Tajurbey ki chaoon mein
TAJURBEY KI CHAAON : PURE MAGIC
For two days , I was trapped in a sort of Hamletian dilemma , not being able to decide whether to go to Delhi or not for an evening of music and poetry , organized by The Rhyme Republic .The head said ,' no' , the heart said , 'go', so I did go , although I had not been keeping well for many days , and had been asked not to exert myself too much . But how does one say No to such an affectionate invitation ? And for such a noble cause ? The musical extravaganza was at The Second Innings , an Old Age Home in Chattarpur , Delhi .
I have time and again reiterated , that whenever I have to decide anything , my heart sits on the driving seat , and the head rides pillion [ not much of a head , anyway .] So , once again , it was the heart which decided for me , and 15th April [ Sunday] , 6 o'clock Volvo 's seat no. 20 hosted me for a six hour trip to Delhi . And another one hour to the venue .
"The glint in your eyes was pure joy" , said Dr Abhijit Khandkar , after the event was over . Let me grab this opportunity to tell you all that his raw, intense , and profound poems have enthralled me no end. I am happy that he did not get to know the real reason behind that glint ![ or did he ?]
In fact , in the On Fire Cultural Movement contest , in which , I happened to be the judge for the sixth week , on the theme Desire , he was one of the contestants . I zeroed in on 3 poems , and struggled with sleep the entire night because , I had to choose just two winners . 'Unjust , unjust' , I kept mumbling , because it was very difficult to choose just two, so , after a lot of head-banging and reading and rereading , I chose two . The third poem which I left was of Abhijit Khandkar, who got a special mention . His poem was wonderful , but since I had to choose just two, his poem suffered. I felt bad , but felt very happy , when he was one of the winners in the next contest .
When it was my chance to speak , I told them that sitting in the audience , I was trying to remove the dust from the sepia tinted pages of yore , where a two year old me , sat in my granny's lap , both of us grinning away , unfazed by our dental deprivation. She had three teeth , and I just two ! 'Bacha booda ek samaan' ...she used to say .The only thing constant in life is change , and the time is not far when I too would be dentally deprived . But life has to go on .
Although I had decided to recite a couple of my funny poems to make the inmates laugh , I ended up reciting Asifa:
SLEEP , ASIFA , SLEEEP SLEEP
Let us weep tears of impotence
tears that we have failed you,
failed many a daughter,
throttled her tender laughter.
With a sob in her throat, and tears in her eyes
Your mother recalls your tiny hands as you clapped in glee,
running after birds, lisping your first words.
Sleep Asifa sleep,
you loved playing with dolls, didn’t you?
Running after butterflies,
collecting tiny joys from flowers , from petals
Your beloved mother still holds your tiny frocks
close to her heart; but your tiny heart has stopped.
Your tiny mirth still unspools in your tiny house
All mothers weep, all fathers weep.
Asifa, you sleep.
Sleep in peace, dear one.
An ethereal peace pervades your tiny soul,
a peace which evaded you when on earth.
Asifa, you only loved hopping and romping in the meadows
but, unaware you were of predators lurking in the shadows.
Predators wearing masks;
camouflaging their brutality behind religiosity.
Sleep Asifa sleep,
safe from the bloodied claws of depraved humanity,
from monstrous brutality
from cannibalistic ferocity
from whiplashes of hate
grating us, every day, every night.
We have failed you, Asifa
A mother weeps, and a father weeps.
Mothers weep and fathers weep
vestigial humanity weeps,
Asifa, you sleep,
you were an angel then,
and you are an angel now.
Let the perpetrators of the horrendous crime
rot in the rancid odour of their own selves
groping for some light in an abyss of darkness
which they will never find.
Blindly they will grope, scarred, mutilated,
scabrous and putrid, beseeching death to embrace them,
but they will beseech in vain.
In vain, they will plead.
Asifa, little angel sleep,
they will get their comeuppance soon,
our words, you heed.
Seeing those lovable people in the Senior Citizens' Home , some with a diffident sparkle in their eyes, some with just a lost look , some with a wistful look , I imagined them in their prime , their youthful hands scooping up their kids in their arms , planting kisses on their chubby cheeks , singing lullabies , running after them , always ready to break their falls .
It was so very heart- breaking to see parents , once in their prime , now waddling around on arthritic legs , some on wheel chairs , some with crutches . Were they really forsaken by their progeny- the supposed crutches of old age ? Why were they in the old age home ? Were the sons rising in foreign lands ? How often did they come to meet them ?
