yaavan tha'ernei baaman da'dmeit, reh laejm'etch gulzaaras taam;

yaavan    tha'ernei    baaman    da'dmeit,    reh    laejm'etch   gulzaaras    taam;

khaab  amaar'eik  teong'eil   b'eiz gai,   nind'er  tche  daezm'etch  naaras  taam,

Spring boughs bear burnt buds, flames are at the garden itself;  

dreams  of love turn to burning coal, sleep is burnt of fire itself,

wa'ene kas kus tuith dar-dil yus za'n, kaethi kaethi sa'enihay  wa'enihay ka'eth;

maagas  kyah sa'eth  shrawa'en  taap'etch,  ha'endrai  wa'enneij  haaras taam,

To whom do I turn, who’d empathize, who’s read through the lines, speak out;

in dead winter, why, the summer sun, in high summer, the heart is still frozen,

shak'el tche daejm'etch aa'enes aa'enes, my'eti daejm'etch pehchaan paen'ein;

aar'eid   mo'et   oous   par'eid   tcho'erah,   sui  pho'er  y'eti  hushyaaras  taam,

Faces distorted in mirror after mirror, I too have lost my identity;      

alien, but known thief plundered, all wise and intelligent too,

sount'e    hawaavas    pyaraan    pyaraan,   nahkai   loosus    po'et   ma   phuir;

m'ad     tai    masti    ha'erdas    paanas,    zardi    kha'etch    wozjaaras    taam,

I waited for the spring breeze, wasted for it never looked back;   

drunk with arrogance, autumn itself, has pallor crept into its redness,

aa'endri   aa'endri   s'eander   gaem'etch,  nazran  phourmut  aa'eniruk  tchoor;

ka'eber   bameam'etch   tseenas   tseenas,  maatam   wouth  guftaaras   taam,

Deep, deep inside I am pounded to vermilion powder, my eyes are robbed of light;     

a graveyard has become of heart after heart, every word uttered is a lament,

no'ektas  no'ektas  nyea'ze  tsaneam'eit,  waeqtan  a'elimas  deo'ut moekejaar;

qa'lmas qa'lmas z'eav y'eati tch'enim'etch, peam'etch haethka'er shaaras taam,

Letter after letter is lanced, the present is done with learning;      

pen after pen has its tongue torn out, the words uttered are shackled too

po'eshas  po'eshas  waavan  tha'ep  d'eitch,  la'elas  zoutaan   tseen'eik   daag;

tchoekla'ed   sorui   paan   Zareef -as,   rooed   n'e    ky'enh   bulgaaras  taam.

Flower after flower ravaged by the breeze, the poppies heart thus reveals its scar;        

my whole being is wounded, says Zareef, nothing is left for the balm to work.

The Liquid of Life!!

Winters were over and this climatic transition brought with it some agility to us in the valley where harsh winters benumb hoi polloi. Mornings became indulging and days longer. Asra’s call early in the morning woke me up that day. They had planned for a treat, with me as host. I was obliged to entertain them for certain reasons. Hosting a treat may be a burden but the reason for regale is mostly majestic. I always used to be in the category of people who give others this imperial feeling with a ting of neighbor’s jealousy. I never wanted to miss the chance to have the gallant feel.

With a broad smile on his face and a newspaper in his hand, my father came home to show everyone the newspaper carrying the list of students selected in the engineering entrance examination. I was among the first few in the list and that was enough for everyone in the family to feel proud of. That day, I was the prince who was well aware of his not so long lasting status. I took the expedience and before I asked for a new bike, keys of Bajaj Pulsar were handed over to me to make my day and add to the jealousy of my friends, as if my result was less for them to brook. Never was I that happy earlier. Mumma and didi also contributed, with some cash, to the treat I promised my friends. I was happy and in a mood to give everything to make this feeling last longer. I started with a little charity to the street beggars in the neighborhood and rode my bike to reach the venue that my friends choose for party.  

In the excitement, I left much before the time we decided to reach the stipulated place. I enjoyed almost everything that came on my way, like I was seeing them for the first time. All of a sudden everything was bright. Things that I always ignored started appearing worth a notice.  “Donate Blood, Save Lives”, one of those tag lines I would generally ignore but this time, when I seemed interested in everything around. I stepped into the camp which was organized by local blood bank. Inside the camp, I could see the young enthusiastic volunteers and donors. The real meaning of giving and the feelings associated with this art was more expressed inside this camp. I could learn and experience the joy of giving something priceless to the people who may not be known to you. The joy that can never be, justifiedly expressed in words. The destiny may not relate us with some people but we choose to get related to them by our blood. The organizers and young volunteers in the camp taught me that social work holds much more value than simple charity. We are never poor enough for former. I laid on the bed and a pint of blood was taken to give me much more in return.

