Can we only mourn?

                           Can we only mourn?

Since that fateful day  when  extremists massacred innocent children at Peshawar, I have wanted to write and express my heartfelt grief but felt too numb and yet overwhelmingly emotional, to write. By professional training , we doctors can only think of saving life and I for one fail to understand the reasons and ways out of this horrendous mess we call 'OUR WORLD'. By choice I do not like to indulge in politics or religion in any way but there comes a time when one changes one's mind in the face of  grave threat to humanity. Both religion and politics have led to the mess the world is in today.
 Violence and animalism has always been a part of human nature. In the name of civilisation we have made so much progress as to reach other planets but with all the might of arms, technology and other milestones of progress, all we have achieved is a deterioration of human values and intolerance towards ' THE OTHER ONE.'  If we pause and consider for a moment who this 'OTHER ONE' is , it comes full circle back to ourselves. Till humanity reaches a level of consciousness where' EACH OTHER ONE' is only a part of 'MYSELF', we cannot hope to end wars. For, after a certain period of disgust and fatigue that can silence the madness that causes wars and killings temporarily, the suppressed angers will again erupt with worse ferociousness. Should we then only wait till that day and can we only mourn ?
 Since governments are here to stay and the lives of all of us dangle by a thread  which they, the politicians, twirl or twist as pleases them, we are largely at their mercy . But are these same governments not dependent on the common man also, for electing them. Is it not time that we stop being puppets in the hands of corrupt power wielders ?  If we choose to be silent out of fear, vindictiveness, complacency or sheer disinterestedness at this juncture, when everyday we are becoming more and more paranoid about our safety , soon we will stop functioning as humans and become toys in the hands of these dark forces . If perpetrating injustice is a crime, so is tolerating it.
I don't know much about religions but when Kansa was killing new born infants all over his kingdom, Govinda came to save mankind. When the Mughals let out a reign of terror a little more than five hundred years ago, Guru Gobind Singh ji stood up to protect us, sacrificing not only his father, but his four little sons as well . Did that sacrifice go in vain? ...no, it opened the eyes of Indians against tyranny and gave rise to a stronger race which fought against injustice of every sort. Be it Govinda or Gobind , they came on earth to give us a direction to stand up against injustice and fight for the right reasons with truth as the weapon.
We, the common people must put across through whatever means, to the powers that be, that the countries responsible for encouraging terrorism be held responsible for eliminating it too. Can the rest of the countries ,which have all suffered through these tragic times, not get united even now, to pressurise that one  country, which has itself suffered, but continues to promote terrorism . Are there possibly 'SOME OTHER POWERS' stronger than these super-powers of governments that are staging all this destruction and bloodshed ? Killing innocent children, kidnapping or raping helpless women or butchering anybody for that matter ---what maniacal pleasures are these ? There seem to be some sinister, dark forces  at play and the very sanity and existence of the human race is at stake. Maybe, these children took birth to make this supreme sacrifice so that humanity wakes up to fighting these evil forces . The only homage we can pay to these innocents is to not let their sacrifices be recorded as just another historical fact only, with no lessons learnt. Just as we would not tolerate injustice in our lives as individuals, let us stop taking this as another tragic episode in a chain of so many others. High time, each country realised that the fire I started in my neighbours yard was sure to spread to mine too very soon.
 

                                                Mera Punjab-1984
  Ik ohh wi taan Punjab si mera

  Ik eh wi taan Punjab hai mera

Par dosto is di mitti nu ki ho gaya

Jithe dhudh, dahi di chaanani si

Ajj Punjab  lahoo luhan ho gaya



Us mitti di gandh ch si khushbo

dosti,  piar  te  sanjhe chulhe di

ajj is mitti ch sarrheeyaan hai

dushmani  te  be-aitbari di



Aapna bachpan yaad keeta

te tasveera ubhriyaan

saavi hari kanak

 te wich lehraande

Peele chatak saron de phul

Purve di hawa te 

 khamb lage geet udhde aonde han

te  bacche toliyaan  banake

 lorhi paye mangde ne

 Jad   mutiaraan   gaundiyaan aandiyan

"Latthe  di chaadar, utte saleti rang mahiya

Aa bhaho saamne,

 kolon di russ ke na lang mahiya".


Ajj oh geet gale ch hee

 cheekh ban jande  ne

te lalarian ne taan saleti rang hee

 charrohna  chhadd  ditta hai

kyon jo  mahiya  te hun

 kori chitti chaadar

 taan ke sadaa layi russ gaya hai


Saade  bachpan de  sahaan  ch si

 khushbo  gulab, chambe te chameli di

Hun bacche andar khichde ne dhuan

nafrat te barood di agg wich

 sarrhdiyaan  baldiyaan laashaan da


 Virasat  ch  den layi

  ki  saade kol

 eho kujh hai

 aapna  aalna  baal  baal

 eh keho jayi lorhi

Ajj di duniya wich

 jadd daurh laggi hai paise di

"aisi gurbat wich

 jadd piar de do bol

 bollunn yaan sunann di wi fursat na hove

taan ki dushman to nafrat karna wi

 ayaashi  nahin?"



