बारिश में क्या है ऐसा जो आज भी वो मुझे उतना ही खींचती है अपनी ओर जितना की उस भूले हुए बचपन में रिझाती बुलाती थी.... आज भी गिरती बूंदों को देख ऐसा लगता है की बस दौड़ कर जाऊं और उन बूंदों को भर लूँ अपनी मुट्ठियों में, आग़ोश में और महसूस कर पाऊं अपने को भीगते हुए सिर्फ हाथ पैर ही नहीं, मेरा मन भी इस बारिश में सराबोर हो जाए.... एक बादामी ठंडक को महसूस करना चाहती हू... आज दोपहर की बारिश कुछ ऐसी ही थी मेरे लिए जिसने मुझे तोहफे में एक मखमली सी याद दी है.... संजो के रखने के लिए...

"sakubai"

उठ मेरी जान मेरे साथ ही चलना है तुझे

ज़िन्दगी जेहाद में है सब्र के काबू में नहीं
नब्ज़ - ए - हस्ती का लहू कांपते आंसू में नहीं
उड़ने खुलने में है नखत ख़म - ए - गेसू में नहीं
जन्नत एक और है जो मर्द के पहलू में नहीं
उसकी आज़ाद रविश पर भी मचलना है तुझे

उठ मेरी जान मेरे साथ ही चलना है तुझे

this excerpt of a poem "औरत" by Kaifi Azmi connected yesterday and tomorrow...as Shabana Azmi recited this yesterday to point out the fact that the girls of the audience were made to sit at the top probably the worst place to watch a play from.... well to save face or coz of a "genuine reform" the girls were seated in the front rows. The play was "Sakubai" written and directed by Nadira Zaheer Babbar and brought to lyf by the sensitive and very expressive Sarita Joshi....what an act...what portrayal of feelings and emotions... and above all she held the whole monologue and the stage and the audience for well over 90 minutes I guess, who the hell was looking at the tym....and there was not one moment i felt disconnected...though the concept of the play was a very ghisa pita one....but Sarita Joshi was awesome....its the story of a woman from the lower rung of the society, a maid who is indispensible and an important part of our daily lives...not by choice though....she is a gossip all right but does have a strong bond with the family that she serves....she has affection and admiration for the three members of the family, she criticizes them, but at the same time is highly possessive about them....it was these nuances that would make me remember this great actor always....

just watching Shabana Azmi walk on the stage is an intellectually stimulating experience...it gives the brain an experience as indescribable as an erotic frenzy....broken images a play beautifully written by Girish Karnad. A post modernist play. Definitely a first on the Indian Theatre scene. Had seen this play, actually hindi version of it, last year at India Habitat Centre. Sushma Seth played Manjula and another actor played Malini though the meaning was lost because of the use of an actor in place of the virtual screen image (which kind of was the whole point of charm in the play). the actors were not well rehearsed, Sushma Seth was fumbling with her lines, she forgot her spot at least twice. On the whole it was a disaster if you ask me, but still I loved the script and the concept.

Today as I saw the play in its glory, with someone as great as Shabana Azmi enacting the whole thing, well it was an experience of its own kind.

Yesterday while talking about some Haryanavi Cultural Evening I saw an invite to a play Broken Images enacted by Shabana Azmi, lying on the table and I decided I have to see this play even if I have to go alone. I knew it being Rohtak the audience would be bad and unruly, politicians would be treated like gods and their feet licked by everyone from the anchors to journalists to almost everyone in sight.

But I was pleasantly surprised to see a crowd so mature and so interested in something that was not loud beats or filmi aur haryanavi. There was a pindrop silence and the crowd appreciated the concept, though I must say it was quite considerate of Ms. Azmi to translate her dialogues to hindi that too impromptu....and well she connected with the audience as bizarre as this... I guess that makes her what she is....

