ArpitGarg's Weblog

An opinion of the world around me

Posts Tagged ‘childhood

Wannabe Love Stories

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“Love, a quaint feel,
Love, rags to glories,
North to south, East to west,
Everyone likes love stories”

Right from the childhood we are told stories of a charming prince to the rescue of the cursed princess, the frog prince kissed back to human form, Cinderella’s shoe etc. Even in our Indian culture, who would not know of Heer-Ranjha, Shirin-Farhad? Even Satyavan-Savitri and Ram-Sita are eternal love stories.

A common thread to all these is the struggle and sacrifice through the journey. The princess had to be cursed, the prince had to fight the dragon, Cinderella had to go through the hardships, Ranjha and Farhad are replete with tragedies too. In fact, it’s this very element of tragedy that makes love stories all the more eternal. Nature has perhaps intertwined a tinge of pain even with lovemaking for that very reason.

All this makes a good read, doesn’t it? Love stories are cherished by all. But love can’t be plotted/planned/forced. It just happens. But since we have grown up being fed these ever romantic tales, we want to have our own love story. Here is where things go awry. We try and force a love story. Peer pressure perhaps. Love does not mean having a trophy to show around and a background story to talk about. Sadly it has been reduced to this very thing.

When one really falls in love, there is no explicit need to convey it. It’s felt. But when we try and initiate love so as to make a love story, it’s devious. Here is what happens and why it twitches with time. One tends to portray oneself so as the other person will like him/her. This charade can go on to an extent but no more. One tends to make compromises with a lot of things just for the sake of a story. These things keep on accumulating leading to an eventual blowout.

It’s always nice to have a love story but it’s not pertinent for being a romantic. Be with someone only if you like the company, or perhaps for obvious needs. But to try and enforce love to chart out a love story will only result chaos and nothing else. Wait for the sparks to happen. Artificial sparks is never a good option.

Written by arpitgarg

August 22, 2011 at 5:03 pm


with 2 comments

बात है उस दिन की, पैदा हुआ था मैं,
सफ़ेद लिबास में पुचकार रही थी वो,
उम्र न देखी, वक़्त न देखा, बस ली फिर्की,
नर्स को ही देखकर हो गया मैं ठर्की|

नर्सरी क्लास का है किस्सा यह,
आगे की कुर्सी पे बैठी थी वो,
खींच दी आहिस्ता से चोटी उसकी,
उसकी नन्ही जुल्फों में उलझा ये ठर्की|

चौथी कक्षा की टीचर जी,
हर बच्चा उन पे मरता था,
कितनों से लड़ा, कितनी तोड़ी बत्तीसी,
ब्लैक बोर्ड की लिखाई ने कर दिया ठर्की|

स्कूल के मास्टर की कोचिंग जाता था,
कुछ अपनापन था वहां, दिल को भाता था,
नंबर अब जो भी दे वो, बेटी भा गयी मास्टर की,
फेल और पास क्या जाने, यह मन तो है ठर्की|

बचपन का दोस्त था जो, एक दिन बोला वो,
नीले दुपट्टे में आई है जो, दिल ले गयी मेरा,
कहने को भाभी होनी थी, पर मर्जी इश्वर की,
समझा लूँगा दोस्त को मैं, न समझे ये दिल ठर्की|

कम्पटीशन का पेपर देने बैठा था, आर या पार,
दो सीट आगे बैठी थी, दिल हुआ बेकरार,
सलेक्श हो जाएगा अगले साल सही,
आज जी भर के देखूं उसको, हो कर ठर्की|

ऑफिस में तो सुधर जा अब, सीधा बन,
शिकायत करेगी, जायेगी नौकरी, होगी कुर्की,
जान दे, दूसरी मिल ही जायेगी नौकरी तो,
आज रोका तो बुरा मान जाएगा दिल ठर्की|

बचपन में सीखा था मैंने,
कैसा भूल गया यह ज्ञान,
अब ना भूलूंगा जीवन भर,
हर दिन जाप करूंगा, जी कर, मर कर|

इश्क में पड़ेगा तो जान से जाएगा,
ऐसा घुसेगा, पानी नहीं पायेगा,
जूतों से पिटवाएगी यह लड़की,
नज़र रख सीधी, मत बन ठर्की||

Lies Within

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Lie is defined by the Oxford dictionary as “to say something that you know is not true”. Going by this simple definition, it should not be very difficult to adhere to the childhood sermons of “not to lie”, should it? Your first guess might be a No, of course. But that’s not how the material world works. In fact let me be crude enough to say that we lie all our lives.

I was taught during the childhood that if you lie, you will go to hell. This in itself seems to be a lie. Have you ever been to a retail shop? “Are bhaisaab khareed kee rate de raha hoon. Do paise ka profit nahin hai isme. Isse kam doonga toh ghaate mein jaayega” (I am giving you at the purchase cost. Anything less and I will have to bear the loss). Do you really believe that the shopkeeper is telling the truth? “Khareed ki rate” (at purchase cost) Huh! He is lying all right. Given this assumption and the process of induction, hell should be one hell of a crowded place.

