Log kehte hain Jagjit na raha. Ghazal ro rahi rahi mera manmeet na raha. -Manoj Kumar on Jagjit Singh's demise on 10th October, last year.

Ghazal kehna bahut zimmedaari ka kaam hai. In other words, conveying the pathos of a poet with musical embellishments is a job of immense responsibility. Jagjit Ji, without fail, discharged this responsibility with enviable perfection. Ghulam Ali Sahab was true when he remarked on Jagjit Ji's demise that "With the going of Jagjit, a pillar of mausiqi has been lost." However, more touched was I on reading as a eulogy Manoj Kumar's above quoted expression. Jagjit ji's loss cannot be captured more lucidly in words. In his going away, ghazals have been left bereft of their most beloved humraahi. Humsafar. The face of ghazals as catches the popular imagination today had been chiseled by the dexterous of doyen of contemporary Indian light classical music. On 10th October last year, he decided that it was time now he serenaded the heavens with his silken voice. If he had not been so hasty in his departure, today we would have been celebrating his 71st birthday.

Jagjit Ji's voice is a magic potion. Much about him shall always be said in present tense, for he has immortalized himself via some priceless jewels. Rare gems like him never recede to the past. Their worth and glory enhances as time progresses. Jagjit Ji's soulful renditions of some great poetry can make reality hit you hard, or transport you to a surreal world. They may intensify your gloom by echoing with surprising precision a personal sorrow. The same ghazals could exude a salubrious air- an air capable of setting right the ills concomitant to deeply, passionately felt love.

Besides being a prolific singer, Jagjit ji was a great storyteller. Ask me what sung by him is my favorite ballad and I won't spare a nano second in pointing towards these lines. These lines are a chain of thoughts. Lyrically beautiful. Rendered sublime in Jagjit Ji's soulful voice.

Baat niklegi toh phir door talak jaaegi

Log bewajah udaasi ka sabab poochhenge

Yeh bhi poochhenge ki tum itni pareshaan kyun ho

Ungliyan uthengi sookhe hue baalon ki taraf 

Ik nazar dekhenge guzre hue saalon ki taraf

Choodiyon par bhi kai tanz kiye jaayenge

Kaanpte haathon pe bhi fiqre kase jayenge

Log zaalim hain har ik baat ka tana denge

Baaton baaton mein mera zikr bhi le aayenge

Unki baaton ka zara sa bhi asar mat lena

Warna chehre ke taasur se samajh jayenge

Chaahe kuchh bhi ho sawalaat na karna unse

Mere baare mein koi baat na karna unse

Now, doesn't this story sound all too familiar? If you have not, I implore you with all my heart to lend an ear to this just once. For this composition, veteran lyricist Javed Akhtar is said to have remarked - Baat nikal bhi gayi, aur door talak jayegi bhi. These were Jagjit Ji's early days. Javed Akhtar's words proved prophetic for the heights extraordinaire which Jagjit Ji was destined to climb.

He shimmered like the brightest star in the sky of Indian music. A sitara, however, has not been lost. He is, in fact, shining ever more brightly, firmly, coruscating in the hearts of millions who loved him and will continue to do so till eternity.

Today is his 71st birthday. I wish it were in my capacity to reach out to him and wish him just once.

Achchha sa koi mausam, tanha sa koi aalam

Har waqt ka rona toh, bekaar ka rona hai.

Protecting her?

Was that the plan?

To nourish, to cherish,

To save from the evil man?

The endless sky

"Dangerous to fly!”

Wide crystal water

"Fatal to enter!”

Inviting golden desert

"Treacherous mounds of dirt!”

Morbid confines of home

"Your haven, your zone!”

So, Protecting her

Was that the plan?

I'm sorry you failed

She’s at best – Jailed!

 

 "You thought I was protected

Cradled in sound slumber?

I was shushing my heart from dreaming

Beating it to sheen-less amber"

Moist pearls tickle my toes

Smell of dew runs up my nose

Bare feet nudging at rich wet grass,

Droplets reflecting the sheen of stars

Eyelid touched by a rainy cue

My lips curve at the magic of dew.

The darkest hour enchants like a spell,

Dawn crawls in with a musty smell.

Morning bliss derived from that,

Nighttime's glow in the nature's lap. 

Disbelief, anger

And a smile.

They who held hands

Apart by a mile.

Love's scary vision

Life's daunting trial.

A moment more of pain

Then grace on a calm heart's isle.

