regular and frequent press briefings and conspiracy theories about the blasts probe bulldoze their way into the pages and prime times of newspapers and tv channels... and into our lives too...
victims, dead bodies, injured, fears, courage, memories, tears are a passe now...
kuchh din to baso merii aa.Nkho.n me.n
kuchh din to baso merii aa.Nkho.n me.n
phir Khvaab agar ho jaao to kyaa
koii rang to do mere chehare ko
phir zaKhm agar mahakaao to kyaa
ik aaiinaa thaa so TuuT gayaa
ab Khud se agar sharmaao to kyaa
mai.n tanahaa thaa mai.n tanahaa huu.N
tum aao to kyaa na aao to kyaa
jab ham hii na mahake phir saahib
tum baad-e-sabaa kahalaao to kyaa
jab dekhane vaalaa koii nahii.n
bujh jaao to kyaa jal jaao to kyaa
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Saturday, July 15, 2006
dukh fasaanaa nahii.n ke tujh se kahe.n
does it make any difference putting down my experiences? to me? to others? to others who i talk about? i have always been proud of myself for being an optimist. but questions and more questions are fast clouding any glimmer possible. i am not talking about the media, the politicians or the police. this is no generic statement or studied observation. it is just me.
11/7/2006 : i left office early, went to churchgate station to find that the trains were not working. heard about unconfirmed reports of a blast at khar. since the only way to confirm is to go and check, i started making my way in a cab. the cabwalla gave up on the traffic at about 815 just before shivaji park, dadar. phones were gone. (i still maintain, when in need, they dont work) i hitched, once, twice, thrice that evening or rather night. first i asked a taxi carrying three men to drop me as far they could. being chivalrous (in that chaos!) they even squeezed themselves at the backseat giving me the spacious front seat. the taxi was taking bylanes and i had to reach matunga road station wher the blast had occured. i got off somewhere near mahim (it ofcourse rains as soon as get off anything!) and hitched another ride from the main road. It was a maruti van whch had just dropped a big family of burqa clad women. the driver said he was only dropping women and one more woman who had walked from santa cruz got in. another one got in, then got off and then wondered and then decided she could not trust a private vehicle and continued waiting at the bus stop.
at matunga road on the tracks the train stood helpless and shocked with its middle compartment blown up. people, police were active. bodies had been taken out, the numbers varied. residents of the area were managing the traffic, women were standing on the road asking women if they wanted to stay there, eat, rest, use the bathroom, whatever. men were stopping cars and getting women in. i got into one such cool cab, in which a newly married couple was getting to the airport. as i was trying to call in the report, i was speaking to people, sharing information and shock at the same time. i reached parle and reached cooper hospital.
another chaos - bloody, tearry. people looking for people. people entering the partition to identify the mangled bodies. volunteers guiding people. some bringing water and biscuits for doctors and nurses. a board displays 28 unknown bodies with their approximate age. as people identify the "unknown" is crossed out and due name filled. one corner is a heap of bodies that could not separated. there is fresh blood on stretchers. i cant wait any longer. i have to send my report before 1215. i am home at 1 am. as i stared at the ceiling and the night dark blue sky, when questions became sobs and tears, i do not remember. and when sobs became fitful sleep...
12/7/2006: i do a feature assignment as fixed a week back. that i do an ordinary job of it, is not surprising. am back to cooper and then v n desai. hardly any patients. all well to do first class passengers have been shifted by their relatives to private hospitals. i speak to a 12th standard science student who got late because of his practicals. he is recovering but his dad's eyes fill up every few minutes. another woman is waiting for her husband to start speaking. he is ok but refuses to speak. they are survivors who escaped with curable injuries. they are lucky. the story and the deed of the day is done.
13/7/2006: am in cooper again. today i find my way around (which is an achievement!) and also convince the doctors to take me to the wards. my other freind from the media passes out while talking to the patients. he had not eaten or slept last three days. occupational hazards. another guy who first went to a private clinic is requesting for admission in cooper. his face and arm is hurt. long live municipal hospitals.
i go looking for group cremations. this time i dont find my way around and cannot locate the crematorium. i have a phone fight with cops who refuse to give complete information. the cremations have happened the previous day. i write a "blast update." that is what it is now.
