Kashmir-My Birthplace

 Kashmir-My Birthplace

The Flight from Kashmir
In the chill of December 1990’s frost,
A Kashmiri Pandit Sham’s heart was lost.
Forced to flee, his homeland betrayed,
Leaving behind the life his ancestors made.

The Abandoned Home
Lifelong treasures, gathered with care,
Left behind in despair.
Eyes welled up, tears like rain,
A heart in anguish, screaming in pain.

It felt as if, without a plea,
Someone tore my soul from me.
“O,” I cry, “I feed my veins,
With my own blood, in endless chains.”

The Burning House
Like running from a house aflame,
I left my home, in sorrow and shame.
Doors ajar, windows wide,
Unbolted, open, nowhere to hide.

I don’t recall who holds the keys,
To my home, now lost in the breeze.
Hands folded, I stepped inside,
The pooja room, where gods reside.

The Ancestral Shiv Linga
The Shiv Linga, ancient and divine,
I poured milk, one last time.
A fleeting prayer, a hurried plea,
“Protect this home, though I must flee.”

The Beloved Cows
I garlanded the cows with marigold,
Fed them dry brawn, my heart so cold.
A newborn calf, in the shed I placed,
Kissed its forehead, my tears embraced.

“O,” I whispered, “forget me not,
Though I leave, this sacred spot.”
With a heavy heart, I turned away,
From the life I loved, now in decay.

The Kangar’s Warmth
The freezing cold, it bit my skin,
I feared the night would do me in.
Quickly, I grabbed the Kangar old,
Filled with charcoal, its warmth to hold.

The Last Glimpse
I walked the lane, my steps so slow,
Turned for a glimpse, my heart aglow.
Tears streamed down, my soul bereft,
One last look, and then I left.

The Eternal Farewell
With family in tow, in fear and fright,
We left the valley, that fateful night.
Kashmir, my home, forever gone,
A shattered dream, from dusk to dawn.

Sham Misri (Sundra)

Story:

The Flight from Kashmir
In the icy grip of December 1990, a Kashmiri Pandit stood at the crossroads of his life. The land of his ancestors, the valley of Kashmir, was no longer his sanctuary. Forced to flee, he left behind a lifetime of memories, treasures, and the sacred soil that had nurtured his family for generations.

The Abandoned Home
His home, once filled with laughter and love, now stood silent and forsaken. Lifelong possessions, painstakingly collected by him and his forebears, were left behind. His eyes, swollen with tears, mirrored the rain that fell from the heavens. His heartbeat with a rhythm of sorrow, each thud a cry of anguish, a scream of despair. It felt as though his very soul was being ripped from his body, a pain so raw, so visceral, that no anaesthesia could dull it.

“O,” he cried, “I feed my own veins with my blood, and still, I must leave.”

The Burning House
He fled as one would from a burning house, leaving doors ajar, windows open, and the unbolted entrance a silent testament to his haste. In his panic, he couldn’t recall to whom he had handed the keys. With trembling hands, he entered the pooja room, taking one last step into the sanctum of his faith.

The Ancestral Shiv Linga
Before the ancient Shiv Linga, worshipped by his family for generations, he poured a streak of pure milk. It was a hurried offering, a desperate plea for protection. “Guard this home,” he whispered, though he knew he might never return.

The Beloved Cows
In the courtyard, his cows stood, their gentle eyes filled with confusion. He garlanded them with marigold, fed them dry brawn, and kissed the forehead of a newborn calf. “Forgive me,” he murmured, his tears mingling with the calf’s soft fur.

The Kangar’s Warmth
The biting cold of December gnawed at his bones. Fearing he might not survive the freezing night, he hastily filled an old Kangar with live charcoal, clutching its warmth as he stepped into the unknown.

The Last Glimpse
As he walked down the lane, he turned for one last glimpse of his home. Tears streamed down his face, each drop a memory, a piece of his heart left behind.