I was hero among my friends that day and the blood donation added more praise. After having good time with them, I left for home. On my way back, a rash load carrier hit me while negotiating a blind cut on the road near my home. I laid down unconscious in the pool of blood on a road which is not less familiar with the color of the liquid that is shed on its surface day in and out. The people in the locality raised alarm and I was taken to the hospital emergency. Patient’s blood type is rare and unfortunately not available in the blood bank, said the concerned doctor who came running out of ICU to tell this to my parents who were lost in deep sorrow and grief, wondering how time could play such game in a blink. The other blood banks also responded negatively to the blood group which was type negative, except for one which was conducting blood camp in the nearby locality. Luckily, they received one donor in their camp with the blood group matching mine. Blood was infused into my body immediately and I had a new life. To my surprise, the blood bank was the same where I donated blood in the morning with intent to save some precious life. The blood was mine, which would, otherwise, have been lost on the road that sucks blood like a thirsty crow and the life saved was none but mine… 

Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) taught us: "Khairan nasu maiyan fa un naas" (The best among us are those who help others) which Iqbal rightly expressed in his poetry as:

                                     Hain log wohi jahan mein achey
                                     Aatey hein jo kaam dosron ke...
It took me an experience to learn what it means, but then we don't always need to suffer in order to make this planet beautiful.

A walk in a metro!!

In India the toxicity in air has crossed much above the threshold. The country has topped the list of nations which produce maximum toxin to be breathed by its inhabitants. Beyond this fact, Metropolitans remain the places of preference for many, withstanding the fact that the contribution to the toxicity is mostly from these places. These are the places which are decked by profligate life of elite class and the prodigal infrastructures that could never accommodate homeless. All that it could admit are the fake definitions of development and progress and with it additional toxicity in its airs explicated by deep hatred for people of other race, color, creed, faith, status etc.

Metro is one of the crafts of modern engineering that, thankfully, does not add much to the chemical toxicity of air. The factors that add to the toxicity of hatred are always exogenous and therefore, metro or any other technology can’t be the safe bet for blaming the same. Recently, I traveled by this marvelous piece of Indian development epitome, imported from Germany. Avoiding office hour rush, which  won’t give you even a space to breath when a mad rush automatically pushes you somewhere inside the coach, I left for my destiny a little late in the evening. The infrastructure, undoubtedly, is a treat to eyes that compensates for the hassle. The security check at the entrance reminded me Kashmir for two reasons. One is very obvious and the other was Mushtaq, a security personal who makes sure that the metal detector handed to him is working properly. The beep always meant nothing. I always wonder if they are checking the working of metal detectors or searching us.  Asking such a question in Kashmir was always suicidal, so I lived with the curiosity. Mushtaq was a guy with long beard who happened to be from my native place. But being Mushtaq never meant less of frisking. As a Kashmiri, he knew that we are meant to be frisked more and very much programmed not to mind. Metro streamed like beautiful Sridevi depicting Nagin in a super hit Bollywood movie of 80’s. The first cart, being reserved for young girls, looked all the more catchy, followed by other coaches with some reserved seats for women who may not support this unjust segregation of sexes. Metro aptly seemed representing Indian nation with so many reservations from head to tail. I too wished to protest by traveling in the first cart but the videos circulated on youtube showing lot of humiliation for men for this violent and unacceptable offence were more than scary for taking such risk. I entered one of the middle coaches and found a space to hang on the sides of a rod. With a curious look on the people sitting in a row, I wished someone to leave a seat early. A boy standing nearby either had a recent break off or just fallen in love. He was playing some alien songs loudly on his mobile phone, without any respect to the warning on the speaker for this being an offence. I would have penalized him several times more for making me guess so hard and still being confused for it to be a love song or a sad song. Sitting row was occupied by few women also. On my right, I could see a burqa clad woman with only eyes open and holding a child, around 2 years old, in her lap. She had some clean shaved male partner with her. On my left was a lady draped in sari with a broad vermillion (sindoor) along the parting of her hair and a bindi on forehead. She was also holding a child of almost same age in her lap and accompanied by a clean shaved male partner sitting with her. Children have this amazing talent of making people act like monkeys and parents enjoy the pride in this. The alien songs in the mobile phone of the guy standing with me had already been silenced after few stations and he was busy entertaining one of the kids with his monkey gestures. Suddenly the child in the ‘Hindu’ lap jumped from his comfort zone to reach near the child in the ‘Muslim’ lap. They caught each other’s sight, passed smiles and a kiss, much to the surprise of this bystander who was relieved of his job. Next station, the woman attired in sari stood up and took away his child to get down. This proved disastrous and the other kid started crying bitterly. Parents tried their experience and gestures to save themselves from embarrassment but it was futile. In all this frenzy, a man with turban entered the coach with a child in his lap. The smiles were back and the kisses were exchanged, much to the relief of parents and a child himself. My station came and I left, wishing we could never grow up to understand the differences that make our airs toxic. 

