badal ko ghirte dekha hai

अमल धवल गिरि के शिखरों पर,
बादल को घिरते देखा है।
छोटे-छोटे मोती जैसे
उसके शीतल तुहिन कणों को,
मानसरोवर के उन स्वर्णिम
कमलों पर गिरते देखा है,
बादल को घिरते देखा है।

तुंग हिमालय के कंधों पर
छोटी बड़ी कई झीलें हैं,
उनके श्यामल नील सलिल में
समतल देशों ले आ-आकर
पावस की उमस से आकुल
तिक्त-मधुर बिसतंतु खोजते
हंसों को तिरते देखा है।
बादल को घिरते देखा है।

ऋतु वसंत का सुप्रभात था
मंद-मंद था अनिल बह रहा
बालारुण की मृदु किरणें थीं
अगल-बगल स्वर्णाभ शिखर थे
एक-दूसरे से विरहित हो
अलग-अलग रहकर ही जिनको
सारी रात बितानी होती,
निशा-काल से चिर-अभिशापित
बेबस उस चकवा-चकई का
बंद हुआ क्रंदन, फिर उनमें
उस महान् सरवर के तीरे
शैवालों की हरी दरी पर
प्रणय-कलह छिड़ते देखा है।
बादल को घिरते देखा है।

दुर्गम बर्फानी घाटी में
शत-सहस्र फुट ऊँचाई पर
अलख नाभि से उठने वाले
निज के ही उन्मादक परिमल-
के पीछे धावित हो-होकर
तरल-तरुण कस्तूरी मृग को
अपने पर चिढ़ते देखा है,
बादल को घिरते देखा है।

कहाँ गय धनपति कुबेर वह
कहाँ गई उसकी वह अलका
नहीं ठिकाना कालिदास के
व्योम-प्रवाही गंगाजल का,
ढूँढ़ा बहुत किन्तु लगा क्या
मेघदूत का पता कहीं पर,
कौन बताए वह छायामय
बरस पड़ा होगा न यहीं पर,
जाने दो वह कवि-कल्पित था,
मैंने तो भीषण जाड़ों में
नभ-चुंबी कैलाश शीर्ष पर,
महामेघ को झंझानिल से
गरज-गरज भिड़ते देखा है,
बादल को घिरते देखा है।

शत-शत निर्झर-निर्झरणी कल
मुखरित देवदारु कनन में,
शोणित धवल भोज पत्रों से
छाई हुई कुटी के भीतर,
रंग-बिरंगे और सुगंधित
फूलों की कुंतल को साजे,
इंद्रनील की माला डाले
शंख-सरीखे सुघड़ गलों में,
कानों में कुवलय लटकाए,
शतदल लाल कमल वेणी में,
रजत-रचित मणि खचित कलामय
पान पात्र द्राक्षासव पूरित
रखे सामने अपने-अपने
लोहित चंदन की त्रिपटी पर,
नरम निदाग बाल कस्तूरी
मृगछालों पर पलथी मारे
मदिरारुण आखों वाले उन
उन्मद किन्नर-किन्नरियों की
मृदुल मनोरम अँगुलियों को
वंशी पर फिरते देखा है।
बादल को घिरते देखा है।

courtsey jaya jha

raskhan

धुरि भरे अति सोहत स्याम जू, तैसी बनी सिर सुंदर चोटी।
खेलत खात फिरैं अँगना, पग पैंजनी बाजति, पीरी कछोटी॥
वा छबि को रसखान बिलोकत, वारत काम कला निधि कोटी।
काग के भाग बड़े सजनी, हरि हाथ सों लै गयो माखन रोटी॥

a million thanks to bagru for reminding me of this

nirvan shatkam

a gem by shakara was written when his was age eight!

Mano Buddhi-ahankaara Chithaani Naaham
Na Cha Shrotra Jihve Na Cha Ghraana Netre
Na Cha Vyoma Bhoomir Na Tejo Na Vaayuhu
Chidaananda Roopah Shivoham Shivoham

I am not the mind, intellect, ego, or memory.
(the 4 aspects of Antah Karanaas)
Nor am I the ears, tongue, nose, eyes (and skin)
(the 5 organs of perception)
I am not the space, earth, fire, air (and water)-
(the 5 great elements)
I am pure Knowledge and Bliss.
I am the self spiritual joy of pure
Consciousness Shiva, Shivoham, Shivoham.

Na Cha Praana Samjno Na Vai Pancha Vaayuhu
Na Va Sapta Dhaatur Na Va Pancha Koshah
Na Vaak Paani Paadau Na Chopastha Paayuh
Chidaananda Roopah Shivoham Shivoham

I am not the Praana,
I am not the 5 vital airs.
I am not indeed the 7 materials,
Surely not the 5 sheaths,
Not the organ of speech, nor
hand, nor leg,
And not the genital organ, nor the anus.
I am of the nature of pure Knowledge and Bliss. I am Shiva, the most
Auspicious, I am Shiva.

Na Me Dvesha Raagau Na Me Lobha Mohau
Mado Naiva Me Naiva Maatsarya Bhaavah
Na Dharmo Na Chaartho Na Kaamo Na Mokshah
Chidaananda Roopah Shivoham Shivoham

I have neither hatred nor liking,
I have neither greed nor delusion,
I have indeed neither pride
nor jealousy,
I have no duty (to perform),
nor any wealth (to acquire),
I have no craving (for pleasure),
I am not being bound (for
liberation),
I am of the nature of Pure
Consciousness and Bliss,
I am all Auspiciousness,
I am Shiva.

