THE COLLECTIBLES – THAT PEN

This is my place to reminisce on memories of my life gone so far – picking up some thread, some element, some event, some experience from the days in my past – randomly – as they come – because we all are men of memories.

Here this is about this thing – a pen from my past – that came to my mind while discussing the proposition of ‘letting things go’ in life.

Like many, I, too, had this thing in my school days – collecting pens – and trying to get as soon as possible that new trendy introduction in the stationary shop that would be showcased – like a jewel of the category.

Obviously, there were cost constraints and I had to keep my pocket money into consideration while going for such ‘I must have’ decisions.

This pen – Add Diamond Roller – was recently launched in the market – when I saw it in the shop – in 1990s – when I was in 8th standard. I liked it at the first sight so much that I decided I would have it. But then there was this big problem. The pen was priced at Rs. 99, a considerably big sum for a schoolboy in those days, especially when it was the last week of the month. In fact, I had no money to purchase the pen if I had to manage the remaining days of the month with my pocket money.

But then the impulsive desire to have the pen was so intense that I found myself unable to wait for even a day more.

So, what could be done? So, what did I do?

Simple, and in fact, as I had a reputation of a good son, after a bit of convincing, I got some advance on my next month’s pocket money along with the money required to buy the pen.

The next day, the first thing I did was I rushed to the shop before going to the school to have the pen so that I could show it to others, could brag about it, as well as could feel good about it that I had such an expensive and latest addition to premium pens category in the market.

And for the whole day, I bathed in its glory.

And then it happened – the development that made it a memory worth reminiscing – because of its shock value.

I used to commute from auto-rickshaw in those days. I was very cautious about the pen and had it firmly slipped in my trouser’s pocket while boarding the one to my house. As usual, I was with my ‘feel good’ feelings, instilled with the pen’s possession now.

As soon I reached home, I rushed to show it to everyone there. I slipped my hand in my trouser’s pocket to have it and then I felt it – the shock of lifetime in those days. I had lost the pen somewhere – the pen that I had so cravingly purchased in the morning. It had slipped out of my pocket somewhere, probably in the auto-rickshaw.

At that instant I felt the whole world had come upside down. I felt both dumb and numb. While there were words of empathy, sympathy and even mockery on my loss, I suddenly felt detached from the world around me, and rushed to get some isolation.

Well, I didn’t know anything about ‘letting go’ or so in those days and how could we in that age, when we spend the whole life in convincing ourselves about the idea but it took me many days to get past the shock that I had so suddenly felt from the high pedestal of having the most expensive and elegant pen in the whole classroom. What would my friends and classmates say in the class next day? Certainly, you don’t like words of consolation in those moments.

The memory of this incident comes to revisit me again and again – in different hues – after different developments – but with similar core – even after so many years – because some of us build our life on memories – and I am certainly one of those fools. Yes, it makes me feel better that I have learnt to enjoy them or reconcile with them. That pen could not become part of my collection but its memory stayed – with different slants – in different circumstances.

When I thought to share this today, I was not sure if the pen was still available in the market but a Google search took me to its website that told me it was very much there.

Add Gel

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

TRANSCENDING ON SPRING OF OUR SILENCE

When I had seen that in your hands
Just my type was the expression
Breaking the mutual silence between us
That we had so wanted to preserve
Like the purity of words of our promises
Like the sanity of the first time
Like the wisdom folded in your hands
The silence that let us be ourselves
We did speak within the those confines
With the tenderness of your feelings
Singing along in the harmony of souls
The object in your hands was within me
And I loved the way you reciprocated then
Felt like the elusive rain in that summer
Transcending on spring of our silence
I had never thought – if it could be
The worlds within us didn’t need so
But we lived the moment as we would

Life n Its Offshoots-2

TRANSCENDING ON SPRING OF OUR SILENCE

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

THESE BOOKS ARE ALWAYS A ‘DECISION-MAKING’ PROPOSITION FOR ME..

COLORES INFINITUM

I am a regular reader – and of what not.

And I love good books.

Someone once asked me how I selected my books.

Now, various facets may be to this – that how I select my books. But the direct one is – I go through some of the pages, scan it, read a few and make my decision on whether to pick one.

Most of my books of the lot, my personal library, have entered my life like this. And I have a healthy library.

Then there are books that I know about – like about the author and the quality of the work – and the subject matter.

These books are always a ‘decision-making’ proposition for me.

And the book by Rakesh Kayasth ji (or Rakesh Sir – that is how I know him), ‘Kos Kos Shabdhosh’ comes in this category.

The days with Rakesh Sir at Videocon Tower, Delhi, were really good days of sitting around, talking on some issue, and discussing a thing or two, whenever we got time, or whenever we got mood. And with him came some good friends.

Rakesh Sir had been given a seat with us and our conversation began like that only – a senior who was willing to listen to his junior – who believed his junior could talk sense. And we would discuss things – from Manoj Kumar’s Clerk to the anti-corruption movement led by Anna Hazare. The visit to the Ramlila Ground after the office hours during the agitation led by Anna Hazare was one such product of our sitting hours. Sometimes, he would drop me to my place at IP Extension, Patparganj while en-route to his home in Ghaziabad.

Our discussions would not have a definite purpose mostly and that was for good. He was famous as the writer of our network. He was famous as crispy script writer who was called to deal in with complex subject matters. He would always look in a thoughtful mood, like thinking about his subject(s) or character(s) at hand.

He is a sensitive human being and a writer in that garb.

My time spent in that office led me to wait for the day he would write his book. Though he left the city some three years ago for better options in Mumbai, and we could not spoken with after that, our Facebook pages kept me in touch with him, even if irregularly because I am not a regular Facebook user.

