Lo Jaam ultaey Detay Hain

Don't Go Back To Sleep

One night a man was crying,

Allah! Allah!

His lips grew sweet with the praising,

until a cynic said,

"So! I have heard you

calling out, but have you ever

gotten any response?"

The man had no answer to that.

He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep.

He dreamed he saw Khidr, the guide of souls,

in a thick, green foliage.

"Why did you stop praising?"

"Because I’ve never heard anything back."

"This longing you express is the return message."

- Rumi

Aj Ki Raat

Enjoy Your Coffee

A group of highly placed alumni visited their old university professor. Conversation soon turned into complaints about stress in work & life.

Offering them coffee, the professor returned from kitchen with a pot of coffee & an assortment of cups - porcelain, glass, crystal, some plain-looking, some expensive, some exquisite.

He asked them to help themselves to hot coffee.

When all had a cup of coffee in hand, the professor said, "If you noticed, all the nice looking expensive cups were taken up, leaving behind the plain ones. 

While it is but normal for you to want only the best, that is also the source of your stress. What you really wanted was coffee, not the cup, but you still went for the best cups & were eyeing each other's cup.

If life is coffee, then jobs, money & status in society are the cups. They are just tools to hold & contain life.

Don't let the cups drive you,

Enjoy the coffee!" :)

-Anon






Hey, and dont forget to listen to this ;)

Surreal

As the first of drizzle shimmered on the black coat & the wafts of steamy coffee made my glasses go foggy; it reminded of the realness of this surreality. I fell in love.

The first rain drops kept their naughty trailing path over my face, as my eyes followed the ripples in the little puddles on that marble floor.

The heart beat with the sound of those falling drops.

The mind wandered. 

Somewhere between the idle talk, and somewhere there in a room, inside that building. It was such a to-and-fro trip: an idle talk, in the afternoon of a day somewhere in early January of 2012 ... and inside that room, in the afternoon of a day somewhere in late March of 2010.

'Things end.' I reminded myself. 'Like this cup of coffee. Or like the sound of this throaty laugh'.

I inhaled the scent of winter again.

First rain.

The wet earth.

The lavish heavens.

The damp cold.

That warmth of the styrofoam cup in my hands. 

I let my painted nails peel a little of that white cup.

It was all real.

The present. 

Just that it was so magical, it was making me go back into a time tunnel that does not exist.

I felt the moisture of those flirty rain drops on my face. And recalled the tears of that other afternoon. Inside that room, in the afternoon of a day somewhere in late March of 2010. 

This is real. I remind myself. This moment. This smile. This breath that turns to fog as I exhale.

Standing on those marble steps, I looked back into the welcome gallery of that building.

This is the present. And in the afternoon of a day somewhere in early January of 2012 I stood outside of this  building with my back towards the welcome gallery of the REDC. 

Re-Evaluation Of Evaluation

A little while back on a social media platform, I shared a statement that had a minor syntax error with more to do with my carelessness than any lack of comprehension. The statement, otherwise, was meaty in its content and many people shared it verbatim with my name in credits. By chance I went over it again and realized the mistake in the statement; discovering how many people had shared it as it was, caused a bit of discomfort for me. I was not comfortable being associated with a flaw, that was not a characteristic otherwise.

Ever since, if I intend to quote someone verbatim (retweet- as some may prefer to term it), and there seems to have crept in some similar carelessness, I usually point it out to the person... lest the added readers, who might not already be aware of the person's stature, should not think any less of him/her.

I think of it as an expression of utmost respect for the person's credentials, rather than  an assertion of any expertise of mine... for I know where I stand. At the first rung of the ladder.

It might only be a cause that I dont get paid to evaluate, evaluation doesn't come very naturally to me, and doesn't go very easy with me either.

In other news, it was a pretty mediocre day by any standards, made more so, thanks to the learned evaluation.

Sigh.... Man! Am I not a grumbling machine :)

After All This Time…

We saw Beauty & The Beast today :)

"After all this time…he has finally learned to love." 

