Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Xakhe Jauhs

It is difficult to describe Xakhe Jauhs. Apart from saying that he was clever, there is very little else that can be said about him, that is perhaps because there is very little else to him. What is a person of no qualities called? Do you judge qualities by reactions in situations? Let’s try that then. Let it be said - he never initiated conversations and very rarely replied. It was not easy to say if he was happy or sad but it was suspected that he was never bored. There was a little blobbing nerve at his temple that would become a bit more obvious if he was not usual. But exactly what could by discerned by this is not known.
XJ was used to being alone. He saw his parents a couple of times a week and they always smiled at him kindly. They left him secret messages about what food was available and where. He enjoyed treasure hunts, we think.
XJ was up to very important work some of those days. He was trying to develop an improved variety of elves that were good at scrubbing out shirt collars.
XJ was usually eleven years old unless he was being fifty-six. Sometimes, rarely, he was about a year and a half. If his parents came in unexpectedly and found him like that they would smack their heads for not thinking of leaving some baby food. They were kind that way. They would go away again grinning together. They always did everything together. They were like a split zygote or something.
Once, many years ago, the parents had lost XJ for three days. A gypsy had thought him very pretty and put him in her crystal ball. He had been a baby when they got him back. But the parents recognised him immediately.
When XJ once averted a very important international crisis, his parents were very proud of him. They ordered a very handsome tombstone with the legend “Clever Boy” and had it installed on his grave for all the neighbours to admire.
Did I tell you that when he died at age eight, the minister said he was a Clever Boy?

Sunday, May 28, 2006

Love Hope

When I fear neither distance nor nearness I may reach for you my love

When I absolve me of guilt then I may deserve you already

When I grab no more I may find I have that instance- you

When I am no more I may be you my love

Until then, then I have my love, it is not fearless, or guiltless or other than mine

But I have it and it is yours and it overwhelms me and gives me hope.

Until then, then.

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Reconciliation

Dui hai
Dui hai
Dui hai
Dui hai
Dui hai
Dui hai
Dui hai
Dui hai
Dui hai
Teek hai
Teek hai
Teek hai
Teek hai
Teek hai
Teek hai
Teek hai
Teek hai
Teek hai
Teek hai
Teek hai
Teek hai
Teek hai
Teek hai
Teek hai
Teek hai
Teek hai
Ek hai

Saturday, May 13, 2006

Perfectly powerless

In Hyderabad, we save our choicest gaalis for the electricity board in summers. We the general public and those few enthu-cutlets who write letters to the editors, all have well worked out theories and schemes to avenge ourselves on the wretched department. They in turn have specialised the art of tormenting us by giving us detailed lists of planned power-cuts for the day in our morning papers and then going right ahead and having a triple-dozen unscheduled ones as well. The ponging of the UPS is vying for top slot right up there with the alarm clock for a place on ‘Irritating Noises’.

But what I actually set out to say was that power cuts are not all bad. In the manner of- Daag acche hein, you get? I especially don’t mind it if they cut us out after dusk. I quite like the idea of a forced time out. It gives you time to do things you wouldn’t in general be able to slot without feeling guilty or silly or self-conscious. They are like train journeys, which are also, I think, perfectly delicious. Sometimes I have thought that if I could behave and feel in general, exactly as I do on journeys, I could live a perfectly Zen life.

The recent three-hour power-cut was enormous fun. I managed to record another half hour of my voice on tape. It’s surprising that nobody but me is able to discern any improvement in tonal quality or sur or anything, the few times I manage to pin them down and have them listen. Weird! Anyway…
While searching for material to put to tune, I laid my hands on Deewan-e-Ghalib. It’s fun to search for all sorts of tucked away things with a candle in your hand. Very medieval heroine-y. It inspires you to look for stuff you have been too lazy to find in broad daylight.

