Let me remember well
this place the storytellers have brought me to.
So at every false note
or untrue thought
I can slide back
to this quiet.

Today is a fizz-free , flat-lined, reality.
But tomorrow in my wit again I will believe
So now to bed, to sleep.

Story tellers –
draw the weary tendrils
of my thoughts into a story.
Unravel the tautness of days
into the realm of dreams true.

The starting point for this was the most recent poem on the galib fan page wall and a conversation that broke out amongst FB friends.

I made my home at your doorstep, without a word to you
Now you know everything about mine, without a word from me.

If, as they say, my soul is not of a poets
How can I read your heart, without a word from you?

The one I am in need of today –
They call him a tormenter, with every word they say.

I am but emptiness.
were there something in me, the words would pour out of me.

My devotion to the deity of disbelief endures,
The crowds call me a heretic. That word is their refrain.

I am deaf. Do this for me.
Repeat your message. Once more, say all your words to me.

Galib, why bring up my name again and yet again –
when they can see you, and see through you, without a word from you.

Original:
Ghar jab bana liya tere dar par kahe baghair,
Janega ab tu bhi mera ghar, kahe baghair !

Kehte hain jab rahi na mujhe taqat e sukhan,
Jaanu kisi ke dil ki main kyon kar kahe baghair !

Kaam us se aa para hai ke jis ka jahan mein naam,
Leway na koi naam sitamgar kahe baghair !

Ji mein hi kuch nahi hai hamare wagarna hum,
Sar jaye ya rahe, na rahein par kahe baghair !

Chhoronga main na us but e kaafir ka poojna,
Chhoray na khalq go mujhe kaafir kahe baghair !

Behra hun to chahiye douna ho iltefaat,
Sunta nahi hun baat mukarrar kahe baghair !

Ghalib na kar huzoor mein tu bar bar arz,
Zaahir hai tera haal sab un par kahe baghair !!

If you have Rhythm,
you loose rhyme
You have both ?
Where’s meaning sublime ?

Sprinkles, Splashes, Glee !!!
Eyes alight, Crimson on white …
A Happy Holi !!

Am I the sum of my desires,
of things to which I aspire.
Or, am I made of parts
one for each completed art.
Am I Wishlist , or Shopping Cart ?

Uneven is the hand that deals,
out our thoughts and melodies
Life, time, and love for emily –
lists, tasks and chores for me ?

My list of things to do
has items that acrue
like furry tribbles
causing troubles
as their numbers grew and grew and grew and grew.

Ok. There is this class of books and movie that I hate. You know the “RAJ” category. Typically, these books have some flapper type females. They arrive in erstwhile India. They proceed to socialize with some charming / eccentric/arrogant prince types (almost always played by Shashi Kapoor in a movie). There is one scene where they talk to a non blue blooded Indian. That person has a name like Ramdin or Gangadin. Yes, there are elephants. All of it sets my teeth on edge. It is like going back in time and then making a right turn away from reality and into some ones imagination, and then flying to gain another’s perspective.

My resentment is similar to that of another Indian – Joseph. No, not Joseph who calls at you at dinner time asking about your inclination towards a new line of credit. Joseph the sardonic Indian from Maverick the movie. An Archduke in exile is ‘forcing’ Joseph to play the ‘noble savage’ to his ‘benevolent benefactor’. Joseph is resentful about having to play a caricature of himself. [If you don’t know or don’t recall, its time to go rent Maverick ]

Anyways, here is what brought all of this to the fore again. I have been reading a few series of mystery novels. A couple of these feature Sherlockian detectives from Calcutta – Feluda and Byomeksh Bakshi (translated into English) Another, also a reprise of Sherlock Holmes, is the Mary Russel series by Laurie R. King. The latter has Sherlock and his wife (yes, u heard right) in a series of adventures. In each novel we meet up with some real and imaginary people from that period. For instance, in one of the books Mary makes a throwaway remark about meeting an odd bearded man called Toelkin at Oxford that semester. As I am working my way through the series , I realize that the famous penultimate book in the series is set in India. Sherlock Holmes in India – in the early 1900s. Now go with that. Imagine the possibilities.

Now, here is what actually happens in the book (and I wonder I am the only one that does not see this coming). Holmes has to look for none other than ………….. Kipling’s ‘Kim’ !

And yes, there is a prince.
Yes there are wild animals.
Yes there are flappers.
But no Shashi Kapoor.
Because he is retired
(and because there is no movie).