Chalo Main Baad-e-Baan Phir khol Deta Hoon Safine ka

Bekaraan Shab ke  Saile- Rawan mein,

Khamoshi  ki Allahr Maujein,

Sahil-e-Waqt ki Deewaron se,

Mahv-e-Sukhan hain, Naala-ba-Lab hain

Tariki ke Siyah Bhanwar mein,

Tooti hui ek Neend ki Kashti

Jal-Thal Chand ki Hamrahi mein,

Dhoond Rehi hai Khwabon ki Basti

Mujh ko Yaqin hai Chand Shab Pehle,

Subh-e-Fardan ke khushboo se Mehki

Khwab-e-Nau ki Bekal Basti,

Sahil se kuch Door, Yehin thi

Hain Shayad Khwab Gurezan Mujhse,

Gosha-e-Dil se Aayee Fughan

Baadal ke Sarkash Tukdon ki Tarah,

Is Pal mein Ayan, Us Pal mein Nehan

Main bhi Haarne wala Kab hoon,

Is Tilism ko Mujhko Todna hoga

Khwab, Matay-e- Jaan hai Mere,

Us Manzil ke Nishan ko Dhoondna hoga

Chalo Phir Baad-e-Ban Maine Khol Deta Hoon Safine Ka,

Ajnabi Samt mein, Tund Hawaon ke Khilaf

Phir Shru hoga Safar, Ek Nayee Umang ke Saath,

Be-Naam Jazeeron ki Taraf, Tadapti Lehron ke Khilaaf

The Big Brouhaha – What if the matches were fixed?

Why so much brouhaha about the blip of match fixing scandal recorded on the radar of our agile and vigilant police officers? The breaking news flashing across the TV channels did not bother or baffle me a bit – but yes, the orchestrated tempest in the TV studios and the red tinge of artificial anger visible on the faces of TV journalists amused me immensely. It seems so naïve to believe that extra sensitive nose of the TV journalists (claiming to know everything under the sun) could not smell the stink and rot of corruption visible to a person with a grain of common sense. It is strange but not untrue that in the age of sting operation, no media house or independent journalist ever tried to unearth the truth by dangling the bait before the scores of hungry fishes swimming freely in the blue gauzy water of five star hotels.

The handful of cricketers and hordes of sports journalists expressed their concern in the emotion laden voice about the brand of ‘IPL’ being tainted and tarnished by the alleged spot fixing scandal. They feared that, it will lose its sheen and shine rather soon. In my humble opinion, these reactions and responses of the gentlemen are overstated and is a reflection of the overarching confusion that ‘IPL is just a cricket series’. The incident has certainly highlighted the unholy alliance between cricket administrators, bookies, players and umpires but it would not impact its popularity and appeal to its avid followers or to stoic masses who watch IPL matches in ‘Mute’ mode on their television sets after returning home from hectic day today transactions.

As a dispassionate analyst, my confidence about the continued success of the product ‘IPL’ emanates from its wonderful design. It is one of most successfully marketed product that has attracted the men and women of all age groups with equal magnetic pull. It is an addicting concoction of all sellable ingredients that has captivated the imagination of Indians of all classes for the years. The chefs of BCCI are being applauded by all and sundry for dishing up the tempting cuisine called ‘IPL’, meticulously garnished with the ‘Indecent dances’ and ‘Crazy parties’. The dish has been cooked by mixing the ‘Bollywood glamour’ and ‘Passion of Cricket ‘in the slow simmering heat of ‘Humongous money of all colors (Black, white, Grey)’.

Although, I am not the aficionado of ‘IPL’ but  knowing the people’s appetite for it, I am sure that the spices of  ‘Scandalous stories’ and ‘Spot Fixing’ would augment  its flavor (if added in right proportion)  and increase the selling proposition by many folds. My sincere advice to the intelligent souls who have refused to see the difference between ‘IPL’ and a cricket series is to watch one episode of the program ‘Extra Inning’ (that precedes the matches) and measure the quantum of cricket in the razzle-dazzle of IPL entertainment package.

