In dreams

I saw her in dream today.

She looked more beautiful – than she used to be; much matured – for the first time; quite serious – a rare sight; and very hypocritical – to my disappointment. But this change, I guess, was natural. In fact, it had to be there. It added grace to her personality. This was what being matured with time.

After all, she was no more a free flying, college going, and loud laughing girl. She was no more a naïve who used to run after butterflies, fall for the chocolates, and speak with the soft toys. She was not the same crazy who used to collect useless things like chocolate wrappers, gift packs, and stickers. She was changed, of course, for the larger good. She was changed completely, even in my dreams.

And Why not, when the change being the only constant thing? We all change with time. She shoulders a responsibility now. She has a special status. She represents not one, but two families now. It may appear to me that she is wearing a mask; and behind this mask of status, responsibilities and representation, she must be the same innocent, free flying, round eyed girl. But, I may be wrong. She might have changed from within. If it is so, then where is the girl who used to talk endlessly, laugh openly and sing the nursery rhymes along with the kids sweetly? She must have lost. Yes. The girl in my dreams, even if being the same, was not the same. She was not the one for whom I used to write poems.

This thought took me ages back. Krishna was the same, in fact more graceful, with the royal ornaments glittering on his impressively developed persona. But, Radha, now a tired, middle-aged woman, failed to recognize him. A strong Krishna – who punched and kicked demonic Kansa to death; an educated Krishna – well-learned from Maharshi Sandeepani Ashram; the royal Krishna – a newly crowned administrator of Mathura was not her Krishna. Her Krishna was a little one with a delicate peacock feather tucked in his curly hair, a small kid adorn with forest flowers and running behind cows, a mischievous boy who used to run away with the curd and butter. The change in Krishna was for the good of the entire universe, but Radha, who loved him the most, rejected the Krishna coming from Mathura and she preferred to be with the Krishna of Gokul in her memoirs.

I realized that I have to dream again. Dream again to search the persona in my memoirs. After all, the Krishna I want to meet in dreams is lost. And the lost Krishna lives only in memoirs. 

She is ‘Swamini’; not ‘Dasi’ – my culture says

Activists turn quite aggressive while expressing their views on the national television; probably to make the optimum use of the rare opportunity to create impact and gain support from larger part of public opinion, of course for their noble cause. However, sometimes, while criticizing some social psychology or lacuna, they generalize the whole thing and target the innocent part of social make-up.

While holding the male-dominance in Indian society responsible for the domestic violence, senior social activist Kamla Bhasin, in sensationally popular ‘Satyamev Jayate’ said that in India, women call their husband as ‘Pati’ or ‘Swami’ which ultimately reflects a Master-servant relationship between the two. As women are considered as servants in this culture, they fall victims to the domestic violence, she said. She also mentioned the festivals like Rakshabandhan, in which sisters tie Rakhis to brothers and ask protection in return. Bhasin said, the brother may be younger or weaker to protect the sister; or sister may be elder and capable to protect her as well as her younger brother; but still, this Rakshabandhan practice is common in every Indian house.  This results in developing a superiority complex in boys and ultimately promotes domestic violence. Bhasin asked for equality; share in parent’s property and modern look out in males to change the scene. Her speech was studied, balanced and remedies she suggested appear quite effective.

Domestic violence, I think, is the psychological disorder. A real gentleman can never even think of attacking his wife or younger sister, or any other woman in the world for any reason. This is simply against the nature’s rules. Still, like many other psychological disorders, this domestic violence also has become a part of the human life. Domestic violence is common all over the world, irrespective of country, religion or culture. Unfortunately, In India, we relate this psychological problem with our culture, our traditions. In fact, these days, it is very easy to hold our ‘age-old’ culture, ‘outdated’ traditions, and ‘unrealistic’ mythological literature responsible for anything bad that is happening in the country. However, the problem is, indeed of ‘bad grooming’. Those who hold the Indian culture and traditions responsible for the social problems, should go back, and re-visit our ancient wisdom with a contemporary approach.

While calling husband as ‘Swami’, Indian culture calls wife as ‘Swamini’ and not as servant or ‘Dasi’. Another term is Ardhangini – a completing half of human life. Women already have an equal status in our way of life. The only thing is that many of us were never told by our parents about this side of our culture. Neither many of us bothered to go through our books before criticizing our culture, just because they are ‘old mythology’.  So, ‘Pati’ means ‘Master’ for us; and ‘Patni’ , instead of mistress, becomes servant.

Leave aside the great Vedic and Sanskrit literature, and let’s go to an illiterate village. In rural Maharashtra, they call wife as ‘Karbharin’ (the one who owns whole business). In middle class families, it is still a common practice that not only wives but husbands also use the respect-showing terms like ‘Aho’, ‘Mandali’, ‘Swari’ for each others. Respect for women is so integral part of Indian way of life that this culture, or the terms of ‘Swami’ or ‘Pati’ could never promote the male-dominance and domestic violence. Neither the festivals like Rakshabandhan are meant to promote the male-dominance.

It’s a festival of celebrating the great relation between brothers and sisters. In foreign countries, they celebrate each relation on a particular day. This practice is quite recent and gained popularity in no time. Here in India, we have the same since ages. And, unfortunately, we are making the same unpopular. Not because we hate our culture, or promote the Western culture, but, because, we don’t know about the real value of what is stored in our tradition and culture.  Promise of protection or giving each others valuable gifts may be the parts of Rakshabandhan, but celebration of the relationship is the heart of the festival.