With great things comes the possibility of great losses. 

Our best bet, as I always say, is to live it while it lasts! 

Ashutosh, from Indiblogger, flattered me with his review of my blog. Of the many sane and humbling things he wrote, one was that I should include social topics in my writings. I pondered for a while, and thought which is the immediate issue which grazes my mindscape as soon as I start thinking about social concerns. Lots of things came to mind. I've spent the past two years in college working diligently in the area of women upliftment, voicing out concerns of gender based discrimination, yet not subscribing to the conventional 'feminist' outlook. I've joined hands with Mr. Sanjeev Sachdeva and done my bit to sensitize general public about issues of accessibility. I've felt passionately about wanting to work in the field of education as soon as I find myself able enough.

However, none of the above rang a bell so strong in my head for me to feel attached with. When it comes to writing, attachment with my thoughts and expressions is an absolute necessity to churn out any decent post. I then resigned myself to the pages of my journal to feel the power of some poetic gems I had collected for myself  from various sources in the past year over my mind and soul. Many amazing poems from contemporary writers, and literary legends, in English, Hindi, Urdu, Sanksrit and Punjabi were strewn across my journal with each single one summoning a distinct event from memory right in front of my eyes. I could pick out two as my finds of the year. The first one is called Jo Beet Gayi So Baat Gayi, by Harivansh Rai Bachchan, and is already mentioned elsewhere on my blog. Its the second one which moistened my eyes yet again as I read it. For me it is the most brilliant poetic compositions of Kaifi Azmi, who is reckoned as one of the greatest shayars of the 20th century. Giving due credit to Winnie Saghan, my most interesting yet least discovered friend from college, who introduced me to this poem, I would like to share these priceless words from the great shayar with my blog readers. The poem is called 'Doosra Banwaas'. Read on to find out why.

DOOSRA BANWAAS

Ram banwaas se jab laut ke ghar mein aaye,
Yaad jangal bahut aaya jo nagar mein aaye,
Raqsse deewangee aangan mein jo dekha hoga,
6 december ko Shri Ram ne socha hoga,
Itne deewane kahan se mere ghar mein aaye?

Jagmagate the jahan Ram key qadmon ke nishaan,
Piyaar kee kahkashan leti thi angdayee jahan,
Mod nafrat ke usee rah guzar mein aaye,
Dharam kya unka hae, kya zaat hae, yeh janta kaun?
Ghar na jalta tau unhe raat mein pehchanta kaun,
Ghar jalane ko mera, log jo ghar mein aaye,
Shakahari hae mere dost tumahara khanjar.

Tumne Babar kee taraf pheke thhe saare patthar
Hae mere sar ki khata zakhm jo sar mein aaye,
Paun Sarjoo mein aabhi Ram ne dhoye bhee na thhe
Ke nazar aaye wahan khoon ke gehre dhabbe,
Paun dhoye bina Sarjoo ke kinare se uthe,
Ram yeh kehte hue aapne dwaare se uthe,
Rajdhani kee fiza aayee nahin raas mujhe,
6 December ko mila doosra banwaas mujhe.

So, this was a priceless jewel from the quill of Kaifi Azmi, written remembering 6th December 1992- the black day which cast a shameful shadow over the hypocrisy of our secularism. To be honest, I feel we have come a long way since the fundamental elements dictated the course of our day to day lives.This was evident in the calm which accompanied the Ram Janmbhoomi verdict which came out last year, almost 20 years after the ignominious incident. We were almost a generation ahead in time, and today's generation chose not to attach any uncalled for hysteria with the verdict. Good.

However, the fact that strong communal identities are on the path of dissolution is nothing but a delusion which overtly optimistic people like me foolishly want to believe in. I wanted to believe in it because if I did not, I stood the danger of losing something valuable in my life. My optimism has been replaced with mute resignation now. Banners against perpetrators of communal crimes might be flying high, but almost nothing has changed as far as common man's religious mindedness is concerned. May be our generation has moved on, but in parts we're still controlled by the one which chooses to stay where it is- in glory of its own, and in rejection and contempt of the other.

A lot of you might not associate closely or personally with what I have written above, but I have a reason for all this stifling acrimony against fatal caste/communal loyalties which exist in our society. The reason is that I  have already lost something precious because of them and their subtler manifestations in my life, or may be just in our collective psyche.

And that is all I have to say.
 

