#FolkInVogue - Revisiting Roots

It’s in the click of my heels,  

The bend of my hair,  

the palm of my hand,  

The need for my care.  

’Cause I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

- Maya Angelou

The evening of 30th March, 2016, was beautiful for many reasons. These reasons, primarily, would fall under three categories - the Place, the People and the Cause. 

Place - We were gathered inside the Asian Paints Color Store, a place I love calling my personal wonderland, for the amount of ideas, expressions and creativity it inspires. A store which gives you live experiences of how wall colours alter and enhance the look your spaces, it has given me many a cool ideas to implement back at home and feel thoroughly satisfied about. 

People - Gathered in the store were some women, who had succeeded in creating an impact by following the call of their passion. They belonged to diverse fields, but were united by the conviction they carried on their faces aglow with the happiness of being together. Each had a story worthy of sharing, and each shared personal narratives worthy of putting into wisdom capsules. 

Cause - A unique concept which blended the tradition with fashion, Asian Paints conceptualised #FolkInVogue to grant greater contemporary relevance to our many dying folk art forms. Gond, Pattachitra, Madhubani and Warli art forms found manifestation on dreamcatchers, scarves, vases and mugs. 

What's even better is that one could witness all these art forms in action - artists practising these many styles of painting were invited to the store to give all the gathered ladies a first hand experience, and even a brief tutelage into practising the art. 

A simple gathering of some stunning ladies, by the end of the evening, turned out to be an experience worth being remembered for a lifetime. Asian Paints surmised the life story of all these ladies in flawless videos, the screening of which evoked pretty emotions in everyone's eyes. In the past too, I have witnessed Asian Paints curate experiences which give voice to diverse shades of art - my own association with them began through poetry.  As they celebrate the modern woman, carrying ahead her roots with elegance, why don't you also attempt to revisit traditions and see how they may apply to your contemporary living spaces? Hop into their Color Store today! 

Wisps of Winter

Today, I felt the first faint signs of chill around me. For one, I developed slight, welcome fever. 'Welcome fever' might be a difficult concept for many to understand. It is the kind of pleasant fatigue that makes you pop a pill, lie down, and willingly let go off he humongous weight of work you had been dragging along. It is the kind which tells you nothing is wrong, but this pause is good to recover strengths and smiles. It, at this point of time in the year, also informs you that the romance of winters is going to knock on your door soon, that the season is changing. So yes, as I lie tired on the couch and type it all out, I am actually quite pleased that the hum of the airconditioner is fast becoming a thing of the past.

Winters are special. They make my city beautiful, and my heart fond. They make coffee tastier, and books crispier. They bring along blankets, and consequently, warmth. They take away the irritating moisture, to replace it with a forced dalliance with cold creams. It may sound odd, but I quite like drawing on my arms when they turn parched, and a sheet of moisturiser is the eraser to this slate. A duller world, makes the self more pronounced. And I like, I like it immensely.

Here is my winter wishlist. All things basic, all things romantic. You're welcome to join me, for any, and all of these :)

1. Street shopping for winter clothes

Janpath, Sarojini and Paharganj are on my radar. Any better suggestions for budget and statement winter-wear? Drop me some advice in the comments section!

2. A book date in Rabindra Bhawan

Rabindra Bhawan houses one of the best libraries in Delhi - the Sahitya Akademi library. For a frugal fee, you get access to few of the most amazing titles from Indian, American and even Russian literature. Enough to keep you occupied. Their reading room is inspiring, and if you don't find space inside, the winter sun can give you company outside.

3. Poetry reading in Lodhi Gardens, Humayun's Tomb, Safdarjung Tomb et al

Delhi is a grand city. So many historical venues call out to you in winters to explore and inhabit them. I am eager to take Poets' Collective to all these wonderful places, and also discover some new ones where poetry can resonate and leave behind memories. Let's do poetry in excess for the next few months, shall we?

4. Early morning walk through Sanjay Van

The last time we went there, it was in scorching monsoons. Bad idea! Lal Kot and Sanjay Van seem like a winter destination for a walk along with some stories. A picnic with the close ones is on the cards, definitely.

5. Roadside Chai

It is not even winters, and we have already begun loitering about in N-Block, Connaught Place, searching for chaiwallas on the pavement. Samosas, kachoris and bina-cheeni-ki-chai are going to be my evening companions as days start getting dark sooner.

