Monday, April 16, 2012

The Cuckoo Behind The Kolaveri...

12th Apr, 2012
3:35 pm, Somewhere On Earth.

Very few of my friends have heard the song ‘Guncha’ by Mohit Chauhan. Guncha means a young flower. The most fascinating lines of the song go like this:

“Subh ko teri Zulf ne sham kar dia,
Guncha koi mere naam kar dia…!’’

                And I dipped into my favorite arena where my pen did the talking. Pondering over the thought of writing a book woven with words around women, I felt I had now walked the talk with enough women in my life and their depiction of emotions. I was wrong, point blank.

                Allow me to tell you an open ended story of a girl I met and was startled.

                She was 26, MBA. She had a CAT percentile I could dream of and a persona I was jealous of. She landed and ditched one of the finest corporate jobs which people like me deem of. But things weren’t rosy as I thought of.
                She was working for nuts but for a cause by means of which she drove her life. And when inquired about why the ‘fish’ she worked for nuts; she smiled with an uncertainty at the back drop of her cerebellum. Being the ‘local’ Sherlock by nature, I was curious with some questions and the day occurred when the sun rose and her answers came searching my questions.
                And like any other Cindrella, the story stalked and sauntered around marriage – the lexis behind her uncertain smile she showcased, sitting near to the beautiful coffee cups she was fond of. Scores of questions rambled her mind about ‘the one’ and started driving her life. And I was surprised again…
                This time, I was surprised by the feminine psychology of considering ‘the one’ as the center of her earth. I watched her about and by now almost a 24-hour office day stamping documents with a smile incomplete in its own sense. The smile that carried pain of a broken song or the panicky of her parent’s toil of finding ‘the one’. For ‘the one’ and with the uncertainties tied to him she worked for nuts instead of diamonds.
                What was more! Adding more struggle to the smile was the debris of a musical dream that never shaped out of her parental pressure. As this ink flows on this paper and turns into blatant hieroglyphics; a day passes in the life of an individual getting the pangs of being alone and clearing the misty air of not so certain things tied with and for a stranger.
                A dream stifled like a soda bottle welded with the cork. Blueprints of a business, a career remains on paper in her minds; somewhere buried. I had never thought of weaving my life and its winged dreams for anyone. And she was living it, staking and sauntering her gold clad MBA for the unknown waiting, hoping to meet the next door.
When I see her I think of a flower vase with dried roses yet fresh leaves…!
When I see her I think of someone breathing for clouds that change shapes daily…!
I hear a sunken song that was never written; but a singer composed it for life…!

“Aankho ke jazeero ko tere naam kar dia,
Guncha koi mere naam kar dia…!’’

Amit Purohit
The Lone Soldier


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