What if?

What if?

The first thing I want to ask tomorrow is could you sleep yesterday night? But of course you did. 

You are not meeting someone for the first time. Aren’t you?

I have no pressure. Not even an ounce of it. Yet I am nervous. Why? I ask myself. 

The answer I got has quickly sent a shiver down my spine. My quilt which was warm until now is suddenly colder than ever before. The music downstairs is suddenly louder than it was. My feet are cold. Somebody shouted downstairs. No really someone did and I am now trying harder to focus on the answer I got from self.  “What if he is actually nice?” 

If he’s just another guy, it’s no problem. I will walk back happy. Glad! Satisfied. I will back to my own life. To my job, that I am about to resign. To my flat, that I share with two friends, both of whom are insanely busy in their own lives. I will walk back to my guitar that I am trying so hard to learn. To my Urdu class, that I am planning to return. To my paint box, my colours, my brushes. I love them because they don’t lie like others. They don’t lie about the fact that my paintings are so average. I will walk back to being the average girl I am. To my friends. To my family. To the blue cup of coffee I own. To the plant that I had grown. Ahh They are singing ‘tujhe dekha to ye Jana sanam”. I will walk back to my music. My dance! My song, my chance! I will walk back just as I am. Just what I was. Just what I want to be! The ‘not-so-sure about tomorrow’ girl whose only surety is her present.  Her today! Her now! 

But what if he’s nice? Because if he is, then I may not be walking back to all this. At least not with this being exactly me! 

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First ever.

Ahh! There are million things I want to put forward tomorrow. I want to know tonnes of things. Do you write? Read? Sing? Dance? I know you are health conscious. A techy! But, are you a quiet person? Or are you a ‘centre of happiness’/ ‘heart of the party’ kind of person? Or somewhere between these two? Your parents told my parents that you don’t drink. I want to know if yours is a case – ‘my parents don’t know that I drink.’ While I am writing this, there’s a party going on down-stairs. These guys are Afghani. They took the pain to ask us if we had a problem with music. I want to know ‘what would have been your reply to them? What exactly would you have said?’ I want to know how often do you go out? How often do you stay in? I want to know if you like your bed or are you insanely in love with your bed? I want to know about your routine. So that I can know about those small not-so-important things important in your life.  I want to know how do you like your coffee? Light or strong? Or again somewhere between the two? I want to how happy are you with your  hand-writing? I want to know, what exactly do you see when you close your eyes? I want to know how clear is the sky in Australia? Does one get to see stars on a regular-clear night? Next I may want to know, if you have ever counted stars? Ahh! I even want to know if you mind me asking all these questions? No wait, these aren’t questions exactly! Anxieties may be! Now I am thinking if ‘anxieties’ is grammatically correct or not. It is, shouts my mind! It is woman! Take control. Stop fumbling! He just a guy! Just another guy! Another? Dude! He’s the first ever guy! First ever!

छः साल हो गये|

 

घर मेरा दूर ऐक छोटे शहर में है, जहां
पहली मंज़िल पर अपने घर से निकल जब मैं
बाज़ार मे उतरती हूँ तो,
पूरा बाज़ार जान लेता है
बच्चा, छुट्टी पर आया है
पूरा मोहल्ला, पूछ लेता है
और कितनी बची है पढ़ाई ?
उन्हें तो याद ही नहीं, क़ि
घर से निकले हुए
छः साल हो गये|
पढ़ाई ख़त्म किए हुए
दो साल हो गए|
दफ़्तर भी जाते हुए
दो साल होने को हैं,
पर ये हैं कि मानते नहीं|
उस छोटे शहर मे रहने वाले लोग
जैसे ज्यूँ के त्यों हैं,
आगे बढ़ते ही नहीं |
पर, पिताजी कहते हैं
वक़्त बदल रहा है
सब बदल रहे हैं,
सबके साथ
हम भी बदल रहे हैं|
पर मुझे ये बदलाव फिर
दिखता क्यूँ नहीं?