KISI NAZAR KO TERA INTEZAR (Aitbaar)

There is something uniquely captivating about the word INTEZAR that I can’t explain in a hurry. It’s a word that stands out with its myriad meanings and connotations unlike its English equivalent, WAITING, which for some reason, doesn’t resonate so intimately with me.

WAITING. As if I am on the railway platform, craning my neck from the kerb to catch a glimpse of the engine that will soon chug in with the coaches and haul me to a berth where I will lay cooped up for hours together.

On the other hand, INTEZAR - as if I am on the beach, and from the yonder a tune floats in delivering memories of an old love, the breeze gently driving the past towards me, and I stand, waveringly, wetting my feet, in anticipation of reviving the bygones.

Somewhere in the space between the sea and the sky, I yearn for a forgotten face to appear and discover the INTEZAR I have been holding in my eyes for long. This, for all those who have loved, isn’t mere WAITING, as in waiting for the train. This is drowning in nostalgia and holding on to a straw of hope that the departed love will one day return. My gaze is lined with the faith that one day there will be communion, despite all the distance and time lapse in between.

I bide my time thinking about your whereabouts; my heart becomes disquiet even today wondering where you might be now. Perhaps, I think wishfully, you will return as if you had never left.

किसी नज़र को तेरा Kisi nazar ko tera इंतज़ार आज भी हैं intezar aaj bhi hai कहा हो तुम के ये दिल Kahan ho tum key eh dil बेकरार आज भी हैं bekaraar aaj bhi hai

We have moved on, life has led us on separate ways, but my eyes are still searching for you, waiting to spot you somewhere in the distance. What can I say of my love and loyalty towards you that doesn't allow me to stop looing for you? How do I prove my allegiance to you and the fact that I have been living in anticipation of our paths crossing again ever since I parted from you?

वो वादियाँ वो फिजायें wo waadiyaan, wo fizaayen

के हम मिले थे जहां ke hum mile the jahaan मेरी वफ़ा का वही meri wafa ka wahin पर मजार आज भी हैं par mazaar aaj bhi hain

The valleys over which blows the mountain winds, the different places we have met in those times of togetherness – there the tomb of my devotion lies bearing testimony to my faithfulness. Perhaps, it will tell you the tale of my love for which I quit the world. I gave up everything for its sake and yet, all I received in return was a deep, incurable gash. Somewhere on the path of that old, unswerving promise that I made to you, my wounded love lies languishing even today.

वो प्यार जिस के लिए Woh pyar jiske liye हमने छोड़ दी दुनिया Hum ne chod do duniya वफ़ा की राह में घायल Wafa ki raah mey ghaayal वो प्यार आज भी हैं Woh pyar aaj bhi hai

The folly of love lies in faith. How often does the heart make the grave mistake of renouncing the world for the sake of the beloved who does not recognize the worth of our love and forsakes us without mercy! The one we believe will forever abide by us, through thick and thin, through times of love and war. And when the beloved eventually leaves, by design or destiny, all that remains is a wounded heart by the wayside and a tomb of dreams in places where we had met and celebrated our love.

Yet, despite all that was lost…

किसी नज़र को तेरा इंतज़ार आज भी हैं

…in the eyes there is a glimmer of hope that one day the beloved will return.

And then, one day, the love that once betrayed returns miraculously as if drawn by the intense sparks of 'intezar' in my eyes. For how long I have waited for this day!

In that moment when I see her, I feel that her authority over my heart is still intact, that she can sway me to here side as she did once upon a time. It’s unbelievable but true that my heart submits to her command even today. The grasp of her love over me has not slackened even after all these years.

न जाने देख के क्यों उनको Na jaane dekh ke kyun unko

ये हुआ एहसास ये हुआ एहसास Yeh hua ehsaas के मेरे दिल पे उन्हें Ke mere dil pe unhe इख़्तियार आज भी हैं ikhtiyar aaj bhi hai (ikhtiyar = authority)

It is hard to believe, yet somewhere in the recesses of my heart it feels as if the season of spring continues to search for me. I feel this dreariness will soon end, and the splendor of spring will arrive in my life. The time that elapsed in between is only an interim before spring finds me. Nothing has changed, and nothing will. Our hearts will one day meet again.