14/7/2006: i do my feature story. we are discussing possible arrests. pak hand. LeT involvement. combing operations start. and speculations. and the circus.
15/7/2006: people are rounded up. muslim pockets. i visit mahim and talk to people who are upset that they are being punished for helping people on the 11th. police deny that it was related to blasts. 400 cops working all night to arrest people charged with electricity theft. right...
16/7/2006: sunday... i get my off. i am not complaining. i need to buy EVERYTHING for the house. oil, rice, dal, veggies, atta, toothpaste, the works... normal life is slapped on me with a vengeance...
a week later everything is thinning - that piercing pain, that sleepless fatigue, that anger. is that all it takes? to get "back on track?" we have four arrests and all our neighbours allegedly have a hand - pakistan, bangladesh, nepal etcetera... of course they are all linked with lashkar-e-toiba... and ex-simi...
with amarsingh, modi, saamana articles, came religion and politics. so where is the space for common man's ordinary tears when we have vips to visit and cover and criticise. pressure mounts in assembly too. the police are trying to sound confident about the way investigation is going. of course it is "premature to comment."
am not convinced about the investigation... considering 93 verdict is still on its way.. does it make any difference now? fact remains that the blasts happened. 181 (thats the figure now) died. it is a horrifying conspiracy. and the investigation and the trial that follows perhaps will be more horrifying. have people forgotten khwaja yunus? and that we still have no trace of dawood - who allegedly is behind everything that has gone wrong in bombay... anyway, we could not prevent loss of innocent lives...
i wonder if that man who stopped talking has found a voice...
dukh fasaanaa nahii.n ke tujh se kahe.n
ahmed faraz
dukh fasaanaa nahii.n ke tujh se kahe.n
dil bhii maanaa nahii.n ke tujh se kahe.n
aaj tak apanii bekalii kaa sabab
Khud bhii jaanaa nahii.n ke tujh se kahe.n
ek tuu harf_aashnaa thaa magar
ab zamaanaa nahii.n ke tujh se kahe.n
be-tarah dil hai aur tujh se
dostaanaa nahii.n ke tujh se kahe.n
ai Khudaa dard-e-dil hai baKhshish-e-dost
aab-o-daanaa nahii.n ke tujh se kahe.n
11/7/2006 : i left office early, went to churchgate station to find that the trains were not working. heard about unconfirmed reports of a blast at khar. since the only way to confirm is to go and check, i started making my way in a cab. the cabwalla gave up on the traffic at about 815 just before shivaji park, dadar. phones were gone. (i still maintain, when in need, they dont work) i hitched, once, twice, thrice that evening or rather night. first i asked a taxi carrying three men to drop me as far they could. being chivalrous (in that chaos!) they even squeezed themselves at the backseat giving me the spacious front seat. the taxi was taking bylanes and i had to reach matunga road station wher the blast had occured. i got off somewhere near mahim (it ofcourse rains as soon as get off anything!) and hitched another ride from the main road. It was a maruti van whch had just dropped a big family of burqa clad women. the driver said he was only dropping women and one more woman who had walked from santa cruz got in. another one got in, then got off and then wondered and then decided she could not trust a private vehicle and continued waiting at the bus stop.
at matunga road on the tracks the train stood helpless and shocked with its middle compartment blown up. people, police were active. bodies had been taken out, the numbers varied. residents of the area were managing the traffic, women were standing on the road asking women if they wanted to stay there, eat, rest, use the bathroom, whatever. men were stopping cars and getting women in. i got into one such cool cab, in which a newly married couple was getting to the airport. as i was trying to call in the report, i was speaking to people, sharing information and shock at the same time. i reached parle and reached cooper hospital.
another chaos - bloody, tearry. people looking for people. people entering the partition to identify the mangled bodies. volunteers guiding people. some bringing water and biscuits for doctors and nurses. a board displays 28 unknown bodies with their approximate age. as people identify the "unknown" is crossed out and due name filled. one corner is a heap of bodies that could not separated. there is fresh blood on stretchers. i cant wait any longer. i have to send my report before 1215. i am home at 1 am. as i stared at the ceiling and the night dark blue sky, when questions became sobs and tears, i do not remember. and when sobs became fitful sleep...
