Marasim

Kisi Mausam Ka Jhoka Tha, Joh Iss Deewar Par Latki Hui Tasweer Tirche Kar Gaya Hai
Gaye Sawaan Mein Ye Deewarein Yoon Seeli Nahin Thi
Na Jaane Is Dafa Kyun Inmein Seelan Aa Gayi Hai Darare Pad Gaye Hai
Aur Seelan Is Tarha Bhaithti Hai Jaise Khushk Rukhsaroon Pe Geele Aansu Chalte Hain

No, this isn't something that I have penned- I can't even think in Hindi- this is the maestro Gulzar at his usual which also happens to be his best most of the time. At a time when it's easier to find a needle in a haystack than finding a meaningful Hindi song, Gulzar makes us believe that the words lyrics and poetry can be used in the same sentence and can be in fact, employed to describe a Bollywood song. With a career spanning decades, Gulzar sahib has established a relationship (marasim) with his audiences via his written thoughts and expressions and has made a very wordy contribution to the Hindi Film industry.

There's this whole basket of romantic numbers- soulful melodies that are soothing and comforting more so coz of the lyrics.
Khamosh Sa Afsaana, Paani Se Likha Hota
Naa Tumne Kaha Hota, Naa Humne Suna Hota

Roz Roz Aankhon Tale, Ek He Sapna Chale
Raat Bhar Kaajal Jale, Aankh Mein Jis Tarah Khawab Ka Diya Jale

Kabhi To Kuch Aisa Yeh Hua Tha, Neend Mein Thi Tumne Jab Chuaa Tha
Girte Girte Bahaon Mein Bachi Mein, Sapne Pe Paun Padh Gaya Tha

The basket is so very full and its brimming over- songs from movies like Khamoshi, Aandhi, Ghar, Masoom, Ijazzat, Libaas, Dil Se, Saathiya, Yahaan- an endless list.

How many Hindi songs talk, that too so beautifully about the night-after?
Raat Ka Nasha Abhi Aankh Se Gaya Nahin

One thing I really like about Gulzar's work is the smattering of English in predominantly Hindi-Urdu lyrics and the occurrence is so sudden and unexpected, it makes you question your linguistic and hearing abilities.
Aankhein Bhi Kamaal Karti Hain, Personal Se Sawaal Karti Hain
Ghoomti Machhli, Aankh Nishana, Ek Ungli Par Globe Ghumaana
Aaja Aaja Dil Nichode, Raat Ki Matki Phode, Koi Good Luck Nikale, Aaj Gulak Toh Tode

Something that makes poetry weave its magic is personification- the process of blowing life into inanimate objects and Gulzar plays this God-role so very well.
Chand Ki Utar Le Hai Dono Baliyaan
Dekhna Asmaan Ke Sire Khul Gaye Se Zameen Se
Thaka Thaka Suraj Jab Nadi Se Hoke Niklega, Hari Hari Kayi Pe Pau Pada Toh Phislega
Raat Ko Khidke Se Chori Chori Nange Pau Chand Aayega

There was an Asian Paints ad that used to so very make me look forward to buying my own house. (I still don't have one, but that's a different story.)
Har Ghar Chup Chap Se Yeh Kehta Hai, Ki Andar Isme Kaun Rehta Hai
Chath Batati Hai Kiska Aasman Hai, Rang Kehte Hai Kiska Yeh Jahaan Hai
Kamron Mein Kiski Kalpana Jhalakti Hai, Iss Farsh Par Nange Pair Kiske Bache Chalte Hai
Kaun Chun Chun Ke Isse Aapne Haathon Se Sajata Hai, Kaun Iss Makaan Mein Apna Ghar Banata Hai

Sometimes, it's just the audacity of the words- like they have taken a life of their own and decided to perform a little dance.
Kabhi Chaand Ki Tarah Tapki, Kabhi Raah Mein Padi Paaye, Athanni See Zindagi
Kya Karein Zindgai Isko Hum Jo Mile, Iski Jaan Kha Gaye Raat Din Ke Gille
Humne Gilheri Ke Jhoote Matar Khaye The (Really?)

