teri mehfil mein lekin hum na honge...

first brush with mehdi hassan, perhaps like everyone else, was ranjish hi sahi... no actually second - first memory of mehdi hassan is a pile of cassettes (yes those tape cassettes) at my uncle's place, who probably carefully collected each of his albums and all their permutations and combinations... must admit all i felt that time was curiosity... my hindi sucked, cant imagine understanding a word of ghazals as a kid...

eventually in late teens came stupid crush(es..is that right for plural?) and profound feelings... and ranjish hi sahi.. i outgrew most things i felt and experienced over the past ten years except these songs (poetry and love itself, if i may add) i was not sure if i loved the poetry more or the voice that rendered it.

after all these years, i am now sure that it was both, almost equally, that has been making me utterly restless and quivery every time i hear ...
Ranjish hi sahi...
kis Kis Ko Bataayenge Judaaii Kaa Sabab Ham

tuu Mujh Se Khafaa Hai To Zamaane Ke Liye Aa
maanaa Ki Muhabbat Kaa Chhipaanaa Hai Muhabbat

chupake Se Kisii Roz Jataane Ke Liye Aa...  
jaise Tujhe Aate Hain Na Aane Ke Bahaane
aise Hii Kisii Roz Na Jaane Ke Liye Aa...

he sang verses written by mirza ghalib, faiz ahmed faiz, meer taqi meer, ahmed faraz and many other geniuses and elevated them to sublime level of a its own. he made these words as if their soul belonged to his voice... when he sang chale bhi aao toh gulshan ka karobaar chalen... that chale bhi aao felt like the most intense request of the most fragile heart/love...
he sang jane toh jane gul hi na jane, baag toh sara jane hai... it was gut wrenching and yet so soft and restrained... i could picture each pipal leaf trying to send out a message of love to the universe...

was it the natural gift of velvety melodious voice or his unique (for ghazal singing) learning from a family of traditional dhrupad singers? was it internalised pain of partition or the scortching upbringing of rajasthan? was it feeling of belonging to both countries (or longing to belong to home, region, love, to rains, to poems??) was it poverty and struggle that made him become that much better - the king of ghazals? so much so that gulzar captured the love of his fans as he wrote aankhon ko visa nahi lagta...


... band aakhon se aksar sarhad paar chala jata hoon
milne Mehdi Hasan se...
aankhon ko visa nahi lagta
sapnon ki sarhad koi nahi...

although he had not sung for the longest time and was suffering for years together, some how one does not associate death with people like him. some how one feels that these exceptionally talented people will be around. as if i did not count the last years of his suffering as his, it was a mortal who was grappling with these eventually fatal illnesses... the immortal hassan was accompanying me and my changing moods, feelings and thoughts with an appropriate and fitting ghazal all the time...
ab ke hum bichDe to shaayad kabhi khwaaboN meiN mile

jis tarah sookhe huye phool kitaaboN meiN mile
or
zindagi meiN to sabhi pyaar kiya karte haiN

main to mar ke bhi meri jaan tuJhe chahoonga...

all this and more... so yeah, even as the creator perishes, his creations remain more than alive... so much so that the disbelief of his death is more real than death itself... is it? or may be for me and millions of others, creation is no different from the creator - coz we knew him through his work and perhaps his creations alone? long live the king of ghazals... he will live on, as long as poetry does, as long as longing does, as long as love does...

mohabbat karanevaale kam na ho.nge

hafeez hoshiarpuri

mohabbat karanevaale kam na ho.nge

terii mahafil me.n lekin ham na ho.nge

zamaane bhar ke Gam yaa ik teraa Gam

ye Gam hogaa to kitane Gam na ho.nge

dilo.n kii ulajhane.n ba.Datii rahe.ngii

agar kuchh mashvare baaham na ho.nge

agar tuu ittafaaqan mil bhii jaaye

terii furqat ke sadame.n kam na ho.nge

'Hafeez' un se mai.n jitanaa bad_gumaa.N huu.N

vo mujh se is qadar barham na ho.nge

intezaar

rains are yet to reach kerala. mumbai is still far far away. is it the heat that is killing us or the desperate wait? either way, tell me o dear rain, kab aaoge...

