Sunday, May 6, 2018

Telling Tales of The Parting

This post is in reference to the play The Parting, written by Salil Singh & Anurag Wadehra, produced by Enacte Arts and Noorani Dance 

The Parting: The Play

August 1947. The Partition of India and Pakistan. 15 million people displaced. 2 million dead.
A provocative and compelling theatrical performance woven from innumerable true life accounts blending theatre, dance, music and multimedia.

The play is inspired by true stories from witnesses of the 1947 Partition of India and Pakistan. It premiered in January 2018 at Z-Space in San Francisco; and based on popular reception, was performed at the Hammer Theatre in San Jose, California, in March 2018.  The Parting was produced by EnActe Arts and Noorani Dance, written by Salil Singh and Anurag Wadehra. The original production was directed by Salil Singh and the San Jose production by Vinita Sud Belani and Farah Yasmeen Shaikh, both with an original score composed by Raaginder Singh Momi and visual design by David Murakami.

The Parting [preview]



History & Discussion 

An hour-long discussion on the Partition project, with surviving witnesses, citizen historians, and the creative team on The Partition of India: Telling Tales of the Parting

Recorded at: Talks At Google

The Stories of The Parting

“The human history of partition has a lesser status than the political history.”
Urvashi Butalia

Telling the history of the people, and not of the politicians: this was our mantra for the play.

Over the course of the past seventy years, there has emerged a grand narrative of the Partition of British India as told in the history books. It focuses on leaders like Gandhi, Nehru, Jinnah, Patel and Mountbatten, and elaborates their visions of nation states and empires built on differing ideologies. This telling of the history devolves quickly into conflicts of personalities and policies among these men. It is dangerous and naive for it encourages us to either root for the leaders as heroes or deride them as villains. Often, this version glorifies the struggle for independence from the British but pays lip service to the toll paid by the millions who were killed or uprooted in the process. Even less is explored of why the country had to be partitioned and specifically, how this parting affected the millions of people living in relative peace in distant villages.

The Partition wasn’t a case of malicious intent that we can attribute to a few intransigent leaders. As Nehru implied [1], they were tired men who could not reconcile their differences to share power among themselves. Tragically, as August 1947 loomed and all hope of political settlement faded, there was a slow dissolution of the British colonial state with no clear operational plan to inform, guide or protect millions of people who were to be affected by such a cataclysmic event. Confusion, disbelief and shock were the dominant sentiments among the masses.

In remote villages and different communities, how did the people experience the partition? What were their perceptions and experiences? How did they react to the cascade of events?

We chose to center the play on these questions and tell stories of the people who lived through the event.  The play is based on a combination of such stories: some imagined from the plight of the millions of refugees, a few ripped from the headlines of the era that went on to become legends in modern times and some that were retrieved from scholarly research and oral histories of survivors. These stories are not meant to be literal reenactments of true events. Yet, they are all based on the real and lived experiences of millions.

We did not choose these tales for their horror or shock, although every story touches upon the atrocities committed by all sides. Instead, we selected them to showcase a broad spectrum of experiences - from the repugnant to the redeeming -  as shared by the different communities. In telling these tales, our aim was to highlight the humanity we all lost - and occasionally redeemed - through such experiences. And most of all, we selected these stories to ask a few questions that lay at the fault lines of Partition: Why did this happen? How did we turn on our neighbors? Can this ever happen again? Today, with Partition a forgotten memory for most people, such questions remain unasked and unanswered at our peril.


The narrative of the play focuses on the fate of a few families and individuals who escape in harrowing circumstances across the border, while their neighborhoods disintegrate into civil war after living peacefully for hundreds of years. We follow the characters over time to show the price of human conflict. The narrator of the play, Mamta, is a fictional character whose journey stands for the experiences of thousands of women who lost their loved ones - and whose lives and bodies bore the brunt of violence from all sides.  

Here are the synopses and the origins of a few stories in The Parting.

The Tale of the Bookmark
We adapted the story of Hamid, a child who escaped to Pakistan with his family, from an anecdote we encountered in researching survivor tales. Years later, Hamid cherishes a feather bookmark, the only object he escaped with, as a precious memory of his childhood.