And through his Facebook posts and columns, I came to know about his book ‘Kos Kos Shabdkosh’. And it was the one book I was waiting to read because I knew the author personally.

And Flipkart delivered it in lightning fast time, within 24 hours of placing the order.

Yes, I could not read it then, due to my long engagement with the AIIMS and winding hours of visit.

But now it is here. And I am writing about it.

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

MY CITY CALLS..AS THE SPRING FALLS..

My city calls
As the Spring falls

It’s been some time
Since the last design

Of a quick stopover
On a nascent crossover

To its lanes
Through its planes

But it played out not
As it was thought

With a half-done trip
With some missing kick

And my city calls
To its hallowed halls

For the needed next
To meet the other west

It’s the rewind time
Of that singing line

To live that day again
To read that text again

On the wilder rhymes
To the random mimes

Holding the unsung ink
Twisting the chanted zing

From its steps of life
From its flow of light

Yes, my city calls
As the time since recalls

To live a life again
To go beyond death again

To join the ride again
To feel that love again

Through its winding paths
On its mystic ghats

Where colours enchant
As the days demand

A city..my city longs
For my unsung songs..

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

A CITY CALLS

A city calls
As the Spring falls
It’s the rewind time
Of that singing line
On the wilder rhymes
To the random chimes
Holding the unsung ink
Twisting the chanted zing

A city calls
To its charming halls
For its winding alleys
On the toured dailies
Where colours seduce
As the days deduce
On my unsung songs
That a city longs..

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

THOUGHTS..CALLIGRAPHY OF THAT UNSUNG INK..

Life is the relative presence of metathoughts
Death is just a relative absence of thoughts

Happening as it is, happened as it was
Scripting the ride, lost in the celebrated void

Caught in the hide, away to the treacherous jive
The vibrating nonsense, the agitating moondance

Trespassing the soliloquy of you and me and us
Somewhere to the known territory beyond this life

Away from the amorous wilderness, a journey
To the metathoughts where all that is you and me

Where all that is to aspire is the thought of us
Where all that is to be spoken is only through the silence thus

Where absence or presence doesn’t make sense any more
Where betrayal or acceptance doesn’t come to the fore

Life is the relative presence of thoughts of us
Death is the absolute absences of thoughts of us

Happening it is, for-ever it is to be
Air melts, outlines dissolve..

The song gets the spontaneous tune,
A flow,
Weaving the magic of your unspoken words
Attuned to the calligraphy on that unsung ink
Charting the territory of the virgin wilderness

Eyes dig deep, go deeper, to find nothing, but
To be lost again in the magic of us
That tells me,
The beginning of you and me, reliving the joy of
That eternity of us..

Where are you has never been the question
For-ever it is to be, the eternity of us, is the
Only proposition..

Why did you do so does make for thoughts
It ceased to be between you and me a long ago
It was to be, and it is between me and me
Straddling my soul,
In thoughts, with metathoughts
To my territory beyond this life..

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

YET THE HARMONY OF BEING ONE WITH MEMORIES..

It was all but existent yet the harmony of being one with memories was all over his soul; was clearly visible in his thoughts.

There was the sense of loss that could never be compensated.

There was the absence of the person in him that still haunted.

There was the presence of the void in him that still talked to him.

There was this channel of conversation that still flowed through.

There was this sense of being incomplete that still left its imprint.

There was this hollowness that still sought answers, again and again.

But,

There was now this feeling of being at one with the presence of memories.

There was now this satisfaction that rendered the questioning not so desperate.

There was now the presence of his ‘Self’ within his ‘Soul’ once more to guide him.

There was now the channel of communication with Absence in the moments of longing.

There was now this sense of being on the journey to become what he needed to be.

There was now this completeness in his thoughts that it used to be when he had begun.

It is non-existent, still he feels it moving inside him, day after day, taken over by ‘their’ thoughts, sustained by the moments that were so few to count yet so deep to scale, driven by an identity that could find its ‘Self’ back.

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

AND WITH THIS BLISS..

Today, I did something
In the flow of life
Something yet again
That indeed
Was never undone
Today, it happened
As if, it was so inside me
Yes, it was,
So naturally instinctive
Like your memories
Taking me to the day
When I had seen
You first on my way
The first moments of you
Those hours and that view
Have stayed with me
Something, that
Reverberates every day
Always like anew
And with this bliss
You have come
To stay with me forever
Like the subtle guide
Of the moment
Showing me the
Better of you forever
Today, when it happened
It was indeed, to my end
The better aspect of being me
With you
With thoughts of being we
Of being the one I could be
Of being the man I should be

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/

MAYBE, YOUR SILENCE STILL SPEAKS TO ME..

The words and the soul they had

Still sound so meaningful to me

 Cannot say why I read them still

Again and again, wishing for more

 Words that push the lost person in me

To be found, to become soulful again

 The words and the soul they had

Given a life by your presence

 Words, now personified by your absence

Cannot say why but they stayed

 Maybe, to be with my loneliness

To heal, when I seek nothing but you

Cannot say why I still care for you

Maybe, your silence still speaks to me

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/ 

IT TAKES ME TO THE DAYS OF ‘US’..

It revives
Like
The persisting rains
Today
After a sultry
Humid spell
It embraces
Like
The rain drops
Quenching
A longing Soul
As it shall
Reigniting
The never satiated
Thirst again, of
You
Pushing
My restlessness
In thoughts
It wraps
Like
The new green
Leaves discover
Yet again
It radiates
The fragrance
The soil exudes
Yet again
The rain
Today
Takes me
To the days of ‘us’
To ‘you’
Again..

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/