Bulleyah

Those who call me Syed 

Are destined to hell made for them. 

Those who call me Arain 

Have the swings of heaven laid for them. 

The low-caste and the high-caste, 

Are created by God who is all-powerful; 

He casts away the fair ones, 

And clasps to His heart the meritless ones. 

Translation Source: web.

Preaching And Programming

All our lives we keep on listening about the impact of learning and society on one's upbringing. Its the established idea that is behind the millions of schools running all over the world. They TEACH, they FORM, they SHAPE.

But how much important is the DNA that resides in there? How much SHAPE and FORM could be infused in a blob of wet clay when you have a genetic coding embedded in its material, DNA?

Its tricky, isn't it? Think of the old times when people used to talk of "lineage" of "nobility of blood", doesn't sound that senseless, does it? 

So what does this suggest? Character (or lack of it) is whose fault? Not everyone grows up in the supervision of those responsible of its existence. In that case who bears the credit(/discredit) of the personality? How can you program an already coded specimen? What extent of teaching can outgrow the impact of genes? 

Or can it?

Why could we not know this is what genes will program, and this is where we can preach?

!

And this world and its people never cease to surprise you.

Good night all.

The China Doll

"The best years of my life came after what seemed at first a tragedy from which I could never recover. I had been a Dresden China Doll sort of wife. I'd grown up in too much luxury. I knew nothing. And so it happened that my husband ran our home, as well as his own successful business, while I accepted soft, sweet irresponsibility. 

Then one day his partner looted the firm and fled. A month later mu husband's over strained heart gave way. And I, ignorant heir to his wholesale butter-and-egg business, walked into his empty office and began to learn things. Friends begged me to sell out for whatever I could get. I was warned that I'd end in bankruptcy. But some invisible force drove me on. I stuck. I studied. I visited bankers, and wholesalers and customers, eagerly learning. Every night I fell into bed exhausted. But the Dresden China Doll had come to life at last. After a year, I was still horribly in debt. I had lost half the old customers. But I felt at home in the business.

Three years later I was on my feet, sure of myself. I was making almost as much as my husband had earned. Pretty good for an ex-China Doll. More old customers had come back. I ate better, slept better--- and joked oftener--- than ever before.

I was thirty-nine years old then. Now I'm turning fifty-nine. And I'm still in the best years of my life --- the years that have brought out the very best in me."

~ Anonymous, RD issue Art of Living.

A Clueless Blue

Like the dancing waves, 

make a velvet trap to woo

the moonlight;

Like the clear sky,

seeks to cage 

a morning bright;

Like the blooming bud,

laughs to prey 

the drops of dew;

Like the shining sun,

catches the rain

to hold a hue;

Like the stars at night,

ask in ransom

a thought of you;

Often the afterglow,

steals of rainbow

a clueless blue.

Catching Up

Got this in my mailbox and just adored the cuteness :)
"
An older, tired-looking dog wandered into my yard. I could tell from his collar and well-fed belly that he had a home and was well taken care of. 

He calmly came over to me, I gave him a few pats on his head; he then followed me into my house, slowly walked down the hall, curled up in the corner and fell asleep.
An hour later, he went to the door, and I let him out.

The next day he was back, greeted me in my yard, walked inside and resumed his spot in the hall and again slept for about an hour. This continued off and on for several weeks. 

Curious, I pinned a note to his collar: 'I would like to find out who the owner of this wonderful sweet dog is and ask if you are aware that almost every afternoon your dog comes to my house for a nap.'

The next day he arrived for his nap, with a different note pinned to his collar: 'He lives in a home with 6 children, 2 under the age of 3 - he's trying to catch up on his sleep. Can I come with him tomorrow?
"

10-Words short story

Moth beamed. Flame gleamed. Passion steamed. Later, hiss. Ash. Soot.

You Never Did Let Go

As children bring their broken toys

    with tears for us to  mend,

I brought my broken dreams to God

    because He was my friend.

But then, instead of leaving Him

    in peace to work alone,

I hung around and tried to help

    with ways that were my own.

At last, I snatched them back and cried:

    "How can you be so slow?"

"My child," He said, "What could I do?

