तर्पण कुछ यादों का

 १९४७ का विभाजन देश की सामूहिक चेतना पर एक ऐसा घाव है

1947 का विभाजन देश की सामूहिक चेतना पर एक ऐसा घाव है जो आज 75 साल बाद भी हल्का सा कुरेदने पर ही रिसने लगता है। आज की तारीख़ में कुछ ही लोग होंगे उस काल के पर उनसे सुने किससेअब भी हवा में तैरते हैं। 
साठ के दशक में पंजाब में बचपन कटा। मेरा परिवार भी NWF के बन्नू शहर से विस्थापित हो कर विभाजन से कुछ पहले ही दिल में कई भय, कई आशाएँ ले कर सीमा के इस ओर आया था। दादाजी व उनके भाइयों का ट्रान्स्पोर्ट का व्यवसाय था। विभाजन से पहले ही माहौल ख़राब होते देख अपने शहर बन्नू से अपने सारे कुनबे व क़ौम के बाक़ी परिवारों को अपने ट्रकों में लाद कर बनुवाल भाटिया कानपुर आ गए थे, जहाँ उनका व्यवसाय पहले से था। हर परिवार के लिए एक कमरा और एक माह के राशन की व्यवस्था कर दी गई थी। फिर धीरे धीरे लोग अपनी सुविधा अनुसार व्यवस्था कर देहरादून दिल्ली आदि शहरों में फैल गए थे। 
बचपन में दादा जी की आराम कुर्सी के बग़ल के ताक पर सदा एक काँसे का बड़ा थाल और कड़छी देख मैं अपनी उत्सुकता न रोक पाई और एक दिन पूछ ही बैठी कि इनका क्या करते हैं। उनका उत्तर मेरे मानस पटल पर जैसे अंकित हो गया था। दरअसल इतने परिवार जब नए शहर में बसने की कोशिश कर रहे थे तो वहाँ के लोकल लोग उससे ख़ुश नहीं थे। वे इन लोगों को अकेला पाते ही परेशान करते थे। आख़िरकार यह तय किया गया था कि हर कोई मुश्किल में पड़ने पर एक थाल बजाएगा और सारा कुनबा तुरंत उसकी मदद को पहुँच जाएगा। ऐसे ही लड़ते भिड़ते अपनी मेहनत से कुछ ही वर्षों में इन लोगों ने अपनी मिट्टी मज़बूत कर ली। 
माँ से सुनी थी एक और घटना। वे ६/७ वर्ष की ही रही होंगी जब विभाजन हुआ। उनके परिवार का सीमा के इस ओर से उस ओर कपड़े का व्यवसाय था। सो नाना सपरिवार पहले डेरा इस्माइल खां से लाहौर आए, एक रिश्तेदार के घर। लाहौर के वो कुछ दिन माँ को भुलाए नहीं भूलते थे। घर के सामने ही कुछ दूरी पर एक साबुन की फ़ैक्टरी थी। एक दिन कुछ आक्रमणकारियों ने दिन के वक़्त गेट पर बाहर चेन और ताला लगा कर आग लगा दी। चीख़ें सुन कर जब लोग घरों से बाहर आए तो धू धू कर फ़ैक्टरी जल रही थी और साथ ही जल रहीं थीं सैंकड़ों ज़िन्दगियाँ जो अन्दर कार्यरत थीं। उस माँस के जलने की बू माँ मरते दम तक न भूल पाई थी। 
और न भूल पाई थी उन शर्मा जी की कहानी जिनकी मुरादाबाद में इलेक्टरिकल्स की दुकान थी। वे भगदड़ मे अपनी पत्नी से अलग हो गए थे। उनकी पत्नी दुधमुँहे बच्चे को ले कर अपनी अस्मत बचाने को घिरी हुई बस से उतर कर दौड़ी थी कुएँ में छलाँग मारने के लिए। कूद तो पड़ीं वे कुएँ में पर वह कुआँ लाशों से भरा पड़ा था। दो दिन तक चुपचाप उन्हीं लाशों के बीच छुपी रहीं थीं वो जब तक रेसकयू टीम ने उन्हें निकाल कर दिल्ली कैम्प में न पहुँचा दिया। 
