Showing posts with label magic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label magic. Show all posts

Thursday, June 4, 2015

Badi Pagal Si Ladki Hai

Prelude - For my birthday this year, I got many gifts, in gestures, in words, in books, in love - in many other manifestations, but the gift I am sharing with you all here is the most special among them. To have had these words read out to me was an experience nothing short of magical and extremely humbling. Gratitude fills me as I post this -

Badi paagal si ladki hai..
Ajab khwaabon mein rehti hai..

Bikhre baal rakhti hai…
Alag sa haal rakhti hai…

Alag ek dhun mein rehti hai…
Hamesha hasti rehti hai…

Kabhi khamosh ho jaye…
Yun toh kam hi hota hai…
Ke jab khamosh hoti hai…
Fiza pe rang nahi chadhta..
Bahaarein laut jaati hain…
Ghatayein ghir bhi jaayein gar…
Boondein dam nahi bharti…

Aur jab muskuraati hai…
Gul bhi muskuraate hain…
Mausam khil ke aate hain…

Ajeeb ik zid si hai pakde…
Ke Gul sehraa mein khilaane hain
Sab kaante mehkaane hain..
Roton ko hasaana hai, roothon ko manaana hai..
Gham duniya ke mitaane hain..

Kabhi koi jo gham, uska..
Gar humsaaya ho jaye…

Gham se ru-ba-ru hokar..
Milaa kar aankh har ranj se…
Yun muskuraayegi..
Ke gham muskura dega

Dard ki baahon mein daal kar baahein …
Yun gungunaayegi…
Ke dard bhi gungunaayega…

Koi bhi dharm duniya ka…
Isko soojhta kab hai…
Mohabbat pooja karti hai..
Mohabbat socha karti hai…

Kabhi poochho sabab iska..
Toh hans ke itna kehti hai…
Ke tum dekhna jaana…
..Ke tum dekhna jaana…
Ik roz duniya ko…
Mohabbat Main sikha dungi..
Ik roz duniya ko…
Main ishq bana dungi…

Badi Deewani ladki hai…

Ke bas khwaabon mein rehti hai…


Picture credits - Mayank Austen Soofi

Sunday, June 8, 2014

Unwritten

There is this clear, brown, whiskey-ish tinged glass of Earl Grey resting lazily on the table in front of me. Its been sitting like that for ten minutes now, and even though I really want to sip in the warm liquid and feel my nose and throat react to the subtle strength of the concoction like a cold child wrapped in the benevolence of a blanket, I merely inhale the aroma and stop. And smile. And remember. Wasn’t he similar to this cup of tea – magnificent in his beauty like amber in a crystal goblet, but someone to inhale, not someone to sip from too soon? Or ever?

I wasn't falling for him. I did, however, for a brief moment, fall into him. He had a careless stare, but one which could pierce right through you when he so desired. He had a million irrelevant details to talk about, but somehow, when his velvet voice touched the words, they acquired importance, even if they were mouthed out in a slumber-deprived, slurred speech. There was so much visibly wrong about him, and yet, there was nothing I could point at that I did not like. He had it, he flaunted it. And no, not in the average style of a self-possessed narcissist. I mean, narcissist he was, but strangely enough, he flaunted his vulnerabilities with, almost, a performative ease. Perhaps that’s what he was – a performer, and a darn skilful one at that. Perhaps I was seeing him exactly as he wanted to be seen by me, my own judgement feeling miniaturized under his imposing (yet not arrogant) personality. In plain terms, perhaps he was a jerk. But then, perhaps he was not. And this dint of a fiercely enticing possibility kept my senses in an overdrive – for I had to use some, and curb some. I was not yet sipping, you see.

At the end of it all, I reckon I could finally arrive at a safe inference about him. He was not a majestic idea bound in the rhythmic prosody of a refined poem. He was the gloriously unwritten plot of a novel which held the promise of indecipherability since its inception in the author’s brain. If anything, he was that. To top it, he had a cute smile. And since remembering that smile puts me off-track in a strangely lunatic sort of way, I should probably focus on gulping down the cup of Earl Grey, now cold, but also pregnant with reflections of my thoughts, or him. A cup of tea, sometimes, is all it takes. 


Wednesday, April 30, 2014

To Moments Which Hold On...