12/7/2006: i do a feature assignment as fixed a week back. that i do an ordinary job of it, is not surprising. am back to cooper and then v n desai. hardly any patients. all well to do first class passengers have been shifted by their relatives to private hospitals. i speak to a 12th standard science student who got late because of his practicals. he is recovering but his dad's eyes fill up every few minutes. another woman is waiting for her husband to start speaking. he is ok but refuses to speak. they are survivors who escaped with curable injuries. they are lucky. the story and the deed of the day is done.
13/7/2006: am in cooper again. today i find my way around (which is an achievement!) and also convince the doctors to take me to the wards. my other freind from the media passes out while talking to the patients. he had not eaten or slept last three days. occupational hazards. another guy who first went to a private clinic is requesting for admission in cooper. his face and arm is hurt. long live municipal hospitals.
i go looking for group cremations. this time i dont find my way around and cannot locate the crematorium. i have a phone fight with cops who refuse to give complete information. the cremations have happened the previous day. i write a "blast update." that is what it is now.
14/7/2006: i do my feature story. we are discussing possible arrests. pak hand. LeT involvement. combing operations start. and speculations. and the circus.
15/7/2006: people are rounded up. muslim pockets. i visit mahim and talk to people who are upset that they are being punished for helping people on the 11th. police deny that it was related to blasts. 400 cops working all night to arrest people charged with electricity theft. right...
16/7/2006: sunday... i get my off. i am not complaining. i need to buy EVERYTHING for the house. oil, rice, dal, veggies, atta, toothpaste, the works... normal life is slapped on me with a vengeance...
a week later everything is thinning - that piercing pain, that sleepless fatigue, that anger. is that all it takes? to get "back on track?" we have four arrests and all our neighbours allegedly have a hand - pakistan, bangladesh, nepal etcetera... of course they are all linked with lashkar-e-toiba... and ex-simi...
with amarsingh, modi, saamana articles, came religion and politics. so where is the space for common man's ordinary tears when we have vips to visit and cover and criticise. pressure mounts in assembly too. the police are trying to sound confident about the way investigation is going. of course it is "premature to comment."
am not convinced about the investigation... considering 93 verdict is still on its way.. does it make any difference now? fact remains that the blasts happened. 181 (thats the figure now) died. it is a horrifying conspiracy. and the investigation and the trial that follows perhaps will be more horrifying. have people forgotten khwaja yunus? and that we still have no trace of dawood - who allegedly is behind everything that has gone wrong in bombay... anyway, we could not prevent loss of innocent lives...
i wonder if that man who stopped talking has found a voice...
dukh fasaanaa nahii.n ke tujh se kahe.n
ahmed faraz
dukh fasaanaa nahii.n ke tujh se kahe.n
dil bhii maanaa nahii.n ke tujh se kahe.n
aaj tak apanii bekalii kaa sabab
Khud bhii jaanaa nahii.n ke tujh se kahe.n
ek tuu harf_aashnaa thaa magar
ab zamaanaa nahii.n ke tujh se kahe.n
be-tarah dil hai aur tujh se
dostaanaa nahii.n ke tujh se kahe.n
ai Khudaa dard-e-dil hai baKhshish-e-dost
aab-o-daanaa nahii.n ke tujh se kahe.n
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
kahii.n to kaaravaan-e-dard kii ma.nzil Thahar jaaye
people are scared and people are not scared.
they are worried, shocked, sad, fed up, and grief stricken. they are still looking for their loved ones in mangled bodies.
