Friday, 6 July 2012
Sunday, 17 June 2012
Tabish Khair's The Bus Stopped in Hindi -- A Snippet.
esjs ?kj tgk¡ esjk cpiu chrkA bu ?kjksa
esa clus okys lkgcksa vkSj chfo;ksa ls T+;knk ;gk¡ ds xqyke ;gk¡ ds
pIis&pIis ls okfdQ FksA ;gk¡ dk dqjsnk gqvk T;kxzkfQ;k] lk;snkj bfrgkl]
tyrh gqbZ nksigjh dh vkokts+a vkSj ml ij “khryrk dk vk¡py Mkyrs gq, ijnksa dh
ljljkgVsaA vkSj gk¡] ogk¡ dh lqjebZ “kkesaa vkSj lkFk mBrh /kqa/kA bu ?kjksa ds
ikyus esa gekjk cpiu >wyk Fkk vkSj gekjh ftUnfx;k¡ HkhA bu >wyuksa dks
gekjs xqykeksa us gh >qyk;k FkkA ;g ?kj bUgha dh fuxjkuh esa c<+s gq,]
l;kus gq,A blfy;s tSls nkbZ;k¡ vius iSnk fd;s x, cPpksa dks tkurh gS& uCt+
dks igpkurh gS] ;g yksx bu ?kjksa dks tkurs Fks] igpkurs Fks vkSj ekurs FksA
ysfdu]
bldk eryc ;g ugha Fkk fd lkgcksa dk ;ksxnku dqN de FkkA cgqr esgur ls mUgksaus
;g ?kj [kM+s fd;s FksA bZaV] lhesUV] pwus ls T;knk lkeku yxk Fkk bu bekjrksa
dks cukus esaA muds lkjs lius vufxur vk”kk;sa] vkSj vius&vius vNwrs ikxyiu!
cpiu dh nhokjsa vkSj tokuh ds [kEHkksa ij [kM+h ;g bekjrsa gekjs ?kj FkhaA
^?kj*&gk¡ oks dgrs gSa u&edku bZaVksa ls curk gS ij ?kj lk¡lkas ls curk
gSA---rks bu [kEHkksa esa lkgc] chfo;ksa vkSj xqykeksa dh lk¡lsa clrh Fkha vkSj
fny /kM+drs FksA
tSls
gh uis&rqys] ncs&ncs dneksa ls ,d lQsn ?kj dh vksj c<+k rks eglwl
fd;k fd esjs ekt+h] esjs bfrgkl dh /kwy bl ?kj dks ?ksjs gq;h FkhA ysfdu cjlksa
dh the gqbZ xnZ dh bu ijrksa dks eSa ;gk¡ ls gVkuk ugha pkgrk FkkA
vkf[kjdkj]
blh /kwy dh otg ls ^vEeh dk ?kj*] ^vEeh dk ?kj* FkkA gkykafd&^vEeh ds
“kkSgj us cuok;k FkkA ij fQj Hkh ;g ^vEeh dk ?kj* Fkk D;ksafd mUgksaus ¼og esjs
firkth] rkbZ;ksa] pkfp;ksa vkSj vius lkjs ukrs&iksfr;ksa dh vEeh Fkha vkSj
ge lcdh vlyh vfEe;k¡] vEek vkSj eEeh cu pqdh FkhaA gekjs cpiu ls tokuh esa dne
j[kus rd bl ?kj dks pyk;kA rc tcfd muds “kkSgj py ugha ldrs FksA vytkbelZ ds
dkj.k ,d Oghyps;j ds eksgrkt gks dj jg x;s
FksA fQj vkf[kjh lkr cjl dksek esa iM+s jgs vkSj vkf[kjdkj gekjs [kkunkuh
dczxkg esa mUgsa Hkkjh nq%[k vkSj cM+h jkgr ds lkFk nQuk fn;k x;k] tgk¡ og
vkjke ls lks;s gSaA
nwljs
?kj esa vpkud vius cpiu ls eqykdkr gq;hA u;s&uosys ikfy”k fd;s x;s ekSlsd
ds Q”kZ ij ekuks LdsV djrk gqvk] fQlyrk gqvk xqt+jrk g¡wA ik¡p ;k N% cjl dk gh
rks gw¡ eSaA Ldwy okys dkys twrs&ikfy”M vkSj pdkpd pedrs gq;sA ,slk eglwl
gqvk fd ekuks ik¡o esa jksyj LdsV~l ds ij yxs gq;s gksa vkSj eSa ,d ifjUnk gw¡A
[kq”kfetkt+] viuh gh yxu esa pgdrk gqvk] fpYykrk gqvkA blh [kq”kh Hkjh fpYykgV
ls eSaus fdruh ckj bl ?kj dks pgdk;k gSA vkt Hkh lky esa djhc ,d ckj rks ;w¡ gh
[kq”kh ls fpYykrk gqvk vkrk gw¡A ij vc ;g ?kj eq> ij iyV dj ugha pgdrkA---
“kk;n cw<+k gks x;k gSA eqLdjkrk gS] vueuk ls tokc nsrk gSA ;g ^esjk* ?kj
gS] esjs ekrk&firk dk ?kj gSA dHkh&dHkh ,slk yxrk gS fd ekuks eSaus
ges”kk blh ?kj dks tkuk gS] igpkuk gS&tkuw¡xkA pkgs tgk¡ Hkh tkÅ¡ vkSj pkgs
cgqr lkyksa rd---fQj Hkh ;gh esjk ?kj gS&;gh jgsxkA
bu
nksuksa gh ?kjksa us esjs nknkth ds [kjhns gq;s vk¡xu esa vius yEcs&pkSM+s
ik¡o ilkjs FksA ;g vk¡xu] tks djhc ,d fdeh0 yEck Fkk] vkSj vk/kk fdeh0 pkSM+kA
nwljh rjQ cSjd ykbUl jksM dh iryh lh xnZu dks ltkrs gq;s gkjuqek yEcs Vhd
isM+ksa dh drkj FkhA blds ikj catj Hkwjh tehu vkSj esy [kkrs yksdy iqfyl ds
