काश मैं पवन बन पाता

 काश मैं पवन बन पाता — निशब्द, निश्छल, निराकार,

तेरे अंगों से गुजरता, जैसे मंत्र से होकर गुजरता हो सार।

तेरी केश-रेखाओं में बिखरता चन्द्रिका सा शांत,

तेरी त्वचा से छूकर लौटता, पावन, विमल, प्रांत।

तेरी गंध में रम जाता, जैसे वंशी में राग,

ना मेरा कोई ठिकाना, ना कोई विराम का भाग।

तेरी उपस्थिति ही मेरी गति, मेरी दिशा, मेरा स्वर,

ना वाणी, ना देह, सिर्फ़ स्पंदन का निर्झर।

मैं ना प्रेम माँगता, ना आलिंगन का प्रण,

बस बहता रहूँ तुझमें, तुझमें हो मेरा क्षरण।

अगर कोई अर्थ है अस्तित्व का, तो बस यही हो,

"मनन" का सबकुछ तुझमें बुझे — तू ही उसका वही हो।

A lesson in Humanity

Beneath a tree, a schoolboy cried,

His bag lay still by the grave nearby.

“Papa, wake up,” he sobbed in pain,

“They want my fees... or you again.”

A man stood close, with wreaths in hand,

His wife lay near, in the silent land.

He called a shop for silks and light,

For flowers to honour her soul that night.

But then he heard the young boy’s plea,

His heart grew heavy, his mind set free.

He dropped the phone, his voice went low,

“No wreaths today — there’s more to show.”

He walked up slow, with softened tone,

“Here, child — your dad has sent a loan.”

No need for garlands, or ritual flame,

Just help a heart — and light your name.

When Twilight Covered the Crying Star

 When twilight covered the crying star in grey,

The clouds broke down in waves of aching rain.

I tried to speak—but what was left to say?

My silence screamed, but still it screamed in vain.

Perhaps you never heard my heart retreat,

You walked away without a backward glance.

No tremble in your step, no cracked heartbeat—

Just cold goodbye without a final chance.

I looked for light behind your distant eyes,

But curtains fell, and all the stars were gone.

The dusk grew heavy, full of orphaned skies,

And left me bleeding into breaking dawn.

Will such a night return and find me whole—

Where even shadows seem too sharp to bear?

You took the sky, the stars, and half my soul—

And left me haunted by the empty air.

उसकी नज़रों का इंक़लाब

 कमाल सी कोमल है वो, अब पंखुड़ी जैसे गुलाब ।

उसकी बातों में है ग़ज़ल, वो है किसी शायर का ख़्वाब ।॥

नज़रों की चालों में है इक, शोख़ हवाओं की सरसर

लबों से बहती है नशा, जैसे छलकता हो शराब ।

रुख़ पे उजाला है ऐसा, जैसे सहर की पहली किरन

बदन की नरमी में छुपा, कोई रज़ा कोई हिजाब ।

उसके क़दम चलें तो लगे, फूल बिछे हों रास्ते

उसके लिबासों से उठे, रेशमी ख्वाबों का हिज्जाब ।

हर इक झलक में नाज़ है, हर मुस्कराहट में फितनह

नज़ाकतें यूँ झूमतीं, जैसे हो इश्क़ी इंक़लाब ।

"मनन" ने जब भी देखा उसे, साँसें हुईं बे-इख़्तियार

वो ज़िंदगी की आरज़ू, वो है मेरा आख़िरी निसाब ।।

फितनह: Mischief, seduction, temptation,

नज़ाकतें: Delicacies, gentleness, elegance.

झूमतीं: To sway, dance gracefully, or move rhythmically.

 निसाब. Curriculum, lesson

छुपा हर रंग

 हर सूरत में छुपा है नूर-ए-ख़ुदा का रंग है ।

जो भी देखा है उसे में हुस्न का एक अंग है ।।

आँखों में आँसू छुपाए दिल ने कहा ये राज़ ।
ख़ामोशी के पीछे छुपा हर लफ़्ज़ का संग है ।।

रात के सीने में छुपी है दर्द की एक बात ।
चाँदनी भी कह रही है दिल का बड़ा तंग है ।।

राह में जो भी मिला उसने दिया एक सबक ।
ज़िंदगी का हर मक़ाम एक छोटा सा रंग है ।।

वक़्त से लड़ते रहे हम ख़ुद से भटक कर ।
अपने ही अक्स में छुपी कुछ और ही जंग है ।।

पूछे कोई तो क्या कहे इस हाल-ए-पुर्सरार को ।
"मनन" के हर शेर में एक बेज़बां दंग है ।।

The Weight of Fifty Cents

She bargained hard for fifty cents or less,

Even as children's voices echoed in his head,

Their empty bowls, their hunger, their distress—

"Lower the price- or  I'll walk away," she coldly said.

His weathered hands trembled as he agreed,

Each apple a prayer for rice his family craved,

She smiled and left, believing she'd succeeded,

While his dignity slowly caved.

That evening, drowning in her gilded fame,

She tossed three hundred dollars to the floor,

For half-touched plates and wine she couldn't name,

While he still swept outside her door.

Why do we crush the ones who need us most,

Then crown ourselves with generosity's boast,

When kindness costs us nothing but our pride,

And love should lift, not push the poor aside?

The Divine Wait: Chokhamela’s Abhang and the God Who Waits

Every July, Maharashtra moves to a beat like no other. Along dry highways and monsoon-drenched trails, thousands of Wari pilgrims sing as they walk toward Pandharpur, feet blistered, hearts lifted. Among the many songs that rise into the dusty air, one Abhang carries a special kind of power. It’s simple, visual, unforgettable:

“Sukhache je sukh Chandrabhage tati

Pundalika pathi ubhe thake…”

The joy beyond all joys is found on the banks of the Chandrabhaga—

There the Lord stands behind His devotee, Pundalik.

