Sarfaroshi ki Tamanna

Monday is a lazy day, I took off from work and the Sports Complex is also closed for the day. Muscles were sort of crinkled, trying to stretch out at home, came flying a suggestion from mom, “Go to the nearby park for a walk”.  The tone complained of my being lazy throughout the day and  couldn’t help, but to escape from the taunts that would have come in the remaining day, I started from home to the park. The scene is generally very serene, birds chirping, aged people talking, children playing, everything was perfect. The small children, varying in age from 7–10 years, fell to the ground after sweating with the frizzling games they play. I found the scene very interesting, children talking to each other so calmly. Suddenly they started playing the game of songs. It was a delight to watch them playing that when suddenly, they started singing the song “Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamare man mein hai”, and I couldn’t help and the “thing” resuscitated. Co-incidences don’t fall into my lap that often, but this one was really on time, when reaching back home I switched on the TV to see Rang De Basanti on prime time. I was in awe of those children by that time and Ramprasad Bismil sahib who penned those vibrant lyrics. The timeline in the movie was on the same song and I tried to write it along. It goes as –

Hai liye hathiyaar dushman taak mein baitha udharaur hum taiyyaar hain seena liye apna idhar,

khoon se khelenge holi gar vatan muskhil mein haisarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.

haath jin mein ho junoon katt te nahi talvaar se,sar jo uth jaate hain voh jhukte nahi lalkaar se.

aur bhadkega jo shola-sa humaare dil mein haisarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.

hum to ghar se nikle hi the baandhkar sar pe qafan,chaahatein liin bhar liye lo bhar chale hain ye qadam.

zindagi to apni mehmaan maut ki mehfil mein hai,sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.

dil mein tuufaanon ki toli aur nason mein inquilaabhosh dushman ke udaa denge humein roko na aaj,duur reh paaye jo humse dam kahaan manzil mein haisarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.



The lines I savor the most are italicisized above. Bismil sahib, hats off to you.
    

Harry, you are great, with words atleast ;)

Harpreet aka Harry Singh, a young and a smart doctor living in the US has been looking for a wife for quiet long. It seems Harry, you believe in the concept of selecting a wife for yourself and that too within the US! And to top all of it, he is in need of a Sikh lady, a true Sikh, by soul and by heart. But, he couldn’t find a sikhni in the US who seem to respect his respect for sikh women. He met a girl, named C, and then they had a breakover. But, the way Harry narrates his experiences from life, its truly awesome, I bow before him. C came to his place one day and Harry expected her to make a move for good but she never turned back while leaving. I am sorry I am writing all this Harry, but I had to write this background to let people acknowledge the words that you wrote. They are truly mind boggling. Here they are –

“ I stood at the door watching her walk away. Every step that she took, I prayed that she would stop. I prayed that she would atleast turn around and exchange a final look, the look that would tell me some sort of indication that she still felt anything for me. The look, by which I would be able to spend the rest of my life with. "woh nazar jiske sahare mein baki ki jindagi goojar doonga".

But she didn't. She kept walking (some would say, briskly) and kept walking. And then she turned the corner and with that last step, she walked out of my sight and I am afraid, out of my life. The passage was brightly lit with pretty lights, the air was still and musty and I stood there wondering how things could change so fast. No answers came to mind. Like they say, American appliances don't work in Europe and I guess, Indian men don't work in America. You know, it is all about the "connection".

As I started to turn around and drag myself in, I noticed something on the floor. I bent down to take a closer look. It seemed familiar. "I'll be damned", I told myself. It was my darn heart. God bless my soul. The poor bugger was badly mangled but it was still beating. The rascal just won't quit. C had very skillfully dropped it on the ground as she was leaving, severing the final ties and sealing the deal. I picked it up and put in the refrigerator where it would lay healing, only for the next angel to come and break it. “ — Harry

Harry you are a great philosopher. Your sense of observation for things that happen inside cannot be put into words. Awesome is the only word that comes out time and again.

The racket and the Sympathy!

