तपीश

सर्द सी धुप में तेरे जीसम की तपीश हो,
और हो साए आसमान के सरपरस्त,
दील में येक सुर गूंजें सुकून का
और खामोशी जुबान पे तराने से बीखेर जाये
पहलू में तेरे दीं डाले और वक्त हो तारों के जागने का
अंधेरों में महसूस हो तेरी छुअन के नर्म साए
आरजू यह खूबसूरत ख़्वाब है अब तक तो
क्या खबर कल हक़ीक़त बने गर तेरी भी ये हसरत हो

Nostalgic nights

Holding your hands and walking in the clouds,
my days were full of joy, so full of you.

Soaring in the sky with wings of your dreams,
My moments flew in vivid nights, our nights

Listening to your heartbeat, a rhythm so pure
I was touched by an angel, not fallen of course

Thinking of your ways and sweet smiles,
My blues just vanished as you filled my space, my horizons

As you open a new chapter of your heart each time,
I believe we met cos we were destined to

Treasuring togetherness, a boon of your presence,
My life seems now more complete, sculpted to perfection and blessed by him

एक और कारवां

साँसों के कारवाँ कुछ देर पहले गुज़र गए

साथ चल देता मैं भी लेकीन लम्हें आगे बढ़ गए

रफ़्तार वक़्त की थमती कभी है नहीं

तनहाइयों में भी हमें हुम्साये दीखते हर कहीँ

कुछ रवानगी कीस्मत की है और शायद मुकाद्दर है मेहरबान

दीदार यार का ही है देखता हूँ मैं जहाँ

2007 - a year of inspirations for bollywood

Mumbai is the city of dreams and dreamers. Please pardon my sweeping generalisation when i categorise all the dreamers in two categories i.e. those who follow cricket faithfully and those for whom movies are a religion.

Since last century Indian cinema's hub Mumbai has seen and witnessed quite a few milestones but this year has been quite a memorable one with creative juices flowing from the studios and production houses to outdo one another. The race here isn't necessarily with Hollywood but surely inspirations come from those quarters quite frequently.

2007 has seen many movies paying tribute to their inspirations and the inspired directors have come up aces with some memorable cinematic moments which are clearly their own creative self expression.. they have blended flavours, moods, sounds and more from their sources. For the lack of space and time I will just take you through just a few of such works.

The year started on a high note with arguably one of the best products from Mani Ratnam - Guru. The movie had hottest stars and was based upon life of most incredibly famous industrialist. If you think he was inspired by Abhi Ash chemistry or values that Dhirubhai Ambani followed, i would ask you to strain harder and think again. Guru was Mani Ratnam's reply to all his critics in his true hall mark way. He assembled many elements from his own movies and came up with this super product. He took the biopic structure of Nayakan, where in the lead protagonist just doesn't have a rags to riches story but great integrity, hardships and heroics to stand heads and shoulders above others. He took the Roja's angst ridden love-hate chemistry in early marriage parts of Abhishek and Aishwarya and turned it around to deep bond between the couple as in Bombay. Vidya Balan's chirpy wheelchair handicap was his favourite Anjali mixture of innocence and pain. The look of tere bina and the location reminded of Bombay's kehna hi kya & Mallika Sherawat's Maiyya Maiyya was a tribute to humma humma completely with red outfit et al. We can get into screenplay structure which he has devised by taking the reigns in his hands this time but i do not want to risk sounding like an over enthusiastic movie school graduate.

Coming soon are our other contenders- Anurag Basu, the director of Life in a Metro - an unusual tale of many intertwined lives in this cosmopolis, Sriram Raghavan, the director of Johny Gaddaar, a slick casino heist movie & last but not the least the director duo Abbas mastaan with their largely underrated brilliance in Naqaab- a film about reality cinema... I hope this posting inspired you to think a bit more about Indian cinema :)

ऐसा क्यों होता है

हर अनजानी दस्तक कुछ पहचानी सी लगती है
हर बात एक याद, हर मुलाक़ात कहानी सी लगती है
भूले से नाम, भूले से गम हैं
किसी भूले से दर्द से आँखें नम हैं
राहत नहीं किसी भी पनाह में
कुछ फ़र्क नहीं फर्ज या गुनाह में
दीनों के बोझ से बोझील कदम
और बेगानी डगर पे हमसफ़र हम
कभी तुम बद गए आगे
कहीं पीछे मुद ना सके हम
अधूरी दास्तानें मील जाती हैं अक्सर
बेखुद सी मुस्कानें खिल जाती हैं लैब पर