     You never did let go."

                            Poet Anon

A bend in the road is not the end of the road ... unless you fail to make the turn!!!

Being Alive Is So Much Work

• Don’t pay any attention to what they write about you. Just measure it in inches. During the 1960s, I think, people forgot what emotions were supposed to be. And I don’t think they’ve ever remembered.

• Isn’t life a series of images that change as they repeat themselves? I’m afraid that if you look at a thing long enough, it loses all of its meaning.

• They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself. Since people are going to be living longer and getting older, they’ll just have to learn how to be babies longer.

• I suppose I have a really loose interpretation of “work,” because I think that just being alive is so much work at something you don’t always want to do. The machinery is always going. Even when you sleep.

• Fantasy love is much better than reality love. Never doing it is very exciting. The most exciting attractions are between two opposites that never meet. I have Social Disease. I have to go out every night. If I stay home one night I start spreading rumors to my dogs. Sex is more exciting on the screen and between the pages than between the sheets.

• In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes.

BY ANDY WARHOL

Image Courtesy: Andy warhol work at  www.allaboutweybridge.co.uk

Ye baatain jhooti baatain hain

Ibne Insha has been my first introduction to literature - an all time most favourite poet, not only for his unmistakable canny-ness with words to explain the complexities of human heart but also for the enviable deftness with which he did so; One can always count on the tenderness in his verse to pluck at the heart strings like the fingers of a trained violinist. His solitude drenched in passion, and innocence peeping through that longing cascaded as just another perplexity, do little but to endear him to any dreamer. Insha's poise and spontaneity is yet to find any rival, for he truly is a master of flow.

Ye Baatain Jhooti Baatain Hain, is a lovely gem by the great poet and bears his same signature: ease and sensitivity. 




yeh batain jhooti batain hain, yeh logon nay phelai hain 

tum insha ji ka naam na lo, kia insha ji saudaaii hain??? 


These words are untrue tales, all rumoured by the folks
Why name the sweet Insha, nay you find him sane?

hain lakhoon rog zamanay main, kion ishq hai ruswa baychara 

hain aur bhi wajhain wehshat ki, insan ko rakhti dukhiara

haan baykal baykal rehta hai, ho peet main jis nay jii hara 

per shaam say lay kar subh talak yoon kon phiray ga awaara??? 

yeh batain jhooti batain hain, yeh logon nay phelai hain 

tum insha ji ka naam na lo, kia insha ji saudaaii hain??? 


With hundreds of plagues widespread, why blame the stricken love alone
Anguish could have many names, that stack the ache borne
True restless strays the one, whose heart burnt by the flame of love
If not him, who would fritter away, from sun down till dawn?
These words are untrue tales, all rumoured by the folks,
Why name the sweet Insha, nay you find him sane?

yeh baat ajeeb sunatay ho, wo duniya say bay aass huay
ik naam suna aur ghash khaya, ik zikr pay aap udaass huay
wo ilm main aflatoon sunay, wo sher main tulsi daas huay
wo tees baras kay hotay hain, wo B.A. M.A. paas huay
yeh batain jhooti batain hain, yeh logon nay phelai hain 

tum insha ji ka naam na lo, kia insha ji saudaaii hain??? 


What you tell is so strange, he has lost the hope to pursue
That one name and he turns cold, one mention and he goes blue
A Plato of knowledge, a giant of arts
30 seasons has he seen, with feathers in his cap
These words are untrue tales, all rumoured by the folks
Why name the sweet Insha, nay you find him sane?

gar ishq kia hai tab kia hai? kion shaad nahi abaad nahi?

jo jaan liay bin tal na sakay, yeh aisi bhi uftaad nahi
yay baat tu tum bhi mano gay, wo Qais nahi Farhaad nahi
kia hijr ka daro mushkil hai? kia visl kay nuskhay yaad nahi???
yeh batain jhooti batain hain, yeh logon nay phelai hain 

tum insha ji ka naam na lo, kia insha ji saudaaii hain??? 

