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काश मैं वो बारिश की बूँद होता

काश मैं वो बारिश की बूँद होता,

काश मैं वो बारिश की बूँद होता,

तो आपके कन्धों पर बैठ के एक और बार दुनिया देख पाता,

आपकी साइकिल पर बैठ सैर कर पाता

 

काश मैं वो बारिश की बूँद होता,

तो आपके सीने पर एक और बार सो पाता,

आपकी सोंधी सी खुशबू महसूस कर पाता

 

काश मैं वो बारिश की बूँद होता,

तो फिर किसी मैदान में कोई खेल खेल पाता,

आपसे जीतने की वो बचपन की ख़ुशी को दुबारा जी पाता…

 

काश मैं वो बारिश की बूँद होता,

तो स्कूल न जाने का बहाना ढूंढ पाता,

और घंटो आपके साथ मस्ती कर पाता…

 

काश मैं वो बारिश की बूँद होता,

तो फिर आपसे अनगिनतक्योंक्योंकर सवाल कर पाता,

मेरे हर बचकाने सवाल पर आपका सहज सा जवाब सुन पाता

 

काश मैं वो बारिश की बूँद होता,

तो एक आखिरी बार आपके पास बैठ कर आपकी हर बात सुन पाता,

आपके सारे अनकहे अनसुने दुःख बाँट पाता

 

काश मैं वो बारिश की बूँद होता,

तो आपकी हथेलियों पर फिर से खड़ा हो पाता,

और उन्ही हथेलियों की रेखाओं को बदल देता

 

काश मैं वो बारिश की बूँद होता,

तो हर उस गवाएं पल के लिए आपके गले लग पाता,

और शायद एक बार ही सही पर रो पाता

 

काश मैं वो बारिश की बूँद होता,

तो भगवान् से लड़ जाता,

और हमेशा के लिए अपने पास रोक लेता

 

काश मैं वो बारिश की बूँद होता,

तो आपके आखिरी पलों में आपके साथ होता,

आपमें समां कर आपके साथ ही इस दुनिया से चला जाता

 

काश मैं वो बारिश की बूँद होता,

तो स्याही बन कर आपके लिखे हुए शब्द बन जाता,

और दुनिया से जाने के बाद भी आपका नाम अमर कर जाता

 

काश मैं वो बारिश की बूँद होता,

काश मैं वो बारिश की बूँद होता

मानससमीरमुकुल

I have previously written a poem with the same name with a romantic angle – Read here – “Kaash main wo baarish ki boond hota”

This blog is a part of the #BirthdayBlogTrain hosted by Gunjan Upadhyay http://tuggunmommy.com/ and Neha Sharma http://growingwithnemit.com/.

I would like to thank Nisha from https://www.thefantasticmommy.com/ for introducing me to this blog train and would further like to introduce Silja Nair from https://vijvihaar.in/ to share her take on the prompts.

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19

Happy Birthday Papa

Happy Birthday Papa

The year was 1991. I was about 5 years old then. Papa always motivated us to be courageous, brave and work on our fitness and had this habit of saying that his body was made up iron and how I should also exercise and eat right to get that perfect balance for the body.

It was a hot summer morning and my summer vacations were going on. Papa was following his daily routine of exercise. I was in a fun mood that day and somehow got hold of a huge stick. He was sweating profusely and was exercising bare-chested. I was always a naughty child and was always ready with one or two tricks everyday.

That day I dared him, “Papa you always say that you are made of iron. Right. I want to test it today.”

He casually replied, “Yes I am and so are you. So how do you plan to take the test?”

Exuding my childhood innocence I stupidly suggested, “I will hit you with this stick on your back and lets see whether you feel any pain or not.”

One thing I would like to highlight about him; he was exceptional with kids especially when it involved their curiosity. He would never shy away from answering lamest of queries and encouraging them to try out new things. He always taught you would never learn until you fail.

He persuaded me to go ahead.

I kept on asking him again and again whether he was sure. Each and every time he confidently replied, “Yes! My son. Bring it on.”

I thought that I had thought this through but I was too naïve.

With all my might I swung the stick hard and bangggg!!!

Papa and Me

A crimson cylindrical line appeared where the stick hugged the skin.

Moments later similar crimson lines appeared on my cheeks with the love that was showered by my mom after the Iron Man test was completed.

Everybody in the family including my mom was shocked that I actually did it. They all thought I was just playfully bluffing. For a moment I was appalled too that I actually did it but it was all too late by then.

This was the kind of bond Papa and me shared for the major part of our lives. I remember he being either my partner at the running end on a cricket pitch or would be bowling to me being as part of the opposition. He always said that we are friends first and father-son later.

I clearly remember the nights scarred with power cuts and me spending most of them on his shoulders bombarding him with innumerous ‘whys’ and then would doze off on his chest. I would suck the juice out of oranges and then would give him the pulp to finish. How he would take me to buy cream rolls every evening. How he would take me on a bicycle round and round every time it rained. The memories are uncountable and the vacuum is forever.

For the last 3-4 years he would constantly say to me that I want an hour from you and want to discuss something but destiny always deceived us. In fact there was a trip, which we both undertook and the only time that we were separate was the time when we would use loo. I guess this sums up what a father-son relation actually becomes when they grow old. Both of them have so much bottled up to say but none of them has the courage to look weak.

Everybody loses someone in his or her life and my case isn’t special. It’s just that sometimes when the people are alive you don’t have the words and expressions to convey your feelings and this is my way of communicating to him. I am sure wherever he will be he will be in peace and would definitely be smiling over me; reading what all I write. It’s been 530 days since he left us and he would have been 65 years old today. There hasn’t been a single day where I haven’t craved to speak to him and hug him. Some would say he left too early…All I would say is that he lived like a king and he left royally too where he didn’t give anyone a chance to serve him in any manner and take care of him.

Manas ‘Sameer’ Mukul

A poem by my sister Shraddha Mukul

Life has moved on, and yet you still remain,
Your absence your memories is unbearable pain.

Every day I wait to sleep wait to be with you in my dreams,
I hug you, I hold you so close … your presence makes me smile,
And then I wake up and see you gone,
And that you were never there …you are gone for a while.

I waited on my bday … coz you promised you will always be there,
No matter which part of the world I am, you will come to me to celebrate,
You didn’t come … I am still waiting…
And now I wonder I might go crazy at this rate.

When I was little I always thought … nothing will ever happen to you,
And that you are “my daddy strong”
Look where I am standing Papa,
I feel so so very wrong.

I am angry at you and I feel cheated,
You promised you will never let go of me,
I am falling in the dark Papa,
Don’t you care anymore, can’t you see?

People say I am silly,
that one who goes never comes back,
They don’t know our connection, Papa
I know you will find me even in a world pitch black.

– Shraddha Mukul