Jagjit Singh. Bhupen Hazarika. Ustad Sultan Khan. These three were the unparalleled jewels who embellished the world of Indian Music and enhanced its glory. Each one of them belonged to a vastly different genre of Indian music, each one of them now no longer there to regale our souls with their powerful voices. At times like silk, and times haunting- I still cannot believe that we have lost these three precious voices in such quick succession, with barely any time to even recuperate in between.

While Jagjit Singh was popular among the masses because of the commercial success he could garner, the latter two are relatively lesser known names. Bhupen Hazarika, still, has had a marked presence on the musical scene in the north-east, but Ustad Sultan Khan's fame had remained confined to the dilettantes classical music- not so popular among the youth, till a long time. I myself was introduced to his magical voice rather late in life, when I had acquired enough respect and awe for Hindustani Classical Music. It was with the release of the endearingly melodious 'Piya Basanti' that his voice gained stupendous recognition among the young music listeners. Piya Basanti, with its soft musical curves, remains a top favorite till date.

Padmabhushan Ustad Sultan Khan first gained fame through his extraordinary mastery over the Sarangi, one of the most difficult traditional Indian string instruments, which he learnt under the tutelage of his father Gulab Khan. If you have not heard the notes of his Sarangi, trust me, you are missing out on one of the simplest pleasures of life. Besides being a glorious sarangi player, he is also a prolific singer. In fact, of all his works, what I hold favorite is his first vocal album, titled Sabras. In each song of that album, you can get a taste of the bewitching notes of his Sarangi, combined with the wondrous rustic beauty of his voice, set to either folk or classical tunes. 'Nadi Re Kinaare' is my pick from them all.

A still from Leja Leja, from the album Ustad And The Divas

He sang only a limited number of film songs. His most famous is perhaps 'Albela Sajan' from Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, a age old classical melody which gained effortless commercial success. 'Jhin-min-jheeni' from Maqbool also owes a mellifluous sufi section in the song to Ustad ji's voice. Collaborating with the young voice of Shreya Ghoshal, he churned out one of the most celebrated non-film songs, 'Leja leja', which I find myself humming very often while doing my daily chores. He is one of those artists I have followed with a pious fervour. Like was the case with Jagjit Singh, an attempt to imitate his songs to the last little harkat has been a source of immense musical learning for me.

One of the most-read articles on my blog is Kate Nahi Raat Mori, a post which extols the eponymous song set to his very voice. If there had to be just one song I could recommend to someone oblivious to the charms of Ustad ji's voice, it would be this one. A lot many people landed on the earlier post while searching for its lyrics, as my blog stats later revealed. I'll end this post with the lyrics of the same song, which continuously reverberated in the background as I wrote this post. Praying for his soul.

Kate nahi raat mori, 

Piya Tore Kaaran, kaaran.

Kaare-kaare baadal chaaye,

Dekh dekh ji lalchaaye,

Kaise aaoon paas tihaare,

Bhool gaye more saajan.

Bheega bheega mausam aaya,

Piya ka sandesa laaya,

Manwa ko chain na aawe,

Tarse hai mori raina.

In the colors of his land. Ustad Sultan Khan belonged to Jodhpur, and was cremated there yesterday.

Okay. So after thinking about it a lot, oscillating between a yes and a no for about the millionth time, I have decided to go ahead, and post this. It is a bit of forced experimentation into a language and a mode of writing which I am least comfortable with. But, trust your friends for shaking you out of your comfort zones into the untrodden territories at the attack of one 'Please' which is so confidently sent your way, that you cannot do anything but comply. So it happened with me. I was asked by my friend to draft a motivational piece of writing, for someone who needed some inspiration for a supremely important endeavour, I was more than happy to oblige till I was told that it had to be in Hindi/Urdu, and preferably a poem. I did wail and complain for a while, but this friend of mine, referred to as my Goddess in one of the earlier posts, is one person I cannot even dream of turning down. She never turns me down- answers me even when I want to know the meaning of terms as obscure of 'deficit financing', 'sensitivity training', 'economic terrorism', 'maglev' among others. For those who do not find these terms obscure, shrink your brain to the size of mine.

So, back to the point. I did, finally, write. In Hindi, perhaps using Urdu words, and trying to make the whole thing rhyme. In a little less than fifteen minutes. Well aware of how dangerous this might be for the reputation of my blog, I will risk posting the five verses I composed, here. Cheistha (my Goddess) liked it. Thats one of the reason for posting it here.

