thandi hawa kali ghata...

its dark and it is only 4 pm in this part of the world... until last week the sun refused to budge till it was well past 6 and reminded us that the summer was very very much in action... add couple of degrees grace a global waming!

but now it is dark, wet breeze is going a bit mad alongwith the mad cuckoo i have been listening to amidst this mad honking, tiny reddish new pipal leaves are looking excited, and the sea looks like it has been waiting to jump..

and the raindrops are here... it's time for poetry... something seems beautifully right with the world!

kali ghata chaaye mora jiya ghabraye...
eise mein kahin koi mil jaye... haye...

thandi hawa kali ghata ...
aa hi gayi jhoomke..
pyar liye dole hansi nache jiya ghoomke...

rukti hai thamti hai... kabhi barasti hai
badal pe paaw rakhe baarish machalti hai...
na jane kyun dil bhar gaya..na jane kyun aankh bhar gayi...
chotisi kahani se, barishonke panise...

aaj aur kal...

april 19th - memorial service for minal panchal who died on april 16th in the crazy virginia tech shooting - candles, flowers, marigold - yellow and orange, memories, speeches, thesis, dreams, grades, ambitions, memories, smiles, fun times, orkut messages, sensitive, questions, memories, teachers, patient, cousins, friends, journalists, no curious onlookers, fun loving, promises, suggestions, gold medals, caring, awards, plans, dreams, dead father, concerned about poor children, photos, garlands, sad mother, sad sister, sad family, laidback but out of the box, empty halls, some chai, some more flowers, marigold - yellow and orange, , half bent broken burning candles burning a few flowers, marigold - yelow and orange... memories...


april 20th - abhishek and aishwarya are married - three months of drama, three days of melodrama, three hours of mayhem, chaos, shouting, dancing, fighting, singing, craning, squatting, hitting, getting hit...
decorated horse or mare who was feeling stuffy and hot, the decorations on the back that doubled up as its fan (as in pankha), decorated guests, not decorated fans, not decorated 700 security people, not decorated rather sweating like piggies journalists, food packets for media, also security personnel shooing them, gently putting them in the cage called media barricade, like u treat a mad kitten, feed her and push her into her place, gently, firmly...
cars, more cars, nice cars, volvos, big big, one after the other, bhangra, local band, tya tya pyan pyan, aaj mere yaar ki shaadi hai, baraat, celebrities, fights, scrambles, gaalis, choicest of them, people, people, people, on the trees, on the barricades, on the hoardings and on the boards, on your head and mine, under your camera and mine, under police's lathi and in autos, people, people, people, for glimpses, wishes, blessings, people, police, people, journalists, people, fake shah rukh, fake salman, fake amitabh, people, media, lives, chats, lives, phonos, lives, exclusives, people, people...
and yes, haya alias naina alias janhavi kapoor attempting to suiciding arresting blabbering, more lives, more phonos, more exclusives, lucknow, jammu, mumbai, ma, dad, beta, foofi, dost... she was this and she was that... astrologers, pcychiatrists, pandits, counsellors, aaj mere yaar ki shaadi hai...
more guests, more celebrities, more food packets, more fans, more blessings, more designer dresses, more fun, more happiness, more lights, more flowers marigold - yellow and orange, not burning this time...

but seriously, happy wedded life guys...

and now shall we start looking for something new to go crazy and hysterical about? let the flowers, marigold - yellow and orange, be?

kal aur aaj
Aale Ahmed Saroor

vo bhii kyaa log the aasaan thii raahe.n jin kii
band aa.Nkhe.n kiye ik simt chale jaate the
aql-o-dil Khvaab-o-haqiiqat kii na uljhan na Khalish
muKhtalif jalve nigaaho.n ko na bahalaate the
[Khalish=pain/prick; muKhtalif=different types]

ishq saadaa bhii thaa beKhud bhii junuu.N_peshaa bhii
husn ko apanii adaao.n pe hijaab aataa thaa
phuul khilate the to phuulo.n me.n nashaa hotaa thaa
raat Dhalatii thii to shiisho.n pe shabaab aataa thaa
[hijaab=coyness]

chaa.Ndanii kaif_asar ruuh_afzaa hotii thii
abr aataa thaa to bad_mast bhii ho jaate the din me.n
shorish bhii huaa karatii thii hangaame bhii
raat kii god me.n muu.Nh Dhaa.Np ke so jaate the
[kaif_asar=inducing intoxication; ruuh_afzaa=soul refreshing]
[abr=cloud; bad_mast=intoxicated; shorish=tumult]

