Free and surreal

Free. The mind is free today. Free not as in free gift voucher. but free as in free India or free software. Okay… like free India… free software sucks. Well whatever, the mind is free today and blissful. It feels nice when you do things the right way. When all the wrongs that happen, don’t really count, because you know you have done the right thing.

So it all started with me staring at the LCD of my laptop for some one and half hours and not doing anything. Then suddenly, something happened. As if the Buddha decided to sit beneath the Bodhi tree, or as if Gabriel found the address of the new prophet, or as if the left eye of the princess turned red because a mosquito bit it. Basically, something STRANGE happened while I was staring at the LCD purposelessly for an annoyingly-long amount of time. I took a deep breath and had some water. No no, that was not the strange thing. Then decided to go for a walk, it was strange, but still not strange enough to be THE STRANGE thing. Then somehow I noticed a ‘chai ki tapri’ near my home which somehow has always missed my attention like so many other things in Mumbai, and though i happen to cross it daily. So today I decided to give that tapri the due respect. I went and asked for chai, even this was a strange enough act for a Mumbaikar, but still not strange enough to be THE ABSOULTE STRANGE thing. I had the chai and as I put the typcial cutting chai glass with the dark sediment of chai-patti remaining at the bottom of it, on the half broken counter on the tapri, i realised that I haven’t brought the wallet. Even this was strange for me, I remember carrying my wallet everywhere… yes everywhere… to toilets as well. So it was a substantially strange event, may be good enough to conclude that I was out of my mind when I left home for the walk, but yet not strange enough to be the ABSOLUTE SO_MUCH_TALKED_ABOUT STRANGE thing. So I just asked for udhar, to my surprise the guy said ‘ok’. Strange… right?? but just good enough to say that Mumbai is a strange city.. not good enough for the COVETED ABSOLUTE STRANGE thing spot.

So have I successfully created the atmosphere where everybody is either eagerly wiating to hear the strange thing OR nearly convinced that I’m going to do an anti-climax here? I request the second category to not to mistrust me. I know I’m really good at cracking PJs. But this one is not one of them. PJs are supposed to be poor, not strange. So now, are you eager to ask me what the strange thing was?

Well I can tell you, but what’s the point if you go from this place without getting annoyed.

And I’ve discussed with my lawyer. You cannot sue me for it. :)) The constitution of India gives me the liberty of thought, expression, belief, faith and worship. And you can consider the above post as any of them. After all, India is a free place… just like my mind… Isn’t it?

BTW, isn’t this post strange?

And, will this post qualify as surreal? Its a new concept I want to evangilise, surreal blogging… any takers?

:))

No!! Alcohol has made no contributions towards this post. It entirely is the intellectual property of Nikhilesh Ghushe. 😀

Hamdard

This time a self-composed mukta-chhanda. No particular reason or thought line behind it, really free flowing words:

क्यों लौट कर आया है वो हमदर्द
वो पिघलता दर्द
वो आधे लिखे ख़त
वो पहचानी-सी आहट
वो कागज़ पर उतरने से इनकार करते लव्ज़
वो अपने हि मतलब के ज़ाहिर होने से ड़रते लव्ज़
वो अनछुई लकीरों को लाँघने की चाह
वो तिनके से छोटी पर फ़िर भी आसमानों को छुती आह
वो दूर परदेस से आती आवाज़ों को सुनने की ललक
वो हवाओं को महकाती रातरानी के फूलों की महक
वो कुछ कह जाने के ड़र से चुप चाप महफ़िल से दूर अंधेरे कोने ढूंढ़ता मैं
वो भेद ना खुल जाये इस ड़र से हलकी-सी झुकती आँखों को पूरी तरह मूंदता मैं
वो सिलसिलेवार हाथों से बिछड़ता दिल, और फ़िर सिलसिलेवार दिल को छुते हाथ
वो किसी के साथ न होते हुए भी महसूस होता किसी का साथ
वो रोशनी से मुलक़ात
आज बरसों के बाद
क्यों लौट कर आयी है और कर गयी है इस वक़्त को चटकीले रंगों मे गर्द
क्यों लौट कर आया है वो हमदर्द

Mein Ab

Still another self-composed gazal. I wrote this yesterday night. An unusual ‘radiif’ and an unusual mood, started to wander into philosophy but somehow got pulled back to love. That Happens, Also in real life.

