ghar thaklele sanyasi...

Almost 10 years ago, I met Grace for the first time in my life at a television show. It was one of my first culture assignments and luckily my reading of his poetry in college years saved the day. “You media people write anything at all,” he started in his signature eccentric genius style. After 5 minutes of my attempting a semblance of a sensible conversation he said, “Write to me sometime.” Although that brief interaction was instantly lost in the glitzy event, I dared to write my first fan mail to him in 2003 when I was studying in London.
I never expected a reply but waited for one nonetheless. And a few weeks
later there it was. In his Calligraphic handwriting, not once mocking my utterly gushy letter, he wrote to me about himself and asked me to preserve the craziness and sensitivity. The London winter was over for me!
But he was not a believer in happiness or excitement. An extremely sensitive human being, he depicted various emotions and states: love, pain, and death with extraordinary detail using powerful imagery – sometimes he reminded me of Sylvia Plath, sometimes his metaphors seemed to match Gulzar’s earlier poetry. “When I find that my flower is dying for dew, I at once cut the throat of my flower and release the dew,” he wrote in a letter to me. One never claimed to understand his poems but loved them anyway. However, when Hridaynath Mangeshkar wove his poetry into beautiful compositions and songs from film Nivdung, they reached every Marathi household.
Sometimes he called himself “an ancient man belonging to modern times,” asked me what was special about 31st December and wrote “I sit huddled close to myself holding on to my bones.” But he was also the same man who wrote about the rains in the most mystical and beautiful way.
Even after I had moved back to Delhi, we continued to exchange letters. I believe he made time for many readers like me, despite his need for solitude. Our interaction broke abruptly when he wrote to me once saying he was depressed and was going to be silent. I lost touch for a few months. Then I mustered enough courage and called him to see how he was and he sounded most cheerful and said “Prachitai, where did you disappear? ”
Every time he wrote about his travels, he sent newspaper cuttings about the programmes, his books, articles, and he always mentioned returning back to his Nagpur home, Panthaviram, “a green lonely solitude.” At some point we stopped writing. I still have a letter, which I wrote in 2008 but never posted.
I met him last month at the Dinanath Mangeshkar Hospital, where he had been undergoing cancer treatment for many months. The hospital room was full of his pictures, awards and a study table. “I want to go home but everyone insists I will be better looked after here.” I asked him if we could resume writing to each other. He said, “Yeah life goes on. Stay in touch.”
He died at dinanath mangeshkar hospital this morning.



paus
paus
devalajawalcha
parajawalcha
paus.
parapalidkadcha
paus
sarva.
paus
rastorasti
rastyacha palidkadcha
paus
rastyat
sarva kalokhat
vastyat
paus
dolyat
sarva.

chale chalo ki wo ma.nzil abhii nahii.n aaii

On 16th august, if you watched TV news it seemed as if whole of india was up in arms against corruption and with anna hazare in his fight for lokpal bill. of course the spontaneous response seems very heartening, but i was wondering if it was city driven, if it was without required depth for a real movement, if it would matter after a few days to the same people protesting at Azad Maidan and every other azad maidan of other cities? and was it premature to call this the second freedom struggle and anna hazare, the second gandhi? or is it just a reflection of our times, of us? the entire facebook twitter campaign for a bill - that ideally needs to be debated among the elected representatives of those who mostly pay their way through most agencies to save time and avoid tedious procedures and of those who have no access to any such thing in rural areas... is it not a mirror to the way we have become, slightly shallow, mostly ill-informed, adequately indifferent and courageous in occasional spurts. the government we have, the movement that is on, the country we live in, the pot holes we stuble into, the girls we kill in wombs, the jobs we get and the salaries we don't, the climate change, the floods, the droughts, the loans, the scams, the double digit growth coupled with double digit inflation, the families, the illnesses, the stress, the security and the lack of it - all of it - isn't all this a reflection and outcome of what we have been for the last 64 years? what next?