ham ke tuufaano.n ke paale bhii sataaye bhii hai.n
barq-o-baaraa.N me.n vo hii shame.n jalaaye.n kaise
ye jo aatish_kadaa duniyaa me.n bha.Dak uTThaa hai
aa.Nsuo.n se use har baar bujhaaye.n kaise
[barq=lightning; baaraa.N=storm; aatish_kadaa=conflagration]

safar aasaan thaa to manzil bhii ba.Dii raushan thii
aaj kis darjaa pur_asaraar hai.n raahe.n apanii
kitanii parachhaa_iyaa.N aatii hai.n tajallii ban kar
kitane jalvo.n se ulajhatii hai.n nigaahe.n apanii
[darjaa=grade/level; pur_asaraar=full of secrets/intricate/complex]
[tajallii=bright light]

duaa - aaiiye haath uThaaye.n ham bhii

a week since 2007... lets see what we have got...

some psychopath killing, stuffing, hiding... children's skeletons, bones... parents greif, anguish, tears, howls...

some protests on SEZs... some more killings... some more challenges, appeals, reworkings, promises, debates...

some more disasters on cricket field and off it... some more dropped, alongwith many more trophies...

some more killed this very minute in iraq and some more appeals to stop the violence... somehow...

some more unlikely drops and gains in temperatures, welcome to a globally warmed world... some more drops and gains in share markets all over... welcome to globally "hot and cool" economies...

everything has happened before... and nothing is new... whatever happens to you and me, this way or that... would have already happened to a million before and will happen to a million later...

but i guess, we still got to make this time feel new and fresh like the nip in the air, like the christmas star and like this wave coming to kiss your toes...

happy new year, i guess...

Duaa aaiiye haath uThaaye.n ham bhii
Faiz Ahmed Faiz

aaiiye haath uThaaye.n ham bhii
ham jinhe.n rasm-e-dua yaad nahii.n
ham ji.nhe.n soz-e-mohabbat ke siwaa
koii but, koii Khudaa yaad nahii.n

aaiiye arz guzare.n ki nigaar-e-hastii
zahar-e-imaroz me.n shiiriinii-e-fardaa.N bhar de
wo ji.nhe.n tabe garaa.Nbaarii-e-ayyaam nahii.n
unakii palako.n pe shab-o-roz ko halkaa kar de

jinakii aa.Nkho.n ko ruKh-e-subh kaa yaaraa bhii nahii.n
unakii raato.n me.n koii shamaa munawwar kar de
jinake qadamo.n ko kisii rah kaa sahaaraa bhii nahii.n
unakii nazaro.n pe koii raah ujaagar kar de

jinakaa dii.n pairavii-e-kazbo-riyaa hai unako
himmat-e-kufr mile, jurat-e-tahaqiiq mile
jinake sar mu.ntazir-e-teG-e-jafaa hai.n unako
dast-e-qatil ko jhaTak dene kii taufiiq mile

ishq kaa sarr-e-nihaa.N jaan-tapaa.N hai jis se
aaj iqaraar kare.n aur tapish miT jaaye
harf-e-haq dil me.n KhaTakataa hai jo ka.NTe kii tarah
aaj izahaar kare.n or Khalish miT jaaye

14 August 1967

ab ke ham bichha.De to shaayad kabhii Khvaabo.n me.n mile.n

have been writing like mad on radiolighthouse.blogspot.com... want to come back to my own nest called khvaab basera... soon...

ab ke ham bichha.De to shaayad kabhii Khvaabo.n me.n mile.n

ahmed faraz

ab ke ham bichha.De to shaayad kabhii Khvaabo.n me.n mile.n
jis tarah suukhe hue phuul kitaabo.n me.n mile.n
Dhuu.NDh uja.De hue logo.n me.n vafaa ke motii
ye Khazaane tujhe mumkin hai Kharaabo.n me.n mile.n
[uja.De=desolated, ruined; Kharaab=bad]
tuu Khudaa hai na meraa ishq farishto.n jaisaa
dono.n insaa.N hai.n to kyo.n itane hijaabo.n me.n mile.n
[hijaab - veil, here it means barrier]
Gam-e-duniyaa bhii Gam-e-yaar me.n shaamil kar lo
nashaa ba.Dataa hai sharabe.n jo sharaabo.n me.n mile.n
aaj ham daar pe khe.nche gaye jin baato.n par
kyaa ajab kal vo zamaane ko nisaabo.n me.n mile.n
ab na vo mai.n huu.N na tu hai na vo maazii hai `Faraaz',
jaise do shaKhs tamannaa ke saraabo.n me.m mile.n
[maazii=past; saraab - illusion, mirage]

