कुछ देर खेलो और (For Your Babies)

कुछ देर खेलो और
इतनी जल्दी क्या है
उमर पड़ी

वो लंगडी वो लंगड़
वो स्टापू की चाल
वो कंचो की छन छन
बुढ़िया के बाल

कटती पतंगों के गिरने का मलाल
फ़िर उन पतंगों को लूटने का बवाल
डंडे से गिल्ली को देना उछाल
लट्टू की फिरकी का दिखाना कमाल

अभी तो शादी को हैं बाकी
न जाने कितने गुड्डे गुडियों की जोड़ी

कुछ देर खेलो और
इतनी जल्दी क्या है
उमर पड़ी

अटकन बटकन तोड़ कटोरी
दही कहीं चटकाते हैं
दस्ता पिंजर खार कबूतर
चिडियां कहीं उडाते हैं

घोडे बेचारे मुड़कर पीछे
मार बेवजह खाते हैं
व्यापार के बहाने यूँहीं अक्सर
दोपहारियां कई बिताते हैं

फ़िर शाम बिता देंगे यूँहीं बोलते हुए 'खो'
या एक साँस में कहते हुए 'कबड्डी-कबड्डी'

कुछ देर खेलो और
इतनी जल्दी क्या है
उमर पड़ी

विष और अमृत में आया
ऊँच नीच का फ़ासला
आइस पाइस की धप्पी मारे
घड़ी चुरा के पोसम्पा

फिसल सीडियों से गिरना
और सांपो में फस जाना
लूडो के पासो पर
नीली हरी गोटियाँ पिटवाना

जामुन का वो पेड़
वो शहतूत की ड़ाल
होली में कर देना सबको
टेसू के रंगों से निहाल

कितनी भी कर लो, फिर भी
बचपन की मस्ती होती है थोडी

कुछ देर खेलो और
इतनी जल्दी क्या है
उमर पड़ी

बालपन कुछ देर का
सफर है ज़रा सा
जल्द ही उठ जायेगी
इस बचपन की डोली

कुछ देर खेलो और
इतनी जल्दी क्या है
उमर पड़ी



Transliteration



Kuch der khelo aur
itni jaldi kya hai
umar padi

woh langdi woh langad
woh staapoo ki chaal
woh kancho ki chann chann
woh budhiya ke baal

Kat ti patango ke girne ka malaal
fir un patango ko lootne ka bawaal
dande se gilli ko dena uchaal
lattoo ki firki ka dikhana kamaal

Abhi to shaadi ko hain baanki
na jaane kitne gudde-gudiyon ki jodi

Kuch der khelo aur
itni jaldi kya hai
umar padi

atkan batkan tod katori
dahi kahin chatkate hain
dasta pinzar khaar kabutar
Chidiya kahin udate hain

Ghode bechare mud kar peeche
maar bewajah khaate hain
Vyapaar ke bahane yun hi aksar
dopahariyaan kayi bitate hain

fir shaam bita denge yun hi bolte hue 'kho'
ya ek saans kehte hue kabaddi-kabaddi

Kuch der khelo aur
itni jaldi kya hai
umar padi

vish aur amrut mein aaya
oonch neech ka faasla
aais paais ki dhappi maare
ghadi chura ke posampa

fisal seediyon se girna
aur saanpo mein fas jaana
ludo ke paaso par
neeli hari gotiyan pitwana

Jamun ka woh ped,
woh sahtoot ki daal
Holi mein kar dena sabko
tesu ke rangon se nihaal

kitni bhi kar lo, phir bhi
bachpan ki masti hoti hai thodi

kuch der khelo aur
itni jaldi kya hai
umar padi

Balpan kuch der ka
safar hai zara sa
jald hi uth jaayegi
is bachpan ki doli

kuch der khelo aur
itni jaldi kya hai
umar padi

Photo Courtesy: http://www.personaltao.com/tao/images%5Czen_childhood.jpg

Quick Review (or say Opinions)

As I sat waiting for one more night to start, I listened to three new Hindi albums; Wanted, Toss and Fox. Amazingly, all three of them had English titles :)

This isn't a review, mere opinion based on one quick listening.

