I can’t seem to write…nowadays
Perhaps I’m not strange enough to write well
But I am strange, in fact stranger – a stranger unto myself?
I play with words
I stand musing, shutting myself on the inside of a glass window
Leaving the curtains open
I’m fearful of shutting the light out
I play with my hot breath on the cool wintry glass
Blowing up the blob of vapour
Making hazy flowers of those blobs
Spreading and disappearing
A blinking orgy of vaporous lights
I have a race against time
I have to make more flowers and bigger ones
Before the others vanish
“Come on” says a voice somewhere, “faster, bigger, faster!”
He asked me a couple of days back
“Why do you write?”
“Hmm” I said
And doled out
Some seemingly sensible reasons
Release? I like the craft involved in writing…
“Stuff like that” I said dismissively
I’m still blowing on the panes
Carelessly watching the grey beams of construction
In the next building
So many workers, all brown and grey,
Scattered.
Their whites and blacks all evenly browned
Like well baked clay
Sure footed they appear,
Knowing what to do
I don’t even seem to know what to write…
Hey! What! Why is one of them looking at me?
I hate being spied on when I’m spying
I leave the window and some vapour of hot musings on the cold glass
And walk away
Ready to write
About being unable to write

TUM

Chhoo loon tumhe, sirf tumhaare haathon ko hi,
Tab bhi
Ye raftaar o jumbish jo tumhaare lahu main hai
Meri thehri nabz mein shayad kahin se aa jaaye

Ha.ns loo.n tumhaari tarah khilkhila kar to,
Ye gulabi sharm jo tumhaare rukhsaar pe damakti hai
Mere chehre ki kagazi safedi par
Apna halka sa rang phaila jaaye

Ye zindagi jo tumhaari abru ke beech, lakeeron par
Naaz o aaraam se baithi dikhti hai
Ji bhar ke dekhoon tumhe to
Aankhon ko na sahi
Mere ashko.n ko to ghar bana jaaye

Kyon itni khoobsoorat ho tum
Kyo.n tum se nigaah nahi hat-ti meri
Chalo theek bhi hai
Tumhaara husn, kuch nahi to,
Mere dil ki thandi raakh mein
Koi rashk ka shola hi jaga jaaye

(An ode to the beautiful women of Rajasthan...)

Pliant
Through destined turns
Succumbing, flowing along
These shallow brooks
Perhaps
Sing of life, a deeper song...

NUMB

Amidst a flurry of thoughts
Sometimes
Numbness feels so close

In windy deserts
Some days
Only stillness blows

Through gushing rivers
Somewhere
A transparent silence flows

Oft in distant cries, I hear,
Whispers of a closer pain
As in the scream of thunder, echo
Soft, beating drops of rain

Music And Wings

In their flight let there be music
&
In my music let there be flight...

The Child By The Window

A dusty sun settles on leaves
Weighs them down
They droop
Gold droplets of melting light
Fall into her waiting hands
Warm soft light floats in her palms
She washes her eyes with them
Her eyes glisten
In the fading twilight

These lamps will ease the way
Through the tunnels of my night

Ek Aur Ufuq (Another Horizon)

Ek arsey se in aankhon ko
Yahaan kinaare par
Ghoomte dekha hai
Kabhi patthar ki seedhiyo.n par baithee.n
Anginat aasmaano.n ki dhundh mein gum
To kabhi bench ke tale
Bikhre kachre mein
Kisi rang pe tiki
Kabhi shaffaaf, chamakti hui
Jin ki nami, lehron ka aks ho
Lekin aksar maine dekha hai
Wo thehri hui sooni aankhein
Door kaheen aasmaan o samndar ke aage
Kisi andekhe nuqte par theher jaati hain
Kya jaane ye kya dhoondhti hain?
Kaheen meri tarah
Ek aur ufuq to nahi


Another Horizon

It’s been a while
I’ve watched,
These eyes around the shore
Seated sometimes
On cold damp steps
Lost in the mist of countless skies
Sometimes fixed,
On some colourful bit of dirt
Under the stone bench
At times, moist
Perhaps reflecting the sea
But often I see them
Vacant yet searching
Somewhere beyond the waters and skies
Like settled on a point unseen
And then I wonder
If they too seek
Another Horizon

THE PUZZLE

The pieces of the puzzle lay scattered
Destined to fit
Intended to be complete
But only partly fitted right
Like life...

The puzzle though,
Didn't allow forced fits
Why then does life?