Some days do not require a label for being called a celebration. They just inherently carry a celebratory air. These days need not necessarily be a birthday, an anniversary or anything close. Such days could just be a lingering thought on your mind about some extremely special moments you spent with a loved one. These moments might not be the first of their kind - but by the sheer intensity of what you share, they elevate themselves above all similar times and expressions, and become priceless, to be cherished till whatever is your concept of eternity. One such day is today, when I had a long telephone conversation with a friend, who has alternated between roles of a bestie and that bordering on filial protectiveness. This phone conversation was neither the first, nor the last of its kind - but it was an experience where the world ceased existing except for the phone in my hand and the voice reaching my ears from the other side. This phone call happened around seven years ago, at about three thirty pm in the afternoon - and there was nothing exceptional in the chit-chatting except for the fact that it gave me a sense of finally having arrived at a safe, secure place in life, and of having entered a bond which was meant to last.

My blog, at one point, was a place I honoured the most special people in my life from. I believe in expressions, but they are best left cryptic at times - for meaning to ooze out from pores which have deliberately been poked in a narrative. For the bravest person I know, I scribbled a dozen lines some ten minutes back - and they seemed pretty enough to be shared here. And so I am.

A toast, to moments which don't stop existing even long after they have passed!


Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Ammi - Letters to a Democratic Mother by Saeed Akhtar Mirza


That is why I came down to your bed that night and began to massage your feet. Do you remember? ‘That’s very nice of you Saddu … very nice,’ you had said as I kneaded your feet and ankles. I know you were surprised by my action but what I didn’t tell you was that I was hedging my bets. You had once told me that it was written in the Quran that heaven lay at the feet of all mothers. As I massaged your feet furiously, I was hoping God was watching and taking down notes. (Page 66, Ammi- Letters To A Democratic Mothers, Saeed Mirza)

The concept of motherhood is perhaps the simplest to understand. It is universal. No man can eschew its influence, both, in the presence and absence of a mother. Despite being simple and universal, the intricacies of motherhood are complex to the observer’s eyes; unfathomable too. Thoughts, theories and eulogies exist aplenty about it all - the most apt perhaps being the one which equates mother to God- the Creator. The divinity, the unquestionable haloed status of a mother arises from the fact that she is the channel through which new, nascent life forms set foot in the world. She seamlessly glides into the role of a Preserver too, as she nurtures and protects her infant, and oversees his/her growth into an able, and healthy adult. Truly has been said about this unsung hero who decorates each child’s life with beauty and comfort that she is not someone to be understood from the outside. Only a mother can understand the dynamics of a mother’s heart. She is the most powerful influence in the early stages of a man’s life, but not always understood by the very objects of her love. The time when she is, is sometimes too late.


On the surface, the debut novel of Saeed Akhtar Mirza, seems to be building on this lamentation associated with motherhood. Below the surface, the same novel derives heavily from a psychedelic mix of unrelated concepts, thoughts, ideas and people to form a narrative which is engaging and unconventional. Ammi- Letters to a Democratic Mother is a unique book. At its core lies a son’s awe, admiration and reverence for his mother. However, the book seeks to investigate more than just the relationship between a child and his mother. This book is a journey across time and space, events and people which influenced a young mind. This book is also a sensitive, yet not sentimentally, written ode of a child to his mother, posthumously.

Saeed Akhtar Mirza – the name may be new to the world of contemporary Indian literature, but it is very popular among art cinema aficionados. After a decade of bollywood inspired by the angry young man in whom the discontent of the middle class found voice, 1980s were a decade of creative degeneration, as is rued in polemical accounts by cinema critics. The 1980s, also called the ‘disco’ decade, were also the decade in which the Indian art cinema scene came of age. Serious in content and keenly intent upon telling realistic stories inspired from sociopolitical climate of the times, this wave of cinema was endorsed and led by acclaimed film-makers foremost among whom was Saeed Akhtar Mirza. By making and presenting films like Naseem, Mohan Joshi Hazir Ho, Saleem Langde Pe Mat Ro and Albert Pinto Ko Gussa Kyun Aata Hai to an audience blinded by the glitz and glamour of mainstream cinema, Mirza had long established himself as a master storyteller. This time around too, he comes out to tell a story, story within stories, only using a slightly different medium. He holds a pen in his hand instead of a camera, and churns out a novel which delights with its understanding of important concepts and world events.

