To think or Not to...

Being a River

2012-01-30T11:52:00.001+05:30

River flows through three worlds.

It connects three world,

in most evident way possible.

A river is a magical thing,

a magic, moving, living part

of all the three worlds.

River begins, sustains and finishes,

while Doing any of these three

River never cease flowing,

River never cease Being.

Every drop of it

Never cease to be a River.

So was she...

knew very well

how to be a River.

She, when was young,

was very restless,

though mountains and rocks,

she would jump and dive

seeking unknown,

seeking untested.

and then she reached

the edge of the Forest,

She grew up and being grown-up,

she did not

run and jump and sparkle

along as it used to
but moved slowly.

For she knew now where she was going, and
she said and smiled,

"There is no hurry. We shall get there some day."

THE PREACHERS OF DEATH

2012-01-26T01:40:00.001+05:30

AS IT IS FROM THIS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA by FREDERICH NIETZSCHE

There are preachers of death: and the earth is full of those to whom desistance from life must be preached.
Full is the earth of the superfluous; marred is life by the many–too–many. May they be decoyed out of this life by the "life eternal"!
"The yellow ones": so are called the preachers of death, or "the black ones." But I will show them unto you in other colours besides.
There are the terrible ones who carry about in themselves the beast of prey, and have no choice except lusts or self–laceration. And even their lusts are self–laceration.
They have not yet become men, those terrible ones: may they preach desistance from life, and pass away themselves!
There are the spiritually consumptive ones: hardly are they born when they begin to die, and long for doctrines of lassitude and renunciation.
They would fain be dead, and we should approve of their wish! Let us beware of awakening those dead ones, and of damaging those living coffins!
They meet an invalid, or an old man, or a corpse—and immediately they say: "Life is refuted!"
But they only are refuted, and their eye, which seeth only one aspect of existence.
Shrouded in thick melancholy, and eager for the little casualties that bring death: thus do they wait, and clench their teeth.
Or else, they grasp at sweetmeats, and mock at their childishness thereby: they cling to their straw of life, and mock at their still clinging to it.
Their wisdom speaketh thus: "A fool, he who remaineth alive; but so far are we fools! And that is the foolishest thing in life!"
"Life is only suffering": so say others, and lie not. Then see to it that YE cease! See to it that the life ceaseth which is only suffering!
And let this be the teaching of your virtue: "Thou shalt slay thyself! Thou shalt steal away from thyself!"—
"Lust is sin,"—so say some who preach death—"let us go apart and beget no children!"
"Giving birth is troublesome,"—say others—"why still give birth? One beareth only the unfortunate!" And they also are preachers of death.

Few Random thoughts of Tabutsaaz

2012-01-24T12:06:00.000+05:30

Some thoughts can be properly considered when you avoid starting it from why. (Tabutsaaz)

You have to believe in your dreams, because they never cease to believe in you. (Tabutsaaz)

Being happy is an everyday task, you cannot be happy for once and forever. (Tabutsaaz)

One who share his bread, his dreams, his joys with you, and whose hunger, whose disappointments, whose sorrows troubles you as much as they do it to him, he is your companion and bond between you is Companionship. (Tabutsaaz)

We all are reflections of one universal soul in vessels of different sizes, shapes and natures but we essentially inherit the basic goodness of that one universal soul. (Tabutsaaz)

Thirst

2012-01-19T16:01:00.000+05:30

Long dreary walk

of one day to another

dreamless nights

following each other,

With daily evils

he had to face,

with daily evils

he had to create.

He suffered all of them

as much they suffered him.

While fighting with truths and lies,

He thirsted for soulful moments

with her again.

He thirsted for her eyes, her dreams

He thirsted for HER again

Many worlds :: Existence of Many Truths

2012-01-16T15:08:00.000+05:30

A search for an absolute truth becomes more irrelevant when we take in account the Many Worlds just like our, many people exactly like us can exist in a parallel world around us with their own version of truth.

"There are no whole truths; all truths are half-truths. It is trying to treat them as whole truths that play the devil", said Alfred Whitehead, a mathematician and philosopher.

Also Neil Bohrs once said,"The opposite of a correct statement is a false statement. But the opposite of a profound truth may well be another profound truth."

When there can exist mutually opposite truths in same universe then the sheer number of truths co-exisiting in multiple universe will be overwhelming.

The many-worlds interpretation is an interpretation of quantum mechanics that asserts the objective reality of the universal wavefunction, but denies the actuality of wavefunction collapse. Many-worlds implies that all possible alternative histories and futures are real, each representing an actual "world" (or "universe"). It is also referred to as MWI, the relative state formulation, the Everett interpretation, the theory of the universal wavefunction, many-universes interpretation, or just many-world.

In many-worlds, the subjective appearance of wavefunction collapse is explained by the mechanism of quantum decoherence, which resolves all of the correlation paradoxes of quantum theory, since every possible outcome of every event defines or exists in its own "history" or "world". In lay terms, there is a very large—perhaps infinite—number of universes, and everything that could possibly have happened in our past, but did not, has occurred in the past of some other universe or universes.

