Junoon

‘ Gar kiya naaseh ne hum ko qaid, achha yoon sahi

Ye junnon-e ishq ke andaaz chhut jaaweinge kya?

Hazrat-e naaseh gar aavein, deeda-o-dil, farsh-e-raah

Koi hum ko yeh toh samjha do, ke samjhaaveinge kya?’

The rumours around one, remain as potent as they’ve always been. Sizzling! Any chances of them dying down soon? Not a chance in hell! Not even in death, I’ve learnt from my Amma’s life. But like I said to someone yesterday, it’s a small price to pay for getting away with all that this world, allows only men to get away with! A part of me, does get hurt, which turns it into Hulk. But it seems better sense, is slowly starting to dawn on me, too slowly, though.

I said to myself the other day, when I started to slip, into the darkest corners of my mind-If you have done something and people talk about it, you shouldn’t feel bad because you have done it and if you haven’t done something then that too shouldn’t matter because you didn’t do it in the first place! Does that make sense or does it sound like the end is the beginning is the end? Rantings of a twisted mind?

Coming back from Kashmir, where apparently I’ve tucked a couple of lovers away ( I so wish) is always hard. Leaves one confused and achey, constantly longing for the part of me, I leave behind: hidden by the side of a lake. The softer one tussles with the bitchier one, as soon one reaches Delhi. The ditching of the nocturnal drives and walks too, makes the fight more ferocious and one more aggressive and more melancholic, completely insufferable basically, more than one usually is.

Anyhow, I sit in the basement, staring at book, I can’t seem to comprehend at all, due to my thoughts penduluming from one thing to the other. Bidis and my brother’s photograph smiling at me, from the wall, keep me company. ‘What’s going to happen to you? What are you going to do?’ the question everyone keeps asking me, plays on my mind. The mind draws a complete blank. Not that anyone knows the answers to those questions but in my case I guess, it’s my unsettled state that perturbs people. Once in while, I do wonder, myself.

It’s worrying the Father, one can see. The news that one of the prospects he wanted me to end up with ( till my mom’s death, at least) is going to tie the knot, got me an earful. ‘ What will you do if I fall ill? Who will be by your side? You’re absolutely unwilling to commit to anyone!’ He went on and on, last night, as I sat in front of him, laughing like a jackass. Suddenly, something dawned on him, he realised the fat lady hasn’t sung yet and all this remains a moot point till then. Stubbornness runs in the blood and a promise made to oneself at twenty five, one will keep, however many other boys come and go. He enquired about that and then dropped the topic, in totality. Of course, he sat glaring at me today, yelling for no rhyme or reason. Worry manifests in anger, many a times.

Kyaa hoga, Khudda jaane, but if I made it in one piece, last year, when I couldn’t get through a day, I’m sure, I’ll be able to get through, somehow. If not, we all have to die of something, loneliness seems better compared to a passionless life. I may not know, where I’m going, but I know what I want. A life full of passion and adventure, a small house away from the hustle bustle of a city, full of books, animals and babies.

The Fine Lads of Delhi

Delhi and its fine lads

With their turbans and twisted beards

Openly drinking lovers’ blood

while secretly sipping wine.

Wilful and full of airs

they pay no heed to anyone.

So close to the heart, they rob

your soul and tuck it safely away.

When they are out for a stroll

rosebushes bloom in the street.

When the breeze strikes them from behind,

See how the turbans topple from their heads.

When they walk, the lovers follow,

Blood gushing from their eyes.

Their heads puffed up with beauty’s pride,

Their admirer’s hearts are gone with the wind.

These cheeky, simple Indian lads have made

Muslims into worshipers of the sun.

Those fair Hindu boys

Have led me to drunken ruin.

Trapped in the coils of their curly locks

Khusrau is a dog on a leash.

Poem by Amir Khusrau translated by Sunil Sharma

Iss Qadar Toot Ke Chaho Mujhe Pagal Kar Do- Wasi Shah- Wasi Shah.

Iss Qadar Toot Ke Chaho Mujhe Pagal Kar Do- Wasi Shah.

Apne Ehsas Se Chu Kar Mujhe Sandal Kardo

Mein Sadiyo Se Adhura Hu Mukamal Kar Do.

Na Tumhe Hosh Rahe Aur Na Mujhe Hosh Rahe

Iss Qadar Tut Ke Chaho Mujhe Pagal Kardo.

Tum Hatheli Ko Mere Pyaar Ki Mehndi Se Rango.

Apni Aankhon Mein Mere Naam Ka Kajal Kar Do.

Dhoop Hi Dhoop Hoon Main Tootke Barso Mujh Par.

Is Qadar Barso Meri Rooh Mein Jalthal Kar Do.

Apne Ehsas Se Chu Kar Mujhe Sandal Kardo

Mein Sadiyo Se Adhura Hu Mukamal Kar Do.