kab tak dil kii Khair manaaye.n, kab tak raah dikhaaoge

this is particularly about recent disturbing developments in the hindi film industry called bollywood.

we have had sexy, suspense, action, thrillers, 36, china town, gangster, tathastu, aparichit (dubbed) (all movies of emraan-all-i-can-do-is-kiss hashmi is one mention).

we have had our share of comedy too with malamal weekly, pyare mohan, tom, dick, and harry (all of priyadarshan's mallu remakes are fast approaching towards 'one mention', but we will wait and watch till phir hera pheri.)

attempts called humko deewana kar gaye, mistress of spices (english but ms rai makes it includable), banaras.

then himesh reshamayya has taken all these and more under his musical wings and i cannot differentiate the genre (if any) by films music anymore.

all we get is news about "movies in making" of all the big guys... from dhoom 2 to don 2. (season of sequels but that does not trouble me so much)

and of course rumours! mostly about aishwarya rai (someday we will stop talking about her - her relationships, her dresses, her accessories, stories about how she fell or had an accident etc etc). Few about Amitabh's recovery (yes we are not over it, it is called diverticulitis of media).

where are the films that are obviously, vividly, clearly, gooey predictable, chocolatyyy, funny and sad in the same breath...

"tum agar isse shadi karogi to meri lash par se guzarna hoga (nahinnnnn!!!!),"
"humen is duniya ki koi taqat juda nahin kar sakti (like anyone in duniya cares),
"tumne yeh soch bhi kaise liya ki tum meri beti se pyaar kar sakto" (not very difficult if your beti is a phataka like sonali bendre, urmila, juhi, madhuri, raveena, karishma, kareena, priyanka etc etc.)

raj, tum kahan chale gaye raj???

raj alias rahul malhotra, yeh aankhen tumhari ek jhalak dekhne ke liye aaj bhi tadap rahi hain...

this could be withdrawal symptoms for shahrukh khan, salman khan and likes of them (they are very very few you see!!!) or what???


kab tak dil kii Khair manaaye.n, kab tak raah dikhaaoge
Faiz Ahmed Faiz

kab tak dil kii Khair manaaye.n, kab tak raah dikhaaoge
kab tak chain kii mohalat doge, kab tak yaad na aaoge

biitaa diid ummiid kaa mausam, Khaak u.Datii hai aa.Nkho.n me.n
kab bhejoge dard kaa baadal, kab barkhaa barasaaoge

ahad-e-vafaa aur tark-e-muhabbat jo chaaho so aap karo
apane bas kii baat hii kyaa hai, hamase kyaa manavaaoge

kisane vasl kaa suuraj dekhaa, kis par hijr kii raat Dhalii
gesuo.n vaale kaun the, kyaa the, un ko kyaa jatalaaoge

'Faiz' dilo.n ke bhaag me.n hai ghar basanaa bhii luT jaanaa bhii
tum us husn ke lutf-o-karam par kitane din itaraaoge

dil-e-man musaafir-e-man ...

what is hmmm...
a pause, a thought, a moment...

sometimes a moment of confusion
sometimes a transient position...
sometimes a sigh of relief...
sometimes an assertion of belief...
hmmm...
is alleged to be weak and shaky...
mistaken and misunderstood to be flaky...
no hmmm is not a pause, nor a comma...
i dont want to attach grammatical metaphors...
it is an expression... an emotion...
sometimes vacant, and empty,
yes, but nothing is something...
like every question,
is a beginning of an answer...
sometimes an answer itself!
hmmm is not biding time...
nor is it evading the real point...
hmmm may be a wordless thought
but not a pointless one...
hmmm asks, hmmm states,
hmmm sulks, hmmm smiles...
hmmm speaks...
this stupid expression called hmmm!
hmmm...

dil-e-man musaafir-e-man ...

faiz ahmed faiz

mere dil mere musaafir
huaa phir se hukm saadir
ke vatan badar ho.n ham tum
de.n galii galii sadaaye.N
kare.n ruKh nagar nagar kaa
ke suraaG koii paaye.N
kisii yaar-e-naamaabar kaa
har ek ajanabii se puuchhe.n
jo pataa thaa apane ghar kaa
sar-e-kuu-e-naashanaayaa.N
hame.n din se raat karanaa
kabhii is se baat karanaa
kabhii us se baat karanaa
tumhe.n kyaa kahuu.N ke kyaa hai
shab-e-Gam burii balaa hai
hame.n ye bhii thaa Ganimat
jo koii shumaar hotaa
hame.n kyaa buraa thaa maranaa
agar ek baar hotaa

