A Wonderful Lyric...

Published by Rahul Gupta for Prayag International's Anubhooti.


This is to you all who have the art of appreciating good lyric....from 'Sada Adda'..

दिल  तो  कुछ  कुछ सरफिरा  है..

दिल के दिल में क्या छुपा है, ये तो  बस दिल को पता है..

धडकनों पर किसका पहरा,  कौन  कब क्यों दिल  में ठहरा..

दिल के दिल में क्या छुपा है, ये तो  बस दिल को पता है..

क्या  अजब  इस  दिल  की  अदा  है..

सरफिरा  है, सरफिरा  है,  दिल  तो  कुछ  कुछ सरफिरा  है..

ख्वाहिशों  से  आंख  मिचौली  खेलता है दिल  हमेशा

कशमकश  की  बंदिशें  भी  झेलता  है  दिल  हमेशा..

चेहरे  पर इश्तिहार  लगा  कर  घूमता  है  हसरतों  की  नुमाईश  करके झूमता है..

सरफिरा  है, सरफिरा  है,  दिल  तो  कुछ  कुछ सरफिरा  है..

ये  समझ  न पाया कोई  करता है  दिल  क्यों  नादानी,

 दिल के लाखों  हिस्से  हैं  और  दिल  की  लाखों है  कहानी..

ये  दिल  जो  अटका  जो  अटक  ही  जाता  है

तड़पता  है  फिर  भी खामोश रहता  है  दिल  तो  कुछ  कुछ सरफिरा  है..

सरफिरा  है, सरफिरा  है,  दिल  तो  कुछ  कुछ सरफिरा  है..

December 2, 2012……..THE NIGHT…………..December 28’ 2012-12-29

Pbulished by Rahul Gupta for Prayag International's Anubhooti..

December 2, 2012……..THE NIGHT…………..December 28’ 2012

It’s 3:30 AM...

Memories are like ants, no one knows exactly how many remain in a house, but when one comes, each one start coming.....one after the other.....

Still sensing that, perhaps, the last call... I finished it hurriedly... for i was unable to continue the call...for emotion choked my throat....I was overwhelmed with a sense of some feelings which I am sure words are incapable of describing.

Tears perhaps cannot go a long way with you...It dries when you need it the most at times and simultaneous it rolls down your cheek when you need to hide them...

Today I opened my Pandora box of memories....they were kept safe there in layers...some of them were cherished well in good layers with a pleasant and delicate smell...though they were less and others were unkempt.....stinking...

Don’t know... from where to start? Emotions ablaze me...in these days, for the second time after the day of survival from the accident, i felt so immense feeling.

Should i tell you about a one year old baby who lost his father.....or a thirteen year old adolescent whose nights were enveloped with tender sobbing of her mother in the damn dark silent night......... or a young in his twenty, a rootless seed seeking his soil to grow and DPS was a nursery...........

Unrequited, untold love is the purest form of love. There is no pretence in that. Mom used to say, ‘Beta, grow up’ and i wanted to remain a kid...perhaps seeking my own childhood among kids at DPS... that was my fault. Why did I not grow up? Knowing not today I have to pay a big price. I wanted to act naughty like kids there, providing that i was a facilitator there? Did i have the right?

9: 15 PM

I was on riding tears......

9:20 PM

Took my cell and typed the following message. Here is an edited version.

“I don’t know what it was? But one thing I can guarantee Rits, it was not what exactly you implied. Today is the end of an era. You let me fall into an unfathomable hole, full of guilt conscious. I am left broken, shattered into pieces, downtrodden, wretched, and bottomless. No tears can make it up. It aches. What a fall! I can never love myself anymore..uff..It aches.....Kahan jaun, Kya karun? I have lost myself, I have lost you, I have lost aunty, ha!!! You won the bet the very first day...congrats! You will not find me anymore for I have lost myself. Uff Rits ye kya ho gaya? Theworld can never be the same again. I am not me, yeah..but a lynch...lifeless, rythmless, shameless, soulless and...epithets are less now.”

After passing it, I don’t know why I waited for some time that some reply, some call will follow..... :‘(

9:30 PM

Knowing not what to do, I was feeling extremely suffocation at the flat, decided to walk out only to encounter some policemen enquiring the reason of my outing at late night. Huh!!