cSjd FksA
?kjksa
ds nf{k.kh vkSj iwohZ Nksjksa ij isM+ksa ls <dh gq;h VwVh&QwVh v/kZuXu
igkM+h Ja`[kyk;saA ysfdu buesa ls dsoy ,d dk gh uke Fkk&uke Hkh ,slk tks
Hkwyk u tk;s&czãe;ksuh---czãek dh ;ksuhA “kgj dh “kq#vkr mŸkjh fn”kk ls
gksrh gS vkSj bldk uke ,d ifo= vlqj ds uke ij j[kk x;k FkkA jk{kl ugha!---vlqj
ds uke ijA nksuks gh ?kj ,d ,sls e/; LFkku ds gkf”k;s ij Fks ¼ekuks ,d [kqyh
ifjf/k ls ca/ks gq;s gksa½ ftldk rtqekZ ;k vuqokn yxHkx ukeqefdu lk gSA vkSj
gks Hkh D;ksa u\ ;g dsUnz fdrus gh vuNq, gkf”k;ksa ls cuk FkkA vufxur
yksx&?kj ds lnL; vkSj dkedkt+h ukSdj&mruh gh jaxrsa vkSj
Hkk’kk;sa&cksyh vkSj vucksyh HkhA ;g /kM+drk dsUnz vkSj Hkh dqN pht+ksa ls
cuk gSA yksxksa ds vykok ;gk¡ clrs Fks jhfr&fjokt+ vkSj ;knsaA budk vuqokn\
ugha&dHkh t+#jr gh eglwl ugha dh] u yksxksa us] u ;knksa us] u fjokt+ksa
usA cl ;w¡ lef>;s] tSls tysfc;k¡ dsoy ^feBkbZ* ugha gksrh vkSj
jksVh&ijkBs dsoy ^czsM* ugha gksrh&vlqj dsoy jk{kl ugha gksrsA
lQsn
okyk ?kj] ftls ge ^vEeh dk ?kj* dgrs Fks] esjs nknkth us rc cuok;k Fkk] tc f}rh;
fo”o;q) ds nkSjku lhesUV dh jk”kfuax tksjksa ij FkhA og [kqn ,d
i<+s&fy[ks balku Fks& MkWDVj Fks] “kkL=fon Fks vkSj NksVs&eksVs
iqjkrRofon Hkh FksA gk¡] rks jk”kfuax ds pyrs mUgksaus bl ?kj dks pwus vkSj
feV~Vh ds dEikmUM ls cuok;k FkkA eqxy bekjrksa esa blh feJ.k dk iz;ksx fd;k
tkrk FkkA rks cl] esjs nknkth dks gekjs feL=h dks bl feJ.k ij vVwV Hkjkslk
Fkk&lhesUV vkSj dkUØhV ls dgha T;knkA
tgk¡
ls feV~Vh [kksnh x;h Fkh] og txg ,d rkykc esa cny nh x;h FkhA fdukjksa ij ?kklA
nknkth us blh rkykc esa Lokfn’V jsgw eNyh dk t+hjk NksM+k FkkA rkykc vEeh ds
?kj ls yxs gq;s ukSdjksa ds DokVZjksa ds Bhd ihNs FksA ckdh dk fgLlk ,d
[kwclwjr ls cxhps esa rCnhy dj fn;k x;k FkkA ftlesa eqxy vkSj
foDVksfj;u&nksuksa gh “kSfy;ksa dh Nki FkhA
nf{k.kh
Nksj ij [kM+s isM+ksa dh ck¡gsa] Qyksa ls ynh gq;ha Fkha] vkSj mŸkjh fljs ij
taxyh o`{k viuk vuko`Ÿk vk¡py QSyk;s [kM+s FksA vkSj gk¡&pyus dk jkLrk Fkh
Fkk&iwjs dEikmUM ds bnZ&fxnZA
^vEeh
dk ?kj* dk viuk gh ,d vthcks&xjhc fj”rk Fkk] vius ukSdjksa lsA gekjk vk¡xu
fdpu vkSj LVksj ls lVk gqvk FkkA blh vk¡xu ds ,d fgLls esa ukSdjksa ds DokVZj
cus gq;s FksA blh fdpu esa lqcg ds uk”rs ls ysdj jkr dk [kkuk rS;kj gksrk FkkA
fQj csgn “kkgh vUnkt+ esa ihry dh r”rfj;ksa esa ¼tks djhc 200 ehVj eghu diM+s
ls <dh gksrh Fkh½ ltk dj cSBd esa ys tk;k tkrk FkkA vkSj fQj vEeh dk og
?keUM vkSj f”kdk;r dk feyktqyk ygt+k eq>s vkt Hkh ugha Hkwyrk&^vjs! ;g
rks vke ckr FkhA*&fd dSls [kkus ds le; de ls de nl esgeku cSBrs FksA
pkgs
uk”rk gks] nksigj dk Hkkstu ;k jkr dk [kkuk&<sj lkjs esgeku&cqyk;s ;k
fcu cqyk;s] ^cl ;w¡ gh ikl ls xqtjrs*] fj”rsnkj] iSr`d xk¡o ls yEcs lQj ij ;k=h
;k fQj og xjhc fj”rsnkj tks ;gk¡ jgdj gekjs nknkth ds [kpsZ ij viuh&viuh
i<+kbZ iwjh dj jgs FksA
buesa
,sls Hkh] tks dHkh fcuk Nqjh&dk¡Vs ds [kkus dks u Nq;sa vkSj dqN ,sls
ftUgsa dHkh Nqjh&dk¡Vs ds n”kZu ulhc gh u gq;s gksaA ij lHkh lkFk feydj
vius&vius ilanhnk ^LVkbZy* esa [kkuk [kkrs FksA
,sls
“kkunkj ?kj dks vius gh tSls “kkunkj ukSdjksa dh njdkj Fkh vkSj bls feys Hkh
,sls gh yksxA gekjs [kkulkek ot+hj fe;k¡&og Hkh fdlh vkSj ds ugha gks ik;sA
gk¡!