London, 1978

[saadir=announced; vatan badar=exiled]
[naamaabar=letter carrier (postman)]
[kuu-e-naashanaayaa.N=unknown streets]

jaanewalese mulaqat na hone payee...

naushad ali is dead... an era is over... perhaps the most important witness of the golden era of hindi film industry is no more... the guy who blended western classical and hindustani to come up with some of the greatest songs... the only dude to get bade gulam ali khan to sing in a movie... purist... struggled for days and months before his first big break in 1940s... ok i must admit... all this i got to know in the last one week...

what i know is this...

uthaye ja unake sitam... aur jiye ja... yun hi muskuraye ja.. aansu piye ja...

hai ishq yeh sab duniyawale... bekar ki baatein karte hain... payal ke gamonka ilm nahin... jhankaar ki baatein karte hain...

shab intezaar akhir.. kabhi hogi mukhtasar bhi... yeh chiraag... yeh chiraag bujh rahen hai... mere saath jalte jalte... yun hi koi mil gaya tha... mere sath chalte chalte...

afsana likh rahi hun.. dil e bekarar ka.. aankhon mein rang bhar ke tere intezaar ka...

tu ganga ki mauj mein jamuna ki dhara... hoke rahega milan ye hamara tumhara...

man tarpat hari darshan ko aaj...

mere mehboob mein kya nahin kya nahin.. woh to lakhon mein hai ek haseen...

aaj hum apni duaaon ka asar dekhenge... teer e nazar dekhenge... zakhm e jigaar dekhenge... jaanleva hai muhabbat ka safar aaj ki raat... shamma ho jayegi jal jal ke dhuaan aaj ki raat... aaj ki raat... aaj ki raat bachenge to zeher dekhenge... teer e nazar dekhenge... zakhm e jigaar dekhenge..

when i stood in front of aashiyana, his residence on carter road, bandra, i could hear the sea faint and vague... i peeped in and saw naushad ali saab lying peacefully... relatives around him... i stepped out quietly... something told me it was not a place or time for fans or strangers... let alone journalists...

the honking of angry auto and car drivers on a half constructed, half dug up road, tv journos running about for bytes of the mournful visitors... streams of sweat... cursing the summer... deadlines... research from 1937 when he left lucknow... reactions from friends and connoisseurs of music, his music, his times... press releases about demonstrations and cases and stories scheduled for the next day...

all this took over, enveloped, clouded, shadowed and swallowed...
the sea, the scortching sun, the songs, the sorrow...

jaanewalese mulaqat na hone payee... dil ki dil hi mein rahi... baat na hone payee...

tinakonka bas ek aashiyan...

shifting houses, shifting cities, shifting thoughts, shifting idelogies, shifting jobs, shifting beliefs, shifting pain, shifting shifting, moving, changing, transiting, walking, running, wobbling, going, going, going, reaching, may be, searching, ithaka, tired feet, tired eyes, yet no sleep... "dreamless sound sleep, is that not what we yearn for all our lives," asked socrates when he gulped the poison...

all these existential dilemmas and philosophical quests...

just because one shifts from one rented accomodation to another... just for another 11 months... and fixes bulbs and pipes... searches for cartons all day, three pin plugs that are over priced and don't finally fit, runs behind maids, curtainwallahs and gas agencies who refuse to part with a cylinder unless u buy the stove as well, sweep, buy the heaviest things first and walk all around market on a monday, mop, lose your way for first three whole days ...

so much for banal shallow blending with inane deep...

it's a nice house, with lotsa light and breeze... am hoping to have a good time here....

thodisi zameen, thoda aasman, tinakonka bas ek aashiyan...

turtles carry their home on their backs... how do they come home after a tiring day then? do they know that blissful feeling of thinking about our own home throughout the come-back-home journey and stepping in with a sigh of relief... sure this feeling is brief and temporary and momentary, as one is always searching and seeking, (or rushing to cook and clean) but still, it is a feeling turtles should know...

is tarah sataayaa hai pareshaan kiyaa hai ...

last few days i have heard the words 'stable' and 'critical' more than i had ever heard in my entire life. apparently they seem to be opposites but that is how we describe mr. pramod mahajan's condition... He is stable and critical. hmmm... must be a new phrase in medico political parlance, shall we say...