The writing is on the wall- ‘IPL’ will attract the eyeballs even if all the matches are fixed. This was substantiated by the responses of the crowd in the cricket stadium even after the spot fixing scandals rocked the TV studios (if not the cricket board). People come to watch the performance enacted on the ground – so what if the result is fixed. I would conclude with following ‘Reasoning and Assertion’.

Most of our Bollywood movies end on a pleasant note- hero of the movie vanquishes the villain after a nail biting fight and the exchange of powerful dialogues; he wins back the heart of his beloved after clarifying the nefarious plot of the villain, wipes out the tears springing in her eyes to live happily ever after. The end is same for most of the movies but still many of us watch, like and follow our movies and stars.

“There are too much money at the stake, some heads may roll, some souls may be silenced  – but IPL is here to stay”

Behavioural Paradox of Indian Middle class

The avalanche of anger, aguish and agitations following the brutal tragedy of rape in the capital city of India swept the nation. The sustained rage and resounding clamour for changes in the governance structure visible on the streets of Delhi surprised many political commentators, verbose journalists, political class and ordinary mortals alike. History has witnessed the atrocities and barbarity against women especially in this part of the world, since the time immemorial. Even in the post-independence India, plethora of heinous crimes and horrendous incidents of brutality against women have been recorded and reported that would shame and disgrace any civilised society. But never before, the great Indian middle class – cynosure of political and market forces, felt so disturbed by the uneasy and unnerving events around them. The heart wrenching tragedies of rapes in the Kashmir and Assam, the daily tribulations of tribal women and unprecedented crimes of Gujrat riot failed to break the solemn vow of rewarding silence of the strenuous middle class.

Nay, but not this time- ‘the gruesome tragedy has finally awakened the souls of "The great Indian Middle Class" from their collective slumber’, the somber, erudite social scientist visible on our television screen announced with emphatic pride’. I too believed, that the smell of people’s rebellion in chilling air of Delhi heralds the arrival of ‘Tipping Point’ that may become the springboard for triggering the changes in society’s attitude towards women.

Alas! just a few months later, on a busy day  - when the summer sun engulfed winter breeze, when the spirited candle light soldiers returned to their barracks, when the social scientists confided in their cozy study rooms, the precious sacred stone of ‘Belief’ in the  power and prudence of ordinary middle class people shattered into uncountable pieces by a terrible blow. One of the most renowned and prestigious institutions of India ‘SRCC’ invited Mr.Narender Modi to deliver a lecture to academia. The current chief minister of Gujrat who is being paraded and pedaled as the next prime minister of India is alleged to have allowed the murders, mayhem, rape and plunder of a specific community right under his nose during his tenure as a chief minister of Gujrat in 2002. What baffled me most is the support or at best the indifference of the large number of same set of people protesting on the streets, facebook and twitter against the incompetence and insensitivity of state machinery few months back .The feeble and faltering voices of sprinkling of spirited protesters gathered outside the auditorium could not be heard in the loud hosannas sung to praise Lord Modi. I was embarrassed to witness the naked dance of cruel ironies – Narender Modi speaking about women empowerment and equality at an event organized by FICCI Ladies Organisation, yet he is same the same man who is alleged to have buried his head in the sand when the helpless women in his state were subject to most ignominious and reprehensible brutalities during Gujrat riot in 2002.  Nevertheless, the aforesaid institution deals in the currency of ‘Profit’ and ‘Loss’, the words like ‘dignity’, ‘equality’ etc. are not found in the lexicon of  financial report cards.

The tragedy of contradictions in responses and reactions demonstrated by this vibrant harbinger of shining India (Indian middle class), deeply disappointed me. My quest for understanding this complex comportment culminated with the find of a wonderful book on the subject ‘The Great Indian Middle Class’ authored by Pavan K Verma .His powerful and sharp insights about the selective behaviour of  Indian middle class provided the answers of a few difficult questions fluttering in the mind.In his incisive analysis of Indian middle class he elucidates:

“He  attached little priority to an altruistic interface with society. His motivation to contribute to its betterment, without the notion of personal gain, was weak. He saw no great reason why he should identify his personal welfare with the well-being of even his immediate environment. His concerns were restricted to himself, his family, and, at a lower scale, his clan or caste. His cosmic view held an individual to be a microcosm unto himself. There was no need for his path to meander into the needs of others, who, even if they were obviously in need of succour, were only suffering the consequences of their own karmas.”
                      (Excerpts from ‘The Great Indian Middle Class’by  Pavan K Verma)

The paradoxes described above are indeed discouraging and disturbing. However, I would conclude on a positive note with the hope and faith that Indian middle class being the most vocal and visible vehicle of social changes would understand the utmost sensitivity of such issues and would respond with sagacity and maturity.                        

