My Face

My mother says i have the most beautiful face in the world. I am her first born.

When i feel my  father's eyes on me i see pride, certainly that and a regret now that i have left him and have a new man in my life.

My husband says i would have had a forgettable face except for my small eyes. They are very expressive and say even without words and sometimes despite the words.

My brothers make fun of my buck tooth, the one in front that was broken into half and now i have got it made. But that's only when they are making fun. Other times when i am sad, they tell me their sister is beautiful..not beautiful really but very attractive specially when she's got those tears in her eyes.But that's to make me laugh.

Shreya, my five year old niece, says i am the most beautiful in the whole world. But when she's sleeping on my lap she asks me if she'll be ever as pretty as her mother..a question she has heard from everyone around her..

When they, my joint extended family , sit down to grade faces, my face comes last. Not ugly but not the very beautiful.

Every beautician i have ever visited had told me they have never seen such a stark difference in the skin of anyone's face and  body. The body soft, blemish less and the face filled with patches, freckles and sun burns  and darker, much darker than the rest of my body. They say it's mostly the other way round.

All my cousins, the young toddling to the school going ones take pains to put put those signature two dots on their faces to look like me. Mine are those tiny black moles though.The beauty spots not beautiful to some, the ones who say i should take it off with surgery.

The old ladies in the villages take my face in between their palms and smile their beautiful toothless smiles, a look of regret in their eyes thinking of the days their face too did not have wrinkles and i look at them thinking of the day my face with be like theirs.

One of my friends says my face has a lot of character, that makes you believe you can withstand storms and my eyes are like a lighthouse that give you hope.

My ex says i have a haunting face that keeps coming up when you lose things precious to you.

One of my cousins says i should never be sent on diplomatic meetings, neither should i play poker.  She says my face is too transparent. They don't tell me their secret jokes.

Suka, our office assistant,  says i look like an old lady who's lost all her battles and is standing on the battlefield, with the pride fallen but the spirit not yet.

Many people tell me my face scares them as if they can hide nothing from me.

Many people have come up to me and told me they have seen my face somewhere. Either somewhere or my face is too commonplace.

I look at my face in the mirror and i think if i am beautiful....

In India the total spending on beauty products is approx $6 billion and still growing and  in elementary education $6.7 billion..Does this say anything about our fascination with beauty  and attaining the hypothetical standards in beauty? We are always compared with that standard since the day we take birth..questions asked about how sharp the nose is, who the baby goes after.. fair or dark? The buck tooth would result in not finding a husband..?? I am sure such standards are set wor;ld over..why does beauty take such precedence over merit and virtues... Why?? When beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder why is beauty given so much importance and why is a child scarred for life and banished to a life in front of mirror???

The end and the beginning..

Another cycle of my life is completing itself...i only know at the end of this there will be a new beginning..

Being a Woman

Sometime back i was doing some research on Domestic Violence. Now, after i was "domesticated" or married in other words, i really haven't found the time to write about what i had felt at that time.But again, that had some good implications, at least for me.

Firstly, being married makes you even more sensitive towards different issues and emotions which one wouldn't relate to when unmarried. And , secondly, it also makes you realise that it's very easy to play the role of a counsellor and yet very very difficult to follow that part once you yourself are a part of the violence.

Let me go back to why i started that research itself. We have swadhar shelter home about which i have already written in my earlier writings and one of our best, intelligent, sensitive counselors got married during that time. We all wrote a diary for her.. i do not know if she has it, but i had made a copy of what everyone wrote for her.. I thought we would keep it as a part of our office legacy how we had brought in a fresher from college with dreams in her eyes and who , with her love, dedication and compassion had left everyone with tears the day she left. We all had wished her a life of love, care and laughter.

She was an only daughter.  In india that means your father will marry you with all the pomp and splendor even though that mean selling his entire life to loans and interest. And she was married off in one of the best hotels in town, and to an OAS Cadre engineer nonetheless. This guy showed his colours on the wedding day itself..couldn't even wait till his barat was back at his home.Well, to cut the long story short, he wanted dowry and had expected a bigger car, better gifts and a blank cheque. Her abuse went on, mostly emotionally with tirades of insults and innuendos. That he got her pregnant during that time is just besides the point. 

