Budbudana

Khud ki kashm kash mein tu,  Khud ko na kho dena, Hum badlte hai , waqt ke saath chalne ke liye

Dil ki rahein hain pencheeda, Lekar jaatien hain humein wahan, Khud ko chhupatein hain hum jahan, Zaamane se bachne ke liye..

Meri Zindagi ke safaid canvas pe, O rangrez mere, Kuchh chheetein tere pyaar ki Jo yun rang bikhhra gayeen hain Mere zehen mein, O rangrez mere Aik tere siwa Ab kisi ka khayaal nahi hain. Muddat huyi dil mera Kahin Is tarah Thehra nahi tha Ab kuchh raas nahi aata Aik tere chehre ke siwa Kabhi Milna na tha humein Fir mile kuchh is tarah O rangrez mere Sab adhura sa lagta hai tere bina. Us Chandni raat jab tum thi mere saath Socha haath badha kar  thaam loon Us sama ko.

Us aik roz, Aik khoobsurat khayaal se meri mulaqaat huyi, Wo makhmali khayaal mere Zehan ko, Jaane kitne pehar gudgudaata raha.

Wo khushnuma khayaal, Zindagi ki sanjidagi ko dhakel  Is zamane ki bandisho se befiqar  Mere dil ki riyaasat kaabiz kar chala  Us khayaal ne jaise jhanjhor kar Mujhse meri khushi poochhi ho Uske Noor ki Garmahat  Mere dil ko bepanah sukoon deti hai

Us Shabnami khayaal mein Jaise koi haath mera thaamkar  Is Hayat ki pencheeda raahon se Mere sang guzarne ko raazi hua ho.

I need to write this because I can’t talk about it. Why? Because I know what I have to say will be lost in the rights and wrongs. It is still best to let it out so that it doesn’t drown me with it. There are of course more reasons, all really good, for not going to the roof top with a loud speaker. It is not a diary of sorts, but something that I do want to share and I find no other better medium than this. 

The word ‘budbudate’ means to whisper. And here I am, whispering all that comes to my mind about you and about myself. I don’t seek any response to my statements or feelings. So you can hear me whispering if you want to. For sometime I wondered why I am doing this. Then I realised that I am doing this to churn all my feelings, both negative and positive, and to convert them into a life-story of beautiful emotions. Like a butterfly, an emotion’s journey starts in an egg-shell (some singular incident; something like meeting of eyes or holding hands or it could be as benign and gentle as seeing a smile). Feeding on life, they grow into little caterpillars, and eventually after having spent sufficient time in a cocoon on my life-tree, they take off as butterflies into oblivion leaving behind sometimes a fulfilling feeling and sometimes an empty one. Every emotion leads to a cascade of other emotions. I can fool myself trying to nip in the bud those feelings that do not seem right. How does one deal with those feelings contradicting with the life as we know it? I do not know. So here I am trying to still let them out without actually exhibiting them in reality. I do not know whether it is good to live a lie or become a lie by suppressing what I feel. In this confusion I want to be away from the definitions of good and bad and not meddle with the status quo of life (for now).