Contradiction

Tell me if one can, 
when enough is really enough.
Beyond success, away from failure,
when its reveling and depression enough.
Beyond the talk of friends and slander of foes,
All this merriment and sorrow enough.
With the homeless searching shelter,
the wandering of the living large enough.
The ever present memories of the past,
And the ever evading present enough.
The brave despite its loss,
And the unseen fears of timid enough.
The paltry answers of all questions,
those question raising answers enough.
Laughing back at those mirrors,
When truth hurts, hurts enough.
Have made the mind to leave behind,
The trailing foot-marks enough.

An Unfinished Poem

There is an unfinished poem in me,
Somewhere...lingering in me.
In the prison of spring awaiting its release,
In the cage of desires, fluttering its wings.
Like a fleeting moment, neither here nor there,
Like the unseen moon, unfolding at its own pace.
Like the starless night, on its own journey,
Like a lonely path, which has not been taken yet.
With a flurry of events, dead but awaiting burial,
With an unforgiving past, lived yet untold.
Like a barren season which promised rain,
Like the waiting for a beloved, who never came.
Promises not kept, a life half unfinished,
Memories of a kiss, awakening from a sleep.
Coming home to a night, dark as ever it was,
Shedding a tear for the moment that never was.
There is an unfinished poem in me,
Somewhere, lingering in me.

Stay with me

Stay with me,

my assassin, my beloved, stay with me.

When the night is spread

with its unction of musk, with its diamond scalpel

drunk on the blood of the firmament, this inky night,

lamenting, laughing, ululating,

dances its grief away on jingling anklets.

The moment when hearts, like secrets steeped deep within the breast,

like knives secreted within deep sleeves lie in wait

for the right moment. The moment

when wine tinkles into cups like a child's whimper,

when discontent swells and cannot be assuaged,

when nothing seems to work at all,

when that night comes to pass,

when that funereal, hushed, black night comes to pass

stay with me,

my assassin, my beloved stay with me.

(Paas Raho by Faiz Ahmed Faiz)

No, it is not sadness.

It is just Silence
That the mind favours now.
No, it is not sadness
It is just a pause in my breathe.

This life bestowed by Lord
Well, it is not so strange.
But pray - for it to not be too much to bear
Ah! But still, it seems,
This life is an excess
No, it is not sadness.

I could have selected
The Dawn, the Night
Or even the high noon of mid-day
Yet, I chose the Dusk
No, it is not sadness.

Ah! That tale
That overbearing tale of my life
That was once narrated by me
I had written it myself.
But today
I am hearing it, once again
No, it is not sadness.

Call me by my name.

I have come though none has called me.

Call me once, call me by my name.

I am lost in this sea of relations

With people who know me, yet know me not.

I am charred by familial emotions

With whom time has tested me often.

Friends who were no friends

Although we shared some great laughs.

Love was always in the air

It was sublime, it didn’t stay.

Endless nights that we spent,

Nights that didn’t meet dawn at times.

Have come to old people with new names

Have met them like new ones meet.

I have come though none called me.

Wish they had called me by my name

Different Voices

Voices that never seem to die
Sublime yet resonating in memories.

A Flour-mill guy covered in the dust of his own labor,
doing the work his forefathers had been doing, said...
’My son is studying, he will not do this work',
His eyes gleaming with the voice of hope.

Parents looking at their young widowed daughter,
still lying awake past midnight, said to each other
‘She doesn’t sleep’.
That was the voice of despair.

A tongue tied boy was operated
He whispered the first words..’Daddy’,
It was the whisper of a child the father had longed to hear.
That was the voice of joy.

A dying mother looked into the eyes of her daughter,
while she was looking at her, and said..
’Don’t worry, everything will be fine’.
It was the cold voice of death.

In his last telephonic call to his son, the father said…
’Just pray to God to ease my journey once I depart this world’. That was the voice of a traveler
who was to leave on his eternal journey.

Two thick friends of decades,
questioned each other while leaving for good..
’When will we meet again?’
That was the voice of finality and separation.

Words such as these have escaped some lips
And are resting now within the delicate walls of my heart.

Rubina.

