Choices

Life is made up of the choices that we make.

Astray Ways

But, could it be that at times what we think of others gives us an insight into our own selves? 

The one bearing the heaviest load, reaps the richest dividends.

Paulo Coelho's concept of 'warrior of light' always used to put me in awe of some STRONG inhumanly characters, until I realized the extent of strength it requires to be merely human!

Nothing is permanent, and that is the beauty of everything.

Escapes are for those who do not believe in the Finish Line.

Time could change a lot, but no amount of showers can make a leopard lose its spots.

Necessity is the mother of invention, like mirror is to mask.

Some things are just too deep embedded. Even a dialogue could be a mere soliloquy. 


Its time to be a little concerned when one is always right. :)

Sheer Incapability To Communicate

Nothing is as purposeless as a battle where the right to fight lies with one person only.

Entangled

Discovering, evolving, discovering some more, evolving yet again.....

The self is like a maze of woods. One could easily loose path in venturing out to discover through the creepers. 

Its dark and its tangled.

At times the paths lead one to places one had not known existed, and at others they arrive at spots one could not believe existed.

I count on Your compassion O Lord, 

for not letting me get lost in this thicket! 

For not letting me succumb to darkness!

I seek Thee.

O Lord. The Omnipotent. The All Knowing.

Let not the eclipse last. Let not the dark be the colour.

La ilaha illa anta subhanaka inni kuntu minaz zalimeen!  

"None has the right to be worshipped but You (O Allah)), Glorified (and Exalted) are You

(above all that (evil) they associate with You). Truly, I have been of the wrong-doers."

Image Courtesy: Art by the river

Since ...

A weakling is too brave to fear ..... kisi ki aah aur Kisi ki pakar.

The Chains Of Craziness - Rumi

  Mathnavi II: 1372 - 1385

1372 gar tô bâsh-î râst w-ar bâsh-î tô kazh

pêsh-tar mê-ghazh ba-dô, wâ-pas ma-ghazh

pêsh-é shâh-ân gar khaTar bâsh-ad ba-jân

lêk na-sh'kêb-and az-ô bâ-himmat-ân

shâh chûn shîrîn-tar az shakkar bow-ad

jân ba-shîrînî raw-ad khwash-tar bow-ad

1375 ay malâmat-gar salâmat mar to-râ

ay salâmat-jô tow-î wâhî 'l-`urà

jân-é man kûra-st bâ âtesh khwash-ast

kûra-râ în bas ke khâna-yé âtash-ast

ham-chô kûra `ishq-râ sôzîdanê-st

har ke ô z-în kûr bâsh-ad kûra nêst

barg-é bê-bargî to-râ chûn barg shod

jân-é bâqî yâft-î-wo marg shod

chûn to-râ gham shâdî-afzûdan gereft

rawZa-yé jân-at gol-o sûsan gereft

1380 ân-che khawf-é dîgar-ân, ân amn-é to-st

baT qawî az baHr-o morgh-é khana sost

bâz dêwâna shod-am man ay Tabîb

bâz sawdâyî shod-am man ay Habîb

Halqa-hây-é silsila-yé tô Zû funûn

har yakê Halqa deh-ad dîgar junûn

dâd-é har Halqa funûnê dîgar-ast

pas ma-râ har dam junûnê dîgar-ast

pas funûn bâsh-ad junûn, în shod maSal

khâSa dar zanjîr-é în mîr-é ajal

1385 ân-chon-ân dêwânagî be-g'sest band

ke hama dêwân-agân pand-am deh-and

(mathnawi meter: XoXX XoXX XoX)

Translation:

1372 (Regardless of) whether you are straight or crooked, keep

crawling toward Him. Don't crawl backwards.

Although there may be danger to (your) life in the presence of

kings, nevertheless, those with (strong) aspiration cannot tolerate

(being distant) from Him.

Since the King is more sweet than sugar, it is more delightful that

(your) life should go to that sweetness.

1375 O blamer, may you have safety! (And) O seeker of safety,

you have weak handles.

My soul is a furnace (and) is happy with the fire. For the furnace, it

(is) sufficient that it is the house for the fire.

In regard to love, there is something burning -- just like the

furnace. Whoever is blind to this is not a "furnace."

When your provision becomes a provision without (need) of

(worldly) provision, you will find everlasting life, and death

will go (away).

(And) when your longing sorrow obtains increasing joy, the

garden of your soul will obtain roses and lilies.

1380 That which is frightening to others is your safety. Because

of the river, the duck (is) strong, but the domestic hen (is) weak

(and helpless).

O doctor! I've become crazy again. O beloved! I've become

melancholy (from yearning).

The rings of Your chain possess (various) manners. Every

single ring gives a different (kind of) craziness.