GUESSTATORY PLEASURES

“That’s a strange thing”, remarked my companion; “you are the second man today that has used that expression to me.”

“And who was the first?” I asked.

“A fellow who is working at the chemical laboratory up at the hospital. He was bemoaning himself this morning because he could not get someone to go halves with him in some nice rooms which he had found, and which were too much for his purse.”

“By Jove!” I cried; “if he really wants someone to share the rooms and the expense, I am the very man for him. I should prefer having a partner to being alone.”

Young Stamford looked rather strangely at me over his wineglass “You don’t know XX* yet.” He said; “perhaps you would not care for him as a constant companion.”

“Why, what is there against him?”

“Oh, I didn’t say there was anything against him. He is a little queer in his ideas-an enthusiast in some branches of science. As far as I know he is a decent fellow enough.”

“A medical student, I suppose?” said I.

“No- I have no idea what he intends to go in for. I believe he is well up in anatomy, and he is a first class chemist; but as far as I know, he has never taken out any systematic medical classes. His studies are very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the-way knowledge, which would astonish his professors.”

“Did you never ask him what he was going in for?” I asked.

“No; he is not a man that is easy to draw out, though he can be communicative enough when the fancy seizes him.”

Thus was described one of the very famous heroes in the history of literature. And thus was formed (by sharing rooms) one of the absolutely famous friendships in literary fiction. A typical dominance-submission relationship. A queer fellow, a cocaine addict, a violin player and a man of keenest observation roughly begins to describe this guy.

We quote him, we’ve definitely heard of him and some of us have extensively read of him. Before I update this post and write a little more about him, any guesses who I am talking about?

XX = Name of hero

P.S.: Googling strictly not allowed :D

Update:

Recently I picked up a complete volume of the novels and stories of Sherlock Holmes. Prior to this I had been acquainted to this fictional character through a few short stories read arbitrarily. Reading this work has been an interesting and quaint journey, but Dr. Watson for some reason holds my attention more than our Holmes chappie. I had decided to do some insightful thinking as to why not the queer Holmes but the absolutely ordinary Watson makes a deeper impression on me. However, I find that I'm too lazy to write about it. In any case I have been less than lazy in clicking a picture of the cover of this book, which in my opinion is done very tastefully. Here it is



Tags: Sherlock Holmes books

Another Life

We the weary travelers of the dark
Like the shadowed peaks of snow
In anticipation stood,
Humbled, tired, cold and drained
Waiting for another morning
To restore that which the night had sapped
Waiting for the benevolent sun
Armed with candles of rays
To light the altar of our hearts
As it lit the lamps of snow
To make us alive, to make us glow
Once again…….

CHAND

Ye chand kabhi,
Ek angrez ‘tea planter’ lagta hai.
Roz raat ke siyaah ‘suit’ mein,
Apna gora chamakta chehra liye,
Bagaan ke beech guzarti hui,
Wahi raah chalta hai.
Kabhi pedo.n mein chhipta,
Kabhi apne ‘pipe’ ke dhue.ndaar baadalo.n mein gum.

Mai.n aksar usey dekhti hoon,
Apni yaado.n ke patte chunte.
Kabhi to uski nazar, mujh par bhi pade.


More pictures on moon here

Previous related write-ups:
A previous attempt at urdu
The Night
Images

Tags:
poetry moon urdu imagery

The Raindrop

Glistening upon my window pane
The drop of rain
Beckons
To a refracted reality…

To a realm of humbled buildings,
Their erect forms, bent.
People, crooked and broken,
Hiding behind the fluorescence of twisted synthetic umbrellas.
Trees, melting and liquid
Streets, indefinitely turning, confused,
Misdirecting lost travelers

How potent is this drop of rain
That washes away the facades?
Facades that have survived storms
Of winds and tears…

More pictures on rain here

Technocrati Tags: rain, raindrop, poem,

Another Independence Day

Trudging among the corpses of lifeless emotions
Carrying in his bosom the grief of thousand deaths
His feet decayed and infected with pseudo secularism
His crown studded with gems reddened in the blood of martyrs
His head held high in leftover pride
Sadly humming songs of past splendor
Holding his crutches with weak hands
A tired and old Freedom limped past today…..

