Kaun Jane

Balkrishna Rao is not a very well known Hindi poet. But one of his poems got stuck to my head when I was a little boy- “Aaj hi hoga“. Over the years, I’ve recited the poem in small gatherings and parties. I’ve sung it to many of my friends many times, and it got stuck in many of their heads too ЁЯЩВ After a long time I found another poem of this poet. As brilliant as the earlier one, perhaps better. Here is it:

рдЭреБрдХ рд░рд╣реА рд╣реИ рднреВрдорд┐ рдмрд╛рдБрдпреА рдУрд░, рдлрд┐рд░ рднреА
рдХреМрди рдЬрд╛рдиреЗ,
рдирд┐рдпрддрд┐ рдХреА рдЖрдБрдЦреЗрдВ рдмрдЪрд╛рдХрд░,
рдЖрдЬ рдзрд╛рд░рд╛ рджрд╛рд╣рд┐рдиреЗ рдмрд╣ рдЬрд╛рдП !
[рдирд┐рдпрддрд┐ == destiny]

рдЬрд╛рдиреЗ
рдХрд┐рд╕ рдХрд┐рд░рдг-рд╢рд░ рдХреЗ рд╡рд░рдж рдЖрдШрд╛рдд рд╕реЗ
рдирд┐рд░реНрд╡рд░реНрдг рд░реЗрдЦрд╛рдЪрд┐рддреНрд░ рдпрд╣ рдмреАрддреА рдирд┐рд╢рд╛ рдХрд╛
рд░рдБрдЧ рдЙрдареЗ рдХрдм, рдореБрдЦрд░ рд╣реЛ рдХрдм
рдореВрдХ рдХреНрдпрд╛ рдХрд╣ рдЬрд╛рдП !
[рдХрд┐рд░рдг-рд╢рд░ == an arrow of light rays] [рд╡рд░рдж == blessed] [рдирд┐рд░реНрд╡рд░реНрдг == colorless][рд░реЗрдЦрд╛рдЪрд┐рддреНрд░ == sketch] [рдирд┐рд╢рд╛ == night] [рдореБрдЦрд░ == here it means to become expressive]

‘рд╕рдВрднрд╡ рдХреНрдпрд╛ рдирд╣реАрдВ рд╣реИ рдЖрдЬ ?’
рд▓реЛрд╣рд┐рдд рд▓реЗрдЦрдиреА рдкреНрд░рд╛рдЪреА рдХреНрд╖рд┐рддрд┐рдЬ рдХреА
рдХрд░ рд░рд╣реА рд╣реИ рдкреНрд░реЗрд░рдгрд╛ рдпрд╛ рдкреНрд░рд╢реНрди рдЕрдВрдХрд┐рдд ?
[рд▓реЛрд╣рд┐рдд == red] [рд▓реЗрдЦрдиреА == pen] [рдкреНрд░рд╛рдЪреА == east] [рдХреНрд╖рд┐рддрд┐рдЬ == horizon]

рдХреМрди рдЬрд╛рдиреЗ
рдЖрдЬ рд╣реА рдирд┐рдГрд╢реЗрд╖ рд╣реЛрдВ рд╕рд╛рд░реЗ
рд╕рдБрдЬреЛрдП рд╕реНрд╡рдкреНрди
рджрд┐рди рдХреА рд╕рд┐рджреНрдзрд┐рдпреЛрдВ рдореЗрдВ –
рдпрд╛ рдХрдВрд╣реА рдЕрд╡рд╢рд┐рд╖реНрдЯ рдлрд┐рд░ рднреА
рдПрдХ рдиреВрддрди рд╕реНрд╡рдкреНрди рдХреА рд╕рдВрднрд╛рд╡рдирд╛ рд░рд╣ рдЬрд╛рдП !
[рдирд┐рдГрд╢реЗрд╖ == dissolved, complete] [рд╕рд┐рджреНрдзрд┐рдпреЛрдВ == achievements] [рдЕрд╡рд╢рд┐рд╖реНрдЯ == remainder] [рдиреВрддрди == new]

Significance of a song!

In the highway, in the hedges, in the highway, in the hedges…. I’ll be somewhere working, I’ll be somewhere working…. I’ll be somewhere working for my lord.

