तेज़ गरमी के बाद
सूखे पत्तों के उड़ जाने के बाद
लू में जिस्म के झुलस जाने के बाद
और ज़िंदगी के ख़ुश्क हो जाने के बाद
जब एक बौछार आती है
तो पहली बारिश की ख़ुशबू में तर
सारी पुरानी यादें
महक महक जाती हैं
– स्वाति सानी “रेशम”
تیز گرمی کے بعد
سوکھے پتوں کے اڈ جانے کے بعد
لو میں جسم کے جھلس جانے کے بعد
اور زندگی کے خشق ہو جانے کے بعد
جب ایک بوچھار آتی ہے
تو پہلی بارش کی خشبو میں تر
ساری پرانی یادیں
مہک مہک جاتیں ہیں
– سواتی ثانی ریشم
लब तेरे आज़ाद नहीं अब
ज़बां पर पड गये हैं ताले
न अब है ये जिस्म ही तेरा
न होगी अब जान भी तेरी
देख कि आहन-गर की दुकां अब
ठंडी राख का ढेर बनेगी
हाथों में पड़ जायेगी बेड़ी
पाओं में ज़ंजीरें होंगी
जिस्म ओ ज़बां की मौत है अब
सच का होता क़त्ल है अब
अब ये बाज़ी फिर ना बिछेगी
अब तो चुप हर शय चलेगी
– स्वाति सानी “रेशम”
My relationship with my dad went through many phases. As a small child, I was scared of him but not scared enough to not ask questions – as long as they are not “stupid questions” and I did not pester him.
As a young girl, I respected his scientific acumen and as an adult, I learnt from him that to have healthy relationships, one needs to give space, privacy and respect others’ individuality
Papa ran a small photo studio and did some pathbreaking work in his field and was always busy. A Geologist by education, he decided to follow his passion for photography when it came to choosing a livelihood. He started the studio on 20th February 1962 when he was 28.
Also, at that time my grandfather was retired and Papa was the only earning member of our joint family. A decade later, in 1973, when my sister was born, my grandfather also embarked on a new business which eventually was very successful.
Papa’s photo studio was known as Retina Studio and he was the only photographer in the city and perhaps one of the few in the country, in the mid-1970s who did photomicrography for medical sciences and research work. His work involved long hours of peering into a microscope and taking photographs of the slide samples provided. These photos were then made into transparencies to be used for the purpose of education and research.
The other work he did was taking photographs of medical procedures. He has photographed most of the pathbreaking surgeries that have happened in Nagpur.
For a brief time, he also did industrial photography for some government organisations but he could not get around to beat the bureaucracy and was always unhappy. He was not the person who could go and sit at the babu’s office just so his payment is released. He was of the opinion that he did good work and the payment should be made promptly and as professionally as he did his work. However, he thoroughly enjoyed working in the field of Medical Sciences.
Papa’s typical day started with waking up at 8.30 AM and leaving for work around 10.00 AM. He would on most days come home for lunch around 2 pm and then go back only to return at around 10.00 PM, have dinner, read whatever novel he was reading and go off to sleep around midnight. His weekly off was Saturday and every Saturday evening he and mom would go out and spend some time together. At times my sister and I went along too and we were treated to a meal of Dosa or a glass of Sugarcane juice. I looked forward to and loved this outing and it is a lovely memory.
On Saturdays I had a morning school which got over at 11 AM and I would come back to papa being home and listening to Ghazals or classical music on our gramophone (and in later years on a spool tape recorder) . I would hang around with him upstairs just so that I could listen to it too; much to the annoyance of my mother who expected me to help her with the household work.
He also inculcated the love of reading in us. Even though money was tight he always bought one Amar Chitra Katha and Chandamama every month ever since I was 10 years old. He kept buying these magazines till I finished school -although I had graduated to reading classics in English and Hindi by that time. When I was 15, looking at my love for Urdu poetry he also bought the prepublication copy of “Aaina e ghazal” for me.
There would be days when I would go with mom and spend the evening time at the studio where he would either be attending to his patrons or sitting and talking with a few of his many friends. Retina studio was the “adda” where all of them met. Sometime in the early ’70s he also joined the Masonic Lodge and his circle of friends grew bigger.
He was a people’s person. Loved having friends and family around. Our ancestral home too was a place where people, relatives, and relatives of relatives, or friends of relatives kept coming, sometimes even staying for an extended period of time, much to my irritation and annoyance as it would disturb my school and study schedule. Ours was a traditional family and as the eldest daughter, my first responsibility was to help in the kitchen, attend to the guests.
But Papa always encouraged me to study – study science and even helped me with my physics, and biology lessons. Chemistry I was always good at – I later learnt that our family was a family of chemists. Papa’s ways of teaching me, however, weren’t very pleasant when he realised that I am slacking. He would throw the book away and get angry. I don’t ever remember hitting me but his loud voice was enough to scare me to death. But I still loved being taught by him, he was a good teacher and I could understand the concepts easily if I paid attention.
As I grew up, our relationship changed. He became a confidante and an advisor to me. Gave me all the freedom and taught me to take the responsibilities that came with the freedom. He was the first person to know when I fell in love for the first time at an age of 19. He did not react when I told him, just said, see to it that this does not affect your studies. Ours was an orthodox Kayastha household, and this (while it may not be now) was a big deal for me. Although there was one time when I showed a photograph to him, of me and my boyfriend, which he destroyed along with it’s negative. Many years later, when I was talking to him about it, he said he did not know better and that he destroyed the picture because he was worried it could affect my life in future.
Papa was a modern man, never made me or my sister felt that we were any less just because we were girls. Much of what we both are is because of our upbringing by him and Mom.
He was an agnostic, but respected mom’s right towards her religious beliefs, and mine of being an atheist.
After he retired and closed the studio in 1999, he started spending more time at home. By that time I was married, Aasim was born and that is when we started talking more. Aasim too spent his growing up years with papa and was also taught a lot of things, and perhaps some more than what he taught me.
It was after he fell down the stairs in 2013 that I insisted that he and mom come and stay next doors to us since I was constantly worried about their well being. I have a huge library and a big collection of music, and he loved being here although he did miss being in the house he made for himself, after moving away from the ancestral home in 1998, he understood my concerns so he and mom kept shuttling between both the homes, for the next couple of years.
Papa was an active person and till he was 83 he regularly walked 5 km every day. He had left smoking and had started working out since he suffered an angina attack when he was in his early 50s.
He was also aware of his advancing age and the issues of health that come with old age. While he was always clear and had told us and several others, that after he is no more, his body should be donated for the cause of medical academics and research, in 2016 he decided to do the paperwork.
Papa was the eldest in the family in his generation and was respected and loved by everyone. Everyone was also very afraid of talking to him. His two brothers and three sisters are very close to each other but rarely talk their hearts out. All the siblings love being together, not talking much with each other but sitting in comfortable silence, each doing their own things.
Over the past 20 years, Papa talked a lot with me. We would sit and discuss books, music, poetry, and matters of life and death. He had entrusted me to carry out his will of body donation, knowing that I will respect his wish and do it even at the cost of going against our extended family.
When he was diagnosed with fast progressing Interstitial Lung Disease earlier this year, he knew that it’s just a matter of time.
