And it was a beautiful night..

The radiance of the lamp was lost
and it was a beautiful night..

The veil of the beauty too, was lost
and it was a beautiful sight..

As I had been offered the drink
The light has gone out itself
Glass got lost, Wine got lost
and it was a beautiful night..

The book where it was written
That love is a forbidden crime
That book itself had got lost
and it was a beautiful night..

When the soul met each other
They just tied each other into one
Questions lost , Answers lost
and it was a beautiful night..

The radiance of the lamp was lost
and it was a beautiful night..

The veil of the beauty too, was lost
and it was a beautiful sight..

Aloo Less Samosa of Allahabad

You take the aloo out of the samosa, you take the heart out of the body. But you put the heart back in with a special mix of spices, and you have 'samosa for the soul'. That's what Mitthulal, a financier-broker gone bust, did about a century ago in Allahabad. And thus was born a mouth-watering marvel—the masala samosa.

Along with the food, Loknath Gali thrived on juicy gossip. The taller your tale, the more sought after you were.

The great and good of the Indian National Congress, stalwarts of Hindi literature, professors and students, high court judges and local goondas—all had a special place in their hearts and mouths for this triangular treat. And visiting dignitaries, having savoured Mitthulal's speciality, would pack some to take away in the shop's distinctive woven-leaf containers.

Winding up his failing finance business in Agra and cashing in on his acquaintance with Motilal Nehru—a flourishing lawyer in Allahabad then—Mitthulal shifted base to set up his namkeen shop in Loknath Gali, a stone's throw from the senior Nehru's house in the city's Meerganj locality. Jawaharlal was born in this Meerganj house and the Nehrus continued to live here until they moved to the sprawling Anand Bhawan (much later, Meerganj would become Allahabad's red-light district). But to come back to Mitthulal and his aloo-less samosa story—he named the shop after his son Hari, and Hari Ki Namkeen in Loknath Gali soon became a local legend, catering at grand parties and weddings, including those of Vijayalakshmi Pandit and Indira Gandhi.

Towards the end of nineteenth century, the British had begun to develop Allahabad as a modern city on western lines. Until then it had been a sleepy, largely agrarian settlement that only came to life during the Kumbh Mela. Now, grand colonial structures began to come up—Allahabad University, Muir Hall, Public Library, Stone Church (aka paththar girja) and Alfred Park. The high court and the university attracted the upper-class gentry and educated professionals to the city, from whose ranks emerged literary luminaries, high court judges, celebrated lawyers, intellectuals and administrators. And since the Nehrus lived here, Allahabad also became the nerve-centre of the freedom movement.

The new Allahabad of the early 1900s was lined with wide avenues, sprawling bungalows and smart shops—this was the Civil Lines. But Chowk remained the traditional bazaar, with its crowded, lively and narrow lanes, and Loknath Gali was its heart as well as its stomach—it served as what would today be called a food court, for traders and shoppers. Here, the chatterati of Allahabad would congregate, to gossip and eat. A typical Loknath Gali evening would follow this course: you started from the northern end of the street—the city side—and sauntered to the end of the gali at the Baba Loknath Temple (the area was called Sarai Meer Khan before the temple was built), sampling the fare on offer along the way. The first course would be an assortment of chaat, followed by dahi jalebi or kulfi faluda. If you were counted among the shaukeens, you would stop by for bhang kulfi or bhang thandai. And as you waited for the kimam-khushbu paan at the end of the stroll, you ordered Hari namkeen's masala samosa to be packed for home.

The time one spent at Loknath Gali depended on one's tale-telling skills. If your masala-of-the-day was gossip involving a city celebrity, you not only had a captive audience, you ensured brisk sales at the eateries around your durbar. Loknath Gali still resounds with echoes of old scandals. One goes like this: one day Firaq Gorakpuri, the famous Urdu poet, pronounced that only two and a half people knew proper English in India. The first of course was Firaq himself. The second was Dr S. Radhakrishnan. And a certain Jawaharlal Nehru was the half in the august list. But Firaq's detractors—and they were many—sneered at him for including Nehru at all. Dismissing Nehru's Harrow-and-Oxford education, they said that what got him onto Firaq's list was simply that the poet had a great weakness for pretty boys.