Fox is a drab album with nothing working for it (at least for me). Wonder how Monty Sharma was able to give that fabulous music in Saawariya (the only good thing about that otherwise forgetful movie). Looks like MS is Uttam Singh of current times; in fact Uttam Singh gave quite decent music in a few other movies apart from Dil To Pagal Hai; Gadar and Dushman being the ones I recall instantly.

Toss has music by Sandesh Shadnilya and some new bloke Siddharth Suhaas whom I have never heard before. I will skip the remixes as they are seldom good and often fillers. Sandesh Shandilya has come up with great music every once in a while. His 'Suraj hua Madhyam' was as per me the only good thing about the drab K3G; I still recall the beautiful melodies of Rules: Pyar ka Superhit Formula; Socha Na Tha had some decent tracks and 'Aaoge jab tum' from Jab We Met was not bad either.
Toss starts with two good chill out lounge tracks composed by Sandesh and then three crappy numbers by the other guy. The punjabi number is crap or say there's nothing worth remembering about it. Then there are two numbers with pop-rock sound to it, which is something that has no novelty in it anymore. Lyrics are forgetful, making sure that there's nothing hummable in the album :)

Wanted has music by Sajid-Wajid, another bunch of those not so talented guys who have been flocking the Bollywood music scene off late (Amar Mohile, Pritam Chor, Monty Sharma, Salim Sulaiman and so on and so forth). Anyways, Wanted is one album where one knows what to expect, given Sajid-Wajid's past record. The album has a few dance numbers (Love Me, Ishq Vishq, Jalwa) (that is songs with some beats and lots of oh oh oh, ooh ooh ooh kinda sound and then some dholak sholak and punjabi thrown in between). It also has typical Sajid-Wajid puppy-pop number which tries to be too sugary, too rhythmic, too romantic, too much lovey-dovey, except that it fails on all account as these kinda Sajid-Wajid numbers often do ('Mitwa Re' from Hello, 'Rab Kare' and Duppatta song from Mujhse Shaadi Karogi, etc etc etc). Then there is a song with arabic sound to it, lesser said (or heard) of it the better. BTW, Jalwa song is pathetic (although there's no real need to state that). There's a Wanted theme song, which is again nothing new (except that you get to hear Salman delivering some lines meant for front benchers and some other chaman singer singing something) and the album ends with a desi sounding song with jabardasti ki tweeter beats to it. This song tries too hard to come across as a no tension vension, full of fun song, but it achieves only this much. I guess a bit less of beats/electronica and 'ooh aah, hai hai, chom chom, hurrrrrr' would have probably resulted in a better song with listeners (some of them) perhaps finding the lyrics fancy.

Of the three albums, I would say the only song that I remember and will probably listen again is 'Ishq Vishq'; nothing great about it, just that one still needs to survive mediocrity.

Moral: Nights can be wasted in a better manner :)

भरे जहन में ज़हर जो कभी

भरे जहन में जब ज़हर जो कभी
फूल से लगने वाले भी कांटे बन जाते हैं
ज़िन्दगी में यारों ऐसे भी मुकाम आते हैं

उम्रभर संभाल रखे यादों के गुलदस्ते
एक पल में गिरके तमाम हो जाते हैं
ज़िन्दगी में यारों ऐसे भी मुकाम आते हैं

पड़ती है दिल-ओ-दिमाग पर ठोकर कुछ इस कदर
भीड़ में वीराने, वीरानो में शोर के मंज़र हो जाते हैं
ज़िन्दगी में यारों ऐसे भी मुकाम आते हैं

यह भी मैंने देख लिया नजदीकियों का हश्र
समझने से पहले नजदीकियों में फांसले आ जाते हैं
ज़िन्दगी में यारों ऐसे भी मुकाम आते हैं

चलते हैं अचानक ही जब इल्ज़ामात के अंधड़
कुछ पल में ही 'आप' 'तू' में बदल जाते हैं
ज़िन्दगी में यारों ऐसे भी मुकाम आते हैं।

एक सितारा तारा सिंह (Ek Sitara Tara Singh)

खूब झकझोरा इन हाथों से
तारों वाली उन रातों को
तब कहीं जाके एक गिरा है।
कस के मुट्ठी में भींच लिया
अब सुबह पर ही खोलुंगा,
न जाने कैसा लगता होगा तब;
उड जाएगा शायद ढीली पड़ती हथेलियों से,
ओझल न हो जाए कहीं
ढलती आंखों की पंखडियों से।
सुबह की दस्तक से डर तो नही जाएगा
बसते में रख देता हूँ
आख़िर भाग के कहाँ जाएगा।