Ok. I’ll not talk about the news. Bala Saheb, to Test Victory, to Ajmal Kasab and what now. The world it seems have been busy. But I have no feel of it. You know why? Because 6 months back, I took a huge decision of my life – to get rid of my TV connection. I can’t tell you what sort of a hell you guys are living in with that thing in your living room. I now know why the elite urban middle class of India can never enjoy nature, or empathize with the so called lower class – because they don’t see them, because they are busy watching TV, even when they are not watching it. Yes, yes.. you are right. I am a communist ЁЯЩВ

Ok. I’ll not talk about politics. Politics is insignificant, like money. I see the bemused look on your face. Yes money is insignificant. Not because we don’t need it, but because the things we want are usually not significant. The traditional religious ones say “kya lekar aaye the, kya lekar jana hai” … but that’s not my point. My point is – money has very less contribution to my quality of life RIGHT NOW. No, not in the future or the past, not in the abstract, but right now, in tangible form – it has very very little effect on my “quality of life”. I realized this during my last-three-year-stint at remotely managing our family farms in Vidarbha. One of our on-ground managers, earns close to 60,000 rupees a year, lives in a 3000 sq foot house built on land, eats healthy fresh vegetables, has three cows giving ample milk and dahi and ghee. I earn some n-times more than him, but I’m poorer than him. And I want to be rich. But money is not the only thing I need to earn. Yes, yes.. you are right. I am retrograde. ЁЯЩВ

Ok. Back to politics. Like money has very little effect on quality of life, similarly politics has very little effect on the country. That’s why they need the media. To make them ‘sound’ significant. Think about it. Without Indira Gandhi – there would have been no License Raj – people would have been free to enterprise, and we would have taken care of our good living. Manmohan Singh’s great deed of liberalization would not have been needed. The political forces just cancel each other’s effects. We people go on with our lives and make our own living environments (You can call them markets, communities, cultures – whatever). If there is something the state does, it hinders. I know, I know … you all are going to scare me with, the system breaking down, and chaos, and anarchy, and disease, and law and order situation and what not. I am too much an Indian to get scared by that. Keep a hand on your heart, and tell me – do you really think the law and order is okay because┬аof the government? Do you really think human nature needs a 60 year old book to organize itself? Yes, yes … I am an anarchist. ЁЯЩВ

If you are wondering why I started the post with that song, it’s because that song is from a George Clooney film. ЁЯЩВ

Dastoor

Habib Jalib, was a Pakistani revolutionary poet, who spent most of his life fighting against dictatorial regimes and ruling classes there. Because of which, he did spend a lot of his time in prison. This is his best known poem along with the video of his own reading in a public meeting:

рджреАрдк рдЬрд┐рд╕рдХрд╛ рдорд╣рд▓реНрд▓рд╛рдд рд╣реА рдореЗрдВ рдЬрд▓реЗ
рдЪрдВрдж рд▓реЛрдЧреЛрдВ рдХреА рдЦреБрд╢рд┐рдпреЛрдВ рдХреЛ рд▓реЗрдХрд░ рдЪрд▓реЗ
рд╡реЛ рдЬреЛ рд╕рд╛рдпреЗ рдореЗрдВ рд╣рд░ рдорд╕рд▓реЗрд╣рдд рдХреЗ рдкрд▓реЗ
рдРрд╕реЗ рджрд╕реНрддреВрд░ рдХреЛ,
рд╕реБрдмрд╣-рдП-рдмреЗрдиреВрд░ рдХреЛ,
рдореИрдВ рдирд╣реАрдВ рдорд╛рдирддрд╛, рдореИрдВ рдирд╣реАрдВ рдЬрд╛рдирддрд╛ред
[рдорд╣рд▓реНрд▓рд╛рдд == palaces (plural of рдорд╣рд▓)]
[рдорд╕рд▓реЗрд╣рдд == expediency]
[рджрд╕реНрддреВрд░ == system, convention]
[рдмреЗрдиреВрд░ == dark]

рдореИрдВ рднреА рдЦрд╛рдЗрдлрд╝ рдирд╣реАрдВ рддрдЦреНрддрд╛-рдП-рджрд╛рд░ рд╕реЗред
рдореИрдВ рднреА рдордВрд╕реВрд░ рд╣реВрдБ рдХрд╣ рджреЛ рдЕрдЧрд╝рд┐рдпрд╛рд░ рд╕реЗред
рдХреНрдпреЛрдВ рдбрд░рд╛рддреЗ рд╣реЛ рдЬрд╝рд┐рдиреНрджреЛрдВ рдХреА рджреАрд╡рд╛рд░ рд╕реЗ?
рдЬрд╝реБрд▓реНрдо рдХреА рдмрд╛рдд рдХреЛ,
рдЬрд╣рд▓ рдХреА рд░рд╛рдд рдХреЛ,
рдореИрдВ рдирд╣реАрдВ рдорд╛рдирддрд╛, рдореИрдВ рдирд╣реАрдВ рдЬрд╛рдирддрд╛ред
[рдЦрд╛рдЗрдлрд╝ == one having fear (рдЦреМрдлрд╝)]
[рддрдЦреНрддрд╛-рдП-рджрд╛рд░ == platform for execution]
[рдордВрд╕реВрд░ == martyr]
[рдЕрдЧрд╝рд┐рдпрд╛рд░ == strangers, used here in the send of tell ‘the world’]
[рдЬрд╝рд┐рдиреНрджрд╛рдВ == jail]
[рдЬрд╣рд▓ == stupidity/ignorance, virtue of being рдЬрд╛рд╣рд┐рд▓]

