Hamid's Cauldron

Talking of souls

2012-02-09T14:50:00.003+05:30

Returned to Almora yesterday and was greeted by rain and chilly winds; it's as cold as it was when I left in very early January. But it's nice to be back as I've have got used to living in the hills; been here for the last 30 years. Today, the sun has come out and basking in the sun is always a pleasure here during the winters.

The last part of my stay was unpleasant because of the death of a close relative, who died quietly in his sleep at age 49. The usual rituals, stream of relatives, mourning, condolences, crying, consoling; but soon it will end and the widow would start her struggle for her and her children's survival, obviously on her own. Of course, the prayers and other rituals for the departed soul shall be performed for it is said that the entire administration of God through the angels is galvanized into action as soon the hapless victim of death is buried; his entire account is to be carefully scrutinized and punishments administered the descriptions of which are horrifying, to say the least, and are primarily meant to instill fear in the hearts of the believers to do good in this world and wait for the chaste 'hoors' in heaven to fulfil their fantasies, never mind if the fantasies are not chaste enough for the chaste hoors to handle! I wish some pornographic descriptions from there were available to sufficiently inspire us; this whole business of chastity and prescribed virtues doesn't somehow fit in matters carnal.

Talking of souls, a friend of mine once made this observation that the Hindu idea of reincarnation/transmigration of souls made more sense as one could do with a limited number of souls as compared to the Muslim idea of a soul for each person; wouldn't that make rather too many souls to handle and the space they would occupy a bit too much, he asked me. I told him that I wondered how much space a soul occupies and how much space is actually available for them; in any case, thinking about this is rather soul-killing. So, instead of thinking of souls and after-life, which are purely matters of belief, it would be a lot better if we concentrate on how much love and happiness we can give to others in this world, the genuine relationships we make and the time we are able to live authentically. Then we will live in the hearts of those we love and who love us; perhaps that's enough.

The Last Chance

2012-01-22T18:33:00.002+05:30

Tomorrow
I may just drift
watching the landscape pass me by
from behind the glass window
of a superfast train
afraid of the speed.

Tomorrow
sitting on a park bench
resigned, exhausted
I may watch the birds
flying, chirping, playing,
making love.

Tomorrow
when tears have dried up,
when pain does not remain,
and love only a memory,
we'll remember today--
the anger, laughter, agony,
depression, ecstasy, hurt;
and we'll long for the tears
the beauty of suffering
when unable to whip up
even a semblance of emotion
we will live
with the knowledge of having lost
the last chance of redemption.

Protecting God

2012-01-10T20:55:00.003+05:30

It's a common experience with many of us to be caught in a traffic jam because of a religious procession; but the worst part of it is that we can't utter a word lest it hurts somebody's religious sentiments. If you exhibit this audacity, strict reprimand awaits you; after all, you can't criticize the practices of religion, because there is every chance of it being in danger at the slightest provocation. The two major religions in our country, Hinduism and Islam, are most vulnerable to danger, esp. from each other, and the zealous followers of either will draw swords at the first available opportunity. If you belong to the same religion and object to such practices, be ready to be branded a decadent westernized person, who has forsaken his/her roots and is pushing society to the brink of chaos through sexual promiscuity; it seems that, according to them, all people in the west do is to fornicate and Indians only pray to the Almighty. It doesn't matter if somebody is ill or preparing for exams. or just wants peace; the loudspeakers will continue to blare past the 10p.m. deadline fixed by the Supreme Court or start very early in the morning, which is the best time to sleep for lesser mortals like me. A person would search in his pocket for the smallest coin available for a beggar, but will not hesitate in giving a hefty amount to a place of worship; after all it's for God, forget about God preferring only a pure heart and all that stuff. Well, religion is big business here, huge corporate houses, tax-free, in front of which all these Tatas and Ambanis look pale in comparison. And, they have taken it upon themselves to protect their religion and God, while we were all along under the impression that religion was there to provide enlightenment and salvation.

So, instead of God protecting us, we are protecting God.

Song

2012-01-01T13:01:00.003+05:30

With hope unjustified
wishes unrealizable
passion knocking
at the pores of our skins
we loved each other
'Fools rush in where angels fear to tread'.

The soft sound of rain
on the windowpane;
the symphony of our words
stirring the blood
colouring our vision,
we talked of love
'Fools rush in where angels fear to tread'.

But the inevitable separation left
dream-controlled hopes
reined-in passion
the echoes of words,
but still we love
'Fools rush in where angels fear to tread'.

A glimpse of you
just by chance
generated desire
catalysed dreams
to build castles in the air
'Fools rush in where angels fear to tread'.

Angels are made
for something else;
the reason-dominated for other ends
They are afraid
of whirlwinds, tempests
stormy winter nights
honey-soaked summer days
Love is the daring
of innocent fools
who spend their lives
on the music of echoes
'Fools rush in where angels fear to tread'.

P.S. I shall be away for a month from Almora and my broadband connection; so, regretfully and perforce circumstances, there may be lesser posts and lesser visits to the blogs I regularly visit. Can't help it; but shall be back in the first week of Feb.

Anna, BJP, Congress and a song.

2011-12-26T10:38:00.004+05:30

When I look back to 2011, what comes first to mind was Anna Hazare's fast for Lokpal Bill at Ramlila grounds; and after the initial euphoria subsided, one could see other things behind it: the image-building of another Gandhi(SPV had commented then that a clone cannot be the original) meditating at Bapu's samadhi with all the news channel cameras focussing on him, the political motives behind it all, the NGOs, the strategies to prevent this movement fading from public memory by organizing public meetings, protests and fasts and, of course, the realization that the Lokpal Bill will be just an addition to the existing plethora of laws and what is required is a change within rather than without. The current situation is that, barring a few exceptions, only those are not corrupt who haven't got an opportunity of becoming corrupt, as this has become an accepted way of life in our country; we could see that many politicians who were either corrupt or were itching to come to power to reap the benefits of corruption are with Anna so that if the Congress is out of power, they're in. Added to all this is Anna's support of Raj Thakeray's tirade against non- Marathis a couple of years back, which raises the suspicion that Anna is a regionalist in the garb of a nationalist; his recent statement that alcoholics should be publicly flogged seems to be inspired by the Taliban and his immediate reaction on the slapping of Sharad Pawar, "Bas ek hi maara?" is also a case in point. Is this Gandhian philosophy? As Gurudas Dasgupta of the CPI said in Parliament:There is only one father of the nation -- Mahatma Gandhi. Let no one pretend or let us not allow anybody pretend to be a single crusader against corruption". In fact, I became so disillusioned with Anna that I removed a post I wrote in his favour earlier, the only post I have removed till date from my blog.

Coming to politics, what is the alternative to the Congress? Let us examine the major opposition Party, the BJP: after Atal Bihari Vajpayee, it is facing a leadership crisis; Advani is not acceptable to the masses as has already been proved. The only leader in the BJP who has distinguished himself for doing development work is Narendra Modi who is, and shall continue to be, haunted by the ghosts of the Gujarat communal riots; added to this is the fact that other leaders within the BJP don't want him in New Delhi as he would sideline all those leaders who have Prime-Ministerial ambitions like Jaitley, Sushma Swaraj and the perennial PM-in-waiting, L.K.Advani, to mention only a few. Moreover, the BJP is presently a Party without moorings . It never even mentions, has rather dumped, its core issues: removal of Article 370 from J&K, Uniform Civil Code and Hindutva. The issue of Uniform Civil Code, mentioned in Article 44 of the Constitution of India, came to centrestage after the Shah Bano Case in the mid-80's and intellectuals saw in it an opportunity to make civil laws more rational as well as pro-women, instead of being based on religious dogma. Hindutva, I believe, means spiritualism and philosophy enshrined in scriptures like the Vedas and Bhagvadgita which are part of any Indian's mind, irrespective of his religion; the BJP has reduced it to mere rituals and dogma. This national party, instead of going to the masses with its own agenda and issues, is trying to ride to power on the crutches of Anna Hazare and Baba Ramdev, after dumping its core issues and agenda. With examples like Yeddyurappa, its claim as crusader against corruption sounds hollow. The Left is decimated after losing its bastion, West Bengal. So where is the alternative to the Congress, which, despite everything, has a controlling leadership in the form of the Nehru-Gandhi family and sensible people like Pranab Mukherjee and Manmohan Singh? I am writing this despite the fact that I have not been a Congress supporter since the Emergency excesses and the way it tried to please the hardliners by passing the Muslim Women's Bill-1986 against the Supreme Court judgement in the Shah Bano case. But at present, there doesn't seem to be any sensible alternative to the Congress.

Whatever be the political situation, I'm sure it will be for the better in 2012; democracy is now firmly rooted and the people of our nation have become politically mature. Let us be hopeful in this week of celebration from Christmas to the new year. I hope Mr. Kapil Sibal will not go ahead with his atrocious idea of censoring internet content; may good sense prevail. Happy New Year. And, ending on a lighter note, here's a song which I'm tempted, even at 57, to dedicate to all beautiful women.

Love Song

2011-12-20T22:04:00.004+05:30

You were new
and yet you knew
how to travel
straight into the heart
softly, softly,
so very softly.

The stirrings of desire
in your look
envelops me in warmth
and your touch tones down
violent lust
softly, softly,
so very softly.

It's a slow journey
into a deep forest
where the sun-beams make patterns
filtering through the trees
and the wind caresses my cheeks
softly, softly,
so very softly.

And from this journey
there is no return
Only the ecstasy of surf-riding
on a moonlit night,
then drowning in the ocean
of tears of severance
softly, softly,
so very softly.

Why is it so
that after the ripples
after the waves
there is only silence
just loneliness
with memories pricking the heart
softly, softly,
so very softly?

The way to a woman's heart

2011-12-15T19:41:00.005+05:30

It is a popular saying that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. A man always remains Mama's boy, wanting to be pampered with his favourite dishes; residue of Oedipal Complex? Another thing that attracts a man towards a woman is the visual; show him a little of your cleavage seductively and he'll fall for you hook, line and sinker. I read in an article that it is because of man's attraction towards the visual that visual pornography like glossies and videos is much more popular among men as compared to women. A man's erogenous zones are all concentrated at one place and in the heat of desire, his mind is concentrated on one point; at that crucial moment if a woman is prudent enough to gently bring out the legal papers giving her all rights to his property, there is a very good chance that he'll sign them. For a man, as the saying goes, all roads lead to Rome.

Women are more attracted towards the auditory. Wit is more important than looks; a woman would fall for an ordinary looking but intelligent guy with a sense of humour rather than for a dumb, handsome man. It is the other way round with men; they are rather afraid of intelligent women and would generally prefer dumb dolls. Wooing a woman involves giving the right compliments at the right time, meaningful gifts and chivalry(remember Sir Walter Raleigh spreading his coat on a puddle for Queen Elizabeth I to walk on). And, above all, words; saying the right things at the right time is of supreme importance. It is said that unlike men, a woman's erogenous zones are spread all over her body, right from her ear lobes to the tips of her toes. Men, look out, it's really tough satisfying a woman. For a woman, as the saying goes, Rome was not built in a day.

PS. This post is in response to the comments on my last post, a sad poem; in this month of parties and celebration, sadness and despair can be kept in abeyance.

Knots

2011-12-13T21:22:00.002+05:30

When a knot
begins in the throat
and travels
deep down to my gut
and stays there
I feel connected
to my past.

The birds try in vain
with their chirping
and the bright sunshine
is an added burden,
the sound of familiar voices
an added misery.

I can count my days
with these knots
and the nights
with exhausted sleep,
the remaining time
with computerized movements---
brushing teeth, lunch, dinner,
visiting the marketplace
and 'oh hello! how do you do?'
'It was nice meeting you.'

But when I try
to find my way out
the night darkens
and the moon seems so far away.
I yearn
for even a moonray to reach me,
but there is only
the cradle of despair
to rock me to sleep.

Cruelty

2011-12-07T20:12:00.003+05:30

There is one thing I have been acutely aware of as well as terrified about ever since I became a thinking individual, and that is cruelty. It is everywhere: in the family, workplace, streets, inter-personal relationships; in fact almost every place that the homo sapiens inhabit. In the family, for instance, husbands mistreat wives and vice versa, children are sexually abused and that includes boys as well, domestic servants are tortured, children deprived and tortured in the name of discipline, brides burnt and some members of a family forced to lead a life of drudgery, things that would put Marquis de Sade to shame; it all makes me feel at times that the family is a suffocating institution, where sensitive and freedom-loving people are tortured in the name of social norms and religion. Where is that religion when innocent girls are forced to enter brothels or sold there to lead an entire life for satisfying other people's lust? Where is that religion when children are beaten up and forced to do domestic or other work for a pittance? Where is that religion when people are physically and mentally tortured for somebody's selfish ends? All this makes me recoil with horror, terror and disgust; it makes me believe that human beings are basically evil, selfish and sadistic; they don't leave what they call love out of this as well. There is emotional blackmail, mental torture and at times physical violence in relationships of love. Of course, the cruelty of political dictators, harrassment in the workplace and at the hands of the socially and politically powerful is well known, but what people shy away from talking about is cruelty within a family, towards those members within it who are in a position of disadvantage. Yet we continue extolling the virtues of the institution of marriage, the family system based on religion and social norms. It makes me sick; I think we are insensitive, selfish, cruel, bloody bastards who have put on this beautiful mask of freedom, love, and mutual respect, hiding an ugly, convoluted face and justify all our cruel acts through logic, norms and even metaphysics. We are all like Dorian Gray; but instead of stabbing ourselves, we stab others. SHIT.

Rejuvenation

2011-12-01T20:13:00.002+05:30

After the noise of conversation
in crowded rooms
there is a yearning to be alone
sit quietly for some time
and ask questions to myself.

The answers are rarely comforting
and lead to a desire
for the prickings of the flesh
licking the wet earth
and rise to a crescendo
in a wordless world.

But after the fall
there is again
the search for words
Sometimes they come
in a procession
led by musicians
And the symphony,
the splendour of the chariots
the horses, the uniformed attendants
reverberates in the mind
and falls like dew drops
on rose petals.