Independence,Freedom,Independence Day,India

Jaswant (Don't) Singh

Taking calls is becoming increasingly difficult. What with extensive mobile technology. And then taking A Call to Honour? I mean honour is this far off place that calls for a tough journey. But our very own Jassoo is nothing less than the infamous Jassi (of the jaisi koi nahi fame). So…
Jassoo talks of Jasoos. Why? Jas want ing attention some say. A publicity stunt say others. I say that the above ‘mole’ or less fit the bill. So our fellow chooses his Modus operandi by providing some garma-‘Graham’ khabar. Harry Barnes, neighbor’s envoy owner’s ‘pried’, is then sorted out as the soul who will confirm the mole. But then he has a problem with “wrote” memory and says he has no knowledge of the man who wrote the letter. Like Ghalib would have said “Barnes ke dushwar hai har kaam ka aasaa.n hona. But it would not be too far off the mark to conclude that the episode has in it strong raw material for what contributes to political suicide, in this case through self-im-MOLE-ation.
The Congress has decided to call this a breach of privilege for walking the civil edge, which if the parliament house was to be at Juhu, would go down in history as the “Juhu Breach” (My affiliation for the place talks. Forgive it). The PM fed up of this nonsense forcefully says “aaj ki MOLE aqaat bas itni” and reinstates his preference for prime time “Jassi” than any cheap thriller of a Jasoos episode.

For me its A Call To Honourther post and the only mole I can think of in our government is the self proclaimed ‘Mole-I-am Sings Yadav’.

Jaswant Singh, politics, A Call to Honour, Puns

Lebanon-Israel Nauseating Attitudes

For me, the saddest moments of this day have been those where I decided to browse youtube.com and came across these videos: Lebanon Israel Facts the Media Isn't Telling You and Teaching children to hate in Palestine and Lebanon

The videos were already upsetting but the comments that followed took it to a new level.
A whole lot of people just hating and spewing bitterness-blind to the fact that a war is not about numbers that they or we killed. We are talking people here. We are talking children dying, being maimed, living as orphans. Innocent children who have no contribution to whats happening to them. Whether they belong to Israel or Lebanon, is immaterial. They are living breathing people. Is it so difficult to understand that? Is the barrier that blinds the fundamentalist thought so impregnable that the obvious is entirely barred from admission into consciousness?

In the same vein, recently I received an email from some self-proclaimed "patriotic" Indian, which stated that Israel ought to be taken as an example. It went on to say "See what they did to Lebanon because two of their soldiers were abducted. And see how we Indians are doing nothing in the face of terrorism". It also said " If you feel patriotic about your country forward this mail. If you too are unconcerned delete it".
If patriotism is killing another country's or community's innocent people because they killed ours, just to get on an equal footing with numbers, I'd rather choose not to be patriotic.

Aren't people who harbour, perpetrate and spread these thoughts not supporting the concept of terrorism? After all what is terrorism but hate translated into aggression. Then aren't all those who want killing already half way down the same road that they intend to fight with.

It is time to change the definitions of ‘they’ v/s ‘us’ to ‘we all’ v/s ‘wrong’, simplistic as this may sound. For long now I have held the belief that before cleaning the system, it is about cleaning the dirt within- cleaning the prejudices and biases that our lesser selves nurture. It is time to grow beyond religion and into a people that fights injustice against man; whether this injustice takes the form of blasts in Mumbai, genocide in Godhra or killings in Israel and Lebanon.

Can Humans support this:


Lebanon Israel War

Resilient or Resigned?

The moon on the 11^th of July rose in Mumbai. A full beautiful moon among clouds, softly lighting the blood stained tracks, caressing the charred unclaimed fragments of flesh and breathing over wounded souls. Agonized, distraught, confused and numbed souls of those who were wounded in the flesh and those who were wounded in the spirit.

The night saw those who sank, those who fought the nasty wave terror inflicted on them, those ashore who helped others and those who watched silently, helplessly, impotently….like me, who watched their TV sets, trying to contain a tide of tears that rose with the rising death toll.

The next morning saw the media applauding our ‘resilience’- the equanimity of a broken and shattered lot! Applauding the people who took the same trains to work. Applauding parents who sent their children to schools and offices for their near 100% attendance.

The settling day saw politicians saluting us for our bravery and the way we pick ourselves up. And it saw those who thought Mumbai was targeted because we (the same saluted, resilient Mumbaikars) with our laissez-faire attitude did not react adequately and forcefully to adversities; who accused us of shrugging off grave tragedies likes specs of dust on clothes and moving on with our lives; who indicted that we didn’t care enough for those who died, to be jolted even for a day.