छोटी सी थी मैं जब पापा वाइस प्रिन्सिपल बन कर राजपुरा गए थे। कालेज नया नया ही बना था। राजपुरा जोकि अब हरियाणा बौर्डर पर पंजाब का पहला शहर है, विभाजन के समय एक गाँव था जिसमें शेरशाह सुरी के समय की एक पुरानी सराय थी। विभाजन के समय बहावलपुर से विस्थापित हुए ढेरों परिवार यहाँ आ कर बस गए थे। उनके लीडर थे कट्टर आर्यसमाजी और कांग्रेसी महाशय शांतिप्रकाश जिन्होंने पंडित नेहरू से गुहार लगा कर अपनी क़ौम के लिए जगह की अनुमति ले ली थी। बाक़ी तो वे लोग मेहनतकश थे, किसी की दया के पात्र नहीं थे। कुछ ही वर्षों में स्कूल, कालेज, व्यवसाय खडे कर लिए थे। उनकी महिलाओं ने भी योगदान दिया जो कि कशीदाकारी में निपुण थीं। आज भी पटियाला, अंबाला के बाज़ारों की शान हैं हाथ की कढ़ाई वाले सलवार क़मीज़। 
सात साल की थी मैं जब हम दर्शी वाले घर में किराए पर रहने आए। बड़ा सा दो भाग वाला घर था, एक ओर हम रहने लगे दूसरी ओर मकान मालिक रहते थे। उनकी बेटी दर्शी मेरी हमउम्र थी सो चट से दोस्ती हो गई। उसकी माता जी ही सर्वेसर्वा थीं। पिता कहीं नजर न आए थे, सुना था उनकी एक जूता बनाने की फ़ैक्टरी थी। बस नजर आयीं थीं तो बूढ़ी नानी, जो सारा दिन एक मूढ़े पर बैठी सामने की दीवार को ताकती रहती थी और अपने दुपट्टे से हाथ पोंछती रहती थीं। न जाने ऐसा क्या देख लिया था या छू लिया था जो उनके ज़ेहन में घर कर गया था। 
कुछ ही दिन हुए थे हमें उस घर में कि एक रात उनके घर से ज़ोर ज़ोर से चिल्लाने व रोने की आवाज़ सुनाई दी। हम घबरा कर बाहर निकल आए, उनका दरवाज़ा भी खटखटाया, पर कोई नहीं आया। 
अगली सुबह दर्शी की माँ ने बताया कि विभाजन के समय उनके पति ने, जो पाँच वर्ष के बच्चे थे, अपने परिवार को अपने सामने जलते देखा था। पूरा परिवार जल कर ख़ाक हो गया था। उन्हें बचाया था उनके पड़ोसी ने जो उस बीमार रोते हुए बच्चे को अपने परिवार के साथ ले कर राजपुरा आ बसे थे। उन्हीं ने पाल पोस कर बड़ा किया था और अपनी इकलौती बेटी व व्यवसाय सब सौंप दिया था। पर इस सदमे से वे कभी बाहर न आ पाए थे। वह बचपन का हादसा उन्हें अब भी रातों को सोने नहीं देता था। 
सुनकर स्तब्ध रह गई थी मैं। आसपास के परिवारों मे ऐसे न जाने कितने ही किससे सुबक रहे थे। ये किससे, ये यादें मेरे भी जीवन का अभिन्न अंग बन गईं जिन्हें मैं चाह कर भी न भूल पाई और न ही माफ़ कर पाई उन हैवानों को जिनकी ताक़त और ज़मीन की भूख उन्हें बद से बदतर बना गई थी। 

