Aaj jane ki zidd na karo- a ghazal written by Fayyaz Hashmi, pleasant to hear in the voice of Farida Khanum sung in one of my favourite raagas- Raag Yaman Kalyan.
Could not resist myself from humming it!!đ
To monetize my hobby.
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1 tbsp witty remarks, 2 tbsp humorous face-offs, 1.5 tbsp constant banter, 2 tsp bickering, 1 cup love and 2 cups respect- this is the recipe of their healthy namkeen relationship. However, fourteen years ago the story was quite different.
As I contemplated on the theme of âMother Languageâ to write on the prompt of our Writersâ Support Group, the term itself fascinated me. Although a metaphor to define oneâs native language or the language spoken at home; the fact that in literal sense the term explicitly recognises a motherâs role in one of the most important aspects of identity that a child inherits i.e. languageâ has cheered up the feminist in me! Consequently, this realisation led me to write about my motherâs motherâs mother- à€Źà€Ÿà€ à€à€à„ (bai aaji)!
The audio-visual room was dark and cold. The staff-person of Chitragupta left me in the company of chills and anticipation, shut the door behind her and went about her work. Two minutes of silence ensued and then the screening began. The opening credits read as follows:
When children are asked the question, âWhat do you want to become when you grow up?â, their answers are never the same. Like butterflies, they hop and fly from one choice to another. And there are events that actually fulfil their myriad wishesâ Fancy Dress Competitions! Additionally, these are also the rare instances where parents have no objection when their kids become actors, superheroes, political leaders, astronaut, model, fruit-seller, farmer, Don, Gabbar Singh, John Cena, Bahubali, Sonpari, Messi, Sania Mirza, etc. Complete freedom of choice is granted!
I want to be friends with her,
â...I couldnât bear to have this world be your future. So I had to fightâ.
It is easy to hate these days, than love;
If there is one thing that I envy the most about the olden times â to which I did not belong â is âthehraavâ. For me, âthehraavâ implies divine stillness, where time, although running at its own pace, gives us the liberty to lag behind for some time in this race of existence.
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