Now , whenever i read that notebook, i feel like a culprit of why our society has place for so much violence and why a lovely girl like her, loved by all, had to go through such a painful period in her life and that we, the social activists couldn't even save our own little kid from this. She went back to her maternal home, within one month of marriage and her son was born just eight and a half months later.  Last heard, the guy was looking for a suitable match and his matrimonial id read something like "innocent divorcee seeks fair, beautiful bride preferably from upper or upper middle class." They still haven't been formally divorced, but the guy's eligible bachelor yet again. Will the woman ever be eligible again?

The other story is of a girl we rescued from her in laws. She had already attempted suicide a few times because the guy she married accused her of being an infidel. To clear the things, she had slept with the guy before her marriage. Does it strike you that only the girl was guilty and Character-"less". I am sure it did.The girl could not go back to her home as her family did not even want to see her face.

The last story i want to tell you is about this cousin of mine. He is an alcoholic ,sleeps around and then comes back home and beats up my Bhabi in his rage.He denies her everything, including money, her freedom and even sex. He wakes up the next morning and cajoles her with his sweet nothings to keep quiet. And this woman, my bhabi , does. I have tried to file cases against my cousin for a long time but she never allows me to, saying she loves her husband, and one day she'll be able to change him. Hopefully it is sooner because it's already 8 years.

Another thing that rankles me is that even my brothers and closest male friends talk to their wives, girlfriends as if all feelings are only in their hearts and a woman is a heartless monster.And the high pitches and abusive language, mostly sugar coated, puts me off totally.

I am sure you all have heard of the The Protection of Women from Domestic Violence Act-2005. So i will not get into those details. Just this that abuse is not only when it's physical  but also emotional and denial of basic rights and respect of a woman. And that it does not have to happen over a period of time, even one instance of such abuse is enough. The NFHS-3 data says: "Overall, one-third of women age 15-49 have experienced physical violence and about 1 in 10 have experienced sexual violence. In total, 35 percent have experienced physical or sexual violence". And leading the states is Bihar. These statistics are wrong as usual. Keeping in mind the definition of abuse itself, every woman has faced it in her life. Let's face it. how many women actually take the courage to say that they have been abused and how many would  we let  share that they have been? I remember the time before my wedding. My mother was very specific about a few things, to try and adjust with my husband and his family, not fight and never come back home and shame my parents. You see, i come with a record of being a firebrand and my mother was scared that i would come back and not be tolerant. Haven't done it yet, but don't know about the future, The reason i am writing this here is that even an activist is a woman and a woman, once married, has no rights, and if she has, they are all secondary to her husband's.

It got me thinking about some very basic premises..1. The abuser does not become so overnight. 2, The abuser very rarely sees himself as one. 3. He thinks he's doing the woman good, by being a man..that is shouting, screaming and then finally beating.  4. Most of the time they come from violent families and have not learnt to respect women , 5. The abusers to not belong to any specific class, region, religion or creed .6. Such violence cannot  and will not happen if there are supportive and understanding families on both the sides. and 7. It takes a long long time for the abused to accept that she is a victim and when she does, she's left with a bruises on her body and scars in her heart

How does this chain beak? How do we stop this abuse? I am looking for answers and as usual i think, the police, the acts, they are not the answer if they're just post violence. If those Acts, the police, help desks, etc function as 'prevention of crime' centres, in helping build strong and secure environment, only then we can say we have achieved our goal.

It also means bringing up children in a house, a family, a society that teaches her/him respect for women and relationships and understanding that denying the existence of patriarchy as an evil will not give equality to women and least of all make the problem go away. Because , even today, the most modern, suave, intelligent of men carry with them the pride that they are men, and that they know everything and better than anyone,  let alone the traditionalists and conservatives . It also means teaching your daughter to understand when the thin line has been crossed of small love-fights to abuse and when she has started the life of fear, hatred and blackmail, and then say no to it. It also means letting her know the family is with her and not burden her with the never-ending "reputation" and a "woman's fate and duty" stories. Which reminds me of the Rahul-Dimpy story and the Shiney Ahuja Case. Even though it's plain as day to see, what happened was really really wrong,  people are happy telling "i-told-you-so"  and passing crude comments and judgment, when the wives in question have gone to the hell again.

The City of Dreams

This is my home...

This is my home and not again mine..i live on borrowed land..but who really cares..this the city of dreams..my city..and in my dreams the world is mine..

