रुखसत

Last week, an accident happened in the neighborhood I live in. It caused the death of a fifth-grade child. There were many things that happened after this. One of those many things was to understand what it meant to die here, in the US. It was not so much the way people grieve differently, or the difference in rituals. It was a startling discovery of the expenses of death, and funeral. It was a shock to know that the burial and funeral services cost a whole lot of money here, more than $5000. As people in my community collected donations to help cover the funeral expenses for the child, my heart grieved inconsolably for the mother who had lost her only son. I penned down these lines to unburden my heart. I have no clue what the mother in mourning is doing to assuage her agony.

वो पेड़ के नीचे पड़े

कुछ गुब्बारे कुछ खिलौने

वो सड़क पे खींची कुछ लकीरें

शोक मनाता मेरा पड़ोस

हादसों की अपनी ज़ुबान बन गयी

मेरा गम खामोश कोने में सिसकता

तुझे ठीक से रुखसत भी ना कर सका

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खुद्दारी से जीने की तमन्ना रखते थे

ना मालूम था कि

मरना ही उधार हो जाएगा

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Image Source

If you wish to read an article I read about burials in America, click A different way to die: The story of a natural burial