Words

waiting to upload my pics…
😉
can u beat that? nah! just a bit too tired and still in holiday mood, so don’t want to work, any which way…
didn’t even realize navratras are on, hmmmm, will slowly come to talk, post the pictures and share the memories mode…
c ya soon

am off to Goa tomorrow, for this
hope to bring lots of stuff for you
🙂

tumhare gum ke siva aur bhi to gum hain mujhe
najaat jinse main ek lamha pa nahi sakta

ye oonche-oonche makano ki dyodhiyon ke tale
har ek gaam pe bhooke bhikariyon ki sada
har ek ghar mein ye iflas aur bhook ka shor
har ek samt ye insaniyat ki aaho-buka
ye karkhano mein lohe ka shoro-gul jismein
hai dafn lakhon garibon ke rooh ka nagma

ye shahrahon pe rangeen sadiyo ki jhalak
ye jhopdon mein gareebon ke bekafan lashein
ye maal rod pe kaaron ki rel-pel ka shor
ye patriyon pe garibon ki jard-ru bacche

gali-gali mein bikte huye ye jawaan chehre
haseen ankhon mein afsurdagi-si chayi huyi
ye jung aur ye mere watan ke shokh jawaan
kharidi jati hai uthti jawaniyaan jinki
ye baat-baat pe kanuno-jabte ki giraft
ye jillatein, ye ghulami, ye daure-majboori
ye gum bohat hain meri zindagi mitane ko
udaas rehke mere dil ko aur ranj na do

(“In this line, daring counts, not experience.” A dialog from the underworld movie D)

so true about the advertising industry.

last night, i was watching a Spanish movie with English subtitles. it was about the Falklands war and the defeated Argentinian soldiers. also the ones who didn’t return home, about their families and friends. although more engrossed in my ‘work-to-do-for-tomorrow’ and some discomfort in the family, i still caught some snapshots of memories that will stay for a long time.

the tragedy of war, the futility of it all, vividly painted in most humane terms; the haunted imagery; a soldier dying after the war in the hospital; a friend visiting the last known whereabouts of a dead soldier friend, and then finding something, crying aloud with silent tears; the heaviness of a loss when he sits in front of the memorial graves for hundreds of soldiers; grave after grave, lined beside each other, with flowers and trinkets and memories, everything, everything gone for ever…

…and then there were the songs, weaved into an unknown tongue, i could only understand them by the translation, “when i returned home, i didn’t get a hero’s cheer, not a welcoming crowd, no flowers, no glory, but only my mother, waiting in the dark in front of my house”; and “the sea is measured in waves, the sky is measured in wings”…

…don’t know how many deaths we’ll need to measure and bridge the distance between ourselves.