The other tale you hear is about a certain Sikh damsel who studied at the Allahabad University's English department in the late 30s. The beautiful young woman's name hadn't got suffixed with a Bachchan yet. At the campus, she was known as something of a rebel. Allahabad University prided itself as a place for the liberal-minded and welcomed people with radical ideas and lifestyles. Yet custodians of liberty at the university had to stretch their moral fabric a wee bit more to accommodate our lady's rights of expression. By wearing lipstick and a sleeveless blouse in the classroom, she set the moral police on her hunt. Her English professor—a venerable university stalwart—objected to this attire, and even threatened to resign. But the lady refused to budge and stood her ground. Such was her charm and aura, or so the legends of Loknath Gali maintain, that the vice-chancellor of the university intervened on her behalf and the poor professor had to back down.

Loknath Gali has not changed much since those days. You still hear the tallest tales there. If it was drizzling when you entered the gali, by the time you reach the Baba Loknath temple you would hear people talking about the hailstorm that has just lashed the town. The past exists in easy harmony with the present. In one of the many narrow lanes someone will point out a building that is falling apart—the Sanskrit Mahavidyalaya, set up by Pandit Madan Mohan Malviya, and still functioning.

This neighbourhood doesn't look like it will succumb to Allahabad's new builders, who are tearing down the fabulous bungalows to make group housing flats. A local wag avers the lanes here are too narrow for the builder to move in his bulldozers, so they are safe for now. And safe too is the statue of Pandit Kalyan Chand Mohiley, which stands stately at the Loknath Gali entrance. Mohiley who? you would ask. And why him in a city that has given India four PMs and a refusing-to-retire superstar? Well, Mohiley was four-time MLA from the area. That's attitude, Loknath Gali-style, for you. That deep-rooted self-assurance and unabashed local pride ensure that a Big Mac or even a dosa will never threaten the supremacy of Hari's samosas.

Irony and Fact

Irony is,
Someone judges and find me being judgmental..
Fact is,
It is something,which to human is very fundamental.

Then identified me as cranky, cheap and pervert
which I think, I need to avoid without getting hurt!!

Irony is,
Someone disapproves and criticize my aesthetic sense..
Fact is,
It is conveyed by one, who can't see things without lens 

Then I come to know I am egoistic,stubborn and maniac
Even I was realized by LINDA,the same is listed in my zodiac

Irony is,
Someone say that I don't take or listen things with grace
Fact is,
Said by one who without listening to others talk in own pace 

"There is something missing in me"
Is the only thing that I think about me is true...
And this all non sense saying person
Is none other than the person with loose screw!!

BEING IN TWENTIES - SOMETHING

It is when you stop going along with the crowd and start realizing that there are many things about yourself that you didn't know and may not like. You start feeling insecure and wonder where you will be in a year or two, but then get scared because you barely know where you are now.

You start realizing that people are selfish and that, maybe, those friends that you thought you were so close to aren't exactly the greatest people you have ever met, and the people you have lost touch with are some of the most important ones. What you don't recognize is that they are realizing that too, and aren't really cold, catty, mean or insincere, but that they are as confused as you.

You look at your job... and it is not even close to what you thought you would be doing, or maybe you are looking for a job and realizing that you are going to have to start at the bottom and that scares you.

Your opinions have gotten stronger. You see what others are doing and find yourself judging more than usual because suddenly you realize that you have certain boundaries in your life and are constantly adding things to your list of what is acceptable and what isn't. One minute, you are insecure and then the next, secure.

You laugh and cry with the greatest force of your life. You feel alone and scared and confused. Suddenly, change is the enemy and you try and cling on to the past with dear life, but soon realize that the past is drifting further and further away, and there is nothing to do but stay where you are or move forward.