The Tale of the Limb Fitter

Another true and poignant story is that of Ghulam Ali, a limb-fitter in the British army, who was trapped between two new nations and to be accepted anywhere, was required to prove his loyalties to each side. This was an all too common occurrence among refugees whose citizenship remained fluid despite each nation’s intention to fix it. We discovered this story through a delightful episode of Urdu oral storytelling performance called Dastangoi. The source of this story is the nonfiction scholarly book The Long Partition by Vazira Zamindar, who retrieved Ghulam Ali from the oblivion of bureaucratic papers.

The Tale of Boota and Zainab  

The main story of the play is of star-crossed lovers Boota and Zainab. It is a true story that was covered extensively by newspapers in its time. I discovered this story many decades ago in the footnote of a book Freedom at Midnight. Even today, it is contested by communities on both sides - each claiming its own version over the years. Boota Singh was a Sikh farmer who gave shelter to a Muslim woman Zainab and over the years started a family with her. Later, Zainab was forcibly separated from her child and husband and sent back to Pakistan. How Boota crossed religious and political borders in an attempt to reunite his family has taken the form of a modern day legend and been adapted for film on more than one occasion [2].

For the play, we extended this story beyond the star-crossed lovers to show how Boota and Zainab started their family from two divided communities during Partition and slowly built a life from the ruins. In our play, Zainab is a strong woman who is wronged twice by the two nations that are, ironically, bent on protecting her honor.  

Zainab was forcibly sent back to Pakistan when the two countries created programs to exchange the women that had been abducted by each side and return them to their families. This was done to restore the honor of the two communities. Many women were sent back even though they had created a new life, and even when they did not wish to return due to the stigma attached. This Abducted Persons Recovery & Restoration Bill remained in effect until 1956.

Finally, we chose to close this story with the daughter of Zainab and Boota to raise the question of identity: who is a child born across nations and religions, and what is to become of her?
The Tale of Lal Chand and Bahadur Khan
This is a fictitious story of two neighboring families - one Hindu, another Muslim - who have lived together for centuries in Lahore. After Partition, as Lal Chand is forced to flee Pakistan, he has to decide whether to entrust his property and assets to his Muslim neighbor Bahadur Khan. There are thousands of true stories of such neighbors - Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs - living in same villages for centuries who had to make these fateful decisions in their flight to escape. There were neighbors who protected, honored, rescued and, in many cases, saved properties and assets of others for decades. And there were many others, sadly, who betrayed, savaged and looted their neighbors. The question we wished to raise with this story is: how does a lifetime of trust between two neighbors fall apart? And can it ever be restored?

The story of Lal Chand and Bahadur Khan was inspired by the narratives captured by Urvashi Butalia in her seminal work on Partition The Other Side of Silence. In an article on Partition and Memory, Butalia narrates the incident of a Sikh survivor who comes to regret his lack of trust for his Muslim neighbors and decades later, returns to his village seeking to better understand and perhaps redeem his acts.
The Tale of Veerji and Kuljot
Violence towards women had a special significance during Partition, as each community was sensitive to defending the honor of its women. Thousands of women either killed themselves or were killed by their own communities to save them from the shame of being violated. Conversely, women of opposing communities were defiled in especially heinous ways to dishonor the other side. This is a sensitive subject and we chose to address this indirectly through the fictitious story of a brother who is eager to save the honor of his sister. This story is based on a short discourse Total Eclipse by Anurag Wadehra on the significance of honor and sacrifice in Partition.

Beyond this tale, we chose to bring to life the poem Majboor [Forced] by Amrita Pritam in a novel way. It’s a seminal poem on the price paid by displaced women for the independence of two nations.

Saturday, November 11, 2017

नज़र Glance

नज़र 

हर जो मिलता है राह में मुझे
ऐसी नज़र से देखता है क्यूँ
मैं किस राह पर हूँ, क्यों हूँ
उसको पता हो, मुझको नहीं


Glance


Why do they look at me
As if they know
Why I walk this path
More than I do

Monday, May 15, 2017

Total Eclipse - Snippet 2



सूरज को आज ग्रहण लग गया है
एक किरण, शायद आख़री और अकेली
मेरे हाथ में रह गई है

पर मैं घोर अँधेरे में गुम हूँ
अब यह मुझसे नहीं संभलेगी
लो, यह है तुम्हारे हवाले

इसे दूध पिलाना अमन का
और चूरी खिलाना इश्क़ की

और ध्यान रहे
ना पड़े एक भी छाँव
इस ग्रहण की


words of the father
as he leaves his baby
in the arms of a woman
who's nursing her child in her lap



