TU IS TARAH SE MERI ZINDAGI MEY

Someone recently asked me what my favourite word in English is and the answer came in a jiffy.

There are some things that you can rattle off from the top of your head or the tip of your tongue without having to spend a second in contemplation. And there are things that flutter off your heart even before you have breathed the question in.

‘Love,’ I said. ‘My favourite word and emotion. It ranks higher than even ‘happiness.’’

Happiness might be the hardest to find, but love is the hardest to fathom.

At no point in life can one claim to know ‘love’ completely in all its different dimensions and capacities to influence human life. As soon as you imagine to have experienced the pinnacle of this finest of human emotions, a new wave sweeps over you, in a format that you never knew existed. It graces you like the Milky Way enhances the night sky, keeping you guessing how far its expanse is, and how deep runs its glow. There is no way love can end and disappear; it merely shifts places, flows from one point to the other, finding new realms to rest and rejuvenate.

‘Love’, in all its majestic manifestations, is what life is essentially about. From the romantic to the mystical to the spiritual, love is all there is to the human story. It is this realization that gave me the potential to interpret romantic songs equally as spiritual odes. I could equate an amorous expression in a film song to a devotional experience. I can now transcribe Gita Govinda as an experience of celestial ecstasy. And if I remember right, it all started with this song ‘Tu is tarah se’ many years ago. Now, whenever I listen to it, it is to this transcendental love, to the all-encompassing entity that reaches a level of the consciousness that this song appeals. To me, it is like an ode to the ‘everything’ that there is, than to one love interest.

Let me take you on a different experience today by urging you to imagine that these lines are being sung not to an object of mortal love, but to the Almighty who pervades everything.

तू इस तरह से मेरी ज़िंदगी में शामिल है

Tu is tarah se meri Zindagi mey shaamil hai

जहाँ भी जाऊँ ये लगता है, तेरी महफ़िल है

Jahan bhi jaaon yeh lagta hai, teri mehfil hai

You are such an intrinsic part of my life that wherever I go, I feel as if there is a carnival celebrating you.

Wherever I look, there is only you. How integral you have become to my existence that I cannot see anything but your festivities around me!

As in romantic love, where the beloved becomes a nonstop experience while asleep or awake, to me these lines denote a presence of the Divine wherever I go, in whatever I see, hear and feel. It is not easy to explain this aspect of human experience. All I can say is the world feels like a jamboree ground when you see the Beloved in every nook and corner, in open and sheltered spaces, and in every place you visit.

ये आसमान ये बादल ये रास्ते ये हवा

Yeh aasman, yeh baadal, yeh raaste, yeh hawa

हर एक चीज़ है अपनी जगह ठिकाने पे

Hare k cheez hai apni jagah, tikhane pe

कई दिनों से शिकायत नहीं ज़माने से

Kai dino se shikaayat nahin zamaane se

ये ज़िंदगी है सफ़र तू सफ़र कि मंज़िल है, जहाँ भी ...

Yeh Zindagi hai safar, tu safar ki manzil hai

The sky, the clouds, these pathways, and this wind

Everything is in its designated place, a place where they were supposed to reach.

I’ve had no complaint against the world for a long time now

Life is a journey and you are its destination.

Every aspect of nature seems to be in its own place as if there could be no other way for them to exist. They have all found their destination, and I too will, when I reach You. When the elements of nature have found their ultimate purpose, wouldn’t I find it too? There is no place for me to go in this journey but to You.

These lines inspire me to think about the perfection with which every single thing in this Universe has been created and put in its right place. It makes me want to capitulate to the ultimate power that knows where to put me, just as it has put the sky and the clouds and the wind. It makes me want to say, over and over again, ‘Unto Thee, my everything. Lead me to my destination as You deem right.’

हर एक फूल किसी याद सा महकता है

Hare ek phool, kisi yaad sa mehakta hai

तेरे खयाल से जागी हुई फ़िज़ाएं हैं

Tere Khayal se jaagi huyi fizaaen hai

ये सब्ज़ पेड़ हैं या प्यार की दुआएं हैं

Yeh sabz ped hai ya pyar ki duaa-en hai

तू पास हो कि नहीं फिर भी तू मुकाबिल है, जहाँ भी

Tu paas hai ho ki nahi phir bhi, tu mukaabil hai

Now, in Your presence every flower smells like a beautiful memory.

It is an ambience created by my thoughts about You.

Are they verdant trees or Love’s blessings?

Whether You are near me or not, it’s clear that You are incomparable. Above everything.

How do these lines convert to a mystical experience, one may wonder. The easiest way to know the Divine is to superimpose Divine Love on every object of material and physical love. Doing that makes even the smallest of mortal sentiments rich and consummate. The lover becomes the Beloved, surpassing the bodily confines.