6. Statement neck-pieces and dark shades of Lipstick

I don't know much about this. But, these winters will be about understanding a bit more of fashion. Who is helping?

7. Conversations over coffee 

Do you have something interesting to discuss? If you can afford some coffee to go with it, you have my attention. Delhi has many roof-top and garden cafes. I am making a list of all the places I want to go to. May be you and I can go along together?

8. Long walks on random roads

Broke or rich, this is something I have been doing since the past few years. With or without company. Music in my ears. Thoughts swirling in my head. Greens becoming greener. Poems calling me out. I love taking walks in winters - an unparalleled fuel for the soul.

9. Reading and writing romances in my blanket 

Nothing comforts like the warmth of winters. I have my reading list fleshed out. I have my story-plots ideated. And I don't mind doing some cosy story-telling sessions at home - an exclusive all-girls, openly gender-biased gathering.

10. Letting my hair down

Well-styled or unkempt - I am letting my hair loose this winter. Winters ought to be a little wild, no?



You can see, clearly, how fascinated am I with the prospect of some chill arriving in Delhi. My winters, curiously enough, begin in the hills. I'll be heading out to Nainital to moderate a session at the prestigious Kumaon Literary Festival on Monday. I'll carry some wintry emotions back.

What are your winter plans? Would you want to join me for any of mine?

P.S. - I am also giving away a lot more free hugs in winters. Just saying.

10 Things You All Must Know About My Birthday

Long story short - I had an epic birthday. Well, an odd way to begin a post about the most special day which greets me in an entire year, but that is it. Epic could well be an understatement. Crazy is more like an apt word, and I mean the highest degree of crazy at that. Birthdays, or any celebrate-able occasions have always been kind of big affairs for me. My dear, dear friends, this time around, proved how affairs could be made bigger and grander and unforgettable. The celebrations began four days early, went on for about a week (if you could include all the pleasant hangover) and left me exhausted, but with a happy smile on my face. I cannot name and thank everyone involved here, in this post - because open display of affection and honest admissions have their pitfalls, and because all content is not for everyone - but I will still whisper gratitude to all those awesome people who inhabit my world, and who make life a brilliant journey to travel through.

That's how it began at Jamia

There are a few things I would like to tell you all about my birthday though. I am not sure, but I think I will go and name this post as 10 Things You All Must Know About My Birthday. So, here, the ten things which will always make me remember turning 24. I am not just promising cheese and flowers, but salt and lemon too. Let's begin.

#1 The Birthday Poster

Now, did you ever have a poster proclaiming your birthday has arrived? Well, I had not one, not two, but three of those posters promptly made and displayed by two of the most awesome, creative, innovative artists I know! These posters were pretty and funny and so endearing, that I ended up believing my birthday this time was going to overshadow all the previous 23 ones put together. When it begins at gorgeous, it ends at gorgeous. Mostly, yes.

Aastha di and Neha - thank you for this one! 

#2 A Day Out With Mamma

This was new, and special, and fun. I like using 'and' a lot. It projects a chain for me, which could keep subsuming experiences, and thoughts, and words in an unbroken connect. Having 'and's' is kind of cosy - you can have it all, and have it at one place. And with Mamma, and my sister, and two of my dearest friends, I had the first of its kind shopping day out, which was topped by a quiet lunch of tea, pasta and sandwiches, and which got rounded off by some more shopping off the Janpath flea market. I've made a mental note of making more such days happen!

On our way out, for shopping!

#3 The Afremov Connect

Now, people just know that it was Leonid Afremov who made me fall in love with colours. And so, two of the most awesome painters in the world got down to task to paint me some breathtakingly gorgeous Afremov-like paintings! I am keeping them safe and closed. On the most appropriate day, they shall come out and decorate a space which is an extension of all that I stand for.

Some colours and some light - all wrapped as perfect gifts!

#4 The Twitter Chaos

Some fantastic brains adept at handling social media were employed to run a 'tweetathon' two nights before my birthday to just talk sweet things about me. Honestly, it was embarrassing - but it was super fun too! There was a guy on twitter who called it an ego massage. It could well have been that, but for me, it was also a positive reinforcement my life had been severely lacking. Thanks twitterati!

Very creative invite for the Tweetathon!