Musta'gharq Darya'ay Ishq

عشق که بازار بتان جای اوست
سلسله بر سلسله سودای اوست
گرمی بازار خراب است
آتش دل های کباب است عشق
گفت به مجنون صنمی در دمشق
کا ی شده مستغرق دریای عشق,
عشق چه و مرتبه عشق چیست؟
عا شق و معشوق در این پرده کیست؟
عاشق یک رنگ و حقیقت شناس
گفت که: ای محو امید و هراس
نیست به جز عشق در این پرده,کس
اول و آخر همه عشق است و بس

جامی 

They're Overdue

Lyrics | Muse lyrics - I Belong To You (Mon Coeur S'ouvre À Ta Voix) lyrics

A God Of Loss

Keeping mirror houses within your bosom, do you really hope to fall in love?

All around the image of thy own self, how could you look beyond to fall in love?

Is it not so that you love your own reflection, be it in the mirror, or some one else's eyes? Let yourself not allude to the notion of falling in love with those eyes, then. Its just the reflection, my dear, that you adore.

In the Parthenon of your heart, Athena is the carving of your own charming self. 

And deities don't fall in love, you know.

All they expect, are devotees. 

And they bear with them the authority to grant. Heaven or hell.

Approval or rejection.

You know,

You can approve or reject... but you can not love, my love.

And what loss is this!

To be a god, and to not know the euphoria of falling in love.

For gods don't fall.

They stand still. Expect. Demand. And judge.

They just don't fall.

You may have the entire Parthenon to yourself, but aren't you a god of loss, my love?

Kalam e Iqbal

This is Iqbal for you!  Kalam-e Iqbal - (AUDIOS)

One Day.

 And beauty they say, comes in many forms. Two of which are in this post...

Nobody, Not Even The Rain, Has Such Small Hands

Somewhere I have never traveled, gladly beyond

any experience, your eyes have their silence:

In your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,

or which I cannot touch because they are too near

Your slightest look easily will unclose me

though I have closed myself as fingers,

you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens

(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, I and

my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,

as when the heart of this flower imagines

the snow carefully everywhere descending;

Nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals

the power of your intense fragility: whose texture

compels me with the colour of its countries,

rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes

and opens;only something in me understands

the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

E.E.Cummings

We Shall.

Thou knowest all - I cannot see.

I trust I shall not live in vain,

I know that we shall meet again

In some divine eternity.

Oscar Wilde

When the brown branches shall bear the red flowers,
Then, my Love,
We shall meet

Then, we shall meet

When the koonj (cranes) shall return from their journey,
Filling the world with a joyous cackle,
Then, my Love,
We shall meet.

Then, we shall meet

When this forlorn cheek of mine has soaked
all tears trailing from my eyes,
Then, my Love,
We shall meet.

Then, we shall meet 

This gulf of separation is a folly of the fool
Hence,
We shall meet.

Then, we shall meet

Artist: Allan Faqir

Sindhi Kalaam: Sheikh Ayaz

Inapt Translation: mine

Biya Biya...

Biya, biya, ke nayabi chu ma digar yare,

Chu ma ba jumlajahan khud kujast dildare?

Biya, biya, wa bar har sue ruzgar mabar,

Ke nest naqd-i-tura pesh-i-ghair bazare.

Rumi

Translation:

Come, come for you will not find another friend like Me,
Where indeed is a Beloved like Me in all the world ?
Come, come, and do not spend your life in wandering to and fro,
Since there is no market elsewhere for your money.


Prof. Nicholson

Let Not the Moment Pass Unattended!

Hasti ke zohur mikonad dar hame shai’

Khaahi ke bari be haale vai baa hame pai

Rav bar sare mai habaab raa bin ke chesaan

Mai vai bovad andar mai o vai dar mai mai

(Jami)

Translation:

Being manifests Itself in everything.
If you want to discover Its state in everything,
Go and see how the bubbles are on top of the wine:
The wine is they in them and they are wine in the wine!

Eureka

Today, a little while back I cam across this:

“Every deep thinker is more afraid of being understood than of being misunderstood.” 

― Friedrich Nietzsche

And was suddenly reminded of the following passage I wrote quite a couple of years back. Thought of sharing it here...

Woh tanha hay. Ye woh hamaisha say jan'ti thi. Magar woh tanha rehna chahta hay, ye woh nahi jan'ti thi. Isko lagta tha uskay ander ka genius, misunderstood honay kay khauf kay ba'is usay tanha rehnay par majboor karta hay. 

