Saturday, May 27, 2017

In the dark times will there also be singing?
Yes there will also be singing.
About the dark times.
-Bertolt Brecht
And this is what we witnessed in the three- day Poetry Festival from 7 to 9 April, 2017 at Triveni kala Sangam. Expressions of dissent, acknowledgement, bonhomie, emotions in all forms-raw, naked, subtle and razor sharp.
Here was a microcosm of The India that every true Indian heart yearns for. The three- day celebration –Vak: The Raza Biennale of Indian Poetry 2017, organized by Raza Foundation was a respite from all the mayhem that one has been reading, witnessing morass and hearing on TV channels, in the newspapers and at every drawing room conversation. The festival was a realization that not all is lost. Some sense of morality, freedom and conscience does exist even today amid this morass. Eminent and budding poets from all over the country came together under the banner of Raza Foundation to share their expressions and voice their opinions. What was indeed noteworthy was that the gathering in that auditorium comprised poets from different parts of the country and not once did anyone feel a sense of isolation, alienation or marginalization in any way. It was heartening to listen to the voices from different cultures and regions as a collective whole. A number of myths were shattered. A number of myths were reborn in refreshing avatars. There were poets belonging to different religions who presented poems in languages we don’t generally associate them with.  Rajathi Salma the celebrated Tamil writer, whose debut novel The Hours Past Midnight has been listed for the Man Asian Booker Prize presented her poetry in Tamil Language. Hers is one of the first novels by a Tamil Muslim woman. Abhishek Shukla was one of the several esteemed poets who presented his poems in Urdu. A number of panel discussions took place ranging from Poetry as Memory, Poetry Freedom and Poetry as Conscience . It was overwhelming to hear the voices of dissent, of anger, of disturbances, of conflict and collective resonance in these times. However there were a few voices that echoed the sentiments contrary to what the popular voices in the panel discussions spoke about. A noted sociologist said-Poetry should only be read for the sake of entertainment.It is not capable of arousing a sense of morality.
The translations of poems helped in understanding the nuances and subtleties of other native languages along with the rhythmic charm of listening to the intonations and music of the native languages themselves. I am thankful to VAK for giving me the opportunity to present the translations of the ghazals of Shamim Hanfi.  I shall always cherish the memories of meeting such poets like Sachidananda, Manglesh Dabral, Keki Daruwala , Salma and many more who made the three days truly memorable. I am sure the voices will reach out far and wide and bring about a definite positive change in society one day. A day will come when we shall transcend all barriers of religion, Languages, cultures, popular myths that tie us and cripple us at times, prejudices and be born again with a sense of a collective conscience that we belong to one country yet we have our individual differences we are so proud of-our individuality.
Admission into time and space of a poetic sensibility requires a belief in one’s sense of judgment creating an awareness of the self. These reawakening and stirring of the soul lead us to believe that we  are so incomplete. Yet, far from indicating that we flawed, they fill us with desire, ignite our emotions, fuel our passions, and catapult us out into a new world where journeys are begun, connections are made, and  our divine sense of incompleteness persists.

It is events like these that can help in writing a better history of our times.  

Love is all there is, three cheers to VAK! 

Monday, February 22, 2016

Red Shadow

Red Shadow

August 28, 2015 at 4:14pm
If I had acolourful shadow
I would wear
the darkest cloak
just to see
how much colour I could bleed
through the thickness of the night.
That lay in saturation within the folds of my destiny

The earth
would suck the colours
and give them away
to the maple trees
All lined up along the trench
And from my piece of earth
I would watch the black leaves,
The black trunk
And the black sun.
Sprinkling a plethora of myriad colours all around
Blue,
Red,
White and gold


The only thing alive
Would be the dust
In hands all grey and charred
From cooking up stories in black and white

Each crack would fill up with golden dust
‘kintsugi heals’,I heard them say
and wisdom comes when maples bleed

unfolding mysteries in my fist
I’ll show you love
in a handful of life


-Ghazal 28.8.2015

A tribute to Intezar Husain

Dedicated to Intezar Husain-The legend who lives on in our hearts forever.

