Wednesday, October 09, 2013

Hawa Mein Thehre Shabd


ये उसके शब्द थे
हवा में ठहरे हुए
होटों से निकल तो गए थे
पर अंजाम तक पहुंचे नही।
एक डोर से बंधे हुए शब्द थे ये 
साँसों की डोर से बंधे शब्द,
साँसों के चढ़ते उतरते
ये शब्द अपना मतलब, मकसद,  स्वरूप
सब बदलते थे,
पर रहते वहीँ थे 
हवा में ठहरे हुए।
अगर कभी वो डोर टूटती
तो छीटक कर गिरते 
और तब शायद 
उनके गिरकर टूटने की आवाज़ 
उन कानो से जा टकराती 
जो मंजिल थी उन शब्दों की,
पर कौन कह सकता था 
क्या मतलब निकाला जाता 
इन हवा में ठहरे शब्दों का तब। 
आसान तो इस जहाँ में कुछ भी नहीं 
न कह पाना ही 
न सुन पाना ही 
न सुन के समझ पाना ही।

बारिश की बूंदों में 
भीग रहे हैं 
हवा में ठहरे कुछ शब्द 
धीरे - धीरे अपना वजूद खोते 
बेनूर, बदरंग, बेरंग, 
बेआवाज़, बेमतलब, बेमकसद 
बेवजूद। 

बारिश अब थम गयी है 
हवा अब सधी हुई है;
अब सिर्फ हवा है 
हवा में ठहरे शब्द नहीं।  


Picture: Wheat Field With Crows (Vincent Van Gogh)

Monday, November 19, 2012

One of Those Days

One of those days,
when the heart is not at its place,
and the mind isn't straight,
I am not where its at;

today is one of those days.

This love forsakes me 

and I am clouded with a vision
about many a things and events
dwelling realms of reality and illusion
perhaps
no one but I bother
for I feel the guilt
of removing the layers
of wanting to know the truth
that perhaps exists
only within my mind.


I want to shrug them off
want to turn my face away
look the other side
but I abide
and delve deeper
into those dark corners
hoping that they will
reveal themselves to me
I trudge through these dark corners
that I've never been
never before
never again
for when a day like this
arrives the next time
corners will change
paths will be different

even the illusory truths I seek
will be distinct.

As time passes
nothing remains the same
the only constant is me
and my agony
of neither being able to
travel the whole
or turn away
without even a cursory glance;
perhaps
I might do it that way
one fine day,
alas

today is not one of those days.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

Colour of My Moon










This moon is White
He has been playing in snow
all through the night

This moon is Blue
Lovelorn for the girl
he once knew

This moon is red
He is full of life
yet angry and sad

This moon is Green
Burning away in envy
Losing his sheen

This moon is Yellow
seems feverish and sick,
devoid of glow

This moon is Orange
pretending to be the setting sun
he was bored and looked for a change

This moon should have been Purple
But like Buddha
he disliked being royal


No colour bears this moon
He rose too early
died too soon


I thought of painting my moon some more
Alas the morning came
and he left therefore.



Pic Courtesy: http://underwaterphotography.files.wordpress.com/2010/12/jheller_rainboweclipse2.jpg

Monday, August 13, 2012

For The Love of Music (What can We do with Indian Music - 1)

Reading sometimes need time, which is nowadays at premium, but listening music requires little effort and is doable even in busy times. If there was anything to inspire me to be active on the blog again it had to be music. For long I had thought of posting a series of clips, in audio or video format, of music and musicians who enchant me greatly. 

Since I couldn't find a better title, I title this latest endeavor of mine as 'For the Love of Music'. I start this with a series of 6 posts showcasing the brilliance of music when our Indian music is amalgamated with music from other parts of the world or musical forms that are not intrinsic to it. From suggestions by friends to accidental discoveries to recommendations on web, the posts that form the part of this series showcase music that I find highly enjoyable and inspires me to further explore the beautiful world of music. I hope that readers too will find the music presented enjoyable and inspiring enough to embark on their own musical journey; and if you do come across some fascinating music during this journey of yours, don't forget to return the favor by mentioning the same in the comments :)

