Ruk Jaana Nahi Tu Kahi Haar ke...

Shaitan - Movie Review

2011-09-24T00:47:00.004+05:30

It has been long, but I had to get back to this, this has been waiting for a long time. A movie review. Though this is an old one, I had to write this.

A few months back I was on a dose of short films. Had been through various forums and watched many short film. One, suggested by a friend who did not know who Mohanlal was (and its hard to forgive a person for that), was especially brilliant. The film was called Reflections. I genuinely found the movie brilliant. Here is the link : (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tTBYYPTi-lU)

So I searched for other short films that the director Bejoy Nambiar would have made. And I got to know about him being the first time director for Shaitan for the first time. I had to watch it I knew right when I saw reflection.

Some of the most delicious lunches that you would have had it life aren’t the most expensive ones. So is it for movies too: Smaller the budget, higher the innovation, more life in the movie. Nambiar has a knack for thriller, and that fact comes through not just in the story that he puts forth, but also the background score, the screenplay and most aptly and surprisingly through the camerawork. Shaitan is typically a kind of movie that I would imagine would have required a lot of pre-production work. The very tight script and a sharper screenplay would mean that actors need know their characters well. The plots and subplots are nicely intertwined to give space to each of the characters for its development. I am sure considering the number of experimental shots that Nambiar has taken in the movie, defining the camera angles too would have been a very detailed activity.

The movie is the story of 5 friends – rich brats who to save themselves from the aftermath of a road rage accident, gets embroiled in making money to bribe the cop through a fake kidnapping of one of them. Everything that you as a viewer might expect will go wrong for the character goes wrong after that. There is a motley crowd of a mentally disturbed youngster (played intricately and beautifully by Kalki), another aggressive arrogant rich kid, an all-fearing Parsi lad, a responsible model-to-be and a young middleclass boy in the group who wants to make quick money. They are friends. They trust each other when they start their journey and by the end you see how one character’s personality eats the space for other’s resulting into Mayhem.

Nambiar, as a writer and as a director adds many thoughtful pieces that gives the movie its flavour. I would specifically like to mention a few things:

· Sketches that he uses to show the mental state of Amy (Kalki’s character). Amy’s obsession with Saira is so strongly conveyed through those that the end seems very beautifully built up

· There is a sequence where the friends are on a run from police and a brawl in the shoddy lodge where they were hiding takes ugly form and they have to run. At the same time there is another story unfolding for police. The mixing of shots in this sequence is brilliant and even better is the background score with a lilting, dragging and intoxicated Khoya Khoya chand being played. A must watch

· Smaller things like Blood marks on Amy’s Body and her bouts of insanity builds up the climax.

· Gore and Blood. The scenes are raw and leaves an errie impact. It gets so dark at times that it feels overpowering

Everyone acted very well but Kalki was outstanding in the group. Her portrayal of the character was beautifully apt. It beautifully comes out in the scene where the 5 friends are hiding in a cinema hall and while everyone is worried about life, she says “Mujhe pata nahi ye hero doodhwali se pyar karta hai ya item wali se”. Rajeev Khandelwal as an honest cop with broiling anger hidden under the layers of responsibility has done a commendable job. I wish his dialogue delivery was as good as his expressions and he would have been my bet for future superstar. Shiv Pandit is confident and plays his part with confidence. Gulshan Devaiya shines in his role for KC. It wasn’t an easy role to play but there are points where he could have done better. There are many scenes where his quirky nature and sudden bout of anger had to look natural and it doesn’t. To me both Neil Bhoopalan as Zubin Shroff and Kirti Kulhari as Tanya were the surprise package. Senior actors like Rajit Kapoor and Pawan Malhotra delivers what they were expected to, which wasn’t awful lot. Both actors are in the list of my all-time favourites and seeing them in smaller roles is little underwhelming. Nikhil Chinnappa, wasn’t required though he plays his part earnestly.

Writing – especially the story and screenplay, were outstandingly brilliant, the best part of the movie. Both Bejoy Nambiar and Megha Ramaswamy needs to get all the credit for the movie having a turn at every corner of the zigzag route it takes from the start till end. Though I think the dialogues for the movie could have been much better. I would have expected the central characters to speak more English and slip into it everytime they were tense / nervous. Hindi at time looks unnatural on the characters.

Two other departments that shines were editing (well-seasoned Sreekar prasad) and cinematography (R Madhi). Checkout the smaller jewels like the gunfight that happens between the cop Mathur played by Rajeev and 2 gangsters. The Camera pans on the ceiling above the fan as it moves across the lobby exchanging the gun shots. Beautifully shot and remarkably mixed with the background score. Use of light and space shooting in various smaller location is remarkable

Overall it’s a movie with the right thriller bone. You will definitely enjoy it when you watch it the first time. If giving stars is important in a movie review, I would give it a 3.5* - just my point of view .

Personal Rambling again, My Fears !

2011-05-01T03:14:00.004+05:30

***Personal Rambling, like Diary Pages Again – self centric but liberating **********

Emotional Outburst about My fears.

Yes that is exactly what it is. I turned 30 a couple of days back. It felt good. I kind of reviewed my last 10 years and could see that I more or less managed to match all the expectations that my family and friends had from me.

Thought again, did I match all of MY expectations? Well never had much of it as I have never been very ambitious person. But yes I had a few. I was thinking about it again. I realized I have been giving just a little too importance to the destination and not to the journey or may be 30s show you the first routes to escapism.

I am not sure.

way back, I chose engineering because that is what everyone said was the best thing to do then. But I liked chemical engineering and thought I can do something really good with it.

I chose MBA, as that is the most secure thing to do after engineering. But I loved Marketing Management and I was confident that Brand Management is my calling.

I joined IT, one of the most secure things I could have chosen after my MBA. But I loved….well, actually I did not love anything in IT except the money it offered.

So, am I a good chemical engineer, marketer or very rich compared to my friends who followed their passion. NO. A big NO. Do I regret it? I don’t regret anything. Because that is the way life teaches you.

On the hindsight security and the feeling that my family considers me responsible and wants me to behave in a particular fashion has always been the most important thing in life. Well I pretty much served my priorities on the hindsight. Though I have never been able to come to terms with the fact that I have had the best of game changing thoughts, as I would like to believe but had no guts to follow any of it. I am an average mediocre escapist who has been finding ways to console himself that he is good. Well consoling himself that he is brilliant.

Now I have said it. Yes that is on me.

I don’t feel like a loser. But I feel like I have achieved wrong goals; If not wrong atleast the ones that came from misplaced ambitions.

While I write this, alone in my room, in a beautiful and romantic country, which I have never got enough enthusiasm to travel in, I am waiting. I am waiting for my family’s Visa , I am waiting for an editor to tell me how bad I have written my first book, I am waiting what would be the next creative thing I will do, and when I show it to people they will say, “Hey, that is so good, you are talented. What are you doing in this industry?”

And I will feel good that someone appreciated what I enjoy doing. And get back to manage my work and the things I like doing as hobbies. But there is a catch here. Slowly I have come to enjoy the comments and encouragement for my writings more than writing itself. Not good. Definitely not good. Because it is no more about the Journey.

I sit on my laptop with a pressure that I HAVE to write, I haven’t written anything in days. I sit to write having an end in my mind; Thinking of a novel that would be loved by all. I start working on an idea at work, thinking of the change in team at workplace and the false feeling of achievement that it will bring. I think of following business news, with something in my mind expecting me to remember it and utilize it in some discussion. It is all about the end and that is bothering me today. Yes, like everyone else, I too want to be loved, get respected for what I love doing and be happy but then I am not enjoying it. I think I need to re-wind and get the focus of enjoying right.

I fear being judged and judgement is all that I look for.

“How good was my decision to do that with the team?”

“Hey, How did you find my poem?”

“ How was that photograph I clicked?”

“I am trying to create business understanding in an IT world. Isnt that correct?”

“Those stories I wrote are different, aren’t they?”

I expect my friends to answer in my favour. Always. And good friends that they are, they always do. But I fear being judged differently. I am insecure and that insecurity comes in mind because I start with an end in mind.

I want to correct this. I want to start DOING things that I enjoy, without the fear / expectation of being judged good or bad at it. I want to write so that I can enjoy writing. I want to make some short videos so that I can enjoy making it. I want to create some change in office, so that I can feel the joy of changing things for good while they are changing. I do not want an appraisal of its outcome. I want to be in it while it happens. But then it doesnt mean it would not have purpose. Purpose of anything can not just be the end of it.

I need to get even with myself on this. This post has been cathartic and I hope things I do ahead is more of it.

I enjoyed writing this. I really did. :)

Wouldnt have posted it otherwise but I think many of you might relate to such confusions.

"સ"

2011-04-23T16:21:00.005+05:30

Experimental and Inspired ! :)

યુવાની ના પ્રેમ માં,
તોફાની ઍક વ્હેમ માં,
નવો જ કોઈ કક્કો હું ઘૂંટીરહ્યો'તો ,
ઍક અક્ષર થી પ્રેમ લૂટી રહ્યો'તો,
હાથે વહાલ થી ઍનિ છુન્દણી કરાવી,
તને tattoo કરી હંમેશ મે મારી બનાવી.

તૂ કૉલેજ થી ઘરના રસ્તા થી ભટકી,
મંદિર ની પાછળ મારી રાહમાં અટકતી,
હૂ સ્કૂટર ઉધારી ના તારી કાજ લાવી,
તને ભોડપણ મા ફોસલાવી મનાવી,
ક્યાક્ દૂર ગામ થી લઈને ગયો'તો,
સમય ની હૂ ચોરી કરતો રહ્યો તો,
ઍ ચોરી મારી જ્યારે પકડાઈ ગયી'તી,
તૂઝ થી અલગ થઈ જ્યારે ભારે થઈ'તી,
જગતે મારા પ્રેમ ને જ્યારે દીધો નમાવી,
તને tattoo કરી હંમેશ મે મારી બનાવી.

નિષ્ફળ રહ્યો પણ રહ્યો મારા કર પર,
હજી લીલો લાગે છે તારો આ અક્ષર,
મારૂ નામ પણ શરૂ "સ" થી જ થાયે,
બચતો રહ્યો વર્ષો હૂ ઍના છાયે-છાયે,
ઍક બીજો જ ચેહરો નિશ્વાર્થ પ્રેમ સાથે,
મૂઝ થી પરણી ત્યાથી ચાલ્યો સંગાથે,
મારા અક્ષર ને ચૂમી રહી પોતાનો બનાવી,
તેને પણ જ્યારે મે તૂઝ થી અળગી ચલાવી,
જ્યારે તારા અક્ષરે મને ઓડખ અપાવી,
તને tattoo કરી હંમેશ મે મારી બનાવી.

આથમતા સૂરજે હૂ ઍકલો બેઠો છુ બગીચે,
કાલે સાંભળ્યુ તૂ જતી રહી હરી-સમીપે,
પ્રખ્યાત બહુ હતી તારી ઍકલતા ની ગઝલો,
ને શબ્દ-તળાવે જોયો તો મે યાદો નો બગલો,
બહુ આસાન હતુ આ વાતો થી બચવુ,
પણ તારે ક્યારે હતુ મુજ ને સાંભળવુ,
ગઝલ ની જગા ઍક "સ" થી નિપટાવી,
કાશ મને સાથ રાખ્યો હોત ઍમા છુપાવી,
કદી ગયી નથીઆ મને ઍકલતા સતાવી,
કારણ,
તને tattoo કરી હંમેશ મે મારી બનાવી.

ફિલસુફ રમૂજ થી થઈ ગયો

2011-04-21T23:40:00.001+05:30

ક્ષણ-ભંગૂર પ્રેમ મારો,જો અમર તુજ થી થઈ ગયો,
વ્યંગ જોઈ હરવાત મા,ફિલસુફ રમૂજ થી થઈ ગયો,

મંઝિલની મીટ માંડતા,હતા સપના સમય ની કૈદ માં,
ઈચ્છા ના ડામથી વધ્યો,ઘાયલ હૂ રુઝ થી થઈ ગયો,

ઘર થી ઍટલા તો દૂર હતા,રસ્તા સફળતા ના અહી,
નાનો વહાલો નીકળ્યો,ને મોટો હૂ મૂઝ થી થઈ ગયો,

અહમ્ના સૂકા દરિયામાં,મહત્તા ગરીબ બનાવે છે,
ઍક બૂન્દમાં સમાઇ,ધનવાન હુ જૂજ થી થઈ ગયો

ક્ષણ-ભંગૂર પ્રેમ મારો,જો અમર તુજ થી થઈ ગયો,
વ્યંગ જોઈ હરવાત મા,ફિલસુફ રમૂજ થી થઈ ગયો.

Please raise your hands in support and get counted

2011-04-06T02:50:00.009+05:30

Some of us might see negative things in any initiative, but there are a few things which has to have a generation to support it.

A generation of young people doesnt need a young man to lead them. One Anna Hazare can do it.

Its a small begining, its a small step. I see people forwarding his videos on facebook, people talking about him on lunch tables, people talking about his initiative and its importance on a coffee break. It is all good.

I hope the young men and women of my time stand up and support this. Please give a thought, corruption is one thing that has spoiled every other thing in our country. Please support the movement against corruption. Please stand up against it.

Before giving off that note of 100 rupees to a dishonest officer at any level, which would percolate every rupee of it and nurture this demon till the top of the government, think. Think of where will it all end.

I wish this young generation that is mine will have the guts to stand up and get counted. I am standing up against corruption, are you? Dont just say yes for the sake of it, give your heart to it and the nation will change one day.

I might be overreacting like an idealist poet, but I dont think that a "practical" approach can solve the basic issues that our country faces. Lets join hands. Salute to you Big Man!

कितना खोया नही गिनती है,
अब दाव पे ये माँ हमारी है,
अब मिल के चीख लगानी है,
अब कुछ करने की बारी है,

रिश्वत से घरो के मंदिर में,
भगवान ना भोग अब खाएँगे,
अब राम ने धनुष उठाया है,
कॉपायमान अब चक्रधारी है,
प्रजातंत्र के ओ रावण सुनो,
अब जलनी लंका सारी है,
अब कुछ करने की बारी है

कितने ईमान बिक गये है,
कितनो ने हिम्मत हारी है,
सिसकियाँ मिलके चीख बनी है,
अब सच की नयी तैयारी है,
बेखौफ़ जवानी जागेगी अब,
बेरोक सफाई छाएगी अब,
अब हाथ मैले करने है हमें,
अब भगानी सब बीमारी है,
अब मिल के चीख लगानी है,
अब कुछ करने की बारी है

Pune - Mumbai - Zurich - Basel

2011-03-27T23:43:00.006+05:30

Every face, every heart, every talk has a stoy. The more faces you see the more stories you pass by. Closer and longer you look at these faces, the stories get detailed, interwined and you never know when is it that the story has touched you and impacted you to take some actions. I am not yet pushed to actions more than writing a blog but some day, it will go beyond it.

Travel gives you intersting opportunities to visit more of these stories. I was on a holiday last week. I had been to my family. 6 months away from the family has taught me a lot, and I miss them every moment I am here. My son, he is growing faster than ever, my parents are growing older and my wife is growing prettier :). Ofcourse more about it has been written by happy. While coming back from home to Basel, I started on a KK travels shared cab. Exactly at 5 in the evening after a full day and a full week of total fun and joy, I was going away from my family, back to my work. I really did not want to.

I thought Happy, my son, being so small, would not understand that I am leaving him again for may be next few months. But he started crying and it melted me. I felt like crying. There were 3 more people sitting in the cab. I thought I will rather talk and talk about them then thinking about happy as that would have made me cry. Out of the 3 the one sitting next to me was an uncle. He was a banker. He was going to drop his son sitting next to him to New Zealand. His son Sourabh, with whom I happened to have a common friend was returning to NZ where he had done his studies and was going back for job. And there was a young girl sitting in front sit next to the driver, with a colorful green - pink bag. While we 3 were talking at the backseat she remained silent, and I thought she might be a little edgy and may be one of those whom you meet most often in offices, young software engineer working 5 hours a day, enjoying good phones, great chilled-out life and having little idea about the difficulties of the world. She must have been of my cousin Chirag / Sis Pooja's age. I look at all kids of their age with a "bade bhaiya" look trying to find what is wrong with the generation.

Sourabh happened to be a cricket fan and someone who had loved playing the game in college, dedicated follower. I could see a sportsman from heart in him. I am not a sport-type. I would be lying if I say I follow cricket. I dont even follow that. Long years back I ued to follow Lawn Tennis. I had tried keeping myself updated about major players in various sports and how they are playing but keeping myself updated with tournaments and teams was something I never did. We started off talking some very interesting stuff as the car glided over the mumbai express. The girl was still silent. With occasional calls. Uncle was very nice, trying to talk to all, making friends. I think he too must be thinking about the stories behind faces the way I do.

Half way during the tea break, I saw Shekhar Ravijani (Vishal-Shekhar duo) having Wada pav on highway outlet. I am not sure why any one did not recognize him there. I would not make a mistake in identifying a film personality. I did not want to disturb him. I thought even if one person would identify and go for his photograph / autograph, his entire evening would be ruined with mob trying to do the same with him. I had the best Misal Pav you get on expressway.

While getting down from the cab for this misal pav, I noticed the girl ahead with a Yonex Kit. I found it interesting. And when I came back she was having a discussion in Marathi with uncle and Sourabh. Well she did not sound the way I expected her to be. She told us her name was Aditi Mutatkar. It did not ring any bells never heard of that name. She had to tell us that she is a badminton player and has been playing for India for years. Well a surprised look on our face. It was only after a couple of more minutes that I realized that she is a National Champion.

First thoughts : Why the hell is a national champion of a sport travelling in a cab with ordinary people like us- the "Bhedchal"?

And then everyone in the car was talking. Discussion started with Badminton and my knowledge of Baddy was not as little as knowing fact that Saina Nehwal plays badminton and Deepika Padukone's dad used to play it and nor was it as high as knowing that there is a Swiss Open Badminton Championship, right in the city where I live, with 8-9 Indian player being a part of it. The discussion went on to how is the plight of badminton players? How they need to shell out money from their own pocket to participate in games. How highly unsustainable a life of baddy player is if s/he doesnt have the zeal for spending life on it without earning much. While talking this I personally realized that the Baddy champions too dont earn as high as most of those boring software engineers who live "onsite" i.e. people like me. And that is shame. I mean comeon - she is a champion. I would not write more about this, you can visit Aditi's Blog to hear it first hand. Kudos to her.

I had made up my mind by the time we reached Mumbai airport that atleast once I will go to support the Indian players and take my friends along. Unfortunately Aditi's match was in my office timing, and office after a week's break is very demanding. She lost and that is what sports is not about I understood. Its not winning or losing, its playing. We made a big group though and did go to Swiss Open. Though I never met Aditi there, but I did follow all our baddy stars - Saina, Ajay, Thomas, Rupesh, Jwala and it was very very interesting. The Indian turnout at the matches were so high that even the Swiss Open websites mentioned it.

One thing that I disliked about it, we are celebrity crazy. We love people and make big figures out of them but dont really appreciate the sport. I wish as many people who turned out came to watch Badminton as they came to watch Saina. Hopefully some day it will happen.

So closing that part of the story, after I reached Mumbai airport, I boarded my swiss air flight, and I knew it was going to be a good night sleep. But there was one more interesting story by my side on board. There was a lady - Christine or Catherine, I dont remember her name any longer. She was going to Barcelona. And she was talkative. She told me that she was in India learning Yoga. So I thought one more, fake Yoga follower from west. I am getting a little too cynical I believe at times. I asked her , where all did you go and I was expecting, Taj Mahal and Himalaya, and Rajasthan and Haridwar on her list. But she started with Hampi, Gokarna, Mysore ... DIfferent indeed. She mentioned that she was in GOa for 10 days where she got robbed, but then she also said Goa is not India. I really appreciated that.

The most interesting comment from her was that India is a place where you cannot generalize, a person you meet would be very bad and the very next person sitting next to that might be very good. She told stories of her travel by Sleeper class train, local buses, autos etc. She was indeed a low budget traveller. And she said that now she has got a bill from bank asking her to pay a lot of money that she did not have. She worked as a freelance Journalist writing for Greek newspapers in Barcelona. But there was a story, very intersting and very nice in all her talks.

I specially remember 2 incidences that she said. First that with her maid in Mysore who spoke and understood only Kannada, she used to talk in her half learned Spanish, and still they could communicate. I found that very interesting - thinking of both of them talk! Another one was about Indian food. She found it very spicy and interesting but soon had caught disease. She also talked of a Baba she met enroute , who she said looked sad when she left him to go to Mysore :). I could see what she meant! SO yes I was back in Zurich. Meeting quite a few interesting people .

From Zurich to Basel too I met an Interesting person ,who would be a part of our team here and who was a Gujarati too - Nikunj. LIked talking to him as well. But because I know him now and meet him, no stories here :).

I really wish my son can read these stories that life brings forth. These stories are written with heart and emotions and not in language. I hope Happy has the heart to feel all of it.

Poem : happy I love you! :)

2011-02-03T05:13:00.001+05:30

Missing Happy, wrote just like that

मेरी लंबी उंगलिओ पे,
वो छोटे हाथ तुम्हारे, याद आते है,

बेरंग दिन की दौड़भाग में,
वो तेरे लाल गुब्बारे, याद आते है,

ये ठंडी हवा की गुदगुदी पे क्यों,
तेरी हँसी के फव्वारे, याद आते है,

रोशन शहर, तन्हा रहे है,
तेरी आँखों के दो तारे, याद आते है

હુંફાડી ઍક કોઈ ક્ષણ રહે - A poem

2011-01-18T03:19:00.002+05:30

(Tried posting everything I missed posting from my Infosys internal blogs from last year)

વાતો પ્રેમ ની ઍવિજ રહે છે, સદી કોઈ પણ રહે,
દાનત રહે સાર વચન નો, પછી જે કોઈ પ્રણ રહે,

બે હૃદય ના વચ્ચે સંબંધો ને નામ ની નથી જરૂર,
ઍક સ્પર્શ રહે પ્રેમાળ, હુંફાડી ઍક કોઈ ક્ષણ રહે,

પ્રીત ના પતંગ મા, કાંના ની ગાંઠ ધીમે બાંધજો,
થોડી હવા થી ડગમગતી રહે, થોડા કોઈ કામણ રહે

ભોમિયાઓ માટે પણ, વિચિત્ર છે ભૂગોળ પ્રેમ નો,
આગ નો દરિયો કહે કોઈ, કોઈ વિરાન છે રણ કહે

મીરા-રાધા ભાગલા કરતાનથી,કૃષ્ણ અર્થ પ્રેમ નો,
પૂજા મામારો રહે, અને રાસલીલામાતારો પણ રહે

थोड़े और गंभीर बनो - A poem

2011-01-18T03:17:00.002+05:30

धीर बनो तुम वीर बनो, तुम बहता कोई नीर बनो,
वक़्त है बोलो, देखो-सुनो, ऐसे ना मूक-बधिर बनो,
युद्ध भूमि में प्रबीर बनो तुम, अपनी सोच में कबीर बनो,
सीखो सब से अच्छे गुण, तुम राम के दस-दस सिर बनो,
कंटक पथ पे फूल बनो तुम, शत्रु पे बरसते तीर बनो,
अधिकांश में आम रहो तुम, अपनी बातों में माहिर बनो,
दीपक राग बनो सत्य-ताल पे, ना अज्ञान का तिमिर बनो,
वक़्त यही है, नौजवान हो, संभलो, थोड़े और गंभीर बनो

हम बुलबुले तो है, पर ये गुलशितान मेरा नही - A poem

2011-01-18T03:15:00.001+05:30

Wrote sometime last year after the various blasts and train derailment etc.