“A lie which does not hurt anyone, is not considered a lie” Now who the hell said that. Why did he say it? Why do we believe it? Mere rumors.

My problem is that I feel uneasy when lying. It doesn’t matter how innocent the lie is. There is this inner feeling that no one would believe me. It crept up from childhood when my parents used to take my elder sister’s word over me, always. That I used to lie most of the times, is a different matter altogether. But still they never believed my lie. Once my sister and I were playing and I broke the table lamp. When parents got home, we blamed one another. I was the one who was grounded. Tell me one thing; how the hell they knew who did really break the lamp. It was as if they disowned me. That was the feeling then. Now I know that they being parents know how to look beyond the words and through the eyes of their child. They know when the child is lying. Then again, it might be a pure guess work. Who knows?

Once you decide that you will never lie, it is bound to create social problems. Coz believe me, we live in The Matrix. People are so seasoned to hear lies all the time that the sound of truth is poison to their ears. Try telling your wife how fat she is. Just try. When parents ask their teenage child, Do you drink? Deep down they know that like all teenagers you would be trying stuff too. But it feels nice to hear. “No Pa”. They are not asking you to admit the truth. They just want you to lie. I try to avoid such questions with potential social disaster. I try and change the topic.

The most charismatic of all is the concept of witness stand in the court. They ask the witness to be sworn by Geeta to speak the truth and only the truth. All of us including Geeta herself know very well that this concept no longer holds a sacred place in our lives. Still we consider whatever a person is saying under oath, to be truth. This, when we don’t permit polygraph as evidence. Say the tests are correct 70% of the times. It would still be better than 0%. Try to understand the complexity here. By admitting whatever a person says under oath to be true and knowing that whatever he is saying is a lie, we are doing nothing but lying to ourselves.

The biggest form of a lie I believe is the one which we tell ourselves. “I will pay off the debt next month” You assure yourself by lying within. When you know there wouldn’t be any next month. It’s either today or no-day. “I can have one more drink. What’s the harm”? Deep down you know what the harm would be, but decide to convince yourself of a different truth.

Lying to others may affect your social standing and outlook of other towards you. But lying within distorts your own psyche. Sort of creates conflicting personalities. You can easily change your friends and the place you live in and do away with external sigma. However it’s not the same within. Lie to others as much as you want but try and sort out the inner truths.

Written by arpitgarg

June 29, 2010 at 11:20 pm

फिर वो पुरानी याद आई

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क्यों रह रह कर आते सपने,
उन पीर परायी रातों के,
क्यों होती है दिल में हलचल,
उन नई पुरानी बातों से,
क्यों जहन में अटकी हैं यादें,
जब गलियों की कच्ची सड़कें,
सावन में पक्की लगती थीं,
जब टूटी सायिकल की गद्दी,
मोटर से मुलायम लगती थी,
जब आंच पे पकती रोटी भी,
जायके में अव्वल लगती थी,
क्या दौर था वो, कुछ और था वो,
सुख चैन का बस सिरमौर था जो,

वो समां पुराना चला गया,
कुछ और देर तक रहता फिर,
मिल बैठ के बातें करते हम,
कोई रीत पुरानी गाता में,
कुछ गम मिल जुलकर करते कम|

मैदान में वो गिरना पड़ना,
हर बात पे बालक हठ करना,
जो हवा बनाई डींगे हांक,
सब अव्वल बैटिंग देते थे,
जो आड़े आया कोई सो,
अपने सुदबुध में ऐंठे थे,
जो पेड़ सुनहरा गुलमोहरी,
दिनभर हरिया बरसाता था,
वोह बेल हवा में टूट टूट,
और नीम का मस्ती लहराना,
क्या दौर था वो, कुछ और था वो,
सुख चैन का बस सिरमौर था जो,

वो समां पुराना चला गया,
कुछ और देर तक रहता फिर,
मिल बैठ के बातें करते हम,
कोई रीत पुरानी गाता में,
कुछ गम मिल जुलकर करते कम|

शादी का मौसम सुनते ही,
मुहँ में पानी का आ जाना,
ख्वाब में भी खुरचन लड्डू की,
आपस में कुश्ती करवाना,
और कचौड़ी पूड़ी  से,
घी का टप टप रिसते जाना,
और नहीं, बस और नहीं,
एक और तो लो, तुम्हें मेरी कसम,
भाभी देवर का टकराना,
क्या दौर था वो, कुछ और था वो,
सुख चैन का बस सिरमौर था जो,

वो समां पुराना चला गया,
कुछ और देर तक रहता फिर,
मिल बैठ के बातें करते हम,
कोई रीत पुरानी गाता में,
कुछ गम मिल जुलकर करते कम|

बीमार था जब, सब याद है अब,
दादी ने नजर उतारी थी,
अलाएँ बालाएं सब टल जाएँ,
इस बात की दुआ पुकारी थी,
दीवाली में पूरे कुनबे का,
मिल जुलकर बाड़ा चमकाना,
कुछ दीपक से, कुछ बत्ती से,
सब ओर प्रकाश का टिम टाना,
सब बच्चों को नगदी मिलना,
बड़ों का आशीर्वाद कहलाता था,
एक सुई, एक धागे में,
सारा संसार पिर जाता था,
क्या दौर था वो, कुछ और था वो,
सुख चैन का बस सिरमौर था जो,

