Of Life and Love

This one is dedicated to my lovely wifey, who has always been curious, encouraging and supportive of my poetry and writing, egging me on; and dedicated to the experiences that shape life. After many years of a poetry-less rat race... "Chaah na paya tujhko phir bhi Chaahat ka anjaam pata hai, Naam juda na tera mera Par main tha badnaam, pata hai; Jannat mein bhi tab charchey they Tere mai ke, maikhaney ke, Chhalke they mere bhi paimaney Palkon se har shaam, pata hai? Madmast zamaaney ne gaye, kissey Aur guney taraney bhi, Teri aankhon ke aagey tha Ye afsana gumnaam, pata hai? Chaah na paya tujhko phir bhi Chaahat ka anjaam pata hai, Naam juda na tera mera Par main tha badnaam, pata hai; Na hai kusoor tera ismein, Na hai kusoor mera ismein, Hai mera par koi mulzim, Us mulzim ka kya naam pata hai? Chaah na paya tujhko phir bhi Chaahat ka anjaam pata hai, Naam juda na tera mera ...

It wasn’t that Hamid had been born to see days of luxury, days of worldly comfort, or even days of simple basic human dignity. It wasn’t that he was accustomed to bright night lights and breezy afternoons. He was not. His world had always been a dim world. But even so, he vividly remembered that night, the darkest of all nights. Hamid had not known many seasons in his seven year old life then but he could make out the difference that night. He had only known the sweltering summers and the wet, damp, putrid, almost nauseating rains. He couldn’t have known any better and any different, for the city had no other seasons. Mumbai was an endless summer worsened by a seemingly endless, alarming and sometimes lethal monsoon. But he knew that season to be different. December had brought along a certain firmness in the chill the air carried at nights, a certain stubbornness. Actually, the air even used to feel biting sort of! Hamid had not known such sensations. Oh! The shivers, most inc...

My wife is a firm believer in something. Well, that in itself conveys nothing new I’m sure to a huge chunk of the male population. Let me specify more clearly. Let me demonstrate where she would differ, or so I’d like to think, from all other fine specimen of wives in general. She has a firm belief that if you look closely and know what to look for, the way a car is driven on the road can tell you almost everything about the personality of the driver, or the owner in case of chauffeur driven ones! Well! You see, the thing is, I have actually started believing in this myself and by the time I am done here, chances are you will too! So boot up, get your baby’s engine to purr and hit the nearest expressway (I eke out an existence in the wannabe Shanghai of India –  Mumbai,   hence always want to tom-tom the cool sounding expressways; nevermind the fact that I cannot invite you onto any other kind of road without inviting pitiful looks from you). Let me guide y...