lkB ds n”kd esa esjs firkth }kjk cuk;s x;s ?kj ds Hkh ughaA ^esjk ?kj* mŸkjh
fljs ij cuh gqbZ fo”kky bekjr ¼^vEeh ds ?kj* ftruh½A nknkth dh rjg esjs firkth
Hkh ijEijk esa fo”okl j[krs FksA rks ;g ijEijk v{kq..k jgs] vVwV jgs&blh
[;ky ls dHkh ipkl lkyksa esa ,d&vk/k ckj vkus okys HkwdEi ds >Vdksa dks
lgus yk;d cuk;k x;k FkkA ;g ?kj ,d vNwrh [kwclwjrh ls ltk FkkA og [kwclwjrh tks
dsoy ekSu “kfDr ls vkrh gSA ekuks ,d ^ekSu vejrk*&,d ^jktlh vej ?kj*
&oDr dks thHk fp<+krk gqvk] vkus okyh ih<+h ds Lokxr esa ck¡gaas QSyk
dj [kM+k gqvkA ;gk¡ ij Hkh ,d cM+h ^Mk;fuax Vscy* Fkh&ckjg yksxksa ds fy;s
tks ot+hj fe;k¡ dks ilUn vkuh pkfg;s Fkh&gkykafd vk;h ughaA
ij
vc lc cny pqdk FkkA le; HkhA ?kj ds ihNs dsoy rhu dejksa dk losZUV DokVZj cpk
FkkA og Hkh deksos”k [kkyh gh jgrk FkkA u;s ukSdj cjkens ;k esgeku[kkus esa
lksuk ilUn djrs FksA Mk;fuax Vscy ij ckjg rks ugha&nl Hkh ugha]
dHkh&dHkkj ,d&vk/k esgeku! cspkjs ot+hj fe;k¡! cM+h fujk”kk gq;h Fkh
mUgsaA dsoy ?kj ls gh ugha] mlds lkFk tqM+h lHkh pht+ksa lsA ^vEeh ds ?kj* dh
rjg bl ?kj dks Hkh vius fdLe ds ukSdjksa dh bPNk FkhA vkSj bls fey Hkh x;sA ;g
ckr vyx gS fd igyh fdLe] nwljh fdLe ds lkFk py ugha ikbZA
ysfdu
“kk;n vki tkuuk pkgsa---D;k bu ukSdjksa ds vius ?kj ugha Fks\
dqN
ds Fks vkSj dqN ds ughaA dqN us rks cjlksa ^vEeh ds ;gk¡* ;k fQj gekjs ?kj esa
xqt+kj fn;sA bl nkSjku og iSlk cpkus esa yxs jgs fd viuk ,d ?kj cuk;saxs]
[kjhnsaxs ;k okfil ys ysaxs&vius mlh ^nj&njkt+* ds xk¡o esaA tc lius
iwjs gq;s rks ogha ykSV x;sA nwljksa us dHkh ijokg gh ugha dhA ?kj vkSj ekfyd
cnyrs jgsA muds vkSj gekjs ?kjksa dh nwfj;k¡ bruh T;knk Fkha vkSj feyus ds volj
brus de ¼tSls “kknh&C;kg½ fd gekjs fy;s muds ?kjksa dks igpkuuk yxHkx
ukeqefdu FkkA ,d ;k nks ckj gh ns[ks Fks&vkSj fQj ;gk¡ gekjh cl dsoy ,d&vk/k
feuV gh #drh Fkh ;k fQj #drh gh ugha FkhA
Tuesday, 15 May 2012
Thursday, 3 May 2012
Changing Rhythms
Author: Nand Bhardwaj
Translator: Sheba Rakesh
My
story is interesting. But it might just
not interest you; why would you want
to know about a set of old issues in new lives?…. and I understand that.
However, your interest or indifference cannot stop my thinking processes and, there is one thing that I keep thinking –
probably in my heart of hearts , wanting desperately to share it with you all…
the question is – why on earth is my family bothered about the effects of my reputation
on itself, when my existence was never bothered about in the same family?
Personally,
I was never granted the freedom of choices – choices of rules and regulations, whether
in my family or community. They made them and I followed them. Never have I
shouldered any responsibility in the overall successes or failures of their social
endeavours. Frankly speaking, I was never considered worth it. Why today, am I
then, expected to do anything to rectify the social or communal or even the
family wrongs? Why at all?? I have grown up with the belief and also eventually
learnt that every individual must work to ensure his own happiness – material or
any other kinds – nobody hands it over to you on a platter, neither can one
take away anybody else’s platter! so then, while I have responsibly shouldered my share of chores – social
or otherwise – in the way a responsible human being must do them… I do not at
all feel responsible for the others’ stakes being heaped upon me along with
their ultimate failure(s)….and don not feel guilty either.
I was born
into a family of artists – folk artists. My parents used to sing songs and play
instruments to regale the community audiences – in marriages and other social
occasions. Obviously, this profession could not have guaranteed them a secured
future. How then, could they have thought about guaranteeing a secured one to
their own children? Rectitude, piety and morality are not things that one
considers when leading a hand to mouth existence. People overstep boundaries.