Na Punyam Na Paapam Na Saukhyam Na Dukham
Na Mantro Na Teertham Na Vedo Na Yajnaha
Aham Bhojanam Naiva Bhojyam Na Bhoktaa
Chidaananda Roopah Shivoham Shivoham

I have neither virtue nor vice,
nor pleasure, nor pain,
nor the sacred chant of
mantras nor pilgrimage,
nor the scriptures,
nor the sacrificial rituals,
I am neither the act of enjoying,
nor the enjoyable object,
nor the enjoyer,
I am pure Knowledge and Bliss,
I am shiva, the
Auspiciousness itself.

Na Me Mrityu Shankaa Na Me Jaati Bhedah
Pita Naiva Me Naiva Maataa Na Janma
Na Bandhur Na Mitram Gurur Naiva Shishyah
Chidaananda Roopah Shivoham Shivoham

I have no fear of death,
nor have I any distinction
of Caste,
I have neither father,
nor mother, nor even birth,
nor relation, nor friend,
no teacher, no disciple,
I am pure Knowledge and Bliss,
I am all Auspiciousness,
I am Shiva.

Aham Nirvikalpo Niraakaara Roopaha
Vibhur Vyaapya Sarvatra Sarvendriyaanaam
Sadaa Me Samatvam Na Muktir Na Bandhah
Chidaananda Roopah Shivoham Shivoham

I am devoid of dualities,
and I am formless,
I exist everywhere,
pervading all the senses,
always I am the same,
I have neither freedom nor
bondage,
I am pure Knowledge and Bliss,
I am Auspiciousness,
I am Shiva.

jindagii

this one is to Dr.(soon to be)prakash :

Ab tho kuch apni tabiyat bhi juda lagti hai
Saans letha hoon to zakhmon ko hawa lagti hai

Kabhi raazi to kabhi mujhse khafa lagti hai
Zindagi too hi bata tu meri kya lagti hai?"

Najane kyun tera milkar bichadna yaad aata hai
main ro padtha hoon jab guzraa zamana yaad aata hai

Main aksar dekh kar shaanon ko apne rone lagta hoon
mujhe jab pyaar se sar tera rakhna yaad aata hai

Koi jab muskurata hai to dil par chot lagti hai
wo aanchal men tera jab muskurana yaad aata hai

nahin bhoola hoon main ab tak tujhe wo bhool ne wale
bata tujh ko bhi kya mera fasana yaad aata hai

Teri tasveer ko bas dekh the hi bewafa mujh ko
mujhe wo pyaar ka mausam suhana yaad aata hai

julm e ulfat

another great one from sahir

Jurm-e-Ulfat Pe Hummein Loog Saza Detay Hein
Kaisey Nadaan Hein, Sholoun Ko Hawa Detay Hein

Hum Se Deewaney Kahien Tarq-e-Wafa Kartey Hein
Jaan Jaaye Kay Rahey Baat Nibbha Detay Hein

Aap Doulat Kay Tarazu Mein Dilloun Ko Toulein
Hum Mohabbat Se Mohabbat Ka Sila Detay Hein

Takht Kya Cheez Hai Aur Lal-o-Juahir Kya Hein
Ishq Waley Tou Khudai Bhi Lutta Detay Hein

Hum Ney Dil Dey Bhi Diya, Ehad-e-Wafa Lay Bhi Liya
Aap Ab Shouq Se Dey Lein Jo Saza Detay Hein

Poet: Sahir Ludhiyanvi

Culture, culture on the wall

what better way to restart blogging...than by this post
and no wonder it comes from one of my teachers

Culture, culture on the wall...

SHIV VISVANATHAN


CULTURE is a word that quakes and trembles today. People in their forties and fifties are worried about it. They talk of culture as if it has caught a cold, gone tubercular or just attended a biopsy. I love the fear and trembling model of culture. It smacks of nostalgia. It reminds me of my grandfather.

My grandfather oozed high culture and wrote a book on the ‘Grammar of South Indian Music’ that would have made any Calvinist or Brahmo happy. He had trained his yawns to emanate as ragas and when he yawned at night, children knew it was time to hide. He willed his grandchildren his prized stradivarius. Not one of them accepted the offer and I believe a pair of mice eventually lived happily in it.

It was not the ‘strad’ we objected to, it was my grandfather. But in my mind both were intertwined: the classical power and that whiff of authoritarianism. This culture was what you did in drawing rooms. It was exquisite, fragile, well-behaved, even a shade brahmanic. It was official and it reprimanded all those who read comic books. I loved comics and Shakespeare. I would recite reams of Macbeth, but Donald Duck and Tom and Jerry were characters from my midsummer night’s dream.

References to culture sounded sonorous. I still remember President Radhakrishnan defining the purpose of culture as ‘to educate, to entertain and to elevate the spirit of man.’ It was only later that I discovered that culture was anything you did and thought. It was not just an anthropological definition for tribal societies but for the tribal in me. I found it tremendously liberating to have Shakespeare and Mad Magazine cheek by jowl. But I must admit that this classic notion of culture had strengths. Officially, it was painful but domestically it was fun. Culture was something everyday from the rangoli or kollam you did (no one went to finishing school), the food you cooked (Tarla Dalal would have been a non-event), to the music you learnt. You just grew with it. It blended with religion, ritual, food and festival. I still remember Bismillah insisting his shehnai didn’t sound right till it had the flavour of kebabs in it. Maybe this culture was horribly gendered. Remember it was a world where boys did science and girls home-science. The icons were clear-cut – Tagore, Ravi Shankar, MS, DK, Balasaraswati, Semangudi.