But you do not yet know me..i was born a few days back..or maybe months..or years..dog years...i go once in a while to our public meetings..of our clan..you would have heard us sometime..i am sure you have..we create real nuisance with our howls , our demonstrations, meetings, and sometimes have had to be dispersed with pelting of stones..i am sure you have heard us..in those meetings we hear our folklore, about our past and our future..

once our ancestors told us about a time when man did not have to keep time..there was no time to be kept by a watch..no days of the week..no month..no year..and man just lived..the very thing they have forgotten today.but that is not my story.

today, i don't do much that gives me happiness..and i'm still very young to take up any profession professionally..i have been abandoned by my parents..so did not get much education..not even the basic life skills..but where life is the teacher you learn all your skills, probably, better than the most. i know i will be the best in whatever i do, i just am still undecided what..

i wasn't born here. i was born in a very remote village and was brought here, hidden in a bag, away from all prying eyes, with promises of a better world. i believed him, the man who brought me here. As if i had a choice or gave him one. But then again, i was the dreamer. My mother always scolded me when i would have a rhetoric for every situation, a dream for every dream. needless to say, i was looking for a new world. i was bored in that village. sometimes suffocated, because i was the unquestioned leader and i hated it. i was bored of leading and even though they said i was the best they  had, i wanted to give it all up.The man was only an excuse, i had already stepped out of my past world a zillion times in my dreams , in my future.

My dreams are all broken now. Yes, this city of dreams has loads of lights. It weaves many dreams in millions of eyes. I am not a leader here. I don't want to be. I feel happy being no one, being a face in the herd, following the senseless rules, living up to impossible unending expectations,. I chase the babies and school children in the rain, run after the bais who have come and settled in the city of dreams from their different worlds and come to work in my building,loaded in buses and trains..loaded with their dreams of a better house that does not leak in mumbai monsoons, a daughter who's married well, a husband who doesn't come back drunk, a face without beating and bruises..i bark at the well dressed men and women rushing off in the mornings with a noose on their necks and come back late, the noose tightening little by little  every night.. i imitate the watchmen who smoke beedis and share their stories from far away lands.. I eat exotic dishes, chinese, continental, indian, you name it, i have had it.i.. roam in the streets at night. i get into street brawls while imported cars and bikes zoom past in amazing speeds , killing men, women and children , smiling in their dreams,  on the pavement. We look at the mangled bodies, the brawl momentarily forgotten and then we start again. The lives are not that valuable here you know.

but the mirror is breaking...

it was a bane she had of reading thoughts of the animals. She shook her head clear of the thoughts  of the black ugly  dog,  that lay shivering alone, cold and wet in the mumbai rains amongst the false palms of their society garden..and looked away from its eyes that had kept her locked across the distance of fourteen floors. Staring at the blank wall, her blank life, she realised hers was the dog's life.

the legend of husbands

Many a words have been written about the wives. Jokes swarm all over about how you fool your wife and statistics galore on being henpecked and nagging. In fact my husband was telling me today that a study says wives nag their husbands 2000 mins a year on average. Thats 2000/ 60 = 30 hours =  1. 38 days in a year..Me being a student of statistics and knowing how these stats are created am the first to say, this is an outright understatement. i nag my husband more than that in 2 days. The reason is simple.

If you have/had a husband or are/were a husband you will relate to a lot of things and if you still haven't "tied the knot" steer clear away. This blog may cause extreme allergy to marriage.

Let me state at the beginning, i absolutely love my husband. The truth is i would love him even if he was not a husband. And no one, absolutely no one, including myself  is counting on my staying married for long either.

As we were going by statistics, i'll give you a fairly good and accurate  analysis based on my own unscientific study. I know many husbands you see. I have one, my mom has one, the husbands of all my aunties on maternal and paternal sides, my friends, relatives, acquaintances they form my database.

according to the legend, they are the bread earners, the pillars on which families stand, their voice is every one's command. Case in Point : Shri Ramchandra who shooed his wife away when she was pregnant with twins, the Satyawan who wasn't even good enough to get a good pile of wood and leave alone save his family and empire which savitri practically wrenched out of yama with just her intelligence..and did i mention the 5 husbands of draupadi who put their wife on bet? my choicest swear words to all of them.