Last week, I broke my squash racket and today,  I was all game to enter the most crowded place in Delhi to buy a good one, the Sadar Bazaar. It is supposedly the place that pumps the economy and accelerates the cash flow in goods trade in New Delhi. You can get almost everything there, sports equipment, lab equipment, household stuff, raw cloth, bag, umbrellas, spices, you name anything, it will be on one of the ‘gali’ or the so– named “XYZmal” road there (e.g. Munnamal road). You cant get parking there, park the car 2 kilometers away and take a cyclerickshaw to the gali of your needs or if you fall into the class that feels its inhuman to have someone drive you with his legs ( unfortunately I belong to this secta), you can only bravely walk on your own feet( with handkerchief incessantly sticking to your nose to help you preserve your nostrils from rotting away by the open nullahs). The way people work there – labourers, wholesalers, “Laalas”, its simply amazing. At such a place where you can’t even afford to breath suently just to help your heart beat only 72 times per minute, people spent their whole lives in the legacy trades.

Among these arduous spokes of the wheel of trade, the ones that rotate the most are the freigth pullers. Neither the cyclerickshaw, nor the horse cart, they are a human cart. They have given horses a run for their money and have substituted them. They would carry anything from anywhere to everywhere. Just give them the money and they will even take a nuclear bomb unknowingly. A simple description of a puller would be –  thin, boney, some muscles spurting out, wearing a lungi/some short and yelling nothing but “ Dekh ke Dekh ke” making sure nobody is hurt from their cart when they move like a serpent from those 5 feet narrow(or wide?) pot holed tracks. Oh and yes, they are BARE FOOT.

I couldn’t stand my thoughts about them and spilled it out. I asked one of the not-so-busy pullers, “ Aap agar chappal pehen ke chalo ya fir cycle wala ricksha chalao, to kya aamdani mein kuch farak padega”. He looked at me as if a part of some space shuttle chipped off and fell in front of him – yeah me. I felt like I committed a sin. The way he looked around caressing his thin stomach, the satisfaction that I don’t even show after gulping a gatorade, shining bright on his face after taking his own saliva in (visible through some crawling in his throat and then through a small drop of sweat on his bare chest that was displaced by the motion that just happened in the feeble body), the fibbrilation that throngs my heart when I fail to put emotions into words was just something that was reflected in his eyes, just the failure had a different genre here, to earn enough bread for his family, for the day. In a sulky voice, he replied “ Jab kisi ka bhoja dhote hain na, to yehi nange pair (feet) kaam aate hain, bhoja dhone mein nahin, unse mehnat ke paise aasani se lene mein aur jab kisi ko taras aa jaye, woh 2 paise zyaada bhi de deta hai”. What he meant was that his pulling the cart barefoot helps him get some sympathy from the Laala who is going to pay him at the destination and if he is lucky, he will get some extra bucks to make his day. The people who pay him for pulling the freight are new everyday, the retailers coming to the wholesalers from across India.The duologue ended there. I couldnt reciprocate on what he said, just said a “hmmmm” and moved ahead.

I left myself for the 2 kilometers I was supposed to travel on feet. I don’t know how I reached the car, what I saw on the way, what was happening in the way, but I reached the place, somehow, safely. Even the feeling of having a live left ventricular appendage abandoned me. I don’t know if I felt sad for the state of the physical labourer in my country, but yes, I felt like crying, crying for God, crying to God who plays with the world on his will. Even if I cried all day long, the millileters he perspired everyday would by and large outweigh my attempt from the organ that scientifically can regenerate water in the body most quickly(eyes). The drop of sweat that I saw going down  from his forehead down his missing cheek acted as an emboli choking all the red liquid gushing inside. It was not that I saw such “mehanati” people for the first time, but I just devoted some thought over how they work and survive, for the first time. 

