मधुशाला

मृदु भावों के अंगूरों की आज बना लाया हाला,

प्रियतम, अपने ही हाथों से आज पिलाऊँगा प्याला,

पहले भोग लगा लूँ तेरा फिर प्रसाद जग पाएगा,

सबसे पहले तेरा स्वागत करती मेरी मधुशाला।।१।

प्यास तुझे तो, विश्व तपाकर पूर्ण निकालूँगा हाला,

एक पाँव से साकी बनकर नाचूँगा लेकर प्याला,

जीवन की मधुता तो तेरे ऊपर कब का वार चुका,

आज निछावर कर दूँगा मैं तुझ पर जग की मधुशाला।।२।

प्रियतम, तू मेरी हाला है, मैं तेरा प्यासा प्याला,

अपने को मुझमें भरकर तू बनता है पीनेवाला,

मैं तुझको छक छलका करता, मस्त मुझे पी तू होता,

एक दूसरे की हम दोनों आज परस्पर मधुशाला।।३।

भावुकता अंगूर लता से खींच कल्पना की हाला,

कवि साकी बनकर आया है भरकर कविता का प्याला,

कभी न कण-भर खाली होगा लाख पिएँ, दो लाख पिएँ!

पाठकगण हैं पीनेवाले, पुस्तक मेरी मधुशाला।।४।

मधुर भावनाओं की सुमधुर नित्य बनाता हूँ हाला,

भरता हूँ इस मधु से अपने अंतर का प्यासा प्याला,

उठा कल्पना के हाथों से स्वयं उसे पी जाता हूँ,

अपने ही में हूँ मैं साकी, पीनेवाला, मधुशाला।।५।

मदिरालय जाने को घर से चलता है पीनेवाला,

'किस पथ से जाऊँ?' असमंजस में है वह भोलाभाला,

अलग-अलग पथ बतलाते सब पर मैं यह बतलाता हूँ -

'राह पकड़ तू एक चला चल, पा जाएगा मधुशाला।'। ६।

चलने ही चलने में कितना जीवन, हाय, बिता डाला!

