It feels “foreign“-uh
No overboard please-uh
Why this Valentine Valentine di
“Foreign” culture spoil-uh spoil-uh
Watch-uh watch-uh porn-uh porn-uh
And-uh be good Indian boy-uh
Why this Valentine Valentine di
All that you want in a blog
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| Pic courtesy: jokesprank.com |
Punjabis are really great,
They have free love and hate,
Jab vada vo karte hain,
To nibhaate hain at any rate.
Punjabis are really great,
BA, MA aur matriculate,
No beating around the bush please,
Come to the point straight.
Punjabis are really great,
Matters nahin karte complicate,
“Don’t teach us the difficult way,
Why can’t you simplificate?”
Punjabis sachi hote hain great,
Ye detail hai thodi intricate,
No beating around the bush please,
Come to the point straight.
Punjabis hain bilkul great,
Even when in any state,
Thodi inki praise kar do,
Aur badh jaata hai inka weight.
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| Pic coutesy: thedesignershub.com |
Punjabis are really great,
Yeh unka hai etiquette,
Jiyo aur jeene do yaaro,
Life karo na suffocate.
Cardboard cutouts of crepuscular birds
Silently flap their wings
In a jagged arrowhead
Over chaos, despondence, carnage
Riding into the dusk of 2011.
End of Act I; thank God it’s over.
The audience awaits the next Act
That would miraculously usher in:
A nation riding on wings of Hope
Justice, Equality, Dignity, Amity, Knowledge.
Act II; oh, how we awaited it?
Suddenly, there are no tears,
No poor and naked,
No hopeless suicides,
No communal violence
No rapes, no child molestations
No loot, no guns, no bombs.
No Hindus, Muslims, Christians and others
Telling us that their god is the only real God.
Suddenly, a tinsel sun is lowered on stage,
And glimmers over a ‘clear stream of reason’
Leading its way slowly but surely
‘Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit’
And young children waving tricolors
Appear singing, “Jai Hind”
To accompaniment of a gentle flute.
As a dazed audience starts leaving
From gallery, stalls and aisles;
The oft repeated comments,
In the applause, are:
“If a play called ‘New Year’
Can usher in all this,
Why can’t we stage it everyday?”
Dear Friends,
Christmas is here again,
And so is New Year,
I go down memory lane,
And share our news here.
After retirement we made home,
In Kharghar, Navi Mumbai.
It’s neither Paris, nor Rome
Nor even London or Shanghai.
But it is our home and hence,
We are always in love with it,
It would give us joy immense,
When you honour us with a visit.
We have with us, my mother,
And it’s great blessing indeed.
To have at the table none other,
Than who gave me my first feed.
Arjun, our elder lives on his own,
He has emerged as a critic,
No, folks, don’t grunt or groan,
It’s only of Western & Pop music.
Arun, the younger is in Hyderabad,
As an animator in Rhythem & Hues,
Yes, mohawk is still his hair fad,
And he often blows our fuse.
Lyn, God bless, is as sweet,
As when we were newly wed,
To taste her cooking is still a treat,
She keeps us happy and well fed.
We miss our Roger dear,
The youngest of our boys,
He is not with us this year,
To share our smiles and joys.
(But, he will always be with us)
So that is about all of us,
We hope to hear from you, dear,
We wish you a very Merry Christmas
And a Happy New Year.
With lots of love, regards and best wishes,
Mom, Lyn, Arjun, Arun, Roger and Me
वो लौटा रहें हैं मेरा सामान,
और जला रहे हैं सब कुछ,
मेरी आरज़ू है सितमगर
मेरे अश्क भी जला दें
ताके दिल के समुन्दर में
वो तूफ़ान फिर ना उभरे;
जो मरहले खड़े थे
उन्हें ठोकर से मिटा दें
काश हम ना होते वो ना होते,
और ये आरज़ू ना होती
तेरी आँखों में जो सरूर था
वो सरूर भी हटा दें
मैं भूल गया हूँ सब कुछ,
तेरे प्यार की नज़र में
मेरी कौन सी है मंजिल
मुझे कुछ तो अब पता दें
अब दिल न हो, प्यार ना हो,
और ना रहे उनकी यादें,
कोई उनसे जाके कह दे,
मेरी हस्ती ही मिटा दें

Taa ke dil ke samunder mein
Vo toofan phir na ubhre.