shit happens and shit keeps happening. some react, some don't. some reactions are positive, like helping people. some are bitter like venomous outbursts about killing more. people are missing. people are coming home.
blame game, conspiracy theories, "i did this and that" speeches, political mileage, all this and more started at 630 pm 11/7. media played its part - voyeuristic, sensitive, sensational, traumatised, informative, advocating ... so did politicians, police,railways. it was absolutely commendable that western railway was on track within hours of the tragedy. people will talk for a long time to come - their sorrow, disappointment about the government, the police, their luck, good and bad. in trains, in buses, on the road, at home, college canteens, temples, mosques, schools, offices - everywhere, all the time.
and the spirit, which everyone keeps loving or hating is nothing. it is helpless people clinging together. it is what helped me reach from one place to the other and to the other and back. safe.it is when strangers forget their safety, certainty, priority to feed and reach other people home. spirit is what they have been used to, forced to, and now their ultimate belief.
after all the tears, discussions, debates, cases, arrests, work, memories, prayers, compensations, fights, we will all go to bed wondering restlessly, why, why, why???
Faiz Ahmed Faiz
kahii.n to kaaravaan-e-dard kii ma.nzil Thahar jaaye
kinaare aa lage umr-e-ravaa.N yaa dil Thahar jaaye
amaa.N kaisii ki mauj-e-Khuu.N abhii sar se nahii.n guzarii
guzar jaaye to shaayad baazuu-e-qaatil Thahar jaaye
ko_ii dam baadabaan-e-kashtii-e-sahabaa ko tah rakho
zaraa Thaharo Gubaar-e-Khaatir-e-mahafil Thahar jaaye
hamaarii Khamoshii bas dil se lab tak ek vaqfaa hai
ye tuufaa.N hai jo pal bhar bas lab-e-saahil Thahar jaaye
nigaah-e-mu.ntazir kab tak karegii aa_iinaaba.ndii
kahii.n to dasht-e-Gam me.n yaar kaa mahamil Thahar jaaye
they are worried, shocked, sad, fed up, and grief stricken. they are still looking for their loved ones in mangled bodies.
shit happens and shit keeps happening. some react, some don't. some reactions are positive, like helping people. some are bitter like venomous outbursts about killing more. people are missing. people are coming home.
blame game, conspiracy theories, "i did this and that" speeches, political mileage, all this and more started at 630 pm 11/7. media played its part - voyeuristic, sensitive, sensational, traumatised, informative, advocating ... so did politicians, police,railways. it was absolutely commendable that western railway was on track within hours of the tragedy. people will talk for a long time to come - their sorrow, disappointment about the government, the police, their luck, good and bad. in trains, in buses, on the road, at home, college canteens, temples, mosques, schools, offices - everywhere, all the time.
and the spirit, which everyone keeps loving or hating is nothing. it is helpless people clinging together. it is what helped me reach from one place to the other and to the other and back. safe.it is when strangers forget their safety, certainty, priority to feed and reach other people home. spirit is what they have been used to, forced to, and now their ultimate belief.
after all the tears, discussions, debates, cases, arrests, work, memories, prayers, compensations, fights, we will all go to bed wondering restlessly, why, why, why???
Faiz Ahmed Faiz
kahii.n to kaaravaan-e-dard kii ma.nzil Thahar jaaye
kinaare aa lage umr-e-ravaa.N yaa dil Thahar jaaye
amaa.N kaisii ki mauj-e-Khuu.N abhii sar se nahii.n guzarii
guzar jaaye to shaayad baazuu-e-qaatil Thahar jaaye
ko_ii dam baadabaan-e-kashtii-e-sahabaa ko tah rakho
zaraa Thaharo Gubaar-e-Khaatir-e-mahafil Thahar jaaye
hamaarii Khamoshii bas dil se lab tak ek vaqfaa hai
ye tuufaa.N hai jo pal bhar bas lab-e-saahil Thahar jaaye
nigaah-e-mu.ntazir kab tak karegii aa_iinaaba.ndii
kahii.n to dasht-e-Gam me.n yaar kaa mahamil Thahar jaaye
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
ik kaifiyat...