वो जो जल रहा है कही, वो बदन मेरा नही,
वो बेवा मेरी नही, बच्चों पे कफ़न मेरा नही,
हम बुलबुले तो है, पर ये गुलशितान मेरा नही,
जो चाहा था वैसा रहा ये हिन्दुस्तान मेरा नही,

वो तो कोई तेज़ उड़ती चिड़िया थी सोने की,
उसको नादान हमने कोई गुड़िया सी होने दी,
ये गिद्ध कौन है, जो चिड़िया के अंडे खा रहे है,
गुड़िया के जिस्म को बेच बेच दौलत पा रहे है,
गर हम-वतन है ये, तो ये हम-वतन मेरा नही,
जो चाहा था वैसा रहा ये हिन्दुस्तान मेरा नही,

मातृभूमि के वीर की राह में जो फूल बीछे मुरझाए,
बारूद की एक-एक फूँक में सारे राख बन उड़ जाए,
कहीं पैसो की लालच में अब कौभान्ड बनाए जाते है,
कही लाशों पे चल राम के सारे स्वांग रचाए जाते है,
सीता को लज्जित करे वो भगवान मेरा नही,
जो चाहा था वैसा रहा ये हिन्दुस्तान मेरा नही,

जिनके खून के रंग भी बसंती रंग गये थे कभी,
जिनकी हर एक साँस में आज़ादी ही थी बसी,
उनके नाम पे राहे है पर उनका मान ठहरा नही,
हम बुलबुले तो है, पर ये गुलशितान मेरा नही,
जो चाहा था वैसा रहा ये हिन्दुस्तान मेरा नही,

Trying different types of poetry

2011-01-18T03:14:00.001+05:30

घर घर तुझको पूजे सब,
कहकर एसु-राम,
सब में छुप कर तू कहे,
में हूँ तेरा काम

पटरी पे चलती रेल से,
सब ने पाए भाग,
जहन के माथे पे जो लगे,
धो कर ना जाए दाग

आँगन की अटखेलियाँ,
खेल जो बीते साल,
छोड़ ये आँखें होती क्यों,
मेहन्दी के संग लाल

गीत बने संसार के सारे,
जोड़ के हर एक सुर,
बूँद ना रहे संग नदी जो,
वो बह ना पाए दूर

युद्ध की अपनी भाषा है,
बम-धमाके सुन,
शहीदो को सुनाती धरती,
लॉरी की कोई धुन

आम जो पकते धूंप में,
मीठे लगे जब खाए,
समज भी हार में छुप के,
कठिनाई से आए

अपने सपनो ही के लिए - A poem

2011-01-18T03:12:00.001+05:30

मुश्किल बहुत है यहाँ पे अपने सपनो ही के लिए जीना,
अपने लिए जीना हो या हो अपने अपनो के लिए जीना,

दोराहें है और मोड़ भी है,सफ़र मे हर कदम जहा जाओ,
मंज़िलों के लिए जीना हो, या हो कदमो के लिए जीना?

दिये लिए चलना, रोशन नही है राह सूरज से हर जगह,
आँख बँध हो तो किसी और लौ मे जलने के लिए जीना,

अकेले आए थे पर रिश्ते जो हम बनाते चले, तो अब है,
कुछ कसमो के लिए जीना तो कुछ रस्मो के लिए जीना

मुश्किल बहुत है यहाँ पे अपने सपनो ही के लिए जीना,
अपने लिए जीना हो या हो अपने अपनो के लिए जीना

ये जग के चाँद - A poem

2011-01-18T03:11:00.001+05:30

याद है मुझे, कुछ दिन पहले की ये बात है,
मुन्ने ने ली थी ज़िद, रहना उसको साथ है,
नाइट-शिफ्ट के टाइम कहा उसे ले जाता मैं,
बात घुमा, हर बार नयी लॉरी कोई गाता मैं,
"पापा, कब जाएँगे हम रात में टहलने को",
पौने चाँद को दिखा बोला "उसे पूरा होने दो",

कल सुबह ऑफीस से जब में घर लौटा तो,
देखा सुबक़ सुबक़ कोने में बैठ था रोता वो,
"किसीने हमारी बात सुनी थी, कोई तो नया है,
हर रात चाँद को काट काट के घर वो ले गया है,
"हम टहलने ना जाएँगे, उसने हम दोनो को लूटा है,"
कैसे बताता उसको मैं, एक काम था वो भी छूटा है,
अब कोई ना नाइट शिफ्ट है, कोई पैसा ना आएगा,
अमावस के चाँद सी ही रोटी भी घटती अब खाएगा,
सुबह फिर हम दोनो चुपचाप दुखीसे सो गये यहाँ,
फिर आज रात दौड़ के आया, बदल रहा था जहाँ,
"पापा चाँद फिर आया है, काफ़ी सुख गया है लेकिन"
क्या आपको लगता है, हम टहलने जाएँगे एक दिन?
चाँद के पूरे होने की हरदम, ऐसे ना बेटा तू राहें देख,
तू ही मेरा पूरा चाँद है, किसी और चंदा की बातें फेंक,
चल आज संग चलते है, शीतल चाँदनी में हम साथ नहाएँगे,
ये जग के चाँद बढ़ घट के किसी दिन साथ हमारे हो जाएँगे

A Few couplets just like that

2011-01-18T03:10:00.001+05:30

Tere naam ki pehchaan mere chehre se hone lage,
Mein mohabbat ki aisi wafadari se darti hu,
_______________________________________________
Ye aaj mausam mein ek anokhi si dhanak lagti hai,
Apne dupatte ko meri aankhon pe yunhi rehne do.
_______________________________________________
Wo Harroz meri angrezi ke talaffuz pe hasa karta tha,
aaj "miss you" bhi bada sisak sisak ke kaha hai usne
_______________________________________________
Mutthi mein kaid kar sakta hu nazuk phoolon ko bhi, jalte suraj ko bhi,
Tu magar dhoonp sa hai, mehak sa, tujhe bandh kar ke rakhu to bhi kaha?
________________________________________________
Dagmagati ye naav hai, kadam zara sambhaal ke rakhna,
Waise to in maujho ka bhi ye dariya nahi hota
________________________________________________
Bandh aankhon mein ujala bhar dete hai,
Tumhare khwaab meri neend ke suraj se hai
________________________________________________

Ek awara si hokar bhatakti hai jab se gaye ho,
warna ye saas chalti thi to rukti thi tum par.

जीवन जैसे धक्का गाड़ी - A Poem

2011-01-18T03:08:00.000+05:30

चोरस पहियों पे धक्के खाती , जीवन जैसे धक्का गाड़ी,
कभी संभले कभी लड़खड़ाती, जीवन जैसे धक्का गाड़ी,

मंदिर के और रुख़ कर चलती, फिर कोई मन अगन मचलती,
पूजा के फूल बालो में लगाकर, गानो की धुन पे मन्त्र उगलती,

रास्ता बदल के ढूँढने जाती, कोई बीकाउ कलकत्ता साड़ी,
अपनी होकर अपनो को सताती, जीवन जैसे धक्का गाड़ी,

रूह से अंधी, कर्म से बहरी, चह-चह कर पीछे भागती हर पल,
किसकी खातिर भूल के पैसा, भोग, खुशी सब मांगती हर पल,

थक-थक के जब रुक जाती, तो अपने पैर पे मारे कुल्हाड़ी,
सपने जला के फिर बढ़ती जाती, जीवन जैसे धक्का गाड़ी,

चोरस पहियों पे धक्के खाती , जीवन जैसे धक्का गाड़ी,
कभी संभले कभी लड़खड़ाती, जीवन जैसे धक्का गाड़ी

વાહ રી ઝિંદગી - A poem

2011-01-18T03:07:00.000+05:30

ઍક આયખુ જીવતી રહી, ઍક પલ મા વીખરાઇ ગઈ,
વાહ રી ઝિંદગી

લાગતી'તી સમંદર જેવી તોયે બે બૂન્દમા ભરાઈ ગઈ,
વાહ રી ઝિંદગી
મળ્યા'તા જે દોસ્ત જીવન ના, બની યાદ છે ખોવાઈ ગયા,
છે હમસફર ને છે સફર, ખોબા મા થી મંઝિલોં વેરાઇ ગઈ,
વાહ રી ઝિંદગી
કાઇ પર્વતો કર્યા છે સર, કૂચ ની ઍકલી આગેવાની કરી,
ઍક કદમ પ્રેમાળ ઍ, વધારતા તૂ આટલી ગભરાઇ ગઈ,
વાહ રી ઝિંદગી
તૂ બની છે ભોમિયો, રસ્તા ની આંટીઘુંટી ની જાણકાર તૂ,
મૂઝ થી મૂઝ ના રસ્તા મા ક્યાંક તૂ ઍકલી ખોવાઈ ગઈ,
વાહ રી ઝિંદગી

ઍક આયખુ જીવતી રહી, ઍક પલ મા વીખરાઇ ગઈ,
વાહ રી ઝિંદગી

Flash Fiction : The Kill

2011-01-18T03:06:00.000+05:30

It takes a while to get used to it - the rat meat and the road side animal. Initially for the first time you might feel like vomiting, you might vomit too, but if you roast it properly after washing, its just ok after a couple of meals. Its filling and it costs nothing.

He lived on the highway; had no money, no food, no life. He was old and begging needed hardwork. He didnot beg. He did not kill even. He waited. He waited for road accidents to happen. This was not for the first time. He saw a dog lying dead on the side of the road. Half crushed by a truck. It was a massive kill. He need not worry about the day's dinner and next days lunch. He went there when there was no traffic and when people would not notice him - the typical evening time, just before the dark. He chopped the part he wanted to eat. He did. Roasted them. Ate them.

The next day he saw a dead cat lying on the other side of the road. He knew he had to go get it. The intestine looked yummy from this side of the road. He crossed his side of road and the cat looked all the more interesting from the middle of the divider. He jumped over. He did not notice the truck coming. He was hit by a truck. He fell. Died. All the dogs hiding in the places near by, were out for a long waited feast as they took the cat - trap away.

Flash Fiction : Synthesize

2011-01-18T03:05:00.002+05:30

"You are going onstage after this, to assist him" Rehana said to me as I moved to assist him carrying the synthesizer. I was ready. The evening meant two hundred rupees.

I was having that piece of newspaper in my hand. I remembered daddy.

We went on the stage. His presence made the crowd go mad. I was following him and had recieved the delayed cheer meant for him. They stood up on their legs, waved, fell for him, girls had his name tatooed everywhere, boys were dressed like him. It was a rock-star hysteria. The man had to start with a remix, I tuned my synthesizer to sound like sehanai. The tune played, the crowd Jhoomed, the smoke flew, the day faded.

I got my 200. I kept it along with the newspaper before I went to sleep.

The lines of the 7th page top left corner news read "Another Sehnai Maestro dead in the darkness of poverty"

Dad was amused I remember at the synthesizer "Ab to Sehnai bajane ke lie sehnai ki jaroorat nahi hoti."

Flash Fiction : Pleasure Play

2011-01-18T03:05:00.001+05:30

I went out on the balcony. It was dark there. Closed the curtains behind me, so that mom doesnot notice me watching her.

There I see her! I cant see him in full, but I can see him in the shadows.

I think she is a devout Hindu, she would be burnt on her death. She is a fatal beauty. He is a casanova, a reflection of the biggest desires of life. When the need be, he would break codes of any religion. She likes him. He is obsessed with her smell. They come closer, I hope my mom doesn't disturb me in between this. He wraps her with himself. She resists a little but then squeezes herself to him. He would consume her, she would burn with his desire. For a moment they will engage and then disengage, the most beautiful love making for my mind. I see her, I cant see him. She seems to be going through this silently. He makes little noise in the process.

My mom, opens the curtain. I have to stop and throw her from the balcony as I clean him. My cigarette goes down on the road half burnt and my lips, he is left alone panting smoke and trying to hide the desires.

A Small Tribute to Great Nida Fazli

2011-01-18T02:59:00.003+05:30

(Catching up on old posts that I could not post earlier)

I was listening to this gazal in the morning. It is sung by Chandan Daas "Apna Gam leke kahin aur na jaya jaye, ghar mein bikhri hui chizon ko sajaya jaye" and written by Nida Fazli. A poet whose words have impacted even my thoughts for long. I am his ardent fan. It takes a great perspective for life and painful experiences to pain down things that he did. He has written some of the best lines ever in Hindi-Urdu combination. I dont want to make this blog a collection of his poems, but still would like to quote a few things.

Nida Fazli shifted to India after Independence and his parents were staying in Pakistan. When they died he could not even go for their funeral. He could not go to their grave later and pray. So he used to go to any random grave in India and pray for them. On his dad's death, he had write na poem called "Vaalid ki maut par" and anyone who has read that will agree that its a master piece. I found the one in english words on net. Copying here.

तुम्हारी कब्र पर मैं

तुम्हारी कब्र पर मैं
फ़ातेहा पढ़ने नही आया,

मुझे मालूम था, तुम मर नही सकते
तुम्हारी मौत की सच्ची खबर
जिसने उड़ाई थी, वो झूठा था,
वो तुम कब थे?
कोई सूखा हुआ पत्ता, हवा मे गिर के टूटा था ।

मेरी आँखे
तुम्हारी मंज़रो मे कैद है अब तक
मैं जो भी देखता हूँ, सोचता हूँ
वो, वही है
जो तुम्हारी नेक-नामी और बद-नामी की दुनिया थी ।

कहीं कुछ भी नहीं बदला,
तुम्हारे हाथ मेरी उंगलियों में सांस लेते हैं,
मैं लिखने के लिये जब भी कागज कलम उठाता हूं,
तुम्हे बैठा हुआ मैं अपनी कुर्सी में पाता हूं |

बदन में मेरे जितना भी लहू है,
वो तुम्हारी लगजिशों नाकामियों के साथ बहता है,
मेरी आवाज में छुपकर तुम्हारा जेहन रहता है,
मेरी बीमारियों में तुम मेरी लाचारियों में तुम |

तुम्हारी कब्र पर जिसने तुम्हारा नाम लिखा है,
वो झूठा है, वो झूठा है, वो झूठा है,
तुम्हारी कब्र में मैं दफन तुम मुझमें जिन्दा हो,
कभी फुरसत मिले तो फातहा पढनें चले आना |

Many of us know about the song he wrote for mother, which was sung by Pankaj Udhas "Resham ki Sondhi Roti pe, khatti chatni jaisi maa", but the beauty of the song lied in two stanzas for me :

बिवी, बेटी, बहन, पड़ोसन थोड़ी थोड़ी सी सब में
दिन भर इक रस्सी के ऊपर चलती नटनी जैसी माँ

बाँट के अपना चेहरा, माथा, आँखें जाने कहाँ गई
फटे पुराने इक अलबम में चंचल लड़की जैसी माँ

If ever there were a heart warming tribute to parents, it had been these for me. That angst of missing home and place that can be called his own can also be read in the lines :

तुम जो सोचो वो तुम जानो हम तो अपनी कहते हैं
देर न करना घर जाने में वरना घर खो जायेंगे

बच्चों के छोटे हाथों को चाँद सितारे छूने दो
चार किताबें पढ़ कर वो भी हम जैसे हो जायेंगे

There are lines in many of his Gazals that uses time so poetically that you are surprised by the deep metaphors. Two sample two that I am remembering right away, in a song by Jagjit/Lataji/Ashaji, Nida Fazli write a line

"Ham koi waqt nahi hai humdum, Jab bulaogi chale aayenge"

and in another Gazal he has written a line which reads like
"Waqt Rutha raha, bachhe ki tarah, raah mein koi khilona na mila"

And the temporary nature of life could be heard in

"Ek musafir ke Safar jaisi hai, sab ki duniya,
Koi jaldi to koi der se hai jaane wala "

Nida Fazli has gone through this and heartbreaks and many more things in life that gives this poet a depth like no one else. You need to see a lot of life before coming up with words like :

दुनिया जिसे कहते हैं जादू का खिलौना है
मिल जाये तो मिट्टी है खो जाये तो सोना है

or something as deep as

"Kabhi kisi ko mukammal jahan nahi milta ,
Kahin zameen to kahin aasmaan nahi milta,
Jise bhi dekhiye wo apne aap mein gum hai,
Jabaan mili hai magar ham zabaan nahi milta" (its beautifully sung by bhupinder)

And he would also write songs like "Tere mere naam naye hai, Dard purana hai, jeevan kya hai tez hava mein deep jalana hai"

And many of you would have heard this old title song of a tv serial called "Sailaab". This is one gazal that I relate to the most now :)

अपनी मर्ज़ी से कहाँ अपने सफ़र के हम हैं
रुख़ हवाओं का जिधर का है उधर के हम हैं

another one we can relate to is : )

कभी कभी यूँ भी हमने अपने जी को बहलाया है
जिन बातों को ख़ुद नहीं समझे औरों को समझाया है

And also the lines famously rendered by chandan daas (gazal : apna gam leke kahin aur na jaya jaye)

"जिन चिराग़ों को हवाओं का कोई ख़ौफ़ नहीं
उन चिराग़ों को हवाओं से बचाया जाये

घर से मस्जिद है बहुत दूर चलो यूँ कर लें
किसी रोते हुए बच्चे को हँसाया जाये

Such advises makes a great read when given as simply as :

धूप में निकलो घटाओं में नहा कर देखो
ज़िन्दगी क्या है किताबों को हटा कर देखो

There is a lot that he has written about the peace that should prevail between hindu and muslim but my favourite line of all of it are in this doha :

सब की पूजा एक सी, अलग अलग हर रीत
मस्जिद जाये मौलवी, कोयल गाये गीत

And

चाहे गीता बाचिये या पढ़िये क़ुरान
मेरा तेरा प्यार ही हर पुस्तक का ज्ञान

and one more that I pariticularly like is the one which is a part of the album "Dil kahin hosh kahin" and sung by Udit Narayan. It talks about Pakistan and India and how America is becoming an unwelcomed third party in it.

"Kya tera hai kya mera hai, ye ishq diwana kya jane,
Dil mandir bhi hai masjid bhi, bedard zamana kya jane,

Ye kaun hai jo tere mere rishton ko mitane aaya hai,
Mere tere ghar aangan mein deewar uthane aaya hai,
Dharti ka ye kaafir batwara imaan ki izzat kya jaane"

He has also written romantic gazals like "Hoshwalon ko khabar kya" and "chand se phool se ya meri zubaan se suniye". But the depth of contemplation is not as great in those. He was rather more impressed by the love of Meera for Krishna. And that kind of love of his can be heard in the lines :

पूजा घर में मूर्ती मीर के संग श्याम
जिसकी जितनी चाकरी उतने उसके दाम

and also in

फिर मूरत से बाहर आकर चारों ओर बिखर जा
फिर मंदिर को कोई मीरा दीवानी दे मौला

Infact the other two stanzas of the latter is very much impressive in terms of the composition

गरज बरस प्यासी धरती पर फिर पानी दे मौला
चिड़ियों को दाना, बच्चों को गुड़धानी दे मौला

दो और दो का जोड़ हमेशा चार कहाँ होता है
सोच समझवालों को थोड़ी नादानी दे मौला

These and htere are many other poems of his that I am remembering right now, but I would like to leave you guys with 2 small poems written by him.

First one is about a woman trying to identify people who burnt his house and family in a riot :

नहीं यह भी नहीं

यह भी नहीं

यह भी नहीं, वोह तो

न जाने कौन थे

यह सब के सब तो मेरे जैसे हैं

सभी की धड़कनों में नन्हे नन्हे चांद रोशन हैं

सभी मेरी तरह वक़्त की भट्टी के ईंधन हैं

जिन्होंने मेरी कुटिया में अंधेरी रात में घुस कर

मेरी आंखों के आगे

मेरे बच्चों को जलाया था

वोह तो कोई और थे

वोह चेहरे तो कहाँ अब ज़ेहन में महफूज़ जज साहब

मगर हाँ

पास हो तो सूँघ कर पहचान सकती हूँ

वो उस जंगल से आये थे

जहाँ की औरतों की गोद में

बच्चे नहीं हँसते

And another one is about a courtesan - a tawaiaf :

यह तवाइफ़
कई मर्दों को पहचानती है
शायद इसीलिए
दुनिया को ज़्यादा जानती है

-उसके कमरे में
हर मज़हब के भगवान की
एक-एक तस्वीर लटकी है
ये तस्वीरें
लीडरों की तक़रीरों की तरह नुमाइशी नहीं

उसका दरवाजा
रात गए तक
हिन्दू
मुस्लिम
सिख
इसाई
हर ज़ात के आदमी के लिए खुला रहता है।

ख़ुदा जाने
उसके कमरे की-सी कुशादगी
मस्ज़िद
और
मन्दिर के आँगनों में कब पैदा होगी!