In the presence of the Beloved, one becomes delusional, not knowing if the flowers that bloom around her are for real or they are figments of imagination rising from her contemplation. Even the beautiful vistas around begin to seem like imposing manifestations of Love. The last line, in particular, where the poet, Nida Fazli, writes ‘whether You are near or far, there is no one quite like You’ puts me in a delirious state. Truly, no one quite like the one we so passionately, unconditionally and endlessly love.

It, however, begs the question – which is this Love in our life?

The next two stanzas are where my interpretation of this song transcends the routine contexts and travels to a realm of mystical contemplation. Stay with me close, in the same vein, to know the profundity I see in them.

तेरे बगैर जहाँ में कोई कमी सी थी

Tere bagair jahan mai koi kami si thi

भटक रही थी जवानी अंधेरी राहों में

Bhatak rahi thi jwani andheru raahon mey

सुकून दिल को मिला आ के तेरी बाहों में

Sukoon dil ko mila aake teri baahon mey

मैं एक खोई हुई मौज हूँ तू साहिल है, जहाँ भी

Mey ek khoyi hui mauj hoon, tu saahil hai

Without You, there was something lacking in this world

My youth was wandering in the dark alleys

I found peace only when I came into Your arms.

I am a lost wave, and You are my shore.

These lines can be considered a true seeker’s confessions. The one who is wandering in search of fulfillment and ultimate happiness will always find something lacking in the absence of the Divine in his life. The only thing that brings us true gratification and comfort is the presence of the Supreme Power. Try as much we may, nothing else will bring us that the peace we all so desperately seek. And when I listen and sing these lines I realize how crucial it is for me to have that singular power in my life to find fulfillment. Where does a wave go but to the shore? Where do I proceed from here but to His presence?

तेरे जमाल से रोशन है कायनात मेरी

Tere Jamaal se roshan hai qayanat meri

मेरी तलाश तेरी दिलकशी रहे बाकी

Meri talaash teri dilkashi rahe baaki

खुदा करे की ये दीवानगी रहे बाकी

Khuda kare ki yeh deewanagi rahe baaki

तेरी वफ़ा ही मेरी हर खुशी का हासिल है, जहाँ भी ...

Teri wafa hi meri har khushi ka haasil hai

My Universe is lit up by your beauty and elegance

May my search for You and Your attraction for me be always there.

By Almighty’s will, may this love’s lunacy remain forever.

Your love and loyalty is the only outcome of my joys.

I am maintaining the mystical thread here.

There have been times when our faith in the Supreme has dwindled even when we know that if there is something that can save us from our worldly woes it is in acknowledging the existence of the Supreme. Yet, we stray, trapped in our illusions and the Supreme loses its sheen in our eyes, and we stop seeking its benevolence.

Reckon, how often this has happened and to how many!

These lines are like a prayer for me wherein I concede that my life and my universe will be drowned in darkness without His grace. And I beseech to Him that my seeking should never cease until I reach my destination, neither should His appeal ever diminish for me. This craziness that drives me towards Him, may it forever remain, so that I find that everlasting happiness someday.

It is impossible for me to not think of the constant presence of an infinite spirit in my life when I listen to this song. It could very well be reflective of a romantic liaison in the movie, but to me it is an embodiment of the highest connection there is between us and Providence. Love, after all, is not a feeling. It is the sum total of existence.

Seen in that sense, it is possible that many songs written as odes to mortal love could easily have Divine connotations and be sung as hymns. Ever thought about it?

Film - Aap To Aise Na The (1980)

Lyricist - Nida Fazli

UTTERLY, BUTTERLY

Some beautiful moments in life don’t have names.

Unlike falling in love or becoming a parent or watching a sunset or spotting a shooting star, there are some instances that we simply don’t give enough credit for; things we don’t celebrate because they seem so mundane and mediocre in our everyday settings. Some episodes in life have beauty blended into them so intrinsically that you don’t notice it, until you churn the moment and separate the joy to behold. Like butter from curd.

Among the many things that I had taken for granted during my younger days at home (with my parents) was the ghee that Amma made by melting home-made butter. The smell of that ghee is something I would die for. The fact that it was a privilege I would not get forever was not known until I left home and came to the Gulf, where milk and yogurt were bought off the shelf. The milk wasn’t ‘fresh’ nor was the yogurt ‘curd’.

