Ankur

Generally smiling!

A Temple

A sketch

Shish

Khana kha raha

Being Useless

Someone found my previous post about ‘some page’ absurd, abuse of blogging, murder of humor and ‘useless’. I was thrilled, excited, and felt an immense feeling of achievement. 😀

That someone, is a nice and close friend, and well, is quite dumb. Usually it is hard to find intelligent people who are nice and close. So, I guess it is quite nice to be dumb, as long as you are nice. 🙂 And finding that post (and my blog in general) useless, is one of the lesser dumb things demonstrated by this friend. In fact, it is a pretty worthwhile observation that my blog is useless.

So, I decided to write about ‘being useless’.

Being useless, is probably, the highest form of existence one can think about. I know that people would not quite appreciate finding philosophical imports on a useless blog, of course, except those who find philosophy useless. 😀 So, I decided to quote someone else. And this quote is about someone who never liked to be quoted – Lao Tzu. So, here’s something indicating his views about being useless:

Lao Tzu was traveling with his disciples and they came to a forest where hundreds of woodcutters were cutting the trees. The whole forest had been cut except for one big tree with thousands of branches. It was so big that 10,000 persons could sit in its shade.

Lao Tzu asked his disciples to go and inquire why this tree had not been cut. They went and asked the woodcutter and they said, “This tree is absolutely useless. You cannot make anything out of it because every branch has so many knots in it – nothing is straight. You cannot use it as fuel because the smoke is dangerous to the eyes. This tree is absolutely useless, that’s why we haven’t cut it.”

The disciples came back and told Lao Tzu. He laughed said, “Be like this tree. If you are useful you will be cut and you will become furniture in somebody’s house. If you are beautiful you will be sold in the market, you will become a commodity. Be like this tree, absolutely useless, and then you will grow big and vast and thousands of people will find shade under you.”

I thought about it, and realized, that the tree is not useless. It is useful – you can find shade under it. But the point is – it is just not ‘trying’ to be useful.

Some Page

This is some page.

Somethings are known about it. Such as, it is some page. But, there are some other things which are not known about it. Like, someone must have written it. We don’t know who that someone is. There might be someone who might tell us who that someone is, but we don’t know this someone as well.

Anyways, lets talk of something else about this some page. So, it was written at some place. Though, we don’t know where this someplace is, but we surely know that it was a place. We say this with some certainty, because things are usually written ‘at’ places.

We thought for a while, and asked ourselves – is there something else we can say about this page with some certainty. And we found that it was written on some day. Perhaps, may be on some night. Or maybe some such time which can’t be classified as day or night without some error in judgement. Or maybe because you can always find some place where there is night right now – and also some place where there is day.

Hey, wait – there might be places where there is no concept of day or night!

Okay, so we conclude that this page was written at some time.

Further, there must be something this page was written for. You know, some purpose, some tangible outcome the writer was looking to achieve. But then, we cant say this even with some degree of certainty – there are some people, who do somethings, without a purpose.

By this point, we surely have reached a stage to talk something about the content of this some page. So this some page, predominantly talks somethings about itself. It is fairly egotistical. Well, though it is sprinkled with a lot of self questioning gestures, so reminiscent of the ageless wisdom of the East.

Some of us might find it somewhat absurd. Some others might find some of it absurd. Still others might find it thoroughly absurd.

The logician might stop midway in the page because of fear of finding paradoxes due to the self references. The Vedantin might be pleased by seeing ‘self’ being discussed so many times. The Buddhist or the agnostic might be thrilled by the importance given in this page to the ‘uncertain’ pronoun ‘some’. The skeptic would detest the ‘some’ and would strongly affirm in a knowledgeable sounding tone that ‘nothing can be known about this page’.

The physicist, might find the affirmative singular used in ‘some place’ incorrect. He would be happy with the ‘fact’ that the page might have been written at many places with varying degrees of probability. The chemist, well what can a chemist ask or think? Let me think of something – may be “what ink was used?”. Well forget it. The mathematician might find this page amusing as it might remind him of the Cheshire Cat saying – “We all are mad here. You are mad. I’m mad.” No wonder Lewis Carroll was a mathematician – they all are mad.

The grammarian should find this page ‘correct’. They found this correct. The linguist would frown at the page as utter abuse of language as a means of expressing nothing. The poet might smile. The muse might blush. She would have blushed anyways – without this page.

Heisenberg was right – somethings can’t be known. And, Salvador Dali would love it.

This page has many stakeholders, it is hard to say what it is, it can be passed as anything, it is accessible on the web, it is created after 2005, it is useless, and it is blogged – Tim O’Reilly may find it Web 2.0.

This is one of the many ends of this page. The other one is above. Some people count two as many, sometimes. Others don’t. We are not others.

