Thursday, January 28, 2010

Old me and pastures anew

I now write at

Welcome though.

Wednesday, August 05, 2009

The chords inside

So after learning some sargams and thaats for a couple weeks, this Saturday I had a rendevouz with (Raag) Kalyaan. Right now I am listening to the recording of the lecture, umpteenth time. As my instructor (Prof. saab) mentions in the recording - its really a beautiful Raag. The beauty is beyond words. Really. You don't realize and it melts you. I wonder how and what chords are struck inside. It appears to me that as there are sympathetic strings in the Dilruba that are not played but they just resonate with the main string, these strings inside resonate with the environment around you when you are sitting with a Raag as well. The joy is inexplicable.

I am not sure if I am allowed to share this, but as I said, characters of a language are kind of not enough to explain. There is not a lot Dilruba in the recording, but the idea is to convey the spirit of the raag.

PS: I can't believe that I could beat all that laze to actually start learning. Dhan Heavens!

Sunday, March 15, 2009


dekh ke,
aur dil se haar ke,

ek ghar hi hai,
jo panaahata hai,
yahan hum,
kisse kahein,
zehen ka dard.


I listened, saw,
and the heart conquered me,

But, only home
gives you shelter?

Ah, here! Whom should I share with,
the agony inside.


Sikander, mukander,
aur jahaan ki fateh,
kaisi thi yeh bani mufeed?

haar to khudee ki thi par,
mil gayi is dil ko jeet

PS: Gulaal might make you think.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

Paint me Yellow

I always believed there were two kinds of men in this world- men who go to their deaths screaming, and men who go to their deaths in silence. And then, I met the third kind. - James McKinley (Superintendent in-charge, Lahore Jail, 1922-1923).

Tujhko zindagi baad-e-fanaa milegi Ashfaq, tera marna tere jeene ki badaulat hoga - AshfaqUllah Khan

I love India, my desh, the motherland. And so I believe do a number of people I know around (exceptions ignored). Despite a bouillon of corruption, religion, politics and a braced administrative set-up that we complain about the des. Why though? Why does a string inside always enchants past times; and a hope of being there for the rest of my life. The cool breeze of the monsoon, the chill of the morning winter, everything so mundane only adds to it. But why do I feel withdrawn all the time, ignoring all these problems? In fact, I sometimes tend to even disagree that India has all these problems when someone takes over with arguments in favor of staying outside India. Is it just because I've grown up there? Or I've spent almost a quarter of my life there? I am asking this question to myself. Don't have an answer yet, and even without one, the feeling only gets stronger.

How about those sons of the land who made it what it is? The trio of Bhagat Singh, Chandrashekhar Azad, Rajguru. The numerous other freedom fighters? Were they happy in their times from the things around them? I bet not. Caste, religion, Indians working for the Brits and their no support for freedom, poor quality of higher education? Probably they planned on domestic problems after weeding out the bigger one? But, they still held their ground, struggled, loved everything Indian and brought a change.

In a meta-sense, I guess, the feeling is the same. You love someone, and you are willing to do anything for them. You stay with them in whatever conditions are of present. You try to live in time in a hope that things would improve. And you go all out. But, you don't run.

Hold, don't run. Hold. Strive. Emerge. Live.

Zindagi, khudi,
aur mere yeh sawaal,
ghar ki roshni, aur pakiyat,
ek hi manzil hai yeh

-G Singh, San Jose, 18 Jan, 2009

Wednesday, January 07, 2009


In its woe,
the heart whined,
allow me to open the pages,
from confidant to beholder, can I?

I stare,
whom to confide in,
the tender piece losing itself,
in the revelation


Dard mein, dil ne teh kiya
kitaab ka har safaa khol kar
raazdan se raqeeb bane

Bayaan kare to kaise
raaz hi to
iska wajood hai

-GS, San Jose, 7th January 2009

Monday, December 22, 2008

A distant come back

A reverie,
And I caress life.
the mind reckons else

I fail to seize.
is not acquiesced.

Alone, I reverie
Hard, but,
Umpteen lives,
and delicate threads to wind

-G Singh, San Jose, 22 Dec, 2008, 11:14 PM

Wednesday, December 03, 2008

Spurt of 12/3

is beauty disguised
is burning too

is hope concealed
persists in dark, the night

-gs, 11:43 PM, SJ