Bagh-e-Bahisht Se Mujhe Hukam-e-Safar Diya Tha Kyun Kaar-e-Jahan Daraz Hai, Ab Mera Intezar Kar - Mohammad...
Monday, November 23, 2009
Monday, September 7, 2009
सूरज ये ढलता है,
घर लौटते हैं जब,
जब शांत होती हैं,
अपना सा छलता है..?
जब जब मेरा ख़ुद पे,
क्यूँ तेरे वास्ते दिल में,
हाँ, उस समय मेरा,
Friday, July 24, 2009
Those brown twinkling eyes...
Those pair of brown twinkling eyes would observe daily, The vast sapphirine night sky. Without an inch of ennui or tedium, they surveyed it daily. They knew every change it made. They were aware of its ineffable hue, of the glimmer of the innumerable stars it held, of the gleam of the countless constellations and galaxies it possessed, they knew it all. There would be something in those eyes, I’ll like to mention. An innocence. An enchantment. A spark. A dream. But, something else too… something like clouds heavy with unshed rain, something so overwhelming, that it would overpower itself and make the lips cry aloud to the vast unsuggestive blue-
“You are so beautiful. I wish I was a part of your world!”Today, those eyes are twelve years older. But, they’re still brown. They still twinkle. They still have that enchantment and gleam, that spark, that dream. Just two days back, when I made a very crucial decision of my life, those two brown twinkling eyes took me, after a long time to the topfloor of my house; and I got reminded of those childhood days of mine.
I stood there holding the railing with my warm hands, gazing at the night sky. A blast of a strange neutral air blew towards the east; the east which harbours both day and night, light and dark, hope and despair. I had just taken a decision. And a big one. I was at peace now. The breeze blew swifter. My hair and the blue gown I was wearing drifted me ahead. I felt myself borne onward along a mighty current whose source seemed to be in the very beginning of things. I was flying. Flashed before those two brown twinkling eyes pictures of the past; when I had learnt to ride a bicycle, when I had scored a hundred in a subject for the first time, when I had sent a gift to a friend as an acquaintance so as to see her smile, when I was declared my school topper, the investiture ceremony, the shields… everything was as fresh before me as it was then, years back. My heart pounded with joy.
And then, as the breeze touched my ears, I heard a melody, a melody on the guitar… a memory brimmed those two brown eyes and they burned with tears. I was crying. Those tears trickled down to my palm, by and by, and in few moments my palm was full of drops of those crystalline tears. I saw a glitter on my palm. It was a glitter from my tears which shone brighter than the Sirius, The Ursa Major, The Orion. I was reminded of all the stars and constellations I had seen till now. There was a twinkle again in those wet brown eyes. And there was something else too; something so overwhelming, that it overpowered itself and made the lips cry aloud to the vast unsuggestive blue-
“ I am so beautiful. You are a part of my world.”
As I said this, I felt my heart shone, as now it contained the sky in it. The light inside me was more illumined than the limpid moonlight that shone on my body. It was richer, more solemn, more significant and holy.
I lifted my face up to see the enormous azure sky.
Those two brown twinkling eyes now contained him, The Sky.
This is not my favorite song. Yet, its very special for me, and so, it deserves to be a part of this post in my blog. Though, it was always there in my heart as well as in my music collection, since the time the music of the movie ‘Filhaal’ was released; but a few days before, it just came back to me, and so, I share it here…
Aye zindagi! Yeh lamha jee lene de!
Pehle se likha, kuch bhi nahi,
Roz naya kuch, likhti hai tu.
Jo bhi likha hai, dil se jiya hai,
Yeh lamha filhaal jee lene de.
Yeh lamha filhaal jee lene de.
[Oh life! Please let me live this moment!
Nothing has been written from before,
Every day you write something new for me.
Whatever has been written, I have lived it all with my heart.
Please, let me ‘live’ this moment I am in.]
Masoom si hansi, bewajah hi kabhi,
Honthon pe khil jati hai.
Anjaani si khushi, behti hui kabhi,
Saahil pe mil jati hai.
Ye anjaana sa darr, ajnabi hai magar,
Khubsoorat hai, jee lene de…
Yeh lamha filhaal jee lene de.
[Sometimes without any reason, an innocent smile blooms on my lips.
I often encounter a happiness whose source is unknown to me, swimming at the shore.
This unknown fear I have, is really unfamiliar to me.
But, its beautiful, let me live it…
Please, let me ‘live’ this moment I am in.]
Dil hi mein rehta hai, aankhon mei behta hai,
Kachcha sa ek khwab hai.
Lagta sawaal hai, shayad jawab hai,
dil phir bhi betaab hai…
Yeh sukoon hai, toh hai
Yeh junoon hai, toh hai,
Khubsoorat hai jee lene de.
Yeh lamha ‘filhaal’ jee lene de.
[It resides in my heart, it swims in my eyes,
This dream, which has not yet fully developed.
It appears as a question to me, but may be it is an answer,
But my heart is still desperate…
If this is solace, then, yes it is.
If this is passion, then yes, it is.
But, its beautiful, please let me ‘live’ it.