I know it is enough frustration you have already gone through if you are reading this line. Rest assured it was not to irritate you. I just needed a break from sanity.

Hmmm… for the lack of a good title

I have neglected this blog. And have neglected it for long, probably longer than an average television soap opera duration, and probably more that how much an average television soap opera screenplay writer neglects common sense. Anyways, I’m here again. I don’t know for how long, but at least for the next fifteen minutes. It’s a break. Break from work, which is probably going to see tomorrow’s (or is it today’s?) sunrise.

So then, why the hell am I blogging? I should be working. Yes, yes, you are right. And I’m wrong. But then, I just decided to be wrong today. 🙂

So here I am, for the next thirteen minutes and thirty seconds. So I decided to write about the one single most important thing that has happened in my life in this time. And it is the fact that no single important thing has happened all this while.

*sighs*

More than one, and much more than just one important thing, has happened. Things as important to me, as probably a Baghdad bombing is to the next journalist going to question Tony Blair. Ya ya, that’s old news, I should have said the Iran Hostage Drama. Oh even that has gone stale, may be.. the new Fatwa from the Islamabad’s Lal Masjid against Bakhtiyar Madam. But hey stop, we were not supposed to talk news here, I was discussing the single most important thing in my recent life!!

So, just because of shear lack of time, I restrict my self to this small incident – I woke up one morning (was it really morning? May be afternoon) to find my door being knocked at with quite huge knocks. They were knocks of being hurried or excited, like may be someone is being chased by armed dacoits and is desperate to get in, or may be someone has just being stared at by the girl living next door and is excited to tell me how she might be interested (That girl is humble, quite, and nice, she only stares at the local cats, but then who cares), or may be just that someone is eager to give me some news. Yes that precisely was the case, there was an old friend standing there, who has come to give me some good news, in the traditional Indian way, with a dabba of mithai in his hand. He stood there for a while, smiled blissfully and said – dude, I’m engaged!!

And you know, how the times have been for me, so I replied, with even more blissful smile – “to what?”

All, the bliss on both our faces, and in our lives, suddenly got wiped out by that sharp noise, which could easily have been mistaken for the sound of a missile hitting the factory behind by apartment. I made from the aftershocks of the sharp noise, which left my ear drum vibrating for a while, that it was him shouting at me saying – “what do you mean, to what?” By this time, I had realized my mistake, and before I could say a sorry for this realization to the fact that he has actually got engaged (as in to get married in a while), a second realization struck me – “Oh my god, this guy is engaged!!” – yes, yes this was a “second” and a “different” realization. It was followed by an “oh my god”.

OKay, time up!! sorry, the rest of the story some other day.

Baanwra Man

Have been busy for a while, and will be so for a while. But while work is on, songs still keep haunting me. So here’s another one from an amazing movie called “Hazaaron Khwaishen Aisi”. I’ve talked about the movie earlier on this blog, here. The song is “Baanwra Man” – an amazing composition by Shantanu Moitra. There is a feeling of yearning in the lyrics by Swanand Kirkire. He has himself sung the song as well, and rendition is real soulful. Here are the lyrics:

बाँवरा मन देखने चला एक सपना।
बाँवरा मन देखने चला एक सपना।

बाँवरे से मन की देखो बाँवरी हैं बातें।
बाँवरे से मन की देखो बाँवरी हैं बातें।

बाँवरी सी धड़कने हैं, बाँवरी हैं साँसे।
बाँवरी सी करवटो से, निंदिया तू भागे।
बाँवरे से नयन चाहे,
बाँवरे झरोकों से,
बाँवरे नज़ारों को,
तकना।

बाँवरा मन देखने चला एक सपना।

बाँवरे से इस जहाँ मे, बाँवरा एक साथ हो।
इस सयानी भीड़ मे, बस हाथों मे तेरा हाथ हो।
बाँवरी सी धुन हो कोई, बाँवरा एक राग हो।
बाँवरे से पैर चाहे,
बाँवरे तरानों के,
बाँवरे से बोल पे,
थिरकना।

बाँवरा मन देखने चला एक सपना।

बाँवरा सा हो अंधेरा, बाँवरी खामोशियाँ।
थरथराती लौ हो मद्धम, बाँवरी मदहोशियाँ।
बाँवरा एक घुंगटा चाहे,
हौले-हौले बिन बताए,
बाँवरे से मुखडे से,
सरकना।

बाँवरा मन देखने चला एक सपना।

And, you can listen to the song here.

Aaj Bazaar Mein

I have posted ‘intesab’ by Faiz Ahmed Faiz earlier. This is another one of his very popular poems. It was written during the rule of General Zia in Pakistan, and has a very distinct revolutionary fervor. It urges everyone who feels dejected of the happenings around him, to come out and get heard, inspite of the odds. And the feel is surprisingly similar to the spirit of Gandhi’s satyagrah, rather than that of call for a violent revolution.