बस एक कशीश बस एक ख्लिश
एक कशमकश का आलम हैं
रास्ते कई हैं बदने को
साथ चलाने के लीये नज़र में हमनवा कम हैं

सवाल लीये फीर हर छूते दर का रुख करना चाहता है डील
खबर नहीं इससे जाने क्या होगा इस जीद से हासील

चेहरों की भीड़ है फीर भी जाने कीसकी तलाश है
शायद बीते लम्हों की वापसी चाहता हूँ या वक्त के पलट के आने की आस है

कुछ देर बस दम भर लूं
मन्ज़िल से नज़र हताके हर रास्ते का, हर हमनवा का शुक्रिया अदा कर लूं
सफ़र नहीं रुक सकता के कारवां आगे बढाना है
आनेवाले कल में ही गुज़रा ज़माना लॉट के आना है

यही चंद साँसे उधार की हैं
यही कुछ लम्हे उनके इंतज़ार की हैं
बस शाम ढलने को है
ख़्वाब मील्ने को हैं

ज़िंन्दगी का यही दस्तूर है
हर दील को मुकाम पाने के लिये ख़्वाब देखते रहना ज़रूर है

Average Joe and the Urban Life

Every impulse in my body screams for me to run away. It wants me to find shelter in peaceful existence far from this maddening experience of urban melancholy, loneliness and other hazards of living in this city. Shadows and showers have both dampened and darkened my hopes but I hold on.

There are times in life when the concrete roads under your feet do not count for solid foundation of life. It’s a reckoning to live simple and to shed the skin of the stress filled lifestyle of an average Mumbaikar. Aggravating at times and admirable at others, the two sides of the coin representing the metropolitan life are remarkably clear in this moment. I hear the inner voice long silenced for perks, a rented roof on my head and surviving this matrix. Dwelling on borders of depression and bankruptcy, the small game of running in circles can be exhausting. It might be a price far larger than anyone of us is willing to pay.

Our dreams have become limited to winning this chicken run when the picture has to be larger and all encompassing, a lifetime of peace and happiness, no matter what it constitutes. The traditional view of happiness as a big bank balance, a secure home and a family might seem achievable in this everyday chase for cheese. The question remains. Are we all compromising the limitless potential of human spirit by indulging in this rat race that seems inevitable?

Is there a way of living that would provide redemption from the mandatory urban sins of stepping on toes for survival? Does animalistic desperation to stock for harsher seasons and to find the prey for the day equate to basic potential of a human? Can life be more beautiful if we set ourselves and our minds free right here in this alabaster floored jungle? Does wake up and smell the coffee really mean that our senses should be used to the optimum over the daily struggles?

Will choosing to see beauty in our losses provide a sense of calmness that we seek at the winning post? Will working harder to really see everyone at workplace happy, rather than working in our mundane mechanical and sly ways release us from the weight of success and achievements? Will keeping our heads in laps of our mothers and letting them know that they mean the world to us cover up for the false praise of the gaudy Gucci gown a boss’s wife sported?

I would like to believe that it will. The learnings are few but precious. Rules of the game always applied but the spirit with which you play will determine, whether you survive or live a life no matter where you are

A marriage and a mirror

“Somebody pull the drapes” she thought. Her eyes were shut still in spite of the light hitting her directly through the big french windows she had got fixed earlier this week in her soon-to-be-ready dream home. After some inconsequential stirring in the bed and attempts to sleep with the sheets pulled over her head, Nisha had to give in and open her eyes when her phone rang to high notes of the latest pop track. It didn’t bother her that she was late for work but the first thought to hit her when she answered Rishi’s call was that he shouldn’t tell her about any more delays or problems in her wedding schedule. Her quick attempts to clear her throat and sound husky instead of groggy worked as Rishi was driving. The traffic noises rendered him deaf to her real state as he imagined his pretty bride to be in all her beauty and feminine glory on his way to see the new give aways suggested by the wedding planners.

Rishi spoke of many things not realizing how sticky and uncomfortable Nisha was feeling with the sweat as the air conditioner had given way to all the dust of renovation. To his ignorant bliss and to her discomfort it had refused to start up last night in Mumbai’s unbearable humidity. She heard patiently for a few minutes to his stories about his friends traveling from all over the globe and relatives who have excused themselves inspite of staying next doors. In some time, her restlessness began to show and now she had him on the speakerphone, trying to read the glossy parts of the newspaper.