The Eternal Farewell
With his family by his side, their faces etched with fear and panic, he left the valley forever. Kashmir, his homeland, was now a distant dream, a chapter closed too soon.

This is my story, which delves deeper into the emotions and details of the Kashmiri Pandit’s heartbreaking farewell. 

Pakeezah (1972): A Timeless Tale of Love and Redemption

 A Poem of Love and Longing

Pakeezah (1972): A Timeless Tale of Love and Redemption

Pakeezah (meaning "Pure One") is a 1972 Indian musical romantic drama directed by Kamal Amrohi. The film stars Meena Kumari as Sahib Jaan, a Lucknow-based courtesan (tawaif), whose journey revolves around love, societal stigma, and self-sacrifice.

In Urdu, the word tawaif primarily refers to ‘a courtesan, a woman skilled in music, dance, and other arts who provides entertainment and companionship to the elite. However, the term also carries historical baggage, particularly during the British Raj, where it became associated with prostitution due to the decline of the tawaif's social status and a lack of alternative opportunities.’

While travelling by train, Sahib Jaan receives an anonymous note from Salim (Raj Kumar), a forest ranger, who admires her beauty. Later, after a chance encounter during a boat accident, they meet, and Salim—unfazed by her profession—falls in love with her. Despite his determination to marry her (even renaming her "Pakeezah" as a symbol of purity), Sahib Jaan leaves him to shield him from societal scorn. Their separation leads to a tragic yet poignant reunion at Salim’s wedding, where long-buried family secrets are revealed, ultimately uniting them.

Conceived as a tribute to Meena Kumari (Amrohi’s then-wife), Pakeezah endured a turbulent 15-year production, delayed by the couple’s separation, Kumari’s health struggles, and financial hurdles. The film was completed in 1971.

Though initially met with mixed reviews for its tragedy and lavish sets, Pakeezah emerged as 1972’s highest-grossing Hindi film, earning ₹60 million. Its legacy was cemented after Kumari’s death weeks post-release, transforming it into a cultural touchstone. The film won the Filmfare Award for Best Art Direction, Best Director, and Best Actress.

I. The Courtesan’s Lament
"Aapke paon dekhe, bahut haseen hain..."
(Your feet are beautiful—do not let them touch the ground.)

A whisper on the wind, a love without a sound.

She dances in gilded cages, a bird with clipped wings,
Her songs are laced with sorrow, her anklet still sings.

II. The Stranger’s Note

A train hums through the midnight hush,
A sleeping beauty, a stranger’s blush.
A note beside her, soft as dew—
"The world is cruel, but I see you."

III. Love in Shadows
He names her Pakeezah—pure, untouched by sin,
But the world sees only where she has been.
A ranger’s heart, a courtesan’s tear,
Love is a fire that burns too near.

IV. The Sacrifice
"Leave me," she says, "for your name’s sake,"
A love forsaken, a soul awake.
The brothel bells still chime her name,
But in her heart, only his remains.

V. The Wedding Dance
Years pass like smoke, the music swells,
A wedding hall, a dancer’s spells.
"Look closely—she is your own blood!"
A shot rings out, a cry, a flood.

VI. The Final Embrace
The doli arrives at the house of sin,
Redemption woven where threads begin.
A dying wish, a last decree—
"Love her, though the world disagrees."

VII. Legacy
Fifteen years of pain and art,
A broken wife, a director’s heart.
Meena’s last sigh, the screen grows dim,
Pakeezah lives—pure, within.

Pakeezah transcends its era as a meditation on purity, restoration, and the cost of love in a rigid society. Its haunting melodies and Kumari’s tragic aura ensure its place as a Bollywood classic.

