Sowing seeds of ugly weeds

You are constantly making exchanges. This for that. Giving up what you want for the need of the hour. Freedom sacrificed for the sake of livelihood. Love gives way to invisible pressures. Heat, dust and colour exchanged for a cool, clean greyness. Life given up for the sake of survival.

The question remains at the back of your mind, refusing to go away despite your efforts to deny its increasingly overbearing presence. There comes a time when facing up to it is inevitable. You grit your teeth and look at the question straight in the eye. You hope that the answer is different from what every instinct in your gut tells you.

Was what I traded in, worth more than what I got?

You wait, vulnerable and exposed, and you are met with nothing but silence.

No answer is forthcoming. Neither affirmation nor reassurance.

It is as you had expected after all.

The question wasn't really a question at all.

Rhetorical questions have a remarkable talent for making a frightening reality more palatable.

Meine Ruh' ist hin

Meine Hertz ist schwer

- Goethe

Rahi na taaqat-e-guftaar aur agar ho bhi
toh kis ummeed pe kahiye ke aarzoo kya hai

Koi dil ke khel dekhe

Ki mohabbaton ki baazi

Woh kadam kadam pe jeetey

Main kadam kadam pe haara

She rubbed, scrubbed and scraped until

her palms were red and sore

But the writing on the wall remained

Taunting her more and more

Embarrassed and ashamed she was

About her disfigured core

And pleaded and begged for time to rewind

To the way it was before

She wept and wept from morn to night &

Soon shut up, lest she cause a fright

For those who couldn't find words to say

To soothe her when she was less-than-gay

And so it was day after day

Till death- a life of feigned delight

Padharo mhare des

"Kesariya Balam... Padharo Mhare Des" is a beautiful, lilting melody that immediately conjures up the image of a lone traveller traversing the sand dunes of a vast desert in Rajasthan, of a woman in bright clothing and eye catching jewellery waiting expectantly for her lover to return, of palaces, princes and proud moustaches of turbaned Rajasthani men smoking a hookah in the hot afternoon sun while drinking strong, sweet tea.

For me, that is.

The song itself, while it is described as a traditional Rajasthani welcome song, is for me more a song of longing. A plea that is sent out across the sands, carried by the dust in the hope that it shall land on the ears of the one being waited for. The melody is slow and seems deliberately prolonged, as if mimicking the lament of a lone bird, hoping that it will pull at the heart strings of the beloved 'other' who feels so painfully far away.

I had the glorious fortune of listening to a street performer play this melody at the entrance of the Jaisalmer fort. He played it on Sarangi and it was a moment of loveliness.

I wish I could recreate that experience in memory but it is partly lost to me.

Now, I find solace in listening to the song while looking out of the window, in a foreign land.

(Go here for Rajasthani performers and here for a rendition by Mehdi Hassan)

Melancholia

Tere vaade par jiye hum
Toh yeh jaan jhoot jaana
Ki khushi se mar na jaate,
Agar aitbaar hota?

(To say that I live because of your promise to me,
Would make this life of mine a lie.
For would I not have died of sheer joy,
Had I trusted it to be sincere?)


Aye Mirza Ghalib,
Tujhpe koi apni jaan chhidke... to bhi kam hai.

Itna toota hoon ki chhoone se bikhar jaoonga
Ab agar aur dua dogey to mar jaoonga

To those who can relate to the above sentiment I offer an empty but holding gaze.
To those who can't...

*Shrug*

"This one's for you" she said..

For they could not love you
But still your love was true

And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry starry night.
You took your life
As lovers often do;
But I could have told you 'Vincent'
This world was never meant
For one
As beautiful
As you.


* From "Vincent" by Don McLean

The irony of life and love

Main ho gaya ghubar-e-rahe dost aye zaheen
Phir bhi kisi ke khatir nazuk pe bhaar tha

- Hazrat Zaheen Shah Taaji

Translation *

I became the dust in the path that leads to my friend O Zaheen
Yet I remain a burden on someone's delicate being


* By Muzaffar Ali