9:40 PM

Back at room, desperate, thought for a moment to kill myself, grabbed the bottle of Heat (for I am none more an entity than a mosquito now). But, sudden the call of mamma reminded me her images in numerous and the ideas evaporated.

We watch movies and at some points of time some characters seem so close to us. How close the music mentor of ‘SUR’ is to me or at time I feel how close I am to the master of ‘Black’ played by Big B. Do I have an end now, or I am trapped, it seems to me now, in a long unending tunnel as Alice in ‘wonderland’ or the protagonist in the ‘Rat Trap’ by Selma Lagerlof.

10:00 PM

I reminded all our memories with the utmost care....... you were an innocent laugh...birds chirping....in fact my adopted kid.... our fight.....and then make up and all that........

11:00 PM

Thought hard trying not to think.......

12:00 PM

Images blurred.....

1:00 AM

It aches...... I have fallen down from my own eyes.......

2:00 AM

It aches....... terribly......

3:00 AM

Went to meditation, got some peace. Shit! Why did the idea not come earlier?

3:30 AM

I took the laptop out and thought to jot down all my feelings....

4:30 AM

I have set the alarm at 9:30 AM... thinking to inbox you this content tomorrow at the office.

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 Rits, when it comes to me, I always wanted you to sing like 6 C kids:

 ‘Behti hawa sat ha wo, urti patang sa tha wo, Kahan gaya use dhundho.....’

Whenever not hearing from me, but......... I became like characters from ‘BLACK’ and ‘SUR’.

Just one last thing there was nothing self from my side between us.... it was pure, pure and only pure kind of stuff........

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BYE take your best care, aunty has a son other than Reetesh and will remain his son always. 

DECODING OF THE DA VINCI CODE

ONE OF MY REVIEWS I HAVE DONE DURING THE DAYS AT DARBHANGA HOUSE, DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH, PATNA UNIVERSITY.................................................

 DECODING OF THE ‘DA VINCI CODE’

Controversy, of course, can increase the circulation of a particular work, but it cannot enhance its artistic quality. Art is the expression of impression. To express the impression we have various media e.g. Literature, Music, Dance, Sculpture, Painting and the like. Just as words are the medium for expressing emotions in Literature, similarly sounds, gesture, stones and colures are the tools in the hand of a musician, dancer, a sculptor, or a painter respectively. What one chooses that makes “All the differences”; in the words of Robert Frost used in his poem, “The Road Not Taken”. But, surely we cannot judge Parvej Musharraf’s “In the Line of Fire” and Dan Brown’s “The Da Vinci Code” with the same spectacle. In Musharraf, we find a number of paradoxes, who declared the defeat of Kargil as his victory, that may be true to some extent in the sense that it provided a platform for him to be the supremo of Pakistan in the one hand, whereas on the other hand in “The Da Vinci Code”, we find a wide range of symbolism in art, the Fibonacci series, pentacles cryptography, anagram, the concept of Divine Number, topography, the interpretation of the Bible in terms of definition, the Monalisha’s androgyny, and even the comparison between the nations clearly seen in the dialogue of Baju Fache and Robert Langdon about the pyramid and much more.

Ronald Gelatte is really true when he says that a child begins with ‘why’ viz ‘curiosity’ that becomes its comedy whereas an adult with comparison and this perhaps is the most insidious to human tragedies. The success of “The Da Vinci Code” lies in the fact that it successfully evoked a child like curiosity in a man in general except some rare exceptions not in its controversy. Although it is obvious that the theory about Mary Magdalene is not Brown’s real one that made the story extraordinary, of course, the factual locations, the paintings, ancient history, the secret documents, the rituals- the sum total of all these compelled him to draw the sketch of “The Da Vinci Code” in words. Nowadays when the aim of many authors is to increase the number of circulation in order to get royalty as well as to be in news, we have some such authors also who work for the satisfaction of their artistic appetite and it would not be an exaggeration to say that Dan Brown’s ‘The DA Vinci Code’ is a rare combination of both the elements. One can read it to observe the style in which he presented it. One cannot stop oneself from the moment s/he starts till its completion.

DREAM

DREAM

One day, I woke up not to find her around me. Guess, who I am without her.....unable to recognize, ..... beep ...... beep .... curr ....hangover...toss and turn and toss and turn ...... yawn ......... I welcomed myself in a world of Zombie ....................................... ..........................................................................................................