Tinariwen with Kiran Ahluwalia
Mast Mast 

I discovered Tinariwen accidentally about five years ago while listening to Ali Farka Toure on Youtube. Youtube's sidebar having list of suggested videos had a Tinariwen song as one of the suggestions,  dont remember which one perhaps Cler Achel. Since then Tinariwen has remained my favorite band from Africa, inspiring me further explore the great wealth of African music and leading me to great african acts such as Toumani Diabate and several others. Having admired and listened to Tinariwen, it filled me with great excitement when in 2011 they recorded 'Mast Mast' with the impressive Indo-Canadian singer Kiran Ahluwalia. Many of us have listened several versions of 'Dam mast mast' and yet this Tuareg-Indian fusion stands out for its unique experimentation and registers the magical impact this great sufi sing is capable of. This song has looped on a repeat for a long time on my music player and high chances that it will end up the same way on yours. Enjoy :)


There's a longer version of this song available of youtube as well that shouldn't be difficult to find the same :)

Sunday, March 11, 2012

The Monologue (The One of Turqoise Eyes - 5)


"It took you a while, my love. Strange that I mention a notion of time, for all this while time had been buried within me; I guess even time won’t be able to answer since when. Not because it does not know the answer, but because the answer needs to be spoken and I don’t permit anyone but myself to be heard and spoken. You can call me full of arrogance and insolence, but you won’t find a better lord of one’s self than me. I am, as they say, 'Nothing' and by virtue of being 'Nothing', I command an aura and presence, in front of which everyone else's presence not just dwindles down or fade away, but submits and submerges."

"But my love, you are not amongst those who got lost within my labyrinths. In fact, I am the one who is losing ‘me’ in your presence. And I wonder if it’s because you compel me to a situation like this or is it that I want to myself trudge this path of self destruction. And yes, destruction is not such a nice word to describe the whole sea of emotions that drowns me now. Who will believe this scenario, perhaps no one, because no one exists. How I wish that there was someone to witness this special occasion. Perhaps this is the only time I regret my entirety, my completeness."

"In some sense I am probably wrong to brag about my completeness. I always thought that I am complete, absolute in every sense and respect. All the more reason to be surprised at the state in which I find myself now, for perhaps there was always a yearning existing somewhere, a yearning whose presence was oblivious to me. How can that be? Perhaps it was easier for your presence to permeate even Nothingness, otherwise how could it ever happen to someone like me, the one who has made oneself devoid of all that is tangible and perceptible."

"You won’t believe if I tell you how happy I was with my mundane existence. You can call it life if you want, but fact is that I never even allowed my breath to escape from myself. And then it all changed. Not suddenly though. I cannot say if there was any sign or indication of it. No never. Not even when you stood on the bridge gazing intently at me. Not then. Not even when you opened your arms, perhaps to embrace me and took that leap, I believe a leap of faith, in expectation of me reciprocating. But somehow, somewhere amidst all this that change happened. I engulfed you or perhaps you engulfed me, who knows. But now I find myself melting within you. My vast nihility, my nonexistence is suddenly gaining a shape. Inch by inch, word by word, moment by moment, I conform, I become; I die. Yes I am approaching my death. And yet I have no qualms, fortunate is a lover who gets such a death, death in one's lover's arms. And as they used to say in those folktales of once, those which all got lost to me, even death couldn’t keep them apart; for they have by then become one."

"I give myself to you, my love, wholly, completely, thoroughly. From now on my love, this Nothingness ceases to exist for the world, for I have found a new existence, within you".



The Rainbow Bridge over Nothingness (The One of Turqoise Eyes - 4)

The Dream (The One of Turqoise Eyes - 3)
 
The One of Turqoise Eyes - 2

The One of Turqoise Eyes -1

Wednesday, August 03, 2011

The Real Bond :)


A Short Biographical sketch of my favourite writer.

(As published in  "Ruskin Bond." Contemporary Authors Online. Detroit: Gale, 2011. Literature Resource Center. Web. 3 Aug. 2011.

