जाम

कई वजहों से हुई खाली बोतल

कई वजहों से बने जाम 

कभी ख़ुशी के नाम 

कभी दर्द के नाम

कभी गम बाँटने की चाह में 

कभी छुपाने वाली आह में 

कभी खिलखिलाते हुए 

कभी सिसकियों के बीच 

कभी दोस्तों के नाम 

कभी दुश्मनों के नाम

कभी भुलाने के लिए

कभी रुलाने के लिए 

कभी दिखाने के लिए 

कभी सताने के लिए 

दिल मिलने के नाम 

दिल टूटने के नाम

कई वजहों से हुई खाली बोतल

कई वजहों से बने जाम 

कभी ख़ुशी के नाम 

कभी दर्द के नाम 

I am just a sparkling wine connoisseur (Champagne or better) but as a perfumer I have worked with absolute alcohols..the finest and purest and I have a nose for quality liquor. Its been fun working with Liquor factory where my leather bag imbibed enough alcohol vapours and sent wrong signals to people. This poem is more of observing many people in my life. Some pakka bewdas !!!

Copyright Mridual aka writingdoll

Its about Hormones

Its about Hormones 

Its a girls' fight

everyday, every night

All in the family

between girls. Grown up
and growing up

Big girl and not so big girls.

Weird changes in wonder years..

Mindless crush

adrenaline rush

aggression for no reason

surge in sentiment

hunger pangs

mood swings 

Lunch box untouched

pile of laundry on bed 

school bag stuffed with torn notes

secret diaries of silly posts

frequent bouts of self pity

occasional doubts about paternity.. ..

Blame it all on hormones.

Silly hormones..

those change when 

you are growing up

and when you pause growing

Hormones at fourteen

hormones after forty..

Those silly fights

are not about any thing..

Its about hormones

hers and hers and hers.

I am a full time mother and moonlighting into my other creative professions.. I like to spend a lot of my time with my daughters. Its been a roller coaster ride of all elements of fun and fear. I keep trying ways to understand them and help them because I had been a rebel, a fussy eater and very sensitive teenager myself..... all because of these silly HORMONES

मैंने कहा बादल से

मैंने कहा बादल से:
"अरे नाराज़ हो क्या? 

पल्स पोलियो की बूँदों की तरह 

दो दो बूँद टपका कर चल देते हो"-

कल यही शिकायत की थी मैंने।

"बरसा दो बारिश को बारिश की तरह"-

बस यही गुज़ारिश की थी मैंने।

और तुम बरस पड़े 

जोर जोर से 

घर में पानी घुस आया 

बालकॉनी की ओर से,

पर इसकी शिकायत तुमसे नहीं है।
तुम तो बरसो
जम के बरसो
झम झम बरसो

मन मयूर सा नाच उठा है 

पेड़ो के पत्ते निखर से गए हैं 

कबूतर छज्जों से सट कर दुबक गए हैं 

सड़क धुल गयी है 

लो, पहली छतरी खुल गयी है

धीरे धीरे कई रंग बिरंगी छतरियाँ 

काली बेरंग सड़क पर 

चलने फिरने लगी हैं।

वह खूबसूरत लबादों में,

जिन्हें रेन कोट कहते हैं 

ये स्कूली बच्चे

कितने प्यारे लगते हैं, 

पर रेन कोटों में इनकी पीठ पर 

ऊँट के कूबड़ की तरह 

उभरा हुआ बस्ता 

और पानी से भरे 

गड्ढ़ों वाला रस्ता,

बस यही खलता है,

पर इसकी शिकायत तुमसे नहीं है।
तुम तो बरसो
जम के बरसो
झम झम बरसो

सुनो, अब किसी रोज़ मैं 

छतरी घर पे भूल आऊँगी 

तुम्हारी ताज़ा तरीन बारिशों में 

पूरा भीग जाऊँगी,

अरे वैसे तो लोग 

बारिश को तरसते हैं 

पर बरसने लगे

तो छुपने को भगते हैं,

ना, यह भी शिक़ायत तुमसे नहीं है।
तुम तो बरसो
जम के बरसो
झम झम बरसो


और तुम्हारे धुंधले ठहरे पानी में भी
रंगीन छवियाँ बहुत भाती हैं
वैसे तो तुम्हारी काली घटाएँ
सब रूमानी कर जाती हैं 
पर तुम्हारी बारिश की चंद बूँदें

कम्बखत यादें बहुत सी ले आती हैं,

अरे इसकी भी शिकायत तुमसे नहीं है। 

तुम तो बरसो

जम के बरसो
झम झम बरसो


Yesterday I wrote a blog post guzarish-baarish-ki on my blog Fortified Quirkies U/A and today morning I wrote this poem. Recited this poem @FWA's inaugural Poetry Event in June 2015. Please do not copy, paste or reproduce in any form without my written consent. Copyright@Mridual aka writingdoll

Today My Tea Tasted So Bitter

Today my tea tasted so bitter…

Brewed in my Chinese kettle

boiled water poured over
tiny cinnamon sticks and orthodox tea

from the gardens in the east

From the same hand picked blend

of green 'two and a bud'

dried n packed in golden foil

Rich fragrant brew

rushed out from the spout

into my favourite mug with blue flowers.

A whiff of my aromatic potion lifted my spirits

just as the smell from the crispy folds of
a morning newspaper

from where I sipped news along.

'Perfect way to start my day'..I told myself.

"Starvation Deaths in Tea Gardens"

I read it over n over

And reached for another sip

and my tea tasted so bitter

salty, as if blended with the sweat of tea laborers

tinted with the sucked blood

from those emaciated bundle of bones.

I pushed my tea cup away

but not memories
in the pictures I had clicked

of the lush green bushes

In the stillness of my tea gone cold

I saw reflections

of poorly fed frail figures

plucking two and a bud

in the hot blazing sun,

for creating a fine blend

for a fresh start

to someone's day...

Copyright@Mridual  aka writingdoll Please do not reproduce without written consent of the poet.

This poem is in response to this news

http://www.thehindu.com/news/cities/kolkata/government-wakes-up-to-tea-garden-deaths/article6159328.ece

My Cup of Tea

My morning cup of tea

is flavoured with cinnamon,

fresh green smell of

ferns, Diphenbachias and Arelias

from my balcony..

the misty dewy whiff of the sea.

Colour-enhanced

by the golden rays

of the morning sun.

The bells of the temple down

makes it divine ritual..

With every noiseless sip

with the sweet sound of birds

my mind is sorted

and so is my day..

But one odd day

when I held my cup of tea

and thought about stories

shared with friends

over a cup of tea,

I saw my soul stir up

in the stillness of hot tea

when I remembered the brew

shared with a friend

The last cup

the tragic end..

And in my hand

the cup of tea

turned cold

just as me.

We are so busy with our lives that we do not really pause and reflect on small pleasures of life. My tea time is a ritual I love...main aur meri chai.. It is also reflective, a short pause when I switch off from the word to have an inner dialogue. I remembered once the chai shared with a very dear friend and someone who is no more...there were endless memories in that last cup of chai we shared. 

Copyright mridual aka writingdoll. No work should be reproduced or copied without my written consent.