There were no special music critics. Every consumer was his own discerning critic, citing chapter and verse from earlier performances. The folklore of music was as refined as that of cricket. Every performance of MS had its followers, its lore as detailed and obsessive as that of cricket. I can still hear my father talking of the first time MS sang as a young girl at a marriage festival. He was assigned the task of bringing her to the pandal.

Culture like politics was consensual and culture like the Indian National Congress had its greats. One knew them, lived them, recognized them and respected them. The nadaswaram at the temple, the Nehru cap, Hamlet, the Conjeevaram sari, the veena and the sitars – each had its immaculate, iconic place. There were minor disturbances. The nouveau riche still entered at the wrong time and clapped at the wrong places. These were minor irritants becoming jokes which were passed again and again like the story of the socialite who asked the scientist C.V. Raman, ‘Believe you have something to do with diamonds?’ True it was also elitist. We were ecstatic about Bharatnatyam after Rukmini Arundale had poured antiseptic on it and we knew little about the mythic power of Terrukoothu.

Today all this sounds like nostalgia but remember nostalgia is a particular kind of ritual. It mourns that which isn’t fully dead. It is not death that nostalgia mourns but demographic decline. But nostalgia also kills because it refuses to recognize and understand the new. When it hears the new raga of Iliya Raja, it mourns for the lost record of Pattamal. Nostalgia is not the grief for the old but the dirge for the new which in turn is tone deaf to its grief. Talk nostalgically of T.N. Krishnan’s first music academy performance and the new generation belts out ‘Who wants yesterday’s newspaper?’





In some ways, there are strange similarities between the classical culture and the Congress. Both of them were happily contradictory and encouraged mixed and parallel economies. You went to the Gwalior festival, listened to Lata Mangeshkar, and vibed with Ellington and the Beatles. They were rituals for separate places and you also had coping rituals. You were dismissive about Hindi movies but could not resist seeing them a fourth time. Nargis and Madhubala were still pristine faces. Filmfare dismissed them but you merely went to see what the excitement was about or you justified it by saying Vyjanthi had classical Bharatnatyam training. Or you saw Sholay for the eighth time to see how Sippy had imitated Kurosawa. A few ritual japams to Kurosawa excused your enthusiasm for a tall, young star with a classical baritone. But even there one asked, wasn’t he Harivansh Rai Bachchan’s son and hadn’t he acted in the Shakespeare society plays?





The classical culture had its own theory of violence. The Mahabharata was the paradigm but it was the attitude of spectators rather than warriors that was relevant. Sanjaya more than Karna or Arjuna was the hero, the first detached commentator.

The old ‘culture’ lost to a new consensus, which was more open and tolerant. No one today can ignore the democratic role of the Hindi movie. Dismissed for years as populist, sentimental, surreal, fraudulent, imitative, the Hindi movie offered the first real frame for cultural democracy. It merged classical and folk, it stole from Hollywood and yet made fun of the English. It upheld law and order but realized that love went beyond it. It upheld the myths of upward mobility. It recognized the intellectual death of village and the power of the city long before our social scientists and politicians. It was the classical upholder of ethnic identity and yet defended the citizenship of Amar, Akbar and Anthony.

In fact it was the newspaper, the English ones, that were both elitist and official. The newspaper as landscape protected official frames and categories. For example, The Hindu was the greatest exponent of Science, State and Nation. Science was central; the folk arts were confined to Sunday supplements. The Hindi movie editorialized from a plurality of perspectives. Its theory of doubles would accommodate the dualisms of urban/rural, criminal/legal, official/unofficial but the newspaper through the 1960s, ’70s and ’80s reflected the statist consensus committed to modernization, nationalism and security.

The English newspaper was the official mask while the Hindi movie played the happy unconscious ready to engage with any contradiction. Laughed at, laughable, it represented the cultural consensus of a democratizing society when the brahmanic idea of culture was turning repressive and arid. What was utterly fascinating was the Hindi movies’ approach to violence. It saw violence as a ritual of culture, as a consequence of the feud, an act of revenge. Hindi movies never took class violence seriously. Marxism was a poor theory of revenge, a poor narrative about the recovery of honour. Secondly, by ritualising violence it controlled it, like the stylized fight or the ritual closure as the police arrive on the scene.





But even the Hindi movie with its Roberts and Amitabhs, its Latas and Burmans was incapable of coping with the emerging global paradigm. The work of Rahman or Rakesh Roshan were desperate innovative leaps which show that the consensus is broken, that the NRI has taken over from the Indian citizen. The myth of the diaspora, the story of successful Indian migrants winning prizes at everything from banking exams and spelling bees to science quizzes reflects the end of the Hindi movie as consensus. The Hindi movie is a celebration of nostalgia. The innovations of Ghai and Desai can no longer provide the mythic consensus that democracy and mobility need.

I feel the Hindi movie will collapse like the Indian Congress. It can no longer provide something for everybody. Its constituency will fragment like the Congress – the Dalits, Muslims, OBCs each finding their own form of political entertainment. The cinema theatre will be a thing of the past and it will be put to better use in other real estate exercises. Maybe as a video centre, cybercafe, a fast food joint or even a pool table. Today’s cinema audiences will split into a series of entertainment constituencies. The A.R. Rahmans and Rajiv Menons will have to produce designer movies for separate niches.

