जगमगाहटों का कारवाँ

जगमगाहटों का ये कारवाँ तारीकियों का ग़ुलाम है
ये हसीं फ़िज़ा, ये चमक दमक, शहर की धूम धाम है

है नये मिज़ाज की ज़िंदगी यहाँ बंदगी है न दिल्लगी
यहाँ सब हैं अपने में मुबतिला बस अपने काम से काम है

वो चले गए जो सवार थे, बिछड़ गए वो जो यार थे 
हो उदास बैठा है एक जाँ वो शाम के नाम का जाम है

उसे आइने से सवाल है किसी ग़म का उस को मलाल है
है फ़रेब, कि दुनिया है बेख़बर वो सुबह को कहता है शाम है

यहाँ शाम करती रक़्स है और जलती बुझती रात है  
नयी फ़िज़ा की ये रोशनी नयी नस्ल का आलाम है   

न दुआ में ताक़त अब रही, न दवा ही आती काम है
है आग दिलों में लगी हुई, ये किस खुदा का पयाम है

 – स्वाति सानी “रेशम”

 

جگمگاہٹوں  کا یہ کارواں تاریکیوں کا غلام ہے
یہ حسیں فضا، یہ چمک دمک شہر کی دھوم دھام ہے

ہے نئے مزاج کی زندگی یہاں بندگی ہے نہ دل لگی
یہاں سب ہیں اپنے میں مبتلا بس اپنے کام سے کام ہے

وہ چلے گئے، سوار تھے بچھڑ گیے وہ جو یار تھے
ہو اداس بیٹھا ہے ایک جاں وہ شام کے نام کا جام ہے 
 

اسے آئینے سے سوال ہے، کسی غم کا اس کو ملال ہے
ہے فریب کہ دنیا ہے بےخبر، وہ صبح کو کہتا شام ہے

یہاں شام کرتی رقص ہے اور جلتی بجھتی رات ہے
نئی فضا کی یہ روشنی نئی نسل کا آلام ہے

نہ دعا میں طاقت اب رہی، نہ دوا ہی آتی کام ہے
ہے آگ دلوں میں لگی ہوئی یہ کس خدا کا پیام ہے

-سواتی ثانی ریشم 

 

Photo by  Anthony Intraversato on Unsplash

मसरूफ़ियत

مصروفیت

اک وہ دن تھے سانجھ ڈھلے ہم ملتے تھے
اب ایسا ہے وقت چرانا پڑتا ہے
جب ملتے تھے گھنتوں باتیں کرتے تھے
اب بس گھنٹے بھر کا ملنا ہوتا ہے

سواتی ثانی ریشم-

इक वो दिन थे, साँझ ढले हम मिलते थे 
अब ऐसा हैं वक़्त चुराना पड़ता है 
जब मिलते थे घंटो बातें करते थे 
अब बस घंटे भर को मिलना होता है

-स्वाति सानी “रेशम”

Photocredit:  geralt (pixabay.com)

सुबह अब होती नहीं, रात क्यों सोती नहीं

 

सुबह अब होती नहीं
रात क्यों सोती नहीं नहीं

जिस्म है ठंडा पड़ा
साँस क्यों चलती नहीं

दोस्त अब मिलते नहीं
आँख नम होती नहीं

रात आँसू सी बही
प्यास क्यों बुझती नहीं

खाए फ़ाक़े ख़ूब हैं
भूक पर घटती नहीं

दिल पड़ा वीरान है
सीप है मोती नहीं

उम्र की दहलीज़ पर
हसरतें मिटती नहीं

दफ़्न कर के ख़्वाब भी
ज़ीस्त कम होती नहीं

है सड़क वीरान सी
खिड़कियाँ खुलती नहीं

डोरियाँ हैं “रेशम” की
गिरहें क्यूँ खुलती नहीं?

-स्वाति सानी “रेशम”

 

صبح اب ہوتی نہیں
رات کیوں سوتی نہیں

جسم ہے ٹھنڈا پڑا
سانس کیوں چلتی نہیں

دوست اب ملتے نہیں
آنکھ نم ہوتی نہیں

رات آنسو سی بہی
پیاس کیوں بجھتی نہیں

کھائے فاقےخوب ہیں
بھوک پر گھٹتی نہیں

دل پڑا ویران ہے
سیپ ہے موتی نہیں

عمر کی دہلیز پر
حسرتیں مٹتی نہیں

دفن کر کے خواب بھی
زیست کم ہوتی نہیں

ہے سڑک  ویران سی
کھڈکیاں کھلتی نہیں

ڈوریاں ہیں ریشم کی
گرہیں کیوں کھلتی نہیں؟

سواتی ثانی ریشم –

 

Image copyright @Amit Srivastava, taken with an Canon IXUS 105 05/30 2018 The picture taken with 5.0mm, f/2.8s, 1/30s, ISO 100. The image is released free of copyrights under Creative Commons CC0.