I inject these drops
into my blood
to colour conversation
and then return
to the wordless world
till I again need new words
to distil into fresh drops
for another injection
of rejuvenation.

Feudal Mindset

2011-11-24T10:43:00.003+05:30

Recently, Bollywood actor Saif Ali Khan was annointed the tenth Nawab of Pataudi in a Pugree ceremony in which heads of 52 villages tied a white turban round his head. It is a family's internal matter if they choose to call their members nawabs or rajas or any other title and continue to suffer from delusions of grandeur, but what was surprising was the presence of the chief minister of Haryana, Mr. Bhoopinder Singh Hooda. Does Mr. Hooda still recognize Pataudi as a Princely State with a Nawab as its head? Is he not aware of Article 18 of the Constitution of India regarding the abolition of titles?

Perhaps, the CM has forgotten that the princely states merged into the Indian Union after Independence; there were 565 such princely states and in 1971, privy purses were also abolished. Zamindari had also been abolished. The only thing one can say with legitimacy is that one is a descendent of, or belongs to, a particular royal family, nothing more. But it appears that we have not been able to shirk off this infatuation with royalty and continue with a feudal mindset 64 years after Independence. Can we call it post-feudalism, like post-colonialism, a society in the process of de-feudalization, as it is in the process of de-colonization? Perhaps yes. There is no denying that democracy is becoming deeply entrenched, gradually and nowadays, a person is recognized by his/her individual achievements rather than the property/heirlooms he/she has inherited. It is the individual's personality, achievements, manners and wit that count, not the articles of furniture or antiques inherited.

The debate between merit and birth is an old one; we can refer to the poet Milton, who, way back in the 17th century, was writing pamphlets against the monarchy, in favour of the republicans. There is every possibility of a ruler's son being a fool, unfit to rule. And, history is replete with the life of dissipation and debauchery that many nawabs/rajas led. But our fixation with royalty continues; in Lucknow, for instance, many self-proclaimed nawabs/nawabzadas/ princes are in circulation and the media, and even the district administration gives them importance for reasons best known to them. The time has come to do away with such vestiges of feudalism and the best way to begin is to give these royals a 'royal ignore'.

Vacillation

2011-11-17T20:46:00.003+05:30

I have vacillated too long
between belief and disbelief.
Why can't I view things
from a fixed point
as most people do?

The answer is incomplete
disturbing.
Once you have known darkness
won't the glare of light send you
scurrying for cover?

The body and mind
become sapped
But the heart
continues to speak:
the pain of experience
the terror of meaning.

Perhaps
I have to convince my heart
to stop speaking
And then I shall comfortably listen
only to the sound of my words
dispersing themselves
in thin air.

The Arranged Indian Bride

2011-11-10T18:48:00.002+05:30

Her eyes are now haunted
by the fear of being trampled
under a stranger's body
his saliva and semen in her crevices
preserved for this golden moment.

The mischievous glitter
the pulse beat
when she approached a stranger another time
lies sacrificed
at the altar of social approval.

The dangerous terrain---
high mountains
deep gorges
fairyland of psychedelic colours
intoxicating symphonies---
a disease
to be cured
by the respectability-saving drug.

Under sedation
she flashes push-button smiles,
the lament of tear-dried eyes
drowned in the tinkle of gold
and diamond-studded ornaments
that substitute
the glow of desire.

Who will cast the first stone?

2011-11-02T09:42:00.005+05:30

There is that famous incident in the Bible about a woman who was to be stoned as punishment for committing adultery. Christ told the gathering, "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone", at which all present dropped their hands and walked away. One was reminded of this incident recently when two members of Team Anna were accused of financial irregularities and when caught on the wrong foot, they declared that they will return the excess money/pay the tax due. One cannot but agree with Mr. Digvijay Singh who immediately retorted that in this way the accused of 2G could also return the money and the matter would be closed. Now, who will point fingers at the corrupt? Who will punish them? Who will cast the first stone?

Greed is a very common vice; it is being said these days that only those who haven't got the opportunity are not corrupt. That leaves us with just a handful of people who do not succumb to greed, more so, people in public life. How many of us have not paid extra money to obtain a berth in a train or get our work done in some office? The question is not about the amount of money, it can be a few hundred rupees or some thousand crores; the question is about being corrupt per se. In this context, I would like to again quote from my favourite Play Hamlet, when Hamlet is speaking to his beloved, Ophelia:

Get thee to a nunnery: why wouldst thou be a
breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent honest;
but yet I could accuse me of such things that it
were better my mother had not borne me: I am very
proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at
my beck than I have thoughts to put them in,
imagination to give them shape, or time to act them
in. What should such fellows as I do crawling
between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves,
all; believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery.

Laws can only curb for some time(till you can discover its loopholes), or, at the most, frighten the weak; it cannot do away with corruption until and unless the individual decides to do something about it. The only way out is introspection or, to put it more precisely, aatmachintan, to begin with. Otherwise, remember what Ghalib wrote:

Hamney majnu pe ladakpan mein 'Asad'
Sang uthaya tha ke sar yaad aaya.

Primal Passions

2011-10-24T19:41:00.002+05:30

There are no crossroads;
only a long, weary path
unending, immaculate.

No dust or blasts of wind
heavy rain
shining wet leaves
But a clinical cleanliness
planned passion
time-tabled existence.

In the distance is the sound of thunder
Flashes of lightning illumine
a gulmohar swaying in the wind
And under it the sultry woman
writhing in the mud;
on her brown body
patterns of yellow, red, green
and the rain.

There is the distance to be covered
crawling, slipping away
from under the barbed wire
pursued by bloodhounds,
bullets---
But she is there
writhing in the mud
under the gulmohar
in the rain.

Love

2011-10-17T19:35:00.004+05:30

More than three decades ago, when Eric Segal's novel, "Love Story" was published, my teacher asked me the question, "Why has such a novel become a bestseller in this era of materialism, the twentieth century?" I was a very young man then and love was always on my mind, including all the mushy, sentimental stuff which our Hindi films churned out then. I couldn't quite answer the question to the satisfaction of my teacher, perhaps due to diffidence and also because of the fact that it was early days of my exploration into literature as well as life; but the question still remains as relevant as ever, the concern with love even in this all the more materialistic 21st century.

Human beings have always needed love, be it the 21st century or the Middleages or even in primitive times. Out of love was born art and it is the most effective expression of love in its different shades; but the fact remains that we are all the time wanting to give and receive love. The world has always been predominatly materialistic; only the external settings have changed. This concern with love is what makes us human and those who don't have it in them can best be termed as worst than beasts, as even beasts show love. And, when love is expressed, it makes one's life beautiful and worth living, even if that love turns out to be short-lived, maybe perforce certain factors. People meet and part but something remains and I must confess that even at this age 57, if someone expresses love towards me, it would still make me feel beautiful inside. This has been there, in all ages, at all ages, at all times. The only change is that people have become more open and forthright about their expression of love; this is a welcome change.

Reality

2011-10-10T20:09:00.004+05:30

Is life an illusion, a shadow of a dream? What is real? These are disturbing questions. If we believe in the existence of the soul (another vexed issue), then, as Wordsworth says, "Our noisy years seem moments in the being/Of the eternal Silence"; if we deny the existence of the soul, it is only the material world that is left to us. Then again the question about the nature of reality; is it what we perceive that is real or is there some objective reality? Hypothetically, if someone has never seen the sun, does it exist for him? How many times have we heard someone saying that such and such person can't see reality staring in his face; the answer is simple: he can't see it because it's not real for him. We call a person mad who has lost touch with reality; won't it be better to say that the person has done away with the censor and stands naked before the world, free of hypocricy and pretensions. Reality may be taken as the text in the reader-response theory in literature; it is the reader who imparts existence and meaning to the text and, therefore, there are, for instance, as many Macbeths as there are readers. There are as many Hamids, good and bad, as there are people who 'know' him; while I am still in the process of discovering what I am. We know how ephemeral are the things that we usually run after: power, money, beauty, fame and all their trappings; we take refuge in the potent drug, religion, to ease our pain, to lessen the fear of death. And what is death? At the age of 20/21, I saw my grandfather and father both die; it so happened that I was the only one present in the hospital with them when they died. There was a twitching in the toes, and I could see something travel like quicksilver up the body ending in a hiccup and it was over. What went out? I didn't see anything, but something did go out.

Let's end with Ghalib:

Hain ghaib-e-ghaib jisko samajhte hain hum shuhood
Hain khwab mein hanoz jo jaage hain khwab mein.

It is hidden within the hidden what we think is manifest
They are still in a dream those who have woken in a dream.

Autumn Rainbow

2011-10-03T19:08:00.003+05:30

It sometimes rains in Autumn
surprising the trees
making them cling
to the last few green leaves
against the inevitable onslaught.

And hope arises
despite memory
despite knowledge
and the parched lips suck
the colours of the rainbow
against the landscape
of brown and yellow.

But the thought of tomorrow
how it frightens
like never before
more than the sun-baked mud of yesterday
when drunk with the colours
of the bewitching autumn rainbow
one falls
on frozen earth.

Respectability

2011-09-25T21:37:00.003+05:30

"The lunatic, the lover and the poet/Are of imagination all compact", wrote Shakespeare. But the similarity doesn't end here; they are all authentic. There is no difference between what a madman feels or thinks and what he says. The same holds true for the lover and the poet; lovers speak their hearts out and poetry is an authentic voice. On the other hand, most of us spend a major part of our lives vying for respectability, a disease the symptoms of which manifest themselves in the form of falsehood, pretension, affectation, hypocrisy and sexual frustration. It has created a crowd of conformists who are against creativity, truth and authenticity. The most potent weapon in their arsenal is religion, that owerpowering drug that makes people victims of auto-suggestion and causes hallucinations and hypnosis. Conformity is the key word followed by sincerity. It thrives on guilt and social approval. The more fake and stupid one is, the more he is appreciated by society. This has created a large number of people who can only do the predictable, lead a warped existence and make the lives of their more intelligent and genuine brethren quite miserable. But that is how the world runs and shall continue to do so; and that is also one reason, among many others, that gives art its importance. When in the midst of all this hypocrisy, one has a fleeting desire to be true to oneself, art comes to his/her rescue, sometimes as a refuge and sometimes as a means of redemption. And once a person wishes to redeem himself, the first step is always to throw away the garb of respectability and strive for that state where the body, mind and soul become one, a harmony that art tries to capture.

Passion

2011-09-20T19:39:00.002+05:30

We marvel
at the beauty of the rose
by looking
only at its petals.

What peculiar sap
manufactured mysteriously
from the same soil and water
that throws up ordinary grass
has fashioned this symmetry
of colour and form?

Blessed are those
who see only the manifest
and live life believing
in brightness and order,
the sheer familiarity of passion.

But the less fortunate dive
into the sticky sap
trying to swim
down to the dark bottom
to unravel the mystery.

They return
strangers to the light
that hurts their eyes
amazed
at the exhibited pink passions
and wander, searching
for the blackish-red halo
that would suck them
into the whirlpool
from where
there is no return.

Vanity

2011-09-14T22:00:00.003+05:30

The other day, I came across a write-up in a blog, in which the blogger expressed anguish on discovering that readers do not understand what the blogger wrote and the blogger did not understand the comments of the readers. This sense of frustration at a mutual lack of understanding, or rather misunderstanding, led me to ponder on the basic question, ‘Why write?’ and further, ‘Why publish?’. One can give several reasons for writing: to unload oneself of some grief, sorrow or overwhelming emotion; the urge to create; the desire to become immortal through artistic creation; 'psychic masturbation'; the urge to express, and finally, the urge to communicate. It is this last urge that brings one into the world of publishing, blogging, etc. The poet Emily Dickinson was such a private person that hardly half a dozen out of about 1800 of her poems were published in her lifetime. Donne did not publish his love poems in his lifetime as they could have been be an embarrassment for him as a priest. The Urdu poet, Sahir Ludhianvi, wrote in a nazm that he had to publish his poems for sustenance:

Maine jo geet tere pyaar ki khatir likhe
Aaj un geeton ko bazaar mein le aaya hoon

But the very fact that a writer chooses to publish his/her work and put it in the public domain exhibits his/her vanity. We like to be known, appreciated, talked about as good writers and included in that exclusive club of artists. We search for prestigious publishers and reviewers, engage in publicity stunts, crave for awards and financial returns and do quite a bit to be included in the literary canon. That sometimes all this involves connections and devious methods from lesser deserving writers, who ‘stoop to conquer’, is known to all. But we ordinary mortals have this weakness for praise and this is one reason for the downfall of many at the hands of flatterers. Oscar Wilde said, "There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about". We flaunt our achievements like a model flaunts his/her assets; we are all dandies, mannequins, exhibiting our wares; we are all vain creatures.

And that includes me, of course.

Refuge

2011-09-04T21:25:00.004+05:30

It takes two to be lonely; you can be lonely in a crowd, when the person you desire is not there. If you are obsessed with someone, then every thing else becomes meaningless; passion consumes when not fulfilled, and when fulfilled, decreases. But all this longing, all this consuming desire for reciprocation, for being appreciated, for making a mark in this world, leads to nothing because a human being is alone, utterly alone:

However the sky grows dark with invitation cards
However we follow the printed directions of sex
However the family is photographed under the flagstaff
Beyond all this, the wish to be alone.
(Philip Larkin: 'Wants')

It is this wish to be alone that brings us face to face with the existential issues, leading to, what Wordsworth, in another context, calls 'that inward eye/which is the bliss of solitude'. And then there is this 'giant killer', a popular and reliable refuge, that of philosophy. Everything boils down to certain basic truths; it's all illusion, happiness, sorrow, pain, all just states of mind. And this leads us to the most popular refuge, that 'opiate', rather that hallucinatory drug called religion and, of course, that imperishable, immortal thing called soul and communication with the Supreme Soul. One may wax eloquent about it, the inward journey, encounter with the self and ultimately the Divine. But what about those lesser mortals, who have known love, got all mixed up with love and lust/sex and finally decided to opt for the latter; those condemnable children of the earth who have not been able to transcend the body in contrast to those beaming in beatitude? What about them, who prefer whiskey with ice to the superior intoxication of the Spirit (not with a small 's') ? What about them, my friend? Where/What can be their refuge?