Selfishness becomes the norm – even for parents. A child and moreso, a girl child
is only born to be disappointed under
such circumstances . Her birth and her life is laced with irony – and so was
mine.
We were
five siblings in all: four sisters and one
brother. Given the not so good situations of our lives; we were, as if, born
with duty manuals etched out clearly in our minds. Bapu was a sarangi player
and a very good singer as well. He was a regular artist at the rich functions and
parties hosted by the native Thakurs and
other rich people around the area; but with the passage of time, the number of
invites to such parties quickly declined
as did the number of such events. The Rajwade
songs were not as popular now…so bapu
had almost given up his trade. The sarangi
was more of a household decorative item now.
Maa, however, continued to be invited to
common marriages for her skills at singing traditional songs. Yashoda and
Gauri; both my elder sisters had started accompanying her to such gatherings while
Ganpat, our brother, who was the third in line had grown quite adept at playing
the dhol. However, he was least
interested in the family profession….and thus , our problems grew by leaps and
bounds. Our parents could never sit down at peace and think about how our lives
were to take shape – thanks to the more mundane worries about making two ends meet
– obviously, when questions of existence dominate minds, the other ‘lifestyle’ issues
and those pertaining to moulding us into better humans are relegated to the
background .
Good
food, clothing and shelter, constitute the basic needs of families at large,
but in our case, this was luxury too. Maa
was a machine – she ‘manufactured’ us – the spare parts – we took shape and
started jingling and clanging – just as musical instruments were expected to
do. I was the fourth note in this eternally playing and eternally changing rhythmic
cycle – They called me Vaadhu. It meant an ‘extra’. By the time, I could gather
my name’s meaning and implication, it had become popular and I had been
perennially tagged: “Vaadhu – the extra”. Today, when I look back, I think, how
appropriate that name would indeed have been for me, if I had continued to lead
the oblivious lifestyle that our lives and parents had originally gifted to us!
Thankfully, however, that had not to be. Bina was the last child of the family and
our youngest sister. She had been tagged in her own way – as the chudail who had devoured the last male
flicker of the family candle – literally speaking, the son who had to come
after her, but failed midway in his life’s journey. They said, it was because Bina
suckled all her mother’s body, in the form of milk, that the unborn child could
not survive – and thereafter, Bina became the child devourer. People suggested that
she be formally named yuchki – like I
had been called Vaadhu. This time however, Maa
resisted and insisted that the girl be called according, to the constellations
above – nakshatras – so then, she was
called Bina.
Maa could not survive much longer after
the death of our still unborn brother….and we, the younger lot, could not
comprehend what a mother’s love could be. Yashoda, our eldest sister was mother
to us. She meant love, care, support and shield to us – till she got married
and left us for her husband’s abode. She
was a responsible soul. Even when maa
was alive, she used to support her in her odd jobs. She played the dhol, sang in family functions and knew
everything about the rituals that were the norm at such gatherings. It was at
one such gathering that Girijashankarji
spotted us singing and immediately advised Yashoda to start sending us to
school.
Yashoda
heeded his suggestion and sent me, Bina and Ganpat to school. She herself
continued to complete her household chores and took care of her professional duties
– and things became easier for her after we joined school; because otherwise
she had us to take care of at home all the time and this obviously, made things
tougher – the better part of the bargain was the fact that we were getting educated;
although, I must confess that both Bina and Ganpat were least interested in
coming to school.
Such
were our lives when Girijashankarji – the school master came forth as my
guardian angel, mentor and guide. He was a wonderful musician and could play
the harmonium really well. People acknowledged his skills and he commanded quite
some honour at the jaagrans in the
vicinity. The master of mellifluous voice and rendition, his explanation of the
Bhagvat defeated several acclaimed
pundits of the vicinity, though, he himself never claimed that title. Content at
being a very popular teacher of Hindi and music the local government school,
Girijashankarji used to spend his
time in teaching children – either the nuances of language or that of music. I
was his favourite, right from day one. I
still remember the day when he had first called me to himself and asked me to sing
a song. I had almost choked myself. He encouraged me and I sang – and Ishwar only knows what he found in the rhythms
of my voice that I because one of his chosen ones in school for all singing purposes.
No school function, thereafter, could be completed without my participation. He
spent endless number of hours in training me, as if, music had to be my sole education. Infact, I
too had begun enjoying music more than my other lessons which were
comparatively very drab. Singing ran in my blood and veins. I also adopted
dance movements from the other village girls – the result was, I started
earning handsome uvarangi amounts at
family functions; and by the time, I reached the fifth standard in school ‘Vadhudi’
had earned the reputation of the best singer in the entire district. Thanks to Girijashankarji, soon afterwards, my name was registered as Vasudha Panwar in
the school records. Now, there was no looking back. Functions, honours, accolades
and a reasonable amount of appreciation in the form of money coming in had
doubled my courage.
However,
the new shining lights in my life could not light up the bleak atmosphere at home. Bapu was a selfish man and least
bothered with the flight of my talent. All he was concerned with, was the huge
amounts of uvarangi come in – and
therefore, he tried his best to ensure that I attended all the functions that I
had been invited to; even if that meant, my missing out on school . I did not
like this at all.
He
would accept invitations on my behalf, however, when I resented and declined on the plea of
being a disturbance in my lessons, he would
beat me black and blue and abuse me. “What can you learn at school!?...school!...school,
school!...school will not give us any bread and butter; wasting time there
would not lead you anywhere…we are professional artists…meant to be at
gatherings; not your school!!”, he would thunder time and again. How could I have
explained to him the debt that I owed to my school? Had it not been for it, I would
have lagged behind in all this “professional artistry” act. He although, could
never agree and never understand the way I thought.