#5 More Social Media Chaos

They all wanted to make me feel like a celebrity, and the first step in that direction, which my extremely loving and irritatingly creative friends took was to develop social media profiles in my name. So, there was (is) a functioning twitter handle, a Facebook page, and an e-mail id created to keep me flooded with electronic updates loaded with excitement of anticipation. This is, veritably crazy stuff. Crazily crazy.

#6 The Kids

There are too many to name. And they are always around, to show their love and also to ask for love. They are all a gift God has given me to feel special, and to be privileged enough to make them feel special too. The paint, draw, ask for longer hugs, want to take me out on dates, or for bowling; they let me in on their secret conversations, they even cry with me when times are rough - and they basically love me as much as I love them. And this, my dear friends, is a gift. To love, and to be loved back.

#7 Mr. Ashok Chakradhar

How awesome could it feel when a bunch of friends conspire to invite your favourite poet as a surprise for your birthday? Ashok Chakradhar ji has been a favourite since I first saw him on television in a show called Wah Wah! I could meet him only for a little while, but cutting the cake with him, hearing him recite his poems and being gifted a heart-breakingly pretty crystal lotus by him are sweet bits of memory I shall always savour!

#8 Bhagwan Das Ji and Cultural Extravaganza

No part of my body was not enjoying when Bhagwan Das Ji, the legendary puppeteer, singer, poet, performer came down to perform specially for my birthday! He is a repository of dying traditions and cultural practices, facing his own share of apathy from those authorities which have a reputation of being insensitive when it comes to their own interests. However, personal hardships aside, he sang like a true performer - filling us all with Rajasthani and Sufi melodies. Kailash bhaiya, his second in command, took over to then put up some fine showmanship, which included puppet dances which were breathtaking and unbelievable. An artist who knows his craft can breathe life into the lifeless.

#9 Mr. Harivansh Rai Bachchan

He could definitely not have come down for my birthday, but I invoked him for some solid life advice. We're all transient, and dispensable - and if to this truth we do not awaken, we're being plain unjust to ourselves and the world around us. Leaving behind things which are dear is never easy - but sometimes, moving on, even if with tears, is the only option. One of the greatest poets of our country taught that in a perfect poem his scribbled ages back. The beautiful consolation was that his son, Mr. Amitabh Bachchan, sent me an autograph scribbled on my portrait, along with four other famous names - Gulzar sahab, Shaan, Hariharan ji and Mr. Manmohan Singh. How do my friends even make these things happen is crazy.

#10 The Magicians

And there are so many of them. They're also known as friends, but for now, I shall call them magicians. I can never say enough about them, so let's leave it there. Over past few months, I've lost some, gained some, reconnected with some and fallen madly in love with some. My cup is full, so full, that it continues to brim over in a smile or in a fond tear.

These are only two of the many faces which make my world special

Such celebrations should happen only once in life. To all the gorgeous people who were a part of my day, I'd just say - stay close, you're all valued. And my life makes sense and has meaning because of all of you.

On that note, the day ended. 

Sonnet II - The Eye Which Closed

A fierce stare, ambling, crawling up

The scar which charred her happy visage

Sour tea bubbling in her brittle cup

She drinks and smiles at the grand mirage

A hand then grips and clutches hard

To press the open wound which oozed

Not blood, just bloodless hymns that start

Talking, while she looks on, amused. 

In a chamber overwhelmed by violence

Of subsurface thoughts felt too deeply

She tries hard to shrug the piercing lens

The whiteness spreading its fangs ornately

The mirror, the frames, the sights weakened, tore asunder

Calming, she closed her eyes, to travel through wonder.

The comment I left at the exhibition

For all those who could not head out to Triveni Kala Sangam in the week that went by, they missed the sight of sheer magic being splashed on the pristine white walls of the Shridharini Art Gallery. The magic was keen, curious, penetrating, and, as they say, stupid! An exhibition of photographs by the name of "Stupid Eye" was on at the venue, where in, a veteran psychologist - Harsheen K. Arora, and a seasoned photographer - Vipul Amar, had collaborated to undertake an intense journey through the inner selves of fourteen people and then paint them out impeccably in front of the world through breathtaking photography. The frames, which were the net result of the inner journey of these people aimed at finding and liberating their true selves, were devastatingly beautiful. At first, they were just frames which you would interpret. Later, they became fields where you would try to locate yourself, or your experiences. How an event trapped inside four walls can be liberating for the creative and the unexplored that hides inside you - this could be learnt at Stupid Eye.

These booklets had all the stories, sans which, my experience at the exhibition would have been incomplete. 

