Showing posts with label New delhi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New delhi. Show all posts

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Partial relief for 480 Pakistani Hindu refugees in New Delhi - Times Now


Aditya Raj Kaul, Times Now

Watch it here - http://www.timesnow.tv/videoshow/4425125.cms (Click link, wait for advt. to play)

What comes as some relief to the Pakistani Hindus staying in India, the Ministry of external Affairs has granted a one-month visa extension to all those who failed to return after expiry of their visas on April 8. But, the rufugees do not want to go back to Pakistan, say they would rather die in India than go back.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

The Autumn of Love

Every year while celebrating the arrival of spring the chords of emotion create ripples through my veins. Today the sea besides me has turned silent. I lay hidden on the boulders besides it with questions galore. The evening is hidden somewhere behind the sea. Darkness isn't far away. It is a matter of few moments. Life has brought me here at a new pedestal in haste. Just as the evening sets in every passing minute, autumn seems to have set in life. The process of detachment has begun. All this while I thought I was in consistent never ending attachment. Now, I remain in waiting for the tide of time to return.


I stare at the melancholy around the sea. Strange shadows seem to be running on these boulders where I sit. In search of a soul. The lost soul of the body. Perhaps, I see my own reflection. My eyes cannot match the pace of the running shadows. I float effortlessly like a bird lost in the vast skyline of desire!



 
It is an unannounced journey far away from home. In an unknown land of dreams two hours away from the land of reality where I remained in exile all these last twenty two years. In exile, every shelter is home. I remain in exile, at home!

The separation has left me sleepless. I am like a wandering shadow in love. Shadows have a short life span. They die much before an opportunity to clench hands of the beloved till eternity. Shadow is dead before turning at the fork on the road. The fork for which I waited has disappeared in a sweet fragrance. A girl named love is lost. Lost she is. Before those hands could meet to rest forever in union!


Those eyes understand love. The echoes of my silent heart reflecting in them. Her face like a fairy. Smile as a tender flower. I wonder how many rebirths will it take to find my lost beloved?

The lifeless shell on the sea shore shook me from this solitude! Only to become a catalyst in itself!

I want to turn the wheels of time. And, scream before the world, to get me the one who is lost. The one who let me drown in the depth of the sparkling eyes of faith. The kohl eyes!

Like that poet who is a phoenix writing his last song longing for love before being consumed by the flames of his own fire! I see my own reflection in the phoenix.

In such times when I weep for the lost beloved through the gloomy night, Shiv Kumar Batalvi, the phoenix above, gives me solace.  


In the 'Pinch of Separation' (translation into English of the song 'Maae Nii Maae') he says:

My songs are like eyes
That sting with the grains of separation.
In the middle of the night ,
They wake and weep for dead friends.
Mother, I cannot sleep!

Soaked in perfume,
But the pain does not recede.
I foment them
With warm sighs,
Yet they turn on me ferociously.

And need guidance myself.
Who can advise him?
Mother, would you tell him,
To clench his lips when he weeps,
Or the world will hear him cry.

Tell him, mother, to swallow the bread
Of separation.
He is fated to mourn.
Tell him to lick the salty dew
On the roses of sorrow,
And stay strong.

Who are the snake handlers
From whom I can get another skin?
Give me a cover for myself.
How can I wait like a jogi
At the doorstep of these people
Greedy for gold?

Listen, o my pain,
Love is that butterfly
Which is pinned forever to a stake.
Love is that bee,
From whom desire,
Stays miles away.

Love is that palace
Where nothing lives
Except for the birds.
Love is that hearth
Where the colored bed of fulfillment,
Is never laid.

Mother, tell him not to
Call out the name of his dead friends
So loudly in the middle of the night.
When I am gone, I fear
That this malicious world,
Will say that my songs were evil.

Mother, o mother
My songs are like eyes
That sting with the grains of separation.
In the middle of the night ,
They wake and weep for dead friends.
Mother, I cannot sleep!

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Nostalgia, Coffee and Love..

Winter Chill is all it takes to make me jump out in action. The raised eyebrows of the not so warmly sun catch my eye just every morning, only to make me slip deep each time into the tent of my blanket. Warm soft as silk. This long blanket has been a companion for few years now. Years which have pushed me into the maddening pace of life, pricked me to settle a foot in the most appropriate way and further thrown, pulled and yet again thrown me aside in a corner unnoticed, alone. It has been a pushcart journey on a rickety road..a long road indeed!

Filtered Coffee Mug at ICH

I've been punctual all these years I talk about. Late to sleep and late to rise has been an interesting unstoppable practise which lingers on even now. This isn't just my lazy attitude but a strong rational reason attached. During the day the commotion, the activities of all but me, the colours and not so colours of life have a way to move on without a break. The peace within is lost. Lost until night falls and supper ends. As the tungsten bulbs switch off, my lights turn on. The peace within discovers me at this moment. Not always though.

Barakhamba Road

All these years there has been change all over. Though my evening coffee on a Friday still makes its way almost always. The group meets over a filtered coffee and piles of planning, work and strategy build-up. The Palak Pakoras still have the same taste with Red Tomato sauce at the Indian Coffee House (ICH) in Cannought Place.The roof-top here remains dark during the evening rush hour. The furniture is old, and the walls have lost their charm.

Busy Cannounght Place at Night

That doesn't really deter people from coming here in large groups; young and the old; salesmen or insurance agents; activists or writers all heard along on simple broken wooden chairs. The atmosphere is philosophic and the people are lost into hours of discussions on topics from Politics to new insurance policy in the neighbouring LIC. The arguments followed by counter arguments carry on till late evenings. Nights have changed in the city though. Discs and Pubs are the new elite crowd destinations. 'Times Change' they say. Times have changed sure enough.


The filtered coffee and the love for Palak Pakoras hasn't changed though.

At the Oxford Bookstore in Statesmen House at Barakhamba Road, I walk into thousands of books on parted shelves as I discover a new trendy way of a book bar as one may put it. Bookstore tied up along a 'CHA BAR' for snacks. I gulp down the Sandwich and the chilly coffee as I wonder about my upcoming Friday Coffee at the Indian Coffee House (ICH), a few lanes ahead. The nostalgia over a cup of coffee continues still.. wonder how long this will continue..!