it has been raining... and raining... and raining...
how much rain is enough to fill dams, to get crops, to get power...
how much rain is enough to make plants smile, to tickle the sea, to soak the earth...
how much rain is enough to fill your heart, to cleanse my soul, to make us all dissolve, disappear...
and its raining... raining... raining...
Monday, August 11, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
koii din gar zindagani aur hai...
Every one who has met vijay tendulkar once or twice or many times will have unique experiences of how their particular lives changed, became slightly more meaningful because that special interaction. Am no exception.
I could talk about my interaction with him when I was a gullible kid reporting on Marathi theatre among other things. I could talk about my interaction with him when I interviewed him twice over for a radio documentary on homosexuality in India (coz I lost my tapes). Or when I met him at Tendulkar festival in pune or at prithvi. Or when I saw him at a reading session. Or I could talk about the last time we met at his house, when it rained.
At pune festival or somewhere there about he said the only regret-like feeling he had was about not talking enough to his wife. He had said,"I did not understand her when she was alive. I probably did not make enough effort." And his voice cracked a little, was it old age, was it memory, it was so something different from a man who wrote fearlessly about human emotion ridden with violence and in a way that was more real than a sleepless night.
after all the issues you write about, matters that you take up,realities that you expose, fights that you fight, principles that you stand for, you said something so basic, so real, so mind fucking.
His plays speak for themselves. They are scary not because they are violent, they are not just violent. They are violent and real and inevitable. You don't want to believe them.
When I saw alyque padamsee's adaptation of vultures, one wonders why did he have to know this about human selfishness.
When Sakharam binder speaks you squirm, not because of its violence,but because u pretended all along that there was no sakharam in you,amidst you and Tendulkar caught you. May be that's why the play met with violent protests.
In ghashiram kotwal, he took on brahminical system. In kanyadaan he spoke about a dalit, non dalit relationship.In shantata court chalu ahe, he I think exposed the worst of human traits. Of cornering and pecking a weak one, for no apparent reason. Like William golding's lord of flies.
When he spoke to me about his short story about a lesbian girl, he was blunt about a hypocritical society that could drive people to death.He somehow never let the society forget that it was not doing its job– as a journalist, writer, playwright, speaker, friend.
I was never sure if he wanted to speak to me. I knew what he thought about today's journalism, more or less. Of course there was no scope of disagreeing. But one day I called, as usual, to get a quote about some issue or the other. I tried to introduce myself, you know you might remember me, and that dude said, why do you think am talking to you and willing to give a quote on the phone? It's rather narcissistic for me to recount this but honestly I still feel very happy about that reassurance. Coz it gave me the courage to call him just like that. Anyway.
There was no reason why I went to meet him on that rainy rainy afternoon. He had shifted from his parle house to andheri. His room was still like his own. With books, books, computer, mobile phone,rocking kinda chair, with a window that brought the rains in. His dog was missing. I reached dripping, craving chai. Bahadur, his man Friday got us chai, made him comfortable and then…And then we spoke about human beings, for a long long time. He said man was heading to his own annihilation rapidly. He said man is unable to see the disparity and dissatisfaction he has created for a majorityof its people. I tried to talk about the goodness and sensitivity that still exists. He said it is too little. So then, I asked. He said, so then what. Good people will do what they have to. You can hope, write,think, do what you can.
Then I asked him to translate his lines, jeevan mhanje barach kahi asakahch nahi, ani kahich nahi asa barach kahi. He said I should do it.He didn't want to. It very badly translates as life is nothing like alot, instead it is a lot of nothing…
He spoke about sanjay dutt's conviction, sentencing in the 1993 case.He said the irony of judiciary was that it was punishing a criminal after he had reformed. Of course we spoke about justice and after a point a ran out of questions and accepted that answers were not exactly the easy ones.
Chinmayi, a theatre actor, had dropped by to meet him. She seemed likea dear daughter. I left after some more chai, some more conversation,some more giggling.
I remember his interview with meghana pethe at pune. I also remember him saying he liked a new playwright manasvi as she speaks "directly."I remember this shot from "umbartha" when smita patil finally walksout of her home.
He was not a cynic. He just knew too much, may be?
He always knew what all of us were trying to say. And I feel he humoured everyone very affectionately.
He said he was writing something about his life – of course with a backdrop of political, social, personal times – loss of his familymembers, freedom struggle, emergency, riots, this and that. Will we get to see it?
I vaguely remember giving him some jasmine on that rainy day. Ivaguely remember choking on my way back. I vaguely remember rainsturning painfully beautiful that day.
until our souls stop resting in lethargic peace in our lives, will hissoul be able to find peace in death?
I could hold all this and more, close to my heart but I choose to let my vulnerability bleed in the open……
aatish-e-dozaKh me.n ye garmii kahaa.N
baarahaa dekhii.n hai.n unakii ra.njishe.n
deke Khat muu.Nh dekhataa hai
qaataa-e-amaar hai aksar nujuum
ho chukii.n "Ghalib" balaaye.n sab tamaam
I could talk about my interaction with him when I was a gullible kid reporting on Marathi theatre among other things. I could talk about my interaction with him when I interviewed him twice over for a radio documentary on homosexuality in India (coz I lost my tapes). Or when I met him at Tendulkar festival in pune or at prithvi. Or when I saw him at a reading session. Or I could talk about the last time we met at his house, when it rained.
At pune festival or somewhere there about he said the only regret-like feeling he had was about not talking enough to his wife. He had said,"I did not understand her when she was alive. I probably did not make enough effort." And his voice cracked a little, was it old age, was it memory, it was so something different from a man who wrote fearlessly about human emotion ridden with violence and in a way that was more real than a sleepless night.
after all the issues you write about, matters that you take up,realities that you expose, fights that you fight, principles that you stand for, you said something so basic, so real, so mind fucking.
His plays speak for themselves. They are scary not because they are violent, they are not just violent. They are violent and real and inevitable. You don't want to believe them.
When I saw alyque padamsee's adaptation of vultures, one wonders why did he have to know this about human selfishness.
When Sakharam binder speaks you squirm, not because of its violence,but because u pretended all along that there was no sakharam in you,amidst you and Tendulkar caught you. May be that's why the play met with violent protests.
In ghashiram kotwal, he took on brahminical system. In kanyadaan he spoke about a dalit, non dalit relationship.In shantata court chalu ahe, he I think exposed the worst of human traits. Of cornering and pecking a weak one, for no apparent reason. Like William golding's lord of flies.