They talk smoothest before you've said yes to their proposal, become smooth after the confirmation but after marriage it's a "non- 7'o'clock shave" ride..remember the behe behe ads??...after the wedding you have to shed a few buckets from the viscinity of your nose and eyes to get a single word of love out of them. Banging phones and screaming are common though. The football matches, cricket matches, repeats on discovery, idiotic irritating news on Aaj Tak and the types get more of their eye balls per day  than you in a month. Holidays are only for them. Wives have no days off.

Let's look at some other inherent traits. This species can be identified by their extreme arrogance as if their just being a husband qualifies them to bully, make fun and override all emotions, expectations and feelings. The common ones are: never waking up till you've served them tea, the newspaper is his private property, to be read and scattered from the bed to the toilet to anyplace he deigns to tread, flushing  after crapping is as alien to him as acting is to vivek oberoi. Leaving wet towel on the bed is his birthright. Lying to your wife is taught to him in secret societies whose secrets are known only to men.

They usually forget dates, anniversaries and sometimes they just act that they have. It saves them the time and energy to buy a present. But don't be fooled. They still gift you some really magnanimous things (the things that you never asked for in the first place): they will say they have given up on smoking/drinking/footfall/cricket depending on their addictions (they all have the same addictions. The rare ones that haven't are, well, rare) and make you feel that you have been gifted the Nobel/Kohinoor/Papacy/ Presidency and nothing short of that. And they walk all over you, make you get into a guilt trip by falling sick on your birthday and saving  even on the dinner. Let's forget the fact that the gift is taken back on the first instance you turn your back.They are usually paupers and leave you to manage the home on sodexo meal vouchers and if you ever dare to bring up the topic of money  they rant about what an uncaring wife you are knowing nothing about sharing. Before i forget , they would buy tickets for movies with friends, drinks for weekend parties et al the same weekend though..And if you dared to buy a gift for him saving a bit here and there from your hard earned money, you are a spendthrift, a shopaholic. If you haven't read the book he has, you just went down a few notches in their eyes..Publicly...with fanfare..

They have hugely delicate sensibilities that are exactly opposite of their wives'. They are permanently in a fight so if they have broken any promise remember it's just out of spite and they never even wanted to break their promises, you just pushed them to the brink. It's your fault.

Women being women will catch their lies within a blink of an eye but you know what, he would have those friends to cover up and who'll tell you he's such a wonderfully changed man after marriage and his lying has decreased to 2 in a day and smoking to 1.Don't believe them. The friendships are based on the mutual pact to cover up each others' asses whenever they get caught

Absolutely 99.99 of husbands , irrespective of caste, creed, race, religion or region hate small kids. You would have heard the jokes how they hate women who go coochie cooh on small kids. They do not want kids of their own, not the small, crying, wriggly ones.Kids are allowed only if they come perfectly behaved, standing on their two feet and toilet trained.  No wonder their fathers hate them.

My apologies to all wives for the things i left out but you're welcome to fill the blank spaces. My sincere apologies to my husband whose very delicate sensibilities will surely be hurt, but that was my design anyway. 

Like every woman i too believe my husband's an exception. But they don't call a woman an emotional fool for naught. And i'm sure you won't be fooled by the stats.  Women know the best what happens when men are on top. Go ahead. Keep nagging. That's the only way you'll get some satisfaction.

Turning Thirty

Turning Thiry!!!!

Sounds so catchy...

As i turn thirty, feel euphoric, i mean what more is there to be scared of ? 30 seemed an ominous number when you don't reach it..but now here, life is just raring to go...

30 things i promise myself to do in the coming year...

1. write that book
2. catch up with all my turned 30 friends, start a club where everyone's 30 and have 30 things on their mind
3. get a makeover..dye my hair white to hide the grey , or better still, turn it pink, or maybe 30 colours to celebrate being 30
4. loose weight, yeah yeah i know..
5. stop fighting with everyone
6. start loving cooking
7. not panic when i see dust and dirt
8. start loving the sun, well besides my sun...
9. stop being a workaholic
10. talk to people more often, reply to their calls and texts
11. become a little bit social, never know when you need them in this old age
12. stop acting like shaktiman..oops..woman, turn to iron man instead..duh..iron=Fe + male: Female???
13. start saving for old age
14. stop buying clothes and shoes
15. stop shocking people
16. start caring about what they think and act accordingly to their wishes
17. learn a few choicest swear words and use them often
18. stop getting wet in the rains
19. stop fighting for the things i believe in
20. join politics finally
21. stop being hurt by small things
22. stop being too emotional
23. stop being a cynic
24. stop being contradictory
25. stop being so passionately in love that i feel totally lost without him
26. go to the himalayas and go incommunicado for an undefined time
27. become more than just a graduate
28. take up a job, my current work is my life, so take up a job that's kinda job, that makes you unhappy, makes you angry, makes you hate mondays, look forward to weekends, colleagues to bitch about and learn the first ropes in politics.
29. blog regularly, use my camera more often, read up on all books i haven't..
30. stop preaching..