Intezaar

raat bhar diidaa-e-Gam-naak me.n laharaate rahe

Makhdoom Moinuddin

raat bhar diidaa-e-Gam-naak me.n laharaate rahe

saa.Ns kii tarah se aap aate rahe, jaate rahe

Khush the ham apanii tamannaao.n kaa Khvaab aayegaa

apanaa aramaan bar-afga.ndaa naqaab aayegaa

[bar-afga.ndaa=without covering/unveiled]

nazare.n niichii kiye sharmaaye huye aayegaa

kaakule.n chehare pe bikharaaye huye aayegaa

[kaakule.n=curls of hair]

aa ga_ii thii dil-e-muztar me.n shakebaa_ii sii

baj rahii thii mere Gam-khaane me.n shahanaa_ii sii

[muztar=restless; shakebaa_ii=peace]

shab ke jaage huye taaro.n ko bhii nii.nd aane lagii

aap ke aane kii ik aas thii ab jaane lagii

subah ne sej se uThate huye lii a.ngaraa_ii

o sabaa tuu bhii jo aa_ii to akele aa_ii

[sabaa=breeze]

mere mahabuub merii nii.nd u.Daane vaale

mere masajuud merii ruuh pe chhaane vaale

[masajuud=to whom one bows/worships]

aa bhii jaa taake mere sajado.n kaa aramaa.N nikale

aa bhii jaa ke tere qadamo.n pe merii jaa.N nikale

ghar thaklele sanyasi...

Almost 10 years ago, I met Grace for the first time in my life at a television show. It was one of my first culture assignments and luckily my reading of his poetry in college years saved the day. “You media people write anything at all,” he started in his signature eccentric genius style. After 5 minutes of my attempting a semblance of a sensible conversation he said, “Write to me sometime.” Although that brief interaction was instantly lost in the glitzy event, I dared to write my first fan mail to him in 2003 when I was studying in London.
I never expected a reply but waited for one nonetheless. And a few weeks
later there it was. In his Calligraphic handwriting, not once mocking my utterly gushy letter, he wrote to me about himself and asked me to preserve the craziness and sensitivity. The London winter was over for me!
But he was not a believer in happiness or excitement. An extremely sensitive human being, he depicted various emotions and states: love, pain, and death with extraordinary detail using powerful imagery – sometimes he reminded me of Sylvia Plath, sometimes his metaphors seemed to match Gulzar’s earlier poetry. “When I find that my flower is dying for dew, I at once cut the throat of my flower and release the dew,” he wrote in a letter to me. One never claimed to understand his poems but loved them anyway. However, when Hridaynath Mangeshkar wove his poetry into beautiful compositions and songs from film Nivdung, they reached every Marathi household.
Sometimes he called himself “an ancient man belonging to modern times,” asked me what was special about 31st December and wrote “I sit huddled close to myself holding on to my bones.” But he was also the same man who wrote about the rains in the most mystical and beautiful way.
Even after I had moved back to Delhi, we continued to exchange letters. I believe he made time for many readers like me, despite his need for solitude. Our interaction broke abruptly when he wrote to me once saying he was depressed and was going to be silent. I lost touch for a few months. Then I mustered enough courage and called him to see how he was and he sounded most cheerful and said “Prachitai, where did you disappear? ”
Every time he wrote about his travels, he sent newspaper cuttings about the programmes, his books, articles, and he always mentioned returning back to his Nagpur home, Panthaviram, “a green lonely solitude.” At some point we stopped writing. I still have a letter, which I wrote in 2008 but never posted.
I met him last month at the Dinanath Mangeshkar Hospital, where he had been undergoing cancer treatment for many months. The hospital room was full of his pictures, awards and a study table. “I want to go home but everyone insists I will be better looked after here.” I asked him if we could resume writing to each other. He said, “Yeah life goes on. Stay in touch.”
He died at dinanath mangeshkar hospital this morning.