यकीं नहीं हैं मगर Yakeen nahin hai magar आज भी ये लगता हैं Aaj bhi yeh agta Hai मेरी तलाश में शायद Meri Talaash mey बहार आज भी हैं Shayad bahaar aaj bhi hai

Come to think of it, how much have I endured, how many bruises of unfulfilled love I have suffered ever since I parted from you! A mere remembrance of those hurts and wounds makes me melancholic all over again. It’s a love for which I had given up the world; a love that still lies crumbled on the lanes of devotion to this day.

Despite all the pain I have weathered, my eyes still wander looking for you.

न पूँछ कितने मोहब्बत की Na pooch kitne mohabat ki ज़ख्म खाए हैं Zaqhm Khaaye hai के जिनको सोच के दिन ke jinko sochke ke dil सो गवार आज भी हैं Sogvaar aaj bhi hai (sogvaar = sad)

वह प्यार जिस के लिए Woh pyar jiske liye हमने छोड़ दी दुनिया hum ne chod di duniya वफ़ा के राहमे गायल Wafa ke raah mey ghayal वो प्यार आज भी हैं woh pyar aaj bhi hai

किसी नज़र को तेरा Kisi nazar ko tera इंतज़ार आज भी हैं intezar aaj bhi hai कहा हो तुम के ये Kahan ho tum ke yeh दिल बेकरार आज भी हैं dil beqarar aaj bhi hai

No matter how much time passes, it is hard to let go of an affiliation that had anchored deep in the heart. The seasons may change, the winds may blow southwards, but the hope of the love’s return keeps the flame aglow in the hearth of winter. Intezar isn’t a voluntary action performed by a forlorn lover. It is an elixir that keeps his pining spirit alive. It is an accompaniment to his lonely nights. It is the promise of a love left behind in the wilderness of time.

FOOTPRINTS ON THE SAND

Seldom does a session with a psychiatrist begin with a reference to flight delays and air traffic snarls. But that’s how we begin our meetings – with small talks and sundry details about the world and its people. It then swerves through different routes, he walking me through the oddities of human mind and the complex ways in which the brain works. He makes it sound incredibly casual and clinical, as if it’s all part of the human enterprise.

‘It can happen to anyone. Nobody is spared of emotional turmoil,’ he assures every time, with a calmness that sweeps over me like a wave of blessing.

‘Even psychiatrists and psychologists?’ I ask him once, my eyes rolling incredulously.

By now, over many sessions, he has sensed my discomfort about the fact that I need to follow his prescription for a prolonged period to set things right in my slightly disturbed domain.

‘Of course, they too. We are all human beings. We all go through the same things,’ he avers. And then, he proceeds to talk about how the entire world is now a troubled lot and how there is a need for a major shift in the way we live.

I nod and smile. I reckon the truth in his words. My contemplative way of living has made me acutely aware of the hard facts of existence, and when he authorizes it with his quiet, accepting way, I am convinced that sooner or later, the turbulence in me will settle. With my own earnest endeavours. The medication is only an external catalyst that I must take to bolster my recovery because there are certain things that only chemistry can fix.

A grief that overstayed and wanders all over me like a nomad pitching tent here and there; emotional sediments from the past that get raked up now and then, personal baggage that refuse to dislodge from my back have all taken a toll, but along with it, there is also an unshakable conviction that I will survive it all and see the other side of the sea.

I smile again when the doctor reiterates, ‘Find joy in small things.’

‘Yes, Doctor,’ I say. It is a practice that I am getting better at with each passing day. Small things. Small joys. Small moments. In them I deposit my life's kernels now.

‘You can have a cup of coffee at leisure, enjoying every sip or you can just have it hurriedly. The way you spend your moments will determine your happiness,’ he reaffirms.