The above sonnet-structured poem was scribbled in a mute response to when Prayas asked me as to what I found there, and if I could locate myself in any of the frames. I failed to do so. I am one of those who is scared of discovering too much - I find my liberation in uncertainties. A picture, too clear, eliminates the possibility of fascinating interpretations - and if the possibility of impossible fancies vanishes from life, it doesn't augur brightly for me. And I seek bright. Blurry, okay, but bright. For some, the frames presented a figment of reality which they thought reflected off their past, or their inner self. For me, the frames served to shut out much, and delve within myself, happy in the cloistered, yet connected existence. And amid this rant, I am stupid if I forgot to tell you that Prayas is that dear friend because of whom Stupid Eye became a rather personal (albeit short) experience. He is among those people who charm you, and make you feel comfortable with the warmth they exude. Its a pleasure to know him.

Posing with Prayas, or one of his manifestations.

I met some tremendously fascinating people up at the exhibition, engaged in insightful dialogues. Harsheen ma'am and Vipul sir were gracious hosts, not refusing anyone an audience, discussing freely what went into conceiving an executing the Stupid Eye project. The opinions of attendees were given weight; there was no one who could stand there and feel wrong. Welcoming smiles and warm hugs - they were my fond takeaways from the brilliant people I met there.

The creators and their creation

So yes, the time I spent at Stupid Eye exhibition was fabulous. It will stay with me. The grand event was made more special because two of my very dear kids - Kamal and Vaibhav - won an art event conducted by the organizers. At the end of this post, I leave you with a gorgeous interpretation of 'Stupid Eye' as painted by Kamal, a kid in whose growth and achievements I take personal pride. And Vaibhav, you deserve another treat.

The Path of Desires

"PACH zindagi mein pyaar leke aaya hai" 
- Many people, over time.

Dear PACH, 

I like the concept of a Desire Path. Do you know what it is? It is that path which is created through jungles as a consequences of repeated foot traffic. This path takes its own sweet time to come into existence, aided by collective instincts of people over a prolonged period. Isn't it a nice thought that people who are completely unknown to each other are actually indulging in a benevolent activity to aid the travels and explorations of those who follow them. I always like to think of the point at which such a path began. How do so many people travel down the same route enough times so as to create a route which is sometimes the only resort for directions in non-negotiable wilderness? I know all of this sounds random, but I am trying my hand at developing a metaphor for you. You are a Desire Path. You came into existence out of nothing. For your coming into existence in such a glorious form, a lot of us had to travel down the same road together. Our thoughts did not shape you as much as you shaped our thoughts. I am actually confused at times - did we make you, or did you make us? 

You are, as I said, a Desire Path. You know, you are also a 'Desired' Path, which so many of us journey on together, each alternate Sunday, not knowing the kind of beauties we might encounter on the way. We are also completely unaware of the kind of difficulties, or difficult moments which greet us down this road, but then, whistling through the woods, we manage to find music in all your facets somehow. So yes, you are a Desired Path. You know what else, you are also a Path of Desires - to you come linked so many wishes, dreams and hopes; and how all of them manage to remain selfish and innocent, I am yet to understand. You're growing up big and fast, and hence your Desires from us have also increased, rather disproportionately, if I may admit. We're trying to keep up, but really, you make us run. You make us want to become better than we already were. You're involving more and more people so that your growing up needs/desires can be catered to. And yes, again I will say, we're trying. All of us together. This will culminate into something beautiful, this path of desires, and much else. You know what the best, our fate lies in the journey here. There is not really a destination we're moving towards. Its the journey, in which lies your beauty. Thanks for sparing us the mad rush for a destination. 

I am sorry I took a long while to get back to you which my words of awe and gratitude. It was not as much your loss as it was mine. I miss talking to you, you know. Talking to you was among the biggest motivations of my life. And so, today I will rant, irrespective of how tedious or verbose this letter becomes. I will also throw editing/omitting caution to the wind and just write. Write for you. To whisper to you. To shout at you. To communicate to you how much you mean to my life, even with all your demands. You're happiness. Will you please always remember that? No pressures or anything, but try and bear that in mind. 

I could have divided this letter into three parts, but I will divide it into three 'Epistles'. Yes, its a fancier term, and hence I like it. Also, it makes each of the three smaller letters independent letters in themselves, which they are, except that they are united by this acute urge of mine to cuddle you to death tonight. Metaphorically, of course, lest you make that funny face and shirk me, playfully, of course. But I will still put my disclaimers in place. 

