काला क्यूँ होता
तुम्हारे घरों में पका
सुस्वादु वाज़वान
किसी और का निवाला क्यूँ होता?

                            (मृत्युंजय)

Monday, March 2, 2015

फिर तुम्हारी याद आई (I remember you again)

बड़ी धुली-धुली सी रात है ये
बारिश की बौछारों से
बहती हुई बयारों से
जैसे धो गया हो कोई
रात पर बिखरी रोशनाई
फिर तुम्हारी याद आई।
चुपके से झड़ गये हैं
कुछ आम के मंजर
कुछ फूल
जो टहनियों परसूखे लगे थे
आबरू की शाख पर
यूँ ही टँगे थे
अकस्मात्
बिजली और बादलों की धनी
मौसम की खुरदरी एक ओढ़नी
खरोंच गयी हो जैसे
चेहरा यादों का
कसमसाती गुनगुनी
गर्मी से
ऊब रहे वादों का
हथेलियों से
मुँह ढाँके
सीने में क़ैद साँसें
जैसे टटोलती हों
अपनी परछाईं,
फिर तुम्हारी याद आई।
(मृत्युंजय)


Painting by Luise Andersen

MK Singh's Dev Sabha HD

Sunday, February 22, 2015

Bon Voyage to Ishaan

I never wrote
a letter to you!
Or i did, a few?
When you went away
Getting disgruntled
And bizarre
By our methods of parentage.
I still wonder
What would it be
If you remained away
But for providence
That came
Like a timely rescue
Giving both of us
The desired break.
But i think
I never wrote to you
There was nothing to make.

For god sake
Don't ever think
We're harsh to you
As we're equally harsh
On everything that came our way
May be, to see you
As what you ought to become
Though with no final shape
Like a runner
Practicing for a match run
Not for a trophy.
But i think
I never wrote to you.
I gave you sermons
Filled with parables
Which i never understood myself
Never did i follow any
Because i was a drifter
Like logs in a river, too many
I enjoyed you growing
In my lap
And in my surrounding
Never ever thinking
What will happen
Once you grow,
After all
Every bird flies
Swan or crow.
But i think
I never wrote to you.

When i pressed your back
Or treated an injury
Hope of happiness
Acted as an usurer
Piling up compound interest 
On the greed of loving ceaselessly
While I learnt
New words, language, images and taste
I wondered
What would i be without you, a waste.
But i think
I never wrote to you.
right since i called you
the Little Confucius
God gracious,
i have seen it all -
mischief, anger, deceit, perseverance,
melting eyes and toughened countenance,
your love for a single malt
and passion for relationship
swinging between
a common taste of Old Monk rum
to diverse ways of living
i have seen it all.
but i think 
i never wrote to you.

you fell, i got hurt
you cried, my peace dried
i laughed at all your glee
but never could see
that a rainbow 
is a seasonal phenomena.
we have harsh winters too
with buried hope of spring
like a dying patient
still breathing
for a miraculous recovery.

No, 
i should never write to you
it is better, a 'will' remains unread
for it makes, even love, 
a commercial transaction
feelings have no direction.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

my play ‘Dev-Sabha'

Dear Friend,

Please bloc your evening from 5.30 to 7 PM to join us for my play ‘Dev-Sabha’ being staged in ICCR auditorium (Ho Chi Minh sarani, opp. American Consulate) on 8th February, 2015. 

DEV SABHA is a satirical take on the state of women in contemporary times. The setting is a Council of Gods who are gathered to decide where to accommodate the souls of those women who have died violent and untimely deaths at the hands of barbarians, and are suffering the mythical ‘Pret-yoni’ (realm of Ghosts) in want of their liberation. It is believed among Hindus that a body which meets a sudden and untimely end (Akaal Mrityu) roams in the ‘Pret-yoni’ (realm of ghosts) until it is liberated through specially prescribed rituals performed by their kith & kins or, till the time it outlives its destined life span on earth. 
In the process, the play 
explores the hypocrisy of society and it's sacrosanct 
​Gods
.

The beauty of DEV SABHA also lies in its execution by around 35 youngsters drawn from various schools and colleges who have responsibly taken to its direction, choreography, lights, sets, music and acting. PUKAAR (a cultural trust) is hosting the play.

Please accept the attached image as a formal invite and carry a print out of the same with you as your entry pass.

We look forward to your support.