And well, how can I forget my current favorite?
Meri Aarzoo Kamini, Mere Khawab Bhi Kaminey
Meri Dastaan Kamini, Mere Raaste Kaminey
Meri Dosti Kamini, Mere Yaar Bhi Kaminey
Kabhi Hum Kaminey Nikle, Kabhi Doosre Kaminey

And that's wherein lies the genius of Gulzar, he makes even a swear word sound poetic and melodious.

Just BMB- Beautiful, Mesmerizing, Brilliant!

Aai La! She-lie-a!

Delhi CM Sheila Dixit was at her charming best yesterday while discussing the Monday rain blues. An excerpt from a TV interview:

Reporter: What do you have to say about the rain situation in Delhi, Ma'am?
CM SD: I don't understand what you people want! First you complain that there is no rain, the land is dry and parched, as if it is my mistake. And then when it rains, your complaints are louder. Pehle rote hain log ki baarish nahin aayi, phir rote hai ki itni baarish kyun aa gayi. Please decide what you want from life. This kind of confusion in not healthy.

Reporter: But Ma'am people were stranded on Delhi roads! There were jams that lasted from 5 to 7 hours!
CM SD: It is the story of just one day. Just one solitary single day that a jam lasted till such odd hours. And, again, why the grumble? People have been provided with natural swimming pools, that too for free! I am told vehicles turned into road-side stationary discotheques. Such a lot of fun! And, really, forces of nature were unleashed on Monday. Delhi was blessed with exceptional record-breaking rain. We have no control over it. Do you think I can compete against God himself? Mausam Ka Luft Uthaiye!
By the way, doesn't jam have an expiry date? I didn't know jam lasted just a few hours. What's the food world coming to?

Reporter: Is Delhi ready for the Common Wealth Games yet? Would Delhi be paralyzed similarly and will she be brought down on her knees during the games?
CM SD: My dear lady, the Common Wealth Games are due to take place in October. The rain Gods don't visit Delhi during that month. Please get your facts right. I am afraid to say, but you have a long way to go.

Personally, I think the reporter deserves plaudits and praise for not laughing out loud during the interview. And that's because most of what has been documented above is true, albeit a little of mirch-masala here and there.

Shouldn't we be thanking God, and not the rain ones, that it isn't July all through the year in Delhi? And really, can Dixit ma'am be really blamed for shrugging her responsibility so nonchalantly? Didn't the Congress win in Delhi emphatically and categorically? Aren't we the citizens responsible, somewhere and somehow, for this casual indifference? Looks like a topic worthy of a Freud-Jung debate.

Pic of the Year!

Courtesy: The Times Of India

Are these dudes kewl or are these dudes kewl? :P

Harry Potter and the Nostalgia of July

Not that I have ever denied it, but for the record, I am a huge Harry Potter fan. I simply adore the 7 books. And all this sudden outpouring of love for Harry is because I caught the 6th movie over the weekend and it brought back all the wonderful memories of the eager wait that used to precede the release of the HP books, and since most of them were made public in the month of July- that's what triggered the reminiscence.

I read the first one in 2001, a good 4 years after its release. I had obviously read reviews about it- mostly in Delhi Times that used to feature articles that talked about the controversies surrounding the book. The fact that the book dealt with witchcraft and wizardry ended up disturbing Christian sensibilities. And honestly, I never really acknowledged the fan-following the book was generating because I thought it was just a case of plain old hype.

And that's exactly what I kept on feeling till I read the book- my first impression though was that it is like an elongated and expanded Matilda- the Roald Dahl book that was about a young orphan girl who discovers that she can perform magic. But, of course, in the Harry Potter universe, magic is the magic word. It's all about how wizards and witches live all over the world, unknown and hidden from the non-magical people- the Muggles. It's all about spells and potions and charms and brooms and wands and hexes and jinxes and creatures and generally, a whole lot of enchantments.