Despite the pronouncements made by the manufacturers that they were made from the purest sources with the most modern technology for the best of our health, there was something missing in their promises - the aroma of Khoya as the milk boiled on slow fire and cloying taste of butter in the yogurt. There was either something added or removed from them. It wasn’t the original stuff as I had had back home. But then again, like most things that we have by now got accustomed to having in the fake (from love to friendships to flowers to Louis Vuitton bags), I got used to having full-cream milk and yogurt that barely had any cream to claim. Sometimes, getting used to the duplicate makes you forget what the original was like.

The only way I kept my memory of the real alive on my palate was by having filter coffee made with freshly procured cow’s milk in Palakkad, and bringing back to Dubai a bottle of Amma’s home-made ghee. I must confess that the curd back there has now got a bit too greasy and loaded for my comfort. Years of spooning yogurt from a prim plastic tub has made me alien to the curd set in a base-worn stainless steel utensil.

The ghee from home was exclusively consumed with meals, not used in tadkas and sweets. Can anything match the rich but self-effacing taste of home-made ghee poured over steaming rice before ladling some sambar or curry on it? No matter how stingily I used it, the day when I had to scrap the bottom of the container would eventually arrive and I would return to the readymade ghee or the ones I made from branded butter. This has been the routine for more than 24 years now.

The last big, frozen dollop of ghee from my last visit home is still stored safely in the fridge. I had made it last for nearly 4 months and if I stretch it with judicious consumption, this bit might last for two more weeks. It was a vexing thought. Should one stress over small things like milk, curd and ghee, one might wonder. Maybe, not. But some joys, as I said in the beginning, do not carry happiness tags. They are silent influencers that can change the way we appreciate life.

And so it transpired that during a recent conversation with a friend, I learnt that there was a place from where I could procure fresh farm-sourced cow’s milk. I was enthused. It suddenly opened up the scope of having my own curd, my own butter and my own ghee, which I need not worry would bottom out. The idea of a golden pool of ghee spreading its divine aroma in the house was too exhilarating for me to ignore. I couldn’t wait for the adventure to begin. Three litres of fresh milk was brought in, boiled and turned into curd. The amount of cream that I scooped out of the curd could cover the entire surface of the moon. That was when it hit me – I didn’t have a precise idea of how to get the butter from the luscious lump I had in store.

Amma has an ancient Rico mixie which she uses only for this purpose and it works like a charm. It has been repaired and mended a hundred times and it still hasn’t stopped working. It is her exclusive butter churning machine, which never lets her down. But I didn’t have Rico. I only had my Preeti and an old wooden churner. Will they work? I didn’t know, but I had to give it a shot with the things I had.

I transferred the cream into the mixie jar with a prayer on my lips. It was my maiden attempt and I so wished it didn’t fail. But things don’t go the way we desire or dictate, do they? The cream swirled and stirred and frolicked inside, going up and down, down and up, but no butter seemed to emerge from it. Several attempts later, I gave the handheld wooden churner a chance. Right to left, left to right, thus it went till my hands threatened to fall off. I stared at the wholesome mess I was creating around me with all the churning, but no hint of butter anywhere. It was heart-breaking.

That coveted thing I so yearned for was there for the taking, right there, but I didn’t know how to obtain it. That familiar feeling of knowing it’s there, but not having a frigging clue of how to acquire it, that common frustration of not knowing how to separate peace from chaos, happiness from humdrum, of finding the ultimate from the limited; the disappointment of having the gift of life in hand and not knowing how to extract fulfillment from it. I couldn’t let that sinking feeling get the better of me. I couldn’t give up on my pursuit of fetching the butter from the cream. What would it take for me to accomplish it?

I put out a post on a hugely resourceful ladies group on facebook asking for help and I began to receive tips of all kind. To each, her own. They gave ideas that worked for them. Among them were two gems. ‘Patience’, said one. ‘Good mood’, said another. They were profound points and I took note. Butter wouldn’t show within a few spins of the churner. I must stay at it, allowing it as long as it would take, convinced that sooner or later the butter would start collecting. If it is there inside, it must reveal itself eventually.

As for good mood, I knew, anything done without cheer will not bring worthy returns. ‘Doing it with joy’ is the key to success. So, I had to do undertake the project when I had nothing else worming inside my head and today seemed like a fairly laid-back day. The mental worms were still there, but they seemed to be in a snooze. We have now learned to coexist amicably, giving each other space.

‘Try churning with the cake mixer,’ the husband suggested, seeing I was beyond myself with dismay after the failed attempts. I must admit that he participates equally in all my adventures, but this one sounded too preposterous to even consider.

Egg beater for churning curd? That which combines cannot separate.

I threw a mocking side-glance at him and continued to wait for advice from my virtual sisterhood on FB. That was when a lady shared her success story with the egg-beater.

‘What?’ I exclaimed and showed the husband the message.