Monday, January 12, 2015

देर रात सड़क पर

बस अभी फ़ारिग हुआ, निकला हूँ घर को 
सड़क खाली है, चाहे मुड़ लूँ जिधर को। 
खला है, जो उड़ रही है हर तरफ़ धुआँ-सा 
चमकती रेंगती है रोशनी इक केंचुआ -सा।
सुबह से रिस रहा था जो ज़हर ज़िन्दगी से
कुहासा बन के फैला मिल गले ये तीरगी से।

(मृत्युंजय

Thursday, January 8, 2015

Rupa Ganguly joined BJP

Rupa Ganguly declared she joined BJP. Declaration sounded like a series of rational quoted to legitimize her decision in the eyes of people, for whom she felt responsible and sensitive. Well said Rupa Ganguly! My adulation for you enlarges manifold. I am sure somewhere in a corner of your heart, Draupadi lives in her true spirit. The values you have spelled out (inadvertently perhaps) are of extremely Gandhian and humanist nature squirming to go vocal; alas, there is no vocal cord suiting to its notes.
You know what? That is where my heart trembles - with lurking suspicion questioning strength of my soul despite suffering all the destruction and decay. I start questioning whether I am worth discussing Gandhian values. Gandhi kept on opposing what he sensed wrong in the face of highest nobility and wickedest of authority, and it took him decades of self-grooming and toughest of sacrifices to get that steel frame of humanity embedded in his habit of thinking of people - people who are deprived, distraught and destructed. How many of us, in our prime of youth (he was not even thirty then), have the gall to take on a mass opposition of aggressively hostile crowd with a helpless wife and children travelling in the same ship which is was by a motivated design remained quarantined for weeks? Yes, I am referring to the 1897 event when he bolted out of the ship ‘Naderi’ turning down a proposal of peaceful way of self-survival by leaving the ship alone with his family in the darkness of night. He sent his family to safe hands and stayed back in the ship with other co-passengers. No, if at all he comes out, it is only with other 400 co-passengers (mainly indentured labours). He was luckily saved by a providential cover provided by Mrs. Jane Alexander, wife of the superintendent of local police. He got misunderstood and clubbed also. He barely escaped death in the hands of the same people whom he was fighting for. The streak or uncanny quirk of his destiny followed him even in India, in different cultural expressions, but with the same forbidden 'violence' that he shunned, both in precept and practice. So much so, this time it was not a club of some Ali (Mir Ali), it was a bullet fired by one Godse (Nathuram Godse); this time proverbial destiny was defeated by technology of crude anger & cruelty used. He would have perhaps been left as a dusted tomb of freak leadership, had his vision & method not emulated by a host of outsiders and glorified by the authorities he fought against. Wait a minute, let me clarify! This is how I perceived through my small window of learning.
Unfortunately, Gandhian humanism had a gory death in the mutilating hands of our caste, clan and region oriented diverse ethnocentric beliefs and behaviour. After printing our commitment to those ideals in the constitution we deified it and returned to what suited us the best in our day to day affairs. Not surprising, why our poets, writers and intellectuals got disillusioned so fast; it did not take even a decade since independence when voices of anguish, anger and ridicule started replacing the spirit of pride and perseverance. Governments came and went, leaders emerged and drowned, statistics fudged and forgotten, governance decayed yet thrived, and nothing seems to have changed the character of the mass Gandhi died for.
Madam Rupa Ganguly, your inner voice seems to be guiding you on a similar path of selfless service, but with a deeper abscess of regret that with held you from taking this decision for so long. However, there is nothing wrong. You still can make a difference or, if nothing else, go down the history as an another Sarla Devi Chaudhurani who voiced the first note of rebuttal amidst nobles of Indian National Congress threatening to establish a separate national congress for women out of sheer dejection and disillusionment. Success is like Sensex behaviour – bull or bear. As long as it sustains the accommodable figure, hopes keep surging ahead. If success followed a standard bench mark, many like Sarla Devi would have chosen ignominy. In any case, we are a democracy of dissenting voices which meekly accepts setbacks and rearranges its priority to suit its daily needs. Not that, we did not choose persons of character and resolve in our successive chances to vote, it is just that those persons were either won over by the vested interest subsequently or, got alienated from the goals while dealing with politics of power.
Your resolve and rationale sound like our national anthem that lives only in ceremonies and controversies. However, it feels nice to sing it as and when an opportunity comes. We would wait to sing it again with you, away from ceremonies, amidst ‘We the people’ that it represents. Good luck Madam Rupa Ganguly!