Why "Secret Santa book gift" is a bad idea

A lot of my friends have joined in the "Secret Santa book gift activity" on Facebook. Being a book lover myself  I thought I should write about the reasons why I think it is not such a good idea and propose an alternate way.

For those unaware, this is how "Secret Santa" works.

1. Person C joins in the event by commenting on Person B’s “book gift activity” message.
2. Person C is then asked to gift a book to another person (A) mentioned by person B. Think of it as a participation fee.
3. Person C then posts the “book gift activity” message and the trend continues.

OK now that the rules are clear let us look at with the help of the diagram.

L1----------------------------------A--------------------------------

L2-----A1----A2-----A3-----------------A4-----A5-----A6----------

L3---A11-A16---A21-A26-----A31-A36------A41-A46------A51-A56----A61-A66.

Based on the above info we know that the Level 3 will be giving the gifts to Level 1.Which really makes it exciting. Because the Level 1 guy is getting all of 36 books, while gifting just 1 book. (His participation fee). Since this is a chain everyone gets 36 books by gifting just one book. Amazing right?

Not quite so. Although it must be obvious but let me do the explaining nevertheless.

Assuming that books are not being created out of thin air, the number of books bought will be the same as the number of books gifted. So when you get 36 books it essentially means that 35 people taking part in it will not be getting a single book. Sound more like a lottery than a secret santa, right?

Only thing is; it is worse. While in a lottery the chances of winning the jackpot will be equal for everyone, here the chances are biased to your social popularity. The way to ensure that you get 36 books is by ensuring that there are atleast two levels below you. (And don’t kid yourself in thinking that everyone will be able to do it. As I have explained earlier for every one person getting the complete two levels, there will be 35 failing to do so.)

So the secret of getting more books to read is to be more socially active. A little ironic isn’t it? Also dare I say; a little “Amway” ish. The only difference (that too for worse)  is you are selling the scheme to your friends instead of acquaintance.

Now that I have explained the absurdity of it let me also dig into the language of the post.

“Want some books for Christmas? Join this lovely Secret Santa thread doing the rounds on Facebook. All you have to do is buy one book and send it to one person. In exchange, you'll receive lots more in return!

I just need six people of any age/location (within India) to participate in this book exchange. Comment below if interested, and I will privately message you how to go about it.

Let the fun begin!”

Notice the part that talks about buying a new book. Gifting a book would have been enough right?. And any true book lover will value a well-kept used book more than a new one. I do not want to turn this into a conspiracy theory blog but you must be getting the hint by now.

Another interesting point (proof?) is that books are not getting exchanged. Funny!

Let me break this down for you if you did not get the joke. You have, through a social network, created a group of 36 people who all love books. What would you want to do?

(a)   Exchange books among themselves

(b)  Create a contest where the most popular person gets to keep all the books.

Based on the trend clearly (b) is the answer. 

So here is what I propose. Instead of creating levels; Create a circle. Pass on the books to next guy/girl every month.  So by end of jan, a1 gives a book to a2, a2 gives a book to a3 and so on.Only rule; put forward the name of your nominated book initially and that book must not have been read by at least 50% of the remaining people in the circle.

                                                       

Abnormal man

Is it because he is unique; Gifted , special. Or is it simply his disgrace; his absolute failure at being normal. Everything hinges on this one question. Who then will provide the answer and more importantly when. And then comes an even more alarming concern; will he provide the answer.

Will he fumble presenting his answers to God; or will his God be answerable to whatever heavens that lie above Him.

(Sample paper: Questions may vary during the final examination)

Answer the following questions (objective types): Max time 5 minutes. No cutting allowed. Answers to be filled with permanent ink.

    

1.   Is Mr __ good or bad?
   
2.        Is Mr __ brave to follow a new path or a coward who ran away from minor challenges that the entire world faces so solemnly?
   