Kushadgi = Vishaalta

(Hope you enjoyed reading through this)

શ્રદ્ધા નુ કારણ તૂ

2011-01-12T04:18:00.000+05:30

તારી વાત મા કેટલા ખુદા યાદ આવ્યા મને,

તૂ ઍક કાફિર ની શ્રદ્ધા નુ કારણ બની ગયી

કોને કહુ ક ક્યા ક્યા તારો અણસાર જડ્યો મને,

મૃગજળ ના નશા મા ક્યારેક તૂ રણ બની ગયી

ઉંમર ઉમેરી ગુણી ભાગ્ય ના સરવાળા થી થયો,

બાદબાકી બાદ બાકી જીવન નુ તારણ બની ગયી

ક્યારેક પીઢ પ્રૌઢ, તો ક્યારેક તૂ માસૂમ તરવરાટ,

ક્યારેક બની તૂ શિકારી, ક્યારેક તૂ મારણ બની ગયી

આખરે બીડતી આંખોને બસ તારી ક્મી નો મલાલ હતો,

જીવન ની બધી સફળતા, ત્યારે સાધારણ બની ગયી

સુરા ની ઓડખાણ

2010-12-25T20:02:00.000+05:30

શાયર તરીકે મારી ક્યારેય ના પેહચાન થઈ,
દુખ પડ્યુ નહી, ના સુરા ની ઓડખાણ થઈ,

જો ડોકિયા કરે છૅ, મારા સુખ ની પાછળ થી,
લાગણી બીજાની, આ શબ્દો ની મેહમાન થઈ,

શુ આપુ પુરાવા, વ્યથિત છુ તારી કથાઓ થી,
અશ્રુ-ભિના આ કાગળો ઉભા છે પ્રમાણ થઈ,

સુવિધા ની ગેહરી ઉંઘ ને પણ વીંધી ગયા છે
ઍ રિબાતા લોકો ના ખ્વાબ તીર-કમાન થઈ,

સુવડાવ નહી તૂ આમ, માઁ ની લૉરી બની મને,
જગાડ મૂઝ ને તૂ, હવે જગત ની રમખાણ થઈ,

શાયર તરીકે મારી ક્યારેય ના પેહચાન થઈ,
દુખ પડ્યુ નહી, ના સુરા ની ઓડખાણ થઈ

Gujarati Poem -સપના ના ઈંધણ સળગાવી ગયો છુ, - after a long time

2010-11-24T06:16:00.001+05:30

આમ તો આ વસંત ને મારી જાણ કદી નહોતી,

તારી ઓડખાણે હવે હૂ ફાવી ગયો છુ,

કથિત કેટલી રહી અહી મારી નિષ્ફળ કથાઓ,

સફળ અંત દુખદાયી ભૂલાવી ગયો છુ,

પછી કોઈ હાસ્ય ના બાકી પડઘા નથી રેહતા,

યાદો મા માટે તને રડાવી ગયો છુ,

જીવન છે જીવવુ, નથી જીવતા રેહવુ,

વખત ના હિસાબો ચૂકાવી ગયો છુ,

સદા ભાગદૌડી રહી અહીં જીવન સફર મા,

સપના ના ઈંધણ સળગાવી ગયો છુ,

તારી આંખ ના ટપકતા ઍક અશ્રુ મા ડૂબ્યો,

નહી તો ઘણા સાગર ગટગટાવી ગયો છુ,

બસ ઍક ઓડખાણ રહી કે હૂ"તારો" રહ્યો છુ,

મરી ઉપર ગયો, ખરી પાછો આવી ગયો છુ

Day light saving - A poem

2010-10-21T04:55:00.004+05:30

सुना है समय कल से बदलने वाला है,

सूरज को कल से एक घंटा देर से उगने की बात कह दी गई है,
सपने कल से थोड़ा और देखने की मोहलत भी ले ली गई है,
हाथों पे जैसे गोंद चिपकाए उजाला पकड़ने की बात है,
उठी आँखों को सुलाके जैसे कहना "सो आ अभी रात है"

काजल सुबह पे कोई मलने वाला है
सुना है समय कल से बदलने वाला है,

सोचता हू,

कहीं कल से चिड़िया चुप ना रहे, स्कूल-बस के इंतेज़ार में,
और नर्म ओस बरसे ही ना कल, इस बदलाव के व्यापार में,
रंग मौसम के अंधेरे में बदल ना जाए काले होकर,
सोचता हू, के दूर ना हो जाए थोड़े और कांटो की तकरार में,

एक घंटा अनाथ सा कल पलने वाला है,
सुना है समय कल से बदलने वाला है,

अजीब है,
क्रिस्मस से पहेले दिन की रोशनी को क्यों बचाना पड़ता है,
फ़र्क चंद लम्हो का किसी को भी बिलकुल नही अखड़ता है,
पर ये राजसी देश है, ठंडी में वक़्त भी बदल सकते है ये,
जब चाहे हमसे थोड़ी और दूरी बढ़ा, आगे बढ़ सकते है ये,

में जहा से आया हू, वक़्त किसी और ज़माने में थमा हुआ है,
यहाँ लोग अंजान है, आँखों पे सुविधा के कोहरे का धुआँ है,

आशा करता हू,
यहा की डेलाइट सेविंग से थोड़ी रोशनी वहाँ पे भी बढ़े,
वक़्त थोडा सा ही सही सब के लिए थोड़ा आगे ही बढ़े,

इस बार ये मौसम मुझे खलने वाला है,
सुना है, समय कल से बदलने वाला है ,

A Dummy created guide for dummies on Painting aprreciation

2010-10-16T03:08:00.021+05:30

(Much before I write a word in this blog, I need to say, I don’t know much about paintings. This is my effort to understand and appreciate paintings. Whatever I write is assimilation of things I read or saw and some appreciation of the same that my mind could capture. )

Recently I have developed some interest in history of European painting and how society impacted art. In that context of art I want to write a small piece about the idea of "rebellion" here. We have a benefit of hindsight, and in hindsight everything looks logical. The rise of new forms of art if we look closely is one such premise. It changed and on hindsight it was all required and it was all necessary.

Let me first start with presenting you with 6 paintings. Let us not even get into the names and sequence and try to see if we can point out any difference.

2.

3.

Painting 1

I am not a Chritstian and I havent read bible, but if I see the first pic, it immediately tells me that the painter has very faithfully painted a scene from the religious book. The painter doesnt give minute details of the exact anatomy of the characters in "last supper" and he paints it with an opaque hallow and what a filmmaker would have said equally managed "depth of focus" throughout the canvas.

Every religion in this world was started as guidelines to follow a path of faith and choose a style of life. But as years passes, guidelines becomes rule and rules become law and laws become social customs. And then whatever one does, has to comply with his religion and hence for most of the work that one does one attributes it to its religion. Painters of 11th - 13th century were in a similar point in time and hence most of the paintings that was made during that period of time were as per the strict representation of bible (like the one here in pic 1 by Giotto) .

Sample one more "Madonna and child" from one of the Early Gothic Painters of that time - Duccio. (Of course there is a history of Baroque painters and classical painters before them which I don't know about and hence would not include here)

Painting 2

For every rule that you make, you will find one day a rebellion whose self-righteousness would be higher than the stringent rules of morality that you have built.

"Religion does not lie just in the name of God. Beauty does not lie just in painting the events that we preach. Development would not come with tradition but with science. There needs to be a reformation of thoughts."

The idea itself would have been rebellious and unacceptable initially. With broadening the minds, the people of this time, explored the world outside, read different books, met different people from other faith. Unflinching Christian beliefs met the Pagan painters, and hence came a revolution. A renaissance. Renaissance period saw some of the greatest artists (read Micheangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and Raphael) of all time breaking tradition and creating a form of art out of it that represented them.

Now look at Painting 2, the very famous Monalisa by Leonardo Da Vinci, and compare it to the first one.

Ah! there we notice, the focus is on the central figure, there are no boundaries at points were boundaries are not needed. You don't see the well defined corners of eyes and edges of smile. It turns enigmatic when you keep looking at her closely. Eyes look real, staring right through you to a point beyond and the supremacy of her being is felt as you see her smile along with. Perfection of her anatomy and detailing of her structure makes Monalisa intriguing. She is no fairy or God, she is someone we know. And that I believe was why renaissance changed the face of painting for ever. It brought a perspective of the painters, to the viewer. Work was no longer a representation of events but it was recreation.

Let us look at 2 more of these paintings, one by Michelangelo and one by Raphael. The paintings started getting complex with renaissance maturing in age.

This form of painting then became a tradition. Painters kept using the dark brown, light brown and cream to paint people around. There would be focus created from a single source of light and its impact on subject of painting keeping the darker parts in black. Brush strokes got lighter at places, features got more and more perfect, the color palette was getting confined to a set of colors and frames. The whole form of painting was ideal to draw portraits of people. But with advance of camera, the whole art of painting a portrait as documentation of having "being", lost its meaning. Tradition of creating the perfect Davids and creating deeply intriguing Monalisas had to change.

Painting 3

A new form had to emerge that captured the passion a person felt when he was with nature. That did not give importance to "human forms" but paid its ultimate tribute to the nature. A form of painting that represented the impressions the nature and environment left on the painter. And hence were born the rebellions of the 19th century- the impressionists. Painters who would not be accepted in their societies for a long long time for moving away from the "beauty" of painting. for using colors that were never used for showing a passion in harsh strokes. Painters like Monet, Manet, Vincent Van Gogh, Gaugin, Cezanne, Toulouse Lautrec, Rousseau and with them the city of France defined an era. The famous painting 3 here is the most celebrated of Van Gogh's collection - Starry night.

Here are a few other paintings. Notice how Claude Monet makes light solid and the view misty in his painting.

And how Lautrec captures the amoral burning passions in his paintings.

And the way the brilliant Van Gogh captured the colors of nature. It was as if they had seen a new world.

Impressionist movement too, in a manner captured the beauty. Beauty of simplicity, beauty of pain, beauty of the rigor of life and so on. Importance was given to the feelings that were invoked in a painter / viewer on watching a scene. The inner feelings on how the subject must have felt, thought or would have been from its core was not given as much importance. The painters who talked of bible, of Gods, of kings and of nature had to be shadowed by the ones who painted a perceptive being more often then physical ones. Expressions were to be brought to shock the world over the impressions. And came the expressionists.

Painting 4

What do you notice?

My first note was nudity. The bare breasted female who looks neither shy nor seductive. Paintings like these and its theme from Gustav Klimt, Scheile and likes had created an uproar of sorts with their works. And with it they brought secession and the expressionist movement to Vienna.

Not that the painters before did not use nudity, but they used it in its purest forms. In creating something that was as beautiful as the nature that created them. But expressionists were different, nudity was not just "ornamental" but was also "real" with these painters. The perfection of form was not important with these paintings, what was important was to say what the character felt.

Here in this painting by Gustav Klimt, we see beautiful Judith, who has just made an army legend fall in love with her dance, and made him give his head for her, stands with his head in her hand. She is not showing that pride on her face. It was her work, and she did it. She had to. There is a sense of detachment with the achievement on her face. She represented what stood for "Femme Fatale" in that time. She did not have the glass ceiling that the females of that age had to fight with. These painters brought the feelings of the subject out.

A handsome man like Egon Schiele, was at many point so much obsessed with his ugly feelings that he drew paintings that were portraits of his feelings more than his being. It was this that was so different with Expressionist.

Not that these painters could not have painted something beautiful. Infact in their life they did portray beauty in many forms but for their paintings, they were known for its expressions. Consider this painting by Richard Grestl, whose personal life was as much in turmoil as the painting of her lover and her husband and the family he made. If we dummies look at it without having a background and context, we might as well find it ugly.

Appreciating the art of this time and the times that came later, becomes difficult and needs some efforts and thoughts from the viewer. At times they might look inaccessible all together.

Painting 5

With technological advances of photography, the art of painting was going to get more analytical. It looks very logical on the hindsight. But there had to be a set of painters who would have to change the existing trends back then. And then came painters who broke the whole painting in parts and with passion of impressionists and eloquence of expressionists, they added their analysis. They created a new form of art out of painting- Cubism.

This painting number 5 by Pablo Picasso represents that abstraction of feelings and analysis that came in to the art of painting. Painting moved above just being sensory, it became intellectual. I still have not got enough of understanding of this art and the new art that followed it. This painting represents the 3 musicians.

It took me quite some reading to find out an example on what he was trying to do. Consider this painting by the impressionist painter Paul Cezanne. Its called portrait of Ambroise Vollard.

Picasso made his version of this great art dealer. A dealer whose head understood the complexity of the dealing. He promoted Picasso also and here is Picasso's version. The painting had become analytical and Surreal. It was a portrait of a person who in its part was not there, but existed in entirety with his own interpretations.

The art was heading towards a path which would get more and more complex. And the new art, the modern art (I believe there always had been modern art in every era, Renaissance was also modern art and so was impressionism), went beyond the means of what was traditionally known as painting.

Painting 6

The last painting in the set of 6 is that by Andy Warhol. He was not just a painter. He juggled with painting, film making and printing and in many ways he managed to create an art out of creating hybrids out of each of it. Here is one more by Andy Warhol.

Not sure whom to put here but here are a couple of paintings by Rene Magritte, that I thought were brilliant :

A painting of pipe, that says, "this is not a pipe". Well weird isn't it. But true, this is not a pipe, its a painting of pipe. That is what he called "treachery of image". Here is one more surreal painting from him that I thought was interesting. It is called "Not to be reproduced".

At every point in history some or the other artist have grown beyond a point, took a different direction and has defined the movements in decades to come.

There is much more as more and many have been generated outside the form of paintings and with its extension from comics, to animation, from logo making for business brands to graffitti. There has been lot about photorealism, conceptual art, fractal images that I want to read and know but have no idea about . But that is what art is today. Boundaries of medium have merged, digital medium is partnering the painting to form a new form of art. I have no idea about how :) and so would stop here.

But look back on history of anything and you will find a set of brave people, who did things differently. They lived their life, struggling to get accepted, for their belief that they were doing something that would stay longer than their struggle. The time they got accepted the directions changed. With hindsight it all looks logical and chronological. But do you think it could have been different? Do you think expressions could have come before impressions and impressions after film-making. I doubt that. Somewhere for everything whether it be art or since, there is a beginning and that beginning will go on to its logical path till end. And there will be people, there will be events that will define this path. And so has it been with paintings.

So if you are accepted by everyone around, you are not going to change anything :).

There is a lot you can read about the art periods and its influences on net, this was no where close to those details but it had just been a dummies guide created by a fellow dummy. Hope you enjoyed it.

कुछ अलग ही ये generation है,

2010-04-25T00:43:00.001+05:30

ठाठ अलग है बात अलग, कुछ अलग ही ये generation है,

“आज की सोच”, “मेरा क्या”, “limelight ” ही obsession है,

नक्सलवाद या बाढ़ के माने, अब कुछ मुस्किल से लगते है,

Filmstars के affairs की gossip,इनकी news का विश्लेषण है

माँ बाप से एक gap बना हुआ है, जिसमे कुछ frustration है,

दो साल में सिर्फ़ तीन affairs! ज़िंदगी के अब नये equation है,

Mythology सब boring है, History के lesson भी irritation है,

हनुमान है cartoon अब, महाभारत बस जैसे playstation है,

waste है बातें राजनीति की, और कहना महेंगा ये बेसन है,

जो सिर्फ़ रातों को जाग सके, life ऐसी fasttrack celebration है,

traffic signal पे भूखा बचपन जब , थैई थैई कर नाचे तब

wine की price hike में छुपा कोई इनका food inflation है

हर साल नये tattoo पे नये नामो का impression है,

राधा-कृष्ण का प्यार भी "no strings attached" relation hai,

शायद में ही समज नही पाया, ये क्या change है क्या fashion है,

मुझको लगता रहता भारत के युवा बन रहे पश्चिम के imitation है

माँ तेरी बातें

2010-04-23T01:32:00.002+05:30

है याद मुझे कहानी किससे वो बचपन के,
संगीत जो चमच बजाती थी वो बरतन पे,
सत्यवादी एक राजा और था भीम बलवान,
याद है धीरे कछुए ने ली खरगोश की शान,

वो याद मुझे है अचरज एलिस की बातो मे,
चूहे, बंदर सब नाचे थे जो शेरो की बारातो में,
नागराज और एक चाचा साबु संग ग़ज़ब थे,
बेगानी शादी में वो अब्दुल्लाह नाचते तब थे,

हररोज़ मुझे कहानी सुना तू आराम से सोती,
और मेरे बचकाने सवालो पे अपनी नींद खोती,
पर माँ, ये दुनिया उन कहनिओ से अलग है,
सच बता माँ, क्या तू ये देखती तो खुश होती?

झूठ भरा है सब मे यहाँ पे, निर्धन सारे बेचारे है,
दौड़ लगा सब भाग रहे है, किसी घड़ी के मारे है,
तेनाली सारे भूखे मरे और कौए खाते है मोती,
सच बता माँ, क्या तू ये देखती तो खुश होती?

जीवन की रंगीनियो में, प्यार का कोई रंग नही,
नही आए राजकुमार, रेपूंज़ेल टावर पे सड्ती रही,
काँटे उगते है , माँ जब तू यहाँ आम है बोति,
सच बता माँ, क्या तू ये देखती तो खुश होती?

रामराज की बात नही, रामनाम की राजनीति,
बडो का आदर सिखाते श्रवण की नही आपबीती,
कहते ये बच्चे पापा को प्रवीण, तुजको "ज्योति",
सच बता माँ, क्या तू ये देखती तो खुश होती?

जिस "बापू" की बातों में तुजको नयी आस थी दिखती,
सत्य, अहिंसा प्रेम सभी यहाँ उसकी नोटो पे बिकती,
सूरज-कंचन, धूंप-चाँदी, वो सुबह कभीना होती
सच बता माँ, क्या तू ये देखती तो खुश होती?

ऐसी ये दुनिया है, जहाँ तेरी कहानी कोई सच नही
कोई सीख ना चलती है, सच मानी वो भी सच नही,
फल की चिंता रहती है, ना फल, ना चैन हम पाते है,
माँ तूने जो भी सिखाया, किसी और दुनिया की बातें है

(quite a few spelling mistakes here, on a review :). Its difficult to type in English and see it getting typed in Hindi)

ख्वाबिदा हम

2010-04-23T01:31:00.002+05:30

पिंजरो के संग उड़ते कौओ के, फलक सी है दुनिया ये,
तू भी एक क़ैद परिंदा है, यहाँ में भी एक परिंदा हू,

जब जिस्म जलाते रूहो को, झूठ से मन बहलाके बोलो,
तू भी एक जो ज़िंदा है , यहाँ में भी एक जो ज़िंदा हू,

बड़े घरो में अकेले रहनेवालों के, इस अंजान शहर का,
तू भी तो एक बाशिंदा है, यहाँ में भी एक बाशिंदा हू,

जिससे जले बच्चे और लूटे शर्म, ऐसी पहचान से अपनी ,
तू भी तो शर्मिंदा है, यहाँ में भी एक जो शर्मिंदा हू,

बेजान खन्डर के ढाँचे में बैठ, अब राजमहल की बातों में
तू भी तो ख्वाबिदा है, यहाँ में भी एक जो ख्वाबिदा हू

में तब से फूल तोड़ता हू

2010-04-23T01:31:00.001+05:30

जब आँगन में छोटे पौधो पे,
गुलाब के एक दो फूल लगते थे,
जब कांटो की चुभन पे मम्मी,
गीला कपड़ा लगा फूँक से सहलाती थी,
में तब से फूल तोड़ता हू

फिरउन फूलों को जामुन के संग,
लंच बॉक्स में स्कूल ले जाया करता था
पर वहाँ दोस्तो को मिलने से पहेले,
हर फूल मूर्ज़ा के मरता था,
जब नानी ताज़े फूलों को मंदिर में सजाती थी,
में तब से फूल तोड़ता हू

फिर जब कुछ पौधे पेड़ बने,
तो धूप से बच के संग में उसके,
पेड़ो की छाँव में मूँगफली ख़ाता था,
जब मोगरे की महेक उसको प्यारी लगती थी,
में तब से फूल तोड़ता हू,

और एक दिन किसी बारात के गेंदे को देकर,
मैने तुमसे जीवन भर का साथ माँगा था,
तुम ना मिली पर सारे गुलाब तुम्हारे,
अब भी तुमपे लिखी कविताओ के बीच सोते है,
जब से बँध कविताओ में महेक सारी लगती है,
में तब से फूल तोड़ता हू

अब सब फूल मुरझा गये है,
एक ऋतु है, और संग कोई नही,
कल की ही बात है,
चल बसा वो एक दोस्त जो बुढ़ापे तक साथ रहा था,
में पोते को ले उसके घर गया तो,
पोते को देखा उसकी फोटो पे से फूल तोड़ते,
पास वो आके बोला दादाजी,
हम आपके लिए ऐसा ही फूल रखेंगे,
बनावटी है तो कभी मुरझाएगा नही,
वो अब से फूल तोड़ रहा है,
में तब से फूल तोड़ता हू,
सोचता हू,
अगर ज़िंदगी में सारे रिश्ते
बनावटी फूलों से सजाए होते,
तो ख़ूसबु ना होती पर कुछ कभी मूरजाता नही

मेरे सपनो में परवाज़ नही

2010-04-23T01:30:00.002+05:30

जो पड़ोसी के बच्चे को खिलाए,जो अपनी संतान को जग से मिलाए,
गुज़रते जनाज़ो को देख रुके जुका सर,अब वो लोग नही वो बात नही,

सब कल की बातो से है, है सब गीत पुराने, थे पाँच रहे जो संग हमेशा,
टेबल की थाप पे, मेरे सुर में गाते थे, अब वो दोस्त नही वो साज़ नही,

अपनी जन्नतो के मारे है हम भी, बेकारी के बादशाह है हम खास नही,
मेरी माँ,बाबूजी मेरे, मेरा बचपन वो यार मेरे, पूंजी वॉ मेरे पास नही,

आरक्षण है, संरक्षण नही, जगह जो भी मिलती है जैसे हो दान मिला,
परमेश्वर है लक्ष्मी पे हाथ उठाते, रोकने वाली वो बच्चों की आवाज़ नही,

आज़ादी की बात छिड़ी तब, माता की जय बोल शहीद हर गली से उभरे,
इंक़लाब की है ज़रूरत आज हमे तो, अब जो बचे भगत वो जाँबाज़ नही,

बह दुनिया के सागर में अपने जहाज़ ने जो जीते थे अब वो ताज नही,
मेरी काग़ज़ की कश्ती डूबती जाती है, अब मेरे सपनो में परवाज़ नही

छोटू का सिलसिला

2010-04-23T01:30:00.001+05:30

राम-राम, अस्सलाम-वाले-कू, गुड मॉर्निंग सर,
में छोटु, बेचता हू सेठ की बनाई चाइ तैयार कर,
कोई "साला", कोई "ठिन्गु", कोई गाली दे हस्ता है,
में सबको सलाम करता हू, रूपीए ले खिसकता हू,
किसीने नही पूछा, क्या है तेरी स्कूल की पढ़ाई का?
ढाई रूपीए दे, चाइ पे लेते मज़ा चुनावी लड़ाई का,
कोई कभी प्यार से एक बार पूछे भी घर कहा है?
सुन फूटपाथ घुर्राते दूर रहे पास क्या कर रहा है?
कभी किसी को मेरी बात राज़ ना है आई यहा,
में छोटू हू, में बेचता हू सेठ की गर्म चाइ यहाँ,

फिर एक रोज़ सामने की होटेल में हुड़दंग मचा,
किसी आतंकवादी ने था ग्राहक का स्वांग रचा,
अफ़रा तफ़री मची हुई थी गोली की आवाज़ो में,
कितनी लाशें बिछी पड़ी थी वहाँ के दरवाजो में,
में तब वॉचमेन को चाइ पिलाने गया हुआ था,
दौड़ के जान बचाई थी, सच, जान का जुआ था,
कॅमरा किसी चॅनेल का हमको देख गया था तब,
कुछ लोगो का हाथ पकड़ दौड़ बहारे आए थे जब,
फिर सब आके घेर गये मुझे, बोला में "हीरो" था,
एक छोटी सी जान से जाने बचाई था में वीरो सा,
में डर से काँप रहा था, वो बोले अपनी बात सुना,
"कैसा लग रहा है?" "कौन घर में रहता साथ सुना"
तुम हो हमारी कवर स्टोरी, बता हुआ कब कहाँ
में छोटू हू, में बेचता हू सेठ की गर्म चाइ यहाँ,

लाशों को छोड़ दरवाज़ों में, मुझको सारे पूच रहे थे,
कुछ नेता, मीडीया सब, फिर नाम मेरा बुझ रहे थे,
"ये देखिए ये जाँबाज़ बच्चा", "थोड़ा पाउडर लगा दे"
मेने सच बता दिया, में ने कुछ नही किया कही पे,
में डरा हुआ था, में भाग रहा था सब के साथ वहाँ,
में छोटू हू, में बेचता हू सेठ की गर्म चाइ यहाँ,
फिर एक साहब आया बोला किसको उठा लाते हो,
बनाओ दूसरा बच्चा स्टोरी, इसकी तनख़्वा पाते हो,
फिर किसीको पैसे दे बुलवाया, पूछा तुमने क्या सहा,
उसने आँसू संग होसला दिखा सबकुछ ठीकठाक कहा,
में फिर डर के उस ज़हरीली ठंडी में, रोड पे सोने चला,
वो भीड़ गा रही थी अब भी उस छोटू का सिलसिला,
उस रात फूटपाथ -माँ ने आके सपनो में यही कहा
तू छोटू है, तू बेचता है अपने सेठ की गर्म चाइ यहाँ
तू वो खून वो मौत ना भूलना, और ऐसे मत डरना,
अगली बार छोटू नही बनना, छोटू की तू छबि बनना
अब सोजा कल सुबह बहुत भीड़जमा होगी यहाँ,
तू अपना काम करना, बेचना सेठ की गर्म चाइ वहाँ