Subh-e-aazaadii
ye daaG daaG ujaalaa, ye shab_gaziidaa sahar
Faiz Ahmed Faiz
ye daaG daaG ujaalaa, ye shab_gaziidaa sahar
wo intazaar thaa jis kaa, ye wo sahar to nahii.n
ye wo sahar to nahii.n jis kii aarazuu lekar
chale the yaar ki mil jaayegii kahii.n na kahii.n
falak ke dasht me.n taro.n kii aaKharii ma.nzil
kahii.n to hogaa shab-e-sust mauj kaa saahil
kahii.n to jaa ke rukegaa safinaa-e-Gam-e-dil
jawaa.N lahuu kii pur-asaraar shaaharaaho.n se
chale jo yaar to daaman pe kitane haath pa.De
dayaar-e-husn kii be-sabr Khwaab-gaaho.n se
pukaratii rahii.n baahe.n, badan bulaate rahe
bahut aziiz thii lekin ruKh-e-sahar kii lagan
bahut qarii.n thaa hasiinaan-e-nuur kaa daaman
subuk subuk thii tamannaa, dabii dabii thii thakan

sunaa hai ho bhii chukaa hai firaq-e-zulmat-e-nuur
sunaa hai ho bhii chukaa hai wisaal-e-ma.nzil-o-gaam
badal chukaa hai bahut ahl-e-dard kaa dastuur
nishaat-e-wasl halaal-o-azaab-e-hijr-e-haraam
jigar kii aag, nazar kii uma.ng, dil kii jalan
kisii pe chaaraa-e-hijraa.N kaa kuchh asar hii nahii.n
kahaa.N se aaii nigaar-e-sabaa, kidhar ko gaii
abhii chiraaG-e-sar-e-rah ko kuchh Khabar hii nahii.n
abhii garaani-e-shab me.n kamii nahii.n aaii
najaat-e-diida-o-dil kii gha.Dii nahii.n aaii
chale chalo ki wo ma.nzil abhii nahii.n aaii
August 1947

bol ki jaa.N ab tak terii hai

hundreds of journalists in mumbai will have several anecdotes to narrate about j dey. the point of this post is not to add to that.

j dey was killed on saturday afternoon by unknown assailants who pumped bullets in his body at close range. journalists gathered at his house, for the funeral and for the protest march. i am not sure if there was agreement on what we demanded but we asked for independent enquiry (by cbi?) and special law for protection of journalists.

i agree that investigation in dey's murder has to be prompt and honest. i wonder if that is really possible - since he was supposedly exploring political-police-mafia nexus in many of his stories.

apparently some officers tried to put a doubt that dey was on the wrong side of a deal, or was working on something not exactly bonafide. that's not on. whatever editorial and personal differences anyone might have had with him, it's just not acceptable that someone can now use this to explain (and justify?) the murder. if this is how people think, how will they implement a law to protect journalists who sniff and snoop around for hours to get one nugget of a story?

also what exactly will a special law do to protect journalists? and how will it determine who is a bonafide journalist in need of protection? if someone attacks and threatens a journalist as opposed to a civilian, should there be more stringent action? we need to think.

journalists who are working on special investigations are extremely secretive, even with their families, they would not want a cop to shadow or safeguard them while they are with sources. and the others don't need any protection for doing their daily job, including covering press confenrences and other controversial but not-so-dangerous(to anybody - us, government, people etc etc) issues.

what strikes me is the confidence of the conspiracy and execution. someone around us thinks that he/she/they can get away after killing a senior journalist of the city. if lawyer shahid azmi's murder is any indication, what we will get - at the most - is arrest of a few shooters/contract killers and some links to some gangs.

that is not enough. but then we have been made to accept this time and again. and some where most journalists have stopped doggedly following, campaigning, not relenting. readers also forget. politicians move on to other things before you can say move on.

on saturday i felt that perhaps noone would have the sources to investigate this murder thoroughly and have the courage to take this to its logical end (which means getting the master mind, but then when have we ever got the mastermind, let alone punish them?) through reporting, following up and putting pressure on the system through all media.

i dont know what will happen to this case. but may be it will shake us enough and remind us of our duties as members of fourth estate. naive, activist-ish and idealistic as it may sound, we (like someother professions, teachers, doctors, public servants, politicians, lawyers?) have to take our jobs as important social responsibilities. impartial dessimination of information. getting to the bottom of a story. having all versions and angles. understanding past factors of a case and future implications on the poorest and the vulnerable.

may be his killing reminds us that we cannot let this happen to our society, our city, our country. even if we cannot be investigative journalists, we can be honest, hard working and conscientious citizens who do their duties, which includes asking questions, voting, avoiding any short cuts and not getting used to crap.

dey may have been slightly uncomfortable with all the display of emotion and anger - no matter how genuine and heartfelt - at this cold-blooded, brazen murder. he perhaps would have liked a cracker of an investigation.