I had
tried confiding in guruji regarding
my family issues, but evidently, he was helpless too. However, as I appeared for
my class final examinations, he sent an application on my behalf, for admission
into the Navodaya Vidayalaya. That was a big leap indeed – towards a better and
more independent future for me.
Navodaya
Vidayalayas are government aided schools where select needy students are kept
at the school hostel and provided with all the facilities. In addition, children
like us were also given scholarships. Talent or no, but I was lucky enough to
have received all of these. But bapu had
already made up his mind. He never wanted me to go anywhere – least of all to a
place which would cut off all my connection with them at home and needless to
say, affect their incomes too. Yashoda, proved to be a great help. After bapu had declared that he would not let
me go anywhere I had equally stubbornly rebelled and told him of my resolve to
go to Navodaya even at the cost of cutting off all ties from my family. It
worked. Some further coaxing on Yashoda’s part led to the final success and
next, she along with Ganpat came to see me off at the Pawta Navodaya Vidayalaya.
The dream was now real – the rhythm life had begun to change.
Barely
about thirteen, I nonetheless, looked mature for my years – almost like a young
woman. Besides, I had begun to grow more beautiful. My mellifluous voice and
good presentation skills at school functions immediately caught the attention of
all my teachers. Out of them, Anitaji,
our music teacher, held me as her special favourite. Her chance meeting with Girijashankarji at Jaipur led to her knowing about my
skills at folk dancing and singing. This resulted in her coming back to
Navodaya and taking me under her ample wings. Whereas, I had only some
rudimentary knowledge in folk songs and dances, Anitaji was already considered an
esteemed dancer from the Jaipur gharana;
besides possessing a very good knowledge
of classical singing.
My
dances were being increasingly appreciated. They said I was wonderfully flexible
in my moves – almost compared me to a firki
on stage – and that scared my co-dances to quite an extent. My training under Anitaji’s expert guidance perfected
a new kind of dance form – a unique blend of Kathak and folk dance, that
captivated and mesmerized audiences like never before.
By
the time I had passed my high school and senior secondary, I had acquired the
title of the new talent in town; though I remained blissfully unaware of all
the adulation. Almost six long years had passed by and I had already presented at
the state and National levels. Just about then, the All India Radio called for its voice test, I
was still at the senior secondary level, - I appeared and passed it with B - high
grade. Radio, television, Tourism department functions and the other events had
now given me a new sky to soar in. My successful completion of the voice test
had presented me with an opportunity soon afterwards, to present a solo Kathak rendition
at Delhi’s Kamani auditorium. This was a big one and I burnt the midnight oil
for the event. The nervousness was gnawing, but Anitaji’s continuous encouragement
helped like anything – The result was an excellent presentation of my skills at
Bhawai and the folk dances. The audiences were left asking for more and the
media flaunted my talents with an unabashed aplomb. I was now a household name.
Of course, all this would never have been, without Anitaji’s support and
guidance. She trained me, encouraged me and taught me to guard myself against
all the unwanted attention that usually is generated by newly acquired popularity.
She told me the necessity of having an academic degree in hand and cautioned me
against being swept off by anything else in the world other than an undivided concentration
at augmenting my academic and dancing skill. She was now my friend, philosopher
and guide .
After
completing my senior secondary at school, the next step had to be college
education. Anitaji was a great help here as well. She had her family staying at
Jaipur – her mother and elder brother to be precise. Needless to say, this was
my next destination. She got me admitted in the college and got my arrangements
done at the hostel as well. My studies were going well and my connection in the
Ministry of culture, Department of Tourism, Sangeet- Natak Academy, Radio and
T.V. were helping me like never before. My rendition at such platforms did not
only help at showcasing my talents, but also helped me financially. The
perennial and unflinching support of mentors like Pt. Girijashankarji, Anitaji,
Director of the Sangeet Natak Academy- Sudhaji and other senior artists was an
added feather in my cap – and it helped in soar higher in the skies of talent
and adulation.
Amidst
all this, my connections with my family were at an all time low. Two years
after my admission at Navodaya, I had gone home for Yashoda and Gauri’s marriage,
and the next year for Ganpat’s engagement. However, my arrivals were somehow
always greeted by two things – one was Bina’s unspoken problems and the second,
was obviously bapu’s perpetual ranting,
“…Vadhudi…finish your studies and come back…I, have to get you and Bina married
now…”
His
emphasis on my coming back and getting married was frustrating me no ends, and I
often wondered at his dry unconcern…he had no appreciation for my talents, my reputation
and my never ending efforts to earn my own scholarships so that I completed my
education on my own. All, he was concerned was, with his own selfish interests.
He wanted me to hand over all my earnings to him. Ofcourse, I knew him too well,
so I had by now, already opened a personal bank account and started depositing my
money, saving quite some amount by now. I had already known that I would be
needing all that money to pursue my education further.
Anyways,
the point here is, that I had almost stopped going back, because of such
selfish attitudes.
Back here,
however, the circumstances had gone to the dogs. After Yashoda and
Gauri had got married, Bina could only manage to barely feed Ganpat and bapu. Even she did not have any control over
the situation. Initially, Yashoda did try to awaken and jolt their sleeping senses
into some sense of responsibility, but Ganpat proved to be beyond control; as a
result Yashoda had minimized her visits to the family. The plaster on the walls
had started coming off. The main door had already cracked and the courtyard was
in a bad shape. Rajais and the other
winter useables had already reached beyond repair. The two inner rooms were in
an equally bad state – and there seemed to be neither the money, nor the
inclination to get things in place. On top of it, other things were no less
irritating the last time I had visited them – it was Ganpat’s marriage – I was
treated like a ‘out of the world’ thing. People were amazed, critical and
equally jealous of my clothes and my appearance. Some of them tried their level
best to woo my bapu into “selling” me
off in marriage. I was put off, like never before and come back immediately after
the main rituals got over.