I just wanna say...I had a lovely evening and my admiration for Shabana Azmi was reinforced today after seeing her in flesh.

dreamt a lil dream...saw the four of us carefree as ever lying under a mango tree legs up on the tree...and talking about dreams....not the fabrication of the sub-conscious....but dreams woven by the very tangible ambitions of a heart of a strong will....

each had her own dream...to someone else manifestation of a childish fantasy...but to each of us a matter of utter seriousness...for as much as we believed in ourselves we believed more in each other....

hardly in touch now but its juss a random dream that reminded me of the happier tyms when it was so easy to believe....

to believe in oneself and more importantly in others...when we knew what we wanted to have....i wonder y is it that as i grew up things became more and more unclear and life became more and more complicated and slowly i lost vision of what i really want.....

hum paanch

sitting in the car always encourages random thoughts....I speak only for myself though...today on the way back from delhi, I was thinking about the kind of weird career graph I have had....its strange, one thing had little to do with other...and i go to my oft referred metaphor of cooking where some strange flavours combine to give a pleasantly strange concoction not unlike the bengali paanch phoron, where the five spices each with their own identities and individualities come together and amalgamate to form a new and interesting combo....

what i like, though is that they come together as paanch phoron but have the trait still, to stand out as "paanch" and not melt into one another to form "ek".....

shower of respite

today I go to delhi....thats a relief...life at home has become a little monotonous...I of all the people cannot take a routine life and at home thats what it has come to....yesterday while talking to a guest at home i realised it has been quite a few days that I havent even stepped out of my house....it was unnerving and thinking about that I kind of panicked....this certainly isn't normal...

anyway i look forward to a weekend of fun ahead...

green chillies in the chicken curry

while adding chillies to the chicken curry i realised one thing....chillies make my eyes water and tongue burn and nose flow relentlessly, then why do i add it still....granted i like the aroma and flavour that they add to the food....but still there is a great amount of discomfort adding the burning sensation that lingers in my fingers when i chop them....
thoughts wandered and I started comparing this to the way we all live our lives...there are certain risks and decisions we take...we all know are gonna create a turmoil but there are certain things attached to these decisions that we look forward to inspite of the discomfort the turmoil causes...

the green chillies to the bland chicken curry......

the fear of loss is the worst fear of them all...i guess you wouldnt know till you face it... i faced it recently... and I would like to say it made me see things in an entirely new perspective and a new light...but that would be a lie...what happened was that i started appreciating things...things like a sure shot hug frm certain ppl in my life.. i know i will get it when i want it and sometimes even though i dont ask for it...

these are the tyms when you thank God for what you hav...a tym , when you realise that you should cherish whatever you have because its precious...

As I see with open eyes, I see the blinding light, closing my eyes I see a pleasant darkness, a darkness welcoming me, soothing me, enveloping me and bringing to me the sweet memoirs of past not so long gone. Days that were carefree as the butterflies in a garden of big, fat flowers. The days that once were the epitome of happiness. I welcome all that and more in this warm darkness. This darkness is my hope. This darkness is my will, to live, to go on a bit more, just a bit more. It gives me the power to stand up, it gives me the power to fight back. I t gives me the wish to live.

And they say darkness depresses.

Darkness is what you want it to be. It is clay in your hand waiting to mould into a shape that you need it to be. It is at your mercy not you at hers. Grab it, Play with it, Own it. It will be yours.

the Woman Her self

when a Girl is born...
She becomes a Daughter.....
people know Her for Her father....
Her name is less known as ever...
She grows up to be a young Lady...
a Woman of willowy beauty...
goes ahead, and gets married....
to be known as just Her husband's Wife...
time goes by..
She bears a child...
She creates life from Her womb
bearing pain unknown to man..
now, now she is known as Her son's Mother...
they say a Woman has three big stages in Her life....
but is it Her life at all...
She is a Daughter, a Wife and then a Mother....
but Her own self is lost in these relations....
but can we call it Her self...