Mirza’s mother passed away in 1990. Despite being in the same city, Mirza could not meet his mother before her death due to a mundane act of procrastination. This novel was penned around 2007 in the form of a long, continuous letter written posthumously by Mirza to his mother. Despite this lucid proclamation, this novel is cannot be categorized under the routine epistolary form of writing. In his narrative, Mirza mixes together more than half a dozen literary forms to aid the narrative as and when required. Ranging from critical reporting of global and domestic events, parables, poetries (Urdu and English), short stories, historical accounts, travelogue, to satires and plain sharing of memories- this novel keeps changing the landscape a reader journeys on while reading it. Quite remarkably, experimenting with different literary genres does not, even for once, compromise upon the continuity and comprehensibility of the broad storyline. The essence remains constant; it is aided by scores of vignettes inserted at appropriate places to make the narrative engaging and entertaining.
The author - Saeed Akhtar Mirza

It is quite difficult to succinctly put into words the basic storyline, or what one would call the essence  of this novel. It has many stories to tell, many events to discuss and many discourses to give. However, broadly, in the form of a single letter, Mirza relates to the reader the domestic affairs of an ordinary Indian family. He begins with salutations to his mother and then goes onto build her personality, one that was formidable and inspirational from where he saw the world. He begins her story from the time of her marriage, and with sensitivity and sensibility, tracks her growth into a mature woman, who despite having begun her life in a cocoon, stands up as the moral, spiritual and even financial pillar for her family. A character analysis, albeit interesting, will take up a lot of space here, but suffice to say that it is a bildungsroman of a kind, in which many characters grow, and mature around the central, pervasive figure of the mother. At the end of the main narrative, the script of a film comes attached - which merits an entire review and analysis for itself. The magic of the book has many manifestaions - insight on love and relationship, history and politics, society and culture, individual and family - and so much more! 

That said, I have to emphasize that this book is compilation of rare beauties, which kept me enamoured from the first word. The most beautiful and believable love story unlocked itself in the pages of this book, almost like a fable of coming together, and staying together. It is a book I hold dear, very dear. It made me smile internally, it prompted me to think and reflect, it also motivated me to investigate into incidents and people mentioned. What more can a literary creation aspire for? Certain pieces of beauty should not be rated, but if I could, I would give it five stars on five, and perhaps some more.


Book Details
Author - Saeed Mirza
Publisher - Tranquebar
Published - 2008
Genre - Fiction
Pages - 385
Price - Rs. 295 (Paperback)

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

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

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Let's Grow Up Together

Dear PACH,
Can we call it the best group picture, like ever?

You're growing up into a terribly demanding kid. Kid, yes. You're that insistent, even nagging, and you cannot, just cannot stand any lack of attention from those who nurture you. I am a case in point. At the conclusion of your tenth edition, I had made a promise to myself, that for about a month and a half, I will maintain a safe, sane distance from you. But then, you crept into my dream, as a definite vision of what could a perfect incarnation of yours look like, and I jumped right back in. You see, I like holding your hand and leading you there, there where we all imagine you should be. I am privileged you grip my hand right back, and trust me. And then we travel together, in a caravan, of course, of a growing urban tribe of poets, and arrive at surreal junctions like the one which just went by. Lets talk a little about it to each other, shall we?

I was talking about you to Navin ji the other day, and one thing we concluded was that your setting this time was impeccable. Karan Bhola and Cheistha Kochhar need to be thanked for allowing us to meet you in the amazing, pristine, beautiful Sri Aurobindo Centre for Arts and Communication, which also serves as the Young India Fellowship Programme campus. It was green, and of course, that made our already hyper, young environmentalist, Aavika, chirp even louder with glee. We expected it, of course. That is one of the cooler things about you PACH. Your family has members who are known by their distinctive traits, distinctive preoccupations, distinctive inspirations and styles and perspectives on life - but they all seamlessly blend together to make you into the vibrant tapestry of gem-like thoughts. Hell yes, you're studded with all precious, not semi-precious, ideas, which are brought to table by people who dwell on comics, superheroes, first crushes, unrequited love experiences, nature, creatures, languages, family, bonds, individualism, devotion and innumerable other incongruous, yet complimentary motivations. You, its all you PACH. 
When we invited you to take it all out, and how you obliged us! 