Thoughts on Easter Sunday

2011-08-26T20:17:00.002+05:30

Where do we go from here?
After the thrill of crisp bank notes
After the thick-padded revolving chairs
carrying a designation
After all that envy
all that hate
a little happiness
lots of pain
memories that remain
desires that torture
despair that stuns.

Can we console ourselves
with the immortality
of our sodomised souls?
Can they be purified
after so many years in a brothel
where we pump our semen
into each other's rectum?

Wherever I go
I carry my cross.
So many loves
so many partings
some deception, some emotion,
some conglomeration, some alchemy.
After so many deaths, so many resurrections
where do I go from here?

Comfort

2011-08-14T12:01:00.003+05:30

Often
this urge to explore
slippery caves
lick stalagmites
caress dunes
and make ripple marks
through spasmodic jerks.

Often
the siren beckons
to crawl out of my skin
and cool myself
at the font.

And a strange voice
calls out to me
with the heady fragrance
of ghazal couplets
But the slender chains
do not yield,
the velvet walls
brush with their comfort;
while I can hear
the sound of rain
outside my window,
drenched to the bone
with prosaic nights
politic days.

Books

2011-08-06T21:21:00.003+05:30

Some books lie on shelves
unread and untouched
in urban drawing rooms
of the neo-rich:
the bestselling novels,
the controversial political potboilers
and the Reader's Digest's series, 'How-to-do-it-yourself'.

Some books are read
by young boys in bed
interspersed with jerks
then passed on to friends
While their female counterparts
read Mills & Boon
and sigh at the moon
waiting for Mr. Tall Dark Handsome.

Then there are books
that burn into the blood of some,
the ashes intermingling
with the liquid
and pumped by the heart
throb at the temples
removing anaemia.

"Aakhir-e-shab ke hamsafar", Faiz saheb ko salaam.

2011-07-27T19:49:00.006+05:30

शाम-ए-फ़िराक़ अब न पूछ, आई और आ के टल गई
दिल था कि फिर बहल गया, जाँ थी कि फिर संभल गई

बज़्म-ए-ख्याल में तेरे, हुस्न कि शम्म'अ जल गई
दर्द का चाँद बुझ गया, हिज्र कि रात टल गई

जब तुझे याद कर लिया, सुबह महक-महक गई
जब तेरा ग़म जगा लिया, रात मचल-मचल गई

दिलं से हर इक मु'आमला, कर के चले थे साफ़ हम
कहने में उनके सामने, बात बदल-बदल गई

आख़िर-ए-शब के हमसफ़र, 'फैज़' न जाने क्या हुए
रह गई किस जगह सबा, सुबह किधर निकल गई

It came and went, the anxiety of separation
The heart could divert itself, once again return to life.

The crowd of your thoughts, ignited the flame of beauty
The moon of pain extinguished, pangs of separation overcome.

The mere thought of you, made the mornings fragrant
The sorrow of separation, aroused, made nights restless.

I had resolved, made crystal clear, the matter of my heart
But before the beloved, the words changed.

Companions of the fading night, 'Faiz', where have they gone?
Where is the zephyr? Where is the dawn?

The Easy Life

2011-07-19T20:15:00.005+05:30

Spring is round the corner
pouted the lady
stretching languidly
in her silk kaftan
baring her Anne Frenched legs
on the velvet divan.

Her husband gave her
the morning sober glance
muttering hunh? absently
his mind alive
with his new project
and the secretary
bending over the computer.

The lady got up slowly
to prepare herself
for trying out her new toy
that twenty- fresh boy
on this lazy spring afternoon.

She picked up one by one
from the dressing table
all the synthetic accessories of beauty
and like Belinda
she 'each moment
rises in her charms'
to make him surrender
say farewell to arms.

What an exciting proposition
this life of luxury and dissipation
Why didn't I think of it
long years back
when all I had to do
was use a heady after-shave and hair-do
and wait to be picked up?

Translation of Emily Dickinson's Poem

2011-07-10T23:12:00.004+05:30

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played
At wrestling in a ring;
We passed the field of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 't is centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day,
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

क्यूंकि मैं मौत के लिए नहीं रुक सकी,
वो महेरबानी कर मेरे लिए रुका ;
उस घोड़े गाड़ी मैं बस हम दो थे
और हकीकत-ए-अब्दी |

हम बिना जल्दबाज़ी के, आराम से बग्घी चलाते रहे,
और उसके शिष्टाचार को देखते
मैंने किनारे रख दिया अपना काम,
अपने फुरसत के लम्हे |

हम गुज़रे एक स्कूल से जहाँ बच्चे
खेल रहे थे कुश्ती के अखाड़े में,
फिर पके हुए अनाज के खेत से होते हुए
निकले डूबते हुए सूरज से आगे |

हम कुछ देर रुके एक मकान के सामने
जो था जैसे ज़मीन का उभार,
थोड़ी सी नज़र आती हुई छत
और एक टीला-नुमा कार्नस |

तब से सदियाँ बीत गईं, पर हर सदी,
उस दिन से छोटी लगती है जब
मैंने क़यास लगाया था कि घोड़ों का रूख़
था शाश्वतता की ओर|

God

2011-07-02T20:14:00.001+05:30

He always wanted to believe in God
It was so comforting
like a child in his mother's lap
warm and protected
rocked to sleep on stories
of kings and fairies
in far away lands
leading to dreams he would regret
waking up from.

It was not a thing to question
the divine scheme of things:
the sufferings of the virtuous
was God testing the faithful;
the prosperity of the evil
was only in this transient world
leading to eternal damnation in hell;
and if he met his Waterloo,
it was Divine Justice.

And destiny presented Him
as helpless as humans
in the grip of the fixed,
the unchangeable.
Prayers and rituals appeared useless,
a waste of time.

After five decades of his fragile existence
having borne
pain, sorrow, suffering
he returned to the question
Was there a God?
If yes, is He a sadist
enjoying Himself
at the expense of others?
But he still wanted
to believe in God
if only to use this as a quilt
to wriggle in when it was cold,
a refuge
even if one
of make-believe.

Magic

2011-06-23T20:35:00.000+05:30

In a strange world
where perceptions meet
criss-cross each other
sometimes leading to insights
I have wandered
in search of magic.

External events push out
but the return is inevitable
first armed with words
then in the twilight zone
searching for words
from where the land of magic
is only a step beyond.

It's enough being a pendulum
for so long
Perhaps it's time
for the suspending thread to give in
and a soft hand guide me
to take that step
into the land of magic, where
to the music of anklets
and the heady smell
of jasmine-fragrant pubic hair
I can dance the orgasmic surrender
to eternity.

Vintage Manna Dey

2011-06-16T21:25:00.000+05:30

Manna Dey has been an excellent but one of the most underrated singers. Many of his film songs have been quite popular, for instance "Pooncho na kaise maine rain bitaye", "Jhanak jhanak tori baaje payaliya" and "Kasme vaade pyaar wafa sab". Here is a non-filmi song composed and sung by Manna Dey with lyrics by Madhukar Rajasthani; it's an old song and one of my favourites.

The Marginalized Liberal Muslim in India

2011-06-11T13:43:00.001+05:30

With Anna Hazare's agitation, the civil society has come to the centrestage, although a considerable confusion has been created by the simultaneous agitation launched by Baba Ramdev due to his forceful ejection from the Ramlila Grounds in New Delhi after a VVIP reception by the central government, his escape in female attire, his statement regarding formation of a private army and the proportion of his business empire. While I think that the midnight action at the Ramlila Grounds was unwarranted and that the members of the RSS, as citizens of India, have as much right as other citizens of our country to react to burning issues of the nation, I am personally against the religious leaders of any religion participating in politics; the consequences of their acquiring political power or positions shall prove to be disastrous in any civilized society, esp. in a multi-religious society like India. This brings me to a very important aspect of the contemporary social scene in our country---the marginalization of the liberal Muslim. While the liberal Hindu finds his space in the so-called secular parties like the Congress, the liberal Muslim has nowhere to go. All these self-proclaimed secular Parties search for the Muslim having a long beard and donning a skull cap for show-casing esp. on the stage during important meetings of the Party; the conservative Muslim at the same time, provides the added advantage of a vote bank to the political party. In this process, the liberal Muslim is obviously ignored, the propping up of the liberal Arif Mohd. Khan and his quick replacement by Zia-ur-Rehman Ansari by the then Rajiv Gandhi govt. for appeasing the conservative Muslim by passing the Muslim Women's Bill in 1986, depriving the Muslim divorced woman of maintenance by her husband as a consequence of the Shah Bano verdict, is a case in point. In today's India, this malady is becoming even more pronounced due to religious and caste polarisation and the marginalized liberal Muslim is gradually moving towards extinction as a result of his alienation due to the lack of social and political space as well as silencing of his voice. I hope that civil society will also ponder over this important issue and do somethig concrete to save this rather precious species from extinction.

Translation of Shahid Kabir's Ghazal

2011-06-07T22:46:00.001+05:30

ग़म का ख़ज़ाना तेरा भी है मेरा भी

ये नज़राना तेरा भी है मेरा भी

अपने ग़म को गीत बना कर गा लेना

राग पुराना तेरा भी है मेरा भी

तू मुझको और मैं तुझको समझाउं क्या

दिल दीवाना तेरा भी है मेरा भी

शहर में गलियों गलियों जिसका चर्चा है

वो अफसाना तेरा भी है मेरा भी

मैखाने की बात न कर वाईज़ मुझसे

आना जाना तेरा भी है मेरा भी

The treasure of pain, is both yours and mine

This offering, is both yours and mine.

Convert your sorrow into a song, sing it

This ancient tune, is both yours and mine.

What advice can we to each other give?

The heart is mad in love, both yours and mine.

That which is the talk of the town

That very story, is both yours and mine

Don't censure the drinking house, O preacher

The habit of frequenting it, is both yours and mine.

Marital Love

2011-05-30T22:37:00.001+05:30

Who is the third who walks always beside you?

When I count, there are only you and I together

But when I look ahead up the white road

There is always another one walking beside you.

---T.S.Eliot, The Waste Land.

She talks of chemistry

spark igniting fire

pure, unadulterated, legal

on the nuptial bed

undisturbed

by voices, thoughts

present or past.

He talks of sociology

parents, family, society,

the morning bed tea

tasty meals

and guiltless love

undisturbed

by the woman next door.

They both talk of duty

responsibility

sacred union,

while with time

chemistry, sociology, economics

fight with each other

for dominance.

But chemistry remains

always lurking in the background

changing the colour of the liquids

reacting with each other

to red, purple, pink, blue

but always tinged with scarlet.

Then these reactions in both

coated with regret

lead to discussions, tears,

arguments, threats

and finally resignation

to a life

of sexless love,

loveless sex

with both of them

walking hand in hand

on that arid, dusty road

trying to probe each other's mind

for the answer

to the eternal question:

"Who is the third who walks always beside you?"

Mat Socha Kar

2011-05-23T22:23:00.002+05:30

तनहा, तनहा, मत सोचा कर

मर जायेगा, मत सोचा कर

प्यार घड़ी भर का ही बहुत है

झूठा, सच्चा, मत सोचा कर

जिसकी फितरत ही डसना हो

वो तो डसेगा, मत सोचा कर

धूप में तनहा कर जाता है

क्यों ये साया? मत सोचा कर

अपना आप गँवा कर तूने

पाया है क्या? मत सोचा कर

मान मेरे 'शेह्ज़ाद' वगरना

पछताए गा, मत सोचा कर

In solitude, lonely, do not think

It will be your death, do not think

Even a moment's love is enough

True, or false, do not think

One, whose nature is to sting

Will do so, certainly, do not think

Why does your shadow leave you

Lonely under the noonday sun? do not think

By frittering away your Self

What have you gained? do not think

Do what I say 'Shehzad'

Lest you repent, do not think.

The Key

2011-05-17T22:40:00.000+05:30

Will you give me that key
to unlock the gypsy
staring out silently
with tired eyes
from behind the iron bars
with the forest in his mind.

Will you return to me that heart
that beat so loudly
on hearing the music
of payaled feet.

Will you return to me that spirit
which made me feel
every dark night
'tomorrow's another day'.

Perhaps, even if you will,
these wings
beating against the walls
for so long
can only flap feebly
before I walk out
into the neon lights
to reclaim
what's left of me.

Suspicion

2011-05-16T22:10:00.001+05:30

It is said that Hakim Luqman, the Wise, had a remedy for everything except death and suspicion; this was the way my mother used to put it when I was a child: 'Shak ka ilaaj to hakeem Luqman ke paas bhi nahin hai'. Once the seeds of suspicion are sown, it is very difficult to get out of it because one starts looking at everything from that point of view. Many relationships are sacrificed at the altar of suspicion and it is most common in man-woman relationships.It may lead to break-ups, tantrums, violence and even murder; see what Othello did to Desdemona. But what is even worse than murder is living constantly under the cloud of suspicion in the company of a hypertensive and hysterical person, when you can't walk out, because ............, or, perhaps, for some other equally or more intrisincally strong reason accompanied by a certain degree of cowardice: 'If you sit on the fence for too long, the iron enters your soul'.

The Sentimental Indian

2011-05-05T21:25:00.001+05:30

Indians are basically sentimental people. Go to any Indian wedding and you'll get ample evidence of this fact. The extended Indian family including the much extolled, now thankfully becoming extinct, joint family will be there. ' Arre bete, inko pehchano, ye tumhare dada hain; ha, ha, umr mein to mujhse bhi chhote hain, par rishte mein tumhatre dada; aadab karo inko', or, a dyed hair elder relative would say, 'Arre, tumhare baal kitne safed ho gaye hain itni kam umr mein, lagta hai proffesari ka asar hai", trying to justify his khizaabed hair.Of course, there would be the usual underhand comments on each other, while the heavily made-up, ostentatiously dressed women would be bitching about each other: 'Dekho to kitna itra rahi hai, miyan paas thoda paisa kya aa gaya, apne ko pari samajhne lagi'. And the ceremony would end with the guests enumerating the shortcomings in the arrangements and the food while leaving. But even then, one cannot but feel quite sentimental on such occasions.