Jo marhale khade the
Unhein thokar se mita dein.
He looked down at them
Mere mortals
In the presence of the Monarch.
He laughed derisively
Enjoying his power over them
No one could deny
His having found
Truth, Beauty and Perfection.
As he laughed
He looked horrible
Uglier than the Evil.
A far cry from
Truth, Beauty and Perfection.
But the King won’t know this;
There wasn’t a pond in the palace
And the king won’t go hunting
Until next season
When the pond wouldn’t be placid
And the water would be muddy.
I wanted to hold it,
Caress and
Feel the warmth of its belly
And be protective.
But, as I extended
My hand to do so
It flew and
Landed on the other window
I quickly moved there
And it flew
To the tree
And stared at me
Out of reach.
I envied the freedom it had
To fly the skies
And reach places I can’t.
I can’t, and it can
I was jealous of its colours,
Flight, independence
Anywhere, anytime
Even on the water
Over electric cables
Roof tops and ledges.
I, wanted nothing
But to be like it…
“Just a bird in the sky”.
“Rather be a sparrow than a snail.”
And then….. a gunshot
A violent and helpless flutter
And it fell like a ripe fruit from the tree.
Bruised and bleeding.
My fancy fluttered and died.
Why would anyone
Shoot down a bird
That brings as much joy
As a butterfly fleeting amongst flowers?
Will we ever
Make Darwinian Theory
Stand on its head?
Don’t caresses and whispers
Stand a chance
Against shouts and screams
And barks and roars?
Is Life an unequal race?
Can Beauty protect itself?
Does anyone know?
A Bird is what we want to be;
But, a bird is what we shoot…
Because….we can.
The radio played:
“I am a Paloma Blanca
I am just a bird in the sky
No one can take
My freedom away”
We pretend
But, we detest freedom
Of birds, animals, people
No one can fly
No one can soar
We have enough means
To shoot, kill, bring down
“Get in line,
Do this, do that
Follow…
Or else.”
“Where would fate take me?”
It mused as winds carried it landwards,
“Will I fall on a tree and hang
On to the leaves for dear life?”
“Or will I fall in a pot hole on the road
To be cursed by drivers and walkers alike?”
“Or worse, on a heap of rubbish,
Carrying stench in the air?”
“If I am lucky,
I may fall on the Ganesha idol
In a procession
But then, I shall be quickly
Back into where I was born and arose:
The vastness of the sea.
My friends and I may also fall in the milkman’s pot
And he’d rejoice for increased sale.”
“I have no choice
But, I don’t want to be part of a gutter.
God, I am small and feeble,
Be kind to me,
Let me be valued,
By myself and not
As part of the gang
Together called ‘rain’.”
The cloud that carried him,
Deposited him
On the cheek of a small child,
Naked and hungry,
On a street in Mumbai;
Where it mingled with a single tear
That shot from her eye
On the death of her mother in a bomb attack.
“God”, it said,
Let a hundred drops fall
To wash the sin of
What man has done to man.
But, they should never
Forget that single tear from her eye.
I don’t want to be born again
And again, and again, and again.”