I
would not have returned but for certain special reasons – Bapu’s drinking bouts had deteriorated beyond repair. What was even
worse in these circumstances was that people were pointing fingers at Bina. I
guess this had to be. In the absence of a protective father and the onslaught of
poverty – who can be the trustee of a daughter’s dignity? Anyways, asking Bina
about it did not help. Thinking, that I was blindly trusting peoples’ opinion
about her, she got annoyed and stung me with her question, “How will you be
able to help me anyways?”
“Bina!...I
am not trusting anyone…I just want to get to the root of your problem so that
things can be better handled…” My insistence broke her and she began to cry.
The fact that she was the only one in the family to run around, and collect all
the bare necessities for the household thanks to an irresponsible brother and a
drunk father – it had led to the girl’s irreparable hopelessness. The icing on
the cake was bapu’s habit of beating
her black and blue into submission whenever she would ‘dare’ to budge from her fixed
stance. Though, it is worth mentioning, that sometimes, she would be beaten
even when she did not budge from her position. However, that maybe, Bina, under
such a situation would run out of the house and go to our neighbouring chachi to protect herself. ….at times
would even sleep in her house.
And then
nemesis fell. Bina finally confided – The fateful night was the marriage of a
local Seth’s son. She had gone for the ritual of singing the ratjaga songs along with the
neighbourhood chachi. It was here that
she was beguiled into drinking an adulterated sherbet, and when she started complaining of being unwell, the
Seth’s son took her along himself in his car. Ofcourse, he said to the others, that
he would drop her home. Bina, next woke up and found herself next to a strange
man who was shamelessly leering at her, when she opened her eyes. The unwanted had
already happened. The man tried to talk, but Bina slapped him fight, pushed him
aside and came out. She knew the area…it was the Seth’s farmhouse. On her way
out, she had encountered the Seth’s son, who tried appearing her but Bina, ran
home – barefooted and in the middle of the ominous night.
The girl
had been raped – and the brother and father were sleeping dead drunk – oblivious
of the devastation. She slept with the night but could not get up with the next
day. By the time, she opened her eyes, her “well – wishing” bapu and Ganpat had already left. Bina
did not have to really wait for the next catastrophe. It came to her walking. The
so called “social media” was rather active behind her back – filled up ideas in
bapu’s mind so that both he and
Ganpat came to Bina, howling and scowling. They were hardly interested in
knowing her version of things – people said that the Seth had already fuelled and
quelled their greed – but ofcourse, the daughter had not remained of any value whatsoever.
The family apathy had made it more difficult for her to survive in a village
already raging with hateful fires – they threatened to engulf her alive!
“…Now…afterall
this…whom am I to look upto as a guardian? Is there someone to help me out?...I
am located in between the devil and the deep sea. Nobody to help and no
employment either. Basic survival guides me…although I still know, deep within myself
that I will never ever do anything, shameful…the worst has already happened…but
I am sick of this kind of life. Is it worth living?...you tell me! Bapu and
Ganpat cannot be trusted at all…I have already started hating them beyond repair.
Chachi is no better, but at least not
worse than these two monsters, so I spend my nights at her place…although I
realize, she is exploits me to the best of her benefits…but atleast, I feel physically
safe there…”
I was
at a loss of for words. Bina’s pending marriage was the only shining ray of
hope in this dark tunnel of life. She had been engaged to Ganpat’s brother – in
– law. I asked her, “…but you got engaged!...what about your marriage?”
“The
boy’s father wants money, although the boy himself is ready to marry me. Since,
his sister has already been married off, they are free of all liabilities…as
for my own bapu and beera…you know them very well. Frankly speaking,
there is not much demand for artists like us…whenever marriages or functions
take place, people are happier with filmi music and cassettes, rather than our art…but
then, whatever meager amount of money I get from there is fleeced away by the
two of them…I feel so cheated and defeated in life…have lost interest in
living…now am no more accepting any invitation etc…there is hardly any
motivation….”
I had
to help Bina – somehow. But how…?
Girijashankarji was my next and only ray of hope
under these circumstances. I went to him and told him everything. He suggested
that we go to Ramgarh to meet the boy’s father
to sort out things. Next morning we were at Ramgarh and coincidentally the boy
and his father were very much at home. Girijashankarji commanded respect in the
vicinity and the boy himself had been his student. Presently, he was employed in
a music orchestra as a trumpet player at Churu. He had already confessed his
liking for Bina, who was good to look at. I had about twenty thousand in my
pocket and I had told everything to Guruji.
The marriage had to be solemnized after one month. We came back to Fatehpur, the
same evening. The news of Bina’s marriage having been finalized by me was not
welcomed at home. Bapu was quiet and bhojai did not even look at me but Ganpat could not hide his displeasure. He questioned my
status in the family and my rights on Bina, to have settled this marriage. He felt,
he had been badly insulted by me…and ofcourse, I did not even try reminding him
that I was their elder sister. It would hardly have helped matters- Ganpat was
already screaming at me,
“…Who
are you to have taken this decision…are you aware of our problems and
issues?...you cannot be, since you have almost parted ways with the family!...how
then could you get into this kind of panchayati
with regard to Bina??”
“…but bhai!...you had already settled the
alliance…I have only gone ahead with finalizing the date!”, I calmly replied.
Blaming
was at its best, “…You!...You!?...earning such good name for the family…going
around…dancing and singing in front of all and sundry…people point fingers at
as…do you realize?...or have you sold off all your laaj and sharm!??”, he
thundered.