paus
paus
devalajawalcha
parajawalcha
paus.
parapalidkadcha
paus
sarva.
paus
rastorasti
rastyacha palidkadcha
paus
rastyat
sarva kalokhat
vastyat
paus
dolyat
sarva.

chale chalo ki wo ma.nzil abhii nahii.n aaii

On 16th august, if you watched TV news it seemed as if whole of india was up in arms against corruption and with anna hazare in his fight for lokpal bill. of course the spontaneous response seems very heartening, but i was wondering if it was city driven, if it was without required depth for a real movement, if it would matter after a few days to the same people protesting at Azad Maidan and every other azad maidan of other cities? and was it premature to call this the second freedom struggle and anna hazare, the second gandhi? or is it just a reflection of our times, of us? the entire facebook twitter campaign for a bill - that ideally needs to be debated among the elected representatives of those who mostly pay their way through most agencies to save time and avoid tedious procedures and of those who have no access to any such thing in rural areas... is it not a mirror to the way we have become, slightly shallow, mostly ill-informed, adequately indifferent and courageous in occasional spurts. the government we have, the movement that is on, the country we live in, the pot holes we stuble into, the girls we kill in wombs, the jobs we get and the salaries we don't, the climate change, the floods, the droughts, the loans, the scams, the double digit growth coupled with double digit inflation, the families, the illnesses, the stress, the security and the lack of it - all of it - isn't all this a reflection and outcome of what we have been for the last 64 years? what next?

Subh-e-aazaadii
ye daaG daaG ujaalaa, ye shab_gaziidaa sahar
Faiz Ahmed Faiz
ye daaG daaG ujaalaa, ye shab_gaziidaa sahar
wo intazaar thaa jis kaa, ye wo sahar to nahii.n
ye wo sahar to nahii.n jis kii aarazuu lekar
chale the yaar ki mil jaayegii kahii.n na kahii.n
falak ke dasht me.n taro.n kii aaKharii ma.nzil
kahii.n to hogaa shab-e-sust mauj kaa saahil
kahii.n to jaa ke rukegaa safinaa-e-Gam-e-dil
jawaa.N lahuu kii pur-asaraar shaaharaaho.n se
chale jo yaar to daaman pe kitane haath pa.De
dayaar-e-husn kii be-sabr Khwaab-gaaho.n se
pukaratii rahii.n baahe.n, badan bulaate rahe
bahut aziiz thii lekin ruKh-e-sahar kii lagan
bahut qarii.n thaa hasiinaan-e-nuur kaa daaman
subuk subuk thii tamannaa, dabii dabii thii thakan

sunaa hai ho bhii chukaa hai firaq-e-zulmat-e-nuur
sunaa hai ho bhii chukaa hai wisaal-e-ma.nzil-o-gaam
badal chukaa hai bahut ahl-e-dard kaa dastuur
nishaat-e-wasl halaal-o-azaab-e-hijr-e-haraam
jigar kii aag, nazar kii uma.ng, dil kii jalan
kisii pe chaaraa-e-hijraa.N kaa kuchh asar hii nahii.n
kahaa.N se aaii nigaar-e-sabaa, kidhar ko gaii
abhii chiraaG-e-sar-e-rah ko kuchh Khabar hii nahii.n
abhii garaani-e-shab me.n kamii nahii.n aaii
najaat-e-diida-o-dil kii gha.Dii nahii.n aaii
chale chalo ki wo ma.nzil abhii nahii.n aaii
August 1947

bol ki jaa.N ab tak terii hai

hundreds of journalists in mumbai will have several anecdotes to narrate about j dey. the point of this post is not to add to that.

j dey was killed on saturday afternoon by unknown assailants who pumped bullets in his body at close range. journalists gathered at his house, for the funeral and for the protest march. i am not sure if there was agreement on what we demanded but we asked for independent enquiry (by cbi?) and special law for protection of journalists.

i agree that investigation in dey's murder has to be prompt and honest. i wonder if that is really possible - since he was supposedly exploring political-police-mafia nexus in many of his stories.