Just as the magazine trade is niching into separate readerships, the movie world also will also fragment. The India Today equivalent of the movie will be difficult to invent. The mythic power of the Hindi movies will be taken over by soap opera TV, stage shows as happenings, cricket matches. What we now face is a world where neither elite culture, nor mass culture nor folk culture is alive and thriving.





Neither classical culture or cinematic culture have a paradigm for the emerging violence. It is the relation between the new kitsch and violence that we must understand. Violence here offers no resolution or redemption. It cumulates in a fragmented form without ritual control. Let us also be clear that this is not the violence of fascism. It is fragmentary violence that cumulates geologically and behaves tectonically. It is a violence hidden by our boyscout sentimentality or security management concepts.

Violence in the city is like fragments in film, but the city overall is an unfilmable film. The forms of violence juxtapose each other. There is the communal riot, rape, incest, disaster, displacement, the sheer survival of slum. No myth holds all of them; only kitsch can and does and kitsch is debased myth. What we face are a new cast of characters – fundamentalists with MBAs, terrorists in finance capital, diasporic revivalists, paramilitary cultural groups, NGOs and mercenaries, cops applying draconian laws along with the incendiarism of unemployed youth and Ph.D plugged to cyberspace. It has a boyscout adolescence. Kitsch celebrates the new violence of the city struggling under old myths. The statistics are there in cyberspace but the cyber relief stops there. Westside Story in Hindi or Kung-fu rituals or even older cinematic criminality has little to say about this violence. There is no theory, no frame holding it.





The fragmentation one sees, the transit subcultures, the desperate hybridizations are all a part of this anomie. Filmi space was a whole that cyberspace as a mindset has broken. We face today an insurrection of constituencies without a powerful mythic consensus. The fragment is all and the fragment is celebrated as a totalizing icon till the next release. Central to the recovery is a new imagination for the city that must work for the new idea of culture to work. Hybridized or hyphenated music, the cybercages are all transient experiments. The city will have to invent varieties of cultural entertainment as homes will get smaller, transport more difficult, energy more expensive. The city will be caught between boredom and violence and our cultures have no response to this urban violence.

Nostalgia, religion, shuffling of cultures, rise of new sects or fascist cadres might provide alternatives to the movie and the newspaper. At a time when we need consensus most, the newspaper, the Congress and the Hindi movie will fail us. Our belief that Indian civilization will digest this new invasion, will add to the crisis. Maybe involvement in violence or authoritarianism will provide new forms of involvement.

It is this wider picture rather than the idiocies of Gulshan Kumar, TOI supplements, music mixes, empty socialites, the idiocy of fashion shows, that frightens one. The transit cultures of today have no answer to this cultural anomie while living off it.

Madhu Kishwar

tho i dont complete agree with madhu kishwar .. i must mention that she has a remarkable way of putting things accross when it comes to indian culture.

for those who dont know she is w/o lord swaraj paul .. they got married few months ago :)
WOMEN OF VISION
The Unfailing Power Of Female Fidelity
Lord Rama's tragic treatment of his chaste wife Sita show women which men to avoid
By Madhu Kishwar

I grew up thinking that Sita, heroine of the Ramayana, was a slavish wife without a mind of her own who deserved the shabby treatment of her husband, Lord Ram. It took me a long time to understand that it is not Indian women's masochism which makes Sita appear an appealing role model. It is her supreme loyalty, combined with her dignified refusal to go through the humiliation of a second fire ordeal. She makes Ram appear so uncouth and unreasonable that this one injustice has not been forgiven all these centuries.

During Ramanand Sagar's "Ramayan" telecast on TV, as the episode approached when Sita's fidelity was to be tested with an agnipariksha (fire ordeal), the serial makers were flooded in advance with so many letters protesting the depiction of Sita going through the agnipariksha that he had to deviate from his text and show a mock agnipariksha, with the TV Ram making it clear that he did not doubt Sita's chastity. Clearly, Ram's injustice to Sita hung so heavily on the collective conscience of Indians that they willingly demanded even a sacred text be altered.

I witnessed the power of Sita's story to move men's hearts in Maharashtra. I was working on the Lakshmi Mukti program to persuade peasants of the organization, Shetkari Sangathana, to empower women by voluntarily transferring a portion of the family land in the name of the wife. During our campaign, Sangathana leader Sharad Joshi pointed out to men how their wives toil for them selflessly, how crucial their wives' labor and care is for the well-being of the family. He would ask his audience: "But how do we men treat our Lakshmi's? [Sita is an incarnation of Lakshmi]. Often no better than Ram treated Sita! When Ram was banished for 14 years Sita could have stayed back, but she insisted, 'Wherever goes Ram, there goes Sita. My place is by your side.' She suffered numerous privations for him joyfully. Though Ram's enemy, Ravan, respected her chastity when she was captured by him, and did not violate Sita against her wishes, her own husband subjected her to the cruel humiliation of agnipariksha to prove her chastity. Even fire could not touch her. But on their return to his kingdom, at the mere hint of a slanderous remark by a laundryman, Ram asks Lakshman to take away Sita and leave her in a forest without explanation. Maharani (Great Queen) Sita became a beggar overnight because her husband turned against her. It did not occur to him to tell his subjects, 'If Sita is not good enough to be your queen, then my place is by her side. I cannot stay here either.' He left her destitute even while she was pregnant with his children."