क्यों न एक पहचान दे दूँ इसको,
सोचता हूँ
एक नाम दे दूँ इसको।
एक सितारा तारा सिंह,
अब बसते में छटपटा रहा है
खामोश रहकर भी शोर मचा रहा है,
अपनी ही चमक में है अब गूम
उदास है शायद
घर की यादों में गुमसुम।
मैं छोड़ तो दूँ इसको पर
ये तो यूं ही टूटा है
और टूटा हुआ कब कौन जुडा है?

एक सितारा तारा सिंह
शायद किस्मत था किसी की
डूबा जाने क्यों कर
गर मन्नत थी किसी की।
सोचता होगा
क्या कोई टूट जाता यूं ही
बेवजह इसकी भी खातिर;
टूटना पर हर किसी का हुनर नही
कुछ तकसीर किसी की किस्मत की ,
किसी के ख्वाबों की ताबीर;
या किसी का अंजाम शायद आख़िर।

.....................................

आकाश के घरों में जलने वाली
लालटेनों में अब एक कम थी
किस्मत की आंधियों ने फूंकमार
उसे रात की स्याह में
बेपरवाही से
यूँही मिला दिया था,
बिना नाम पहचान दिए.


Transliteration


Khoob jhakjhora in haathon se
taaron wali un raaton ko,
tab kahin jaake ek gira hai.
Kas ke moothi mein bheech liya
ab subah par hi kholunga,
na jaane kaisa lagta hoga tab;
ud jaayega shayad dheeli padti hatheliyon se,
ojhal na ho jaaye kahin dhalti aankhon ki pankhadiyon se.
Subah ki dastak se darr to nahi jaayega
baste mein rakh deta hoon
aakhir bhag ke kahan jaayega.

Kyon na ek pehchaan de doon isko,
sochta hoon ek naam de doon isko.
Ek sitara Tara Singh,
ab baste mein chatpata raha hai
khamosh rehkar shor macha raha hai;
apni hi chamak mein hai ab gum
udaas hain shayad
ghar ki yaadon mein gumsum.
Main chod to doon isko par
yeh to yun hi toota hai
aur toota hua kab kaun juda hai?

Ek sitara tara singh
shayad kismat tha kisiki
dooba jaane kyon kar
gar mannat thi kisiki.
Sochta hoga
kya koi toot jaata yunhi
bewajah iski bhi khaatir;
tootna par har kisi ka hoonar nahi
kuch takseer kisi ki kismat ki,
kisi ke khwabon ki taabeer;
ya sirf anjaam iska aakhir.

.....................................

Aakash ke gharo mein jalne wali
lalteno mein ab ek kam thi
kismat ki aandhiyon ne fookmaar
use raat ki syaah mein
beparawahi se
yun hi mila diya tha,
bina naam pehchan diye.

Image courtesy : http://i269.photobucket.com/albums/jj41/rafaelkwe/shooting_star.jpg

Songs for the day

Rains, Monsoon and a heart with sweet melancholy. You dont get to hear Koyal's song here in Denmark, but then imagining doesn't cost you anything :) One shouldn't be surprised if one feels like singing of love.

Here's to a beautiful rainy day and the divine feeling of love. I have included my fav Mithun Da's song which captures the essence even though its not a monsoon song :)

The Sound That Came

There's a sound somewhere
but I am going to sleep
I will try my best
not to get disturbed
by this beep.
So I close my eyes
and switch off the lights,
paving way
for a sleep of anonymous kind
to engulf me
in its agitated sojourn.


Woke up
after all these years
with a wound in my head
that scratches me,
and a pain in my heart
that perturbs me, more and more;
I wish
I had listened
to the sound that day.

Pic courtesy: http://hacknmod.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/sound_wave.jpg

Verse and a Song (Krishna Navmi Ashaad, Vikram Samvat 2066)

In today's entry, the first in this hopefully regular series, I quote a verse from Kamayani, the epic poem by great Jaishankar Prasad. These are the opening lines from part 1 of 'Asha'.