Please let me ‘live’ this moment I am in.]
This moment is life! I’ll live it.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
GOD HAS HIS WAYS.
For hours I had lain in a kind of a disturbed torpor and at ever-lengthening intervals, a flash of pain darted through me, like the ripples of sheet-lightning and thunder which had caused the lights of the whole of Pantnagar go out that night. It was 3:00 a: m and I woke up all of a sudden with a jerk and with my hands desperately searching for some water in that eerie darkness. As I got my bottle, I quaffed all its contents in no time. Only when the chilled water explored my guts, I realized that I was alive. My lids burnt with tears. The walls of my room began to make me feel claustrophobic and I ran out to the end of my wing, to the staircase and till I reached the window upstairs. The eerie darkness all around made me feel hysteric, and I felt like yelling out and weeping loud.
As I lifted up my liquid eyes, there before me was The empty grey street running outside the hostel.I thought that people walk on it the whole day. Lovers stroll on it and she hears what they whisper into each other’s ears. She listens to the transactions the businessmen make, to the fights between two best friends cycling over her… she listens to every one who walks on her. But, at night, when it’s dark and lonely, when people have reached their destinations, no one cares to listen what her silence speaks. No one cares to feel what lies beneath the sheet of smothered dust- that lonely heart which craves for just one listener.
“He hears me” she said.
“He?” I asked in amazement.
“ He, the vast shadowless blue sky… He listens to my silence. He knows that beneath this smothered and crampled dust lies a fire, a fire which lights the Earth’s core. I am not lonely. He too spends the whole night with me awake because He can feel my silence and because He cares…”
“You say He cares!” I exclaimed in sarcasm, “He never approaches to wipe away your tears, when you cry. He’s never there to celebrate your happiness with you. He’s so so far away…”
“Ya” she smiled. “ He never approached me to wipe away my tears. He just send the wind to do so. He never celebrated my happiness with me, He only smiled at me to tell me He was happy for me. His smile is the sunshine, the limpid bright sunshine. And when I see Him smile, it lits the candles of the answers of all the queries of my life. BUT, DOES NOT EVERY ONE HAVE THE RIGHT TO SUNSHINE?”
I kept looking at her trying to understand what she was saying.
“But, not everyone craves and prays for his smile. Not everyone is devoted to Him the way you are…” I still protested.
“But everyone has the right to it. I can’t own him. He is the vast azure sky. That’s how it’s written- ‘MAKTUB’” She whispered in an entreating tone.
“MAKTUB” I Said to myself. “It’s written” says Coelho in his novel, ‘The Alchemist’. “How true…” I thought.
“ So,” I asked her a last question, “Will it go on this way? Will God always keep you deprived of His love?”
As I said these words, the lightening and thunder increased all of a sudden and in a few moments, it began to rain heavily; as though The Sky himself wanted to answer my question.
“Look!” she said in a calm and satisfied tone, “THE FATHER TOUCHES THE LADY AND LOVES HER, AND CREATES IN HER WOMB, A MIRACLE CALLED LIFE. HE TOUCHES ME DEEP INSIDE MY SOUL, LIKE THIS THROUGH HIS TENDER RAINDROPS, AND CREATES IN MY WOMB THIS MIRACLE…”
“YES” She exclaimed, “THE MIRACLE, THAT I AM ABLE TO GENERATE LIFE AND SUPPORT IT. HE GIVES ME THE HONOUR OF BIENG CALLED, THE MOTHER EARTH…”
I was astonished. Speechless. Dumbfounded.It was raining heavily. The distance between the sky and the street had been filled by th raindrops. What the world calls a simple shower, is actually one of God’s noble ways that the smothered lonely soil could touch the vast mysterious sky and unite with him, so that the circle of life moves on! Really, God has his ways! And they’re beautiful.
I had got my answers. The unrest accumulating in my heart from the past so many days had finally calmed down. I walked back to my room humming these lines from one of my favourite songs-
“ Isn’t it a wonder,
That I can see, a change in me…
But I won’t go back, coz that’s behind me…
And after all, strong words are spoken,
My heart will never be, never be, never be broken…”
As I was walking on the wet street the following day for my classes, I saw a fresh green creeper emerging from the mud. I smiled and continued my journey.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
As I was walking on the burning marble leading to the temple, there was something in the air of this place which soothed the unrest accumulating inside me from months and stirred the most indistinct and the most intimate of my thoughts-
What makes human beings so insistent?
What causes them work so hard at building a small temple at such a remote spot?
What causes them to put their life at stake for its protection and functioning?
What makes people visit this place again and again without bothering any of the four dimensions of space?
I looked at a couple in front of me with a newly born baby in the gentleman’s hand, while standing in the queue for entry in the temple.
What had brought them here in this scorching heat?
What had brought me there?
These lines by P. Coelho, from my favorite novel echoed in my ears-
“The Buddhists were right, the Hindus were right, The Muslims were right and so were the Jews. Whenever someone follows the path to Faith and sincerely follows it, he or she is able unite with God and experience miracles.”