When Rishi spoke of how beautiful she would look in her wedding outfit amidst the flowers, Nisha couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of him actually seeing her right now with hair messed up, sweat over her brows and legs folded on the dining table cluttered with everything under the sun. Rishi on the other end thought that her laughter was a sign of embarrassment and a confession of love but like most men he was too pre-occupied with his own thoughts to be able to guage hers. Then suddenly Nisha saw something and no longer thought it was rude to hang up on her beau to be.

‘Suneet Karnik’s wedding to be an exclusive affair’ read the headline and it went ahead to describe how the gliteratti of Mumbai would be spilt into two camps on this day and how it would be quite interesting to compare both the weddings, the grandest being hers and and small elite affair which was his. Obviously Rishi hadn’t seen this piece. He didn’t read much and usually it comforted Nisha when she shared with him what she felt about the characters from various novels, pieces of news and some random column she spotted. Today she was plain angry at his ignorance. She lit up a cigarette and began racing her mind on how she could make sure that in next seven days without disturbing the wedding schedule, she could take care of making her special day, extra special by beating her ex-boy friend Suneet in this petty game.

Her wedding cake was decided, clothes were ready, people were arriving, her boy friend was over the moon with her acceptance of this alliance but something was missing. Her thoughts were hazed. She felt her heart sinking and before she knew she was in comfortable embrace of the taste of a chocolate bar. Sinful and hazardous to the figure she wanted to be flaunted at her wedding, this indulgence was the least harm she could do under such dire circumstances. She got up after two bites of this bliss and messaged Rishi that she would call him after a long shower.

Her mind was racing as she scrubbed the behinds of her knee, according to her the most ignored part of human anatomy. She couldn’t help but wonder why Suneet would fix up his wedding on the same day as hers. Was it just to prove a point to her or did he know it too well that she would react to this? Was it a final resort that he had taken to get her to act on her love for him? Was he just trying to see if she still loves him and would she call? He of course knew, how she got angry at such things. He used to do little things to tease her.

She remembered a time when she asked him to buy her roses from a street urchin on a signal and he refused very wryly. She remained silent and burst out finally when he dropped her home and asked why she is so upset. After 5 minutes her doorbell had rung and she could see at least a 100 roses in hands of 4 street urchins sent by him with a card saying that she looked lovely angry, the blush of anger gave her skin a very lovely shade of pink. She remembered how she cursed him the whole day, called him in ecstasy and said I hate you before what she wanted to say now “ I love you Suneet”

She stepped out of shower and decided to call Rishi to get her thoughts off suneet. His voicemail replied and she felt sillier than ever knowing his habit of turning his phone off when he was in any meeting, be it as trivial as selection of give-aways for their wedding. She dialed her boss and excused herself off the day’s work by talking of her marriage. She knew that she could sketch the new spring summer collection sitting at home also only missing the vending machine cappuccino that she was so addicted to.

On her way to the kitchen, she came across the mirror and wondered if she would carry the delicate wedding dress without tripping on it while taking the mandatory seven pheras or circles around the fire of holy matrimony. Then she thought of how Isha, Suneet’s fiancé would look in her wedding dress, she hoped that Isha wouldn’t look better than her but wondered why she was even bothering to go there. While making her coffee, she dug further into the chocolate which had melt by now thanks to the failed air conditioner and the city heat.

She stared at the water boiling for the coffee and felt a bit weird as she felt the urge to put her favourite music on. Nisha didn’t even have to search for the dido cd. All she had to do is hit the play button to hear her croon the pain of her love.

After a while, the water for coffee was boiling in the vessel, music was still on and Nisha had crossed a chasm of knowing that she still loved suneet and Rishi was her alibi. She had weighed the reasons and securities that this marriage would give and the happiness walking out even at this moment would bring.

Hugging a pillow she left a sigh, tore her favourite photo of her and suneet together. She had torn her dreams and compromises both at that instant. She was to give up her dream home, bank balance and a chance to beat her ex boy friend with a grander wedding reception. The Music had died and she was waiting for Rishi to call and to tell him about the cancellation of wedding of a couple that never was…

Faith and a writer

Assaulted by multiple thoughts, I write every time. I am not left alone ever. It’s a pulsating feeling of restlessness. I am nothing but a burning desire to be what I am meant to be, a timeless immortal written word. I close in my mind’s eye and pledge to reach there not knowing how and not knowing when. Bracing the wings of my imagination with the harness of rationale, my pen moves. The ink flows slowly sometimes and rapidly at others. The words that form are as uneven as the pace but kaleidoscope and asymmetrical, not necessarily beautiful but true nonetheless as real as my journey inwards. Soon I am looking at reflection of my psyche, my world turned inside out.