“рдлреВрд▓ рд╢рд╛рдЦрд╝реЛрдВ рдкреЗ рдЦрд┐рд▓рдиреЗ рд▓рдЧреЗ”, рддреБрдо рдХрд╣реЛ,
“рдЬрд╛рдо рд░рд┐рдВрджреЛ рдХреЛ рдорд┐рд▓рдиреЗ рд▓рдЧреЗ”, рддреБрдо рдХрд╣реЛ,
“рдЪрд╛рдХ рд╕реАрдиреЛрдВ рдХреЗ рд╕рд┐рд▓рдиреЗ рд▓рдЧреЗ”, рддреБрдо рдХрд╣реЛ,
рдЗрд╕ рдЦреБрд▓реЗ рдЭреВрда рдХреЛ,
рдЬрд╝рд╣рди рдХреА рд▓реВрдЯ рдХреЛ,
рдореИрдВ рдирд╣реАрдВ рдорд╛рдирддрд╛, рдореИрдВ рдирд╣реАрдВ рдЬрд╛рдирддрд╛ред
[рд░рд┐рдВрджрд╛ == drinker]
[рдЪрд╛рдХ == torn slits]
[рдЬрд╝рд╣рди == difficult to translate, means roughly soul or heart]

рддреБрдордиреЗ рд▓реВрдЯрд╛ рд╣реИ, рд╕рджрд┐рдпреЛрдВ рд╣рдорд░рд╛ рд╕реВрдХреВрдВ
рдЕрдм рди рд╣рдо рдкрд░ рдЪрд▓реЗрдЧрд╛, рддреБрдореНрд╣рд╛рд░рд╛ рдлрд╝реБрд╕реВрдВ
рдЪрд╛рд░рд╛рдЧрд░ рджрд░реНрджрдордВрджреЛ рдХреЗ рдмрдирддреЗ рд╣реЛ рдХреНрдпреЛрдВ?
рддреБрдо рдирд╣реАрдВ рдЪрд╛рд░рд╛рдЧрд░,
рдХреЛрдИ рдорд╛рдиреЗ рдордЧрд░,
рдореИрдВ рдирд╣реАрдВ рдорд╛рдирддрд╛, рдореИрдВ рдирд╣реАрдВ рдЬрд╛рдирддрд╛ред
[рдлрд╝реБрд╕реВрдВ == deception/magic]
[рдЪрд╛рд░рд╛рдЧрд░ == healer]

On Cultural Revivals … and Gandhi!

Had a discussion about Gandhi’s “Hind Swaraj“, and difference between western and Indian thought, and how good some old things were, and do we need a revival. And this came to mind:

рдЙрд╕ рд╕реВрдЦреЗ рдареВрдБрда рдкрд░ рдирдИ рдЯрд╣рдиреА рдкрд░ рдирдП рдкрддреНрддреЗ рдЖрдП рд╣реИрдВред
рдпрд╣ рдЙрд╕ рдкреБрд░рд╛рдиреЗ, рд╡рд┐рд╢рд╛рд▓рдХрд╛рдп, рдЫрд╛рдпрд╛рд╡рд╛рди рдкреЗрдбрд╝ рдХреА рдпрд╛рдж рдирд╣реАрдВ рджрд┐рд▓рд╛рддреЗ,
рдЬреЛ рдмреБрдвреЗ рдЬреНрдЮрд╛рдиреА рдмрд╛рдмрд╛ рдХреЗ рд╕рдорд╛рди рдерд╛, рдФрд░ рдЕрдм рдареВрдБрда рдмрдирд╛ рдЦрдбрд╝рд╛ рд╣реИред
рдпрд╣ рдЯрд╣рдиреА рддреЛ рдЖрдВрдЧрди рдореЗрдВ рдЦреЗрд▓рддреА, рдЫреЛрдЯреА, рдкреНрдпрд╛рд░реА рдмрдЪреНрдЪреА рдХреА рдпрд╛рдж рджрд┐рд▓рд╛рддреА рд╣реИред
рдкрддреНрддреЛрдВ рдХрд╛ рдЖрдХрд╛рд░ рднрд▓реЗ рд╣реА рд╡реИрд╕рд╛ рд╣реЛ,
рдкрд░ рдЗрд╕ рдЯрд╣рдиреА рдХреЛ рдлрд┐рд░ рд╡рд┐рд╢рд╛рд▓рдХрд╛рдп рдЫрд╛рдпрд╛рд╡рд╛рди рд╡реГрдХреНрд╖ рдмрдирдиреЗ рдореЗ рд╕рдордп рд▓рдЧреЗрдЧрд╛ред
рдХрд┐рддрдирд╛ рд╣реА рдЧреБрд╕реНрд╕рд╛, рдЖрдВрджреЛрд▓рди, рддрдорд╛рд╢рд╛ рдХрд░ рд▓реЛ,
рдкрд░ рдкреЗрдб рджрд┐рдиреЛрдВ рдореЗ рдмрдбрд╝реЗ рдирд╣реАрдВ рд╣реЛрддреЗред
рдирд╛ рд╣реА рдареВрдБрда рдЕрдкрдиреА рдкреБрд░рд╛рдиреА рд░реМрдирдХ рдХреЛ рд▓реМрдЯрддреЗ рд╣реИрдВред
рдЫрд╛рдпрд╛ рдлрд┐рд░ рдЪрд╛рд╣рд┐рдП,
рддреЛ рд╡рд╣ рдЫреЛрдЯрд╛-рд╕рд╛ рдареВрдБрда рдХрд╛ рддреБрдХрдбрд╝рд╛ рдвреВрдВрдвреЛ,
рдЬрд╣рд╛рдБ рдЕрднреА рдирдореА рдмрд╛рдХреА рд╣реИред
рдЙрд╕реЗ рд╕реАрдВрдЪреЛ,
рдФрд░ рдкреНрд░рд╛рд░реНрдердирд╛ рдХрд░реЛ рдХрд┐ рд╡рд╣рд╛рдБ рдПрдХ рдирдИ рдЯрд╣рдиреА рдлреВрдЯреЗ,
рдЬреЛ рд╕рд╛рд▓реЛрдВ рдмрд╛рдж рд╣рд┐ рд╕рд╣реА, рдкрд░ рдЫрд╛рдпрд╛ рдЬрд╝рд░реВрд░ рджреЗред
рддрдм рддрдХ рдмреБрдЬрд╝реБрд░реНрдЧреЛрдВ рдХреЗ рд╕реБрдирд╛рдП рдмреВрдврд╝реЗ, рд╡рд┐рд╢рд╛рд▓рдХрд╛рдп, рдЫрд╛рдпрд╛рд╡рд╛рди рдмрд░рдЧрдж рдХреЗ рдХрд┐рд╕реНрд╕реЛрдВ рд╕реЗ рд╣реА рдХрд╛рдо рдЪрд▓рд╛рдУред
рдФрд░ рддрдм рддрдХ,
рдХреЛрдИ рднреА рдорд┐рдирдЯреЛрдВ рдореЗ рдардВрдбреЗ рдЫрд╛рдпрд╛рджрд╛рд░ рдЖрд░рд╛рдо рдХрд╛ рд▓реЛрдн рджреЗ,
рддреЛ рдЙрд╕ рдкрд░ рд╡рд┐рд╢реНрд╡рд╛рд╕ рди рдХрд░реЛред

Haseen Shaam Na De

Wrote another gazal in quick succession… seems like I’m getting back to form ЁЯЩВ

рддрдмрд╛рд╣реА рдХреА рдЦрд╝рдмрд░ рдЕрдм рд╕рд░-рдП-рдЖрдо рди рджреЗ,
рд░реЛрдЬрд╝-рдП-рдирд╛рдХрд╛рдо рдХреЛ рд╣рд╕реАрдВ рд╢рд╛рдо рди рджреЗред

рдореИрдВ рдЬрд╛рдирддрд╛ рд╣реВрдБ рд╡рдЬрд╣ рддреЗрд░реА рдмреЗрд░реБрдЦрд╝реА рдХреА,
рдЕрдкрдиреЗ рдлрд╝реИрд╕рд▓реЛрдВ рдХреЛ рдордЬрдмреВрд░реА рдХрд╛ рдирд╛рдо рди рджреЗред

рджрд╣рд╢рдд рдХреЗ рд▓рдореНрд╣реЛрдВ рдмрд╛рдж, рдирд┐рдХрд▓рд╛ рд╣реИ рд╕рдбрд╝рдХреЛрдВ рдкреЗ,
рдЕрдкрдиреА рдЧрд░рдЬрд╝ рдХреЛ рд╣реМрд╕рд▓реЗ рдХрд╛ рдИрдирд╛рдо рди рджреЗред

рд╕рдлрд╝рд░-рдП-рдореБрд╣рдмреНрдмрдд рдореЗ рдмрд╣реБрдд рдордХрд╝рд╛рдо рдмрд╛рдХреА рд╣реИрдВ,
рдЕрдкрдиреЗ рдХрджрдореЛрдВ рдХреЛ рдмреЗрд╡рдЬрд╣ рдЖрд░рд╛рдо рди рджреЗред