The Birth of Pakeezah: A Cinematic Odyssey

Kamal Amrohi's magnum opus began as a love letter - both to his art and his muse, Meena Kumari. After their 1953 collaboration Daaera faded at the box office but lingered in their hearts, Amrohi conceived a story that would take fifteen turbulent years to realize. Like the film's protagonist, the production became a dance with destiny - interrupted by their 1964 separation, Kumari's struggling health, and the relentless march of time. When the cameras finally stopped rolling in November 1971, they had created not just a film, but a monument to enduring love.

A Tapestry of Tragedies
Verse Interlude:
"The qabristan winds whisper her name,
Nargis - lightning without rain.
A daughter born in death's embrace,
Destiny writes in blood, not lace."

Nargis, the Lucknow courtesan with Nawabi dreams, finds her love for Shahabuddin shattered by familial scorn. In the mournful solitude of a cemetery, she breathes life into Sahib Jaan with her dying breath - a letter her daughter won't read for years, when she too has become a prisoner of the same gilded cage.

The Dance of Fate
Verse Interlude:
"A train's steel hymn through midnight's veil,
A sleeping beauty, a poet's tale.
'Your feet must never touch the earth' -
The first love note of Pakeezah's birth."

The grown Sahib Jaan’s world turns when a stranger's note pierces her jaded heart. The forest ranger Salim sees beyond the tawaif's jewels to the woman beneath - but society's chains prove heavier than love's promises. Their star-crossed romance becomes a symphony of near-misses: a boat attacked by elephants, a runaway gharara snagged on railway tracks, a mujra* performed for one's own wedding feast.

*Mujra refers to a specific form of dance, often performed by courtesans, that combines elements of classical Kathak with local music and poetry. It also denotes a respectful salutation or a bow, particularly in the context of paying homage. Historically, it was a royal affair performed in intimate settings like kothas or mehfils. 

The Final Reckoning
Verse Interlude:
"The gunshot echoes, the truth laid bare,
A father's sin, a daughter's prayer.
The doli comes to the kotha's gate -
Redemption arrives, but far too late."

In the film's devastating climax, generations of secrets unravel as Nawabjaan reveals Sahibjaan's true parentage. Shahabuddin falls to a bullet meant to silence the truth, his dying wish a plea to break the cycle of shame. As Salim's wedding procession defiantly arrives at the brothel, Pakeezah achieves its bittersweet resolution - a triumph of love over convention, shadowed by the costs paid along the way.

The film's ₹15 million budget produced something priceless - a visual ghazal that transcended its 1972 mixed reviews to become immortal. Kumari's final performance, completed through personal torment, remains Bollywood's most haunting swan song. Like Sahibjaan herself, Pakeezah emerged from adversity to claim its place as a crown jewel of Indian cinema - flawed, magnificent, and ultimately, pure.

Author’s notes:

Societal Hypocrisy: The film analyses the marginalisation of tawaifs, comparing their artistry with societal disregard.

Symbolism: Sahib Jaan’s clipped-wing bird and the train whistle reflect her trapped existence and yearning for freedom.

Eroticism Without Exploitation: Salim’s note”Your feet are beautiful; don’t let them touch the ground"—became iconic for its poetic sensuality.

Muslim Cultural Nuances: As a "Muslim social" drama, it explores Urdu lyricism, Nawabi grandeur, and familial honour.

Meena Kumari (in her final role) delivers a career-defining performance, blending vulnerability with resilience.

Raaj Kumar as Salim embodies aristocratic idealism, while Ashok Kumar portrays the conflicted Shahabuddin.

4. Sholay (1975) - A timeless blend of action, drama, and romance. It features an iconic cast, unforgettable dialogues, and the villain Gabbar Singh.

Some other movies about which he would frequently speak were: Sahib, Bibi Ghulam; Jagtae Raho; Barsat, Nagin, Piyasa, Baiju Bawra.

If Ink Were Ants: A Journey Through Books

 If Ink Were Ants: A Journey Through Books

Imagine if ink were ants—tiny, busy creatures that brought our words to life. Each letter we wrote would march across the page, creating living stories that moved and breathed. This magical idea isn't so different from how books shape our interests and dreams. They take us on journeys where science, history, and poetry come alive, just like a trail of ants building something wonderful.