'दूर अभी है', पर, कहता है हर पथ बतलानेवाला,

हिम्मत है न बढूँ आगे को साहस है न फिरुँ पीछे,

किंकर्तव्यविमूढ़ मुझे कर दूर खड़ी है मधुशाला।।७।

मुख से तू अविरत कहता जा मधु, मदिरा, मादक हाला,

हाथों में अनुभव करता जा एक ललित कल्पित प्याला,

ध्यान किए जा मन में सुमधुर सुखकर, सुंदर साकी का,

और बढ़ा चल, पथिक, न तुझको दूर लगेगी मधुशाला।।८।

मदिरा पीने की अभिलाषा ही बन जाए जब हाला,

अधरों की आतुरता में ही जब आभासित हो प्याला,

बने ध्यान ही करते-करते जब साकी साकार, सखे,

रहे न हाला, प्याला, साकी, तुझे मिलेगी मधुशाला।।९।

सुन, कलकल़ , छलछल़ मधुघट से गिरती प्यालों में हाला,

सुन, रूनझुन रूनझुन चल वितरण करती मधु साकीबाला,

बस आ पहुंचे, दुर नहीं कुछ, चार कदम अब चलना है,

चहक रहे, सुन, पीनेवाले, महक रही, ले, मधुशाला।।१०।

जलतरंग बजता, जब चुंबन करता प्याले को प्याला,

वीणा झंकृत होती, चलती जब रूनझुन साकीबाला,

डाँट डपट मधुविक्रेता की ध्वनित पखावज करती है,

मधुरव से मधु की मादकता और बढ़ाती मधुशाला।।११।

मेहंदी रंजित मृदुल हथेली पर माणिक मधु का प्याला,

अंगूरी अवगुंठन डाले स्वर्ण वर्ण साकीबाला,

पाग बैंजनी, जामा नीला डाट डटे पीनेवाले,

इन्द्रधनुष से होड़ लगाती आज रंगीली मधुशाला।।१२।

हाथों में आने से पहले नाज़ दिखाएगा प्याला,

अधरों पर आने से पहले अदा दिखाएगी हाला,

बहुतेरे इनकार करेगा साकी आने से पहले,

पथिक, न घबरा जाना, पहले मान करेगी मधुशाला।।१३।

लाल सुरा की धार लपट सी कह न इसे देना ज्वाला,

फेनिल मदिरा है, मत इसको कह देना उर का छाला,

दर्द नशा है इस मदिरा का विगत स्मृतियाँ साकी हैं,

पीड़ा में आनंद जिसे हो, आए मेरी मधुशाला।।१४।

जगती की शीतल हाला सी पथिक, नहीं मेरी हाला,

जगती के ठंडे प्याले सा पथिक, नहीं मेरा प्याला,

ज्वाल सुरा जलते प्याले में दग्ध हृदय की कविता है,

जलने से भयभीत न जो हो, आए मेरी मधुशाला।।१५।

बहती हाला देखी, देखो लपट उठाती अब हाला,

देखो प्याला अब छूते ही होंठ जला देनेवाला,

'होंठ नहीं, सब देह दहे, पर पीने को दो बूंद मिले'

ऐसे मधु के दीवानों को आज बुलाती मधुशाला।।१६।

धर्मग्रन्थ सब जला चुकी है, जिसके अंतर की ज्वाला,

मंदिर, मसजिद, गिरिजे, सब को तोड़ चुका जो मतवाला,

पंडित, मोमिन, पादिरयों के फंदों को जो काट चुका,

कर सकती है आज उसी का स्वागत मेरी मधुशाला।।१७।

लालायित अधरों से जिसने, हाय, नहीं चूमी हाला,

हर्ष-विकंपित कर से जिसने, हा, न छुआ मधु का प्याला,

हाथ पकड़ लज्जित साकी को पास नहीं जिसने खींचा,

व्यर्थ सुखा डाली जीवन की उसने मधुमय मधुशाला।।१८।

बने पुजारी प्रेमी साकी, गंगाजल पावन हाला,

रहे फेरता अविरत गति से मधु के प्यालों की माला'

'और लिये जा, और पीये जा', इसी मंत्र का जाप करे'

मैं शिव की प्रतिमा बन बैठूं, मंदिर हो यह मधुशाला।।१९।

बजी न मंदिर में घड़ियाली, चढ़ी न प्रतिमा पर माला,

बैठा अपने भवन मुअज्ज़िन देकर मस्जिद में ताला,

लुटे ख़जाने नरपितयों के गिरीं गढ़ों की दीवारें,

रहें मुबारक पीनेवाले, खुली रहे यह मधुशाला।।२०।

Why blog?

Well, for me, blogging to a great extent remains a literary exercise. It is my sketch board, a reflector of my ideas and my words. I do get embroiled into it sometimes, writing more for others than for myself. And that is when I write the worst.

But surprisingly and unsurprisingly both, many of the bloggers do the same. They write to advertise rather than deliver. So, we don’t get a real picture of them. But it is human psychology, and we can’t fight it.

A friend of mine had said something like this, “Today’s men have lost that sense of association that they have to declare before world what and how they feel. Where have the good old days of bonding and talks gone?” It was right to the core, and made me cringe, for he was speaking the truth, even if partial. Projecting on my life, it indeed has some case. I can’t speak many things, so I blog. Part of it is my compulsion, and the other choice. But this is how our every aspect of life has shaped into now? What price the modern day life?

So, as I read, I find that sense of desperation in most of the bloggers. Some Indians telling their stories of success, some expats narrating their new-life in India, some Arabs harping their case of injustice, the Westerners celebrating their rich life etc. But everyone has to tell something – to the listeners – to appreciate his or her view and nod in agreement. It is a fact.

Of late, I too have started growing that feeling. One of my objectives has always been not to write for others. I don’t want to make my blog a highly-listed one on everyone’s list, India-blog directory etc etc. It is my diary, even though public. So, why now I feel that urge to be acknowledged?