Joshi told his audience that the purpose of the Lakshmi Mukti program was to see that no modern-day Sita would ever have to suffer the fate of Ram's Sita, left without anything to call her own. By transferring land to their wives, they were paying off "a long overdue debt." In village after village I would see men reduced to tears listening to Sita's story. In 15 months more than 613 villages carried out the Lakshmi Mukti program of land transfer to wives celebrating the occasion as though it were a festival. Men felt good atoning for the wrongdoing of Ram. An additional two thousand villages volunteered to accept the Lakshmi Mukti Program, but the leadership somehow lost momentum.

People will say approvingly, "He is a Ram-like son or a Ram-like brother or a Ram-like king," but almost never say in approval, "He is a Ram-like husband." Women do not wish a Ram-like husband, even while they wish to be as loyal as Sita. Likewise, no woman wants a Krishna or a Vishnu, for Krishna is seen as a Casanova who kept many women dangling after him. Women often pray for a Krishna-like child, but almost never pray that they get a
Krishna type husband.

Siva alone of all the Gods is considered the most desirable type of husband. Unmarried women fast on Mondays praying to Siva that He bless them with Parvati's good fortune. Why? Because Siva is single minded in his devotion to Parvati. He has no eye for any other woman. When she immolates herself as Sati to protest her father's insult of her husband, Siva is ready to burn down the whole world and rests only after he has brought her back to life. She carries tremendous influence in his activities, a companion and advisor rather than a servile wife. They are our mythology's most celebrated and happy couple, representing perfect joy in togetherness, including in their sexual union. Yet, Parvati had not been able to seduce him with her physical charm. She did rigorous austerities to win him.

Why do women want a Siva-like husband and not a Krishna or Ram? At the heart of this choice is the awareness that women's well-being requires a stable family and a man who will act responsibly towards his wife and his children. Most women shudder at the prospect of being a single parent, like Sita. Nor do they want to be a wife like Rukmini, who is forever waiting for her husband, who is too busy with his various dalliances. For a stable family life, sexual loyalty and restraint are a pre-condition. Even while preaching its virtue to women, most men have found it hard to live by those norms. And women have had a hard time trying to hold men to it by making their own lives examples to be emulated in this respect. Some succeed partially, some well, some not at all. But most keep trying because they know if they give up or take to the ways of men, there is little possibility of finding an emotionally stable family life for themselves and their children.

MADHU KISHWAR, 47, New Delhi, editor of Manushi, India's leading magazine on human issues, especially women right's, is an erudite activist in the effort to raise up the qualify of life in India.

Vali and Sri Ram: an esoteric explanation

Consider the episode where Sri Ram, after being hidden Himself behind a tree shoots the monkey king Vali, while Vali was engaged in a fight with his brother Sugreeva. This episode has a deep mystical significance.

Vali, the immoral and vicious brother represents Lust, the lower nature of man. Sugreeva, the moral and virtuous brother represents man’s higher and nobler nature.

Vali had earned through austerity a boon by which half the strength of his enemy was transferred to him as soon as an enemy confronted him in a battle. Similarly the power of lust becomes invulnerable the moment man comes in direct contact with the object of lust. The sense objects overpower man and they leave him a helpless victim of temptation. To avoid this, and to overcome successfully the disastrous influence of the sense objects, man has to stay away physically from the objects in the initial stages i.e. before he gains an absolute hold and control over them. So long as man remains in the midst of sense objects and tries to exercise his self control over those objects, he can never be successful since the power of the sense objects is almost invincible.

To indicate this great truth, Sri Ram is described as hiding behind a tree i.e. physically keeping away from Vali, and shooting him from a distance.

Sri Ram’s bow and arrows symbolise his preparedness and strength to maintain peace, and justice, both within and without. Sri Ram is the ideal of "aggressive goodness" as opposed to "weak and passive goodness". He stands for righteousness. He opposes and destroys all that is unrighteous.

Adhyatma Ramayana

samundar: Vaseem Barelvi Saheb

finally back from that long hiatus
here is something i am sure u all will like
by Vaseem Barelvi Saheb,

******************
Kya dukh hai samundar ko bataa bhi nahin sakta
Aansoo ki taraha aankh mein aa bhi nahin sakta!

Tu choRh raha hai to khata is mein teri kya
Har Shakhs mera saath nibha bhi nahin sakta!

Lagaa ke dekh le jo bhi hisaab aata ho
Mujhe ghata ke wo ginti mein rah nahin sakta!

Vaise to ek aansoo hi bahakar mujhe le jaaye
Aise koi Toofan hilaa bhi nahin sakta!

excerpt from kamayani

For some sweet, endearing moments
read kaamyaani, i have given an excerpt of the poem.
kamaayani is considered the greatest creative height after tulsi's ramcharitmanas
in Hindi litreature

haappy reading :-)

