Bhujang climbed the last two steps to the terrace and breathed in the fresh air. It was still dark and a zephyr beckoned the first rays of the sun. The young lad sat atop the parapet as the dark sky came alive with notes from a sitar and Sant Meerabai’s bhajan filled the air.

He closed his eyes and a smile involuntarily spread on his lips. The bhajan sang of Mirabai’s devotion to Lord Krishna and years of riyaaz transcended the bhajan to an entrancing experience.

As the notes faded, Bhujang’s eyes were moist and he wanted to go down on his knees and salute in the direction of the old house. He wished to wash the maestro’s feet with the streams, flowing from his eyes; to give up everything and tend to the sitar. The morning raga was his succor as he strived for a better life.

He said a prayer and opened his eyes to the cacophony around him like the morning had skipped a couple of hours. Young boys cycling with newspapers and milk packets. Dogs waking up in the dirt and women walking to the nearby tap with plastic pots and buckets.

It was three years since Bhujang had rented a room in Sharada Niwas and seldom had he missed the morning rendition of Pandit Veerbhadra Das. Earlier he had played the same raga in the taxi he drove but the recorded voice seldom had the same effect.

∞

Subodh woke up 2 hours after his father’s morning riyaaz and climbed out from his first floor balcony to avoid seeing his father as he headed to college. Evenings, he half-heartedly joined his father’s music classes with several other students and disappeared down the road, the minute the class ended.

Bhujang saw Subodh at the park on Sundays, gambling away his pocket money and wondered if his voice was as melodious as his father’s. He wanted to talk to him about Panditji. But the boy was a picture of aloofness. Surrounded by his friends, his spread out on the cement bench, one leg dangling off the top of the back rest, tongue spewing profanities and pan spittle.

Subodh was taken away by the police on several occasions. The entire neighbourhood came to witness what according to them was the greatest tragedies of life. The son of a renowned maestro being dragged away for gambling and fighting in public space. Bhujang couldn’t bring himself to witness the event, where the maestro’s head would be hung in shame.

He hid in his room and when he walked out for dinner, he tried to ignore the discussions around him.

“Can you imagine? Panditji’s son turning out to be completely useless?”

“This is our doings of our past life….. Such awful, wasteful son.”

“I can’t forget how stoic Panditji looked. What else can he do? The courage comes from years of devotion. Only God can give him the strength.”

The next morning, Panditji’s rendition was filled with sorrow and Bhujang wiped a tear from his place on the parapet. He opened his eyes and the blue sky stretched out in front of him. He leaned in to catch a glimpse of Panditji through the window and wondered how he was able to sing even when his son was in jail.

Bhujang didn’t feel like going to work. He wanted to climb back into his bed and sleep the day off. He wanted to pray for Panditji and slap the irresponsible son for causing such pain to his father. He looked outside the window, the notes from sitar still filling his mind. Something stirred inside him.

He pulled out his log notebook and wrote out a line holding the book on the windowsill.

Subah ki roshni kis kaam ka?

(What use is the glow of the morning?)

He shook his head scribbled out the last word. Then sat on the floor, the notebook between his limbs spread out. He struck out ‘roshni’ and wrote, ‘nikhaar’. The rest followed:

Panchi ka gaana kis kaam ka

Ous dard deti hai

Jab dil shaant nahi hai

Jab dil shaant nahi hai

(What use is the chirping of the bird,

The dew is stinging,

When the heart is not at peace,

When the heart is not at peace.)

∞

Zindagi mein bhi signal hai

Zindagi mein bhi traffic hai

Har koi traffic mein fasa hai

Par aage chalet jaana hai,

Aage chalet jaana hai

(Life also has signal

Life also has traffic

Everyone is stuck in traffic

But one has to move forward)



One cloudy day, he wrote

Zindagi ka matlab kya hai

Kya hum soch sakte hai?

(What is the meaning of life?

Can we even begin to find out?)

He struck out the second line and tapped the pen to his forehead. After a few minutes, he wrote again,

Asmaan nila kyun hai?

Hum sangeet kyun sunte hai?

(Why is the sky blue?

Why do we listen to music?)

He shook his head, shut his notebook and went out. Next day after listening to Panditji’s soulful voice, Bhujang hastily came to his notebook.

Khulla asmaan muskurata hua

Chidiya bole khus hokar

Phool khile har taraf

Naya din,

Naya din

Pukare humme ek-joodh hoke



(The sky wakes up smiling,

Birds chirp away happily

Flowers bloom everywhere

New day, new day

Call us unitedly)



Over the next few months, Bhujang had filled his notebook with poems of every mood. He carried a small diary in his pocket and penned poems about the squirrel on a branch or the scorching sun on his windshield blinding his view.