рдиреВрд░-рдП-рдЗрд▓рд╛рд╣реА рдХреА рдЕрджрдиреА рдХрд┐рд░рди рдХрд╛рдлрд╝реА рд╣реИ,
рдЕрдм рдЬрд╝рд┐рдиреНрджрдЧрд╝реА рдХреЛ рддрдмрд╛рд╣реА рдХрд╛ рдЕрдВрдЬрд╛рдо рди рджреЗред

рдЗрд╕ рдмрд░рд╕ рдмрд╕рдВрдд рдореЗ рдЕрдорд░рд╛рдИ рдирд╛ рдЦрд┐рд▓реА,
рдмреБрд▓рдмреБрд▓-рдП-рдмрди рдХреЛ рддреВ рдпреЗ рдкреИрдЧрд╝рд╛рдо рди рджреЗред

рдордп-рдП-рдЦрд╝реБрджрдЧрд░реНрдЬрд╝реА рдореЗ рдЬреЛ рдзреБрдд рд╣реИ рд╣рд░ рдкрд▓,
рдпрд╛ рд░рдм, рдХрд┐рд╕реА рд╡рддрди рдХреЛ рдпреЗ рдЕрд╡рд╛рдо рди рджреЗред

Hyderabad is a Plastic Jar

Hyderabad is not a city. It’s a plastic jar. With flowers. without the handle. With water. Without the lid.

It had not grown out of nature, like a Banyan tree does. It has been planted, like a wheat plant is. It feeds well, but has shallow roots. It has many indistinguishable cousins, but has short life. Next year, a new hyderabad would be born. It’s seasonal, it’s stale.

There are some people who think that they are living. There claim of life, is almost as real as Kapil Sibal’s credibility. Most of them live in Hyderabad. In fact, on the outskirts of it. Almost all of them write code. At least, most of them think that they do so. Very few of them really do. They get paid well. They remind me of seagulls.

Then there is some water, in the lid-less jar, evaporating quickly in the dry Hyderabadi heat. Most of it full of life, like most water is. And it lives in the old town – near the Charminar – fast evaporating. But still not leaving its leisurely-ness.

And then there is Secunderabad – the colonial hangover. It is not bad. They started making plastic there. When they had enough of it, they built a jar – on the outskirts – but forgot the lid – without which the water, and with it the life, evaporates.

Aao ki khwaab bunein…

Found a gem by Sahir Ludhianvi:

рдЖрдУ рдХрд┐ рдЦрд╝реНрд╡рд╛рдм рдмреБрдиреЗрдВ, рдХрд▓ рдХреЗ рд╡рд╛рд╕реНрддреЗ
рд╡рд░рдирд╛ рдпреЗ рд░рд╛рдд, рдЖрдЬ рдХреЗ рд╕рдВрдЧреАрди рджреМрд░ рдХреА
рдбрд╝рд╕ рд▓реЗрдЧреА рдЬрд╛рди-рдУ-рджрд┐рд▓ рдХреЛ рдХреБрдЫ рдРрд╕реЗ рдХрд┐ рдЬрд╛рди-рдУ-рджрд┐рд▓
рддрд╛-рдЙрдореНрд░ рдлрд┐рд░ рди рдХреЛрдИ рд╣рд╕реАрди рдЦрд╝реНрд╡рд╛рдм рдмреБрди рд╕рдХреЗ

[ рд╕рдВрдЧреАрди рджреМрд░ == difficult time ]
[ рддрд╛-рдЙрдореНрд░ == till the end of life ]

рдЧреЛ рд╣рдорд╕реЗ рднрд╛рдЧрддреА рд░рд╣реА рдпреЗ рддреЗрдЬрд╝-рдЧрд╝рд╛рдо рдЙрдореНрд░
рдЦрд╝реНрд╡рд╛рдмреЛрдВ рдХреЗ рдЖрд╕рд░реЗ рдкреЗ рдХрдЯреА рд╣реИ рддрдорд╛рдо рдЙрдореНрд░

[ рддреЗрдЬрд╝-рдЧрд╝рд╛рдо == fast ]

рдЬрд╝реБрд▓реНрдлрд╝реЛрдВ рдХреЗ рдЦрд╝реНрд╡рд╛рдм, рд╣реЛрдЯреЛрдВ рдХреЗ рдЦрд╝реНрд╡рд╛рдм, рдФрд░ рдмрджрди рдХреЗ рдЦрд╝реНрд╡рд╛рдм,
рдореИрд░рд╛рдЬ-рдП-рдлрд╝рди рдХреЗ рдЦрд╝реНрд╡рд╛рдм, рдХрдорд╛рд▓-рдП-рд╕реБрдЦрди рдХреЗ рдЦрд╝реНрд╡рд╛рдм,
рддрд╣рдЬрд╝реАрдм-рдП-рдЬрд╝рд┐рдиреНрджрдЧреА рдХреЗ, рдлрд╝рд░реЛрдШ-рдП-рд╡рддрди рдХреЗ рдЦрд╝реНрд╡рд╛рдм,
рдЬрд╝рд┐рдиреНрджрд╛ рдХреЗ рдЦрд╝реНрд╡рд╛рдм, рдХреВрдЪрд╛-рдП-рджрд╛рд░-рдУ-рд░рд╕рди рдХреЗ рдЦрд╝реНрд╡рд╛рдм

