The Last Shadow

I stand rooted
The grey gust of your despair
Blows through my hair
I watch your footprints
As your receding form scatters them
Like forsaken memories

For so long now
Every step of yours
Tugged at my anklets
Of hope
That bound me to you
Enchained with you
But free to roam
I have walked behind you
I have embraced your shadow with every rising sun
And comforted you with mine at every sunset

When the wind carried your laughter
I have breathed it deep
And held it long
Till I could breathe no more
And when you cried
I picked the grains of sand
That your falling tears had hardened
Till my hands overflowed
And I could pick no more

Now the anklets are worn
And my feet are bruised
My shadow stretches to you this last sunset
Till you walk away
Beyond it
My feet don’t move any more
They are heavy now
With exhaustion
Bandaged
With helplessness

Hum Ke Thehre Ajnabi

Whew! the reign of guilt comes to an end. This is how I would describe the process of this translation. I have only short of had nightmares about Faiz questioning me as to what I think I was doing with his poem.
More than ever I now believe in what A.K. Ramanujan said: A translation is like a wife, it can either be beautiful or faithful. (I'm not quoting because I could have jumbled some words but the effect is right. My knowledge of the same=courtesy Bali-a good friend).
Now as most men, I have succumbed to greed and I want both at the risk of getting neither. In any case here is the outcome.
The original followed by the translation:

Hum ke Thehre ajanabii itane madaaraato.n ke baad
Phir bane.nge aashnaa kitanii mulaaqaato.n ke baad

Kab nazar me.n aayegii bedaaG sabze kii bahaar
Khuun ke dhabbe dhule.nge kitanii barasaato.n ke baad

Dil to chaahaa par shikast-e-dil ne mohalat hii na dii
Kuchh gile-shikave bhii kar lete munaajaato.n ke baad

The bahut bedard lamhe.n Khatm-e-dard-e-ishq ke
Thii.n bahut bemahar subahe.n meharabaa.N raato.n ke baad

Un se jo kahane gaye the "Faiz" jaa.N sadaqaa kiye
Anakahii hii rah ga_ii vo bat sab baato.n ke baad



Hospitalities exchanged, yet we who strangers stay
With how many encounters, shall amiability display?

After how many rains, shall the blood stains fade,
And when, in our sight, shall unspotted fields sway?

All that the heart desired, its breaking permitted not,
No grievance did those contained praises betray.

Merciless were moments, that witnessed the end of pain,
Benevolent nights brought in a cruel break of day.

That which, on your life, you determined to convey
Unspoken on your lips, Faiz, the decided words lay

BALOGHAT (Adolescence)

For the past two weeks Nyela (my sister) and I have been creatively busy. This was on account of some work that we are almost glad we did: translating the poems of contemporary urdu poet Abdul Ahad Saaz to be presented in an international poetry conference to be held recently. We translated three of them. I shall however post the translation that I am happiest with.
While I was at it I have been playing around with translating a ghazal of Faiz too. Hopefully that would comprise the next post.
For the time, here is the original and the translation of the poem “Baloghat” by Abdul Ahad Saaz:

Baloghat

Meri nazm mujh se bahot chhoti thi

Khelti rehti thi pehr o aagosh mein meri
Aadhe adhoore misre, mere gale mein bahein dale
Jhoolte rehte the

Zehen ke gehvaar mein humakte
Dil ki farsh pe rote machalte
Nok-e-kalam par shor machate, zid karte
Mani ki titliyon ke peechhe daudte phirte the alfaaz

Meri nazm mujh se bahot chhoti thi


Jaane samay kab beet gaya
Gudyo.n ke par nikle aur who pariyo.n si aazaad hui
Lafz javaan hokar izhaar ki raah chal nikle


Aur main tanha,
Apni parayi aankhon se ye dekh raha hoo.n
Meri ungli thaam ke chalne waali nazm
Ab apne pairo.n pe khadi hai

Meri nazm- mujh se badi hai




ADOLESCENCE

My poem, just an infant

In my embrace for hours played
Fingers of verses half-composed
Playfully around my neck laid

Words and phrases-
Restless, in the cradle of my mind,
On the floor of my heart, weeping,
Stubborn, on the tip of my pen,
Chasing butterflies of meaning

My poem was younger to me,

And how now the time has passed,
Wingless dolls like fairies have flown
Adolescent words tread paths of expression
And I here, detached, alone

Watch with my distant gaze,
The poem, that once needed my hand,
Now strong upon its feet stays

My poem is now, bigger than me.

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?

Bitten by the Musicuito

Its been some while away from this space and I did miss being here.
A large part of it I attribute to a whole lot of load on the work front and the rest to the two new toys that I acquired.






So far I can play "Bheege hont tere" badly and "Mary had a little lamb" well.

Another bit of fun was when my sunrise video that I have posted here earlier got featured on YouTube. I was made aware of it 6 days after it happened through some 700 odd emails that flooded my account. The comments ranged from "awesome video" and "good rendition" to "shoddy camera work" (which I agree with ) and "why the hell cant she shut up" (I have altered this comment to make it inoffensively readable). The exciting part was when a lady from sweden asked my permission to use the voice and poem for her music album and said she would send the CDs to me once they were done. Another flattering moment was when PJLabinski asked me if he could compose music for that video. I was more than pleased in letting him do so. I'm posting the music added version here, which I feel is far better than the original video:

Karjat- Last Weekend

A warm dry afternoon, a browning green landscape, the trickle of a calmly flowing river, colourful, drying clothes, bathing buffaloes, thirsty goats, wet feet and a hot, mossy, slippery contentment.

This was Kondavane village, near Karjat on the mid October afternoon.

This is about the trip taken the weekend before last with a bunch of friends to a friend’s farmhouse near Karjat. On the way we pottered about some villages around the locality.

A wanted, needed, desired, appreciated and in retrospect, loved, break from the coffee pots of bubbling urgencies into a place where time like lukewarm aromatic tea stands still and waits to be sipped and enjoyed.

The evening of course involved a lot of rest, even more photography (where I was specifically told to get a life and take pictures of humans instead of frogs and insects), an awesome barbecue of chicken, peppers and paneer, with women doing all the cutting and marinating and men doing all the coal heating and cooking. This was followed by, two awesome games of pictionary and dumb charades where everyone fought, made up, accused, cheated and freaked out and finally tired as children surrendered to a blissful, unpeturbed sleep.

It was fun. A raw, juvenile, childlike state of merriment and delight.

Some of my favourite pictures from the trip are here:

More Karjat snaps here

BIRTH

He is born now

As the still night gives way

To the soft twilight

Small hands

Reach out to grab wisps of air

And render time breathless

Vibrant eyes,

Reflect the light

Of stars undiscovered

Unstable feet,

Hold the promise

Of playing in virgin soils

Of paths untrodden

His face, the destination

Of a pilgrimage of expression

His cry

The sound of inviting brooks

Whose ripples skip along the pebbles of time

As they travel to meet the rivers of tomorrow

Fragile, feeble, beautiful and whole

My ‘dream’ is born now