"हाँ, ठीक, परन्तु बताओगी मेरे जीवन का पथ क्या है?
इस निविड़ निशा में संसृति की आलोकमयी रेखा क्या है?
यह आज समझ तो पाई हूँ मैं दुर्बलता में नारी हूँ,
अवयव की सुन्दर कोमलता लेकर मैं सबसे हारी हूँ।
पर मन भी क्यों इतना ढीला अपने ही होता जाता है,
घनश्याम-खंड-सी आँखों में क्यों सहसा जल भर आता है?
सर्वस्व-समर्पण करने की विश्वास-महा-तरु-छाया में,
चुपचाप पड़ी रहने की क्यों ममता जगती हैं माया में?
छायापथ में तारक-द्युति सी झिलमिल करने की मधु-लीला,
अभिनय करती क्यों इस मन में कोमल निरीहता श्रम-शीला?
निस्संबल होकर तिरती हूँ इस मानस की गहराई में,
चाहती नहीं जागरण कभी सपने की इस सुघराई में।
नारी जीवन की चित्र यही क्या? विकल रंग भर देती हो,
अस्फुट रेखा की सीमा में आकार कला को देती हो।
रुकती हूँ और ठहरती हूँ पर सोच-विचार न कर सकती,
पगली-सी कोई अंतर में बैठी जैसे अनुदित बकती।
मैं जभी तोलने का करती उपचार स्वयं तुल जाती हूँ,
भुजलता फँसा कर नर-तरु से झूले-सी झोंके खाती हूँ।
इस अर्पण में कुछ और नहीं केवल उत्सर्ग छलकता है,
मैं दे दूँ और न फिर कुछ लूँ, इतना ही सरल झलकता है।
"क्या कहती हो ठहरो नारी! संकल्प-अश्रु जल से अपने -
तुम दान कर चुकी पहले ही जीवन के सोने-से सपने।
नारी! तुम केवल श्रद्धा हो विश्वास-रजत-नग पगतल में,
पीयूष-स्रोत बहा करो जीवन के सुंदर समतल में।
देवों की विजय, दानवों की हारों का होता युद्ध रहा,
संघर्ष सदा उर-अंतर में जीवित रह नित्य-विरुद्ध रहा।
आँसू से भींगे अंचल पर मन का सब कुछ रखना होगा -
तुमको अपनी स्मित रेखा से यह संधिपत्र लिखना होगा।"
- जयशंकर प्रसाद

dinkar: samar sesh hai

How can i neglect dinkar one of my favoraties.
the grand old man of chayya vad.
read this excerpt of his famous poem to undersand why Dinkar
is immortal in Hindi poetry.

समर शेष है

वह सँसार जहाँ तक पहुँची अब तक नहीँ किरण है
जहाँ क्षितिज है शून्य, अभी तक अँबर तिमिर वरण है |
देख जहाँ क द्रश्य आज भी अन्तस्थल हिलता है
माँ को लज्ज वसन और शिशु को न क्षीर मिलता है

पूज रहा है जहाँ चकित हो जन जन देख अकाज
सात वर्ष हो गये राह मेँ अटका कहाँ स्वराज ?

अटका कहाँ स्वराज ? बोल दिल्ली! तु क्या कह्ती है?
तू रानी बन गयी वेदना जनता क्योँ सहती है ?
सबके भाग्य दबा रखे हैँ किसने अपने कर में ?
उतरी थी जो विभा, हुइ बंदनी बता किस घर में

समर शेष है यह प्रकाश बंदीग्रह से छूटेगा,
और नहीँ तो तुझ पर पापिनी! महावज्र टूटेगा

समर शेष है उस स्वराज को सत्य बनाना होगा
जिसका है ये न्यास उसे सत्वर पहुँचाना होगा
धारा के मग में अनेक जो पर्वत खडे हुए हैँ
गंगा का पथ रोक इन्द्र के गज जो अडे हुए हैं

कह दो उनसे झुके अगर तो जग मे यश पाएंगे
अडे रहे अगर तो ऐरावत पत्तों से बह जाऐंगे

समर शेष है जनगंगा को खुल कर लह राने दो
शिखरों को डूबने और मुकुटों को बह जाने दो
पथरीली ऊँची जमीन है? तो उस को तोडेंगे
समतल पीटे बिना समर कि भूमी नहिं छोडेंगे

समर शेष है चलो ज्योतियों के बरसाते तीर
खण्ड खण्ड हो गिरे विषमता की काली जंजीर

समर शेष है, अभी मनुज भक्षी हुंकार रहे हैं |
गांधी का पी रुधिर जवाहर पर फुंकार रहे हैं |
समर शेष है, अहंकार इनका हरना बाकी है,
वृक को दंतहीन, अहि को निर्विष करना बाकी है |

समर शेष है, शपथ धर्म की लाना है वह काल
विचरें अभय देश में गांधी और जवाहर लाल

तिमिर पुत्र ये दस्यु कहीं कोइ दुष्काण्ड रचें ना !
सावधान हो खडी देश भर में गांधी की सेना |
बलि देकर भी बलि! स्नेह का यह मृदु व्रत साधो रे|
मंदिर औ मस्जिद दोनो पर एक तार बांधो रे |

समर शेष है नहिं पाप का भागी केवल व्याघ्र ,
जो तटस्थ हैं उनका भि समय लिखेगा अपराध |

sumitra nanadan pant

विजय

'उत्तरा' से

मैं चिर श्रद्धा लेकर आई
वह साध बनी प्रिय परिचय में,
मैं भक्ति हृदय में भर लाई,
वह प्रीति बनी उर परिणय में।

जिज्ञासा से था आकुल मन
वह मिटी, हुई कब तन्मय मैं,
विश्वास माँगती थी प्रतिक्षण
आधार पा गई निश्चय मैं !

प्राणों की तृष्णा हुई लीन
स्वप्नों के गोपन संचय में
संशय भय मोह विषाद हीन
लज्जा करुणा में निर्भय मैं !

लज्जा जाने कब बनी मान,
अधिकार मिला कब अनुनय में
पूजन आराधन बने गान
कैसे, कब? करती विस्मय मैं !

उर करुणा के हित था कातर
सम्मान पा गई अक्षय मैं,
पापों अभिशापों की थी घर
वरदान बनी मंगलमय मैं !