खुद से चाहिए

2010-04-23T01:29:00.002+05:30

साइकल पे तेज़ हवाओं में पाया था जो,
चेहरे पे वोही सुकून, मुझे अब रुक के चाहिए

हवा से भड़क उठा, बुझ के पड़ा था जो,
होसला मुझको उस सा, अब दुख से चाहिए,

तू है खुदा? था कहा दुनिया की मौत पे,
शिनाख्त तेरे वजूद की, अब रुख़ से चाहिए,

हर जुंग की वजह है, दानापानि किसी का,
मुजको उम्मीद अमन की, अब भूख से चाहिए,

सर कटा सकते थे आज़ादी की खोज में,
तेरी पनाह में वोही मुझे, अब झुक के चाहिए

अपनो की भीड़ मे , में में नही रहा,
अपनी ही पहचान मुझको, अब खुद से चाहिए,

Love For Couplets

2010-04-23T01:29:00.001+05:30

There is something very specific about poetry in Indian language that is different from its English counterparts - The art of writing poetry in couplets. A couplet that is complete in itself, in its meaning and its story and also fits in to the overall poetry made out of these beautiful couplets together. I am not thinking hard as I am typing this. I would like to go through a few of my favourite couplets as they come to my mind. I am not keeping it constrained by a theme / poet / Language. Ghazal writing - the form for which the couplets are created is a very strong form created in Urdu and the style has over the years been adopted by Hindi and Gujarati poets too. Many poets believe that Ghazal's are the most heart touching write-ups of a poet, as Mariz (A Gujarati Poet) writes :
હોઈ ઉર્દૂ ની ઓથ કે હોઈ ગુર્જરી ની ઑ મરીઝ,
ગઝલો ફકત લખાઈ છે, મોહબ્બત ની ઝબાનમા
Which can be roughly translated to :
चाहे लू उर्दू की या लू गुजराती की कसम मरीज़,
ग़ज़ले सिर्फ़ लिखी जाती है , मोहब्बत की ज़ुबान में
And there have been years of poetry that has experimented in this mixing of languages. One of the best and the one of the oldest that I remember is by Amir Khusro (1253-1325). Thinking that this kind of mastery of mixing persian with Braj bhasa existed centuries back, humbles our mind (In the first verse, the first line is in Persian, the second in Brij Bhasha, the third in Persian again, and the fourth in Brij Bhasha.)
ज़ीहाल-ए मिस्कीन मकुन तघाफुल,
दुराए नैना बनाए बतियां;
की ताब-ए हिजरां नदाराम ए जान,
ना लेहो काहे लगाए छातियाँ
Which can be translated (Source : Wikipedia) as :
Do not overlook my misery
Blandishing your eyes, and weaving tales;
My patience has over-brimmed, O sweetheart
Why do you not take me to your bosom?
There are a lot of couplets like these that I admire and are timeless.And I truly belive that writing something contemporary is as difficult as such timeless pieces. The one that I like in the contemporary ones is a couplet by Javed Akhtar on the burgeoning city life :
उँची इमारतो से मकान मेरा घिर गया,
कुछ लोग मेरे हिस्से का सूरज भी खा गये
And the poets keep on writing a lot on God, on lost love, on philosophies of life, on emotions, on love and everything that they see around. Every poet has a past and has a story to tell along with. Nida Fazli whose life like that of poets like Saahir had been impacted by parition of our country writes about worshipping God in these beautiful lines :
Ghar se Masjit bahut door hai, chal aa yun kar le,
Kisi Rote hue Bachhe ko hasaya Jaye,
Nida fazli has written such beautiful verses, including the idea of innocence of kids that most of those lines have been memorable for me. For example.
Bachhon ke chhote haathon ko, Chaand Sitare chu lene do,
Chaar Kitaabein padh kar ye bhi ham jaise ho jayenge.
I remember a similar nice line from Javed Akhtar that talks of how the kids of today's world are getting smarter :
Chaand mein budhiya Buzurgo mein khuda dekhe,
Bhole itne bhi ab ye bachhe nahi hote
This idea of conveying the start and end of life in terms of childhood and old age has been used by umpteen number of poets and have been used really well. But there were poets and there was Ghalib. The great Mirza Ghalib, who with an air of above the world feeling, wrote :
Baazicha-e-Atfal hai duniya mere aage,
Hota hai sab-o-roz tamasha mere aage,
(Baazicha - e - Atfal = Playground of kids)
And many poets who have been disenchanted with the society and life and the world in general have written things that would mean a world to many poetry lovers like us. Saahir writes beautifully about the idea (And this was sung by Mhd.Rafi with equal finnesse)
Tang aa chuke hai kasm-e-kash-e-Zindagi se hum,
Thukra na de jahaan ko kahi bedili se hum
Saahir famously had a life of failed love affairs and this also goes with lives of many other poets. Poetry hence is created from the indepth feeling of not getting the beloved. Mariz explains how his words have become his own enemies in this couplet,
Mujh par Sitam kari gaya, mari ghazal na sher,
Vaanchi ne rahe chhe e koik bijana khayal ma
which can be translated to :
Mujh par sitam dha gaye, meri ghazal ke sher,
Padh padh ke kho rahe hai wo kisi aur ke khayal mein
A similar emotion as conveyed by Saahir, about a lost passionate love affair, can be found in the following 4 lines that he wrote for a song :
Tumhe bhi koi uljhan rokti hai peshkadmi se,
Mujhe bhi log kehte hai ki ye jalwe paraye hain,
Mere humraah bhi rusvaaiyaan hai mere maanzi ki,
Tumhare saath bhi guzari hui raaton ke saaye hai
A Gujarati poet - Gani Dahiwala in a very famous Gazal of his says this about comparison of his love with the beloved who got separated as :
Tame Raaj Raani na Chir sam, Ame Rank Naar ni Chundadi,
Tame Tan par raho ghadi-be-ghadi, ame saath daiye kafan sudhi
which can be translated as :
Tum ho jaise kisi maharaani ke vastr-aabhushan, hum hai gareeb naari ki chunari,
Tum rehte ho tan par pal-do-pal, ham saath dete hai kafan tak.
Gulzaar, who has written many memorable songs in his long career as poet and who has written some of the most contemporary songs at all times writes in one of his early works about the way of living in this world :
Jab bhi ji chaahe nayi duniya saja lete hai log,
ek chehre pe kai chehre laga lete hai log
And this incompleteness of things that always remains with everyone and that is always beautifully summrized by poets and can also be seen in Nida Fazli's beautiful words :
Kabhi kisi ko mukammal Jahaan nahi milta,
Kahin zameen to kahin aasman nahi milta

Alvida

2010-04-23T01:28:00.001+05:30

सब सपने पूरे होने पे सुंदर लगे ये ज़रूरी तो नही,
कई ख्वाब अधूरे अच्छे है, पूरे हुए जो वो पूरे तो नही,
तुम दूर रहोगे पर खुश तो होगे ये सोचता रहता हू,
पर संभाल ना पाऊँगा उन सपनो के बोझ जो सहता हू,
कुछ जो साथ देखे थे,
वो ख्वाब तुम्हारे पास छोड़ के जाना चाहता हू

फिर से देखना उन ख्वाबों को अकेले मेरे बिना,
ज़िंदगी कितनी तेज़ कहा चली आई समझ पाओगे,

वो शुरुआत के दिन के थे,
दुनिया से परे, चाँद पे ठहर,
रोशनी में नहाया एक अकेला घर बनाने के ख्वाब थे,
कुछ और दिन ये ख्वाब देखोगे तो घर को जलता पाओगे,
तुम उसकी आग अपने तक ही रखना,
उस आग की तपिश में गर्म महसूस नही करना चाहता हू,
वो ख्वाब तुम्हारे पास छोड़ के जाना चाहता हू,

फिर वो ख्वाब देखा था
जो एक नन्ही परी के नन्ही मुस्कान का था,
वो ख्वाब में चमकती उन आँखों को फिर से देखना,
वो भूरी आँखों का रंग
उम्र के उस छोर पे भी मेरी आँखों सा दिखता रहेगा,
रिश्तो के नाम से पुकारती आवाज़ सुन, आँसू रोक नही पता हू,
वो ख्वाब में तुम्हारे पास छोड़ के जाना चाहता हू

और भी हज़ारों ख्वाब है,

कुछ ख्वाब जो जन्मे थे सुनहेरी सुबह में
दो जोड़ी पैरो के मिल जाने से,
कुछ रसोई में छोन्के से,
कुछ रुपेहरी धोखे से,
कुछ जो चले थे साथ चाँदनी में पत्तो पे,
कुछ बारिश में गर्म चाय के प्यालो से बरसे थे,
उन ख्वाबों का बोझ हमेशा ना उठा सकता हू,
वो ख्वाब में तुम्हारे पास ही छोड़ के जाता हू,

नही छोड़ा तो,
तुम बिन दिल पे बोझ बने रहेंगे,
तुम ले जाओ अपने साथ उन्हे,
तुम्हारी तो आदत है मेरे ख्वाबो को मुस्कान देने की.

નામ ભુસાતા નથી - A gujarati Poem

2010-04-23T01:27:00.004+05:30

હૃદયના ખ્વાબ ઍક જીવન મા સમાતા નથી,
હાથ ધોવાથી હમેશા કાઇ નામ ભુસાતા નથી

લાખ કરી લે કોશિશ, તૂ મન ભરવા ની અહી,
તળ વગર ના વાસણ છે, કદી ભરાતા નથી,

રખડી આખો દાડો ઘણા સૂરજ નામાવ્યા અમે,
પણ અમાસી ચાંદનીથી અંધારા જાતા નથી

કેટલા જીવી ગયા, કઈ સાથ લઈ જાતા નથી,
કફન મા લપેટાઈ , કોઈ શબ રેહતા રાતા નથી.

Interaction with Passport office

2010-04-23T01:27:00.003+05:30

Has anyone dialed this … what a weird call center system they have for voice response …..
Dial the number (Randomness of option was quite remarkable)
Dial “0” to continue (and no other option)
Dial “5” for Hindi / Dial “7” for English / Dial “4” for Something I don’t remember
Dial “9” for fresh passport / Dial “8” for existing appliacation
And then there is no way to talk to a customer service, dial any number and you are disconnected with a “thank you”. :D
Then I call up the local desk to ask, what if my mom doesn’t have any address proof of this place where we are living?
“Achha to aapki jo ye mataji hai , wo Pooone mein reh rahi hai ya GuuujRaaat mein?”
“Sir Pune mein”
“Kitne Bakhat se ?”
“Sir…”
“Kitne samay se aapki maataji, poona mein reh rahi hai?”
“Sir 14 months”
“Achha, phir 14 mahina to bahut lamba time ho gaya na, koi address proof nahi banvaya?”
“Sab mere naam pe hai”
“mataji ki umar kya hai?”
“61”
“Achha, unke phir to School living aur birth certificate wale document bhi nahi hoge?”
“Sir School leaving hai”
“Par address proof nahi hai?”
“Nahi sir”
"Address proof to chahiye" Click ... phone disconnects
And suddenly I realized, baaki sab call center mein they call me “Sir” :)
GOI rocks ! Reminds me of Office Office :D

नफ़रत का ज़हर

2010-04-23T01:27:00.001+05:30

आँखों में नफ़रत का ज़हर, होठों पे क्यों ये बात हो,
प्रहार करो गली-मुहल्ले से, अब ना कोई पाक हो,
जिस ओर से चली थी गोलिया, रातों के अंधेरे में,
अब लुपाचुपी खेल रहे है, कुछ बच्चे वहाँ सवेरे में,
तान में बँधूक उनपे कैसे कहु के तुम ही सपोले हो,
घर जलाती आग की लपटे हो तुम, तुम ही शोले हो,
ढूँढ नही पाए हम, जिसने ताज-कश्मीर जलाया था,
नादानो तुम्हे मार, कैसे में कहु के दुश्मन सॉफ हो,
जो आतंकी बरसात थे लाए, वो सरहद पार से आए थे,
तुम भी तो सरहद पार रहते हो, कैसे तुम बेगुनाह हो?
जो बहा मेरे देश के ताज पे, वो खून भी तो बेगुनाह था,
खून के बदले खून मिले, अब आँख के बदले आँख हो,
एक फ़र्क जो मुझमें-उसमे में था वो मिटा के क्यों कहु,
प्रतिशोध की ज्वाला में अब तू-दुश्मन जलके राख हो
तुम्हे ज़्यादा जाना तो नही पर बारूद ख़ाके जीते होगे,
नरसंहार की बातें कर तुम रोज़ हमको खाते पीते होगे
कैसे मानु बीमारी और भूख से वहाँ कोई मरता ना होगा,
कैसे बोलू सब एक से हो, चाहे दिखते तुम सौ-लाख हो,
तुम भी भोले नही हो, और में भी चुप नही सहने वाला,
एक दूसरे की मौत की बातें करते रहेंगे जब भी रात हो,
पर आज अगर तुम आए हो में क्यों सियासाती खेल रचु,
क्यों कहु सब मरते है मारे पर हम में ना कोई बात हो,
आओ बैठे सब पुराने घाव उधेड़े, आओ, बैठे बाते करले,
आओ यहाँ देखो तुम जो घाव तुम्हारे बच्चों ने छोड़े है,
आओ अब देखो की सारे सपने उन्होने जो अधूरे तोड़े है,
आओ अगर बात नही करेंगे तो कैसे ये समज पाओगे,
नही रोकोगे संतान जो अपनी, तुम भी यूँ मर जाओगे,
आओ बैठ के समजता हू, तुम देश नही सियासत हो,
तुम अमन के प्रेमी रहे नही, बेअकल एक रियासत हो,
तुम अपने लोगो को हर सियासत सा बेच के खाते हो,
जो मुर्दो पे वोट बनाए तुम ऐसी अनोखी एक जात हो,
हम बात करने को राज़ी है, हम लोगो से दिल जोड़ेंगे,
तुम लोगो को बहकना मत, नही ये सोच हम भी खो देंगे,
आँखों में नफ़रत का ज़हर, होठों पे क्यों ये बात हो,
प्रहार करो गली-मुहल्ले से, अब ना कोई पाक हो,

A Girl Too Ordinary

2010-04-23T01:26:00.004+05:30

A girl meets a boy, so we see all these stories start,
She is always beautiful and he, charming and smart,
First looks, the flying sparks, tells her he is the one?
Then comes the fights sweet, tender love, and all fun,
The hero fights the world for her love, she waits for him,
And they live happily ever after, live to fulfill their dream,
Didn’t you believe in all that you read ever since a child?
Didn’t you want adventures too in passions running wild?
But when does it happen outside the stories that we read?
There are no prince charming and no Cinderellas to be wed,
Let me tell you a story less glamorous, a story too ordinary,
Of a little girl so very unlike Cinderella, a girl, too ordinary,
There would still have been a boy in the town running awry,
Who, for her, might have made a good groom with a dowry,
A girl whose lips would not make a perfect smile if they were to,
But she would have had smiled heartily nonetheless if she were to,
She might not have charmed the many men out there waiting,
But with efforts, she might have got someone’s heart beating,
She would have done this and she would have done that in her village,
(I know this would not rhyme with the poem like her life out of sync),
Still,
“She would have” If only, She was allowed to be born.

Fir Wohi

2010-04-23T01:26:00.001+05:30

Relationships leave a life long impact. Even when they are left like an unfinished painting, they put their colors in our life. They were meeting each other after almost 30 years since they broke off. She was a lively young girl back then and they were madly in love with each other. Life did not go as planned, infact there was a little planning involved. And they got separated, promising never to cross each other's roads. They did not cross until this day after years, when everything they had in the past was just a blurred memory. They chose different partners, had a great life, good children and occasionaly they remembered each other. Today they crossed path, unintentionally, when they stood infront of each other, he was speechless. He could not say much. She was just like the way she had always been, happy about the past they had, not sorry about the past they did not. Future would be an End soon, and things will not matter. She still smiles and looks at him just the way she always did.

थोड़ी समज, थोड़ी झुर्रिया और थोड़े सफेद बालों में,
तुम बदली इतनी भी नही, वक़्त में क़ैद सालों में,
"काफ़ी देर हो गयी, क्या लाए हो?" तब सा पूछ के,
तुम वैसे ही मुस्कुराती हो अल्हड़ से इन सवालो में

मिलना घर के पीछे, पौधो को पानी देने के बहाने,
याद अभी है तुम्हे सोच के सुनना जगजीत के गाने,
फिर माथे पे छोटे चाँद सी बिंदी लगा तुम आती थी,
बचकानी सी बातों पे, तुम खुश होके मुस्काती थी,
थे कितनी दोपहरी ख्वाब, गन्ने के रस के प्यालों में,
तुम बदली इतनी भी नही, वक़्त में क़ैद सालों में,

पोते को अपने, "लेटेस्ट बॉय-फ्रेंड" कह मिल्वाति हो,
सालों के मेरे गम को तुम, यूँ मस्ती से झुठलाती हो,
मेरी भी एक पोती है, जिसकी तुमसी बिल्कुल आँखें है,
आशा करता हू वो जीवन का नज़रिया तुमसा पाती हो
आज में जीती रहती हो, तुम जीती थी कब ख़यालों में
तुम बदली इतनी भी नही, वक़्त में क़ैद सालों में,

आज तुम्हारी वोही तस्वीर, उभरी है उमर के जालो से,
तुम्हारे होने से होना था, अब गीत नया, नये तालो में,
तुम जैसा ना हो पाऊँ तो भी, तुम्हारे संग रहा था कभी,
था जीवन का एक हिस्सा खुश, मेरे कल के तालों में
थोड़ी समज, थोड़ी झुर्रिया और थोड़े सफेद बालों में,
तुम बदली इतनी भी नही, वक़्त में क़ैद सालों में,

उम्मीदों का शहर

2010-04-23T01:25:00.003+05:30

आस के वीरान जंगल में, उम्मिदो के कई शहर बसते है,
सब बाशिंदे, ख्वाब से सिकुड के घरों में महफुज़ रहते है,
भरे भरे से हमेशा, उम्मिदो के गाँव, कभी खाली नही होते,
हर घर यहाँ, अपने ही या किसी और के हाथों से बनते है,

जब धीरे से, आहट को दबाए, खोला पहले घर का दरवाज़ा.
देखा तो अपने माँ-बाप के ख्वाबों में मुझको बनना था राजा,
फिर दूसरे घरों की और, एक बॉज़ के साथ बढ़ता रहा तो,
देखा मेरे बच्चों के भी ख्वाब भी इसी शहर में ऐसे रचते है,
उनके लिए कुछ अप्रतिम सी उँचाइयाँ सर करनी है और कही
संगनी की खातिर घरों में अलग ग़ज़लें-महल भी पलते है,

फिर इस शहर के किसी कोने में लावारिस एक खन्डर देखा,
सूम-सान सा लग रहा था तो मैने झाँक के थोड़ा अंदर देखा,

एक टूटी चार पाई पे, एक बीमार, अपाहिज़ उम्मीद पड़ी थी,
सालों पहले कुछ कर दिखाने की, मुझमे जो एक ज़िद बड़ी थी,
भूल गया था कब से इसके बारे में यहा फिर मिल गये हम,
तुमको विकलांग बनाते वक़्त जैसे, दोनो हीथे सहम गये हम,
फिर आज यहाँ उम्मिदो के खंडहर में भूले यार से मिल गये हो,
ये जो पर तुम्हारे, मैने अपने हाथो से, गीत लिख सवारे थे,
अब इन परो के पास मखियाँ की आवाज़ पे जुगनू जलते है,

मेरे इस शहर में बस ये घर मेरा है

छत के उपर जब जाके देखता हू,
कितना बड़ा हो गया है ये शहर कुछ सालों में,
कितने घर, कितनी इमारतें,
कितने लोगो की उम्मीदें,
पर ये शहर तो मेरा था ना?
और मेरी उम्मीदें यहाँ,
इस खंडहर के कोने में सीमित क्यों है?

सोचत हू अबकी बार ये शहर जला दूं,
और फिर तिनका तिनका जोड़ के इससे अपने,
नये पंख बनाऊंगा
अबकी बार ये उम्मीदों का शहर मेरा होगा

"तेरा सजदा दिन रैन"

2010-04-23T01:25:00.001+05:30

Wrote at the time of SRK – Thakrey Controversy.
चाँद तोड़ लाने की, सब लुटाने की बातें,
में कर नही पाता तुम्हे रिझाने की बातें,
तुमसे होगी सुबह, होगी शाम तुम्ही में,
लो, मेरी भी लगती है हर दीवाने सी बातें
प्यार तो मुझे भी एक मुद्दत से रहा है,
पर रोकती रही है, कुछ ज़माने की बातें
में करना तो चाहता हू, इश्क़-प्यार की,
पर आ रही उमड़ के खोने-पाने की बातें,

कुछ मरे थे सैनिक, कल जो फिसली चट्टान थी,
शहीद भी ना हो पाए वो जो बहादुरकी जान थी,
तुम पूछती हो, गीत कोई प्रेम का गाने को,
"रंग बसंती" सोच "केसरिया बालम" गाने की बातें

कल रास्ते पे देखी सब गुलाब की थी बिक्री,
बेचने वाला सुलझा रहा, जो लाल फ़िक्र थी,
में भी गया था लेने फूल पर करके आया हू,
चारफूल बेच, मिलेगा जो वो खाने की बातें

जल उठी थी कुछ तस्वीरें धर्म-धरोहर के नाम पे,
रास्तो पे टोलिया हंगामी सरकार से थी रौफ में,
ये लोग बादशाहो को भी डरा देते है, कैसे करू इनसे,
में "तेरा सजदा दिन रैन" नही कर पाने की बातें

चाँद तोड़ लाने की, सब लुटाने की बातें,
में कर नही पाता तुम्हे रिझाने की बातें,
तुमसे होगी सुबह, होगी शाम तुम्ही में,
लो, मेरी भी लगती है हर दीवाने सी बातें

सब की तरह मुझे भी छुपाना आ गया है अब,
दिल में हो दर्द-सोग, मुँह पे तुम्हे पाने की बातें

A Sharp Turn

2010-04-23T01:24:00.001+05:30

I Get up, I Brush my teeth, I have a quick breakfast, I Spree,
I take the road, straight from the house, the only one I see,
I take a bus to the office, and work the daily chores there,
I take a bus back to home and eat again to have a sleep bare,
I am programmed to live a life ordinary,
I am programmed to dream extra ordinary,
I know, one day I will touch the sky,
I know, one day I will soar too high,
I know one day, I will live the moments I dream,
I know one day, the world will believe what I say,
But till then,
I Get up, I Brush my teeth and I have a quick breakfast

One day, a day like no other, in office I got a slip pink,
I thought he will laugh after handing it to me and wink,
That one day, was a day like no other, and all it changed,
I got up late, I did not spree and on road I was deranged,
I did not have to move straight, I took an unexpected sharp turn,
Never took that way, didnot know what was on fire there, to burn,
A little boy moved ahead of me with a kettle of tea in a small palm,
Over a sewage pipe, to a cramped house with thick air of uneasy calm,
There a few girls barely of the age for their profession stood,
I remembered my child, she would have made them a company good,
But their company was sweat that trickled down the bodies old,
I thought what would it be, like a vegetable, if one gets sold,
Out came I with disgust for the world, and saw a friend entering,
There in that sharp turn, the guilt of my world found sheltering,
I walked down a little more through the crammed alleys small,
Poor, unfortunate, darkly despaired, crooked, I saw them all,
There he was sleeping a boy in his teens, above the terrace facing sky,
I went to him and tried to peep in his thoughts, dreams soaring high,
He too had been in that crammed room once to sell the hot teas,
Everyday he gets up, brushes his teeth and to work he sprees,
He is programmed to live a life less ordinary,
He has programmed himself to dream extra ordinary,
In the wild world, when I will move out of this sharp turn,
He will be competing with me, for the bread and work to earn,
I know I would always be more fortunate and had my own days,
But friend I wish you and your likes make it big in your ways,
Friend, trust me, your world shakes my belief in humanity,
Friend, trust me, your resolve, makes my pride my vanity
Friend,
As I move out of the sharp turn back to my straight road,
As I move out to a new job, to my beautiful world broad,
I promise I will never forget what I saw in that sharp turn,
I promise I will never feel bad for things that I wont earn,
I will Get up,
I will Brush my teeth,
I will have a quick breakfast,
I will Spree,
I will take the road straight from the house,
And will remember thee.