Here. Three Epistles. For three awesome dates I had with you. Yes, you. 

EPISTLE I

I love history, I love Delhi. I love the fact that Delhi discloses itself to keen eyes by the many manifestations of historical heritage strewn across its length and breadth. I also love the fact that in the PACH pot (Yeah, smirk. I have been led down to this understanding of PACH now) on 12th January fused poetry and heritage together. In the verdant gardens of the Lodhi era majesty we met and spread so many hues of poetry around. The kind of coming together of people I saw that day is rare, and PACH, you were the one to make it happen. Our own gang was reciting poems at their glorious best, but a lot of idle wanderers, or vagrants pursuing words to find meaning in life, met us at various junctures in the session. They seamlessly blended together, like they had known us for ages. I know it sounds odd (and vain?) coming from my mouth, but I have not seen cozy-couch-like-comfort being found so easily in life. You inspire trust, PACH. You inspire. Enough said.. 

But no, talking to you can never be enough. The repository of the written words you are building silently is bulging with wonders. And for that, there is a team of inspired and enthusiastic PACH sweethearts who need to be thanked. These people work behind you, and are adding so much richness to your texture. I know you wanted me to, and hence I thanked them profusely, after allotting some more work, goes without saying. 

Your amazing opening was marked by Sudhanshu's mad attempt to decorate you into words. Fourteen quatrains, all designed as acrostics to spell PACH, and all PACH members included in that beautiful narration. This chap is mad. For you, of course. Our tryst with heritage got stronger when Vikram sir sang the portion of an epic he is writing on Delhi's history. There were ghazals sung and recited. There were old, yellowing letters which were opened up again.

There, then, was the show-stealer, Navin ji, who was trying to take a satirical dig at the marketing industry which can sell sand to an Arab. That he could mimic so well, I had no clue. Now that I have heard accents from the Middle East to Australia, I have a fair, irritated idea. And yes, his biggest contribution was adding "Khabeez ka Bachcha" to an already profound vocabulary of the PACH youngsters. Makes me chuckle, but its one performance I will remember. 

Abhinav took us on a journey, again, of love and stuff. Aaqib travelled back to Muzaffarnagar and the tales of horror which had marred the land found vents in his poetry. Neha (meri twin) recited about a friendship which is valuable to her (of course I am talking about myself). Anup hailed professors, and their contribution into the construction of a civilized society. Of course I am kidding. Dipalie spoke of geysers, morning ablutions and nocturnal conversations. Oh, a poem on me just added so much to my glee! There were tales of love, old and greying. There was Kamal, with his ode to individual members of PACH (and yes, this kid inspires me each time he opens his mouth). 

Then there were all of us, singing away popular melodies while I secretly revelled in the fact that the chorus of PACH has come alive, and it gave me a strange kind of comfort, assurance. I like to see you bring people together, PACH. Keep doing that please. Keep touching lives. Keep making poets out of people who did not think they could write. 

EPISTLE II

It was a winter morning where I was dead. That all that fatigue making me dead would be short-lived was completely known to me. I, after all, had a date with you. However, here, I need to apologise. Nothing can explain the fact that I was two and half hours late for a date which is one of the most important things to me in life. You were, however, safely ensconced in Ekansha's care, hence I could breathe easy through all those last minute haste. PACH, you must know you are special. So very special. And I am glad we now have more people who treat you the same and who make you come to life even when Anup or I are not around for sometime. But we like to be there, as much as we can push ourselves. 

A decently chilly morning, and PACH bazm on Ekansha's terrace, with flowers, and cushions and quilts and caps. It was one of those meets where I had a cute feeling about myself. I did not have anything to recite, but that was good. There were so many furious quills and curious eyes waiting to metamorphose into verbal expression in front of an understanding and endearing audience. Poetry over chai and pizza - the hosts made sure that PACH #15 is an experience no one forgets.