Hum Dekhenge
- Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Hum dekhenge
Lazim hai ke hum bhi dekhenge
Woh din ke jis ka waada hai
Jo loh-e-azl pe likha hai
Hum dekhenge

Jab zulm-o-sitam ke koh-e-garaan
Rui ki tarah ud jayenge
Hum mehkumoon ke paun tale
Yeh dharti dhad dhad dhadkagi
Aur ehl-e-hukum ke sar upar
Jab bijli kad kad kadkegi
Hum dekhenge

Jab arz-e-khuda ke Kabe se
Sab but uthwaye jayenge
Hum ahl-e-safa mardood-e-haram
Masnad pe bithaye jayenge
Sab taaj uchale jayenge
Sab takht giraye jayenge

Bas naam rahega Allah ka
Jo ghayab bhi hai hazir bhi
Jo nazir bhi hai manzar bhi
Uthega analhaq ka naara
Jo main bhi hoon aur tum bhi ho
Aur raaj karegi khalq-e-khuda
Jo main bhi hoon aur tum bhi ho

Hum dekhenge
Lazim hai ke hum bhi dekhenge
Hum dekhenge

har baat yahaa.N baat ba.Dhaane ke liye hai

since the festival which celebrates "talking" and "kite flying" (hmmm, wonder if the wise old men saw any connection there!) is here, let's talk about talking.

conversation, life talks, faltu gappa, chakatya, communication, discussions, bragging, name dropping, debates, arguments, confiding, sharing, fighting, telling, informing - so many shades of the same essential act. * am not going to talk about public speech like parliament et al. it's only about us in our little spheres.

then there is element, rather important, of who we are talking to - family, friends among family members, friends, family among friends, colleagues (seniors/juniors), acquaintaces, known strangers and absolute strangers.

and then comes how we do this - face to face, telephone, mobiles, letters, msgs, mails, tweets, so on...

where we engage? in train, taxis, homes, lying in bed, over girls' pyjama parties with lotsa chips, over a perfect drink, by the sea, under one umbrella with your best friend wading through water, over cutting chai, over strong brewed house coffee, which watching a scary, boring, masala movie,.

i have had some great conversations with strangers, on the train, buses, drunken parties - sometimes personal, sometimes poetic... lovely. sometimes i have lost the courage, conviction and confidence in carrying on conversations with some close friends over a period of time, sometimes i have gained it rather slowly. sometimes i share most personal stuff with strangers and keep most important thoughts from my closest friends. girl pals - take a bow, you have been a godsend at all times in life!

sometimes it is only about the beauty of the language, the sound of those words - sometimes it is about the thought (or point!) and not how it is said. sometimes hard facts - jobs, deaths, marriages, birth, death, travel itinery - each one resulting in numerous conversations at all levels with all possible people mentioned above!

it's increasingly becoming hard to be spontaneous, volatile, straightforward, emotional, upfront, frank, silly, stupid... as we grow older we acquire skills (how to say no when you want to say yes or some such gibberish!) - perhaps at the cost natural instinct (to avoid conflict, to not to sound naive and hence silly, to not to sound inexperienced and immature)?

is it really worth it? people are far more evocative on facebook and far less engaging in real - is it true? or am i missing out on keeping with the times? is this how it will be? can we talk about it? over a cup of coffee and til gul and in real?

am a gullible customer and i quote from an old mobile phone ad - today is the day for "JUST TALK" (remember orange ad before it went on to become hutch, vodafone blah blah). til gul ghya aani gode gode bola - take til ka laddoo and say sweet sweet things. Happy Makar Sakranti! (though one can limit kite flying to actual kite flying and not do it while conversing?)