What's wrong if he did love? Why is there joy and bliss naught?
That only seeks to knock off, this could be such havoc naught!
This you too won't question, some Qais or Farhaad he is naught
Is parting a hard brew? Are there concoctions of union naught?
These words are untrue tales, all rumoured by the folks
Why name the sweet Insha, nay you find him sane?

jo hum se kaho hum kartay hain, kia insha ko samjhana hai???

uss larki se bhi keh len gay, goh ab kuch aur zamana hai
ya chorain, ya takmeel karain, ye ishq hai ya afsaana hai???
ye kaisa gorakh dhanda, hai ye kaisa tana bana hai???
ye batain kaisi batain hain, jo logon nay phelai hain???

tum insha ji ka naam na lo, kia insha ji saudaaii hain???

Can do what you ask, is sweet Insha to be clued in?
May even ask that damsel, though the times are same naught
To yield, or to conclude, if this is some flame and a tale naught?
An enigma it seems, a maze so tangled!
These words are untrue tales, all rumoured by the folks
Why name the sweet Insha, nay you find him sane?

Image Courtesy: Paklinks.com

Fill Your Cup Of Life

Fill your cup of life

fill it to the brim

let the Life kiss it 

till its very edge

Fill your cup of life

with the passion of a lover

the desire of the Beloved

filling it, fueling it

setting it ablaze with fire

Fill your cup of life

with the intensity of feel

feelings that speak of warmth

warmth that seeps in

warmth that keeps in

Fill your cup of life 

with the gentle touch 

of a mad lover

soft and tender,

intense and full

Fill your cup of Life

never let it go dry

Fill your cup of life

with Life.

Image Courtesy:  Cup of Life Athabasca Falls Jasper by Sorsdhal

I wasn't like this before.......

Believe me

I wasn’t always like this

Lacking common sense

Or looking insane

Like you

I used to be clever

In my days

Never like this

Totally enraptured

Totally gone

Like sharp shooters

I used to be

A hunter of hearts

Not like today

With my own heart

Drowning in its blood

Nonstop asking and

Searching for answers

That was then

But now

So deeply enchanted

So deeply enthralled

Always pushing

To be ahead and above

Since i was not yet hunted down

By this

Ever-increasing love

RumiÂ
– Translation by Nader Khalili
“Rumi, Fountain of Fire”
Cal-Earth Press, 1991

Image Courtesy: Windswept Fields by Sorsdhal

Carve me out into mould of yours O love!

The following qawwali by Ameer Khusro has an almost haunting feel to it, or perhaps the way Shafqat Amanat Ali's vocals have rendered it that 'soze' has added to that magical effect. I am not into Khusro's poetry. At times despite grasping the concept, the idea of lover and beloved as he presents, becomes too knotty for me.

However, I just fell for this one. The yearning, the longing, the desire is so strong, so potent that it hardly leaves any margin for not falling a prey to those gutsy torrents of love showering down upon one's entire being.

Translating it was the closest thing I felt I could do to immerse in those blinding showers of intoxicating pure love. I so wish I could do better with this for this deserves to be treated so.

Mohay apnay hi rung mein rung lay,

Tu to saaheb mera Mehboob-e-Ilaahi;

Mohay apnay hi rung mein……

Humri chundariya, piyaa ki pagariya,

Woh to donon basanti rung day;

Tu to saaheb mera …….

Jo kuch mangay rung ki rungaai,

Mora joban girvi rakhlay;

Tu to saaheb mera…….

Aan pari darbaar tehaaray,

Mori laaj saram sab rakh lay;

Tu to saaheb mera Mehboob-e-Ilaahi,

Mohay apnay hi rung mein rung lay.

