हर्फ़ की क्या बात करें, हर्फ़ तो बस खुद से वफ़ा करते हैं,
मायने तो बयाँ करते हैं, कहाँ अन्दाज-ए-बयाँ बयाँ करते हैं।
लिख तो दें हज़ारों परीशाँ अपने इस सफ़र-ए-रहगुजर पे,
लफ़्ज कहाँ, यह अफ़साना तो बस हमसफ़र ही बयाँ करते हैं।
तमाम वाक्ये लिख दें या कुछ को खाक हो जाने दें,
चंद रंग ही तो हैं जो असल तस्वीर बनाया करते हैं।
जो हुआ सो हुआ, किसि से शिकवा नहीं ’बरसी’,
खाना-बदोश तो यूँ ही बिन सुराग कूच कर जाया करते हैं।
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Bollywood ishtyle
I know I am not the big expert on bollywood music as the chaturvedis and that I am branded dyslexic when it comes to music but I know when it is not right. This song for example. I was listening to arbit kishore da's songs when I came across this. I knew the lyrics alright but did not have the entire song by heart. But what followed made me fall to the floor laughing. Alright, alright I was a little drunk too.
Here are the lyrics, verbatim.
hum bewafa hargiz na the,
par hum wafa kar na sake
humko mili uski saza hum jo khata kar na sake
hum bewafa hargiz na the
par hum wafa kar na sake
aabu gachu kaba chabu kusu vaacha,
aabu kusuku vasuku vaani aacha,
jhingalala hmmm jhingalala hmmm jhigalala hmm,
hurrr hurrrr
tsch tsch tsch,
ooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhh aaaaaaaaahhhh,
turrrrrrrrrrrrrr turrrrrrrrrrrrr turrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr,
turrrrrrrrrrrrrr turrrrrrrrrrrrr turrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr,
kitni akeli thi wo rahein hum jinpe ab tak akele chalte rahe,
tujhse bichhad ke bhi o bekhabar tere hi gum mein jalte rahe
tune kiya jo shikwa hum wo gila kar na sake,
hum bewafa hargiz na the,
aabu gachu kaba chabu kusu vaacha,
par hum wafa kar na sake,
aabu kusuku vasuku vaani aacha,
jhingalala hmmm jhingalala hmmm jhigalala hmm.
(The author bangs his head on the floor laughing and is unconscious now)
wtf, mate?
Friday, May 16, 2008
Alive
parched throat, blistering feet,
throbbing pulse, rotting heat,
hand webbings cut by paper,
hangin's doubtful, shootin's safer.
Oh! I feel alive.
no more missing the bearer of scythe,
wish for a long life, a collection of plithe.
I feel the life-worm wriggling inside,
a lung's missing, heart on a roller-coaster ride.
Oh! I feel alive.
bonds severed and later retied,
when I hid the truth, should have better lied.
A burning rash at the back of the neck,
tire in a moment, drop like a sack.
Oh! I feel alive.
Dreadful dreams, sleep is a sin,
when running alone, you always win.
shaking limbs, swollen tongue, gums are sore,
bliss's waiting, can't open the door
Oh! I do feel alive.
throbbing pulse, rotting heat,
hand webbings cut by paper,
hangin's doubtful, shootin's safer.
Oh! I feel alive.
no more missing the bearer of scythe,
wish for a long life, a collection of plithe.
I feel the life-worm wriggling inside,
a lung's missing, heart on a roller-coaster ride.
Oh! I feel alive.
bonds severed and later retied,
when I hid the truth, should have better lied.
A burning rash at the back of the neck,
tire in a moment, drop like a sack.
Oh! I feel alive.
Dreadful dreams, sleep is a sin,
when running alone, you always win.
shaking limbs, swollen tongue, gums are sore,
bliss's waiting, can't open the door
Oh! I do feel alive.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Background score
Opening credits : Little Green Bag - Reservoir Dogs
Waking up : Mad World - Gary Jules
Average day : Har Kadam Zehmatein, har nafas uljhanein
First date : Why can't we give love that one more chance ..
Falling in love : Koi tujhse achhi milegi nahin, koi tujhse kam bhi chalegi nahin
Love scene : Saala main to baap ban
Fight scene : Misirlou - Pulp Fiction
Breaking up : Ranjish hi Sahi ..
Getting back together : Comfortably Numb
Secret love : Baawra Mann
Life's okay : Roll another joint - Tom Petty
Mental breakdown : Down in a hole -
Driving : Road Tripping - RHCP
Learning a lesson : Say - John Mayer
Deep thought : Hazaaron Khwahishein aisi ..
Flashback : Khoye khoye chand ki talaash mein ..
Partying : Khalbali
Happy dance : Baba O' riley
Regreting : Unko paa sake na hum to dil ka ajeeb haal tha, ab palat ke dekhiye to baat thi kuchh muhaal si.
Long night alone : Jee mein aata hai yeh murda chand sitare noch lun.
Death scene : Space Oddity - David Bowie
Closing credits : I'm shipping upto
source
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Howdy!