waiting is an art, and waiting patiently is a gift.
waiting patiently with a smile is a rarity.
waiting patiently,
endlessly,
cheerfully,
is a flight of fancy, it is not real.
yet so real. so true. so everyday.
different waits that are on at the moment...
trains to start, rains to stop, work to finish, and fun to start.
am waiting for captain jack and corporate.
am waiting for some real kick ass work to happen. it wont unless i stop waiting and start doing!
am actually waiting for football finals hopefully between france and italy... to get over... so that i allow myself some sleep...
am waiting for the disaster management cell to pick up the damn phone! am waiting for the day when people will spit their pan and tobacco in their own pockets! and not train windows...
am waiting for the next car design with latest feature of missing horns!
and am waiting for the trains to start...
am given no option but to wait with a smile... everyday...
waiting patiently with a smile is a rarity.
waiting patiently,
endlessly,
cheerfully,
is a flight of fancy, it is not real.
yet so real. so true. so everyday.
different waits that are on at the moment...
trains to start, rains to stop, work to finish, and fun to start.
am waiting for captain jack and corporate.
am waiting for some real kick ass work to happen. it wont unless i stop waiting and start doing!
am actually waiting for football finals hopefully between france and italy... to get over... so that i allow myself some sleep...
am waiting for the disaster management cell to pick up the damn phone! am waiting for the day when people will spit their pan and tobacco in their own pockets! and not train windows...
am waiting for the next car design with latest feature of missing horns!
and am waiting for the trains to start...
am given no option but to wait with a smile... everyday...
ik kaifiyat
hashr jaisii vo gha.Dii hotii hai
dil pe uftaad pa.Dii hotii hai
sard aaho.n kii jha.Dii hotii hai
garm ashko.n kii la.Dii hotii hai
soch raasto.n me.n ga.Dii hotii hai
hijr kii raat kaa aalam taubaa
hijr kii raat ka.Dii hotii hai
mumtaz rashid
Thursday, June 08, 2006
tum aye to aya mujhe yaad, galimein aaj chand nikala...
and the rains are here, officially, unofficially, really.
rains make me (and a whole lot of other people) very happy. trees, wherever they are, plants, roads (especially late night in the orangish street light) look sqeaky clean and beautiful. add to that the rim jhim (sounds so much better than pitter patter!) on the sea.
after the floods last year, i was afraid i'll never love the rains. things havent improved a great deal here. it's pretty much the same. different departments have tried to do different things. they tried to clean up Mithi River, they tried to demolish the slums, they tried to ban plastic crap, they tried to evict people in several dilapidated buildings. so on and so on. i dont know if they have a done a good job.
it may not rain like july 26th - 944 mm in a day - once in a 100 years sort of rain. but still houses will be flooded, there will be diseases, the trains will stop, the city will come to a stand still - AS USUAL. I just hope that we do not forget that this happens every every monsoon.
i hope all the different departments that are working extra hard (they are, they are not, they are, they are not ...) burdened by the fear of another flood and all that followed, continue to work. at the same time, i hope the city does not panic everytime it pours. simply because people here have braved the monsoon all the time - under the railway bridges, in the slums, in low lying colonies, in the tracks with stranded trains, schools, colleges, everywhere.
i pray that such floods dont happen and city's "upgraded" disaster management department is not put to test. i pray that people do not lose their lives, homes, children, livelihood, courage.
i could go on about the tragedies, failures, tears... or...
it still looks terrfic on marine drive when rainfilled clouds try to gulp the slowly lighting up street lights. it still feels awesome to get soaked while standing on the footboard of the train on the way home. it still is funny when you don't want to clsoe the window in the train as it starts pouring, and other tch-tching women insist and (thank god for small mercies!) that the window gets jammed and refuses to shut. it still feels happy cosy to curl up in bed with rains and favourite book for company. it still feels nice to have a traditional aunt who celebrates all the festivals (there are loads of them) in shravan all the way upto ganesh chaturthi and invites you for every delicious meal...