The second reason, I am myself a little scared in life, and can do with a little bit of motivation myself. Lets see, if I can motivate myself. Also, for all my fellow IAS aspirants, heart-felt good wishes for the Mains Exams which begin tomorrow. For those of you who are as scared as me, let the fear keep you humble, keep you focussed. Keep a part of it with you, just don't be overwhelmed by it. A combination of a little nervousness and a little more confidence is lethal. Works, always.

Without further ado, here is the poetry. Curse, don't laugh. First time :)

Rehne do dil mein darr,
Paaon zameen pe rakho,
Phir ik nazar uthao,Aur arsh par hi rakho.

Har udne wale ke zehen mein
Girne ka darr lazmi hain
Tum alag ho, ki dar ke saath bhi,
Darr ke upar udte ho.

Hai wahaan ke tareeke aur,
Jahaan vishwaas bas chehre ka naqaab haiBharosa dil ka gehna hai
Tum dil hi mein sajaaye rakho

Yeh dil ka bharosai hai
Jo muskaan-e-bayaan ban jayega
Ek kaamyaabi ka kinara,
Had-e-nigaah mein rakho.

Main aawaaz hoon tumhare dil ki
Mujhe aawaaz do chahe jis waqt
Woh guzra waqt nahi hoon
Ki mujhe se mil bhi liye, aur yaad bhi na rakho

PS- I know the last verse sounds like Ghalib. It is not attempted plagiarism. I guess Its just the inevitability of romancing him for some years now. 

Almost like a personal loss...

Ghalib-e-khasta ke bagair, kaunse kaam band hain

Roiye zaar zaar kya, kijiye haaye haaye kyun.....

I did resolve to positively control my urge of wanting to record my responses on things which affect me on a day to day basis till my UPSC Mains exams concluded. For this, I had nearly cut myself off from the world, categorically from the things which I knew would affect me. All it took was a phone conversation with one of my friends informing me of the demise of Jagjit Singh to have this resolve momentarily forgotten. While I did stay aloof from the world, Jagjit Ji's voice kept reverberating in my room, and within the walls of my head, to help create the calmness which I desire to continuously remain committed towards my dream. That voice resonates still, but it sounds a tad hollow.

They say, melodies closest to us are the saddest in nature. It is something I firmly believe to be true. The saddest of my thoughts have found expression in verses of Ghalib, Zafar, Firaaq Gorakhpuri, Faakir, and Nida Fazli whose poetry had been conveyed to me via the enchanting voice of Jagjit Ji. This habit of addressing him as  'Jagjit Ji' I acquired in school, where, for me and my friend, Pari, Jagjit Ji had a hallowed status. I've spend many a music lessons in school humming away numerous ghazals and nazms of his'. In fact, this difference between a ghazal and a nazm was communicated to me by the maestro, Jagjit Ji himself in a TV programme. Most of the times, I felt intimately attached to the melodies rendered immortal in his voice for I found an inner feeling or a personal experience being whispered again in my ears in Jagjit Ji's magical voice. That is what his ghazals can do to you. They can lend an aura of romance, or be your confidante in mourning, in loss, in sadness.

I owe many memories to him. 

"Us mod se shuru karein, phir yeh zindagi,

Har sheh jahaan haseen thi, hum tum the ajnabee"

This was my first solo stage performance. I was about fourteen years old, attired in a pink suit, standing on stage and singing away this ghazal to glory. It fetched me the first ever "Best Singer Award", which I went on to win for the remaining four years of my cultural life in school.

"Tu apne dil ki jawaan dhadkano ko, gin ke bata,

Meri tarah tera dil, beqarar hai ki nahi,

Daba daba sa sahi, dil mein pyaar hai ki nahi"

Whenever asked instantly to sing, I  can think of nothing but this composition. It is a song I would sing for my beloved sometime.. It is a song I call my own.

"Teri khushbu mein base khat main jalata kaise..."

Each time I heard this song, I knew my heart sank. Jagjit Ji's voice carries an unmistakable tone of pain, which is effortlessly contagious for all the listeners, me being no exception.

"Dil hi toh hai, na sang-o-khisht, dard se bhar na aaye kyun,

Royenge hum hazaar baar, koi humein sataaye kyun"

I knew I had grown up when I understood the meaning of these lines enough to draft a blog on them. An iconic composition- it is perhaps the only thing we as audience remember of Mirza Ghalib, a show that once aired on Doordarshan.

