Ranjha!

Life, as unpredictable as it is, doesn’t fail to spring surprises even on a weekend. As fate would have it, I ended up planning to watch a play or two alone, and found myself walking into the Experimental Theatre of the NCPA. I must admit, the venue does live up to its name. So, I saw Navtej Johar and Madan Gopal Singh’s dance-musical drama Fana’a: Ranjha Revisited this evening. The play is a melée of two romantic epics, each one from North and South India. Heer Ranjha is a famous Sufi legend from Punjab, while Kutrala Kuravanji is a genre of dance-drama from Tamil Nadu.

Ranjha was a prince who fell in love with Heer, and became a cowherd in the farms of Heer’s father, just so that they both could be together. When Heer was married off to someone else, Ranjha turned a jogi, a mendicant and follows Heer.

The epic from south, Kutrala Kuravanji is a story of a young girl – Vasantvalli – falling in love with Lord Siva and living in fantasies of her union with the Lord. As the drama unveils, sakhis (friends) of Vasantvalli tease her, support her and enrich her fantasies of her union with Siva by bringing in a fortune-teller who would predict when Vasantvalli would meet Siva.

Johar’s drama presents both these epics in dance form, with songs from Kutrala as well as Sufi songs reciting Heer-Ranjha’s legend interspersed with each other. Both the stories flow simultaneously, with Navtej and his dance partner Anil Panchal playing the roles of Heer, Ranjha, Vasantvalli and Siva. Both the dancers changed roles –- and the transition was smooth — which was indicated through the lyrics. The hour-long play was a mix of Sufi songs in Punjabi and Kutrala recited in Tamil. The seemingly distant fusion of Sufi and carnatic music did not sound odd at all. The dance technique followed was a fusion of Bharat Natyam and contemporary dance, throughout the play.

What appealed was the ‘seamlessness’ as people put it, of Johar’s masterpiece. Kutralas usually have a happy ending with Vasantvalli’s union with Siva, while Heer-Ranjha’s epic ends in despair, in separation. What brings about both the extremes to a common ground is the abstract nature that the stories take because of the male duet dance. Both the dancers interchange roles very frequently, thus keeping the audience glued to each and every movement of theirs.

More, the play brought both the epics woven together with one single thread – desire. Although Johar may have conceptualised the play due to his love for both Sufism and Kutrala as he admits, the thought has evolved into depiction of bare, plain desire in its most innocent form.

Besides the dance, the singers Madan Gopal Singh and Rekha Raj sung amazing Sufi songs like Ranjha jogi banke aaya and Aaj piya mere anganach aaye. Carnatic songs were played using recordings – sung by Govindrajan Elangovan. Without a single prop on the stage, the accompaniment to this one-act play were minimalistic with Preetam Ghoshal’s sarod, Gurmeet Singh’s tabla, Deepak Castelino’s guitar, G Raghuraman’s flute and R Kesavan’s mridangam.

What’s next? – A Midsummer Night’s Dream, by Tim Supple. Now that’s what you call a streak of good luck.

 

फिर बम्बई!

सारों को घर लौटते देखने के बाद अब मेरी बारी थी, और मैं खेल की इस पारी को निभानेको चल पडा घर की ओर… इस दुनिया में बहुत कम जगहें होती हैं जिन्हें हम घर कह पाएं और बम्बई एक ऐसा ही बसेरा है जिसे हर कोई घर कहना चाहता है, कह पाता है। यहां हर एक को इक मुट्ठी आसमान और इक टुकडा झमीन का चाहे ना मिले, पर बम्बई में शायद ही कोई ऐसा होगा जो बिल्कुल ही भूखा सोता होगा – यह शहर सभी को रोटी देनेकी फितरत रखता है। मेरा सफ़र ज़रूरत से कुछ ज़्यादा ही लंबा रहा, घर की ओर चलते चलते – पर जब में यहां आया तो इस शहर ने ना ही अपनी सूरत बदली थी, ना सीरत। सब कुछ वैसा ही था जैसा मैं ने जाने से पहले देखा था। ज़मीन पर रेंगती हुई सडकों पर हज़ारों समंदरों के बहाव की तरह चलती भीड में खोनेको मैं लौट कर आया था। और अगले ही दिन मैं इस जगह से अपनी पुरानी पहचान कायम करने को निकला।

 