Lori

2010-04-23T01:23:00.003+05:30

Just a Try at a lori :)

You can change Happy's name to your child's name ! :)

ह्म्म हँ हुहम्म ह्म्म ह्म्म्म्ममम
नींद आ सुला जा, हॅपी संग गा जा
आँख बँध कर ले
चाँद तू बुझा दे,
परिया बुलाके कोई,
संग लॉरी यूँ गादे,
ह्म्म हँ हुहम्म ह्म्म ह्म्म्म्ममम
नींद आ सुला जा, हॅपी संग गा जा
चुपचाप आँखें मुन्दे,
सिरहाने मेरे सिने को डाल दो ,
फिर सपनो के संग ढूँढे,
धक से धड़कन की ताल को,
चल सपनो की दुनिया में,
जाके नया सूरज यूँ साधे
ह्म्म हँ हुहम्म ह्म्म ह्म्म्म्ममम
नींद आ सुला जा, हॅपी संग आ जा
कहानियों के जादू मे वहाँ ,
उड़ती कालीने है चराग़ भी,
बोलते खरगोश भी है, जहाँ,
बढ़ती झूठ पे है नाक भी,
बाँध कर आँखों को तू भी,
वहाँ उड़ पंख नये बाँधे,
परिया बुलाके कोई,
संग लॉरी यूँ गादे,
ह्म्म हँ हुहम्म ह्म्म ह्म्म्म्ममम
नींद आ सुला जा, हॅपी संग गा जा

A few lines just like that

2010-04-23T01:23:00.001+05:30

जो समजाते है, हिम्मत ना हारो, देखो वो चिटी बार बार गिर फिर चढ़ती है,
वो कहा रोकते है कदम, जब पैरो तले कुचलने उनके, वो चिटी आगे बढ़ती है
_______________________________________________________________________

गरम चाइ की चुस्की पे टीवी देख, वो बोले क्या बदलेगी? पागल सरकार है ये,
दूसरी जगह पे फिल्म नयी आ रही है, बदलो चॅनेल इनकी लड़ाई तो हर बार है ये

_______________________________________________________________________

वो नोटो की गड्डी हरी हरी सी, घर के टेबल पे रख मुस्कुरा रहा था मेरी कमज़ोरी पर,
कल रात बन मोटा थानेदार खूब खुश हुआ था, मुन्ना नानी की मोरनी वाली चोरी पर,
_______________________________________________________________________

एक पल आती, एक पल जाती, हर बार नयी रेतों पे उछल्ने,
पानी के बुलबुलो सा साहिल पे, में जीवन की लहरो पे जीता हू

______________________________________________________________________

कुर्ते से निकले धागो में,
सिगरेट की राख में,
कुर्सी की खाली "किचूड़" आवाज़ में,
कॉफी की कड़वी महेक से .
आज भी अख़बार को कोने कर
तुम यादों की मेज़ से रसोई घर में आ जाते हो

दुनिया की गोलाई

2010-04-23T01:22:00.003+05:30

एक ग्यानि ने खोज निकाली थी दुनिया की गोलाई एक दिन,
हर मौसम चक्कर काटे है, फिर धरती ने सूरज के निश दिन,
लाख-करोड़ भी कीमत अपनी, शून्य-गोल से ही तो पाते है,
एक प्रतिबिंबित गोले के बिना तो सब रातें अंधियारी रातें है,

बचपन भी तो गोद में अपनी, खेलने लाया था गेंदे-पहिए गोल,
और जवानी भी लाई थी कुत्सित अनकही कितनी गोलाई तोल,
हाथो में अंगूठी थी गोल प्यार की, बच्चे के गले में लॉकेट गोल,
जा बुढ़ापा नापोगे तो गोल चस्मे के पीछे बहते कुछ आँसू गोल,

ज़िंदगी में कुछ उपलब्धिया अप्रत्यक्ष तो कुछ साफ पुरस्कृत है,
छाति पे चमकते मेडल हो या प्यार भरी ये आखेहो, सब वृत है,
ध्यान देअगर जीवन को देखोगे जब, उसकी गोलाई को समझोगे,
अंत भी तो शुरुआत है कोई, समयचक्र की परच्छाई को समझोगे

व्यंग भरी कलाकारी

2010-04-23T01:22:00.001+05:30

खुद को अंजान बना दे ऐसी, मुखौटो की तरकीब अनोखी होती है,
दुनियादारी के बाज़ार में बिक्री, बस इस खोटी चीज़ की होती है,
नये ज़माने के संग जीनेको हर बार नया मुखौटा चुन सकते हो,
जश्न में खुशाली के रंग तो मातम में झुर्रिओ से उसे बुन सकते हो,

राम-मुखौटा पहन के वादे झुटे, दशरथ जानकी को दे आ पाओगे,
फिर अंधियारी रातों में दुशाशनि-मुखौटे से लाज नोच खा पाओगे,
बहुत निर्धन लाचार सी लाशें, यहाँ जीवन के मुखौटो में फिरती है,
चाहो तो बलवान मुखौटा पहन उन कमज़ोरो को दबोच ला पाओगे

कोई जो पूछे "कौन हो तुम" , खुद का चेहरा ले जाना बैमानी होगी,
मुखौटो के भी कुछ ल़हेजे होते है, उसकी कभी ना नाफ़रमानी होगी,
सच की आए बात भी जब भी, एक बचकानी सूरत ले जाना तुम,
"में नही था उस कायर चेहरे के पीछे", कह कर के जान बचाना तुम

इस दुनियादारी का चलन आसान नही है, एक बक्सा साथ ले चलना है,
एक भी मुखौटा छूट ना जाए, ठून्स ठूंस हर धोके को चेहरे पे भरना है,
मुखौटो की दुनिया मे ज़िंदगी जीना दोस्त एक व्यंग भरी कलाकारी है,
"में ऐसी दुनिया का नही" कह रहे हो तो, तुम्हारी कला भी चमत्कारी है

जो भी हो जब भी हो वो ही सही

2010-04-23T01:21:00.003+05:30

Not very usual - Something totally surreal from me today.

सुबह हुई, सूरज आज चाँद सा चमक के आसमान पे आया है,
सुबह कभी ऐसी ना थी, ना दिन है ये ना रात का अंधियारा है,
सारे घर जो खिड़की से देखता हू में , सब मेरेघर जैसे बेरंग है,
सब में जैसे खिड़की पे में ही खड़ा हू, मुझसा ही सबका रंग है,
और खाली दीवारों पे तस्वीरें है, मेरी मेरे साथ, पर में जानता हू,
के मैं कौन हू, मेरे पिता मेरा भाई कौन, में सबको पहचानता हू,
और मेरी मेज़ पे चाइ पी रहा है एक परिंदा पहचाना सा कोई,
उसी प्याले की दूसरी ओर, उसे चुस्की लगा के चुपचाप ताकता हू,
एक ख़याल है, शायद मेरे किसी दोस्त से उसकी शकल मिलती है,
और दिन की बढ़ती धूप के साथ, आयने सी ये बस्ती पिघलती है,
सब जो था एक पल, अब अब्र सा बरस के बह जाता है रास्तो में,
कोई हैरान नही बहने से, सबकी सक्शियत एक दूसरे में सिलती है,
गौर से देखने की मुझे कभी आदत ना थी, पर आज ये क्या हो रहा है,
देखता हू ये की जो में जानता हू में हू वो बेचेहरा बदन चेहरे बो रहा है,
अब शक है की बदन भी है या वो भी सिर्फ़ एक ख़याल से ढाला है,
ये कौन से जगह है, कहा हू में, क्या मिला है मुझे और क्या खो रहा है,
ये जगह कैसी है? कहा हू आज? कल जब में था, तब था भी या नही?
कोई फ़र्क नही है किसी में यहाँ, सब में हू, और मुझे में सबही है कही,
ये दुनिया को खुद में, पाके सब दूख प्यार इंसानियत की बाते बैमानी है
क्या ये जन्नत है खुदा? क्या तुम हो? जो भी हो जब भी हो वो ही सही

रात छोटी है

2010-04-23T01:21:00.001+05:30

Not my forte though, trying to weave a slight tinge of passion in romance :).

रात छोटी है, जल्दी ख़त्म हो जानी है,
आँच के नीचे, बाति भस्म हो जानी है

रोशनी बादल के हुक्के की गड़गड़ाहट से
उतर इंद्रधनुष कोई दिलचस्प हो जानी है,
देखता तुम्हे हू, यूँ ओढ़े चाँदनी की चादर,
बूँद पसीने की, जम जिस्म हो जानी है

रात छोटी है, जल्दी ख़त्म हो जानी है,

आओ, ना डरो तुम, ज़माने की राय से,
आज की बग़ावते, कल रस्म हो जानी है,
आँखों की अय्यारि, मुस्कुराहटें ये आम,
आशिक़ के वास्ते तिलिस्म हो जानी है

रात छोटी है, जल्दी ख़त्म हो जानी है,
आँच के नीचे, बाति भस्म हो जानी है

(Tilism is enchantment / magic)

एक मामूली मोहरा

2010-04-23T01:20:00.000+05:30

काली-सफेद सी बिछी बाज़ी पे,
अपनी सेना के आगे खड़ा,
एक मामूली मोहरा,
एक पायदल की होड़ में,
इंतेज़ार में सर उठा के,
बादशाह पे उठे वार सिने पे झेलने खड़ा,
एक मामूली मोहरा,

खूद एक सफेद खाने में खड़ा काला मोहरा,
हाथ में तलवार लिए खड़ा है, आँखे गड़ाए दुश्मन पे,
और फिर खिलाड़ी के हाथों से उसकी सोच पे,
आगे बढ़ता है, कदम-ब-कदम, एक नये खाने में,
खुद फ़ना होना है राह में, या अपने से किसी और रंग के,
किसी एक मामूली मोहरे को ख़त्म करना है,
किस्मत हुई तो एक बड़े मोहरे से भी खेल जाएगा ये,
सफ़र के अंत तक बचाता रहेगा बादशाहो को वो,
फ़ना होके फिर एक नयी बाज़ी पे बिछेगा,
पर उस बाज़ी पे भी वो रहेगा एक मामूली मोहरा,
बादशाह बनने की चाह भी कभी बादशाह ना बनाएगी उसे,
ये बाज़ी हार भी गया, मारा भी गया किसी गोरे मोहरे से,
तो भी सिकश्त उसकी ना होगी, क्योंकि,
मामूली या ख़ास कोई भी,
मोहरे कभी शिकस्त- झदा नही होते है,
हार और जीत सिर्फ़ खिलाड़ी की होती है

Updating blog : Uttarayan - A Poem written on 14th Jan

2010-04-23T01:19:00.001+05:30

वो दिखताबड़ी हवेली सा, कोई बुढ्ढि सहेली सा, एक पहेली सा घर,
पॅहरो की धूप-छाँव में लगता था जैसे कोई ख्वाब रुपेहली सा घर,
वो घर की जिसकी बेफ़िक्र छत से बचपन की हिकायते जन्मी थी ,
वो कॉंक्रीट और ईंटो का ढाँचे सा , वो उम्मीदों की भारी थैली सा घर,

भाई का बड़प्पन, मेरा लड़कपन, गुज़रे से कल में साँस लेता है वहा
कटी पतंगो को पकड़ने आज भी पीछे किसिका बचपन दौड़ता है वहा
छत के उपर से गुज़रते तार में आज भी फसते है किसी और के रंग,
हम दो भाई बारी बारी से जहा फिरकी पकड़ते थे और उड़ाते थे पतंग,

फिर अपनी पतंगो को छोड़ मेहता जी की छत पे दौड़ जाते थे हम दोनो,
जब भी वाहा कोई लूट किसी पतंग की दिख जाती, लड़ते थे हम दोनो,
बड़े खुश हुआ करते थे लड़ाई में और प्यार से जुड़े पतंग-माँझे में हम,
और फिर बड़े होते ना जाने कहाँ से वो लूट पतंगो की घरो में बदल गयी ,
कब ये रिस्ते भी काग़ज़ की पतंगो से फटने लगे, डोर भी कटती गयी ?
फटी पतंगो को तब हम चावल के उबले दानो से रफू करके उड़ाते थे,
रिस्तो को जो रफू कर दे ऐसे चावल, अफ़सोस हम ना कभी उगाते थे,
इस संक्रांति शहेर से में आया हू,
दीवार से उसका घर और मौत से मेरा भाई जुदा है,
देखता हू यादो के भूतकाल से,
छत के उस हिस्से में, मेरा बेटा पतंग लूटने कुदा है

PFCONE - Pragati and Alive

2010-01-08T15:30:00.007+05:30

Hi friends,

We have smaller dreams on the journey to bigger achivements and ambitions of life. Fulfilling these smaller dreams makes of those moments in life that makes the journey as enjoyable as the final destination. One such long cherished dreams of mine has been recently fulfilled and am happy to share with you the fact I managed telling a story in an audio-visual format. I feel quite excited sharing the same with you.

PFCone was a competion for 1 min short movies and we made 2 movies for the same. The compeition is a great platform for inspiring filmmakers. And We (Deepu, Seema, Neha, Shrikant and Me) did not make it to the competitive section but are very proud of things we made. Hope you too like this. Aslo watch more of all the other films on http://www.passionforcinema.com/. It would be highly enjoyable thing to do , is what we promise. Hope you enjoy mine too. Do let us know your comments and criticism

Thanks ,

Jay

Poem - Madness

2010-01-02T19:52:00.000+05:30

Once I had been to the Pune Railway station and after bidding my parents a good bye when I was coming back from the overbridge, I saw this old man in his white beard and curled hairs with torned clothes - definitely not sane. He was sitting looking at the sky aloof of the rush of people fighting their ways thorugh the foot bridge singing in a really good voice some English song of yesteryears. His accent made it clear that he would have been once rich or in company of rich and he might have had a story of a life that would have passed through good and bad. I have been thinking about that person for quite a long period now. I think he either would have had a heartbreak from all the loved ones he ever had, and would have lost all he had ever earned. He would have seen a life saner than us and is now choosing this life of a mad person.

भीड़ की इन पागल आवाज़ों पे,
मद्धम मद्धम में गा रहा हू,
वो कहते है,ये प्लॅटफॉर्म है,
पर जहा तुम हो, वाहा बस हम है
चाँद बड़ा सुंदर है,
और तुम्हारा चेहरा बरसो बाद भी वैसा ही है,
में अब भी महसूस कर पाता हू तुम्हारा हाथ मेरी उंगलिओ पे,
आज भी गा रहा हू तुम्हारे लिए ,
I want to hold your hand,
Oh please say to me,
you will let me be your man,
सब कहते है एक हैरानी से, "पागल गा रहा है",
उनको लगता है, पागल कपड़ो से पहचाने जाते है,
उनको लगता है, वो सायने है औरे मैं दीवाना,
अगर कभी उनके पास होता कोई ख़ास ऐसा,
जिसकी ख़ुसी खुद की ज़िंदगी से ज़्यादा प्यारी होती,
जिसकी कत्थई आँखों पे गिरते भूरे बाल में ढलते दिन,
जिसकी साँस की आवाज़ संगीत की किल्कारी होती,
जिसको बरसों करीब रख एक दिन कहा होता,
Oh please say to me,
you will let me be your man,
तो जानते,
की पागल कपड़ो से नही बनते,
धोके से बनते है,
तुम्हे जो सोचना है सोचो,
में उसका हाथ पकड़ आज भी गा रहा हू,
और गाता रहूँगा
एक दिन
उस चाँद के पार से तुम आवाज़ दो ये आस है,
एक दिन
हाथो पे हाथ का एहसास इस भीड़ से दूर होगा.

*The English Part is from a song by beatles

My Favourite 5 Song Lyrics This Year

2010-01-02T19:42:00.003+05:30

Everyone is making a list of top 10 this and that of the year, so here I come with top 5 of my favourite lyrics of the year. You might disagree with me but I love it. These songs / albums are in the order I liked them :

1. Duniya
Piyush Mishra showed his years of theatrical experience in making the music and songs of this film. I can never forget the goosebumps that the words "Jis kavi ki kalpana mein zindagi ho prem geet, us kavi ko aaj tum nakar do" that comes after a momentary silence in Aarambh. And mention of Gulaal's without mentioning the "Sarfaroshi ki tamanna..." tribute would be injustice. But out of all those works, here is Duniya that just stands out. The song comes as a crux of the movie and in general the world.

I like this song so very much that I might as well call it the song of the decade. What a song! If Saahir's great poetry was an inspiration to this song, then Piyush Mishra very well lived up to it in each and every line of this song. Life and the world are the two things that have been talked about the most by the poets of bollywood after the Lover. And it is too just too difficult to capture all the moods in one song. Duniya very well does that. It starts low and hopeful on a romantic side of life - surmai aankhon ke pyalo ki duniya, satrangi sejo gulalo ki duniya, and then it moves from the greed and the lust of life, and then ends up in to a dark "Ye duniya agar mil bhi jaye to kya hai". This is an absolute classic.

My favourite line from the song:
Khwaahish mein lipti zaroorat ki duniya, Insaan ke sapno ki Niyat ki duniya .....

2. Kaminey

If there is any magical musical pair that exist in today's Bollywood, its Gulzar-Vishal Duo. The whole album of Kaminey, absolutely proves that. Gulzar can make anything sound poetic. A poem on AIDS that sounds so beautiful (Bhanwra bhanwra aya re - Keedo ki basti ka makoda hai), and then a piece on life at the end of the movie were just as good. But above it stands the usual Gulzar style mixing of languages in Dhan te nan, (aaja ke one way hai ye zindagi ki gali ek hi chance hai). Even the romance comes so beautifully to him (hamne gilhari ke jhoothe matar khaye the). No poet has ever given words so beautifully consistent for decades and decades like Gulzaar. He has always been contemporary.

But the song that works for me completely is the title track. A song that not just beautifully gels with the characters of the movie but also makes you relate to the darker side of life when Vishal himself sings mellifulously "Meri Aarzoo kamini, Mere khwaab bhi kaminey, ek dil se dosti thi, ye huzoor bhi kaminey". The whole ides of how difficult and demanding life is comes up with Gulzaar saab penning
Kabhi zindagi se maanga, PInjre mein chaand laa do,
Kabhi laal ten de ke kaha aasmaan pe taango ....

My Favourite Line from the song :
Jiska bhi chehra chhila andar se aur nikala
Masoom sa Kabootar Nacha to mor nikla....

3. Sapno se bhare naina

There was a time when every other song in the film industry was written by Javed Akhtar. Javed Akhtar comes across to me as one of the most versatile person in the film industry as far as writing is concerened. The trademark of this great poet is his conveying of the most difficult themes with the most easiest words. The movie had some great music and song, but this song, for me was the highlight of the movie.

The song starts with some beautiful slow lines which are etched in my mind for the simplicity of the words,
Bagiya bagiya, baalak bhaage,Titli lekin haath na lage

and then the music alleviates the lyrics to a different level conveying what the song wants to convey as theme ...

Is pagle ko kaun bataye,
Dhoondh raha hai jo tu jag mein,
Koi Jo paye to man mein hi paye....

I dont remember a year in recent history when Javed Akhtar did not come up with a great song.
My favourite line from the song :
Sukh hai alag aur chain alag hai,
Par jo ye dekhe wo nain alag hai,
Chain to Apna hai,
Sukh hai paraye ...

4. Dhoop ke sikkey
Once in a while in an obscure album you might find out a gem. For me this gem features in the blip of a movie called "SIkander". Prasoon Joshi, one of the poets who is young and understands the subtle stream of thoughts and can make you cry and laugh with his words would be remembered for years. This song, especially talks of keeping the innocence intact in life in a beautiful beautiful way.

Dhoop ke sikkey uthakar gungunane do use,
Baigani Kanche hatheli par sajane do use,
Bholi bhali bholi bhali rehne do,
Zindagi ko zindagi ko behne do,

Words like Kanche, sikkey, baigani brings back the memories of childhood to me. The song then goes on to tell how every vice of life has started from an innocent life being destroyed and says it so beautifully with a metaphor.

Barood Jab bachha tha, wo titli pakad ta tha

The song features in my top 5 and Prasoonjoshi in my list of favourite poets ever for this metaphorical writings of his.

My favourite lines from the song
Bahut Jaldi Dupatta Odhna sikhla rahe hai hum,
Kyon Zindagi ko raat se milva rahe hai hum,
Wo pallu se chipak kar maa ki chalti thi to achhi thi,
Akela chhodkar usko kya kehna chah rahe hai hum,
Ek Gehri neend se humko jagane do use ......

5. Masakkali

The Album Delhi-6 happens to have some of the very great songs from Rehman with lyrics that would be remembered for a long long time. The "Rehna tu hai jaisa tu" and "Ye delhi hai mere yaar" Seem to capture the spirit of the place completely with them (kabhi pyaar mein gaali bhi deta hai, kabhi gaali mein pyar bhi hota hai). And the masterful metaphorical Kala Bandar tells beautiful things that makes people think(sample this : Kasmein to moongfali hai, jab chahe hum khate, Upar se na na karte par thali aage sarkate). Every person has a dark side only if he looks in the mirror properly. And then comes the deeply sufi "Maula mere maula". (Jo bhi tere dar aaya jhukne jo sar aaya ...). A really good album for the year.

But after all that, here is one of the most simplest of songs that has come in recent times on the silliest premises. A song on a pigeon, on masakkali that again in the trademark metaphorical Joshi way takes you along with the character.
The best part about this song that I like is the almost onamotoepic first stanza ..

Zara Pankh Zatak,
Gayi Dhool Atak,
Aur Lachak Machak
ke door bhatak,
The song beautifully talks about an attitude to fly like a free bird and to run away from all who dream small. (Dikhla de thenga un sab ko jo udna na jaane). The song is about building up that attitude.

My favourite lines from the song
Itdi se mud, ada se ud,
Kar le poori dil ki tammanna, ....

Hope you liked my top 5 songs of the year :).

Down Memory Lane Part 3

2010-01-02T19:41:00.001+05:30

(Here we go with the third part. It feels so very passionate to write about that place, that time and that life.)