So here it is:

क्यों भीगती न रुह मेरी है बारिशों में अब
मिट चुके से रंग सब है ख़्वाहिशों में अब

जो गुज़र गया वो मोड कुछ इस कदर मुडा
दिल लगे ना ज़िन्दगी की साज़िशों में अब

वो वक़्त था कि बुत ड़हे मेरे कलाम से
न शोर है न ज़ोर कुछ गुज़ारिशों में अब

इस कदर सुकून में मेरा वजूद है
हो पाख़ियों की फ़ौज जैसे गर्दिशों में अब

भा गया है इस कदर कोइ हसीँ मुझे
कि लुत्फ़ है अजीब सा ये बंदिशों में अब

हर एक बात उस हसीँ कि छेड़ती है यूँ
पुरज़ोर मन लगा है रोज़ रंजिशों में अब

Dekhakar

Its time for another self-composed one. The first two and the last sher were written years ago. I added the middle ones recently, while I was on a bus trip to Pune and was getting bored. So here’s the gazal:

कहता हूँ गज़ल मेहफ़िल वीरान देखकर,
कहूँ तो क्या कहूँ ये कदरदान देखकर।

उस राह पर हज़ारों कदम पड़ रहे हैं आज,
छोड़ी थी हमने जो कभी, आसान देखकर।

मचल रही ये बिजलियाँ, ये अब्र, ये ज़मीन,
तुझे देख ड़गमगा मेरा ईमान देखकर।

बहर बढ़ा नदी की ओर, साहिलों को तोड़,
मेरे वजूद को माशूख़ पे कुर्बान देखकर।

कुछ कह रही तेरी नज़र नशे में गर्द सी,
कुछ कहने से रुकी मेरी ज़ुबान देखकर।

इन आँखो पे कहे शेर भी भुला रहा हूँ मैं,
इन आँखो में तेरी हुस्न का ग़ुमान देखकर।

ख़्वाहिश न रही दिल में कोई जी रहा हूँ बस,
हसरत भरे हुज़ूर के अरमान देखकर।

Seekho na

This one is my all time favorite. And everything about it is fascinating…. composition, voice and especially lyrics. So here they are:

सीखो ना….
सीखो ना नैनों की भाषा पिया
कह रही है….
तुमसे ये खामोशियाँ
सीखो ना ….
लब तो न खोलुंगी मैं
समझो दिल की बोली
सीखो ना….
सीखो ना नैनों की भाषा पिया

सुनना सीखो
उन हवा को
सन-न-सन सन-न-सन कहती है क्या
पढ़ना सीखो
सलवटों को
माथे पे ये बलखाके लिखती है क्या
आहटों की हैं अपनी ज़ुबाँ
इनमे भी है इक दास्ताँ
जाओ जाओ जाओ जाओ पिया …

सीखो ना….
सीखो ना नैनों की भाषा पिया
कह रही है….
तुमसे ये खामोशियाँ
सीखो ना ….
लब तो न खोलुंगी मैं
समझो दिल की बोली
सीखो ना….
सीखो ना नैनों की भाषा पिया

गहरे पानी
जैसा लम्हा
छेदो ना इसे हिल जायेंगी गहराइयाँ
हलकी साँसो
के शेहर में
देखो तो ज़रा बोलती है क्या परछाइयाँ
कहने को अब बाकि है क्या
आखों ने सब कह तो दिया
जाओ जाओ जाओ जाओ पीया …

सीखो ना….
सीखो ना नैनों की भाषा पिया
कह रही है….
तुमसे ये खामोशियाँ
सीखो ना ….
लब तो न खोलुंगी मैं
समझो दिल की बोली
सीखो ना….
सीखो ना नैनों की भाषा पिय

BTW, a lot of friends around me somehow rate the song equally high. I’m surprised. But ya, most of them are in love or perhaps pretend to their girl-friends that they are in love. Does that conclude anything? 🙂

Na karo …

I feel like posting another self-composed one. A gazals this time:

अपने दीदार को मेरी आदत न करो
यूँ दीवानों-सी मेरी हालत न करो।

न जाओ सहर से पहले उठकर तुम
या मिलने की इनायत न करो।

मेरे दिल को संभलने की राह बतलाओ
या आँखों से यूँ शरारत न करो।

न पिलाओ आँखों से जाम भर-भर कर
या बहकने की शिकायत न करो।

मेरी मौत को मुकर्रर समझो
या मुझसे यूँ मोहब्बत न करो।

Knock

There was a knock on the door. I opened the door. There was no one there. I was oscillating between the thoughts of whether I’m overhearing or is there somebody playing a game with me. This was not happening to me for the first time. And I failed to remember since when this was happening to me. But there was something inside telling me that I’m waiting for someone; whom I didn’t know.