वो समां पुराना चला गया,
कुछ और देर तक रहता फिर,
मिल बैठ के बातें करते हम,
कोई रीत पुरानी गाता में,
कुछ गम मिल जुलकर करते कम|

हो गई पुरानी सब बातें,
यादें भी धुंधली हो हैं चली,
पर मन जाने क्यों अटका है,
कभी ना जाना, उसी गली,
कभी कभी एक आस जगे,
क्यों ना कल जब सो के उठें,
तो सुबह उन्हीं गलियों में हो,
रात उन्हीं अठखलियों से हो,
पर बीत चुका कब आया है,
बीते की याद ही आई है,
क्या दौर था वो, कुछ और था वो,
सुख चैन का बस सिरमौर था जो,

वो समां पुराना चला गया,
कुछ और देर तक रहता फिर,
मिल बैठ के बातें करते हम,
कोई रीत पुरानी गाता में,
कुछ गम मिल जुलकर करते कम|

Written by arpitgarg

February 20, 2009 at 7:57 am

Munna ki Shaadi

with 3 comments

Everyone has some childhood memory which tend to bring smiles. For me it would be “childhood rhymes”. One which I sang the most, enjoyed the most is the, “Munna ki Shaadi”. Try singing it fast, would enjoy better. Also if you can couple it with claps, pleasure would be supreme.

Written by arpitgarg

September 24, 2008 at 2:31 pm

Is life really this amusing?

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Whenever my friends used to tell some interesting incident of their life, I was always like, “O! God Why have you never done anything so cool in my life?” Really people, this has been one of my greatest regrets, I have nothing interesting to tell. I never understood why and how people have so much interesting to tell? Let me jot down a few of such things which my friends told me, that were quiet fun and unique.

  • One of my friend never forgets what his dream was last night. He can explain you his dream in such detailed interesting fashion that you feel like “Well dreams are such fun. Why do I never remember them?”
  • Many of my friends have interesting tales about the holidays they spent in their ancestral village. I always feel like a “Joey”, whenever some one is telling such a story. The tales of old havelis, bonfires, gang fights. I could never believe that they do happen outside movies. But so do people say!
  • One of my friend stopped visiting his ancestral village, coz his parents were worried that his aunt (who lives in village) would feed him poison coz she didn’t have a son. I shook my head in utter disbelief. He said his parents were damn worried.
  • Once when I was sitting in a friends room at college. A colleague came rushing in asking us to google out the number of Chapra (Bihar) S.P, coz their has been an attack on his family and he wanted to instruct the SP to take care of the situation till he reaches the home. (Not that I want such a thing to happen to me, but still…something close to that would do)
  • A couple of my friends used to play with used contraceptives and fill them up with water and swing them like balloons. (I still wonder, was I so dumb that it never occurred to me?)
  • One of my friend used to play with snakes and bats since childhood. I was sure that he was faking, when one day, he caught a flying bat with a towel and put it in a jar in front of us. We were like stunned. Then he captured a couple more.
  • One of my friend had very interesting characters in his neighborhood. One was a guy who used to rub under his arm and then smell his palm. Other was a shopkeeper who used to fight with his own children as to who would drink the sip of pepsi that the last customer have left in the bottle. Another one was a African guy, who went mad when people called him “Kaalu”.
  • One of my friends had a personal stalker, now would you not long to have one for yourself. How unfair God.
  • One of my friends’ family tried to get him engaged when he was in college. The girl’s (with whom my friend was to get engaed) sister who was also married to my friends’s cousin was putting emotional pressure on him (my friend was in first year of bachelors at that time). The need for such a hurry was that the girl was 5’10 or 5’11 something and her family knew that finding well educated suitable groom would be hell of a problem and my friend is 6’2. He had to do something fishy to get out of it. I mean wouldn’t it have been interesting, at least a tale to tell, if it would have happened to me. But shucks, I am not 6’2.
  • All of my friends have had atleast one such childhood fight (fight bole to ekdum dishum dishum waali), that they still cherish to remember, but not me. God has been so cruel to me that I never as much slapped someone in my school as far as I remember. No broken tooth, no bruised leg, no black eye, no swollen forehead. Being fat also didn’t help. As they say, “Fat people are very jovial and don’t fight”. Neither can they flight nor can they chase you down.

It’s not that my life has been totally void. It’s not the case. I have had my share of fun, my share of smiles, my share of cries, my share of naughtiness, and my share of tries. But the incidents have been nowhere close to the ones cited above. When my friends used to tell me their stories, they didn’t seem true to me; so much so that I used to think that they are faking most of it. But over the years I have learnt that maybe not having any such amusing incidents in my life at all, makes my life all together differently amusing.

Written by arpitgarg

September 4, 2008 at 11:06 am

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