So as I welcome you to Narayan Nagar 3, you are greeted with the smiling faces of women and old men greeting you like you have been here before. There as we start moving towards our house we see Vijaya-masi- the lady who thinks that my life has been an exact replica of his son's life (His son repairs computers and owns an Indica for taxi - I agree both of it has some resemblence to my life. He went to ITI, which she feels was the biggest of the coincidence when I joined IIT.). Vijaya-masi seems to be talking to Tara-ba, the only lady from the society who was present with my parents when I was born, she hence feels a special bond with me. As you go on, you see a 'couple' exchanging looks from their windows on the first floor rooms of houses on opposite sides of the lane, hiding away from their parents, pretending to study. They are one of the usual lovestories that every society has and that ends in fights and marriage of one, as the other drinks her marriage away.

And two houses down on the lane, we see Kaana-bhai. A small tin-board outside his house reads in large fonts "Krishna Classes - Best in Spoken English Teaching by Krishna Vyas (M.A in English)". Kaana-bhai insists that I talk to him in English, I feel a little embarassed doing that there though. He will happily come to you and say "How are doing friend?". And you would hear in his voice the distinct Katiyawadi (Kathiawad is a part of region in Saurashtra) accent like the ones you see of Gujarati caricatures in TV shows. Just opposite to the Krishna Classes, we have the old lady looking at us with all her love. She looks at us as if we are her sons that were never hers. This is the house I have spent half my childhood at - Pandyas. The 3 sisters, who first tied Rakhi on my hands when I was 5 months old, have been like my real sisters. We touch their feet, the old man sitting by her side, smiles and asks for your haealth as animatedly with his hands as with his voice which is calm but loud. He has a small machine in his ears, that is not working properly since last few days and you need to talk to him at the top of your voice. I wish I was a better son to them. My house is just a couple of houses ahead. It always takes atleast 10 min to cross the lane till my house which has a nice Gulmohar tree just in front of it from which the kids pluck the flower-buds to eat. Both the houses that we now have to cover to reach mine are owned by Ranas - an 'almost joint family' you might say. You might wonder what almost would have meant if you would not have visited this place. A family that had 2 sons and 2 daughters all of them married now. The two sons will fight due to difference in income and hence needs different houses, but parents dont like it and hence there are 2 houses adjacent to each others. The children of the two sons, play outside, you see the eldest son of the elder son of Ranas, trying to pull and twist the tail of a cow that is standing infront of their house. The younger one is throwing water at her for making it run away. But we need to move ahead.

And right opposite to a house where the Rojasras lived, is my house. That house would always be of Parimal, a dear childhood friend whose friendship was only limited to childhood. Last I heard of him, he was working as an attendant in some gold jewellery shop. The only non-Gujarati family of my society - Ahivarkars live there now. The Dadaji in that family is a writer and has many interesting pen-friends that he has had since his younger days. But we won't spend time with them, we will straight away head to this small house, painted creamish with Green border and black safety door in front of a peach door with fissures that I talked about, fissures that were the glimpse of my house after ringing the bell. This is my house- the house that I grew up in. And just as we enter we see "Mehrundidi" washing clothes in the open space within our house. We call the open space a "Fadiu", but its difficult to explain it in English, its not a garden space though it could have been, its not even parking, though it works partly so; it has a jhula and it has a small porche; bathrooms are not in the house like cities, bathrooms are in this fadiu. But wouldnot have known it but now you know it as you are here. Coming back to Mehrun didi, Mehrunnissa is what we call in cities, our Bai/ maid, but at my place she is a lot more than that, she is a didi. Her mother too worked at our house and she works since she was 10. She is a muslim and a follower of Amba mata. She happens to be neice of one of the most famous stage show artists in Gujarat. She is married to a man who pulls his hand cart to collect scrap. She is happy to see us.

Before we enter my house let us stop the time once again as we try and move around. See, papa is eating his favourite cashews, sitting on the jhula, and from teh window of the small kitchen that opens in the fadiu, you can see my mommy, making tea for daddy. She is sweating a lot, as the kitchen is too small to house a fan. I and my dad used to sit where the Refrigrator now stands short, while mom cooked rotis which we divided in half to eat in my childhood. There are two gates to the small house, its exact mirror reflection of house on both the sides, with one side having a kitchen that we are looking at. Both the sides have 2 small rooms (11ft X 12 ft). The one on our right is the one that we used to give on rent, while we lived on left. There is a long story of those two rooms and people who have lived in there. They are the closest relatives of my family now. The windows are made up of wood and grill, and has small translucent rectangular glass at the top of it. The windows dont open up on the road, they open up in the open space that we now call Fadiu. We havent build anything on the first floor, its open terrace, which is the best place to be at on Makar sankranti.

We dont give the house on rent anymore. The cieling has the flakes of colors which is now coming off, it happens with the best of paints here. On the left the room that we enter first is half occupied with the dining table and a small temple. On right we have all the storage equipments with a couple of big containers for water. We need to store water well in Surendranagar. There are lofts in both of these rooms, and the two rooms just after that are living room on left and bedroom on right. The living room once had a "Show case" where mommy kept crockeries on display, it was removed when it turned old-fashioned. This was the room that once housed my bed. It had a small monalisa painting which was then replaced by a folk art and then a watch. Nothing is there on that side of the wall anymore.The cupboards are inbuilt in the wall and are made of plywood with wooden 'sunmica'. The bedroom now has a AC and two big Almirahs - mine and mom's, one of which we bought when we were living in Ahmedabad., there are 2 small seetees in the bedroom now. There is a small bathroom, which has been converted into store room. The tenants of the house used it as bathroom earlier. If kids are running from one terrace of the row house to the other terrace then you will hear their footsteps like drum beats from the cieling. So the four rooms with the kitchen forms the main part of the house while the fadiu is divided in to a parking, jhula space, space for washing clothes, a bahroom, a wash basin, 2 water tanks and stairs leading to the terrace. All in all its a compact small place which is small in space and big in terms of the dreams, thoughts and principles that it bred, just like the hearts of the people in Surendranagar.

(Will like to talk about my parents if there comes a part-4)

Down Memory Lane Part 2

2010-01-02T19:39:00.001+05:30

Well now that you have got down from the bus, I need to welcome you to my town. Welcome to Surendranagar:). Sorry for keeping you waiting at the bus-stand.

Outside the busstand you see the clouds of burning coal-smoke from a small pot that has been kept over a heap of Khari Sing (roasted salted peanuts) on a hand-cart. Behind these swarms of smokes you see a couple of autos, who would charge you 5 rupees more, mainly for your looks, to travel to my house. You find it cheap. Still you negotiate as you think you should; he reduces that 5 rs. and you would know later how you pay for it. A friend of his would jump-in to sit beside him on the drivers seat chatting with him in Gujarati that you would not understand even if you were Gujarati. He wouldnot look friendly for the first 100 mts. of your drive and then he would tell you how, there is no rain this season too and how municipality gives water once in every 5 days. As you move along you realize the other aspect of the place- roads are almost non-existent. You would find enroute an arts and science college, with the only Tennis court (cemented) of the town. You dont see boys and girls gossiping together here like your cities. There would be a group of eve-teasers in the parking lot that you might catch a glimpse of. There, just ahead of it you would find people selling cricket bats and earthern pots; No there are no shops, you dont earn enough out of that business to create shops; its on the road-side. As your 3-wheeler jump over a few pot-holes no one cares about, you would realize that you are still not into the market area. You see buses enroute- private buses waiting for passengers to be taken to Rajkot, Bhavnagar, Ahmedabad. Most of the people in it are paitient enough to wait for the bus to get filled. The auto-wallah would stop near to a theatre where his friends get off and where a female of about 50 stands. She is wearing a typical banjara dress (Bharvad as the tribe is known as in Gujarat) with a black ghaghra and a black choli with an open back showing her aged, wrinkled and dark back and the tatooing on her hands giving her name like - "Devu Ba". She will smile at you with a golden teeth and scars of tobacco (Bajar) that she brushed on her teeth. You get uncomfortable with the smell of cattles that comes from her and unwillingly you look down on a friendly lady, and shout at the autowallah as he tells you that for 15 rs. you need to share the auto. Your negotiation for the money goes for a toss.

You move on and as you reach the underbridge, just after an ambedkar statue, you see traffic police taking 50rs. from a person driving without helmet. Its so typical of our times, guards -who are entrusted with the responsibility of serving and guarding rules, are so powerful that you fear them. You smile. There are a few things that you can relate to. There on your left you would now see the only mall of the town with a "Jay Khodiyar Auto Parts" board at the entrance, with red and green font on white in gujarati. The Mall also houses the courier company and the tiles merchant and many more, but from outside you would just find it like a building. Its a mall without any escalators and with the corners of walls stained red. There is a juice center just a few hundered mts. down the line in the market, where the soda is more transperent and less saltier than water. This is a crowded area, the roads are full of chattering people, newspaper-eating cows, pigs, dogs while the bikes and auto try to move on the fringes of the road or footpath. Mid way every now and then you might see a lavish bungalow, not a huge one but something interesting and outside most of these you would find a hand-cart of a dabeli-wala or Kulfi-wala. I would not like to leave you in the auto for a while till you reach my lane, you can enjoy the roads that arent on your way. Had you had come by train, you would have seen nothing of Surendranagar that you just saw, inplace you would have seen a lonely temple on a barren land where I first went with some special friends- these days they call it a "date".

By the time you get down of the auto purshottam(the driver) would have befriended you. Now as you get down and pay him at the end of the lane of my society (we call it society, rightly so). Enroute you would have already noticed a few things but we will pause the time at the end of this lane and take in a few things that our city life makes us notice. Almost every lane of any Middle class society (read it as relatively poor lower middle class with your city classification) in surendranagar has 3 things in common - Open uncovered gutters where the sludge from each of the house would flow in, a hand pump for the lack of municipality water where you might catch a few passers by drinking directly from the pump and a "Hanuman" Temple. Grapejuice (Vine/wine is a word you should not use in Gujarat), says that Surendranagar is registered with Guiness book of world records for highest number of templesfor the monkey god. Every Hanuman Jayanti the young boys of society get together to build a temple with their hands. So just on the sides of gutters or beside the handpump you might find a Hanuman temple. There just on the other side of the 25 mt. long lane, you would see a common plot which happens to be a playground for all the kids there, a dumping ground for all the kachra and the place of the thorny acacia weeds to grow. A small boy would run from the play ground to collect the cricket ball hit by a rowdy old friend of his into the gutter. The gutters are shallow and cemented in a half a feet deep canal-form; they look black and smell pungent. Very pungent to you. The young boy first herds the group of pigs lying in front of the gutters after their bath in it. There are marks they leave from gutters till the place they are lying. The young boy then runs and puts his hand in to the sludge taking out the red rubber ball, it looks black on one side. He runs down near you to the side of the handpump, pumps water out, washes the ball and his hands drinks a handful of water and runs back in to the playground. That young boy could have been me if you were here a 20 years back.

As the time has paused for us, we can look at each of the house carefully. For your eyes the two doors at the main entrance of all houses are unusually colorful green, blue or yellow with little fissures on them from which the kids look into their house after they knock to see if mummy is coming to open the door. The skyline, that is a long strip as you stand on the narrow 8 ft wide lane is marred with electricity wires and kites, on which you might find an array of bright green parrots with red beaks if the time is morning else it would either be pigeons or most likely crows. The row of small houses on both the sides are painted with equally vibrant colors. There outside the houses are small tanks with municipality taps. Each of the tank shas a cover to safe guard the waters from pigs/dogs and safeguard kids from falling into it. Women are out sitting on the porche infront of their house which covers the gutters. You have a peculiar sense of warmth and welcome on all faces that are turned towards you as you are standing at the end of the lane. You are Gotu's friend here. So let the Gotu formally welcome you to his society - Narayan Nagar Society no.3. We are back home!

Down Memory Lane Part 1

2010-01-02T19:37:00.002+05:30

I might have written an incidence or two about my life but I generally haven't written about myself, ever. The reason was pretty simple, there is nothing interesting in my life, is what I feel, its a mundane story of a simple guy, going through life as things happen to him, everything gets induced, nothing comes out of the inner desire that is not affected by things around him. Life has happened to me, I dont know what to write about it. I dont have a story to write on my own, or let me put it this way, I would have to accept my incapabilities and shortcomings and inferiority complex as a child if I were to write an autobiography. I would not be able to write that. But there were interesting stories around. I never wrote about it as I think it would be unfair to write about someone else's life without their permission. But these posts made me think more. I need to write. I want to write. I want to write about the places that have had importance in my life, about the people I saw. I was only an observer. I was only a kid - too simple and too simplified. With the feeling of guilt of not taking permission, I am starting this post, I want to write about personal experiences, mostly of others as I watched them. I want to write about the lane where I grew up, the school I had gone to, the cultural shocks I got in my life, about friends I had in my childhood, about my cousins and so much more. Pardon me if I am getting self-indulgent here, I ought to write this for myself. I am not sure if there will be a follow up post to this but would start.

My Place
Let me start today and introduce you to places that have been important in my life. A person living at a place would never realize what is different or special about his place, but as a visitor you might make sharpest of observation. Let me take you with me to my place, let me take you to Surendranagar as a visitor. The stories are sparsed across times of my parents, my childhood and present times. Timelines are blurred but the place has a character, it survives.

Gujarat is developing and there are expressways running around the length and breadth of Gujarat. Surendranagar doesnt fall on that map. Its a district and a town. Town its quite difficult for average reader of this blog, many of whom grew up in cities to imagine this word. Its not a big city, it doesnt have huge buildings,and it is not a village with farmers and cattles. It is a town. It is a town like the ones you see in the fringes of your IT cities. It has its own schools and it has its cinema theatres, it is an urban place for the villages in the district and a rural place for Mumbai and Delhi walas, who have their ancestral bungalows in there. The villagers around dream to make it to this place for living and the dreams of Surendranagar reaches Ahmedabad. It has the warmth that comes to a place by the virtue of knowing your neighbours, and it has the indifference that comes by having self-centered community-less goals of personal life. And by the very definition of this place and for that matter of any town, it's always in flux.

There are two ways to reach Surendranagar from here, by train and by bus, but we would take the interesting bus route to reach my home. As we take a diversion from the expressways of Gujarat going from Ahmedabad to Rajkot in a State Transport bus whose windows rattle more than its engine, and which moves creating clouds of dirt behind it in which the small villages diappears. Villages on the side of a small pond, where the gutters flow in, where people take bath at one end and cattles on the other and there is a small part where females bath. You might see the teenage kids from the villages going to Surendranagar for weekend peeping on to bathing females from the seat ahead as the dirt comes in. You might even smell the dung cakes that burns to cook the food for people here. But everything runs away fast as you move on that road. More and more of such places that we never thought would have existed. And then as we come just near surendranagar, there is a small town called Wadhwan, a forted town, which even housed an engineering college once. It is what people in cities sell for high price - a gated community. We would come to this place too, it has a special importance in my life. As you cross the bridge over the dried front where you migh see a hut or two and where the river never flows, you would see a the green colors of Dargah at the entrance of the city, and the autorickshawwallahs there would should "10 Rs. to Meldi Maa's Temple" if you happen to be there on a weekend. The person next to you in bus would look at your jeans and red T-shirt and the cap and the Sidney Sheldon novel you hold in your hands and might ask you if you study in the Medical college or if you are visiting your family. You might find it odd to answer questions on your salary and work and family life. But they would be curious to know about your life.

As you move in looking at the industrial establishments around, you would realize that the main stay of the economy of this town is this Industrial belt, small scale and medium scale industries.Conductor would stop the bus virtually every 200 mts. to let people down with a smile. There en route on your right you might see the big electric towers and people hovering around it with the board reading "Pachim Gujarat Vij Co. Ltd." - A place where my dad worked for more than 30 years before his retirement. And just on the left where your bus passes you will see a big banyaan tree. There is a "Parab" (A place to get free water from the matkis) run by an old man there. You would see people gossiping while sipping the tea from saucers making the sipping noise and the "Aah" after gulping the extra-sweet tea. But you dont have time to take absorb all this as the bus stand is just next to it. and your bus stops with a jerk, which might make you fall, if you were standing. But you would not be standing as the smell of the villagers that mars you nose like some allergy might make you feel sick if you stand the kids, would be running all over the aisle of the bus over luggage kept. The bus jerks and takes a brakes as the conductor would get down to help the herds man who is moving the herd of buffaloes out of the way and one of the buffalow is in the process of caking the road. The cakes would be picked by someone by the time you return the next day. Once the road is cleared the bus is parked in the bus-stand at its regular place, and you got to push yourself out of the bus as there are scores of people fighting to get in to the bus. The big red fonts on top of the dirty white building reads "SURENDRANAGAR" in two languages - one you know. There are ads of the international giants like Vodafone and Cococola that fills your eye if you look just a level above the level where you are seeing the Daal-vada vendors and the rickshaw stop. Just about 10-12 years I would have craved for these daal-vadas, but if I eat it now, it would upset my stomach. You definitely dont look at it, as you move past, paan-spitted building and walls of bus stand that gives you the stench of how the urine of the entire town smells.

(Not sure if I can continue this in further series, if I can I would like to take you to my home, my school, my parents first home, their childhood places and see what I can see of it. Sorry for making it so long, but for once, I dont want to stop myself writing this.)

Poem : Ek

2010-01-02T19:35:00.000+05:30

Origin of Life on earth is a very interesting subject. As interesting as origin of society and Humanity is. Some of the researchers says that human beings are creature from another planet who landed on earth in some collision billions of years ago. Well if that is true there, far away in some corner of this universe would be a planet, where there would be a person who looks like me, but would he be thinking like me? Over ages we developed society, we developed identities. We developed the concept of "You" and "me". We developed ways to divide resources, we developed ways to create our own individuality along with which came the idea of superiority and inferiority. We developed the idea of being "better". There is a lot that has been added to humanity after its creation. Do you think this would be different from that image of mine on some other planet? Here is a poem on those lines

एक
-Jaykumar Shah

कायनात-ए-बिसात में एक दिन बेफ़िज़ूल टहेलते इंसान को,
एक क़ौम, एक सोहबत, एक दुनिया मिलेगी है अभी अंजान जो,
उस क़ौम की समज अलग होगी हमसे, आदाब भी अलग होगा,
उनके सफ़र में उनसे ना खुदा होगा अलग, ना नाखुदा अलग होगा,
हर शक्स अपनी तकदीर लिखेगा, और खुद ही ढोयेगा अपनी कश्ती,
बेकार के नाम-निशानी के कारण ना होगा बटवारा ना जलेगी बस्ती,
एक आवाज़ होगी, सबका एक ही होगा नाम, क़ौम एक, रंग भी एक,
सब का सब होगा और किसी का कुछ भी नही, खुद एक सब भी एक,
ये एक की गिनती भी नही होगी, ना होगा सब से उपर कभी कोई एक,

एक दिन,
एक दिन मिलेगा कोई ऐसा कायानत-ए-बिसात में कोई ऐसा,
सोचता हू, क्या बात करेगा इंसान तब उस क़ौम से?
सोचता हू, उस क़ौम की नज़र में होगा इंसान का ये ढंग कैसा?
सोचता हू, क्या वो कुछ सीखेंगे हम से, या हम उनसे?

"हम खुदा से है, हम अलग है, में जो हू वो ये नही" कैसे समज़ेंगे वो ?
"में हिन्दुस्तानी, ये अमेरिकी, ये हिंदू, में ख्रिस्ति" कैसे समजाएंगे उन्हे?
कैसे समजाएंगे की हमने ही डुबोया है जो एक घरोंदा था हमारा,
कैसे समजाएंगे की क्या है जंग और क्यों एक ने एक को मारा,
जब वो पूछेगा की क्या ज़रूरत है क्या ऐसे नाम के बटवारे की
कैसे समजाएंगे की ये तो फ़ितरत है इस दुनिया में रहने वालो की,
एक बार अगर समजा भी दिया हमने उनको और उन्होने हमें,
कौन सही है, और किसको बदलना चाहिए , ये फ़ैसला कौन करेगा,
या फिर "हम" हम रहेंगे, "वो" वो, अलग थे अलग ही रहेंगे,
हम ना देखेंगे की उनकी भी बातों में भी एक बात है अनोखी सी,
क्या हम कभी अलग ही रहेंगे उनसे भी,
पता नही है मुझे पर मुझे भी इंतेज़ार है उस दिन का, वो एक दिन,
एक दिन,
जब बेफ़िज़ूल टहेलते इंसान को अपना वो रूप मिलेगा जिसे खुदा ने बनाया था

Poem : Dark Corners Of My Mind

2010-01-02T19:34:00.000+05:30

There is this tinge of evil that all of us know exist within us. A tinge that though does not go away as we grow up, though it doesn’t grow up, it does not completely fades against our morality. It’s base, it’s mean, it’s gross, it’s selfish and still you relate to it at some level in your personal thoughts. This one is to the dark side of everyone.

There in some dark corner of my mind stays the bird red,
Which shrieks red of desire, and gets my thoughts shred,
The corner in my mind sees no light though the sparks fly,
It burns, it longs, it dreams and it sobs in cacophonic cry,
The corner that it is, is inaccessible, my hopes it daunts,
It orders, but seldom I know why it wants what it wants,
That corner in my mind, turns the boy in me into monster,
Innocence it knows not, lust, greed and sin rules its roster,
From deep within the abyss of that dark, today I hear a call,
“Grab, if no one can get it back, it’s yours”, it says take it all,
But the corner that it is, is cornered and lonesome like me,
It tries to be all it desires, pleads, but then no one lets it be,
Then all it can do is to whisper low in the silence of my guilt,
“Good boy, you are son, but cover your goodness with a kilt,
For if you forget and keep it exposed to the darkness of mine,
I promise, I will eat it raw, and nothing in you will ever shine.

Imagine!

2010-01-02T19:32:00.001+05:30

Here is a small exercise for your Imagination:
Read this first and then try doing it.
Take a deep breath, its a short exercise, but do spend atleast 50-60 seconds on it. Let the whole thing build up in your mind, try to get the details of what you are going to imagine. Dont react forcefully, let it come naturally to you. So here goes the small exercise.

Close your eyes. Forget about what is around you and imagine yourself to be in the big garden infront of your palace in the morning. Think of the person you love the most coming towards you and sitting by your side. Take 50-60 seconds to imagine the entire thing with all its details, dont be in a hurry and play it twice, just let it come, slowwwwwwwwly.

So what are you trying to do?
Ok.... so here is what the exercise was about, though I am not sure what the outcome of it would be so do pour in your comments .....

What did you imagine?
When you closed your eyes did you See the green lawn of the garden around you as you sat may be in a chair or a table or a bench, surrounded by trees / colorful flowers and with a tea pot on the tea while the big palatial structure was in the background, may be white marbled and polished with a couple of caretakers moving around? And then did you see the young girl/boy you love walking down in her/his luxurious attire, walking don towards you with a smile on his/her face, and sitting beside you? Did you see his / her eyes and face and the hairs moving in the flowing direction of air? In short did you See all that?

Or did you feel the cold air of the garden blowing on your face giving the morning a special fresh feeling. And did you feel the air of joy rising over you as you know that you have riches and the person you love both together? And did you feel excited about your loved one walking down towards you? Did you feel the joy of knowing the togetherness and security of your being with the person? As she/ he came and sat by your side did you feel his/her warmth / closeness to you? In short did you feel all that ?

