Author: Swati Sani

तुम अपनी करनी कर गुज़रो

Very few poets move me as much as Faiz Ahmed Faiz does. His poetry pierces my heart, bleeds it and then heals it and inspires it. What can I say more.. I keep searching for words to describe my emotions, my feelings and then all I have to do is open a book and read Faiz Ahmed Faiz.

अब क्यूँ उस दिन का जिक्र करो
जब दिल टुकड़े हो जायेगा
और सारे ग़म मिट जायेंगे
जो कुछ पाया खो जायेगा
जो मिल न सका वो पायेंगे
ये दिन तो वही पहला दिन है
जो पहला दिन था चाहत का
हम जिसकी तमन्ना करते रहे
और जिससे हरदम डरते रहे
ये दिन तो कितनी बार आया
सौ बार बसे और उजड़ गये
सौ बार लुटे और भर पाया

अब क्यूँ उस दिन का जिक्र करो
जब दिल टुकडे हो जायेगा
और सारे ग़म मिट जायेंगे
तुम ख़ौफ़ो-ख़तर से दरगुज़रो
जो होना है सो होना है
गर हंसना है तो हंसना है
गर रोना है तो रोना है
तुम अपनी करनी कर गुज़रो
जो होगा देखा जायेगा

–फ़ैज़ अहमद फ़ैज़

On Love

This piece is about the most written about subject in the history of mankind – LOVE. And its not about platonic love either – its about man-woman love ( sorry, in modern times, LGBT love also). Half the literature and art world is devoted to love, the other half , thankfully, is sane!

The moot point is that love, especially eternal love, is a highly overrated emotion. The kind of love every artist portrays and every lay person dreams about is essentially transient; not meant to last forever. Let’s face it – the only bell I hear ringing when I kiss my wife is the doorbell; there is certainly no thunderous flash of lightning unless the falling of the utensils in the kitchen can be mistaken for one. The process of being comfortable with a person, of understanding and complementing a person is mistaken for love.

True love as portrayed in the arts does exist, albeit in a transient mode. I definitely remember certain intense phases of my life where the world revolved around a single girl (or a not-single woman). A sideways glance and half a smile was enough to send me in raptures of ecstasy. That flip flop in the stomach; the heady feeling; the insane desire to climb mountains and pluck stars for your sweetheart are all a part of this emotions. But such feelings don’t last; are not meant to last. The joy and therein the tragedy lies in the brief window of time where we are exposed to love. Our best arts are a reflection of what we most desire. Implicit is the fact that we most desire those things which we can’t or don’t have. Once you get your love, it cannot be desired anymore and hence transforms into a comfortable or an acrimonious relationship.

Haven’t all of us experienced true love during our lives? YES. And maybe more than once in a lifetime. The fortunate amongst us have experienced and lost it thereby retaining the charm of love. The not so fortunate amongst us have experienced it and hoping to keep it for eternity, watch it slowly wither away in the humdrum of daily life. The tantalizing possibility of what could be is what keeps the fortunate amongst us in love with love and promotes paeans to the emotion of love. But can you seriously envisage Romeo-Julit, Shirin-farhad, Heer Ranjha surviving eternally the profaneness of everyday mundane life?

Love is a beautiful emotion, to be enjoyed while it exists and to be savoured with a tinge of joyful nostalgia and single malt when it is not. You can’t hold a beautiful rose in your hand and expect it to stay forever. It withers away and dies. Same is the case with true love

मेरा नया बचपन

This one is for Maneesh, my oldest friend who is right now 5000 Kms. away from his family and daughters, and is missing them.

Posting this on my blog instead of sending it to him on email (as he had asked me to) because I love this poem as much as he does, and because we shared a part of our childhood from nursery to class III.  I would eat the hot dal and rice from his tiffin which his mom would bring every afternoon and then fight with him during the rest of the break because he would pay more attention to our other classmate, Aparna.

बार-बार आती है मुझको मधुर याद बचपन तेरी।
गया ले गया तू जीवन की सबसे मस्त खुशी मेरी॥

चिंता-रहित खेलना-खाना वह फिरना निर्भय स्वच्छंद।
कैसे भूला जा सकता है बचपन का अतुलित आनंद? Continue reading मेरा नया बचपन

Gorukana

View from the cottage
View from the cottage

We are resolved into the supreme air,
we are made one with what we touch and see,
with our heart’s blood each crimson sun is fair;
with our young lives each spring impassioned tree
flames into green, the wildest beasts that range
the moor our kinsmen are, all life is one, and all is change.