बाधा-विरोध अनुकूल बने
Aतर्चेतन अरुणोदय में,
पथ भूल विहँस मृदु फूल बने
मैं विजयी प्रिय, तेरी जय में।



- सुमित्रानंदन पंत

dono or prem palta hai: mathili sharan gupt

maithli sahran gupt was the ambassador of khadi boli.
he chose khadi boli for his creations as against the popular
braj bhasha.
his famous compostions like 'nar ho na niraah karo man ko'
and 'mujhe phool mat maro' took nation by storm in those days

i present one of my much loved and very
poignant poem.

read it carefully and if posssible over and over again
to fathom the emotive and poetic depths depicted.

दोनो ओर प्रेम पलता है -

दोनो ओर प्रेम पलता है
सखि पतँग भी जलता है
हा दीपक भी जलता है

सीस हिला कर दीपक कह्ता
बन्धु वृथा हि तू क्योँ दह्ता है
पर पतँग पड के ही रह्ता
कितनी विव्हलता है
-दोनो ओर प्रेम पलता है

बचकर हाय पतँग मरे क्या?
प्रणय छोड कर प्राण धरे क्या?
जले नहीँ तो मरा करेँ क्या ?
क्या ये असफ़लता है ?

--दोनो ओर प्रेम पलता है

कह्ता है पतँग मन मारे
तुम महान पर मैँ लघु प्यारे
क्या न मरण भी हाथ हमारे?
शरण किसे छलता है
--दोनो ओर प्रेम पलता है

दीपक के जलने मे आली
फिर भी है जीवन की लाली
किन्तु पतँग कि भाग्य लिपी काली
किसका वश चलता है ?
--दोनो ओर प्रेम पलता है

जगती वणिग्वृत्ति है रखती
उसे चाह्ती जिसेसे चखती
काम नही परिणाम निरखती
मुझे ही खलता है

दोनो ओर प्रेम पलता है
सखि पतँग भी जलता है
हा दीपक भी जलता है

sahir:mast najar

another one from sahir ludhiyanavi
dedicate this post to bhaaluu
(i never wanted to use the alias).
:)

तुम्हारी मस्त नज़र अगर इधर नहीं होती
नशे में चूर फ़िज़ा इस कदर नहीं होती
तुम्हीं को देखने की दिल में आरज़ूएं हैं
तम्हारे आगे ही और ऊँची नज़र नहीं होती
ख़्हफ़ा न होना अगर बड़ के थाम लूँ दामन
ये दिल फ़रेब ख़्हता जान कर नहीं होती
तुम्हारे आने तलक हम को होश रहता है
फिर उसके बाद हमें कुछ ख़्हबर नहीं होती
-साहिर

'सुख का गोरी' sukh kaa gori

what i like about salim ahemad 'jakhmi' is his robert forst like
style of saying complex things in simple words.
his language very simple,neither high flying hindi or urdu

presenting his very famous composition 'सुख का गोरी '
read the later satnzaas very carefully.


सुख का गोरी नाम न लेना
दुख हि दुख है गाँव मे,
प्रीत का काँटा मन मे चुभेगा
खेत का काँटा पाँव मे १

देख मुसाफ़िर मित्र खडे हैँ
छतरी ताने गावोँ मे,
पीपल बरगद नीम बुलायेँ
हाथ हिला कर छाँव मे २

माटी के हम दीप जरा से
ज्योत हमारी कितनी देर,
घात मे बाहर घोर अँधेरे
घुस आये कुटियाओँ मे ३

साँस खटकती फाँस के जैसी
पल भर मन को चैन नहीँ ,
नीरस नीरस जीवन सारा
आग लगे आशाओँ मे ४

कृष्ण की पूजा श्याम कि भक्ति
मुरली-धर की मतवाली ,
राधा जैसे भाग हैँ किसके
बिन ब्याही कन्याओँ मे ५

इस युग के बेढब लोगोँ से
क्या ढब की बत करे कोई,
चतुराइ से चिन्ता मे फसेँ हैँ
बुद्धि से बाधाओँ मे ६

तन का तिनका जीवन तट पर
कबतक 'जख्मी' ठहरेगा
लहर लहर मे छीना झपटी
होड लगी घटनाओँ मे ७

-वसुधा से साभार

adrash prem-bacchan

apart from madhushaala for which hari vansh rai bachhan is
renouned.
bacchan has also composed some very touching poems.
presenting one such piece of beautifull poetry: adarsh prem

for viewing hindi font
kindly chnage encoding of ur browser to unicode(UTF)for IE users this can be done by going to View-> Encoding-> UTF-8

in case ur browser doesnt support unicode the intrans is coming soon

आदर्श प्रेम
प्यार किसी को करना लेकिन
कह्कर उसे बताना क्या
अपने को अर्पण करना पर
और को अपनाना क्या

गुण का ग्राहक बनना लेकिन
गाकर उसे सुनाना क्या
मन के कल्पित भावोँ से
औरोँ को भ्रम मे लाना क्या

ले लेना सुगन्ध सुमनोँ की
तोड उन्हेँ मुरझाना क्या
प्रेम हार पहनाना लेकिन
प्रेम पाश फैलाना क्या
note the last stanza

त्याग अँक मे पले प्रेम शिशु
उनमे स्वार्थ बताना क्या
देकर ह्रिदय ह्रिदय पाने की
आशा व्यर्थ लगाना क्या
-बच्चन

life: khalil gibran

when it comes to free verse and philosophy
no one does it better than gibran
the undermentioned post bears a testimony to the fact

I said to my friend:
"See her leaning over his arm?
Yesterday she leaned over my arm."
And he said:
"Tomorrow she will lean over mine."