When he spoke to me about his short story about a lesbian girl, he was blunt about a hypocritical society that could drive people to death.He somehow never let the society forget that it was not doing its job– as a journalist, writer, playwright, speaker, friend.
I was never sure if he wanted to speak to me. I knew what he thought about today's journalism, more or less. Of course there was no scope of disagreeing. But one day I called, as usual, to get a quote about some issue or the other. I tried to introduce myself, you know you might remember me, and that dude said, why do you think am talking to you and willing to give a quote on the phone? It's rather narcissistic for me to recount this but honestly I still feel very happy about that reassurance. Coz it gave me the courage to call him just like that. Anyway.
There was no reason why I went to meet him on that rainy rainy afternoon. He had shifted from his parle house to andheri. His room was still like his own. With books, books, computer, mobile phone,rocking kinda chair, with a window that brought the rains in. His dog was missing. I reached dripping, craving chai. Bahadur, his man Friday got us chai, made him comfortable and then…And then we spoke about human beings, for a long long time. He said man was heading to his own annihilation rapidly. He said man is unable to see the disparity and dissatisfaction he has created for a majorityof its people. I tried to talk about the goodness and sensitivity that still exists. He said it is too little. So then, I asked. He said, so then what. Good people will do what they have to. You can hope, write,think, do what you can.
Then I asked him to translate his lines, jeevan mhanje barach kahi asakahch nahi, ani kahich nahi asa barach kahi. He said I should do it.He didn't want to. It very badly translates as life is nothing like alot, instead it is a lot of nothing…
He spoke about sanjay dutt's conviction, sentencing in the 1993 case.He said the irony of judiciary was that it was punishing a criminal after he had reformed. Of course we spoke about justice and after a point a ran out of questions and accepted that answers were not exactly the easy ones.
Chinmayi, a theatre actor, had dropped by to meet him. She seemed likea dear daughter. I left after some more chai, some more conversation,some more giggling.
I remember his interview with meghana pethe at pune. I also remember him saying he liked a new playwright manasvi as she speaks "directly."I remember this shot from "umbartha" when smita patil finally walksout of her home.
He was not a cynic. He just knew too much, may be?
He always knew what all of us were trying to say. And I feel he humoured everyone very affectionately.
He said he was writing something about his life – of course with a backdrop of political, social, personal times – loss of his familymembers, freedom struggle, emergency, riots, this and that. Will we get to see it?
I vaguely remember giving him some jasmine on that rainy day. Ivaguely remember choking on my way back. I vaguely remember rainsturning painfully beautiful that day.
until our souls stop resting in lethargic peace in our lives, will hissoul be able to find peace in death?
I could hold all this and more, close to my heart but I choose to let my vulnerability bleed in the open……
koii din gar zi.ndaganii aur hai
Mirza Ghalib
koii din gar zi.ndaganii aur hai
koii din gar zi.ndaganii aur hai
apane jii me.n hamane Thaanii aur hai
aatish-e-dozaKh me.n ye garmii kahaa.N
soz-e-Gam hai nihaanii aur hai
[dozaKh=hell; soz=passion/heat; nihaanii=hidden ]
[dozaKh=hell; soz=passion/heat; nihaanii=hidden ]
baarahaa dekhii.n hai.n unakii ra.njishe.n
par kuchh ab ke sar_giraanii aur hai
[sar_giraanii=pride]
[sar_giraanii=pride]
deke Khat muu.Nh dekhataa hai
naamaabar kuchh to paiGaam-e-zabaanii aur hai
[naamaabar=messenger]
[naamaabar=messenger]
qaataa-e-amaar hai aksar nujuum
vo balaa-e-aasamaanii aur hai
[qaata-e-amaar=killers; nujuum=stars; balaa-e-aasamaanii=catastrophe]
[qaata-e-amaar=killers; nujuum=stars; balaa-e-aasamaanii=catastrophe]
ho chukii.n "Ghalib" balaaye.n sab tamaam
ek marg-e-naagahaanii aur hai
[balaaye.n=calamity; marg=death; naagahaanii=sudden/accidental]
[balaaye.n=calamity; marg=death; naagahaanii=sudden/accidental]
Monday, March 31, 2008
is daur-e-bejunuu.N kii kahaanii ko_ii likho
has taken months and weeks and days to come back to the blog... and i still have nothing pinching enough to say.
so here we are on a blank. with so much happening around, tibet, zimbabwe, raj thackeray, cricket, records, summer, farmers' loan waiver, economic boom, more car launches, more shahrukh's businesses, more media speculations, more of this and less of that...
how does one document absence, vaccum, gap?
absence of thought, feelings, ideas, creativity,
vaccum - which could have been filled with constructive stuff (or even destructive!),
gap between passive and active..
it's the presence of stuff - good or bad, happy or sad, mom or dad (hee hee! couldn't resist a bad poem) that we talk about, remember and even use for future?
but absence? like absence of poetry after world war II. like absence of enthu - boredom... like all the days when thoughts come and go as a matter of habit...like all those days themselves that come and go as a matter of routine...
dont they deserve a mention in our psyche, diaries, coffee conversations, drunken blabbers, blogs? even by doing nothing, it does some stirring some where... or is it just the beginning of april... pushing lilacs out of sleep as eliot said... lets not underestimate absences, vaccums, gaps...
here is to blanks...
so here we are on a blank. with so much happening around, tibet, zimbabwe, raj thackeray, cricket, records, summer, farmers' loan waiver, economic boom, more car launches, more shahrukh's businesses, more media speculations, more of this and less of that...
how does one document absence, vaccum, gap?
absence of thought, feelings, ideas, creativity,
vaccum - which could have been filled with constructive stuff (or even destructive!),
gap between passive and active..
it's the presence of stuff - good or bad, happy or sad, mom or dad (hee hee! couldn't resist a bad poem) that we talk about, remember and even use for future?
but absence? like absence of poetry after world war II. like absence of enthu - boredom... like all the days when thoughts come and go as a matter of habit...like all those days themselves that come and go as a matter of routine...
dont they deserve a mention in our psyche, diaries, coffee conversations, drunken blabbers, blogs? even by doing nothing, it does some stirring some where... or is it just the beginning of april... pushing lilacs out of sleep as eliot said... lets not underestimate absences, vaccums, gaps...