ਸੂਰਜ ਨੂੰ ਅੱਜ ਗ੍ਰਹਿਣ ਲੱਗ ਗਿਆ ਹੈ
ਇਕ ਕਿਰਨ, ਖੌਰੀ ਆਖਰੀ ਤੇ ਅਕੇਲੀ
ਮੇਰੇ ਹੱਥ ਵਿਚ ਰਹਿ ਗਈ ਏ

ਪਰ ਮੈਂ ਘੁੱਪ ਹਨੇਰੇ ਵਿਚ ਹਾਂ ਗੁਆਂਚਾ
ਹੁਣ ਮੇਰੇ ਕੋਲੋਂ ਇਹ ਨਹੀਂ ਸੰਭਲਣੀ
ਲੋ! ਇਹ ਹੈ ਤੁਆਡੇ ਹਵਾਲੇ

ਇਹਨੂੰ ਦੁੱਧ ਪਿਲਾਣਾ ਅਮਨ ਦਾ
ਤੇ ਚੂਰੀ ਖਵਾਣਾ ਇਸ਼ਕ ਦੀ

ਤੇ ਧਯਾਨ ਰਹੇ
ਨਾ ਪਵੇ ਇਕ ਵੀ ਛਾਂ
ਇਸ ਗ੍ਰਹਿਣ ਦੀ

words of the father
as he leaves his baby
in the arms of a woman
who's nursing her child in her lap

Sunday, May 14, 2017

Total Eclipse - Snippet 1


Total Eclipse


A dialog between a man and a woman on Partition 


#1 ज़ख़्म 


मर्द:
क्यों पुराने ज़ख़्म कुरेद रही हो? जो ज़ख़्म भर चुके हैं उन्हें अब छोड़ दो

औरत:
यह ज़ख़्म भरे नहीं है, ना ही कभी भर सकते हैं
इन पर सिर्फ झूठ की पट्टी लगा दी गयी है
यह ढके हुए ज़ख़्म आज तक गीले हैं

पचास साल बाद अब इनसे बॉस आ रही है

मर्द:
कैसी बॉस?

औरत:
नफरत की बॉस
तब भी और आज भी इस बांस को सूँघ कर
गली मौहल्ले में दंगे फ़साद शुरू हो जाते है

और आज कल के अकल्मन्द पढ़े लिखे लोग
नए नए टुकड़े पुराने ज़ख्मों पे लगा रहे हैं

और आज कल के नेता इस बॉस को हवा दे रहे है

मर्द:
तू कह क्या रही है? कहना क्या चाहती है?

औरत:
हटाओ इन टुकड़ों को और बेझिझक देखो इन पुराने ज़ख्मों को
फिर ही
हिम्मत से इनका मरहम, दवा दारु हो सकता है
इन्हे भरा जा सकता है

मर्द:
कैसा मरहम?

औरत:
मरहम - इंसानियत का
पट्टी - समझ की

----

2 बलिदान 

मर्द:
कुछ खून ख़राबा तो होना ही था
आखिर! आज़ादी की लड़ाई बलिदान माँगती है

औरत:
वाह! आज़ादी आपकी और बर्बादी, बलिदान हमारा
यह कैसा इन्साफ है?

मर्द:
बलिदान तो सब को देना पड़ा
ज़मीन, धन, दौलत - सब तो लुट गए
सिर्फ हमारी इज़्ज़त और कौम की इज़्ज़त बच गयी

मर्द:
कैसे बची इज़्ज़त?

मर्द:
हमरी माताओं, बेटिओं और बहनों ने कुँए में छलांग मार दी
बहते दरिया में डूब गयीं
और ज़हर के फांके मार गईं
- शहीद हो गयीं
पर आँच ना आने दी इज़्ज़त पे

औरत:
किसकी इज़्ज़त पे?

मर्द:
खानदान की, कौम की

औरत:
वाह! इज़्ज़त आपकी और शहीदी हमारी
यह कैसी इंसाफ़ी है?

