The Eternal Lump

The recent image by Javed Dar took me back to my childhood when I attended funerals daily as my maternal home was near the Martyr’s graveyard of Eidgah. There was a day when I attended 12 funerals while we played our cricket match in the adjacent ground. Such cricket matches never reached a conclusive end. At times, we were so exhausted and emotionally drenched that we lost interest in all worldly things and sat on the boundary wall of the graveyard, waiting for the arrival of the unknown guest. 

We all have faced times when feelings started to overflow but somehow halted just below the throat. We pretended to be strong. We acted brave just because we never wished to be called the weak link of the chain that surrounded us and held us strong. We saw our elders holding the fort amidst the crackdown announcements from the masjids. I saw my grandfather standing upfront and not allowing the men in uniform to enter our house where only females were left alone while men were asked to assemble in a play-field for identification parades.

We never got tired while quenching the thirst of innumerable families who waited outside our home that was just adjacent to a security camp. They waited on the roadside, dawn to dusk, to seek the whereabouts of their wards who were picked up from the nearby localities. They mostly returned empty handed to return the next day.

Those sleepless nights when screams of boys filled the dark skies. We heard the cries escaping the walls of those killing rooms inside the camp. Those nights were scary and I hated the sight of the moon.

This image of the boy, Burhan Fayaz crying at the funeral of his friend Amir Nazir of Pulwama, prompts us about the loss, the resentment, imprisonment of soul, the outburst and the resilience. That eternal lump we all have been carrying along since decades. The legacy that we inherited and will further pass on to the next progeny.

Our baton has been our resolve. Our tears have always oiled the wheels of resilience.

We have come across two images of the same boy (Burhan Fayaz), one by Javaid Dar and the other by Waseem Andrabi. These two and many of their colleagues are our messengers. I am proud of our storytellers who are archiving our story for the times to come.

We share the same sky,

the same moon,

the same thunder.

We walk along!

~

Majid

(Illustration: An attempt with Charcoal / Javaid's image)

Home

I miss,

that haunting stillness, 

that deafening silence,

my frozen memoir of life,

some call it heaven,

but I call it 'home'....

Imagine, Line of Control

When the concertina wire weaves your nightmares,

overshadows your homes, stretches lengths.

Imagine, Line of Control.

They throwing letters wrapped in stones towards their own, across the stream,

they cannot meet.

Imagine, Line of Control.

When a son kneels down and mourns his father's demise,

watches the funeral from far across the fence.

Imagine, Line of Control.

Almost a no-man's land,

where shells fly more frequently than birds,

Imagine, Line of Control.

The contentious blood smeared line,

drawn out of fanatic egos, fulfilling greed.

Imagine, Line of Control.

Endless wait, dried up tears and blurred visions,

women waiting for their sons, brothers and husbands.

Imagine, Line of Control.

Decorated with electrified barbs, watchtowers and locked villages,

where each person is known by a mere number.

Imagine, Line of Control.

We watch each footstep on our own soil, unaware what might come beneath the next one

the soil may explode, ending our story in a whisker.

Imagine, Line of Control.

Where you hold your breath, trying to feel the breeze flowing towards you from across,

emotions touch the chasm.

Imagine, Line of Control.

Envy these birds in flight, they know no confines,

we too wish to fly to see life around.

Imagine, Line of Control.

Image details: This river in the above image, located in Tanghdar area of Indian Administered Kashmir, splits the two sides of Jammu and Kashmir. The bridge links the ghosts.

Iftar at Jama Masjid

It was one of those hot but colourful days when you want to quench your thirst each moment you take a turn in those tight lanes and bylanes of old Delhi. The month of Ramzan (Ramadan) brings unique colours into the lives of the believers in one way or the other. That blissful win over that eagerness to gulp in a bite to defeat a tussling empty stomach. Conquest, battle within a battle, empowerment, enrichment is what one feels somewhere within. The physical fast is a way of learning to be above the demands of the body while also stepping into the shoes of people who routinely do not have enough to eat.

That day was a battle through the busy streets of Chawri bazar to reach the magnanimous Jama Masjid just in time.

As soon as I stepped in barefooted over the tiles of hot red stone, I could see young men and boys arranging queues of platters full of delicacies to be distributed among the attendants to open a day long fast.

Thudd! Two shattering blasts marked the end of the fast. The blasts are echos of simpler times, before most people owned a clock or watch and there were no loudspeakers or TV channels to announce the Iftar time.

The cannon is fired each day to announce the breaking of the fast at the sunset prayers of Maghrib.

