Friday, February 16, 2007
Starting of a journey 2
Well, I was thinking about Menaka and forgot about the surroundings. Was I at Agra on the bank of Yamuna looking at the blue saree clad Menaka trying to disturb my dhyan? Was it a full moon night? She was looking even more irresistible under the soft moonlight. The atmosphere being a fairy one, the Tajmahal as the background screen, the soft sounds of waves on yamuna rendering the background music, all under a blanket of celestial white soft moonlight.
‘Hey. You have come for lunch or want to eat me?’ Geeta’s question brought me back to the present.
I don’t know what is happening to me. I was looking at her forgetting everything. I am making myself a fool in front of her.
‘You are looking very pretty on this saree.’ Sheepishly I blurted out.
There ensued a pin drop silence. Both the ladies were stunned to silence, their eyes on me. It seemed like ages.
Oh God, what did I do? I simply did not know what to do next. But I did not need to do anything. Lots of things happened simultaneously.
Exchange of glances between the ladies, one or two glances towards me, my increasing nervousness, as if the world is moving in a very slow motion.
‘Well, nice to know you appreciate the nice things in life. How pity, you never noticed me during last one month.’ My sister-in-law tried to break the silence.
Things improved, smiles appeared on their faces.
‘Well actually I am flattered that you liked my saree.’ Geeta remarked keeping her eyes steady on me, a mischievous smile playing on her face, hands on her saree, adjusting here and there, as if to present the saree in a better way.
At the same time waiter arrived with the dishes thus saving me.
With lots of gusto we attacked the dishes. The lunch moved on satisfactorily with little conversation in between.
‘You must be a regular here?’
‘Used to be.’
‘Why don’t you narrate some interesting incident of your time’?
‘It is always interesting here.’
‘I know, but every generation has something different ‘
‘Well don’t force me out of your generation. I must be only a couple of years elder to you.’
‘Do you think so? When did you last look at a mirror?’
‘Do I look old?’
‘Old is not the word. You look different. How do I put it, SPENT. As if the vitality of your life has gone away. Why are you so sad?’
‘Do I look sad?’
‘Not only sad. Your face has some remoteness in it. The eyes are tired.’
‘Eyes are tired because it has seen too much.’
Again a big pause. Geeta stopped eating looking at me. So am I.
‘Do you really think that you are the only person who has problems?’
‘No, I know everyone has problem. But my problem is that everyone else is not bothered about the problem. My problem is that in this kind of society, where there is so much injustice, how one can keep quite? How one can wish away the reality.’
‘Nobody is wishing away the reality. But life goes on.’
‘Do you call this life?’
‘Then what?’
‘You live in a society where you cannot even attend college daily due to n nos. of Bandh. You don’t know after studying when are you going to get a job, if you get one at all. The mill workers are oppressed everyday. More than 80% industries are either closed because of lock out or strike. Everyday there is gunfight on the streets. Half of the peasant population is waging a war for equal right. More than 90% of the youths are unemployed. There is no social order. Do you really call this a life?’
The conversation went away in an unexpected direction.
‘You know Dipu, Geeta is very good singer. She is expert in Nazrul Geeti (songs composed by poet Nazrul Islam), Sister-in-law tried to divert the conversation.
‘Well, nice.’
‘Does that really matters to him. Nazrul geets are for romantic people, not revolutionaries like him.’
I looked at her and slowly recited
‘Maha Bidrohi rano klanto
Ami shei din habo shanto
jabe utpiriter krandanarol
akashe batashe dhawnibe na
attacharir kharga kripan
bhim ranabhume ranibe na,
Maha Bidrohi rano klanto
Ami shei din habo shanto
‘I, the great revolutionary
will stop only on the day,
when the sky will stop reverberating
with the wails of the suppressed,
when the sword of the tyrant
will no more be drawn out in the battlefield,
I, the great revolutionary,
tired of battles,
will stop only on that day’
Geeta stopped eating and sang,
‘Ami jar nupurer chhando
Benukar Sur,
Ke, shei sundara ke.
Ami jar bilasa jamuna
Biraha bidhur
Ke shei sundara ke
‘For whom
I am the music of Payal,
Tune of the flute
Who is that handsome
For whom
I am the accompaniment of enjoyment
Sufferer of desertion
Who is that handsome?’
Both of us looked at each other.
I felt this is the difference between us. Poet Kazi Nazrul has written inflammatory poems, inspiring youths during the freedom struggle and continues to inspire the youths of this generation. But there is also writer in him who wrote beautiful romantic songs. For an outsider it will be very difficult to believe it is the same revolutionary poet who has written such romantic songs.
‘I believe this is the difference between us. I see Nazrul as a revolutionary, you look him as a romantic poet.’ I said.