   
3. Is Mr__ strong-willed or a stubborn idiot?
   
   
4. Which emotion do you feel for Mr__? (you can pick more than one)

a)      pity

b)      proud

c)      disgust

d)      anger

e)      irrelevance

And the wait. Oh! The agony of an uncertain wait. And what use is any of this if the results are not in favor. Is the life worth living at all then? What if he keeps on trying only to be told at the fag end that he failed? What then? Hell, there cannot be a retest either. Can’t anyone even drop a bloody hint? The maddening excruciating numbing wait.

Lethargy lurks in. What’s the point? Just lie down. There is no goal. There is no meaning. There is no hurry. Be still, relax. Yet relaxed, he does not feel. He feels sad. Unexplained melancholy swirls around, devouring him slowly.

It would have been another story if he would have chosen a pious path. That would have been a normal abnormality. His pains would have then become sacrifices. There is a well-defined path laid out for this abnormality. A positive results is almost a certainty no matter how screwed up his life would have been.But that he is not. He is as selfish as any normal person.

His abnormality rises from the fact that he keeps on questioning and cannot take “everyone does that” as an answer. Oh, there is a type there too. The Einstein type. Questioning everything, destined for greatness. Great, he is not and greatness is not his aspiration either.

Save for this abnormality he is perfectly normal. It’s an extremely tricky grey zone. There are no established case studies here. There is no way of knowing the result. What choice does he have then but to lose his grip on fear as he gets numbed by this uncertain wait?

He slips in the nadirs with darkness swallowing him quickly. And then comes this thought. This small thought that lights up everything. What if he questions the importance of result itself and refuse to take “everyone does that” for an answer. Can he really do that? Is he even allowed?

He does not know. But he follows it anyway. Maybe the thought will lift him up to new heights or maybe it will burst soon throwing him into even deeper darkness. But he is not waiting for that result anymore. For now, the abnormal man smiles.

Smile

Her smile albeit faint exposes

her disconnect from reality.

And yet she is no dreamer.
that distant faraway look clearly missing

Then who is she.

We share the same “now”

but her reality so different than mine.

Her faint smile proves that.

It annoys me a little at first

and then a lot more.

For a part of me knows why,

And the rest fights to unlearn

How I wished for her smile to be a brave front.

Oh! What poetry would it be?

The redness of her lips matching her bruises

A sunset; don’t we all love a sad smile.

Acceptable still, if she would be pretty

An unpolished gem among the coal mines

Her smile a celebration of her uniqueness,

But how ordinary her features are

How dare she be beautiful then, ju her smile.

Heat so strong that everything withers

Dry wind blows furiously, scorching all joy

Not a tree, let alone a roof

Her utensils shine like a sword, murderous.

Calm. How can it be?

I think of asking her but do not

She probably would not know 

Or maybe I fear her answer

I pass her by silently

Her smile etched in my memory

slowly contorting my face into a smile

1 thing you should start doing (Sorry I don't have a "gif")

There is a lot that is wrong with the articles currently circulated on social websites. Judging by the "likes" and "shares" they are pretty popular too. I will be honest. I don’t like them one bit. I think they are doing what Chetan Bhagat did to literature. They inspire new readers (the good part) and then they restrict them to that for their whole life (the horror part). And I failed to fathom why this happens. I understand no one starts with big profound literary works. I started with champak, balhans, Nancy Drew, Sydney Sheldon,  and then build my way gradually up.

And it's not just that way for people who start early. I have introduced novels to a lot of my friend (And I say it with a lot of pride) and I see them reading such big range of work now. Its generally small books initially; Animal Farm , To Kill a Mockingbird, O Henry's short stories, Premchandra 's short stories. But the guys who start with Chetan Bhagat, I don’t know what happens to them. All they could reach is "Anything for you Mam."

And I think I see the same pattern with Scoopwhoop or Storypick or other sites of the same sort. No one now seems to have the time to enjoy a good long article. No New Yorker, Der Spiegel or any random blog for that matter. And this really saddens me. But the article is not about that.