Born in India to British parents, author Ruskin Bond paints sensitive, colorful portraits of life in his native country to capture the imagination of his young readers. One of India's most noted children's authors, he depicts the many facets of India's natural and social landscape through his simple stories--from a temple near a quiet, rural village or a bazaar in a small provincial town to a narrow city street brimming with buses, bicycles, and the clamor of people. As Bond notes in his Rain in the Mountains: Notes from the Himalayas, "I have been writing in order to sustain the sort of life I like to lead--unhurried, even-paced, sensual, in step with the natural world, most at home with humble people."
A natural storyteller, Bond found that his talent enabled him to make a living away from the more highly industrialized, congested areas of India. Following the philosophy he outlined in "What's Your Dream?," an autobiographical essay from 1982's A Garland of Memories, Bond has found "a room of his own" at Ivy Cottage, a house in the foothills of the Himalayan Mountains, and has pursued his single dream by dedicating his life to being a storyteller.
Bond had his first success as a writer very early in his career. In fact, he was not even twenty when he published The Room on the Roof, a novel that dealt with growing up in a changing India. When Rusty, the tale's orphaned protagonist, discovers that he is of mixed Indian-English heritage, he decides to strike out on his own and work as a tutor in the town of Dehra Dun. His naive romantic relationship with the mother of his young charge leads to discovery by her alcoholic husband. Rusty is forced to leave the life he has made for himself and move to another city to find a new place in society. Although Helen W. Coonley senses the author's youth--Bond was seventeen when he wrote the novel--and notes in Kliatt that The Room on the Roof incorporates a somewhat immature outlook, she concludes that "though awkward in parts, the book is still fresh and likable." The Room on the Roof was the winner of the John Llewellyn Rhys Memorial Prize in 1957, an annual award given to a quality work of fiction written by a resident of the British Commonwealth (which then included India) under the age of thirty.
The Room on the Roof made its author something of a celebrity in India, not only because of his young age but because he was able to capture the spirit of the land and its people so sensitively through his fiction. Throughout his twenties Bond continued to write adult novels about his childhood, not turning to writing for children until he had reached his thirties. Since then, he has written numerous stories and poems that capture his nostalgia for the days of his boyhood: the natural beauty and tranquility of his grandparent's home and the close, secure, loving relationships that he experienced with friends and family.
"Bond illustrates his vision of childhood as a carefree age of mischief and joy where the only worries are associated with cricket matches, beetle races, and parental anger at bad report cards," explains Meena Khorana in Twentieth-Century Children's Writers. "In this comfortable and familiar world, there is a sense of security in friendship and the love and guidance of adults." In books such as The Cherry Tree, The Adventures of Rusty, and Getting Granny's Glasses, relationships among friends and family are warmly illustrated through incidents in the lives of each of Bond's youthful characters. The Cherry Tree, for example, is Bond's heartwarming story of six-year-old Rakhi's attempt to grow a cherry tree from a seed. A Publishers Weekly reviewer praises the book as "abound[ing] with quiet wisdom and love of life."
Drama and suspense are often found in Bond's fiction for children. In Flames in the Forest, young Romi finds himself caught in a forest fire. He and another boy must help each other race to the river--along with frightened birds and animals and even an elephant herd--to escape the smoke and flames. The determined Romi and his partner manage to survive the tragedy in a story that Ellen D. Warwick describes in School Library Journal as full of "action, suspense, local color, even a bit of humor."
Angry River is another of Bond's dramatic adventures. The novel features a young girl who has been left alone on her island home while her grandfather takes his dying wife to the hospital. As the river surrounding her island rises, Sita climbs a tree to safety; after the tree is washed downriver by the raging water, she is rescued by the providential appearance of a boy in a boat. "The power and size of the river, the fear and the danger are all present," states a Times Literary Supplement reviewer, "as is the sense of smallness in a vast world. . . . This really is India you feel."
"At the heart of [Bond's] writings is the value placed on simplicity and a selfless attitude toward life," explains Khorana. "Although the stories deal with the pleasures of humble people, their lives are enriched by meaningful experiences and a profound insight into life." Bond himself gains much of his inspiration from his surroundings and develops many of his ideas for children's books on the long walks he takes on the mountains near his home. "My interests (mountains, animals, trees, wild flowers) are embodied in these and other writings," Bond once explained. "I live in the foothills of the Himalayas and my window opens out on the forest and the distant snow-peaks--the highest mountains in the world. . . . I sit here and, inspired by the life of the hill people and the presence of birds and trees, write my stories and poems." Of his preoccupation with the landscape that features so prominently in his work, Bond once explained, "Once you have lived in the mountains, you belong to them and must come back again and again. There is no escape."



http://go.galegroup.com.bib157.bibbaser.dk/ps/i.do?&id=GALE%7CH1000010226&v=2.1&u=45gentkomm&it=r&p=LitRC&sw=w 

Tuesday, August 02, 2011

कभी कभी

कभी रात हमको सतायेगी, कभी हम उनको सताते हैं
वो अलसायी गरमी सा झुंझलाते हैं, हम आहें भर रह जाते हैं

कभी वो ख़ामोशी में आवाज़ हैं, खतो का इंतज़ार हैं
यूं तो उनके बहाने हज़ार हैं, कुछ डूब गए कुछ पार हैं