Bhala aisay kaisay ho sakta hay kay koi jeeta jaagta insaan, apnay jaisay baqi insaano say, unki qurbat say duur bhaagay? 

Laikin woh zindagi kay bohat say pehlo nahi jan'ti thi, aur ye bhi shayad unhi main say tha. 

Apni chotti si qainaat main us ne loagon ki aik prototype bana rakhi thi jis main essentially har koi acha hi tha, baqi loagon say lagao rakhnay wala. Haan oonch neech to har jagah hi hoti hay, chuna'chay woh apni iss qainaat main bhi oonch neech honay par waqti taur par pareshaan honay kay baad phir say apnay prototype par eimaan lay aati thi. 

She just couldn't be any other way. Magar jaisay mein ne pehlay bataya, zindagi kay baray main bohat kuch aisa tha jo woh nahi jan'ti thi.

Woh tanha tha. Magar iss liay nahi kay woh tanhaii pasand tha. Iss liay bhi nahi kay uska dil zindagi say, zindagi ki bheeR bhaaR say uchaat tha. Magar iss liay kion kay woh tanha rehna chahta tha. Uskay ander ka genius ussay tanha rehnay par majboor karta tha. Nahi, iss liay nahi kay woh misunderstood honay say kha'if tha. Balkay iss liay kay woh apna ye bharam qaa'im rakhna chahta tha kay baqi dunya, loag, uski genius ki gird bhi nahi pa saktay. Woh issay kabhi samajh nahi saktay. Usko ye dar nahi tha kay loag usay different samajh kar reject na kar dain. Uska khauf to bilkul alag tha; Ye kay loag kaheen usay apnay jaisa, apni hi tarah ka na samajh lain. Unhi ki tarah ka, aam sa! Uski infradiyat main hi to uski genius posheeda thi. Woh aam loagon ki tarah kaisay ho sakta tha?

Jab woh ye kehta, 'main isi liay kisi ko nahi batata, kisi say share nahi karta. Kisi ko samajh nahi aati', tou woh dard say choor ho jati. Uska akela-pun saanp bun kar isko dasnay lagta. Aur phir isko apni hi kisi baa-hosh lamhay main ki gai baat bhool jati kay 'uskay ander tou aik Namrood busta hay, apnay buland aahung dawa-e khudaii kay saath'. Apnay dukhtay dil kay saath uskay akelay-pun ko sehlaatay usay kabhi khayal bhi nahi aya kay woh kaheen iss liay bhi tou dunya say share karnay say nahi katraata kay kaheen wo dunya ko samajh na aa jaey? Kaheen uska enigma solve na ho jaey? Kaheen woh bhi one of the mob na ho jaey? Magar isko ye khayal aata bhi kaisay? Bataya hay na woh zindagi ko nahi jan'ti thi!

To be Continued...

Image Courtesy: Gabriella Mirollo

The Two-Way Road

No lover ever seeks union with his beloved,

But his beloved is also seeking union with him.

But the lover's love makes his body lean,

While the Beloved's love makes her fair and lusty.

When in this heart the lightning spark of love arises,

Be sure this Love is reciprocated in that heart.

When the Love of God arises in thy heart,

Without doubt God also feels love for thee.


Rumi

Drunken Dabbling

Ishq ka Ain = Aboodiat ka Ain


Jinka maa'bood aaeenay main basta hai, unkay banday kabhi moatbar nahi ho paatay.


Ye kia kay ik sayaal main burd hon apnay sab asraar? 
Ho tasawurr-e yaar aur khat-e sabu pe kaun o makaan doal jaaen  




But why am I saying all this? 
Jo jantay hain, wo jantay hain...


Aur jo nahi jaantay... well, 
Tum na jaan pao gay!







PS: Btw, I dont restore to any drunkenness which is as cheap as being purchasable ... lest the post title should confuse you!

Aisa Ho?

Dil ishq main bey-payaan, sauda ho tou aisa ho, 

Darya ho tou aisa ho, sehraa ho tou aisa ho 

Ham sey nahin rishta bhi, Ham se nahin miltaa bhi, 

Hai paas vo betha bhi, dhoka ho tou aisa ho

Woh bhi raha begana, ham nay bhi na pehchana, 

Haan ay dil-e deewana, apna ho tou aisa ho! 