Tone me into a glow of thine

Thee my sir, are Allah's beloved

Dye me into a cast of thine

My scarf and the love's turban

Let both be flushed with the tint of spring

Thee my lord, are Allah's beloved

Whatever it may cost infusing the color

Loan it against all this bloom of mine

Thee my knight, are Allah's beloved

(now that) I have rolled in at thine court

Thou I ask to keep my honor and esteem

Thee my man, are Allah's beloved

Adorn me with that value of thine

Lyrics: Ameer Khusro
Inapt translation: mine
Image Courtesy: learningguidenetwork.com

Talaash-e-harf, Khayal-e-Faiz

More often than not all of us let our worlds revolve around activities that are related to the outside sphere, rather than concentrating upon the one that matters to the universe that exists within.
Unfortunately, whatever we find happening, happens in the EXTERNAL orbits, away from the electric field of the nucleus that is responsible to keep us charged. This just serves to dissociate us farther from our inner self. The happenings serve as the magical potion, the entrancing tranquilizer, which take us away from the turmoils of the self; far far away into a land of forgetful bliss, an island of beautiful sunrises and enchangting eves. The intoxicating rush of breaking away from the reality is so potent that like a speedy car of a drunken driver, it makes us loose our sense of direction and we dive straight into the realm of artificiality that we fondly call "the happening world".

However, the hangover of this treacherous lovemaking with the diva la-di-da leaves one battered like the Titanic. Then all what is left for the self to gloat in consists of a void so deepening that it swallows every thought into the black hole at its pit; words are  rendered speechless and fancy rotting to nothingness. All that is left is an echoing silence!

Aaj ek harf ko phir dhoondta phirta hai khayal
Madh bhara harf koi, zeher bhara harf koi

Dil-nashin harf koi, qeher bhara harf koi
Aaj ek harf ko phir dhoondta phirta hai khayal...

Today again my fancy seeks a word to soar
An intoxicating word,  a word brimming of venom
A word that bewitches, a word that is barbed
Today again my fancy seeks a word to soar...

Harf-e-ulfat koi dildar-e-nazar ho jaise

Jis’se milti hai nazar bosa-e-lab ki surat
Itna roshan ke sare-mauja-e-zar ho jaise
Sohbat-e-yaar main aghaaz-e-tarab ki surat
Harf-e-nafrat koi shamsheer-e-ghazab ho jaise,
Aaj ek harf ko phir dhoondta phirta hai khayal...

A word of desire like the enchanting beloved herself

Whose glance greets like a kiss on the lips

As radiant as the wavelet of a sea of gold

Like the hum of a ballad in the company of a lover

A word of spite that wounds like a vengeful sword

Today again my fancy seeks a word to soar...

Ta abad shahre-sitam jis’se tabah ho jayein

Itna tareeq ke shamshan ki shab ho jaise
Lab pe laoon to mere honth siyah ho jayein
Aaj ek harf ko phir dhoondta phirta hai khayal...

A word so potent to consume the rancor forever

A word so dark as the eve of a charnel

A word when uttered,  leaves my lips charred

Today again my fancy seeks a word to soar...

Poet: Faiz Ahmed Faiz
Inapt translation: mine

Image Courtesy: Photograph by Roberto Grilli

And So I Left Facebook..

"I believe this has been VERY biased and shamelessly blasphemous an act by the Facebook administration to not ban the group "Everybody Draw Muhammad Day". In addition to getting my protest registered in black and white, I am deactivating my Facebook account for the next couple of days. This status msg would stay here for a while so as to ask all others affected to join as well."

A few hours later, my Facebook account deactivation form bore this deactivation reason:

"I condemn Facebook for not banning the event of "Everybody Draw Muhammad". I am utterly disappointed in Facebook for explicitly associating itself with extremism and racial/(anti)religious fundamentalism, and that too, via the most heinous form of Freedom of Expression. Since Facebook, despite being a global 'social' networking site, has failed to control and ban things that are hurtful to my feelings and those of my nation,  I find it below my dignity and against my self respect to keep using it." 

I wish there was more that I could do, in addition to asking for a 'dislike' button for a note shared at a friend's profile, and which read:

Please be patient and offer durood. Think of what the Prophet S.A.W. would have done. He would have smiled and forgiven them (the blasphemers) for their lack of understanding. Lets show the same tolerance as that of our beloved Prophet S.A.W. and stop participating in this useless condemnation.

I wonder how 'beloved' is this beloved? And is this the same cool display of patience they would have expressed had the target been one of their really loved ones? 

Main hosh mein hoon, Abida Parveen

main hosh mein hoon hosh mein hoon, hosh mein hoon... 