The physical labourers in the US and the gulf are a respected lot,  earning anything from $20–30 an hour. Why in India is such a situation of pity spitting on the so-called equality for all barking constitution? If he couldn’t go to school, why is he made to ruin? Whatever the reason may be, unemployment, over-population, humans riding on human weaknesses, whatever, but why so much discrimination and disrespect for someone (the puller) and why so much respect and dignity in speech and behaviour for the other one (The Laala). I am sure many would vow for the education that the carter missed. Please do not delve into that discussion, it would be meaningless here. The Laala is as illiterate as the cart puller. This just shows that the flow of power and revenue in India is very much unbalanced. Albeit it may sound too childish to think of revenue balance between the two ‘types’ of spokes in the trade, acually it is not, try looking at the bigger picture.

Though I wish that all wallow in the luxuries of life that have been dreamt, your dreams be graced, your needs fulfilled at the blink of an eye, but is it really too early to rove a look around, or is it too late? I can’t think of what I can do, what I WILL do. But I pray to the almighty, just give me enough strength, enough determination, enough motivation and just enough sensibility to do what I should do.That I take this stance in life with a pious heart, with a selfless feeling, to do something, to work for something, to die for something, that does not reap me anything.

Amen!

The Fall of me ...

Theres a pain that sleeps inside,
that sleeps just one eyed,
and awakens the moment you are near,
feels nothing is inside, but a fear.

Theres a pain that sleeps inside,
that never lets me feel that I am 'one',
that only crunches the soul,
soul screaming inside that I am none.

Theres a pain that sleeps inside,
that has frozen the blood of mine,
the veins feel like tunnels of sorrow,
and I am blue like someone poisoned my marrow.

Theres a pain that sleeps inside,
that always heightens the inner tide,
someone is always around,
and I am feeling caught, forever bound.

Theres a pain that sleeps inside,
that will never leave me kind,
and I wish I were a stone,
standing rock but never feeling alone.

Hey life, why did you open my eyes,
the pain that slept inside,
I loved it for the numbness that it gave,
the hits that I survived, feeling that I am brave.

The pain is no more inside,
and I am loving life,
but I doubt if I am better,
'coz something still makes me fetter.

O Lord, can you come and make it disappear,
make it disappear and we can stay !

 

Thanks to Hoobastank for giving a start...

Gursharan, 16th June, 2006, New Delhi.

This time, I talk about another loving friend - Espresso Coffee.

Before rendering my thoughts in words for it, lemme explain what espresso coffee is (ok if you know it, you still need to read it) and what it does.

Coffee connoisseurs call it the purest form of coffee, since its advent in 1435 (known as 'quawah'). It was able to defeat the other hit in the coffee arena, named on the robes of monks of the Capuchin order - Cappuccino.

What gives coffee its kick? Caffeine, of course. Caffeine is trimethylxanthine (C8H10N4O2). It's an addictive stimulant that operates in the brain the same way amphetamones, cocaine and heroin do (although caffeine is much milder than those drugs). Caffeine occurs naturally in a number of plants, including coffee beans. Your average 6-ounce cup of drip-brewed coffee contains 100 mg of caffeine.

If anyone of you visits a Starbucks some day, just try espresso italiano with cardamom. The heaven would be down there !

Please visit back for the poetic dose of coffee....I assure, it would be more kicking.

Meet my friend - Mansi

Mansi has been a class mate and a good friend  all four years. It would have been foolish of me not to introduce her to you, so here goes the intoduction -

First day in college was that
Every student wore the introduction hat,
standing in each class, they revealed their names,
Heard Mansi's intro, felt she is not meant for ordinary games.

What should I tell about her,
she's an intellect tank,
I agree anything I write about her would be too less,
and I submit before all readers, for a spank.

Though she's a nice and loving friend,
but keeps on pulling my leg without fear,
and its my turn now to reveal,
how things went with her over the past 4 years, year by year.

First year was about boring subjects,
Mansi seemed to be all a girl who used the pages of books to make paper jets,
but I was proved wrong once again,
when I found her to be a Mathematics power brain.

First year and the months passed by,
we bid 2 sets of professors a very good bye,
but instead of professors being in talks on air, it was her fancy,
her name was written ahead of me, as Gupta Mansi.

By the second year her exuberance was well known,
her giggly laugh and a smile like the first leaf of a plant freshly sown,
the aura she exuded is worth a mention,
she always lived her life to the max, believing life gave no pension.