[ рдореИрд░рд╛рдЬ-рдП-рдлрд╝рди == proficiency in an art form ]
[ рдХрдорд╛рд▓-рдП-рд╕реБрдЦрди == excellence in expression/poetry ]
[ рддрд╣рдЬрд╝реАрдм-рдП-рдЬрд╝рд┐рдиреНрджрдЧреА == good and civilized life ]
[ рдлрд╝рд░реЛрдШ-рдП-рд╡рддрди == nation’s progress ]
[ рдЬрд╝рд┐рдиреНрджрд╛ == prison cell ]
[ рдХреВрдЪрд╛-рдП-рджрд╛рд░-рдУ-рд░рд╕рди == the path leading to gallows]

рдпреЗ рдЦрд╝реНрд╡рд╛рдм рд╣реА рддреЛ рдЕрдкрдиреА рдЬрд╡рд╛рдиреА рдХреЗ рдкрд╛рд╕ рдереЗ
рдпреЗ рдЦрд╝реНрд╡рд╛рдм рд╣реА рддреЛ рдЕрдкрдиреЗ рдЕрдорд▓ рдХреА рдЕрд╕рд╛рд╕ рдереЗ
рдпреЗ рдЦрд╝реНрд╡рд╛рдм рдорд░ рдЧрдП рд╣реИрдВ рддреЛ рдмреЗрд░рдВрдЧ рд╣реИ рд╣рдпрд╛рдд
рдпреВрдБ рд╣реИ рдХрд┐ рдЬреИрд╕реЗ рджрд╕реНрдд-рдП-рддрд╣-рдП-рд╕рдВрдЧ рд╣реИ рд╣рдпрд╛рдд

[ рдЕрд╕рд╛рд╕ == basis ]
[ рджрд╕реНрдд-рдП-рддрд╣-рдП-рд╕рдВрдЧ == hand pressed under the force of a rock ]

рдЖрдУ рдХрд┐ рдЦрд╝реНрд╡рд╛рдм рдмреБрдиреЗрдВ, рдХрд▓ рдХреЗ рд╡рд╛рд╕реНрддреЗ
рд╡рд░рдирд╛ рдпреЗ рд░рд╛рдд, рдЖрдЬ рдХреЗ рд╕рдВрдЧреАрди рджреМрд░ рдХреА
рдбрд╝рд╕ рд▓реЗрдЧреА рдЬрд╛рди-рдУ-рджрд┐рд▓ рдХреЛ рдХреБрдЫ рдРрд╕реЗ рдХрд┐ рдЬрд╛рди-рдУ-рджрд┐рд▓
рддрд╛-рдЙрдореНрд░ рдлрд┐рд░ рди рдХреЛрдИ рд╣рд╕реАрди рдЦрд╝реНрд╡рд╛рдм рдмреБрди рд╕рдХреЗ

Iqbal Again – Lab Pe Aati Hai Dua

After the previous post, I did substantial research on Iqbal. And read a few of his works available on the net. I am surely going to buy a book now. But here’s one more great nazm by him:

рд▓рдм рдкреЗ рдЖрддреА рд╣реИ рджреБрдЖ рдмрди рдХреЗ рддрдордиреНрдирд╛ рдореЗрд░реА
рдЬрд╝рд┐рдиреНрджрдЧреА рд╢рдореНрдорд╛ рдХреА рд╕реБрд░рдд рд╣реЛ рдЦреБрджрд╛рдпрд╛ рдореЗрд░реА

рд╣реЛ рдореЗрд░реЗ рджрдо рд╕реЗ рдпреВрдБ рд╣реА рдореЗрд░реЗ рд╡рддрди рдХреА рдЬрд╝реАрдирдд
рдЬрд┐рд╕ рддрд░рд╣ рдлреВрд▓ рд╕реЗ рд╣реЛрддреА рд╣реИ рдЪрдорди рдХреА рдЬрд╝реАрдирдд

