जगाये रखने के सफर पर

अब याद कुछ नहीं आता। याद करते , याद रखते, मैं  भी थक गई। याद का ठेका अकेले मेरा तो है नहीं।

मुझे अब कोई याद नहीं करता। मेरे बारे में वे every small little things भी अब कोई नहीं बताता, जानता। और मुझे इसमें कुछ भी नया, अनोखा, अजब नहीं लगता।

यह बरसों की याद, शताब्दियों का संसार और रिवाज हैं। यह इक्कीसवीं शताब्दी के शुरुआती दशक हैं। ये प्रयोग और अनुभव के दिन हैं, लकीरों को लांघने के दुस्साहस के सफर हैं।

और मैं याद रखने और याद आने के कारोबार पर मिट्टी बिछाती जा रही हूं। क्या कोई देख रहा है ? कोई जान रहा है कि मिट्टी की परत हर रोज एक अंगुल ऊपर उठ रही है?
मैं लकीरों और  उनकी बनाई ज्योमेट्री को मिटोरती जा रही हूं। यह उत्तर होगा उस औपचारिक याद को जो यदा कदा शिष्टाचार वश या दिखावे वश जागती है। जिसकी उपेक्षा करने के लिए सहस्त्राब्दी का इंतज़ार करना होता है।

और फिर मेरी आँखों में नींद भर आती है। यह आभासी सत्य पर विश्वास करने के दिन हैं।
मेरी नींद इस सतरंगी आभास में फिर से खुलती है। यहां हर निषेध एक निमंत्रण है, मुझे याद दिलाने के लिए कि मेरा स्वागत है, नए सफर पर नई शताब्दी में नए परिचय के साथ।

Parted

He was shouting and screaming; bitterness was in the air. His voice touched the walls. His long and strong bonny fingers were tightened in a fist of anger and disgust.
"You always tried to insult me, you never left a single chance for that."
"You were mocking me all the time,  making me feel inferior and posed yourself some sort of superior person. And you still enjoy this, don't you ??"
"Atleast you should respond; where are all your words ?"

You thought, I am not going to make it, but look now;  I have this wonderful career , handsome salary and yes, I am the most eligible bachelor of Friday night parties."
"Have you ever been to any Friday night or weekend party ?? No, you have never been to any such place loser."
"Yes, this what you are, a loser. After all these years, you are a loser." His fingers flipped in the air. Bitter words were floating in the air.

She was listening to it, every word, every sentence while carefully looking at his face. Now he was standing at the window, his fair face was drained, his warm and angry blood was giving a pinkish hue to his cheeks. She saw the wrinkled patches under his eyes and  a crease on his forehead. His breath was heavy and nerves were tensed.

Years ago,  she met  a charming young man; this man is not him. The warmness and livelyness of that charming young lad was gone.
Where it has gone ? What on earth has caused this bitterness ? She asked and her question reached to the empty walls.

Meanwhile, he left the room in a quick moment without giving a glance to the woman who was still looking at him.

She stood up from the couch, put on her shoes and murmured, ' he broke the aura, his aura,  finally I am free. The magic spell of fairytale is broken, he created and now he broke it into pieces. He did the good thing for me.'

She picked up her handbag and stepped towards the door; before pushing the door outwards, she looked at the room, it was full of various decoratives and emptiness all together.