har baat yahaa.N baat ba.Dhaane ke liye hai

har baat yahaa.N baat ba.Dhaane ke liye hai
ye umr jo dhokaa hai to khaane ke liye hai

ye daaman-e-hasarat hai vahii Khvaab-e-gurezaa.N
jo apane liye hai na zamaane ke liye hai

[gurezaa.N = fleeing]

utare hue chehare me.n shikaayat hai kisii kii
ruuThii hu_ii rangat hai manaane ke liye hai

Gaafil terii aa.Nkho.n kaa muqaddar hai andheraa
ye farsh to raaho.n me.n bichhaane ke liye hai

[Gaafil = careless/unaware]

ghabaraa na sitam se na karam se na adaa se
har mo.D yahaa.N raah dikhaane ke liye hai

such a long journey...

posting a translation of my recent article in maharashtra times on the issue of "such a long journey" being dropped from university syllabus.

I didn't want to add to the recent debate about the way in which Rohinton Mistry's Such A Long Journey was taken off the University of Mumbai's BA (English Literature) syllabus. It's an extremely important issue and I'm not an expert. But I am a student of literature, and as such, I feel compelled to write. I started feeling the pinch of this ban as I remembered how my course books opened up a whole new world for me.

I completed my graduation in English literature from St.Xavier’s college and those were some of the best years of my student life – where knowledge, thought processes, emotions, opinions were adequately tested. I read whatever I could. Liked some, understood some, agreed with a few and forgot a lot of it as well.

Thousands of students study this course every year. Depending on their nature, personality, and preferences, they accept or plainly discard opinions of writers, political leaders, parents and friends. What I cannot fathom is what one hopes to achieve by prohibiting the students from reading any critical or satirical or disapproving fiction/non-fiction about a political party? (What the book says about the Shiv Sena and the Congress is a matter of another debate altogether. Let’s not go that way!)

Literature, poetry, books are an experience. Each book will takes you to a different world. Be it post-war literature, Wilfred Owen’s “pity of war”, Shakepeare’s magic, George Orwell’s 1984, R K Narayan’s Guide, Vikram Seth’s The Golden Gate, or Amitav Ghosh’s Shadow Lines. At the same time there is Dalit Literature, Vijay Tendulkar, Jaywant Dalvi, G A Kulkarni, Pu La Deshpande, Meghna Pethe, poetry by Grace – and that’s just to name a few.

When I first met Franz Kafka, Samuel Beckett, Albert Camus, I could not sleep. I got nightmares about T S Eliot’s The Wasteland. In the hostel, we used to discuss a particular character, poem, historical and the sociological context of books for hours. These books gently transported me to a world where I did not come from, made me familiar with human emotions and conditions I wasn’t acquainted with.

These writers expressed their views – through journalistic writing, fiction, poetry. They criticised and took sides. They held a mirror to a very beautiful as well as miserable side of human life. I started to get involved because it was part of the university syllabus.

If my well-educated and cultured parents gave me the freedom to read whatever the hell I wanted as an adolescent – which is when I discovered powerful and controversial Dalvi, G A and Tendulkar – why won’t 18, 19 year olds not get/understand the meaning, implications and experience of Such a Long Journey? If these students can elect a government, get married, then won’t they understand what a certain book is trying to say? Why won’t they?

When I read Such A Long Journey, what I felt mostly vividly was the Bombay or Mumbai of 1971 – which I had never known, and I met in this book.When I read how Gustad stays up all night because of mosquitoes I (have mosquitoes ever tortured you all night?), I could not help laughing. The book deals with human nature, relationships through Sohrab’s restlessness, Dilnawaz’s love for children, understanding – it brings alive the Parsi way of life, the common man’s struggles and sorrows so vividly that the book becomes an experience. Not just a beautiful one but an essential one, I’d say. And please allow me to decide what I should take away from this book.

I don’t think that the Sena will gain or lose any members or supporters by banning this book. However, many students who would have read it only because it was on the syllabus will miss out.