I,
had not lost my cool,
“…What
and how can this bring as a bad reputation, I fail to understand! Has this not
been in our blood and earned us bread and butter since times immemorial?...and
I have only made this better by earning a name and good money!...”
“…I
do not want to argue with you...but one thing…you are no more our Vaadhu…you
are Vasudha…so remain Vasudha…you are no longer of this family…leave Bina and
her marriage alone…we are still there for her…”
I
felt very angry, but did not want to sabotage matters for useless ego hassles. While
I was still thinking of a reply, Bina rudely lashed out,
“…Oh!...so
now you…you, of all the people will look after me! And I am expected to leave
my real sister aside for your caring attitudes!...Thanks to people like you and
bapu…girls like us must die before
their time…enough of your goodness…don’t make me speak…or else you wouldn’t find
space to hide your wretched face!!!”
A
teary eyed Bina was heaving – panting – screaming…all at the same time. She
felt helpless…and I felt helpless too. Before I could pacify anyone, Ganpat stomped
out of the house in great rage, bhojai
went inside and bapu was as usual –
non reactionary, non – committal.
Ganpat’s
reaction conveyed his disinterest. Bapu’s
existence was seeking apathy from all nook and corners. His sarangi was silent – as was the dholak – on whose rythms, Yashoda’s and maa’s voices gyrated and sang. Bina’s silence
was screaming aloud – and I could hear her plea – these stale rhythms had to be
changed anew – it was difficult for new lives to be supported with old thinking
patterns… just like new rhythms could not be generated out of old instruments.
It
was time for independence. Afterall, why must girls think of ending their lives
if they feel their guardians and caretakers are not good enough for them?...should
they not become good enough to support themselves under such circumstances? To
talk of death is to acknowledge self defeat – and that is detestable!
Self
– dependence was fine and yet, my heart had been cleaved into two. How could
the family foundations be so solidly shaken by the earthquakes of selfishness
and greed? If each person be so secluded and locked up in his own cell in such
a small institution as family...how, then could we envisage a healthy and
wholesome future – society and family?…I knew…rhythms had to be changed…only
without affecting the overall harmony…it was now and immediately a much needed effort!!
Saturday, 18 February 2012
Ganga-Gomati
गंगा-गोमती
मैं गोमती हूँ...
स्वर्ग में सिमटी,
त्रिकाल की जटाओं से निकल कर
सोचा...
एक बार धरती को निहार तो आऊँ....
हरित सौंदय्र और अनवरत चंचलता को माप तो आऊं...
कल्लोल करती, हंसती, खिलखिलात,
... आँचल को लहराती,
यौवन के उफान पर
अपने मद में मदमाती,
में चल पड़ी...
घर की सघन छाँव
छोड़ना आसन न था
...न ही अच्छा laga
उस त्रिकालदर्शी को छोड़ना
जिसने स्वर्ग से उतरती
मुझ अल्हड-गवांर को पिता का सा वात्सल्य दिया
पर...
हाँ, मुझे निकलना था...
उस दुनिया को देखना tha
जो मैंने अब तक नहीं सराही थी...
कौतुकी की जिज्ञासा अब फैल रही थी
तो बस...
में चल पड़ी....
पाषण पहाड़ों का सीना अपनी हंसी से चीरती
पाषण पहाड़ों का सीना अपनी हंसी से चीरती
और जंगलों को हरियाली को स्वयं में पीती
मिलन तक में यूं ही रही जीती
ताकि समझ सकूं इंसानों के mann की निति....
बस,
यहीं से शुरू है मेरी आपबीती...
नितांत श्वेत वस्त्रों को धारण किये
जब प्रथम बार चक्र कुण्ड में आई
तो जलती हुयी पायी आरतियों के अनवरत ज्वाला
कृतार्थ हुयी इस सम्मान से,
मुझ जैसी अनछुई स्वार्गिक बाला,
दिव्या मन्त्रों पर आरूद होकर एक नयी पवित्रता की ओअर
जहाँ से कोसों दूर था इंसानी स्वार्थ का शोर...
मंदिर देखे,
देखे विधाता
जब पायी पूजा में वही शिव-गौर,
तो अपनाया एक नया धरती का नाता
.....अब लोग कहने लगे थे मुझे माता...
सोचा...
शायद पापों का दुःख सालता हो....
और लालिमा सा गहन
कर्मों का दघ्द आलता हो....
उसी से पाना चाहते हो छुटकारा
ओह!
...तो यह था इंसानी खेल सारा!
वहां से में और आगे बाद चली
शने शने
में आई लक्ष्मंनगर की गली,
अब लोग इसे लखनऊ कहते थे
मुझे लगा
इसकी गलियों में फरिश्तों के पते बहते थे
नवाबी थी शौकत औ शान
यज्ञों का धुआं...
या तोपों की ललकार
मेरे किनारे हुए जब-तब इस शान से गुन्जयेमान,
सदियाँ बीत चली हैं अब
मैंने बहते हुए देखा है अवधी अदब
वोह हुक्के, वोह महफिलें
उमराव के आंसूं और ग़ालिब के गरीब किस्से,
जलसों के रंग और होली की Bhaang
मेरे ही दामन से रंगे रंगरेजों के कपड़ों के रंग
वोह ठुमरियां, सहनाई और शामें
यादों की टुकड़ियां आज भी हैं मेरे संग...
ज़माने बदले
और बदली हजरतगंज की चाल,
अमीनाबाद के पर्दानशीं...चौक के हाल
कालीबाड़ी की भक्ति,
मन्न्कमेश्वर की भेद...