Bollywood films are another example Indian sentimentalism. Lots of dialogues about maa, bhai, pati parmeshwar and lots of sacrifice thrown in for good measure, are the common ingredients of these films. But we have grown up with them, and sometimes a particular film may remind you of some event or relationship. During my University days in the '70s, the mainstream cinema was largely sentimental, with the superstar of the decade Rajesh Khanna, one of my favourites, giving us much sentimental stuff in films like 'Anand", 'Kati Patang', 'Namak Haraam', etc. He usually played the socially conscious romantic hero. One film which I liked very much mainly because of its songs, was 'Mere Jeevan Saathi', starring the ravishingly beautiful Tanuja, with Rajesh Khanna playing the role of a playboy with a heart of gold, looking after the poor and downtrodden, and who finally finds true love. When I saw the film again on TV recently, I was surprised to find myself sentimentally moved while watching this beautiful song (a Kishore-R.D.Burman combination). Well, after all, I'm also an Indian.

April

2011-04-28T22:30:00.001+05:30

'April is the cruellest month',
wrote Eliot
for the inhabitants of the Wasteland
spiritually barren
emotionally drained
but physically 'on'.

But now at fifty-six
when emotions are reined in,
spiritualism for lacing conversation,
and the body wasting itself
towards insularity,
the spring still manages
to create stirrings
earlier half-recognized
now accepted,
when the warm wind
pierces the bones
and the blue sky
the music of the birds
enters the blood.

Perhaps one day
these stirrings will lead
to that dark room
illumined by a dim light
where the shadows of make-believe
transform into shapes
that make silent music
rising to a crescendo
giving this body
the last chance
of redemption.

Isn't it time for introspection?

2011-04-22T20:59:00.002+05:30

We have always been proud of the fact that India is one of the leading lights of spiritualism; we also boast of the fact that Indian philosophy and spiritualism has provided solace and redemption to those in the West who have felt crushed by its materialism. But if we look at the present scenario in our country, we may safely modify that proverb about the apple to : 'A scam a day, keeps the honest man away'. With corruption having entrenched itself firmly in the political establishment, the bureaucracy, the police, and making inroads into the judiciary as well, we seem to be in the tight grip of Mammon. Even spiritualism is being sold as a corporate brand, with the so-called spiritual gurus belonging to different religions establishing their empires and fiefdoms, and then looking forward to acquiring political power. The ascetic sage, living in a hut and bringing real solace to the people, looking into their hearts and not their pockets, has become infradig. And to top it all, we blame all evil, including our so-called decline in sexual morals (we are a nation obsessed with sexual morals), to the West while waxing eloquent about our high morals, family system, etc. Such people seem to insinuate that the West has no value system or family ties and people there spend all their time fornicating, drinking and running after money. We all know that this is far from the truth. Let us pay heed to another proverb : 'Zara apne girebaan mein bhi jhaank ke dekho', which can be loosely translated as, 'peep into your own heart (to see how black it is)'. Isn't it time to introspect, to come out of our delusion of grandeur and rediscover our spirit? Isn't it time to rediscover ourselves and India, before it is too late?

Resurrection

2011-04-10T12:36:00.000+05:30

Her silhouette
sparked electricity
The fireflies
stopped dancing
In the distance
the gathering storm waited.

With an ancient yearning
in the rhythm of her anklets
and her long prismatic nails
emitting rainbows,
she jerked her shoulder-length hair
scattering rain.

The raindrops
evaporated with a hiss
on my sun-baked body
The distant storm approached
I sipped the cool rainbows
while she brought me back to life
with the soft, tickling shocks
of her electricity.

Translation of Munir Niazi's ghazal as sung by Ghulam Ali

2011-03-28T22:45:00.003+05:30

बेचैन बहुत फिरना घबराये हुए रहना

इक आग सी जज़्बों की देह्काए हुए रहना

छलकाए हुए चलना खुशबु लब-ए-लाली की

इक बाग़ सा साथ अपने महकाए हुए रहना

इक शाम सी कर रखना काजल के करिशमे से

इक चाँद सा आँखों में चमकाए हुए रहना

इस हुस्न का शेवा है जब इश्क नज़र आए

परदे में चले जाना शरमाए हुए रहना

आदत ही बना है तुमने तो 'मुनीर' अपनी

जिस शेहेर में भी रहना उकताए हुए रहना

Roam restlessly, apprehensive remain

The fire of passion rage within, remain

Let the aroma of your red lips disperse

A garden with you fragrant remain

With the magic of kohl, make it evening

A moon in your eyes, glistening remain

With love, beauty in fulfilment glows

Hide behind a veil, shy remain

You have made it a habit 'Muneer'

Whichever city you live in, weary remain.

Translation of Jamal Naqvi's Nazm-2

2011-03-18T20:29:00.002+05:30

नग़मा-ए-ख़ामोशी

मेरे कमरे में

बस अब गर्द है, तारीकी है

फूल तक सूख गए

मेज़ के गुलदानों के

मुझको कुछ अपनी ख़बर

और न दर-व-बाम की है

कोई साथी

न कोई हमदम व दमसाज़ मेरा

बस फ़क़त एक सदा नग़मा-ए-ख़ामोशी है

दिल से उठती हुई सरगोशी है |

Music of Silence
In my room

there is only dust, darkness

Even the flowers decorated in the vase

have dried up.

And I, alone

unaware of myself

my surroundings,

no friend or companion

Only the echo

of the music of silence

and whispers

rising from the heart.

Translation of Jamal Naqvi's Nazm-1

2011-03-08T22:27:00.000+05:30

I met Jamal Naqvi saheb during the Faiz seminar at AMU, Aligarh in January. He was born (1946) and brought up in Lucknow and took his Bachelor's degree in Engineering from AMU, Aligarh after which he shifted to Karachi, Pakistan where he now lives after his retirement and devotes his time to literary activities. He is actively involved with the Progressive Writers Association in Pakistan and has published more than a dozen books of poems, essays, articles and literary criticism. He shared reminiscences of his early youth in Lucknow with me and was full of nostalgia for the land of his birth. When he presented me his book of poems, I immediately took his permission to translate two of his nazms and post them on this blog. The poems have been taken from his book "Zindagi ka Sooraj"(2007), published by Media Collegians, Delhi, in Devanagari. Here is the first poem:

काफिला वक़्त

वक़्त का काफिला थम सकता है

कुछ तेज़ चलो

दौड़ते लम्हों को बाँहों में गिरफ्तार करो

और

उस गुज़रे हुए कल को बुला लो वापस

जिसको माज़ी का हसीं ख़्वाब बनाया तुमने

आज तक फिर कभी वापस न बुलाया तुमने

शर्त बस ये है

कि तुम वक़्त से भी तेज़ चलो

फ़िक्र-ए-फरदा न ग़म-ए-तल्खी इमरोज़ करो

और फिर देखो

कि वो सुबहें, वो शामें, वो दिन

किसी बिछड़े हुए महबूब के मानिंद मिलेंगे तुम से |

The Caravan of Time

The caravan of Time can stop

Travel a little faster
Imprison the running moments
in your arms
and call back yesterday,
that beautiful dream of the past,

which you could never call back

But there is one condition
that you travel faster than Time
unconcerned with friends
indifferent to the bitterness of today
Then you will again encounter
those mornings, evenings, days
like a lost beloved.

Meri baat aur hai...

2011-03-02T20:47:00.001+05:30

The nazm, 'Mujhse pehli si mohabbat mere mehboob na maang', written by Faiz Ahmad Faiz has been hailed by critics like Agha Shahid Ali as a landmark in Urdu poetry, in that the poet, while acknowledging the beauty of the beloved, decides that social commitment is more important than their love. The beautiful nazm is, undoubtedly, a landmark, but there is another song written by Sahir Ludhianvi, in which the poet , while expressing social commitment, also voices the feelings of the beloved. It is one of my favourite songs, a duet, sung by Sudha Malhotra and Mukesh and filmed on Shobha Khote and Sunil Dutt in 'Didi' (1959).

My Words

2011-02-24T22:48:00.001+05:30

Sometimes my words
whispered in the dark
touch a wall and return
like ejaculation
inside a condom.

Sometimes my words
become victims
wounded and distorted
to please someone.

Sometimes my words
blared through loudspeakers
dissipate in the air, earning
nods of approval.

Sometimes my words
touch a chord
and create music
pleasing to my ears.

And sometimes my words
break the barrier
and are answered
with the deep-sea look,
with words that enter the blood,
and the familiar longing returns
making me young
once again.

The Forest

2011-02-14T21:15:00.000+05:30

Dreaming of dark forests
we travel on roads
sometimes bumpy
sometimes smooth
but always illuminated
by sunshine or neon lights.

That a ball thrown up
has to come down
is the reassuring law of gravity
and we spend our lives explaining
the magnetic field of the forest
before we enter.

But once inside
all laws dissipate,
the foothold is slippery moss
on smooth stones
leading into caverns
where arms, eyes and thighs merge
into a single drop of nectar
that drips on the forehead, opening
the third eye.

I'm glad they came along...

2011-02-09T18:47:00.001+05:30

Well, it's nice to be back--- to blogging, Almora, the hills, after spending over a month in the city of my birth, Lucknow; recollecting childhood memories, visiting friends in the University, and feeling nostalgic remembering the 'good old days'' of innocence, stirrings of youth and the harsh 'initiation' into adulthood as well as the disillusionment of middle age. I did not have personal access to the Internet and was rather busy with mostly mundane things.It's always a great feeling having the first glimpse of the hills while driving into Haldwani and later entering Almora, the city that has adopted me and where my children have grown up.

During the course of a conversation in AMU, Aligarh, where I attended a very interesting Seminar on Faiz, I suddenly remembered a naughty but beautiful song by Julio Iglesias which I would like to share with you. I'm sure you'll enjoy it, like the audience does in the video.

New Year's Eve

2011-01-07T21:32:00.000+05:30

Once again
the tinkle of glasses
the songs, the merriment
in a smoke-filled room
and analysis
of the past year's disappointments,
happy
that it's finally over.

We whip up gaiety
and manufacture hope
making ourselves believe
that from tomorrow
that magical date
it will be different.

It's an attempt to escape
for a few hours from the clock
into a mirage of celebration, ignoring
the burden of memory
that weighs down the heart
knowing
that just after the stroke of midnight
the hands of the clock
shall drag us again in circles
incessantly
till the next new year's eve.

One Hundredth Post

2010-12-26T21:47:00.001+05:30

We have come a long way during the last about 25 years. During my school days in the 60's, the only means of entertainment were to play some game in the evenings, play gramophone records, listen to the radio and watch a movie in the cinema hall twice a month. When I was about five years old, my father bought me a gramophone on which we could play the breakable 78 r.p.m. records; one needle was good only for two songs and a box containing 100 needles used to cost four annas or 25 paise. The vinyl 33 r.p.m. LP's and 45 r.p.m. EP's replaced them during the 60's. An EP normally had four songs and the LP all the songs of a Hindi film. For the radio, we had to use a long ariel made of thin wire net. Our favourite radio stations were Radio Ceylon (later Sri Lanka), which broadcasted the famous Binaca Geetmala once a week, hosted by Amin Sayani; Vividh Bharati and Urdu Service of All India Radio(now Akashvani). My favourite actors then were Shammi Kapoor and Sadhna. During our University days, our favourites were Dev Anand and Rajesh Khanna. We made it a point to see a new Dev Anand film first day, first show, buying tickets for the Stall in advance booking; our favourite films of Dev were "Hare Rama Hare Krishna" and "Johny Mera Naam". We were huge fans of the genius R.D. Burman's music. Later, when I saw the films of Guru Dutt, I became his big fan, with "Pyaasa" being his best, which I consider among the top five films ever made in Hindi.

In the late 70's, TV was introduced in Lucknow and also the audio cassettes with Mehdi Hassan, Ghulam Ali and Jagjit Singh bursting upon the scene with their ghazals. Then technology started growing at a fast pace with the VCR and then the CD and DVD to the present era memory cards and pen drives. I remember that when I joined the University Campus at Almora, the Department of Computer Science had just come into existence, headed by my friend Durgesh, then very young and enthusiastic about Computers, although his efforts to get me into learning or buying a computer did not succeed. It was only after both my daughters left Almora for higher studies did I buy a computer about a couple of years back, took an Internet connection and learnt the basics from my daughters who still keep helping this rather slow learner. It was then that I met my former student, Ashok Pande, who persuaded me to write a blog, which I started writing on 27th March, 2009, with occasional inputs from my daughters, and here I am with its one hundredth post. During this journey, many people from India and abroad have visited this blog and enriched it with their comments. I thank all of you from the core of my heart and hope that you will continue to interact with me and others on this blog in the future also. Best wishes for a happy, prosperous and enjoyable 2011.

Where has teaching gone ?

2010-12-12T22:50:00.001+05:30

About a year back, I was quite hopeful that the way in which the HRD minister, Mr. Kapil Sibal, had started his innings, something positive was in the offing as far as the vexed question of the education system of our country was concerned. After making some interesting pronouncements like a common syllabus for the Board exams.and doing away with the UGC, the Minister, it seems has developed cold feet. His one experiment, making Class 10 Board exams. optional and the corresponding change in the evaluation system in the CBSE, is, according to the feedback I have received from the school teachers, not going to lead to anything positive but would rather make the students complacent and shift the focus from teaching to tests and exams. all through the year. As far as higher education is concerned, teaching has taken a backseat for entirely different reasons. The new point system for promotion of teachers is keeping them on their toes, doing everything except teaching. From what I could gather about this point system, a University teacher must have a minimum total of points, but these points should be in different categories like research publications, attending conferences or seminars, holding posts like Proctor, DSW, participation in exams., etc. As a result of this, I have seen my colleagues rushing to participate in seminars in which they are least interested, hold administrative positions towards which they are least inclined, manufacture research papers listlessly and, in short, do everything to collect points except teaching the students sincerely for which they have primarily been appointed but for which they do not get any points.Their condition can best be explained by this couplet of Rahat Indori:

अब इनको और न परेशाँ करो मसीहाओं
मरीज़ उलझे हुए हैं दवा बनाने में |

The only way to do something about this rotten higher education system is to prevent undeserving and dishonest people from making their entry into the system, i.e., strictly regulate the selection of Lecturers/ Assistant Professors, because if once such a person enters the system, he/she will pollute it no end and it would be a futile exercise to reform such a person through knee-jerk methods like the point system or any other such system, as such people will come up trumps in them also through their corrupt methods. Research papers would be manufactured, Ph.D degrees sold, promotions gained through devious methods and only the meritorious and honest students suffer at their hands. The only remedy is to appoint honest people who love teaching. I perhaps sound old-fashioned when I say that we must teach our students with love and devotion. In the end, I would like to quote the last stanza of Robert Frost's poem, "Two Tramps in Mud Time", which I was teaching to my students recently :
But yield who will to their separation,
My object in living is to unite
My avocation and my vocation
As my two eyes make one in sight.
Only where love and need are one,
And the work is play for mortal stakes,
Is the deed ever really done
For Heaven and the future's sakes.