.................................. later that day, when I found myself in front of the mirror......I interrogated for my eyes were without emotion..... so blank, I found myself wretched................................. 

Oh! sorry! Please do not take me otherwise, its not the bitch, my beloved, whom I am talking to............

I could sense my words. It is 'She'- my dream, my passion. Without her, a tinge of guilt had overtaken my love for life. Sensing the fact, I jumped to the my study chair grabbing my pen....paper...book and in front of me was a world 'so interesting'!!!

अंततः

अंततः

 मैं रहूँ या न रहूँ

 क्या फर्क पड़ता है?

दरख्तों   के  वे  कोमल   पत्ते  तो  होंगे

जिनका स्पर्श हमने  मिलकर  किया  था  कभी 

जमीं  की  गीली  मिट्टी  भी  होगी

   जहाँ  हमने  अपने  पैरों  के  निशां मिलाये  थे...

   तन्हाईयाँ भी  होगी

   जिसे  हमने  अलग - अलग  महसूस  की  थी  शायद ...

तुम्हारे  पास  मेरे  पुराने  ख़त  होंगे

वह  किताबे  भी  होंगी

जिसे  वादा  कर  तुमने कभी  नहीं  लौटाई

डाइरी के  पन्नों  के  बीच 

   मेरा  दिया   हुआ  गुलाब  सूख  गया  होगा

   मैं  नहीं  हूँ  तो क्या फर्क पड़ता है?

   तुम्हारे  लम्बे  घने  बाल   होंगे

   और  चेहरे  पर  मुस्कराहट  के  फूल

   कस्तूरी  गंधयुक्त  देह

   तुम्हे  कोई  अपना  सा  लगने  लगेगा

   फिर  वही  सिलसिला ...

पत्तों  का  छूना

गीली  मिटटी  पर   चलना 

ख़त  लिखना ......फूल  देना ...

एक  दुसरे  का  स्पर्श कर

हदों  को  पार  कर  टूटना

फिर  जुड़ने  का  प्रयास  करना

और  अंततः  जुड़  जाना

ऐसे  में  ..... मैं  रहूँ या  न  रहूँ 

क्या  फर्क  पड़ता  है .

Love that consumes.....

...and love, which kind of love you are talking about: eros, philos, or agape.

She looked at me blank, but her friend smiling with a slight effort to hide it. I easily could sense that she knew the three Greek words for love.

The feeling of love, I continued, that exists between two people is 'eros'.
Love in the form of friendship is 'philos'.
And when the flame of philos stops burning, it transcends into the highest form of love i.e. 'agape'- something beyond discussion, to be felt and to be lived.
Whether the girl was a bit embarrassed or enlightened, I could not make it, but her friend looked at me with adoration in her eyes and I looked her elegant coiffure by the corner of my right eye.

"Have you ever been in love?" asked the girl.
This unexpected question supposed to reveal my private life surprised me a bit. I waited for a moment and started, "I have known a lot of woman, if that is what you mean. And I have really loved each one of them. But I experienced agape only with one. The one........" I kept on speaking in my trance for long. I don't know when I got my consciousness.
"Agape is the total love. It is the love that consumes the person who experiences it. Whoever knows or experiences agape learns that nothing else in this world is important- just love. It is the kind of love Jesus felt for humanity. It exists in two forms- enthusiasm or ecstacy; a state of pure bliss, quite different of orgasm; a connection with God."

And the other is death, said her friend.
The "PRESENT", said the girl.
I found my mouth open in wonder, looking at the girl.

An excerpt from "On the Face of It" by Susan Hill

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 DERRY: I don't like being near people. When they stare...when I see them being afraid of me.
MR LAMB: You could lock yourself in a room and never leave it. There was a man who did that. He was afraid. You see. Of everything. Everything in this world. A bus might run over him, or a man might breath deadly germ onto him, or a donkey might kick him to death, or lightning might strike him down, or he might love a girl and the girl would leave him, and he might slip on banana skin and fall and people who saw him would laugh their heads off. So he went into this room, and locked the door, and got into his bed, and stayed there.
DERRY: For ever?
MR LAMB: For a while.
DERRY: Then What?
MR LAMB: A Picture fell off the wall on to his head and killed him.
[ Derry laughs a lot]
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