सबसे पहले मैं मरीन ड्राइव पहुंचा, शहर के दरिया से मिलने और कुछ घंटे लहरों को देखते देखते बिता दिए। शायद कई कहानियां गुज़रे हुए इस साल में इन लहरों में उठकर समा गयी होंगी और किसी ने उन्हें महसूस तक नहीं किया होगा। किनारे पर बैठे बैठे मैं अपनी सांसों में शहर की मैली हवा को भरकर पत्त्थर पर रेंगते हुए दरिया के बाशिंदों की शहर से जुड्ने-अलग होने की असमंजस देखकर मैं अपने आपकी तुलना उनसे करने लगा। क्या यह अनजानों का बसेरा मेरा भी “घर” है? वास्तविकता की लहरों ने मुझे घेरते हुए यह याद दिलाया कि इस बसेरे में मैं भी यहां उतना ही अजनबी हूं जितने सारे और! शायद मैं औरों से भी ज़्यादा अजनबी हो चुका हूं इस बसेरे से अब… पर अब भी पहचान के कई छोर किसी कोने से बाहर नज़र आ रहे थे, जब मैंने यहां की सडकों से दुआ-सलाम की।

 

एक एक कडी जोडनेको मैं बम्बई की अलग अलग जगहों से फिर मिलने चल पडा। तो पहले जाकर कुछ पेट पूजा की जाए! चर्चगेट स्टेशन के सामने सत्कार रेस्ट्रां में जब मैं बैठा तो भीड इतनी थी कि हर मेज़ पर ३- ४ अनजान लोगों को बिठाकर उनकी महमान-नवाज़ी की जा रही थी! मैंने अपना ऒर्डर दे दिया था और खाना आनेका इंतज़ार कर रहा था, तब तक एक बंबैया – माफ़ी सरकार, मुंबैया… – भाईसाहब ने मेरे सामनेकी कुर्सी में तशरीफ़ फ़रमाई। कुछ देर तक मेरी ओर देखने के बाद साहब ने एक लंबी-चौडी मुस्कान धरते हुए मुझे पूछा कि मुझे नेकटाई – गले का फ़ंदा- बांधने आता है या नहीं। अब मैं तो निकला ही था इस बसेरे से जान-पहचान बढानेको! मैंने उन साहब का फ़ंदा बांध दिया तो उन्होंने मुझे मॆंगोला के फ़ायदे बताए, और चल पडे! फिरसे मैं अपनी मेज़ पर अकेला था, और मेरा खाना आ गया। अब बारी थी एक मोटे तगडे साहब की – वह जैसे ही आकर मेरे सामनेवाली कुर्सीमें बैठे कि मुझसे पूछ बैठे: “भाईसा‘ब, यह जो आपने खाना मंगवाया है, उसे क्या कहते हैं?” मैं झरा सा चकरा ही गया, लेकिन मैं बिना किसी विलंब के सही जवाब दे पाया: “मसाला उत्तप्पम”। अब भाई एक सेवक को पुकारने लगे: “श..श…श एय एय भाई, ज़रा इधर आना… मेरे लिये एक मसाला उत्तप्पम ले आना… और सुनो, सांभर कि दो वाटी ले आना… और सांभर गाढा मत बनाना, मेरे लिये पतला चाहिये है…।” यह सब इतनी ऊंची आवाज़ में हुआ कि सारे होटल में लोग हमारी मेज़ की तरफ़ देखने लगे थे। मैंने किसी तरह अपनी पेट पूजा का समापन किया और वहां से निकला।

 