The moment he says that, I think of Appa. Yet again. He is a man who lived at leisure and left in a hurry. But not without leaving footprints on the sand.

His early morning coffee ritual is a sight to behold. It is a picture that I still visualize in vivid detail, wondering how the cosmos could bless some people with such tranquility that watching them itself becomes a life lesson of sorts.

Appa has a tall glass which is filled to the brim with his morning coffee. He settles on the sofa with his right leg perched on the left, and takes long sips that seem to last an eternity. All the essence of his life seems to get packed into those sips. Nothing else distracts him from his coffee – neither the TV playing devotionals nor the newspaper nor Amma's prattle with the maid servant.

He closes his eyes as the coffee energizes him sip by sip. In what contemplation he gets lost in those moments, I have never asked, but he is never in a hurry to finish his glass. He isn’t perturbed even with my mother’s snide remarks about the elaborate ritual. ‘An hour to drink a coffee!’ she would exclaim, but the man will be too engrossed in nursing his coffee to hustle up his activity.

The difference in the way they consume their beverage is stark. Amma makes it look like a routine – a gulp into the guts. And Appa makes it look like a ceremony – a slurp that satiates. Such was the level of his equanimity and contentment with himself. Even the glass of coffee would have been immensely grateful to be his host, morning after morning.

Sombre thoughts about him tug at my heartstrings as we walk out of the clinic. It is close to lunch time and I feel famished. Home is at least 45 minutes away on a traffic-less highway. I quickly take a mental stock of the leftovers in the fridge, which is what I had planned for the day's lunch.

Some dal. Some ladies finger. And some cabbage. They tick me off instantly.

‘No, please. Not the same fare,’ my belly protests alongside.

Spotting a restaurant with a typical name that resonates with the Mallu in me, I suggest to my spouse that we eat there. A veggie meal with mota rice, sambar and such. He too exults at the idea. Funny how in these many years I have converted him from a thorough roti-sabji man to a sambar-slurping dude!

The next half hour passes as if I am in a fluid gastronomic dream. There is nothing exotic on the menu; just the regular stuff that a traditional meal is made of, yet the food tastes so good on my palate that the joy of it stays with me till the end of the day. A lunch for 8.50 Dirhams in a nondescript restaurant becomes the definition of happiness to me on that day. ‘Small things’, I remember the doctor say, and Appa’s image flashes in my mind. I sigh as I realize how he continues to give me life lessons through little signs even after he has left.

Now, as I work on my progress, steering myself out of the mess that inadvertently fell into, I pop a thought along with the tablet every day -

There is a lot of life throbbing in places we don’t see. In corners and crevices, on the sidelines and fringes; there is a lot we don’t savour in our madness to secure the big things.

MERA KUCH SAAMAAN

I am thinking of love. (Yes, once again.)

A love that lies far away, nautical miles beyond the stretch of the arms and the warmth of an embrace.

A love that lingers like the fragrance of incense from the worship of another day.

A love that brings the drum rolls into the heart with a passing thought of an old flame.

A love that constantly whispers,

‘I am, yet I am not. Seek me not in the day light, but in the shadows of lurking memory. Revoke me from there. Bring me back the things I left behind when we parted.’

At this point, from somewhere in the swirling waters of memory, a dulcet tune washes up on the mind.

आ..आ… आ.. आ..

‘मेरा कुछ सामान तुम्हारे पास पड़ा है ओ, सावन के कुछ भीगे-भीगे दिन रखे हैं हो, और मेरे इक ख़त में लिपटी राख पड़ी है

वो राख बुझा दो, मेरा वो सामान लौटा दो वो राख बुझा दो, मेरा वो सामान लौटा दो

A few of my things are lying with you. A few wet days of monsoon and some embers wrapped in a letter too are lying there.

A lot has happened since the last time we bade goodbye. Years have passed, perhaps. Or eons? How can I tell? Time has lost its definition and has become an indistinct concept that waxes and wanes. Yet, so much of my life’s remains are still retained in the crevices of the past, even as I am goaded to look ahead and move on.

