Get inspired!

I watch them as plane goes over the sheets of different blue’s . I look at them from the corner of my right eye. I am not a criminal ; also, the guards carrying with them thick wooden stick for beating either  ,I am just alone ,and an explorer at least I ceased to be.

It was a fine morning when I suddenly decided to tighten my laces of branded shoes and to move out from a room that was closed from all the four sides. It was suffocating now because the window had the newspaper taped from start to end to stop the entrance of little mosquitoes that ;I slept and became the biggest intruders in my reality and world of dreams. The wall was red in colour,which sometimes was happening for having a pleasant  background for pictures when more people were in but sometimes it reminded me of blood ,pain and grief I have had experienced in my coldest night of dreams. It was now rotting,the person inside a well fabricated body was rotting because of the four walls he was caged in. I had to tighten my shoe laces even more stronger.

I left the place in afternoon carrying a side bag and a water bottle because the place I had thought of exploring were full of warm sun rays giving the idea of dryness it brought to my tongue that  was left tasteless,because I hadn’t had anything since morning. I caught the nearest metro and escaped the eyes of people who tagged me as a foreigner just because I was fair in colour and  being a non attention seeker I hated that. I knew they had been looking at my hair that was curly enough to shape my personality as one of the writer’s in town and as accidental it could be it was short too. I knew people in metro pointed at my get up that  was just a jeans and a jacket that I had bought long back when I had been in my home town. They peered through every space they could get ,also from the shoulder’s which were taking the support of a pole in the centre. They thought that I was unaware of there starring but I was aware though I didn’t mimicked them . I kept longing for my station which would be my first place to travel alone and I was excited to know the fate it would bring me.

I walked and stared at the narrow streets where till date at least one billion footsteps would have been marked by our master my being five ,let alone of my family.I stalked an old man’s wooden box covered with a very old white cloth so that the dust of the street would not enhance it’s degradation. I saw him counting something and my eye was directly on the different coins he had collected . They varied from era to era and recent . The one’s which had been expired as a result of new comers in the list. I just smiled and made my way.

I was followed by numerous rickshaw walla’s who thought of robbing me of my wallet ,only be cause they thought I was a tourist and had come to India for vacations. Had they little known about my individuality they would have buried my body into a sac and God knows what more would have I suffered ,had they known I was a Kashmiri. But ,I thank God of my voice and language that I was saved.

I went through lane by lane and entered into a monument which spoke to me. It spoke to me as I turned back to my life and I found hope. I found reasons to continue living and reasons to dream. This was a very strange thing but I could see faces of number of people who have entered in my life and exited . I had an experience of lifetime . I saw how world is filled with people of all types. I then recalled my suffocation in that four cornered room and thought of our master’s job which was to protect this balloon full of gas and I again praised him for I had a perfect life.  While entering this place I met with a peculiar incident  . As a mark of respect people from whichever place and status needed to take the shoe’s off so that the place remains cleaner then before. I did as I was ordered and suddenly a man with Kohl rinsed eyes and a Muslim scarf around his neck and a Muslim hat covering his hair and head approaches me with a smile and a Muslim way of greeting”salaam allaikum”. I said wallai kum salaam,and he asked for 300 rupees.  I was taken aback because I remembered as a kid whenever I went with my family to this place we were never asked to pay a ticket money and also people around me went free of cost. It angered me and I said with a loud voice “kyun bhaya”(why brother?).  To which he showed me a board on which the message was clear cut that only if I was a foreigner or outsider I had to pay them. I sighed and changed my language into my orginal and requested them to believe my individuality.  They happened to accuse me after showing them the skills of my changed dialect ,to lesson the pressure I showed them my I-card and hence I was relieved. The question didn’t come up for paying the sum it was of division between black and white. If I had been born with a black colour would I have been given respect as same to the respect I got while being fair?I just thought and as innocent as I was  the answer was “NO”.

Living in the city where still history rules the present one cannot help but be surprised at the various step wells one finds in the centre. These step wells mark the prison of that time for any ruler who could go beyond the actions. These step wells now were homes and shelters of various pigeons who had flight but needed a voice to shed off the  fear they had from the humans. In the evening that day I went to such  step-well “baoli” which to me was an inspiration. I could write about the well designed hand made walls and could write about the pigeons which went round and round the monument and left the audiences clapping. The sight was so mesmerising that one couldn’t help but start praising at the things he has bestowed us with. I chuckled within myself on a couple who made a romantic pose for a picture memory,had they known the sights the step-well had felt and witnessed they would have romanced in Switzerland rather in ruins which had  been a jail for many like us.