Crossing

Twice before I had already badgered my Taxi Driver to hurry up. As soon as I opened my mouth to pester him again he rolled his eyes and reluctantly indicated the closed gate at the railway level crossing. The only option was to wait patiently as this was something neither he nor I could help. But I reassured myself that we had almost reached the destination. Actually I was on my way to the Railway station to receive my daughter who was arriving from Hyderabad. While enduring what seemed like an endless wait for the railway gate to open, my attention got diverted to the assimilating crowd, the Bihari rickshaw wallas, the roadside fish and vegetable vendors, women in their big red bindi and bright cotton sarees, the sweaty feel, so characteristic of Kolkata, vouched for the humidity in the atmosphere. I realised that over the years I had become a part of this crowd, this city, this society, dressing up like them, speaking their language; I often caught myself even thinking in the language I had once worked so hard to acquire as my own. 

My thoughts took me to my first train trip to Kolkata where I was visiting as a newly wedded bride. I was apprehensive and a little scared about how I would adjust with a totally different culture. Born a Punjabi, raised in Gujarat now married to a Bengali, I was truly caught in a cultural whirlwind situation. My fate was taking me to a town I knew nothing about. It had been fascinating to read stories engraved in a certain culture, but being a part of it was a totally different deal altogether. My sister-in-law and her husband, who were travelling with us, we're trying to calm me down by cracking jokes and telling me more about the family, specially my Ma-in-law who I would meet now for the first time. My partner in crime, the husband who had hacked me by singing not Kishor Kumar, not Hemant Kumar, but Ghazals of Jagjit Singh, understood my apprehensions, so he just let me be. His intermittent carefree smile was assuring some comfort to my flustered heart. I realised that thinking too much, ahead of time, would not help in any way. So I focussed my gaze out of the window. The speeding train and the green pastures outside had a calming effect. The vegetation of this region was very different from what I had ever seen in Gujarat or Punjab. The fields were lush green, I was excited to see the rice paddy fields for the first time. The coconut and banana trees surrounded the little hutment areas. I was most amazed to see small ponds near every settlement and little boys jumping in and out of ponds chasing the ducklings around them. I was told the these water bodies were used for all practical purposes, washing, bathing even fish rearing. Suddenly my biggest fear sparked a shiver in me: Fish. Although I was not from an entirely vegetarian background, making fish a regular on my dining table was like treading on unknown grounds. A couple of times when I had entered my Bengali friends kitchen, I had seen marinated pieces of fish waiting to be cooked. The big fish head had scared me as I felt the rude stare of its eye frozen on me. A shiver ran down my spine just thinking about it. I looked around and successfully hid the beads of cold sweat on my forehead. 

As the train entered the station my sister-in-law helped me in smoothening my saree pleats. One last look at myself in the hazy mirror of the coach and I was ready for the big meeting. Was I? I could hear my heart beat galloping like wild horse. As soon as we embarked the train, a queer mix of sweat, humidity and fishy smell filled my nostrils. An influx of people speaking in a very high pitch Bengali, a language I had just started to learn, made me real nervous. We pushed through the unyielding crowd to go out to the Taxi stand. The humidity which I was just not accustomed to, was killing me beneath my silk saree. And the unfamiliar surrounding was even less helpful in calming my tense nerves. 

Suddenly the familiar ring tone of my cellphone brought me back to the present. My daughter had called to inform that her train was entering the platform. It was relief to see the Railway crossing gate open and we entered the station minutes later. I rushed inside with a gust of the familiar crowd. The glowing face of my daughter in her bright red top soothed my nerves and I darted towards her.  

Ambala Cantt : a part of me

When I moved to Ahmedabad in 1974, I was still not out of the shadow of 1971 war having been in and around Ambala Cantt. The stories fresh in my mind, the excitement of waving to Army trucks from the sides of roads, the black outs, the buzzing planes over heads, Uncles and cousins on war fronts, Father, as College Vice Principal as well as NCC officer guiding NCC cadets to be alert and ready. In Ahmedabad no one seemed to be bothered about what all had recently happened. Neither my cousins nor other kids my age. I felt quite out of place in the beginning. Besides language, culture and south Accent  teachers, it was a new world. 

Ambala cantt. once again became our centre of activity with parents deciding to go back to their comfort zone and settle there. The city and its feel was deeply imbibed for the lifetime. Today I feel so important and proud to have connection with the city! 

Welcome Rafales to Ambala Airbase!!! 