A few months back, one morning he told me “For the first time in my life, I have written something, see if it makes sense” It was a couplet and one small poem. He gave it to me “isko rakh lo” he said.
Papa was an emotional person but always found himself at a loss of words to express his feelings. Perhaps it was social conditioning or it was his upbringing that made him suppress his feelings. He wanted to tell the people around that he loved them, but could not get around to saying it. Although I am sure, everyone did understand that he did. I asked him once as to why does he not express himself, to which he replied. “Pata nahi, kabhi kiya hi nahi”
By March end his health deteriorated, and when we went for a check up, he wanted me to tell exactly how much of his lungs were still clear.
He did not like being very emotional, and while he was a sensitive person, he rarely portrayed it outwardly. The best way to communicate with Papa was on a logical and practical level and that is where he could connect with me most.
A day after his hospitalisation, on the 19th May, he spoke to everyone. Most of the family had already flown in as he was deteriorating fast. He even called my eldest bua, his sister who was to reach in a day or two. A few of my cousins made video calls and he spoke to them, and had a hearty laugh when Atul told him on video call “Mamaji your hairstyle is so spunky”
He was in the best of health that day, could breath effortlessly, and even speak very clearly, which he could not a day earlier. He ate moong dal khichidi, his favourite meal, heartily. Even consumed good quantity of liquids. He spent most of the day talking to everyone who came to visit him in the hospital.
By late afternoon, just the two of us were there, I told him to sleep but he wanted to sit and talk. We talked for a long time, of various things, people and incidences. He reminisced his childhood and spoke to me about his parents and the family. He spoke of his grandsons. “Ishan is too young but it was good that Aasim had come last month” he said. He also instructed me to take the printout of the family tree which he sat and made with Aasim.
A while later he said he is feeling very good and much better but knows that the lungs are giving up. He asked me if he was right, and I did not lie, I said yes, papa, the lungs are not good. To which he recited a couplet
layi hayaat laye, qaza le chali chale
apni khushi na aaye, na apni khushi chale
We talked a bit about this ghazal and then he wanted to hear the K L Saigal version of this ghazal
After this one he recited one misra from another ghazal and wanted to me to recite the entire ghazal for him. We played that ghazal too.
kamar bandhe hue chalne ko yaaN sab yaar baithe hain
bahut aage gaye baki jo hain tayyar baithe hain
We listened to more ghazals by K L Saigal and C H Atma together and then he said “play that piece of Bhairvai by Ustad Vilayat Ali Khan and Ustad Zakir Hussain”. I knew which piece he was talking about. It’s a favourite of both of us. So I played this while he closed his eyes and heard it and drifted off to sleep.
This was the last complete conversation I had with Papa. I returned home for the night as my Swapna, my sister took charge.
The next morning, on 20th, she called me saying that his oxygen levels (SPO2) are fluctuating widely, they don’t look good, and I rushed back to the hospital.
The day passed in making him feel comfortable during the bouts of restlessness due to low oxygen levels. Finally, just before 7 PM, he suffered a cardiac arrest while I was holding him. Swapna and Tarique were also near his bed.
The attending doctors and the staff of the hospital were very quick to revive him, but his lungs were not able to sustain the beating heart. He finally gave up the fight at 7.55 PM.
As per his wishes, his body was donated for medical education and research purposes to NKP Salve Institute of Medical Sciences and Lata Mangeshkar Hospital, Hingna, Nagpur. His eyes were donated to Mahatme Eye Bank and Eye Hospital.
Papa lived a happy and fulfilled life, was surrounded by his siblings and the family during the last days of his life. He had met everyone he wanted to in the past few months of his life. There was no regret and he could feel the love of the family. He lived a life that needs to be celebrated. Knowing him as much as I do, I know that this is how he would want to be remembered.
The photos below were taken in April 2019, when Aasim came home to meet him.
وجود زن سے ہے تصویر کائنات میں رنگ
اُسی کے ساز سے ہے زندگی کا سوز دروں
شرف میں بڑھ کے ثریا سے مشت خاک اس کی
کہ ہر شرف ہے ِاسی درج کا درِ مکنوں
مکالمات فلاطوں نہ لکھ سکی لیکن
اُسی کے شعلے سے ٹوٹا شرار افلاطوں
And here’s my translation of the Nazm
The presence of feminine is the colour palette of universe
In her melodies are the pathos and life’s essence
The spark from a fistful is dust in her hands is brighter than the high Pleiades
And her uniqueness is more precious than those of the hidden perls
She is not Plato, she did not scribe philosophies
But it’s from her flames rose Plato, who philosophises
Aasim’s first startup, Orai App was chosen to be at Comcast’s Lift Lab accelerator program in 2018 batch where they met a lot of people, were given guidance and learnt a lot on how to run a startup.
Orai App improves upon a person’s spoken skills by giving feedback and ratings and trains a person, or a group of people (like sales forces) for better communication thereby increasing the chances of professional success.
In January 2019, Orai got a funding of $2.3 M and the company was featured on. Aasim’s first startup getting funding is a huge news and as parents we are super proud.
NBC
Tarique and I woke up early and decided to go and see where the gurgling sound water spring that we heard all night was coming from.
Since there was no direct access to the sound we were hearing, we decided to go through the village. It turned out to be a 2 km plus walk which led us to the small spring, which eventually led us to a huge freshwater melt from the glacier. It was next to the small monastery of the village in the mountains.
We walked along the stream for almost a kilometre before we turned back and were surprised to see a congregation of raptors – around 45-50 of them next to the mountains near the bridge of the main road. Cursing ourselves for just carrying the kit lens with the camera and not the 100-400 lens, we still took pictures. It turned out that it was a large migrating flock of kites. We stood there for quite some time observing them and then decided that it was getting late for the next item in our itinerary and promised ourselves to come the next day with a longer lens to photograph them.
It was time to go to the sand dunes to see the famous Bactrian Camels. The Bactrian Camel has two humps on it’s back, in contrast to the single-humped dromedary or Arabian camel. Their name comes from the ancient historical region Central Asia of Bactria which lies north of the Hindu Kush mountains. The population of these two-humped camels is around two million. About 100 of which are found in the Hunder town in Nubra Valley. This is the only place in India where Bactrian camels live.
Iqbal Bhai’s uncle (Tayaji), Haji Abdul Razak Jamshed , an Urdu teacher from Nubra valley accompanied us to the sand dunes. Haji saheb owns one of the camels and was accompanying us for a photoshoot for the Urdu book he has written on the Nubra valley titled: Wadi e Nubrah ki mukhtasar kahani (وادی نوبرہ کی مختصر کہانی) The book has been translated into English and is in circulation already.
Haji Saheb is 85 years old, still, fit and extremely knowledgeable about the region gave us a brief history of Nubra valley. He told us that before 1929, these sand dunes did not exist but Shyok was in floods 1929 due ice melt from the glacier and a breach in the dam, ,( an account of which I also found on the web), This left a part of Nubra valley completely submerged, but a huge pool of water here stayed much after the floodwaters receded, resulting in sand and over the years the forces of natures made this place a real cold desert, with daytime temperatures in summer being quite high, and the nights very cold.