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| Pic Courtesy: reuters |
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| Pic Courtesy: Totally Cool Pix |
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Reproduction of a poem I wrote in May 1999 when Pakistan perpetrated the most heinous infiltration into Kargil, the Indian side of Line of Control (LOC):
जाना है तुमको आज इक फ़र्ज़ निभाने की खातिर,
इस देश की मिटटी का क़र्ज़ चुकाने की खातिर,
उठो ए जवानो सर पे बाँध लो कफ़न,
शहीदों में अपना नाम दर्ज़ कराने की खातिर I
दुश्मन ने इक बार है फिर तुम्हे ललकारा,
दोस्ती के नाम पे है फिर तमाचा मारा,
क्या भूल गया वो इक मुसलमान शायर का कहना:
सारे जहाँ से अच्छा है हिन्दोस्तान हमारा I
विजय हो तुम्हारी ये देश की है कामना,
करना वीरता से तुम दुश्मनों का सामना,
उठो ए जवानो सर पे बांध लो कफ़न,
सारा जहाँ करेगा तुम्हारी वीरता की सराहना I
इस देश के लिए मिट जायेंगे मर जायेंगे हम,
इक इंच भी अपनी ज़मीन का होने न देंगे कम,
सुनो नवाज़, सुनो मुशर्रफ, सुनो ए सरताज,
सीने यहाँ फौलाद के और बाज़ुयों में है दम I
अब कभी इस तरफ न डालो नज़रें बुरी,
इक तरफ लाहौर यात्रा, और बगल में हो छुरी,
इस बार छोड़ देंगे अपने पे काबू करके,
अगली बार LOC पार न करने की, शायद न हो मजबूरी I
जय हिन्द हमारा नारा है, हिन्द हमारी शान है,
खून का हर तिप्का हिन्द के लिए कुर्बान है,
तुमने सोये शेर को जगा डाला है मूर्ख,
दुश्मन, अब तू चन्द दिनों का मेहमान है I
Jaana hai tumko aaj ik farz nibhane ki khatir,
Is desh ki mitti ka karz chukaane ki khatir,
Utho ai jawaano sar pe bandh lo kafan,
Shahidon mein apna naam darz karane ki khatir.
Dushman ne ik baar, phir tumhen lalkara,
Dosti ke naam pe hai phir tamacha maara,
Kya bhool gaya vo ik musalmaan kavi ka kehna:
“Saare jahan se achha hindostan hamaara”?
Vijay ho tumhaari ye desh ki hai kaamna,
Karna veerta se tum dushmano ka saamna,
Dekho bach ke paaye na ab yeh ghuspathiye,
Saara jahan karega tumhari veerta ki sarahana.
Is desh ke liye mit jaayenge mar jayenge hum,
Ik inch bhi apni zameen ka hone na denge kum,
Suno Nawaz, suno Musharraf, suno ai Sartaz,
Seene yahan faulad ke aur baazuyon mein hai dum.
Ab kabhi is taraf na daalo nazrein buri,
Ik taraf Lahore Yaatra, aur bagal mein ho chhuri,
Is baar chhod denge apne pe kaabu karke,
Agli baar LOC paar na karne ki, shayad na ho majboori.
Jai Hind hamaara naara hai, Hind hamaari shaan hai,
Khoon ka her tipka Hind ke liye qurbaan hai,
Tumne soye sher ko jaga daala hai moorkh,
Dushman, ab tu chand dino ka mehmaan hai.
Sometimes I feel life is blasé
An alluring mirage that I chase.
Sounds of fun and laughter are
Like gunshots
Piercing through my heart.
Sometimes I feel I lost you long ago
You were near and yet so far;
Knowing that I needed you
But imagining that I’d live without you.
“Let me, then, throw another dart.”
The last time, our last time, when we talked,
I found you far, very far.
I wanted this, I wanted that,
I wanted nothing;
And you had nothing to give me, on your part.
I could hear many voices,
I could see many sneering faces,
And you sitting with them,
Laughing and chatting,
Your cunning perfected to an art.
If only….
If only, I could sit with you
And talk to you
And look into your eyes
And find me there.
As the only one in your heart.
If only…
If only, I could die.
And mingle with the breeze
And touch you anywhere, anytime;
And caress you within and without
Without seeing you apart.
If only….
They’d destroy the world,
Leaving just the two of us alive.
If only, God Himself would command
You and I
To be a new world’s start.