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Guftaar

चले चल रहे हैं तेज़ बहुत तेज़, Facebook पर दौड़ते अंगूठे की रफ़्तार से। अब हर्फों से लफ्ज़ हार चुके दिन लद गए मुखातिब गुफ्तार के। रौनक है बड़ी ज़िन्दगी में हर पल चेहचहाते मोबाइल से, बशर नहीं मिलता कोई लेकिन जो बांट ले ज़िन्दगी के मिसाइल से। 

हीरे-मोती

रात चांदनी, सरित-किनारे, मानव चुगते मोती, दरियाओं के राह बदलते, चट्टानें करते छोटी, बाढ़ खेत में, सड़कें टूटी, इनकी नहीं बपौती, टेढ़ी-सीधी उंगली करके, रेत खनन नित होती मेरे देश की धरती, सोना उगले, उगले हीरे-मोती 🤐

The Show must Go On

I lost my granddad when I was a year old. So the two brothers of my Grandma were the only grandfatherly figures I got to have. Although they were Mamaji – Bade and Chote , to my father, but, as kids do, we used to address them as Mamaji too mimicking the elders. I very vividly remember that somewhere around the age of 10, when the family pedigree and all the relationships started getting clear, I decided to correct this mistake by addressing the Bade Mamaji as Dadaji , but the looks of surprise cooled off my ardour quite quick, and after much leg-pulling on my personal attempt at this correction, we kids reverted back to calling them Mamaji . Both the Mamajis are younger than my grandmother, and her rotund NRI elder sister – the Grandma Sr (who we used to address as Moti Mum, which she was cool enough to not take any offence to). The Chote Mamaji , as may be expected, was the cooler one of the group, whose home used to be the junction for all the parties and get-togethe