दिन भर मैं भीडभरी रेल में एक छोर से दूसरे छोर घूमता रहा रात होने तक, और फिर मेरे मुसाफ़िरखाने कि ओर चल पडा। देर रात, एक तरफ लोग अपनी गाडियां लिये शहर की रौनक का नज़ारा लेने चले थे तो दूसरी ओर सडक के किनारों पर रहनेवाले अपने दिनका लेखा-जोखा कर रहे थे। कहीं रेस्ट्रांवाले साफसफ़ाई करके दिनभर की थकान दूर कर रहे थे, और आनेवाले कल का सामान जुटा रहे थे, तो कहीं कोई अपने धंदे की बोहनी करनेकी राह देख रहे थे। ऐसे एक साहब को मैंने मेरे घर छोड देनेको कहा, और रिक्शा चलाते ही वह भी अविरत बोलने लगे! मुझ पर सवालों की झडी बरसी, और ऐसा लगने लगा कि उस समय उन साहब से ज़्यादा मेरी फ़िक्र किसी और को हो ही नहीं सकती! बातों बातों में उन्हों ने यह जान लिया कि मैं अपनी तकदीर का दांव आज़मा रहा हूं बम्बई में नौकरी ढूंढने आकर, और मुझे कई रास्ते बताये अपनेआपको व्यस्त रखनेके। फिर बात आयी कर्मयोग के महत्व की, और कलियुग में घटते हुए कर्मयोगियों की! और तब तक मेरा मकाम आ गया। मैं जब साहब को पैसे देकर चलने ही लगा की उन्होंने मुझसे पूछा: “भाईसा‘ब, दवा कंपनी में काम करोगे क्या आप? मेरे एक रेगुलर पैसेंजर हैं जो किसी दवा कंपनी में ऊंची पोस्ट पर काम करते हैं…” यह सुनते ही मुझे बस एक गीत गुनगुनानेका मन किया –

 

माना अपनी जेबसे फ़कीर हैं, फिरभी यारों दिलके हम अमीर हैं…

मिटे जो प्यार के लिये वो जिंदगी, जले बहार के लिये वो जिंदगी…

 

…कहेगा फूल हर कलीसे बार बार, जीना इसीका नाम है!

 

किसीकी मुस्कुराहटों पे हों निसार, किसीका दर्द मिल सके तो ले उधार,

किसीके वास्ते हो तेरे दिलमें प्यार, जीना इसीका नाम है!

 

:: Lost ::

Lost, or so was I, since quite some time now. I have been through many things, many places over these past few days which make me sad, jealous, regretful, happy and glad all at the same time about everything that happened. Shuttling between my two homes and two cities to which I am ever a stranger I have a reason to feel lost, I believe. The stench of both these witches, the cities is there to strangle me enough that I would feel close to dying but not quite strong to let me die of it – and hence, I continue to swing. The other day, I felt a little occupied, performing a skilled bricoleur when I fixed a couple of large mirrors in a couple of large rooms. I wrote a little, and felt a little worthwhile of my own self when I managed to finish some work. There’s this feeling of malaise when you’re suddenly left with nothing to do and with all the time for your own self, which leads you to think you should be doing something, changing your life for the better – in short, leaving you restless. The next day, I started off being a gardener. While weeding out the unnecessary tall grass however, the sweet looking tiny little sickle came striking into my palm as if it was too keen to change my fate written in those huge wide paws at the end of my long hands. Somehow, I didn’t feel the pain – any pain, and smiled at the puerile effort of the sickle and continued working. At the end of it, almost close to the afternoon, when I poured water on my soiled hands the cuts revealed their depth and I happened to believe that the sweet looking sickle was much more than what I’d thought of her to be. Some things in life are not meant to be taken at their face value.

 

I resolved not to work any more that day, and try and make good of this break after all. And this morning when I looked at the person in the mirror, I fell in love with my self again. I noticed again those small dents on my cheek and in the centre of my chin and the dis-aligned teeth lurking out when I smile, which was longed for, and loved at some point in time. Some claim of this as my being full of my own self, some as a conceit. I’m back to being a narcissist, in love with me again. I recounted a few of the many things to do once I’m back to the witch and thought of the days before I had left it. I have an instinct that tells me that the witch is not going to shelter me for long, for I shall move out, move on. They say that you live here only until this place owes you your food and your water – and then you move someplace else, where your life is destined to be. But nothing is ever enough where the witch is. You crave for more, and toil harder to grapple it with both your hands in a hapless gamble. Such is life! It still goes on, to keep you going.

 

And while I was on my way back to myself, this song played in my head – a poetry written by Shiv Kumar Batalvi. He had written this poetry sometime in the early 70s, but the sound of the song is fresh enough to make one think of life and its quest again. The poem is in Punjabi, a language which is spoken with the heart. The lyrics have a sort of soothing warmth that the poet offers to the soiled hearts of the readers. An abridged version of the poem can be heard in Rabbi Shergill’s debut album, titled Rabbi. The poem is titled Ishtihaar (advert).