मर्द:
हमने नहीं कहा था की जान दे दो
हज़ारों ने खुद ही जान दे दी
मुसलमानों के हाथों लुटने से बेहतर था

औरत:
तुम मर्दों ने चूड़ियाँ पहनीं थीं?
अपने हाथों ज़हर की पुड़ियाँ बाँटी
अपने हाथों किरपान चलाईं थीं
अपनी ही औरतों पर

अपनी बुज़दिली को ढकने के लिए
औरतों की शहीदी का कफ़न काफ़ी नहीं
जितना चाहो उनकी शहीदी के गुण गाओ
बुज़दिली की शर्म
तुम्हारी आवाज़ की कंपन में अभी भी आती है
और हमेशा आती रहेगी

यह बलिदान तुम्हारी बेटियों से ज़्यादा
तुम्हारी इंसानियत का था

-----

3. सवाल 

मर्द:
देखो! आज़ादी के बाद सब सुख से संभल गए हैं
बेटे गबरू जवान हो गए हैं
और बेटियां सब विवाहित है
हिन्दू मुसलमान एक ही गली में रहते हैं

औरत:
फिर अब भी बेटियां जलती क्यूँ हैं?
अभी भी हम मुस्लमान के हाथ का क्यों नहीं खाते
अभी चाहे मुँह से दुआ सलाम तो होता है
पर रोटी और बेटी ना हम बाँटते हैं
ना ही वोह बाँटते हैं

रब्बा! यह कैसी आज़ादी है?

मर्द:
तुम्हें तो सिर्फ़ सवाल ही सूझते है
तेरे सवालों का कोई जवाब नहीं

औरत:
तुम चाहते हो की मैं सवाल भी बंद कर दूँ ?



written on
7/27/2001




#1 ਜ਼ਖ਼ਮ 


ਮਰਦ:
ਕਯੋਂ ਪਈ ਪੁਰਾਣੇ ਜ਼ਖ਼ਮ ਕੁਰੇਦਨੀ ਪਈ ਏ? ਜੋ ਜ਼ਖ਼ਮ ਭਰ ਗਏ ਨੇਂ ਉਨ੍ਹਾਂਨੂੰ ਹੁਣ ਨਾਂ ਛੇੜ

ਔਰਤ:
ਏਹ ਜ਼ਖ਼ਮ ਭਰੇ ਨਹੀਂ ਹਨ. ਕਦੇ ਵੀ ਭਰੇ ਨਹੀਂ ਸਨ
ਏਨਾ ਤੇ ਸਿਰਫ਼ ਝੂੱਠ ਦੇ ਟੋਟੇ ਪਾ ਦਿੱਤੇ ਗਏ ਸਨ
ਇੰਜ ਢੱਕੇ ਹੋਏ ਜ਼ਖ਼ਮ ਅੱਜ ਤਕ ਗਿੱਲੇ ਹਨ

ਪੰਜਾਂ ਵਰਿਆਂ ਬਾਦ ਇਹਨਾਂ ਵਿਚੋਂ ਬੋ ਪਈ ਆਉਂਦੀ ਹੈ

ਮਰਦ:
ਕਿਹੋ ਜਹੀ ਬੋ?

ਔਰਤ:
ਨਫਰਤ ਦੀ ਬੋ
ਤਦ ਵੀ  ਤੇ ਅੱਜ ਵੀ, ਇਸ ਬੋਂ ਨੂੰ ਸੁੰਘ ਕੇ
ਗਲੀ ਮੋਹਲਿਆਂ ਵਿਚ ਦੰਗੇ ਫ਼ਸਾਦ ਸ਼ੁਰੁ ਹੋ ਜਾਂਦੇ ਹਨ

ਤੇ ਅੱਜ ਕਲ ਦੇ ਅਕਲਮੰਦ ਪਡੇਲਿਖੇ ਲੋਗ
ਨਵੇ ਨਵੇ ਟੋਟੇ ਪੁਰਾਨੇ ਜ਼ਖਮਾਂ ਤੇ ਪਾ ਰਹੇ ਹਨ

ਤੇ ਅੱਜ ਕਲ ਦੇ ਨੇਤਾ ਏਸ ਬੋ ਨੂੰ ਹਵਾ ਦੇ ਰਹੇ ਹਨ

ਮਰਦ:
ਤੂ ਕਹਿ ਕੀਂ ਰਹੀਂ ਏ? ਚਾਂਹਦੀ ਕੀ ਏ?

