Overwhelmed!

Recently, I had a wonderful opportunity of attending a book reading by Gulzar ji's Neglected Poems, his new collection of poems translated by Pavan Verma. Gulzar ji is a gem of a lyricist and a poet. I absolutely love his lyrics...
Nevertheless it was a dream come true to hear him read his poetry...so I grabbed my copy and needless to say thoroughly enjoyed reading The Neglected Poems. Gulzar ji's poems are simple and oh-so rich in imagery!
Sharing one of my favourite from the collection..

ऐश ट्रे पूरी भर गई है ...

जगह नहीं और डायरी में
ये ऐश ट्रे पूरी भर गई है
भरी हुई है जले बुझे अध् कहे ख्यालों की रख-व-बू से
ख्याल पूरी तरह से जो की जले नहीं थे
मसल दिया या दबा दिया था , बुझे नहीं वो
कुछ उनके टुर्रे पड़े हुये हैं
बस एक दो कश ही लेके कुछ मिसरे रह गए थे

कुछ ऐसी नज़्में जो तोड़ कर फेंक दी थी उसमें
धुआं न निकले
कुछ ऐसे आशार जो मेरे 'ब्रैन्ड' के नहीं थे
वो एक ही कश में खांस कर , ऐश ट्रे में
घिस के बुझा दिए थे

इस ऐश ट्रे में
'ब्लेड' से काटी रात की नब्ज़ से टपकते
सियाह कतरे बुझे हुए हैं
छिले हुए चाँद की त्राशें
जो रात भर छील छील कर फेंकता रहा हूँ
घड़ी हुई पेंसिलों के छिलके
ख्यालों की शिदद्तों से  जो टूटती रही हैं ।

The Ash-tray is Overflowing

No more place is left in the diary:
This ash-tray is completely full!
It is full of the ash and smell of
Half-lit, half-burnt, half-said thoughts;
Thoughts which were not yet fully alight
Stubbed or pushed away, not yet extinguished;
Only some remnants lying about
And some verses
From whom only one or two drags were taken.

Some poems broken and thrown in
so that they do not smoulder;
Other couplets, not of my brand,
Stubbed, after coughing on but one puff.

In this ash-tray
Lie extinguished black drops
Dripping from the vein of the night
Cut by a blade;
Slivers from the moon
Which I have scraped the whole night;
Shavings of pencil which
Kept breaking against the extremes of thought.

Source: Neglected Poems, Gulzar
Translated by Pavan K. Varma

10/10

So these days every other girl wants to be model eh? Have you realized lately,that every other girl is seen posing in an anticipation of getting her dream portfolio made!? =/
So how could my beloved Hazel be left behind in the race? well, the sad part is that she has become very temperamental these days...[and yes i'm missing her] she remains dirty,doesn't take care of herself even if she's cleaned, still craves for the warmth but doesn't reciprocate much, i don't see her around much, specially not regularly when she would wait for my friend and me in the same spot for my early morning class..summer blues i guess. But nevertheless, sharing some of her old photographs...
She's soo sexy, isn't she?! ;) :P

 

Direction and photography: Maitreyi and myself

Madhubani and Mithila art

 Mirror becomes a razor when it's broken, Wood becomes a flute when it's loved...

  

                           1. ink on paper                                              2.ink and metallic gold on paper

Flute

Listen to this soothing track by Ananda Shankar

 

A World of Scarecrows

 

 

Who is a Scarecrow?
People who are mentally ill, or people who make them feel one?
What is insanity?
Who then is really normal?
A world, a World of Scarecrows

In the process of my training in psychology, I often wondered why is it that people who are different, people who challenge the so called 'normality' are put into grids, as if stratified into rows and columns? We all do it, society does it. We box them and keep them aside. We adhere to the manual. We dictate them as right or wrong, as eccentrics, probably as even the scum of the earth. We justify our acts so as to keep the society safe, not bothering to see whether THEY are safe at all.