When I first opened a science book, it felt like discovering an entire universe of tiny, curious explorers. Each word was like an ant, connecting complex ideas into understandable patterns. Books taught me to see the world with wonder, showing me how everything works, from the stars in the sky to the cells in my body. They inspired me to dream of becoming a scientist or an inventor, eager to explore the mysteries of the world.

History books were like watching ants recreate the past. Each story was a piece of a grand puzzle, and I became fascinated by how events and people shaped the world we live in today. I felt like a time-traveling ant, exploring ancient civilizations, great battles, and moments of human triumph. These stories taught me to appreciate our shared past and consider how my actions might shape the future.

Poetry, on the other hand, was pure magic. It was as if the ants of ink formed patterns that sang to my soul. The rhythm and beauty of poetry made me realize that words have power—not just to inform but to inspire and heal. Poetry opened my heart to emotions and dreams I never knew I had. It encouraged me to see the world through a creative lens and to express myself in unique ways.

If ink were ants, our words wouldn’t just sit still on the page; they would grow, change, and evolve—just like our dreams do when we read. Books have the power to take us anywhere, teach us anything, and help us discover who we want to be. They are the trails that lead us to new ideas, new worlds, and new possibilities.

Through books, the journey of my interests began, and my dreams took flight. Whether it was science, history, or poetry, the ants of ink formed a path that led me to imagine, explore, and believe in a brighter future. And that is the true magic of books.

Tansen

 Tansen, Date of Birth: 1506; Place of Birth: Gwalior, Madhya Pradesh; Birth Name: Ramtanu

Date of Death: 1586; Place of Death: Agra; Profession: Vocalist, music composer, instrumentalist; Spouse: Husseini; Children: Hamirsen, Suratsen, Tanras Khan, Saraswati Devi and Bilas Khan; Father: Mukund Mishra; Awards: The title ‘Miyan’ was conferred upon him by Akbar.

Considered the greatest musician in India, Tansen is credited with the creation of the classical music that dominates the north of India (Hindustani classical music). Tansen was a vocalist and instrumentalist who created many ragas. He was initially the court singer of King Ram Chand of Rewa State. It is said that Emperor Akbar made him into his own musician after learning about his extraordinary musical skills. He went on to become one of the Navaratnas (Nine Gems) in the court of Mughal Emperor Akbar. The life of Tansen is associated with many legends. Some of the most common ones are his ability to create rain and fire by just using his musical skills. Whatever the legends may be, there is no denying the fact that he was the greatest among all musicians this country has ever produced.

Tansen was born into a Hindu family at Gwalior in present day Madhya Pradesh. His father, Mukund Mishra, was a famous poet and a wealthy person. Tansen was named Ramtanu at the time of his birth. As a child, Tansen could mimic birds and animals perfectly. It is said that he used to scare many priests and commoners passing through the forests by imitating wild animals like tigers and lions. Legend has it that Tansen was once imitating a tiger when he was spotted by Swami Haridas, a legendary saint and musician cum poet. Swami Haridas recognized Tansen’s skills and accepted him as his disciple.

Tansen began his musical journey at a young age when he was chosen as a disciple by Swami Haridas. He studied music under him for the next ten years of his life. Since Haridas was an exponent of the Dhrupad style of singing, Tansen developed an interest towards Dhrupad. It is said that Tansen learnt everything that he could learn from his master. Legend has it that Tansen, after completing his education, had no equal in the field of music apart from his guru.

It is said that Tansen was depressed after the death of his father. He became withdrawn from the outside world and would spend time by singing at a Shiva temple. During this difficult phase of his, Muhammad Ghaus, a Sufi mystic is said to have had a calming effect on him. It is he who influenced Tansen to embrace Islam. It is also claimed that Muhammad Ghaus had also doubled up as Tansen’s music teacher for a long time, a claim which is debatable even today. It is also said that Muhammad Ghaus was instrumental in Tansen learning about sufism, a mystical system in which he would fall in love with, later in his life.