 

॥ इश्तिहार ॥

 

इक कुडी, जे दा नाम मोहब्बत

गुम है, गुम है, गुम है

 

साद मुरादी, सोहणी फ़बत…

गुम है, गुम है, गुम है

इक कुडी, जे दा नाम मोहब्बत

गुम है, गुम है, गुम है

गुम है, गुम है, गुम है… ॥

 

सूरत उसदी, परियां वरगी,

सीरत दी औ मरियम लगदी,

 

हसदी है तां, फुल झडदे ने

टुड्दी है तां, गज़ल है लगदी…

 

लम्म से लम्मी, सरु कद दी

उमर अजे है, मरके अग दी

पर नैणां दी गल समझदी

 

इक कुडी, जे दा नाम मोहब्बत

साद मुरादी, सोहणी फ़बत…

 

गुमयां जनम जनम हुण होए,

पर लगदा ज्यों कल दी गल है,

यूं लगदा ज्यों अज दी गल है,

यूं लगदा ज्यों हुण दी गल है…

 

हुण तां मेरे कोल खडी सी,

हुण तां मेरे कोल नहीं है,

एह की छ्ल है, एह की फटकण?

 

सोच मेरी हैरान बडी है,

नजर मेरी हर आंदे जांदे

चेहरे दा रंग फोल रही है,

उस कुडी नु, टोल रही है॥

 

इक कुडी, जे दा नाम मोहब्बत

साद मुरादी, सोहणी फ़बत…

 

सांझ ढले बाज़ारां दे जद

मोडां ते खुश्बु उगदी है

वेहल थकावट बेचैनी जद,

चहु राहेयां ते आ जुडदी है

रौले लिप्पी तन्हाई विच

उस कुडी दी थड खांदी है,

उस कुडी दी थड दिसदी है।

 

हर छिन मैंनु युं लगदा है,

हर दिन मैंनु युं लगदा है,

जडे जशन ने भीडां विचों

जडी महक दे झुरमत विचों

औ मैंनु आवाज़ दवॆगी

मैं ओहनु पहचाण लॆवांगा

औ मैंनु पहचाण लॆवॆगी

पर उस रौले दी हड विचों

कोई मैंनु आवाज़ ना देंदा

कोई भी मेरे वाल न वॆंहदा॥

 

पर खौरे क्यों तपला लगदा,

पर खौरे क्यों झौल्ला पैंदा,

हर दिन हर इक भीड जुडी छों,

बट औं दा ज्यों लंघके जांदा।

पर मैंनु ही नज़र ना औंदा

गुम गया मैं उस कुडी दे

चहरे दे विच गुम्मया रेंहदा

उस दे गम विच घुलया रेंहदा

उस दे गम विच खुरदा जांदा!

 

उस कुडी नु मेरी सौं है,

उस कुडी नु अपणी सौं है

उस कुडी नु सब दी सौं है

उस कुडी नु जग दी सौं है

उस कुडी नु रब दी सौं है

 

जे किथे पढ्दी सुणदी होवे

ज्यौंदी होवे ओ मर रही होवे

इक वारी आके मिल जावे

वफ़ा मेरी नु दाग ना लावे

नहीं तां मैंथों जिया ना जांदा

गीत कोई लिखया ना जांदा!

 

इक कुडी, जे दा नाम मोहब्बत

गुम है, गुम है, गुम है

 

साद मुरादी, सोहणी फ़बत…

गुम है, गुम है, गुम है

इक कुडी, जे दा नाम मोहब्बत

गुम है, गुम है, गुम है

गुम है, गुम है, गुम है… ॥

 

Wish

I heard drops falling on the walkway roof, big and small, round and blue, black and dark, taking the colour of the night. I went out in the rain, held my arms wide and breathed the breeze in. I could feel you embracing me, engulfing me in your sparkling warmth and I heard you whisper. I called out your name and heard mine in return. I tried to take all the rain, all of you in my arms, all over me. I ran in the rain, here and there, with my arms wide open to reach you, to hold your hand, thousands of hands. The tiny droplets with the shine of sapphire greeted me briskly and melted away. I walked to the lake to hear you speak to the calm waters all night long. And I remember you telling the fables of the ocean, the river, the mountain and the trees. I remember the story of how the snow put you to sleep, and how the wind woke you up.

I sit next to the rain hearing the bright leaves sing their happiness aloud and the flowers smile. Voices of you are all around, sparkles of your shine, on my skin. I long to be with you more, and I seek more of you. I look around to see you, and I hear drops falling, big and small, round and blue, black and dark. Wish you were here.