The day started early as we were driving back from Kargil to Leh and were scheduled to stop in between to see the Lamayuru Monastery and the Moon landscape / Moonscape.
We were in high spirits, admiring the shape, textures and lovely pastel colours of the mountains. Shades of brown, gold and at times purple all around us.
We must have been on the road for an hour or so when we spotted a shepherd with his flock of sheep in high mountains. Sensing a photo opportunity, all of us made Iqbal Bhai stop the car and jumped out.
Happy with the results, we got back into the car. We had to cross two high passes on this road to reach Leh. The first one was familiar, Namik La, which we had crossed two days back to reach Kargil; and the second was Fotu La (Also called as Fatu La)
Fotu La is slightly higher pass than Namik La at 13479 feet. Towards the east of Fotu La, at a distance of about 15 km, is Lamayaru and located on the pass is the Prasar Bharti television relay station serving Lamayuru.
At the Fotu La pass
It was a smooth descent from the Fotu La towards the Lamayuru Monastery but, we had the time, and Himanshu decided to show us the curvaceous road above the Moonscape before reaching the monastery.
Unfortunately, the road above the Monastery was being worked upon and was closed for traffic, but we still managed to have some fun. Identified and collected the lavender plant which was in abundance here, and photographed some more wildflowers.
We also got a magnificent view of the Moonscape from this place. The serrated and ridged mountains near Lamayuru look like a typical lunar landscape, hence the name.
Next stop was the Lamayuru Monastery. Lamayuru monastery is a place which has many legends associated with it. It is one of the oldest and the largest in Ladakh. Out of the five gigantic temples, only one has survived. One can still see some old remnants of the monastery.
As we entered the monastery, I encountered a beautiful old woman dressed in local attire.
When I reached her, she smiled and initiated the conversation, told me her name and asked mine. I requested her to introduce herself again to get it on the video. On second thoughts, instead of breaking into English, as it has become a habit, I should have spoken in Hindi as the locals know Hindi reasonably well.
As I followed her, I spotted three more friendly old women, who taught me how to use the prayer wheel. However, as we were moving ahead, they asked for Bakshish. I gathered that this was their livelihood.
These old women sit in a particular corner, quietly praying and whenever a tourist comes, they talk and educate the tourist, post for photographs and videos. In return, all they expect is some bakshish so that they can survive. I learnt later that they have been doing this for many years.
We also visited the other portions of the monastery which houses the school and hostel for the monks, although we could not stay there longer as it was getting late and the place was shutting down for lunch.
We too were hungry, and the best place to eat near Lamayaru is a restaurant right next to the monastery. The restaurant also serves eggs and Tuna (and beer). We opted for Thukpa, momos, omelette, fried rice and some lemon tea. The food was so good that I ended up overeating and all I wanted to do was sleep. I had full intentions to take a nap in the car when Trishu exclaimed that his phone is catching network and has 4g and that was the end of our plans to nap – each of us requested a hotspot from him and were busy uploading pictures to Instagram.
After Lamayuru, we drove through a long straight road amongst the mountains. Trishu wanted to shoot videos and pictures of the road which I later learnt is a fascination for him. He has captured the visuals very well on this phone.
While he was shooting the road, I was fascinated with the unabashed blueness of the sky and wanted to capture that.
After a day’s drive, we arrived at Leh in the evening and realised that the hotel had a limited internet connection. I tried to talk to mom, but the network was bad, and could only send her some pictures from the trip.
The evening was booked for a stroll in the Leh market. I picked up two woollen caps and some essentials for the journey ahead.
Tarique and I indulged in eating soft and succulent lamb kababs from a kabab stall on the roadside of the main market after which we all proceeded towards the German Bakery. Since we were to dine at the Hotel restaurant, we did not eat much but decided to pick up croissants, doughnuts, apple strudel and some more delicacies the next morning before departing for the Nubra Valley.
Since we woke up early and were ready for the next leg of the journey, Tarique decided to go up to the terrace of the hotel and click some pictures of the mountains, Leh fort and Castle, while I decided to enjoy some quiet time in the hotel garden.
As decided, we picked up the stuff from the German bakery before departing. Today was the 5th day of our 9-day visit to Ladakh. I was kind of disappointed that the holidays will soon end, and that I would have liked to spend more time at each of the places we visited. First stop was the hill of the Leh Monastery and palace. The monastery was not as big as some others but had a charm and the inherent peace. From here we could also see a part of the charming little town of Leh.
We were very excited to cross the Khardung La. Khardung is the name of a village and La means a pass in Tibetan.
Himanshu showed us the direction of the pass from the monastery, and we quickly jumped in the vehicle and were driven around by Iqbal Bhai on the curvaceous roads leading to the Khardung La. Iqbal Bhai was looking quite dapper today, he had worn a new shirt that was gifted to him by Himanshu. We teased him a bit – after all, he was going home to his wife today. Iqbal Bhai lives in the town of Hundar in the Nubra Valley where we were scheduled to halt for the next two days.
Khardung La is a pass on the Ladakh range and is in the North of Leh. It is a gateway to the Shyok and Nubra Valleys, and the Siachen Glacier lies partway up the Nubra Valley. The Khardung pass was opened to the motor traffic in 1988. The pass is strategically important to India as it is used to carry supplies to the Siachen Glacier.
While the current road was built in the 20th century, this route was once a part of the old silk route that borders on the Karakoram range of mountains.
Our first halt was the South Pullu where we had to stop to show our permits. Pullu in Ladakhi means a place where travellers rest. So this was the southern end of Khardung La where travellers rested, at times overnight, before crossing the mountain pass.
While the formalities were being done, we got down of our vehicle, wore another layer of clothes as it was getting colder at this altitude, and as usual, clicked a few pictures and took some selfies.
South PulluAnd here are the selfies 🙂
A few km ahead of South Pullu we stopped for a mini break; it had started to snow. We spotted a raptor overhead and heard a marmot call. Took some photographs of the winding road that got us here, and saw part of the glacier, which has shrunk to less than half its original size in the recent years.
A few of Radhika’s “how much longer to reach” and we were at the top of the mountain at Khardung La. At 17982 feet from the sea level to be precise.
I did not experience any altitude sickness whatsoever, but my lungs were choked from breathing the polluted air from the numerous trucks, bikes and cars that were on the road. I was told, that the air pollution is due to the use of kerosene mixed with diesel (as kerosene stops diesel from freezing) and is proving detrimental to the fragile environ of the mountains and therefore soon there would be a limitation on the number of vehicles that can ply on this road.
We did have our fun here though, did the normal touristy stuff and started our descent only to realise that the road ahead has been blocked for traffic by the Border Road Organisation (BRO) for some construction work. Someone took out a packet of Kurkure to pass the time.
After the traffic cleared up, we moved ahead but stopped once more by the side of the road for a view of the mountains from the other side. This side of Khardung La had more snow, and there was a soft drizzle of snow all around. This was my first real snowfall, and I felt an uncontrollable urge to record it, so I managed to make a small video clip before being urged to climb back in the car.
Our next stop was North Pullu to show the papers to the officials. We had decided to stop at the Bangli Dhaba for tea and delicacies from German Bakery. Radhika and I discovered that he was making Maggi.