Is the Left still relevant ?

2010-12-05T21:27:00.000+05:30

With the breaking up of the USSR, the world has become unipolar, with the capitalistic USA dictating terms to almost the entire world. Those who resist, like Iran, are periodically threatened to fall in line or face the music like Iraq. Our Prime Minister, Mr. Manmohan Singh, is a huge fan of the USA and a staunch believer of Capitalism and it was he as Finance Minister in the Narasimha Rao govt. in the 1980's, who initiated the shift from a mixed, socialist tilted economy to capitalism. The result is for all to see. Capitalism, whatever advantages people may say it has, encourages the cult of the individual. It is all about individual advancement irrespective of the ethical aspect of the means used to achieve that goal. The focus has shifted from collective action, sympathy and brotherhood to a ruthless pursuit of materialistic goals. One can see the succession of scams that are being unearthed every now and then and the way corruption is becoming acceptable and institutionalized. It is in this context that the presence of the Left assumes importance. But the Left in our country at times starts supporting the Congress like it did in the previous UPA govt. raising the bogey of communalism ( as if we don't know how secular the Congress is! ). If the Left continues with this secular bogey, instead of the Socialist, Communist ideology, it will either wither away or become like some parties who keep switching sides for the sake of power and keep becoming communal or secular overnight. I only hope that the Left will work towards at least retaining some semblance of socialism and act as a strong resisting force in our unfortunate march towards total capitalism.

Letters

2010-11-25T00:41:00.005+05:30

Letters...
they mean so many things to different people. To some they bring about the memory of their courtship or love, to some they remind them of being away from home, and to others they bring back memories of childhood days, friends etc.A few days back me and my friends were discussing how some of us can't live without the internet anymore. We are in ways "Digital Natives". Digital natives are people mainly young, who were born after or during the introduction of digital technology, and mainly through interacting with digital technology from an early age, have some sort of understanding of its concepts. To put it simply, digital natives are those who are born in the era of technology and are familiar with it and depend on it. To come back to wher I started, we were discussing of how sending mails or using video chats through programmes like skype etc is all the conservation they have with their parents and friends they are away from. It all reminded me of how I used to cherish the letters I got from my friends in Delhi when I was still in school. Even when I went to college my sister would write long letters to me describing at times the most mundane of things. My parents had even designed a personal letter pad for me and my sister which obviously did not last for more than 6 months!!
Times have changed. We no more write long letters to each other because we have email!!!
I was just wondering how many of the kids of the present generation (and by the present generation I mean young kids who are still in their teens or so ) have experienced thew joys of writing a letter to convey your thoughts to ypour friends, parents on the other end? How many of the have experienced the excitment of getting a letter delivered in your name and the hurry of trying to open and read it as soon as they could??
No matter how I think about it, I can't help feeling that they have missed out on a precious experience. I would not go on right now about the way in which the language of the letter would differ when it was addressed to our parents from the one sent to our friends!!! I realised while thinking all this that I want to experience it all over again and hopefully today's kids would (even if its just for a short while) have the fortune to experience the feeling of reading a letter addressed to them.

We would love you to share your memories here with us that letters remind you of. :)

The Past

2010-11-12T10:12:00.000+05:30

We often like to return
to the glamour of the past
try to patch-up
the greyish-black spots
sharpen blurred lines
fill empty corners
and convert the black and white
into colour prints.

But the yellowed paper cracks
when worked on
with pencil and brush
and grotesque patterns stare out, replacing
the imperfections.

A distant glimpse
after so long, tempted me
to adulterate flashbacks
But looking at the moon
I have only kissed
the imperfect manuscript
and put it back
in my treasure chest of poems.

The Two Mistresses

2010-11-07T14:01:00.000+05:30

While President Obama is on a visit to India with top corporates to uplift the sagging economy of the USA as well as his dipping popularity, we are lapping up everything he offers, including his comments on 26/11 and the First Lady's dance to the music of "Rang De Basanti". But when India brings up the issue of Pakistan's use of terror against India, he gives evasive replies, not forgetting to mention that Pakistan is an old ally. He does the same when Pakistan brings up the issue of Kashmir. I must envy the position of the USA. While both its mistresses are fighting against each other, it is fornicating both, at the same time keeping them in good humour; for if they stop fighting, they will both turn against it. At the moment, both are thinking on the lines of Parveen Shakir's couplet:

वो जहाँ भी गया, लौटा, मेरे ही पास आया
बस यही बात है अच्छी मेरे हरजाई की|

Jab Taj Uchaale Jaayenge

2010-10-31T20:22:00.003+05:30

The Adarsh Society scam has come on the heels of the CWG scam; but this is an even more serious matter. It is said that there is no bigger sin than usurping the rights of an orphan or a widow. In this case it is not just a widow but the war widows, wives of soldiers who laid down their lives fighting for the nation. I am at a loss for words. While on the one hand we talk with great pride about our heritage, philosophy, scriptures, spiritualism and moral values, on the other we engage in such shameful, disgraceful and degrading acts. What comes to my mind is the nazm by Faiz Ahmad Faiz, sung so well by Iqbal Bano. There is anger and anguish, but at the same time, hope and faith in humanity in this poem. It is perhaps the only way to look at such things, if we don't want to join them and at same time retain our sanity of mind.

Common Wealth

2010-10-26T22:34:00.001+05:30

After the end of the Commonwealth games, the media and public attention has shifted to the corruption practiced by the organizers of the games. An engineer working in a govt. organization once told me the definition of a corrupt person, who, according to him and his colleagues, is a person who siphons off more than the commonly agreed upon percentage of govt. funds, or one who takes a higher amount of bribe than is expected from a person of his position. Another gentleman told me what his son said to him one day, "Papa, corruption itni buri cheez nahin hai, kum se kum kaam to ho jaata hai". In the marriage market, preference is usually given to prospective grooms who have 'oopar ki aamdani'. The situation is such that you feel pleasantly shocked if your work is done in a govt. dept. without what is euphemistically called 'suvidha shulk". And if some politician or bureaucrat is caught, the progress of his case, from commission of inquiry to the Supreme Court, takes so many years that he either dies by then or everybody forgets about it. So, what's so surprising about corruption by the CWG organizers? Well, it has given us something to talk about and for the media to give 'breaking news' and arrange panel discussions for a few days till we get tired of it and some new case of corruption comes up to engage our attention.

The common wealth of the Commonwealth is colonial rule, in which India was the jewel in the crown of the British empire. They looted and exploited us but at least they gave us things like modern education, railways and postal services. Our present day 'burra sahibs', who consider public money their common wealth, give us bridges that collapse sooner than later, roads that develop potholes soon after they are made and departments that always run at a loss.The only beneficiaries are our new 'rulers', 'mai baaps', the new zamindars, who seem to surpass even their colonial predecessors. There is a couplet that I heard during my student days, written perhaps by Nazir Khayyami which sums up the situation :

Imarat to kya buniyad bhi kha jaayen ge
ghantaghar to kya Hussainabad bhi kha jaayen ge.
(Hussainabad is the area in old Lucknow that has famous monuments like the Asifi Imambara, Chota Imambara and the Ghantaghar or the clock tower built by the Nawabs of Awadh).

Sexual Morals

2010-10-19T22:55:00.000+05:30

There is a lot of discussion on morality all over the world, esp. sexual morals. The self-righteous, in this case, are usually those who either did not get an opportunity or did not have the courage to avail it. Beneath their condemnation lurks jealousy and envy.Privately, they must be fantasizing about them being in that lucky man or woman's place. As H.G.Wells observed' "Moral indignation is jealousy with a halo". The temptress and the libertine (the intelligent and refined ones), are much better company any day than the so-called moralists who make life appear so dull and boring that you may plunge into deep depression. And if you make the mistake of seeking their advice, you are done for. It is not without reason that Ghalib said:

ये कहाँ कि दोस्ती है, कि बने हैं दोस्त नासेह
कोई चारासाज़ होता, कोई ग़मगुसार होता

It is a well known fact that persons with a colourful past are more sought after by the opposite sex than the specimens of virtue. And in today's world, esp. in the urban areas, including our country where the moralists always put the blame of all such things on the West(as though we never had instances of adultery or extra- marital sex), people are generally coming to the conclusion that such things should be best left to the parties involved, without any interference from any outsider(read, moralist); hence this emphasis on being bold and looking as well as feeling beautiful. Perhaps they have realized the truth of Oscar Wilde's observation : "It is better to be beautiful than to be good. But...it is better to be good than to be ugly".

Desire

2010-10-14T22:12:00.000+05:30

In the dark regions of the mind
desire takes birth
like a rainbow
piercing a grey cloud
and once perceived
is nourished
sometimes flirted with
beneath the indulgent veneer
of respectability.

But when it tries to cross the line
explore the inner sphere
enter the domain of ecstasy
there is resistance
leading to a tug-o-war
either side conceding a little
and then recovering
till the rope finally snaps
plunging it
into the country of no return.

Hindi Poem -- 5

2010-10-07T21:55:00.001+05:30

जब भी आसमान पर घने बादल
पानी के बोझ से झुके हुए
बरसने को बेताब
खामोश सी फिजा में
हलके नम झोकों के साथ
बदन को छूते हैं
तब कुछ पुरानी हसरतें
शराफत कि क़ब्र में दफन
इक बेताब आत्मा की तरह
संगमरमर के पत्थर पर
दस्तक देने लगती हैं |

अब इस क़ब्र के
इस भारी पत्थर पर
आयतों, अशआरों कि मुहर के नीचे
कराहती हुईं यह ख्वाहिशें
इक अजीब लाचारी कि दास्ताँ हैं |

कभी शायद यह
इतनी ताक़तवर हो जाएँ
कि पत्थर को तोड़ कर
बारिश में नाचते हुए
नहा कर
मिटटी पर लोट कर
महकती गीली घास के बीच
धरती को चाट कर
तृप्ति प्राप्त कर सकें
शायद .....

Distant Voices

2010-10-01T14:33:00.001+05:30

Distant voices reverberate
in the crevices of the brain.
Was it only yesterday
that we rode roughshod
for a few miles
to the accompaniment
of raised eyebrows?

Did our uncertain parting
lead to an oblivion
that compressed time
into a capsule
sugarcoating bitterness?

Your voice
still the same
like instant coffee
clears the brain
and synchronizes
with the distant voices
creating a symphony
removing aridity.

Aawara Baadal

2010-09-23T19:43:00.002+05:30

The first day without rain after a long, long time. After the gloom and depression of Sept. 18, we are making attempts to regain at least a semblance of normalcy. Saw white clouds after quite some time and, listening to a song sung by Talat and Lata based on Mozart Symphony no. 40 in G Minor, I could see how cloud and water can also be used as metaphors for expressing the softer passions of the heart. There is an innocence in the song and its picturization which touches the heart. However, there is another aspect of the white clouds which Osho describes:

A white cloud drifts wherever the wind leads --
it doesn't resist, it doesn't fight.
A white cloud is not a conqueror,
and yet still it hovers over everything.
You cannot conquer it, you cannot defeat it.
It has no mind to conquer--
that's why you cannot defeat it.

Once you are fixed for a goal, purpose, destiny, meaning;
once you have the madness of reaching somewhere,
then problems will arise, and you will be defeated.
That is certain.
Your defeat is in the very nature of existence itself.

A white cloud has nowhere to go.
It moves, it moves everywhere.
All dimensions belong to it; all directions belong to it.
Nothing is rejected.
Everything is, exists, in a total acceptability.
Hence I call my way
The Way of the White Clouds.

Almora : The fury of Nature on Sept. 18

2010-09-20T22:26:00.002+05:30

Sometime back, my daughter posted some photographs on the beauty of Almora during the rainy season. Today, let's see the destructive aspect of nature. September 18 was a black day for Almora. Two villages were totally destroyed as a result of cloud burst, in which about 50 people have lost their lives. All the roads leading to Almora are closed due to multiple landslides.Even the roads inside the city have suffered heavy damage; in my mohalla there has been heavy damage---no 4-wheeler can ply on this road. Several houses have been damaged, including mine in which the stone retaining wall slid down and a portion of the road stone wall fell on the roof. On top of this there was no electricity and it was raining heavily. That night I could feel the utter helplessness of human beings when faced with the fury of nature. Today evening, after sustained effort, electricity has been restored but there has been no water for the last three days due to flooding of Kosi. Only when the rain stops completely and building material can come from the plains i.e. Haldwani, can one start repair work. Till then, one can only pray. Here are some photographs of the damage---again the view of and from my house.The first two show the wall of the road that fell on our roof and the latter show the slide of the retaining wall and the kitchen garden of our house.

Oh, this toothache!

2010-09-14T18:45:00.005+05:30

Since I’ve joined BDS, I’ve understood the importance of dental care which I was earlier unaware and negligent about.Keeping our teeth and gums clean not only adds up to our aesthetics but also improves our overall health. It reduces chances of acquiring diseases like oral cancer which may otherwise prove lethal also. Many other diseases of the body manifest symptoms in the oral cavity (mouth), therefore, it is helpful in the diagnosis of these diseases. Teeth are important as they help us in mastication (chewing and grinding of food), they maintain the vertical dimensions of our face & also help in speech.Imagine getting up one morning and finding that all your teeth are gone? It would be nothing less than a nightmare to any of us! This proves the importance of teeth in our mouth. Then why not keep them healthy?