Old Ray sat in his rocking chair chewing his favourite Oliver Twist and half-used bible by his side, doing what he liked best - long for the years long forgone. His writhed with pain as a rogue speck of tobacco pierced through the left gum. His set of dentals had been once been the pride of Rocksville. Dr. Bernard round the corner had once offered two thousand quids and a life-long dental care assurance of the false ones for his set to be put up in his showcase. Even Marty envied them. He regretted now to have turned down the doctor's offer of what were now irregular chipped pieces of yellow rock.
Old Peggy left her pail and came over to talk to her husband, for she knew where his mind wandered.
Ray - "Our fate has gone off to a deep slumber. Doesn't even wake up on Thanksgiving."
Peggy - "Don't you curse fate. Nothing other than dust, comes around sitting in the Sun on this chair. No work comes up walking to your doorstep. Stop beating the devil about the stump for heavens' sake."
Just as Ray realized where this conversation was going he was relieved to see his old pal Billy coming up on old Tolstoy. Peggy hastily picked up her pail and went inside the cottage. Ray was not one of her favorites.
Ray remembered the days when Billy and himself where the best showmen in town. Maybe they still were. Rowdy, short-tempered young men - ready for hire, B'hoys as they loved to call themselves. They loved their jobs. Putting on the caboodle - Bandanna, chaps, gloves, boots, spurs and the hat - doing stunt scenes for movie and documentary directors infatuated with Texas. The wealthy ambitious goons who paid for the entire town to go camping, so that they could have complete silence and capture the sounds of buzzing flies, creaking doors and rustling mud. They were an extinct breed now and so were Billy and Ray.
"Any news, brother?", asked Billy half-heartedly rolling up a brain tablet for himself.
"Bosh, I tell you. Let's go up to Vegas I say and stand at gates giving ugly sly looks to the visitors. That will earn us some pieces of Lincoln".
Billy sensed the mood.
"Don't you worry, good sir, you need to be dead meat before you see the mighty Gospel Mill. Nothing comes around easily. Hear what I propose. Let us gig our rides and hit the Westrock bar. They say a great many punters-wanna-be-punks have necktie-parties there watching High Plains Drifters".
Ray liked the idea of having a couple of Cowboy Cocktails and preaching to young jarhead laddies. He whistled and Marty led out a slow whimper. In his prime he ran ahead of the pack in The Great Train Robbery, but now the small ride to the town centre tired him. Moreover, Ray was known for putting his spurs to use frequently and unnecessarily.
"Gitty-up".
The town centre was unusually buzzy. The new electronic store added to the hullaboo. Westrock was at the corner of the street and was easily spotted for its wooden exteriors. Ray laughed at how the movies painted Rocksville. There were more people in the town centre than there were in 10 western movies combined.
Billy and ray let themselves in and settled in the centre. Their entrance was not preceded by any particular symphony nor did the place quiet down. Everyone did throw a sideward glance for they were out of place, two old rowdies in a joint meant for humbugs. Everyone here brought their kit in bags and changed inside the bar lest they become the laughing stock of the town.
"Two large Base Burners boy!"
As time passed the men were off on another bender and the saplings got interested. Drunkards were not a common site here as diuretics like cranberry juice were the chart-toppers. And then Billy burst into the Cowboys Lament.
As I walked out in the streets of Laredo,
As I walked out in Laredo one day,
I spied a young cowboy wrapped up in white linen,
Wrapped up in white linen and cold as the clay.
Ray piped in.
"O beat the drum slowly and play the fife lowly;
Play the Dead March as you carry me along.
Take me to the green valley and lay the sod o're me,
For I'm a young cowboy and I know I done wrong."
This in particular piqued everyone's interest. Soon there was a huddle round the small center-table with youngsters trying to pick up the tune.
"Lads - boots, hats and check shirts are not what makes you a real cowboy, are they?", said Ray
Everyone suddenly noticed a striking similarity in the gear they were wearing. Everyone had picked it up from Maceys Texan Clearance Collection on the way to Rocksville. Billy and Ray were climbing the ladder of respect six rungs at a time.
"What makes you a real cowboy are cigars, and guns"
"Hear, hear." enchanted the crowd.
"And I am not talking about strawberry or honey flavoured makins that you scallywags smoke, but that ones that make you lunger with each fag. Oliver Twist rolled up in Maduro cuban leaf. If anybody dissents with this should speak now. Shoot, Luke, or give up the Gun."
Billy could see some cigars being dropped to the floor silently.
"Pajeros", continued Ray, "between your thumb and index. The best thing that most of you ladies will ever hold."
"And guns, ah! But that is for some other time. Additionally, guns kill."
Marty was on the door already. Billy followed suit.
Ray slept early that day. It was monday tomorrow and he had an early meeting with his project manager.
Old Peggy left her pail and came over to talk to her husband, for she knew where his mind wandered.
Ray - "Our fate has gone off to a deep slumber. Doesn't even wake up on Thanksgiving."