Thus Spake Zarathustra on CHANGE

2012-01-12T12:46:00.002+05:30

In the section of Thus Spoke Zarathustra entitled, "Of the Three Metamorphoses," Zarathustra describes a process of human transformation. The metamorphoses will become Zarathustra's answer to the apprehension created by the death of God.
Nietzsche begins: "I name you three metamorphoses of the spirit: how the spirit shall become a camel, and the camel a lion, and the lion at last a child" (Nietzsche 54). These metaphors describe various stages in the transformation of human consciousness. Just as we pass through physical stages on our way to adulthood, Nietzsche proposes that we pass through various stages of consciousness. We are constantly Becoming. We are not static creatures. In fact, for Nietzsche, nothing is static; all is in flux; there is no imperishable Being; all is Becoming. One point, however, should be noted: this process of transformation is not necessarily linear. It seems to be more cyclical in nature.
First, let us think about the camel. A camel is a beast of burden. When commanded, it kneels down to accept heavy loads. It seems to possess a sense of duty in bearing what it is ordered to bear. It can go days through the desert without water. The camel-image seems to refer to the human tendency to confront that which is difficult for us out of a sense of duty. We do not will what we do at this stage, but do "what we ought to do." We are not free to make our own decisions because we give our will over to what we believe are our duties. Nevertheless, by doing "what we ought" we challenge ourselves, paving the way for further refinement.
Zarathustra says, "What is the heaviest thing, you heroes? so asks the weight-bearing spirit, that I may take it upon me and rejoice in my strength" (ibid.). In bearing the heaviest burdens, the camel-spirit becomes lofty in its strength, in doing its duty. This type of attitude reminds me of someone like Hegel, who would try to systematize all reality into a neat logical box, and then have the audacity to believe that everything has been explained. In order for further metamorphosis, this pride must be weakened: "Is it not this: to debase yourself in order to injure your pride? To let your folly shine out in order to mock your wisdom" (ibid.)? It would be a heavy burden indeed for someone like Hegel to admit that he was wrong. I know of one philosopher who did this. Shortly before his death, Thomas Aquinas had a mystical experience which caused him to describe his life's work as so much straw. Sometimes, "wisdom" must be mocked in order for new realities to be born.
Zarathustra asks if it is not a heavy burden "to feed upon the acorns and grass of knowledge and for the sake of truth to suffer hunger of the soul" (ibid.)? For someone who has devoted much time to the search for truth and understanding, it is a very heavy burden to discover that all our so-called wisdom and knowledge is fleeting. The seeker longs for a person, a book, or some other foothold that can lead him or her to a bedrock of truth. It is burdensome because one discovers there is no such absolute foundation. One must consume what small morsels of truth one can find on the cold, damp ground. One must suffer hunger of the soul when the understanding comes that all so-called truths are really uncertain.
Zarathustra asks if it is not a heavy burden "to wade into dirty water when it is the water of truth, and not to disdain cold frogs and hot toads" (ibid.)? Think of sloshing through a green, miry swamp. It is a nasty undertaking. One can get lost very easily. The air smells bad. There are dangerous creatures at every turn. The frogs and toads are not really dangerous, but they are a nuisance. Seeking for truth is exactly like this. It is a burdensome affair to search and search, only to find that one is going around in circles, not to mention all the encumbrances along the way. This is the realm of Becoming, where there are no absolute standards--no firm path on which to tread. Actually, there is no sense of Being, except that it is Becoming. The greatest burden here, however, is when one learns to wade into these waters without disdaining the difficult struggle of living in a world which is devoid of standards. This undertaking can bring about transformation.
The camel takes upon itself its heavy burdens and flees into a desert of solitude. Here, the camel must continually question even the "truths" it has accepted. It must interrogate this new idea, i.e., that there are no eternal standards.
The seeker of truth who carries the burden of uncertainty will eventually need solitude. Not actually literal solitude, but a separation in thought from those who still adhere to idealism. Only in solitude can genuine creation be brought forth. This is why Zarathustra travelled to the mountains. "Here he had the enjoyment of his spirit and his solitude and he did not weary of it for ten years" (Nietzsche 39). It is in the desert that the camel changes into a lion, for "it wants to capture freedom and be lord in its own desert" (Nietzsche 54).
The lion is, at the same time, a mighty, noble warrior, and a vicious killer. It is noble in the sense that it craves freedom. It desires to create its own freedom, but it must kill to get it.
The camel is only a beast of burden. A beast of prey is required for the task of capturing freedom. The might of the lion can perform the task at hand.
Who is to be the lion's victim? "It seeks here its ultimate lord: it will be an enemy to him and to its ultimate God, it will struggle for victory with the great dragon" (Nietzsche 54-55). The great dragon, which the lion will battle for its freedom, is called "Thou Shalt." The lion's foe is the spirit of commandments, i.e., when others seek to instruct us in what we must believe and accept as truth. History is replete with examples of the enforcement of commandments. One that comes to mind is the Catholic Inquisition.
The great dragon sparkles with gold--"the values of a thousand years" shine on its scales (Nietzsche 55). The dragon believes itself supreme because it believes it possesses the One Truth concerning all existence. It believes in a transcendental realm of absolute ideas which can be understood by humanity through the faculty of reason. It believes in a transcendental Being (God) which has created this realm and now watches over it, so that Truth remains eternal. The dragon despises opposing opinions. "There will be no 'I will,'" it says. One either conforms, or one is trampled underfoot. But the might of the lion says, "I will!" The lion is the beginning of the will to power, or the will to create new realities.
The lion cannot create new values. However, its might is needed to capture freedom for itself. After the dragon has been mauled by the spirit of the lion, what then? The lion must understand that now there is no guiding hand of a transcendental God, or the firm foundation of a realm of absolute Ideas. There is no external authority. Now, the lion is alone; it is responsible for itself. There are no more laws, no more duties for it to bear. Is this not the greatest burden?
The lion is victorious. It has uttered the sacred "No" to the dragon. One thing remains: the lion is not capable of creating new values for itself. It is merely a warrior. Its talent lies in destruction. For creation, another metamorphosis must take place: the lion must become a child.

But tell me, my brothers, what can the child do that the lion cannot? The child is innocence and forgetfulness, a new beginning, a sport, a self-propelling wheel, a first motion, a sacred Yes (ibid.).

The child possesses unique talents which make it the perfect choice for the third transformation. The child is innocence. It has no sense of what life was like when the dragon was still alive. There is no guilt because there is no awareness of Thou Shalt. It knows only Becoming--awaking each day to discover a new idea, a new game to play, a new world to explore.
The child is forgetfulness. It has forgotten the heavy burdens of duty and the longing for freedom. Now, it constantly abides in freedom. It has forgotten the golden scales of the dragon. It has forgotten the ancient ways of the past, the so-called eternal values and standards. It lives only for the moment.
The child is a new beginning. When long-held beliefs have been called into question by the camel, and then destroyed by the lion, one enters a new epoch. After a time, the values one has created for oneself become obsolete. These must not be allowed to become sacred cows, for, eventually, they must be destroyed and replaced by new values. The spirit of the camel will question whether these beliefs are still viable. If not, the spirit of the lion will destroy them. Then comes a new beginning, the spirit of the child, who will bring about the creation of new values. This cyclical process never ends, unless one becomes stagnant, i.e., if one ceases to create by returning to a notion of static Being.
The child is a sport, or a game. Children are always inventing new games, along with a set of rules for each. When I was about eight years old, some friends and I invented our own version of "whiffle ball". It was similar to regular baseball. But, because we didn't have enough fielders, we had to create a set of rules that would work for just three or four players. Also, the rules would change depending on whose yard we were playing in at the time. We didn't need any adults telling us how to play our game. We created it ourselves. This, in my opinion, is the attitude that Nietzsche is trying to get us to think about here. We need to adopt the attitude of a child. When faced with a problem, even if it is only how to play a silly child's game, the child will create a solution. He/She will allow spontaneity to flow freely, creating rules that fit the particular situation.
The child has no knowledge of anything eternal or transcendent. There is only spontaneity and creative play, that is, until we adults pound our values into their heads. After enculturation is complete, they are fortunate if they ever break free from the Thou Shalts of the herd.
The child is a self-propelling wheel. At this stage of transformation, the child possesses the will to power, or the power to roll its own wheel. Creation is the wheel which is propelled along by the will. As long as it is understood that all is Becoming, the wheel continues to roll along. However, when "wisdom" becomes ensconced in one's thinking, then the wheel comes to a screeching halt.
The child is a first motion. When the great dragon was still alive, no movement existed. There was only static Being; there was no creation. There were only "the values of a thousand years." The camel questioned those values; the lion destroyed them. Now, the child is the first motion, because the child is the creator. Creation is not static, but dynamic.
Think of how the earth continually creates and re-creates. Every spring, new life bursts forth from the earth. There is a period of growth, decay, and then death. I think this may be how Nietzsche envisions this process of transformation. Creators always pass through such periods of growth, decay, and death. The child represents growth, i.e., the growth of new realities. The camel eventually doubts these realities (decay), and the lion destroys them (death). Then, once more, the child creates new ones, and the process begins all over again.
The child is the sacred Yes. In order for new creation to occur, the spirit of the child must utter a holy Yes to life.

Yes, a sacred Yes is needed, my brothers, for the sport of creation: the spirit now wills its own will, the spirit sundered from the world now wins its own spirit (ibid.).

