Chanda ki Nagri

This jingle is based and inspired by the instrumental performance “Lough Erin Shore” by Irish band the CORRS which was recorded live on October 5,1999 as a part of MTV’s Unplugged series.

Chanda ki Nagri

Ki hain

Ye Sitarey

Dekhu jo in ko

Lagtey hain pyarey

Bikhray howe hain

Falak mie aise

Jaise ho Gulshan

Mie Jugnu

Ye sarey

Chu lo agar tu

Asman ko

Mil jayien ge

Tum ko

Hian ye Sitarey

Ghum na karo tum

Khatam hoge douri

Mill jayien gay

Naddia ki

Sung kinarey

Gur raat ho

Jitney bhi gehri

Pereshan na hona

Kur dain ge ujaley

Subh ki nazarey

Jeet lou ju tu

Bazi ye hari

Honge khushian hursu

Mitt jayien ge

Ghum ye sarey

This blog is dedicated to my younger sisters

Thank God, I am not pregnant! (Shikwah)

Note: In this blog I tried to amalgamate style of Manto with Iqbal’s “Shikwah”. This blog contains some bold ideas so reader discretion is advised.

Sir, we deal in all types of chemicals and coating additives. We are a responsible care company and concerned with the well being of customers, suppliers and stakeholders. Followed by introduction she replied some of the queries of the customer and suggested workable options. Then conversation concluded with notes of typical greetings. Mouthpiece returned to its designated rest area with crisp sound.

For a moment everything was calmed down like deep sea water. After a pause she tried to figure out what she was doing earlier. Ahan! Akhbar-e-Jahan...She resumed skimming with renewed looks on cover girl from top to bottom. She closely observed the colour scheme being used in fabric and the new stitched neck design. For a moment she realized how she will look like wearing this cover girl outfit. From halat-e-hazra to cut piece and In light of Quran & Sunnah to Filmi Dunia every page turner was an aimless attempt to kill time. She was feeling heavy.

It was a dull deserted office of a local importer firm at a second floor of an unsuccessful plaza who remained under-occupied since the year of inauguration. She was a sales girl cum secretary of Malik Sahib – the owner of a firm. Besides her a firm comprises of one dozen marketing executives who had a very high turnover for switch-overs.  

Marketing guys may loose a chance to hunt a prospective client but they never miss a chance of flirting with her though they were well aware that she is heart throb of Malik Sahib. Every passerby marketer was admirer of her smart fit appealing attire. Indeed she was a perfect candle with surround moths. Time had told her how to remain inflammable. However she was realistic enough to know that ultimately candle lastly sparks, burn out and finally ends up with grey coloured upsurge one liner smoke…after which dark & gloom prevails.

Her dullness started getting heavier that day with cramps, head ache and back pain. For now there was no more charm in page turner of magazine. She put a magazine aside and geared up for her visit to Malik Sahib’s chamber. She entered in chamber without knocking the door. Chamber was full of cigarette’s smoke. Silence broke up with her extended rousing “Sir!”. Malik Sahib faced up from newspaper and looked at her. The visual delight of her was more charming than picture of Katrina Kaif in the newspaper. “Whats up?”

Malik Sahib! Should I leave, I am not feeling well, she said demandingly.

With a flip of finger Malik sahib shed ash on the tip of cigarette to ash-tray, took another puff and with locked looks said, “It’s ok, take good care of yourself.” She gave a thankful smile and returned back. She wore veil as if she was a nymph on her way to holy pilgrimage and came out of office. Even she came out earlier it took one hour to reach home.

After entering home she paid soul-less salams to Amman ji and went to her room. She spent next 15 minutes lying over her bed. Then she moved up to bath room for change over. She looked herself in a bathroom mirror and tried to recognize herself. Her bleak and unconscious face had a lot of complaints with existence. Finally, she thrown away the sanitary napkin in a litter-bucket and murmured “Thank God, I am not pregnant!” 

P.S: The story of this blog is inspired by thesis work of an art student.

New Year's Resolution

Neither I know Rumi nor Behlol

I know myself and know my goal

Mysticism of death

Can not dead my soul

Like a beacon of moth

My life has to play a role

If not understood for meaning

Verses & stanzas are just black of coal

Shahid come out of beloved’s deceit

You are not a traveler of a boat with hole