here is to blanks...
is daur-e-bejunuu.N kii kahaanii ko_ii likho
ahmed faraz
is daur-e-bejunuu.N kii kahaanii ko_ii likho
jismo.n ko barf Khuun ko paanii ko_ii likho
ko_ii kaho ki haath qalam kis tarah hue
kyuu.N ruk ga_ii qalam kii ravaanii ko_ii likho
kyo.n ahal-e-shauq sar-va-garebaa.N hai.n dosto
kyo.n Khuu.N-ba-dil hai ahad-e-javaanii ko_ii likho
kyo.n surmaa-dar-guluu hai har ek taayar-e-suKhan
kyo.n gul_sitaa.N qafas kaa hai saanii ko_ii likho
haa.N taazaa saaneho.n kaa kare kaun intazaar
haa.N dil kii vaaradaat puraanii ko_ii likho
jismo.n ko barf Khuun ko paanii ko_ii likho
ko_ii kaho ki haath qalam kis tarah hue
kyuu.N ruk ga_ii qalam kii ravaanii ko_ii likho
kyo.n ahal-e-shauq sar-va-garebaa.N hai.n dosto
kyo.n Khuu.N-ba-dil hai ahad-e-javaanii ko_ii likho
kyo.n surmaa-dar-guluu hai har ek taayar-e-suKhan
kyo.n gul_sitaa.N qafas kaa hai saanii ko_ii likho
haa.N taazaa saaneho.n kaa kare kaun intazaar
haa.N dil kii vaaradaat puraanii ko_ii likho
Saturday, September 22, 2007
siine me.n jalan aa.Nkho.n me.n tuufaan saa kyuu.N hai
usual 'festival time' packed trains... the difference between usually packed and 'festival time' packed is in its commuter crowd, during ganpati, ramzaan, navratri, rakhi, diwali, mountmary fair, people travel in families (don't they get tired of long queues, not working coupon machines, delayed trains, jewellery, kids, tantrums, sweat, etc etc? anyway. i salute people's enthu) with bags, kids, costumes, giggly crabby loud noises et al. (yes yes looks like am getting old as well...) anyway... so one of those days...
time is around 10 pm, place - 2nd class women's compartment in a badlapur train... crowded, no place to sit except an occasional fourth seat... kids standing in most of the windows looking straight poking out for fun and "reverse in" for all the reassuring glances from their mommies... it is already late ALL the women...
one woman gets in with her kid (heads for window like a good boy) and she tries to squeeze on the fourth seat... there are two women standing having aconversation with the other seated three... till this point they are all the same, always-slightly-irritated-but-trying-to-look-at-the-brighter-side working middle class women managing their families, festivals, jobs with great difficulty and greater courage...
in a flash, the usual "aap thoda sarko na" "aap thik se baitho na" "eisahi chalna padna hai" sort of squabble becomes a religious, swear words laden full fledged war of words... the three properly seated and two standing muslim women pounce on the latest very hindu looking entrant saying horrible horrible things to her... as retaliation to something she mumbled under her breath as a part of her fourth seat angst... clearly a casteist racist sort of remark which comes so naturally to anyone these days... "we will show you what we are" "get down at mumbra" "what do YOU think you are bitch" were among the milder ones...
they discussed everyones lineage, legitimate and otherwise, while they were shouting, she was mumbling, not in a scared vulnerable way but reproachful, disapproving, trying-to-garner-suport from other travellers sort of way... as the fight became not-easy-on-anyone, especially kids, the hindu woman got up and moved over to another door and left the group... the muslim women got off at mumbra and train stopped longer than usual so that everyone could watch them narrate the incident to their male counterparts... the hindu woman got back to same (!) seat and started one of those "these-women-i-tell-you" talks... of course followed by supporting "i-know-i-tell-you" type of discussions...
a simple fourth seat quarrel had so many prejudices surface and with such venom and vengeance on both sides... where do we get this misdirected hatred from? how many of those had actually interacted with members of any other community let alone religion... how long can we go on discussing the socio-politico-economic-religious reasons for such a scary chasm...
the confused scared kid in his "reverse in" position staring at the elderly expletives flying around comes to my mind more often than not these days...
time is around 10 pm, place - 2nd class women's compartment in a badlapur train... crowded, no place to sit except an occasional fourth seat... kids standing in most of the windows looking straight poking out for fun and "reverse in" for all the reassuring glances from their mommies... it is already late ALL the women...
one woman gets in with her kid (heads for window like a good boy) and she tries to squeeze on the fourth seat... there are two women standing having aconversation with the other seated three... till this point they are all the same, always-slightly-irritated-but-trying-to-look-at-the-brighter-side working middle class women managing their families, festivals, jobs with great difficulty and greater courage...
in a flash, the usual "aap thoda sarko na" "aap thik se baitho na" "eisahi chalna padna hai" sort of squabble becomes a religious, swear words laden full fledged war of words... the three properly seated and two standing muslim women pounce on the latest very hindu looking entrant saying horrible horrible things to her... as retaliation to something she mumbled under her breath as a part of her fourth seat angst... clearly a casteist racist sort of remark which comes so naturally to anyone these days... "we will show you what we are" "get down at mumbra" "what do YOU think you are bitch" were among the milder ones...
they discussed everyones lineage, legitimate and otherwise, while they were shouting, she was mumbling, not in a scared vulnerable way but reproachful, disapproving, trying-to-garner-suport from other travellers sort of way... as the fight became not-easy-on-anyone, especially kids, the hindu woman got up and moved over to another door and left the group... the muslim women got off at mumbra and train stopped longer than usual so that everyone could watch them narrate the incident to their male counterparts... the hindu woman got back to same (!) seat and started one of those "these-women-i-tell-you" talks... of course followed by supporting "i-know-i-tell-you" type of discussions...
a simple fourth seat quarrel had so many prejudices surface and with such venom and vengeance on both sides... where do we get this misdirected hatred from? how many of those had actually interacted with members of any other community let alone religion... how long can we go on discussing the socio-politico-economic-religious reasons for such a scary chasm...
the confused scared kid in his "reverse in" position staring at the elderly expletives flying around comes to my mind more often than not these days...