Before, the spirit had no will of its own. It was controlled by the beliefs of others, by the beliefs of the herd. But the sacred No was spoken by the lion. The spirit now has no sense of duty; it is not impelled to act in any other way than the behavior it chooses. Now the sacred Yes is needed in order for creativity to be unleashed, for new values to be invented.
I don't think Nietzsche is saying that we should simply adopt those values which give us the greatest pleasure. I see it as being much more complex. If I am reading him correctly, he is saying we should pass beyond the dualities (good and evil, for example) and create for ourselves a set of values which will allow us to envision the prospect of overcoming ourselves. Perhaps we will never get there. The Ubermensch may only be a possibility. The main point, however, is to take the risk, to make the attempt, to struggle with the uncertainty. By doing this, we are constantly abiding in the flux of life.

SHUT UP

2012-01-11T15:30:00.002+05:30

SHUT UP

she says

when her tongue

holds all the words

when her emotions

hold all the worlds

when her soul

frees the universe

when her eyes

fight backs the tears

when her smile

betrays the lips

she just blinks

while storm in her heart

drowns a million ships

she says

SHUT UP

When you are overflowing with love

2012-01-10T15:36:00.009+05:30

You really don't care

if one loves you r not

You just know to

and want to love

You don't care about being loved back

Loving is most important thing to you

Loving is all you want

Loving is all u do

...when you are overflowing with the Love

इश्क मैं तेरे कोह-ए-ग़म, सर पे लिया जो हो सो हो

2012-01-10T14:16:00.002+05:30

इश्क मैं तेरे कोह-ए-ग़म, सर पे लिया जो हो सो हो
ऐश-ओ-निशात-ए-ज़िंदगी, छोड़ दिया जो हो सो हो

अक्ल के मदरसे से उठ, इश्क के मैकदे में आ
जाम-ए-फ़ना-ओ-बेखुदी, अब तो पिया जो हो सो हो

हिज्र की जो मुसीबतें, अर्ज़ कीं उस के रू-बा-रू
नाज़-ओ-अदा से मुस्कुरा, कहने लगा जो हो सो हो

जाम-ए-फ़ना-ओ-बेखुदी, अब तो पिया जो हो सो हो
जाम-ए-फ़ना-ओ-बेखुदी, अब तो पिया जो हो सो हो

~हज़रत शाह निआज़

I am not,Yet, I am

2012-01-03T02:18:00.001+05:30

आशिक ए बे खबर मनम,
मन न मनम, न मन मनम,
आरिफ ए बा हुनर मनम,
मन न मनम, न मन मनम,

I am in Love, lost to the world
I am not, Yet, I am,
Realized as a soul I am,
I am not, Yet, I am

सोजे दिल ओ जिगर मनम,
वेहशत ए पर्दादार मनम,
दानिश ए बखिया गर मनम,
मन न मनम, न मन मनम

A flame in love, I am,
Restless in solitude, I am,
The all knowing healer,
I am not,Yet, I am.

हुस्न ओ जमाल ए हक मनम,
इज्ज़ ओ जलाल ए हक मनम,
हशमत ओ जाह ओ फार मनम,
मन न मनम, न मन मनम

The beauty of Truth;
Its magnanimity, I am
I am its grandeur, It's splendor
I am not,Yet, I am

सूफी ए बा सफा मनम,
बे खुद ओ बा खुदा मनम,
अहल ए दिल ओ नज़र मनम,
मन न मनम, न मन मनम

The purest of the pure,
I am with him, Yet without him I am,
The heart and vision,
I am not,Yet, I am

इसा ए मरयामी मनम
अहमद ए हाशमी मनम,
हैदर ए शेर ए नर मनम,
मन न मनम, न मन मनम,

Mary's Christ, I am,
I am, Ahmad of Hashim,
I am of Ali the bravest of the brave,
I am not,Yet, I am

राज़ ओ `नियाज़' ए खुद मनम,
सोज़ ओ गुदाज़ ए खुद मनम,
करदा क़दम बे सर मनम,
मन न मनम, न मन मनम

The keeper of inner secrets,I am,
I am, the reflection of my anguish
He who moves on his head,
I am not,Yet, I am
~हज़रत शाह नियाज़ (र. हे)

जी चाहे तो शीशा बन जा, जी चाहे पैमाना बन जा-हज़रत ज़हीन शाहताज

2012-01-01T14:09:00.000+05:30

जी चाहे तो शीशा बन जा, जी चाहे पैमाना बन जा
शीशा पैमाना क्या बन ना, मय बन जा, मैखाना बन जा
जी चाहे तो शीशा बन जा, जी चाहे पैमाना बन जा
शीशा पैमाना क्या बन ना, मय बन जा, मैखाना बन जा
मय बन कर, मैखाना बन कर, मस्ती का अफसाना बन जा
मस्ती का अफसाना बन कर, हस्ती से बेगाना बन जा
हस्ती से बेगाना होना, मस्ती का अफसाना बन ना
इस होने से, इस बन ने से, अच्छा है दीवाना बन जा
हस्ती से बेगाना होना, मस्ती का अफसाना बन ना
इस होने से, इस बन ने से, अच्छा है दीवाना बन जा
दीवाना बन जाने से भी, दीवाना होना अच्छा है
दीवाना बन जाने से भी, दीवाना होना अच्छा है
दीवाना होने से अच्छा, खाक-ए-दर-ए-जाना बन जा
दीवाना होने से अच्छा, खाक-ए-दर-ए-जाना बन जा
खाक-ए-दर-ए-जाना क्या है, अहले-दिल की आंख का सुरमा
खाक-ए-दर-ए-जाना क्या है, अहले-दिल की आंख का सुरमा
शम्मा के दी की ठंडक बन जा, नूर-ए दिल-ए-परवाना बन जा
शम्मा के दी की ठंडक बन जा, नूर-ए दिल-ए-परवाना बन जा
सीख ज़हीन की दिल से जलना, काहे को हर शम्मा पे जल ना?
सीख ज़हीन की दिल से जलना, काहे को हर शम्मा पे जल ना?
अपनी आग में खुद जल जाये, तू ऐसा परवाना बन जा
अपनी आग में खुद जल जाये, तू ऐसा परवाना बन जा
~ हज़रत ज़हीन शाहताज

the fishergurl and the boy

2011-12-28T15:48:00.001+05:30

"Do you love me,

as wind loves the leaves of grass,

caressing in beautiful dusk?

Do you love me,

as one day a cloud filled with rain

loved the crazy young sand dune

and emptied herself to the sand dune

only to transform it and herself?

Do you love me,

as the pillars of a temple

loves another

but does not get

too close to each other

so to hold the temple, they share

from crumbling away?

Do you love me,

as a candle loves a moth

and burns every bit with it

but does not forget

to light the world around?

Do you love me,

as a river loves its flow

and still does not fail

to quench a million others on the go?",

All this and beyond this was what the boy wanted to ask the fishergurl.

But never he did, never he could...

Still it happened as was destined and as was repeated a million times before

Boy fell in love for fishergurl...

that dreamy li'l boy who was not so honest but was very much innocent fell in love for that fishergurl who was not so innocent but was very much honest.

Sometimes I wonder

2011-12-27T03:27:00.001+05:30

Sometimes I wonder, sweetest love, if you
Were a mere dream in along winter night,
A dream of spring-days, and of golden light
Which sheds its rays upon a frozen heart;
A dream of wine that fills the drunken eye.

And so I wonder, sweetest love, if I
Should drink this ruby wine, or rather weep;
Each tear a bezel with your face engraved,
A rosary to memorize your name...