Next day, the knock was there again. I chose not to open the door this time. And it never knocked again, at least for a long time.

It is a new day today. It has been some four and half years since I heard the knocks first. And there is again a knock today. But, on a different door now. I’ve moved a lot since that time, and I live behind a new door now. But this time I want to open the door. Probably somewhere deep inside the feeling remains, that perhaps I should have persisted with my routine of opening the door. Probably the last time I decided not to open it, someone must have been there … waiting. And I walk towards the door, with my hand close to the knob, and stop.

I want to capture this moment. There may be a time, when I hear the knocks again. Or perhaps no one would ever bother to knock my door again. Or may be someone is really there to be greeted. Whatever, I just want to log this thought and freeze it in time. And that’s why this post.

Phir Wahi Talaash

Old Doordarshan serials are something that still keeps me mesmerized. Yesterday I bumped on to a gazal sung by chandan das, which used to be the title track of an amazing serial – “Phir wahi talaash”, aired on Sunday mornings 11:30 or 12. A realistic love story… from the teenage times of mine, when the mushiness has not evaporated. 🙂

So here goes the gazal …

न जी भर के देखा न कुछ बात की
बड़ी आरज़ू थी मुलाक़ात की

कई साल से कुछ ख़बर ही नही
कहाँ दिन गुज़ारा कहाँ रात की

उजालों कि परियां नहाने लगीं
नदी गुनगुनाये ख़यालात की

मैं चुप था तो चलती हवा रुक गयी
ज़बाँ सब समझते है जज़्बात की

सितारों को शायद खबर ही नही
मुसाफ़िर ने जाने कहाँ रात की

[Correction: this was not the title track. Title track was यूँ निकल पड़ा हूँ सफर पे मै… ]

 

I used to write…

There was a time I used to write things besides brochures, code, patents and contracts 🙂

Today I recollected a small poem I wrote sometime in IIT days. So here it is…

उल्फ़त की दो घडी मे
लव्ज़ों की जो लडी,
आई ख़याल मे जब
उन पर नज़र पडी,
स्याही के रास्ते से
काग़ज़ पे जो पडी,
बन कर ग़ज़ल ढ़ली
औ’ यारों ने फ़िर पढ़ी।
सौ कोशिशों के बाद भी
लव्ज़ों की वो लड़ी,
कुछ कर बयाँ न कर सकी
वो सुरत हँसी बड़ी।

(Pardon the misspelt words like वो, I could not do better to bring out the urdu in Devanagari)

Here I go again…

Oh dont worry I’m not going anywhere. I just needed to chose these lines from the song:

Mamma mia, here I go again
My my, how can I resist you?
Mamma mia, does it show again?
My my, just how much I’ve missed you
Yes, I’ve been brokenhearted
Blue since the day we parted
Why, why did I ever let you go?
Mamma mia, now I really know,
My my, I could never let you go.

I know I was just born when ABBA used to sing. And I know that I’m gonna talk about some movies, some socio-cultural traits of the time when I was just born. I also know that I cannot (and would not) have the expression to write about it. But still I’ll try…

If you know me personally you would no what I’m talking about… I always talk about them.. dont I?? And for the rest … I’m talking about the two genres of movies – the Amol Palekar and the Naseeruddin Shah ones. I dont know how else should I define them. That’s why I took those names. Characterized by the really realistic plots and absence of extravagance, they both somehow relate to you.

Things like the Nirmal Anand of Khubsoorat, and the blotting paper episode of Rajanigandha, Julius Nagendranath Wilfred Singh of the Chhoti si baat, the love inspiring local train jorney of Baaton baaton mein, the thode ki zaroorat of Khatta Meetha, “sala ghonchu” with the then amazing looking Swarup Sampat of Naram Garam, and the Durendra Bhatavdekar of Rang Birangi mark the Amol Palekar genre.

And on the other side you have the open ended dialogues of Ijaazat, the red eyes of Smita Patil in Mricha Masala, the ek ek bhoot sau rupaiya of Shodh, the zindagi se hairangi of Masoom, the sabudana-wada-loving Rajaram Purushottam Joshi’s marriage with the lovely Deepti Naval in Sai Paranjpye’s Katha, the very different page 3 from the one we know today from the Party, and the “Hum Dilli haar gaye hain… Khan” cry from Junoon.

Am I being a jerk to see them as different genres? Or even do all of them taken together stand out? Dont know. But those times somehow make me say the above lines – Why, why did I ever let you go? (As if I could have stopped it… anyways)