What the heck!!! Who cares....i am sure i'll probably go some steps in points 1, 17, 26 ,27 and 29.the rest shall remain as it were..but that's life!! That's moi..happy birthday girl..don't be too sad that you're 30...life's just started..(wipes the tears...takes the crown gracefully and pulls out the chit, clears throat....)

"thank you mom, thank you dad...thank you friends...."

oh..forget it...you know how it goes... the speech i mean..as about my life..it has always surprised me every year..and i am ready to open the surprise pack....

PS: This year is my first birthday with my first husband..so that's kinda special..isn't it...???  ;)

बस आ जाओ तुम ...

इस  बार  के  पतझड़  कुछ  इस  तरह  की  हुई
कि  बहार  आने  से  पहले  ही
मैं  थक  गयी ..

इस  बार  धक्का  जो  लगा
मैं  जो  गिरी
कि  उठने  से  पहले  ही
मैं  थक  गयी

इस  बार  भी  इक  तस्वीर  बनाई  थी
जिसमे  रंग  भरने  से  पहले  ही
मैं  थक  गयी ..

इस  बार  आप  आओगे ..
उम्मीद  तो  थी ...
पर  इंतज़ार  करते  करते  ही ..
मैं  थक  गयी ...

.............

पतझड़  तो  भूला  सा  लगने  लगा  है
गर्मियों  कि  ये  पहली  बारिश
मिटटी  कि  वो  गीली  खुशबू
वो  खुशबू  भी  तुम
वो  बारिश  भी  तुम

गिर  कर  उठना तो  फितरत  है  मेरी
पर  आज  एक  हाथ  साथ  है
एक  बात  साथ  है
वो  साथ  भी  तुम
वो  बात  भी  तुम

रंगों  को  तो  कहीं  पीछे  छोड़  आई  थी  मैं
खुद  ही  खुद  से  भूली  भूली  सी  थी
पता नहीं  अब  क्यों  तुम्हारे  ही  साथ
फिर  कुछ  रंग  चुराने  हैं  मुझे
वो  रंग  भी  तुम्हारे
और  वो  तस्वीर  भी  तुम

इंतज़ार  तो  है ..
कुछ  डर  सा  भी ..
कुछ  सपने  भी  हैं   ..
और  उम्मीद  भी ..

और  वो  सब  ही  हो  तुम .
थक  कर  भी  इंतज़ार  होगा  तुम्हारा
रुक  कर  भी  सांस  तुम्हारी  ही  होगी

आ  जाओ ..
बस  आ  जाओ  तुम .

.......................

Women's Day ,Yay!!!!!

The cynic is here again..make way...

as the country battles it out in the parliament with two parties pulling out of the alliance protesting against  reservations for women, the largest and the most ignored minority in india, you sit back and relish it all..

you can't help it but turn your eyebrows at all congratulatory messages in the newspaper and the television ads that salute the woman  and think what actually has changed today??

my mom would still be cooking cleaning at home..my mother in law and sisters in law  would still be balancing home and work..being the best in their fields of choice and sometimes not..and i am still torn between the battle of my heart and mind..

what has changed?? the battlegrounds may have..but not the battle..from the sita, the first single mom probably, to ruchika and arushi..we still are fighting the same demons with new weapons..sometimes you just want to let it all go...the battle, the battlegrounds...but then, you know if you let it go, what will happen to the courage of women who are battling it out,the sole abhimanyus...and who have not had the oppurtunities you have had..domestic violence is the new terrorism, declining female ratio the testimony of the marginalisation women still face..Women still fight to get ownership over resources from the tiny obscure backward villages to the top managers in the corporates...from fighting for their beliefs to understanding their own individuality..from the hijaab to mini skirts..where  life isn't actually a matter of choice, but what choice you can make within those pre-decided and laid down for you...and as every woman knows, the choice is most times , if not totally absent, absolutely limited..what does she say to a guy who pinches you , feels you up in a crowded place? what do you choose to do when a jeans invites catcalls? what do you do when you are known by your curves and beauty and not brains? what do you do when some men will go to length to put you down because. let's face it, they do not want to acknowledge you can stimulate them anywhere except between their legs...

