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 But why do I feel withdrawn all the time, ignoring all these problems?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