These three days that followed have seen a need to ventilate in most of us. People want to talk about it again and again. They want to talk the fear, the impotence and the frustration out of their system. And each who talks has an explanation for the blast, how it could have been avoided, a potential blameworthy faculty (attitude of people, terrorist groups, political interests, economic destabilization of India by Pakistan), an advice for the government (pulling back on the peace process with Pakistan, using the nuclear weapons), a plan of action for the future (increasing railway security, increasing individual vigilance, contributing economically and emotionally to see that people around us are less frustrated) and so on.

I have largely held my silence for the past three days, providing no subjective perceptions or understanding, no opinions and merely counter-arguing a couple of remarks made by others, because I didn’t have anything to say. I have not been able to collect my thoughts adequately and without that I do not want to form an opinion for I do not want to believe what I find convenient to believe. But I have this to say to all those minds that have been collected enough to form an opinion about Mumbai:

Most of us, who got back to work the following day, live in the complete understanding that we missed being the immediate victims simply by a matter of chance. Potential victims we all are and that awareness we lull to a deep sleep on the cot farthest from our conscious mind for we do not want to share a frightful co-existence with it. We are those who live and function through testing moments and maintain our sang-froid, not because we are unfeeling but because stoicism is our primary defense. We are not an imperturbable, impassive, non-feeling lot but we acknowledge the futility of mourning. We have at some level become immune to insults against our lives and families and refuse to respond beyond a point (which can be seen as apathy or bravery whatever one chooses). We pick up our pieces quickly for we know there is no one else to do so.

For a decade and more we have seen communal tensions and we have seen reactions in their aftermath and the results. We are an experienced lot who have become judicious over years.

We have our own little individual disaster management in place…finally.

A PASSing thought

With Nathula Pass opening up, its Hindi-Cheeni bhai-bhai time again. The old Silk Route disentangles leaving us in a SILKtuation where all ROUTEna manana is over and trade is expected to flourish.

It is much to my delight when physical boundaries diminish and the hope that the stronger boundaries that we guard so protectively in our minds will someday diminish too, strengthens.

Just a couple of months back I was there! Yes, right there basking in the glory of seeing China on the other side of the barbed wire, going blue in the -5 degrees (or so we were informed) chill, gleefully gazing at Chinese snow and freaking out about being right on the border. We were surrounded by snow through most of the way to Nathula around mid-April but the photograph in the newspaper today was almost unrecognizable. Not a speck of snow!!!! I’m just so glad I went when I did, for as a resident of the urban grey, my tryst with white purity is limited. Here are the two photographs for comparison.






And here is the video shot on the way to Nathula.



More pics on Nathula here. (Click on the "more" button to the left under the photostream)

The Moth

A liquid brown flutter in my hand,

A beating of desperate wings,

Luminescent colour on my fingertips,

Her gift to me- the colour of life,

My gift to her- the touch of death……

Some photos on the moth and me here

Too Fanaa For Words

Gujrat, our most limelight loving state, now not even second to Bihar, is lovingly clinging to what it is most exercised by: Controversy ( with a capital c). Aamir who certainly appears to be more exercised by dumb (or not so dumb) belles, happens to be standing at the center of this one. What results is a plethora of interviews, radical views, cross explanations, justifications, and what not.

I was watching 'The Big Fight’ on NDTV the other day, and here is what I gathered from what they all said….Aamir said what he had to…these guys said what they had to.. .. then he said that they were reacting not to what he said but what they thought he said… then they said they reacted not to what he said but what he implied by having said it….. it ended by some sensible soul saying “so what’s the issue”… if Aamir dint say what they thought he said and he was ready to explain to them what he actually said then they could as well say that the issue having been said aloud was now resolved.
Certainly a said state of affairs, I said.

But having laughed and mocked at all of this, a certain discomfort lingers within me. Is it a question of only Gujrat’s pride that Aamir hurt? In my opinion (and I am opinionated), the picture is lot larger than the canvas on which it is being painted. Is it not the pride of a free nation that is hurt when its citizens reflect interests so narrow and are moved by matters of such poor significance as banning a movie would involve.

The question raises its distressing hood once again…. Democracy’s (the mock race is) on?????

P.S. : I saw Fanaa the other day and it was an absolutely silly movie, with Aamir, a supposed terrorist, reciting poetry all over the first half. The interviews on news channels were certainly more entertaining in every respect.