You promised you would visit my home
For last time was too busy
And we couldn’t go to the bird sanctuary
Or the by lanes of old Delhi
Or meet Bittu who has an eatery just round the corner
You promised you would come...
I remember a long time ago
A marigold in your hand
You found amid the trimmed hedges at my place
How tenderly you had picked it up and cupped it in your hands.
The sun had so subtly borrowed some yellows
from the sunshine in your palms
And as you walked ahead
With me , a little girl , trying to match your steps
My tiny steps
Struggling to keep pace with you and Papa
You stopped and smiled and matched your pace with mine
And at the Okhla Barage
Under the big banyan tree
As you paused to take a look around
The monkey with the long tail
Cautiously climbed down
And snatched the flower from your hand
How you smiled!
The notes of the orchestra coudnt be sweeter.
“Kahaniyon ki jade bohot gehri hoti hain lekin nazmein
...nazmein to awaara hoti hain..’’

Your words still ring in my ears
And today
As I watch the sunset
The yellows are a shade quieter
A story in my heart
will live on forever in quietude
The paper is wet
The ink-
Invisible
(Rest in peace Intezar Husain)

-Ghazal

Wear Walls

Wear Walls

Let us all wear walls
For the lamp on the shelf
Is scared of the breeze
The breeze that blows
Will extinguish it
Only the wick will remain
Carrying remnants of fire that once danced on its apex

Now let us all wear walls
 Remove every single clothing that sticks to your silhouette
Against the setting sun
You are too conspicuous
Your voice too loud
Let the plaster consume the brittle pieces of your thoughts
As you spit them out

Wear walls
You will be safe
Let them design walls
 Cheap
Economical
Strong
In every shade
But monotextured
So that every voice is a single voice
A single voice
A recurrent rondo

Wear walls


…..Ghazal ( 23.2.16..10:20AM)

Thursday, February 18, 2016

Zoom in

Zoom in

Far far away
From the mainstream life
On a mountain rugged and raw
Lives a monk

A crimson speck on the horizon yonder
My eyes behold
His cloak
 as purple as the misty brush
Of  Claude Monet
Over the purple landscape of the soul

As I inch closer
The pall rises
The monk is a tree
The tree is oak ,  a hundred years old
Each line on the bark
As deep as the sigh
Of Godess  Inanna on Ebih
That fills the hollows in the universe

Closer ahead 
Under the tree
Sits  the wise one
With wisdom of the sages
Sanctifying all crevices

He speaks and the winds pause to listen
A million stars break into dust
And sprinkle far and wide
Unto the smoky void

As I zoom my lens
On  a canvas wide
I see a painting live
Embossing a Van Gogh stroke
Of  a starry night in daylight

The Wise one
Under the crimson tree
Amid  bells  and beams of light
Amid bells and beams of life
Somewhere up in heaven
The Maker smiles
And puts his palette  away

…Ghazala  (18/2/16….1.15 am)


Monday, December 14, 2015

Selfie

Selfie

Puts you in a spot
Then pulls you in a vacuum
You stay put
With a tilt of your head
Till the eye of the cam
Glares at you with all it’s might
Squeezing the life out of you
Freezing you in a molten frame
And all this while
All this while a wanderer passing by
Looks at you in wonder
His hands holing a rose
Close in more carefully around the stem
Till a maiden adorns them in her hair
A hurt pigeon breathes its last
A shooting star crumbles into dust
A flower blooms
An orchard resonates
With the humming of honeybees
A tree drops a leaf
Gently , silently, in a whisper
Like a prayer from the lips of that old old monk
Who lives on that hill yonder
The sun melts the sky in all shades of fire

And the eye holds you captive
A plastic form
A cold piece of flesh
Frozen veins
Approbation
Thunderous applause
Of the click
And the shutter closes on you
Shutting you in a catacomb

Till you exhale and live 

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

I do

The Universe asked me..
‘I do wonder, Ghazala, how some people, who upon seeing gorgeous, billowing cumulus clouds floating effortlessly overhead, don't just want to explode with joy.
Or who, upon seeing a mighty old oak tree, don't run right up to it wildly screaming, "I love you!"
Or who, upon being caught in the rain, don't blush as each drop gently kisses their skin.
Or who, upon gazing at a star-filled night, aren't paralyzed with awe.
Or who, upon seeing their reflection in a pond, don't cry the happiest of tears.
Do you know what I mean?’’
And I said, ‘I do’.

Soundscapes

Soundscapes A vast desert Ripples in sand Grains in crevices of my palm A red roof Against a Monochrome sky Co...