Or similarly you can talk about hearing. Did you hear the rustle of the leaves in the garden and the clanking of the tea cups and spoons in front of you? Did you hear the footstep of the person who moved towards you and did the bench make a sound and did she/he speak anything that you heard? Was there any chirping of birds in the garden? Were the caretakers serving you saying anything? Did you Hear all that?

Some people have strong sense of smell or touch and accordingly in your imagination, you might have smelled the fresh air and the scent of your loved ones. You might have similarly felt the touch of her hand or a the touch of leaves in your garden.

So what does it all concur to?

I believe that every person has his own sensory style of imagination. There are patterns in which a person thinks. Someone Sees their imagination, someone would be more on Hearing things, Someone feels the touch, while someone would Smells and for many it would be mix of all these things but generally you will have one strong sensory faculty and the other faculties and senses would support it. I am not sure is it good if you can do all of it for your imagination or is it good when you can use one in its complete details.

But I know one thing, if you know what is it for you, there is a lot you can do with your imagination. Your writings, your daily work, your memory can be tagged to that sense and I believe that would improve the way you store information in your sub-conscious.

I am more of "Feel" person. Even in my dreams I feel the emotions and touches. When I see someone dieing in my thoughts or if I imagine my death, I dont see myself dieing, but I feel that numbness and something stirs within me. Similarly when I firstly feel her proximity and than I feel her touch and can see her in minutest detail after that. Though I am not sure if my analysis about myself is accurate.

What is your primary sense for imagination?
(I am reading a book called "Hannibal", the book gets irritating at times because the writer has a strong "Visual" imagination. Even the thoughts that he depicts creates visuals. Got inspired to write this from there. Hope you liked it.)

Poem : बहते खून का बहाव

2010-01-02T19:30:00.000+05:30

(Pre-Script: I am not fan of Nathuram Godse, and I love ideas and life of Mahatma Gandhi. This is an effort to understand the fictitious thoughts of the villain, I still cant understand).

Nathuram Godse happens to be one of the most controversial figures that lived in 1948 till date. He killed the one who believed in non-violence.

Lets read the irony completely. He killed the one whose Idea of belief in forgiveness and non violence ruled the country and he was hanged for it!

I was reading Nathuram Godse's last speech, in the court. He did not plead for mercy. He did not run away or shoot himself when he killed Mahatma. He wanted to give his reasoning in the court before dieing. And he did.

Well I agree that his reasoning was as flawed as his act that it led to.

जज साहब, वो कहता था,
बदलाव अगर देखना चाहते हो तो, खुद ही तुम बदलाव बनो,
जलाओ ज्योत राष्ट्रभाव की, अपने बहते खून का बहाव बनो,
जज साहब,
में भी एक बदलाव हू,
में भी सुलगती एक सोच का बहाव हू,
वो सोच के जिसकी मशाल पे उसने अग्नि दाह दिया,
में उसी मशाल मे जलता उसका ही उल्टा दाव हू

धर्म निरपेक्ष रहे हम, अमन रहे गली-मोहल्लें में,
चाहे बीवी की लाश दिखे, और बहेन लूटे कलकत्ते में,
आज़ादी चाही थी जो उसएक आज़ादी के सौ टुकड़े मिले,
मेरी कॉम के खून से लाल हुए, जो सफेद थे फूल खिले,
तब मेरी पीठ पे हाथ रख बापू बोला,
"क्षमा ही सच्चा शौर्य है",
क्या क्षम्य था वो सब जो उन्होने किया? नही,
मेरा वार उसकी अविजय ग़लतीओ का जवाब था,
जज साहब,
प्रतिउत्तर पाप नही होता,

सदीओ बाद भी आज़ादी का जब इतिहास पढ़ाया जाएगा,
वो पिता, और में पिता का हत्यारा ये सबको बताया जाएगा,
पर मुजको उससे कोई आर नही है, उसकी सारी बातों से है,
मेरे लिए आज भी ज़ालिम का इंसाफ़, ज़ालिम पे ज़ुल्म से है,
हज़ारो चाहे अलग ही समझे, मुझको गर्व है कोई सोग नही,
अपने देश की बर्बादी देख धरे रहने का मुझको कोई रोग नही,
जज्साहब,
मुझपे आप कोई रहम ना करना, फाँसी मेरा अंजाम रहे,
गाँधी जापका दंभ दिखलाते, मेरी मौत से खुशहाल रहे,
वो एक बाप था, जो भटक गया था,
में बेटा अपनी माँ का हू,
हे, भारत माँ,
तेरी लाज बचा ना पाया,पर
जो बचा पाता, और जिसने बचाई नही,
उस बापू का में हत्यारा हू

(I hope we are mature enough not to feel offended by a poem that tries to understand the psyche of an offender.)

(Inspired by Nathuram Godse's speech and KK Menon's performance in "Shaurya" :):) )

Poem : ले पतवार पकड़ और नाव चला

2010-01-02T19:29:00.001+05:30

१८वी सदी के अंत तक दुनिया भर में ये बात ज़ाहिर सी हो गयी थी की एक ना एक दिन इंसानो को गुलाम बनाकर उनका व्यापार करने वाले लोगो को ये व्यापार बँध करना पड़ेगा I जगह जगह जहा पे हिन्दुस्तानी गुलामो को बेचा जा रहा था, गुलामो के हुजूम अपने हुक्मरानो के सामने बग़ावत कर रहे थेI ये कविता ऐसे ही एक ग़ुलाम का गीत है जिसे ५०० और ग़ुलामो के साथ एक जहाज़ पे दक्षिण अफ्रीका ले जाया जा रहा था I दिन भर पतवार पकड़ के महीनो तक नाव आगे बढ़ाने वाले ये ग़ुलाम भारत के हर प्रांत से एकत्रित किए जाते थे! ये कोशिश उनकी मनोस्थिति को समजने की है, वो मनोस्थिति जिससे एक बदलाव जन्म लेता है I

ये शफ्फाक़ थमे से पानी पे,
बेदाग वो बढ़ती लहरे देख,
जो ख़ुद में छुपे हर मोती संग,
आज़ाद आसमान का अक्स दिखलाती है,
हम आसमान में उड़ते उन परिंदो की छबि जैसे,
पानी पे क़ैद तस्वीरे है,
परिंदे उड़ सकते है उनकी तस्वीर नही,
परिंदे उम्मीद की दुनिया में जीते है, तस्वीर नही,
तू आस के खारे पानी से, ये खुरदुरे ना घाव जला,
भूल के सब तू ले पतवार पकड़ और नाव चला

गर याद आए मा का आँचल, गर याद आए बच्चो के खेल,
गर याद आए मेहबूब की आँखें, गर याद आए गाँवो के बैल,
बदन पे साहिब के वार झेल तू, ज़हन से साफ वो यादें कर लेना,
दरिया के पानी को अपने खून से लाल करने की बातें कर लेना,
एक बात बता तेरे ईमान तेरी यादों पे चाबुक न्याय नही है या है,
पर सिर्फ़ बातों से इस जग में कभी कोई इंक़लाब नही आया है,
दर्द से लिख तू अपनी किस्मत, यादो का तू ताव चढ़ा,
सोच ये सब तू आगे बढ़,ले पतवार पकड़ और नाव चला

ये उधार की साँसें, ये बीमार से दिन, कोई मौत के जैसा है ज़रूर,
जो इंसानो से जीने का हक छिने वैसा इस ज़ालिम का है फितूर,
छोड ये मौत से भरा जीवन, मौत से मिलकर जीना सीख,
ले पतवार उसे कलम समज, मार उसे अपनी कथनी लिख,
गर सारे हम साथ हो तो फिर, कमज़ोर नही हम ताक़त है,
मौत मरे तो अपनी हो, जिए अपना ही जीवन ये चाहत है,
आज़ादी के अंगारो को तू अपने खून का घी-तेल पीला,
हो फ़ना आज़ादी पे तू ,ले पतवार पकड़ और नाव चला

Poem : ले पतवार पकड़ और नाव चला

2010-01-02T19:29:00.000+05:30

Poem : Everything Comes With a Price

2010-01-02T19:27:00.000+05:30

Walking square over the round sewer line,
I thought, "Getting rich" would be fine,
Fine it would be to own a villa and a car,
And to drive her along, a little too far,
Fine it would be to have a good dinner too,
And the fire of alcohol to take me through,
But dreams are dreams and I cannot get that,
Now I have to fence the night with sewer rat,
for now there are no books or street lights,
For now I promise myself - no more red fights,
As I walk down I see a dead man and an open bag,
A bullet in his head and another on the left leg,
He was almost dead, breathing a little every time,
I thought of the open bag more than obvious crime,
I thought of the money in counts of thousands,
I thought of the dreams-all my castle of sands,
Sand and dreams would now fortify the life's essence,
I would rejoice, in a villa and car in her presence,
I ran snatching the bag from the almost dead's hand,
I saw some blood running over the open bundles' band,
I hesitated, didn't I? before running fast away,
Not a thought past me, nor thank-yous did I say,

Now,
In my villa, my place- I rejoice with her, car and my dreams nice,
Everyday my guilt cries to tell me, everything comes with a price

Poem : जन्वरी में जून

2010-01-02T19:17:00.002+05:30

बहता हुआ ये खून, उसका भी है मेरा भी,
नफ़रत का जुनून उसका भी है, मेरा भी,
दोनो ताने हुए है बंदूक एक दूसरे की ओर,
गुज़री यादों का संदूक, उसका भी है मेरा भी,
दोनो को सता रही है चीखे बड़ी बेबस,
जलता हुआ हुजूम, उसका भी है, मेरा भी
बहता हुआ ये खून, उसका भी है मेरा भी

दोनो है ताक में एक दूसरे की मौत के,
बैखौफ है, कसम पे ज़िंदगी को झौक के,
नस नस में आग है, जंग जीत लाएँगे,
खून की गर्मी में रंग लाल पोत लाएँगे,
जन्वरी में जून, उसका भी है मेरा भी,
नफ़रत का ये जुनून उसका भी है मेरा भी,

पिछले साल की बात है, मेरे गाँव में खून की होली थी,
पिछले साल की बात है, उसके गाँव में भूख बोली थी,
मेरा गाँव, पहाड़ो की शान था, और मेलो के मेल भी थे,
झेलम की पहचानमेंबसे कुछ रेतों के हंगामी महेल भी थे,
उसका उस पार था घर झेलम के पर ऐसा ही होगा वो भी,
बारूद की बू से बचा बचा सा बारिश में भीगा होगा वो भी,
वो बर्फ़ीली पहाड़ियों पे, आज चाँद आया है,ये
बेकार का सुकून, उसका भी है मेराभी

मेरा धर्म है मेरा मुल्क, उसके धर्म को मुल्क की तलाश,
दोनो ने सफ़र में बिछाई है, बेगुनाह बच्चों की कई लाश,
एकअल्लाह-इलाही हमारे, दोनो का है एक नाम सिपाही,
में जायज़ सियासतदारो का, उसकी पहचान है जिहादी,
ये पहचान का क़ानून उसका भी है मेरा भी,
बहता हुआ ये खून, उसका भी है मेरा भी

Random Couplets

2010-01-02T19:08:00.003+05:30

The Company which I work for has some really great platforms that help people develop their personality and air their view. One of such things is the internal blogs. I do regularly blog there. Trying to get a few relevant things from there and tune this blog with things that might make sense here. Starting with a set of Random Couplets.

मुक्कमल ना सही महफूज़ से ख्वाबों को फिर भी सजाया करते है,
दुनिया की तक़दीर किसी मुकम्मल चीज़ ने कभी नक्श नही करी
_____________________
"मुल्ला नसीरूद्दीन" कह कर मज़ाक किया करते थे वो,
हम ख्वाबिदा लोग मज़ाक से भी इंक़लाब ला सकते है
_____________________
तू एक है, हज़ार है तुज़से यहाँ, तेरी फ़िक्र क्यों करे कोई?
हम है की उनकी खातिर गुलाब के रंग की फ़िक्र किए बैठे है
_____________________
फूल तू, बहार तू, तू बारिश की बूँदें,
मेरे सेहरा में तू मेरा ख्वाब आँखें मुन्दे
_____________________
दो रोज़ ही हुए है, सरहद पे कुछ लोग हुए फ़ना,
मुझे आज टीवी देख क्रिकेट में हारी इंडिया का सोग है

What Is The Word?

2009-12-09T22:37:00.001+05:30

What Is The Word?

What is that one quality that describe you the most?
No this is not an interview question for some MBA exam. I really want to write this.

What is that one quality? Do you see that for your life you chose difficult choices to happen and you would say that "Courage" is something that defines you the most. Or is it a simply "Simplicity". What is it ? Is it a random thing like "Rebellion" or is it "Bonhomie". What is it that abstract word that describes you?Your friends might not necessarily agree to it, but this one word is an assurance deep down in your heart that makes you "You". It is your own view of yourself. Finding this word might even guide you through quite a few decisions in your life. Is that word "Love" or is it "unlucky". Are you the one with "Optimism" or the one with "Cynicism". It might be something you dont want to put it out to the world, but you know deep inside. It might be one of your worst fears, it might be "insecurity" and it might be "Confidence" on the other end.

As much as the word would typecast you and put you in a silo, it would make you unique. It gives your character that unique strength that comes out of knowing one's self.

Its quite difficult to deal with this abstract ideas that goes in the realm of psychology and self-search. It doesnt come easily. Neither the search of the word nor the strength to accept it comes easily. It takes you through the difficult confessions and it takes you through your life like going through flashbacks to define yourself. But say now you know what that word is.

That single word, that identifies you the most. That describes you. That quality that makes you stand tall and different. What if, one fine day you see yourself going weak on this quality? What if you "Courage" fails you one day when you need to take a plunge in through a small decision of life? What if your confidence goes weak in its leg as you stand infront of a crowd talking about your best work? What if the rebellion in you starts feeling that the world will remain the same and you will have to change? What if the bonhomous part of you gets a little cynical? It would distrub you. And,I feel, it would disturb you the most. Even a single thing, even a smallthought that affects this one-word abstract quality of yours happens, you would feel disarrayed. You would want to cry, without knowing the reason why. You would feel disenchanted with everything around. You will feel disconnected with yourself. It would bring those moments when in the loneliness of your room, you just stare the roof and you think you are without any thoughts. You are not. Your self concept has been hit. You need to come over it soon. And you need to restore your basic quality. You need to reconstruct "Yourself".

P.S. : I think for me "Patience" is the word. Trying to reconstruct myself:).

A Poem : Baarish Ka Kankaal Ye Baadal

2009-12-09T22:31:00.002+05:30

सूखे खेत की चारपाई से, नंगा आसमान तकता हू,
नीले कफ़न की चादर ओढ़े, बारिश का कंकाल ये

बादलज़मींदारो के क़र्ज़ में डूबे बीवी के गहने बच्चों का खाना,
बिन बरसे हर कतरेका मोल , जी का है जंजाल ये बादल

पिछले बरस आया था ऐसे, कुछ खुशिओ के दाम चुकाने,
हवा के झोकें से बिखरा था, बिन बारिश कंगाल ये बादल

शाम की रोटी, मुन्ने की फीस, बीवी का गहना, तेरा सपना ये ही है,
बस ये ही है, तू आँखों में आश में संभाल ये बादल

पहचान से मेरी पिछले बरस कुछ नेता माँगने आए थे,
उनके लिए सत्ता ही सब, कभी महाराष्ट्र कभी बंगाल ये बादल

Poem : दो बिछ्डे भाई

2009-12-09T22:07:00.001+05:30

दो भाई ओ की अनोखी एक बात सुनो तुम,
कुछ वक़्त तक दोनो चले साथ सुनो तुम,
एक था तेज़, एक अपाहिज,
एक की दुनिया, एक की ख्वाहिश,
एक की ज़िंदगी कुछ पाने की चाह,
एक का खाना, दो रोटी संग चा,
एक फॅशन का बादशाह है
एक शर्दि में नंगा काँप रहा है
एक रहता है ३८ वी मंज़िल पे,
एक जो नीचे पहरा देता है ,
एक की चोट पे दुनिया रोती है,
एक की मौत पे घरवाले भी नही ,
एक नया है, संग दुनिया के हंस रहा है ,
एक बीमार सा दुनिया को ताने कस रहा है
एक का चेहरा अख़बारों की सुर्खी
एक बेचेहरा सा मौत के आँकड़ों में है
जब से बिछ्डे है तब से बिगड़े है ,
कोई कोशिश नही करता मिलाने की,
या फिर वो मिलना ही नही चाहते है,
एक झूझता रहेगा, एक जीता रहेगा दुनिया,
एक गावों में पलता भारत, एक शहेरो का इंडिया

A Poem - Writer's Block

2009-12-09T22:03:00.002+05:30

सोचता हू ,
क्या लिखू, के दुनिया की एक नयी ही तकदीर नक्श हो,
क्या लिखू, के दुनिया की एक नयी तस्वीर भी अक्स हो,

क्या लिखू, के सियासतदार भूल जाए जंग कीबातें ,
क्या लिखू के फिर ख्वाबिदा नौजवान कल के गीत गाते,
क्या लिखू के गोलिया स्कूल के कानो में ना चीखे,
क्या लिखू के डोलिया दहेज की कहानियाँ ना लिखे,
क्या लिखू के भूखो की बस्ती में रोज़ पकवान बन जाए,
क्या लिखू के सूखे खेत में मरनेवाला ना कोई शक्स हो,

सोचता हू ,
क्या लिखू, के दुनिया की एक नयी ही तकदीर नक्श हो,
क्या लिखू, के दुनिया की एक नयी तस्वीर भी अक्स हो,
क्या लिखू जो रोक पाए बढ़ता काला धुआ चमन की ओर,
क्या लिखू जोउलज़े नौजवान उठ ले थामे वतन की डोर,
क्या लिखू के बच्चों को खेल के इस भीड़ से मैदान मिल जाए ,
क्या लिखू के बुड्ढे झुकते पेड़ थोड़े से सहारे से खिल जाए,
होसला दे जो सफ़र में थके काफ़िर मुसाफिर को इबादत का,
क्या लिखू के प्यार-दोस्ती-अमन ही यहा सबका लक्ष हो,
सोचता हू ,
क्या लिखू, के दुनिया की एक नयी ही तकदीर नक्श हो,
क्या लिखू, के दुनिया की एक नयी तस्वीर भी अक्स हो,
सोचता हू,
लिखू तू क्या लिखू, ये या वो, कुछ समज में नही आ रहा,
सोचता हू,
लिखू तो क्या लिखू, लिखने से कुछ बदल भी नही पा रहा

A Song - Kunwarji

2009-12-09T21:58:00.002+05:30

(Inspired By a Song "Chawk Purao, Mangal Gao .... ". Trying hands on something different than what I have written earlier)

Thought : A woman whose husband is on a short trip outside their village just after their marriage, longs for him. She knows he will be coming soon, and she wants to enjoy her life only with him. She awaits his return sitting on the porch of their house and sings.

ओ बहती ठंडी पुरवई,
मीठी हँसी तू ले आई,
सपने आँखों में नये ले आना,
जाओ,
कुंवर जी आए तब तुम आना,

गैया की गले की घंटी गाती है,
सुबह सवेरे एक मुर्गे के संग,
बँध बियाहे बक्से से गाए कंगन,
साज़ पुरावे मेहेदि के रंग,
सब वाट देखत जाए मोरे संग,
ऐसा संगीत रोज़ ना बजाना,
जाओ,
कुंवर जी आए तब तुम आना,

खेत-हरियाली सिंचते पानी ये जु,
मिट्टीसे बारिश की आवे खुसबु,
तेरे लिए धीमी आँच पे है रोटी,
नीवाला एक
मुझको खिलाना, एक तू खाना,
जाओ री यादें,
कुंवर जी आए तब तुम आना,
सपने आँखों में नये ले आना,
जाओ,
कुंवर जी आए तब तुम आना

A Chhotu Poem and a hair cutting salon

2009-12-09T21:50:00.002+05:30

Chhotu Poem - Pa-Ma-Ma-Pa
Son, I hear a faint sigh coming from you in sleep,

I wonder what are you seeing in your dreams deep,

Is it the fear that for office we might leave you?

Is it speed's thrill that you felt in your pram new,

I hear another sigh from you, I wonder without worry,

I see your Mom, in panic, she knows you are hungry,

See that is the difference,

You might be my son, my heart closest to thee,

But loving like your mother, Son, I can never be.

P.S: Conversation at a Hair cutting salon (Let me call it hair styling, as it was one of those types jaha "Baal bhi kat jaye aur pata bhi na chale")

Mahesh (The stylist :)) : Aapke baal ache hai. We will give it a different look.

Me : ***Confused Look*** Umm.. Ok... Just make sure my friends dont laugh at me in office

Mahesh : Not at all sir, This slant in your hairs can be given a great cut. If you do it at Loreal, They charge you 350, I will charge 50.

Me : *** Confused*** Why would I go to L'Oreal? I need a haircut, tu bindaas apni style se kaat.

Mahesh : Nahi sir, aage se ekdum Zigzag katenge, Just like Ranbir Kapoor!

Me : ***Confused Again *** Ok!

Mahesh : Piche baalo ko thoda kaan pe dhala hua rakhna sir, we will give you a Shahid Kapoor style over ears.

Me: ***Confused to a point of running away *** Shahid Kapoor!

Mahesh : Sir, Film wala. Aap Picture nahi dekhte kya?

Me: Nahi.

Mahesh : ****Confused****

Me : Ek star ka pata hai mujhe uske jaisa kaat paoge?

Mahesh : Try karoong kaun sir?

Me : Naresh Kanodia

Mahesh : ***Confused to death ****

Me: Chhod ... Jaisa kaat na hai kaat
For Reference here is a Naresh Kanodia pic. The guy in the golden boots.

Awesome Hair cutting salon, I am going there next time even if its just passable, It is entertaining. If you find me somewhere do tell me that my hairs just above my ears, look like Shahid Kapoor, I will complement Mahesh.

26/11 - Un Hazaaron Ke Naam

2009-12-09T21:16:00.002+05:30

(Wrote this on my company blog on 26/11. )
We got to do our bit. We owe it to those who are ready to sacrifice their life for us.

It has been one year today. Hardly anything has changed. We still feel the same hatred for our politicians; we still fight in the name of Maharashtra and Karnataka and Hindus and Muslims. We still dont vote. We still use our pirated softwares and music and movies and try to justify it saying everyone else is doing it dont tell me. We still bribe the traffic police. We still breed corruption. We still feel good when we read about India's progress and we roll up our car glasses when some beggar is troubling us at the red light. We still have a volatile temper and a simple candid comments like "Cattle class" and "Nobel for filth" irritates us. we still dont like facing the mirror.

What did we see in this year? Raju's Satyam, Kasab's Biryani, Koda's Money, Liberhan Commissions REPORT!, A messed up Pakistan, a ruined western Economy, an unacceptable but played-down chinese statements, a nuclear deal, ministers we were angry on getting reinstated,

what has changed? NOTHING MUCH.

Ok, I agree we have a strong stand now to get the terrorists from Pakistan, but that is as much because of weakening Pakistan as for force of our statement. India is rising, but that isn't because of some great changes, most of it is "NATURAL ECONOMICS".

For a real change one thing and the most important thing that we as a country needs to come over is the corruption of Morales that we have bred in ourselves. Let us understand, it's not OK to bribe people; it's not ok to use pirated stuff; it's not ok to let others vote undesrving candidate to power; lipservice is not ok, we need to do whatever little we can; its not ok to FORGET those scars and say "Let us get over the attacks" "Let us think of other things - Who will be going out from big boss today?", we need to do our bit and we must do it.

Especially for people who write blogs or writes, this writing their views on these stuff is very important. We need to praise and keep praising our heroes who faught for us. Even when making movies and writing books on it sounds like creating business of pain, it has to be done for generations to keep the wounds alive. We need to criticize the people who ought to be criticized. We need to gel with each other so that no one can spark fights dividing us on language and religion or Region. We need to come over Hate politics and hate mentality. We need to keep our emotional bond to these issues strong. We need not forget the thousands dieing on the border and in the country to terrorism and feuds. Let us create a positive world in whatever little way we can.

A small poem of my thoughts :
एक साल बीत गया,

जलती चित्ता, मकान, जलते बदन, सब बुझ रहा है,

कुछ दाग रह गये है, पर वो मेरे बदन पर नही,

थोड़ा सा दुख हुआ था, देख जलते लोग मुझे,

पर वो चित्ता मेरी ना थी, मेरा ना था मकान,

अब सब बुझ रहा है,

बुझ रही है लौ, जो जली थी उन अंगारो से,

बुझ रही है वो, जो लगी थी खून के धारो से,

बुझ रहा है जुनून, जिसपे कसमे ली गयी थी,

लौट आ रहा है सुकून, जिसकी कमी रही थी,

शहीदो की चित्ता की तपिश भी बुझ रही है,

ज़मीर की वो खोटी खलिश भी बुझ रही है,

बुझ रहा है सूरज, जो जला था आग की लपटो से,

बुझ रहा है ईमान, जो जागा उन कुछ हफ़्तो में,

सब कुछ बुझ रहा है,

क्योकि वो दाग मुझपे ना थे,

क्योकि वो लोग मेरे ना थे,

क्योकि उस आग ने मेरा घर ना जलाया था,

क्योकि मेरे ज़मीर पे मेरी ख़ुदगरजी का साया था,

क्योकि उस दिन गोलिओ पे नाम मेरा ना था,

क्योंकि सब मेरे है, ये गुमान भी मेरा ना था,

क्या मुझे इंतेज़ार है, की मेरे अपनो की मौत मुझे जगाएगी?

क्या मुझे इंतेज़ार है, की कोई आएगा और दुनिया बदल जाएगी?

सब बुझ रहा है,

क्योकि मेरी सोच, मेरा ईमान,

क्योकि मेरा धर्म मेरा ग्यान,

ससब अंगारों में सर्द जम रहे है,

सब बुझ रहा है

सब बुझने ना दो

There was a movie made on this, quite dramatic but a weak cinematic piece. The incidence deserves much better. I was thinking about the characters and their backstories, it must have been very painful for all.

घाव से बहता गर्म लहू , ठंडे प्लॅटफॉर्म पे बहके जम रहा है,

"ये तू ना हो" सोच एक कदम मेरा बढ़ रहा एक थम रहा है,

घर जाने को उत्सुक थैला, वो पीली चुनर शायद प्यार की भेंट,

वो स्कूल बॅग से निकली किताबें, वो जवान जिस्म के फटे पेट,

खून से लथपथ प्लॅटफॉर्म पे, मेरे बुढ्ढे कदम लड़खड़ाते है,

आखरी साँस लेते कुछ तुझसे बच्चे आगे ही फड़फड़ाते है,

दोपहर तेरी आवाज़ में सुनके, वो क्रिसमस पे छुट्टी की बात,

सोचा शिमला की बर्फ़ीली चमक, होगी मुन्ने के सपनो में आज

ये मौत का तांडव देख, मेरे संग तेरा भी मुन्ना सहम रहा है,

"ये तू ना हो" सोच एक कदम हमारा बढ़ रहा एक थम रहा है,

जलते गुंबज के नीचे खाक हुए बदन पे तुम्हारी ही शेरवानी है,

"ये तुम ही हो" सोच एक साँस में बिखरी अपनी प्रेम कहानी है,

मेहन्दी से कत्थई हाथ थे मेरे , शर्म से लाल तुम सेहरे में थे,

कत्थई आँखें अब लाल है मेरी, लाल हो तुम घाव गहरे ले के,

कितने साल हुए थे हम दोनो, बस इस दिन की ख्वाहिश में जीते थे,

मेरे होंठ को पास आते देख, आज के जैसे तुम तब भी आँखें मिचे थे,

"छोटे से घर में तुमसी राज कुमारी के संग, में राजा तू रानी है"

"ये तुम ही हो" सोच एक साँस में बिखरी अपनी प्रेम कहानी है,

(Here is something I wrote Last year, a day after the 26/11 incidence. I still feel guilty.
http://jkpcblogs.blogspot.com/2008/11/unanswered-questions-in-my-mind.html)

A Poem : Sunset at Marine Drive

2009-12-09T21:04:00.000+05:30

सूरज डूब रहा है, गोल रोटी सा दूधिया पानी में,
खिचड़ी याद आती है, जो थी बीरबल की कहानी में,
दो रोज़ हुए मेरी खुद्दारी से भूख ने जंग सी ठानी है,
गाली खाई, है खाई मात, ये हवा भी तो सुहानी है,
आगे बैठे है इन दो जिस्मो की भूख अलग सी लगती है,
पिछे उन बड़ी इमारतो में सौदो की भूख अलग ही रहती है,
बचपन की याद तसवीरो सी आसमान पे दिखती है,
मेरी तीन-पहिया साइकल के पीछे, मा खाना ले चलती है,
लहराते इन बालों को देख याद आते है, मेरा गाँव, गेहू के खेत,
जहा कभी तुम ताने घूँघट लाती थी, झुंका के संग भाखर को सेक,
फिर एक मौसम बरसात ना आई, फिर एक मौसम बरबादी थी ,
जिस रोज़ आया था यहा पे कमाने में, तब छोटि की भी शादी थी,
अब कोई साथ नही है, अब खुशी वाली कोई भी बात नही है,
भूख है, और भूख के बाद, याद नही अब कुछ है,
थोड़े से जो पैसे मिलते, तुमको भेजा करता हू,
फिर कभी सागर के आगे ढलते सूरज संग ढलता हू,
वो देखो,
सूरज डूब रहा है, गोल रोटी सा दूधिया पानी में,
भूख की आग लगी है जैसे बुढ़ापा हो जवानी में,
उसपे भी ये बात, कल कुछ लोगो ने बतलाई
मुझेचोरी की है रोटी ये जो आज यहा में ख़ाता हू,
वो कहते है ये मेरा देश नही, वो कहते है, में यहा क्यों आया हू,
वो कहते है मेरी वजह से कुछ लोग यहा पे भूखे है,
वो कहते है में यहा रुकु तो , खून के नाले छूटेंगे,
क्या बताउ उनको, मुझको उनकी बात का डर नही,
तुम मारो या मरु में भूख से, वापस नही में जाऊँगा,
जब तक हू यहाँ, जब तक हू ज़िंदा, ये भूख मेरे घर
नहीतुम सियासत के पाले हो तुम भूख की बातें क्या जानो ,
यहा आओ , बैठो मेरे पास, देखो,
सूरज डूब रहा है, गोल रोटी सा दूधिया पानी में,

The Band's Visit- Bikur Ha-Tizmoret (2007)

2009-12-09T20:59:00.002+05:30

We watch movies to learn a new story. I love movies with strong story line. The Band's visit scraps this thing right from the first scene. It is about a story that can be told in 2 lines. So its not about the story.

Let me summarize the story here "A Police band from Egypt who is visiting Israel for a performance in the culture center, loses its way to end up in an unknown town with few of the local characters. Next day they take the bus to their culture center."

It is a story about common people and these common people share the same problems whether it be Egypt or Israel. Arabs and Israelis - However different with their animosities on the world political stage has a common thread of humanism in between them. A story about Arabs and Jews hence has a context and that context is something that the movie tries to negate.

The narrative of this movie and the visual style of presentation is quite unlike other things that I have scene. The pictures don't give you the characters and emotions first, it just gives you an empty frame, with the background that would be for the next scene. It stays on those houses or desert or buildings for a moment longer than what you expect. It gives a very different feel to the movie. It makes you belong to the places it sees. For example, you see this huge house, and the trees around - still silent. You wait someone would come out of it. A moment passes, you suddenly start enjoying looking at the house, a man walks in front of the house slowly, its that man you follow in the next scene. The whole idea was to show a set of people lost in a Foreign land in between foreign people and this simple techinique goes a long way to give you that feel. Consider this, the first scene of the movie too, there is this car that stands at the airport. A man comes out puts something in the back of the van, comes ahead, it takes a second longer than you expect, and then the car moves, as you expect to follow that van, but what you see is, on the other side of the van stands 8 men dressed in bright bluish uniform, standing in an impeccable queue, lead by a general.

Simple things like accent, dressing that makes human different are beautifully portrayed, and more beautifully portrayed are those human emotions that make people across the world similar. It shows the feeling of loneliness that binds Tawfeeq Zackaria (The General) and Dina (The rude restauant owner). It shows the emotion of love for children and usual fights with wife, that binds the other 2 characters. It shows how a casanova-ish Arab teaches a clue less Israeli how to get the girl. 3 of the band memebers living with a family, binds over a song on the dinner table. Simple things yet impactful. Music too weaves the movie beautifully. Especially the scene where the second in command talks about his composition and the practice that the 3 of the band memebers do in the silence of the night and the last performance. Interesting perspectives make this movie special.

There are a few really good scenes that lingers on your mind after the movie. One that I remember right away is when one of the band memeber is waiting for Egyptian Embassy's call at a phone booth, and on the same phone another Israeli is waiting for a call from his girlfriend and the phone rings, both wants to pick up but the courtsey in them wantst the other to pick the phone first. The ring goes on, you expect something dramatic like the phone ring gets over, but just at the last moment the one who is lost and waiting for his embassy's call picks it up. Simple scene but beautiful. Another one is when Tawfeeq tells Dina how "Music is not important" these days and also on a bench when he tells her about "Fishing" being the best thing to do in life. You sit, you listen to the waters and the bird chirp in Symphony. He says he likes fishing but never gets fishes and if he gets he lets them go back in water. The whole point of enjoying the act more than the result, makes life interesting. Dina, a rash woman with a messed up life, appreciates that. She always felt liek a loser, and a small nod from a dignified Tawfeeq, who tells her that "you are a good woman", makes her feel special.

Actors in the movie are first rate and are very believable. Sasson Gabai as Tawfeeq and Ronit Elkabetz as Dina were exceptional inin my point of view. But its the other departments that make the movie special. The art direction (Nikolai Yosifov), the cinematography (Shai Goldman) and the direction (Eran Kolirin) gives this fairly low-budget movie a real good look. A special mention needs to be given to the film editor (Aric Leibovitch) who adds those extra-moments in the prelude scenes of the symphonic sequences that follows.

All in all , do watch it if you get time, its about simple things that make life and bonding with others special.
You might find this movie being played on UTV world movies sometimes.
The Band's Visit- Bikur Ha-Tizmoret (2007)
Language : Arabic / English / HebrewRunning
Time : 87 Minutes
Writer / Director : Eran Kolirin

A Tribute one of my favourite : કસુંબીનો રંગ

2009-10-24T19:29:00.004+05:30

Every culture has a literary hero that comes once in an age. We may term Munshi Premchand to be one for Hindi, Shakespeare to be one for English. Zaverchand Meghani in my view is one such literary hero for Gujarat. His works, his life time has had no parallel in Gujarati literature (he was hence coferred the title of "National Poet" by Bapu). And there is one poetry that he wrote in his life time that is close to my heart since my child hood. Its called "Kasumbi no Rang".

Kasumbo - has multiple meanings. Though primarily its a flower that gives the saffron color. "Kasumbi no Rang" - The color of Kasumbi is hence Saffron. A hindi parallel for it would be "Basanti". So like Basanti throughout Gujarati literature Kasumbi color is used to depict patriotism. Saffron is also used as a color of religious fervor.

So "Kasumbi no Rang" happens to be the only Gujarati patriotic Song from the preindependence era, that has touched hearts and lifes of many Gujaratis. And Zaverchand Meghani who wrote the same and was flagbearer of Gujarati literature all his life was a person who dreamt of a better India like all his contemporaries. There is a lot we have done to realize that dream and there is a lot that we have messed up. Here is a tribute to the Great Poem Kasumbi no Rang from my side. I am not sure if I will be able to translate this.

Here is my Tribute to the Great Poem :
કસુંબી નો રંગ

ભાઈ અમે બોળ્યો કસુંબી નો રંગ,
મેઘાણી અમે બોળ્યો કસુંબી નો રંગ,

શહીદો ની અગન થી ને લીલા બલિદાનો થી, તે જે ચોળ્યો કસુંબીનો રંગ,
ભીતર ની ભૂખ ને, બે પલ ના સુખ કાજ, બિસ્મિલ અમે હોળ્યો કસુંબી નો રંગ,

..... મેઘાણી અમે...

ગિરનારી મનસા લઈ ભીષણ રાત્રીઑ મા થી તે જે કાઢ્યો કસુંબી નો રંગ,
હુલ્લડ તોફાનો ને, રક્ત ભરી તલવારો પર અમે ઍ રોળ્યો કસુંબી નો રંગ,

... મેઘાણી અમે...

બૅની ના હાલારડા ઑ ને, માતા ના ધાવણ મા તે જે ભાળ્યો કસુંબી નો રંગ,
નરોડા ના ચોગે છુપાઈ કસૂંબા ના છોગે નિર્વસ્ત્ર અમે બાળ્યો કસુંબી નો રંગ,

... મેઘાણી અમે...

લીન ભક્તો ના તંબૂરે ને રંગીન કવિઓ ના સુરે, જે તે સાંભળ્યો કસુંબી નો રંગ,
પશ્ચિમ ની તાલે, ભરેલા મદિરા ના પ્યાલે, બેફીકર અમે ઘોળ્યો કસુંબી નો રંગ.

.. મેઘાણી અમે...

સોરઠ ના પાણી, કુરબાની ઑ ની રવિન્દ્ર વાણી મા તે જે માણ્યો કસુંબી નો રંગ,
સંતો ના ભૂખ્યાફારસે ને, નેતાઑ ના શિયાળી ભાષણે મચ્કોળ્યો કસુંબી નો રંગ,

... મેઘાણી અમે....

નવા જવેર નવા સરદાર ને નવા મોહન ની વાટે છે હવે સળવળ્યો કસુંબી નો રંગ,
નવલી ધરતી, નવા ઉદાહરણ કાજ મુક્તિ ના દ્વારે અરજે છે વળ્ગયો કસુંબી નો રંગ,

.... મેઘાણી અમે ....

ભાઈ અમે બોળ્યો કસુંબી નો રંગ,
મેઘાણી અમે બોળ્યો કસુંબી નો રંગ,

There are a few things that I need to make a footnote of here for all who can read this poem. "Sorath Tara Vehta Paani" is one of the best thing to happen to Gujarati prose. Zaverchand Meghani had started writing with a translation of Ravindranath Tagore's works in 1922 in the book - "Kurbaani-ni-Kathao" (Stories of Martyrdom).

The Original Poem by Zaverchand Meghani which is to Guajrati what Bismil's "Rang de basanti chola" is to Hindi goes as :

લાગ્યો કસુંબીનો રંગ -
રાજ, મને લાગ્યો કસુંબીનો રંગ !

જનનીના હૈયામાં પોઢંતા પોઢંતા પીધો કસુંબીનો રંગ;
ધોળાં ધાવણ કેરી ધારાએ ધારાએ પામ્યો કસુંબીનો રંગ. - રાજ..

બહેનીને કંઠે નીતરતાં હાલરડાંમાં ઘોળ્યો કસુંબીનો રંગ;
ભીષણ રાત્રિ કેરા પહાડોની ત્રાડોએ ચોળ્યો કસુંબીનો રંગ. - રાજ..

દુનિયાના વીરોનાં લીલાં બલિદાનોમાં ભભક્યો કસુંબીનો રંગ;
સાગરને પાળે સ્વાધીનતાની કબરોમાં મહેક્યો કસુંબીનો રંગ. - રાજ..

ભક્તોના તંબૂરથી ટપકેલો મસ્તીભર ચાખ્યો કસુંબીનો રંગ;
વહાલી દિલદારાના પગની મેંદી પરથી ચૂમ્યો કસુંબીનો રંગ - રાજ..

નવલી દુનિયા કેરાં સ્વપ્નોમાં કવિઓએ ગાયો કસુંબીનો રંગ;
મુક્તિને ક્યારે નિજ રક્તો રેડણહારે પાયો કસુંબીનો રંગ. - રાજ…

પિડિતની આંસુડાધારે - હાહાકારે રેલ્યો કસુંબીનો રંગ;
શહીદોના ધગધગતા નિઃશ્વાસે નિઃશ્વાસે સળગ્યો કસુંબીનો રંગ. - રાજ

ધરતીનાં ભૂખ્યાં કંગાલોને ગાલે છલકાયો કસુંબીનો રંગ;
બિસ્મિલ બેટાઓની માતાને ભાલે મલકાયો કસુંબીનો રંગ. - રાજ…

ઘોળી ઘોળી પ્યાલા ભરિયા : રંગીલા હો ! પીજો કસુંબીનો રંગ;
દોરંગાં દેખીને ડરિયાં : ટેકીલા તમે! હોંશિલા તમે ! રંગીલા તમે લેજો કસુંબીનો રંગ!

રાજ, મને લાગ્યો કસુંબીનો રંગ -
લાગ્યો કસુંબીનો રંગ !

A Romantic Poem After A long Time :अब तुम अपनी कहोना क्या जानो

2009-10-24T19:27:00.001+05:30

एक काँच पे ठहरे कोहरे से, हम नाम तुम्हारा लिखते थे,
धूप की पहली किरनो में तुम खुद को खोना क्या जानो,

तुम आओगी सोच मन ही मन सौ बातें तुमसे करते थे,
बेफ़िज़ूल इंतेज़ार में बैठ कलम पे फूल पिरोना क्या जानो,

एक चेहरा सा बन जाताथा, हररात तारों के जुड़ जाने से,
तुम बिना चाँद की रातों में, वो आँगन में सोना क्या जानो,

बेफिकर कॉलेज की छत पे, जब चाइ की चुस्की चलती थी,
कानो को छुते मेरे हाथों में,थी ज़ुल्फ खिलोना क्या जानो,

बारिश की बूंदे बालोसे निकल जब गालो पे रुक सी जाती थी
एक छाते में सुखी बाज़ू पे, खुद को तुमसे भिगोना क्या

जानोइतनी सारी मेरी यादो में, तुम ना होके भी होना क्या जानो,
मेरी बातें जान के सारी, अब तुम अपनी कहोना क्या जानो

Poem : What is life if not this moment?

2009-10-24T19:25:00.003+05:30

What Is Life If Not This Moment?

-Jaykumar Shah

Is life like an old coin of a pai?
Obscure, rare, definitely invaluable,
Or is it like a bird flying high?
Looks small; songs sound like babble;
A small child with his gummy grin,
An old man, a child he had been,
A young girl flaunting her new pink Tee,
Only a mother now, Lot she wished to be,
Look at them, they all have a life of own,
But is life this moment, or all moments gone?
The smooth blue sky etched white with clouds,
Or the Rough terrace concrete, with no shrouds,
The inkless pen lying in the old little school bags,
Or music of a rupee coin on the bowl that begs,
Noise of a hundred cars in the mindless traffic's flurry,
Or a wordless kiss first, less tender but a lot in a hurry,
Is life like those things that I know not how to define?
Or is it as simple as carrom, my mom, and sunshine?
Is life like an old Rafi song, with lyrics forgotten?
Or like a Relay race you cant run without a baton?
Is it like a long shot pic of an intended close-up?
Is it the airport lounge, to take the next flight up?

Who knows and who would know what life is?
Live every moment, as one of it death won't miss.

Bachho Ki Kahani Bado Ka Sach - Poem

2009-10-18T18:36:00.000+05:30

हररोज़ नये है करतब उसके, हररोज़ नयी कहानी है,
परिओ को है देखा उसने, राजा-रानी की बातें ज़ुबानी है
बस कल की थी ये बात जब उसको सुन शिवाजी के किस्से,
छोटी काग़ज़ की तलवारों से, मुगलो के जा करने थे हिस्से,
फिर एक रोज़ बन हनुमान उसे सीता माता को बचाना था,
और दूसरे ही दिन नटखट क्रिश्न बन, वृंदावन को जाना था,
एक दिन पूछ रहा था, "माँ, तुम झाँसी की रानी क्यों नहीहो ?"
"क्योकि तेरी मा हू" बोलू उससे पहले , खो गया सपनो में वो,
फिर कभी उड़ना चाहा, टीवी में एक सुपेरमेन को देख कर,
जान गयी,स्पाइडरमेन के जाले बनेंगे मच्छरदानी फैक कर,
कभी दिल को रख लेता मेरे, कह में अल्लादीन की जीनी हू,
कभी कहे फिर, अलिफ लैला से आयामें सींदबाद सेनानी हू,

उसके लिए इस दुनिया में, कहानी के सच से आगे कुछ भी नही,
उसको देख ये सीखा है, मानो तो सब है, ना मानो तो कुछ भी नही

फिर कभी अकेले में जब सोचती हू उसकीसारी बातों पे कहानी पे,
लगता है बड़े होते होते उसने, खुद की दुनिया को ही नही जानी है,
सूरज से दादा का रिस्ता और चंदा मामा की बातें कब सच्ची थी,
पर मुझको भी यही झूठ पिलाया गया था, जब में भी बच्ची थी,
मुजसे भी तो परिओ ने की थी बातें, कभी मैं भी तो सिंडरेला थी,
कभी तारों से, कभी बुढ़िया जैसे चाँद से, माँ कहानिया थी ले आती,
इन कहानीओ से आगे की दुनिया, नयी बातें ज़िंदगी दिखलाती है,
उन बातों में परीया नही, जिन नही, ये बातें कोई बेसुरे सा गाती है,

ना सींदबाद, ना बीरबल , ना सिंडरेला ईन नन्हे बच्चों को जीना सिखाएगी,
हम माँए क्या इस दुनिया में, कभी ज़िंदगी की कहानियाँ ही ना सुनाएगी?

Poem - 23rd March 1931

2009-10-15T22:58:00.004+05:30

A friend's blog inspired this poem.

23rd March 1931
उँची उँची दीवारो के पार, जैल में आज़ादी जन्मी थी,
शहीदो की शाम थी वो, फाँसी से मोहब्बत जन्मी थी,
सह्याद्रि के पर्बत चुप थे, सतलज भी धीरे बह रही थी,
"एक और होता तो वो भी तेरे नाम" माँए कह रही थी,
बिस्मिल के शब्दों को गा, साथ हिन्दुस्तान सारा लेकर
आख़िरी बार चले थे फिर वो, "इंक़लाब" का नारा लेकर

एक भगत था, एक गुरु था, एक देवो का था शुख,
जयघोष उठे थे गलियारो से, आज़ादी को था रुख़,
वो क्रॉस भी हुक्मरानों का, उस दिन बसंती रंगा था,
ना सिंह ना राज थे, वो रंग थे, उनसे बना तिरंगा था,
एक जलते सपने के संग, खौलते खून का पारा लेकर,
आख़िरी बार चले थे फिर वो, "इंक़लाब" का नारा लेकर