Tumhari Aakhri Araam Gaah...

Jab kisi ne meri Tanhayee ka sabab pucha

Tum se is Darjaa Judayee ka sabab pucha

Ye bhi Pucha ke tum kaun thin? Kaisi thin?

Kahan se Aayin thin?

Kiyoon chale Jana tha tumhen?

Kiyoon Tum Ruk nahi payin thin?

Main ne ye Keh diya, Sach keh diya

Ke Arsa hua, Mar Chuki ho Tum

Bandhan woh Saare Tod Chuki ho Tum

Apne hi Hathon Tumhen Dafan kiya hai main ne

Khud Pe Ek aur Sitam kiya hai main ne

Dafan kar di hain woh Muskurahaten

Jinhen dekh Dil jhoom jhoom ho uthta tha!

Woh Adaayen bhi 

Jo Sirf Tumhen hi aati thin

Aur Woh Gussa 

Jis main Mahobbat ki Tapish hoti thi

Woh Aankhen 

Jo mere Naam Pe Muskati thin

Ab Mere Dil ke Niha khano Main Madfoon ho Tum

Kaun kehta hai Meri Jaan Mujh se Door ho Tum?

Ab Ye Dil mera - 

Ek Qabar hai

Tumhari Aakhri Aaram Gaah...

(C) Shahid Parvez Sayed

Ye batla do...

Kehte hain ke

Waqt ke sath sab badal jate hain

Rishte, Naate, Chere, Naam

Mahobbat ke woh lamhe bhi

Waqt ke aage sar jhuka kar

Poorane jazbon main

Naye maani talash karte hain

Aur Suraj ke gird ghoomne wali dharti

Ek naya mahwar talash kar

Phir se usi tezi se ghumne lagti hai

jaise ke kuch hua hi na ho!

Yehi zaroori hai shaid

Zindagi ki irtiqa ke liye
Badalna Laazim hai
Naye Rishton se wafa ke liye

To phir, ..
Halke dhaani, Aasmani rang

Jo Waqte-Rukhsat main

Tumhare Dupatte pe chod aaya tha

Woh kiyoon nahi badle?

Ye batla do

Bas ye batla do...

Ramzan in Atlanta

Jab koi dhaan paan si

Sanvli si dikhne wali ladki

Wazu kiye

Safed dupatta odhe

Mere khayal -e- masjid ki

Seedhiyon pe aa khadi hoti hai

Aankhon main bas ek lafz liye

"Chalen!"

Main ye samajh jata hoon

ke Ramzan aa chuka hoga!!

Mumkin...

Aur phir yaad ke saare panchi

ek ek kar Ud jate hain...

Umr bhar ka sath kahan mumkin tha?

Yaaden...

Jab Khuda kisi par khush hota hai to use Mahobbat ataa karta hai. Tumhen woh Atiya mila hai jo bahut kam insano ko milta hai. Aise halaat main jab ke tumhen is ki zara bhi tawakko na thi - tumhen mahobbat mili. Aur phir kaisi piyari ladki ki masoom mahobbat!

Halaat par tumhara kaboo nahi. Waqt ke sel ko tum nahi rok sakte - TUM DONO KO JUDA HONA THA!

Aise dil - aawez lamhe Lafaani hote hain aur mit jaate hain, lekin un ki yaaden reh jaati hain. Aur ye yaad zindagi ke udaas lamhon ko jagmagati hain-

Kaisa Qaif aawar khyaal hai ke kabhi tumhen ek bholi bhali mukhlis ladki ne chaha tha aur shaid ab bhi duniya ke kisi goshe main woh tumhen yaad kar leti hai - Kitni haseen yaad hai -

Sab kuch fanaa ho jataa hai - Yaaden Fana nahi hotin - Yaaden Zindagi banti hain...

(From Himakten by Shafiq-ur-Rehman)

Help is on the way....

One of my friends 80 year old mother heard about Parveen's plight and donated Rs 100 today.

I was touched by her gesture. Earlier the same friend Shagufta Farouqui had offered Rs 10,000 which I refused. The reason being I am interested more in developing a genuine chain or a grass root movement than taking quick helps from my buddies.