रात का मुसाफ़िर चाँद

अँधियारे में नाज़िर चाँद
रोशन रोशन नादिर चाँद

भीगी भीगी ग़ज़लें कहता
सावन का है शाइर चाँद

हीर ओ रांझा, कैस ओ लैला
हिज्र में लगता जाबिर चाँद

बहर की लहरों का सौदागर
है कितना ये क़ादिर चाँद

लूट चली जब धूप धारा को
निकला किस की ख़ातिर चाँद

भूके पेट को दिखता रोटी
देखो कैसा साहिर चाँद

करवा चौथ हो, ईद या होली
चढ़ता मस्जिद मंदिर चाँद

काली रात को रोशन करता
सूरज का है चाकिर चाँद

तारों ने था किया मुकदमा
पेशी को था हाज़िर चाँद

हिंद की गलियों में रहता है
कैसे हो गया काफ़िर चाँद

मज़लूमों का एक गवाह
मौला! मेरा नासिर चाँद

पड़ा शिकारी के फंदे में
तकता रहता ता’इर चाँद

आँगन में खेला करता था
कैसे हुआ मुहाजिर चाँद

-स्वाति सानी “रेशम”

اندھیارے میں ناطر چاند
روشن روشن نادر چاند

بھیگی بھیگی غزلیں کہتا
ساون کا ہے شاعر چاند

ٰہیر و رانجھا، کیس و لیلی
ہجر میں لگتا جابر چاند

بحر کی لہروں کا سوداگر
ہے کتنا یہ قادر چاند

لوٹ چلی جب دھوپ دھرا کو
نکلا کس کی خاتر چاند

بھوکے پیٹ کو دکھتا روٹی
دیکھو کیسا ساحر چاند

کروا چوتھ ہو عید یا ہولی
چڑھتا مسجد مندر چاند

کالی رات کو روشن کرتا
سورج کا ہے چاکر چاین

تاروں نے تھا کیا مقدمہ
پیشی کو تھا حاضر چاند

ہند کی گلوں میں رہتا ہے
کیسے ہو گیا کافر چاند

مظلوموں کا ایک گواہ
مولا! میرا ناصر چاند

پڈا شکاری کے پھندے میں
تکتا رہتا طائر چاند

آنگن میں کھیلا کرتا تھا
کیسے ہوا مہاجر چاند

سواتی ثانی ریشم –

Cover image ©Myriams-Fotos (pixabay.com)

 

 

तेज़ गरमी के बाद…

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

आज़ादी – آزادی

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”

لب تیرے آزاد نہیں اب
زباں پر پڈ گیے ہیں تالے
نہ اب ہے یہ جسم ہی تیرا
نہ ہوگی اب جان بھی تیری
دیکھ کہ آہن گر کی دکاں اب
ٹھندی راکھ کا ڈھیر بنےگی
ہاتھوں میں پڈ جایگی بیڈی
او پاؤں مین زنجیریں ہوں گی
جسم و زباں کی موت ہے اب
سچ کا ہوتا قتل ہے اب
اب یہ باجی پھر نہ بچھے گی
اب تو چپ ہر شے چلے گی

-سواتی ثانی ریشؔم

Papa!

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.

Family
The four of us
Papa with Mom
Papa and Bua

Reciting Allama Iqbal’s Aurat for The Mansarovar Project

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 startup Orai App gets Media coverage

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 news covered the news and they also appeared on Techcruch.

The Rock Buddhas of Ladakh: Part 3

13th September

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.

Stream at Hundar
Stream at Hundar

 

The Monastery of Hundar  Village
The Monastery of Hundar Village

 

Himnak Boards
The Border Road Organization (BRO for short) and Himnak have put up interesting boards throughout, and they were a constant source of amusement and laughter.

 

Himnak Board
Another signboard

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.

Hundar Stream
Early morning light, stream and the photographer.

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.

A brief history of Nubra Valley
A brief history of Nubra Valley

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.

Haji Abdul Razak Jamshed
Haji Abdul Razak Jamshed (Tayaji) with his pet camel

 

The cold desert of Nubra Valley at Hundar
The cold desert of Nubra Valley at Hundar

 

Stream in the desert
Sitting on the banks of a stream in the desert, discussing the history of Nubra Valley with Tayaji

Continue reading The Rock Buddhas of Ladakh: Part 3