 

We read out your Preamble that day. Do you remember those tired, outstretched hands, and the amused words just pouring out? I remember, because it was a particularly funny and proud moment for me. We had mouths opened wide with AMJ's recitation of a sestina, the shock of the genius of which still assails me. This format is worth being a challenge. Rini's poem on an author's obsessive search for correct words seemed indecipherable at first, but later felt like a revelation. Amrit Raj commented on his inability to compliment. Deeksha came up with awesome Gibberish. Ekansha's Urdu and her sensitivity to social issues baffled me. Kamal made apt remarks on the hypocrisy which has now been institutionalised in religion. Govind took the off-beat track by writing a poem in English - just as hilarious as his Hindi one. Abhinav talked of slumber, and inspirations and romance. Do you see the diversity you are blessed with, PACH? Pure awesomeness. And magic. And I can never say much.

If I were to point out one person to whom the day belonged, it was Kamal. Yes, he recited awesome poems and clicked awesome photos, but he also had a lot of PACH love smeared on him by Sudhanshu and Rohit. The former went senti (his usual style), and the latter tied his friend in the rhythm of a rap. There is this adorable Venky gang which has completely dedicated itself to you PACH. Hugging all of these ultra-emotional friends together was an incredibly warm moment. 

As the sky darkened, I found myself shivering, bowing down to the chicaneries of Delhi weather. The familiar PACH comfort took over then. When the warmth inside me was waning, a caring embrace made me confident with the fact that everything is well in the world, and PACH is still what it was always supposed to be - a place where not just poetry is set free, but where dying spirits are uplifted. Mine were. We had the gathering pulsating with energy because of the numerous toddlers making it their business to distract us and then stare at us with those unbelievably cute eyes. 

The day began with a "Roadies Salute" (now a regular feature) and ended with the knowledge that PACH had again done those wonders it was so used to performing, yet it held them special and yearned for their repetition. I want to be with you each time you are performing those miracles PACH. I like it so much when new faces walk up to me and tell me that you have been among the most satisfying of their experiences in life. Our flock is expanding. I write this with a huge smile on my face. And some hints of perturbations too. 

EPISTLE III

And then came the Grand. PACH, you carved a niche in a gathering of literary excellence. I couldn't believe that a my toddler had now grown enough to climb up on to the stage of Delhi Literature Festival and enthral an audience which was way larger than the number we had entertained at our prime. It was our shortest outing, but perhaps left the largest impact. 

Our nervous, hesitant poets became star performers. It was enchanting to see Vivek recite his poem in front of the poetry of his life. Kamal and Sudhanshu abandoned mics and faced the audience without the slightest hint of performance anxiety on their face. Aavika, the little packet of poetic brilliance, pushed Anup and me off the stage, to regale the crowd with her Sunday song again. Govind lavished praises to his Saree bond. Aaqib talked of love and betrayal, in a completely non-serious, Yo Yo style. Neha bowed to Krsna through her verses. Anurag's love story between a Goblet and Candle was a life-boat to those lost in the alleys of love. Aastha di's recitation was my personal moment of pride. Leher, Arpan and Pratima stepped onto the PACH stage for the first time. Dipalie recited like the beloved I could easily marry. Navin ji bombed the audience with his prose piece again. We also have a PACH song now, on which we went a little crazy dancing and babbling nonsense. 

Oh, and wait - how could I not mention the awesome note on which the PACH show began? That poem, narrating the journey of a poem, was like a dream performance. I had always admired the writer/poet in Anup so much that to stand and share the stage with him is a privilege I can go on being happy about. In the morning, I had carried some special overseas wishes from Jyoti di in a warm, furry satchel with me. Those wishes worked wonders. We got back home that day absolutely content, and positive about your future PACH, down that path of desires. Rather, up that path of desires. And love. And magic. And warmth. And motivation. And inspiration. And happiness. 

I maintain, like always. You are all of the above, and so much more. Even before I finish this letter, the draft of another nocturnal epistolary tryst with you is getting framed in my head. 

I love you, with deep attachment and pure intentions. I have dreams, you know, of being with you, and with all those people who make you awesome. You're demanding, yes, but I know your demand are justified, and natural. 

I am sleepy. Dead. Gone. But I have to say - You, PACH, are the most beautiful story of my life. I write you, and you write me.

On that note, I kiss you Good Night. 

Love,
Saumya

Mera blog, meri photo :)

To You, and the Awesome Road Ahead

Dear PACH

To the basic first - you are awesome. Okay. You're more. You're a redefinition of awesomeness. People could call it vanity on my part, but then, between you and me, I can always say these things. You know its not vanity as much as disbelief, fondness, and then, some legitimate parental pride. With those love-filled, keen eyes, I am witnessing your growth - and when we last met, you left me speechless with all the grandeur. 

