#desi moodboard
Hua hai aaj pehli baar jo aise muskuraya hoon Tumhe dekha toh jaana ye ke kyun duniya mein aaya hoon
Ye jaan lekar ke jaa meri tumhe jeene main aaya hoon Main tumse ishq karne ki ijaazat rab se laaya hoon
Maybe its been a thousand years since I fell in love with you. Maybe it’s been an era since I bound my lines of fate with yours. Maybe we never existed in flesh and blood. Maybe we are lines and dots of the world’s most beautiful poem. Forever etched on some parchments, fading at the same time. Who is God? What is God? God is us, our heartbeats, our mingled breaths, our falling tears, our confessions of love. Each passing day the universe burns in our passion and we fall deeper and deeper in this haze. You are me and I am you. Where do we begin and end? We are time embodied, eternity is our collective destiny.
Happy Holi to all! Mohabbat ka rang iss phagun ko!
तू जहाँ जहाँ चलेगा
मेरा साया साथ होगा
मेरा साया साथ होगा…कभी मुझको याद करके, जो बहेंगे तेरे आँसू
तो वहीं पे रोक लेंगे, उन्हें आ के मेरे आँसूमैं अगर बिछड़ भी जाऊँ, कभी मेरा ग़म न करना
मेरा प्यार याद करके, कभी आँख नम न करनातू कोई जनम भी लेगा
मेरा साया साथ होगा…
I would have opened this letter with a ‘dear’, however I wondered for a long time if it would indeed be a correct way for me to address you, after all this time. A lifetime seems to have passed between that evening of 1952 and now, sometimes even making me feel that I have slept through the last 30 years. I would often look at faces of my children and grandchildren, wondering if I am stuck in some never ending dream from which I might wake up any minute now. My hair has greyed in the fringes of my temple and forehead, my smile is showing signs of wrinkle and my fingers feel heavy. It’s not a terrible feeling, I enjoy my experiences most of the time, but sometimes my body feels like it is living the life of someone else. And that in a different timeline I am still there playing with you behind that tree. Is it still there? I was so sure I will forget everything, you, those lanes, that house and all else. Are you also there? Do you also, like me, go to sleep in the expectation of reliving our lives till 16 years of age again and again, like listening to a record on loop or going to see one particular cinema multiple times? If you are coming back from there, can you accompany me back to myself as well please?
This night seems to be taking all away from me again. The moon is cruel.
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रजनीगंधा फूल तुम्हारे , मेहेके यूँ ही जीवन में यूँ ही मेहेके प्रीत पिया की मेरे अनुरागी मन में
Your tuberose flowers for no reason emit aroma in my existence. And for no reason effuse my mate’s love in my devoted consciousness.
Hi. I am writing this in the middle of the night, more as a sort of remembrance for myself than as something for you. Chances are you might never see this letter, even though it is addressed to you. Today when I was waiting near the railway station for you, I made a sudden observation. I was restless. I was pushing my two thumbs together, slightly shaking my knee and glancing left and right. Then suddenly, when I was staring at the small chai stall near the station for a long time, it suddenly hit me that I was restless. Restless looking for you, if you had come, if you were coming, from which direction you were coming, what kind of expression were you carrying on your face and many other such questions. It struck me as a bit odd, at first. I am not used to feeling like this. I live an ordinary life, an ordinary home, an ordinary existence. People like us have very less to feel restless about. But, it’s nice, feels very…human. I smile more these days too. Do not mistake my smiles as frivolous, they are every bit as sincere as yours. Today this realization has made my heart feel full, like I do after a good meal made by my mother. Today’s meal for my heart has been your gift. Thank you.
Photographs from: Rajnigandha (1974), Basu Chatterjee
ये गलियाँ ये चौबारा, यहाँ आना न दोबारा अब हम तो भए परदेसी के तेरा यहाँ कोई नहीं |
कल भी सूरज निकलेगा, कल भी पंछी गाएंगे सब तुझको दिखाई देंगे, पर हम न नज़र आएंगे |
आँचल में संजो लेना हमको, सपनों में बुला लेना हमको; अब हम तो भए परदेसी के तेरा यहाँ कोई नहीं |
ye galiya ye chaubara, yaha aana na dobara ab ham to bhaye pardesi ke tera yaha koi nahi
kal bhi suraj nikalega, kal bhi panchi gayenge sab tujhko dikhayi denge par ham na nazar aayenge
aanchal me sanjo lena hamko, sapno me bula lena humko; ab ham to bhaye pardesi ke tera yaha koi nahi
Tum ne jo ab apni khudgarzi me mujhko kho diya, ab duhaiyaan na dena. Toofan sare jo ab khatm ho chuke hai, aansuon ko apne sambhal kar kharch karna. Humari mohabbat ka sila jo judaai likh diya hai, humari dosti ko apne dil me humesha ke liye panah dena.
ishq se tabīat ne ziist kā mazā paayā
dard kī davā paaī dard-e-be-davā paayā
my being did, from love’s domain, the joy of life procure
obtained such cure for life’s travails, which itself had no cure
“Time was passing like a hand waving from a train I wanted to be on. I hope you never have to think about anything as much as I think about you.”