I am sane, in my senses, in my wakefulness

deewaana hoon to tera hoon

And to Thou still I belong in my craze

hoon raaz agar to tera hoon 

If an untold secret, to Thou I belong

afsaana hoon to tera hoon, 

If a myth narrated, I belong to Thee

barbaad kiya barbaad huva 

Deserted by Thou, ruined I am

aabad kiya aabaad huva

Blessed by Thou,  salvaged I am

viraana hoon to tera hoon,

If bereft, to Thou I belong

tera kaashaana hoon to tera hoon, 

If endowed, I belong to Thee

(iss teri tajjali ken kurbaan kurbaan-e tajjali har unava) - 

main shamma bhi hoon to tera hoon 

If a beacon I am, to Thou alone I belong

parwaana hoon to tera hoon, 

If a seeker, I belong to Thee

tu mere kaif ki duniya hai - 

From Thou I draw my serenity

tu meri masti ka aalam 

In Thee I find my ecstasy

paimaana hoon to tera hoon -

If a chalice, to Thou I belong

maikhaana hoon to tera hoon,

If a tavern, I belong to Thee

har zarra Zaheen ki hasti ka 

Each speck of Zaheen's humble self

tasveer hai teri sar-taa-pa 

carries an image of Thou all over

woh kaabaa-e-dil dhaanewaale 

Oh Thou who can raze the Kaaba shrine of heart

butkhaana hoon to tera hoon, 

Even if am an idol temple, I belong to Thee

main hosh mein hoon to tera hoon 

deewaana hoon to tera hoon

In my sanity, to Thou I belong, 

in my madness I belong to Thee

(the translation is mine, hence quite humble.)

Come September

Come September, the Rock Hudson version (there are 2 remakes), is one of the truly delightful movie experiences from my yester years. I remember my gleeful mum as she recalled her fond memories of her elder brother moving in and out of home humming this tune; her fondness of Rock Hudson, another factor in making this a special watch. 

Heard this after years, and the simple joy that this lovely tune brings with it alongwith the gushing stream of images of some lovely and heart warming smiles just made me hum along. Wanna join? :)

My SUN's mothers' day gift :)

It's gonna rain

It has been a pretty good weather for the last couple of days, for this time of the year. But still I am thrilled by this wind storm that is beginning to pick up. Its thrashing against the structures like a mad lover, crashing like an angry sea god. The wind hisses and wails alternatingly, talking of the happenings only it witnesses during its flow. Sobbing for the sorrows only carries within. The sturdy trunk braves the slapping wind with enviable dignity, while the weak branches sway with the force, grooving along the orchestra only a wild wind can play.


Its dusty. I close my eyes and decide to get back in. But my senses ask me to stop. Its turning moist. The dampness that is the gentle texture of the soothing shower which is going to subdue this mad lover, is slightly becoming detectable. Soon this hissing and wailing wind would be sighing of relief, gathered and collected within the moisture washing away its sorrows.

I stay on the terrace for I smell rain in this hurling cloak of dust. 

The wait is over.

Choosing a turn.

Have you ever been at a cross section? Of course you have been. But how about being on the cross section where you are to choose between two of the available turns, and both are left. This LEFT or that LEFT! Yeah, thats when you don't have any RIGHT. 

Life could be testing. For you? Are you sure?

A very captivating message that we tend to forget in the mundaneness of the day in day out life ......

Pal Pal ...

A lovely pahari folk song by Tahira Syed which is laden with the richness of softness that is so characteristic of the folk music.

I couldn't grasp the lyrics completely to put them down here for the benefit of readers, but the mood and the feeling isn't hard to capture. And how could it be any other way! the mellowness and softness and the ultimate sense of serene belonging that only some relation, deep relation, can allow makes it just relevant..

I remember talking about the richness of folk music with someone some eons ago, and what I realized for the first time was the pleasant discovery that the lavishness of tenderness with which folk music tickles ones senses is a result of the patient braving of the souls and traditions embedded in soil against the ravaging assaults of time.

Its a warm early evening. And the time and mood ask for some reconnecting with the self, roots, and everything in between .....

Enjoy your day ....

Image Courtesy: Earth's Richness by Howard Ganz