Words' worth!

I know I will not be able to express what I am trying to write in this post, but I will give it a try nonetheless.

I feel, we can categorise great poetry into two classes. One - pure good poetry, a good flow and rhythm, amazing choice of words that tells a tale within the confines of the meter. When you read them, you realise penning them down requires God-gifted talent. Someone like Rabindranath Thakur. He could create the same magic on the most complex and most trivial of topics. I believe, he could write a masterpiece - if he felt like - even on seeing the straining of tea at the roadside stall.

The other class is difficult to explain. These just leave you zapped. And it is impossible to imagine what thoughts, feelings and experiences lie buried in the foundation, upon which the words are erected. Written by geniuses no doubt, but it seems these breed of poets were taught by none other than Life himself. It is very easy to appreciate once you read them - but once you try to think what could have possibly brought such perspectives in their minds, you are bound to lose your way.

The essence of good writing lies in bridging the gap between feeling and expression - and one of the widest lies in me. And, if I am thinking a million, I can put only a hundred to paper and speak out just, maybe, ten. This remains the biggest reason that I have not decided to take up writing seriously.

Coming back to what I was saying, I thought of writing this after I was hearing one of my favourite ghazals sometime back. Though all the couplets are amazing, the one that made me write this was -

Iss shaher-e-be-charagh mein jayegi tu kahan?
Aa, ay shab-e-firaaq tujhe ghar hi le chale.

Each time I try to fathom what went through Nasir Kazmi's mind when he wrote these lines, I get baffled beyond recovery. It's something like this if I dare translate -

Where would you wander in this lightless night?
Come, o night of separation, I will take you to my home.

:)

Did I entertain you?

That is what Brian Charles Lara asked the packed crowd at the Kensington Oval last Saturday. A redundant question - that was replied with an even more redundant deafening applause in the affirmative from the crowd. Farther away, every true cricket fan (not bigoted fanatics) would have at least nodded a silent yes. For, that was what the man did - entertain. He is the last of the lot of cricketers who played their game for the love of it - and gave you joy in the process. You do not feel awe despite his thunderous presence, it always made you happy from within, a feeling one might get if one was to watch, and not read, poetry.

I am not going to the everlasting debate of whether he was the best player of his time. In my book, he was - he was simply above the rest in that his were genius acts, not rehearsed performances. Thus, he was highly unpredictable, susceptible to a luscious delivery and commanding impossible ones across or over the rope. Statistics do not count for players like him - despite the fact that he is right up there on that front as well - the fact that stands out is that he was best by miles on his day. Can you imagine any player to have scored 1276 runs in just 3 innings - and not out in 2 of them as well? I remember staying up till 3 am - despite my XIIth board chemistry exam the next morning - when he scored 153* in the fourth innings against McGrath, Gillespie, Warne and McGill, adding 70 odd runs with Ambrose (12) and Walsh (0*) for company. That was cricket - you had to see it to believe it.

I sincerely believed he had another 2 years of top class cricket left in him for sure. At least, he could have continued in the Tests. I am sure, he did want the same - since he had hinted about it so many times. But then he felt the undercurrents that ran in West Indian cricket and stepped out before it sucked him in. He had always spoken out against the powers that be for a range of issues - but decided to remain silent in his last act. He was surely not lacking in fitness or form, maybe his autobiography would talk about the decision when the dust settles.

It's a known fact that West Indian cricket is in the doldrums since around the mid 90s. But to make, break and rebuild records and be the best in the business amongst such ruins really shows the character and passion he had for the game.

With due respect to all the great players around, I have to admit that cricket has no charm left for me anymore. And - maybe leaving aside some decisive matches - I would not be watching cricket anymore. "Did I entertain you?" he asked. And as the resounding applause died down, he added, "If I entertained you I am really happy..." You bet you did Brian. And even though you managed to walk off one last time wiping just a single drop of tear, your bereaved team and countless followers would find it difficult to contain theirs everytime cricket is played without you.

God bless!

Revamped

Bored with the tiresome trudging of time through the sticky tar of the night, I thought of playing with the features offered in this blog. A quick quality check revealed a good structure and classification of the features on offer. So now I have a new font, a photo, link to pages I visit often, and other post options. Did not want to clutter the page with many features, nor do technical niceties attract me that much. I would rather go for an appearance that would look good on the page of a book, than at the Times Square.