рдЬрд╝рд┐рдиреНрджрдЧреА рд╣реЛ рдореЗрд░реА рдкрд░рд╡рд╛рдиреЗ рдХреА рд╕реВрд░рдд рдпрд╛ рд░рдм
рдЗрд▓реНрдо рдХреА рд╢рдореНрдорд╛ рд╕реЗ рд╣реЛ рдореБрдЭрдХреЛ рдореБрд╣рдмреНрдмрдд рдпрд╛ рд░рдм

рд╣реЛ рдореЗрд░рд╛ рдХрд╛рдо рдЧрд░реАрдмреЛрдВ рдХреА рд╣рд┐рдорд╛рдпрдд рдХрд░рдирд╛
рджрд░реНрджрдорджреЛрдВ рд╕реЗ рдЬрд╝рдЗрдлреЛрдВ рд╕реЗ рдореБрд╣рдмреНрдмрдд рдХрд░рдирд╛

рдореЗрд░реЗ рдЕрд▓реНрд▓рд╛рд╣ рдмреБрд░рд╛рдИ рд╕реЗ рдмрдЪрд╛рдирд╛ рдореБрдЭрдХреЛ
рдиреЗрдХ рдЬреЛ рд░рд╛рд╣ рд╣реЛ рдЙрд╕ рд░рд╣ рдкреЗ рдЪрд▓рд╛рдирд╛ рдореБрдЭрдХреЛ

[ рдЬрд╝реАрдирдд == beauty/decoration ] [ рдЗрд▓реНрдо == knowledge/education ] [ рдЬрд╝рдЗрдлреЛрдВ == old and weak ]

Iqbal

I never really got into reading much of Allama Iqbal. I knew that he’s the one who gave us the legendary “Saare jahaan se accha” and “ab tak magar hai baki naam-o-nishaan hamara“. My blog will tell you that I love Faiz, and almost any musical thing remotely Pakistani ЁЯЩВ … but Iqbal somehow never appealed to me. Untill the day before yesterday, when I heard “Kabhi ai haqeeqat-e-muntazar…”. By far the best modern “Sufi” composition, that I’ve read. The God is referred and not referred. It is a prayer and not a prayer. It is about love, and not about love. It is well, out-standing.

As Faiz would have said – “Jo Gayab Bhi Hai, Hazir Bhi. Jo Manzar Bhi Hai, Nazir Bhi”.

Here it goes:

рдХрднреА рдР рд╣рдХрд╝рд┐рдХрд╝рдд-рдП-рдореБрдиреНрддрдЬрд╝рд░, рдирдЬрд╝рд░ рдЖ рд▓рд┐рдмрд╛рд╕-рдП-рдордЬрд╛рдЬрд╝ рдореЗрдВ
рдХрд┐ рд╣рдЬрд╝рд╛рд░реЛрдВ рд╕рдЬрджреЗ рддрдбрд╝рдк рд░рд╣реЗ рд╣реИрдВ, рдореЗрд░реА рдЬрдмреАрди-рдП-рдирдпрд╛рдЬрд╝ рдореЗрдВ

[ рд╣рдХрд╝рд┐рдХрд╝рдд-рдП-рдореБрдиреНрддрдЬрд╝рд░ is long-awaited reality ] [ рд▓рд┐рдмрд╛рд╕ == attire ] [ рдордЬрд╛рдЬрд╝ == material ] [ рд╕рдЬрджреЗ == prostrations of prayer ] [ рдЬрдмреАрди == forehead ] [ рдирдпрд╛рдЬрд╝ == expectant / needy ]

рддреВ рдмрдЪрд╛ рдмрдЪрд╛ рдХреЗ рди рд░рдЦ рдЗрд╕реЗ, рддреЗрд░рд╛ рдЖрдИрдирд╛ рд╣реИ рд╡реЛ рдЖрдИрдирд╛
рдХрд┐ рд╢рд┐рдХрд╝рд╕реНрддрд╛ рд╣реЛ рддреЛ рдЕрдЬрд╝реАрдЬрд╝рддрд░ рд╣реИ рдирд┐рдЧрд╛рд╣-рдП-рдЖрдИрдирд╛рд╕рд╛рдЬрд╝ рдореЗрдВ

[ рд╢рд┐рдХрд╝рд╕реНрддрд╛ == broken ] [ рдЕрдЬрд╝реАрдЬрд╝рддрд░ == preferred ] [ рдирд┐рдЧрд╛рд╣-рдП-рдЖрдИрдирд╛рд╕рд╛рдЬрд╝ == eyes of the mirror-maker ]

рдирд╛ рдХрд╣реАрдВ рдЬрд╣рд╛рдБ рдореЗрдВ рдЕрдорд╛рдБ рдорд┐рд▓реА, рдЬреЛ рдЕрдорд╛рдБ рдорд┐рд▓реА рддреЛ рдХрд╣рд╛рдБ рдорд┐рд▓реА
рдореЗрд░реЗ рдЬрд╝реБрд░реНрдо-рдП-рдЦрд╝рд╛рдирд╛рдЦрд╝рд░рд╛рдм рдХреЛ, рддреЗрд░реЗ рдЕрдЬрд╝реЛ-рдП-рдмрдВрджрд╛-рдирд╡рд╛рдЬрд╝ рдореЗрдВ