कभी कलियों की चटख रुखसार पर ले हँसी बहाते हैं 
लालिमा सूरज की लेकर गुस्से में सब पिघलाते हैं

कभी वो जुल्फों में उलझाते हैं, कभी यूंही बातें बनाते हैं 
कभी बिन सावन बरसात सा बस यूँही बरस जाते हैं

कभी धुप से नाराजगी, कभी भीड़ से घबराते हैं
कभी बेवजह के नखरों पर मेरी हामी चाहते हैं

कभी मैं भी उनसा बनता हूँ, हाँ में हाँ भर देता हूँ
वैसे तो करता नहीं पर उनकी खातिर कर लेता हूँ

आँखों में भरकर रातें, सपनो में दिन भर लेता हूँ
वो प्यार लड़कपन वाला अब भी, कभी कभी कर लेता हूँ

Wednesday, May 04, 2011

NEWs - 1

NEW MUSIC

Of late I have been listening quite a bit of classical stuff, both Western and Hindustani classical. It seemingly started with a list of greatest classical composers of all times published in some magazine of repute (I forgot the name but I think it was NY Times), that ranked top ten western classical greats, including the likes of Mozart, Beethoven, Bach and others. What intrigued me was the presence of certain artists who I had no idea about. Barring the usual suspects like Mozart, Bach etc, there were fewer names that I knew. Guys like Wagner, Schubert, Handel and others, who are very well renowned but are not so famous amongst average Indian fellows like me whose knowledge about Western Classical is limited to that gained through high school textbooks which often limit themselves to Mozart and Beethoven.
Aided by Grooveshark I have so far embarked on my little journey towards understanding and appreciating the work of these great masters. Needless to say that my enthusiasm and excitement is purely that of a listener seeking musical euphoria and ecstasy through these masterpieces and not of someone who is trying to build his knowledge in western classical. I guess so far I have been able to develop a bit of taste for this kind of music and I am glad for taking this small positive step.
Similar is my journey to the Indian Classical. Indian classical music reminds me of few things; Doordarshan's Shastriya Sangeet ka Karyakram, which sounded so bore during childhood and 'Call of the Valley' a Hariprasad Chaurasia and Shivkumar Sharma cassette that my father had bought. My father was never a keen music lover, I wonder why he ended up buying that partiular album but I remember him being very enthusiastic. It was perhaps the only album he ever bought. Sadly though, I ended up dubbing some regular bollywood stuff on top it, cos nobody used to listen to it anyway. Little did I know at that time that this is one legendary album. My father never scolded me for that but as I look at it now, I feel bad about it. The only saving grace is that I still have that cassette, of course sans the songs that were originally recorded on it.
My taste in Indian Classical is limited mostly to flute and santoor but I often enjoy other instruments like shahnai and saarangi as well. My favorite though, remian the thumris. Not classical in the true sense, more of semi-classical but there are times when Shobha Gurtu or Girija Devi is what constantly plays on my music player.
This recent activity has also resulted me in reading MUSIC, a monthly magazine published by BBC dedicated to classical music. What I like about this magazine is that even though I dont understand a whole lot about Western classical, the magazine is still quite an enjoyable experience :)

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

WebTrotting Today

Two articles on education.

Spare Yourself The Nightmare


Out Before They Are In

Are we taking away the childhood of our kids? Are we too fascinated with English? Is a English Medium education from an esteemed and costly school necessary for professional success? All valid questions raised and discussed; but the bottom line is more staggering, do we know the answer or cure?

Is our education system equipped enough to deal with these growing demand of quality schools and teachers? Are government measures like doing away with Interview process for admission sufficient?

http://www.thehindu.com/arts/magazine/article1531783.ece

http://www.thehindu.com/arts/magazine/article1531519.ece

RoseBowl Channel on YouTube

A channel aimed at youth. Though it has varied stuff, what interested me most was some amazing Indi-Jazz studio concert recordings from not so well known but amazingly talented budding Indian singers and musicians.

http://www.youtube.com/user/RosebowlChannel#p/u/9/iSrGJ6BC4mQ

Pran and Chacha Chaudhary

One of my favorite cartoon character is Chacha Chaudhary. I still remember reading second digest in the Raka series, my earliest Chacha Chaudhary memory dating back to mid Eighties. So its good to read a bit about Chacha's creator and glad that he is still going strong.