To all those people whom I still haven't pestered enough, please go ahead and read the series. And no, it's not a book just for kids; the whole series teaches you so much- of the power of friendship, of the strength of innocence, of the inspiration of bravery, of the blindness of power, of the price of cowardice, of the gifts of perseverance and quite a few other thingies.

And since I'm getting all nostalgic, just a few tidbits (all personal, of course):

• The 5th book is the most disappointing in the series.
• The books were always ridiculously priced.
• I cried my heart out when Dumbledore died. I read the book again and then cried all over again. Now, since I have read the book a number of times, I no longer cry but it still is the saddest death in the series.
• Lord Voldermort is an exceptionally engaging and interesting villain and he has been played to a T by Ralph Fiennes.
• I discovered an anomaly between the 6th and the 7th books.
• It was an immense relief when Harry survived at the end of the series.
• I have 2 copies of the 7th book.
• I have no freaking idea what are Warner Bros. playing at with the movie franchise- the movies are turning out to be big disappointments.
• And most importantly, I am still waiting for my letter from Hogwarts and I think I'd make an extremely good witch!

A tale of 3 subzees

As obtained from the green archives:

Once upon a time (actually all the time) in the garden of loathsome vegetables grew a family of herbaceous plants designated the Gourd family. The Gourd clan, a notoriously prestigious family line, flourished and flaunted its lineage by controlling of the growth of the various varieties of greens in their designated patch of land. The Gourds, it seemed, did have every reason to be as snobbish as they were, as according to legend the ancestors of their species were the oldest plants domesticated by humans. What an honor!

Leading the pack of the trouble-causing Gourdonians was the tall, lanky Bottle Gourd. BG aka Calabash aka Ghiya aka Lauki was the ring leader of the brat pack. Mr. Ghiya was responsible for organizing and coordinating all the mayhem in the Gourd garden. He led his life by the rule- when you can walk tall, why not wreck it all? His smooth toned green body was the envy of many a plants. After all, not only could BG be used as a vegetable and a delicacy with innumerable health benefits (like being a source of nutrients, aiding in the treatment of digestive and urinary problems, diabetes, high B.P. etc) but his dried outer cover could be put to use as a bottle, utensil or a pipe; in some cases it could even be used to make musical instruments like the veena- who wouldn't be proud as a peacock.
His svelte cousin Ridge Gourd aka Luffa aka Tori was famous far and wide for her dark beauty. It was rumored that her mature skin could be used as a bath sponge and scrub. And Ms. High and Mighty just also happened to be real low in saturated fats and cholesterol. No wonder her figure drew in all the catcalls. She was, in fact, the cause of frequent testosterone-induced brawls that were nastily resolved by her big b- BG.
Indian Round Gourd aka Apple Gourd aka Indian Baby Pumpkin aka Tinda was the sweet little cousin- the much pampered baby of the family. She, of course, had weight issues- after all, she was short and round. But, that in no way prevented her in carrying on with the grand tradition of the Gourdonians- that of their usage as extremely healthy food.

All in all, the Gourd family enjoyed a venerated status in the vegetable garden and lived happily ever after.

A tale of 3 subzees

As recorded in the journal of KC:

Come summers and the members of the Gourd family invariably infiltrate the vegetarian Chandra household. And lo behold the staple diet day-in and day-out starts revolving around Ghiya, Tori, Tinda. Occasionally (which translates into every 3 days), a cousin like Parwal aka Pointed Gourd or Karela aka Bitter Gourd joins the table to commemorate the parties thrown in honor of the Gourd family.

The thing is, despite the numerous qualities exhibited by the Gourds, they just happen to compete with each other in destroying the taste buds of the Chandras. (It's really just me; I'm dragging everyone else along for the fun of it.) Anyway, Ghiya tastes like aged mellowed rubber, Tori tastes like a slimy snake (not that I have ever tasted a snake, but if I were ever to one day, I'm sure I know what it would taste like) and Tinda tastes like well, Tinda. The less I talk about how Parwal and Karela taste more the better for my mental faculties and sensibilities.