The White Tiger

I was appalled by the sheer level of grimy detail Aarvind Adiga has got into to describe the underbelly of India. It is right to the core – the dilapidated house, the unkempt street, the roaming buffalo, the chirping tea-shop, the overcrowded bus, the unscrupulous landlord, the hapless rickshaw-puller …. The list goes on. Actually I can’t list them all; the whole book is full of these.

Aah! This, the depiction of the under-stratum India, is the first thing that strikes everyone, Indian and non-Indian alike. But what should I say more? I lived my childhood in the same district, Gaya, which he is talking about. I can’t refute even a single thing that he has written. It makes it worse.

Balram Halwai is the ubiquitous Indian. Simple, gullible, moral … and then the converted cunning, opportunist, immoral. The story of a fallible Indian in the current scenario. He starts in his world, full of sloth and poverty, and wonders from there how the other rich and supposedly good world has gone bereft of scruples of life. He ultimately gives up his ideals too and mingles with the rest. There are many twists and turns depicted in the whole story to bring forth this transformation. His method of narrating story to Mr Wen Jiabao, the Premier of China, through a series of letters is unique. The portrayal of Stork, Mongoose, Ashok – his landlords, is right to the point. Even the subject of his crime, Mr Ashok, is brought out in full contradictory terms. He is not the villain; in fact, he is the only guy who reasons, but ultimately subsides before the society without putting into practice that reason. Mr Ashok is each one of us, and hence the culprit.

Aadiga has thus likewise brought out many subtle things in his novel. There is definitely an Orwellian touch to it. None more appreciating is his simplicity in the complexity of words or number of pages chosen to deliver the message. It can’t match the linguistic magic of ‘Enchantress of Florence’- one of its competitor in Man Booker Prize 2008 competition, but it has a more powerful setting, and hence the winner for me too. In short, leave aside the dark pessimism it grows about India, just consider it a revelation or reminder about us and surroundings, and you will find it a masterpiece. Simply unputdownable.

Florid in words

Some people write because they have stories to tell, while some others write because they have style to sell. A simple occurrence can mean different things to them. While Jeffrey Archer will narrate with words like these, “A fighter advanced to meet the enemy”, Salman Rushdie will aggrandize it as, “A person unbeknown to the world advanced to meet another person of his ilk, just on the opposite side fighting under another flag and with another brand of sword.” This is not an overdose of figure of speech, but the way a writer has been molded to think and pen since the beginning.

Salman’s writing belongs to that zone which people call erudite. Flowery words, ornate style, elongated expressions, larger-than-life happenings, I mean, everything bloated. When I say bloated, I don’t intend to debase it, but highlight a seriously different brand of writing where writers use an imagery of words to convey everything. Naturally it is not understood or savored by everyone. But whoever has an affinity for it can never get enough of it.

I am not yet fully into it, but I do appreciate these complex manoeuvres of words. PG Wodehouse was the first writer whose works I found totally different. While ‘celerity’ (meaning swiftness) is an archaic word now, it was used umpteenth times by him for his favourite butler, Jeeves. Also while reading, the usage of dictionary is as common and needed as the rising of the sun. The story flows convoluted, rolling from one zone to another in words.

I can’t say which or what is better, just by analyzing mass popularity or literary grandeur. Jeffrey Archer is more famous than PG Wodehouse or Salman Rushdie, but he can’t match their delivery skills either. As about the movies, the preference lies with the reader. But from a reader’s perspective, I can only tell that it is doubly great, if we can learn to both immerse in the worldly drama of ‘Kane and Abel’ and float in the magical unrealism of ‘Enchantress of Florence’.

Fanstory - a tryst with writing

There is nothing that doesn’t exist on this Internet. If you are wondering about a place which acts as an entrepot for English writings, there indeed are many where you can review others’ works, submit yours and get them reviewed, and above all, get a strengthening feeling of belonging to the literary group.

One such distinguished site is FanStory. It not only has a vast collection of submitted items, but also can boast of a very high quality of them. Some are really good writers, having already published a few creations. You also get a very critical review of your works, right from the content critique to the language and grammar inspection. Obviously for submitting the writings, one has to be a Premier Member which one becomes by paying a nominal fee.