siine me.n jalan aa.Nkho.n me.n tuufaan saa kyuu.N hai
shahryar
siine me.n jalan aa.Nkho.n me.n tuufaan saa kyuu.N hai
is shahar me.n har shaKhs pareshaan saa kyuu.N hai
dil hai to dha.Dakane kaa bahaanaa ko_ii Dhuu.NDhe
patthar kii tarah behis-o-bejaan saa kyuu.N hai
tanhaa_ii kii ye kaun sii manzil hai rafiiqo
taa-hadd-e-nazar ek bayaabaan saa kyuu.N hai
ham ne to ko_ii baat nikaalii nahii.n Gam kiivo zuud-e-pashemaan
pashemaan saa kyuu.N hai
kyaa ko_ii na_ii baat nazar aatii hai ham me.n
aa_iinaa hame.n dekh ke hairaan saa kyuu.N hai
Monday, September 17, 2007
woh samundar ho jati hai...
people say one should always preserve oneself in any life situation. it's a noble thought. but i have my doubts and metaphors. here's my first one.
loving someone with adequate self preservation and without really wholeheartedly plunging is like walking in the rain with windcheaters and raincoats on. the happiness you get out of both situations is of having protected yourself against a potential possible hurt or cold or fever. not of getting drenched, soaked and absorbed. i know it is stupid romantic, but as drishtidyumna dhumketu barishkar says in thoda sa rumani ho jaye,
do ghato ke beech ek nadi hai jo samundar se milti hai,
ghat ghat rehte hain,
wo samundar ho jati hai...
loving someone with adequate self preservation and without really wholeheartedly plunging is like walking in the rain with windcheaters and raincoats on. the happiness you get out of both situations is of having protected yourself against a potential possible hurt or cold or fever. not of getting drenched, soaked and absorbed. i know it is stupid romantic, but as drishtidyumna dhumketu barishkar says in thoda sa rumani ho jaye,
do ghato ke beech ek nadi hai jo samundar se milti hai,
ghat ghat rehte hain,
wo samundar ho jati hai...
ai Khudaa ret ke saharaa ko sama.ndar kar de
Shahid Meer
ai Khudaa ret ke saharaa ko sama.ndar kar de
ai Khudaa ret ke saharaa ko sama.ndar kar de
yaa chhalakatii aa.Nkho.n ko bhii patthar kar de
tujhako dekhaa nahii.n mahasuus kiyaa hai mai.n ne
tujhako dekhaa nahii.n mahasuus kiyaa hai mai.n ne
aa kisii din mere ehasaas ko paikar kar de
aur kuchh bhii mujhe darakaar nahii.n hai lekin
aur kuchh bhii mujhe darakaar nahii.n hai lekin
merii chaadar mere pairo.n ke baraabar kar de
Friday, September 14, 2007
the in between time
Twilight
The time is in between. It has always been the time that links day and night, bright and dark, white and black. The in between time... Twilight time…
when people and sparrows begin their journey home… they are in between too… not at work… not home yet… coz everyone here lives 'far far' away… transition time… to put it clinically...
and to not to put it clinically, this sepia yellow light that just takes over everything, roads, skies, sea, traffic, people, trees... it has strange qualities… that it is romantic is established from scores of poems that talk about this time… but why do these moments make one restless… I can't sit at home around this time… can't sleep, can't read, can't be alone, can't be together, can't be this and can't be that…
but sometimes am on marine drive watching the sky play with sunrays and shadows and watching the sea taking it all in… and there are many taking a slice of this with them… many don't (there is many for everything here, na?)... in buses, in trains, on the roads as they restlessly take the journey home… soon it becomes dark…
the street lights start lighting up when it is only half dark…like a punctual, rather, just-before-time-this-is-my-first-job employee… they come on one by one… carefully, like a well mannered queue at a bus stop…
gracefully - allowing each one to light well, see the ocean and take a bow, so that the next one in line doesn't hog the attention the previous one would have got, like when aspiring-but- not-aggressive junior artists introduce themselves at an audition...
and then the sky lets the street light become the centre of attention, it becomes dark, the sea tries to become invisible letting “the queen's necklace” perform, except for it's mild waves which are lost in the traffic honks…only an occasional bird with my kind of sense of direction is circling around, sometimes worried, sometimes not…
the moment is over in no time… before you know it is night… before you know you have ended the day… before you know you have missed the moment... before you know you forgot…that the journey, the twilight, the in-between was beautiful too…
skies were vying for your attention while you ran for the train, bus, coz there were people, children, unclean rooms, half-cooked meals, last-minute-touches presentations, demanding the same you far more aggressively…
will we hurriedly sleep-walk though life and miss the play of colours? will we enjoy the journey and not just “yo-i-did-it” joy (or the “phew” of thank-god-i-made-it) of reaching the destination?
the bright blue skies now slowly turn into twilight colours, and that beautiful restless quivery moment slides onto the city, the waves, the trains, the crowds…there is going to be a huge traffic jam and I’ll watch a mad bird circling around as day becomes night…
The time is in between. It has always been the time that links day and night, bright and dark, white and black. The in between time... Twilight time…
when people and sparrows begin their journey home… they are in between too… not at work… not home yet… coz everyone here lives 'far far' away… transition time… to put it clinically...
and to not to put it clinically, this sepia yellow light that just takes over everything, roads, skies, sea, traffic, people, trees... it has strange qualities… that it is romantic is established from scores of poems that talk about this time… but why do these moments make one restless… I can't sit at home around this time… can't sleep, can't read, can't be alone, can't be together, can't be this and can't be that…
but sometimes am on marine drive watching the sky play with sunrays and shadows and watching the sea taking it all in… and there are many taking a slice of this with them… many don't (there is many for everything here, na?)... in buses, in trains, on the roads as they restlessly take the journey home… soon it becomes dark…
the street lights start lighting up when it is only half dark…like a punctual, rather, just-before-time-this-is-my-first-job employee… they come on one by one… carefully, like a well mannered queue at a bus stop…
gracefully - allowing each one to light well, see the ocean and take a bow, so that the next one in line doesn't hog the attention the previous one would have got, like when aspiring-but- not-aggressive junior artists introduce themselves at an audition...