Healthy teeth and gums add up to our aesthetics (even Aishwarya Rai can’t look beautiful with yellow teeth and swollen gums!). Not only do they enhance our beauty they also improve our overall health.Some of our food gets stuck in between our teeth and later due to poor oral hygiene may decay and cause bad breath. This is a common problem which many of us may encounter esp. those who work for late hours in the office and eat junk food like burgers and pizzas. Keeping our mouth clean also helps us get rid of bad breath and keeps it miles away (none of your friends and colleagues would take a step back anymore when you open your mouth to speak!). Since your gums and teeth will be healthy you won’t have to worry about tooth decay and thus can save your precious money and time which you otherwise would have left with no option but to waste on costly dental procedures like fillings and Root Canal Treatments (RCT s).Incidence of diseases of teeth and gums like dental caries, gingivitis, oral cancer etc. can also be prevented.

As it is said “prevention is better than cure”, it is easier to keep teeth and gums healthy rather than later getting dental problems fixed. It doesn’t take much of an effort to keep either. It just needs a little care. All you need to do is brush your teeth twice a day- in the morning and before bed in the night and floss at least once a day (use a good tooth paste esp. one containing fluoride and always use a soft toothbrush), avoid foods that contain large amounts of sugar like sweets and soft drinks. Also avoid eating tobacco as it may lead to staining of teeth, gum diseases and even oral cancer. Visit a dentist for frequent dental checkups (at least once a year) otherwise if you get a toothache it will neither let you sleep nor eat properly.

Evergreen Asha at 77

2010-09-08T23:41:00.002+05:30

The voice of Asha Bhonsle has enthralled music lovers for five decades. Her songs with two music directors were just out of this world---O.P. Nayyar and, of course, the one and only, the genius, R.D. Burman . Today she turns 77----many happy returns of the day. Here are two of her songs, one from each of the music directors:

Almora durng rains (view from home)

2010-09-02T22:18:00.003+05:30

These are early morning and sunset photographs of Almora taken from our home recently. Although the rains wrecked havoc this year, they also carried a silver lining with them; beautiful scenes that mesmerise the human mind.

Decent Proposal (a song )

2010-08-27T22:17:00.001+05:30

After travelling this far
and having learnt that passion
is so fleeting, so transient
Will you let me come close to you
for sometime?
For I know
I'm not the only man in your life
nor will ever be.

That love comes once in a lifetime
I know is a lie
But it's true that when it happens
it surely doesn't die
That's why I seek
no commitment
of lifetime togetherness
For I know
I'm not the only man in your life
nor will ever be.

You know the truth
the transience of beauty and youth
And you possess
that dangerous combination
experience, beauty, intelligence
That's why I want to be
one of your men
come close to you for sometime
knowing
I'm not the only man in your life
nor will ever be.

Jan Kavi Girda

2010-08-24T14:16:00.000+05:30

The people of Uttarakhand have lost their voice---a firm but melodious voice that sang, at the same time, of the beauty of the mountains and the problems of its people. Jan Kavi, Girish Tewari 'Girda' breathed his last on 22nd. The loss is irreparable, but his work shall continue to inspire generations. My homage to this great soul.

In this era of consumerism and individualism, where everything one says or does has some ulterior motive, even Janpakshi voices have become suspect. Many such voices are uttered with an eye on a Rajya Sabha seat or some form of political power. In such an era, the voice of Girda stands apart ---a selfless, emotional, friendly voice which is immortal because it is genuine and authentic, in the real sense a voice of the people.

Last week, there was a lecture in our Campus on the relationship between travel literature and journalism by Govind Pant Raju. His narration of an incident that took place during his trip to Antartica was mesmerizing. His description of his journeys across Uttarakhand, with an introduction by Dr. Shamsher Singh Bisht, took me back to the 80's, when I was in Nainital. The slide show of the Askot-Arakot yatra, presented by my colleague Prof. Shekhar Pathak, flashed through my mind. At that time, I had marveled at the beautiful scenes of nature, not giving much thought to the romance of the journey. The travel through dangerous terrain and the adventure of travelling without money---interacting, eating and sleeping with the people---exhibited a camaraderie that is the hallmark of the peace-loving and friendly people of the hills. Coming from a cosmopolitan city like Lucknow, I never had the tendency to be part of any segregated 'outside' group, and this helped me in mixing with the people here. I feel as much at home in Almora as I do in Lucknow. Being an aspirant of authentic living, I will not say that I am like a Kumaoni(an otherwise politically correct statement), because of the distinct culture and geographical conditions that they are natives of, but I am with them, today and always, in responding to the call of Girda.

Gunjing

2010-08-18T20:11:00.003+05:30

Anyone who has spent a considerable part of his/her youth in Lucknow must have experienced the pleasure of 'Gunjing'. If not, then his/her claim of being a Lucknowite should be disdainfully dismissed. During my student days at Lucknow University during the 70's, Gunjing was a ritual that had to be observed, especially on Saturday evenings, when everybody you wanted to meet was there. Even if you bumped into your elders, they would give you an indulgent smile. Well, for those who don't know, Gunjing means taking a leisurely walk, usually with friends, on the pavement of Lucknow's posh market, Hazratgunj, from Halwasiya Market to the Coffee House and back, pausing at strategic locations, esp.the narrow Love Lane and Ranjana. The primary aim was looking at the fashionably dressed girls(as there was not much free mixing among the sexes then), the secondary aim being bumping into friends and having a cup of coffee with them. Shopping was a strict no-no; if you did shopping, that trip to Gunj(Hazratgunj is called Gunj, while other localities with the suffix 'gunj' are known by their full names) would not qualify as Gunjing. After a few rounds and hanging around at the strategic points, we would end the evening with coffee and burger, usually at Rover's(Atul's favourite), which was just a snacks counter during those days.

One of the regular visitors to Gunj was the lovable 'Bhai Saheb', as we all called him, who usually came there alone. He was a good decade older than us but he treated us with immense affection. Tall and thin, with his blackened hair brushed back into a puff, we would find him standing at his favourite magazine stall. He was very fond of perfumes; a small wad of cotton dabbed with attar was tucked in each ear, while synthetic perfume was sprayed on his shirt. He belonged to the royalty(not counterfeit, as you find them today) and lived at that time, a bachelor, all alone in his huge haveli. I still remember the long late evenings I spent with him in his haveli, many times with my friend, Prabhat. He was a good conversationalist, a connoisseur and we considered him an authority on matters sexual. He would recount the sexual exploits of the aristocracy in a manner that would throw us into amazement and envy. As we found it impossible to indulge in such libertine acts, all we could do was to derive vicarious pleasure from his tales. I still remember his description of the manner in which a particular Nawab masturbated by drilling a suitable hole in a round pillar and filling it with raw bakra kaleji!

Bhai Saheb used to be tongue tied in the presence of his father, but he was so friendly with us young people---a sign of the changing times. Soft spoken and helpful, it was a pleasure to be in his company, esp. during Gunjing. When I met him during my recent visit to Lucknow, the only change I saw in him was the hoary moustache that he now sports. I'm sure that he still does Gunjing sometimes; I hope he does, because I can't imagine Gunj without him.

Note: This song catches the spirit of Gunjing.

Azaadi Mubarak Ho

2010-08-15T21:14:00.001+05:30

First of all, HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY . Every year, this is an occasion to remember and pay our homage to all the martyrs who laid down their lives for our nation's freedom. They died with Vande Mataram on their lips, so that the people of India could be free, achieve swaraj. But this date is also a grim reminder of Partition, the two-nation theory, where nation was equated with religion, the wounds of which still linger. That Pakistan went for another partition with the creation of Bangladesh proved the two-nation theory wrong, but the damage had already been done. The partition of India not only created two countries that have been at loggerheads with each other, but also created a wedge between the Hindus and the Muslims. India has always stood for spirituality, which is beyond religion, and that our ancient philosophy and spiritualism has withstood the ravages of time and invasions is sufficient testimony of its strength and relevance, even in this postmodern era. That it will survive the challenges it faces today, I have not the slightest doubt; the only thing we must ensure is not to become victims of vote- bank politics. Let us also ensure that we finally relinquish the vestiges of colonialism---the way our civil servants and police function, the superiority of the English language and the enthusiasm about the Commonwealth Queen's baton(the common 'wealth' being colonial rule). We have done away with this term in English studies, then why not in other areas of discourse? We must also relinquish the vestiges of feudalism--addressing people as raja, rani, kunwar, nawab, nawabzada, yuvraj and other such titles, as well as the feudal mindset, an example of which we came across recently when an educated man, a Vice Chancellor, made derogatory remarks against women. Let us speak strongly against those who talk against the singing of Vande Mataram(such ignorance of translation!). And, of course, let us put up a united front against terrorism, the biggest menace that our nation faces today.
VANDE MATARAM
JAI HIND.

The Room

2010-08-08T12:22:00.001+05:30

He always looked outside the window
from his room and thought
how beautiful were the flowers
the green grass, the mountains
and the girls
smiling coyly.

He had the support of chroniclers,
friends, natural scientists
who pointed towards more treasures
waiting
to be appreciated.

But one day
standing outside his window
he looked inside and saw
the cobwebs
scattered papers and books
stained curtains, discoloured walls,
dried fern leaves preserved in books,
empty wine bottles
and the pornographic glossies hidden
behind the Encyclopedia.

He paused, afraid to enter
this strange place
but the nameplate on the door
carried his name.
But now when he looked
outside the window
the mountains
seemed to engulf him,
the grass
a bed with biting ants,
the flowers dazzled
with their colours and delicacy
and the women stared boldly, inviting
his subjugation.

Taking a slow, deep breath to control
his pounding heart
he looked at the moon
and rediscovered the old lady
weaving on the loom
a rabbit by her side.
When he waved out to her
she sent him a gift,
a moonray for his heart,
to help him
begin his life
once again.

Authentic Living

2010-08-02T23:25:00.002+05:30

About 20 years ago, when I came to Almora, I and my friend HPS started a 'forum for authentic living', in which we had fortnightly discussions within a small group comprising of a few friends and some students on the ways and means of making authentic living possible. One member of that group, the lovable Anil Pandey, is now no more. He was an authentic being and I shall always remember the time that we spent together. The forum could last only for a couple of years, one major reason being HPS leaving Almora.. Poetry being an authentic voice occupied an important place in our forum discussions and those of us who wrote poetry recited their compositions which was followed by responses from the audience. I still remember with nostalgia those sessions. It's always nice talking to young people; they are much less ossified than us.

Osho says that to be authentic means to remain true to your own being. To achieve this, three things have to be remembered : 1) Never listen to anybody, what they say for you to be. Always listen to your inner voice. 2) Never wear a mask. If you want to laugh, laugh. When you want to be angry, be angry. But you have been taught that when you are angry, smile; then your smile becomes false, a mask. The heart full of anger, poison and the lips smiling, you become a false phenomenon. 3).Always remain in the present because all falseness enters either from the past or from the future. Be true to the present.....Be authentic and whatsoever you say is going to be true.

This is certainly not easy and it doesn't go down well with people around you, even people close to you. But then, this will give you true happiness as well as those few genuine relationships that make life worth living. The path of authentic living is for each of us to discover; but to begin with, open your heart.....dil ki girah khol do.

The Indian Male

2010-07-26T20:15:00.008+05:30

It is said that Sir Walter Raleigh put his coat over a puddle for Queen Elizabeth I to prevent her shoes from getting dirty. But in our country where the birth of a girl saddens the entire family, where cases of sex determination tests leading to foeticide and female infanticide continue to occur with alarming regularity, where dowry deaths and bride burning are quite common, and where violence against women is so rampant that the govt. had to legislate a Bill to prevent domestic violence against women, such acts of chivalry are not very common. We continue to be largely chauvinistic and still consider subjugating women as a sign of masculinity. We still suffer from the colonial hangover of the superiority of the white skin and the English language; our matrimonial ads. that talk of 'fair, convent educated girls' bear testimony to this. But even in such a scenario, which was rather a little more bleak about two decades back, Ms. Alisha Chinoy extolled the 'heart' of the Indian male in a song that was a big hit then. Being an Indian male, I must agree with the sentiments expressed by Ms. Chinoy, though I would say the same more enthusiastically for the Indian woman. The Indian skin is a beautiful blend of black and white and the contemporary Indian urban woman, who is a perfect blend of the east and the west, is now making her presence felt, slowly but certainly, in almost every field of activity. But we'll talk of the new Indian woman some other time; today, let's listen to that song by Alisha and enjoy the privilege of being 'made in India'.

Invitation ?

2010-07-20T22:19:00.004+05:30

This is a poem that I wrote years back. When I read it today after quite a long time, it transported me back to my youth, when invitations of this kind, real or imaginary, accepted or fearfully let go by, made life meaningful. Not that they don't do so anymore, as Firaq Gorakhpuri wrote:
Sar mein sauda bhi nahin dil mein tamanna bhi nahin
Lekin is tark-e-mohabbat ka bharosa bhi nahin
So, here is the poem, followed by the above ghazal sung by the one and only Begum Akhtar, who sang ghazals, thumris and dadras with equal mastery and ease :

She looked at me
with eyes focused on infinity.
Just a casual glance ?

Slow waters
not a ripple on the surface
Then dense forests
hiding
a reddish-black rose
with a heady fragrance.

Maybe she desired me
a glimpse
a whiff
Or it could be
just a casual glance
But she looked at me
with eyes focused on infinity.