Each word reflecting labour and pain of delivery haunts me, the creator besotted by his own creation. A feeling of admiration rises from within and am entranced for a while observing the lines on paper which ran through my head a while back as a signal of my nerves, channeled by life and blood. A small prayer moves to my lips and I thank my creator who I don’t know but I do hope would look at me as admirably as I look at these words.

Kaarwaan

Khayalon ka kaarvaan nahin rukta, badhta jaata hai par rokna chahta hoon waqt ko kahin us lamhein pe jab hum dobaara milein… chaahta hoon ki bhool jaaon aur zindagi tere ilaava bhi hai… chaahta hoon ki bas tujhe dekhne ki hi naukri ho…. Shayad dua maangna bhi isiliye jaari hai ki ussi ki aas hai… kisi din to who khush ho nemat mein tujhe baksh de… ghulaam ya uska banda.. yeh to khabar nahin, lekin ishq ki giraft mein bandgi bhi daulat nahin tujhe maangti hai

Mumbai – A metropolitan tale of musing, melancholy and mayhem

Mumbai. What keeps this metropolis ticking 24 x7 making it a city that never sleeps? I have pondered over this question for many years with many different answers, none of them completely satisfactory or encompassing micro as well as macro views of this mammoth maze

In the process, what became clearer by the day was the knowledge of what made me tick and stick in here instead of any other destination in the world. The answer is dichotomous, complex and corny, easy and earnest. At the same time, it comes across as the most clichéd thing coming from me – I love Mumbai.

Breathing the same air as 1,20,00,000 odd individuals of various shapes, sizes and sentiments, Mumbai produces all kind of emotions in me like awe, angst, anxiety and acceptance, any thing but ignorance for its sheer energy and life.

I can always find my own inner calm thinking of the quaint mornings of Marine drive that awaken the Arabian sea with sunny faces of office goers heading to Nariman Point - our very own Manhattan. The Dadar flower market becomes functional from a few hours back when the vendors get their delivery from horticulturists, who haven’t heard of horticulture but grow flowers a plenty. They have a tough nose for business contrary to the soft nature of their produce. Fisher folk from Vasai reach distant suburbs and city heartland with their catch sometimes before the twilight and the students too unfortunately have to make it to their classrooms before seeing the great star in action. Somewhere in Thane at the same time, the creek gives way to the sun from between the mangroves and a flock of sea gulls merrily perform a task normally a cock would do i.e. to provide a morning wake up call.

As the clocks gain momentum, the city awakes with a buzz of people boarding local trains and chasing the bus that revs up before most passengers board it. Mumbai is music to my ears, be it mayhem of day long trading of spices and clothes at Masjid Bunder or mundane banking routine, the rhythm pulsates its very being. Maybe that’s why there are a few dozen classics and many forgettable hindi songs that pay their tribute to living in this megapolis. If I had to compose a song reflecting the sound of this city, it would be a kaleidoscopic mix of clanking of cutting chai glasses, piped ambience music of an uppity 5-star outlet, giggles of girls at work and prayers chanted in all faiths all synced to the steady rhythm of a local train in motion.

When the daylong song and blazing sun settle down with dust on the mean streets, crimson rays make the city blush by tickling its… love spots… I mean the narrow lanes known as khau galli and the sea sides are suddenly infested by couples who are out of their hidings of concrete to breathe in fresh air. Its time for brisk business for ice candy vendors who sell by interrupting in the love routine time and again causing them to buy sometimes unwillingly. Also those lucky ones who own a home next to the sea in these days of sky rocketing realty rates, stand by the window and see life pass by in form of health conscious elder ones at Joggers Park and many other patches of greens.

At dusk, the roads are brightly lit with neon as disposable income of the city is being splurged at eateries, malls and brothels alike with each trying to outdo other promising newer and better temptations as the soot of night covers this beauty. Dinners are set at homes for the returning fathers and young lads & girls working in BPOs leave for their graveyard shift like other nocturnal beings that live dark lives in this big bad city. Soon the pulse of Mumbai, the local trains stop for a couple of hours but streets are still abuzz with nightlife

The only ones standing tall at night are a few timeless and eternal sentries of this island, the Gateway at Colaba and Sidhdhi Vinayak at Prabhadevi , Jeevdani at Virar and Haji Ali at Tardeo all face skywards with their lungs filled with life and pride of admiration that millions of visitors each day bestow upon them. On my prowl, I often find some or the other destitute on the roads on my suburb reminding me time and again to count my blessings.

