Inner Space

I don't even know what I am doing typing in on this new post page, this time of the night, again, more than a year later.

Although I have been careless about this blog, it has been nagging me. It's one of those things that happen to me. I need closure and I do not like closure. That keeps things hanging, nagging, uncertain. I’m not indecisive, in fact a bit too quick to decide. And somewhere last year I decided I had had enough of indulging myself in the romance of sorrow, in the beauty of pain and I needed to get my act together.
Of course it was not as deliberate as it sounds now, but it was deliberate enough.
So 2010 saw a lot of changes. Firstly I decided to upgrade my practice. I took some risks, threw caution to the wind (after much thinking of course) and set my income back by atleast 5 years.

I did all of the above by starting a psychotherapy center. I called it “Inner Space”. I got myself a brand new place on rent (just about a big room’s space). The rent is sky high as are all the rents in this city but I made the place up with love. I spent 2 years worth of savings and bought some old wood furniture, some nice blinds, got branding designing done, hired two lovely dedicated assistant psychologists and am all set to now experiment and do a whole lot of new stuff that I always felt there was a need for but not many were doing.

I moved into my new office just two weeks ago. I love sitting there, working there and when I think about my sunk finances… the consolation is that even if I fail, I will always atleast know I tried, I learnt and I faced my fear.

Last year has been one of choices. Of choosing action over thought and thrilling instability over peaceful stagnation.
Which brings me back to why this blog suffered. Not being able to write much, I guess, is collateral damage that comes from this variety of whirlwind action. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do justice again to this space. But I do miss being here and I do miss being able to write, like I used to….
I am hoping though, I would develop some new kind of writing potential eventually, which could be happier and still beautiful…

Raat Youn Teri (Faiz)-Translation

Your forgotten memory, last night, came by,
As spring steals upon a garden deserted,
Amidst still sands, gently, as the morning breeze blows,
As an ailing man is simply comforted.

Original by Faiz:

Raat youn teri khoyi hui yaad aayi,
Jaise veeraane mein chupke se bahaar aa jaaye,
Jaise sehraon main haule se chale baad-e-naseem,
Jaise beemaar ko bevajah qaraar aa jaaye.

Basera-e-Tabassum (Kashmir)

The love affair started tenderly: a warm hug, a lightless night, a dim lantern, the resonating trickle of streams and whispers of footfalls. I had reached Peth-Bugh tired, after two long and extremely hot journeys. The cool still air was a respite. As I stepped out of the car, a strange good feeling set in. Someone hugged me. My bags were taken. Four or five hands gently caught my wrist- some strongly holding me, responsibly; others, shyly, just touching. Some more hands slowly joined in. Someone ahead held the lantern, so I could see my feet and some more feet. There wasn’t any electricity and so there weren’t any faces. Soon I started getting comfortable in this strange lightless, faceless walk of sounds and touches. I too caught their hands, letting down my guard- trusting them to guide me through the damp mud and unsteady planks that served as footbridges over the trickling water.

As we reached Basera-the home, gaslights were put on, some more candles and lanterns were lit and the world became a place of faces again. The magic did not dissipate. In fact, the enchantment only grew. Twenty brilliant curious faces and forty gleaming eyes slowly appeared and disappeared behind veils, curtains, doors, leaving behind them images of giggles and faint sounds of smiles.

The days that followed, went by wondering, working, observing, discussing and doing a whole lot of things in the midst of smiles and hugs and kisses. The last time when work was rewarded like this, I cannot remember. Everything seemed more integrated. It was as though the self was binding with and diluting within the larger, more comprehensive whole of the place. The sense of individuality seemed comfortably less significant. Even the heart and mind seemed to suddenly get along well. The concerns of the place seemed real and worry-deserving.
In Kashmir, there seemed to be a sense of solace and purpose in everything, even in worrying…

Some pictures from Kashmir here

(The above are some impressions I put down on returning from Kashmir. I had been there in June to visit Basera-e-Tabassum. In conventional terms one would describe it as an orphanage, but i felt like a city girl visiting a long lost family in a native. It is a place for girl orphans, whose parents have been victims of the terrorism in Kashmir. Despite the seeming bitterness of their lives, these children are perhaps the most affectionate ones I have ever come across.
I'm grateful I went there, perhaps some of my share of love was destined to come from a hundred children in Kashmir)

Ek Arsey Se

This is the poem "Ek aur Ufuq" written earlier, that Nitin Sinha has composed beautifully and sung.thanks Nitin :)

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

For J

Here's an attempted translation...

Aate hai.n ghai'b se ye mazaamee.n khayaal mein,
Ghalib sareer-e-khwama, nava-e-sarosh hai

They occur from the obscure
These conceptions in the mind
The scraping of Ghalib’s pen
Is expression of the divine

Josh in Translation

O flower, at your life, my heart shudders,
A smile is all for which you bloom...
Said the flower "even a smile my friend,
who receives in this garden of gloom"

Original by 'Josh':


Gunche teri zindagi pe dil hilta hai,
Bas ek tabassum ke liye khilta hai...
gunche ne kaha ki "Is chaman mei.n baba,
Ye ek tabassum bhi kise milta hai"

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

LAL DEEWAREI.N

(A poem inspired by Mughal Architecture in Delhi & Agra.
Some pictures of the same here)

Maazi ka madham taraana koi
Bhoola bisra zamaana koi
Kaheen parchhaiyee, kahee.n sargoshi
Kuch izhaar, kuch khamoshi
Dard, khalish, bam, dhamaake
Raqs, teohar, khushi, patakhe
Buland Minaro.n ki zubaani
Khule darwaazo.n ki band kahaani

Dil soz daastaa.n apni sunayei.n
Ye thandi deewarein, ye thehre saaye

Sone si subho.n ka bayaa.n hai
Zikr-e-naseem-e-seher yahaa.n hai
Shaahi gusal, sekdo.n phawware
Aab-e-gulaab mein bheege nazaare
Saaye sametne ki tayyaari bhi
Halke nishaa.n hai, bhaari bhi

Dil soz daastaa.n apni sunayei.n
Ye thandi deewarein, ye thehre saaye

Garm dopeher mein tapte fasaane
Pedo.n ki chhaao.n mein soye zamaane
Thami hawa mein koi raaz si sar sar
Thandi aaho.n sa sang-e-mar mar
Thak ke dhoop ka shaakho.n par tikna
Kirno.n se aayatei.n likhna

Dil soz daastaa.n apni sunayei.n
Ye thandi deewarein, ye thehre saaye

Rangeen aanchalo.n mein shaam ka aana
Doobte suraj se shamme jalaana
Aazaan par nehro.n ka raqs
Wuzoo karta shammo.n ka aqs
Meena baazaar roshan roshan
Jhumka, paazeb, itr, kangan

Dil soz daastaa.n apni sunayei.n
Ye thandi deewarein, ye thehre saaye

In lal deewaro.n ke zakhm hare hain
Khamosh daamano.n mei.n raaz dhare hai.n
Gard mein lipte jahaa.n yahaa.n par
Bujhte kadmon ke nishaa.n yahaa.n par
Saalo.n saal, hazaaro.n kisse
Itihaas ke nazuk, toote hisse
Kitni gutthiyaa.n kholti hai.n
Tum suno, to ye bhi bolti hai.n

Dil soz daastaa.n apni sunayei.n
Ye thandi deewarein, ye thehre saaye

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 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: