Blog: Kashmiriyat - her own flesh and blood!

Kashmiriyat - her own flesh and blood! Pointing her finger at a picture hanging against a wall in her house, an octogenarian woman started her candid conversation with deep sighs, sometimes, and being a flawless narrator of tales at other times. Kheer Bhawani - as told by the lady was the poster - which took me and my friend to the 'heaven on earth' - Kashmir. Nurturing a keen desire to always converse and engage with and learn from sexagenarians and above, a sudden encounter amidst this hustle-bustle of metro life, I found solace and pain simultaneously in this fading fighter's voice. Solace - for I could share a little of her being, the feelings which are still her very life, and pain for the wounds which are still very fresh inside her flesh. Gradually as she could extend her heart to me, I paid heed to her words like a kid listens to tales in a mother's lap. And pain – for I could feel what she must have undergone. Kheer Bhawani is a Hindu temple and 'isht' for the Kashmiri Pandits, located in Tulmulla area in Kashmir valley. Spread over a vast land, the temple is as holy for Muslims as it is for Hindus. “When it comes to following the rituals and prohibitions of the temple, Muslims follow it more religiously,” tells the octogenarian. One can easily witness the cultural mix of the Sindh civilization and contemporary times. ‘Life is a bandwagon of several colors' is what this fading beauty told me. And I, myself being a keen kid of life, always seek life whatever way it comes in. Every single moment for me was as if it can't be framed in my heart again – “so don't even blink your eye, not even let your heart go close,” was the call of the few precious moments this 'buzurg' provided us. She went on flawlessly touching every nook and corner of her life, as we provoked her unfolding narration being keen listeners. Her murmuring tale touched the royal heydays era when everything around used to nurture life with a fresh zeal. Palatial houses, vast fruit estates, luxury cars, mammoth dry fruits produce and prosperous life – these were a few luxury possessions this fading Kashmiri lady enjoyed being at her homeland, Kashmir. As told by the old lady, her husband was an eminent journalist. Being so prominent in his profession, she tells us, he was respected equally by friends and foes. Walking down the memory lane, she shared with much ado an incident where in one of the marriages at her home saw both militants and government officials attending the event simultaneously. "It was a daily affair to meet the hardliners, radicals and militants, but we were never fearful as they never caused us any trouble," said the lady. All communities and religions used to gel up so well that it seemed as if they were brothers and sisters. With a broken heart, whose pain I may say I could feel, but actually it is 10,000 times more than what merely 'I can feel' sounds like, she shares her salad days with us. "We had a palatial house, climate used to be at its best. The backyard was always over-heaped with dry fruits and our life was a best shot frame after frame,” she said. Still today - when she knows well it's only a memory now - she boasts of her premier possessions, amongst which she talked about her mats the most. Though that pain is still residing there, though she has not forgotten anything as if it happened yesterday only, though her pain is extremely excruciating, she has reluctantly enforced her psyche to admit that Delhi is her abode now and was always. She carries a tormenting grudge - not against people who enforced it at her, nor anybody else, but for the traffic, polluted air and haphazardness of the over-crowded Delhi (might have compared it with everything in Kashmir). When asked about the people there, back home (which was hers at some point in time), she still is in touch with the local residents, who used to be her neighbours once. Many of them, she recalls, call her back home and even take care of her home and belongings as well. She has that all which still can't be claimed to be hers and with an unwilling 'NO' to go back, she has no logical reason for it. Refusing to share any greater details about who were responsible for all this, the lady signs off with a deep gasp, saying - it all happened! She misses that fragrant air of her very own homeland today - the valley extremely blessed with all the possible good things, but simultaneously has made herself understand the reality of life today. A deep gasp again and she starts walking towards the door right in front. Leaving it at a note where I could neither be completely speechless nor say anything, it was only my expressions which responded to her all of a sudden moves. Bidding adieu to her, as I was sure to be lost in this fast-paced life again, but it made me contemplate excessively about life. It was a night different all together and I could not rest well. Having an intense urge to do something, I planned to weave her painful story in words. As a result, I too will sign off as I am done with what I felt like doing for this octogenarian.

Blog: You can kill a body, not the voice

Flipping through various sections of my daily newspaper, my eyes initially popped out and eventually halted, as the identical twins raced through a buzzing headline which read: 'Pak lesbian couple tie knot amidst threats'. And instantly my mind generated a question for a handful of incorrigible fools - can they kill their heartbeat now? They can kill the body, but not the heart, nor even the soul, as love will always pervade and evade any territory irrespective of any religion or boundary. I must bring to the fore the real intent of the write-up for those who may take it otherwise. Pointing out finger on any country or religion is not the context. The concern is the game between moral and immoral, fundamentalism and liberty, laden or willingly taken, and on top it - it is always a tussle between love and hatred. Who wins is the call. Love and hatred reminds me of talented Shoaib Mansoor, who staying in a terrain where life keeps no certainty and where a few fundamentalists are decision-makers, he has the guts to prove his mettle. He has been instrumental in proving that love always wins. Not only this, he is the bellwether who spearheads the way for countless generations to believe and do what is right, which their hearts liberate them to initiate. Amidst devils, Shoaib Mansoor has the guts to show what can be done, which needs to be done. His two films - 'Khuda ke liye' and 'Bol' can be counted among the outstanding narrative tales in the celluloid, which not only educate scores, but also discard the adulteration/ artificial manipulation in what can be called - a blind faith. While ‘Khuda Ke Liye’ deals with not to get lost in the name of religion and to establish the fundamental right of making one's own choices in life, Bol deals with breaking the old mold of fundamentalism - wrong beliefs, which come at the cost of numerous lives. The flick establishes how important is it to raise one's voice against the surreal or baseless concepts, which have spread its tentacles far and wide in society. I make no bones in saying hats off to this man of courage and guts, who contributes uniquely in his own way to leave a mark. He may be a bete noire for these few, but he exemplifies his chivalry to legions by leading them towards that shining light. And eventually his work proves, which becomes Waterloo for such human folly. He proves the proverb: 'Action speaks louder than words'. The movie, KKL discards the thought that the religion doesn't permit music, and which is what happens as a creamy crop of artists and singers from our neighbouring nation, has found a bright career for them in India's tinsel town. While those who want to mum voices on gunpoint may feel they emerge as triumphant for whatever wrong they believe in - people like Mansoor are a blunt answer to their credo – “Establishing their supremacy at gunpoint.” Likewise, this lady from Bangladesh lives to say and write what she believes is right. She has been expelled from her homeland as she raised her voice in her words against male-dominated society. Criticized, ridiculed, harassed and threatened for her thoughts, Tasleema Nasrin has been the target of this 'society's life contractors'. Though facing extreme trials and tribulations, moving from one place to another, like nomads, she still wears her heart on her sleeves for what her heart feels. Her counterpart, Salman Rushdie also faces such wrath at times and fatwas on other occasions for being outspoken and writing against what feels is a set of immoral laws. I too will proclaim in my closing note: Truth and right will find its way in the end. I want these figures among ciphers to understand - that threatening will not stop the voices from saying what is right, what one's heart says, what needs to be brought to the light. Like Nasrin, Mansoor and Rushdie, who haven't stopped irrespective of numerous threats to their lives, there are countless such people of courage but as I have to sign off, so can't name them all. The sooner they (fundamentalists) will understand, the better it is: Bodies can be killed, but not the voices.

Life thoughtful...

Shackles of time....boundaries of constrain...this unstoppable race!!!

Blog: A black Monday – for the unparalleled master!

Ruling the hearts was his forte, relieving the souls of stiffness was his job. As people become nostalgic for 9-11, 7-11, 6-11, 10-10 will also permeate for timeless ages, the day we lost the unparalleled jewel, which India wouldn’t produce again, no matter how hard it may try. He left myriad souls with grief, which would never receive solace again. Ghazal was on the verge of death, and this “Masiha” saved her from dying, giving it a new rejuvenated life with a healthy heart and soul. Is there anyone who can claim that he’s poured life into Ghazal? I’m sure noone can say that! He is the sole protector of this dying unparalleled art. Understanding the hearts, like he had dived into them and understood what people need. Solace must have been the answer he would have got, when dived to search that answer! The living legend, Manoj Kumar says, “Suna hai Jagjit nahin raha, aaj Ghazal ki maut ho gayi.” It was exactly what I felt. He was a voice from heaven who provided relief to numerous hearts at the end of the day, the hearts which need peace, a halt.

Today he might have amalgamated into the five elements but his aroma has prevailed in the air covering a vast distance till horizon. How will the “Thou art mercy” take this aroma away? No he can’t! He is the most powerful, but still taking this aroma from air is beyond his arena…

Whetted by his divine voice, he made Ghazal a cult. With Jhuki-Jhuki nazar bekaraar hai ken hi, Hoton se choo lo tum and Tumko dekha to ye kahayal he made people pay heed to something which was out of question. Then, musically inclined people, obsessed with some other genres, changed their tastes from other genres to ghazal…and once they entered Jagjit’s arena, they forgot the way to return. Incorrigibly obsessed by his soulful voice – these hard-core listeners of his voice could never find that same bug to be bitten by in rest of the whole world.

His expedition to the heaven will again establish his leverage over the heavenly deities and gods, though it might have created that void over here on this earth. Now he’s off to another duty to provide relief to the heavenly creatures. The eloquence in his singing made the complicated Urdu poetry so simple that it directly entered people’s hearts and they would associate themselves with the lyrics. The best meaningful lyrics, when got his voice to-be-communicated through, made thousands and lakhs to mull over, to ponder over deeply, but still they could find euphoria in the saddest lyrics ultimately.

Only he could understand the nuances of ghazal and peoples’ taste. He gave a new birth and form to ghazal, levied it with the contemporary music and ruled over even the young hearts, for whom Pop, Jazz, Carnatic, Fusion, Light Classical, etc. were the only worlds. He was the bellwether who brought a revolution in the preconceived notions of those who never lend their ear to ghazal, and extricated million hearts of the ruthless knots of life.

His grandeur was much higher than that of The Great Himalyas, The Mount Everest and The Kunchanjunga. From a dud to new heights, which were never scaled before, he made impossible possible. He even ushered the most reluctants to this genre, coloured the psyches into his own hues. Ghazal reached the zenith under his tutelage and the heights were never challenged, whosoever may have tried it. The epoch was his where the listeners from all walks of life, from all the other genres just came for giving it a try, could never stay away again and became his die-hard followers.

This maverick from heaven emanated consolation to the pandemonium. His zeal was phenominal. Revered by millions, this veteran has reigned throughout his life. He is irretrievable. This oracle of music is irretrievable. His jubilation made an effect over hearts.

He provided a second life to Ghalib by lending his voice to his most coveted lyrics, which were lost otherwise. One of them which has been made immortal by Jagjit Sahab is “Hazaron khwahishein aisi ke har khwahish pe dum nikle, bahut nikle mere armaan lekin fir bhi kam nikle.”

I am short of words to express the greatness and aura of this unmatched personality, so just a few words from his own ghazals to bid adieu to my master: “Apni marzi se kahan apne safar ke hum hain, rukh hawaon ka jidhar ka hai, vahan ke hum hain.”

Song: Piya bawre, bawre piya re, kaahe sataye, piya bawre...

Piya bawre, bawre piya re
Kaahe sataye, piya bawre,
Naina milake kahe, naina churaye,
Piya bawre, bawre piya re...


1. Aaaye nahin abhi, jaane ki batiyan kare hai pehle,
Thoda to thehro, zara, chain aa jaye pehle,
Maane na kehna mora, bhed chupaye saare...
Piya bawre, bawre piya re.

2. Kitne din beete, jo ab ke gaye ho tum,
Naino ka neer sookha, roye itni ratiyan hum,
Abke jo aaoge, chalungi mein sang thaare.
Piya bawre, bawre piya re....

Song: Tu aaye idhar...(incomplete)

Tu aaye idhar, tera karam ho kaash
Maan dil ka kaha, fir manzil ho aakaash
Tamanaayein fir machal jaye kaash
Foot ke machle fir ek baar, dabi si hai jo ye pyaas

Sher: Kapkampate labon ko alfaaz

Kapkampate labon ko alfaaz nahin milte,
Sisakte armaanon ko aawaz nahin milti.
Fir thandi aahein bharte hain ye sab,
Kuch din talak jo khoob itrate they.
Mere khayaal ka pitara bhi ab khali hua,
Tum thi to lagta tha alfaaz mere hain.
Aaj tum nahi ho to kitna kuch nahin hai,
Dil ko dhadkan, zindagi ko saansein nahin milti..

A poem:

I will walk, walk, and walk
As the road to the castle of,
That harsh reality,
has many dark pitholes,
But I love to fall,
Get up again, fall again,
As this game of win and loose,
Will make me strong.

Still I will walk, walk and walk,
For I don't seek,
Any other easy way,
As it has roses and thorns both,
But still it makes me happy and gay,
It takes me that merry way,
Still it holds that aroma's clay.

Still I will walk, walk and walk,
For the road to explore,
For the light to illuminate,
For the darkness to dispel,
And the doubt to erase,
Until my heart omits a fine word,
Relieved I am feeling today,
From the handcuffs of obligation,
From the borders of horizons,
Until the last scratch of regret,
Until that miniature dot of remorse,
Vanquishes from deep somewhere in me,
Until it says you have conquered me,
With your unceasing upbeat...


But still I will walk,
Still I will not stop,
Still I will move on,
As I seek no easy way,
Wanted to walk the victory's way,
Troubled by the dust and hay,
Forced by the pandemonium,
Of what they say...

Witty dialogues:

80s Vs 2011:

80s: Mein aur meri tanhai askar ye baatein kiya karte hain:
Tum hoti to aisa hota, tum hoti to vaisa hota,
tum ye kehti, tum vo kehti, tum is baat pe roothti,
mein tumhein us baat pe manata, mein aur meri tanhai...

In 2011: Mein aur meri tanhai askar ye baatein kiya karte hain:
Tum hoti to aisa hota, tum hoti to vaisa hota,
tum ye kehti, tum vo kehti, tum is baat pe roothti,
mein tumhein us baat pe manata,

Tum hoti to aisa hota, tum hoti to vaisa hota, tum hoti to kaisa hota,
Tum hoti to kuch na hota, kyunki tum kuch karne hi kahan deti,
Aur jab tum kuch karne hi na deti to aaisa vaise aur na jaane kaisa-kaisa kahan se hota!!!

Witty Shyari:

Ab mere paas tum aayi ho to kya aayi ho, ab to office jane ka waqt ho gaya, ab is waqt ye mayoosi kahan se laayi ho!!!

A poem: "Teri Arzoo"

Teri aarzoo mein ude to they,
Chand armaan dil ke,
Dhundle ho chale hain ab,
koi paigaam na aya teri oor se,
Teri aarzoo mein humnein kuch khwab bune,
Khwabon mein socha meri hi tarah tu mujhe chune,
Abr banke ud jata hai, aankh khulte hi tu,
gum baitha hu tere pyar mein,
Tu aake kash mujhe neend se jagaye,
Dhund si cchai rehti hai zehan mein tere naksh ki,
Bus intazaar hai khwab ko haqeekat hone ka...

Poem!

Dhadkan banke bus ja mujhmein,
Aa tujhko mein mehsoos karu,
Na hone mein bhi, hona hai tera,
Lahoo k jaise beh na mujhmein,
Khushboo teri oodh lu aise,
Sardi ki dhoop ho jaise,
Ana-jaane tera ho saanson k jaise,
Zindagi banke meri, reh na mujhmein!

Sher

Reh-rehkar aa jaate hain aaj-kal ye alfaaz mere zehan mein, ke bahut majboor kiya hai in sab ne mujhe jeene ko kisi zamane mein...

Funny sher!

Aksar aa jaati hai mere zehan mein tu, jab bhi fursat paata hu is din bhar ki bhag-daud se!!!

Sher...

Lagta hai tu nhi, kahin nhi hai, par lagta hai tu yahin hai, yahin kahin hai...

Sher...

Paani kahun ya aag kahun, haqeekat kahun ya khwab kahun, ek meetha sa dard de ke na jaane kahan gayab hai tu, meri hamnafaz tu hi bata ise mein kya kahun?

Poem: Khoobsoorat ehsaas!

Khushboo rehti jo mere saath hai,
Ek khoobsoorat sa ehsaas hai,
Yu kehne, samjhne ko to sab mirage hai,
Par har roz mere kaano mein ake kehna uska,
Hello, kis duniya mein ho, vaapis aao,
Fir mein bhi roobaro ho uthta hu haqeekat se,
Aur lagta hai, hai ye sach, vo yhi, yahin-kahin aas-paas hai...

Song: Mann bawra na bhoole tujhe...

Mann bawra na bhoole tujhe,
Ghadi pal tu yad aaye ise,
Mann bawra na bhoole tujhe,
Ghadi pal tu yad aaye ise


Kitne saal hue aas-paas nhi,
Dil hai ke ise ehsaas nhi,
Kya hua hoga in Guzre saalon mein,
Tumne mujhko yad kiya ke nhi,
Mein tadapta raha, yad karta raha,
Aaate-jaate har sahqsh ko gaur se,
dekhta hi raha, sochta hi raha,
In logon mein kahin itafaaq se,
Tu guzar na jaye mere paas se,
Hai to ye mere mann ka ik bharam,
Kabse socha hai ik din bataun tujhe,
Mann bawra na bhoole tujhe....
Mann bawra na bhoole tujhe....
Ghadi pal tu yad aaye ise
Mann bawra..... mann bawra....
man............ bawra...............
Bawra mann, na bhoole... tujhe.......
Na bhoole.................tujhe, mera mann bawara.........