apparently some officers tried to put a doubt that dey was on the wrong side of a deal, or was working on something not exactly bonafide. that's not on. whatever editorial and personal differences anyone might have had with him, it's just not acceptable that someone can now use this to explain (and justify?) the murder. if this is how people think, how will they implement a law to protect journalists who sniff and snoop around for hours to get one nugget of a story?

also what exactly will a special law do to protect journalists? and how will it determine who is a bonafide journalist in need of protection? if someone attacks and threatens a journalist as opposed to a civilian, should there be more stringent action? we need to think.

journalists who are working on special investigations are extremely secretive, even with their families, they would not want a cop to shadow or safeguard them while they are with sources. and the others don't need any protection for doing their daily job, including covering press confenrences and other controversial but not-so-dangerous(to anybody - us, government, people etc etc) issues.

what strikes me is the confidence of the conspiracy and execution. someone around us thinks that he/she/they can get away after killing a senior journalist of the city. if lawyer shahid azmi's murder is any indication, what we will get - at the most - is arrest of a few shooters/contract killers and some links to some gangs.

that is not enough. but then we have been made to accept this time and again. and some where most journalists have stopped doggedly following, campaigning, not relenting. readers also forget. politicians move on to other things before you can say move on.

on saturday i felt that perhaps noone would have the sources to investigate this murder thoroughly and have the courage to take this to its logical end (which means getting the master mind, but then when have we ever got the mastermind, let alone punish them?) through reporting, following up and putting pressure on the system through all media.

i dont know what will happen to this case. but may be it will shake us enough and remind us of our duties as members of fourth estate. naive, activist-ish and idealistic as it may sound, we (like someother professions, teachers, doctors, public servants, politicians, lawyers?) have to take our jobs as important social responsibilities. impartial dessimination of information. getting to the bottom of a story. having all versions and angles. understanding past factors of a case and future implications on the poorest and the vulnerable.

may be his killing reminds us that we cannot let this happen to our society, our city, our country. even if we cannot be investigative journalists, we can be honest, hard working and conscientious citizens who do their duties, which includes asking questions, voting, avoiding any short cuts and not getting used to crap.

dey may have been slightly uncomfortable with all the display of emotion and anger - no matter how genuine and heartfelt - at this cold-blooded, brazen murder. he perhaps would have liked a cracker of an investigation.

Hum Dekhenge
- Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Hum dekhenge
Lazim hai ke hum bhi dekhenge
Woh din ke jis ka waada hai
Jo loh-e-azl pe likha hai
Hum dekhenge

Jab zulm-o-sitam ke koh-e-garaan
Rui ki tarah ud jayenge
Hum mehkumoon ke paun tale
Yeh dharti dhad dhad dhadkagi
Aur ehl-e-hukum ke sar upar
Jab bijli kad kad kadkegi
Hum dekhenge

Jab arz-e-khuda ke Kabe se
Sab but uthwaye jayenge
Hum ahl-e-safa mardood-e-haram
Masnad pe bithaye jayenge
Sab taaj uchale jayenge
Sab takht giraye jayenge

Bas naam rahega Allah ka
Jo ghayab bhi hai hazir bhi
Jo nazir bhi hai manzar bhi
Uthega analhaq ka naara
Jo main bhi hoon aur tum bhi ho
Aur raaj karegi khalq-e-khuda
Jo main bhi hoon aur tum bhi ho

Hum dekhenge
Lazim hai ke hum bhi dekhenge
Hum dekhenge

har baat yahaa.N baat ba.Dhaane ke liye hai

since the festival which celebrates "talking" and "kite flying" (hmmm, wonder if the wise old men saw any connection there!) is here, let's talk about talking.

conversation, life talks, faltu gappa, chakatya, communication, discussions, bragging, name dropping, debates, arguments, confiding, sharing, fighting, telling, informing - so many shades of the same essential act. * am not going to talk about public speech like parliament et al. it's only about us in our little spheres.

then there is element, rather important, of who we are talking to - family, friends among family members, friends, family among friends, colleagues (seniors/juniors), acquaintaces, known strangers and absolute strangers.