Do you know the best thing about being where we were? The fact that we were under an open sky, not bound by any space. I could, for once, see poets relax, find their own comfort zones, walk around, freshen up their thoughts, loosen up their bodies and drink in both the chill and the sun with equal alacrity. May be you should always call us to places like this - which are free, so our thoughts could travel free. Well, poetry is a medium of travelling, to distant lands, to hearts of people - and this, of course, I learnt from Ekanksha, in an exquisitely worded introduction. Oh, introductions are the special things about you. People like talking about themselves, we love hearing about them - it all just adds up perfectly. PACH, perfection is boring. Don't be perfect - just always be better than what you were the day before. It has kind of been the trend so far, so, lets not pressurize you in that direction. 
The beautiful amphitheatre of SACAC

Three huge paragraphs, and I have not even arrived at the point, the pivot, the peak, the prime reason why this PACH was a touch above from the others. Actually, leaps and bounds ahead of all previous ones. This reason is a name - Ashok Chakradhar. A poet who is an institution in himself. While anticipating his arrival, we were hoping to meet a celebrity, one who would enamour us, meeting whom was what our collective dreams were made of. However, the actual tryst with him proved to be astonishing and humbling, both at once. In him, we met a listener, a poet and a teacher - not a celebrity. He came, he became a part of you PACH - and he took keen interest in both, knowing you and commenting on you. All good comments, goes without saying. 

Chakradhar sir was eager to listen, laugh and appreciate. Whether it was Govind narrating his love story in broken Hindi, or Dipalie finding solace and silence in her beloved's grace; whether it was Mago's poem which tickled Newton and Einstein, or Anup's ingenious, rhythmic verses giving brief lessons on living - Ashok ji heard them all with interest and enthusiasm. Aditya's ghazal needs no commenting upon anymore. Aavika, our little environmentalist, impressed Ashok ji with her naughty Sunday song, dedicated to an imagined lover. I had a short vain moment when Ashok ji appreciated Daastaan, the poem closest to my heart after 'A Thousand Times Over'. He mentioned something about having tears in his eyes after my recitation, but I will let that pass, lest I not be able to control this pride knocking so firmly on my door. The true show-stealer, however, was this poet who calls himself 'Umar'. His poetic dimension was so well hidden from me, that to this day I marvel and sense disbelief in my heart regarding it. While Ashok ji, but obviously, was mighty impressed with his compositions, I could only let my tears lose in response. His words were filling me up so much, that I actually wanted him to stop! Now that, PACH, is something new I experienced. 
This capture is amazing for the smiles spread all around, especially on 'Umar' sahab's face

Ashok ji himself couldn't hold back, and he recited something in front of us which the world as yet does not know about. I'll keep the specifics of the composition to myself, since all my letters to you PACH are sort of a public affair, but what I will let out is that in my view, his poem was a PACH epic. It was long, but it only kept getting better with each succeeding part. The tone, the rhythm, the vocabulary and the recitation - each was a lesson, each leaving us absolutely bewildered. I felt certain emotions the dictionary has no terms for - and I know for a fact that I share this bewilderment with you PACH. There is no way you do not understand this feeling. Sir was full of grace, humility and the lasting image I will carry of his will be that of a teacher sitting in the midst of 35 odd students, teaching them about Abhida, Lakshana and Vyanjana...


In hindsight, I cannot believe sir gave me a high five for a naive comment during his recitation :)

And the shawl! Looked so perfect on him. You do very well know how much more I want to talk about Ashok sir, but then, there are other poets I MUST make a mention of. 

Dipalie said something very intriguing and remarkable about you PACH. She said, if the air around and within you is canned and carried to different places, will creative genies cast their spells on everyone they come in contact with? Essentially, she was giving voice to the shock and awe I experience when first time poets, or people who are still nascent in this realm of writing churn out completely incredible, top level verses. I mean, so many have come to your gatherings admitting that they never write, of if they write they don't write in a particular language, and that they don't share their creations with anyone or in public. Now, how many of those very people have gifted you surreal words and expressions you want to neatly and carefully compile together in a treasure trove of poems which will undoubtedly leave the world stunned? The number is too good to be true. 
Iti, Ekanksha and Mago - three outstanding poets PACH is blessed with

When we last met you PACH, people shared too much. Right from the beginning, where Ekanksha put our day long journey on the perfect track, till the very end, by those melodies stolen from Rafi sahab and Jagjit ji's corpus, each moment you breathed, I lived a little more. The Elephant in the Room, by Vaishali, left a giant impact on each heart. Navin ji's reflections on truth, which went from lived experiences, to philosophical abstractions to realistic deconstructions was akin to a compilation drawn from our collective childhood. Jyoti and Anup's duet was soft, lyrical, lilting. Anurag's composition reflected mature thoughts and word usage. Neha's poem, read in absentia, was rich with genuine devotion expressed in unforgettable phrases. Mansi always adds that spontaneity and ebullience to the group. Ghosts of Neha Bawa's past still haunt my heart. Iti, demure and dignified, touched each soul with her ode to the most special, umbilical bond which life grants us. 
In his smart winter attire, the writer par excellence