ਔਰਤ:
ਹਟਾਓ ਇਨ ਟੋਟਿਆਂ ਨੂੰ ਤੇ ਬੇਝਿਝੱਕ ਵੇਖੋ ਇਨ ਪੁਰਾਣੇ ਜ਼ਖ਼ਮਾਂ ਨੂੰ
ਫੇਰ ਹੀ
ਹਿੰਮਤ ਨਾਲ ਇਨ੍ਹਾਂ ਦਾ ਮਰਹਮ ਤੇ ਦਵਾ ਦਾਰੂ ਹੋ ਸੱਕਦਾ ਹੈ
ਇਨ੍ਹਾਂਨੂੰ ਭਰਿਆ ਜਾ ਸੱਕਦਾ ਹੈ

ਮਰਦ:
ਕਿਹੋ ਜੇਹਾ ਮਰਹਮ ?

ਔਰਤ:
ਮਰਹਮ - ਇੰਸਾਨੀਅਤ ਦਾ
ਪੱਟੀ - ਸਮਝ ਦੀ


----


#2 ਬਲੀਦਾਨ 


ਮਰਦ:
ਕੁੱਛ ਖੂਨ ਖ਼ਰਾਬਾ ਤੇ ਹੋਣਾ ਹੀ ਸੀ
ਆਖਿਰ ! ਆਜ਼ਾਦੀ ਦੀ ਲੜਾਈ ਬਲਿਦਾਨ ਮੰਗਦੀ ਹੈ

ਔਰਤ:
ਵਾਹ! ਆਜ਼ਾਦੀ ਤੁਆਦੀ ਤੇ ਬਰਬਾਦੀ ਸਾਡੀ, ਬਲੀਦਾਨ ਸਾਡਾ
ਏ ਕਿਹੋ ਜਿਯਾ ਇਨਸਾਫ਼ ਹੈ ?

ਮਰਦ:
ਬਲੀਦਾਨ ਤੇ ਸੱਬ ਨੂੰ ਦੇਣਾ ਪਯਾ
ਜ਼ਮੀਨ, ਧੰਨ, ਦੌਲਤ - ਸਬ ਤੇ ਲੁੱਟ ਗਏ
ਸਿਰਫ ਸਾਡੀ ਇੱਜ਼ਤ, ਸਾਡੀ ਕੌਮ ਦੀ ਇੱਜ਼ਤ ਬੱਚ ਗਈ

ਔਰਤ:
ਕਿਵੇਂ ਬਚੀ ਇੱਜ਼ਤ?

ਮਰਦ:
ਸਾਡੀ ਮਾਂਵਾਂ, ਤੀਆਂ ਤੇ ਬਹਿਣਾ ਨੇਂ ਖੂ ਵਿੱਚ ਛਾਲ ਮਾਰ ਲਈ
ਵੱਗਦੇ ਦਰਿਆ ਵਿਚ ਰੁੜ ਗਈਆਂ
ਤੇ ਜ਼ਹਰ ਦੇ ਫ਼ੱਕੇ ਮਾਰ ਲਏ
- ਸ਼ਹੀਦ ਹੋ ਗਈਆਂ
ਪਰ ਆਂਚ ਨਾਂ ਆਣ ਦਿੱਤੀ ਇੱਜ਼ਤ ਤੇ

ਔਰਤ:
ਕੀਦੀ ਇੱਜ਼ਤ ਤੇ?

ਮਰਦ:
ਖ਼ਾਨਦਾਨ ਦੀ, ਕੌਮ ਦੀ

ਔਰਤ:
ਵਾਹ! ਇੱਜ਼ਤ ਤੁਆਦੀ ਤੇ ਸ਼ਹੀਦੀ ਸਾਢੀ
ਏ ਕਿਹੋ ਜਹੀ ਇੰਸਾਫ਼ੀ ਹੈ ?