However, as I told earlier, the activists, after closely observing a brutal reality for years in their career; find nothing wrong in holding the entire culture or a way of life responsible for one particular social problem. The same episode showed many educated women from high class houses being victims of domestic violence. Similarly, domestic violence is a problem worldwide, irrespective of country, culture and traditions. This means, it depends on the individual’s way of grooming.

In India, if we empower ourselves to understand the real meaning of our traditions, and culture; we will never hold our ancient wisdom responsible for the hideous violence, a mental disorder.

The Last of His class

The soul-soothing voice of Ustad Mehdi Hassan was silent since years, but Ghazal was alive in his breath. Like clouds bid farewell after a season, leaving a rejuvenating   impact for the rest of the year; the era of Ghazal Mehdi Hassan reigned kept enlivening the most delicate petal of the sensitive heart even after he left singing long back.

Today, the breath of Ghazal has stopped. The clouds have gone for ever. The ultimate drought has begun. The last mighty pillar of the platinum age of Ghazal has collapsed. The voice that walked with Ghazal through her journey from Daagh to Faraz; and from Mir to Shehzad ascended to the Almighty, from where the voice was sent to redefine the Ghazal.

The Ghazal is all about pain. And while walking with him throughout his lifetime, she dedicatedly kept Mehdi Hassan immersed in the pain. She took him to the highest of acceptance, and to the lowest of neglect.

At once, a boy doing ‘Mausiki’ in his wealthy ancestral house was made to wander homeless on Karachi streets. After taking many pains, Ghazal gave him an opportunity to regain his paradise. With Ghazal, he walked ahead, and with Ghazal, he arose to become the King of the same dominion.

But at once, the King was thrown behind a curtain of negligence; that too, in such a way that he would have died unnoticed someday. Mehdi Hassan kept walking with Ghazal even in these days.  He was destined to do so. After all, Ghazal was his breath. The new age Ghazal tried to save this voice -- the joiner of the ancient and the modern age, but it was too late.

Ghazal gone so engrossed in keeping him immersed in pains, that she forget to give Mehdi Hassan an opportunity to express this pain. Unfortunate was the Ghazal that Mehdi Hassan had to go silent for more than two decades of his lifetime. Otherwise, the man who successfully redefined the Ghazal would have been embellished her with countless of wonderful wonders.

The King inspired a good music, good literature, and good poetry throughout his active career. At one point of time, he strongly opposed the unnecessary simplification of the Urdu language aimed to attract the crowds. He selected classic verses and sung them in such a way that even a non-Urdu listener could get the flavor to its fullest. It was his mastery and power of expression that many complex verses full of Arabic and Farsi words became songs of day-to-day life.

Yes. Ghazal will now pay for being so cruel beloved to a person who remained to be her soulful lover for his lifetime. With Mehdi Hassan, Ghazal loses an age to History. She loses her traditional beauty to the modern make-up. The Ghazal loses the last exponent of the class of which the Ghazal is known for.

A song of Love...

It was really a touchy moment. Earlier, the tiny girl was upset, as the CD she brought from home was not working. One after another, her friends gave their dance performances, and even collected cash rewards from the organizers.

Innocent, she was waiting.

No. She was not at all crying. But for sure, she was upset. Sitting in the front row, she was waiting for something.

A handsome man who was hosting the show, made personal request to the orchestra to play the song on which the girl was about to dance. She came back on stage. But to her disappointment, the orchestra musicians were unaware of the song she asked them to play. “Well, Beta, we don’t know this song. We will play some other song for you,” the guitarist proposed. “No!,” she shook head. “Hey, let them play some other song. Don’t you want to dance?,” the host asked her. “Nah!” the girl denied. Then, the musicians asked her to sing a few lines of the song, but she was too small to explain them. Finally, they decided to send her back.

“Wait. I will sing a few lines of the song. Let her dance,” a woman from the audience came forward, slowly. Yes, slowly, because she was not well. Unable to go upstairs and accompany the girl on stage, she preferred to stand within the audience. The host handed over microphone to her.

The woman started singing. Talented musicians picked up the rhythm and music began. The girl started dancing. One, two, three, four, and five – the woman went on singing for the girl, and the host went on watching both of them, standstill. The girl really rocked the stage. Song ended. Audience gave spontaneous applause.

The girl was about to leave the stage, when the host, with his eyes full of tears, lifted her spontaneously up and hugged her tight. He came down the stage with the small girl to the woman, who was waiting for them in the audience. “Mummy! My dance was good na?!,” the girl exclaimed, and the ailing woman got the energy from somewhere to lift her and kiss her forehead.

The host, who was still in tears, took some moments to settle down and then announced that the girl was his daughter. “My wife is suffering from arthritis; otherwise, I would have asked her to sing a song in today’s function. She is trained singer. But, somehow, by God’s grace, or due to the faulty CD, I got the best gift. My daughter’s dance performance along with my wife’s song,” he was willing to speak much more, but couldn’t. “Thank you! Thank You! And Thank you all,” he addressed the two beautiful women in his life and lastly to the audiences.

Musicians started playing ‘Ek Pyar Ka Naghma Hai…Maujon Ki Ravani Hai; Zindagi Aur Kuchh Bhi Nahin, Teri Meri Kahani Hai…”