Year 1994... A sense of hopelessness and gloom was writ large on everybody's face in the family.. Reason.. Rubina (my Mamu;s daughter) was going through a very turbulent phase, her marriage had failed miserably only in about 2 years and as in every failed marriage the onus was to lie on the fairer sex by her husband, who in all respects didn't deserve her. I always knew Rubina from a distance though we were first cousins, she was always the quiet one. She always carried herself with a certain amount of dignity, which was markedly visible in her personality. Distance also maintains dignity and this was the case with us. I respected her for the way she carried herself after her brief marriage ended. An infant daughter, Anam, in here arms she acquired a stony silence about any questions that arose to her future. She was indeed made of strong material which few possess and even fewer maintain it. Nonetheless her life centered around continuing studies, working first as a teacher and then in a bank and again back to teaching. She completed her Post graduation during the first few years in her starkest period of life, the period when people weave and realize their dreams, she was just moving about with no remorse of any broken dreams on her face. Though I did read her face a couple of times. I remember her first image of loneliness which I saw in 1995, it was my wedding day and I had walked down the aisle and was seated next to my bride and gave a cursory glance around the hall. I saw her seated with a year old Anam seated in the first row of guests, she was looking at me and I complimented her glance with a smile and she replied it with a faint one. Wearing an electric blue pure silk printed saree, she was looking as radiant and serene as she ever was. She had accepted her fate and there was no regret whatsoever in her demeanor yet she had a sad face, her eyes revealed her inner despair. When I came down the stage to greet people, I being an elder to her, she was about to get up to greet me but I stopped her from doing so, as there as Anam sleeping in her laps.
A decade passed away, i would hear about her, there was actually nothing much to hear to as nothing had changed in her life. Of course, Anam was growing rapidly and Rubina had adapted to her fate and entered into a comfort zone from where it was very difficult for her parents to convince her about a second marriage. Her father would often argue - 'What will happen to her once I pass away? Who will look after her?" She did not agree or succumb to the pressure. She would say that she is not alone, her Anam is with her.
But life has many uncertain moments and it comes out of the blue and we have to live it, accept it. Life opened a door of companionship for her and she got married to Mehmmod bhai. I knew Mehmood bhai quite well as he was is related to Qaiser Bhai, a cousin of my mom. Mehmood bhai being a very generous man, I admired him for being the way he was. Rubina was lucky at last as I could see her happy with Mehmood bhai. He had provided her the life that every girl desires to have and she had two children from him.
Rubina would always complain that I seldom visited her home. I would always say that I would surely come one day but that day never came. I never came out of my routine life and never broke the huge castle of abandonment that I built around myself. Though this had got nothing to do with her but I know she like everybody else never liked me being so high and dry in my aloofness. But that did not stop her from coming to my house. She would invariably bump on a Thursday or Friday evening and initially would grumble that she would stop coming to me if I do not come to her house. She would be very vocal in her displeasure and I would say that she was right in her argument as I am very much wrong in being away from everybody. Somehow the distance maintained from my side though at times she would be coaxed at times by her husband to visit me. Her last phone call was before going for Hajj.

I made my last call to her when she was in hospital undergoing chemotherapy. I knew she could make it, after all she is made of strong stuff.

Last week, Rubina passed away due to a terminal illness, in her 30's she was quite young to die, living a short life which had given her very few years of happiness; The distance that was always maintained between us become indefinitely distant, she passed away into eternity.

RIP... Rubina !!!

(First written on APRIL 15, 2012)

You've been giving...

You’ve been giving all the time, all the time really.
So much so that nothing remains for you at the end.
And then you fall on bad times, really bad times.
You hope that the one’s you’ve loved will understand it.
And no one understands, literally they don’t.
They say it is your own doing…
You feel all the more bad about it, rather worse than the failing situation.
You do nothing, because there is nothing you can do about it.
You face it, like one does when a gun is pointed to his temples. 
They don’t click the trigger, not yet, maybe never.
But then you know it is not necessary to click the trigger, really not necessary.
Somehow you have died, not literally, but you don’t live anymore.
But you still are giving, all the time.
Because that's all you should be doing, that's all you can do, and have been doing so.

Life can be....

Though dear to me, Life can be…
a pleasant ride when you get a seat in a crowded bus
But then you fail to get down at your destination.
It can be a ride on the footboard, hanging with just a foot in
But which also helps you in getting down first.
Life can be a ticket to a movie 
Where you see the house-full board and feel sad.
Or you may get a ticket from someone who has an extra one as his friend didn’t turn up.
Life can be that chance moment when you run behind a bus and fail to catch it.
And at that moment you find a friend approaching you, whom you hadn’t seen in years.
Life can be a friend forever
But it can also be that friend who has turned a foe now.
Life can be like that woman whose beauty never fades,
Because it is the beauty in her soul and wrinkles cannot age them.
Life can be that woman, who is always there like a nagging thought.
Life can be that one room house which always has room for more.
Life can be that dream which comes true without even chasing it.
And more often than not life can also be life.

Why such pride my love ?

Why such pride my love ?

The rains have come blooming glorious flowers

From my home a palanquin has come on four shoulders.

Where are you my beloved at this hour?

Why such pride my love ?

