“Mast nazron se Allah bachaaye,
Maah-jamaalon se Allah bachaaye

Har balaa sar pe aa jaaye lekin,
Husn-vaalon se Allah bachaaye

In kii masumiyat par na jaanaa,
In ke dhoke mein hargiz na aana
Loot lete hain ye muskuraa kar,
In kii chaalon se Allah bachaaye”

(Original poet: Nasir Iqbal Maikash)

Roughly translated (as always, improvements more than welcome)

“O God save us from those intoxicated glances!
O God save us from those who look as beautiful as the moon!
Inflict any affliction upon us, but
O God save us from those beautiful ones.

Don’t let their innocence fool you
Don’t ever fall in their trap
They will rob you even as they smile
O God save us from their spells”

“Khud ko yun mahasuur kar baitha hun apni zaat me
Manzilein chaaron taraf hai, raasta koi nahi”

Roughly translated… (Feel free to improve the translation)

“I have myself surrounded my soul in such a way that
There are destinations all around… not a single road to lead to any of them”

“Aap gairon ki baat karte hain
Humne to apne bhi aazmayen hain
Log kaaton se bachke chalte hain,
Humne to phoolon se zakhm khaayen hain!!”

Roughly translated…

“You keep complaining about strangers
I have tried my own loved ones too
People try to stay clear of thorns
And I have been hurt by flowers!!”


“Bichhde abhi to hum bas kal parson
Jiyungi main kaise is haal main barson
Maut na ayee, teri yaad kyun ayee
Hayee lambi judaai
Char dino ka pyaar O Rabba
Badi lambi judaai, lambi judaai”

Roughly translated:

“We got separated just a day or two back
Now how am I going to live in this state?
Death did not come upon me, but your memories did
Oh! why is separation always for so long?
Love is but for a few days, God!
Then why is separation for so long?”

The poem was immortalized in a song by the one and only Reshma. Born in undivided India to a vagabond tribe (banjara) that originated from the gypsy tribes of the Eastern Europe / middle East, she was moved to Pakistan by her family post independence. Discovered at an early age, she went to become one of the most famous folk songs of the subcontinent.

Her last few years were extremely sad and painful. Stricken by cancer, she was reduced to a skeleton. In a very poignant moment, she came out on stage during one of her last days. She had to be helped on stage and inspite of having advanced stage of throat cancer, she gave it a shot and sang the “Lambi Judai” song. A young Pakistani singer – Atif Aslam – came on stage and gave a wonderful rendition of her song to pay her a tribute.

She passed away a couple of years later. It was almost like she truly came out to complain in her own words:

“Char dino ka pyaar O Rabba
Badi lambi judaai, lambi judaai”

There is a grainy video of the event in Youtube here:

“Kabhi kisi musafir se pyar na karna
Unka thikana bohut door hota hain
Woh kabhi bewafa toh nahi hote,
Magar unka jaana jaroor hote hain”
(Unknown poet)

Roughly translated…

Never fall in love with the traveler
His address is invariably too far away
He is never unfaithful to you
But his journey (away from you) is inevitable

“I count each day a little life,
With birth and death complete;
I cloister it from care and strife
And keep it sane and sweet.

With eager eyes I greet the morn,
Exultant as a boy,
Knowing that I am newly born
To wonder and to joy.

And when the sunset splendours wane
And ripe for rest am I,
Knowing that I will live again,
Exultantly I die.

O that all Life were but a Day
Sunny and sweet and sane!
And that at Even I might say:
“I sleep to wake again.” ”

Brilliant take on life by the poet Robert Service describing each day to be a microcosm of how life plays out. With one exception – that once you sleep your Sleep of Life (death) there is no waking up again…

As an interesting factoid, the poet was a bank employee for his day job…

… if you Googled the number 241543903 ?

Go ahead! Try it!!!

Awesome evening of Meeraj-e-Ghazal. Some unforgettable words from the poet Faiz Ahmad Faiz. One of the most renowned Urdu poets, he was considered four times for the Nobel Prize. Perfect rendition by Asha Bhonsle (and Ghulam Ali)

“Be-piya hoon ke, agar lutf karo, aakhir-e-shab
Sheesha-e-mai mein dhaley subah ke aaghaaz ka rang
Yun fazaa mehaki ke badla mere humraaz ka rang
Yun sajaa chaand ke jhalka tere andaaz ka rang”

Again, this has mix of words from Hindi and Urdu – none of which is my mother tongue. But here is a shot at a translation…

I have stayed off my drinks this evening. But if it pleases you, at the end of this night
The lovely colors of the early dawn will pour into this goblet of wine
The fragrance of the bloom is spreading as if you (my lover) have changed your colors
The moon is shining in its resplendence as if your style sparkled off it

Growing up in a family immersed in music in Bengal, Rabindrasangeet (songs by Tagore) was as much a staple diet for me as was rice and potatoes. And yet, unlike most Bengalis, I never took to Rabindrasangeet. (I liked more classical based songs like Nazrulgeeti). If you are not from Bengal, you probably have very little idea how blasphemous that statement is in Bengal. That is like saying I don’t like “rosogollas” (a local sweet). Which, I don’t by the way.

If you ask my dad what are his biggest disappointments about me he would cite – not necessarily in that order (i) I live in a rural setting (he thinks I have regressed in the financial progress he made when he moved from a village to a town in Bengal) (ii) I run (he thinks if I ever prosper, I will have people running around for me – I do not have to run) and (iii) I don’t like Rabindrasangeet (he thinks Rabindranath was the greatest poet ever in the world – although when I asked him to name a few more poets of the world that he had read the poems of, he admitted – “none”).

Many years later, a close friend of mine, who is also a singer, had once told me that as I grew older, she thought I would start liking Rabindrasangeet more and more. I have indeed grown to realize that she was right. I still don’t listen to Rabindrasangeet much, but when I do, I do spend the whole evening enjoying them. Today was such an evening.

The song of the evening was –
“Jokhon porbe na mor paayer chinho ei batey,
Ami baibo na – ami baibo na mor kheya-tori ei ghaatey, go.
Jokhon porbe na mor paayer chinho ei batey…
Chukiye debo becha-kena,
Mitiye debo go, mitiye debo lena-dena,
Bondho hobey anagona ei hatey –
Tokhon amay naiba money raakhley,
Taarar paane chheye-chheye naiba aamay daakley.
Jokhon porbe na mor paayer chinho ei batey”

This is my mother tongue but translating is more difficult for me. (Perhaps I can understand the deeper meaning even better or perhaps because I am simply not that good in English. Perhaps both.)
But here is an attempt:

When there will be no more signs of my footfalls on this ground
When I will not be mooring my boat anymore into this dock
When there will be no more signs of my footfalls on this ground
(When) I would have concluded all my business here
(When) I would have wrapped up all my trades here
(When) All my treks to this marketplace would come to a finish
(Then) What is the harm if I did not come to your mind any more
(Then) What is the harm if you did not long at the stars at night and whispered out my name softly
When there will be no more signs of my footfalls on this ground

Another Friday evening. Another decompression. Heaven knows I needed this.

Today was about Bengali folk songs. Missed the music sessions with my sister a couple of decades back.

This is not going to warm the cockles of the heart of any percussion puritan… but there was an excellent application of a $1.99 plastic trash basket Sharmila had put in my music room (with the “bnayaa”) for a nice Utpalendu number (“Dohai Matha Khao”). Sometimes beats can come from the most innocuous item!!!