And, even though I feel out of breath recollecting such vast list of poem, each uniquely special and remembered by me, I cannot help but make a distinct mention of Kamal, whose poem was so amazing, that I cannot even begin to describe it in words. "Hum Aapki Kyun Karein?" is a simple question, but demands some understandably difficult answers. I want a larger world to read that poem, PACH - it had so many echoes which have so far only reverberated within the walls of heart. I invited him as the next guest blogger on Nascent Emissions - I think he will agree. 
The photographer-painter-poet


All these, each one of these, make you so special. PACH, you cannot be a lifeless concept. You are growing, one meet at a time. The pace of your growth has been scary, but hey, some crazy magic works here, remember?

I want all this love, disbelief and fondness to grow, as you grow. I want myself to grow, as you grow. You keep acquiring newer meanings for me, dear PACH. Its an enormously satisfying, calming feeling I am blessed with in time present. 

Winters are here. Let's promise each other some warmth and some awesome balmy days we spend holding each other's hands. 

With love and bright hopes for future, 

Saumya 

PS - I have to admit, that at times, so much happens during a single PACH meet, that I find myself incapable to registering and processing it all. It is for this reason that writing these letters is so important for me. This is where it all sinks in. This is all like being in love. For so many of us.
In the subtle glow of setting sun...

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Pyaar is PACH

Dear PACH

You know writing to you means a lot to me. A lot more than these letters are ever able to convey to you. I always thought of you as this grand entity, to whom I could write a lot of letters, about the kind of difference you make to my life - and you would give my letters a cursory glance, a benign nod at most, and then forget about it, allowing it to sink somewhere in the deluge of fanmail you get. But you, PACH, you're different. Nervous and excited, as I entered your ninth carnivalesque gathering, little did I know that you would have ready for me letters and notes and colours and brush-strokes - an entire collection of artistic treasures in response to all these words and love-filled gestures I have sent your way. Its only someone with a heart as large as yours who could have managed it - yes, you!
"P aur CH ki shaadi se kaam achchhe hue hain
Mubarak ho aapko, PACHche hue hain!"
 


Remember that day you were born? Oh, I am talking of your rebirth - not in that faraway land, but in my own backyard. That was the day you filled me with mirth, and filled three other quiet quills with inspiration. Yes. You were born as an inspiration, or better still, you were born to inspire, to motivate, to instil in tentative minds an urge to explore their dormant creative facets. I am not kidding - you can ask them around. Yes, you can ask those very faces who were waiting to burst into cheers and laughs from behind the colourful door at Bade Bhaiya's house. Tell me, aren't you glad that genuinely amazing people like Bade Bhaiya, Bhabhi, Sripriya and Amma associate themselves with you? That they not only open the doors of their house, but also of their hearts for you? That their love reaches you not just via the warm reception you get, but also through the aroma of most sumptuous, home-made food that is laid down specially for you? That Manmohan bhaiya always manages to find time to share his compositions with you despite having ultra-busy schedules? Also, aren't you, like, totally flabbergasted to have someone like Sandeep bhaiya add dollops of exuberance to your already lively existence, and then, to have him invite you over for a snug session somewhere in the chilly month of December? Yes yes, I know you are excited to go over and revel in the mutual exchange of happy, positive energies - but there is time till we get to that. 
Bade Bhaiya - "Larger Than Life"

S P Uncle, Manmohan Bhaiya and Sripriya -
I consider myself lucky to have met them :) 

I am not able to get over the love that poured out of sweet dish which Amma made for us. And the subtle cheer which Ambika bhabhi carried in her personality. And also the wisdom which poured out of S. P. Uncle's simple versus drawing a contest between technology and traditions. This time when we all met, there was a perfect confluence of enthusiasm and sagacity - an experience that can only be felt, not delineated. When the teacher and taught are present in the same room, with no walls separating them - as spectators what you get are little hints into what 'perfection' in life comprises of and what the true definition of a 'blessing' is. It all happens when you go places, PACH. And you are zooming around at a pretty mind-boggling speed. You still give us ample time to sit down and savour moments and allow them to seep deep into our beings. How you manage such crazy, magical, impossible, contradictory acts - well, its time I stopped asking you that banal question. 
When excitement was on its uphill journey 



