ArpitGarg's Weblog

An opinion of the world around me

Posts Tagged ‘dead

Back From The Dead

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How would you feel when an old friend is back from the dead? Not literaly from the dead, but after a considerable estrangement. Happy? Excited? Surprised? Angry? Or a combination of feelings?

A close friend of mine who has a history of hibernating, popped up yesterday after an year or so. I called him up, whatsApp, email during this period of total blackout but to no avail. I tried enquiring his whereabouts, nada.

His name was added to our whatsApp group in hope. Yesterday I saw a message from him. I thought someone has hacked into and playing a prank. Given the group has Computer Engineers from IIT, it was no wild guess. Then the barrage of equally befuddled reactions from other people. We asked him a few verification questions before believing.

He answered all the questions correctly. Still not sure, I ringed him up. Was it his voice? After few secs of assurances, I was sure, he was the one. Then came the usual expletives.

Few 100 expletives later it was all normal. Like he was never estranged. I guess friendship is that kind of a bond.

Written by arpitgarg

October 4, 2014 at 4:04 pm

Posted in Personal

Tagged with , ,

कश्मीर त्रासदी: माँ के आंसू

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न देखा कभी सैलाब ऐसा,
क्या ऐसी भूल मुझसे हुई,
चहुंओर नीर तांडव पसरा,
लगा रात रोई है माँ मेरी।

प्रकृति कहर था सुना बहुत,
दिखा तो मेरी रूह काँपी,
जल-थल आपस में समा गए,
लगा रात रोई है माँ मेरी।

धन-धान सबकुछ तबाह हुआ,
मुह मोड़ तूने न सुनी दुआ,
हिम्मत भी मेरी डगा गयी,
लगा रात रोई है माँ मेरी।

बन्दूक से दुश्मन करता वार,
सह जाता वो भी एक बार,
पन-हमले से ऐसा लाचार,
लगा रात रोई है माँ मेरी।

हूँ दाने-दाने को मोहताज,
अपनों से भी मैं बिछड़ गया,
है नदी जहाँ था भरा बाजार,
लगा रात रोई है माँ मेरी।

मानव, जंतु सब बहे निढाल,
मेरा घर क्यों तूने छीन लिया,
अमृत ही है विष बन बैठा ,
लगा रात रोई है माँ मेरी।

डर लगता मुझको सन्नाटा,
दुआ आज मैं बस यही करूँ,
हिम्मत मुझको देना दाता,
माँ के आंसू मैं पौंछ सकूँ।।

Written by arpitgarg

September 14, 2014 at 4:23 am

Grandparents

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There was a village amidst the mountains. Total population would not have been more than couple of hundred. It was like a family living in harmony since generations.

Witness to all these years was a banyan tree. None knew exactly how old it was. Prevalent folklore varied its age from thousands to millions of years. All sorts of carvings could be made out from its trunk. Some looked prehistoric, some recent. The tree was so spread out that it acted like a city centre. Everyone hung out, celebrated festivals under it. It was an integral part of village life; a group of happy populous.

One morning people woke up to something. It was a windy day alright; but apart from sand and dust, there was something else in the air. Thousands of banyan leaves were flying around. Whole village soon gathered underneath the tree. It had lost half of its leaves overnight. The freshness of the morning soon turned into realization of a shock.

The tree was dying. The suddenness of the situation was more than anyone could handle. Ladies started weeping. Men could hardly speak. They prayed, pleaded with their Gods. Every avenue possible was explored but to no avail. It was two weeks when the last of the leaf was seen. It was now a dead wood. The life was not the same anymore.

Suddenly the sun seemed hotter, rains heavier and stars aplenty. Years went by and the tales about the age of the tree changed into tales about existence of it. People started to live indoors. There were no community gatherings anymore. It was like the societal fiber just vanished, the thread broken, the elastic snapped.

Similar is the impact of elders in a home. Grandparents we call them. No one knows how old the grandmother is. She was born this old, with wrinkles, for all we know. Nobody knows from where the wisdom of Grandfather comes from. He is The Britannica for all we know.

They are the root that symbolizes the family and keeps everyone together. Once they leave, the sons/daughters become a self existent entity. The family gatherings become less. The circle of life springs into action. Each of those offshoots starts their own family, become old to be called grandparents themselves. The vacuum remains but the life moves on.

Soon number of trees cropped up under the dead root. The city centre was vibrant again. The banyan tree gave way to multitude of trees. New fruits and new flowers; New pours and new showers.

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