"Duniya jise kehte hain, jaadoo ka khilauna hai,

Mil jaaye toh mitti hai, kho jaaye toh sona hai"

The meaning of equanimity I could never comprehend. But a lesson or two in life I definitely learnt the first time I heard this ghazal some 7 years back. It has since not been off my play list.

"Baat niklegi toh phir, door talak jaayegi..."

The surge or emotions I felt whenever I heard this one I can not even attempt to describe. This is one of those compositions I have always wanted to sing, but have refrained from doing so for not wanting to spoil its sacred perfection. Even now, I can cry with comfort while listening to this. Is it not bits of my own life this nazm describes?

And lastly

"Yeh daulat bhi lelo, yeh shauhrat bhi lelo, 

Bhale chheen lo, mujhse meri jawaani,

Magar mujhko lauta do bachpan ka saawan,

Woh kaagaz ki kashti, toh baarish ka paani"

A duet with his humsafar, Chitra Singh, this song is the most intrinsic and irreplaceable part of all farewells conducted at my school. While singing this one, I could see very clearly the teary beads, hitherto controlled, trickling down the cheeks of each batch as it prepared to crossover from school into the next stage of life. When it came to my turn of sitting back and soaking in the memories while listening to this song, I acted the perfect coward and left the gathering as this song was being performed. I did not just want to listen to it. Like every other year, I wanted to sing it. Away from the gathering, that is exactly what I did.

This is list expectedly endless. And it should be. Ghazals would not have been an ordinary music lover's delight had Jagjit Ji not played the catalytic role in popularizing it. For me, he even helped being a source of faith. Fancily terming myself an agnostic, I could never keep away from the spell of "Jai madhav madam murari" or "Sabse oonchi prem sagai" when Jagjit Ji's voice accessorized them. Today, I think of I know by heart most of the songs he lent his voice to. However, I hope to death I have not discovered his entire treasure trove of music. The elation I felt whenever I heard any of his classics for the first time, and played it over and over again to know each and every harkat with which he made the song beautiful, I want to experience again. 

No new ghazals are will lend me that coveted elation. No new ghazals are going to come our way.

"Hazaaron khwaahishein aesi, ki har khwahish pe dum nikle,

Bahut nikle mere armaan, lekin phir bhi kam nikle."

The melody resonates. I wonder why it feels hollow.

Jagjit Singh, Chitra Singh and Vivek Singh- Their son who died in a car accident at a a tender age.

उपमा कालीदासस्य भरवेः अर्थगौरवं

दण्डिनः पदलालित्यं माघे सन्ति त्रयो गुणाः 

From this Shloka (श्लोक) begins my much looked forward to journey in the resplendent world of Samskrit Literature. Aah! Pleasures galore.

Not since today, but since forever, I have wanted to more than take a peek into the stories- historical and mythical- written by the preeminent scholars of the most ancient among all languages spread over the SaptaSindhu- more commonly recognizable as the Aaryan India- संस्कृत. I did, to some extent, quench this desire by reading quite majestic English translations of the most common Samskrit epics- The Ramayana and the Mahabharata (and the Bhagavad Gita), along with the not so great translations of other exquisite pieces of Samskrit literature; but now, and for the past weeks, I am reading pieces of literary genius, in the language of the vidvaans themselves. And it is proving to be nothing short of an experience lending ecstasy at every bend and corner I encounter in this journey through the greatest of Samskrit works.

The above Shloka has been composed by an anonymous scholar, who, adhering to the most basic of poetic meters, has stated in succinct precision the most renowned of literary traits of four Samskrit poets of unparalleled accomplishments- कालीदास, भारवि, दण्डी, and माघ.

Kaalidasa- Upama Kaalidasasya

Hailed as the 'Kavikulguru', the above shloka points out to the mastery of Kaalidasa at weaving the most beautiful similes in his poems. His similes, the genius at comparing and contrasting and drawing parallels, lends a perspicacity to his poems, which makes the thoughts of the poet effortlessly enter the mind of his readers. Raghuvamsa and Kumarsambhavam are two easy testimonies to his glorious similes.

Bharavi- Bhaarave Arthgauravam

Bharavi has been accredited with writing few of the most poetically  beautifully verses, which are rich in both- beauty of language, and beauty of meaning. The above shloka specifically points out to the arthagaurav- his ability to express a plethora of meanings in the least possible words; in other words- the depth of words. While sifting through his Kiratarjuniyam, some of his verses virtually left me stunned, but this shall be the topic of one of my later writings.