yes..sometimes being a woman comes with advantages..but..yeah..there's a huge 'but' in between..yes there are men who are not  the chauvinists..yes there are opportunities..yes the generation next is more equipped,..yes , a woman, a while back, won the oscar for best direction..yes, there is hope..but...there's the 'but'  again...it's 100th woman's day celebration...irrespective of religion, of country, of race, women have had to fight for being women..where women of extraordinary strength have led battles when no one else had the courage to raise a finger..it is not because they had the choices, but because they were extraordinary women under the less ordinary circumstances.

female literacy is still is 54. 16 % in india, the largest workforce but  limited rights over resources, with every pregnancy, be it in rural or urban area, a dangerous one, where a  woman still cannot have a choice on her reproduction, where she still cannot prove herself just by being herself and every day is a battle because she is SHE..can life change? will tomorrow be different..well..we'll wait for tomorrow's headlines...

to every one..a happy women's day..the men, thank you for giving us the impetus to be..yes..either ways, even when you're pushing us back or giving us the strength ...and the women..don't give up..keep going...good luck..

Fading Memories

i have forgotten..do not know why i remembered it today..was it the blurred black and white picture of me and vicky on snow?was it pamuk's snow that brought it in?i do not know...

i have forgotten..


the softness of my mother's embrace
the security of my father's voice


my first memories are of Kasauli
but i do not remember how snow felt
do not remember how the snowflakes look


are they pure white like a virgin's veil?
or dulled white like your white shirt
that i washed with the green brown bandhni chunni
and the colours stuck..

are they like this dull ache in my heart?
or bright as the hope that burns in it?
or has it been dimmed by the lost moments
of hurts gathered, of relationships lost..

was it cold like the ice in the fridge?
or did it feel warm on my sweater?
or did it melt into water when i held it in my hand
no i do not remember...

but i remember i was happy
with the snowmen we made

i know one was mine
every kid had one..

i remember i also lost my first doll's left shoe there
i remember riding on people's shoulders to monkey point
i remember i was happy..

i remember the vision
and sometimes think it
but i have forgotten to be happy..
i have forgotten..

चलो अब जाने दो..

चलो अब जाने दो..
हम जंगली लोगों का मेट्रो में दम बहुत घुटता है..

ना वो भाषा अपनी
ना वो लोग अपने..
ना हम उन्हें समझते हैं
ना हम उनकी समझ में आते हैं..

बस दम बहुत घुटता है..

ना  हमारी सर्दी यहाँ ..
ना हमारे सूरज की धुप..
यहाँ  कोहरा भी तो ठण्ड से कम

और pollution से ज्यादा होता है..

बस दम बहुत घुटता है...

सब्जियां तो सारी हैं यहाँ
पर   मिटटी की खुशबू  का स्वाद कहीं छोड़ आये हैं..
ना अपने झरने और कुए का मीठा पानी यहाँ
यहाँ  वो भी प्लास्टिक की bottles में आता है..

हाँ, दम बहुत घुट जाता है...

ना हमारे रंगीले पंच्छी यहाँ ..
बस कुछ कौवे और कबूतर उड़ उड़  आते हैं..
ना हमारे खुले आसमान में चमकते तारे यहाँ..
बस aeroplane के lights टिमटिमाते हैं..

इस कोहरे भरे माहौल में...बस दम बहुत घुट जाता है...

रोज़ हमारे घर को आशियाना अपना बनाते हैं
कुछ पौधे हमारे जंगल से..कुछ अपने रंग के cushion
एक यहाँ , एक वहां लगाते हैं
पर चौदवीं मंजिल के safety grill से
जब आसमान को दिल तकता है...
तो कुछ पिंजरे सा ही लगता है..
हाँ दम बहुत घुटता है...

हर दिन हम यहाँ
कुछ कहानी खुद को सुनाते हैं..
आंसूं भी अब पराये हुए..
देखें कौन हमें , हम किसे अपनाते हैं..

पर दम आज बहुत घुटता है...बस दम बहुत घुटता है...