The untold stories hiding in their wrinkles, the bruised dreams lurking in their rheumy eyes , the lullabies fallen silent on their parched lips - thinking of all this, I surreptitiously wiped a tear or two . But Aseem Sundan's camera saw those tears , and he clicked many pictures of me , where , he says , I was crying , but I told the audience that poets love to exaggerate, and every poet has a different perspective , a different way of looking at things , and what he thought were tears , were ...well not tears !
By the way , Aseem Sundan is an exquisite poet , his tender , soft verses , echoing the notes of the Sufi saints , the romance of the Lidder River and the trees back home - everything is so heart - warming . Take a bow !
Hats off to The Rhyme Republic - Kudos to Abhijit Khandkar , Aseem Sundan and the entire team for such a noble venture- brimming with love , poetry and magical music .
The extremely talented artists of Unplugged Harmonies gave a mesmerizing performance , serenading us with songs of Muhammad Rafi and Kishore Kumar , and even making the inmates of the Senior Citizens Home , sing and dance along ; their untold stories , about to burst through their eyes . Thanks Prateek Bajaj, Shubham Singh and Sahil Chugh .
Thanks Rachneet Kaur , we could not talk much , we will make up for it soon . But your eyes were eloquent - they spoke to me - they spoke volumes . Am thankful for their limpid eloquence.
A huge Thank you to all the brilliant performers - you really made my day .
If music be the food of love , play on , Shakespeare whispered from the shadows , and they played on , drenching the room in love's sublime notes. The Second Innings Old Age Home appeared to be a snug haven for the inmates . Kudos to them too , for doing such commendable work .
Thanks Honeish Batra, for that cute poem .
And Yes , the Jagjeet Singh ghazals sung by Runit Arya ,who , I was told , has been singing since the age of five , just swept me off my feet . Hearty Congratulations .
Ever since I came back, I have been unfriending some absolutely passive Facebook friends , in order to send requests to some wonderful youngsters I met here [ having crossed the 5,000 limit long back] Hope to be a part of all your events , Aseem and Abhijit - and yes, Aseem , I did not cry ! [ Said with a vehement banging of feet !]
And if you don't invite me for your future events , MUJHSEY BURA KOI NAHI HOGA !
Thanks for allowing me to filch these pics ,Aseem Sundan.
For two days , I was trapped in a sort of Hamletian dilemma , not being able to decide whether to go to Delhi or not for an evening of music and poetry , organized by The Rhyme Republic .The head said ,' no' , the heart said , 'go', so I did go , although I had not been keeping well for many days , and had been asked not to exert myself too much . But how does one say No to such an affectionate invitation ? And for such a noble cause ? The musical extravaganza was at The Second Innings , an Old Age Home in Chattarpur , Delhi .
I have time and again reiterated , that whenever I have to decide anything , my heart sits on the driving seat , and the head rides pillion [ not much of a head , anyway .] So , once again , it was the heart which decided for me , and 15th April [ Sunday] , 6 o'clock Volvo 's seat no. 20 hosted me for a six hour trip to Delhi . And another one hour to the venue .
"The glint in your eyes was pure joy" , said Dr Abhijit Khandkar , after the event was over . Let me grab this opportunity to tell you all that his raw, intense , and profound poems have enthralled me no end. I am happy that he did not get to know the real reason behind that glint ![ or did he ?]
In fact , in the On Fire Cultural Movement contest , in which , I happened to be the judge for the sixth week , on the theme Desire , he was one of the contestants . I zeroed in on 3 poems , and struggled with sleep the entire night because , I had to choose just two winners . 'Unjust , unjust' , I kept mumbling , because it was very difficult to choose just two, so , after a lot of head-banging and reading and rereading , I chose two . The third poem which I left was of Abhijit Khandkar, who got a special mention . His poem was wonderful , but since I had to choose just two, his poem suffered. I felt bad , but felt very happy , when he was one of the winners in the next contest .
When it was my chance to speak , I told them that sitting in the audience , I was trying to remove the dust from the sepia tinted pages of yore , where a two year old me , sat in my granny's lap , both of us grinning away , unfazed by our dental deprivation. She had three teeth , and I just two ! 'Bacha booda ek samaan' ...she used to say .The only thing constant in life is change , and the time is not far when I too would be dentally deprived . But life has to go on .