I managed to capture few light moments right before the sun faded away.

The hue and aura captivated the senses and one could feel mystic sublime soothing one's inner self.

Above: Women waiting for maghrib while reciting Holy Quran.

Above: Jama Masjid after dusk.

The pinhole of life

The world through the pinhole of life,

peeping into the unknown,

always curious about the unseen realms.

I hear the calls, 

then draw shapes out of my imagination.

I am still me,

but the only thing that tends to play with senses is the quest for,

the invisible,

the unseen.

The bubbles of thoughts,

the bouquet of ideas,

leads you to draw fluffy castles one over the other..

forever...

Rains leave a pattern

These rains leave a pattern,

one has to learn to read,

the messages they deliver.

The sound that originates,

out of these free falling droplets,

leaves a rhythm,

a pattern,

a song to sing.

These rains craft these ripples,

and these bubbles.

While falling down, in my imagination,

they carve dreams.

These droplets make a dull window pane glitter.

They bring alive, life.

Above. A man pulling his cart midst a mild shower. 

An assembly of thoughts

Let a hundred flowers bloom

Let a thousand spread across these meadows

Let them spread the fragrance 

Let them please the vision 

Let them live long enough

To scatter the gold-dust of love 

Let them not get stamped

By cruel jackboots of the intruder

Let them breathe fresh air

Let them be free

Set them free.

An assembly

Patterns

Life within..

Cloud Kick II

Long back I penned down a little thought about how clouds mesmerise me. Here is the link for that Cloud Kick post. Time passed by, many a things changed. Transformations took place. But what I see as an undisputed constant, is nature's bounty. I have been watching and craving to write more about these fluffy monsters. These monsters sometimes become creatures that we only see in dreams and fables. We carve out stories out of these soft random beings. 

They are ubiquitous, ever-changing, interesting and, most importantly an absolute subject for us humans. Sometimes, they look like big balls of cotton. I could watch them all day, and see them drift by. Use your imagination and you can see lots of things in these formations.

Many a times I see little clouds floating like a feather from some gigantic bird. They are the souls of happy ships floating merrily.

I have always felt like a a cloud, something that persists over long periods, whilst simultaneously being in flux. I travel with time like the matter that flows from place to place and momentarily comes together to become one accumulation. 

Below are a few assemblies of this wonderful creation.

The way to live

Today, I feel there is a need to elucidate a sensitive term often used worldwide - JIHAD. I believe that this particular word as such has been misinterpreted and wrongly used by most. The use is such that it has now become a global term and an icon of fear and hatred. But in fact this word is such a beauty in itself that each and every being is one way or the other associated and involved with it.

 

Jihad, an Arabic term, is a religious duty of Muslims. In Arabic, the word jihād is a noun meaning "struggle." Jihad appears frequently in the Qur'an Sharief and common usage as the idiomatic expression "striving in the way of Allah (al-jihad fi sabil Allah)" A person engaged in Jihad is called a Mujahid, the plural is Mujahideen.

According to scholar John Esposito, Jihad requires Muslims to "struggle in the way of God" or "to struggle to improve one's self and/or society." Jihad is directed against Shaitan's inducements, aspects of one's own self, or against a "visible" enemy (I repeat "Visible").

The four major categories of jihad that are recognized are

• Jihad against one's self (Jihad al-Nafs),
• Jihad of the tongue (Jihad al-lisan),
• Jihad of the hand (Jihad al-yad), and
• Jihad of the sword (Jihad as-sayf).

Islamic military jurisprudence focuses on regulating the conditions and practice of Jihad as-sayf, the only form of warfare permissible under Islamic law. This is where the confusion arises.

The term has accrued both violent and non-violent meanings. It can simply mean striving to live a moral and virtuous life and fighting injustice and oppression against Islam. The relative importance of these two forms of jihad is a matter of controversy.

Our beloved Prophet (S.A. - Peace be upon Him) is said to have regarded the inner struggle for faith the "Greater Jihad", prioritizing it over physical fighting in defence of the members of the global Islamic community.

In Modern Standard Arabic, Jihad is one of the correct terms for a struggle for any cause, religious or secular. For instance, Mahatma Gandhi's struggle for Indian independence is called a "Jihad" in Modern Standard Arabic; the terminology is applied to the fight for women's liberation also.

Mahabarata and Ramayana too were the perfect examples and there are a thousand lessons to learn out of them.

Jihad is the way of life. The way to live.

Life goes on

Amidst the aura of death that smokes the valley these days, I manage to sneak through and ride along the most breathtaking stretch besides the Dal lake. Wind touched my face and I could feel the cool rush of air that whistled through fluttering my shirt. I captured a few moments that proved me wrong.