Suraj jab nikalta hai,

Ujala lata hai,

Admi kaam pe jaata hai

Suraj dooph deta hai

Thaka deta hai

Duniya ko roshan karti hai,

Magar jala bhi deti hai

(The sun comes out and brightens the world

Man goes to work

Sun gives us sunlight

And tires us out

Lights up the world

But also burns it)



∞

After the music class, the students gathered around Panditji while Subodh bent his head, ran down the stairs and disappeared into the street.

It wasn’t until, Kavya, joined his father’s classes that Subodh lingered near the gate. He waited for her every day and a smile spread on his dark face, when he caught her first glimpse. Subodh was happy watching her from a distance and would never know her if it wasn’t for the effervescent Kavya, who decided, one day, to speak to him.

“Hi,” Kavya said with the most beautiful smile on her face.

“Hi, Kavya right? You are new here. But you seem to know singing … I mean you sing well….I mean, you sound so melodious…”

Kavya burst out laughing. Subodh laughed too. He laughed through the embarrassment and joy of speaking to the girl, who had touched his heart.

Once they stopped laughing, she said, “What are you studying?”

From that day onwards, Subodh and Kavya spent the evenings in the park or in cinema halls. Kavya was older than Subodh and was an only child. She told Subodh about different career options after a college degree but Subodh was unsure of getting a degree in the first place.

After about 6 months, Kavya made little progress with voice modulation and rhythm but her friendship with Subodh had grown into a special relationship. She broached upon the topic of his gambling and several run-ins with the police. He was ashamed but didn’t know why he was attracted to all the evils of the society. Why he went to the park in the first place, where he drank and gambled all his money, which in turn led to him attacking his gambling partner.

Lately, though, his mother had noticed how her boy was around the house in the evenings, came home for lunch, returned sober though late and no money or jewellery was missing from her cupboard.

∞

Bhujang pulled out bits of paper and bills from his pockets. The crumpled bits of paper had rhyming verses scribbled on them. Late into the night he transcribed these verses into his notebook and sat writing and re-writing stanzas to complete the poems.

He spent all his free time writing and was at times stuck with a line for weeks. He took out time to go to the public library and bought grammar and poetry books. One morning, after listening to Panditji, Bhujang came back to his room and worked on one of his old poems. He re-wrote a couple of stanzas and read the poem aloud many times. Then he abruptly got up and went out with his notebook. He came back with his poem typed out neatly on a crisp white sheet, an envelope and stamps. He then pulled out a magazine, with a piece of paper sticking out. He opened the bookmarked page and neatly copied the address on the envelope. He touched the printed sheet to his forehead, neatly folded it and put it in the envelope sealed and stamped it. Bhujang stood at the window. He looked at Panditji’s house and his thoughts took over, ‘You are my inspiration, my guru. I never knew what poetry was till your raga filled my life with melody. I owe this to you. I don’t know when I’ll meet you or if I’ll ever be able to tell you, how much your music and devotion has affected me but every cell in my body is grateful to you today and every day.’

Music calms and it did exactly that for Bhujang’s anxious mind, as he waited for the next month’s Kalakruti magazine. Finally, on the 5th of the next month, Bhujang went in his shorts to the newsstand to pick up the latest copy of the magazine and gave out a shout when he saw his name printed under his poem. Instinctively, he wanted to go to Panditji and show him the magazine and tell him that was his name printed on page 26.

Bhujang knew that a music connoisseur, like Panditji would appreciate the rhythm in his verses. But he couldn’t go to Panditji’s house in shorts so he hurried back to his room and changed into kurta and jeans.

He saluted to the universe outside his window, held the magazine with both his hands and headed out, his heart bursting with pride. At Panditji’s gate, he stopped and straightened his kurta and bent his head to run his fingers through his hair; when he heard loud voices coming from the house. He quickly looked up. Subodh was being pushed out of the house. Bhujang expected a police constable behind him as usual but he was shocked to see Panditji’s face, twisted in an ugly scowl grasping the boy’s collar and hitting his own head. His hair was disheveled and his bare feet were smeared with the loose earth, he was now standing on.

His wife was at the door, sobbing into her saree and a girl and an older couple, appeared from the house. Bhujang remembered the girl from the park and outside Subodh’s college.

‘Oh…girlfriend. Now the girl’s parents are here and they are complaining about the boy to Panditji….’ thought Bhujang

Then he heard Panditji, “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? You have come down to this now? You can’t keep your hands to yourself? And to my student!!!! What face can I show to the world? What are our forefathers going to say to such crude behavior? Will anyone come to listen to my music? You have ruined the family name.”