I entered the temple. The august carvings of Gold and the sacred ambience of the place left me dumbfounded. I bowed and then climbed upstairs. The view of the lake from the upper floor was magical. I entered the shrine and bowed again. As I lifted my covered head, I felt as if some unknown hallowed power had gripped my soul. I felt pushed towards the wall. I felt as if He lifted my body from the floor and took my head in His hands. SANS SIGHT. SANS SOUND. SANS TOUCH. SANS EVERY THING BUT THAT FLEETING AND POWERFUL MOMENT.
Two big tears rolled out of my eyes on my burning cheeks and I whispered-
“THY WILL BE DONE.”
I opened my eyes. Everything was as before; sound, vision, touch, everything. The moment had passed. The miracle had occurred and I had understood. I was still shivering.
I covered my head with my dupatta which had fallen down and departed from that abode of aurum.
As we were leaving for Langar, my friend, who had accompanied me in this pilgrimage, asked me-
“So, how did you like the place Gazal?”
I paused for a moment and then looked at her-
“Some places are like that. They can suffer through wars, persecutions and indifference, but they still remain sacred.”
AND WHAT KEEPS THESE PLACES SACRED FOREVER?
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
That dark stormy night, He spoke to me all over again, and things changed since then. Yes, He spoke to me; He, who creates and destroys; who binds and separates; and who’s is the kingdom of heaven. He spoke to me again. He speaks, through signs around you and via his own ways. You just got to be a patient listener. That night, I listened to what He wanted me to know. He communicated with me through Her. She, the lonely, muddy and thin street, running outside my hostel and who was as lonely that night as I was inside my hostel walls….
My world had turned upside down. There are times in your life when you are left with tussels and conflicts; between believing and not believing, accepting and rejecting; letting go and being in love forever.
“Can we be in love forever?” was what I asked her and what she told me can just be felt…
coming up soon with "THE EMPTY STREET"...
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
" Har ghar kuch kehta hai..."
says an Asian paints advertisement. Very true. Every house will tell you a story of thousand dreams, dreams woven by two bright luminant eyes who wish to find a settlement in this rat racing world. I am going to be a civil engineer in two years, a designer of dreams! It gives me a real good feeling. But every time I think of designing a house, some childhood dreams come back to life.
My dwelling. My home. My small and happy world! Walls of my colours, curtains of the type i love, doors and windows of the kind I want... where I would find peace, solace, tranquil, where there would be love, delight and radiance, where I could slow down and rest in the arms of those I love, where I can embrace, touch, communicate, where I feel blessed. Yes, My home, my abode of dreams. In the words of Lisa Emry–
“Home is the place your heart residesHome is the place that you decideHome is the womb that holds the soulHome is the place where one is whole…”
The next moment begin in my mind a series of questions, like a slide show on a projector-
Do I really want a dwelling, where my travel would cease and I would settle?
Does a permanent dwelling place actually exist?
It never did so far. But the element of ‘mine’ was present in each of the dwelling I took shelter in till date, then how do I say they were not my abode?
My house, where I took birth, I walked and played, I grew up from a sibling to a young lady, was it not my abode?
My school, where I learnt to share, to play, to love, to pray…. Everything, was it not my lodging? I still feel my presence in every wall of its’, in the corridors, the furniture, the playground, everywhere… I reside there, in the playground grass, in the garden mud, in the assembly air.
Did I not belong to the empty streets of my hometown, I loved to stroll on and spend time in reflection? Was not the riverside mine, where I had spent lovely moments with friends, tossing stones in the blue water? The Blue Bridge, The IIT Campus, The Stadium, the road connecting my school to the city, were they not mine?
And today, this university, I study in, The G. B. Pant University of Agriculture & Technology , giving shelter to numerous like me and where I am living these very beautiful years of my youth, how do I deny it is not my abode?
This hostel I reside in today and which has sheltered thousands of those inexplicable moments in the life of a girl of nineteen, which she wants to hide from the rest of the world; is it not my residence?
My room, where I rejoiced, I cried, wove lovely dreams of a splendid future, embellished its walls and ceiling, will I have no right to it after I pass out from The University?
The University auditorium, the college canteen, the parks and farms, the roads I walked on with loved ones, were they not mine?
Surely, they were. I reside in them and they in me. They were my abode, but my permanent abode? Does it exist? Do I want it? And more importantly, do I need it?
I met this person on my way, so much like me and yet so different. I discovered his dreams and fears, listened to his side of the story and I could write an epic on him. I meet thousands like him everyday, waiting for an ear to narrate their unheard tales, tales of heaven and hell, dreams and hopelessness, valor and fear. I can’t go home, the home I dreamt of; and rest in two comforting arms. I got to stop on my way and listen to these unheard legends. They are waiting to become a part of my verses and ballads, my literary world. I can hear them calling out to me as if hailing-
“Hundred more years, you should live!”
I have spent memorable moments with all these people. I can’t go home leaving them unheard. I can give them voice. I can give words to thousand unsaid emotions. This is what matters to me more than anything else. This unending journey is what matters and not that destination I dreamt of in my childhood where the travel would end and all motion cease.
And if my journey deprives me of my abode, I have no regrets