ਮਰਦ:
ਅੱਸੀ ਨਹੀਂ ਸੇ ਕਿਹਾ ਕੀ ਜਾਣ ਦੇ ਦਿਓ
ਹਜ਼ਾਰਾਂ ਨੇ ਆਪੇ ਹੀ ਜਾਣ ਦੇ ਦਿੱਤੀ
ਮੁਸਲਮਾਨਾਂ ਦੇ ਹੱਥੋਂ ਲੁੱਟਣ ਤੋਂ ਤੇ ਬੇਹਤਰ ਸੀ

ਔਰਤ:
ਤੁਸੀ ਮਰਦਾਂ ਨੇ ਚੂੜੀਆਂ ਪਾਈਆਂ ਸਣ ?
ਅਪਣੇ ਹੱਥੋਂ ਜ਼ਹਰ ਦੀ ਪੂੜੀਆਂ ਵੰਡੀਆਂ
ਤੇ ਅਪਣੇ ਹੱਥੋਂ ਕਿਰਪਾਨ ਚੁਕੀਆਂ ਸਨ
ਅਨਪੀ ਹੀ ਔਰਤਾਂ ਤੇ

ਅਪਣੀ ਬੁਜ਼ਦਿਲੀ ਨੂੰ ਢੱਕਣ ਲਈ
ਔਰਤਾਂ ਦੀ ਸ਼ਹੀਦੀ ਦਾ ਕਫ਼ਨ ਕਾਫੀ ਨਹੀਂ

ਜਿਨ੍ਹਾਂ ਮਰਜ਼ੀ ਉਣਾਦੀ ਸ਼ਹੀਦੀ ਦੇ ਗੁਣ ਗਾਓ
ਬੁਜ਼ਦਿਲੀ ਦੀ ਸ਼ਰਮ
 ਤੂਆਡੀ ਆਵਾਜ਼ ਦੀ ਕੰਬਣੀ ਵਿਚ ਅਜੇ ਵੀ ਆਉਂਦੀ ਹੈ
ਤੇ ਹਮੇਸ਼ਾਂ ਆਵੇਗੀ

ਇਹ ਬਲੀਦਾਨ ਤੁਆਡੇ ਤੀਆਂ ਤੋਂ ਜ਼ਿਆਦਾ
ਤੁਆਡੇ ਇਨਸਾਨੀਯਤ ਦਾ ਸੀ

-----

#3 ਸਵਾਲ 


ਮਰਦ:
ਵੇਖ! ਆਜ਼ਾਦੀ ਦੇ ਬਾਦ ਸਬ ਸੁਖ ਨਾਲ ਸੰਭਲ ਗਏ ਨੇਂ
ਪੁੱਤਰ ਸਾਰੇ ਗਬਰੂ ਜਵਾਨ ਹੋ ਗਏ
ਤੇ ਤੀਆਂ ਵਿਆਈਆਂ ਗਈਆਂ ਨੇਂ
ਹਿੰਦੂ ਮੁਸਲਮਾਨ ਇੱਕੋ ਗਲੀ ਵਿਚ ਰਹਿੰਦੇਂ ਨੇ

ਔਰਤ:
ਤੇ ਅਜੇ ਵੀ ਤੀਆਂ ਬਲਦੀਆਂ ਕਯੋਂ ਹਨ?
ਅਜੇ ਵੀ ਅਸੀ ਮੁਸਲਮਾਨਾਂ ਦੇ ਹੱਥ ਦਾ ਕਯੋਂ ਨਹੀਂ ਖਾਂਦੇ?
ਅਜੇ ਵੀ ਭਾਵੇਂ ਮੂੰਹੋਂ ਦੁਆ ਸਲਾਮ ਤੇ ਹੁੰਦਾ ਹੈ
ਪਰ ਰੋਟੀ ਤੇ ਬੇਟੀ ਨਾਂ ਅਸੀ ਵਟਾਂਦੇ ਹਾਂ
ਨਾ ਹੀ ਉਹ ਵਟਾਂਦੇ ਹਨ

ਰੱਬਾ! ਏ ਕਿਹੋ ਜੀ ਆਜ਼ਾਦੀ ਹੈ?