[ рдЕрдорд╛рдБ == refuge ] [ рдЬрд╝реБрд░реНрдо-рдП-рдЦрд╝рд╛рдирд╛рдЦрд╝рд░рд╛рдм == wretched sins ] [ рдЕрдЬрд╝реЛ-рдП-рдмрдВрджрд╛-рдирд╡рд╛рдЬрд╝ == (gracious) forgiveness ]

рдирд╛ рд╡реЛ рдЗрд╢реНрдХрд╝ рдореЗ рд░рд╣реА рдЧрд░реНрдорд┐рдпрд╛рдБ, рдирд╛ рд╡реЛ рд╣реБрд╕реНрди рдореЗ рд░рд╣реА рд╢реЛрдЦрд╝рд┐рдпрд╛рдБ
рдирд╛ рд╡реЛ рдЧрдЬрд╝рдирд╡реА рдореЗ рддрдбрд╝рдк рд░рд╣реА, рдирд╛ рд╡реЛ рдЦрд╝рдо рд╣реИ рдЬрд╝реБрд▓реНрдлрд╝-рдП-рдЕрдпрд╛рдЬрд╝ рдореЗрдВ

[ рдЧрдЬрд╝рдирд╡реА == Mahmud Ghaznavi, a dominant ambitious ruler ] [ рдЬрд╝реБрд▓реНрдлрд╝-рдП-рдЕрдпрд╛рдЬрд╝ == hair-locks of Ayaz, Ayaz means slave – but her it refers to Malik Ayaz ]

рдЬреЛ рдореИрдВ рд╕рд░-рдмрд╛-рд╕рдЬрджрд╛ рд╣реБрдЖ рдХрднреА, рддреЛ рдЬрд╝рдореАрди рд╕реЗ рдЖрдиреЗ рд▓рдЧреА рд╕рджрд╛
рддреЗрд░рд╛ рджрд┐рд▓ рддреЛ рд╣реИ рд╕рдирдо рдЖрд╢рдирд╛, рддреБрдЭреЗ рдХреНрдпрд╛ рдорд┐рд▓реЗрдЧрд╛ рдирдорд╛рдЬрд╝ рдореЗрдВ

[ рд╕рд░-рдмрд╛-рд╕рдЬрджрд╛ == head held is prostration ] [ рд╕рджрд╛ == voice / call / echo ] [ рдЖрд╢рдирд╛ == lover ]

… and I have four different renditions, in four different compositions to share. Here they are:

Ibrar Ul Haq

Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan

Ghulam Ali

Rahat Fateh Ali Khan

Experiments, with Truth

In the town, where i was born, lived a man, who sailed to sea…
and he told us of his life, in the land of submarines…

No, this has nothing to do with The Beatles. I was born in Sewagram. This is where Gandhi (the original one) lived for a substantial part of his life. And he did sail to sea, albeit not as a sailor; but as a student once and as a guru later. And he did tell us of his life in the land … well not of submarines, but of just marines. More interestingly, he told us of what he did on those trips. In the first one, he experimented… With truth. The most elusive substance on earth, and may be beyond. And somehow, we Indians, and especially the ancient Indians have been obsessed with this thing called truth.

Recently, i have been introduced to a new paradigm of experimenting with truth. It says that truth is not a substance, its a method, or may be an act… Like sex. It says that, don’t seek the truth, rather “do” the truth. Though grammatically awkward, it seems to work – while interacting with clients, co-workers, families and friends – “doing” the truth works. So how do you do it?

by just responding to the tiniest reality in front of you.

Here’s an example. One of your coworkers lied to you, yesterday, on an email. By the time you reach office today, you can conjure up a huge conspiracy theory of why he has lied to you, and who else might be involved in the conspiracy, on how this is going to affect your promotion to the post of CEO in 2029, and how the next increment may be affected and your wife might feel bad about not buying the second car you could have bought with the increased EMI capacity, and if you are not married how silly you would look to the blue-eyed girl CCed on that untruthful email.

OR,

you don’t think about the lie at all. You just go to the office – read what has been written – and respond to that line – just that line. And forget about it after you press send. If he replies with another lie (chances are, he wont; but in case he does), its a new experiment to respond then, tackle it afresh. Each response to the tiniest reality in front – is an experiment with truth.

I was advised to do something like this by a colleague recently. And he helped me do it – it was nice. Hope it works.

And, if we lack the temperament it takes to stick to this practice, consult the Buddha.