That's you, that's us

It had been long since you and I met. While writing this, I realized something funny, and strange. In your world, the serious can coexist with funny, the dull can coexist with bright, the silence can coexist with noise. Basically, you permit it all. And so, the funny thing I realized is, you feel like a kid, and a beloved, all at the same time. And you can, you totally can coexist in my head as both those entities. Its fun to see you grow each time we meet. Its fun to see me fall for you all those times, over and over again. You're plain awesome. Oh, but I already told you that. 

The 13th invite

Among the new things that I have to tell you, there is none. Except the fact that in our thirteenth tryst, you overshadowed all your previous manifestations. That's something you do. This time, however, was slightly different, for you led us to a time warp, within walls which echoed the most personal and priceless sentiments of a human heart. We met in a place where the bustle of city comes to rest, where the walls entice you to detach yourself from ordinary, hectic life,  and spends moments of intimacy with yourself. For me, personally, Ugrasen Ki Baoli is a place where I have seen melodies of life and relationships play out. In that sense, and in every other, this was a perfect venue for our rendezvous. 

The enchanting venue

When we arrived here, I and this other person who is equally fascinated and proud of you, but doesn't say it that often,  had already spent a beautiful morning in the company of Delhi's own genius poet, Mirza Ghalib. Having traversed the winding alleyways of Ballimaran and Kucha Pati Ram Gali, our poetic day began with the most traditional flavours greeting and refreshing us. Heritage and poetry often hold hands while walking. That morning, in a green-tinged haveli, I understood why. Urdu poetry, penned by the mighty quill of Ghalib himself, being read out in the space which was originally his, was an absolute treat for the senses. In the tiny metro ride from Chawdi Bazar to Rajiv Chowk, I mumbled this to myself - "Ragon mein daudte phirne ke hum nahi kaayal/ Jab aankh hi se na gira toh phir lahu kya hai". Essentially, I was carrying a little bit of Ghalib with myself, PACH - and so glad am I that he and his stories came to meet you too. 

Mulaqat-e-Ghalib

Our start was slow, remember? It was like a perfect winter morning waiting to come to life, but fighting to retain the lazy romance which is its ultimate marker of beauty. In no time, however, you attracted enough people to leave my forehead slightly creased. I remember exchanging that amused - not worried - glance with Anup, where we were basically puzzled to see so many of them climbing down the stairs of the stepwell to us, some perched on bliss, others on curiosity. It was a flock coming together, or what Neha Bawa prefers to call her tribe. 

Same emotions, different expressions. 

Facing our poets, who double up as the audience. 

She was one of the earlier ones to open up, with two poems letting out stifled emotions. I was moved enough to share my own. Somewhere in this rush of poetic energy, a few new, yet recognizable faces greeted us - and they added a greater hue of grandeur to our last poetic tryst. A short introduction to Parveen Shakir and to feminism in Urdu poetry was given to us by Rana Safvi - a shayra herself. In her tone, she carried authority as well as the affection of an elder. I could've gone on listening to her. Asif Khan Dehlvi, the master storyteller from Delhi Karavan, was waiting in the wings, to regale the gathering with anecdotes about Zauq and Ghalib's rivalry. Vikramjit sir's presence, coupled with DJ's much awaited entry to the PACH scene - it all added up beautifully to kickstart the last mehfil of 2013. 

Asif, in full flow

Rana ma'am - adding the feminist touch

Six paragraphs down, I am still at the kickstarting phase. We're both crazy when we talk to each other, and I am crazy about the craziness you are. Each new face which came in went back feeling they've known us for long. There were rockstar performance by Anup and Kamal - their poems having become a part of the very fabric of PACH. Vaibhav combined Chemistry and Poetry into a product where each couplet led to applauses. Rohit developed a single innuendo to persuasively propose to you, PACH - because for him (as for me) meeting you was akin to falling in love. Amrit left us a little stunned when he recited and recounted numbers in his poem written over a train journey. Aaqib's shayari worked backwards, but still found the perfect route to enter our hearts. Himadri's nervousness made her endearing, but I kept wondering why would a poet as sensitive and sensible as her would be scared to share her creations with us. Taru recollected a painful friendship; so did Vaishali. Anirudh, the videshi-chhora, came back to take us through realizations which hit a person in the process of growing up, or becoming a man. Sonalika di spoke for womanhood, spoke for compassion. Archana asked for Neha's voice to express what was personal and sacred, and painful too. Nabila, Rudra, Dipali, Karan, Shiva, Varun, Akhil - so many names and faces shared so much with us that it is impossible to recollect it all here. Still, PACH, do you know why I take out time to share it all, minute by minute, feel by feel with you? Well, its my way of prolonging the best time life sends my way. I am that kind of a romantic, you see. 

