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Showing posts from January, 2015

angrezi paper; Nandan, Champak and Nanhe Samrat

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One big event of my childhood was train journey. And long journey was more appreciated. We used to visit our native village during our summer vacation. We were more excited for train journey than visiting the village. Typical train journey in my childhood would start with buying a hindi kid's magazine for me. And this made an image of my mind that one buys books/magazines only during travel to kill time. There were plenty of them; Nandan, Champak, Nanhe Samrat were most popular ones. Each one has a particular class of stories. You can listen to a story from any book and you can guess without much difficulty weather the story is from Champak, Nandan or Nanhe Samrat. It was easy. If the story has animal characters, It must be from Champak. choo choo chuha, Jambo Haathi, Sher Singh, Chatur Chita were present in almost all stories. Champak had nice cartoons. It was colorful and attractive though stories were short. I used to complete it soon. If the story has characters from ancient …

खुश हूँ

दुखी नहीं है,
आखों में प्यार था,
शब्द नहीं है,
धन्यवाद छोटा शब्द है.

भूले नहीं है,
लबों पर हँसी थी,
दिल परेशान था,
बेचैन मन भी बेचैन था.

पल तो थामना था,
दो-चार पल और मांगने थे,
कहना था अच्छे हो,
कुछ कदम और साथ चलना था.

खुश हूँ आज कल,
देखना कभी मेरी खिलखिलाहट,
 देख भी नहीं सकते,
लगा की ना रोऊंगा फिर,

लिख रहा हूँ ये,
आसूँ ने आज धोखा दिया,
पता नहीं कैसे,
खिलखिलाहट के पीछे एक बाँध है.

कोई बात नहीं,
अंत ऐसा होता है,
सुनो एक बार फिर,
 अच्छा छोड़ो, जाओ. 

I write

Today I shall write for none,
I lost my story that you loved,
One with a king and a queen,
Living happily in the world of hate.

I shall write not to be understood,
For you don't know the source of story,
Petty you! You swim in river,
without knowing the source.

I heard you complaining,
About color of water and the dirt,
Never you wanted to know,
What made the river dirty?

With the heart full of love and compassion,
King was loved and respected,
Slowly he was poisoned with the divide of class,
Like river hugs the dirt of city.

Enough said the King,
Love and compassion dried,
He started playing on path to hatred,
King assimilated in the mass.

Night after night of darkness,
King rode on the forbidden,
And popular path; Until,
A voice called upon from behind.

You are what you are,
Not by the face and clothes,
But by the thought you generate,
Ride on, But people loved that King.

That King, who still warns the people,
At the gate of the path where this king rides,
Morning is about to c…