Nisar mein teri galiyon ke aey watan ke jahan... (Faiz)

Nisar Main teri galiyon ke aey watan ke jahan
chali hai rasm keh koi na sar utha kay chalay..

My salutations to thy sacred streets, O beloved nation!
Where a custom ‘that none shall walk with his head held high’ has been invented

jo koi chahnay wala tawaf ko niklay
nazar chura kay chalay, jism-o-jaan bacha kay chalay..

And if a devotee yearns to go on pilgrimage
Then He must walk, with eyes lowered & body crouched in fear

hai ahl-e-dil kay liye ab yeh nazm-e-bast-o-kushaad
ke sang-e-wakhast muqayyad hain aur sag azaad..

The heart is in a tumultuous wrench at the sight
Of stones and bricks locked away and mongrels breathing free

Bohot hai zulm kay dast-e-bahana joo kay liye
jo chand ahl-e-junoon tera naam lewa hain

In this tyranny that has many an excuse to perpetuate itself
Those crazy few that have nothing but thy name on their lips

banein hain ehl-e-hawas, mudda’ii bhi, munsif bhi
kisay wakeel karein, kis se munsafi chahein..

Facing those power crazed that both prosecute and judge, wonder
To whom does one turn for protection, from whom does one expect justice?

magar guzaarne walon kay din guzartay hain
teray firaaq mein yun subh-o-shaam kartay hain

But those whose fate it is to live through these times
Spend their days in thy mournful memories

bujha jo rozan-e-zindaan tu dil yeh samjha hai
keh teri maang sitaaron se bhar gayi hogi

When hope begins to faint, my heart has often conjured
Your forehead sprinkled with stars

chamak uthay hain salasil tu hum nay jana hai
ke ab sahar tere rukh per bikhar gayi hogi

And when my chains have glittered
I have imagined that dawn must have burst upon thy face

gharz-e-tasawwar-e-shaam-o-sahar mein jeetay hain
girift-e-saaya-e-deewar-o-dar mein jeetay hain

Thus one lives in the memories of thy dawns and dusks
Imprisoned in the shadows of the high prison walls

yunhi hamesha ulajhti rahi hai zulm se khalq
na in ki rasm nayi, na apni reet nayi

Thus always has the world grappled with tyranny
Neither their rituals nor our rebellion is new

yunhi hamesha khilaye hain hum nay aag mein phool
na un ki haar nayi hai na apni jeet nayi

Thus have we always grown flowers in fire
Neither their defeat, nor our final victory, is new!

isi sabab say falak ka gila nahin kartay
tere firaaq mein hum dil bura nahin kartay

Thus we do not blame the heavens
Nor let bitterness seed in our hearts (in times of parting)

gar aaj tujh se juda hain tu kal bhem hongay
yeh raat bhar ki judaayi tu koi baat nahin

We are separated today, but one day shall be re- united
This separation that will not last beyond tonight, bears lightly on us

gar aaj auj pe hai taali’-e-raqqeb tu kia
yeh chaar din ki khudaayi tu koi baat nahin

Today the power of our exalted rivals may touch the zenith
But these four days of omniscience (power) too shall pass

jo tujh se ehd-e-wafa ustawaar rakhtay hain
ilaaj-e-gardish-e-lail-o-nahar rakhtay hain

Those that love thee keep, beside them
The cure of the pains of a million heart- breaks