The courtyard seems so lonely without you

From my eyes endless tears flow

In a stream that like the river shows

A thousand times I bathe in my own tears,

Still my bath of despair isn't fulfilled.

With dried hair and dress wet in my own tears

The heart feels a lifeless pit.

Why such pride my love ?

Flutter of the Season

Was that a flutter of the season
That shook the picture-frame hung on the wall

Last season, these walls did not have water leaking within them
Wonder why, this time, water has crept into the walls, created lines in them
And the water seeps in such a manner, as if tears flow on a dry face

This rain is humming on the rooftops
As if writing a message on the glass of the windows in the house
As if sitting and weeping, behind closed windows

The afternoon seems like the empty squares of a chessboard
There’s no one to play the game, no moves are made on the board

Neither is it day, nor does night come
Everything seems to have come to a standstill

Was that a flutter of the season
That shook the picture-frame hung on the wall 

                                                              (Adapted from Gulzar's ....Kisi mausam)

Notice the Poor.

Do not overlook my misery,
by blandishing your eyes and weaving tales;
My patience has over-brimmed, O sweetheart!
why do you not take me to your bosom.
Long like curls in the night of separation
short like life on the day of our union.
My dear, how will I pass the dark dungeon night
without your face before.
Suddenly, using a thousand tricks
the enchanting eyes robbed me of my tranquil mind.
Who would care to go and report
this matter to my darling.
Tossed and bewildered, like a flickering candle,
I roam about in the fire of love.
Sleepless eyes, restless body,
neither comes she, nor any message.
In honour of the day I meet my beloved
who has lured me so long, O Khusro!
I shall keep my heart suppressed
if ever I get a chance to get to her trick.
                                                            (Adapted from Amir Khusrou's Zihaal-e-Miskeen) 

An Unequal Life

Early morning the thought arose
While looking at the migrating birds 
to go back to my homeland.
but why do I want to go ?
Leaving this beautiful attire
Removing the beautiful crown of riches from the head
Giving up ruling this world
Why is the heart playing that music again?
What unique song did the cuckoo sing
That made me leave the throne like so much dirt?
What unique song did the cuckoo sing
That the pangs of separation are stirred anew?
The heart is no longer in worldly matters
Men and women are watching with anxious eyes
The flowers strewn on the bed are feeling like thorns
As I lay awake the whole restless night
Why did I call the carter in the middle of the night?
Slowly I reached the shores of the present
Lonely banks, soft breeze
Slowly I reached those banks
I felt the bittersweet pangs
Why can’t I forget her?
My love is now a complete housewife
Buying milk and busy the whole day
The tears of separation have long since been wiped away
Then why awaken the pain again?
Then why early morning the thought arose

Wandering mind

The wandering mind is on its way to see a dream…..
It beats with passion, taking passionate breaths.
Why does sleep run away from these exciting twists and turns ?
The wandering eyes long to watch some exciting sights, through the bewitched closed balcony
The wandering mind is on its way to see a dream.

In this crazy world, I wish I had some crazy company.
With this scheming crowd around, I wish your hands were in mine.
Wish there was a wandering melody and a wandering composition.
My wandering feet have the desire to dance to these wandering tunes of that wandering song.
The wandering mind is on its way to see a dream.

I wish the darkness was wandering enough and so was the silence that accompanies it.
I wish quivering lips go easy, as the intoxication is so bewitching.
Let the fanatical veil, slowly show us what face lies behind it. 
Let the consuming veil, slowly tell us of the break of dawn. 
But let me move away from that bewitching face.
The wandering mind is on its way to see a dream.

...never a certainty

With life there is never a certainty 
that things will work out the way you had envisioned at the start. Relationships fail, people fail, circumstances fail, 
everything around you crumbles 
at the most important time of your life. 
You look around and find 
that you are at the crossroads of your life 
all alone with no support, no respite from the life 
which is out to punish you. 
I have been there time and again 
and all I could muster was the strength to move; 
to move away from all that tried to bring me down; 
to move away from negativity; 
to move away even from my 'self-doubting' self. 
But still it remains - that lingering pain and its afterthought 
that will never leave you. 
Neither respite nor refuge, you think about God, 
who seems to you to be looking away. 
you keep afloat thinking that you will not drown 
and the sea of unfairness will not take you in its strong current. 
What does one do then - give up or try again? 
I have asked this question many times and I still do, 
with no answer in sight or maybe 
I do not want to read the writing on the wall. 
I just know that not all roads end, some just get narrower. 
Not all currents take you in their merciless embrace, 

They sometimes throw you out at the shore, 
sometimes battered, sometimes dead. 
I ask this question time and again. 
I ask them quite too often. 
With life there is never a certainty