Mountains and Maggi go together, and for a complete experience, one must have a plateful of steaming hot Maggi on the (not so cold now) mountain tops. The Shop owner was generous and sprinkled more Haldi, Mirchi and masala on our Maggi- which none of us could eat, so I went in the kitchen and made my version of masala Maggi with tomato sauce. I struck a conversation with the owner and learnt he was from Bengal and operated this Dhaba in the summer months for the tourists. On his recommendation, we also snacked on a plate of mok moks (momos) while the Maggi cooked.
The extra layer of clothes and woollen that we had put on at South Pullu came off, and we climbed back in the car to continue our journey towards the Nubra Valley only to stop a km or so later to photograph some Marmots. We did not know we will see a lot of them in our journey ahead so a decent photo was must especially when the opportunity had presented itself.
After climbing down Khardung La, we climbed back up the Shyok valley and drove by the side of Shyok river. The Shyok river is known for its floods, and the name Shyok or Dariya e Shyok is named as “river of death”. Sheo means death in a Turkic dialect. As we climbed, we saw the floodplains of the river and stopped at a place to have a good look.
The Shyok river originates from the Rimo glacier, which is one of the tongues of the Siachen Glacier The Shyok ultimately flows its waters into the Indus river.
The colour of the water was muddy in September, but we were told that it turns to turquoise in the winter months and is a sight to behold.
A little ahead the Shyok river meets the Nubra or Siachen river to form a large valley that separates the Ladakh and Karakoram ranges. Along with the river, we too left the Ladakh range and entered the Nubra Valley.
As we approached the Diskit town Monastery, our next stop, we saw a huge golden coloured 33-meter symbol of peace, a Maitreya Buddha facing towards (We were told) Pakistan. The construction of this statue was started in April 2006, and it was consecrated by His Highness the Dalai Lama on the 25th of July 2010. The statue was built to spread the message of world peace and specifically for the prevention of any further war with Pakistan.
Ladakh region has always borne the brunt of wars. And peace is, therefore, everyone’s mantra, and rightly so.
We were kind of hungry by now. While Himanshu and Sanjeev decided not to eat, the four of us dug into platefuls of noodles and fried rice at a cafe near the Diskit Monastery. As had become my habit, I asked the girl on the counter if they had an internet connection, and she readily gave me the wifi password. Next few minutes, as we ate, were spent on uploading the Khardung La photographs to our Instagram accounts.
The Diskit Monastery or Diskit Gompa, founded in the 14th century, is the oldest and the largest monastery in the Nubra Valley. Built on a hill just above the floodplains of the Shyok river, at the end of the approach road, it is a striking structure and is visible from even a large distance.
The Nubra valley is at a lower elevation than the Ladakh range, it has a mild climate and has lush vegetation. It is therefore called the Orchard of Ladakh. The valley was a part of the caravan route between Tibet and China. The double-humped Bactrian Camel would travel the route and the ones left behind due to illness, or other reasons have flourished here.
I was a bit tired after climbing the steep stairs and decided to rest in the verandah of the monastery when two kittens spotted me and were all over me.
One of them even demanded that I scratched him and patted my hands whenever I stopped scratching him. I love cats, and I guess they love to reciprocate my affections as well.
Happy with the interaction, I joined the others to visit the temples at the monastery. One interesting part of history the protector room of Diskit monastery has is the mortal remains of the hand and skull of a Mongolian warrior. The remains are shrivelled and real. Legend has it that the monastery is believed to be the place where an evil anti-Buddhist Mongol demon once lived and was killed near the monastery grounds but is said to have been resurrected several times, and the hand and head are of this evil demon.
One more thing that I noticed is that the heads of several statues in the protector room (of all the monasteries we visited) are covered.
We spent a considerable amount of time here and clicked several pictures.
As we came out of the monastery, we noticed a very deep well. It was more of a freshwater spring, the path to which, was rickety and dangerous. It is said that the monks regularly used to go down this dangerous path (some monks still do) to get fresh water for the monastery. I could not go further than this point.
Although the monasteries preserve the tradition, modern facilities and technology have reached here too. We saw a few monks using the latest cars and smartphones.
By this time the sun was about to set, and we decided to call it a day and proceed to Hunder which was about 15 km drive. It took us about 30 minutes to reach out campsite at the Desert Oasis camp. While some of us had lemon tea, Sanjeev and Himanshu had also picked up some beer and breezer and the day ended with Gup shup over drinks and pakodas. Post dinner we retired to our camps looking forward to an exciting morning the next day.
In the quiet of the night, we could hear a gurgling sound of water and slept peacefully to the sound of spring flowing somewhere behind our tents.
Ladakh. The name originates from “La-dvags” meaning the land of high passes. Ladakh connected India with Tibet, China and other central Asian countries via the “silk road” the parts of which still exist. I had so far seen only pictures of this amazing place and was always curious about this enigmatic place tucked away in faraway mountains.
When Himanshu announced the tour to Ladakh in June- July, aptly named, “Buddha Rocks tour” I was very disappointed that I won’t be able to visit this amazing place which was in my bucket list for very long.
Tarique insisted that I go, and I insisted that he come along, so a phone call and a while later, Himanshu suggested we all go there in early September. The weather would be good and the inflow of tourists will be far less than the peak summer months. Plans finalised, we booked the tickets and looked forward to the trip of a lifetime.
By last week August, I was checking the temperatures at various places that we were to visit, and I started making a list of clothes, woollen and medicines accordingly. I am a listophile and I get pretty listless without my lists 😀
On 7th September we were to leave for Delhi and our flight to Leh was on the 8th. Delhi is a place I love to go to because a lot of my dear friends from IIMC are in NCR and it makes me immensely happy to meet them.
The flight landed on time and we landed at Shilpa’s door. There was so much to talk, and so little time. Reema met us in the evening and we spent the time chatting and catching up with each other over dinner.
We arrived at the Delhi airport to catch a flight to Leh. Himanshu and Sanjeev joined us and we discovered that the Leh airport is temporarily shut due to bad weather at Leh. The weather, however, improved quickly and our flight departed on time. Despite having window seats, the snow-capped peaks of mighty Himalayas eluded us – they were engulfed in a thick blanket of clouds. However, as we approached Leh, the sky cleared up and the Leh town on the banks of a serpentine Indus river, and its tiny landing strip became visible.
Trishu and Radhika had taken an earlier flight and were waiting for us with Iqbal Bhai at the Leh airport when we landed. Iqbal Bhai was our go-to person for everything throughout the duration of the tour. A superb guide, he has the knowledge of flora, fauna, history and culture of Ladakh and being with him made for a very enriching experience. During our 8 day stay, Iqbal Bhai drove us around through the length and breadth of Ladakh covering a distance of approximately 1200 km.
Leh is at an altitude of 3500 meters (11480 feet). For anyone travelling from the mainland, this altitude can mean a lot of trouble. To tackle the altitude sickness, I and Tarique both had started taking Diamox twice a day as soon as we arrived in Delhi. So except for a bit of light-headedness that lasted about 10 minutes, we did not face any issues. I, however, had to stop taking my diabetes medicine (Janumet- which has metformin) when I took Diamox as it was messing with my digestive system.