The Chandra family has gone out of its way to show appreciation for the Gourd family and has composed a song which can actually be set to any tune:

We all like- Ghiya, Tori, Tinda
We crave for- Ghiya, Tori, Tinda
We'd die for- Ghiya, Tori, Tinda
What we'd do without- Ghiya, Tori, Tinda

Moral of the story: I'll have to so force myself to start liking the process of cooking!

P.S. - It's not really that I hate these vegetables, it just so happens that I'm a little tired of eating the same stuff noon and night. Believe me, I'm singing the song right now!

We Don't Need No Reservation

The dance of democracy in India makes politicians sway to varied and weird tunes. Janata Dal (United)'s Sharad Yadav threatened to consume poison if the Women's Reservation Bill is passed in Parliament. Samajwadi Party leader Mulayam Singh Yadav warned male MPs of political extinction unless they recognized the threat imposed by the enactment of the bill.

What I fail to understand is what exactly are these so-called men afraid of? After a lot of deliberation, I feel, the following could be a few plausible reasons for the terror that seems to be clutching at the hearts of male politicians:

• They feel women will steal their microphones which are frequently put to use as spears
• They feel women will grab their share of allotted seats which can be occasionally used as weapons to be flung across the floor of the house
• They feel women will surpass them in mouthing bad words and language
• They feel women will prove to be better at causing interruptions and casting aspersions while fellow MPs address the house
• They feel women will encroach upon their designated napping areas in parliament
  

C'mon Mr. Yadavs, please don't obstruct reservation for women just because of these serious issues. We promise we won't compete with you in any of these departments. And while we are at hosting the reservation party, let's go all the way- let's reserve seats for the pretty and the oh-not-so-pretty women; for the women who can cook and clean and those who can't; for those who can sing and dance and those who can't; for those who are parkati and lipstick addicts and those who aren't; for those who drink and smoke and those who don't; for those who can carry off hot pants and spaghettis and those who well, can't. Let the ball keep rolling!

Belying all the inanities above, let's have a look at hard facts. A mere 10% of the Indian parliament is represented by women. The bill, in its current form, was introduced in 1996, and the fact that even 13 years later it still hasn't been passed by any elected government highlights the depth of ingrained discrimination against females in power positions.

The whole idea of women disturbing the murky waters of an established patriarchal political system and the consequent shift in the power equation is what makes male politicians cry foul. There is no doubt that women are awfully under-represented in the Indian polity. There is also no question of the manner and form of discrimination faced by women belonging to all strata of society on an everyday basis- from female infanticide to dowry deaths, from domestic violence to honor killings, from abduction to rape, from forced prostitution to child labor, from sexual harassment to eve-teasing, from denial of education to disparity in pay packages, from sexual dynamics to casting couches, from suggestions of banning jeans to proposals of barring public drinking- the list is endless. It is exactly to reform and remove these prejudices that female concerns need to be brought to the forefront of national consciousness and who'd better do this than women themselves. Having said that, women, from all sections of this country, do need their voices to be heard and acknowledged but not simply because of their gender but because their issues need the same attention and importance as that of their male counterparts.

It's high time that the politicians and the policy makers of this nation understand and imbibe the notion that reservations are no solution to any problem. The key word is empowerment- of women, of SCs, of STs, of OBCs, of Muslims, of Christians, of gays and of all those people who are grossly misrepresented and discriminated against- be it because of their gender, caste, creed, religion, color or birth. A complete economic, social, political and legal emancipation is an urgent need of the hour.

Till the time we take to move towards solving these pertinent issues, let's start a campaign to root for a 100% reservation for women in parliament; that way we'd succeed in ensuring that a greater number of male political honchos are encouraged to take their own lives in response to an all-female threat. So many birds will be killed with just 1 act!