There are so many ways to call you back-
Yes, even if you only were a dream. ~Rumi

---------------------------------------------------
Poetry:- Rumi
Doodle:- Nuktaa

let the cup and the wine remain in front of me

2011-12-21T13:22:00.002+05:30

There are days which begin with perfect setting. You spend quality time with your loved ones, in their arms, in their embrace, you rest. You plan things for future near and far in their eyes. You are contemplative and taking actions at the same time. Life seems beautiful and blissful at the same time. You have work at hand, dreams at eyes and satisfaction at soul.
But then life has its own plan, own surprises, own twists and turns.
Relationships which are your power, your strength start doubting you. They don't want few things in you, they don't like how you handle few things. They don't always entirely agree with the way you act, react and put closure to things, lives, interactions around you.
You try hard to explain them, make them see the world, the way you do, you use different approach, try different angles to bring in peace but in process you hurt something very integral in those relations.
Things start falling apart, one thing leads to another and the day, a seemingly perfect day collapses, comes to sudden halt. Unexpected HALT.
Again, life goes on for an another day, for another twists and turns.

गो हाथ को जुम्बिश नहीं आँखों में तो दम है
रहने दो अभी साग़र-ओ-मीना मेरे आगे

Though I can’t move my hands, I [still] have power in my eyes
let the cup and the wine remain in front of me.

I will die in Paris

2011-12-16T17:52:00.004+05:30

I will die in Paris, on a rainy day,
on some day I can already remember.
I will die in Paris--and I don't step aside--
perhaps on a Thursday,

as today is Thursday, in autumn.

- César Abraham Vallejo

किसी से मेरी मंजिल का पता पाया नहीं जाता

2011-12-12T15:44:00.002+05:30

किसी से मेरी मंजिल का पता पाया नहीं जाता
जहाँ मैं हूँ फरिश्तों से वहां आया नहीं जाता

मेरे टूटे हुए पा-ए-तलब का मुझ पे एहसान है
तुम्हारे दर से उठ के अब मुझसे कहीं जाया नहीं जाता

चमन तुमसे इबारत हैं बहार तुमसे हैं जिंदा
तुम्हारे सामने फूलों से मुरझाया नहीं जाता

हर एक दाग-ए-तमन्ना को कलेजे से लगाता हूँ
की घर आयी हुई दौलत को ठुकराया नहीं जाता

मोहब्बत के लिए कुछ खास दिल मखसूस होते हैं
ये वो नगमा है जो हर साज़ पे गया नहीं जाता
~(मखमूर देहलवी)

Chaos

2011-12-10T04:16:00.000+05:30

I tell you: one must still have chaos in one, to give birth to a dancing star. I tell you: ye have still chaos in you.

~Friedrich Nietzsche

A Doodle after a long time

2011-12-09T20:28:00.001+05:30

...soul of innocence

The Strength of the Warrior

2011-12-09T00:53:00.003+05:30

Paulo Coelho

The warrior – inadvertently – takes a wrong step and falls into the abyss. Phantoms startle him, loneliness torments him. As always he sought the Good Combat, and didn’t think this would happen to him.

But it did. Surrounded by darkness, he communicates with his master.

"Master, I have fallen into the abyss," he says. "The waters are deep and dark."

"Remember one thing," replies the master. "That it is not the fall which drowns, but the length of time underwater."

And this causes the warrior to use all his strength to get out of the situation in which he finds himself.

Sense of Humor

2011-12-06T20:24:00.000+05:30

My life has wonderful sense of humor...it just needs to work a lot on its timing

Greece they say was the name of land

2011-12-02T14:57:00.002+05:30

With same grim eyes he was telling the story.

"So it happened in the beautiful town, so it happened to the beautiful town. Far away from cities, this town was a forgotten adobe of higher mortals before that adobe to gods and even before time adobe of energies. It had seen its ups and falls, it had heard air telling stories of its different names and lives before this and was content with it. But now it was called The Town in every sense of it and beyond.

This town was in serene setting with a beautiful river bank on a side and mountains, deep green sage like mountains on the other. Many visitors would come and seek and find peace and love and joy and everything else they were seeking. Adventurers would find right challenges here. Lovers would find their soul companions. Peace seekers would find much sought calmness. The town provided everything it can to everyone who asked.

She did not come looking anything in the town. It was not her first visit. She had visited before in a different life, in a different time. She dint remember that and even town had forgotten about her. So it should be so lives and times can exist peacefully. So she came again in the town without any past with town, without any history with town.

She is not just a visitor, Town felt as soon as it saw her. But she didn't come to town seeking something. She was just enthralled with stories about the town and just wanted to see it in person. She just wanted to roam around, immerse herself in its beauty. They said she was goddess from the foreign land. Greece they say was the name of land. She was every bit of goddesses in her fullness of life and beauty. She was the most beautiful of the immortals, even more beautiful than the goddess of Love, Aphrodite. Her beauty was renewed each spring as she magically washes away the ware and worry of her immortal existence.

So town saw her and fell out right for her. She would visit its squares and wells and lakes and churches and temples. Town would flourish, appear more cheery at those places. Its evening became more enchanting and its morning woke a lot fresher. The town was in love with her and the world around her. So much that it wanted to be her world. She loved the way town presented itself to her. She loved every bit of it. She loved every moment of it. She loved the town too.

But spring passed, and winter spread its white shroud across the town. Town closed its eyes dreaming beautiful love and when it woke all the travelers had left already including her, the Goddess of Foreign Land. Greece they say was the name of land.

The Town was GODDESS LESS again"

Kabir

2011-11-30T18:39:00.000+05:30

हद-हद करते सब गए

बेहद गयो न कोए

अनहद के मैदान में

रहा कबीरा सोए

शब्दों से सबसे ज़्यादा भय उन्हें लगना चाहिए जो उनका भार

2011-11-30T18:28:00.008+05:30

शब्दों से सबसे ज़्यादा भय उन्हें लगना चाहिए जो उनका भार पहचानते हैं - लेखक, कवि और वे जिनके लिए शब्द ही यथार्थ है. - अन्ना कामीएन्स्का

न जाने क्यों,
पिछले कुछ दिनों से
शब्दों से
भय सा होता जा रहा है?
शब्द जो शक्ति थे,
ऊर्जा थे, अभीव्यक्ति थे,
अब भयावह रूप धर
अंतर्मन में घुसपैठ करना चाह रहे हैं.
उन्हें मूर्तरूप देने की
नाकाम कोशिश करता हूँ,
चाहता हूँ उन्हें
सतह पर रोक दूँ,
निचे तक झरने न दूँ
पर हर बार
खुद से मात खा लेता हूँ.
न जाने क्या था,
जो अब नहीं रहा?
न जाने क्या था,
जो खो गया है?
न जाने क्या है,
जो शब्दों की मार
इतनी तीव्रता से
अनुभूत करा रहा हैं?
न जाने क्यों,
पिछले कुछ दिनों से
शब्दों से
भय सा होता जा रहा है?
हे परमदिव्य,
मेरे शब्दों की रूह जगा दो !!!

चलते समय

2011-11-29T18:07:00.011+05:30

तुम मुझे पूछते हो ‘जाऊँ’?

मैं क्या जवाब दूं तुम्हीं कहो।

‘जा ...’ कहते रुकती है जबान

किस मुँह से तुमसे कहूँ रहो!