Nahi Hai Na-Umeed Iqbal Apni Kisht-e-Weeran Se

Zara Nam Ho To Ye Mitti Bohat Zarkhaiz Hai Saqi

                                                           (Allama Iqbal)

Society’s response to deaths and ailments

After gulping the last drop of bitter boiled tea, I collected my strength and spirit to execute the long pending, mundane task of arranging the books and papers spread all around my house in an orderly fashion on a disheveled  and cluttered bookshelf. In the last couple of years, every time a visitor graced my house, I had to sweat for hiding the 'natural state of topsy turvy' under the smooth veil of orderliness even though success betrayed me more often than not. Their prying, experienced eyes pierced through the glossy layer of artificial orderliness to discover the harmless heap of brochures and books at all places .While sifting the important documents from the stacks of papers and magazines, I found the  print out of the urdu poet Ghalib's quintessential couplet that  not only stirred my imagination but also scared me.

"Rahiye Ab Aisi Jagah Chal Kar Jahaan Koi Na Ho,
Ham Sukhan Koi Na Ho Aur Ham Zabaan Koi Na Ho
Be-Daro-Deevaar-Sa Ek Ghar Banaya Chahiye,

Koi Ham Saaya Na Ho Aur Paasbaan Koi Na Ho
Pariye Gar Beemaar Tou Koi Na Ho Teemaardaar
Aur Agar Mar Jaiye Tou Noha Khoaan Koi Na Ho"

Alas! After more than hundred years of his death, the city where Ghalib was born and buried is not very different from the imaginary ‘jagah (place)’visualised in his thoughtful poetry dipped in the concoction of wine and worries. This stanza seems so relevant and shockingly true in the modern world of metropolises where the lives of human beings have been programmed meticulously to strive for staying ahead in the never ending race of life. The insatiable desire of surpassing every shining milestone and dream of hedonistic life style snatches the most valuable possession of the human beings ‘The Time'. It may not be wise to expect the men with vision and wisdom to share the fast diminishing inventory of time with their ailing friends and dying relatives.

Social upheaval - Society’s response to deaths and ailments

Indian society is going through the cultural renaissance -the much admired joint family set up has collapsed giving rise to smaller nuclear arrangements without the availability and affordability of the necessary and sustainable support structure for the separated families. The traditional servile Indian 'Bahu' has disappeared in the glittering lanes of  prosperity and empowerment. Sadly, the old parents are staying alone, far away from the greener pastures their children have chosen to inhabit. The 'Teemardar(care taker)' of Ghalib's poetry is on the verge of extinction in this evolving modern society. Only  few chosen and blessed souls can afford the mechanical services of  health service providers or buy the un-attenuated attention and good gesture of relatively 'less privileged relatives' with limited opportunities and aspirations.

Not many months ago, on a busy winter morning, I experienced the terrifying truth of life when I visited to pay my last respect to an acquaintance who died after a prolonged illness. The body deserted by the soul (Once upon a lively man), covered with the white sheet was lying in a corner of the house. The sound of sobbing and murmur was coming from the other room occupied by the bereaved family. I could sense the difficulties faced by the relatives from a different city in making the arrangement for funeral and other necessities required for performing the last rites. My heart ached at the indifference and apathy of neighbours and I could not stop the tears gushing out from my eyes.

The gentleman was from a respectable family of a decent small town who came to this metropolitan city almost a decade back to meet the rising aspirations of life. Had he died in his small little place, I am sure that his neighbors, friends and even enemies would have volunteered to make the necessary arrangements at this moment of sorrow and grief? The social structure of small towns and villages not only provides the safety valve to vent out sorrows and pains but also helps to negotiate the most difficult turns of life.