नया समय गया पुराने को लील
कभी के मेरे श्वेत वस्त्र
आज धुंए से धुंधले हैं....
निरन्तरता की मोम बत्ती पर
अब नश्वरता के भुनगे हैं...
फिर भी सोचती हूँ...
की जब तक रहूँ
इनसे कुच्छ न कहूं
ताकि यह तो जी लें...
चाहे फिर में जो कुछ सहूँ.....
क्योंकि यह इंसान हैं....
लोलुपता और भ्रष्टता की खान हैं....
मैं माता हूँ...
परोपकार और प्रेम से मरे ओर छोर दैदीप्यमान हैं....
हो सकता है....
इन्हें मिले यह शिक्षा...
की प्रेम से ही मिलती है सद्गति की भिक्षा ...
मेरा क्या है...
आज हों....कल नहीं भी....
पर निरंतरता तो नहीं थमेगी....
न काल की....न प्राण की...
न अग्नि की...न आयुष्मान की...
अब भी जा रही हूँ....अपने लक्ष्य की ओर....
जहाँ से फिर कोसों दूर होगा इंसानी स्वार्थ का शोर.....
कोसों दूर होगा इंसानी स्व्वार्थ का शोर!!!
मैं गोमती हूँ...
स्वर्ग में सिमटी,
त्रिकाल की जटाओं से निकल कर
सोचा...
एक बार धरती को निहार तो आऊँ....
हरित सौंदय्र और अनवरत चंचलता को माप तो आऊं...
कल्लोल करती, हंसती, खिलखिलात,
... आँचल को लहराती,
यौवन के उफान पर
अपने मद में मदमाती,
में चल पड़ी...
घर की सघन छाँव
छोड़ना आसन न था
...न ही अच्छा laga
उस त्रिकालदर्शी को छोड़ना
जिसने स्वर्ग से उतरती
मुझ अल्हड-गवांर को पिता का सा वात्सल्य दिया
पर...
हाँ, मुझे निकलना था...
उस दुनिया को देखना tha
जो मैंने अब तक नहीं सराही थी...
कौतुकी की जिज्ञासा अब फैल रही थी
तो बस...
में चल पड़ी....
पाषण पहाड़ों का सीना अपनी हंसी से चीरती
पाषण पहाड़ों का सीना अपनी हंसी से चीरती
और जंगलों को हरियाली को स्वयं में पीती
मिलन तक में यूं ही रही जीती
ताकि समझ सकूं इंसानों के mann की निति....
बस,
यहीं से शुरू है मेरी आपबीती...
नितांत श्वेत वस्त्रों को धारण किये
जब प्रथम बार चक्र कुण्ड में आई
तो जलती हुयी पायी आरतियों के अनवरत ज्वाला
कृतार्थ हुयी इस सम्मान से,
मुझ जैसी अनछुई स्वार्गिक बाला,
दिव्या मन्त्रों पर आरूद होकर एक नयी पवित्रता की ओअर
जहाँ से कोसों दूर था इंसानी स्वार्थ का शोर...
मंदिर देखे,
देखे विधाता
जब पायी पूजा में वही शिव-गौर,
तो अपनाया एक नया धरती का नाता
.....अब लोग कहने लगे थे मुझे माता...
सोचा...
शायद पापों का दुःख सालता हो....
और लालिमा सा गहन
कर्मों का दघ्द आलता हो....
उसी से पाना चाहते हो छुटकारा
ओह!
...तो यह था इंसानी खेल सारा!
वहां से में और आगे बाद चली
शने शने
में आई लक्ष्मंनगर की गली,
अब लोग इसे लखनऊ कहते थे
मुझे लगा
इसकी गलियों में फरिश्तों के पते बहते थे
नवाबी थी शौकत औ शान
यज्ञों का धुआं...
या तोपों की ललकार
मेरे किनारे हुए जब-तब इस शान से गुन्जयेमान,
सदियाँ बीत चली हैं अब
मैंने बहते हुए देखा है अवधी अदब
वोह हुक्के, वोह महफिलें
उमराव के आंसूं और ग़ालिब के गरीब किस्से,
जलसों के रंग और होली की Bhaang
मेरे ही दामन से रंगे रंगरेजों के कपड़ों के रंग
वोह ठुमरियां, सहनाई और शामें
यादों की टुकड़ियां आज भी हैं मेरे संग...
ज़माने बदले
और बदली हजरतगंज की चाल,
अमीनाबाद के पर्दानशीं...चौक के हाल
कालीबाड़ी की भक्ति,
मन्न्कमेश्वर की भेद...
नया समय गया पुराने को लील
कभी के मेरे श्वेत वस्त्र
आज धुंए से धुंधले हैं....
निरन्तरता की मोम बत्ती पर
अब नश्वरता के भुनगे हैं...
फिर भी सोचती हूँ...
की जब तक रहूँ
इनसे कुच्छ न कहूं
ताकि यह तो जी लें...
चाहे फिर में जो कुछ सहूँ.....
क्योंकि यह इंसान हैं....
लोलुपता और भ्रष्टता की खान हैं....
मैं माता हूँ...
परोपकार और प्रेम से मरे ओर छोर दैदीप्यमान हैं....
हो सकता है....
इन्हें मिले यह शिक्षा...
की प्रेम से ही मिलती है सद्गति की भिक्षा ...
मेरा क्या है...
आज हों....कल नहीं भी....
पर निरंतरता तो नहीं थमेगी....
न काल की....न प्राण की...
न अग्नि की...न आयुष्मान की...
अब भी जा रही हूँ....अपने लक्ष्य की ओर....
जहाँ से फिर कोसों दूर होगा इंसानी स्वार्थ का शोर.....
कोसों दूर होगा इंसानी स्व्वार्थ का शोर!!!
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