सेवा करना था जहाँ मुझे

कुछ भक्ति-भाव दरसाना था।

उन कृपा-कटाक्षों का बदला

बलि होकर जहाँ चुकाना था।

मैं सदा रुठती ही आयी,

प्रिय! तुम्हें न मैंने पहचाना।

वह मान बाण-सा चुभता है,

अब देख तुम्हारा यह जाना॥

~सुभद्रा कुमारी चौहान

Picture courtesy: http://e-nidhi.com/

Leap of Faith

2011-11-29T16:54:00.000+05:30

A sudden conformity while your are in trouble on your faith, a sudden unwavering belief converting the wish or dream to reality is because of the Leap of Faith. It's a beautiful process which transforms a pupa to a magnificent butterfly, which turns a disciple into master. Leap of faith is that point of conversion in tradition of magic which decides the future course of action of a seeker.

One starts a journey with a fascination in eyes and a million doubts in heart. this is the phase they call JIGYASU or the the curious one. I have always loved this word. The curious one, just once glance of the path and eyes start to gleam as the rivulet in a shiny starry might. But the heart is still full of doubt, one doesn't know what to believe and what not not. Someone said there are two ways of living this life one as if every moment you live is miracle two as no moment if life is miracle. For a curious one, none of the above conditions are absolute truth. He is still swinging between different realities of different influences. But whatever he has seen in the world beyond, he is joyful at the sight of it and want more of it.

That's how one takes step first on the path uncharted, that's how one starts to walk the journey to unknown. Most important point, most important milestone on this journey is leap of faith. It is not any kind of epiphany, it is not even a realization, its more of an outcome of gradual process which kicked off on day one when he decided to put first step on the path. This knowledge of path of may or may not come by now but that is irrelevant because leap of faith empowers one to perform miracle. it gives one power to convert best wishes into blessings, mere thoughts to reality, mere words to magic spell. The Leap of Faith provides enough will to be projected in words so that they can weave reality around thoughts and make tangible changes to the timeline.

Leap of Faith is a surrender to the power which needs to be recognized with in. Healers need this to heal the wounded, Alchemists need this to bring out the transformation, Warriors need this to un-sheath the sword at the right moment and in right stance.

अबके तो मुस्कुरा भर

2011-11-28T17:51:00.000+05:30

ज़ख्म देने और भरने के अलावा
उन पर अश्क बहाने या मुस्कुरा देने से ज्यादा का
इख्तेहार नहीं देती ज़िन्दगी अपने आप पर
जानता था वो...

अबके तो मुस्कुरा भर के रह गया...

Confessions to People around

2011-11-23T12:47:00.005+05:30

At times I feel like flipping pages of her diary. I feel an intense desire to feel the pain she might be going through or went through. It's strange humans are more inclined to share others pain than their joys. Is it to seek some sort of assurance? No, I don't think so or I don't want to believe that even if it is true. I like the idea that humans are essentially empathetic towards their fellow beings especially one who reflect their own thought more than often. I have been through the thoughts she has shared so many times. Every time I do so I feel a pang in heart and an innate desire to hold her hand more tightly. I want to make her feel she is protected. Protected from everything she should be, exposed to everything she should be.

On other thought, I think I know her soul, soul so strong that one gaze to it can create and destroy million worlds. Soul so strong that it can bring life to dead. Soul which is as primitive and beautiful as the garden of Eden. At times words seem exaggerating but a closer re-read of same word reveal the truth in it. I believe I have seen glimpses of her soul and then everything justifies itself. The Thing, the Supreme Being cannot give easy test to the soul so strong. Any thing simpler would be insult of this magnificent creation.

All I can wish her is fare well, may the strength and love be on your side. And a million thanks to her for illumining my life in more than ways she can imagine. I want to thank her for being warrior princess.

Gulistaan by Sa'di

2011-11-15T14:08:00.000+05:30

See the generosity and kindness of God.
The servant has committed sin and he is ashamed.
Those who attend permanently at the temple of his glory confess the
imperfection of their worship and say: We have not worshipped thee
according to the requirements of thy worship; and those who describe
the splendour of his beauty are rapt in amazement saying: We have
not known thee as thou oughtest to be known.
If someone asks me for his description,
What shall I despairing say of One who has no form?
The lovers have been slain by the beloved.
No voice can come from the slain.
One of the devout who had deeply plunged his head into the cowl of
meditation and had been immersed in the ocean of visions, was asked,
when he had come out of that state, by one of his companions who had
desired to cheer him up: 'What beautiful gift hast thou brought us
from the garden in which thou hast been?' He replied: 'I intended
to fill the skirts of my robe with roses, when I reached the rose-tree,
as presents for my friends but the perfume of the flowers intoxicated
me so much that I let, go the hold of my skirts.'
O bird of the morning, learn love from the moth
Because it burnt, lost its life, and found no voice.
These pretenders are ignorantly in search of Him,
Because he who obtained knowledge has not returned.
O thou who art above all imaginations, conjectures, opinions and
ideas,
Above anything people have said or we have heard or read,
The assembly is finished and life has reached its term
And we have, as at first, remained powerless in describing thee.

Dance to denounce the world

2011-11-02T14:04:00.000+05:30

It is said that Amir Khusrau was once present in a mehfil of Sam’a (Assembly of music-listening) at the khaneqah of Nizamuddin Aulia, when he got so ecstatic with the music that he stood up and almost started dancing. Nizamuddin Aulia waved at him to sit down, and said “you shouldn’t dance, you are a worldly man.” He further added : “If you must dance, then do it in such a way that your hands are raised to the sky as if calling out to God, and your feet should hit the earth as if denouncing it.”

Unfair to the heart

2011-10-14T12:58:00.000+05:30

Do what you are good at,
Do what makes you feel happy doing,
Even if your ITHACA is away and afar,
You will always find joy of walking.

Oddly enough even after so much of progress and luxuries around us, we don't find time to abide heart's calling.
Today's world doesn't always allow us to do what heart speak us to do but there is always some scope, no matter how small, a window of time to listen to our heart.
Make a list of small, impromptu needs of your heart and try to fulfill them in the very next moment of idleness.
It's unfair to the gate of the universal soul to be kept ignored for long.
It's unfair to your heart to keep it unheard for long.

When you are old

2011-10-03T16:19:00.000+05:30

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

Rain in my city is very human.

2011-10-03T00:27:00.000+05:30

Rain in my city is very human.
When it rains here,
it just doesn't flow away.
It stays, hangs on,
till you acknowledge its presence.
It transforms the city,
in the most magical way.
It sits on terraces of the abandoned buildings,
secret alleys, hideouts under bridges
and sings to it's hearts content.
Sometimes will weep it's soul out,
just for the fun
Rain in my city is very human.
Moody rain here,
some times just drizzles,
like a lover blowing sensuous breathes
over the face of his muse.
Some times slapping faces
sometimes just kissing them.
Overwhelming with emotions
just like her,
Rain in my city is very human.

I Love this life

2011-10-02T11:42:00.000+05:30

Paying for every moment's breathe,
at times just for the intents of breathing,
life is always justified,
with everything which is black and white
and for everything in between.
I love this collage,
I love this life.

Job

2011-09-29T09:24:00.001+05:30

"...you are my past,
and I don't dwell on it."
with eyes stoned she said.
"Don't dig them again,
in grave all emotions laid."