To form political opinions, to believe in an ideology, one must read and read a lot. Not just about the ideology you incline towards but also every dissenting voice. The University syllabus only emphasises gaining maximum knowledge. How one uses it and applies it and is up to the individual. And the repercussions too are for him/her to deal with.

As it is, it has become hard for students to read – television, internet, mobile, games, ipad, ipod, career, future, entrance exams, summer internships and much more conspire against it. Should one encourage students to read with all these distractions or push them to drop a book after a controversy? This is worsening an already messy situation.

Eliot said that the human being’s first 20 years are the most important. The rest of your life takes its course depending on the experiences of those first 20 years. Implying the impact of bitter-sweet memories and experiences of childhood and adolescence are pretty much permanent, at least long-lasting. If that’s true, shouldn’t we all live our lives to the fullest? In that case why are we giving the students a pungent memory instead of a fulfilling one?

I have seen people traverse the trajectory of Sena, BJP, Congress, Communists, anyone who does repairs the roads, or the other way round. So how many books will you ban? Anyway, the issue is not about politics but about education. We, the lesser mortals, can confusingly oscillate between two truths - knowledge is power and ignorance is bliss. But not The University of Mumbai!

It is important to respect the student. It is every student’s right to gain maximum knowledge and quality education, become a better person through studies. And it is the duty and responsibility of our education system. So the decision and choice must rest with teachers and students.

http://maharashtratimes.indiatimes.com/articleshow/6800555.cms

Bol bol ki lab aazaad hai.n tere

Faiz Ahmed Faiz

bol ki lab aazaad hai.n tere

bol zabaa.N ab tak terii hai

teraa sutawaa.N jism hai teraa

bol ki jaa.N ab tak terii hai

dekh ke aaha.ngar kii dukaa.N me.n

tu.nd hai.n shole surKh hai aahan

khulane lage quffalo.n ke dahaane

phailaa har ek zanjiir kaa daaman

bol ye tho.Daa waqt bahot hai

jism-o-zabaa.N kii maut se pahale

bol ki sach zi.ndaa hai ab tak

bol jo kuchh kahane hai kah le
[sutawaa.N=well built; aaha.ngar=blacksmith; tu.nd=sharp (here it means bright);] [aahan=iron; quffalo.n ke dahaane=keyhole]

baarish hu_ii to phuulo.n ke tan chaak ho gaye

this time of the year gets a sure shot happy post from me. it rains and once again it is the answer to most of my varied questions - deep (what is inspiration, love, life, happiness, sorrow...), shallow (why is it so hot, why is everyone cranky?), tough-to-figure (where is life headed), easy-to-crack (whether to get wet or not, to go to marine drive or not)...

while returning (rather rushing - fears of being stranded as tracks submerge are something only people who have lived beyond thane understand) from dombivli as it poured mindlessly, i guarded my documents but didn't mind one bit that i was drenched. my train zipped nicely, the landscape looked lovely at 7 pm between dombivli and thane, and as i walked on the skywalk (oh, am all for skywalks after yesterday!) in bandra, listening to phone-music, watching wet roads in orange-yellow street lights, it felt just right. and it wasn't only me. as i smiled to myself, i caught many others doing the same. the season of rejuvenation and chaotic happiness is back - huge waves, squeaky green green trees and souls, upturned umbrellas and randomly answered life-questions, conversations with strangers, nights spent listening to downpour, birds fluttering in the most beautifully vulnerable way, all this and more... the rains are back...

baarish hu_ii to phuulo.n ke tan chaak ho gaye

parveen shakir

baarish hu_ii to phuulo.n ke tan chaak ho gaye
mausam ke haath bhiig ke saffaak ho gaye
[chaak = torn; saffaak = cruel]
baadal ko kyaa Khabar ki baarish kii chaah me.n
kitane buland-o-baalaa shajar Khaak ho gaye
[buland-o-baalaa = high and low; shajar = tree]
juganuu ko din ke vaqt paka.Dane kii zid kare.n
bachche hamaare ahad ke chaalaak ho gaye
[ahad = times]
laharaa rahii hai barf kii chaadar haTaa ke ghaas
suuraj kii shah pe tinake bhii bebaak ho gaye
suuraj dimaaG log bhii iblaaG-e-fikr me.n
zulf-e-shab-e-firaaq ke pechaak ho gaye
jab bhii Gariib-e-shahar se kuchh guftaguu hu_ii
lahaje havaa-e-shaam ke nam_naak ho gaye
saahil pe jitane aab_guziidaa the sab ke sab
dariyaa ke ruKh badalate hii tairaak ho gaye
[aab_guziidaa = scared of water; tairaak = swimmers]