At this point, the girl took her dupatta to her eyes but Bhujang and the rest of the crowd could tell that she wasn’t crying. Panditji was now openly sobbing and shaking his head. Bhujang felt like a knife was thrust into his heart. He couldn’t move and for some reason, his body was going cold. Some of the older gentlemen in the crowd, intervened and took the family inside. The girl and her parents left.

Evening, Bhujang met Chatur chai wala, who told him that the maestro’s son was caught mis-behaving with a girl and her parents were threatening police action. Panditji was saddened that his son had gone to such low levels and wanted to disown him. Bhujang couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Caught misbehaving?’ But the girl was always smiling and talking to Subodh like a close pal would. They even held hands. Now questions cropped up in his mind.

“What do you mean, misbehaving?”

“Arre, you know na. He touched her inappropriately.”

“In the class?”

“Oh… so you don’t know,” Chatur looked at him, “The girl’s parents were away at a marriage and when they returned, the girl wasn’t answering the door. So the father climbed a metal staircase and went up to the terrace. There he saw them together and the girl said that he had forced himself on her. Knowing his reputation, the father believed her, I guess….. What else could he do? So today they came to Panditji to complain and the accusations have shattered Panditji. He could take all the stealing, the gambling but this has broken him….”

Bhujang left Chatur with a heavy heart. He wasn’t going to share with Chatur that the girl looked very much in love with the boy and the accusations could be completely false. He was deeply saddened, still a thought entered his mind, ‘Will there be a morning raga tomorrow?”

As he got into bed, the girl’s face flashed in front of his eyes. The girl smiling, holding the boy’s hand, leaning on his shoulder. The boy’s face pink and bright like all the blood in his body was racing within him. Bhujang sat up.

‘No, it can’t be. He couldn’t have forced himself on her. He adores her and the girl seemed so comfortable with him. Intimate even….. after hours at the movie theatre, always alone with him. He couldn’t have hurt the one person who lifted the gloom from his life, his entire being!!! Did he just know that she’ll be on the terrace? Did she not call him and wait for him under a moon-lit night? And just because she was caught, she made such a story? A story that has ruined the boy’s life and destroyed his father’s peace of mind? My God! How can she live with this? Girls!!!! I hate them. I hate them.”

Bhujang woke up the next morning to Panditji’s soulful bhajan and couldn’t help but smile through the pain, he felt in his heart.

As he was going to work, Bhujang saw a crowd at Panditji’s house. Upon enquiring, he learnt that Subodh was nowhere to be found and everyone was advising Panditji to wait for a couple of days before going to the police.

Bhujang wanted to go out and get the boy home. Get the girl and clear the misunderstanding and heal Panditji’s troubled heart. He wanted to shout from the rooftops that the girl was willingly in a relationship with Panditji’s son. He went to the garden and wondered if anyone there, knew the girl’s address. But there was no one at the park and he had leave without anything to help Panditji with.

Bhujang tried to put his mind on the road and proudly showed his published poem to his fellow taxi drivers.

Around 7 pm, Bhujang was writing in his taxi when a family of 4 got in to go to the city market. Bhujang half-heartedly put his book away and drove them to different shops. He was happy with the mullah and stopped at a dhaba for dinner.

After kababs and biryani, he drove along the railway track looking for a pan shop. It was dark and in the dim light, he saw a small figure, beating his head as he climbed the low rise of the railway track. Some pebbles underneath his feet gave away and he stumbled. He got up and tried to climb again.

Bhujang put his foot on the clutch and watched the young boy. The chunk of hair now being trashed again and again, the short legs with the crumbled, dirty jeans, he wore every day. Bhujang knew if he wanted to do something for Panditji, this was it.

This was how he could pay back the debt that he owned Panditji, who had unknowingly given his life a purpose. He would now save Panditji a lifetime of colossal grief and pay his gurudakshina without Panditji himself knowing. He left the car lights on and got out of the taxi. The young man seemed to have taken a break from climbing onto the railway tracks and was now sitting on the rough stones and crying into his arm.

As Bhujang walked towards him, he deliberately let the stones fall away and announce his presence. He sat on the stones and put his arm around the boy. Subodh stopped crying and slowly lifted his head. In the direct light of the headlights, he saw Bhujang’s face and was startled.

“What you want? Who are you?”

Bhujang remained as he was and said, “I see you often. I live very close to your house.”

Subodh shrugged away his hand and got up, “What you want from me? Don’t come close to me….” Subodh was treading backwards, “I have no money on me and if you kidnap me, my father will not give you anything. Just leave me alone.”

Bhujang stood in his place, “I can drop you. I’m on my way home,” he said nodding in the direction of his taxi.

“What? Home? No, no…. Leave me alone.”