— Oscar Wilde

I could not have put into words more appropriately than this what I felt when we reached Gorukana on the winter morning after saying goodbye to FOSS.IN/2010.  **Gorukana (pronounced goru-kana; meaning a web) is a community based tourism initiative which involves running a wildlife resort unlike any other. Nestled in the beautiful web of trees in the forest of BR Hills, south of Bangalore, karnataka; this picturesque forest refuge was conceived by Kalyan Varma and is very lovingly tended to by Shilpa Sequeira. Gorukana is run and managed by the local tribesmen, Soligas and the money raised through this initiative goes back to their own community. Continue reading Gorukana

The General

( Disclaimer :Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely co incidental)

Anti corruption drive is the rage of the season. Media is going ballistic over errant ministers and bureaucrats while the common man derives voyeuristic pleasure at the discomfiture of hitherto untouchables’ thereby increasing TRPs of the channel.  In saner and sober moments, I think of myself as a member of moral –keeping middle class and enjoy the discomfiture of the mighty and the corrupt when they have the mike thrust into their face.  I regard the whore soliciting customers upfront on the roadside more honorable than these morally decrepit souls justifying their self serving ways in well phrased language.

Sitting in the salon, these screen events seem remote, kind of removed from personal life which goes on in its unassuming middle class way.  However a recent happening demonstrates that we all do get touched by the monster one way or other – and therefore its mandatory that we stand up and fight against corruption.

I had just resigned my commission as a naval officer – from serving at the pleasure of the President of India I was now to serve at the whims and fancy of the Company Director! Being in the navy has its plus points – stay in South Bombay, Naval school for children, clubs, golf etc. When I shifted to the big bad civilian world, the major hurdle was getting the kids admitted to a good school in Mumbai. We tried our best; we were booted out by some principals whilst others made vague promises. In desperation, we decided to shift to a nearby city and get the kids admitted to the Army School where I expected some kind of preferential treatment. Unfortunately, the admission picture was not too rosy there either.

Now I am a principled kind of a bloke who does not like to subvert the system for personal gains. But I am also a doting father – a role which over rides all other roles. At this juncture of life, I was lucky enough to have a  friend who was a close relative of the army top brass in Bombay – General Bones. A phone call from the General to the Principal of Army School would have ended all my woes.

My friend obliged by putting up my case to her Uncle. However, he declined saying that it was against his principles to subvert the system and that her friend (me) should know better than to request a serving army general for such favours. Duly chastised, I accepted the General’s logic and admired his moral stance. I also tried to realign my moral compass since I felt I had lost ground on the moral front by trying to take undue advantage of my friendship. Unfortunately, I could not or did not set off on a pilgrimage to atone for my sins. I got the children admitted to schools in Bombay, drawing consolation in the fact that I have done the morally right thing – taken the path of harder right than the easier wrong. I mentally saluted the General for bringing me back on the path of virtue and righteousness once more.

A couple of years passed – kids settled down to their school. Friends scattered. I was watching the TV. The anchor was reporting the most recent scam saying “General Bones has been summoned  for Court of Inquiry investigating his alleged role in illegally obtaining a flat in Ideal Housing Society ”

And in the end..

ITCom 2000
ITCom 2000 -the gang!

We depart for Bangalore tomorrow to attend FOSS.IN and as I was finishing  to pack  a wave of sadness overcame me.  This is the last time I will be packing to go for FOSS.IN, an event which, since past 10 years has been a part of our annual trip to Bangalore – a pilgrimage of sorts.

It all began in the year 2000, I along with Tarique and my three year old (who was just as excited as we were) became a part of what later came to be known as FOSS.IN. A conference which has been more than a conference not just to us but for several others I know. It is here that I made some very good friends, laughed and danced, agreed and argued and learned more about FOSS. Continue reading And in the end..

The Fauji Patient

The military ingests perfectly normal, fairly intelligent human beings and converts them jnto soldiers. The hard nuts refuse to get digested and are excreted out intact while the pliable ones are metabolized and assimilated into the system.

To be candid, the general populace does carry the impression that defence personnel are a tad dense in their upper floor – a notion which is difficult to dispel. Unfortunately there exists a host of factual and fictional anecdotes which augment the belief. I have one such anecdote to narrate.