When would this journey end?

The time, days, the epoch come alive before me like a flashback, as I enter my town.
How nostalgic have I become as I found...still it runs at a slow pace.
Still the citizens are calm and composed, still they don't believe in competing for lofty careers.
Still the morning here is so peaceful. A sheet of mist has covered everything, even the birds couldn't stay unaffected.
Lethargic they go, like chirping and being active are the last things they would opt for.
The bus takes me through the bumpy roads and it seems like the snakes have taught the chauffeur to drive.
It's left and right moves trouble me, and a felling of dizziness wells forth from within.
And I converse to myself, when would this journey end?

Poem: Kuch yu hua kissa shuru zindagi ka

Kuch yu hua kissa shuru zindagi ka
Raaste naye bante gaye, aur hum chalte gaye


Anjaan they, bekhauf bikul,
Pyaar ke is pecheeda masle se,
Maa ka aanchal hi duniya thi jaise,
Dosti seekhi fir aisi ke poocho na,
Koi majaal na kare jaise kuch,
Keh na de galti se kuch mere yaaron ko,
Jeena-marna sab unke liye ho gaya,
Ma-babuji ko bhool se gaye kuch,
Kam samjh aane lagi unki baatein,
Samjhaate to gussa karte,
Shaayad vo dushman ho jaise,
Doost hi bus sach kehte hain,
Theek hai vahi jo keh diya dosti mein,
Acche bure ka farq kiya darkinaar,
Doosti se aage koi aur duniya hi nhi,
Fir aaya vo padaav ke jisne cchheni,
Raaton ki neend aur sukoon din ka,
Har lamha akela na guzarta,
Saath le hi aata use bus,
Chahe laakh koshish ki maine,
Maani na isne ek meri,
Har shey, har mausam, zindagi,
Har cheez duniya mein,
Usi se shuru, usi pe khatam,
Jeena naamumkin hoga yakeenan,
Agar saath na uska mila to,
Par humsafar nhi banta koi,
Sapnon mein aane se,
Karreb aana, muskuraana, nazrein takrana,
Mehz ek daur hai zindagi ka,
Aage bahut kuch khel hai abhi baaki,
Anjaane hum kho hi jaate un sapnon mein,
Ke jimmedaariyon ka ehsaas sa hone laga tha,
Padhne-likhne se hi guzar-basar hoga,
Samjh aa hi gaya aakhir waqt ke thapedon k sang,
Par safar abhi khatam nhi tha,
Ke meelon ki doori thi abhi baaki
Bus fir kya tha, ek naye safar pe,
Nikal aaye hum bhi, naam tha jiska - rozgaar
Aur bhoolna tha vo sab jise apna sansaar kehte they,
Peeche cchodna pada har sapna jo bus apna lagta tha,
Mirage tha jo Haqeeekat lagta tha,
Kyunki nayi raahon ne kheeinch liya,
Vaakif karvaya ek alag duniya se,
Jahan sab naye chehre, anjaan har shaksh tha,
Magar sab apne lagte hain ab,
kuch waqt saath bitane ke baad,
Maa ka thnada aanchal, doston ka pyar,
Priyasi ki nam aakhein, komal haath,
Mujhe chane wale, nafrat se bhare,
Paas nhi hain magar, fir bhi jeeta hu,
Jo lagta kabhi naamumkin sa tha,
Saans ka jharna bhi kabhi ruka nhi..


Kehne ko bahut door aa gaya hu mein,
Par Doori bahut hai abhi tay karne ko,
Ke safar mein dhoop ho ya chhaon,
Chalna hai path par akele hi tujhe,
Kaarvaan ke bharose ki mohtaaj,
Zindagi kuch aisi nhi mere doost,
Safar kiye jaate hain, ke karna hi hai,
Safar mein rukna tera kaam nhi,
Zindagi safar(Suffer) ka naam hai shayad,
Ke meelon ki doori abhi baaki hai...
Ke anjaan raahein abhi mere intazaar mein hain,
Kuch log hain jinse milna hai abhi baaki,
Kuch sawallon ke jawaab dhoondne hain,
Kuch nayi raahon ki khaak cchhan-ni hai.......