"Of Humps and Patience: A Camel’s Ode"

 "Of Humps and Patience: A Camel’s Ode"

I. The Brethren of Burden

Two kings of thirst, two shapes of sand—

One curves its spine to Araby’s demand,

The other bears twin peaks like mountains low,

Where Bactrian winds through Gobi’s snow.

II. The Dromedary’s Design

O ship of dunes! Your frame confesses

A map of all the wildernesses:

Eyes shuttered dark with lashes’ lace,

Nostril-slits that seal your face,

Lips that read the wind’s dry tongue,

Feet that float where scorch has clung.

Your hide—the very hue of dust—

Mocks the sun’s deceiving lust.

III. The Bactrian’s Mantle

But you, shaggy lord of frost and stone,

Whose matted fleece outshines the down,

Whose clumped spring-shedding, gathered fine,

Weaves shawls to cloak a queen’s divan—

What need have you of jeweled robes,

When merchants trade your hair for gold?

IV. The Caravan’s Cadence

Left, then right, a rocking gait,

A thousand humps in slow parade.

Bone like ivory, dense and white,

Carves a path through day and night.

Swift dromedary, pacing steed,

Lopes where vultures take no heed—

While burdened kin, morose and lean,

Grind their teeth on spite between.

V. The Blood’s Strange Song

Not bird, nor beast, nor scaled thing,

Yet oval cells your currents swing—

No nucleus to mark their birth,

Like reptile spawned of salted earth.

Your fever dances with the sky,

No fixed degree, but wild and sly.

What thermostat controls your veins?

Only the desert’s harsh refrains.

VI. The Bite of Centuries

Beware the crunch of jaw’s despair—

Millennia of whip and glare

Have forged your fury, stiff as hide,

Till even kin you maim and ride.

Yet who could blame your tempered rage,

O slave of man’s ungrateful age?

VII. Epilogue: The Unbroken Road

No temple rose without your back,

No spice-road thrived where you turned back.

Still now you bear what planes decline—

Milk, meat, and hair; all yours, all mine.

Clumsy saint of patient pain,

The straightest thing about you’s name.

Sundra

Kalidasa

  

Kalidasa probably lived in the fifth century of the Christian era. This date, approximate as it is, must yet be given with considerable hesitation, and is by no means certain. No truly biographical data are preserved about the author, who nevertheless enjoyed great popularity during his life, and whom the Hindus have ever regarded as the greatest of Sanskrit poets. We are thus confronted with one of the most remarkable problems of literary history. For our ignorance is not due to neglect of Kalidasa's writings on the part of his countrymen, but to their strange blindness regarding the interest and importance of historical fact.

                   One of these legends deserves to be recounted for its real interest, although it contains, so far as we can see, no grain of historic truth, and although it places Kalidasa in Benares, five hundred miles distant from the only city in which we certainly know that he spent a part of his life. According to this account, Kalidasa was Brahman’s child. At the age of six months, he was left an orphan and was adopted by an ox-driver. He grew to manhood without formal education, yet with remarkable beauty and grace of manner. Now it happened that the Princess of Benares was a blue stocking, who rejected one suitor after another, among them her father's counsellor, because they failed to reach her standard as scholars and poets. The rejected counsellor planned cruel revenge. He took the handsome

ox-driver from the street, gave him the garments of a savant and a retinue of learned doctors, then introduced him to the princess, after warning him that he was under no circumstances to open his lips.