Peggy - "Don't you curse fate. Nothing other than dust, comes around sitting in the Sun on this chair. No work comes up walking to your doorstep. Stop beating the devil about the stump for heavens' sake."
Just as Ray realized where this conversation was going he was relieved to see his old pal Billy coming up on old Tolstoy. Peggy hastily picked up her pail and went inside the cottage. Ray was not one of her favorites.
Ray remembered the days when Billy and himself where the best showmen in town. Maybe they still were. Rowdy, short-tempered young men - ready for hire, B'hoys as they loved to call themselves. They loved their jobs. Putting on the caboodle - Bandanna, chaps, gloves, boots, spurs and the hat - doing stunt scenes for movie and documentary directors infatuated with Texas. The wealthy ambitious goons who paid for the entire town to go camping, so that they could have complete silence and capture the sounds of buzzing flies, creaking doors and rustling mud. They were an extinct breed now and so were Billy and Ray.
"Any news, brother?", asked Billy half-heartedly rolling up a brain tablet for himself.
"Bosh, I tell you. Let's go up to Vegas I say and stand at gates giving ugly sly looks to the visitors. That will earn us some pieces of Lincoln".
Billy sensed the mood.
"Don't you worry, good sir, you need to be dead meat before you see the mighty Gospel Mill. Nothing comes around easily. Hear what I propose. Let us gig our rides and hit the Westrock bar. They say a great many punters-wanna-be-punks have necktie-parties there watching High Plains Drifters".
Ray liked the idea of having a couple of Cowboy Cocktails and preaching to young jarhead laddies. He whistled and Marty led out a slow whimper. In his prime he ran ahead of the pack in The Great Train Robbery, but now the small ride to the town centre tired him. Moreover, Ray was known for putting his spurs to use frequently and unnecessarily.
"Gitty-up".
The town centre was unusually buzzy. The new electronic store added to the hullaboo. Westrock was at the corner of the street and was easily spotted for its wooden exteriors. Ray laughed at how the movies painted Rocksville. There were more people in the town centre than there were in 10 western movies combined.
Billy and ray let themselves in and settled in the centre. Their entrance was not preceded by any particular symphony nor did the place quiet down. Everyone did throw a sideward glance for they were out of place, two old rowdies in a joint meant for humbugs. Everyone here brought their kit in bags and changed inside the bar lest they become the laughing stock of the town.
"Two large Base Burners boy!"
As time passed the men were off on another bender and the saplings got interested. Drunkards were not a common site here as diuretics like cranberry juice were the chart-toppers. And then Billy burst into the Cowboys Lament.
As I walked out in the streets of Laredo,
As I walked out in Laredo one day,
I spied a young cowboy wrapped up in white linen,
Wrapped up in white linen and cold as the clay.
Ray piped in.
"O beat the drum slowly and play the fife lowly;
Play the Dead March as you carry me along.
Take me to the green valley and lay the sod o're me,
For I'm a young cowboy and I know I done wrong."
This in particular piqued everyone's interest. Soon there was a huddle round the small center-table with youngsters trying to pick up the tune.
"Lads - boots, hats and check shirts are not what makes you a real cowboy, are they?", said Ray
Everyone suddenly noticed a striking similarity in the gear they were wearing. Everyone had picked it up from Maceys Texan Clearance Collection on the way to Rocksville. Billy and Ray were climbing the ladder of respect six rungs at a time.
"What makes you a real cowboy are cigars, and guns"
"Hear, hear." enchanted the crowd.
"And I am not talking about strawberry or honey flavoured makins that you scallywags smoke, but that ones that make you lunger with each fag. Oliver Twist rolled up in Maduro cuban leaf. If anybody dissents with this should speak now. Shoot, Luke, or give up the Gun."
Billy could see some cigars being dropped to the floor silently.
"Pajeros", continued Ray, "between your thumb and index. The best thing that most of you ladies will ever hold."
"And guns, ah! But that is for some other time. Additionally, guns kill."
Marty was on the door already. Billy followed suit.
Ray slept early that day. It was monday tomorrow and he had an early meeting with his project manager.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
You speak, I speak
It was a nice summer afternoon and the wind was chilly. I could hardly open my eyes. Hadn't slept peacefully for months now. Another dream? Certainly not. Dreams serve a purpose. Good, weird, sad, bad, something. Another hypothetical, completely random, depressing scenario spun out of pure and divine boredom and insomnia? Scenario, yes. One of the thousand screwed-up ways that things could end up in.
During this complete ritual of coming up with a appropriate term of my pathetic state, I could hardly open my eyes. Something moved in the corner. I felt the presence of somebody else in the ..... well, where am I? For a moment I forgot about with whom, and concentrated on where. Frozen floors, chilly winds, Sound of dripping water. Not a clue.
"Take your time, I will wait."
Not her again.
"Why?"
"I just want to talk to you."
"I have been hearing that for a while now. Anything new?"
I kept my eyes shut. I did not want to get locked in those eyes again. I knew that I could not do that for long. Atleast she was sitting at a distance for now. To be safe, I decided to wake up from my slumber after another word from her.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
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