all of us parked at the hinduja hospital, yes that is what i am, part of the parasitic media, watching people come and go and speculate... am beyond discussing media behaviour, it is shameful, annoying and ridiculous... i thank god for the small mercy that am a print person and not a breathless, gasping, breaking news (quite literally!) tv types... the mutual admiration for each other is well known... so the discussion is best avoided...

stable and critical... stable but critical and critical but stable... amazing how the actual incident affects me less than the word play... and of course the speculation and conspiracy theory! i think the condition of media is stable and critical... we have become very very stable with no one to question, no body to write strong worded letters to editors. the quality of reporting, informing has plunged to critical depths... stable and critical... now it all makes sense!

today is not a good day to post...

khvaab marte nahin...

i have a friend in kathmandu... havent heard from her in sometime... no, i am not worried about her well being. am sure she's ok. but i am wondering if am thinking about nepal and the turmoil there because i have a friend there or because it truly is disturbing... there are several lows we as humanity keep hitting... and we keep at it quite consistently, like dravid's batting or something... but i dont worry about all of eually or even marginally equally...

it would be juvenile to say that power is huge force... of course it is. it makes you, hmmm what shall i say, careless?

and may be fear of losing it, is a bigger, greater and much stronger force... makes you more cruel perhaps.

what must it take for a king to let go of absolute control? what must it take for government to make sure kids dont die of starvation few kilometres away from financial capital of india?
what must it take for cops to investigate a rape case sensitively and not brush it saying it consentual sex can also cause injuries???

i dont think india will hold dow chemicals responsible or answerable for alleged offences committed by union carbide the company they took over... i wonder why...

i went for some street play organised by students at chowpatty... they wore letters and made "FREEDUMB" in chain... they tried convincing the traffic police that it was a peaceful gathering.. they dutifully sang "tu zinda hai tu zindagi ki jeet par yakin kar" after the cops didnt let them perform... they tried lighting a candle in that windy breeze... of course, the candles never lit... they didnt perform the play... but a constable, i believe, took the post card from them and signed religiously... some people went back thinking about farmers' suicides and the bhopal gas tragedy...

careless, cruel, powerful, weak, suffering, aware, persistent, arrogant, stubborn, sensitive, underdogs, DOGS.... all these keep taking some strange forms and meet me in real and in my dreams...

khvaab marte nahin... kyun pata nahin, lekin, khvaab marte nahin...

Khvaab marate nahii.n

ahmed faraz

Khvaab marate nahii.n
Khvaab dil hai.n na aa.Nkhe.n na saa.Nse.n ke jo
rezaa-rezaa hue to bikhar jaaye.nge
jism kii maut se ye bhii mar jaaye.nge

Khvaab marate nahii.n
Khvaab to raushanii hai.n, navaa hai.n, havaa hai.n
jo kaale pahaa.Do.n se rukate nahii.n
zulm ke dozaKho.n se bhii phukate nahii.n
raushanii aur navaa aur havaa ke aalam
maqtalo.n me.n pahu.Nch kar bhii jhukate nahii.n

Khvaab to harf hai.n
Khvaab to nuur hai.n
Khvaab to suqraat hai.n
Khvaab mansuur hai.n

na jaane aaj ye kis kaa Khayaal aayaa hai...

when i was really tiny... (no no, it's not one of those stories about my happy and banal and ordinary childhood... just like the sound of it... makes me feel old and wise!)

when i was in school we were made to write "autobiographies" of things, like autobiography of a pen, a pencil, autobiography of a tree, a flower, lots of things. what must have been the purpose?

that we, as kids, understood or sort of understood the role and purpose and utility (ah that's more like it!) of those things.

that we, as kids, could have the concession of exercising our imagination, let it wander a bit and even get some points and marks and grades out of it. (but the crazy imaginative ones got the least marks. so may be the point was in doing otherwise! as in, give a perfectly-fertile-for-imagination-and-creativity situation and the deal is whoever makes the worst out of it emerges a winner!)

that we, as kids and perhaps as adults later on, could have some potential to see things from others' point of view, feel for something that is otherwise just a use-and-throw thing like a mango tree. may be think of animals and birds and trees and objects like pen and paper to be real and treat them well.

does anyone remember writing such stories?

can any school teacher explain? am still willing to be taught - to imagine, to create, to see things from the other side of the telescope!

na jii bhar ke dekha...