There are other things here that annoy me. The bulletisation for one." 10 things you should do (7th is awesome)". Does no one have the patience to read a paragraph anymore? And I think gifs are cool but that's what 9gag is for. I would like to keep them separate. It was probably funny the first two-three times but to make a template out of it just irritates me. The quality of language seems to be a clear outcome of the recklessness that comes with deadlines.

It is about something more important. Something that we as a society seem to be losing. If you have a bit of time at your hand just quickly go through the above paragraphs. Notice the number of times that I have used "I". I think it is irritating. I think the quality is not good...and so on .". Now go to any of these websites. Notice the number of "you" there. "10 things you should do", "10 things you should avoid", "Why you should marry a girl who travels". 

Welcome my friend to the world of diminished individuality. A world, where people don’t share experiences as "food for thought". They shovel advice down your throat. When an anchor says the "nation wants to know" he assumes that his question is the all important all knowing one. I don't like Chetan Bhagat novels and I like people who travel and I may even use that as some basis for selecting my friends. But that would be because I would opt for compatibility. But no fucking way in hell, have I the right to say that I am better than them. They could have other things. They may not like to travel much but just want to listen to music on weekends. Who am I to compare a sight of the flowing river with the melody of Beatles.

One may leave a high paying job and I would love to hear his/her experience but it would be absolutely foolish of him/her to say that nobody should pursue high paying jobs. This act of making us follow one path and one path only horrifies me. The news channels are the same. Gone are the days of debate. I remember my teachers telling me in school that a chance of debate reaching a conclusion is nigh impossible. The idea is to listen to both sides and take out the insights. Try telling that to the newsroom debates of today where the conclusion is fixed even before the debate begins.

This has now crept up in our day to day life as well. Very often I would take what I do as a standard template and try to force fit the life of people around me into it. There is a sense of security in it. There is ease in it too. Don't we all love if everybody will speak the same language as we do? But this needs to be checked against.

So ironically I will end it with a "Thou shall not " statement. Don't force your views on others. Present them as an option but leave the choice to others. That's all I ask.

Password Story

Password Story

After the 9/11 crisis, Microsoft faced an issue. To retrieve the passwords of people who died. It looks trivial and yes, inhumane too in front of the tragedy that had just occurred. Regardless, it was a serious problem. A lot of people were privy to information only known to them and their computer/mailbox. In the absence of the password it would all have been lost.

The brute force technique would have solved it eventually but would have taken a lot of time. To give an example let's assume that password is to be of 5 characters and all of them letters. The machine will start with applying aaaaa as a password and will try all combinations till zzzzz until the password is retrieved. That's 26^5 combinations. And in the real word the passwords are more than 5 letters , the length is also not fixed and special characters and uppercase letters are also involved. It is clearly a tough, very tough task.

So they have to look at the person's life for inputs. For e.g. , was he married? If yes, than could his marriage anniversary be a password. How did they combine this information with brute force exactly, I can only imagine. And this blog is definitely not going to cover that.

What I was interested in is how that little password; that is there only for security reasons; that has no impact or belonging to our life; could carry so much of "us" in it. Based on our need to remember it we award to it a print of our personality.

Of course it's not the same for everyone. The" security-ease of remembering" trade off creates a fascinating scene. The absolute pro-security ones will make up an absolute random password like 12sfgdv$%k and commit it to memory. The one that favours ease of remembrance will opt for birthday dates, wedding dates etc. It's the one in middle that fascinates me. Those who would like their password to be secure enough to be random to others but personal enough for them to remember. In the process of doing so they provide to it an imprint of their personality. The imprint could be well thought off or could be more subconscious.

There is this absolutely moving story of how a mother found out about his son's homosexuality only after his death. His password was" lambda1969". Lambda is the Greek word "I" sometimes referring to the gay liberation. The year 1969 referring to the year of stonewall riots.

My passwords were never this profound but now that I look at them closely they do reveal some things about me. Initially my passwords were names of famous English movies like "matrix" , "killbill" etc. I grew up in a small town where English was, and I dare say;  is, something that commands respect. The fact that I can understand English movies gave me something of a status. Also that they were much better than hindi movies, is a statement not many would argue on. So basically it was something that I liked and gave me a bit of status. No wonder they became my initial passwords.

