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Posts Tagged ‘Ramblings’

Two old guys are sitting on the plastic chairs arranged besides the footpath. These are set here to attract customers by the nearby milk shops and street vendors that sell shwarmas and burgers in the evening.

In front of these guys, there lies a table where a small speaker connected to a phone is placed. It is relaying famous songs from old films in the air. The old music is capable of touching the hearts and i am also enjoying the soothing tunes and deep meaningful poetry.

Its not a quiet place, as they are sitting between a busy road and a street full of cycles, pedestrians, beggars and cars trying to make their way through the crowd.

Loud horns, numerous voices and many sources of disturbance seem to have no effect on them. Their hands and heads occasionally move with in synchronization with the music showing their admiration for the composition and vocal chords of the nightingales of old times.

I order a glass of milk and take out a notepad and pen to write down about this scene but i can’t look down on the paper as there is so much to observe around me. I see various people attached to each other with diverse relations, i see smiles and sorrowful gestures, i see people left alone by their loved ones and society, i see poverty, i see extravagance,  and i see these carefree old guys listening to their favorite music in the middle of a noisy bazaar. A bottle of cough syrup also lies on the table but i don’t see or hear any of these guys coughing.

At that moment, the call for evening prayer emanates from the loud speakers mounted on the high minarets of a nearby mosque – one of the guys turns off the music but they keep sitting their. Prayer call stops after a while and they turn the music on again.

I gulp down the glass of milk and pay the bill – pick up my bag and start walking towards the sports club.

 

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It is an irony of human nature that while living in this world we come across some people who become so dear to us that we cannot spend a moment without them however a time comes when we keep on living without seeing them for years.

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After midnight – the dogs rule the streets.

Jumping around – rolling over each other – getting in to scuffles.

Roaming from here to there in search of food and fight. Trying to stay with their pack and challenging the other groups who dare to invade their territory.

Wagging their tails for the watchmen and barking at the passers by who are always in hurry to reach their destinations, trying to cover more distance in each stride – hence making the rulers uneasy.

Last year, on a cold night – when i was coming back from work – as i approached near my apartment i saw a mad recluse in the open area. He had very few clothes on his body and was sitting besides the fire made by the wrappers picked from the garbage dump.

On the other side a boy in shorts was sitting on the small boundary wall outside his home. There was a cigarette in his hand. As i approached near, i smelled weed and saw that there was something going on between the boy and the recluse.

To my utmost surprise they were exchanging fowl words – sitting fifty meters away and both determined to prove their skills in the art of calling names.

I gestured my astonishment to the boy which he responded with a chuckle to show that he is enjoying that situation. By that time i had stopped there.

I asked the boy why he was wearing shorts on such a cold night? He told me that he had an exam the next morning and the stuff he was smoking, kept him warm and awake. I asked about his fiery exchange with the recluse and he told me that he was just  trying to give company to another person who cannot sleep due to his own circumstances.

I took a deep breath – smiled at his reason and took a look on the milieu before entering the gate of my apartment. A brown dog was sitting quietly at a distance – looking at the humans play his role.

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Where should i go

when the city turns into a ghost town

when music becomes noise for the ears

tongue loses the taste

and eyes cease to appreciate the beauty

in such times – to find some solace

should i be the dust

and chase the passing cars like stray dogs

should i be the leaf of a willow in autumn

shaking with the fear of separation

or should i wait for the moon to rise from west

cling to its silver beams

and swing my mortal self out

to the other side of the blue lake

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swings.jpg

Swing is my favorite pendulum. In fact i knew the swing much before i came to know what a pendulum is.

Today I yearn to sit on a swing. I want to feel the air on my face as it takes me back and forth.

A swing that can go higher and higher as i start pushing it back with my feet and then with the motion of my body once its fast enough that touching the ground may impede its flow.

It would be better if its ropes come down from the branch of a tall tree. I’ll try to feel its leaves on my face when it will go backward and i’ll feel myself rising against the buildings when it will rise in the front.

I wonder what will be going through my mind if i am swinging a swing on a beautiful cloudy evening. I can only guess that i’ll be experiencing a euphoria. Probably I’ll be thinking about the things that fail to make sense. I’ll be recalling the thousands of lotuses that grow in the wetlands of Qadirabad. I’ll be thinking of the journey of elegant geese and swans that fly to the warm lands once temperatures start falling below the freezing point in Siberia. I’ll be thinking of the Monarch butterflies that cross the ocean to inaugurate the “Festival of the Dead” in Mexico and what not.

My swing will have a limit for sure but my immagination will swing beyond the limits.

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///\\\

Guftugoo ho ya na ho
ab koi farq he nahi parta
garm rehti hy ye mehfil dil ki
roobaroo too  ho ya tanhayee ho
le ke bharpoor aik angrayi
muskara detay hain bewajha he
khahishon ki haseen pagdandi
sar kiye jaatay hain, khush rehtay hain
zindagi daam bichaye bethi
takti rehti hy humain husrat se
aur hum aik aik phanday se
buch nikaltay hain aagay barhtay hain

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I love the amazing panoramas here. I love the rich culture here.

We live in a Country which is so rich in music and poetry that i am sure there would be few who actually know what assets we have got to feel proud of.

For instance, Yesterday i came to know about a Pushto (A regional language spoken in Afghanistan and Pakistan) poet “Ghani khan”, I am not interested in the fact that he is a son of a political leader but i am really impressed by the vision he conveys in his poetry.

Here is a translation of few lines from his poem,

O river of beauty and radiance! Grant me a scintilla of light;
Grant me eyes full of laughter and lips full of delight.
For this minor heart of mine, I seek a beloved’s souvenir;
O river of beauty and radiance! Grant me a scintilla of light.

In one of his poem he asks a Moulvi(Priest); what is Heaven? Priest places his hand on his belly and replies that it is a place where good food will be served. Then the poet asks the priest’s disciple the same question, he says that it is a place where the pious people would be given Houris and beautiful servants. Then the poet says that i am not interested in all this, in fact i believe that a day lived on earth according to one’s own free will is far better than the Heaven which priests long for.

I am not that good in Pushto but i can easily say that Ghani stands out a staunch Pakhtun from the realm of his ecstasy, fantasy, wine, women and mirth when he reaches the cross road of his true identity.

“Margay de Raashi
Che kala ye wass wee
gul ba me laas ke wee
Ao yaa ba uss wee
Yaa ba topak wee
Yaa ba qalam wee
Doob ba khanda kee
Da dunya gham wee
Che sa me bakht wee
domra ba bass wee
Margay de raashi
Che kala ye wass wee.

Anyways…..

Our land is gifted with natural resources but poor governance has made the life of a common person; miserable.

Poverty has snatched the glow from the beautiful faces.

http://bzupages.com/f137/karachi%92s-slumdogs-7851/

I don’t want to go in details but when i see these pearls in the rough, i cowardly gasp and pass by with a heavy heart; i can’t look into their eyes.

Sceneries loose their charm and flowers cease to smile. Poetry looses its magic and words seem meaningless.

Sufferings and hardships of life invade my imagination and i feel as if i am fed up of beauty.

I have seen so many beautiful faces suffering the pangs of life that i am have lost interest in beauty.

Now I look for contented souls. They make me happy and they give me strength.

….

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