Some incredible poetry…

“Jo puchha ke kis tarah hoti hai baarish / Jabeen se paseene ki boondein gira di,

Jo puchha ke kis tarah girti hai bijli / Nigahein milaaein – mila kar jhuka di

Jo puchha shab-o-roz milte hain kaise / To bhehre pe apne wo zulfein hata di

Jo puchha ke naghmon mein jaadu hai kaisa / To meethe takallum mein baatein suna di

Jo apni tamannon ka haal puchha / To jalti hui chand shamein bhujha di

Main kehta reh gaya khata-e-mohabbat ki achhi saaza di”

Need help from somebody who is more knowledgeable in Urdu than me but roughly I think it is…

When I asked her how does the rain fall / She let a few beads of sweat fall from her forehead

When I asked her how does the lightning strike / She looked at me, and then lowered her eyes

When I asked her how does the night and day come together / She slowly moved her hair away from her face

When I asked her about the magic in music / She whispered a sweet things in my ear

But when I asked her about my own wishes / She quickly snuffed out a few candles

And all I was left saying was, what a punishment this is, for the sin of loving!!

Couple of hours of tabla with Bengali songs. Now I have unwinded well. Better get to bed and sleep before I wind up again…

And these few precepts in thy memory
Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportioned thought his act.
Be thou familiar but by no means vulgar.
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel,
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in,
Bear ’t that th’ opposèd may beware of thee.
Give every man thy ear but few thy voice.
Take each man’s censure but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not expressed in fancy—rich, not gaudy,
For the apparel oft proclaims the man,
And they in France of the best rank and station
Are of a most select and generous chief in that.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be,
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

Last night I was listening to Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan very late. And then chanced upon these three kids from Patiala on Youtube with amazing talent. They are 11, 13 and 14 years old! And the 11 year old is the uncle of the other two brothers! They will be India’s own Nusrat very soon. You can search for “Patiala Boys” or “Ali Brothers” or even “rebirt Nusrat” (with the spelling mistake) on Youtube. Unbelievable talent and rendition.

Some ghazals are best appreciated in a much delayed flight at 31,000 feet after a couple of red wines…

“Aye husn-e-lala-fam zara
Aankh to mila, zara aankh to mila
Khali pade hai jaam zara 
Aankh to mila,
Saqi mujhe bhi chahiye ek jaam-e-arzoo
Kitne lagenge daam zara 
Aankh to mila”

Another relaxing Friday evening by myself – nothing to unwind like a couple of hours of Bengali songs and tabla. I still can’t get Lata’s “Prem ekbari esechhilo nirobey” out of my mind… G’night ya’ll…

This is a gem by Aaga Bismil. The Ghulam Ali version of the rendition is outstanding..

“mehfil mein baar baar kisi par nazar gayee /
humne bachayee laakh magar / phir udhar gayee //

unki nazar mein koi to jaadu jaroor hai / 
jis par padi / 
usi ke jigar tak utar gayee // “

That was one heck of a tough week. Very productive though. Appropriately followed by one heck of decompression. 3 hour session of Bengali music and tabla. Ended with the following unforgettable Nazrulgeeti. (see photo). Do you remember the first line?

So, turns out all the people injured outside the Empire State Building were from police gunfire not the would be assailant. That reminds me of a poem called “Hell’s Bells” by Margaret Fishback, I think.

“The ambulance flies at a furious gait
That registers utter defiance of Fate,
As clanging through traffic quite agile and supple,
It picks up one person and knocks down a couple”