One of the first sights, as we hit the road, was that of the Chorten. These striking, stupa-like structures are built mostly near villages and monasteries, and they symbolise the Buddha, and the five elements of nature – Earth, Water, Fire, Air, and space. Most Chorten also have a Mane Wall along with them, this is a wall built by the followers and believers, and it is made of numerous etched stones kept in rows. It is mostly the six syllable prayer of peace and harmony, Om Mane Padme Hum that is etched on each of the stones that line the Mane wall.
Chortens
We drove to Alchi directly from the airport. Alchi is at a lower altitude of 3100 meters or approximately 10,000 feet and travelling to Alchi from Leh helped us cope with the altitude better. Enroute we stopped to see the Indus river. Sindhu, as it is called in Hindustani, gives our country its name. The confluence of Indus and Zanskar rivers was a sight to behold.
Looking forward to an exciting vacation, we jumped back in the cars only to get down a bit later as Iqbal Bhai spotted a herd of Urials. Urials (Ovis orientalis), or Shapo are wild sheep of Ladakh region and are found in Western Central Asia. It was the start of mating season for them and the male of the species were putting up an amazing display.
We arrived at Alchi a little after lunchtime, we had already eaten a sumptuous meal of momos and Thukpa en route, we reached our destination. After checking in at the Zimskhang holiday home, at Alchi, we were ready to explore the small monastery town.
Alchi is a historical place and has one of the oldest Buddhist monasteries. It is actually a Chos-‘khor, a place where monks are taught the ways of Buddhism. The Alchi Gompa comes under the Gelugpa order from Likir which looks after the monks and the upkeep of the monastery.
The Alchi Gompa is often called as Ajanta of Ladakh, because of the fine artmanship display on its walls. The paintings on the walls are regarded as one of the oldest and most extensive in the entire region.
The mud sculptures in the monastery are also unique to the region. It is said that the Alchi Gompa is was built between 958 and 1055 AD by the great Guru Rinchen Zangpo who translated the Sanskrit Buddhist texts into Tibetian The artistic and spiritual details of both Buddhism and the Hindu kings of that time in Kashmir and Himachal Pradesh are reflected in the wall paintings in the monastery. These are some of the oldest surviving paintings in Ladakh. The complex also has huge statues of the Buddha and elaborate wood carvings and artwork comparable to the baroque style.
One of the striking features of this monastery is the fact that it is not on a hill like other monasteries of the region, but is on a flat land, next to the river Indus.
ASI has declared this a protected monument and photography inside the monastery is not allowed.
A visit to this monastery is incomplete without first stopping for a cup of tea and some butter cookies at the German bakery opposite the monastery complex and a look at the trinket shops that line the path to the monastery.
It was soon dark and all of us decided to take a pre-dinner walk. It would have been impossible to do all this on the first day of arrival had we stayed back at Leh. However, coming to a lower altitude place, not only gave us a chance to utilize the day but also helped us cope better with altitude change. The dinner was sumptuous and all of us ended up overeating. We eagerly went to our rooms and hit the sack.
While the others slept, I and Tarique, being early risers, decided to take a walk alongside the Indus river before we departed for Kargil.
The view was breathtaking, the sunrise was spectacular with the reflection of the deep blue sky of in the river. We also saw some snow on the mountain tops of Alchi, and on being told about it, Himanshu mentioned that he had never seen snow near Alchi so early in the season.
Post breakfast we departed for Kargil. The route was planned via the Domkhar Rock Art Sanctuary.
Enroute we stopped to buy fresh fruits and almonds. And saw that absolutely fresh Apples and Apricots were sold by the roadside.
For many centuries traders, travellers, hunters and pilgrims have crossed Ladakh and have left their mark on the rocks of the region in the form of Petroglyphs. These pre-historic art forms are found all across the region, and one such site we visited was on a private property on the banks of Indus in the sleepy little village called Domkhar.
The rock art of Domkhar is on black rocks and is assumed to be 2000-4000 year old. These petroglyphs depict various images of animals, hunting scenes, figurines, calligraphy and symbols.
It was a fantastic locale for a photo shoot, and when one travels with like-minded people who are also photographers, an opportunity like this can never be missed.
People of Domkhar grow apricots, apples and numerous vegetables. This is also known as the Apricot region and the apricots here were extremely juicy and sweet.
We were invited to the home of the owner of the private land where the Domkhar Rock Art Sanctuary stands and were treated to some snacks and delicious tea.
After a satisfying and gratifying break at Domkhar, we continued our journey on the Batalik Road along the Indus river. Batalik is the last Indian town and the river Indus enters Pakistan from here.
Enroute we passed some Aryan Villages (Hanuthang and Baima). It is believed that the settlers of these villages are of pure Aryan race. These people are indeed different. They have distinct features. Tall with green eyes, high cheekbones, fair skin, they claim to be the pure bloodline of the Aryans and settlers from the army of Alexander. Their attire is also different from the traditional Ladakhi attire and women sport fresh flowers in their headgear. Pity I could not take photographs of villages or the people there.
As we travelled I noticed the river getting wider and Himanshu told us that in 2017, a huge landslide left the road to Batalik unusable as it caused the water levels of Indus to rise very high, submerging a bridge and washing away the road leading to Batalik. The landslide destroyed several homes as Indus grew to dangerous levels. Since then a new road has been constructed at a higher altitude but the portions of the old submerged road can still be seen underwater. One can still see the river dangerously undercutting parts of the mountains posing danger to the road and nearby villages in the future.
We left the Batalik road and took the Khangral-Sanjak road some 33 km short of the Batalik town and entered a small gorge (Chiktan Valley) that had a freshwater stream as a tributary of Indus. We had lunch on the streamside and continued our journey toward the ruins of the historical Chiktan Fort(or Chiktan Khar). Very sketchy details are available about this fort but it is said that the Fort is a 16th Century fort that was built by Balti craftsmen. Tahtah Khan, the Prince of Baltistan had run away after surviving a failed attempt to kill him. Legend has it that he took shelter in Chiktan and mesmerised by the beauty of the region decided to stay back. He constructed a palace here in the 8th century.
In the 16th century, some Balti Craftsmen built the now famous Chiktan fort as the royal residence of the rulers of the region. With glorious mountains as a backdrop, the fort was built with stone and mud and is said to have marvellous woodwork by the architect Shinkhen Chandan. The castle used timber to support the ceiling and had a revolving wooden room which used the power of winds to rotate the structure. It also is said that this fort was one of the masterpieces of Ladakh and Tibetian Architecture and was a symbol of unity, strength, brotherhood and community for the people of the region.
The castle was attacked several times but was not abandoned until the late 19th century. But now neglect and forces of nature have completely destroyed the woodwork and the castle is in advance stages of decay. Although this captivating fort is completely withered and is in utter ruins, with no signs remaining of the famous woodwork, the regal aura still remains.
After taking a few photos of the fort from a nearby hill, we continued our travel and joined the National Highway NH1 at Khangral. NH 1 (Previously NH 1A) On NH 1, the Leh-Kargil main highway, we climbed up to 12300 feet to go through the Namik La pass – our first from this road trip. (The spelling of Namik is written incorrectly at several places as Namki.)
