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.