What's more, my blog is now capable of posting in near-perfect Hindi as well. So let's not waste the chance of having a few (easier) lines here. This is from the immortal Mehdi Hassan gem Ranjish Hi Sahi, where he set the captivating lyrics by Ahmed Faraaz this haunting Yaman-Kalyan tune. One gem you should not miss -

रंजिश ही सही, दिल ही दुखाने के लिए आ -
आ फिर से मुझे छोड़ के जाने के लिए आ।

पहले से मरासिम ना सही फिर भी कभी तो -
रस्म-ओ-रहे दुनिया ही निभाने के लिए आ।

किस किस को बताये जुदाई कि सबब हम?
तू मुझसे खफा है तो ज़माने के लिए आ।

माना कि मोहब्बत का छुपाना है मोहब्बत -
चुपके से किसी रोज़ जताने के लिए आ।

जैसे तुझे आते है ना आने के बहाने -
ऐसे ही किसी रोज़ ना जाने के लिए आ।

Happy reading!

Time, wait for me (tide, you carry on)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5... No, I am not showing off my counting skills here. Wondering then what it was all about? Well, take a guess as I say it a bit differently again - 11, 12, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5... Makes more sense? For those who are still at sea as to what I am talking of, this is how the hours fly off every night. Yes, you are right - this is how the hours have been passing every night since the beginning of time - and what's the big deal? Don't mind my incoherence, all I meant was this is how I see the hours fly off every night these days. Hold on. Before you work your brain thinking I set hourly alarms before going to bed, let me, myself, clarify. Unread whatever you have read so far. Let's begin on a clean slate - I am suffering from sleeplessness at nights and have been waking through the nights for an unbearable span of time now.

I know, I know. There is this word insomnia. However blurred my thoughts are and however fatigued I feel, I would have used this exact word if it was appropriate. It is not insomnia, which is a chronic lack of sleep. My problem is exactly what I wrote - sleeplessness at nights - with a stress on the word nights. I feel terribly sleepy at the end of it all as the sun says 'Hi' and takes over from me. And I promise you - as soon as you promise me that you are going to take care of my living expenses - that I can sleep as if dead, every day, for at least twelve hours and show it to you that it is not insomnia.

Why is it like that? Well, it is one answer I'd love to know among all others. But you don't have to come up with an explanation. I have heard so many of them by now, but unfortunately, none of them are correct. I am not jet-lagged (imagine an intercontinental jetlag spanning 7 months now) at all. Neither am I worrying myself to death about anything. World Cup fever? With India's performance, the fever has made way to hysteric bouts. And the West Indies are also out as I write this. Leave a comment if you still think you know the real reason.

Now, before you come up with the remedies, let me tell you none has worked on me and I have tried them all. Apple and milk before sleeping, going to bed early, thinking of the most pleasing memories, not sleeping one day so that it will be ok from the next day, thinking of God (I do always, and wonder what made Him choose me of all people to go through this) - the list is long. And as far as jumping sheep go, I lost count after some 17,328 or something the other night. It spoiled the entire day that followed - as I was still seeing sheep wherever I went. Whatever was edible seemed to be mutton and whatever was worn looked like wool.

It is almost 6 now, and I am getting the first signs of sleep. It was all fine till now - the time of the biggest decision of the day. If I go to sleep now (which I did for the last 2 days), I'd miss my tennis class and be late for office. If I don't then I will play bad shots and fight to keep my eyes open at work. Worse - by the time I will be back home after work, I'd lose all of the sleep and the next night will just be marginally better. The scales do not tilt and I do not know which option to go for. I know you would ask me to sleep, but you have not paid for my tennis classes and nor can I get a job in your office when they kick me out for coming late again tomorrow. So I think I will stay up for today.

All is not rotten with this illness you know. With keeping up in the nights, I do not have a problem when I am to do night shifts. I could lose around 3 kg in real quick time, too. I do not feel like eating all day long. And it's given me a great opportunity to stay in touch with my friends in the US and be immersed in music. On a final note, I have gathered so many 'mythical' causes and cures for sleeplessness now that I could write a book. (Well, I did write this post on this, didn't I?) Though am no Emperor of the days of yore, I promise to give half of the money I have to anyone who can make me sleep from 11 pm to 6 am on a daily basis.

Early to bed and early to rise
Makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.
While, never to bed and never to rise
Makes you groggy, gives you red eyes.

First showers

It's raining for the first time this year in Hyderabad today. Too bad I am in office and cannot stand outside. Hope it keeps raining this summer to cool down the parched bodies and souls. Not too hard though, the mango produce should not get affected.

I was walking in the rain
I cannot recall where and when
But why do I want to know, again?
Since I was walking in the rain...

Play On

Last Friday was special. I always had the dream - and to watch as dreams unfold in front of your eyes is always special. Not many times in life we get the chance to be among the most privileged. I was on the said day. The ghazal maestro Ghulam Ali was to perform in Hyderabad, and there was nothing that could make me miss it. So I was there - well before time - waiting eagerly for the Master to take over as the accompanists tuned their instruments.