Capt RK is a retired army officer serving with us – a smart energetic person. Now, we all know that the city of Mumbai plays host to a variety of viruses – some known, other mutants. RK happened to get afflicted with the mutant variety. Initially, like a true fauji, he refused to accept the fact that he was ill. When the fever persisted and we insisted, he reluctantly took sick leave. The local doctors could not get a handle on the mutated virus. He finally went to a swank clinic where all those pedigreed foreign returned doctors practice. The good old days of General Practitioner who examined the patient, drew on his experience and diagnosed are long gone. Today it’s science and gadgets. So poor RK was subjected to a battery of tests, diagnosed as having some unpronounceable disease and was prescribed a 3 day course of different medicines. These medicines came packaged in a single strip with day 1, 2 and 3 marked in column. The patient was required to take the daily set of red, blue and white pill placed column wise every day.

RK started the medicinal course convinced it will cure him of every ill. However at the end of third day, he felt worse and had blood in his sputum. He went back to the flabbergasted doctors complaining of worsening condition.

The flummoxed doctors ran another battery of tests which yielded the same earlier unpronounceable result. Now those fancy foreign returned doctors just couldn’t fathom what was wrong – the diagnosis was positive, the prescribed medicine appropriate but the end result opposite and inappropriate. For once, the super gadgets seemed to let them down.

The clinic had an ex fauji as the Administrator. He overheard the case discussions in the executive lunch room and looked up the medicine strip. He went to RK and asked “Did you eat the medicines regularly?” RK nodded his head in affirmative. “So you ate the red, blue and white coloured tablets each day?” the ex fauji asked indicating the set of medicine meant for Day 1, 2 and 3. “No sir” came the classic reply from RK, ” I ate the red coloured ones on the first day, blue coloured ones the second day and white ones on the last”

Lovers

All night the moon made love to her soft petals and as the dawn broke, she opened herself and turned towards the radiant Sun.

The Sun, he ignored the ardent adoring gaze of Sunflower and completely consumed the Dew in his warm embrace.

 

Photo by Andreas on Unsplash

The 25th Courtship!

In the good old days, the art of wooing was simple and straightforward. The man bonked the woman over the head and dragged her over to his cave to fornicate happily ever after. No running circles around the bush to get what he wanted….. Obviously the success rate was directly dependent on the size of the man’s club and the strength with which he wielded it.

As human kind progressed, the club gave way to the mighty sword and the mightier pen. Complex courtship rituals evolved with men rushing in to make bigger fools of themselves in order to woo the fair damsel. Wars were fought, great monuments built, kingdom signed away in this male madness. Off course not everyone was successful and unrequited love found expressions in great literature and works of art.

I seriously rue for the loss of the earliest version of courtship. This chivalry thing is a bit too obtuse and time consuming for my liking. The feint followed by flanking attack is for others – I prefer a direct frontal assault, an invitation to dinner and breakfast kind. There is infinite variety to the basic theme of courting, each one more interesting than other. My last courtship needs to be recounted for its sheer audacity and chutzpah. .

We all were defence officers undergoing a course. Defence officers are a disciplined, hot blooded lot given to passions easily. And yes – some defence officers are women! A couple of weeks into the course and I asked her out to a movie – she accepted. At that stage and age, there are no feints . Her consent to the movie was an implicit consent and both of us knew it. The moot question was – how to break the ice? The thrill was two fold – as defence officers, we could get court martialled and as a married individual, we could get prosecuted under the Indian Penal Code. Funny how the sinful and the taboo is the most enjoyable…..Forbidden fruits are most delicious.

After the movie – dinner. As we sipped our Shiraz and nibbled on the hors d oeuvre, I made the move. Clutching my head, I exclaimed “Oh God – its happening again”.  She inquired what and walked right into the kill zone. Innocently explained that I had a medical condition which needs immediate oral ingestion of complex proteins. “The last time I was afflicted I had to spend 3 days in bed at a friend’s place” I added.   “ I am sure there must be some medicine you can take?” she inquired. I informed her that this protein was not available off the shelf since it was more organic in nature. “So how do get this protein?” she sounded bewildered. “It’s of human origin” I exclaimed triumphantly.

I could not have the luxury of being bedridden for 3 days. Next day I had to get up early to sneak out of her room and be in time for the morning case study.