Dandi- Dandinah Padlaalityam

I have not yet read any of Dandi's works so commenting this line would be difficult- but padlaalityam in basic terms implies the beauty as represented in the arrangement of words in his prose. Of his most famous creations in Dashkumarcharitam, which I happen to be reading at present.

Maagh- Maaghe santi trayo gunah

As remarked by certain scholars, Maagh was perhaps the most accomplished of all kavis, as far as the beauty of his compositions if concerned. This is concurred by the anonymous composer of the shloka under discussion, who grants the climax of his shloka to Maagh, stating that the Great kavi Maagh has all three of the discussed qualities- upama, arthgauravam, and padlaalityam.

Not much is available about these poets on the internet, but I guess it is a blessing in disguise for a seeker of literary treasures, like me. I was driven towards more authentic sources to aid my learning, and in my quest, I am being guided by the ablest of mentors available- my mother- one of the best Samskrit teachers in Delhi. Her zeal to teach makes me want to learn faster.

PS- The last piece of gyaan bestowed on me today is whether they write prose or poetry, the writers in Samskrit are addressed as 'Kavi'- गद्यकवि (Gadyakavi)  and पद्कवि (Padkavi)

Neendon ke sandookon mein, 

Kabhi sone ke sapne the, 

Aaj Peetal ke tukdon ko mohtaaj rehti hoon

"Its been long since I felt like a winner. Tomorrow, I want that to change."

There is a song for every occasion, they say. This less known song was on my lips most of the time as I attempted to stoically wait for what could turn out to be the biggest dejection for me in my recent life history. Had that happened, I would have had no option but to turn stoic. I would have been impassive, may be. If I don't fool myself at all, I know I would have been depressed. For sometime at least.

The rays, they did manage to find me :)

However, for once, Providence ruled in my favour. After showing me some despondent scenarios, it chose the most perfect time to resuscitate my confidence, to at least partially make me feel like a winner. The ecstasy for having cleared the first major level towards the realization of one of my two most important dreams in life is indescribable. It lasted for two full days- the excitement, the restlessness, the smiles, the congratulations, the revived expectations, the disbelief. Now, things have sobered down. For good.

The last bit of my twitter profile's mini bio data describes me as 'an aspiring bureaucrat'. I've crossed first of the three hurdles towards becoming one. People have seen me past two years digging into newspapers, coloring crazy bits of information in about five journals a week, starting a full fledged debate at the slightest of provocation on almost any issue, carrying three times the book load with me around everywhere I go, and almost leading the life of a noctambulist. All this, without compromising on any of my other interests or involvements. Fortunately for me, all the diligence reaped due dividends. And now, with a bright smile on my face, and bright expectations in my heart, I am looking forward to battling with the next hurdle.

However, everyone has not been as lucky as me. Becoming a Civil Servant is the ultimate dream of many people, it being touted as the best job which grants you almost everything- power, prestige and pay. But for some people, becoming a Civil Servant has meaning beyond these three. Clearing UPSC is all they have lived for, all they know they want to live for. The drive at times is so much, that they leave a lot behind- their families, academic pursuits and even well placed and stable jobs. From my perspective, its madness. From theirs', its devotion. There are many of my fellow 'aspiring bureaucrats' who have not been able to jump over this first hurdle; but there is just one, whose inability to clear through the first round hurts me as much as my own failure. She was an inspiration for all of the people in my coaching centre- a vivacious figure and a very eager learner- who would keep everyone engaged with her numerous doubts. Her urge and capacity to learn was unmatchable. And she had taken a break from a partially unsuccessful marriage to give life to the only dream she had ever known of. 

I wonder what plans God has for her in mind; hasn't she already suffered her share of ordeals? Did she not deserve this little victory more than me? Will He make her try once again? I don't know. I would never know. But I know he sent her into my life as a lesson. Dreaming is not an end in itself. A dream which once you are convinced about, has to be relentlessly pursued. On the way to winning the ultimate war, there are several smaller battles which need to be won. And my way is to go one battle at a time. That is only as much as I can plan, albeit, without losing sight of the ultimate Prize. Also, what has to be borne in one's mind is a sense of balance- neither excessive ecstasy at small triumphs, nor insurmountable depression at failures. Triumphs and failures are mere experiences, something to live through and learn from. 