"My job is to dig them deeper,
Not to dig them out."
replied Tabutsaaz
with graver smile.

The girl with bicycle - I

2011-09-07T16:02:00.000+05:30

The girl with bicycle, when I first saw her. She was holding a million dreams, two million questions and unfathomable innocence in her eyes. She knew and was aware of dreams, she has word out a few questions from the querying big eyes but she dint know or was surprisingly not aware of the innocence she held. And that made her more likeable, more adorable and more other worldly.
When I saw her she was collecting dew berries and lilies. It was a nectar enthused view to see her picking up those purple, red berries soaked in dew just dropped from heaven. No one would dare to disturb that angel in her quest to find only the best berries and flowers to prepare drink of gods. No one except for that strand of hair which fluttered playfully every once in a while with the morning breeze.
It was a passing view, when I first saw her. It was just a drop of ambrosia I could taste then.

Kafka

2011-08-23T12:08:00.000+05:30

Kafka: I have been trying to introduced me with this huge phenomenon happened a way long before me. The way of expression he choose, the way he approaches to different events are both amazing and provoking. His story of transformation goes through different medium, takes us to a plateau of all new phases in transformation and gives us all together new reasons and results of this transformation.The effect of transformation not only on the central body but also on the ones around.

State of Ample

2011-08-23T12:05:00.000+05:30

We were born in state of ample. We had enough of joy, we never asked for more, there were offered for more. Rights were declared facilities and we accepted, we should remorse not because we invited this onto us with sheer excitement.

उस दिन...

2011-08-19T14:59:00.000+05:30

शहर में और तुम में

फर्क कभी ज्यादा नहीं रहा

ये शहर भी मुझसे उतना ही रूठा रहता है,

अक्सर, जितना तुम रुठती हो

मगर जीने की वजह भी

इस शहर ने मुझे उसी तरह दी,

जैसे तुम ने मुस्कुराकर

उस दिन...

A Hunger Artist

2011-08-17T22:47:00.002+05:30

A Hunger Artist by Franz Kafka

During these last decades the interest in professional fasting has markedly diminished. It used to pay very well to stage such great performances under one's own management, but today that is quite impossible. We live in a different world now. At one time the whole town took a lively interest in the hunger artist; from day to day of his fast the excitement mounted; everybody wanted to see him at least once a day; there were people who bought season tickets for the last few days and sat from morning till night in front of his small barred cage; even in the nighttime there were visiting hours, when the whole effect was heightened by torch flares; on fine days the cage was set out in the open air, and then it was the children's special treat to see the hunger artist; for their elders he was often just a joke that happened to be in fashion, but the children stood openmouthed, holding each other's hands for greater security, marveling at him as he sat there pallid in black tights, with his ribs sticking out so prominently, not even on a seat but down among straw on the ground, sometimes giving a courteous nod, answering questions with a constrained smile, or perhaps stretching an arm through the bars so that one might feel how thin it was, and then again withdrawing deep into himself, paying no attention to anyone or anything, not even to the all-important striking of the clock that was the only piece of furniture in his cage, but merely staring into vacancy with half-shut eyes, now and then taking a sip from a tiny glass of water to moisten his lips.

Besides casual onlookers there were also relays of permanent watchers selected by the public, usually butchers, strangely enough, and it was their task to watch the hunger artist day and night, three of them at a time, in case he should have some secret recourse to nourishment. This was nothing but a formality, instigated to reassure the masses, for the initiates knew well enough that during his fast the artist would never in any circumstances, not even under forcible compulsion, swallow the smallest morsel of food; the honor of his profession forbade it. Not every watcher, of course, was capable of understanding this, there were often groups of night watchers who were very lax in carrying out their duties and deliberately huddled together in a retired corner to play cards with great absorption, obviously intending to give the hunger artist the chance of a little refreshment, which they supposed he would draw from some private hoard. Nothing annoyed the artist more than these watchers; they made him miserable; they made his fast seem unendurable; sometimes he mastered his feebleness sufficiently to sing during their watch for as long as he could keep going, to show them how unjust their suspicions were. But that was of little use; they only wondered at his cleverness in being able to fill his mouth even while singing. Much more to his taste were the watchers who sat close up to the bars, who were not content with the dim night lighting of the hall but focused him in the full glare of the electric pocket torch given them by the impresario. The harsh light did not trouble him at all, in any case he could never sleep properly, and he could always drowse a little, whatever the light, at any hour, even when the hall was thronged with noisy onlookers. He was quite happy at the prospect of spending a sleepless night with such watchers; he was ready to exchange jokes with them, to tell them stories out of his nomadic life, anything at all to keep them awake and demonstrate to them again that he had no eatables in his cage and that he was fasting as not one of them could fast. But his happiest moment was when the morning came and an enormous breakfast was brought for them, at his expense, on which they flung themselves with the keen appetite of healthy men after a weary night of wakefulness. Of course there were people who argued that this breakfast was an unfair attempt to bribe the watchers, but that was going rather too far, and when they were invited to take on a night’s vigil without a breakfast, merely for the sake of the cause, they made themselves scarce, although they stuck stubbornly to their suspicions.

Such suspicions, anyhow, were a necessary accompaniment to the profession of fasting. No one could possibly watch the hunger artist continuously, day and night, and so no one could produce first-hand evidence that the fast had really been rigorous and continuous; only the artist himself could know that, he was therefore bound to be the sole completely satisfied spectator of his own fast. Yet for other reasons he was never satisfied; it was not perhaps mere fasting that had brought him to such skeleton thinness that many people had regretfully to keep away from his exhibitions, because the sight of him was too much for them, perhaps it was dissatisfaction with himself that had worn him down. For he alone knew, what no other initiate knew, how easy it was to fast. It was the easiest thing in the world. He made no secret of this, yet people did not believe him, at best they set him down as modest, most of them, however, thought he was out for publicity or else was some kind of cheat who found it easy to fast because he had discovered a way of making it easy, and then had the impudence to admit the fact, more or less. He had to put up with all that, and in the course of time had got used to it, but his inner dissatisfaction always rankled, and never yet, after any term of fasting - this must be granted to his credit - had he left the cage of his own free will. The longest period of fasting was fixed by his impresario at forty days, beyond that term he was not allowed to go, not even in great cities, and there was good reason for it, too. Experience had proven that for about forty days the interest of the public could be stimulated by a steadily increasing pressure of advertisement, but after that the town began to lose interest, sympathetic support began notably to fall off; there were of course local variations as between one town and another or one country and another, but as a general rule forty days marked the limit. So on the fortieth day the flower-bedecked cage was opened, enthusiastic spectators filled the hall, a military band played, two doctors entered the cage to measure the results of the fast, which were announced through a megaphone, and finally two young ladies appeared, blissful at having been selected for the honor, to help the hunger artist down the few steps leading to a small table on which was spread a carefully chosen invalid repast. And at this very moment the artist always turned stubborn. True, he would entrust his bony arms to the outstretched helping hands of the ladies bending over him, but stand up he would not. Why stop fasting at this particular moment, after forty days of it? He had held out for a long time, an illimitably long time, why stop now, when he was in his best fasting form, or rather, not yet quite in is bet fasting form? Why should he be cheated of the fame he would get for fasting longer, for being not only the record hunger artist of all time, which presumably he was already, but for beating his own record by a performance beyond human imagination, since he felt that there were no limits to his capacity for fasting? His public pretended to admire him so much, why should it have so little patience with him; if he could endure fasting longer, why shouldn’t the public endure it? Besides, he was tired, he was comfortable sitting in the straw, and now he was supposed to lift himself to his full height and go down to a meal the very thought of which gave him a nausea that only the presence of the ladies kept him from betraying, and even that with an effort. And he looked up into the eyes of the ladies who were apparently so friendly and in reality so cruel, and shook his head, which felt too heavy on its strengthless neck. But then there happened again what always happened. The impresario came forward, without a word - for the band made speech impossible - lifted his arms in the air above the artist, as if inviting Heaven to look down upon this creature here in the straw, this suffering martyr, which indeed he was, although in quite another sense; grasped him around the emaciated waist, with exaggerated caution, so that the frail condition he was in might be appreciated; and committed him to the care of the blenching ladies, not without secretly giving him a shaking so that his legs and body tottered and swayed. The artist now submitted completely; his head lolled on his breast as if it had landed there by chance; his body was hollowed out; his legs in a spasm of self-preservation clung close to each other at the knees, yet scraped on the ground as if it were not really solid ground, as if they were only trying to find solid ground; and the whole weight of his body, a featherweight after all, relapsed onto one of the ladies, who, looking around for help and panting a little - this post of honor was not at all what she had expected it to be - first stretched her neck as far as she could to keep her face at least free from contact with the artist, then finding this impossible, and her more fortunate companion not coming to her aid but merely holding extended in her own trembling hand the little bunch of knucklebones that was the artist’s, to the great delight of the spectators burst into tears and had to be replaced by an attendant who had long been stationed in readiness. Then came the food, a little of which the impresario managed to get between the artist’s lips, while he sat in a kind of half-fainting trance, to the accompaniment of cheerful patter designed to distract to public’s attention for the artist’s condition; after that, a toast was drunk to the public, supposedly prompted by a whisper from the artist in the impresario’s ear; the band confirmed it with a mighty flourish, the spectators melted away, and no one had any cause to be dissatisfied with the proceedings, no one except the hunger artist himself, he only, as always.