and then the sky lets the street light become the centre of attention, it becomes dark, the sea tries to become invisible letting “the queen's necklace” perform, except for it's mild waves which are lost in the traffic honks…only an occasional bird with my kind of sense of direction is circling around, sometimes worried, sometimes not…
the moment is over in no time… before you know it is night… before you know you have ended the day… before you know you have missed the moment... before you know you forgot…that the journey, the twilight, the in-between was beautiful too…
skies were vying for your attention while you ran for the train, bus, coz there were people, children, unclean rooms, half-cooked meals, last-minute-touches presentations, demanding the same you far more aggressively…
will we hurriedly sleep-walk though life and miss the play of colours? will we enjoy the journey and not just “yo-i-did-it” joy (or the “phew” of thank-god-i-made-it) of reaching the destination?
the bright blue skies now slowly turn into twilight colours, and that beautiful restless quivery moment slides onto the city, the waves, the trains, the crowds…there is going to be a huge traffic jam and I’ll watch a mad bird circling around as day becomes night…
dil bhii bujhaa ho shaam kii parachhaa_iyaa.N bhii ho.n
ahmed faraz
dil bhii bujhaa ho shaam kii parachhaa_iyaa.N bhii ho.n
mar jaa_iye jo aise me.n tanhaa_iyaa.N bhii ho.n
aa.Nkho.n kii surKh lahar hai mauj-e-suparadagii
ye kyaa zaruur hai ke ab anga.Daa_iyaa.N bhii ho.n
har husn-e-saadaa lau na dil me.n utar sakaa
kuchh to mizaaj-e-yaar me.n geharaa_iyaa.N bhii ho.n
duniyaa ke tazakire to tabiyat hii le bujhe
baat us kii ho to phir suKhan aaraa_iyaa.N bhii ho.n
pahale pahal kaa ishq abhii yaad hai 'Faraz'
dil Khud ye chaahataa hai ke rusvaa_iyaa.N bhii ho.n
mar jaa_iye jo aise me.n tanhaa_iyaa.N bhii ho.n
aa.Nkho.n kii surKh lahar hai mauj-e-suparadagii
ye kyaa zaruur hai ke ab anga.Daa_iyaa.N bhii ho.n
har husn-e-saadaa lau na dil me.n utar sakaa
kuchh to mizaaj-e-yaar me.n geharaa_iyaa.N bhii ho.n
duniyaa ke tazakire to tabiyat hii le bujhe
baat us kii ho to phir suKhan aaraa_iyaa.N bhii ho.n
pahale pahal kaa ishq abhii yaad hai 'Faraz'
dil Khud ye chaahataa hai ke rusvaa_iyaa.N bhii ho.n
Friday, August 17, 2007
hum kaale hai to kya hua...
doves, totaa-maina, cuckoos, bulbuls, nightingales (is that fictitious?) love birds, and such lovely looking happy singing pretty things are the romeo juillets of the winged world! however, one of these potholed days (this is my protest, whenever i have my bones rattled in any auto rides, i call it a pothole-d day), high up on one of the biggish spread out huge trees, i saw a crow couple coochicoooing. and it was very very kyooooot!
crows are smart, crows are noisy, crows fly away with food packets, watches, plastic, face towels, crows inspire poets (ted hughes and the crow series), crows demand food at few kitchen windows, crows bully sparrows, crows survive in the city, crows help dead people reach heaven as per hindu rites, crows warn people if guests are planning to gate crash (ah! the lovely indian myths!), jooth bole kauwa kaate, crows this crows that.
but crows as lovers, hmmm... not to my knowledge...
yet these two black, shivery-wet-in-the-rain, spots on the branch seemed like a breath of fresh air on the boring rainbow coloured love bird scene...
though brought up on melodramatic bollywood, that image didn't bring any classic romantic sequences in my head... no endless tulips, waterfalls, flying dupattas... instead... it coincided with umpteen couples exchanging a hurried hug at a busy busy marine drive or the ones saying a reluctant bye at churchgate station... or an old grand dad getting a gajra for his old old wife...
common man's love, tera mera pyaar, is so beautiful na?
crows are smart, crows are noisy, crows fly away with food packets, watches, plastic, face towels, crows inspire poets (ted hughes and the crow series), crows demand food at few kitchen windows, crows bully sparrows, crows survive in the city, crows help dead people reach heaven as per hindu rites, crows warn people if guests are planning to gate crash (ah! the lovely indian myths!), jooth bole kauwa kaate, crows this crows that.
but crows as lovers, hmmm... not to my knowledge...
yet these two black, shivery-wet-in-the-rain, spots on the branch seemed like a breath of fresh air on the boring rainbow coloured love bird scene...
though brought up on melodramatic bollywood, that image didn't bring any classic romantic sequences in my head... no endless tulips, waterfalls, flying dupattas... instead... it coincided with umpteen couples exchanging a hurried hug at a busy busy marine drive or the ones saying a reluctant bye at churchgate station... or an old grand dad getting a gajra for his old old wife...
common man's love, tera mera pyaar, is so beautiful na?
Taaj Mahal
Sahir Ludhianvi
aaj tere liye ik mazahar-e-ulfat hii sahii
tum ko is vaadii-e-ra.ngii.n se aqiidat hii sahii
[mazahar-e-ulfat = symbol of love; vaadii-e-ra.ngii.n = beautiful spot;
aqiidat = respect/preference?]
mere mahabuub kahii.n aur milaa kar mujh se!
bazm-e-shaahii me.n Gariibo.n kaa guzar kyaa maanii
sabt jis raah pe ho.n satavat-e-shaahii ke nishaa.N
us pe ulfat bharii ruuho.n kaa safar kyaa maanii
[bazm-e-shaahii = royal court; sabt = etched]
[satavat-e-shaahii = royal grandeur; ulfat bharii ruuh = lovers]
merii mahabuub pas-e-pardaa-e-tashhiir-e-vafaa
tuu ne satavat ke nishaano.n ko to dekhaa hotaa
murdaa shaaho.n ke maqaabir se bahalevaaliia
pane taariik makaano.n ko to dekhaa hotaa
[pas-e-pardaa-e-tashhiir-e-vafaa = behind the veil of this advertisement of faith/love]
[satavat = wealth/grandeur; maqaabir(maqabaraa) = tomb; taariik = dark]
anaginat logo.n ne duniyaa me.n muhabbat kii hai
kaun kahataa hai ki saadiq na the jazbe un ke
lekin un ke liye tashhiir kaa saamaan nahii.n
kyuu.N ke vo log bhii apanii hii tarah mufalis the
[saadiq = true; tashhiir = advertisement; mufalis = poor]
ye imaaraat-o-maqaabir ye fasiile.n, ye hisaar
mutal-qulhukm shahanashaaho.n kii azamat ke sutuu.N
daaman-e-dahar pe us ra.ng kii gulakaarii haijis me.n shaamil hai
tere aur mere ajadaad kaa Khuu.N
[hisaar = forts; mutal-qulhukm = unthinking/arrogant; azamat = greatness;
sutuu.N = symbol][daaman-e-dahar = on the face of this world; gulakaarii = flowers
and vines][ajadaad = ancestors]
merii mahabuub! u.nhe.n bhii to muhabbat hogii
jinakii sannaa_ii ne baKhshii hai ise shakl-e-jamiil
un ke pyaaro.n ke maqaabir rahe benaam-o-namuud
aaj tak un pe jalaa_ii na kisii ne qa.ndiil
[sannaa_ii = artistry; shakl-e-jamiil = beautiful form]
[benaam-o-namuud = without name or even a trace; qa.ndiil = candle]
ye chamanazaar ye jamunaa kaa kinaaraa ye mahal
ye munaqqash dar-o-diivaar, ye maharaab ye taaq
ik shahanashaah ne daulat kaa sahaaraa le kar
ham Gariibo.n kii muhabbat kaa u.Daayaa hai mazaak
mere mahabuub kahii.n aur milaa kar mujhase!