As I lay snuggled in my comforter wondering about the unexpected dropping of mercury in this moderate climate zone, I heard loud voices from outside. Who could it be at this late hour? I tried to strain my ears to hear. There were multiple voices all speaking in high agitated tones simultaneously . Should I get up and see? NO firmly said my comforter and I agreed with it. But my sleep was gone and my attention was glued to the voices. I identified the father’s loud voice, then the son’s business like voice, the daughter too pitched in sharply utilising all her excess energy and some unknown gruff responses. Then came the mother’s meek voice... "MA, Tumi bhetore jao." The immediate retort from the daughter instructing the mother to shut up and go in was louder than them all. I could not enjoy my warm comfortable refuge, so got up unlocked the doors and peeped down from my balcony. It was a dark winter night with some foggy street lights trying to provide the necessary illumination and warmth. A truck was perched in front of the house to deliver the furniture packages of the daughter who had just moved in with the with the parents in anticipation of moving out again as soon as possible. The family was having a huge argument with the delivery people over some paper work and payment details.
I did not think I could be of any help so just came inside. But the sleep evaded me so I decided to rest on the recliner, my mind still involved in the current events. The daughter who posed to be a strong feminist and wrote columns on the subject always conversed as equals with the father and brother snubbed the mom at every possible opportunity although at times she emerged as her protector but never her equal.
The fallacy of it all turmoiled my mind. These days many a women took asylum in the word 'feminism' to attain freedom from their natural responsibilities. The term had lost its essence and become a sure shot path to opportunism. I pulled a shawl over myself and sat thinking about all those who had struggled through a tough fight with the patriarchal society setting examples for the generations to come. The crease on my forehead relaxed as I slowly slipped into a slumber.

आज जब आइना देखती हूँ तो उसमें मुझे
अपनी माँ की सास की छवि दिखाई देती है
अपने आप से थकी हारी हताश
अपनी सब आशाएँ इच्छाएँ पीछे छोड़ कर
होनी से लड़ती हुई, अनहोनी से डरती हुई
सब ओर से मुँह मोड़ कर अपने आप में समाती हुई
खुद का सामना भी न कर पाने की शर्म को छुपाती हुई
किस चाह की चाह उठे जब चाह ही साथ छोड़ जाए
अकेले वीराने सुनसान में झंझावात की चादर ओढ जाए
आज सोचती हूँ कि काश उनकी उदासीनता
मैं तब भेद पाती
तो आज अपने मन में शायद थोड़ा सुकून तो पाती

As I picked up a biscuit to dip in my hot cup of tea some crumbs fell down. Making a mental note of cleaning the floor later I sat there engrossed in the Sunday edition of Indian express which always provided me with couple of good reads. Of late I had discovered that EYE, the attachment with Sunday paper, usually published some interesting articles. Away from the world of political gimmicks  or crime sagas the articles on history, art, tourism or some good book feel like fresh breeze. Lost in the world of words a sharp whistle somewhere very near my ear caught my attention. A little black and white bird was sitting on the back of the sofa next to me chirping happily after having fed itself on the crumbs. My sudden movement scared it and it flew away. I spent rest of the morning waiting for it to come back, whistling my ineffective windy whistle, peeping down from my balcony trying to spot it on the near by trees but it was nowhere to be seen. It had turned my happy hour into a restless waiting. Alas, it was time for me to go in and start my daily chores. But the the little black and white bird occupied my mind all day. Oh, I have to look up the bird, promising myself an extensive search on the Internet I absent mindedly entered the kitchen. 

The mornings have not only become interesting but also nostalgic in some ways. Along with the regular morning walkers of all shapes and sizes sometimes there is a random parent accompanied on their walk by their kid. It is a treat watching the communication of the two, parent pointing out various plants, flowers or birds, passing on information or may be telling a story from their own childhood and the child soaking in the information, enjoying the importance and attention showered by the parent, excitedly asking intermittent questions.
My flashback took me years back when my little girl's inquisitiveness kept me blabbering all day. An artist friend of mine, who advised me that this was the time when I should invoke creativeness and appreciation of art and wonders of nature in the little one, was so right. I did reap the benefits of that conscious effort in the later years. I am also acutely aware from my own experience that all the wise words that seem vain when spoken do seep in deep in the mind somewhere and sow a seed. They pop up like a life saver plant with the fruit of advise at crucial needful moments of life.
In this extremely busy thing that life has become these days, such moments spent with the child, without any distraction of technological intervention, are very valuable and indeed blessed!