The princess was struck with his beauty and smitten to the depths of her pedantic soul by his obstinate silence, which seemed to her, as indeed it was, an evidence of profound wisdom. She desired to marry Kalidasa, and together they went to the temple. But no sooner was the ceremony than the ceremony performed than Kalidasa perceived an image of a bull. His early training was too much for him; the secret came out, and the bride was furious. But she relented in response to Kalidasa's appeals, and advised him to pray for learning and poetry to the goddess Kali. The prayer was granted; education and poetical power descended miraculously to dwell with the young ox-driver, who in gratitude

assumed the name Kalidasa, servant of Kali.

Feeling that he owed this happy change in his very nature to his princess, he swore that he would ever treat her as his teacher, with profound respect but without familiarity. This was more than the lady had bargained for; her anger burst forth anew, and she cursed Kalidasa to meet his death at the hands of a woman.

Later, the story continues, this curse was fulfilled. A certain king had written a half-stanza of verse, and had offered a large reward to any poet who could worthily complete it. Kalidasa completed the stanza without difficulty, but a woman whom he loved discovered his lines, and greedy of the reward herself, killed him.

The story is a variation of the popular legend that Kalidasa was mentally challenged at one time and that his wife was responsible for his transformation. Kālidāsa, a mentally challenged shepherd, is married to Vidyottamā, a learned princess, through a conspiracy.

A belief has been at work with the stories which connect Kalidasa with King Vikramaditya and the literary figures of his court. It has doubtless enlarged, perhaps partly falsified the facts; yet we cannot doubt that there is truth in this tradition, late though it be, and impossible though it may ever be to separate the actual from the fanciful. Here then we are on firmer ground.

King Vikramaditya ruled in the city of Ujjain, in West-central India. He was mighty both in war and in peace, winning special glory by a decisive victory over the barbarians who pressed into India through the northern passes. Though it has not proved possible to identify this monarch with any of the known rulers, there can be no doubt that

he existed and had the character attributed to him. The name Vikramaditya--Sun of Valour--is probably not a proper name, but a title like Pharaoh or Tsar. No doubt Kalidasa intended to pay a tribute to his patron, the Sun of Valour, in the very title of his play, _Urvashi won by Valour_.

 

Kalidasa is widely regarded as the greatest Sanskrit poet and dramatist of all time. All of his admirers in India, including post-dated poets and critics such as Mammta, Anandavardhancharya, and Abhinav Gupta, praise him. His poetic style impacted all subsequent poets, as well as current poets of the twentieth century.

 

1) Abhijnana Shakuntalam 2) Meghadootam. 3) Raghuvamsa 4) Malavikagnimitram. 5) Ritusamhara 6) Kumarsambhava.

The six works identified as genuine are the dramas Abhijnanashakuntala (“The Recognition of Shakuntala”), Vikramorvashi (“Urvashi Won by Valour”), and Malavikagnimitra (“Malavika and Agnimitra”); the epic poems Raghuvamsha (“Dynasty of Raghu”) and Kumarasambhava (“Birth of the War God”); and the lyric “Meghaduta”

 

“Shiva as Primal Silence before recreation.”

I.

I am not breath, nor winds that rise,

Not flesh nor sheath, nor form that dies.

No hand, no foot, no Voice, no flame,

yet boundless light - without a name. (2)

I am the bliss no Stars Contain,

The peace untouched by joy or pain

The endless dawn, the timeless hum,

I am Shiva, I am one. (2)

 

II.

No hate, no chains of want or greed,

No pride's sharp thorn, no envy's seed

No law, no wealth, no fleeting flame,

No thirst for joy, no binds of name.

I am the light; no night can Veil

The timeless truth beyond the Pale.

The endless song, the cosmic psalm

I am Shiva. I am calm.

 

III.

I am not rage, nor greed's sharp chain,

No pride's illusion, envy’s stain.

No duty’s call, no wealth's embrace,

No fleeting joy, no sorrow's trace.

I am the dawn no dark can hold,

The formless flame, the unfathomed Gold.

The silent Surge, the boundless psalm

I am Shiva, pure and calm

Sandra