The play ‘A World of Scarecrows’ is an attempt to create Mental Health Awareness amongst common people and to give them a glimpse into the lives of people suffering from distinct psychological disorders, the stigmas they're often subjected to and the ridicule they face at the hands of the society. We targeted particularly four psychological disorders, namely-Schizophrenia, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Anorexia Nervosa and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. The presentation culminated in the form of the stage production with elements of music, lights and an installation. With this, we asserted the necessity of being receptive to their needs and to integrate them through adjustment as part of the larger society.
A milestone worth mentioning is when we were invited to stage our play at a medical conference in Ram Manohar Lohia (RML) Hospital. Here, targeting a different audience was an experience that will be much cherished!

.

 

Attention Deficit

Ink,Metallic gold and acrylic on paper. (A4)

Intzaar...

युहीं लम्हें बीतते रहे,
रातें कटती रहीं
युहीं सासें चलती रहीं ।
इंतज़ार बड़ता रहा,
इंसान तड़पता रहा ...


युहीं  आफ़ताब पिघलता रहा,
चांदनी चमकती रही 
युहीं रागिनी गूंजती रही ।
इंतज़ार चेहेकता  रहा,
इंसान बेहेकता रहा... 


युहीं महफ़िलें सजती रहीं,
समाः बंधता रहा 
युहीं बे-वजह धागे उलझते रहे।
इंतज़ार मचलता रहा ,
इंसान खल्ता रहा...

युहीं आहटें धीमी होती रहीं,
करवटें बदलती रहीं 
युहीं सिलवटें बिगड़ती रहीं ।
इंतज़ार तैरता रहा,
इंसान डूबता रहा...

युहीं घड़ी की सूइयाँ घूमती रहीं,
वक़्त ढलता रहा
युहीं रक्त बहता रहा।
इंतज़ार थमता रहा , गलता रहा, बुझता रहा 
इंसान दीवाना हो गया ...

१०.३.२०१२  

my intzaar sketch done a few years back- http://13freebird.blogspot.in/2011/09/blog-post.html
 

Freebird...

Sharing a beautiful rendition of a punjabi poem by Shiv Kumar Batalvi- Jee Chahe Panchhi Ho Jaava sung by Jasleen Royal.

The original poem and its translation is as follows:

Jee chaahe panchi ho jaavaan,
Ud daa jaavaan, gaunda jaavaan,
Anchuhe sikharaan nu Choo paavaan,
Is duniya deeyaan raahvaan bhul ke
Pher kade na vaapas aavaan.

I wish that I could be a bird
That I could fly, that I could sing,
That I could touch untouchable peaks,
That I could forget the roads of the world,
And never return.

Ja ishnaan karaan vich jam-jam
La Deekaan peeyaan daan da paani.
Maan-sarovar de beh kande
Tutta jiha ik geet maen gaavaan.
Ja baethaan vich khireeyaan royeean
Phakaar pauna itar-sajoeeyaan.
Him-Teesiyaan moiyaan moiyaan
Yugaan yugaan taun kakkar hoiyaan
Ghut kaleje maen garmaavaan.
Jee chaahe panchi ho jaavaan. 

I would bath luxuriously
Drinking long sips of water.
By the shore of a great lake,
I would sing a halting song.
I would go into a flowering wilderness
Gulp the perfume laden winds.
I would warm in a tight embrace,
The peaks of mountains,
Deadened by centuries of freezing cold.
I wish that I could be a bird.

Hoe aahlana vich shatootaan,
Jaan vich jand, kareer, sarootaan,
Aaun poorere de seet faraate,
Lachkaare iyun laen Daaliyaan
JyuN koi Doli kheDe jaReeyaan
Vaal khalaari lae lae jhootaan.
Ik din aisa jhakkarh jhulle
Ud pud jaavan sab hi teelee
Be-ghar be-dar main ho jaavaan.
Saari umar peeyaan ras gham da
Aise nashe vich jind handaavaan,
Jee chaahe panchi ho jaavaan.


My nest would be among the mulberry trees,
On in the caper, the mesquite or the cypress.
When the cold east wind blew
The jewelled branches would bend
As if playing, swaying
With their hair flying in the wind.
One day there would be a storm
And all the twigs would all scatter.
Nestless, homeless, I would become,
For the rest of my life I would drink the nectar of sorrow
And live my life in its intoxication.
I wish that I could be a bird...

source: jee chahe panchhi ho jaava