आज पंजाब


एक वो भी तो पंजाब था मेरा
एक यह भी तो पंजाब है मेरा
लेकिन दोस्तो आज
इसकी मिटटी को क्या हो गया
जहाँ दूध दही की चांदनी  थी
आज वही लहू लुहान हो गया l


उस मिटटी में खुशबू थी
दोस्ती , प्यार और सांझे  चूल्हे की
आज इस मिटटी में बदबू है
नफरत और बेएतबारी की

अपना बचपन याद किया
तो तस्वीरें उभरी हरी भरी
गेहूं के लहलहाते खेतों की
बीच  में पीली चटक सरसों
के फूल रंग छिटकते  हुए l

पूर्वे की ठंडी हवा के पंखों पे
गीत उड़ते आते थे
और बच्चे टोलियां बनाकर
लोहडी मांगते फिरते 
जहाँ मुट्यारें गातीं
"लट्ठे दी चादर
उते सलेटी रंग माहिया
आ बहो साहमने
कोलों दी रुस् के ना लंग माहिया "


आज वो गीत गले में
चीख बन कर रह गया
और रंगरेजों ने तो
सलेटी रंग ही चढ़ाना छोड़ दिया
क्यों जो माहिया तो 
सफ़ेद चादर तान
सदा के लिए  रुस गया l


हमारे बचपन के सांस में थी
खुशबू गुलाब ,चंपा, चमेली की
और आज बच्चे अंदर खींचते हैं ज़हर
बारूद ,स्मैक,चरस और चिट्टे का

विरासत में देने को क्या
हमारे पास यही है
अपना घौंसला जलाकर
यह कैसी लोहड़ी?

आज की दुनिया में
जब दौड़ लगी है पैसे की
"ऐसी ग़ुरबत के दौर में
जब प्यार के दो बोल बोलने
या सुनने की भी फुर्सत नहीं
दुश्मन से नफरत करना भी
क्या ऐयाशी नहीं ?"






 

Journey's End

I count all the
                 tiny little joys
                 I've been trying to collect
                 but the sum comes to naught
                 meaningless gestures.

Then I try walking
                 to the end of the earth
                 where the sky sweeps downwards
                 to embrace the red hot earth
                 waiting at life's horizon
                 bathing it in it's cool
                 both mingling and merging
                 to become one.
                 But the rainbow fades
                 even as I hurry to touch it.

Then I walk to the ocean
                 where the shore and wave
                 mingle and merge
                 till I can make not
                 one from the other .
                 The ocean teaches me
                 to collect all the small little joys
                 and make
                 an ocean of love, larger than life,
                 and to wait
                 patiently  at the shore
                 till  'HE' accepts it.
                 Copyright @r. Sunil Kaushal

TOUCH WOOD

Went out hunting for a desk.
 Landed up roaming around various localities of Pune just to enjoy the lush greenery.
 When large banyan or other heavily foliaged trees meet at the top forming a skywalk across the road, I am so tempted to linger awhile in the shade of the canopy stretching across. It beckons me to pause a little in the daily humdrum of life, hurtling towards the end at breakneck speed.

Ever since I was a little girl ,travelling along the Grand Trunk Road  around my hometown in Punjab, was such a delight, because of the huge trees lining it. To my child's mind it seemed a certainty, that Sher Shah Suri ,the great Mughal had planted each of those trees with his own hands and came to water them daily, because he got that road built !

The shapes I would conjure up in the mazes of those branches and leaves, swaying to the music of the breeze, would fire my imagination further still. The bus would rapidly swish past the trees, in rapid succession and my imagery would run  the pictures  through like a comic strip. I could see the pixies, elves, and gnomes scrambling all over, in and out of their homes concealed in those huge tree trunks, by the thick screens of aerial roots. A few fairies could be seen prancing and dancing amongst the green and gold leaves, just for the joy of it. Others, busy doing errands ,were seen scurrying around from branch to branch swinging from the  dangling rope like offshoots. Yet, there were some who saw me smiling longingly, and waved to reassure me that one day I could  join them. Occasionally a knight in shining armour would ride by my bus window on his white steed and I would hurry to follow him, lest I  miss  the adventure.