ऊषा सुनहले तीर बरसती

जयलक्ष्मी-सी उदित हुई,

उधर पराजित काल रात्रि भी

जल में अतंर्निहित हुई।

As for the song, today I have picked the studio version of Khamaj, illustrating the vocal brilliance of Shafqat Amanat Ali.

Why still read poetry? - KARTHIKA NAIR

(First published in The Hindu Literary Review on June 7, 2009)

I shouldn’t be able to remember it with such exactitude. After all, as John Steinbeck remarked in Sweet Thursday, “Change comes like a little wind that ruffles the curtains at dawn, and it comes like the stealthy perfum e of wildflowers in the grass.” But poetry was neither discreet nor gentle with me: it did not ruffle the curtains; it tore them down and the house alongside, in three distinct gusts.
The first came at 14, through an unlikely source: “Bhoole Bisre Geet” on All India Radio, a bedtime ritual in the midst of the darkness ushered by a mandatory load shedding. Perhaps it had to do with the total focus induced by night but the lines exploded in my head: humne dekhi hein un ankhon ki mehekti khushboo/haath se chooke ise rishton ka ilzaam na do/sirf ehsaas hein ye,/rooh se mehzooz karo/pyar ko pyar hi rehene do, ise rishton ka ilzaam na do.
This opening quatrain from an old Hindi film song displaced poetry from a clinical study of assonance, alliteration, metre and metaphor in the works of immortals alphabetically arranged in an I.S.C.E curriculum. “I have seen the wafting fragrance of your eyes,” wrote Gulzaar and synesthesia became tangible. Poetry could bend, stretch, torque and detonate the senses. Sounds had smell, sights took on texture and everything in the world turned fluid, interchangeable. Cosmic laws got rewritten. Poetry became a magic mirror; one that saw, not darkly as in the Bible, but tangentially; not removed from reality, but up close, much closer than usual lenses allowed.
New direction

The second came quite close at heel, a double second as it were. Vikram Seth’s The Golden Gate arrived like some great mythical bird, maybe the griffin, showing off the sheer wingspan of poetry, giving new sense and direction to elements often considered old-fashioned and irrelevant: rhyme and rhythm, cadence and structure. Written in 663 sonnets, the book captured — almost literally — everything short of the kitchen sink: a treatise on nuclear warfare, metaphysical questions of death and love, advise on pruning grapes, to my favourite below — a pungent tirade on the presumed irresistibility of babies: How ugly babies are! How heedless/Of all else than their bulging selves –/Like sumo wrestlers, plush with needless/Kneadable flesh – like mutant elves,/Plump and vindictively nocturnal,/With lungs determined and infernal/(A pity that the blubbering blobs/Come unequipped with volume knobs),/And so intrinsically conservative,/A change of breast will make them squall/With no restraint or qualm at all./Some think them cuddly, cute and curvative./Keep them, I say. Good luck to you;/No doubt you used to be one too.
Poetry, I discovered, could tell a tale — or multiple tales, as The Golden Gate had demonstrated — just as prose or drama; tell it with verve and wit, passion and power. Formal poetry, with its musicality, its intentness and attention to detail became a portal towards a ‘parallel universe’, as a friend calls it, one peopled with acrobats and contortionists, dancers and lion-tamers that went by the names like sestina, terza rima, ghazal, rub’ai, pantoum and more.
Vital components

The other half of this double gust, T. S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”, not only reinforced the impression left by its companion but unveiled another vital component: compression.
Do I dare/Disturb the universe?/In a minute there is time/For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
Crispness, lack of indulgence for elaboration, restraint … they entered my lexicon here, proving how impactful verse could be in its spareness, its telegraphic quality of summing up and implying emotion, fact or state of being.
It took a few more years for “Lady Lazarus” to sweep in. Sylvia Plath’s poem did not just blow away the house, it snagged inside my eardrums, seared mind and tongue, left scratches on language and labels:
Dying/Is an art, like everything else./I do it exceptionally well.
Jeanette Winterson says is all when she calls language a finding place, not a hiding place. This then is what draws me inevitably to poetry: the truth. Not factual, lyrical or narrative truth, but truth of expression and of emotion. The ability to pin down and identify the source and delimit its contours. Pain, love, fear, hate, even restlessness…. They become bearable when given a voice, they get reduced to manageable proportions and they become shareable.
I never felt it voyeuristic to read Plath’s work; it felt like signing a covenant with someone who had perhaps suffered from the loneliness of not having her words reach far enough, and would be as empowered as I, the reader, by my act of appropriation.
Still reading poetry? Yes, still. Just as I am still breathing, still working, still thinking, still – hopefully – learning: human actions that are not circumscribed by any era or erudition, technology or trend.