So, here goes (well don’t expect it to be better than my Oscar acceptance, which I aim to deliver some day). Thank you god for making Mumbai the space, where after midnight a pregnant woman can trust a cabbie to drop her home or nursing home safe and free at times. Thank you god for letting me know that while traveling together in a journey (mumbai or elsewhere) or life, smiles work the best and make it easy. Thank you god for letting me know that one man’s poison is another man’s food and thus the differences must not be begrudged. Thank god for showing me that each individual in this city is in pursuit of happiness and finally, a request for them to be on the move forever

Summer days of contradictions

It’s a sunny day today. Pleasant and familiar, taking me back to the idle afternoons of childhood and discovery of many joys in boyhood. My world as a child revolved around my home in a sleepy suburb of Mumbai. Somewhere close to the mean madness of the metropolis, my township provided me ample of adventures to last one summertime after another.

I witnessed my best friend’s upbringing in a cliché south Indian fashion where life ideally is as simple as an idli. The formula to follow is to bury your noses and more into books while in school and college and at the most learn carnatic music, bharata natyam or join a chess club if inclined towards extracurricular activities. Simultaneously my Punjabi upbringing had its share of problems of a disjointed nuclear family that hadn’t been able to find any roots in this city except a small flat in the suburbs. Most of my family which would have been responsible for my identification or association with my culture or traditions was in north India, scattered like beads of a gaudy ornamental necklace.

As far as the environment goes, this apartment was the only thing that connected me to my neighbours, none of whom had a wish to dream big, leave alone ambitions to conquer the city they were a part of.. An opinion was considered lethal for a kid my age and determination was viewed as an inconsequential part of a child’s make believe games. Somehow I knew from day one that I was a square peg and should not even think of trying to fit into these round holes. I wore similar clothes to their kids, I had same issues like the lack of money, space and privacy as most of them, but I never let the awareness of my distinction sink into depths of my mind. It didn’t need recall even though I gained expertise in local dialects and could hold a conversation in Marathi as fluently as English, much to the amusement of my neighbours.

As a true blue member of the bollywood city, I had started my reading one summer looking at a movie ad in paper and reading it in roman Hindi with the alphabets S-H-O-L-A-Y. This biggest hit of Indian film industry may not be in my list of personal favourites, but does hold its significance just like these incoherent facts. Well let’s put things in perspective. Though I enjoyed being a witness to my friend’s life which worked in clockwork precision and produced some wonderful results for him, I never regretted not having much order in my life.

Through my college, I sang, danced, and acted on stage and off it into jobs that I fancied, while he studied to get top grades, as if he would ace in life if he topped his class. His summers ended with results of his annual run to the winning post, mine just were intervals till I returned to be my old social butterfly self.

In a summer after college, I fell in love, maybe for the first time as earlier I had loved my girl friend but wasn’t in love with her. This time it was a boy from US who found me online. My afternoons were sunny with smileys, days were filled with reading print outs of romantic emails over and over again. Maybe it was the heat or blind puppy love, but if there was a smile that mattered to me, it was his. I basked in radiance of his love. We planned gazillion things about his visit to Mumbai, our life in coming years and more like two kids, sitting idly deciding lives of their dolls in the perfect pink plastic house

I moved out of my parent’s home but he didn’t turn up online for long. I called his dorm to know that he hastened his chemotherapy as a medical student authorized to do so for a non-malignant tumour in his head and had expired due to brain hemorrhage. That summer didn’t cheer me up. The memories of it still don’t fade. Harsh brightness of the days mocked my dark life and warmth scalded my heart. His memories were coupled with a knowledge that no one else in the world probably knew his true nature. His thoughts, emotions or desires were all unknown, uncared for and died with him. I lived for the seasons to change, rain soaked my spirit and winter froze the fire of anger within.

Today, it’s been many years since and many people have come and gone in my life. My friend still awaits his arranged south Indian marriage and works 24 x 7 like a good boy. He hasn’t faced deaths except a few old relatives. That’s because he didn’t venture out much in sun listening to his mother who warned him of burns. I remain friends with him and connect as frequently or infrequently as per my work. The reason for doing so eludes me. Maybe I want to be rooted in ordinary mundane life too even if I fancy my alternative lifestyle. Security of love and family still has value for me as it has for him. But for me, summer is knocking again. Mornings are arriving earlier and twilight seems to evade me. The question remains what to expect this time. Nostalgia remains and enthusiasm for new day too. Summer strikes and I wait for its bittersweet contradictions to unfold. As I head towards an unknown destination jogging early morning, I reach a conclusion that no matter which road u take, the sun will shine bright. It’s for us either to stand in way of its light and warmth completely and bloom from bud to a flower or to stagnate with security of never reaching our true potential in shades.