kaThin hai raah_guzar tho.Dii duur saath chalo

writing after a quarter... in andaman and nicobar right now... am setting up a community radio unit in two panchayats... about 2 hours away from port blair... am in the land of "far far away"... (so the telegram-like font [when was the last time you heard the word, telegram?])now, after four trips, am getting used to things... long waits at chennai airport... flight after flight... sea sounds... laidback coconut-fish people... rounds and more rounds in administration, all india radio (reminds me of upar-neeche, aage-peeche, up and down, round and round... whirrrrrlllpoooool whirrlpool..) and yakyaking endlessly to anyone and everyone about community radio... not easy at all... never thought it would be... but feels good... to feel you are trying, to feel you are trying to be useful, creative, real... aur kya?

kaThin hai raah_guzar tho.Dii duur saath chalo

ahmed faraz

kaThin hai raah_guzar tho.Dii duur saath chalo
bahut ba.Daa hai safar tho.Dii duur saath chaalo
tamaam umr kahaa.N ko_ii saath detaa hai
mai.n jaanataa huu.N magar tho.Dii duur saath chalo
nashe me.n chuur huu.N mai.n bhii tumhe.n bhii hosh nahii.n
ba.Daa mazaa ho agar tho.Dii duur saath chalo
ye ek shab kii mulaaqaat bhii Ganimat hai
kise hai kal kii Khabar tho.Dii duur saath chalo
abhii to jaag rahe hai.n chiraaG raaho.n ke
abhii hai duur sahar tho.Dii duur saath chalo
tavaaf-e-manzil-e-jaanaa.N hame.n bhii karanaa hai
'Faraz' tum bhii agar tho.Dii duur saath chalo

ab naye saal kii mohalat nahii.n milane vaalii...

August 14 2006, eve of the independence day of india and the independence day of pakistan.

August 15 1947... seems such a long time back that its remains are childhood memories of history textbooks... when nationalism became jingoism and socialism became ineffective intellectualism... i don't know... my memories of freedom struggle are lazy afternoons with my grand uncle telling me stories (for me) and lifetime experiences (for him)... am sure there is lots to celebrate about but am more sure that there is lots more to be worried about and ashamed of...

floods, farmer suicides, blasts, blasts investigations, judiciary, droughts, prejudices, hatred, RTI, corruption (do we have to accept it as a given???), reservations, female foeticide, treating rural india as if it was on north pole and not within us, scams, scandals, breaking news... don't we have a long long way to go?

and why do we have these plastic flags of all things!!! wasn't littering the city with paper flags bad enough???

how much of it is our responsibility? no, really.

anyway, holiday it is. will flip through border, roja, rang de basanti, lakshya, phir bhi dil hai hindustani, upkaar, mother india (what is the one 'kar chale hum fida' song??) on various channels at various times. i definitely will not wake up in time to hear PM speech or reflect on it. that was the passtime of the earlier generation.

i love being here. am sure it is not "the pure and the noble" love for motherland kind of feeling. but "only time will tell if it is sufficient to make a difference and a positive one at that. this is "what is in the name," in Mumbai, for BRRRRReaking news TV"...



ab naye saal kii mohalat nahii.n milane vaalii
ahmed faraz

ab naye saal kii mohalat nahii.n milane vaalii
aa chuke ab to shab-o-roz azaabo.n vaale

[mohalat=time; shab-o-roz=night and day; azaab=pain/misfortune]

ab to sab dashnaa-o-Khanjar kii zubaa.N bolate hai.n
ab kahaa.N log muhabbat ke nisaabo.n vaale

[dashnaa=dagger]

zindaa rahane kii tamannaa ho to ho jaate hai.n
faaKhtaao.n ke bhii kirdaar uqaabo.n vaale

na mere zaKhm khile hai.n na teraa rang-e-hinaa
mausam aaye hii nahii.n ab ke gulaabo.n vaale

kuchh din to baso merii aa.Nkho.n me.n

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

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

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

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...

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

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...

Barasaat
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]

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...