na jii bhar ke dekhaa na kuchh baat kii
Bashir Badr

na jii bhar ke dekhaa na kuchh baat kii
ba.Dii aarazuu thii mulaaqaat kii

ka_ii saal se kuchh Khabar hii nahii.n
kahaa.N din guzaaraa kahaa.N raat kii

ujaalo.n kii pariyaa.N nahaane lagii.n
nadii gunagunaa_ii Khayaalaat kii

mai.n chup thaa to chalatii havaa ruk ga_ii
zubaa.N sab samajhate hai.n jazbaat kii

sitaaro.n ko shaayad Kahbar hii nahii.n
musaafir ne jaane kahaa.N raat kii

muqaddar mere chashm-e-pura'ab kaa
barasatii hu_ii raat barasaat kii

khuda bande se khud puche...

few blasts in and around places of prayer...
few blasts in and around places of homes, shops...
few streams and stains of blood, as usual...
few enquiries, few arrests, few trials, may be...
few committees, few policies, few speeches, even emotional ones...
few chai-coffee discussions, few sympathies, memories perhaps...

few blasts, in and around memories perhaps,
few enquiries, few arrests of chai coffee conversations may be...
few committees, few policies for shops and places of prayers...
few trials of homes...
few stains of blood on sympathies and emotions...

kya hamen pata hai,
hum kaise jee rahen hain, aur kyun,
kya chahte hain hum, aur kyun...
ya phir yehi saza hai humari,
ki
khuda bande se khud puche, bata teri raza kya hai...

aaj ke naam...

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

from the waste land by t s eliot...

i guess if april could do all that (no matter how much mr.eliot finds it wasteful and cruel, april sure has a fertile creative energy), it must be the force of the month stirring roots with spring rain, that makes me start penning on the virtual (i am yet to become a blogger!).

that i am technologically challenged, is an understatement. also brought up on the old world charm of pen-paper letters, writing for a stranger virtual space, makes me slightly fidgety.

i like the sense of anonymity in a crowd of a zillion bloggers. like being at vt station at 630 pm.

let me put down some random thoughts about my newfound love - radio.

i grew up listening to akashwani regional news at 630 am, dozing and fussing over a coffee, and all-week-lasting morning school blues that disappeared as soon as i reached my chirpy class.

i remember dozing off at about 11 pm listening to 'bela ke phul', vaguely overhearing parents' conversations about how to manage a middle class life and mildly worrying about the usually half done homework.

never imagined that a portable radio could have any better application other than being carried around on an india-pakistan ODI.

until the blaring television started hurting my eyes and ears and insulting my intelligence day in and day out.

until i got so busy with work, kitchen, hangovers, limited spaces that it was only radio that could follow me around everywhere and keep me busy while i was busy. ever tried listening to radio while having a shower?

until i figured that people listen to it very carefully, people take it seriously, not just fisherfolk looking for high tide and rough sea warnings. it is a medium that speaks to you, it is a medium that is cheap (or let's say affordable), at production and consumer level, it is a medium that reaches many many more than i had imagined, whether it is the BBC on short wave or just good (bad, actually) old akashwani. you could be corporate busy, illiterate, inaccessible, poor, young, old, housewife, or anyone else, the radio still squeals for you without threatening to change you or alter your life!

until the sounds challenged me translate the fragrance of jasmine fused with first showers of rain into a sonic wave that says it.

so what about it? i've decided to give it a shot... to get that sound, to voice the real, to air the voices of the real, to generate a kind of wave that stirrs a few roots, to change the world may be?

can't promise success and achievement, but will keep trying...
someone once said, vaade aksar toot jate hain, koshish hi kaamyaab hoti hai...

bol...

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]

khvaab basera

khvaab basera

is vaqt to yuu.N lagataa hai ab kuchh bhii nahii.n hai
mahataab na suuraj na a.Ndheraa na saveraa
aa.Nkho.n ke dariiche me.n kisii husn kii jhalakan
aur dil kii panaaho.n me.n kisii dard kaa Deraa
mumkin hai ko_ii vaham ho mumkin hai sunaa ho
galiyo.n me.n kisii chaap kaa ek aaKhirii pheraa
shaaKho.n me.n Khayaalo.n ke ghane pe.D kii shaayad
ab aake karegaa na ko_ii Khvaab baseraa
ik bair na ik mahar na ik rabt na rishtaa
teraa ko_ii apanaa na paraayaa ko_ii meraa
maanaa ki ye sun-saan gha.Dii saKht ba.Dii hai
lekin mere dil ye to faqat ek gha.dii hai
himmat karo jiine ko abhii umr pa.Dii hai

faiz ahmed faiz