'Kehte hain wo ki ban gaye hain devdas intezaar main
bano mohabbat-e-misaal aise
pyaar ke is benaam jahaan main
ki khud hi ban ek buland naam jaise'

'Aisi kashish bhari nigaahon se dekha unhone
Ki thehar gaye do pal hum
Naa nigaahen hatti banti, na lagti thamti
Us lamhe ki umar na poocho humse,
Yaad to sirf us nazar ki gehraaye hai humein'

of madness, love and poetry

A bacteria once entered my body and travelled far and wide, flourished well, before the antibiotics started catching up. Amongst other symptoms, it also created a sporadic craziness in me, (that hopefully is doing some good)!
The poems below were born in these sporadic crazy spells. I hope that this madness continues if it can do justice to my heart’s renderings!

'Pad ke aapke dil-e-baiyaan ko,
pairon tale se zameen jaati rahi
Jab dhoondna chaaha sahaara koi aur,
wo umeed bhi jaati rahi
Palat ke jab pada us ehsaas ko dobara,
sahaare ke chaah bhi jaati rahi'

'Is mulaqat se pehle, shauk to tha, par yeh aalam naahin
Ab jo mile ho, to yeh aalam bhi hai aur sama bhi
Arz –e-mohabbat ko hamaari, paagal kehti hai duniya
Aur humein is naam se koi gila bhi naahin'

From 'Shakespeare in Love'

'Tell me how you love her Will?'
''Like a sickness and its cure together''
'Like rain and sun, cold and heat. Is your lady beautiful, tell me is she beautiful'
''Thomas, if I could write with the beauty of her eyes,I was born to look in them and know myself''
'And her lips?'
''Her lips?..The early morning rose would wither on the branch if it could feel envy''
'And her voice, like lark's song?'
''Deeper, softer. None of your twittering larks. I would banish nightingales from her garden before they interrupt her song''

When Ghalib came knocking..

This one wasn't intended to be a blog entry, written in a travelogue format, more like an account of my recent trip back home. I couldn't manage to find a suitable platform to display it in, and it was then that a friend suggested to create a Blog of mine. So the story of 'How the Blog was born' is just about this long (short)! I faithfully reproduce the account as it was written, and wouldn't wish to maul it to suit the needs and style of a blog post..

''Hazaaron khwahishein aisi ke har khwahish pe dum nikale

Bahut nikale mere armaan, lekin phir bhi kam nikale''

~Ghalib

(thousands of desires, each worth dying for,many of them I have realized,.yet I yearn for more)
A desire to visit the by-lanes of Ballimaran in Chandni Chowk, a desire to explore not only Ghalib’s final rented abode, but to savour the essence of Ghalib and Old Delhi that stands testimony to an era of Urdu and Persian poetry greats, a desire to soak in the ambience that influenced and provoked some great Shaayari, a desire to go back in time…
I wasn’t disappointed when I embarked on a journey to seek Ghalib, or rather seek him in part, for he is so disseminated that to get him all at one place or time is impossible, and had it been possible, the whole charm of doing so would have been lost!
My affair with Ghalib started with his poetry and then spilled over to his life and times. Admittedly, for a novice, his shaayari (poetry) is not easy to comprehend. Considerable help from Urdu literate friends, internet translations and endless discussions escalated my interest in him. There are many different ways to interpret his poetry, rich with satire, love, longing and life’s realities. And this just helped tip the scales towards an obsession with the poet
The story begins, when my eye caught an article in the newspaper about the 210th Birth Anniversary celebrations commemorating the great poet, spread over a three day period. The celebrations were supposed to be replete with articulate Mushaairas (poetry sessions), several cultural events and his house in Chandni Chowk decked up in splendour and converted into a museum. It couldn’t have been better timing, with me on a trip home and looking forward to something that could expel me from my tedium inducing daily schedule.
After much convincing and cajoling, my parents agreed to accompany me and step into the narrow streets of Chandni Chowk, though they did look slightly shocked at my insistent requests to visit this place.
The first vibe Chandni Chowk gave (it was my second visit though) was a myriad onslaught of colours, sounds, smells. It was dark when we reached, the whole bazaar and houses were well lit. Mostly muslim dominated, we saw people dressed in long white kurtas and topis (caps), a lot of shops selling beautiful embroidered dresses mingled with paan shops, shops selling meat, hand pulled carts thronging the very narrow alleyways (we had to be very careful while dodging them), rickshaws with purda clad women, children running around, paan spit stained walls and streets, all this reeked of smells and sounds that lends Old Delhi it’s characteristic grandeur. Walking or rather running in parts to reach Ghalib’s house, I experienced a great part of what Delhi must have been at that time. Much of the old flavour is still well retained in present day Old Delhi. After asking for directions and about a fifteen minute walk from the Metro station, we finally arrived at Ghalib’s Haveli. It was a momentous occasion for me! I stood for a while outside the once dilapidated ruin, now under renovation but still visibly stressed, like one feels when one finally reaches a long sought destination and just wants to initially revel in the feeling of finally making it. I wanted each moment to sink in, before I started shooting away with my camera! Life outside the building moved at a normal pace with shops on either side of the house, intermittent swarms of people visiting the shops or just passersby, as if it wasn’t of much consequence that this place once housed one of the world’s greatest poets. It was like a taken for granted place that had the occasional tourist turning up and each year during Ghalib’s birth anniversary, being graced with some special lighting!
However the house itself surrounded by high rise buildings retained its antiqueness and the museum inside offered generous amounts of information to satiate my huge appetite. The lighting all over the two room haveli, helped create the right aura. I must have looked like a half crazed tourist to the other visitors, what with my incessant photography and staring and touching the walls, its crevices! Some visitors at the haveli cum museum sensing my obvious overt interest in Ghalib, directed me next, to the Town Hall of Chandni Chowk, another fifteen minutes walk from the Haveli, where the Mushaaira and other cultural programmes were being conducted, in Ghalib’s honour.

I managed to drag my parents along to the Town hall. The setting was that of a typical Mushaaira, with mattresses strewn in front of the stage, covered with white sheets and cushions to lean back on. I was pleasantly surprised and heartened to see a lot of young people in the crowd who may have been Urdu or Persian students at the University or just great fans of Ghalib’s poetry and/or the poet himself. The session inevitably started late (2 hours off the mark) with an opening speech in Urdu, which I couldn’t follow entirely, but just fell in raptures at the beauty and music contained in this language. It was to follow with a classical dance performance and poetry sessions by some eminent poets of our times. However much I would have liked to attend it, time was running short and we had to catch the last train home. This coupled by growing restlessness of my parents I finally decided to leave.

And then, as I left the streets of Chandni Chowk, I felt inescapably bound in the web of sheer magic and beauty Ghalib had woven, years ago with his poems. A web whose threads have only strengthened with time, which I clasp tightly and grope around, in search of the exceptional class that is the hallmark of his art.
The sensibilities of our generation is eternally indebted to this talent who ironically remained under debt throughout his life!
I borrow another couplet from Ghalib that sums up his effect

''Hain Aur Bhi Duniya Mein Sukhanwar Bohat Achchey

Kehtey Hain Key Ghalib Ka Hai Andaaze Bayan Aur''

(There are many more eloquent speakers/poets in this world
but it is said that Ghalib’s style is different from them all)

Am very pleased that I could kick off this blog, with an entry about Ghalib, who has earned an eternal fan in me!