My password up next, "confuse" or some variation of it pretty much defines my after school years. I had one focus in the later part of my school life; To get into an IIT. Once I was there I was not really sure if that was what I wanted to do . I felt like coming back but then I was not sure if I wanted to come back either. It is the confusion of choosing what to do that just stayed with me and crept its way to my password. In between there was time of homesickness where my password became my hometown itself. "Banswara". There was also a time; that I remember now with a fair amount of cringe, when a conversation with my Ex tested my patience to a hilt resulting in the password "fuckyouall". The fact that my password today is a far more positive word tells me that I probably came out of it all Okay (Fingers crossed)

So here is what I would want you guys to do. Think of your old or new passwords and think of the way it captures you and I would love to hear your story. I think it's a fascinating read into somebody (and I do know this is borderline voyeurism but I am what I am) and also I think it would be nice to create a story about it.

I really don’t know what I am looking for and probably it's too much to ask for anyway.

But I do believe there is a compelling urge in everyone to make their stories heard just like there is a compelling urge in me to hear those stories. Here is the link for you to send me the stories anonymously. There is an option of sharing your details too but needless to say they would be purely confidential.

Your password story . I must admit my reach to social media is fairly limited so do help me spread it around. If you know of someone who would be interested in sharing his password story , feel free to forward the link around.

Goa Supari

ये बात तब की हैं जब मैं स्कूल मैं पड़ा करता था. हाँ काफ़ी वक़्त हो चला हैं. इतना तो यक़ीनन ही के यहाँ वहा
बिखरे सच्चाई के फीके हिस्से "Nostalgia" के "Palette" से रंगसार हो जाए. बेहतरी भी इसी मैं हैं. असल कहानी तो नीरस ही होती हैं

पर उपर की कुछ एक पड़ते उकेरो, आड़े तेडे उभारो को सहला के समतल करो, हल्के हाथो से पिचके हुए कोनो को समतल करो , अपनी कल्पना के रंग उपर से छिद्को और जैसे वो "Cooking shows" मे कहते हैं ना , कहानी तैयार. देखने मे बेशक सच्चाई  से बिल्कुल ही अलग लगे पर परत दो परत नीचे से ही सच्चाई की नींव दिखने लग जाएँगी . फिर चाहे उसे "Fiction" कहो या "Fantasy" अंतत:कोई साधारण सा इंसान एक लगभग साधारण सी ज़िंदगी ही जी रहा होता हैं

अरे ये बात बात पे मुद्दे से भटकने की मेरी बड़ी ही पुरानी और बेकार आदत हैं. अब कहाँ  मैं कहानी सुनाने जा रहा था और कहाँ  कहानी की परिभाषा स्थापित करने लगा. तो हाँ बात मेरे स्कूल के वक़्त की हैं. मैं पाँचवी या छ्थी मे पड़ता हूँगा और घर से स्कूल बमुश्किल ३ किलो मीटर की दूरी पे होगा. तो बस मुहल्ले के सारे बच्चें  साथ ही पैदल स्कूल जाते थे और फिर साथ मैं ही वापिस. रास्ते मैं १ पान सिगरेट की दुकान पड़ती थी जिसे हम सब ललचाई नज़रो से देखा करते थे. नही नही सिगरेट  जैसी कोई खराब  आदत नही थी मुझे . मुझे तो यहा तक पान भी कोई ख़ास नही भाता था . पर "Chewing Gum" चबाने का बड़ा शौक था. यू स्वाद तो कुछ ख़ास उसका भी नही लगता था और जो थोड़ा बहुत होता भी था वो बस पहले १-२ मिनट मे ख़त्म हो जाता था. फिर तो बस लगता था की "Rubber" चबा रहे हो जैसे . पर फिर भी "Chewing Gum" चबाने का एक अपना ही टॅशन था . सारे बल्लेबाज़ टीवी पे "Chewing Gum" चबा के ही "Batting" करने आते थे. हमारे भी मुक़ाबले चलते थे के कौन कितनी देर तक एक ही "chewing gum" चबा सकता हैं . घंटो चबाते रहते थे चाहे जबड़ा ही क्यों ना दुखने लगे.