There are so many Parveens out there. You can count on meeting hundreds of Parveenss in every city and every nook and corner of India. It will not be humanly possible to find and each and every one of them due to constraints on resources. What we need is a group of like minded people so that we can work on politicians to enforce minimum wage in India.

The government needs to step up to the plate to enforce child labor laws on the books and to provide education and job opportunities to these kids specially girls that have traditionally been left behind for thousands of years.

I am looking forward to being a part of that chain of people that can help transform the big picture as well.

I will report more donations as they come.

Enjoy the ride!

Parveen...

Name: Parveen, age 19, Education: school dropout
Father: Paased away when she was 10, Mother: Lost her senses
Brother: a retard, Occupation: Embroidery worker since age 10.
Earnings: Rs 50 a day ($1.15 a day). I repeat $1.15 a day.

She lives in a 50 sft corner of someone else’s house. She is the only bread earner of the family. She cooks and does household work herself as her mom cant do anything.

Her day starts at 6:30 as makes breakfast and lunch for her brother and mom and then she goes off to work. She comes home, cooks dinner and feeds them before calling it a night. This is every day, 365 days a year rain or sunshine.

I wonder what makes her get up in the morning each day? Knowing well that it will be another day when she would not be able to even communicate with her mother or brother.

I wonder why she is not jumping off a bridge or into a river to end this un-ending tragedy? Living with two half dead relatives cant be fun.

And I wonder why she is at least not bitter about life and its gruesome treatment of her? Why she never complains? What makes her smile even in these circumstances? What dream she cherishes, if any?

Her optimism and confidence inspires me as I begin my day.

Her story will inspire you too as you end a bad day at Emmanuel’s or at the nearest watering hole with bud light and a bunch of friends by your side.

Yet, your story will not help her in any way nor she is aware of your existence. She is not even aware that I am writing about her on the internet or what the hell internet stands for.

So people, while you may be having a bad day, someone 9000 miles away is having a bad life, for no fault of hers. Yet, she is keeping her chins up and her head high as she struggles in this life – all alone.

Have a good one!

Ps: I would be glad to be a conduit if someone wants to help her in any way.

Ghar wapas jab aaoge tum....

Rains outside a mumbai local

It had rained unexpectedly. I was rushing out from this suburban railway station and this sight halted me in my tracks.

I stopped for a few minutes; first to feel sorry, and then to admire her enterprising spirit. In a few minutes folks had gathered behind me assuming that I was a TV reporter. They were appreciating my eye for a good shot. None had anything to say about that frail woman.

PS: I have seen small section of corporate India do "rain harvesting" and now this old woman was so enterprising to take advantage of some unexpected rains.

Rest of us are just passing by, that too in slow motion..

pps: This was my FIRST edit with my new I Mac. However, I still love my old one!

Heres to the misfits , the rebels...

The dinner table...

The class act...

They sat down next to me and started what teenagers do while waiting for a train - non stop talking on various topics. Even though I was absorbed reading a book (on insurgent Obama), I could catch a line here and there making me remember my college days.

Those girls were talking exactly like the ones from my college days. Whoever said that girls of one's youth stay forever young in the minds was correct. Giggles, exam pressures, careers - they were quite adept at covering most topics in no time. An awesome display of camaraderie and friendship.

And then as a train rolled in, they quickly disbursed into two segments. One headed for a first class compartment and the other one , a lone girl ran towards the second class compartment.

And suddenly it became clear: these two were rich girls from well to do families and here was a 'poorer' girl. They would travel a few miles, a few meters away from each other in a train headed towards their common destination.

I wondered: Will they resume their conversation from where it was left off, when they alight? As if there has been no change, no class divide, no difference of roads taken by families in the years gone past?

Empty Room

As you return to the home empty,
left a few weeks ago
the loneliness of the apartment
decides to return to its home
- your empty heart
Finally both find a home

main aur meri tanhayee!

Dukh sabhi ka...

Name: Sukhi Patel, Age: 52, Profession: Farmer, Married with no kids.