He read the message and duly gave me a I told you so look which I accepted with a sheepish smile. He isn’t a culinary expert, all right, but he has more common sense than me, I admitted grudgingly.

Thus began our next round of churning with the cake mixer. The man was chivalrous enough to offer his services and I was gracious enough to let him do it for me.

Slowly but steadily, with blobs of curd splattered all around us and his clothes too amply dotted with the creamy concoction, we began to see islands of butter forming in the white sea in the pitcher. With some more persistent action, we accomplished our goal. Handsome lumps of butter floated in the buttermilk. It felt as if the moon had cruised down for an earthly sojourn.

It was a moment of great triumph. Nothing spectacular had happened, there was no earth-shattering discovery made, we hadn’t cracked the code to sure-shot success nor had we won a lottery. We had merely made butter at home. The elation of having achieving something so meagre was uncontainable for me. I felt as if I had touched the stars. It was a moment of joy that has no name. The final part of that anonymous joy is now waiting to be experienced in the freezer. It will materialize shortly in the form of home-made ghee and fills the air with its heady aroma.

How many such unexplored moments of happiness might be lying in wait for us around the corner? How many butter delights are left for us to uncover from the creamy layers of life? How fantastic it is to know that if you churn relentlessly, one day, the butter would finally emerge from wherever it invisibly lies!

What's your plan B when things go wrong?

(Column in Khaleej Times dated 8 Sept, 2022)

Recently, my computer refused to boot even after repeated attempts. I took it as a tantrum that devices are prone to once in a while and allowed it time to sober, but even after a day’s recess, it continued to display a message that approximated the flat line on heart monitors.

The computer, I realized with dread, was dead. The man at the repair centre confirmed my worst fears. The hard disk had crashed and no data in it could be retrieved. It took only a split second for me to grasp the enormity of the disaster. All my files and folders with loads of my writing, including works in progress, had just vanished in a trice. And I hadn’t backed up in many months.

To take a full backup had been on my mind for a long time, but I never got down to doing it because I did not believe an eventuality like that was probable. I had an inkling of it, a vague sense of the possibility, but never believed it would actually come to pass. And I paid the price for the complacency. All I had to do to avert the disaster was to have had a backup. A contingency plan. An alternative recourse. A way to recover stuff just in case my computer crashed. But I had erred in not taking that ‘just in case’ too seriously.

Never before had I thought of the importance of having a plan B with such urgency. Some pertinent lessons in life (or is it all?) are learnt the hard way, and by the time one learns it, it is too late.

Upon contemplation, I figured that many of us do not attach much importance to alternative plans for more than one reason. At the outset, we have such unshakable faith in our primary blueprint that the thought of things going awry is something we do not entertain, consciously or unconsciously. For many, considering a plan B implies pessimism, a lack of confidence and an implicit reminder of failure.

However, with a slight revision in perception, we will discern that keeping an alternative course handy is not a precursor to failure but an affirmation of our will to pursue even if something goes kaput at first go. It gives us a chance to have a fresh look at our strategies and amend them so we don’t repeat the initial mistakes. It impels us to be persistent with our efforts to reach our goal without giving up and walking away exasperated.

If you thought having a plan B to fall back on will suck our seriousness out of our endeavours and make us casual because we have proxies to rely on, think again. Our goals define us, and the earnestness with which we pursue those goals charts our course in life. We cannot afford to give our dreams a left-handed treatment. If anything, alternatives only indicate our drive to accomplish our dreams despite the setbacks we may have initially suffered.

Often, planning a second course seems like a vexing exercise because it demands an extra ounce of resources and efforts. It is this inertia and laziness that probably cost me my data. All I had to do was backup my data, an exercise that would have taken very little in terms of time. But the small thing I overlooked in the midst of bigger tasks cost me colossally and I didn’t know it until it actually hit me in the head.

A strategy or plan must always be supported by alternative game plans so that we can adapt to unforeseen challenges. Life throws curve balls at us at the most inappropriate times, and not having a secondary route to reach our destination can knock us off kilter.

When things go wrong (as they will if they have to), what will hold us up is our ability to adapt and be resilient without having to give up. And that will be easy to achieve when we know we have contingency plans in place. Uncertainties, which have now become integral to our lives, will intimidate us less because we know our next recourse if something goes wrong. Knowing our alternatives takes the stress and panic out of our quotidian struggles.

As a procurement professional, my spouse stresses hard on the need to have multiple suppliers for every product he deals with. ‘Depending on a single source is like putting all the eggs in one basket,’ he says. To him, having options are the only way to beat uncertainties in his business. That I never learnt the lesson from him until I lost all my valuable data is a shame. I had to wait for a hard knock to learn. You certainly needn’t.