और कुछ समय से "Centre Fresh" के साथ "Cricket cards" भी मिलने लगे थे. इन "cards" की भी अपने आप मैं एक अलग ही कहानी थी. हवा मैं बात थी के जो पूरे के पूरे १०० कार्ड्स इकट्‍ठे कर लेंगा उसे एक "bat" मिलेंगा . और वो भी कोई ऐसा वैसा नही , SG का. बड़े बड़े खिलाड़ी खेला करते थे उससे पुनीत बता रहा था हज़ारो मैं कीमत होती हैं उसकी. खैर मैने "हवा मैं बात " जुमले का प्रयोग इसलिए किया क्योंकि हमारी तमाम कोशिशो के बावजूद हम सब मिलकर भी वो १०० कार्ड्स जुटा नही पाए और उस "SG Bat" की सच्चाई असत्यापित ही रह गयी.

मेरी कहानी उस पान की दुकान से ही चालू होती हैं एक दिन एक आदमी उस पान की दुकान के बाजू मैं आके बैठ गया. आदमी भी बस कहने को ही था. मैले कुचले कपड़े जो की यहा वहा से फटे हुए थे . पैबंड लगाने की कोशिश की गयी थी पर उनकी हालत देखले कह सकते थे की उस प्रयास को भी काफ़ी वक़्त गुज़र चुका था. बाल बिखरे हुए जिनमे धूल भरी हुई थी. और उपर से १ शब्द भी नही बोलता थे जैसे किसी ने ज़ुबान पे ताला मार दिया हो उसके.

मेरा गाँव एक छोटा सा शांत सा गाँव था. और अभी तक तो "news channels" ने अपनी सनसनीखेज़ खबरो का आक्रमण भी चालू नही किया था. ऐसी परिस्थितियो मैं उस पान की दुकान के बगल वाले पागल का  कौत्तहूल का विषय बनना स्वाभाविक ही था

तरह तरह के कयास लगाए  जाते और हर दो तीन  दीनो मैं १ पक्की खबर तो यक़ीनन ही आ जाती. 

"  अरे बड़ा होनहार था , वैष्णव देवी की यात्रा के लिए निकला था अपने परिवार के साथ. Bus accident मे दोनो माँ बाप चल बसे . अब या तो उनकी मौत का सदमा था या फिर इसके सिर पे लगी चोट तभी सी इसकी ऐसी हालत हो गयी हैं ", शर्मा जी ने ये पक्की कहानी सुनाई. 

"बहुत प्यार करता था अपनी बीवी से. और बीवी थी भी इतनी खूबसूरत की जो देखे बस देखता रह जाए. जानने वालो ने बहुत समझाया की अपनी बीवी को इतनी आज़ादी मत दो . घर की इज़्ज़त घर की दीवारो  मे  ही शोभा देती हैं. पर ये तो प्यार मे पागल था . एक ना सुनी किसी की . फिर तो बस जो होना था वही हुआ. भाग गयी एक दिन वो .उस दिन जो टूटा ये तो फिर ना उबर सका" मिश्रा जी ने पुर विश्वास के साथ ये पक्की खबर बताई 

"बीवी का खून कर दिया दहेज के लिए. जब पोलीस को पता चल गया तो बचने के लिए पागल होने का नाटक चालू कर दिया " राजेश भैय्या ने अपनी "conspiracy theory" दी. राजेश भैय्या की पड़ाई तो पूरी हो चुकी थी पर नौकरी की तलाश अभी भी ज़ारी थी . अपना खाली वक़्त वो जासूसी किताबें पद के निकाला करते थे.