Ham ne yahi maanga tha, Uss ne yahi bakhsha hai, 

Banda ho tou aisa ho, daata ho tou aisa ho 

Iss daur main kya kya hai, rusvaai bhi lazzat bhi, 

Kaanta ho tou aisa ho, chubhta ho tou aisa ho

Ay Qais-e-janoon paisha Insha ko kabhi dekha? 

Vahshi ho tu aisa , rusvaa ho tu aisa ho!

Dil ishq main bey-payaan, sauda ho tou aisa ho, 

Darya ho tou aisa ho, sehraa ho tou aisa ho

May Allah pay you back in equal coins!


And trust me, you wouldn't be able to take the next breath if you had even an inkling of how severe it would be!

Thus Spake Zarathustra

Been a while into reading Nietzsche's THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, and what a roller coaster ride it has been :)

The extremity of the views is, at the same time, endearing as well as repelling. I mean, he gives one a stout chance to be offended... :)

But then all of us are entitled to our own opinions, aren't we? 

While he provides so much that I could relate to as a person, there is no dearth of substance that make me feel sorry for the visible lack of sound, healthy, emotional influences on his views about women in particular.

But then magnificence has its price, more often than not a quintessential tragedy... 

Following are a few excerpts: 

"THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA"  by Friedrich Nietzsche

Far too long hath there been a slave and a tyrant concealed in woman. 

On that account woman is not yet capable of friendship: she knoweth only love.

In woman's love there is injustice and blindness to all she doth not love. And even in woman's conscious love, there is still always surprise and lightning and night, along with the light.

As yet woman is not capable of friendship: women are still cats and birds. 

Or at the best, cows.

As yet woman is not capable of friendship. 

But tell me, ye men,who of you is capable of friendship?

Oh! your poverty, ye men, and your sordidness of soul! As much as ye give to your friend, will I give even to my foe, and will not have become poorer thereby.

There is comradeship: may there be friendship!

Thus spake Zarathustra.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

WHY stealest thou along so furtively in the twilight, Zarathustra? 

And what hidest thou so carefully under thy mantle?

Is it a treasure that hath been given thee? Or a child that hath been born thee? Or goest thou thyself on a thief's errand, thou friend of the evil?- Verily, my brother, said Zarathustra, it is a treasure that hath been given me: it is a little truth which I carry.

But it is naughty, like a young child; and if I hold not its mouth, it screameth too loudly. 

As I went on my way alone today, at the hour when the sun declineth, there met me an old woman, and she spake thus unto my soul:

"Much hath Zarathustra spoken also to us women, but never spake he unto us concerning woman."

And I answered her: "Concerning woman, one should only talk unto men."

"Talk also unto me of woman," said she; "I am old enough to forget it presently."

And I obliged the old woman and spake thus unto her:

Everything in woman is a riddle, and everything in woman hath one solution- it is called pregnancy.

Man is for woman a means: the purpose is always the child. But what is woman for man?

Two different things wanteth the true man: danger and diversion.

Therefore wanteth he woman, as the most dangerous plaything.

Man shall be trained for war, and woman for the recreation of the warrior: all else is folly.

Too sweet fruits- these the warrior liketh not. Therefore liketh he woman;- bitter is even the sweetest woman.

Better than man doth woman understand children, but man is more childish than woman.

In the true man there is a child hidden: it wanteth to play. Up then, ye women, and discover the child in man!

A plaything let woman be, pure and fine like the precious stone, illumined with the virtues of a world not yet come.

Let the beam of a star shine in your love! Let your hope say: "May I bear the Superman!"

In your love let there be valour! With your love shall ye assail him who inspireth you with fear!

In your love be your honour! Little doth woman understand otherwise about honour. But let this be your honour: always to love more than ye are loved, and never be the second.

Let man fear woman when she loveth: then maketh she every sacrifice, and everything else she regardeth as worthless.

Let man fear woman when she hateth: for man in his innermost soul is merely evil; woman, however, is mean.

Whom hateth woman most?- Thus spake the iron to the loadstone: "I hate thee most, because thou attractest, but art too weak to draw unto thee."

The happiness of man is, "I will." The happiness of woman is, "He will."