Friday, July 27, 2007
mujhse pehli si mohabbat mere mehboob na mang..
sanjay dutt got sentenced to six years. as opposed to 12 got death sentences, 20 lifers, and several more 14 years, 12 years et al. since september 12 last year. last one week was the culmination of 14 years ofcourse. the memons, sanjay dutt, end of trial, supposed justice to victims and what not. add to that july blasts, lack of rain or such pot boilers...
in the meanwhile, my cousin passed his m com. another one celebrated her birthday. my dad fell ill to be hospitalised. my sister in far away in the UK might be pregnant. "ashadhi ekadashi" went by when my family members celebrated with delicious "fast" food.. my grand parents spent another day thinking about their lives and waiting for their grand children to call them.. mom called once again to check on food, health, general wellbeing and gently (and firmly) reminding me of my duties in the family...
in the meanwhile, friends came over, had conversations, expressed concern over sanjay dutt, cricket, traffic, pakistan and pot holes... we drank some, ate some, talked some more and planned to meet again... some long lost friends came and went without managing to meet and were lost again...
then i meet a distant family member, about 35 years older, who i meet as a part of must-do duties... and voila... she has similar experiences, similar questions and slightly more baked answers than what i have... we leave it at that... we connected but we leave it at that... perhaps i have more doubts now...
the rains have started again.. but i don't call my school friend with whom i celebrated every single day of the monsoon... i instead spend my time arguing with people about existence of death sentence in our law... fasting with grand parents and feasting with friends was great fun... but now i curse myself for forgetting to book the gas and end up eating alone at cafes as i jot down some random thoughts... it was so easy to feel happy for my achievements and to sob over my failures... or lets extend it to family and friends... but spending sleepless nights for something i can't see, touch or explain seems just as effortless... and i have managed to rope in the rain and the sea in this confusing business...
those days of simple joys were beautiful.. but these days of complex sorrows are infinitely more beautiful.. and more real perhaps...
in the meanwhile, my cousin passed his m com. another one celebrated her birthday. my dad fell ill to be hospitalised. my sister in far away in the UK might be pregnant. "ashadhi ekadashi" went by when my family members celebrated with delicious "fast" food.. my grand parents spent another day thinking about their lives and waiting for their grand children to call them.. mom called once again to check on food, health, general wellbeing and gently (and firmly) reminding me of my duties in the family...
in the meanwhile, friends came over, had conversations, expressed concern over sanjay dutt, cricket, traffic, pakistan and pot holes... we drank some, ate some, talked some more and planned to meet again... some long lost friends came and went without managing to meet and were lost again...
then i meet a distant family member, about 35 years older, who i meet as a part of must-do duties... and voila... she has similar experiences, similar questions and slightly more baked answers than what i have... we leave it at that... we connected but we leave it at that... perhaps i have more doubts now...
the rains have started again.. but i don't call my school friend with whom i celebrated every single day of the monsoon... i instead spend my time arguing with people about existence of death sentence in our law... fasting with grand parents and feasting with friends was great fun... but now i curse myself for forgetting to book the gas and end up eating alone at cafes as i jot down some random thoughts... it was so easy to feel happy for my achievements and to sob over my failures... or lets extend it to family and friends... but spending sleepless nights for something i can't see, touch or explain seems just as effortless... and i have managed to rope in the rain and the sea in this confusing business...
those days of simple joys were beautiful.. but these days of complex sorrows are infinitely more beautiful.. and more real perhaps...