And I said:
"See her sitting at his side;
And yesterday she sat at my side."
And he said:
"Tomorrow she will sit at mine."

And I said:
"Don't you see her drinking from his cup?
And yesterday she sipped from mine."
And he said:
"Tomorrow she will drink from mine."

And I said:
"Look how she glances at him with eyes full of Love!
and with just such love, yesterday she glanced at me."
And he said:
"Tomorrow she will glance at me, likewise."

And I said:
"Listen to her whispering songs of love in his ears;
And yesterday she whispered the same songs in mine."
And he said:
"Tomorrow she will whisper them in mine."

And I said:
"Look at her embracing him; and yesterday she embraced me."
And he said:
"Tomorrow she will lie in my arms."

And I said:
"What a strange woman she is!!"
And he said:
"She is life!"
-- Khalil Gibran

courtsey:babhy

farewell

the moment is finally here: again from one of my favoraites sahir
जीवन के सफ़र मेँ राही
मिलते हैँ बिछड जाने को
और दे जाते हैँ यादेँ
तनहाई मे तडपाने को

ये रूप की दौलत वाले
कब सुनते हैँ दिल के नाले
तकदीर न बस मे डाले
इनके किसी दीवाने को

जो इनकी नजर से ख़ेले
दुख पाये मुसीबत झेले
फिरते हैँ ये सब अलबले
दिल ले के मुकर जाने को

दिल ले के दगा देते हैँ
एक रोग लगा देते हैँ
हँस हँस के जला देते हैँ
ये हुस्न के परवाने को

अब साथ न गुजरेँगे हम
लेकिन ये फ़िजा रातोँ की
दौहराया करेगी हरदम
इस प्यार के अफ़साने को

-जीवन के सफ़र मेँ राही
मिलते हैँ बिचड जाने को
और दे जाते हैँ यादेँ
तनहाई मे तडपाने को

(for those who dont have XP(unicode support) the itrans version will do the needfull)

ITRANS:

jiivan ke safar me.n raahii,
milate hai.n bichha.D jaane ko
aur de jaate hai.n yaade.n,
tanahaaii me.n ta.Dapaane ko


ye ruup kii daulata vaale,
kab sunate hai.n dil ke naale
taqadiir na bas me.n Daale,
inake kisii diivaane ko


jo inakii nazar se khele,
dukh paae musiibat jhele
phirate hai.n ye sab alabele,
dil leke mukar jaane ko

dil leke dagaa dete hai.n,
ik rog lagaa dete hai.n
ha.Ns ha.Ns ke jalaa dete hai.n,
ye husn ke paravaane ko


ab saath na guzare.nge ham,
lekin ye fizaa raato.n kii
doharaayaa karegii haradam,
is pyaar ke afasaane ko

jiivan ke safar me.n raahii,
milate hai.n bichha.D jaane ko
aur de jaate hai.n yaade.n,
tanahaaii me.n ta.Dapaane ko

हिमाद्रि तुँग श्रिंग सी

one of my much loved poem: by none other than jaisha.nkar parasad

हिमद्रि तुँग श्रगँ से
प्रबुद्ध शुद्ध भाराती
स्व्यँ प्रभा समुज्ज्वला
स्वतन्त्रता पुकारती

अमर्त्य वीर पुत्र हो
द्र्ढ प्रतिग्य सोच लो
प्रशस्त पुन्य पन्थ है
बढे चलो बढे चलो !

असँख्य किर्ति रश्मियाँ
विकीर्ण दिव्य दाह सी
सपूत मातृभूमी के
रुको न शूर साहसी

अराति सैन्य सीन्धु मेँ
सुबाडबग्नि से जलो
प्रवीर हो जयी बनो
बडे चलो बदे चलो

sankhya coffee

In the six systems of Indian philosophy I am particularly impressed by the ‘sankhya’ marg. Sankya was propounded by Kapil Muni(the same kapil whom Krishna in gita eulogizes and says amongst the devrishis I am narad maong the siddhas I am kapil….)
Sankya is a logical methodology of reaching conclusions on metaphysical subjects.

I present a sankhyified explanation of recent incident.

Amit, I and gabber were on our late night stroll and to kill time we decided to have cup of coffee. No choice comes with a responsibility. Here the responsibility was the plastic cup.
The choice however also leads to further choices and amit and I made the choice of keeping the cup in our hand till we find a suitable place to dispose that off. Gabbar however had a different preference, very Indian as he is, he threw the cup immediately, Amit blasted off: “I did’nt expect this from you”.

Contritely gabber said, I am sorry but there isn’t a waste bin anywhere. To which amit retorted what do u think lies ten steps ahead of you. Gabbar was crestfallen. He shot back with the excuse that the cup was sticky and to hold that stick plastic is nasty and blah blah blah.

I finally cud’nt bear this blabber. Took gabbars side and said you should do what you want to do. Gabbar exploded u mean u support littering?
This was the last thing I meant. I said if that’s what u inferred so be
You identify yourselves with the body so the sticky cup becomes troublesome, if your consciousness grows and you identify yourselves with the campus then the campus will become ur abode and then the sticky cup will no longer be thrown aside but will find its fated place courtesy u.
You should really do what you want to do but first you should find who are you?

‘Kasyam koham kut aaytam
Ka main janani ko main tatam’
-from Bhaj Govindam

Who I am where have I come from
Who is my mother who is my fathere


-ashu