Being a Delhi wall-ah ,one needs to add up a spice in his journey to places his hand made map takes him.Because from a minaret to a bird everything inspires here and one forgets who came as a traveller and who went as an Inspired.

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-Jamia Masjid ,Old Delhi.

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-Ugersen ki baoli ,Hailey road cp.

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A good book is an event in my life -Library!

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College ,in the archaic sense is meant to be a place for fun,games and fights. But what is college without study?

My college,KAMLA NEHRU has not let the diversification of India put to shame. Where India is the epitome of cultural ,religious ,linguistic diversification my college is the Rainbow of contradiction.  Students vary from the sightliest likeness towards some canteen cuisines to the college societies each having their own important places.

With the various worlds of creativity that co-exists in my college,I have none in comparison to Kamala Nehru’in library ,for its vast and what more a completely new experience.  As a student of “English Honours” I love to spend time there watching every eye go over the words ,watching every hand writing and taking notes and people like me who dreams of reading her book someday while sitting in  library,library of this kind steals the moment and the world is ignored.

One cannot help but be surprised and astonished about the varieties one finds out there. It’s like moving into a place of learned men and woman. If you happen to visit library ,not for the sake of copying some study material but enhance your reading skills ,close your eyes for a moment and realize the authors sitting next to you and asking about their book as in”How is it”?.

This part is not a fancy tale or a creative piece of an amateur writer and reader like me but it’s the experience of my lifetime and college life. I once after having attended all my classes went to library for the sake of spending the free time I had in peace and silence. For “Chaupal”the favourite place for every Kamala nehru’in is always filled with voices and people who really can’t bless you with the peace. So I seated myself on a well furnished chair ,which was brown in colour and had a hand made back ,which reflected the sweat the old or youth skin would have shed off while crafting out the most archaic design. Placing the book that I had selected from 124/4 rack I opened it with the sense of writing a book someday. It was John Keats poems jumbled in a group in an analogy.  I had the first page swiped and then the second and the action moved on. But at a point where my outer circumference looked dark and people who were earlier visible turned to be head -less and body -less ,I had the author sitting next to me ,though his face appeared to be like one of the blurred pictures from my white cell phone. That moment was like one heck of eternal feeling and I thought for a second “am I still alive”?

The poetry flowed from me as the waterfall and it was never ending. That moment had all my breathes stop and I was numb. Life time experience ,yes it was .
It was better then sitting in a chaupal and gossiping like old grannies though having today’s cool element in it. I longed for that sight ever since I had a feeling of writing something and being a literate someday. But down the second floor and outside the world of words I heard the bell ringing and calling me for the next class I had.

I slapped myself,rinsed my eyes,looked here and there for the sight I had been subjected to but it was gone forever or had been piled up in my book of memories. I couldn’t see a dark surroundings any more but a more colour full atmosphere of Lord’s design. I closed the book and kept it back in 124 /4 rack and went to the class still being under the magic of the hallucination I have had experienced while deeply reading the book.

For me ,”A GOOD BOOK IS AN EVENT IN MY LIFE”,what’s your’s?

-Takbeer
-Student
-English honours
-Kamala NEHRU(Delhi university).

Love to my beloved’s !

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It stands erect,straight
Beauty personified
But it grows old too
Like the man with the spectacles

I’m talking about
The chinar
To which my home is sparkled
It is like the young me
In autumn it sets that example.

But it also fades away
like my parents and I would
This is the world’s story
Where everything that goes
Around comes back.

They set for the journey
To there dreams
But leaving their
Old one’s alone.

They cry inside but
Never return back,for
They want to learn more.
Family is broken

Parents are shattered,
But these children make
A loud cry amidst the stars
When they shine

They go back to their parents
Repenting about their act
I was sitting on a bench
Beside the brave chinar.

Witnessing the story of the
Separation of kids
Tears flowed and I cursed
I had too left
But today i want to tell

My icons the tale of love
Dear,you are my heroes
Not less than any superhero
I am the one who escaped

I am the one who broke
But my deeds payed
Though leaving you alone
You’re my infinite lord

Ill be back
Back with the treasure
I would let you fly
Dont grow old till then ,I would be back with your love..

(#a tribute to my parents for letting me enjoy the every miracle of life, and a tribute to say that I LOVE YOU )