बे-सबब

बे-सबब/राजबीर देसवाल
छोड़ कर मुझको अकेला, बढ़ गया है कारवां,
कौन पीछे रह गया, मैं देखता ही रह गया.
तोड़ने को एक टुकड़ा, आसमान का, हाथ उठा तो,
लो मेरे ऊपर ही वो, सारा का सारा डह गया.
एक सहरा, प्यास का, सूखे का, बंजर का पला
पसरा-पसरा, ऊंघ कर, मुझको नकारा कह गया.
इक समंदर, ढीठ सा, ठहरा हुआ था आँख में,
आपको देखा तो फिर, वो बे-हिसाबा बह गया.
एक पत्थर कोह सा, दिल पे रहा, ता-ज़िन्दगी,
‘ए खुदा तू है ! ’ समझ कर, बोझ सारा सह गया.
क्यों किए हैं आप शिकवा, मेरे कहने पर जनाब,
जो कहा, जैसा कहा, बस बे-सबब ही कह गया.

जैसे सूरज की गर्मी से

जैसे सूरज की गर्मी से

Alas Bau Ji! और बाउजी चले गए !

Bau Ji

by Rajbir Deswal
Bau Ji was an ordinary person. But he was a special father. I had never thought of addressing him in ‘historical terms of having had been!’ Not that he was immortal, but that he was mortally alive and succumbing to all my needs, all my life, made me look up to him being more than a father. And having brought me in this world, who else could have done this to me except him! Bau Ji. My father.
As a boy, I saw in Bau Ji all that I could have dreamed to be. As an adolescent, I found him affording me all support I needed. As an adult, I discovered in him an indulgent counsellor. As a man, I had him as my spiritual guru. But more he grew old and infirm, he became a child. Dependent. Emotional. Needing to be repaid for what I owed him. Without asking for it.
He was my role model. His upbringing made me follow only him. Being his natural part. If he liked Nehru or Churchill, I too liked them. If he adored Dilip Kumar’s style of acting and Talat Mehmood’s velvety voice, I too rooted for them the same way. If he preferred to dress immaculately, I too would not let a crease on my clothes get crumpled.
I followed Bau Ji even in his initiation into a faith of his choice at the hands of his spiritual master. I heard him compose verses and sing them to small congregations in our village. He made me sing and write like him. His love for Urdu and good English was duly imbibed and emulated by me. He was a graduate of the 1940s vintage.
Bau Ji was a true son of the soil. I remember him carrying me as a child on his broad shoulders. Having grown up a little more, I started accompanying father on his tractor to the fields. I would marvel at his sinewy arms with jet black hair down the elbow.
Noticing a water channel overflow, father would stop the tractor, come down, roll up his sleeves, pick up the spade and divert the water. I watched his biceps and triceps almost frog-throbbing now and then with the lifting and dropping of the spade into hard soil.
With mother having parted company forever about 24 years ago, Bau Ji became a loner, more by choice than by disposition. He became hypertensive, diabetic, and spondylitis literally took the better of him and his upright posture. The hair on his hands turned white and the skin got loosened; sans the rugged texture it once had.
Early this month, Bau Ji called up almost gasping for breath on the phone: “I am not well, Bhai!” He had never uttered such words of helplessness — ever! It did not portend well. We took him with us. That night I slept (!) with him when he kept asking the domestic help to ‘go and relax’ but confirming about me, “Bhai, are you around?” His condition deteriorated the next day and till late evening, he could not hang on. Bau Ji was gone. For ever.
On the way to Hardwar, while carrying his ashes to be immersed in the Ganga, I received a call from his mobile left back in the village. The text which appeared on my phone-screen read, “Bau Ji calling!” For a second I preferred not to suspend my disbelief and keep feeling Bau Ji’s presence around. You were very special to me, Father! Like all fathers, I believe.

In the Desert Wine Country: Osoyoos. We spent three days in this Canada town

Oasis in Osoyoos
By : Rajbir Deswal & Chander Koumdi
The Cascades, a mountain range east of the water body of Puget Sound was in sight with its lofty peaks. The meters high Steven’s Pass presented a commanding view. The Columbia river...which had accompanied us with its moods manifested in currents, big splashes, and roaring gurgles, sometime to our left and at others to our right, looked to be a capricious blue rivulet from here. Ski tournaments are held here in winters.
We were on our way to Osoyoos in British Columbia (Canada) from Seattle.
Passing through the beautiful Leavenworth—a town with its unique German and Bavarian flavour, we reached Wanatchee from where you take a turn alongside a river that keeps company up to Osoyoos. You can also take a detour for the beautiful Lake Chelan from here—tourist destination for ‘desis’—our own people.
For about three hours from now the drive through the famous Okanagan Valley with huge sand dunes on either side. On the slopes close to the river, are spread farms, ranches and fruit orchards. The sharp contrast of greenery at the foot hills and sprawling and spiralling yellow slopes of the dunes present a sight mixing awe and admiration. All through the highway runs a railway track which confirms the region’s growing historically from a mining activity area to a full fledged agriculture chunk.
Narender Virk and his wife Rattan were waiting for us in the lounge of their Holiday Inn. Narender owns the hotel besides vast property—‘Village on the Lake’. He migrated to Osoyoos about 30 years back and made good fortune. Rattan, his wife was a practising lawyer in Punjab and Haryana High Court before she joined Narender. The couple offered us goblets full of pinot wine in the lobby itself. We moved on to the restaurant with a beautiful view of Lake Osoyoos.
Some 50 KMs of Osoyoos is the famous Rock Creek where they had discovered gold in the mid 18th century. One can have a full bird’s eye-view of the entire Okanagan valley from Mr. Baldi which is also a ski area. North of Osoyoos is beautiful town of Oliver where again one can have lot of history, architecture, food, wine, fitness or family fun.
On the same route just about 10 minutes drive, one can enjoy being at the Spotted Lake which has about 365 round pools of water and saline deposits giving you and impression as if you are looking at a dress with polka dot designs. Aborigines i.e. the Indians hold the Lake as sacred and congregate annually for a pilgrimage.
Close by is the Desert Model Rail Road Museum.Under one roof here is a tiny town showing up life in a criss cross of moving slowing, stopping and zooming trains. Anaysa had than screamed with joy with her small little hands on her cheeks saying “Oh! There is so much to see here”. The owner-curator is his 60’s informed us about the population and life style in the mini-town. We had no option than to willingly usher into his make-belief fantasy world.
We had fun with water at the private beach of Holiday Inn. Till about 200 metres from the beach you can be in the shallow waters, only waist high. Children play splashing games here while the seniors can enjoy sun bath with a punch of juice or beer. We had thrill of riding jet skis. Narender and his son Vincent took us on a long boat ride in the evening close to the lake shores showing us canals, vineyards and the Indian reservations which are politico-cultural reserves where Aborigine Indians practice and their own traditions while the State does not generally interfere in their day-to-day governance.
We visited a Reservations NK’MIP called in-ka-meep whichis about 200 acre chunk of a dune with vinyards flowing down to the shore level of Lake Osoyoos. From the Winery we purchased a couple of bottles of white wine. Also we had lunch on the Patio with a commanding view of the small town of Osoyoos and the Lake. The ambience here gives you a mixed feeling—of irrigation of the self and dryness of mind—symbolically represented by the Lake waters and desert dunes. But it is all too exciting to even imagine oneself in such a mysterious world of contrast. They have nine holes desert links golf, a spa and RV camping too here.
The 36 holes beautiful Gold Course created on the western dune of Osoyoos was a good place to have our lunch before saying, “Bye-bye Osoyoos!”