A tiny battle has been won. More than being an end, it was a milestone which shows me how much of the path is still to be covered. I might be feeling bright, but I do not want to lose the sobriety. For some weird reason, totally incomprehensible to me, I am still humming this song..and this is definitely not the song for this occasion. It is just on my lips. And I guess its there to remind of the times things went wrong, and I could not cope up. In an attempt to cauterize, I ended up being burnt, and bruised, and lost faith in some of my dreams.

But, leaving those thoughts behind, getting down to task now. I have thanked in person every single friend/teacher/acquaintance who helped me through- whether by sharing notes, or by simply showing confidence. If anyone be left out, I am sorry for being careless. Thank you. It is one of the most significant events of my life, and irrespective of what happens in future, I won't forget the ecstasy I felt when I finally felt like a winner. Partially though.

"A dream of glory
Wishing to hope
Nervous to hope
Nonetheless, I hope.
I'll wade through, I'll cope."

(Plagiarized  from my own work- A Table For Two - copied and tampered with)

Wondering, with a merry heart.

"Gori sove sej par, mukh par daare khes,
Chal Khusrau ghar aapno, saanjh bhai chanhu des"
(One of my most favorite couplets, composed by Amir Khusrau at the time of Nizam-ud-din Auliya's death)

Finally, I'll plagiarise. Yes, I know there is no word like that, but it comes from the root word 'plagiarism'. That much was guessable, I guess. Of about the five blogs I religiously follow, one draws me towards it on a daily basis. It is called An Indian Muslim's Blog: News, Views & Urdu Poetry Website; and in particular, it is the poetry bit which charms me the most. Every night,  I end up reading some really beautiful Urdu couplets from his blog, which invariably make me reflective and happy as my eye lids get heavy, and I drift into a peaceful slumber.

I have stolen some exquisite pieces of shayari from various sources over the years- blogs like the one mentioned above, newspaper columns (especially the ones penned by Khushwant Singh), random books, even public hoardings at times. All of these have been lovingly preserved on the pages of my journal. Today, I feel taking a whiff of their mustiness, smile, and pour the best of them here, on my blog. I reckon I kind of really love my blog. I end up recording the best things here. These poetries are also one of them.

Meherbaan hoke bulaa lo mujhe chaaho jis waqt
Main gayaa waqt nahiiN huuN ki phir aa bhii na sakoon.

(Ghalib)

Is saadgii pe kaun na mar jaaye aye Khudaa
Ladte haiN aur haath mein talwaar bhii nahi

(Ghalib again)

Kab thahregaa dard-e-dil kab raat basar hogi
Sunte the voh aayenge, sunte the sahar hogi

(Faiz Ahmed Faiz)

Jo chaahti duniya hai, voh mujhse nahi hoga
Samjhautaa koi khwaab ke badle nahi hoga
(Shaharyar)

Khamoshi chhupaati hai aib aur hunar dono
Shakhsiyat ka andaaza guftguu se hota hai
(Shams Ramzi)

Achchhi cheezein lagengi aur achchhi
Darmiyaan kuchh kharaab rakh diyaa karo
(Balraj Komal)

Na jaane tumne subah ka qasiida kaise likh liyaa
Yahaan to kal bhii raat thii, yahaan toh ab bhi raat hai
(Iqbal Ash'har)

Main us se door bhi jaaun toh kis tarah jaaun
Voh itr ban kar mere pairahan mein rehta hai
(Waseem Rashid)

Talvaar to kyaa merii nazar tak nahi uthi
Us shakhs ke bachchon ki taraf dekh liya tha

(Munawwar Rana)

Maine mana ki ye shab guzregi, magar kab guzregi
Maine mana ki sahar hogi, magar kab hogi

(Abdullah Kamal)

He said:

And the thought crosses my mind
If I never wake up in the morning
Would she ever doubt the way I feel
About her in my heart
If tomorrow never comes
Will she know how much I loved her
Did I try in every way
To show her every day
That she's my only one
And if my time on earth were through
And she must face this world without me
Is the love I gave her in the past
Gonna be enough to last
If tomorrow never comes...

She replied:

Yes. You made me cry
Through what you said
My lips are dry
My heart unwell.


A dream of glory
Wishing to hope
Nervous to hope
Nonetheless, I hope.
We'll wade through, we'll cope.


A tomorrow will dawn
So what if we stand apart.
He'll watch over, he'll guard.
He'll see us from the same rampart.