and then comes how we do this - face to face, telephone, mobiles, letters, msgs, mails, tweets, so on...

where we engage? in train, taxis, homes, lying in bed, over girls' pyjama parties with lotsa chips, over a perfect drink, by the sea, under one umbrella with your best friend wading through water, over cutting chai, over strong brewed house coffee, which watching a scary, boring, masala movie,.

i have had some great conversations with strangers, on the train, buses, drunken parties - sometimes personal, sometimes poetic... lovely. sometimes i have lost the courage, conviction and confidence in carrying on conversations with some close friends over a period of time, sometimes i have gained it rather slowly. sometimes i share most personal stuff with strangers and keep most important thoughts from my closest friends. girl pals - take a bow, you have been a godsend at all times in life!

sometimes it is only about the beauty of the language, the sound of those words - sometimes it is about the thought (or point!) and not how it is said. sometimes hard facts - jobs, deaths, marriages, birth, death, travel itinery - each one resulting in numerous conversations at all levels with all possible people mentioned above!

it's increasingly becoming hard to be spontaneous, volatile, straightforward, emotional, upfront, frank, silly, stupid... as we grow older we acquire skills (how to say no when you want to say yes or some such gibberish!) - perhaps at the cost natural instinct (to avoid conflict, to not to sound naive and hence silly, to not to sound inexperienced and immature)?

is it really worth it? people are far more evocative on facebook and far less engaging in real - is it true? or am i missing out on keeping with the times? is this how it will be? can we talk about it? over a cup of coffee and til gul and in real?

am a gullible customer and i quote from an old mobile phone ad - today is the day for "JUST TALK" (remember orange ad before it went on to become hutch, vodafone blah blah). til gul ghya aani gode gode bola - take til ka laddoo and say sweet sweet things. Happy Makar Sakranti! (though one can limit kite flying to actual kite flying and not do it while conversing?)

har baat yahaa.N baat ba.Dhaane ke liye hai

har baat yahaa.N baat ba.Dhaane ke liye hai
ye umr jo dhokaa hai to khaane ke liye hai

ye daaman-e-hasarat hai vahii Khvaab-e-gurezaa.N
jo apane liye hai na zamaane ke liye hai

[gurezaa.N = fleeing]

utare hue chehare me.n shikaayat hai kisii kii
ruuThii hu_ii rangat hai manaane ke liye hai

Gaafil terii aa.Nkho.n kaa muqaddar hai andheraa
ye farsh to raaho.n me.n bichhaane ke liye hai

[Gaafil = careless/unaware]

ghabaraa na sitam se na karam se na adaa se
har mo.D yahaa.N raah dikhaane ke liye hai

such a long journey...

posting a translation of my recent article in maharashtra times on the issue of "such a long journey" being dropped from university syllabus.

I didn't want to add to the recent debate about the way in which Rohinton Mistry's Such A Long Journey was taken off the University of Mumbai's BA (English Literature) syllabus. It's an extremely important issue and I'm not an expert. But I am a student of literature, and as such, I feel compelled to write. I started feeling the pinch of this ban as I remembered how my course books opened up a whole new world for me.

I completed my graduation in English literature from St.Xavier’s college and those were some of the best years of my student life – where knowledge, thought processes, emotions, opinions were adequately tested. I read whatever I could. Liked some, understood some, agreed with a few and forgot a lot of it as well.

Thousands of students study this course every year. Depending on their nature, personality, and preferences, they accept or plainly discard opinions of writers, political leaders, parents and friends. What I cannot fathom is what one hopes to achieve by prohibiting the students from reading any critical or satirical or disapproving fiction/non-fiction about a political party? (What the book says about the Shiv Sena and the Congress is a matter of another debate altogether. Let’s not go that way!)

Literature, poetry, books are an experience. Each book will takes you to a different world. Be it post-war literature, Wilfred Owen’s “pity of war”, Shakepeare’s magic, George Orwell’s 1984, R K Narayan’s Guide, Vikram Seth’s The Golden Gate, or Amitav Ghosh’s Shadow Lines. At the same time there is Dalit Literature, Vijay Tendulkar, Jaywant Dalvi, G A Kulkarni, Pu La Deshpande, Meghna Pethe, poetry by Grace – and that’s just to name a few.