A glorious view of the mountains greeted us as the sun started setting. The Namik La is named so because of the mountain on which this pass is, looks like a pillar (which is Namik in the local Ladakhi language).
Another hour on the road and we reached Mulbekh to see the four-hand Buddha. This 28 feet Buddha statue, the tallest one in Ladakh, is also one of the most popular ones. Perhaps because of it being on the National Highway that connects Srinagar to Leh (Via Kargil).
While the statue stood on the roadside for a long time, a small monastery has now come up which completely encloses the statue. As per the information available there, it is said that the Buddha was carved here in the 1st century BC during the Kushan period. However, the studies point out that the carving is from the 7th Century. This Buddha statue has a stupa lodged in the hair which a common attribute found in the Maitreya Buddha.
In Ladakhi, the Maitreya Buddha is called Chamba. The Mulbekh buddha we saw had four hands; the lower left arm holds a water pot, or a kamandal, a constant in Indian and Kashmiri Buddhist iconography; the upper left arm has a flower; and the upper right arm, a rosary. Since it is believed that the Maitreya Buddha will be born in a Brahmin family, he also has a sacred thread across his chest. He is adorned with a pearl necklace, bangles and a belt. Also, on both sides of his legs, at the bottom, rows of devotees are carved, facing up to the Buddha.
As per a prophecy, the Maitreya, or Chamba or the Future Buddha is a bodhisattva who will appear on this earth in the future, he will achieve complete enlightenment and teach pure dharma. As per the scriptures, Maitreya will be a successor to the present Gautama Buddha. This prophecy refers to the arrival of Maitreya to a time in future when the dharma would be forgotten by most in this terrestrial world.
We arrived at the Kargil Tourist Camp, on the edge of Kargil town just in time to see a glorious sunset in the mountains.
While Sanjeev and Tarique busied themselves trying to take a time-lapse of sunset, I sipped the lemon tea and clicked some pictures. We took a quick dinner and retired early to capture the early rays of sun on the mountains.
The sun rose in all its glory and the day started getting much warmer. We started early as there was much to do. After a long-ish drive, we stopped just before Sanku for the view of Suru Valley where we saw several thorny shrubs of Seabuckthorn (Hippophae rhamnoides) full with berries. Seabuckthorn grows wild in this region and some of us tasted the berry, which has a peculiar taste. The Seabuckthorn berry juice was marketed under the brand name of Leh berry, and is said to have health benefits. We were not too inclined to taste the juice. Although on second thoughts, I think, I should have tried it at least.
The Suru Valley
While we were enjoying the view of the valley, several Himalayan Agama (Paralaudakia himalayana) was seen sunning on the rocks.
Rest of the drive was along the river Suru. The Suru river originates near Penzila, the gateway to Zanskar.
A bit later we crossed the Suru river and took the dirt road as we wanted to visit the village of Kartse Khar known for it’s giant Buddha carving. We parked our car in the outskirts of the village and started on foot along the small stream. After walking for about 800 meters, we encountered a huge Buddha carved in the early 7th century on the rock beside the stream. The statue is about 21 feet high. This is also the future Buddha or Maitreya Buddha. However, what differentiates this one from others is the crown and the body structure. The carving is very detailed, the crown has a triple sharp pointed diadem. Pearl bands hang beneath the crown. Two flying Gandharvas flank the head of the Buddha. A drape comes down from the crown and is twisted on the shoulders and arms. According to some experts, this style is derived from Pativ, a Persian emblem of the royalty adopted by the Kashmiri Buddhists. The lower garment of the Kartse Khar buddha resembles a dhoti.
We took several photographs and while Himanshu and Sanjeev were shooting some videos, I chatted with the local women who were in the process of washing, drying and storing the grains for winter. Usually, the women are shy and refuse to be photographed, but I managed to click this beautiful girl-woman as she was less reserved than the others and readily posed.
The morning was getting warmer, it was still just about 11 am so Himanshu decided to take a chance to drive about 15 km to the village Diasma on the Kargil-Zanskar road (also called as Kargil – Padum road) and show us the Nun-Kun peaks from the banks of Suru river. At 23000+ feet the Nun-Kun peaks are the highest peaks in the Ladakh range.
However, by the time we reached the banks of the Suru river, it was almost noon and the peaks were engulfed in the clouds and were barely visible. We did manage to get a few glimpses of the impressive peaks though.
Nun in the local language means white, and Kun means black. Nun is usually covered with snow and appears completely white whereas Kun does show the rock underneath and appears black
We were a bit disappointed because the view was not clear and the peaks were hidden beneath the clouds, but the view of the valley, the river, the passing clouds and the beautiful surroundings made us forget the disappointment. Trishu had by now learnt how to time-lapse pictures and was busy with Himanshu and Sanjeev taking photos, while Tarique, and I made ourselves busy by taking pictures of the beautiful surroundings and ourselves. I somehow don’t remember what Radhika was doing. Perpahs she was quietly standing there and watching us all go crazy.
By the time we finished taking photographs, we all were really hungry and we still had one stop to make before lunch.
On the Kargil -Padum road, just a few kilometres before Sanku the Suru river takes an impressive turn. Here in the field by the side of road In the village of Skimertse, on a private property is a 13-14 century carving of Buddha that is unlike any other in the entire region. Etched in low relief, it is a representation of the feminine looking Avalokitesvara, flanked by Apsaras on either side. These are more stylised carvings and have elements that are not seen elsewhere. There is a depiction of a warhorse, some disciples, stupa, and an undecipherable script. The Avalokiteshvara has six arms but what they are holding is unclear, although it seems that one of the left arms holds a water pot. There is a stupa etched at the bottom of the slab, but that looks relatively recent as it has not weathered to the extent that the rest of the rock-relief has.
The Stone is lying next to the road, in someone’s field and it seems it got uncovered as a result of a rock fall. It is under no protection and perhaps very few know about it.
Next hurried stop was lunch at a roadside cafe and then we proceeded towards the village of Hundurmaan for the LOC view.
Every Indian is proud of the bravery of our armed forces, and the effort they take us to protect our country’s borders. It made our hearts soar when we saw the tri-colour fluttering in the winds at the LOC on the banks of Drass river, just before the village of Hundermaan.
It is also normal I guess, for any Indian to be curious as to how Pakistan looks. Although the terrain is same, the people similar and we originate from the same roots, or maybe it is the fact that we share the same legacy, a साँझी विरासत that makes us so curious. The dargah on the Pakistan side, the remnants of a village that was and the river bank that divides the two countries is what we could see there.
Photography at this point was not allowed, so we took some shots of the surroundings and continued our travails.
Next stop was Apati Buddha, approximately 15 km from Kargil, in the sleepy little village of Apati in the Sot Valley on the Kargil Batalik road.
This rock-carved Buddha is perhaps the oldest in Ladakh as it is said to be carved at the turn of the 6th Century, approximately the same time when Bamian Buddhas were carved. To reach the Apati Buddha, we carried our already tired bodies through the paved stairs of the traditional and sleepy village of Apati.
It is often said that to find the Buddha, you must take efforts, so we did and climbed innumerable flights of stairs and walked through the stone paved alleys of the village to reach this unexplored carving of Maitreya Buddha. The oldest of the bas-relief buddhas in Ladakh, this 16-foot tall statue is the least known of all.