"Lo! "Lo! now hath the world become perfect!"- thus thinketh every woman when she obeyeth with all her love.

Obey, must the woman, and find a depth for her surface. Surface is woman's soul, a mobile, stormy film on shallow water.

Man's soul, however, is deep, its current gusheth in subterranean caverns: woman surmiseth its force, but comprehendeth it not.-  Then answered me the old woman: "Many fine things hath Zarathustra

said, especially for those who are young enough for them.

Strange! Zarathustra knoweth little about woman, and yet he is right about them! Doth this happen, because with women nothing is impossible?

And now accept a little truth by way of thanks! I am old enough for it!

Swaddle it up and hold its mouth: otherwise it will scream too loudly, the little truth."

"Give me, woman, thy little truth!" said I. And thus spake the old woman:

 "Thou goest to women? Do not forget thy whip!"-

 Thus spake Zarathustra.

THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA

by Friedrich Nietzsche

translated by Thomas Common

On A Random October Night

Some things in life needed a bit of pruning... 

... This blog for example :) 
(And hey, do let me know if scrolling down you could find out the changes in the blog! :)

So was digging through the old entries, the incomplete drafts, half written thoughts, half thought muses... in a nutshell the half baked stuff ! 

Its always a good idea to take care of the half baked stuff...

Came across the following words that apparently I had jot down somewhere in August 2009- not completed for want of any form or structure. Despite trying I couldn't recall the source that triggered this pain, hence dropping the idea of putting on some finishing touches, decided to bring them forth as-it-is...

Pataal ki gehraee jaisa sanaata

Rooh kay ehsaas ko nigal janay wali khamoshi

Takhayul ki khaitee jaisay khayal ki boond boond ko tarasti ho

Aur jazbaat yun habszada hoon jaisay jaith ka mausam

Tarasta hai mun

Kisi narm baat ko

Kisi gulrung ehsaas ko

Dil ko jo choo jaey

Khayal ki uss aanch ko

Raat hai sooni, mun hai soona

Soona soona jag ye sara

Kia karoon bin pii kay mein

Na saans hai apni, na aankh mein taara

In Kay Darmiyaan Kia Hai?

Shehar ke dukandaro! Karobaar-e-ulfat mein sood kya ziaan kya hai, tum na jaan pao gay

Dil ke daam kitne hain, khuwab kitne mehnge hain, aur naqd-e-jaan kya hai, tum na jaan pao gay

Sheher ke dukandaro, sheher ke dukandaro

Koi kaisay milta hai, phool kaisay khilta hai, aankh kaisay jhukti hai, saans kaisay rukti hai
Kaisay reh nikalti hai, kaisay baatein chalti hain, shouq ki zabaan kya hai, tum na jaan pao gay

Sheher ke dukandaro, sheher ke dukandaro

Wasl ka sukoon kya hai, hijr ka junoon kya hai, husn ka fusoon kya hai, ishq ka daroon kya hai

Tum mareez-e-danai maslihat ke shaydai raah-e-gumrahan kya hai, tum na jaan pao gay

Sheher ke dukandaro, sheher ke dukandaro

Zakhm kaisay phaltay hain, daagh kaisay jaltay hain, dard kaisay hota hai, koi kaisay rota hai

Ashq kya hai naalay kya, dasht kya hai chaalay kya, aah kya fughaan kya hai, tum na jaan pao gay

Sheher ke dukandaro, sheher ke dukandaro

Namuraad dil kaisay subah shaam kartay hain, kaisay zinda rehtay hain, aur kaisay martay hain

Tum ko kab nazar aayi ghamzadoon ki tanhaee, zeest be-amaan kya hai, tum na jaan pao gay

Sheher ke dukandaro, sheher ke dukandaro

Janta hoon mein tum ko zouq-e-shaiyri bhi hai, shaksiyat sajaanay mein ik yeh mahiri bhi hai

Phir bhi harf buntay ho, sirf lafz suntay ho, in ke darmiyaan kya hai, tum na jaan pao gay

Sheher ke dukandaro, sheher ke dukandaro!

Do You Hear Me?

Your body is away from me
But there is a window open
from my heart to yours.
From this window, like the moon
I keep sending news secretly. 

Rumi