The gate of flight

यहाँ दोफ़हर की धूप में, तपती सड़क पर उड़ते परिंदों की परच्छाइयाँ दिखती हैं. आसमान देखा नहीं जाता पर तपती सड़क स्लेटी रंग का आसमान बन जाती है.. पंख गिरते उठते गिरते, फड़फड़ाते फिर मौन मुद्रा में हवा की तरंगों पर सवार हैं. इन परछाईयों पर इस गेट का नाम पड़ा है? धूप में तपता एक आदमी परछाई को जैसे सम्मोहित होकर देख रहा है, कहीं से पानी मिलने की आस छोड़ कर..वो सर उठाता है, तो उसकी पलकें भी ऊपर को उड़ान भरती हैं.

Notes, N

N: the geography from all the gates has some things in similar- a long road facing a large drain, a crowded long road of small shops behind which, invariably is a large field, where performances are staged.

The gate of flight is made of plaster.

somewhere in one of the larger bungalows of the city, not so prosperous, a dead butterfly, inked in black and orange was found on the road side, under the shadow of trees, a powdery lipcolour like stain of orange/scarlet on its body. a colony of ants were preparing its hearse when the road cleaner came with his leather bag of water. That is an anachronism, no, that leather bag? From my childhood. Did i really see it? or just write it in? A thousand tiny dead ants soon sat by the still intact wings of the red and black butterfly.

Deep in the city ( reachable from every gate of course) is the Viman Shastra building, heavy, large, with a most un ergonomic dark glass facade, walls of polished granite, and bulky pillars. It has been newly made by the government. The officer who is willing to meet us seems knowledgable. He wears large glasses, at odd with his shiny surroundings, like he has been plucked out of a life of quiet, impossible study, consenting to be a fool to his passion and suddenly, he has been given this office and this chair. He has no governmental affiliations and preferences, he tells us. Of course he believes Indians flew in planes once upon a while ago. He is watchful for any signs of incredulousness on our parts but also immune to it, if a bit contemptuous. I recognise at once, a man who has hardened his skin to comments on his frequent escapes to the city library, to other places, finding out about flying. I wonder where he started, how he reached this place where his name is inextricably linked with the ancient hindu art of flying. [[1]]

Fanciful M seduces me with his language. Something he picked up from a film maker he met in the city, he tells me, M clearly taken up with him, quite a bit, went on and on. But the phrase ( which M applied to us, saving me some more heartache i might have had) is a lovely one, I must concede.

The sky of the chest M said.

the flying saucer or the उड़ान खटोले (flying cot/cage)

"because a flying saucer is also an aero plane"

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The people around always translate it as gate of light, not flight. Flight might be too intricate a word and the simpler word has replaced it. What is it a gate of, anyway? there does not seem to be a fixed point of reference, in its decorations. Everything, from flowers and leaves, to lamps afloat of tendrils to butterflies and snakes have been covered in its peeling, rough, but intricate relief. I might have carved in some stars and clouds for good measure. Anyhow, the blasted(blasting) sun beats so strong in this time of year, its white light is stronger than all gates. The sun is so strong at this time of the year, if you look up without your glasses towards it, that cruel white light is all you see. Gate of light. M, i can have my fancies too.

1877

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[[2]]

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तीस एप्रिल यहाँ मैदान में फाल्के की सालगिराह को लेकर एक 'अर्बन रीचूअल' मनाया जाता है. एक बड़ा चौकोर गुब्बारा आसमान में छोड़ा जाता है, कहते है यह फाल्के का स्टूडियो है.. (तो आसमान में क्यों उड़ता है?) भरा हुआ मैदान था, और फेरी वाले भी छोटे चौकोर गुब्बारे बेच रहे थे. किसी पांडुलिपी की बात कही थी उस फाल्के के ग्यानि ने..कोई खोई हुई किताब जो फाल्के के बच्चों के अनुसार, उनके पिता ने उनके लिए लिखी थी ( यह मिला है उन बच्चों से, उनपर फिल्म बनाई है).. और यह गुब्बारे? मैने पूछा. वो जैसे खुश हो गया. बोला- अरे- यह तो- मेरी एक कहानी हैं.

मतलब?

मैने एक कहानी लिखी थी, नहीं, मैने एक छवि देखी थी- फाल्के का पुत्र, बबराया, हनुमान की पोशाक पहने ( फाल्के के बच्चे उसकी मिथोलाजिकल फिल्मों में काम करते थे), तो हनुमान बना बबाराया अपने पिता का स्टूडियो एक हाथ में उठाए उड़ रहा है. और स्टूडियो के अंदर फाल्के उस पांडुलिपि की रचना कर रहा है. यह 1918 की इमेज थी मेरी कहानी में. फाल्के को काम नहीं था, बिज़नेस चौपट हो गया था, वो स्टूडियो की दीवारों में सिमट गया था. बच्चों को पिता के दर्शन हुए..

अगर यह तुम्हारी कल्पित छवी है, तो यहाँ- ऊपर कैसे पहुँची?

उसकी आँखों में नरम खुशी दिखी मुझे, और खुली हथेलियों में अचरज.. "सचमुच, पता नहीं". [3]