http://www.thehindu.com/life-and-style/metroplus/article1540242.ece

Sunday, February 20, 2011

चलो अब सोते हैं

वो क्या है की यूं तो हादसे होते ही रहते हैं
चलो अब सोते हैं

ये रात भी यूंही बेपरवाह निकल जायेगी
इस बात का क्या है
सुबह तक तो टल ही जायेगी

फिर चुस्की ले चाय की, अखबार में बाकी टटोल लेंगे
लाइनों के बीच भी मतलब कई होते हैं
चलो अब सोते हैं

ये बातें खाली तलवारों के मायन सी हैं
चुभती तो हैं बहुत लेकिन
बिन तीरों के नाकारा कमान सी हैं

इन पर भी कर लेंगे गौर कभी
फिलहाल के लम्हों को क्यों इन पर खोते हैं
चलो अब सोते हैं

जैसा हर बार करते हैं इस बार नहीं क्यों
टालना, बहलाना, गफलतों के चलते उलझना,
मुगालतों का हुनर भी अब गया हमको

जो पड गयीं सो पड गयीं
क्यों बनी हुई आदतें ख़राब करते हैं
चलो अब सोते हैं

यूं उठकर भी कब किसने क्या पाया है
आना जाना, खोना पाना
तो यूं भी मोह माया है

फिर दोस्तों की महफ़िल में बैठ फलसफे बयां करेंगे
ऐसे भी ये लम्हे अफ्सुर्दगी में गुज़रते हैं
चलो अब सोते हैं।

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Some thoughts

  • Just read that Govt has decided to shift and restrict the telecast of two crappy reality TV shows. I have not myself watched these shows but I guess there's no need to watch these shows to form an opinion. I wonder why government just restricted itself to these two shows, I guess there are all these crap shows on MTV (Roadies, Ghodies, SplitKhopdies, and so on) which should be treated the same way.
  • With all the hype created over 'Sheila Ki Jawani' it was no wonder that it turns out to be another bummer, as expected the music is nothing to talk about and so is the case with the way it is filmed.
  • News of Ashish Kumar and Virdhawal Khade's achievement filled my heart with great pleasure. Great going lads, we are proud of you.
  • Each and everyone should watch the trailer of 'Khuda Kasam', its funny in a unique way.
  • Looking forward to release of Notion Ink's ADAM 'a tablet thats more than a tablet' :)

Thursday, August 05, 2010

Death of a Poem


Lost before conception,
she knew
it was time's fault;
and her creator's,
for he kept thinking
of those dreamy lands,
of magic moments
and love fountains.
In his mind
he was by the ocean
passing night in seclusion
in someone else's arms;
she was then a mere illusion.
He thought and thought
and kept on thinking,
she fought
but for a lost cause
cos' it was never upto her.
It was he, with whom rested
every authority and reason
power to take a decision.
The irony was,
it wasn't she
who started it all,
it was entirely his call.
And now
here she is
dying in neglect
her creator
is her perpetrator
leaving her
to a sad death
.


Pic Courtesy: http://www.carltonhobbs.net/wp-content/uploads/2009/06/vestal-reale-1024x688.jpg

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Drawing Conclusions

Who was to know better
what's in my heart
than me.
Distances apart
and connected by a wire
how were you to see
what colors I paint my emotions in;
harsh and judgmental,
it was ought to be
for there's only this much
that one can see,
when one feels
and knows
only this much
about the other.
So its easy to draw conclusions
paint your own way
others emotions.

It takes time to understand the other;
perhaps one never achieves it
and
we didn't even spend days
beyond those
that can be counted on fingers

to conclude
what I was
and
what
I was not.




Pic Courtesy: http://www.chuckgumpert.com/IntimateConclusion.jpg

Saturday, June 19, 2010

New Kid on The Block






Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Flowers in The Window

Both me and Richa are fond of flowers. We have an unwritten rule of buying a new plant every month and we have been following this rule in some sense, ever since Richa moved to Denmark. Flowers add a lot of colour to the house and the life of its inhabitants. At times, as I watch Richa watering them and caring for their needs of light and air, they appear to me as children who bring immense joy and pleasure to ones life. Amongst various other feelings, I always derive a lot of peace and happiness from the flowers in our house. A sense of contentment prevails over me when I watch a new flower blooming or a new leave developing. It was always my plan to have some plants and flowers in the home, but they never materialized till I got married. Its good to see that my wife shares the same passion for flowers, although that was an easy guess to make; you wont find many girls who do not like flowers. Richa is much more vocal in showing her happiness and joy and her appreciation and love for the flowers is more obvious than mine. It makes me even more glad when she talks enthusiastically about the new developments in our plants which are often brought to my notice by her. And every time she is doing that, a Ruskin Bond line rings through my head.