Although I had decided to recite a couple of my funny poems to make the inmates laugh , I ended up reciting Asifa:
SLEEP , ASIFA , SLEEEP SLEEP
Let us weep tears of impotence
tears that we have failed you,
failed many a daughter,
throttled her tender laughter.
With a sob in her throat, and tears in her eyes
Your mother recalls your tiny hands as you clapped in glee,
running after birds, lisping your first words.
Sleep Asifa sleep,
you loved playing with dolls, didn’t you?
Running after butterflies,
collecting tiny joys from flowers , from petals
Your beloved mother still holds your tiny frocks
close to her heart; but your tiny heart has stopped.
Your tiny mirth still unspools in your tiny house
All mothers weep, all fathers weep.
Asifa, you sleep.
Sleep in peace, dear one.
An ethereal peace pervades your tiny soul,
a peace which evaded you when on earth.
Asifa, you only loved hopping and romping in the meadows
but, unaware you were of predators lurking in the shadows.
Predators wearing masks;
camouflaging their brutality behind religiosity.
Sleep Asifa sleep,
safe from the bloodied claws of depraved humanity,
from monstrous brutality
from cannibalistic ferocity
from whiplashes of hate
grating us, every day, every night.
We have failed you, Asifa
A mother weeps, and a father weeps.
Mothers weep and fathers weep
vestigial humanity weeps,
Asifa, you sleep,
you were an angel then,
and you are an angel now.
Let the perpetrators of the horrendous crime
rot in the rancid odour of their own selves
groping for some light in an abyss of darkness
which they will never find.
Blindly they will grope, scarred, mutilated,
scabrous and putrid, beseeching death to embrace them,
but they will beseech in vain.
In vain, they will plead.
Asifa, little angel sleep,
they will get their comeuppance soon,
our words, you heed.
Seeing those lovable people in the Senior Citizens' Home , some with a diffident sparkle in their eyes, some with just a lost look , some with a wistful look , I imagined them in their prime , their youthful hands scooping up their kids in their arms , planting kisses on their chubby cheeks , singing lullabies , running after them , always ready to break their falls .
It was so very heart- breaking to see parents , once in their prime , now waddling around on arthritic legs , some on wheel chairs , some with crutches . Were they really forsaken by their progeny- the supposed crutches of old age ? Why were they in the old age home ? Were the sons rising in foreign lands ? How often did they come to meet them ?
The untold stories hiding in their wrinkles, the bruised dreams lurking in their rheumy eyes , the lullabies fallen silent on their parched lips - thinking of all this, I surreptitiously wiped a tear or two . But Aseem Sundan's camera saw those tears , and he clicked many pictures of me , where , he says , I was crying , but I told the audience that poets love to exaggerate, and every poet has a different perspective , a different way of looking at things , and what he thought were tears , were ...well not tears !
By the way , Aseem Sundan is an exquisite poet , his tender , soft verses , echoing the notes of the Sufi saints , the romance of the Lidder River and the trees back home - everything is so heart - warming . Take a bow !
Hats off to The Rhyme Republic - Kudos to Abhijit Khandkar , Aseem Sundan and the entire team for such a noble venture- brimming with love , poetry and magical music .
The extremely talented artists of Unplugged Harmonies gave a mesmerizing performance , serenading us with songs of Muhammad Rafi and Kishore Kumar , and even making the inmates of the Senior Citizens Home , sing and dance along ; their untold stories , about to burst through their eyes . Thanks Prateek Bajaj, Shubham Singh and Sahil Chugh .
Thanks Rachneet Kaur , we could not talk much , we will make up for it soon . But your eyes were eloquent - they spoke to me - they spoke volumes . Am thankful for their limpid eloquence.
A huge Thank you to all the brilliant performers - you really made my day .
If music be the food of love , play on , Shakespeare whispered from the shadows , and they played on , drenching the room in love's sublime notes. The Second Innings Old Age Home appeared to be a snug haven for the inmates . Kudos to them too , for doing such commendable work .
Thanks Honeish Batra, for that cute poem .
And Yes , the Jagjeet Singh ghazals sung by Runit Arya ,who , I was told , has been singing since the age of five , just swept me off my feet . Hearty Congratulations .
Ever since I came back, I have been unfriending some absolutely passive Facebook friends , in order to send requests to some wonderful youngsters I met here [ having crossed the 5,000 limit long back] Hope to be a part of all your events , Aseem and Abhijit - and yes, Aseem , I did not cry ! [ Said with a vehement banging of feet !]
Thanks for allowing me to filch these pics ,Aseem Sundan.
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