So he lived for many years, with small regular intervals of recuperation, in visible glory, honored by the world, yet in spite of that, troubled in spirit, and all the more troubled because no-one would take his trouble seriously. What comfort could he possibly need? What more could he possibly wish for? And if some good-natured person, feeling sorry for him, tried to console him by pointing out that his melancholy was probably caused by fasting, it could happen, especially when he had been fasting for some time, that he reacted with an outburst of fury and to the general alarm began to shake the bars of his cage like a wild animal. Yet the impresario had a way of punishing these outbreaks which he rather enjoyed putting into operation. He would apologize publicly for the artist’s behaviour, which was only to be excused, he admitted, because of the irritability caused by fasting; a condition hardly to be understood by well-fed people; then by natural transition he went on to mention the artist’s equally incomprehensible boast that he could fast for much longer than he was doing; he praised the high ambition, the good will, the great self-denial undoubtedly implicit in such a statement; and then quite simply countered it by bringing out photographs, which were also on sale to the public, showing the artist on the fortieth day of a fast lying in bed almost dead from exhaustion. This perversion of the truth, familiar to the artist though it was, always unnerved him afresh and proved too much for him. What was a consequence of the premature ending of his fast was here presented as the cause of it! To fight against this lack of understanding, against a whole world of non-understanding, was impossible. Time and again in good faith he stood by the bars listening to the impresario, but as soon as the photographs appeared he always let go and sank with a groan back onto his straw, and the reassured public could once more come close and gaze at him.

A few years later when the witnesses of such scenes called them to mind, they often failed to understand themselves at all. For meanwhile the aforementioned change in public interest had set in; it seemed to happen almost overnight; there may have been profound causes for it, but who was going to bother about that; at any rate the pampered hunger artist suddenly found himself deserted on fine day by the amusement-seekers, who went streaming past him to other more-favored attractions. For the last time the impresario hurried him over half Europe to discover whether the old interest might still survive here and there; all in vain; everywhere, as if by secret agreement, a positive revulsion from professional fasting was in evidence. Of course it could not really have sprung up so suddenly as all that, and many premonitory symptoms which had not been sufficiently remarked or suppressed during the rush and glitter of success now came retrospectively to mind, but it was now too late to take any countermeasures. Fasting would surely come into fashion again at some future date, yet that was no comfort for those living in the present. What, then, was the hunger artist to do? He had been applauded by thousands in his time and could hardly come down to showing himself in a street booth at village fairs, and as for adopting another profession, he was not only too old for that but too fanatically devoted to fasting. So he took leave of the impresario, his partner in an unparalleled career, and hired himself to a large circus; in order to spare his own feelings he avoided reading the conditions of his contract.

A large circus with its enormous traffic in replacing and recruiting men, animals, and apparatus can always find a use for people at any time, even for a hunger artist, provided of course that he does not ask too much, and in this particular case anyhow it was not only the artist who was taken on but his famous and long-known name as well, indeed considering the peculiar nature of his performance, which was not impaired by advancing age, it could not be objected that here was an artist past his prime, no longer at the height of his professional skill, seeking a refuge in some quiet corner of a circus; on the contrary, the hunger artist averred that he could fast as well as ever, which was entirely credible, he even alleged that if he were allowed to fast as he liked, and this was at once promised him without more ado, he could astound the world by establishing a record never yet achieved, a statement that certainly provoked a smile among the other professionals, since it left out of account the change in public opinion, which the hunger artist in his zeal conveniently forgot.

He had not, however, actually lost his sense of the real situation and took it as a matter of course that he and his cage should be stationed, not in the middle of the ring as a main attraction, but outside, near the animal cages, on a site that was after all easily accessible. Large and gaily painted placards made a frame for the cage and announced what was to be seen inside it. When the public came thronging out in the intervals to see the animals, they could hardly avoid passing the hunger artist’s cage and stopping there for a moment, perhaps they might even have stayed longer, had not those pressing behind them behind them in the narrow gangway, who did not understand why they should be held up on their way towards the excitements of the menagerie, made it impossible for anyone to stand gazing for any length of time. And that was the reason why the hunger artist, who had of course been looking forward to these visiting hours as the main achievement of his life, began instead to shrink from them. At first he could hardly wait for the intervals; it was exhilarating to watch the crowds come streaming his way, until only too soon - not even the most obstinate self-deception, clung to almost consciously, could hold out against the fact - the conviction was borne in upon him that these people, most of them, to judge from their actions, again and again, without exception, were all on their way to the menagerie. And the first sight of them from a distance remained the best. For when they reached his cage he was at once deafened by the storm of shouting and abuse that arose from the two contending factions, which renewed themselves continuously, of those who wanted to stop and stare at him - he soon began to dislike them more than the others - not out of real interest but only out of obstinate self-assertiveness, and those who wanted to go straight on to the animals. When the first great rush was past, the stragglers came along, and these, whom nothing could have prevented from stopping to look at him as long as they had breath, raced past with long strides, hardly even glancing at him, in their haste to get to the menagerie in time. And all too rarely did it happen that he had a stroke of luck, when some father of a family fetched up before him with his children, pointed a finger at the hunger artist, and explained at length what the phenomenon meant, telling stories of earlier years when he himself had watched similar but much more thrilling performances, and the children, still rather uncomprehending, since neither inside or outside school had they been sufficiently prepared for this lesson - what did they care about fasting? - yet showed by the brightness of their intent eyes that new and better times might be coming. Perhaps, said the hunger artist to himself, many a time, things would be a little better if his cage were set not quite so near the menagerie. That made it too easy for people to make their choice, to say nothing of what he suffered from the stench of the menagerie, the animals’ restlessness by night, the carrying past of raw lumps of flesh for the beasts of prey, the roaring at feeding times, depressed him continually. But he did not dare to lodge a complaint with the management; after all, he had the animals to thank for the troops of people who passed his cage, among whom there might always be one here and there to take an interest in him, and who could tell where they might seclude him if he called attention to his existence and thereby to the fact that, strictly speaking, he was only an impediment on the way to the menagerie.