Ghalib was a delight as usual. But this time the atmosphere really got to me. A high moon and candle light…..ooooooh! So got out my Kagaz-kalam-dawaat… well, my note book and gel pen in any case and crouched down under the stars with a shamma in front of me to consign my heart to the paper!
I find myself obliged to warn anybody with deep appreciation for behar that you are not to look for such things here-

Us dar pe hajari jo meri laakh lagegi
Tab ho ke mujh pe uski nazar paak lagegi

Kyon kar na karoon arz-e- tamanna mein bar bar
Ek benaseeb ko jug ki nazar khaakh lagegi

Jo keh sako tho kar do bayan hal-e-dil use
Is bezubaan ki tumko duaa laakh lagegi

Vehashat mein jo kar bhi doon izhaar-e-tamanna
Ye dar hai ke usko bas mazaak lagegi

Asvi teri mushtaaq bathein kuch ajeeb hain
Chilla bhi do tho unko khabar khaakh lagegi


I wonder really if it’s not a good idea to hunt for a nice old escritoire, a quill and an ink pot on my next outing at the Charminar auctions? It would add just the right touch… hmmm

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Foreboding

Rag-o-pai mein jab uthare zahar-e-gham tab dekhiye kya ho
Abhi tho talkhi-e-kaam-o-dahan ki aazamaish hai
- Mirza Ghalib

On a related mood

So far so good,
All under the hood,
But what if it raises its head?
Without my will or anything said.
What if I am caught unaware,
Wrapped in its dreamlike snare
Now I’m ok, next I am not
Tying me in – the Dementor’s knot
Loss of will, sleep pervades,
Quiet panic, goodness fades
The memory of it chills my veins
Might I wash it away next it rains?

Sunday, May 07, 2006

Over Momin’s tumultuous grave

Humne socha ke mausam bhi hai, mouka bhi hai, ‘in’ bhi hai, hum bhi zara plagiarise karlein

Kyon sune arz-e-muztarib Asvi
khuda akhir sanam nahi hota

But I’m waiting…… oh! Pleaahase prette pleaahase. Make it happen.

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

Bada Bubbly Life Hai!

Hasti apni habaab ki si hai
Ye numaish saraab ki si hai
-Mir Taqi Mir

This life of ours is bubble-like
A vast display mirage-like

No not getting maudlin and existential again, just that this sher has been eddying around in my head for the past few days. Simple because a substantial chunk of my time has been dedicated to creating bubbles.
It’s come back to me now that I used to spend inordinate lengths of time looking at bubbles on water, and other surfaces when I was really young and then the interest waned when life happened. And resurfaced quite acutely when I studied the laws of surface tension in (I think it was) Class 7. It was profoundly satisfying to have infanthood questions answered. Then of course more life happened.
Fast forward to last Sunday. Visit to Zoo after what seemed life a lifetime. Spotted a bubble-maker/contraption seller outside. Acquired one and also a bit of coaching from said seller. Came home and practiced blowing bubbles in a frenzy of fresh enthusiasm. Frightened Bashki instead of entertaining her. (Two-year-olds need time to work out their emotional responses; she is quite appreciative now).
Anyway, I was halfway through with the liquid provided when Sheetal asked me if I was wise to use it up so rapidly. I told her airily that I had the recipe from the seller and could always make up some more, but the seed of doubt had been sown. So I set about making some more, which as it happened was easier thought than done. I’ll list my attempts
1) Detergent and water - poohoosss, no good
2) Copious quantities of detergent and water - unstirrable after a point, not any better
3) Oil (the secret ingredient – or so I thought) added – an even more unyielding liquid

At which point, I began to doubt my good friend’s claim- “us me kuch tel aur soap dalte hai”. But adjuring myself not to be mataashed I persevered. Now such attempts as these were made-
1) Oil and detergent – singular lack of response
2) Add water? – whadya think?

I now perceived it was a matter of thermodynamics. The entire concoction was cast into the microwave- shrieks and recriminations from mother. No, of course I did not want to burn the house down. So I meekly took away my immiscible mixture and stirred vigorously in a bowl of boiling water. Well…
I need not tell you that I was now utterly downcast.
At this point, my kind sibling who hand held my hand through all of this (metaphorically of course! You do see that it’s impossible to do all that with one hand!) went off and bought me another brand new set from the Local Numaish. She had also managed to wrest the secret from the chap before he was dragged off by the security, for disturbing peace (I presume).
Chik shampoo! Good people, Chik shampoo! The one rupee sachet does the trick quite nicely. Emboldened by her success, the sister looked up advanced recipes on the net. Glycerine, we were told is particularly useful to enhance durability and strength of bubbles. That must have been what that unfortunate boy was trying to tell me at the zoo, instead of which he led me up the garden path with all his silly talk of ‘tel’. Hrmmph.
All’s well that bubbles well, I guess. We now possess three distinct liquids that offer us variety in size, flight and durability. Not so very bad, huh?