Pause on that image. The Lord of the Universe—Vitthala—is not enthroned or exalted. He’s waiting. Quietly. On a brick. Behind a man who’s doing his chores. It’s a visual that lodges in the heart like a parable. What kind of God waits? What kind of spirituality praises that waiting?

This abhang, composed centuries ago by the 14th Century poet-saint Chokhamela, continues to be sung by millions. It's short enough to memorize, rhythmic enough to chant, and deep enough to teach for a lifetime. Its power lies not just in theology but in common sense, social equity, and emotional clarity.

Before we dive into meanings, here’s the original in Romanized Marathi:

Sukhache je sukh Chandrabhage tati

Pundalika pathi ubhe thake

Sajire gojire samacharani ubhe

Bhaktachiya lobhe vitevari

Kar doni kati Shreemukh changale

Shankh chakra miravale gada-padma

Chokha mhane shobhe Vaijayanti

Kanthi chandanachi uti sarv angi

Meaning:

The joy beyond all joys is found on the banks of the Chandrabhaga—

There the Lord stands behind His devotee, Pundalik.

Gracefully adorned, feet together, He stands still on a simple brick,

Holding Himself there out of love for His devotee.

Hands on His hips, His face shines with auspicious beauty.

He displays the conch, discus, mace and lotus—the full insignia of Vishnu.

Chokhamela says: He is radiant, wearing the Vaijayanti garland,

Sandal paste marks and perfumes Him—His entire divine form aglow.

Chokhamela was born into the Mahar community—regarded as “untouchable” in the caste hierarchy of his time. He likely would not have been allowed inside the temple whose deity he worshipped so dearly. But Bhakti poetry is subversive. It bypasses gates. His voice, like others in the Varkari tradition, entered hearts rather than halls.

That’s what makes this abhang radical. When a socially excluded devotee sings of a God who stands behind a human—loving, waiting, serving—that’s not just poetry. That’s protest. It rewrites hierarchy. In Chokhamela’s world, love outranks lineage. God has no ego, and devotion has no caste.

The genius of the abhang form lies in its design: short, singable, communal, portable. It was made to be walked with, worked with, lived with. Abhangs are for everyone – right from the illiterate farmer in the remotest of villages to the elite . They do not require credentials—only feeling.

The lines carry vivid images. Vitthala stands with feet together, hands on hips, balanced, calm. He’s adorned with divine weapons—Shankha, Chakra, Gada, Padma—but they don’t frighten. They comfort. His beauty doesn’t awe; it invites.This is a God who’s not somewhere else. He’s here—on the dusty road, in your daily duties, standing on a brick behind you.

The lore behind this image deepens the message. In the Varkari tradition, Pundalik is a devoted son, caring for his elderly parents. When the Lord arrives, Pundalik doesn’t leap up or run to worship. Instead, he tosses a brick and says, “Wait.”

Vitthala waits.

He does not storm off. He does not punish. He stands—with patience, with pride.

What a profound teaching! That caregiving is worship. That duty isn’t a distraction from God—it’s the very place God is found.

For today’s reader, the analogy is immediate. Parenting, elder care, balancing deadlines with compassion—these aren’t obstacles to spirituality. They are spirituality. Chokhamela’s image honors love-in-action. And that’s why it still moves us.

Each couplet in this abhang encodes a life principle. Not abstract philosophy, but earthy, applicable wisdom. Village advice wrapped in song.

1. “Sukhache je sukh Chandrabhage tati”

The deepest joy is communal.

Real happiness lives where people come together for a shared purpose.

2. “Pundalika pathi ubhe thake”

God stands behind those who serve.

Show up for your duties, and life stands behind you.

3. “Sajire gojire samacharani ubhe”

Vitthala stands balanced and poised.

Composure is beauty. Steadiness itself is divine.

4. “Bhaktachiya lobhe vitevari”

He waits—on a brick—for love.

True love doesn’t insist on ceremony. It meets you where you are.

5. “Kar doni kati Shreemukh changale”

Hands on hips, radiant and relaxed.

Confidence can be calm. Leadership doesn’t need to dominate.

6. “Shankh chakra miravale gada-padma”

He carries Vishnu’s full regalia.

Gentleness isn’t weakness. Strength can smile.

7. “Chokha mhane shobhe Vaijayanti”

The garland of victory shines on Him.

Service is the real triumph. Glory follows humility.

8. “Kanthi chandanachi uti sarv angi”

He’s perfumed in sandalwood.

Love beautifies the beloved. We shine when seen with love.

The Wari pilgrimage isn’t just a religious act. It’s a moving society. Rich and poor, men and women, Brahmin and Dalit, all chant the same songs side by side. Caste lines blur when you’ve walked 200 kilometers on the same feet and eaten from the same pot.

In that sense, this abhang isn’t just about a waiting God. It’s about the kind of world we want to live in—one where love, duty, and humility matter more than status or ritual. It gives dignity to the humble, and humility to the powerful.

So the next time you find yourself torn—between helping someone and rushing to a ritual, between a quiet duty and a shiny spiritual performance—pause.

Picture Vitthala. Standing quietly on a brick. Behind you. Smiling. Waiting.

Not because you’re ignoring God, but because you’re doing something that is God’s work.

That, Chokhamela reminds us, is what the Divine looks like—graceful, patient, and already with you.

“He even stands on a brick—because the devotee asked.”

What a God! What a song!