And as for Mr. Yadav, would you be able to choose your poison all by yourself or do you require some assistance? Please feel free to ask for help, we'd all be more than welcome to extend an unreserved hand.

RUMInations

I have been meaning to discover Rumi's work for a very long time but I guess my purpose just took on a form of intent. Isn't it said that there's always a designated time and place for everything? Doesn't time have a way of taking time? All said and done, I finally did embark on my RUMInations journey and it has been one kick of a start. For the uninitiated, Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi was a 13th-century Persian poet and mystic.

The general theme of Rumi's thought, like that of any other mystic and Sufi poet of Persian literature, involves the concept of tawhid- union with his beloved (the primal root) from which/whom he has been cut off and become aloof- and his longing and desire to restore it.¹

Rumi composed 3500 odes (Ghazals), 2000 quatrains (Rubaiyat), and a vast spiritual epic called the Mathnawi. It is considered one of the best known and most influential works of both Sufism and Persian literature and some Sufis label it as the Persian-language Qur'an. The Diwan-e Šams-e Tabrizi is another of Rumi's masterpieces. A collection of lyric poems that contains more than 40,000 verses, it is written in the Dari dialect and named in honor of Rumi's great friend and inspiration, the dervish Shams Tabrizi. These sheer numbers give a fair idea of the volume of Rumi's work.

Just a few snippets of his all-encompassing devotional & inspiring poetry:

Last night a friend asked me, "Where is your homeland?"
I said nothing, for what could I say?
My homeland is not Egypt or Syria or Iraq.
My homeland's a place that has never had a name.
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As salt resolved in the ocean
I was swallowed in God's sea,
Past faith, past unbelieving,
Past doubt, past certainty.

Suddenly in my bosom
A star shone clear and bright;
All the suns of heaven
Vanished in that star's light.
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Flowers every night
Blossom in the sky;
Peace in the Infinite;
At peace am I.

Sighs a hundredfold
From my heart arise;
My heart, dark and cold,
Flames with my sighs.
************************************************************
I sought a soul in the sea
And found a coral there
Beneath the foam of mine
An ocean was laid bare.
************************************************************
From now on I will make burning my aim,
for I am like the candle: burning only makes me brighter.
************************************************************
All theologies are straws His Sun burns to dust;
Knowing takes you to the threshold, but not through the Door.
Nothing can teach you if you don't unlearn everything
How learned I was, before Revelation made me dumb.
************************************************************
One day you will look back and laugh at yourself.
You'll say, "I can't believe I was so asleep!
How did I ever forget the truth?
How ridiculous to believe that sadness and sickness
Are anything other than bad dreams."
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This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say.
I don't plan it.
When I'm outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.
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What I want to tell you is that all of these words I speak, out of love and inspiration and whatever knowledge God has graced me with, are for the sake of the person who needs words in order to understand. As for the person who understands without words, obviously he or she doesn't need words at all. In fact, to the one who really understands, the heavens and the earth themselves are "words"; after all; they came into being through "words"- the Divine Words "Be! And it is." If someone can hear a low, subtle whisper, is there any need to shout and scream?

Make everything in you an ear, each atom of your being, and you will hear at every moment what the source is whispering to you, just to you and for you, without any need for my words or anyone else's. You are- we all are- the beloved of the Beloved, and in every moment, in every event of your life, the Beloved is whispering to you exactly what you need to hear and know. Who can ever explain this miracle? It simply is. Listen and you will discover it every passing moment. Listen, and your whole life will become a conversation in thought between you and Him, directly, wordlessly, now and always.

It was to enjoy this conversation that you and I were created.²

I don't know whether I'd be able to make everything in me an ear (have always been a little hard of hearing) but will try to keep an open eye (not that the eyesight is all that great) for all that the Mawlana has to say.

In case any of you'd like to ruminate, please visit the following links which also happen to include References:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jalal_ad-Din_Muhammad_Rumi¹
http://www.poetseers.org/the_poetseers/rumi
Light Upon Light by Andrew Harvey²