We were much more than what you see here

Someone called us the convenors of all this madness. We're a little mad ourselves, you see. 

My favourite moment from the last meet was when sir (whom we know as Aastha di's sir) took out time to introduce us to God and his mysterious ways, which are incomprehensible to a mortal's brain. He also, then, introduced us to the magic that Aastha di herself is. I did tell you I love her, right? And also that she is the most precious gift PACH, you, have brought for me? Well, after the poem I wrote and recited for her, you would know! She knows, but its the kind of love which I wanted the world to know of. Again, thats precisely the kind of romantic I am, you see. You're grand, that you let me be. 

Aastha di and sir

Lines just rhyme these days. Music is what you hear in Yogesh ji's poetry, which chugs amidst the mundane faces found in a metro. Melody is what is encased in Pratibha's poetry - who decorates you with words which cause my heart to well up. A marriage of music and melody is what it is like to see Pratibha and Yogesh descend the stairs with gorgeous smiles on their faces. Music, which is soft and lilting, is what you are, PACH. Harmony is when all the diverse voice which make you come together to celebrate poetry, and to celebrate life.  

The official, first PACH couple

Having told you this much, I am far from being done. We paused for a bit, bidding adieu to the beauty that had hosted us, only to huddle on the roadside to lend our ears to the remaining poets. Huddling and cuddling were on our agenda the entire wintry afternoon, if you remember. It was happyfying to hear an elated Sudhanshu, admitting to have found inspiration in his own verses. A cute Aavika, with usual reluctance, poured love in our hearts with her soft lyrics. Shruti, more than anything, left me flabbergasted with her vocabulary, and the dexterity with which she juggles words. Navin ji, the master performer, displayed yet again why he is multiple leagues above us all. Anurag, hmm, is a kid who overwhelms me so much that I often forget his words - thats just my connect with him. Ekansha chose Faiz above her own words - and I was glad that after Parveen Shakir and Mirza Ghalib, another Urdu poet became a part of our gathering. My own, personal, favourite surprise was when Supriya (whom I like calling #DilliKiBilli) decided to share an old piece of poetry with us. More prized, however, were her reactions to the other poets, which are what led to multiple, enthusiastic discussions about you in Kunzum. You, PACH, are just hitting it off big with people. Take my word. 

The written word

Aunty, with Aafreen!

In the most comfortable embrace, I recited and ended our journey through 2013, with sparkling hopes in my heart to see 2014 become an even more liberating, surprising, elevating celebration of poetry and life. Did I already say that earlier? Well, again, it fits. You, and I, have come to a happy place. You, and I, and all of us together. You are among the most satisfying of my experiences. You infuse pride, sure, but then, you're humbling too. When I look back at this one-day-over-half-a-year we've spent together, nurturing and caring for each other, I feel a certain amount of nostalgia. Why nostalgia? Because you are the best thing to have happened to me in a long time. Years and years hence, I shall be talking about you to my grandchildren, with sketchy details, perhaps, but all the correct emotions. You are a toddler, whose pace of growth, honestly, is a little scary. But then, we're in it, together. I'm writing to you, but will you mind terribly if through this letter, I also thank each single person who has ever supported us in the smallest of manners? You're grand, and innocent. I think you would want to be with me in thanking them all. 

Happy 'half year old' PACH!

Its a flood of fond emotions, but its just the beginning. And when I mention beginning, I instinctively thank Anup. He conceived you, you know - so you technically began in his head. But about these endless words of gratitude, he knows much now. 

Happiness and hope

And so, dear PACH, I wish you a happy, fulfilling and thrilling New Year. You flow in my head right now like a mesmerizing background melody. You set me free. In your own, unique, magical way. As a last confession - you've made me grow fonder of myself - and this, I value, beyond everything else associated with you. 

Much love.
Saumya. 

All the awesome people!

PS - I am so full of you, and you're coming back, so soon? Oh, PACH. You just know how I like being loved best :) We meet again, Sunday, 12th January.

In my happy zone