motherhood and the back up plan

saw this movie called the back up plan. had gone to see it with super excitement coz very very recently i had discussed a similar Plan-B idea with my close friends! the movie is a huge disappointment. disappointing enough for me rant and rave on this blog.

it either could have been a serious film about how 30 something single women (still waiting for mr. right) deal with a very real hope and wish to raise a kid or a real funny movie with what happens when you meet your mr.right after getting pregnant with a donor sperm.

this was neither. i can't write funny so i will skip suggesting humour options.

all i was wondering was, when does one make the transition from memories of childhood and "my mommy stories" to actually wanting to become a mommy? from "i-can't-handle-even-other-people's-cute-kids" to "if-i don't-find-guy-i-will adopt" - those are two different places altogether. and there are many like me, who have been to both these.

here is to motherhood. single, double, adopted, inseminated, planned, unplanned, traditional, modern, ultra-modern - for our fabulous moms and the mommy that you are or will be.

maa.N

Nida Fazli

besan kii so.ndhii roTii par

khaTTii chaTanii jaisii maa.N

yaad aatii hai chaukaa-baasan

chimaTaa phukanii jaisii maa.N

baa.Ns kii khurrii khaaT

ke uupar har aahaT par

kaan dhare aadhii so_ii aadhii jaagii

thakii dopaharii jaisii maa.N

chi.Diyo.n ke chahakaar me.n gu.Nje

raadhaa-mohan alii-alii

murGe kii aavaaz se khulatii

ghar kii ku.nDii jaisii maa.N

bivii, beTii, bahan, pa.Dosan

tho.Dii tho.Dii sii sab me.n

din bhar ik rassii ke uupar

chalatii naTanii jaisii maa.N

baa.NT ke apanaa cheharaa, maathaa,

aa.Nkhe.n jaane kahaa.N ga_ii

phaTe puuraane ik alabam me.n

cha.nchal la.Dakii jaisii maa.N

kaun kahataa hai ke maut aa_ii to mar jaa_uu.Ngaa

26/11 – not 24/7 anymore

Something which started with reports of gangwar on 26th November 2008 has finally gotten over today. For now.

I remember reaching st. george hospital to see a pile of bodies at about 530 am on November 27th. Next few days are a blur with some sharp memories.

… Dead bodies, relatives of victims trying to get into hospitals, fumes and smoke at the Tajmahal palace hotel, broken glass window at the Oberoi…

… relief and shock on faces of rescued people, funeral of Hemant Karkare, constables crying in his memory, rumours of gunmen roaming in the city,

… fishermen cursing themselves for not stopping these 10 gunmen, bullet marks at Leopold, endless waiting sessions at the crime branch for getting information on Qasab…

… goof ups by politicians – union home minister, chief minister, deputy chief minister, all resigned. Yes!

… peace march with millions of citizens actually stepping out spontaneously and Elections with not so many stepping out that spontaneously.

As usual after any major tragedy, media shifts its attention to investigation. All of a sudden it was about sim cards, jackets, boats, GPS, AK-47, grenades, CCTV footage this conspiracy and that mastermind.

There were questions about his nationality, Pakistan not owning him, and so on. A news report came from his native village in Faridkot in Pakistan. “We told you so” was what all of us felt in India.

Then came Qasab’s confession, and the video recording of it. Everyone got to know the “real story” – of Pakistan training, sea travel, college ids, guns, grenades, bombs etc.

Next was media’s first brush with Qasab during his custody extension on video conferencing. Then came lawyers, violent protests, statements, protests, starting of the trial?

We made our prized possessions – security id cards with tons of police verification et al, so that we could enter the high security court on Arthur road jail premises. There were stories about how it is bullet proof, special tunnel that connects court and Qasab’s solitary confinement barrack, special ITBP force was protecting it round the clock.