There's a Begonia in her cheeks,
pink as the flush of early dawn,
on Sikkim's peaks.


Here's to the flowers in the house; for making us happy and cheerful, and strengthening further our belief in life and all that's good and god.



Cala Lily Black

Yellow Rose

Anthurium

Tilly

Pink Begonia



Cala Lily Yellow


Thursday, May 13, 2010

Musings of a Vagrant Mind

Leisure

खिड़की के एक कोने से, ढलते सूरजों को आँखों में उतारना
फिर रातों में अकेले चलते, सपनों सा बहा देना

Persevering Futility

सोच के सायों के पर, गिर गिरके फडफडआते हैं
जो बात नहीं उस बात को ही, बस दोहराते जाते हैं

Familiarizing Unfamiliar

जानी पहचानी गलियों में, ठहरे आके मौसम अनजान
हाथ बढाकर हाथ मिलाएं, बिन चेहरों के कुछ इंसान

Reflections

सुई चुभाकर, फव्वारों सा, हर दिल हाल हवा करते हैं
बहते पानी में खींच लकीरें, तस्वीरों में पल भरते हैं

Oblivion

क्या मलाल दिल को, किस सूरज की आरज़ू
किन ख्वाबों की ये चुभन, ये खलिश, ये जुस्तजू

Relationships

चले गए जो सपने थे
साथ रहे, वो अपने थे

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Mons Klint (On Yet Another Saturday)
























Easter vacations provided us a chance to visit the beautiful limestone cliffs at Mons called Mons Klint in Danish. I would say the trip was possible thanks to Raghavendra having Vestas car on rental, else its not that easy to reach this place. We also picked up Murli and Poonam for this trip and six of us had great time in Mons which was also due to brilliant weather on that particular day. With Mons Klint trip, I guess my share of Sjaelland sightseeing is over; high time to explore other parts of the country :)

More info on Mons can be obtained at
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M%C3%B8ns_Klint
http://www.moensklint.dk/default.asp?sprog=uk

Monday, April 12, 2010

तू अपने दिल को क्यों थामता है (Tu Apne Dil Ko Kyon Thaamta Hai)

किसी के दिल की कौन जानता है
तू अपने दिल को क्यों थामता है

तेरा दिल बना है आसमा के लिए
आसमा से भी ऊंचे जहां के लिए

उड़ानों की मंजिल कौन जानता है
तू अपने दिल को क्यों थामता है

तेरी भी सुन लेंगे कभी यह लोग
जो भी सुनें तो क्या है सोग

हर्फो के आशय नहीं हर कोई जानता है
तू अपने दिल को क्यों थामता है

हर बुलंदी से ऊंची है आवाज़ तेरी
फलक चीर देगी परवाज़ तेरी

क्यों काबिलियत को अपनी गुनाह मानता है
तू अपने दिल को क्यों थामता है

कभी वो भी मंज़र आँखों से चार होगा
कभी रूबरू कोई जांनिसार होगा

इंतज़ार का अंजाम यूँ भी कौन जानता है
तू अपने दिल को क्यों थामता है

जो हाथ नहीं तेरे, है नहीं वो किस्मत
जो तुझको नहीं हासिल, ख़ाक है वोह जन्नत

किस्मत के दम पर जीने में क्या महानता है
तू अपने दिल को क्यों थामता है

_________________________________________________

Transliteration

Kisi ke dil ki kaun jaanta hai
Tu apne dil ko kyun thaamta hai

Tera dil bana hai aasmaa ke liye
Aasmaa se bhi oonche jahaan ke liye

Udaano ki manzil kaun jaanta hain
Tu apne dil ko kyon thaamta hai

Teri bhi sun lenge kabhi yeh log
Jo na bhi sune to kya hai shog

Harfo ke aashay nahi har koi jaanta hai
Tu apne dil ko kyon thaamta hai

Har bulundi se oonchi hai aawaaz teri
Falak cheer degi parwaaz teri

Kyon kaabiliyat ko gunaah maanta hai
Tu apne dil ko kyon thaamta hai

Kabhi woh bhi manjar aankhon se char hoga
Kabhi rubaru koi jaannissar hoga

Intezaar ka anjaam yun bhi kaun jaanta hai,
Tu apne Dil ko kyon thaamta hai

Jo haath nahi tere, hai nahi woh kismat
Jo tujhko nahi haasil, khaak hai woh jannat

Kismat ke dum par jeene mein kya mahanta hai
Tu apne dil ko kyon thaamta hai