Here’s an old smouldering love that was left behind, crackling now and then and seeking closure. It follows me to eternity, carrying moments spent in intense proximity, with the seasonal rain alone bearing witness to the fire that raged between you and me. Every little thing from that time is loaded with romantic vibes. If only someone could retrieve them for me and bring them to the present!

Embers of the past are wrapped in handwritten letters and left to wallow in loss and longing. They are love’s relics, holding reminiscences of an affair that prematurely ended and left softly murmuring ashes behind.

The heart still beats to the rhythm of my old, unfulfilled love for you. The connection might have got severed, but the sparks of passion it has left behind has yet to die.

वो राख बुझा दो, मेरा वो सामान लौटा दो वो राख बुझा दो, मेरा वो सामान लौटा दो

Extinguish those ashes and return my belongings. Do me the favour. Douse the love that still simmers in my heart and free me from its vestiges.

What more have I left behind with you?

Ah, the autumn! Some of it is there, isn’t it?

पतझड़ है कुछ, है ना?

पतझड़ में कुछ पत्तों के, गिरने की आहट कानों में इक बार पहन के लौटाई थी

The incredible things that I left behind, including the footfall of autumn leaves which I had briefly worn on my ears and given back to you!

You have the timbre of the falling leaves preserved, don’t you?

Some of those autumn boughs are still quivering out there. Cut them down and send me my belongings.

पतझड़ की वो शाख़ अभी तक काँप रही है

वो शाख़ गिरा दो, मेरा वो सामान लौटा दो

We may have split and spaced out a long time ago, but my love for you is still lingering in the branches of a tree even after the Fall has passed. Fell the branches, stop their quiver so that I may be liberated from these pangs of persistent love.

एक अकेली छतरी में जब आधे-आधे भीग रहे थे आधे सूखे, आधे गीले, सूखा तो मैं ले आई थी

Once, we were getting half drenched under an umbrella; we were partly wet and partly dry, do you remember?

Together when we weathered that rain, so lost in love that we got half soaked equally, mindlessly.

I brought only the dry part of me when I left. The soaked part is probably lying near the bed. Send it to me.

गीला मन शायद बिस्तर के पास पड़ा हो वो भिजवा दो, मेरा वो सामान लौटा दो

I now live with a parched piece of soul. The half that is sodden with my love for you, get it sent to me. Return that prized possession to me.

(These lines are immense in their imagery. The idea of a heart torn into two pieces – one that has dried up in the absence of the beau, and one that is still succulent at the other end in the lover’s presence – is delirious. Perhaps, the ache of longing surpasses the joys of love in its intensity and only those pining over someone with every sniffle and sigh can talk about it categorically.)

What more is there?

Among the stuff that I have left with you as tokens of my love are these unmentioned but beloved things-

116 moonlit nights that I spent with you, the black mole on your shoulder,

the fragrance of damp mehandi, and some mock annoyance and complaint.

११६ चाँद की रातें, एक तुम्हारे काँधे का तिल गीली मेहँदी की ख़ुशबू, झूठ-मूठ के शिकवे कुछ

झूठ-मूठ के वादें भी सब याद करा दूँ

सब भिजवा दो, मेरा वो सामान लौटा दो

Let me also remind of you of some of your false promises that are lying hidden among these things. Return them all to me. Give me all my possessions that I have left with you as mementoes.

With them,

give me permission too,

so that I can bury them forever.

And where I bury these things,

I too shall sleep.

एक इजाज़त दे दो बस, जब इसको दफ़नाऊँगी मैं भी वहीं सो जाऊँगी,

मैं भी वहीं सो जाऊँगी..

Without you, of what use are these things anyway? Along with them let me cease to exist too. Give me your consent so that I will be for once, free from this divided, unspent, fractional love.

Film: Ijaazat (1987)

Lyricist: Gulzar