The gift of every ring is a different way (of acting) -- so I

have a different (kind of) craziness every moment.

Therefore, "craziness is of (various) modes" has become a

proverb -- especially in (regard to) the chains of this Glorious

Emperor.

1385 A craziness such as this has broken (my) shackles, so that

all the crazy people will offer me advice.

--From "The Mathnawî-yé Ma`nawî" [Rhymed Couplets of

Deep Spiritual Meaning] of Jalaluddin Rumi.

Translated from the Persian by Ibrahim Gamard (with

gratitude for R. A. Nicholson's 1926 British translation)

© Ibrahim Gamard

Sufi Music: Manam Mehve Khayale oo - Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan

An enchanting treat!

Sufi Music: Manam Mehve Khayale oo - Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan: "This rendition of Bu Ali Shah Qalandar's kalam by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan is best posted on its own unlike the other earlier post a few months..."




With gratitude to Sufi Music.

Barter

It was very dark on that late, post-midnight hour. Ominously dark. The place seemed familiar. Though she couldn't see it in that blackness of the moonless night, yet she knew the area. It was the university campus. 

Walking briskly down the slope she was breathless, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Her stomach churning with fear. It was cold yet she could feel the beads of sweat trickling down her face. 

'He is around, and he knows all these paths too well.' The thought made her racing heart panic even more. 

Now beginning to jog, she turned her head again to catch a glimpse, and yet again her sight couldn't find him. Only the terrorizing feeling of his proximity, just that devastating sense of closeness, was what she could sense.

She did not know him. She was sure. It was like a movie opening on a scene of a girl running from something and the viewer does not get to know who that thing is till the interval. The problem, however, was that in this case she was the girl who was running away, as well as the viewer who did not know the predator. 

All she knew was that she was running away from someone she was fearful of doing her harm. Any harm.

She moved down the curve in the path and wondered if she could find the cafeteria door open. The thought of escape was like a breath of fresh air, she felt her spirits renewed. Just then she spotted a big Pepsi truck parked beside the curving foot path. It was pitch dark inside the truck cabin, she noticed as she ran past. 

As she reached the front bumper, the driver's door flung open at her back. She heard the sound and her heart froze instantly, her feet stoned in her tracks. He had finally found her! The thought rose in her mind and sunk in the pits of her guts like a stone falling in an abyss. She felt her legs going numb with fear.  

"Why are you troubled when you have not done anything wrong", she heard. And could not understand a word. She stayed like that. Frozen. 

"Fleeing is for those who do things wrong," she heard. Again unsure if she was understanding what was being said.  "And those who do things wrong, flee because they know that they are going to be paid in equal measures. Its always a barter." 

Silence followed. 

Her racing heart began to slow down, blood seemed to begin finding way in her limbs again. It was not him, at least! She turned around, slowly. The cabin door closed again. She squinted her eyes but the dark wouldn't allow her a glimpse of her speaker. She inched closer. Not too close though. She was still in a state of disbelief.

" Relax", the voice echoed from the dark inside the truck cabin. And she sensed that the talker had smiled while saying so. Her panic slightly eased a bit more. 

"And don't worry, he can return to this path only when he has served the sentence. Remember, its a barter. Always."

Suddenly she heard a sound, that of the Calling to the prayer, the morning prayer. Her eyes shot open. Her heart pounding in her ears. Her face wet with sweat. It was dark. But it was her bed. She moved her hand over the sheets, just to be sure. And her frenzied heart found a cosy comfort in the sound of the Call. 

It was a dream. After all.

She got up and helped herself with a gulp of water. And moved to the windows and drew the curtains aside. The sky was still dark, the morning was yet to arrive. 

But she had known one thing: Its a barter. Always.

Jo rung rangiya.. The Colour It Dyed

jo rang rangiya goorha rangiya
murshad wali lali hoo yaar

The colour it dyed, 

is tinted so deep

The hue of my guide, O friend 

koook dila mataan Rab suney

cha dard wandaan diyan aanhi hooo

Cackle o heart, so the Lord hears

Seek the ache, to not miss the 'hooo'

seena ta mera dardee bharyaaa
ander bharkan banhiii hoooo

Misery chokes this bosom of mine 

Blazes within a flaring 'hooo'

tailan baaj na balan mashalan
dardaan baaj na aanhi hooo

With out cinder, a fire wont light

Without plight, theres no spark of 'hooo'

atish nal yaraney laa k
khambkhat saran k nahi hoo

Romancing with the flames of a pyre, 

The accursed burn by the amber of 'hoo'!

jo rang rangiya goorha rangiya
murshad wali lali hoo yaar

The colour it dyed, 

is tinted so deep

The hue of my guide, O friend 

ookha jhera ishq-e-wala
sambhal k per nikalleeen o yaar 

Loving the Supreme is quite a task

Watch thy wings as you long o moth!