Anyway I believe the best judge is the user only. But it is definitely worth a try, if one wants to peruse and practice some literary stuff.

Writing Wistfully

My legs on the familiar City Cue Road
Hurrying to Mr. Gupta's medical store
Which lay by an anfractuous alley
Surprisingly called 'the Sidhi Gali'


I stopped and stood there for a moment
Looking nostalgically over the bend
Eyes searching for the lil schoolgirl
Who had luxuriant hair with a curl


Attired immaculately,swaying a thermos
There she walked with minimum of fuss
Watched over rickshaw's flap by a boy
Who otherwise was very simple and coy


He wished to marry this girl someday
Sans knowing what marriage was itself
'Ritu is her name'-he told her mother
Who's amused at kid's puerile nature


I was waken of my reverie by a bike
Horn beseeching to give it the side
Shaking my head with a disported smile
I marched forward for things to buy


Mr. Gupta,a man with frizzy grey hair
Looked at the slip rather over and over
When he moved to fetch those medicines
I retrieved my wallet to check my means


Presently, aura filled with a fragrance
Redolent of a young dame's presence
Yes, I was right-as you better vide
A winsome lassie standing by my side


Eyes star-gazed and cheeks rose-hazed
She was verily a beauty incarnate
When she spake,voice knitted with purls,
Oysters crackled to reveal the pearls


"Uncle,can you give these meds please"
'Sure', he gave her preference to me
"Two hundred twenty six rupees",he said
While he ordered his adjunct to attend


She took out a five-hundred rupee note
Grimacing,this was all she had in store
Looking demurely around for some help
Her eyes met mine asking for the change


The sparkle glowing beneath those eyes
Evocative of the misty days flown by
How I hankered, she was really her
Returned to her ever-waiting lover


I earnestly gave her the needed money
With eyes never let off my sweet honey
She took it with usual thanks-giving
While Mr Gupta gave her the things


"How was your Diwali Ritu", he asked
"Great", she replied and walked past
"Oh did I really hear Ritu",I thought
With her familiar gait slowly brought


I was struck still wondering about her
And kept gaping till she was nowhere
Finally I ran over to her frantically
But I lost her in the milling alley


I seacherd for her, but she had exited
Oh, I didn't even know where she stayed
Last,I walked out with a hint of sorrow
But with hope to see her again tomorrow


I kept looking for her slightest treat
Sitting at the bench opposite her street
But with half day past, I under duress
Walked to Mr. Gupta to ask her address


He gave me, at first, a questioning look
But then himself guided me over the nook
I reached a home,long standing in its pen
But finally knocked,expecting her to open


Instead greeted a lady in braided lace
Looking quizically over my puzzled face
'Is Ritu at home?' I did manage to purr
'I am her friend,' explaining it to her


'Sorry beta'she has already left today
For her Medical Course in the College
'Where?'I wanted to ask, but withheld
Knowing it doesn't matter at this eld


I had lost her, before I could even find
A few things are meant to be within rind
I told to myself, and slowly trudged off
Drearily wondering about my love lost


I don't know whether it was love even
For she never heard my heart's refrain
O Lord! I only wish, to meet her again
And let her know all these years' pain

Collective singular or individualistic plural?

Finally I found someone else too wondering about an English conundrum long vexing me. Consider this:-

“We have got noses on our faces”

Does the above statement mean, 1> We each have more than one nose and one face 2> We all combined have more than one nose and one face.

Obviously it has to be second option. But what about this then:-

“We have fingers in our hands”

Does the same argument still hold true?We might never bother to reason or question these, because semantically the intent is very clear. But if we follow it pedantically, then there is indeed something vague and goofy here. I have tried to find out the correct forms of words in these types of sentences, but to no avail till now.

Anyhow I have devised myself a simple rule. If the ‘noun in question’ is collectively referring more than one number, then it has to be in plural, otherwise in singular. For example:-

“The boys are going to their house” – The boys live in the same house
“The boys are going to their houses” – The boys live in different houses

The above rule has worked for me till now. Semantically the expressions are clear, and grammatically too, I believe, they are now unambiguous.