The winter has vanished, summer sun is back with rage and fury but I still get hounded and disturbed by the silent complaint visible in the eyes of ‘sprinkling of neighbours’ and ‘handful of friends’ gathered in the graveyard about the important meetings they had to postpone and the critical work they could not finish. A poet has very aptly described ‘Mout ke apne sau jhamele hain’. I wish to end this gloomy tale with a utopian hope that society will evolve to keep pace with the economic progress without dismantling the cultural framework.

Woh Aakhri Shab

Sard raaton ki pur-shikoh khamoshi,
Ek hamdam ka khaal-o-khad le kar,
Apne daaman mein le ke raaz-e-hayaat,
Shab ke gumnam kharabe se nikal aayee hai

Uski maghmoom adh-khuli aankhein,
Aina hai guzashta barson ka,
Fikr-e-fardan se muzmahil chehre pe,
Hai ayaan karb roothe khwabon ka

Uske saakit labon per hui junbish,
Dik ke barabat se aayee ek nahif sada,
Har soo raushan hai saal-e-nau ke chiragh,
Rakh do tum bhi lab-e-baam ummidon ka diya

Yeh mah-o-saal ki gardish,yeh zameen ka raqs,
In rasoomat-e-jahan se ,gar hai shikayat mujhko,
Yeh  khamoshi to mere zeest ka ek hissa hai,
Us ki baaton ki hifazat bhi rawa hai mujhko

Aao kar lein naya azm, naye saal mein aaj,
Dil ki tareeki ko ummed-e-sehr se farozan kardein,
Aaaj ki raat khwabon ki har ek raah-e-guzar
Apne alfaz ke shamm’on se manuwwar kar dein

Khwabon ke Taaqub mein

Phir se Saaman-e-safar baandh liya hai maine

Apne Khwabon  ke Taaqub mein niklana hai mujhe

Zindagi  ke sehra mein,

Waqt ki garm reiton per,

Ek Sunahri manzil ki

Justaju liye dil mein,

Phir se Saaman-e-safar baandh liya hai maine

Waswason ke toofan mein,

Azm ka alam thame,

Yaqeen ki asa le kar,

Ireteqa ki hasrat mein,

Phir se Saaman-e-safar baandh liya hai maine

Paon aabla-pa hain,

Zehan bhi tazabzub ki,

Aandhiyon mein larzan hai

Sa-oobton se be- parvah

Phir se Saaman-e-safar baandh liya hai maine

Ahbaab se judai bhi,

Aashana fizaon se

Thodi bewafai bhi ,

Husool-e-shauq ki zid mein

Phir se Saaman-e-safar baandh liya hai maine

Taghayyurat ke mausam ki dastak,

Nayee umeed ki mauhoom aahat,

Nayee manzil se aati yeh sadaayein,

Qadam ko aakhirash rokoon main kab tak,

Phir se Saaman-e-safar baandh liya hai maine

Apne Khwabon  ke Taaqub mein niklana hai mujhe

Woh nazm adhoori hai ab tak

Woh nazm  adhoori hai ab tak
Woh nazm  adhoori hai ab tak

Mulaqat ki pehli sham thi shayad,
Jab tum ne kaha  tha , ek nazm likho
Is maut si khamoshi se pare,
Door kahin traeeki se,

Khush-rang  sehr ke baare mein
Taaer ki sheereen sargoshi liye,
Baang-e-Jaras mein doobi hui,
Sarshaar fiza ke baare mein

Us nazm ki dilkash basti mein
Hasti ka sharara raqsan ho
Mehfil-e- yaraan jamti ho
Bazm-e-chiraghan hota ho

Har harf hawa ka jhonka ho,
Har lafz mein ho ehsaas-e-zyan,
Har sher ummedon ka chashma,
Har band se ho afkaar ayaan

Woh nazm  adhoori hai ab tak

Takmeel-e-nazm ki hasrat mein,
Khwabon ke nagar mein jata hoon
Chun Chun ke harf  ke phoolon ko,
Lafzzon ka mahal banata hoon

Phir din ki dastak hoti hai
Khurshid ke biphre sholon mein
Khwabon ka nagar jal jaata hai
Lafzon ka mahal gir jaata hai

Woh nazm  adhoori hai ab tak
Woh nazm  adhoori hai ab tak