You get your heart broken and wonder how someone you loved could do such damage to you. Or you lie in bed and wonder why you can't meet anyone decent enough that you want to get to know better. Or maybe you love someone but love someone else too and cannot figure out why you're doing this because you know that you aren't a bad person.

Getting wasted and acting like an idiot starts to look pathetic. You go through the same emotions and questions over and over, and talk with your friends about the same topics because you cannot seem to make a decision. You worry about loans, money, the future and making a life for yourself... and while winning the race would be great, right now you'd just like to be a contender!

What you may not realize is that every one reading this relates to it. We are in our best of times and our worst of times, trying as hard as we can to figure this whole thing out. Send this to your twenty-something friends... maybe it will help someone feel like they aren't alone in their state of confusion...

We call it the "Quarter-life Crisis".

Valentine Blues... वहम

 वहम

 
उसका ये वहम
की बिखर जाऊंगा मैं
और ये अहम्
की उसे फरक नहीं पड़ेगा
सब थी उसको नादानी

सब था उसका भरम

माना टूटा हूँ मैं ,
पर बिखरा नहीं
संभल रहा हूँ,
लेकिन गिरूंगा नहीं

और जनता हूँ मैं ये भी
दावा करे वो कितना भी दुश्मनी का  ,
खुश तो वो भी नहीं है
चाहे जो भी कहे वो
आंखें उसकी सब बयां कर देती हैं




Illusion

Its her illusion
that i will shatter
and ego
of being unaffected
is all her innocence
and all her confusion.

Although I am broken,
but for that matter not scattered
And getting steady
and this time not to fall again.

And I also know
howsoever she claim her hostility,
even she's not happy
and whatever she say
Her eyes just say it all.

Alone at Powai Lake

Standing alone at the promenade of Powai lake,

There are variety of glances that I can take.

At one corner couples are busy in kissing,

And at other, some bullshits are pissing.

And amidst them , I don't know what,

But  something is there, that I am missing.

Is it any company,

or the sense of micturation?

So that like them I can kiss

And piss..

Certainly not, because I know,

Am a loner,but for that matter, not sad..

And can't piss around,

As doing 'IT' publicly, I consider bad..

It is all those unfulfilled dreams

that I had thought once..

Things remained unaccomplished,

And no luck for any kind of bunce.

As I am introspecting my life,

And will surely feel low in some time..

A beggar cum saint kind of person,

reached to a couple busy in their crime..

Guess the beggar is pleading for some money,

Or might be asking for some food.

Couple neglecting him and his vicious voice,

Just increased their intimacy by getting more glued.

"Dude , it is so rude...

And such a bad attitude!!

Give the beggar something and let him go

For some time it will disturb your intimacy although.. "

As I am wishing this for them,

beggar just took a turn with a sad face

And now he is approaching me,

I can see while tying my shoe lace.

As he come near to me

I am getting ready with some money..

But he's asking for something to eat.

I run to get him his food and my own "neat"

The beggar look happy and satisfied

With my thing I am enjoying too..

Feeling happy after helping the old man

Although I am alone , its true!!

Is it too late for me?

I realized now that I am not made for regular office work. My kind of work is something else , where there is no interruptions from outside, nobody should control me and nobody is my manager or supervisor.

All through my academic years I was stressed more towards technical studies and it was incepted in my mind that my career choice can be either a doctor or an Engineer. Though I was good in studies and enjoyed learning them but somewhere there was an artist in me, let it be performing, painting or music.
But whenever I was amused and inclined more to them I was overtaken by my studies, career goals and family pressure. Yes there are students who excel in both..but I am talking of taking either of them seriously. And like me being on safer side many of us has killed the inner artist in us. The later approach has lot of struggle but it do provide the inner satisfaction that is unexplainable. And I am a pure artist from my heart, which I came to realize now. I am not getting joy and fun in what I am doing for my bread and butter.

But for the survival I am bound to do the rotten work and move ahead without any clue in my life what I want to do. I seriously need a deep introspection and then a perfect role model of something new that I really want to do and gives me complete satisfaction as well.  But is it "Too late for me?"