Caste Census

2010-07-14T22:17:00.003+05:30

Don't you think that this debate over caste census is quite unnecessary? In a country where politicians often give priority to vote bank politics over national interest, caste census is something quite natural. Why are some citizens against it when it has the following advantages :
1. Political parties give tickets in elections on the basis of existing religion/caste population in different constituencies and this latest caste data shall further facilitate their distribution of tickets.
2. Although our politicians swear by the Constitution of India whenever any issue comes up, they tend to ignore Article 44, which states, "The State shall endeavour to secure for the citizens a uniform civil code throughout the territory of India". Now they can have different civil codes, not only for people of different religions, but also of different castes for the sake of votes.
3. The calculators can start working furiously again to calculate the proportion of various castes in order to provide proportionate reservation to the satisfaction of all, based on this latest accurate data.
4. It will facilitate honour killings which can be later legalized.
5. Governments can provide incentives and facilities for caste/sub-caste groups to live separately, as their living together is, in some cases, leading to friendships, marriages etc. which may, in the long run, seriously affect vote-bank politics.
6. It will create caste awareness among even that minuscule minority who (may the Almighty give them wisdom) do not give credence to religion/caste differences.
7. National integration can be safely left to Mushairas and Kavi Sammelans.

Don't you think the above advantages outweigh disadvantages, if any? If you disagree, then buy a good music system, shut yourself in your house, and listen to songs like Kishore's "Aa chal, ke tujhe main le ke chalun", or, Ghalib's "Nikalna khuld se aadam ka suntey aaye hain lekin/bahut beabroo hokar tere kuchey se hum nikley".

And thus spake the oracle...

2010-07-10T02:00:00.005+05:30

Soccer fever is at its high these days with even many Indians forgetting and ignoring their religion CRICKET for the FIFA world cup matches. Furthermore, humans aren't the only ones in the grip of this fever. It has even infected animals!!!Among all the excitement of the matches and many unpredictable wins and losses Germany's 'Octopus Oracle' has been in the headlines for no other reason than football. Till now it has correctly predicted the results of all of Germany's matches including Germany's loss to Spain in the semi-finals. Maybe all of us should consult him about our problems from now on!!! Wat say people??Haha.Thought of sharing this article about Paul (that's it's name) from FIFA's official website with everyone here. If you've already read about him then please comment and share your thoughts and if you haven't then read on as we present Paul 'The Octopus Oracle' :

Germany's 'Octopus oracle' keeps perfect record

(AFP) Thursday 8 July 2010

AFP

It will not come as much of a consolation to heartbroken German fans, but at least Paul, Germany's now world-famous "Octopus oracle", has maintained his perfect record.

The "psychic" creature has correctly predicted all six of Germany's FIFA World Cup™ games and, amid excruciating drama broadcast live on national television on Tuesday, plumped for Spain, causing anguish up and down the country. And the eight-legged soccer soothsayer was spot on Wednesday, as Carles Puyol's semi-final header shattered Germany's dreams of winning their fourth world crown.

Two plastic boxes, one with a German flag and one with a Spanish, were lowered into Paul's tank at an aquarium in western Germany, each with a tasty morsel of food inside. The box which Paul opens first is adjudged to be his predicted winner. But with classic fickleness, German fans turned against their beloved octopus after he forecast a Spanish win.

According to 'Der Western' daily paper, there have been "a host of comments on Facebook, Twitter... suggesting Paul should be fried, barbecued or turned into a seafood salad or paella". "Others wanted to throw him into the shark tank," the paper reported on its website. And on Berlin's fan mile, some sections of the crowd also turned against their former hero. Anti-octopus songs were sung.

I remember you

2010-06-30T21:31:00.004+05:30

Memories are mischievous; they always strike you at the right time, which is mostly the wrong time. They make you vulnerable, they fill you with nostalgia. But, like everything in life, we must come to terms with them. We have to re-live bitter memories many times, realize and overcome guilt, do away with regrets and cherish the beautiful ones. They make our life worth living; we are our past. And, most importantly, there would be no literature, no poetry without memories. So, here's a poem of mine, followed by an absolutely enchanting and soulful song from the one and only Elvis Presley.

I remember you
when the clouds descend
from the mountains
with a soft drizzle
and one feels
in the middle of nowhere.

I remember you
when a chance phrase
in the middle of a conversation
takes me years back
to the fresh fragrance of our bodies
that had no need
of synthetic perfume.

I remember you
and the times
on just a chance glimpse
distant voice on the telephone
as if it was yesterday.
And, of course, I remember you
the moment
I forget you.

Guru Dutt : Two Songs

2010-06-22T22:31:00.003+05:30

Guru Dutt's 'Pyaasa' was, in my opinion, the best film ever made in Bollywood. No other Hindi film has depicted the alienation of the artist in a callous and ruthless society in such a sensitive and effective manner. The forceful lyrics from a young Sahir Ludhianvi, some from his collection 'Talkhiyan', the haunting music of SD Burman, beautiful performances by the sensitive and highly talented Guru Dutt, the bewitching Waheeda Rehman and the technique that presented a balanced blend of realism and expressionism--- it was just perfect. When I saw the film for the first time during my research days, it created a deep disturbance of spirit. I am posting the climax song from this film and another song from his film, 'Kaagaz ke Phool', whose failure at the box office left Guru Dutt heartbroken.

Recovery

2010-06-15T20:35:00.002+05:30

Storms can wreck, but not completely
They only leave marks
like termites on books
taking away a word,
a sentence,
and sometimes a page.

Coming across it someone
shows it the sun
dusting caressingly
with loving hands
and reading slowly
responds, assimilates,
till reaching the missing word
pauses,
thinks,
approximates
and satisfied writes it
(with an asterisk)
at the bottom of the page
like a footnote, happy
that the gap is filled.
Yes , love does heal, but not completely.

Ghazab kiya tere waade pe aitbaar kiya

2010-06-08T10:21:00.002+05:30

The famous ghazal by Daag Dehlavi, "Ghazab kiya tere waade pe aitbaar kiya" was sung by Mohd. Rafi, in his beautiful voice, sometime during the 1960's. I think it was released in an EP (45 rpm) with another ghazal, perhaps by Ghalib, on the other side. Later, it was sung by Mehndi Hassan in his inimitable style. Here are both the versions. Enjoy.

University Teachers

2010-05-31T09:48:00.003+05:30

The mannequins
with the right touch of rouge
manicured and pedicured
gold medals round their necks
flaunt publications
and talk solemnly
of income tax.

The flat-chested ones
wear bras
padded with the breath
of telephone conversations
twilight titillations
and polypacks
of the milk of human kindness.

With anxious care
they cut and prune
the roots and branches
wash and caress, cultivating
exquisite bonsai
in colourful pots to decorate
tomorrow's skyscrapers.

The dreamer stands on the threshold
bewildered
frowned upon by everyone.
His words only scatter
like semen on the pyjamas
after a wet dream
to be washed away
the first thing in the morning.

Gentleman Jim

2010-05-23T20:44:00.004+05:30

Jim Reeves was a well-known American country and pop music singer of the 50's and 60's. It is said that while he was working as an announcer in a Radio Station in Louisiana, a popular singer of that time did not turn up for a programme and Jim Reeves was asked to substitute for him. This proved to be the turning point in his career and he never looked back from there. His warm and velvety voice enthralled music lovers and he was one of my favourite singers during my school days. This song, though sad, shows the bond between man and beast. I like it very much and I hope you also will...

IPL : Cricket or Tamasha?

2010-05-16T12:33:00.002+05:30

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the baap(father) of all reality shows that has given other reality shows and daily soaps a run for their money! Welcome to IPL!!
IPL was initially created in reaction to the ICL. ICL or the Indian Cricket League, as one may recall was created by Zee Entertainment Enterprise in 2007 . Zee Telefilms had been constantly trying to get the telecast rights for various cricketing events and after a number of failed attempts retaliated against the BCCI by forming the Indian Cricket League. Obviously, it did not get the support of the BCCI. The Indian Premier League (IPL) was formed as an answer to this by the BCCI. It was also created to provide opportunity to state and national players to exhibit their talent at an international level. Although this contribution of the IPL cannot be overlooked still its hard to ignore the fact that IPL has now become more of a reality show or drama than a sporting event.
The fact that it was being broadcasted on SetMax which is essentially a movie channel and also in cinema halls, PVRs etc. just adds to it. IPL seems to be more like a money making machine for a few rather than something to increase the respect for the game. Its also said that the games and sports of a society reflect its social life. If seen from such an angle IPL reflects our fast paced life, the hunger for glamour and, also our obsession with money.
From the cheerleaders and Harbhajan-Shreesant controversy to the Indo-Pak auction spat; further, from the 'God knows if true' Dawood threat to the Shashi Tharoor- Modi controversy, the drama seems to just get bigger. We can only wait and watch how far it will go the next season because the drama is far from over!!

Translation of a Ghazal--2

2010-05-04T09:12:00.005+05:30

This ghazal has been written by Qateel Shifai and sung, very soulfully, by Lata Mangeshkar to the music of Jagjit Singh in the album "Sajda". The video from You Tube, Suhanee2, has been made quite aesthetically, and has some beautiful visuals. I have again used radif and qafia in in the English translation of this ghazal. I hope you'll like it.

दर्द से मेरा दामन भर दे या अल्लाह
फिर चाहे दीवाना कर दे या अल्लाह

मैंने तुझसे चाँद सितारे कब मांगे
रौशन दिल बेदार नज़र दे या अल्लाह

सूरज सी इक चीज़ तो हम सब देख चुके
सचमुच कि अब कोई सहर दे या अल्लाह

या धरती के ज़ख्मों पर मरहम रख दे
या मेरा दिल पत्थर कर दे या अल्लाह

Fill my heart with pain, O Almighty
Even if it makes me insane, O Almighty

For the moon or stars did I ever pray?
Enlightened mind, depth of vision let me gain, O Almighty

Something like the sun we see every day
A real dawn let the sky stain, O Almighty

On the Earth's wounds, healing balm
Or to stone my heart turn, slain, O Almighty.

Two Songs

2010-04-26T21:25:00.004+05:30

Here are two songs--- first Aslam Ansari's ghazal sung by Ghulam Abbas, which became so popular that it became his signature song; the second, a geet from the film Janta Hawaldar, picturized on one of my favourite actors, Rajesh Khanna. Both the songs have the same dhun and they perhaps belong to the same era. I like both the songs, so instead of trying to find out who used the dhun first, let's enjoy the songs.

Translation of a Ghazal--1

2010-04-19T20:28:00.005+05:30

Ghazals have been translated from Urdu into English, but these translations have been, by and large, free verse translations. In the West, poets used to write poems and call them ghazals without following the formal structure of the ghazal i.e. the radif and the qafia. It was Agha Shahid Ali(1949-2001), who laid emphasis on the formal beauty of the ghazal and he not only wrote ghazals in English, but also published an anthology of ghazals in English entitled, "Ravishing DisUnities: Real Ghazals in English"(2000) which contains ghazals by 107 poets, who have followed the characteristics of the Urdu ghazal----the radif and the qafia; the radif occurring at the end of both the lines of the first couplet and repeated in the second line of subsequent couplets, the qafia, immediately preceding the radif, rhyming in both the lines of the first couplet and the second line of subsequent couplets. Keeping this in mind, I have also made my first attempt at translating a ghazal using radif and qafia. The ghazal is by Rana Sahri and sung by Jagjit Singh in his album, Visions--2. First, I'm writing the ghazal in Devanagari, followed by its English translation and finally the video (not from the album but a live performance which contains an extra couplet not there in the album ).

कोई दोस्त है ना रक़ीब है
तेरा शेहर कितना अजीब है

वो जो इश्क़ था वो जूनून था
ये जो हिज्र है ये नसीब है

मैं किसे कहूं मेरे साथ चल
यहाँ सब के सर पे सलीब है

यहाँ किस का चेहरा पढ़ा करूं
यहाँ कौन इतना क़रीब है

तुझे देख कर मैं हूँ सोचता
तू हबीब है या रक़ीब है

Neither friend nor rival, what a pity, exists
How strange it is, such a city exists.

Love, that maddening passion, is now past
Separation, my destiny, pitchy, exists.

Whom should I ask, come with me
Each carries a cross, so weighty, exists.

Whose face can I for hours contemplate
Any one, so close, a beauty, exists?

Looking at you I'm compelled to think
Friend or foe, a dilemma so pretty exists.

Hindi Poem--4

2010-04-12T20:19:00.003+05:30

कभी मन करता है
कि इस मरुस्थल में
थके हुए क़दमों को
यहीं रोक दूं
छोड़ दूं तलाश मरुद्वीप कि
और इन रेत के टीलों का ही
स्पर्श करूँ
धीरे-धीरे|

कभी मन करता है
कि रात के अँधेरे में
सब से नज़रें चुरा कर
चला जाऊं उस चौखट पर
जो मस्तिष्क में पल रही कल्पनाओं को
साकार कर
शांत करदे
इस थके हुए तन को|

क्यूंकि शायद
इन सब चरणों से---
कामवासना, कामुकता
भावना, भावुकता
प्रेम, प्यार
मोहब्बत, इश्क़---
गुज़र कर ही
पहुँच सकूँ उस मरुद्वीप पर
जहाँ चंद्रमा कि इक ठंडी किरण
शांत कर दे उन बिजलिओं को
जो कौंधती रहती हैं मन में
हर समय
हर जगह
हर व्यक्ति से
मिलने पर|

Forbidden Love

2010-04-05T21:38:00.002+05:30

Wasn't it love that kept us apart?
That forbidden love
which made you turn
towards banalities
a straight face
to ward off the evil
of prying eyes.

Wasn't it love that made you so fortified
that even my hidden tears
camouflaged pain
couldn't penetrate
your fortress?

Is reality so overwhelming
that we can't even share fantasies
after we have left
our dreams behind?
Will you open your lips
even slightly
to let words form
which you may not dare
to give voice?

The heart says you will
condole me with your body
to bring an end
to this wordless agony.

Is It Nainital ?

2010-03-29T21:26:00.008+05:30

Just remembered an old song from the black & white film "Shagoon"(1964), starring the bewitching Waheeda Rehman with the forgettable Kamaljeet, whom Waheeda eventually married(the reason, perhaps, why everybody wants to forget him). The song is sung by Mohd. Rafi and Suman Kalyanpur, with lyrics by Sahir and music by Khayyam. Such soft music with beautiful lyrics, a balance between the music and the voices of the singers, not like most music today in which the voice is almost obliterated by synthesized music.