jo rang rangiya goorha rangiya
murshad wali lali hoo yaar

The colour it dyed, 

is tinted so deep

The hue of my guide, O friend 

main shahbaaz karan parvaazaan
wich aflaak karam de hooo
Like a hawk I soar 
Through the heights
of the Bounties of hooo


zabaan to mere kun baraber
horan kam kalam de hooo
Its "kun" alone that my tongue knows of 
Rest use their pen to talk of 'hooo'


aflatoon arastooo wargey
mein aggey kis kam de hooo
Kinds of Plato, kinds of Socrates
Make no match to mine hooo


hatim wargey jhak karooran
dar bahoo de mangdey hooo 
Countless are dregs like the wealthy Hatim
At the steps of (Sultan) Bahu who beg for 'hooo'


zulf siah wich ho yad-e-baiza,
oo chamkar dekhaeee o yaar
The black locks and the glowing hand
What marvels to witness o friend!


Allah
ishq mohabbat darya day wich,
ke mardana karyay hoo
Allah...
Through the ocean of ardor and  rapture
How to float like a brave heart!

jethay pawan ghazab diyan lehrannn,
katamm uthaaen gharyey hoo
Each vortex where it whirls the most
Its there that the loops break


oo jhar jhang balaen bailay,
vekh vekh na daryay hoo
Of those wild beasts and demons and barrens 
Let not just the sight daunt you 

naam faqir kadahe deraa
jab wich talab day maryey hoo
Why enshrine one self as a 'lowly humble' (faqeer)
When the desires keep stealing the breath of 'hooo'

Maulaa
bhulya shadhar mayray aayaa
kar kar naach dekhaee oo yarr.
Lord
The cast out Bullehya came to me
And capered dancing around O friend!

jo rang rangiya goorha rangiya
murshad wali lali hoo yaar

The colour it dyed, 

is tinted so deep

The hue of my guide, O friend 

Poet: Bulleh Shah
Singer: Abida Parveen
Inapt translation: mine

Joon Darzi Diyan Leeraan, Hoo .......

الف اللہ چمبے دی بوٹی
ميرے من وچ مرشد لائی ہو

نفی اثبات دا پانی مليا
ہر رگے ہر جائی ہو

اندر بوٹی مشک مچايا
جاں پھلاں تے آئی ہو

جيوے مرشد کامل باھو
جيں اے بوٹی لائی ہو

Alif Allah chambay di booti
Mere man vich murshad laai… hoo…

Nafi asbat da pani milya
Har ragay har jaai… hoo…

Andar booti mushak machaya
Jaan phulaan te aai… hoo…

Jeevay murshad kamil bahu
Jain ae booti laai… hoo…

.... And unto everyone who is conscious of God, He [always] grants a way out [of unhappiness], and provides for him in a manner beyond all expectations, and for everyone who places his trust in God He [alone] is enough. Verily, God always attains to His purpose: [and] indeed, unto everything has God appointed its [term and] measure.

65:2, 65:3 Al Quran

Of Learning And Unlearning: !من تو شدم تو من شدی

My four year old is in total awe of a friend of his at his montessori.

The day his new session began, I was very anxious about his settling in his new class and setup. So when he came back home after the school hours, I asked him about his day at school.

"It was good", replied my angel.

"What was the best part in it?" I asked.

"Ahh... Ayela and lunch!" came the prompt reply.

No brownies for guessing Ayela is the cuty doll, the friend of his, he is crazy about :)

Had it been only this, it would have kept amusing me. But the new developments ask me to probe a bit deeper :)

We usually talk about his goal in life, or of next day atleast, as a kind of ritual that is a part of his bed time routine. So yesterday was no different when I asked him:

"So tomorrow is going to be a good day, and my son is going to be a better person, right?"

"I dont want to become a better-person, mama...." as if immersed in thoughts, to my surprise he objected.

"What do you want to become then?" I asked trying not to sound as baffled as I actually was.

"I want to become Ayela." He stopped, looked at me with suppressed glee and continued, "Then there would be two Ayelas!"

How could you not adore this aim in life! :)

Only if we could not unlearn loving like this when we grow up!

Yonder

'Oh, yeah .....' she stammered, slightly unsettled at the sudden mention of that brown door.'That money-plant outside!'.

'You didn't remember it, did you? It wilted and died.' 

She avoided looking into her eyes, not quite sure if the sudden gleam in her eyes was a sign of familiarity, or a badge of hurt she didn't really appreciate wearing.

'Wilted and died'. Something echoed.


Was money-plant the only thing that wilted and died there? A thought crossed her mind.

'Yeah, I didn't'. She confessed finally.

What she didn't tell was that she didn't remember many other things as well. And this abrupt mention brought those in the form of a blue print of an architecture that had, since long, seized existing in memory. 