आज बाज़ार में पा-ब-जौंला चलो।
चश्म-ए-नम जान-ए-शोरीदा काफ़ी नहीं,
तोहमत-ए-इश्क़ पोशीदा काफ़ी नहीं,
आज बाज़ार में पा-ब-जौंला चलो।
[जौंला == बेड़ी, shackles; पा-ब-जौंला == shackled feet]
[चश्म-ए-नम == eyes with tears] [जान-ए-शोरीदा == distressed soul]
[तोहमत-ए-इश्क़ == blame of love] [पोशीदा == hidden]

दस्त-ए-अफ़्शाँ चलो मस्त-ओ-रक्साँ चलो
ख़ाक-बर-सर चलो खूँ-ब-दामाँ चलो
राह तकता है शहर-ए-जानाँ चल।
आज बाज़ार में पा-ब-जौंला चलो।
[दस्त-ए-अफ़्शाँ == with swingin arms] [मस्त-ओ-रक्साँ == dancing merrily]
[ख़ाक-बर-सर == head to feet covered in mud] [खूँ-ब-दामाँ == with blood stained sleeves]
[शहर-ए-जानाँ == the beloved city]

हाकिम-ए-शहर भी, मजमा-ऐ-आम भी,
तीर-ए-इल्ज़ाम भी, संग-ए-दुशनाम भी,
सुबह-ए-नाशाद भी, रोज़-ए-नाकाम भी,
पा-ब-जौंला चलो
आज बाज़ार में।
आज बाज़ार में पा-ब-जौंला चलो।
[हाकिम-ए-शहर == rulers of the city (shall watch)]
[मजमा-ऐ-आम == flocks common men (shall watch)]
[तीर-ए-इल्ज़ाम == (so that you get) arrows of accusations]
[संग-ए-दुशनाम == (so that you get) stones of insults]
[सुबह-ए-नाशाद == (do so despite) depressing mornings]
[रोज़-ए-नाकाम == (do so despite) unsuccessful days]

इनका दमसाज़ अपने सिवा कौन है?
शहर-ए-जानाँ में अब बासिफ़ा कौन है?
दस्त-ए-कातिल के शायाँ रहा कौन है?
रक्स-ए-दिल बांध लो दिल फिगारो चल॥
फिर हमीं कत्ल हों आएँ यारा चलो।
आज बाज़ार में पा-ब-जौंला चलो।
[दमसाज़ == friend] [सिफ़ा == good reference, so बासिफ़ा == trustworthy]
[दस्त-ए-कातिल == murderer’s hands] [शायाँ == safe]
[रक्स-ए-दिल == heartbeat] [दिल फिगारो == with a broken heart]

For the whole last week, I have been haunted by Nayyara Noor‘s rendition of this song. You can listen to it here.

Majaaz

Majaaz, the Keats of India, died alone, off heavy drinking, in a tavern in Lucknow. But he is probably one of the very few ‘progressive’ urdu poets, for whatever it means or whatever is left of it to mean. Best of his works are primarily romantic, with heavy-duty mushiness, like this one:

हदें जो ख़ींच रखी हैं हरम के पासबानों ने ,
बिना मुजरिम बने पैगाम मै पहु्चा नही सकता।

But I’m going to post here a very different kind of his poem, its called Awaaraa. If you concentrate a bit, you might find a second, and sometimes a third, level of meaning out of the lines. Here it is:

शहर की रात और मैं नाशाद-ओ-नाकारा फ़िरूँ
जगमगाती जागती सड़कों पे आवारा फ़िरूँ
गैर की बस्ती है कब तक दर बदर मारा फ़िरूँ

ऐ ग़म-ए-दिल क्या करूँ, ऐ वहशत-ए-दिल क्या करुँ

झिलमिलाते क़ुमक़ुमों की राह में ज़न्जीर सी
रात के हाथों में दिन की मोहनी तस्वीर सी
मेरे सीने पर मगर चलती हुई शमशीर सी

ऐ ग़म-ए-दिल क्या करूँ, ऐ वहशत-ए-दिल क्या करुँ

ये रुपहली छाओँ, ये आकाश पर तारों का जाल
जैसे सूफ़ी का तसव्वुर जैसे आशिक़ का ख़याल
आह! लेकिन कौन जाने, कौन समझे जी का हाल

ऐ ग़म-ए-दिल क्या करूँ, ऐ वहशत-ए-दिल क्या करुँ

फिर वो टूटा इक सितारा फिर वो छूटी फुल्झड़ी
जाने किस की गोद में आये ये मोती की लड़ी
हूक सी सीने में उठी चोट सी दिल पर पड़ी