When I saw the video today, I was fascinated by the background scenery. Is it Nainital ? I believe it is. Oh my God, how beautiful ! See the Nainital of today; a concrete jungle, hardly any greenery. It was better in 1981, when I joined the University Campus there, but everytime I go there, which is quite often, it keeps getting worse. What are we doing to our planet ?

Mother

2010-03-22T19:35:00.004+05:30

Here is one of my favourite songs from the film "Talaash"(1969), sung by S.D.Burman and written by Majrooh Sultanpuri. There are several songs extolling the mother, but none as moving as this one. Although the video quality is not too good and most of the song is part of the film's credit titles, it is worth listening to.
As far as I'm concerned, although my mother had very little education, she was the one solely responsible for my education in times and in families like ours where education was not taken very seriously; rather, the stamp of being a graduate was considered enough, regardless of division secured and building a career was considered infradig. Being an only child, I was her entire world esp. after the death of my father when I was a postgraduate student. She died four years back, and whenever I hear this song, it brings tears in my eyes (of course, the picturization is rather sentimentally exaggerated, but that's the way it was in films of that era).

The Mushaira Poet (Female)

2010-03-14T11:18:00.005+05:30

You can spot her from a distance
seated on the dais;
penciled eyebrows
lip gloss
layers of foundation
designer salwar-suit
and the dupatta covering her head.

The predominantly male crowd
many with beards and skull caps
wait in expectation
of watching her recite
and listen to her tarannum.

Mostly she satisfies them
by singing of unrequited love,
the transgressions of the male species
and the self-righteous woman waiting
for her harjai to return.

And sometimes she talks
of gender inequality
for the sake of variety
(after all it's fashionable
for a woman to write
about such things);
only a few nod their heads
with the anchor providing
the mandatory appreciation.

But she gets the loudest applause
when she waxes eloquent
on the importance of purdah,
the cherished virtues of haya, sharm,
docility, meekness, obedience,
dedication to the family;
her melodious voice
drowning the cries
of so many women
tortured, degraded, sacrificed
at the altar
of patriarchy.

The Mushaira Poet (Male)

2010-03-07T12:08:00.005+05:30

You can spot him from a distance
long uncombed hair
crumpled clothes
hangover eyes
studied casualness
and a cynical countenance.

He is the mushaira poet
accepted, approved conformist
talking of beautiful eyes
trapping tresses
well-formed breasts
and the eternal infidelity of women beautiful.

He ogles at women
trying to transfix them with a couplet,
neglects his family
hunts for a free drink
and approbation.

Sometimes he writes
about social evils.
A poet has to be a rebel somewhat
socially conscious,
to avoid being branded
a mere degenerate.

And before he presents
the couplet philosophical,
there's a longish introduction
environment-building
for applause
at his insight
too deep
for an ordinary mortal's reach.

But mostly his craft
is at its best
in nazms on 'quaumi-ekta'
national integration
Hindu-Muslim unity,
where the government-sponsored applause
drowns the cries
of those who have suffered
and whom his voice pierces
like a sharp dagger
with a gold-handle
studded with sparkling gems.

Translation of a short poem of W.B.Yeats

2010-02-28T17:55:00.006+05:30

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look,
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

जब कभी बुढ़ापे में, स्लेटी बाल, नींद से बोझल आँखों से,
तुम आतशदान के पास बैठकर इस किताब को धीरे-धीरे पढ़ोगे,
तब तुम्हें याद आएँगी वह नर्म निगाहें और उनमें गहरे साए,
जो कभी तुम्हारे हुआ करते थे;

कितने लोग तुम्हारी दिलकश मुसकुराहट पर निसार हुए थे,
और तुम्हारी सुन्दरता से प्यार किया था, झूठा या सच्चा,
पर वह केवल एक ही शक्स था जिसने चाहा तुम्हारी श्रद्धालु आत्मा को,
और तुम्हारे बदलते चेहरे के दुखों को;

और झुक कर उन देहेकते अंगारों पर, सरगोशी करोगे,
कि कैसे प्यार दूर चला गया,
दूर उन ऊँचे पहाड़ों पर, मुँह छिपाए हुए
तारों के झुरमुट के बीच में|

Seasons and Memories

2010-02-22T09:37:00.005+05:30

There was a time when we lived in tune with nature. All our folk songs and dances are, in some way or the other, connected with the seasons. Then we did not have air conditioned comforts, artificial trees and plants, poisoned fruits and vegetables, injections that change their size and colour, virtual reality and brittle relationships. As a poet said, in a lighter vein:

Ajeeb haal hai chehra badal ke aa baithey
Jo keh gaye thhey ke kapde badal ke aatey hain.

Then, each season brought back memories of one's beloved in its own peculiar manner. This, I believe, still remains; because if this ends, then will doomsday be near. So, here is a nazm, sung by the famous Jaipur duo, Ahmad Hussain & Mohammad Hussain :

Oh, Valentine!

2010-02-13T20:22:00.004+05:30

It's nice to be back in Almora after one and a half months. I feel somewhat like Wordsworth returning to Tintern Abbey after a gap of five years. Once again the fresh mountain breeze(though a little cold), the clear blue sky(after the fog and haze in Lucknow) and the familiar languid atmosphere, recalling the famous couplets of Ghalib:

Ji dhoondta hai phir wahi fursat ke raat din
Baithe rahein tassuvar-e-jaana kiye huey

Muddat hui hai yaar ko mehman kiye huey
Josh-e-qada se bazm charaghan kiye huey

And, it so happens that tomorrow is Valentine's Day. Once again the controversies, the debates, the protests about it being an imported western product which corrupts the youth of our country and endangers Indian culture. Is Indian culture so weak that it can be threatened by something like Valentine's Day? Our country and its culture has survived the onslaughts of foreign invasions and has been through centuries of foreign rule, but our culture has come out unscathed, as Iqbal says:

Yunaan-o-misr-o-roma sab mit gaye jahaan se
Ab tak magar hai baaqi naam-o-nishaan hamara

Kuch baat hai ki hasti mit-ti nahin hamari
Sadiyon raha hai dushman daur-e-zaman hamara

We must realize that even during British rule, hardly anybody celebrated Valentine's Day. I came to know about it from an essay by Charles Lamb during my M.A. days. All these days, including Father's Day, Mother's Day, Promise Day etc. are recent creations of market forces for selling their products like cards, gifts and sending SMS. How many of our youngsters know about St. Valentine? Do they worship him? Well, you know the answer. But, in my opinion, there ought to be a limit on the display of affection by couples in public. But then who will decide this? Any suggestions?

I hope to be more regular in writing my posts as I am back to my computer in Almora (in Lucknow, I didn't have my own internet connection). So, should I give you my wishes on Valentine's Day? Do let me know.

India Going Global?

2010-02-02T20:09:00.004+05:30

Recently, the newspapers and television channels have been full of news about the Slumdog Millionaire winning the Oscars. People have gone as far as to say that India is finally getting global recognition. Whether it be Arvind Adiga's Man Booker Prize winning The White Tiger or the success of Slumdog Millionaire at the Oscars as well at the Grammy awards, India IS "shining"! But one question that comes to mind is that, which is the India that is being recognized globally? What image of India is being accepted? Do such books and movies represent the true India? or are they representing a stereotypical image of India that the West wants to see??

Camus and Pyaasa

2010-01-19T18:01:00.005+05:30

About 30 years back, when I was writing my Ph.D thesis, I saw Guru Dutt's film "Pyaasa", which I rate as one of the best Hindi films ever made. Around that time, I had read quite a bit of existential philosophy and what appealed to me most was "The Myth of Sisyphus" by Albert Camus. The question posed at the beginning of the book-- if life is meaningless and absurd, why shouldn't one commit suicide?--is answered by first defining the Absurd, which is the disproportion between intention(to find meaning in life) and reality(which denies this). Sisyphus was punished by the gods to push a boulder to the top of a mountain and every time he came close to the top, the boulder rolled down. This was his eternal punishment. Had there been meaning in life and one is unable to find it, there is reason to commit suicide; but since there isn't any, then, living is keeping the Absurd alive. Sisyphus knows this, as we all should, and it is this consciousness of the Absurd in Sisyphus that makes Camus remark that 'one must imagine Sisyphus happy'. The alienation of the artist in a materialistic society that was depicted in the film Pyaasa," the lyrics of Sahir Ludhianvi, and all this laced with my reading of existentialism, put me in a brooding mood for quite some time. The expressionistic setting of the climax song, 'ye duniya agar mil bhi jaaye to kya hai',had not only social relevance, but also existential overtones. Should we opt out of the rat race like the romantic idealist in "Pyaasa", or continue to strive like Sisyphus, knowing that it is all maya, yet we have to perform our karma ? I'll leave this for you to answer.

The reason why I went down memory lane was that a couple of days back, I came across a copy of Arabian Nights in my drawer among some old papers and I started reading it. Schehera-zade, in order to live, has to tell a story (isn't it existential?) , and she does so for a thousand and one nights finally curing her husband, the Persian sultan Schah-riah, of his prejudice against women. She told stories in order to live and we, perhaps, live in order to tell stories, or, at least, leave some for posterity. I have also been thinking/wanting to write a novel for the last 25 years. Perhaps someday I will.

Introducing 'Sarwar Lakhnavi'

2010-01-10T18:45:00.008+05:30

Prabhat Kumar 'Sarwar Lakhnavi' has been writing poetry in Urdu for the last 30 years. He has brought out two collections of his poems---Khudaon Ki Duniya(2004) and Dard Ki Parchaiyan(2006). I am writing below two of his ghazals, one from each book. As he is an old friend of mine, I shall refrain from making any critical comment on his poetry----if I praise him, it may be construed as the praise of a friend, not a literary critic; and if I point out shortcomings, I'll lose a friend! So here are the ghazals:

ONE

क्या कहें क्या बात बन कर रह गयी
बेबसी सौग़ात बन कर रह गयी

आंसुओं ने है सताया इस तरह
ज़िन्दगी बरसात बन कर रह गयी

अपनी किस्मत में उजाले थे कहाँ
हर सहर इक रात बन कर रह गयी

क्या बताएं ज़िन्दगी में क्या मिला
दिल्लगी जज़्बात बन कर रह गयी

उसने चाहा था कभी 'सरवर' मगर
ख्वाब कि ये बात बन कर रह गयी

TWO

मेरे हिस्से में अब बचा क्या है
अब सुना दो कि फैसला क्या है

उसका साहिल भी डूब जाएगा
उसकी साज़िश में ये छिपा क्या है

वो जो मिल जाए उससे पूछूँगा
मेरे बारे में सोचता क्या है

जिससे रिश्ता नहीं है अब कोई
उससे मिलने में फिर बुरा क्या है

सोचता हूँ कि इस ज़माने से
बच निकलने का रास्ता क्या है

तू खुदाओं से घिर गया नासेह
तेरी बातों में अब धरा क्या है

उसका एहसास है मगर 'सरवर'
मैं नहीं जानता ख़ुदा क्या है

Two Cities

2009-12-31T20:45:00.006+05:30

It's new year's eve and I'm missing Almora a lot. It's there that I've participated in some of my most enjoyable new year parties and here in Lucknow I'm missing all the action there. I have been thinking how I've had the privilege of belonging to two cities , both having a distinct culture---Lucknow, the epitome of Avadh culture, and Almora, the cultural capital of Kumaun. Almora city can boast of total literacy---it is said that if you toss up a stone, in all likelihood it will fall on a graduate's head. In the case of Lucknow, if you toss up a stone, it will fall on a pretender nawab's head---no wonder it is known as the city of nawabs!

There are several parallels between the two cities. Lucknow is famous for its Mohurrum, Almora for its spiritualism; the former is known for its Imambaras, the latter for its Temples and ashrams. The Shia rulers of Avadh built Imambaras instead of building huge forts and palaces, and they always respected ancient Indian philosophy and culture and this accounts for communal harmony there even during the difficult time of Partition. In Almora, great personalities like Swami Vivekananda, Tagore, Swami Krishna Prem, Swami Madhav Ashish, Uday Shankar came, passed by, stayed for sometime, or made it their home. Lucknow has its kathak, thumris and dadras, Almora its baithki Holis and its folk tradition. In short, Lucknow gave me its culture, Almora its spiritualism. I think it's a good cocktail.

People keep lamenting on the the decline in culture, but I have full faith in today's generation. They are more aware and perceptive than the past generation and, in any case, Indian culture has survived many onslaughts and it has always come out stronger than before. I leave you on this optimistic note, wishing you all a very happy and prosperous 2010. May we all succeed in evolving into authentic beings. Amen.

Fiftieth post

2009-12-22T18:39:00.005+05:30

This has been a rather busy fortnight and I've not been able to do much blogging lately, but here I am with this fiftieth post. When I look back to the time when I began writing this blog on 27 March this year, I feel a sense of satisfaction. I have reached out to so many people all over the world and at the same time I have shared my thoughts, opinions, poems, translations and things I like with you. Thanks to all the visitors to this blog, esp. those who have been following and commenting regularly. Do keep visiting and sharing your thoughts and opinions. This is what keeps me going.

Well, it's winter and the mountain peaks in the distance are covered with snow. In the hills, the sun is warm, not hazy like in the plains. It's a treat to sit in the clear sunshine and eat pahari neebu mixed with bhaanga ka namak, and, as Gulzar said "Vaadi mein goonjhti hui khaamoshian sunein," or, "Aankhon pe kheench kar tere aanchal ke saaye ko/Aundhe pade rahein kabhi karwat liye huey." After all, it's the few people we love and who love us, that makes life meaningful, not this rat race for money and success. And it's when we are with nature that we have a better chance of being with our selves. It is then that we can comprehend the poetry of existence and it's only then that poetry happens:

Aatey hain ghaib se ye mazamin khayaal mein
Ghalib sareer-e-khaama nawa-e-sarosh hai

These thoughts come to me from the Hidden
The scratchings of Ghalib's pen are the whispers of the angel

And, it's only when we know ourselves that we can understand others with love and compassion. But this journey is painful, like entering the beloved's domain in Ghalib's couplet:

Haan wo nahin khuda parast, jaao wo bewafa sahi
Jisko ho deen-o-dil aziz, uski gali mein jaaye kyun.

I'll leave you with this thought.