Come In…

Come in

I leave the door ajar for friends

Who knows when one might drop in

I can offer a shoulder  to cry on

An ear for gossip 

A cup of tea to soothe frayed nerves

A meal to satisfy stomach and soul

And some lame jokes to make you laugh.

Don’t

Be dismayed by the clutter around

Nor if the beds are unmade

And laundry all piled up.

I am taking a break from being presentable all the time,

I prefer to be present these days.

I know

Dropping in is not easy always

So you can call me any time

One can always drop everything 

To chitchat with friends

At times all we need is a listener

Or to listen to a voice that cares.

And 

Of course there is always social media 

To get in touch with 

Or when you just want to know

That reaching out is possible

But are not in a mood to do so right then.

But

I will still keep my door ajar

For I don’t want to miss the opportunity 

That I might have with you.

For at the end of the day

It is friends who make

Intangible difference to life.

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My Mom is Getting Forgetful

href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/meander/”>Meander</a&gt;

It was a simple query,

About a far flung cousin,

When mom struggled to place him

It set the warning bells ringing.

Yet, I refused to worry anymore

For my mom is a keeper of memories,

Surely this was a one off thing!

It was forgotten, the next time

When she recalled in vivid details a past event.

Thus lulling us into a false sense

Of all being well.

And then gradually we found her repeating herself.

During phone conversations,

Telling the same thing over and again.

Or sitting quietly during family gatherings,

Gentle proddings always yielding the same response –

I am listening to you all.

I always believed I was her confidant,

For she shared with me,

What she didn’t share with the other three.

Now her conversations with all of us are the same,

She will enquire after the kids and spouses

And then her mind meanders

Asking after people no longer around

And events which none of us can recall.

The woman who knew each nook and cranny of her house,

Like the back of her hand,

Sometimes forgets what she had had for lunch.

She, who would remember all birthdays and anniversaries,

Struggles to recall which day or date is today.

The encyclopedia of family anecdotes and happenings,

Can no longer regale her grandkids with stories.

TV does not interest her any longer;

She loses the thread of daily soaps.

Repetitive and at the same time forgetting,

She exasperates self and us.

Old age dementia is creeping upon her,

Unraveling her bit by bit.

The woman who was a repository of all our troubles and woes,

Is battling her demons alone.

My mom is getting forgetful

And I watch helplessly,

Unable to help her anymore.

The Disquiet

href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/grasp/”>Grasp</a&gt;

Mornings are the worst

The state between wakefulness and sleep

Eyes too heavy lidded to open

The mind all fuzzy

Thoughts all jumbled up

Its a struggle to get up

And stumble through the morning chores.

As I sit down with a cup of tea

To awake and rejuvenate

The anxiety refuses to leave.

I don’t know the source of this unease

But it keeps gnawing my entrails.

Going through the motions of a semblance of routine

Exhausts me to the core.

As I sit in a stupourous daze

Am unable to unravel my own mind’s maze.

Nothing gives pleasure

Voices grate my nerves

Company makes me fidgety

Music provides no solace.

I hate my own company

Willing my mind to go blank

Trying to keep at bay the clamouring thoughts.

Each passing hour thickens the miasmic anxiety

Increasing my listlessness agonisingly.

As I lie on the bed at night

I pray for oblivion to enfold me.

I surrender to nothingness,

Fatigued to the core, having achieved nothing fruitful

Till I can summon enough energy to grasp life

Again.

One of a Kind

One of a kind
For long I wanted to be a part of the set.

Look like them,

Talk like them

To be considered them.

But I was me and not them,

So every now and then the difference cropped up.

I did start looking a bit like them

And talk like them

But I just could not make myself think like them.

My mind seemed to have its own agenda.

It kept reminding me who I was every now and then

But dazzled by them,

I continued to be what I was not.

As a result I was miserable, wretched and not myself.

Finally in frustration I gave up 

Trying to fit in a mould

And decided to march

To my own drummer’s beat.

