Of Family & Friends – Ankahi. Unsaid.

आज रंग है ऐ माँ, रंग है री / अमीर खुसरो

March 30, 2026Posted in Delhi, Ma, Mommy, Mother, Of Family & FriendsTagged Amir_Khusro, Colours, Ma, Nizzamuddin_AuliyaLeave a comment

ये तस्वीर होली के दिन की है । एक रात पहले उनकी तबीयत ठीक नहीं थी। उस सुबह भी वो देर से ही उठीं । दोपहर हो चली थी और वक़्त निकला जा रहा था। हम तय नहीं कर पा रहे थे कि उन्हें जगायें या नहीं, रंग लगाएं या नहीं इतने में उनकी पोती चाँदनी ने आ कर माथे पर टीका सा लगा दिया। उन्हें उठा कर बिठाया गया तो भी आँखें बंद कर और सर को पीछे झुका कर माँ कुछ इस तरह से मग्न थीं जैसे शायद कभी अमीर खुसरो रहे होंगे, अपने पीर-ओ-मुरशिद हज़रत निज़ामुद्दीन औलिया को याद करते हुए या फिर खुसरो समा मे रहे होंगे जब उन्होंने “आज रंग है ऐ माँ रंग है री” कव्वाली पहली बार अपने मुरशद के सामने गुनगुनाई होगी। उस रोज़ खुसरो ने खुद को और दुनिया को उस रूहानी रंग में रंगा हुआ देखा होगा जैसे तब मैं देख रहा था। माँ भी समा में ही थीं – दुनिया-जहान से बेसुध, बेखबर – ऐसी बेखबर कि उन्हें मेरी आवाज़ “आज रंग है री” भी नहीं सुनाई दी ।

“मैं पीर पायो निजामुद्दीन औलिया”, अमीर खुसरो ने रूहानी रंग से भरी ये कव्वाली भी अपने पीर को मिलने की खुशी में लिखी थी, इस होली को मैंने भी समझा कि शायद माँ भी उसे सुन कर खुश हो जाएँ सो मैंने भी गा दी। सूफी परंपराओं ये कवालियाँ निजामुद्दीन औलिया की दरगाह पर आज भी गाई जाती है। गुड़गाँव, होली, 4 मार्च 2026

Ma looks cute

March 20, 2026March 20, 2026Posted in Of Family & Friends, Delhi, photographyTagged attendant, caregivers, Haircut, home, home-saloon, Lice, March2026, mother, Patient, RajniLeave a comment

Ma is also at war. Her tormentor is her age. The raging battle is between her body and mind which is slowly destroying the beautiful person she is. Her suffering nudges her to a make-believe world where agitation reigns a serene soul.

जैसी अग्नि उदर में, तैसी बा॒हर माया, माया अगन दुई एक भए, करते खेल रचाया

Ma was most unhappy yesterday. She resisted, shouted, pushed and cursed us. She couldn’t fathom why four people were surrounding her, or why someone was holding her neck down while two hands ran a trimmer from her nape to the pate and scalp tickling her no end. She had to be held and comforted by four people for the fear of the scissor or the trimmer hurting her. We felt bad but there was no way out.

It was like a city of lice living in her hair. All because of one careless attendant who passed it on to Ma–the girl herself was unhygienic and hid it from us. We realised it only when Ma started increasingly scratching her head, neck, and the ear. A fine comb run through her hair brought out the lice and the nits. Scared to risk anything else our last resort was to shave her head, but it had to stop a little short of bald head – to a Crew Cut. In her state of dementia she found the exercise an assault. “Maar do” was her constant refrain as she pushed forward and back, barely sitting on the wheelchair. Sorry Ma, it had to be done.

Head shaving, or tonsuring, I am told is a symbolic act of purification and spiritual transformation. Offering hair, on your own, is also considered shedding of ego and worldly attachments. In her new haircut, Ma looks cute, doesn’t she!!!

Ma getting a new haircut after the lice treatment — oplus_1048610

Daddy

July 29, 2025July 29, 2025Posted in Delhi, Of Family & FriendsTagged anniversary, Daddy, death, memoriesLeave a comment

It’s been 17 years since.

By the time I reached home he was dead. Traces of white still there on the right side of his face – under the jaw and on his neck. He had finished shaving half his face, the other half still with the stubble of the day before shining in dried shaving cream. He was lying on the warm cement floor with nothing under his head; must have been put there by the neighbours who were standing around him. I didn’t like it and wanted to put him on the settee where he would snooze in the afternoons. That July was much warmer, no rains that year. Sitting in a corner, mother was delirious and wailing. Grief is a river, it must run, I didn’t console her. The neighbourhood doctor, still by his side, got up and held my hand offering condolences. That morning of July 29th I had driven like a maniac only with the hope I would be able to say, ‘Bye Dad’. But no, like always he was in a hurry.

Photo: Daddy (in black jacket) posing for a photo from the jharokha of his house in Lahore. Don’t miss the beautiful cinquefoil arch at the entrance to the house (bottom left) and the lotus on it. The lakhori brick structure has stayed in tact for over 85 years since its construction.

Letter from Papa

September 13, 2018May 2, 2020Posted in English, Of Family & Friends, PoetryLeave a comment

I dreamt of Papa

shuffling letters in his hands

walking to the letterbox

stopping and reading the addresses

checking the seal, uncurling edges

once again before posting,

as if parting from friends.

Checking the lock,

and the time plate on red box,

he turned one last time –

looked at me and said,

‘one of these will reach you, soon’.

The letter comes as letters

One character

One word in

One dream

each night.

Father’s Days

June 17, 2018February 10, 2022Posted in Of Family & FriendsLeave a comment

How far have you reached Dad? Have you crossed the frontiers of this cosmos or are you in another plane another dimension unfathomed by earthlings. Your soul, like millions of others, must have encountered many a better worlds, physical or ethereal possibly unlike where from I am writing. Souls travel for eons, that I know, and you also said. There is no heaven or hell, no final resting place, no destination, no gods to meet, no angels, no Eden and no holy lakes to swim through. Souls travel through eternal light riding echoes. You loved light, so here is a candle (doesn’t it look like a mini cosmos)… beam me a line of the new verse you have composed. And Dad, don’t forget to mention what symphony you have set it to. It is Daddy’s day on earth.