Esha Rajan, a resident of Najafgarh, can certainly be dubbed a “poet of Najafgarh” owing to her close connection with the locality. She is well-acquainted with the streets and landmarks of Najafgarh and has a fondness for its mustard fields during the winter season. However, her true realm of growth and self-discovery lies within the campuses of Delhi University.
Esha’s journey of self-discovery led her to Jesus and Mary College in the South Campus, where she completed her undergraduate studies, and the Arts Faculty in the North Campus, where she specialized in philosophy. While strolling through a bustling Najafgarh bazaar alley one afternoon, she fondly reminisces about her college days, including the poetry society, open mic sessions at Lodhi Garden, and evenings spent sharing tea and poetic verses with her friend Aan, where they would mutually refine and enhance their poems.
A few weeks ago, Esha’s path took her through an Old Delhi lane where she encountered an elderly gentleman jotting down notes on pieces of paper. This nostalgic sight inspired her to compose a poem about something nearly forgotten: the telegram. Have you ever received one? Esha hasn’t, and she graciously shares her poem on this subject:
Telegram*
A telegram
A symphony of thoughts
Interwoven with the intricacies of self
The ink that unveils stories rarely told
Forgotten? A contemplation.
Amidst the chaos of bustling streets
The red postbox stands, waiting to be filled
With connections left to steep, on crumpled coffee-stained sheets
The ink
Has begun to fade
Infused like earth, dancing to the rhythm of the first rain
Grey shades of dreams unfurl like a cascading waterfall
Old city of people
Of bustling streets, resonating with the symphony of chaos
In their boxed abodes, secrets are whispered!
Whispers of desires that twinkle as the old city slumbers
I
Am the telegram
Breathing in the grace of dust, my silent companion
Waiting in the embrace of untouched moments, I observe
Master
Brushes off the long-forgotten credenza
A fleeting glance that raises his brows, he sighs
Perhaps, I am a fading memory or an unhealed flame
I, the telegram
Am the echo of concealed mysteries, imprinted emotions
Unheard amidst the city’s enveloping chaos
Unloved in my solitary world of dust