More than others,

I was surprised to see the real me.

It was then that I realised

Each one of us is 

One of a kind.

‘Tis better to be unique

Than a face in the crowd.

Listen to yourself,

Do what you desire

And the world will for sure

 Follow your star.

जिंदगी…

जिंदगी गर शब्दों में ही ब्यां हो पाती

तो न जाने कितनी किताबें लिखी जा चुकी होतीं

सारे एहसास शब्दों के आईने में उतारे नही जा सकते

इसीलिए एहसासों के अक्स तलाशने में उम्र है गुजरती।

हर कोई जिंदगी के माइने तलाशने में मशगूल है

जिंदगी को फलसफे में ढालने में मसरूफ है

गर जिंदगी सिर्फ़ जी कर देखी होती

तो सब समझ जाते कि जिंदगी कैसी होती है।

खोने-पाने के हिसाब में क्या रखा है?

जो मिल जाए, बेशक वही अच्छा है।

कल तो किसी ने भी न है देखा,

आज खुशियाँ न हो कम, बस यही इच्छा है।

एक शाम

सोचो, आपके पास एक शाम हो

और हो फुरसत…

तेज बारिश, बिजली गुल, इंवर्टर बंद और फोन अंतिम साँसे ले रहा हो।

उस शाम का आप क्या करेंगे?

या तो आप सारी कायनात और उसके सगे-संबंधियों को कोसेंगे,

या फिर…

…आप उसे अपने घरवालों से दुबारा पहचान करने में लगा सकते हो,

कुछ गैर जरूरी बातें कर,

कुछ हंसी- खुशी के पल गुजार कर।

… अपने से ही एक मुलाकात कर सकते हो,

शायद यह ख्याल न आया हो मन में

कि वर्षों ही बीत गए हैं खुद से बात किए!

…माज़ी में जा सकते हो यादों के सहारे

वो बचपन के दिन, वो गलियाँ-कूचे

और फिर मन तरो- ताजा हो जाए ।

…एक जायज़ा ले सकते हो,

कहाँ जाना है और कहाँ पहुँचे।

… या फिर गिरती बूँदों को देखते,

सृष्टि के शुक्रगुजार हो सकते हो

कि जो बीत गया अच्छा ही था

और यह कामना करते हुए 

कि मनसूबे जो कल से बाँध रखें हैं 

वो पूरे हों और न भी हों तो

उसमें शायद ऊपर वाले की कुछ और ही रज़ा हो।

सोचो, अगर एक शाम आपके पास हो,

आप क्या नही कर सकते हो।

आप यादों और इरादों से उसे सजा सकते हो,

एक शाम अपने नाम कर सकते हो।

खटखटाहट

आजकल दरवाजे खटखटाने में डर लगता है।

“कौन है?”

अंदर से खीजी आवाज में गृहणी पूछती है,

चेहरे पर खुशी की जगह त्योरियाँ होतीं हैं ।

नौकरी करती है अब, इसलिए मेहमानों से कतराती है।

मेहमान नवाजी भी अब आसान नही रह गई,

मेहमानों के भी नखरे बढ़ गए हैं।

सादगी नही, सब दिखावा चाहते हैं,

पहले जा धमकते थे बिन बुलाए ही

अब इतला कर आतें, ताकि कमी न रहे कोई ।

सोने को अलग कमरा, नहाने को अलग गुसल

खाने में यह नही, तो वह नही, ए सी भी,

टी वी भी अलग और वाई फाई हो जरूर ।

ऐसे रिश्तेदारों के डर से

दरवाजे पर खटखटाहट से डरने लगे हैं।

वरना जमीन पर बैठ  दुख – सुख करने वालों को आज भी तरसते हैं

और शायद इसीलिए आजकल लोग डिप्रेशन में रहते हैं

क्योंकि न दरवाजे खटखटाते हैं,

न खटकने पर खुश होते हैं।