I hope the superboss does not mind this little transgression I am going to make while whispering something into your ears. I remember this day I gave my mother a long-ish letter, written in my unbelievably grotesque handwriting, with a lot of random crayon strokes forming the background. She said nothing, merely read it and smiled - and this day, I know she was happy and proud. But more than either of them, she was surprised - because she did not think I was capable of such expressiveness (and yes, I am trying hard not to sound vain, but PACH, I know you understand. PACH always understands). I wrote that letter for no specific occasion; only because I felt like doing it, and invested great hours into perfecting each sentence, so my mother understands how important she is to my life. The sense behind narrating this non-eclectic incident to you is to try and approximate the immediate thought which occupied my head between the end of surprises and beginning of introductions. PACH, you surprised me. Well, I know thats what you intended - but no! Its not the surprise that surprised me - your capacity and capability did. Your skills and warmth did. Your eagerness to love did. Your will to share did. Your remarkable maturity did. The gleam in your eyes did. So much more did. I feel like telling you what I often tell Anup - whoever gave birth to this phenomenon, it now has acquired a life of its own. It just knows where to go, how to progress. 
"Poore PACH ka jama chittha, ek jagah chipkaya hai"


You have little idea of what you pulled off. Given a week's distance, I am in a better position to understand and appreciate the spectacle. To Neha, I need to say - I cried. I should have been howling, but I could not understand half the buzz which surrounded me. Its a great feeling to be subdued once in a while - take my word for it. I might try and repeat the mommy metaphor here - but, you get the drift. 
One day, we'll read and not eat this one :) 


Dear PACH, how does one pack so much together? Do you know what all? Drama + Mad laughs + Chocolates + Feelings + Love + Tears + Sugar + Bling + Disbelief + Riddles + Poems + Colours + Energy + Creativity + Blessings + Beauty + More disbelief + Even more love + Wishes + Fishes + Hugs + Tales + Some more love... and I'm cutting short this list only because I am too sleepy. You can still know that you made me feel infinitely special. I can go ahead and say that this was one piece missing from the jigsaw of life. Only you were capable of putting it there with all crazy, gaudy shades. 

This picture carries one of the rarer, photographed smiles of
perhaps the most prolific poet I know - Navin Dutta. I'm learning from him, each day. 
He just might be narrating his letter to his future wife here.
Wonder how many would be scurrying in his direction after hearing him out. 

I came back home and I cried. Shamelessly. I cried remembering the surprise and the things that followed thereafter. I couldn't get over the fact that people from such diverse backgrounds and experiences sat down together and shared anecdotes without any fear or inhibitions. My favourite part of the day was when a voice that has alternately and ironically been called the fairer, but second sex found expression in a poem which contained echoes from a pleading womb. A few of us related incidents where our gender became our curse, but then, the elders in the gathering assured us that things are changing - that daughters are the glory parents are eager to embrace. PACH, I felt secure among all those good people, and I am carrying the satisfaction of having arrived at a good and pure place in life. 
Nautanki! But bahut pyaari wali

Aastha didi - why could have I not met you sooner?

This letter is not even close to its end, but, I would quote the tiny princess of PACH here and rest my quill till the next (festive) tryst with you. Also, because I am sleepy and will drop dead in next five minutes. So, as Aavika says - "Kuchh baatein adhoori rehne diya karo, mann bhara rehta hai."



You see that guy in his staple red shirt?
I am proudly his fan! 
There, right there are seated some of the most awesome poets Delhi has been witness to. 

PACH, among the many epithets you've acquired, I love it when they say - Love is PACH, and PACH is love (I heard both). I'll thank you once again, with a kiss this time. I am happily, crazily in love with you. 


More love, 

Saumya
(Panda)
Alter ego. Happily so!


PS - We're meeting next a day before Diwali. You're all like family now, and it only makes sense to share some sweets and hugs with you on this grand, bright, merry occasion. No firecrackers, unless they are of the Mago variety which cause laughter mayhem whenever lighted. Even if you have never been to PACH, and are reading about it for the first time, trust my word and book this Saturday for us. Drop a mail to poetry@pach.in for an invite. We're looking forward to you all! 



I wish I had preserved this!


Heights of craziness is this - gifting me Afremov. How?
(Thanks Kamal!)