Carved in limestone, the Buddha statue has a triple sharp pointed diadem, the body structure is masculine and very impressive. It seems there were colours and stones used, but one can only see the remnants of these now.
The villages located in the Sot Valley are solely dependent on the snow melts and there is no regular source of water here. Sot in the local language means death, pointing to the lack of water sources in the region. Interestingly, the local people here have a saying about Apati, that when three villages are destroyed by floods, then one Apati is settled. The people, especially children of the village were curious and friendly. some accompanied us right till the Buddha statue and stayed with us till we departed.
A long day for us ended at sunset and we drove back to the Kargil Tourist Camp for a quick bath and dinner.
This was an account of three days out of our 8 day adventure at Ladakh. More to come soon.
ये इंशाईया मैंने उर्दू रसमुलख़त में पढ़ा था और मुझे लगा की इसका देवनागरी में लिप्यंतरण (transliteration) करूँ तो यह ज़्यादा लोगों तक पहुँच सकेगा। उर्दू में इसे यहाँ पढ़ सका जा सकता है
यह ब्रिज बानो की दास्तान है। ब्रिज बानो कौन है? आज कल कहाँ है? उस के इस अजीब-ओ-ग़रीब नाम की वजह क्या है?
ये तमाम सवालात जिस आसानी से किए जा सकते हैं शायद उन के जवाब उतनी आसानी से ना दिए जा सकें। ताहम कोशिश करूँगा की आप को ब्रिज बानो से रोशनास कराऊँ।
ब्रिज बानो एक ख़ूबसूरत औरत है जो पाकिस्तान से मेरे साथ हिंदुस्तान आयी है। क्या मैं उसे अगवा कर के लाया हूँ?
नहीं साहब, मैं तो इतना शरीफ़ हूँ की ख़ूबसूरत औरत तो क्या, बदसूरत पनवाडन को भी अगवा करना गुनाह-ए-अज़ीम समझता हूँ
क्या इसे मुझ से मोहब्बत है?
ये ज़रा टेढ़ा सवाल है…
अगर आप ये पूछेते की क्या मुझे इस से मोहब्बत है? तो मैं यक़ीनन इस का जवाब हाँ में देता।
वो आजकल कहाँ है?
वो मेरे घर में रह रही है
उसे ब्रिज बानो क्यों कहते हैं?
यह सवाल मुझ से कई अशख़ास ने किया है, आप पहले शख़्स नहीं हैं।
बहरकैफ़ वजह बयान किए देता हूँ
इसे ब्रिज बानो का नाम इस लिए दिया गया है कि इस की माँ हिन्दू और बाप मुसलमान था। आपको यक़ीन नहीं आता? बेहतर तो यही है की आप मुझ पर ऐतबार करें वरना मुझे एक ऐसे शख़्स की सनद पेश करनी पड़ेगी जो बा-रेश बुज़ुर्ग हैं और जिन्हें इस औरत की पैदाइश के सब हालात मालूम हैं और जिन्हें मेरी तरह इस औरत से……आप ने ग़लत समझा, ये लोगों से इश्क़ नहीं करती, लोग इस से इश्क़ करने पर मजबूर हो जाते हैं।
दरअसल इस औरत की ज़बान में कुछ ऐसी मोमनी कशिश है कि जो शख़्स भी इस की बातों को सुनता है, दिल-ओ-जान से इस का गरवीदा हो जाता है।
आप मेरी ही मिसाल ले लीजिए – मेरी उम्र तीस बरस की थी जब मैंने इसे पहली बार एक मजलिस में बात करते हुए सुना – और मुझे फ़ौरन इश्क़ हो गया।
तीस बरस की उम्र – हमारे मुल्क में जहाँ इंसानों की औसत उम्र सिर्फ़ छब्बीस साल है, इश्क़ करने के लिए निहायत ही ग़ैर-मौजूँ है। लेकिन मैं मजबूर था और मुझ पर ही क्या मुनहसिर है – लखनऊ में एक शख़्स रतन नाथ सरशार हुआ करते थे। वो इस औरत की ज़बान के चटकारे पर ऐसा मर मिटे की सारी उम्र इस का नमक उन की ज़बान के बोसे लेता रहा। कहते हैं, उस शख़्स ने इस औरत की शान में एक रुबाई कही थी जिस का हर मिसरा पाँच सौ सफ़हात पर मुशतमिल था।
हाँ तो यह औरत पाकिस्तान से मेरे सेहरा आयी है, लेकिन चंद दिनों से उदास सी रहती है। वजह यह की कुछ लोग पिछले दिनों से इस से नफ़रत करने लगे हैं। न सिर्फ़ इस से, बल्कि मुझ से भी।
कल ही का ज़िक्र है, एक लम्बी चोटी वाले पंडित जी, जो मेरे हमसाया हैं, मुझ से कहने लगे – “लाल जी, क्या मज़ाक़ है? आप के घर में एक ऐसी औरत रहती है जिस का बाप मुसलमान था?”
और मेरे कई लम्बे बालों वाले दोस्त भी मुझ से बार बार कह चुके हैं “ आप ख़वामखाह इसे साथ ले आए। क्या ही अच्छा होता अगर आप सरहद पर करने से पहले इसे सतलज की लहरों की नज़र कर देते”
मैं जब ऐसी बातें सुनता हूँ तो मुझे सख़्त रंज होता है। लेकिन ब्रिज बानो के दिल पर जो गुज़रती है वो बयान से बाहर है। बेचारी हर रोज़ जली-कटी सुन सुन कर तंग आ गयी है।
आज दोपहर के वक़्त जब वो डेओढ़ी पे बैठी हुई कुछ सोच रही थी तो मैंने उस से कहा:
“ब्रिज बानो, मेरा ख़याल है की तुम पाकिस्तान चली जाओ। यहाँ के लोग तुम्हें रहने नहीं देंगे”
“लेकिन क्यों?” ब्रिज बानो ने चमक कर कहा “ मेरा क़ुसूर?”
“तुम्हारा क़ुसूर यह है की तुम्हारा बाप मुसलमान था”
“लेकिन मेरी माँ हिन्दू थी!”
“वल्दियत के मामले में माँ को कोई नहीं पूछता”
“यह अजीब मंतिक़ है!”
“जहाँ जज़्बात ही सब कुछ हूँ वहाँ मंतिक़ की दाल नहीं गलती”
वह और भी उदास हो गयी। मैंने भर्राई हुई आवाज़ में कहा “ब्रिज बानो तुम्हें अब यहाँ से अवश्य चले जाना होगा”
एक लम्हे के लिए वो मेरे मुँह की तरफ़ देखती रही जैसे मेरी बात उस की समझ में ना आयी हो फिर कहने लगी
“अवश्य किसी शहर का नाम है क्या?”
“शहर का नाम नहीं, अवश्य हिंदी में ज़रूर को कहते हैं”
वो खिलखिला के हँसने लगी और कहने लगी
“मेरी पर नानी भी ज़रूर को अवश्य कहा करती थीं”
मैंने पूछा “तुम ज़रूर को अवश्य क्यों नहीं कहती?”