“Subodh… come here... talk to me.”

“How do you know my name?” then he gave out a laugh, “Ha, ha, ha… yes…now everyone knows my name. Do you know her name? Huh? Does anyone know her name?”

“Subodh, I don’t know her name but I know her. I know you two were a couple. It seemed like she too loved you like you loved her…. I could tell. And I know she betrayed you. And it is not your fault…”

Subodh stopped and said, “Who are you again? How do you know me?”

“I will tell you everything but let’s go from here… This is not the place to be at this hour.”

Subodh slapped his forehead and burst our crying. His entire body was shaking. He looked upwards and cried, “Why, God? Why? He is punishing me for hurting my parents. Now my father is tired of me and I cannot go home. She did this to me and I have no option but to kill myself. Tell my mother I couldn’t meet her one last time.”

Bhujang knew the best he could do for Subodh was to be present. So he waited for him to calm down and was ready to carry him to the car. But in a suprising turn of events Subodh came to Bhujang, put his right hand over his shoulder and whispered into his ear, “She called me there, you know. To her house. And she told me to come when it was dark so the neighbours don’t see us…” He wiped his nose on his arm and continued, “She said I was made for bigger things not just music but other things…… business maybe. She laughed when I slipped and held my hand. She said it is ok to get intimate before marriage, everyone does and then.”

He clenched his fists, “When her father came up, she said I had attacked her…. He tore me into pieces right there and she just stood there. The only person, I thought understood me, saw something good in me ….. just stood there. And nobody is asking why she was on the terrace in the middle of the night. Na, no one….”

Bhujang directed him towards his taxi but Subodh let go of him and sat on the pebbles again. They sat there for some time watching lone vans passing by and dogs curling up under trees. Beyond the street light, the cavernous night was dark like the sky before Panditji’s soulful voice. Bhujang had to take the boy home but he seemed parallel to him like Panditji’s house was to the parapet he sat on every morning.

“You know I was nothing till I came to this city and took up a room in Sharda Niwas. There I heard your father for the first time,” said Bhujang

“Ah… another devoted student….”

“No, Subodh but I wish I was his student. Could become his student. But listening to his music in these 2 years tickled my brain and I began writing poems. I never thought I would write a letter in my lifetime but today one of my poems is published in Kalakruti magazine. Can you imagine? I wanted to show my published poem to your father,” he gave out a chuckle, “how silly I would look, me standing at your door with the magazine in my hand and Panditji wondering what I was doing there.”

“Why you telling me all this?”

“Well, I have no one to share it with… You made my night, else I would be sitting in my room, staring at my name on paper and feeling a bit sad.”

Subodh turned to look. Then he bent his head and said, “Everyone betrays.”

“Exactly, that is the whole point. So why worry about this ‘everyone’?”

“What are you saying?”

“What has happened has happened. You are angry, Panditji is heartbroken but it is not too late. You have a lot of people in your life, who care for you. They are waiting for you to take your life seriously, maybe start singing. In her heart, your mother knows what might have happened on the terrace and you know your father will pay the ransom,” Bhujang smiled at the boy. “But you are not giving them anything to support you. The fact that your father is shattered shows that he hasn’t given up on you. Even with all those run ins with the police, he sees a light at the end of the tunnel.”

“Are you done with your speech? Because I can’t listen to you any longer.”

“You looked so happy when I saw you with her. You were not with your usual gambling gang, not loitering around late in the night….” Bhujang saw Subodh deep in thought.

“I thought I would do something for her. Finish graduation and get a job so that we could get married. I still feel like all this never happened, like I’m in a dream, a nightmare. How? How could she betray me like this? Demean me when my love for her was so pure!”

“Everyone betrays, remember?” Bhujang said with a smile. “You did it once. You worked out a plan, now follow it. Do it for your parents. Do it for the people, who really matter.”

Subodh shook his head and said, “I think I should get home. Sitting here talking to you, I’ll go mad. Now if you are driving me home, you better not say another word or I’ll lose the few brain cells that I still have….,” so saying, he gave out a laugh and Bhujang looked closely if he had really heard him laugh.



Samanantar

Samanantar pe chalate hai pahiye

Nadi ka tatt hai samanantar

Ek dusre ko dekta hai par mil nahi pata hai

Samanantar pe chalate hai pahiye

Ek durse ko sambalte hai nirantar

Par mil nahi pate hai

Nadi ka tatt hai samanantar

Samanantar rehkar sahas deta hai

Kabhi mil nahi pata hai









Parallel lines

Wheels run parallel

River bank is parallel

They see each other but never meet

Wheels run parallel

They hold each other but never meet

River bank is parallel

They stay parallel and give each other courage

But never meet.