A small impediment, to be sure, one that grew steadily less. People grew familiar with the strange idea that they could be expected, in times like these, to take an interest in a hunger artist, and with this familiarity the verdict went out against him. He might fast as much as he could, and he did so; but nothing could save him now, people passed him by. Just try to explain to anyone the art of fasting! Anyone who has no feeling for it cannot be made to understand it. The fine placards grew dirty and illegible, they were torn down; the little notice board showing the number of fast days achieved, which at first was changed carefully every day, had long stayed at the same figure, for after the first few weeks even this small task seemed pointless to the staff; and so the artist simply fasted on and on, as he had once dreamed of doing, and it was no trouble to him, just as he had always foretold, but no one counted the days, no one, not even the artist himself, knew what records he was already breaking, and his heart became heavy. And when once in a while some leisurely passer-by stopped, made merry over the old figure on the board and spoke of swindling, that was in its way the stupidest lie ever invented by indifference and inborn malice, since it was not the hunger artist who was cheating, he was working honestly, but the world was cheating him of his reward.

Many more days went by, however, and that too came to an end. An overseer’s eye fell on the cage one day and he asked the attendants why this perfectly good cage should be left standing there unused with dirty straw inside it; nobody knew, until one man, helped out by the notice board, remembered about the hunger artist. They poked into the straw with sticks and found him in it. “Are you still fasting?” asked the overseer, “when on earth do you mean to stop?” “Forgive me, everybody,” whispered the hunger artist; only the overseer, who had his ear to the bars, understood him. “Of course,” said the overseer, and tapped his forehead with a finger to let the attendants know what state the man was in, “we forgive you.” “I always wanted you to admire my fasting,” said the hunger artist. “We do admire it,” said the overseer, affably. “But you shouldn’t admire it,” said the hunger artist. “Well then we don’t admire it,” said the overseer, “but why shouldn’t we admire it?” “Because I have to fast, I can’t help it,” said the hunger artist. “What a fellow you are,” said the overseer, “and why can’t you help it?” “Because,” said the hunger artist, lifting his head a little and speaking, with his lips pursed, as if for a kiss, right into the overseer’s ear, so that no syllable might be lost, “because I couldn’t find the food I liked. If I had found it, believe me, I should have made no fuss and stuffed myself like you or anyone else.” These were his last words, but in his dimming eyes remained the firm though no longer proud persuasion that he was still continuing to fast.

“Well, clear this out now!” said the overseer, and they buried the hunger artist, straw and all. Into the cage they put a young panther. Even the most insensitive felt it refreshing to see this wild creature leaping around the cage that had so long been dreary. The panther was all right. The food he liked was brought to him without hesitation by the attendants; he seemed not even to miss his freedom; his noble body, furnished almost to the bursting point with all that it needed, seemed to carry freedom around with it too; somewhere in his jaws it seemed to lurk; and the joy of life streamed with such ardent passion from his throat that for the onlookers it was not easy to stand the shock of it. But they braced themselves, crowded around the cage, and did not ever want to move away.

ख़ामोशी - Poet UNKNOWN

2011-08-11T14:52:00.002+05:30

एक दिन ख़ामोशी ने मुझसे पूछा,
क्या तूने मुझे सुना है?
मैंने कहा हँसकर, सुना है.
तू दबे पाँव आती है,
मुझे पदचाप सुनाई देती है.
विचारों को तू पंख लगा देती है.
मन उड़ते हुए कहाँ पहुँच जाता है.
कभी वादियों में, कभी रेत में समा जाता है.
तेरी गहराई में मैंने गोते लगाए हैं,
विचार जो उतरे तेरे पानीओं में.
फिर तैर किनारे कहाँ आ पाए है.
तेरी सैलाबी चीखें कानो में सीसा घोलती हैं.
मन में जमी कई परतें खोलती हैं.
हाँ मैंने तुझे सुना है.
एक बार नहीं हज़ार बार सुना है.
फिर ना पूछना , ऐ ख़ामोशी ,
क्या तूने मुझे सुना है?

Hot tub time machine

2011-08-06T21:38:00.000+05:30

Get as much as you can from any journey, because the journey is all you have - P.C

Salaam

2011-07-28T19:38:00.000+05:30

The Arabic term "Islam" (إسلام) is usually translated as "submission"; submission of desires to the will of God. It comes from the term aslama, which means "to surrender" or "resign oneself".

The Arabic word salaam (سلام) ("peace") has the same root as the word Islam. One Islamic interpretation is that individual personal peace is attained by utterly submitting to Allah. The greeting "As-Salaamu alaykum", favored by Muslims, has the literal meaning "Peace be upon you".Muhammad is reported to have said once, "Mankind are the dependents of God and the most beloved of them to God are those who are the most excellent to His dependents." "Not one of you believes until he loves for his brother what he loves for himself." Great Muslim scholars of prophetic tradition such as Ibn Hajar al-Asqalani and Sharafuddin al Nawawi have said that the words ‘his brother’ mean any person irrespective of faith.

5 Character SAMYAA likes

2011-07-27T15:31:00.001+05:30

1- Catherine (protagonist of Wuthering Heights) ... she is a real character who is caught between Id n Super Ego ... (like most gals) she wants social status but she is nt able to leave her lover... her love is so passionate... though destroying but I like her

2- Vincent (Van Gaugh)... well ... he is a visionary... he ran behind truth.. he knew which path will take him to his destiny... he was a man full of energy... n i loved his foolish dreams.

3- Tughlaq... he is again a very impressive character ( from a play of Girish Karnad) he was called - Mad Tughlaq... because he had impossible dreams.. he was a visionary... he failed but at least he tried...

4- Jimmy Porter (Look Back in Anger)...awesome character...complex personality...he loves a gal yet he hurts her so much ... an unconscious urge
this is impressive that he has no book of rules

5- Protagonists of (The Reader)...both male n female...their characters were awesome. The love they share was mind blowing.. no words for it.

मिला हमसे अजनबी की तरह

2011-07-23T09:42:00.000+05:30

किया है प्यार जिसे हमने ज़िंदगी की तरह
वो आशना भी मिला हमसे अजनबी की तरह

बड़ा के प्यास मेरी उस ने हाथ छोड़ दिया
वो कर रहा था मुरव्वत भी दिल्लगी की तरह

किसे खबर थी बढेगी कुछ और तारीकी
छुपेगा वो किसी बदली में चांदनी की तरह

कभी न सोचा था हमने "क़तील" उस के लिए
करेगा हम पे सितम वो भी हर किसी की तरह
-- क़तील शिफ़ाई

तुने दिवाना बनाया तो मैं दिवाना बना

2011-07-21T00:48:00.001+05:30