As I stood by the Ganges, watching his body consumed by fire, I kept asking all kinds of questions to his relatives and friends. They responded with courtesy, but I could see that they were confused about my relation with him. I stood out separate. They knew that I am not one of them.

Answers I got to my questions helped me construct his life. Brought up a series of images.

Sukhi Patel's only son died of an accident days before he was to get married. Sukhi was never the same again. He took to drinking and now - died of kidney failure.

This is how it mostly ends in small towns and villages.

I thought about his wife and wondered what would happen to her and how she would survive with no child to look after her. I wondered what she must be thinking having gone thru the rituals of breaking bangles, removing sindoor and changing to white. After having lost her son a while back.

I wondered where would he be, had his son not been killed in that accident. I wondered how he might have felt when he had showed up at the same Ganges with the asthiyan of his only son.

I stood there for an hour. Alone. My mind racing in all directions., thinking of anything and everything Sukhi Patel had experienced - like the first crops at his farm, the first look at his wife and how he must have reacted when he found out his wife had delivered a baby boy. What were his dreams for himself and his family. What did he think about world affairs if he ever did, and what was his favorite sport? What kind of movies did he see and who was his favorite heroine?

And then a thought occurred to me.

When I was thinking so much about a stranger whose existence I had no clue till about an hour ago...

What was his "creator" thinking about when Sukhi Patel's kidneys failed?

ps: As I was leaving, his friend asked me who I was and whether I had known Sukhi Patel. I told him that I just happened to be at the Ghat, stopped by to see a cremation, and did not know him at all.

Magar, Main us ke dukh ko jantaa hoon....

Sukh sab ka alag alag ho sakta hai. Dukh sabhi ka ek hai.

Sang.....

Sang Pyaar Rahe -

Main Rahoon na Rahoon...

If I had known...

"If I had known that divorcing her would result in my promotion then I would have divorced her much earlier"

This was Mullah commenting on his recent promotion to the top. At home.

The story goes something like this:

When Mullah's divorce came through and when the time came for both of them to part ways, G suddenly developed a new affection for him. May be it had something to do with the fact that her love - the jailbird for who she was leaving Mullah - was denied parole that she had been counting on. Seemed he is to be in for another 7 years with no chance of being out.

The 'Lovers' of today are very good at calculations... And so instead of going through the hassles of living a single life again, she 'promoted' Mullah instead. So now the hierarchy at home stands thus:

1. Mullah -

2. His FPN - i.e. G

3. the internet -

4. Oscar (dog) -

5.Becky (dog).

Mullah just switched places with Becky . Now he actually greeted on his return from work, food is being cooked more frequently than before by the one who never cooked, Mullah is valued far more than he ever been - and yes - he is loving it.

The great game of wooing the opposite sex only to take the one woo'd for granted after marriage is going on all over. And this has always been so. Most of my friends here and in India complain of the same problem. They all see themselves valued in the beginning, only to end up like a "handyman" as marriage fades into a distance and kids grow up.

In some cases, sooner than later.. Even in weeks...

And there are more divorces in the making...

In India, when the elections are announced, a "model code of conduct" is enforced which makes sure that no false promises are made to woo the electorate and to get their votes. Why cant we have the same model code of conduct in our interpersonal relationships? Why do we couples build the foundation of our relationships on falsehood and lies?

In the US the divorce rate is about 60% and Mullah's divorce just became another statistics.

It was not supposed to be this way. It need have been this way... 'Living together' without living together.

(Had uploaded my blog using this iphone... am still trying to get my bearings. on it.. .If I had known more about it...it is good to be back at a good ol' laptop....)

Jhoot bolo aur Salaa..

Next month will bring the 6th month anniversary of Siddik Bhai's death. In these six months there is not a single day when I have not thought of him. Not one. My mind has not yet truly accepted his passing away. I still can not believe that a man like him can just go away. I often wonder where must he be now? How is it possible to reduce such a man to just bones and flesh?

He was an awesome friend, fearless, loyal, funny who could size anyone up in less than thirty seconds. Yet, he was full of superstitions and used to visit these Baba log for advice, to help him break his imaginary jinx's, for 'showing' him the way. I used to joke that Baba log should come to you for your blessing on increasing profits and clientele!