ऐसे बहुत सी कहानिया रोज़ आती रहती थी. उस वक़्त ध्यान नही दिया पर एक बात गौर करने वाली थी . लगभग सारी कहानिया  ही अपनो से बिछर्ने  की थी. किसी ने भी ये नही कहा की उसकी नौकरी नही लगी या "exam"  मे  फेल हो गया . कही ना कही सब जानते थे की इन मामूली बातों से किसी को सदमा नही लगता . हस्यापद बात ये हैं की हम अपनी पूरी ज़िंदगी इन गैर ज़रूरी बातो मे इस कदर उलझे रहते हैं की ज़रूरी बातें यानी  अपनो के लिए वक़्त ही नही निकाल पाते . कहा था ना मैने मुद्दे से भटकने की बड़ी ही बेकार आदत हैं मेरी.

खैर बहुत सी ऐसी पक्की खबरो के बाद लोगों का ध्यान भटकने लग गया . लोग अब बोर होने लगे थे. विषय निस्संदेह रोचक था पर दिक्कत ये थी की कहानी का मुख्य पात्र कुछ भी नही बोलता था. अब कब तक कोई और उसके शब्द ईजाद करता रहे . तो कहानी स्थिर हो गयी और वो पान की दुकान के बगल वाला पागल हमारी रोज़ की ज़िंदगी का एक भूला सा पहलू बन गया .

और फिर एक दिन अचानक ही वो बोला . नही नही कोई दार्शनिक वचन नही कहे उसने बस दो शब्द कहे . "गोआ सुपारी"

महेश अंकल हमेशा ही उसके पास कुछ खाने का समान रख दिया करते थे. आज तो वो बहुत ही अच्छी स्थिति मे हैं पर बचपन मे काफ़ी ग़रीबी देखी थी उनने. शायद इसलिए ही उस पागल से एक जुड़ाव महसूस करते थे . उनके बचपन की कोई याद ताज़ा हो जाती थी शायद . 

एक दिन उन्होने खाने के बजाय  कुछ रुपये रख दिए. पहले भी कुछ लोगो ने रुपये रखे थे पर उस पागल ने कभी ध्यान नही दिया . अब पागल का दिमाग़ कौन ही समझे पर वो लगातार बिना आँखें झपकाए रुपयों को देखता रहा.  और फिर ठीक वैसे ही महेश अंकल को. ये कार्यकर्म कुछ देर तक जारी रहा .महेश अंकल भी ना जाने क्यों स्तब्ध से खड़े रहे .

और फिर पागल ने पान की दुकान पे इशारा किया और कहाँ "गोआ सुपारी". इस एक वाकये ने इस नीरस होती कहानी को फिर से रोचक बना दिया . निश्चय ही किसी भी कहानीकार ने इस कहानी मैं गोआ सुपारी के प्रवेश का अनुमान नही  लगाया होगा . और अब तो कयास लगाना भी मुश्किल था. अब भाई बिछ्राव मौत यहा तक कत्ल तक भी सब ठीक था पर इन सबमे गोआ सुपारी कहाँ से बिठाए . 

मेरे गाँव को कम ना समझे आप. हार किसी ने नही मानी. प्रयास अभी भी जारी थे. पर उन कहानियों मे अब वो "conviction" नही था. वो पागल एक  अंबूझ पहेली बन गया था और अंबूझी पहेली किसे अच्छी नही लगती 

तो अब उस पागल को गोआ सुपारी खिलाने के लिए भीड़ इकट्ठा होने लगी . जैसे वो कोई पागल ना हो कोई भगवान की मूर्ति हो और लोग गोआ सुपारी नही प्रसाद चड़ा रहे हो . खैर पहले  कुछ दिन जैसी भीड़ तो बाद मैं नही दिखी पर कुछ लोग बराबर वहा जाते रहे . आश्चर्यजनक रूप से मेरे माता पिता भी उन लोगो मे से थे. आश्चर्यजनक इसलिए क्योंकि दोनो ही ज़्यादा सामाजिक नही थे . ना मंदिर जाते थे ना किसी कोँमिटी का हिस्सा थे. पर लगभग रोज़ ही शाम को हम गाड़ी से जाते और पापा उस को एक गोआ सुपारी खरीद के दे देते . और वो पागल हँसने लगता. बाद मे पता चला की ये ज़िद मा की थी. 