We Don't Need No Education (On Global Warming)

We will perhaps
realize one day,
but
then we dont care,
for we know
we wont live
to see that day;
and so,
why should we care.
You can always tell us
of generations
that are yet to come,
their future and hardships;
but then
we ain't intelligent enough
to see that all;
or better,
we are too indulgent
in self.
We are too busy
always short on time
and we have better reasons
to be worried
to be fearful
than the times
which are oh so far away,
to be bothered
of children
who are yet to be conceived;
and when we are unable
to think about them
do you think
we'll have care/time
for
what you fondly call
'Mother Nature'.

So let us drive
our cars in number,
lets us cut
our share of timber,
and don't raise your voice
when you see empty offices
illuminated at night
we can give our reasons
of safety and fright,
and above all its our money;
you can label us 'Capitalistic Snob'
but don't be jealous just cos' we can afford.
You can shout your heart aloud
and you can kick in disgust
when no one heeds your call
but let us remind you,
once and for all,
Global warming is a great fad
to talk at scientific gatherings my friend
in day to day life no one cares
for the world isn't coming to an immediate end.

Pics Courtesy:
http://www.surfrider.org/blogger/uploaded_images/global_warming_5_dre-792612.jpg
http://i.treehugger.com/images/2007/5/24/timemagazine.jpg

Some Days

Some days are like that,
Some days like this;
Some days are insane
filled with
agony and pain.
Some days,
I am with you
and I speak of
all things true;
Some days,
my lies prevail
I tell all lies
nothing else.

Some days rush by my side,
Some days hard to pass by;
Some days lie lazily around
for eternity
without a sound.
Some days,
we make it to each other
holding hands
enjoying life, being together;
Some days,
you are near, yet so far
from the corner of your eyes
I depart.

Some days end before they start,
Some days have no nights to worry;
Some days everything seems alright
even darkness of sad
gloom and plight.
Some days,
you get things your way
I may disagree
but then its your day;
Some days,
you might sound so sensible
yet there's no sense in what you say
for its my day.

Some days die young,
Some days are never born;
Some days gradually old
like the stories
often told.
Some days,
You and I
feel the divinity
lying beside;
Some days,
lost in the self
we just
let them pass by.

Some days are some days,
Some days are more than that;
Some days sing songs of melancholy
of times and faces
cute and jolly.
Some days,
entangled in your maze
I wander aimlessly
under your gaze;
Some days,
just wonder
why don't you let me be
lost forever.

Some days don't listen to you,
some days don't listen to me either;
some days carry on with their songs
with no bother or care
for our grouses and mourns.
Some days,
they never come back
not much you can do
except sit back and relax;
Some days,
haunt forever
thought I had shrugged them off
and yet they still hover.

Some days
still echo
their laughter in the corridor
effervescent, lively,
gentle and soft;
Some days
cast their shadow
long after the sun has set
pale and feeble,
sad, entrapped.
Some days,
are some days
others are you and I,
some days
we passed together
and others that never came by;
Some days
of yours
got intermingled with mine,
some days
of ours
are now buried with time.

I am wondering...

Who are we
but a name and a face
or perhaps
just a figment of some days.



Picture Courtesy : http://rumi.typepad.com/.a/6a00d8354c915569e201053707e838970b-800wi

The MPP (Mango, Pineapple, Papaya) Shake

Well, for those who are interested, this is MPP shake, that's Mango, Pineapple, Papaya Shake.

Recipe is simple, with emphasis on making the same quickly :)

• - Mango, Papaya and Pineapple in equal proportions.
• - 3/5th glass of milk.
• - Rest 2/5th with fruits.
• - Sugar as per taste.
• - Whip Cream (Optional Decoration).

MPP Shake can be tried with a bit of Vanila IceCream, if you like it :)

Have Fun.