ਮਰਦ:
ਤੈਂਨੂੰ ਤਾਂ ਸਿਰਫ ਸਵਾਲ ਹੀ ਚੇਤੇ ਆਉਂਦੇ ਨੇਂ
ਤੇਰੇ ਸਵਾਲਾਂ ਦਾ ਤੇ ਕੋਈ ਜਵਾਬ ਨਹੀਂ

ਔਰਤ:
ਤੁਸੀ ਚਾਹੰਦੇ ਹੋ ਕੀ ਮੈਂ ਸਵਾਲ ਵੀ ਬੰਦ ਕਰ ਦਾਂ ?


written on
7/27/2001


Sunday, April 23, 2017

An Open Secret of the Universe

In a coffee shop, I saw two beautiful young lovers stop their conversation in mid sentence and suddenly gaze in each other’s eyes. Their small talk gave way to a moment of silence. And desire punctured the conversation. And there was a moment of silence. They simply gazed for a few seconds. And then the conversation resumed. A fleeting moment of grace. Fueled by desire. 

I wondered. 

This moment they had, how many more of these will they have? how many more where this came from? Will they have another next week? A year from now? when they get married? when their first one is born? at their silver anniversary?
Will they still have it after they have explored every nook and cranny of each other?
When they have had a fight and haven’t gone to bed?
When she is hurt, sick or tired?
When he is on the road, and calls in exhausted?
Will they have it when her hair turns grey, and she gets crow’s feet?
When he goes bald and gets a belly? 

I wondered. 

I’m told that love is an evolutionary response to keep two people of opposite sex together. Bonded beyond the sex. Most people fall in love, few stay in it. Lucky are the two people who encounter it. Like the young couple in the coffee shop. At least they know what is possible - since they lived it for a moment. 

Luckier are those who nurture and fuel the flame, and can keep it ablaze over the years. This is no easy part. Like two plants taking root entwined together, climbing higher, and leaning on each other, two lovers grow and shape one another over the years. The odds are low that two people will grow together, feeding on each other’s best virtues and growing stronger because of it. Family, children and work are the three killers that will likely snuff the flame out. But this is the inner game of marriage. It’s a covenant not visible to others, except in glimpses gleaned by the few people privileged to view the slivers of the sacred bond between a couple. And even then, this glimpse is available only to those who have eyes to see it. 

Millions die without knowing such scared love exists. The lucky few who experience it, hide it in plain sight. Love's the promise of every song, birthday cake, and valentine card. It’s there for all to discover so why tout it? For if one were to tell others - no, it’s real - they would not understand. And if they were to understand, they would long for it. And would it not be cruel if they were to go to their graves with unrequited love? So, those of us who live it, keep it quiet.  

But the luckiest of us all are those who feel the heat of love for eternity. This is when we love so passionately, that we can identify with lovers of generations past - Laila and Majnu, Sassi and Punnu. And we can dream of lovers to come beyond our life time. And, we see the power of love in all others. Everyday in the coffee shop. And on the street side where children play, and in parks where elders hold hands in silence, and in chance encounters of grace among strangers in airplanes and trains. 

Love is an open secret of the universe - known to all, but lived only by a lucky few. Every time I see lovers kiss on screen or in public, my mouth gets salty with your taste. I’m lucky that way. 

Thursday, April 13, 2017

Time


Lovers mate
          monsoons chase
                    running streams
                              dandelions fly
Time seeds us all


Sand sands
          metal fatigues
                    oceans creak
                              birds fall from sky
Time grinds us all


Skin wrinkles
          heart stops
                    breath fades
                              mitochondria die
Time cooks us all


Apricots rot
          fireflies flicker
                    dynasties dissolve
                              species come and go
Time mocks us all


Galaxies collapse
          stars go nova
                    black holes show
                              no light no glow
Time times us all


Yet for a glance
          a murmur
          a touch
          a quiver
There's time enough for all



April 13, 2017



Thursday, April 6, 2017

No Skills I Had हुनर एक ना था


हुनर एक ना था
पर होनहार हुए हैं

चौबीस रँग फीके
क्या कलाकार हुए है

सौ गुनाह कर निकले
तब मुआफ़ हुए हैं

चोरों से हैं वाक़िफ़
सो हवलदार हुए हैं

आंखें मूँदे थे हम
चश्मदीद गवाह हुए हैं

जला कर अपना घर
अब बेपरवाह हुए हैं

बिन बुलाए थे आये
मगर मेहमान हुए हैं


4/6/17