 

Plurdled Gabbleblotchits

I feel like writing peotry today,
Since I’ve become econometrically peotic
While munching crazy noodles
With mango pickles and crunching hefty numbers

And I’m awfully inspired too,
By the third worst in the Universe – Vogon Poetry
Of our good ol’ DNA

One fine morning when I woke up biologically,
I realized it was late afternoon temporally
And I was hungry so drastically
My belly blew in and out elastically

But I still had to cross some strata
To reach for some nutrition,
Not economically, but econometrically
I had to deal first with a pile of data

When I saw the sheer score of meaningless number**
The initially-excited-me who earlier felt clumber
Now felt absolutely
Dumb and Dumber

My eyes skewed
Brain caught kurtosis
My heart, heteroskedastic
And my courage was
Abnormally Distributed

I tried regressing
But all my problems turned multicollinear
And my hideously negative intellect
Produced simultaneous non-linear inequalities

Before opening the spreadsheets
I was a continuous random variable
After looking at the numbers
I was recoded to be a discrete random variable

All the probabilities turned
Upside down
Life seemed to be
Directly proportionate to boredom
And work seemed to be
Inversely proportionate to time

My probability distribution function was
Multivariate enough to make my life
Look like a scatter plot
Not just that but
My statistical independence
Became conditional and univariate

I could now be jealous
Of independent random variables
Who could demonstrate a central tendency
As they could prove
My variance and dispersion

And I would be stochastic – random variable
Whose outcome
Would be uncertain irrespective of that
Of those independent ones

That was the limit of my econometric degradation
Anything beyond this would be
Statistically insignificant

On this outlier note
I end my peotry
Rest in Peace All of You
Who contemplate suicide after reading this
If you’re not already dead yet
Out of econometric malaise
That is
Have a great
Normally distributed
Day!

**(number used intentionally in singular form to bring some peotic rhyme, which could have been lost by the time I close the braces)

This would be my tribute to all of those econometrics professors, students, researchers, pseudo professors, pseudo students, pseudo researchers, and the only genuine people around – the software makers for making life econometrically worthwhile, and offering 14-day free trials of their much corrupted packages. Special thanks to those, more genuine people- who are honest in their business of dishonesty- who produce pirated copies of these corrupted packages, and sell it for peanuts. I’m grateful to you all for making my life more than interesting.

 

Just for You!

I’ve been thinking too much again. The places to which I promised myself, I would never go back, I am now longing to go. The witch is calling me back again. But that would also take me to places which I promised I would go back to. And it somehow gives me a pleasant feeling, brings me smiles when I think of those days. I have also been thinking of the days to come. And I am glad. Contented.

Last year, these days I had been to a place high on a mountain. I climbed the mountain in a moonlit night, but it was pitch black because of the forest around, and the ‘tall, dark’ trees. I walked and climbed all night until I reached a cave in which I slept for a few hours. The mouth of the cave was illuminated by the moon and there was a pit full of water besides the cave. I was woken up by curious monkeys of the forest who claimed the possession of my sack and feasted upon the peanuts and oranges and cucumbers that I had brought along for myself. But they were generous enough to take only as much as they wanted, and left the sandwiches untouched for me, and finally denounced their right to property on the sack.

It was dawn by then, and I gathered my sleeping mat and the sack to climb up to the peak. Half the day was past when I reached the top, and I sat there, observing the marvels of the creator. I wondered at the largesse one could attain. I could see the miniaturized landscape waving in harmony which I had just passed by, the night before and smiled back at the frightening darkness I had witnessed a few hours back.

As the day grew older and the night began to close in – there was no evening, just a hazy day and a luminous but cloudy night – I started walking back downward on my way to get back to the witch – the city. And I observed that a descent is faster only when you fall down. One can climb down slowly. Slower than the ascent, with all dignity if one remains modest.

And I shall be back on the ground

At the end of my flight

No, I shall not fall

I shall walk back to you, gently

For, I have many stories to tell

Many a song to sing, and a smile to share

Just for you!

The Ascent, The Descent, and Everything In Between!

 

For You!

Like the ocean
on a dark winter night,
your warmth holds me close
and the world becomes obscure
the moment stops for life, bliss.

I look at your face
the face of happiness
your smile,
sunshine.

I want to breathe you in
and hold you there
for then, I shall live,
you, closer than me.

I want you to breathe me in
and hold me there
for then, I shall live,
you, closer than me.

Fragments of me,
go all over the woods
and the seas and the snows
and you around, to sing along.