Friends give gifts, she gave me a name,
all through the four years I have been known as Guchu,
smartness donated by her highness, hence I never afforded to be lame.

The third year dawned like a long career fair,
she was firm on her take, wanting to roll a Business chair,
making sure she had nothing in future for sadness to dye,
she started her entrance preps, it would be too less to term them as a mere try.

She has come out with flying colors,
has put on the IIM Bangalore Business rollers,
An Engineer by God's grace, she will also be now known,
after umpteen number of early show ends during exams, she has shown.

All said and done,
she is among the only ones,
those who are honest to themselves,
those who manage to get good grades, without messing much with bookshelves.

She is smart, she is beautiful,
her sense of humor adorable, never near being dull,
she's fast, always on a ferrari,
takes challenges as they come, never worrying about them apriori.
.
I am going to miss a precious friend,
specially when having true ones is out of trend,
Mansi, I assure you,
forgetting you would be a personal loss to 'Mou',
Lord, give her success in all walks of life, happiness in all times,
may she exemplify successful women, and becomes the soul of hundred such rhymes.

Catcha: ‘Mou’ is the latin for ‘Me’.

 

Gursharan, 14th June, 2006, New Delhi. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Life Demystified

Following is an excerpt from a talk between my mind and soul. Whenever these two talk, philosophy is spilled out. Here it is!

 

Its like water in the palm,

left open feels cool and calm,

childish of me to try to posess it forever,

tried to close the fist, forgetting it will seep and will stay there never.

 

Its like the beauty of the flower,

beauty filled in the air trying to defeat the beauty in the color, to get higher,

infantile of me, plucked it, desired to keep it with me,

it spread its fragrance only with its roots, as crafted by its Saviour – Thee .

 

Its like the play of a child,

described by innocence and steps that go wild,

childish of me to confine it in the discipline defined by emotion,

forgot that though small and frail , the child is an impression of  His execution.

 

Its like the river that flows swiftly,

supported by the mountains, holding them tightly,

infantile of me to ride on religion to take Ganges in a container,

for it was Ganges only with the stream and I remained as always, a mere complainer.

 

Life has always been beautiful,

only the emotion tank has been at times empty, half or full,

childish of me to measure life in terms of happiness and satisfaction it gave,

for it was meant to be cherished let free, allowed for its own ways to pave.

 

O Lord, Life seems to be Demystified,

the mist has cleared and nothing feels like sacrificed,

I have grown up to reality now,

childish was I, help me improve, make me undersand how?

 

Gursharan, 10th June, 2006.

 

 

 

Is it necessary?

Those who leave the ground, touch the sky,

to have ground beneath your feet, ask yourself, is it necessary ?

 

Flower beds blossom in wet and soft mud

 to stand like a Mountain, ask yourself, is it necessary?

 

Flowing waters make the future of land and soil fertile

to remain stagnant for nothing, ask yourself, is it necessary?

 

The mind and soul look beautiful in synch and rythm

but I seek a reason to rapture, asking myself, is it necessary?

 

I feared all my life for the thing that never happened

and when heart sails in the sea of emotions, even the moon frees those tides from its whip ,

but then I realized I was in the middle of the ocean, asking myself, was it necessary?

 

Who says everyone dies and so will I,

I am a flowing river, O’ Lord my sea, I shall mix and enter into You.

 

Gursharan, 9th June, 2006.

 

 

 

 

Thank you Thee

Life is fun, I realized it,

When on my way to Amritsar, the tyre got punctured,

and missing in the car was the toolkit.

 

The road was dark, the place secluded,

What I could only say was,

I am in a fix, six others included.

 

I waved to the few passing by

the situation was serious and futile was my try,

when suddenly an old man came,

and things were never the same.

 

In the blink of an eye,

he himself replaced the tire,

and in another moment,

vanished away like oil in fire.

 

I have been wondering since then,

who was “He”,

to help me reach His place safely,

was it THEE?

 

Gursharan, 6th June, 6:30 PM, on way to Amritsar from Ludhiana.