Monday, November 26, 2012

Guest Post From The Blog 'Tangled Up In Blue': "...Of The Voice Of The Rohi"



I've no words to describe the beauty of the following post. 
If anything, it's a treasure trove for anyone in love!

It is of the voice of the Rohi! 
It has the essence of Rohi, in various different voices carrying it over the sound waves...

Don't trust my word, just click on the link, and find for yourself!

Tangled Up In Blue: ...Of The Voice Of The Rohi ": If you stopped me on the street tomorrow and asked, "What's the proudest day of your life?" I wouldn't hesitate a second before answerin...




Saturday, November 24, 2012

I Sent A Letter To My Love



... And on the way I dropped it!
I dropped it, I dropped it
Yes, on the way I dropped it


The following talk touched me on so many levels... primarily because of the speaker's passion for her simple labour of love, and secondly because it reminded me of my mother - one person with whom I relate the word letter to. She wrote letters to her parents, her sisters and brothers. Laced with prayers and an oozing sense of warmth.

When I initiated this blog a couple of years back, it had the same underlying motive.
But she is right, nothing compares to that personal statement of affection, that comes from no where and asks nothing in return ...


To all you beautiful souls spread across this planet, trying to chip in their share of love ... Hats off to you! 
Much love & respect!




Monday, November 19, 2012

کھوٹی کھوج - Khhoti Khhoaj




Aik bazurg thay jo har jumay-raat ko bazar jatay thay. Mashhoor tareen kothay par ja kar, wahan ki shoala-jawala ka intekhaab kartay thay.

Khabar shehar main phelnay lagi, tou mureedon ko bhi tashweesh hoi. Kuch ne sunn gunn lenay ka irada kia, apas main bahmi mashawaret se te ye paya kay aik mureed agli jumayraat ko Sheikh ji pe nazr rakhay ga. So saheb, jumayraat aee, dars ki mehfil khatum hoi tou sheikh sahab ne dastaar sambhali aur niklay bahir ko.

Peechay peechay sharmindagi main gharq hota bechara aik mureed. Sheikh saheb k liay tou rasta shayed meel bhar ka tha lekin Mureed becharay ki zindagi bhar ki aqeedat lutt gai iss safr main! 
Khuda Khuda kar kay wo bazaar pohanchay. Kothay par Sheikh saheb ko hathon hath lia gaya. Mureed chehra aur gharqshuda emaan chuppaey peechay dabka raha.

Maloom hoa kay Sheikh saheb ne raat bhar k liay waheen qayyaam karna hai. Ab ye nai museebat! Aakhir kuch koshish k baad Mureed ko un kay kamray ka pata tu chal gaya, magr ab sawal ye peda hoa kay dekhnay ko hai kia? 
Aqeedat aur eemaan tou us becharay ka pehlay hi doob chuka tha, ab ander jhaank kar aankhon ki sharam se bhi jata! 
Wapis loatnay ko tha kay khayal aya kay aik baar jhaank zaroor lena chahiay. 'Kia pata Sheikh saheb ki mujh par nazr par jaey, aur aj ki raat wo iss gunah se bach jaen.' Bus yehi soach uskay pairon ki zanjeer bun gai. 

Mohabbat kitni zalim cheez hai na :) na-ummed nahi honay deti! 

Acha khair, kahani kahan tak pohanchi thi? 
Mureed bazurg ka peecha kartay kartay us kamray tak ja pohancha tha jahan bazurg khareedi gai khalwat main aik khatoon kay sath thay. 

'Modesty be damned', yaqeenun Mureed ne socha ho ga. 
Ab jo manzar us kay samnay tha, us se uskay rongtay kharay ho gaey. 
Sheikh aur wo larki pehlo ba pehlo juray bethay thay, is tarah kay larki kay ghair malfoof badn aur sheikh sahab kay darmayan se hawa ka guzar tak mumkin na tha. 

'Illahi, ye din bhi dekhna tha' Mureed ki aankhain bhar aeen. 
Uska dil, Maulana, mazhab, aur mohabbat, sab se yukbaargi uth gaya! 

'Hunh! ye hai haqeeqat! do kori ki tawaaif kay qadoom main apni bazurgi ka imama rakh dia hai!' us ne bari karwahat se socha!

Aray, magr, Sheikh sahab tou abhi tak mastoor thay! Mureed tootay dil kay sath phir se darwazay ki darz se jurra. 
Sheikh sahab na sirf mastoor thay, balkay larki kay sath sath wo bhi bay-his-o-harkat thay. 
'Ye kia tamasha hai?' Mureed ki nigah ne phir un dono ka pushtt se bharpoor jaiza lia. Larki malboos na thi, lekin Sheikh sahab mukammal mastoor thay. Waqaee, wahan kuch harkat na thi.

Achanak dekhtay hi dekhtay, Sheikh sahab kay badn main larzish si hoi. Aur Mureed ne dekha kay wo yakayuk bijli ki si taizee kay sath chhalaang laga kar uthay aur qibla roo lapkay. "Allah o akbar" ki awaz aee, aur wo mehv-e namaz ho gaey .... 

Mureed phatti phatti ankhon se dekhta reh gaya. 
Ye kia hoa? Ye kia tha? Ye kion tha? 
Iss main se kisi bhi cheez ka jawab uskay paas na tha. 

Uskay pass tou ab kuch bhi nahi tha. Na aqeedat, na ehtaraam, na mazboot yaqeen. Na andhi mohabbat. 
:) Becharay ki aql lay doobi usay .... 

Sheikh sahab fajr tak laraztay badn kay saath  masroof e ibadat rahay. Larki unki namaz shuroo karnay par malboos ho kar sonay lait gai thi. 

Kis ki raat sohbat main guzri; kis ki mehroomi main, kaun jaanta hai? 

Haan ye raaz zaroor khul gaya kay Sheikh sahab apni battery ko sulf kesay detay hain. Lekin is raaz ne Mureed becharay ka tamaam safr khotta kar dia!

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Too Beautiful To Put Into Words



If you need something badly enough, it finds you. They say.

Look, what I found just now... Both things simultaneously flowed into my domain, as if on their own, just when I needed them the most... We all need assurances, don't we?  

"In the right light, at the right time, everything is extraordinary." Said Aaron Rose.
If they make sense to you, be sure your need got addressed! :) 


  1. "No one believes the sincere except the honest." - Kahlil Gibran






Fools Rush





What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.


No time to stand beneath the boughs

And stare as long as sheep or cows.


No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.


No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night.


No time to turn at Beauty's glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance.


No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began.


A poor life this is if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.


'Leisure' by William Henry Davies


Friday, November 9, 2012

The Zero Sum


(Original draft of October, 2010)


There was once a man; ah well, he thought he was. A man. 



As he grew, smaller, his cowardice blossomed. And in no time he was a young man ready to make a life under a thoroughly branched, shadowy and strong trunked mohagany of spinelessness.
We all know cowardice in a man is what shamelessness is in a woman. 

So that was like what it exactly was: Changing costume after costume, putting on layers of make-up, to hide beneath one form or the other. 

Every night he donned a new attire, a new avatar: One that could earn him the most applause for that night. One that could steal the show for that night.
Every night he played a different man.
And his life, thus became the sum of the shows he put up, night after night.

Till he remembered only the applause.


And forgot who he was.



What is worse than being a man who can not belong to any one? 

.
.
.

Being a man who can not belong to his own self!