My reverie was brought to an abrupt end when my driver gruffly asked me where exactly I wanted to go. I gave him the address, disgruntled at his audacity in interrupting my thoughts.We drove around  to a number of stores but the modern day tables did not appeal to me. They were  lifeless and lacked character. I wanted one, which could share with me many hours of togetherness;  live those moments, with as much joy and sorrow as I did, when the characters in my writings smiled or sorrowed. 
Tired of hunting in showrooms and malls, I walked into a roadside antique  shop. The sales man showed me some furniture, which made me nostalgic, reminding me of my childhood, when such designing and craftsmanship was the norm. I wandered around in the shop, admiringly  touching the carving on the edge of  a table here ,the brass handles on a chest of drawers there, but couldn't see any writing table.
 Disappointed, I thanked the salesman, turning to leave, when my eye fell on a patch of  carving and inlay work on the corner of some piece of furniture, behind a door. Stepping in, I saw a writing desk just the size, shape and design, that I wanted for my den. I looked at it lovingly wiping off the dust, stroking and admiring each line, grain and striation on the polished  teak wood. My fingers could feel the songs it sang, of  the years it stood rooted into the earth, when a majestic tree. I bargained over the price, bringing it down to my budget and paying some advance ,asked for a quick delivery.

Tired but thrilled over my acquirement, I waited to cross the road, when I glimpsed the excited face of a little girl, peering out of a passing car window as she pointed to the dense clumps of  roadside trees, excitedly saying something to a companion. 

Getting into the car, I asked the driver to stop at a nursery where good tree saplings could be bought.    

Why Did I Neglect My Blog ?

Did you wonder why I was not blogging since some time? Anyway who's bothered what I do or where I am. It's all in our own minds imagining we're being missed.
Family, travelling, my son's entry into the Indian Film and Music World; along with the associated joy and pride being shared with friends, International Lit. Fest and harvesting a rich bouquet of experiences interacting with renowned writers, poets and lyricists kept me busy.
Now that matters are settling down, I will be more regular, I hope.
Blogging, FB, creative writing are all addictive activities and the net lures you into it's maze where you can't find the way out. But connecting with friends and ventilating one's thoughts is an essential too.

Happy Navratras and may the Divine Mother shower peace on earth.

The Many Splendoured One

To the One only

One glance to sweep

 all my sorrows away

one smile to reawaken

joy in my life

one word from the heart

to lift my spirits

one gesture that will be

my crutch in crippling days

One rose my many hued

garden to which

one colour if you care to add

 I will paint

 a rainbow.

All these I will preserve

 deep in the core of my being

hidden from the prying eyes

of the world and wait

for that one drop of nectar
 from your lips

to quench the thirst

of my parched soul.

 One spark of your glory
will bathe life in the light of infinite stars

and I will venture

from captivity to freedom.

Having seen you within myself
 I shall sail to a safe haven
as your effulgence
lights my  path over choppy waters.

 

 

From Captivity to Freedom

My life's journey was going along just like most other people around me. But, from childhood there was a restlessness in my mind and my intellect could not find the way to quell it, or find solutions or answers. Certain circumstances changed, all that I thought was meant to be, was suddenly under a scanner.

This happened pretty late, a little after I'd crossed fifty; late enough for one to normally feel insecure, uprooting all that I'd worked towards achieving till then. But the call was loud and clear. I had to walk a different path, to achieve clarity about my purpose of coming on earth. The transition was difficult, I'd say, very painful at times. As a friend of mine told me, "It's not hurdles or problems, these are lifelong bondages being released. The sound of those shackles being cut, and the pain while it is happening is difficult to bear, but you will realise and value your freedom later." How prophetic her words were.

The very meaning of the word spirituality, was unknown to me. I had confused it with religion. Customary rituals had always appeared so much mumbo jumbo and kept me from following any one religion.

Born a Sikh, educated in Christian institutes, married into a Hindu family, I would try to please all the Gods, reluctantly, just to save face. None of it was satisfying or acceptable to me. Somewhere deep inside my core, faith in an unknown power and my own intrinsic goodness, had lain dormant. One after the other, spiritual teachers kept appearing in my life and blessing me with their Grace.

A time came when I was standing on the edge of a precipice and I had to decide whether I wanted to soar high into freedom or fall into an abyss of confused life again. The seed of faith sprouted, piercing the bosom of  the earth, of my questioning rational mind.  Medical education made it more difficult, for I was used to putting everything under a microscope, to verify it's existence.

Learning to 'surrender' took years of  rising and slipping backwards repeatedly. The millstone of old beliefs hung around my neck, which further delayed my progress. Slowly miracles took place. If everything was 'His,' well then the responsibility was also 'His' of showing me the correct path. For that, a willingness and exercise of free will, in making the right choices, was necessary. The ego plays such tricks and my mind was a monkey jumping all over. The personality took a beating as old habits and patterns were difficult to break. Often, I would feel that I had lost everything in search of something I had no idea about.