One Sun- We'll bathe in its rays bright
One Moon- Will dispel pain, the dark fright
One Sky- Where desires'll seek flight
One Heart- Binding us in divine light
One Soul- Our stanchion of immense might


We'll loosen the ropes of worldly control
We'll persevere, we'll not lose hope


If not in this world
then in the Parallel Universe
We'll experience Grace
Be absolved of the curse.


Providence shall murmur
not cruel, but words sweet
"The ordeal is over, go fulfil
Your need to be complete."

Amen.

Quote from Acts of Faith, Erich Segal
"Deborah, do you want to know my definition of an adult? It's someone who wakes us one morning, and says to himself, 'I no longer care what my parents think'. To me that's the real, psychological bar mitzvah."
(Dr. Barnea to Deborah)

“I hate you”- Quite an unusual way for me to begin writing this post. “I hate you”- these are words I least use, and I least feel like using, and words that anyone would least expect me to be using, but today, I feel, nothing can express what lies deep inside my heart, better than these words.

I hate you,
For those million things you have,
And I don’t;
For the fact that they don’t cause envy in me,
And for the fact they won’t.
Because when I look at you,
Am filled with pleasure so pure,
How good’s this thing I feel for you,
Today, tomorrow, I won’t be sure.

I hate you.
For what you’ve made of me, my heart,
That misses you with every beat;
Under the balmy winter sun,
In Delhi’s scorching heat.
It fears, it’ll fail
If you don’t manifest,
And ‘cuz I think myself worse,
For you appear the best!

I hate you.
For the twinkle in your eyes,
For your talents, that hurt!
You’re beautiful, charming, gorgeous,
You’re an angel’s discomfort.
With each passing day,
I grow more apprehensive,
When you move to better horizons,
How the hell am I gonna live?


I hate you.
And I do nothing wrong,
It is ‘hate’ you deserve,
‘Love’ surrounds you from all sides,
With your smile, a million lips curve.
How can you transcend your boundaries?
And reach where no one does.
Reigning, ruling my life, my moods….
Do you find it just?

I hate you.
‘Cuz you’re so adorable,
Not loving you, has never been an option.
Bereft, alone, life’s a quagmire,
You brighten, you lighten, you make it fun.
You do this, only you do this,
You make me insane.
I hate to love you,
Oh! My helplessness struck me again.


(Happy birthday Kapoor…this one’s for you. I started and ended it, thinking of you. However, I do admit, there are a few more there, who make my life as splendid as you do, so this one’s for you, and for all of them too …crap..yeh bhi rhyme ho gayaa!)

I love being lonely,
Oh! Yes I do.
I drift within my own self,
But at times I lack a cue;
I love the gentle caresses,
Alighting on my face like dew,
'Tis my fingers on my cheeks,
I so wish it were you...

I love being lonely,
The thrill to exalt, and be 'me',
Still, what 'they' think, what 'they' feel,
Creates immeasurable anxiety.
Oh forget it! All I need is a mirror,
Have me to talk and see.
Silly, confused woman, 'tis your own image,
In which you seek company.

I love being lonely,
Wrapping around myself my arms.
I close my eyes, I feel complete,
I lend myself warmth and calm.
Yet a knot and two faces in my heart,
Whose hugs took me by storm,
Foist on me the realization,
Solitude haunts; does never charm.





Might be a bit messed up, but it is to assert that I love the presence of every single person in my life...and i CANNOT survive with even one of you turning away from me....Love you all...love you for giving me so much of love... forever indebted...

In some distant land,

A voice beckons.

A voice so pure,

A voice so tender,

Reflects good omens.

It flows towards me,

On a stream of air;

Carrying concern, carrying care;

Riding an invisible horse.

I feel I see it,

Behind my eyelids.

Filtering through the scene,

To fill my being,

With it’d soft murmurs;

I close my eyes,

It alights on my face,

Kisses my ears.

I smile.

I know it’s mine.

Doesn’t come from faraway.

Comes from within.

Comes from deep within.

Comes from Heart.

Gives lessons, speaks smart.

A pity, alas!

It is a voice,

We conveniently ignore,

Knowing we shouldn’t,

It’s humanity’s lore.

Our Hearts have become

Alien terrains to us;

Our brains rule,

Our feeling are shut!

We crave to conquer,

The world, not our soul;

In this conquest,

We become so hollow,

Our Heart’s voice,

We fail to follow.