ज़िद क्यों थी ये भी कभी समझ नही आया. हर बार मा रुआंसी हो जाती थी वहा पे . बस यही कहती थी की उसकी आँखों मे कितनी पीड़ा हैं कितनी वेदना हैं . और मुझे लगता था की मा के स्क्रू ढीले हो गये हैं . क्योंकि  मुझे तो बस १ हंसता हुआ पागल दिखी देता था जो गोआ सुपारी खाता था. हंसते हुए कोई दुखी कैसे हो सकता हैं . और अगर मान भी लूँ की वो दुखी हैं तो क्यों ही कोई उसे देखना चाहेंगा. बड़े लोगों की बड़ी बड़ी बातें 

कुछ वक़्त तक ये सिलसिला चलता रहा . फिर १ दिन उस पागल का वहाँ बैठना बंद हो गया . पूछताछ की तो पता चला की वो उस पान की दुकान से चोरी करने लगा था इसलिए उस दुकान वाले ने उसे मार मार के भगा दिया . आदत जो पद गयी थी उसे खाने की. उसके बाद वो पागल कहाँ गया किसी को नही पता. लोगों ने भी थोड़े दिन ढूँढा उसे और उससे भी ज़्यादा कुछ दिन और वो लोगों की चर्चा का हिस्सा बना रहा पर फिर आँखों से ओझल कहानी कितने ही समय लोगो का ध्यान खींच पाती . धीरे धीरे हर कोई उस पागल को भूल गया. मैं भी कोई अपवाद नही था

आज उस गाँव से काफ़ी दूर निकल आया हूँ. मुंबई बेहद बड़ा शहर हैं पर पता नही क्यों उस छोते से गाँव के ख़ालीपन को ये इतना बड़ा शहर भर नही पा रहा. सतह पे सब ठीक हैं . ठीक ठाक  सी नौकरी हैं कहने को बहुत सारे दोस्त भी हैं जिनके साथ इधर उधर घूमने भी जाते रहता हूँ . कई बार बस लगता हैं की भागते रहना ज़रूरी हैं वरना वो ख़ालीपन निगल लेगा . और  बस भागता रहता हूँ. क्या मैं खुश हूँ ? मुझे पता नही . मैं दुखी तो नही ही हूँ . खुशी की परिभाषा वैसे भी क्या हैं.जो मानो तो खुशी जो ना मानो तो गम . पर बस किसी भी पार्टी मैं , किसी भी ट्रिप पे, ऑफीस के जोक्स पे किसी की ग़लतियो पे, आजकल जब भी हंस रहा होता हूँ उस पागल का चेहरा आँखों के सामने आ जाता हैं. और उसकी आँखों की पीड़ा अब बड़ी साफ साफ दिखाई देती है.

Place to hide

I never 'meet' in meetings
I just hear the hollow sounds
When jargon leaves me tongue tied
How i wish for a place to hide

I wake up and think

of the day ahead and sigh

I will march on taking it all in stride

But how i wish for a place to hide

When my friends come over

We talk share jokes we smile

Yet with no reason on my side

I do long for a place to hide

True, no man is an island

but nor is he a local train

i do not regret this ride

But how i wish for a place to hide

So many do's and don't in this world
guffaws replaced with repressed smiles
while all etiquette I do abide
But how i wish for a place to hide

When you trust somebody

You give them the power to strike

While i try to let that one comment slide

How i wish for a place to hide

The world is tough and hardly fair

Failure are hard and too many to bear

As i soothe my hurt pride

How i wish for a place to hide

We are so quick to judge , compartmentalize

Will i ever be understood

or my legacy be a stereotype

someone who wished for a place to hide