   All this kept me in turmoil for quite some time, with a slow churning and resolutions to my questions, till it dawned on me that every moment is an opportunity to question one's intention behind every thought, word and deed. The inner demons that imprison us due to old limiting beliefs and self imposed captivity can be vanquished, by questioning and examining our intent.

That alone will sublimate one's thoughts towards purity and lead from captivity to freedom.

Daddy !!

Major Harbant Singh Gill

He would have been a hundred today if he had lived on. But ,the 91 years he spent on this planet were as if he wanted to pack a hundred years into every single moment of his life. My greatest hero was always my father-the best role model f
or each member of the family. A caring son to his parents, loving husband, a father who taught us by way of setting an example by his own lifestyle; whatever he did was done with 100% involvement and life paid him back a hundred fold and more.In his early twenties he was drawn towards 'Gurbani' and his daily routine of three hours of "Path" continued till his last day. Every decision and action of his was taken dedicating the result to God's will and his life's successes, both materially and spiritually are legion. The moments I enjoyed most during my childhood were when I would curl up towards his feet on cold winter mornings, snuggling into his warm quilt and fall asleep again listening to him reciting from the scriptures.
The military discipline he practised and advocated at home also, irked us as children but as adults we were grateful for it and admired his foresightedness.
Today, I thank the Almighty for being born as his daughter. I offer gratitude to my father who inculcated the values of sincere dedication in every act. The high education he provided me,and the self -confidence instilled in me and my sister by treating us as not only equal to, but at times giving us more liberty and facilities than our two brothers ,empowered us to be able to rise in a world not too favourable towards women.
I remember him on his birth anniversary with great love, admiration and gratitude.

My dear poems, stories, travelogues and all the anecdotes that I kept bundled up for so long...    

                           Today, I set you free to fly     

                           sometimes to laugh and                

                           sometimes to cry.

                           Unlocking the doors of my mind

                           overcoming  fears

                           wiping my tears

                           together we'll go to unknown lands

                           yes, we can do it hand in hand.   

        

                                                                                          

           

Inspiration in many Avatars

        Last year, I was reading a book, "Clear Your Clutter with Feng Shui" by Karen Kingston. I would recommend it to everyone, whether they clutter or not and even those who do not believe in Feng Shui. It is a small book, simply written.
        It inspired me to start de-cluttering my room. I decided to start with my desk. Removing books kept for reading later, along with papers kept for sorting, I came across a bundle that contained an assortment of diaries and some papers. They were my writings which Siddhant had reluctantly sent me, assuming I would again shelve them away. He was correct. I had once again shoved them out of sight and forgotten all about them. As I sunned and aired the yellowing musty papers and my room kept getting cleared of mounds and boxes full of stuff, I was ready to part with, something opened up in the rusted portion of my creative mind as well to let in the warmth and satisfaction of creative achievement.
        Writing about his own journey Siddhant had written , "When my mother gave me her blessings along with her writings, she inspired me to write. I read like I had never read before and I write like I'll never stop writing." His words touched and inspired me .
        As I started writing once again, out tumbled memories about family, friends, patients, spiritual teachers, acquaintances, even strangers who had touched my life with their magic wand. It had fired my imagination and I would peep into their minds and peek into their lives' spinning stories.
        Vidisha, my daughter, who has always encouraged me in my creativity, promptly bought me a laptop, giving me some lessons on operating it and kept cheering me on. Vishal, my eldest, helped me by sitting on the side-lines and liking whatever I did. His silence is eloquent.
        Creating space in my room had led to creating space in my mind as well. I was empowered and energised. My asset, was the immense store-house of experiences over a lifetime. I was prepared to launch on an exciting journey of realising long forgotten dreams. I was ready to be Reborn at 70.

Why Do I Want To Write

Ever since I can remember I enjoyed writing. In school it was essays, limericks, or letters to friends and family which would be interspersed with little drawings, verses or even cartoons. Some friends confess to keeping them for long. Yes, as Anais Nin says,  I do love to taste life twice- once in the 'now' and again while writing and reading it. But that is solely my own pleasure. I was too shy to share it with the world, thinking it was not good enough and also because I have been very reserved about my emotions which do get exposed to the reader.

Since childhood I was like an emotional sponge soaking up whatever was happening to others around me and the empathy led to a heightened emotional receptivity. I would get into the minds and lives of others, conjuring up stories about them. But all this I kept closeted, afraid of ridicule. I have lost many writings this way. When my younger son, Siddhant left for Mumbai to make a career in music I gave him whatever I could find and gave it to him to use it as and how he pleased. A year ago I asked for them back so I could compile them all for him. That was a new beginning for me. More on what followed tomorrow.