One time we drove all over Sion Koliwada area, looking for a certain baba. There was this girl, who he thought I must have, since I loved her. I told him loving someone is not enough, there is a lot involved in piyar viyar these days. He was confident that after the baba does his chila or wazeefa, this girl would come running to me".

These things never impressed me and my argument was " agar India main ek sacche aur shareef aadmi ko apni mahobbat hasil karne in sab cheezon ki zaroorat pade, then I dont want her".

He came back with the line that will always haunt me. "Party tum samajhte nahi ho yaar - Aaj kal sach ko hi help chaaiye hoti hai - Jhoot bolo aur salaa udne lagtaa hai".

Jhoot bolo aur salaa udne lagtaa hai.

We have all seen how jhoot flew from the powerful capitals of the world and rained as bombs and missiles on innocent women and children. We see how jhoot flies in Parliaments, Court Rooms, in coffee houses, in Investment Banks. We see everyday how jhoot flies in relations, in emotions and expressions...

Back then,we stopped by at a slum someplace near Wadala. He spoke to the baba about my love issue and requested him to do something, "for her to come running to me." The Baba, who was in his 50s asked me my name. After hearing my last name the Baba reacted unexpectedly and told him " Ye to Sayed hain, ab main inko kiya kahoon? aap sarkaar hamare liye dua karen"

We returned 'emptyhanded' as baba decided the solution was within me.

I thought the solution lay in green backs. But that is a different story.

This January, on my trip home, when we met at the regular adda on the footpath of Mumbai, unexpectedly a friend of his, brought up the subject of Siddikbhai's divorce and said, 'isn't today the 15th anniversary of your divorce?'. I flared up. I hate people who are not sensitive to others. Why torture him with the past, instead of making him look forward?

Later that night when he was dropping me home, I mentioned that he is settled and healthy, and now he should get married....

I flew back to the US soon after. He went into a coma in four days and passed away within a fortnight.

Whenever I see a jhoot fly, I hear his words " "Party, tum samajhte nahi ho yaar - Aaj kal sach ko hi help chaaiye hoti hai - Jhoot bolo aur salaa udne lagtaa hai".

I am recording a song these days. One character in the song is a Mumbai street smart chap, who says " Apun to salaa bachele main bhi reh gaila hai" - I am the left over from the left overs.

No prize for guessing who this character is.

He left without saying a word to anyone - without saying good bye!!

The victims..

This is the line, a friend philosopher and guide used to calm me down. There is so much wisdom out there which explains the games people play and why they play!

It not only helped, but also made me empathize with some of the characters of my story....

We came in for peace...

40 years ago, this week, man left a plaque on the surface of the moon that reads: "Here Men From The Planet Earth First Set Foot Upon the Moon, July 1969 A.D. We Came in Peace For All Mankind." (NASA)

40 years later, man is still struggling with the definition of the words "peace for all Mankind". It makes you wonder what would have happened, had we discovered moon to have a "hospitable, life sustaining atmosphere?".

knowing the "nature of the beast", one can comfortably say that the moon's hospitable environment and natural resources would have started the new race for the control including violent confiscation.

We would have witnessed same killing machines, bombs, missiles, dead youth, destruction, blood on the surface of the moon, widows, orphans, poverty, diseases, tears....

Just like here on earth!

Aren't we glad moon is not hospitable to humans?

The Resisto-Meter...

A majority, over 70%, of the resistance to the Threshold India Initiative is coming from those that it intends to serve: the Muslim community.

Whereas my non Muslim friends get excited about the concept in no time, and have been committing themselves with good counsel and intelligent resources.

Why?

Mullah says 517 years of “self inflicted paralysis” will take time to heal. Inertia has its own God dammed appeal.

The good part is that the kids are enthusiastic about the idea, and know what it can achieve for them. As long as there is one 20 year old who thinks she /he can change the World with an idea, create jobs, provide services or products, we will keep moving forward.

We intend to get to the promised land of entrepreneurship , by all means necessary.

God willing!