Finally it started exactly a year ago, with Qasab pleading not guilty. He had retracted his confession already.

All of us had covered 1993 serial blasts trial in the same court. Memories of the trial that went on for fourteen years came to rattle us for a while, for a short while.

Soon we got engrossed with riveting and evocative eye witness accounts, soon we got used to people pointing out to Qasab as “butka” and his accomplice’s photo as “lambu.” Qasab too seemed to enjoy it at best, and not mind it at worst.

In July came his confession – again. He asked the judge to hang him. He narrated the same sequence of events – all the way from him leaving his house till he was caught.

I could never decide whether this 21-year-old catch we had, was mischievous, misguided, military-trained, mad, naïve, innocent, repentant, cruel, anti-India, poverty-stricken, and on a road of no return. Or just a pawn in a much larger scheme of things of international politics, violence of several decades and a sticky Kashmir problem that is far from a solution.

Some of this or all of it? And some more?

Wherever I went people asked me two questions, “Did you actually see Qasab?” and “why has he not been hanged yet?”

When I used to say he is as short as I was (which is very short) and looked like just another boy, we all agreed to be astonished about his capacity to kill people the way he did. “How could he? See what he did and how? These people I tell you, they deserve no mercy!” Fair trial, anyone?

Some 296 witnesses were examined in record time, everyone worked to their optimum. Any resistance to speedy process was taken as “non-cooperation” – Qasab’s lawyer was removed.

In the meanwhile, two Indians were arrested and faced the same trial, and have been acquitted. One of the lawyers, Shahid Azmi, was shot dead two months back. He was known to be really spunky and brave. We probably should have probed his death beyond police versions but we were busy tracking Qasab and everything about him. Everything about these two remained in the “in-the-meanwhile” compartment –just like now.

We saw the CCTV footage of hotels, CST station, pictures taken by photographers, heard the phone conversations between gunmen from different attacks sites to their handlers in Pakistan.

All of this was new, the kind of evidence, the speed, Qasab’s reactions ranging from funny, silly, annoying to solemn, quiet, bored, sleepy.

We also “celebrated” 26/11 anniversary. We went to meet victims, fishermen, hotel management, police officers, everyone. New memorials were installed, new police force was created, new marine security, new this new that. Media went beserk – to say the least.

I am not sure if victims feel good about this – yes they get a chance to express their grievances but don’t we do more than just that? Like why should some 8-year-old kid know and say that she wants Qasab to die? What are we even getting at?

Back to Arthur road jail court again. For me it was only - Every now and then. Soon it was time for final arguments, Nikam’s “fervent and humble” submissions.

Qasab’s somersault again. He claimed he was arrested 20 days before the attacks on Juhu chowpatty. We said he was back again with his “antics.” Then he grew quieter and quieter. Was he bored, tired, ill, fed up?

Should we care? Isn’t that what happens to millions of murderers who are caught anyway? Isn’t he only paying the price for his actions?

As the trial drew to a close, media’s voice got louder and stronger. Qasab’s trial is still much better than what we have covered before, simply because it ended before we gave up.

May be that’s why all this enthusiasm for death penalty. Everyone wanted death penalty for Qasab.

Among us we rarely debate about whether death penalty should exist. There is a general consensus that it should. I don’t believe in it but there is time and place for arguments and opinions – this trial is neither that place nor that time.

Some reporters were glad that the Indians were acquitted – more because it showed glaring flaws in careless police investigations. However, I also heard a reporter on radio saying “she” was personally disappointed because Faheem and Saba were acquitted. May be they were really innocent? But that’s still in-the-meanwhile.

One journalist felt sentencing him to life imprisonment is a worse punishment. So he should be given that. Some said we have spent enough money on his upkeep. So he should be hanged asap. All these thoughts are exchanged on the road outside court where we hang around endlessly/aimlessly before and during lunch breaks.

However, just after the conviction or sentencing was announced – when nearly 50 journalists ran, raced against each other and time – stumbling, tumbling over each other, shouting out guilty guilty guilty and making noose gesture before they could break the news to millions of viewers who were watching (I hope so) – there was no space for any conflicting complex thoughts. It was time for celebration.