If only you knew how much of my day I spent thinking, wondering about you….every second seems to pass with an utterance of your name. Is it funny? Playing with my heart, knowing this idiot loves you more than she ever believed she could. Would this be funnier if you were able to read all the words in my diary? Don’t smile like that, the way you do when you play your tricks and then look at me to see if I witnessed them. My heart shatters across the curve of your lips. I love you. I want to scream it out loud. Will you listen?
(Quote From Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer)
Dekhte hain tan mera, mann mein chubhti hain nazar. Honth sil jaate unke, narm honthon se magar. Ginti rehtii huun main apni karvaton ke silasile. Kya karun, Kaise kahun. Raat kab kaise dhale. Jiya jale jaan jale, nainon tale dhuaan chale. Raat bhar dhuaan chale.
They say when love befall on a woman, she turns mad and her eyes turn red. Lies and yet they aren’t untrue. I lie here, pricking at the helm of my skirt, glancing at the lamp, counting the time waiting for your return. Waiting and thinking about how you might set light afire on the edges of my skin again, how your lips sealed against mine will feel different tonight, how you fingertips will trace again the edges of my mehndi today which I have reapplied for your visual pleasure, even the mehndi on my feet will br crushed as the familiar pain arises. My heart burns and yet I cannot scream for this pain of passion must remain private lest people talk. My thousand confessions stand still at the tip of my tongue. My glances of forlorn are reserved for you and you only. So come soon, so we must be lighted unto each other.
(I watched Dil Se the other day, and realized this song was a masterpiece depicton of female passion and sexuality which isn’t talked about in our society much. So I needed to make a tribute ofc)
Uthhti Nahi Hai Aankh Kisi Aur Ki Taraf, Paband Kar Gayi Hai Kisi Ki Najar Mujhe. Imaan Ki Toh Ye Hai Ke Imaan Ab Kahan, Kafir Banaa Gayi Teri Kafir Nazar Mujhe.
The eyes of a woman. A thousand secrets and a thousand tales. Do not get lost for dangers alike love lie in the lanes of their twine beads.
The eyes, Chico. They never lie.
Duniyaa Ne Ham Ko Diya Kya, Duniyaa Se Ham Ne Liyaa Kya. Ham Sab Ki Paravaah Karen Kyun, Sab Ne Hamara Kiya Kya
I remember watching Haré Rama Haré Krishna (1971) when I was a little over 10. And Janice played by Zeenat Aman was my most favorite character in the whole film. A young girl torn apart from her beloved brother, her only support system in a household riff with domestic violence and extra marital affairs and feuds between the elders who were her parents, Janice for me was my relatable character at a time when I was witnessing feuds in my own home and did not even have the mental capacity to understand it. I understood her, I did not even know what being a Hippie even meant, and yet I understood her. The desire to run away, not just from your torn household but also yourself still haunts me sometimes even though my situation has improved by a 180° degree these past years. She wasn’t able to find her self and by the time she realized the true identity of her brother Prashant, knowing he had witnessed her rock bottom, her most shameless yet shameful self, her complete inability to empathise with the “normal world” her brother belonged to, her depression, it was late. Too late. I understood her. Even though I am now doing better now than I ever thought I would, I sometimes wonder what would I have done if I were her. Would I have been able to bear through it all? Am I strong enough? To all the Janice girls out there, it does get better, have hope. I wish you all the best.
इतिहास के पन्नो में युद्ध भी है बुद्ध भी है. राग भी है द्वेष भी है. यह आपके व्यक्तिगत सोच पर निर्भर करता है कि आप अपने इतिहास से क्या सीखते है?
I went to Humanyun’s tomb.
Sometimes, reaching out and taking someone’s hand is the beginning of a journey. At other times, it is allowing another to take yours.
Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration
My life lies at the tips of your fingers. A single kiss of skin and my world divine.