The sound was tested out and the evening started with his son singing two ghazals in his own composition. On a different day, I - and the crowd - might have liked them. But not on this one. People were there to listen to the God's own voice and they were not ready to settle for anything less. Soon, he took to the stage and - it seems he does not like to speak if the words are not set to tune - with a brief introduction started off with Ghalib's 'Har ek baat'. I sat awestruck for the next two and a half hours as he picked and served ten back to back gems from his endless treasure. Time stood still and all senses stood rapt in unison as Music sang itself on the stage in front.

The evening was sublime as only he could have made it. Interspersing his timeless ghazals with references about the poets, the underlying ragas and the meaning of difficult portions, the Ustad took us back to the days of poetic celebration and musical triumph. The best ghazals were presented in pure classical form - and one could never declare either words or the ragas victorius. It is this perfect blend that makes him inimitable. No one hums along in a Ghulam Ali concert, because no one knows what he is going to do next. You never know which notes in the five octaves he would use for a particular line - and that too with the same smiling face. I lose myself in trying to analyse how he manages to sing like that impromptu; ending up concluding that God has been highly partial and selfish when it came to making his own voice. So here are the songs he sang in sequence -

Har ek baat pe kehte ho ke tu kya hai
Tum hi kaho ye andaz-e-guftagu kya hai
- Mirza Ghalib

Bheed mein ek ajnabee ka saamna achha laga
Sabse chhup kar wo kisika dekhna achha laga
- Amjad Islam Amjad

Jab tasavvur mera chhupke se tujhe chhu aaye
Apni har saans se mujhko teri khusboo aaye
- Qateel Shifai

Ye baatein jhooti baatein hai, ye logo ne faylai hai
- Ibn-e-Inshaa

Ye dil ye paagal dil mera, kyun bujh gaya? Awaargi
Iss dasht mein ek shaher tha, wo kya hua? Awaargi
- Mohsin Naqvi

Mera shauq da nahin
- Punjabi ghazal translated from Ghalib's Persian ghazal.

Ni chambe diye band kaliye
- Punjabi geet

Dil mein ek laher si uthi hai abhi
Koi taazaa hawa chali hai abhi
- Nasir Qazmi

Chupke chupke raat din aansoon bahana yaad hai
Humko ab tak aashiqui ka wo zamana yaad hai
- Hasrat Mohani

Hungama hai kyun barpa thodi si jo pii lii hai
Daaka to nahi daala, chori to nahi kii hai
- Akbar Allahabadi.

As I mentioned just ten ghazals in two and a half hours and keeping the audience in awe is a feat that only Ghulam Ali can achieve. He sang each one of them perfectly - encouraging the musicians to take over in the interludes. When everyone shouted for Chupke Chupke, he calmly said 'Pehle ye suniye' and started off with the nazm 'Ye baatein jhooti baatein hai' - going to point out that it is actually a Muqaddas Ghazal, a unique form that has 5 lines to come back to the Sthaayii. And then did his usual variations of the word Laher in Dil mein ek Laher Si like only he can do. He created at least 20 waves - each different, difficult and sublimely divine. Again, you could actually visualise a lady rotating her bangle in when he sang - 'Kangan ghumana yaad hai'. When he said 'Tanhaiyaa' in Awaargi, he sounded as if he really wiped out all traces of life in front of him. He pointed out how the word 'Jahaan' is actually the start of the second line and why it is difficult to sing this couplet to convey the correct meaning of -

Logo bhala is shaher mein kaise jeeyenge hum? Jahaan
Ho jurm tanha sochna, lekin sazaa Awaargi.

All said, it was one evening that I am not going to forget.

Elixir

Gathering moments I passed the days
Alone, quiet - in the maddening crowd.
The TV and mind both kept on mute
Wordless thoughts blared in the nights.
Lullabies of the first sunrays
Brought to life, the world around.
More in trance than strength I walked
Blinded by the soothing lights.

Frivolous talks and vacuous smiles
Translated to happiness for one and all.
My self was left to but, myself
Sponging tears, lest they spread.
Yet far away - across thousand miles
Was the bloom of spring, to my wintry pall.
My spring of life, I drank unpaused
Albeit in dreams, while tossing in bed.


The pains slowly started to please
Sobs were showing up as grins
As I knew that day was close
When I'd be back to where I belong.
The fervent prayers began to cease
But hopes were kept, by all means
The Almighty showed all His might, but
Back I came to life, before long.

A single, soft hand in my hands,
A relentless heart that doubles my beats
Two more eyes to see me through
As I sleepwalk through the dunes of death.
As He looks down on the endless sands
And in a hurry flips the piles of sheets
Stopping on the page He wrote my life
To erase and re-write in bated breath.