pahalii sii muhabbat
faiz ahmed faiz
mujh se pahalii sii mohabbat merii mahabuub na maa.Ng
mai.n ne samajhaa thaa ki tuu hai to daraKhshaa.N hai hayaat
teraa Gam hai to Gam-e-dahar kaa jhaga.Daa kyaa hai
terii suurat se hai aalam me.n bahaaro.n ko sabaat
terii aa.Nkho.n ke sivaa duniyaa me.n rakkhaa kyaa hai (*)
tuu jo mil jaaye to taqadiir niguu.N ho jaaye
yuu.N na thaa mai.n ne faqat chaahaa thaa yuu.N ho jaaye
aur bhii dukh hai.n zamaane me.n mohabbat ke sivaa
raahate.n aur bhii hai.n vasl kii raahat ke sivaa
mujh se pahalii sii mohabbat merii mahabuub na maa.Ng
anaginat sadiyo.n ke taariik bahimaanaa talism
resham-o-atalas-o-kam_Khvaab me.n bunavaaye huye
jaa-ba-jaa bikate huye kuuchaa-o-baazaar me.n jism
Khaak me.n litha.De huye Khuun me.n nahalaaye huye
jism nikale huye amaraaz ke tannuuro.n se
piip bahatii hu_ii galate huye naasuuro.n se
lauT jaatii hai udhar ko bhii nazar kyaa kiije
ab bhii dil_kash hai teraa husn maGar kyaa kiije
aur bhii dukh hai.n zamaane me.n mohabbat ke sivaa
raahate.n aur bhii hai.n vasl kii raahat ke sivaa
mujh se pahalii sii mohabbat merii mahabuub na maa.Ng
[daraKhshaa.N : shining; hayaat = life]
[Gam-e-dahar = sorrows of the world; aalam = world]
[sabaat = permanence; niguu.N = bow/subservient]
[faqat = merely; vasl = union/meeting; taariik = dark]
[bahiimaanaa = dreadful; talism = magic]
[resham = silk; atalas = satin; kam_Khvaab = brocade]
[jaa-ba-jaa = hither-thither; litha.De = covered/soaked in]
[amaraaz = diseases; tannuuro.n = ovens; piip = pus]
[naasuur = ulcer/a wound that won't heal; dil_kash = heart-warming]
mai.n ne samajhaa thaa ki tuu hai to daraKhshaa.N hai hayaat
teraa Gam hai to Gam-e-dahar kaa jhaga.Daa kyaa hai
terii suurat se hai aalam me.n bahaaro.n ko sabaat
terii aa.Nkho.n ke sivaa duniyaa me.n rakkhaa kyaa hai (*)
tuu jo mil jaaye to taqadiir niguu.N ho jaaye
yuu.N na thaa mai.n ne faqat chaahaa thaa yuu.N ho jaaye
aur bhii dukh hai.n zamaane me.n mohabbat ke sivaa
raahate.n aur bhii hai.n vasl kii raahat ke sivaa
mujh se pahalii sii mohabbat merii mahabuub na maa.Ng
anaginat sadiyo.n ke taariik bahimaanaa talism
resham-o-atalas-o-kam_Khvaab me.n bunavaaye huye
jaa-ba-jaa bikate huye kuuchaa-o-baazaar me.n jism
Khaak me.n litha.De huye Khuun me.n nahalaaye huye
jism nikale huye amaraaz ke tannuuro.n se
piip bahatii hu_ii galate huye naasuuro.n se
lauT jaatii hai udhar ko bhii nazar kyaa kiije
ab bhii dil_kash hai teraa husn maGar kyaa kiije
aur bhii dukh hai.n zamaane me.n mohabbat ke sivaa
raahate.n aur bhii hai.n vasl kii raahat ke sivaa
mujh se pahalii sii mohabbat merii mahabuub na maa.Ng
[daraKhshaa.N : shining; hayaat = life]
[Gam-e-dahar = sorrows of the world; aalam = world]
[sabaat = permanence; niguu.N = bow/subservient]
[faqat = merely; vasl = union/meeting; taariik = dark]
[bahiimaanaa = dreadful; talism = magic]
[resham = silk; atalas = satin; kam_Khvaab = brocade]
[jaa-ba-jaa = hither-thither; litha.De = covered/soaked in]
[amaraaz = diseases; tannuuro.n = ovens; piip = pus]
[naasuur = ulcer/a wound that won't heal; dil_kash = heart-warming]
Thursday, July 26, 2007
rahen na rahen hum...mehka karenge...
veena, someone who signs her name with a prominent towering V, a practising psychologist who worked for a suicide helpline, someone who seems to have gathered her thoughts very early in life.. someone i have never met, will never meet, someone who has touched the lives of some of the most genuine people i know, someone who died like many many thousands in a mishap ten years ago...
for veena, her friends have started Vee foundation, which will try to make a difference in its own way... a thought which has crystalised over two years to do something, which would have made veena proud... Vee foundation has collected rs.50 from some people... the total will add up to a moderate amount.. the idea is to fund a child's education, to start with...
there are no strategies, agendas, promises... but everyone will try in their own way to make this into a creative, sensitive, productive endeavour... kyunki koshish hi kamyaab hoti hai.. vaade aksar toot jate hain.. koshish hi kaamyaab hoti hai... as diaphanous would quote from some gulzar, i suppose..
i have only interacted with some of her friends and heard about her once in a while... i dont know her but sometimes i feel i do know her... and many times i feel i don't really need to know her... coz i have seen how she is thought of, remembered, missed... like memory of that beautiful shower in july as u turn your old diaries and see those dried drops... it's not the dried drops u see, its the gush that fills up your heart.. it's not the absence we painfully live with, it's the presence we celebrate...
rahen na rahen hum...
mehka karenge...
banke kali, banke sama
baag-e-wafa mein...
jab hum na honge aur hamari khaak pe tum rukoge
chalte chalte...
ashkonse bhigi chandni mein..
ek sadasi sunoge...
chalte chalte...
wahin pe kahin, wahin pe kahin...
tumse milenge...
banke kali... banke sama, baag-e-wafa mein...
for veena, her friends have started Vee foundation, which will try to make a difference in its own way... a thought which has crystalised over two years to do something, which would have made veena proud... Vee foundation has collected rs.50 from some people... the total will add up to a moderate amount.. the idea is to fund a child's education, to start with...
there are no strategies, agendas, promises... but everyone will try in their own way to make this into a creative, sensitive, productive endeavour... kyunki koshish hi kamyaab hoti hai.. vaade aksar toot jate hain.. koshish hi kaamyaab hoti hai... as diaphanous would quote from some gulzar, i suppose..
i have only interacted with some of her friends and heard about her once in a while... i dont know her but sometimes i feel i do know her... and many times i feel i don't really need to know her... coz i have seen how she is thought of, remembered, missed... like memory of that beautiful shower in july as u turn your old diaries and see those dried drops... it's not the dried drops u see, its the gush that fills up your heart.. it's not the absence we painfully live with, it's the presence we celebrate...
rahen na rahen hum...
mehka karenge...
banke kali, banke sama
baag-e-wafa mein...
jab hum na honge aur hamari khaak pe tum rukoge
chalte chalte...
ashkonse bhigi chandni mein..
ek sadasi sunoge...
chalte chalte...
wahin pe kahin, wahin pe kahin...
tumse milenge...
banke kali... banke sama, baag-e-wafa mein...