When I first met Franz Kafka, Samuel Beckett, Albert Camus, I could not sleep. I got nightmares about T S Eliot’s The Wasteland. In the hostel, we used to discuss a particular character, poem, historical and the sociological context of books for hours. These books gently transported me to a world where I did not come from, made me familiar with human emotions and conditions I wasn’t acquainted with.

These writers expressed their views – through journalistic writing, fiction, poetry. They criticised and took sides. They held a mirror to a very beautiful as well as miserable side of human life. I started to get involved because it was part of the university syllabus.

If my well-educated and cultured parents gave me the freedom to read whatever the hell I wanted as an adolescent – which is when I discovered powerful and controversial Dalvi, G A and Tendulkar – why won’t 18, 19 year olds not get/understand the meaning, implications and experience of Such a Long Journey? If these students can elect a government, get married, then won’t they understand what a certain book is trying to say? Why won’t they?

When I read Such A Long Journey, what I felt mostly vividly was the Bombay or Mumbai of 1971 – which I had never known, and I met in this book.When I read how Gustad stays up all night because of mosquitoes I (have mosquitoes ever tortured you all night?), I could not help laughing. The book deals with human nature, relationships through Sohrab’s restlessness, Dilnawaz’s love for children, understanding – it brings alive the Parsi way of life, the common man’s struggles and sorrows so vividly that the book becomes an experience. Not just a beautiful one but an essential one, I’d say. And please allow me to decide what I should take away from this book.

I don’t think that the Sena will gain or lose any members or supporters by banning this book. However, many students who would have read it only because it was on the syllabus will miss out.

To form political opinions, to believe in an ideology, one must read and read a lot. Not just about the ideology you incline towards but also every dissenting voice. The University syllabus only emphasises gaining maximum knowledge. How one uses it and applies it and is up to the individual. And the repercussions too are for him/her to deal with.

As it is, it has become hard for students to read – television, internet, mobile, games, ipad, ipod, career, future, entrance exams, summer internships and much more conspire against it. Should one encourage students to read with all these distractions or push them to drop a book after a controversy? This is worsening an already messy situation.

Eliot said that the human being’s first 20 years are the most important. The rest of your life takes its course depending on the experiences of those first 20 years. Implying the impact of bitter-sweet memories and experiences of childhood and adolescence are pretty much permanent, at least long-lasting. If that’s true, shouldn’t we all live our lives to the fullest? In that case why are we giving the students a pungent memory instead of a fulfilling one?

I have seen people traverse the trajectory of Sena, BJP, Congress, Communists, anyone who does repairs the roads, or the other way round. So how many books will you ban? Anyway, the issue is not about politics but about education. We, the lesser mortals, can confusingly oscillate between two truths - knowledge is power and ignorance is bliss. But not The University of Mumbai!

It is important to respect the student. It is every student’s right to gain maximum knowledge and quality education, become a better person through studies. And it is the duty and responsibility of our education system. So the decision and choice must rest with teachers and students.

http://maharashtratimes.indiatimes.com/articleshow/6800555.cms

Bol bol ki lab aazaad hai.n tere

Faiz Ahmed Faiz

bol ki lab aazaad hai.n tere

bol zabaa.N ab tak terii hai

teraa sutawaa.N jism hai teraa

bol ki jaa.N ab tak terii hai

dekh ke aaha.ngar kii dukaa.N me.n

tu.nd hai.n shole surKh hai aahan

khulane lage quffalo.n ke dahaane

phailaa har ek zanjiir kaa daaman

bol ye tho.Daa waqt bahot hai

jism-o-zabaa.N kii maut se pahale

bol ki sach zi.ndaa hai ab tak

bol jo kuchh kahane hai kah le
[sutawaa.N=well built; aaha.ngar=blacksmith; tu.nd=sharp (here it means bright);] [aahan=iron; quffalo.n ke dahaane=keyhole]