ब्रिज बानो ने तंज़-आमेज़ लहजे में कहा
“कहने की कोशिश करती हूँ लेकिन ज़बान लड़खड़ने लगती है”
“बस, इसीलिए तुम्हें हिंदुस्तान छोड़ना पड़ेगा”
यक-लख्त ब्रिज़बानो के चेहरे पर गेज-ओ-ग़ज़ब के आसार पैदा हो गए और उस ने चिल्ला कर कहा
“हिंदुस्तान मेरा घर है! मैं अपना घर छोड़ कर किस तरह जा सकती हूँ?”
“तुम्हारा घर पाकिस्तान है”
“ये बिलकुल ग़लत है! पाकिस्तान मेरी फुतूहात में से है, मेरा असली और क़दीमी वतन हिंदुस्तान है। में दिल्ली के क़रीब एक गाँव में पैदा हुई। बचपना झोपड़ी में और शबाब लाल क़िला दिल्ली में बसर हुआ। मुझे शहंशाह ने मुँह लगाया, और दीवान-ए-आम में मुझे सब से ऊँची मसनद पर बिठाया गया। और जिस वक़्त मेरा सितारा उरूज पर था, कोई बंगाली, गुजराती या सिंधी हसीना मेरा हुस्न, मेरी भड़क और तुनतुने की ताब ना ला सकी।
मैं हिंदुस्तानी हूँ और हिंदुस्तान में ही रहूँगी”
“ये दुरुस्त हैं परंतु……”
“ ये परंतु क्या बाला होती है जी?” ब्रिज बानो ने शरारत से कहा
“परंतु हिंदी में लेकिन को कहते हैं”
“हाँ याद आया, मेरी नानी भी लेकिन को परंतु कहा करती थीं”
“तुम्हें भी अब लेकिन को परंतु कहना होगा”
“मुआफ़ कीजिए, मैं तो लेकिन ही कहूँगी”
“यही तो तुम्हारी ग़लती है, अगर लेकिन को परंतु नहीं कहोगी तो तुम्हें यहाँ समझेगा कौन?
“हर वो शख़्स …….. मसलन”
तभी एक क़ुल्फ़ी बेचने वाला मेरी डेओढ़ी पर ठहर गया और ब्रिज बानो अपना आख़िरी फ़ितरा मुकम्मल किए बैगर खड़ी हो गयी और उसने हाथ के इशारे से क़ुल्फ़ी वाले को बुला लिया”
“क़ुल्फ़ी खाएँगे आप?” उस ने मुझ से पूछा
“क्या ये क़ुल्फ़ी खाने का वक़्त है? मैं तुम से निहायत अहम बातें करना चाहता हूँ – आज तुम्हें फ़ैसला करना होगा की तुम पाकिस्तान जाओगी या नहीं”
“पहले क़ुल्फ़ी खा लीजिए उस के बाद ठंडे दिल से आप के मशवरे पर ग़ौर करेंगे”
और वो क़ुल्फ़ी वाले की तरफ़ मुख़ातिब हो गयी
“कैसी है क़ुल्फ़ी तुम्हारी?, मेरा मतलब है कुछ ठिकाने की है या यूँ ही सी?”
क़ुल्फ़ी वाले ने कनखियों से ब्रिज बानो की तरफ़ देखा और कहा
“अजी क्या पूछती हैं आप! मेरी क़ुल्फ़ी? मेरी क़ुल्फ़ी बेनज़ीर! लाजवाब! शानदार!
ब्रिज बानो के मग़मूम लबों पर मुस्कराहट की लहर दौड़ गयी और उस ने क़ुल्फ़ी खाए बग़ैर ही क़ुल्फ़ी वाले के हाथ पर पाँच रुपए का नोट रख़ा और उसे चले जाने को कहा। क़ुल्फ़ी वाला चला गया
मैंने ब्रिज बानो को बैठने के लिए कहा, लेकिन वो बदस्तूर खड़ी रही और मुस्कुराती रही
“क्या फ़ैसला किया तुम ने? पाकिस्तान जा रही हो ना?
मेरी बात को अनसुनी कर के उस ने एक सिख ड्राइवर की लॉरी की तरफ़ इशारा किया
मैंने जब लॉरी की तरफ़ नज़र दौड़ाई तो उस पर चंद आशआर उर्दू में लिखे नज़र आये जिन में से एक था
दर ओ दीवार पर हसरत से नज़र करते हैं
ख़ुश रहो अहले वतन हम तो सफ़र करते हैं
लॉरी नज़रों से ओझल हो गयी और तभी एक छाबड़ी वाला ज़ोर से चिल्लाता हुआ गली में दाख़िल हुआ। वो चना ज़ोर गरम बेच रहा था
“मेरा चना बना है आला
इस में डाला गरम मसाला
चना लाया मैं बाबू मज़ेदार
चना ज़ोर गरम”
और फिर एक अख़बार फ़रोश गली में आया। उसके हाथों में दस बारह मुख़्तलिफ़ उर्दू रोजनामे और रिसाइल थे।
ब्रिज बानो ने एक उर्दू रोज़नामा ख़रीदा लेकिन ज्यों ही उस की नज़र पहली सुर्खी पर पड़ी, उस का रंग ज़र्द पड़ गया۔ उस में जली हर्फ़ में लिखा था
“ब्रिज बानो अब हिंदुस्तान में नहीं रह सकेगी”
एक लम्हे के लिए गोया उस पर बिजली सी गिरी और वो धम से गिरने ही वाली थी की मैंने बढ़ कर उस का दामन थाम लिया
दो चार मिनट हम दोनो ख़ामोश मुबहवात खड़े रहे और फिर मैंने कहा
“ज़िद ना करो, बानो, तुम्हें पाकिस्तान जाना ही होगा”
वो बिफ़री हुई शेरनी की तरह कड़क कर बोली
“मैं नहीं जाऊँगी! हरगिज़ नहीं जाऊँगी”
“लेकिन हुकूमत ने फ़ैसला कर लिया है की तुम……”
“हुकूमत क़ानून बना सकती है लेकिन आवाम के फ़ितरी रूझनात को नहीं बदल सकती। जब तक हिंदुस्तान में क़ुल्फ़ी वाले, सिख ड्राइवर और चना ज़ोर गरम बेचने वाले मौजूद हैं, हुकूमत मेरा बाल भी बाँका नहीं कर सकती”
“बड़ी ज़िद्दी हो तुम”
ब्रिज बानो वहीं खड़ी मुस्कुराती रही और में क़ुल्फ़ी वाले के अल्फ़ाज़ जेर-ए-लैब दोहरा रहा हूँ
लजावाब! शानदार! बेनज़ीर!
शायद कन्हैयालाल कपूर ने अपने इस इंशाइये में ऐसे ही किसी चना ज़ोर गरम वाले का ज़िक्र किया है। सच है, उर्दू हिंदुस्तान से कभी अल्हदा नहीं हो सकती
https://youtu.be/-clhMVRTMYg
तुम आओ खिजाँ की सर्द हवाओं की तरह
मैं ज़र्द पत्तों की तरह तुम से लिपटती जाऊँ
– स्वाति सानी ‘रेशम’