‘No, the difference is not between us, it is there in your character. You behave as a big revolutionary, bereft of any emotional feeling. But like Nazrul that is your outer mask. Scratch it and you will find a lovely romantic soul crying for affection, love. And the worst part is that you are such a fat head that you even deny to acknowledge it’ Asserted Geeta with great conviction in a simple, slow but strong voice.
We both kept looking at each other.
‘Hey. You have come for lunch or want to eat me?’ Geeta’s question brought me back to the present.
I don’t know what is happening to me. I was looking at her forgetting everything. I am making myself a fool in front of her.
‘You are looking very pretty on this saree.’ Sheepishly I blurted out.
There ensued a pin drop silence. Both the ladies were stunned to silence, their eyes on me. It seemed like ages.
Oh God, what did I do? I simply did not know what to do next. But I did not need to do anything. Lots of things happened simultaneously.
Exchange of glances between the ladies, one or two glances towards me, my increasing nervousness, as if the world is moving in a very slow motion.
‘Well, nice to know you appreciate the nice things in life. How pity, you never noticed me during last one month.’ My sister-in-law tried to break the silence.
Things improved, smiles appeared on their faces.
‘Well actually I am flattered that you liked my saree.’ Geeta remarked keeping her eyes steady on me, a mischievous smile playing on her face, hands on her saree, adjusting here and there, as if to present the saree in a better way.
At the same time waiter arrived with the dishes thus saving me.
With lots of gusto we attacked the dishes. The lunch moved on satisfactorily with little conversation in between.
‘You must be a regular here?’
‘Used to be.’
‘Why don’t you narrate some interesting incident of your time’?
‘It is always interesting here.’
‘I know, but every generation has something different ‘
‘Well don’t force me out of your generation. I must be only a couple of years elder to you.’
‘Do you think so? When did you last look at a mirror?’
‘Do I look old?’
‘Old is not the word. You look different. How do I put it, SPENT. As if the vitality of your life has gone away. Why are you so sad?’
‘Do I look sad?’
‘Not only sad. Your face has some remoteness in it. The eyes are tired.’
‘Eyes are tired because it has seen too much.’
Again a big pause. Geeta stopped eating looking at me. So am I.
‘Do you really think that you are the only person who has problems?’
‘No, I know everyone has problem. But my problem is that everyone else is not bothered about the problem. My problem is that in this kind of society, where there is so much injustice, how one can keep quite? How one can wish away the reality.’
‘Nobody is wishing away the reality. But life goes on.’
‘Do you call this life?’
‘Then what?’
‘You live in a society where you cannot even attend college daily due to n nos. of Bandh. You don’t know after studying when are you going to get a job, if you get one at all. The mill workers are oppressed everyday. More than 80% industries are either closed because of lock out or strike. Everyday there is gunfight on the streets. Half of the peasant population is waging a war for equal right. More than 90% of the youths are unemployed. There is no social order. Do you really call this a life?’
The conversation went away in an unexpected direction.
‘You know Dipu, Geeta is very good singer. She is expert in Nazrul Geeti (songs composed by poet Nazrul Islam), Sister-in-law tried to divert the conversation.
‘Well, nice.’
‘Does that really matters to him. Nazrul geets are for romantic people, not revolutionaries like him.’
I looked at her and slowly recited
‘Maha Bidrohi rano klanto
Ami shei din habo shanto
jabe utpiriter krandanarol
akashe batashe dhawnibe na
attacharir kharga kripan
bhim ranabhume ranibe na,
Maha Bidrohi rano klanto
Ami shei din habo shanto
‘I, the great revolutionary
will stop only on the day,
when the sky will stop reverberating
with the wails of the suppressed,
when the sword of the tyrant
will no more be drawn out in the battlefield,
I, the great revolutionary,
tired of battles,
will stop only on that day’
Geeta stopped eating and sang,
‘Ami jar nupurer chhando
Benukar Sur,
Ke, shei sundara ke.
Ami jar bilasa jamuna
Biraha bidhur
Ke shei sundara ke
‘For whom
I am the music of Payal,
Tune of the flute
Who is that handsome
For whom
I am the accompaniment of enjoyment
Sufferer of desertion
Who is that handsome?’
Both of us looked at each other.
I felt this is the difference between us. Poet Kazi Nazrul has written inflammatory poems, inspiring youths during the freedom struggle and continues to inspire the youths of this generation. But there is also writer in him who wrote beautiful romantic songs. For an outsider it will be very difficult to believe it is the same revolutionary poet who has written such romantic songs.
‘I believe this is the difference between us. I see Nazrul as a revolutionary, you look him as a romantic poet.’ I said.
‘No, the difference is not between us, it is there in your character. You behave as a big revolutionary, bereft of any emotional feeling. But like Nazrul that is your outer mask. Scratch it and you will find a lovely romantic soul crying for affection, love. And the worst part is that you are such a fat head that you even deny to acknowledge it’ Asserted Geeta with great conviction in a simple, slow but strong voice.
We both kept looking at each other.
Labels: coffee house, Nazrul, revolution, romance
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