Thursday, July 19, 2007
kyuu.N hame.n maut ke paiGaam diye jaate hai.n
been covering the 1993 blasts judgment. since yesterday there have been six death sentences. the moment judge announced first death sentence, television reporters ran, rushed, scurried to "break the news." anyway. death sentence. for some people who planted vehicle bombs which killed 257 and injured 700 on march 12 1993. it has been 14 years. then there were interviews of victims families saying whether justice has been done now or not. justice? really?
if my dad is killed in a blast should i wait for somebody else's father to be killed? will it be as simple as that? then do i wish death for every reckless driver who mows down people. every careless person who sells contaminated milk from which little children die? every country liquor maker who is responsible for several hooch tragedies? death for every irresponsible, insensitive, angry action or reaction. death sentence. really?
hindu muslim divide. animosity of over 60 years. politically driven riots, attacks, demolitions, combing operations, shri krishna commission, interrogations, innocent deaths, not so innocent deaths,divide, hindu muslim, dalit brahmin, marathi non marathi, poverty, reaction, action, mob psychology, minority, majority, left leaning, right wingers, socialists, human rights, pending love stories, patient wait, impatient outbursts, 14 years, seven more blasts, hundreds more killed, many more trials, interrogations, acquittals, custodial death, national security, encounters, press conferences, chargesheets, probation applications, mercy petitions, exposes, scoops, defamation, allah, bhagwan, god, daughters, jobs, smuggling, changing times, not so changing times, fresh blood, stale tears, friendly cops, not so friendly cops, pakistan, ISI, LeT, Al Qaida, VHP, Sena, RSS, Bajrang Dal, prime conspirators, masterminds, petitioners, convicted, accused, suspects, people, human beings, all of them, victims and convicted and spectators, all of them, citizens of free india, really?
endless interactions with the these guys over several years makes everything more confusing. can a system forgive someone who commits a "heinous crime" but will not in future? can someone in power ensure that such circumstances do not arise that easily - be it security, intelligence or pure harmony?
in the world of grey and more grey, a stark, sure, confident, finite, death sentence. really?
kyuu.N hame.n maut ke paiGaam diye jaate hai.n
shamim jaipuri
kyuu.N hame.n maut ke paiGaam diye jaate hai.n
ye sazaa kam hai ke jiye jaate hai.n
nashaa dono.n me.n hai saaqii mujhe Gam de yaa sharaab
mai bhii pii jaatii hai aa.Nsuu bhii piye jaate hai.n
ek tuu hai ke hamaarii nahii.n tujh ko parvaa
ek ham hai.n ke teraa naam liye jaate hai.n
zindagii apanii kashaakash me.n guzaratii hai "Shamim"
jii nahii.n chaahataa jiine ko jiye jaate hai.n
[kashaakash = struggle]
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
shaayad abhii hai raakh me.n ko_ii sharaar bhii
one of those absolutely ordinary days... usual "to-do" on agenda, usual delays, usual dash of rain while getting into an auto, usual musings and more dozings (that's my latest contribution to this lovely phirang language!), usual honking and usual actually-looking-at-nothing-wait at the station road in bandra... until a flash of purple from a "nothing-new-about-it"grey and brown, a purple coffin in the making...
i have never really noticed this little undertakes shop which sits between hardware, eateries, electricians, this and that.. i still dont know what the other shops are... i don't know if this shop makes coffins regularly and in the colours that i saw... or was it this death, this coffin, this moment...
against a drip drip of bored rain, against a khit khit of weary crowd, against a grey and brown of hectic helpless dragging of time, some death seemed so purple-pink-violet, so colourful, so hopeful and yes, so full of life...
as my auto zoomed past that turn and as the adventurous pothole dash brought me back to the bored rain, weary crowd and dreary brown, the guys were busy getting the purple coffin ready... i quizzed a watery tear and a half choke if heaven is supposed to be starry pure bleach whie or purple-pink-violet... may this soul rest in peace...
i have never really noticed this little undertakes shop which sits between hardware, eateries, electricians, this and that.. i still dont know what the other shops are... i don't know if this shop makes coffins regularly and in the colours that i saw... or was it this death, this coffin, this moment...
against a drip drip of bored rain, against a khit khit of weary crowd, against a grey and brown of hectic helpless dragging of time, some death seemed so purple-pink-violet, so colourful, so hopeful and yes, so full of life...
as my auto zoomed past that turn and as the adventurous pothole dash brought me back to the bored rain, weary crowd and dreary brown, the guys were busy getting the purple coffin ready... i quizzed a watery tear and a half choke if heaven is supposed to be starry pure bleach whie or purple-pink-violet... may this soul rest in peace...
shaayad abhii hai raakh me.n ko_ii sharaar bhii
ada jafri
shaayad abhii hai raakh me.n ko_ii sharaar bhii
kyo.n varnaa intazaar bhii hai iztiraar bhii
[sharaar = spark; iztiraar = restlessness]
dhyaan aa gayaa hai marg-e-dil-e-naamuraad kaa
milane ko mil gayaa hai sukuu.N bhii qaraar bhii
[marg-e-dil-e-naamuraad = death of an unsuccessful/unlucky heart]
ab Dhuu.NDhane chale ho musaafir ko dosto
hadd-e-nigaah tak na rahaa jab Gubaar bhii
[hadd-e-nigaah = (to the) limits of one's vision]
har aastaa.N pe naasiyaa_farsaa hai.n aaj vo
jo kal na kar sake the teraa intazaar bhii
[aastaa.N = threshold; naasiyaa_farsaa = one who rubs his forehead]
[ik raah ruk ga_ii to ThiThak kyo.n ga_ii 'Ada'
aabaad bastiyaa.N hai.n pahaa.Do.n ke paar bhii
kyo.n varnaa intazaar bhii hai iztiraar bhii
[sharaar = spark; iztiraar = restlessness]
dhyaan aa gayaa hai marg-e-dil-e-naamuraad kaa
milane ko mil gayaa hai sukuu.N bhii qaraar bhii
[marg-e-dil-e-naamuraad = death of an unsuccessful/unlucky heart]
ab Dhuu.NDhane chale ho musaafir ko dosto
hadd-e-nigaah tak na rahaa jab Gubaar bhii
[hadd-e-nigaah = (to the) limits of one's vision]
har aastaa.N pe naasiyaa_farsaa hai.n aaj vo
jo kal na kar sake the teraa intazaar bhii
[aastaa.N = threshold; naasiyaa_farsaa = one who rubs his forehead]
[ik raah ruk ga_ii to ThiThak kyo.n ga_ii 'Ada'
aabaad bastiyaa.N hai.n pahaa.Do.n ke paar bhii
Saturday, June 23, 2007
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...
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...
Friday, April 20, 2007
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?
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]
Monday, January 08, 2007
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
Sunday, December 10, 2006
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]
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]
Sunday, November 19, 2006
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
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
Monday, August 14, 2006
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
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
Saturday, July 29, 2006
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
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 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
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