it's time for chai, pakodas, coffees, butta, confusion, settings for anecdotes, memories, childhood friends, football, sneezy temporary colds, jasmine, alubukhar, conked out cell phones (yippee!), endless conversations with taxi, autodrivers, commuters, people, colourful umbrellas, new school books (can u ever forget the smell of a new notebook mixed with new new raindrops?), dirty clothes, bai's complaints about muck marks on your salwars, it's time for rains... it's time for bambai ki baarish...
rains make me (and a whole lot of other people) very happy. trees, wherever they are, plants, roads (especially late night in the orangish street light) look sqeaky clean and beautiful. add to that the rim jhim (sounds so much better than pitter patter!) on the sea.
after the floods last year, i was afraid i'll never love the rains. things havent improved a great deal here. it's pretty much the same. different departments have tried to do different things. they tried to clean up Mithi River, they tried to demolish the slums, they tried to ban plastic crap, they tried to evict people in several dilapidated buildings. so on and so on. i dont know if they have a done a good job.
it may not rain like july 26th - 944 mm in a day - once in a 100 years sort of rain. but still houses will be flooded, there will be diseases, the trains will stop, the city will come to a stand still - AS USUAL. I just hope that we do not forget that this happens every every monsoon.
i hope all the different departments that are working extra hard (they are, they are not, they are, they are not ...) burdened by the fear of another flood and all that followed, continue to work. at the same time, i hope the city does not panic everytime it pours. simply because people here have braved the monsoon all the time - under the railway bridges, in the slums, in low lying colonies, in the tracks with stranded trains, schools, colleges, everywhere.
i pray that such floods dont happen and city's "upgraded" disaster management department is not put to test. i pray that people do not lose their lives, homes, children, livelihood, courage.
i could go on about the tragedies, failures, tears... or...
it still looks terrfic on marine drive when rainfilled clouds try to gulp the slowly lighting up street lights. it still feels awesome to get soaked while standing on the footboard of the train on the way home. it still is funny when you don't want to clsoe the window in the train as it starts pouring, and other tch-tching women insist and (thank god for small mercies!) that the window gets jammed and refuses to shut. it still feels happy cosy to curl up in bed with rains and favourite book for company. it still feels nice to have a traditional aunt who celebrates all the festivals (there are loads of them) in shravan all the way upto ganesh chaturthi and invites you for every delicious meal...
it's time for chai, pakodas, coffees, butta, confusion, settings for anecdotes, memories, childhood friends, football, sneezy temporary colds, jasmine, alubukhar, conked out cell phones (yippee!), endless conversations with taxi, autodrivers, commuters, people, colourful umbrellas, new school books (can u ever forget the smell of a new notebook mixed with new new raindrops?), dirty clothes, bai's complaints about muck marks on your salwars, it's time for rains... it's time for bambai ki baarish...
Barasaat
Munir Niazi
Munir Niazi
aah! ye baaraanii raat
mii.nh, havaa, tuufaan, raqs-e-saayeqaat
shash-jahat par tiirgii uma.Dii huii
ek sannaaTe me.n bazm-e-hadasaat
aur merii khi.Dakii ke niiche
kaa.Npate pe.Do.n ke paat
chaar suu aavaaraa hai.n
bhuule bisare vaaqayaat
jhakka.Do.n ke shor me.n
jaane kitanii duur se
sun rahaa huu.N terii baat
[saayeqaat=bolts of lightning]
[shash-jahat=six directions]
Thursday, May 25, 2006
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
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
Thursday, May 18, 2006
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...
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]
[naamaabar=letter carrier (postman)]
[kuu-e-naashanaayaa.N=unknown streets]
Thursday, May 11, 2006
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...
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...
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
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...
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...
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
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...
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...
Thursday, April 20, 2006
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...
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
Monday, April 17, 2006
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!
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
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
Saturday, April 15, 2006
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...
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...
Thursday, April 13, 2006
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...
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]
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]
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
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
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
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