Is one of the leading Hindi poets of our times.
Born on December 7 1969 in Patna, he did his M.A. in Hindi from Patna University. Works as the assistant editor in the daily "Navbharat times" presently and lives in Delhi.
Poetry anthologies- Kagaz ke Pradesh me, Chuppi ka shor
Short story collection - Boss ki party
Novel - Tootne ke baad
The poet speaks-
In the process of knowing life, to understand it and to have a closer look towards it, poetry has always been a partner. Though whatever I am writing is "poetry”, this doubt has always been there. I just want to communicate with like-minded people who perceive life as I do. Poetry is also a way to communicate with those unknown people.
Three poems (Translated by Asiya Naqvi)
Don’t make fun of someone
if he lives in illusion.
He is in illusion so he is living.
God too, is the name of an illusion.
If anybody believes, let him believe,
that god will help him cross the road,
that god will fetch medicines for him.
Somebody sees the mirror, only in illusion
and remembers a face, and it tickles,
and he pushes his loneliness a bit further.
Somebody experiences the zeal of crossing the sea
while crossing a road.
It is in illusion that
the poet keeps on writing.
Somebody moves ahead with fire
and finds a new way of living.
Once upon a time
truth to me appeared
like a squirrel.
It carried a little sunlight and
a little happiness on its back.
my age started whispering in my ears,
“Truth is not as it appears.”
Truth has not one but two faces.
Wearing one, it stands humbly on the
leaves of books and
it roams with a wicked magician
and conjures conspiracy.
(It started scaring me
but my heart denies to accept.)
Again and again,
I asked an old tree.
I wanted to be assured about truth.
On the back of my wishes
are the footprints of truth
Which curb my wishes.
I prayed in my heart that
It comes to me as a kite
Which is made of
a piece of sky and
People may fly this kite together
With the borrowed strings from
I didn't recognize truth well.
That’s why I am out of all the races.
Those are ordinary people
who indulge in such small fights which
we perhaps don’t even like to discuss.
Mentioning them in the news is
Occupying a seat in the bus to them
is a kind of great achievement.
Reaching home before time
is seen by them
as a kind of celebration.
“Intellectuals and amorists, you must be offended
that what does it mean to write an ordinary poem
in an ordinary way.
For those ordinary people, nothing is ordinary.”
They consider samosas to be a special delicacy
and talk about its taste for many days.
By the way,
Don’t you dare think samosas to be an ordinary thing.
Someday it could become the reason for
the demolition of the government.