Everyone was happy, even the ones who lost their loved ones are happy that Qasab is going to die. Or are they?

I know it is a good thing that the trial is over, conviction and sentence handed over to the culprit. I hope all trials are conducted this efficiently, this soon - whether it is acquittal or conviction.

Will it help us improving our relations with Pakistan, US, will it make India safer - I sincerely hope so.

As for Qasab – I am not sure what’s a worse punishment…For the life that he has had – as a poor confused child, misguided adolescent, aggressive indoctrinated militant, trained fidayeen, naively devout, arrested and kept in solitary confinement since his arrest, been called a dog, horse, wolf, snake, demon, devil’s agent, a killing machine. What’s worse - Continuing this kind of life or the end of it?

kaun kahataa hai ke maut aa_ii to mar jaa_uu.Ngaa

kaun kahataa hai ke maut aa_ii to mar jaa_uu.Ngaa
mai.n to dariyaa huu.N samandar me.n utar jaa_uu.Ngaa
teraa dar chho.D ke mai.n aur kidhar jaa_uu.Ngaa
ghar me.n ghir jaa_uu.Ngaa saharaa me.n bikhar jaa_uu.Ngaa
tere pahaluu se jo uThuu.Ngaa to mushkil ye hai
sirf ik shaKhs ko paa_uu.Ngaa jidhar jaa_uu.Ngaa
ab tere shahar me.n aa_uu.Ngaa musaafir kii tarah
saayaa-e-abr kii maanind guzar jaa_uu.Ngaa
teraa paimaan-e-vafaa raah kii diivaar banaa
varnaa sochaa thaa ke jab chaahuu.Ngaa mar jaa_uu.N gaa
chaaraasaazo.n se alag hai meraa mayaar ke mai.n
zaKhm khaa_uu.Ngaa to kuchh aur sa.Nvar jaa_uu.N gaa
ab to Khurshiid ko Duube hue sadiyaa.N guzarii.n
ab use Dhuu.NDhane mai.n taa-ba-sahar jaa_uu.Ngaa
zindagii shammaa kii maanind jalaataa huu.N 'Nadeem'
bujh to jaa_uu.Ngaa magar subah to kar jaa_uu.Ngaa

us ne kahaa sun

a year goes by, months, weeks, days, hours...

what will it take to return from habitual existance to life, from craft and skill to creativity, from missing poetry to feeling poetry, from thirst to rains, from acceptance of reality to dreams and hope...

wait cannot be endless or infinite... but why does it seem like it.. every minute, every hour, every week, every month, every year... hee hee... so with hope and some impatience, i wait for my return...

us ne kahaa sun

ahmed faraz

us ne kahaa sun
ahad nibhaane kii Khaatir mat aanaa
ahad nibhaanevaale aksar majabuurii yaa
mahajuurii kii thakan se lauTaa karate hai.n
tum jaao aur dariyaa dariyaa pyaas bujhaao
jin aa.Nkho.n me.n Duubo
jis dil me.n bhii utaro
merii talab aavaaz na degii
lekin jab merii chaahat aur merii Khvaahish kii lau
itanii tez aur itanii uu.Nchii ho jaaye
jab dil rode
tab lauT aanaa

its raining...

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...

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……

koii din gar zi.ndaganii aur hai

Mirza Ghalib

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 ]

baarahaa dekhii.n hai.n unakii ra.njishe.n

par kuchh ab ke sar_giraanii aur hai
[sar_giraanii=pride]

deke Khat muu.Nh dekhataa hai

naamaabar kuchh to paiGaam-e-zabaanii aur hai
[naamaabar=messenger]

qaataa-e-amaar hai aksar nujuum

vo balaa-e-aasamaanii aur hai
[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]

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...

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

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...

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

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...

ai Khudaa ret ke saharaa ko sama.ndar kar de

Shahid Meer

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

aa kisii din mere ehasaas ko paikar kar de
aur kuchh bhii mujhe darakaar nahii.n hai lekin

merii chaadar mere pairo.n ke baraabar kar de

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…

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

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?

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!

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...

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]

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...

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]