Her mind wandered. Aimlessly. She let it. Loose.

In the balcony. That narrow strip of the black empty sky that had filled her sight night after night. Those wayward pink bougainvillea that spread their arms as if imitating a lover's embrace. 

She drifted.

And stopped. There.

'پس چه ترسم کی ز مردم کم شدم', she whispered.

'What?'

'When departing from one world to another, the agony of death didn't let memories live.'

Image Courtesy: jakehowlett.com

Fluctuating

At times the emotional equilibrium is like the simple harmonic motion of a pendulum - oscillating between two extremes: one of absolute discontent of a seeking heart and the other of total rapture of pure Love. The pendulum swings. From one extreme to another. The longing blends into gratitude, and the gratitude fades into the embrace of anguished pangs.

The Agony and Ecstasy of Divine Discontent: The Moods of Rumi

In the orchard and rose garden

I long to see your face.

In the taste of Sweetness

I long to kiss your lips.

In the shadows of passion

I long for your love.

Oh! Supreme Lover!

Let me leave aside my worries.

The flowers are blooming

with the exultation of your Spirit.

By Allah!

I long to escape the prison of my ego

and lose myself

in the mountains and the desert.

These sad and lonely people tire me.

I long to revel in the drunken frenzy of your love

and feel the strength of Rustam in my hands.

I’m sick of mortal kings.

I long to see your light.

With lamps in hand

the sheiks and mullahs roam

the dark alleys of these towns

not finding what they seek.

You are the Essence of the Essence,

The intoxication of Love.

I long to sing your praises

but stand mute

with the agony of wishing in my heart.

- Rumi

Ya mujhay humkinaar kar, ya mujhay baykinaar kar!

A Songful Night

When the hand of Life is heavy and the night songless, it is the time for love and trust. And how light the hand of life becomes and how songful the night, when one is loving and trusting all.

(Extracts from one of Khalil Gibran's letter dated 19th December 1916.)

The Best Gift I Ever Survived

In Thee My Ardour! (part 2)

(To go through Part I click here.)


Part II
Meda Dekhan Bhalan Jachan Jochan
Samjhan Jaan Sunjaan Vi Toon

Mede Thadray Saah Te Monjh Munjhari
Hanjroon De Tofaan Vi Toon

Mede Tilk Tilo’ay Seendhaan Mangaan
Naaz Nihoray Taan Vi Toon

Medi Mehdni Kajal Misaag Vi Toon
Medi Surkhi Beera Paan Vi Toon

Meda Ishq Vi Toon Meda Yaar Vi Toon

Medi Wehshat Josh Junoon Vi Toon (Aaa)
Meda Garya Aa’h O Faghan Vi Toon (Aaa)

Meda Awwal Aakhir Andar Bahir
Zahir Te Pinhaan Vi Toon Tooon

Meda Ishq Vi Toon Meda Yaar Vi Toon

Aaaa Meda Waal Aakhir Andar Baahir
Zahir Te Pinhaan Vi Toon

Meda Badal Barkha Khimniyan Gajaan (Aaa)
Barish Te Baraan Vi Toon

Meda Mulk Malir Te Maro Khalra
Rohi Cholistaan Vi Toon

Je Yaar Farid Qabool Karay
Srikaar Vi Toon Sultaan Vi Toon

Na Taan Kehtar Kamtar Ahqar Adna
La-Shay La-Imkaan Vi Toon

Meda Ishq Vi Toon Meda Yaar Vi Toon
Meda Ishq Vi Toon Meda Yaar Vi Toon.

Translation:

My searching, my seeking; my inquiring, my assessing

In Thee my understanding and comprehension; my compassion is You!

My cold sighs, my groaning and my sobbing

In Thee is the avalanche of my tears!

My adorning 'bindi', my beauty spots, the redness of vermilion , and the parting in my hair

In Thee the statement of my style, my seduction, my poise is You!
My henna, my kohl, my cleanser is You!
In Thee my cosmetics, my tobacco, my stimulant is You!


In Thee my ardour, my friend is You!


My craze, the passion of my madness is You!
In Thee my groans, my moans, my crying is You!
My alpha and omega, my within and without
In Thee the bare and the veiled!


In Thee my ardour, my friend is You!


My cloud, my showers, my flash, my thunders is You!
In Thee my rains, my spring is You!
My land of bliss, my gravel of agony is You!
In Thee my space: my Rohi, my Cholistan is You!
If Thou, O Love! Please accept Farid!
A lord is he! A sultan is he!
If not, the worthless, lowly, minor is he!
The void of utter nothingness is he!


In Thee my ardour, my friend is You!

Part II

Poet: Khwaja Ghulam Farid

Singer: Pathanay Khan

Inapt Translation: mine