Irrespective of the kind of situation and conditions throughout the region where life has lost its significance and dignity, I realised that there is a power that keeps it alive. Life goes on in one form or the other. It changes its forms and color irrespective of the events that are created by man. I realised that man who enjoys the title "Ashraf-ul-makhlooqat" (Arabic term for the highest form of life) is just an intruder who is tirelessly working in disturbing the systems of nature. Unknowingly, he is doing no good but building up a huge castle made up of hazardous explosives.

It is just a matter of one moment and his huge empire will be lazed to ground. Man has never contributed to nature constructively. He has been selfish throughout the ages, creating deliberate conflicts, killing fellow men to enforce his might and an endless list. He has refused to accept that he is the culprit – the cause of the entire nuisance.

If we start observing nature keenly, there are a million things that can be learnt. One can see the simplicity and the way nature is streamlined. One can see the freedom that life enjoys being in the laps of nature righteously. But no one is ready to think about it.

Someone had rightly said that “Man is the only animal that spits”.

All these are clicked on my Canon EOS 1000D.

(Specifications on request)

The real flight

Since few days I have been gazing the skies and thinking about these birds. As I watched them, the whole idea of being able to fly unassisted fascinated me. Parachute jumpers and skydivers would often argue that they are the closest thing to "pure" flying but in fact they are only falling, not flying.

People watched the nature and watched and again they said this is something we can do too! Silly people!

It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad. - C. S. Lewis

All these are clicked on my Canon EOS 1000D.

(Specifications on request)

Friends - a tribute

A friend is a blessing in disguise that holds an extraordinary power to transform your life to a meaningful and joyful journey, a journey leading to your purpose of life.

Friends have to be treasured like a prized possession. Nothing in life can be more precious than this and if by chance you lose it or take it for granted you will be at loss. Time has been kind enough to teach me the importance of carrying this prized possession throughout and then no storm will be able to stumble me down....just because friends are with me. Mere presence can make a huge difference.

Sometimes the feeling of friendship goes beyond words, the intensity of understanding and the purity of relationship start challenging words and expression. Let us pay an expressive tribute to our best friends who have stood beside us under the rain, in the storm, and on a joyful move. Let us dedicate this song by Junoon to all our friends

Yaro yahi dosti hai!!

I love to write but I ache to click

Without doubt, writing changes how a person perceives the world around him. I believe I am an average writer. I love writing though. I love words. I want my skill and professionalism in that particular area of my life to continue to grow. I feel passionate about it and it is something I will pursue the rest of my life. However, I still feel my photography, my ability to click, is my true strength. I love to write but I ache to click.

I can go days without writing a word. I cannot go days without picking up my camera. So I have been trying to decide what to do about that, trying to decide what's next...is going out on shoots over the weekend enough or do I want more? And I always feel like I want more. One of the things I was really trying to find out was a place to combine both my writing and my photography but goes beyond. So here am I, blogging!

The BlocK

Like a lot of writers when I hit this point I am always a little worried that this will be the end--this will be the time when I lose it forever and never write again. This will be the time the words go away for good.

Even though experience has taught me that writing, like all creativity, is a cycle, I still have those moments of fear that I will never write again. There are times when I am bursting to get the words out (and cannot get them out fast enough) and times when it is more of a struggle. Not to mention times when the words won't come at all no matter how hard I try to make them. But I have always found that the words eventually come back. The writing always cycles back around.

Cops turn Goons

A bunch of maniacs and goons passed by our street, smashing all the windowpanes of residential houses and throwing abuses. The culprits were none other than the Central Reserve Police Force - CRPF personnel. Ours locality being one of the inactive areas, I was trying to figure out the cause of this insane behaviour that too without provocation. Some deadly spirits might have possessed these goons resulting in this out-of-the-world act.

I heard similar stories of other areas from my friends and relatives. They had similar tales to tell. The Indian paramilitary CRPF restored to stone pelting without provocation in a few areas. They even tried to cut the power supply at multiple locations. What are they up to?

Actually, they (CRPF) have really got their basics wrong. It seems there is no training manual devised for these poor souls. They are doing no good for their country..

I could see the real face of a great democracy through these so-called ambassadors.. the one and only "CRPF".

Note: The images are clicked by GK lensman Aman Farooq

A Rendezvous with Time

This post is dedicated to my Nana ji (Grand pa), the one who took me places when I was a kid. Delhi (Dilli), this city has changed a lot from what it was a decade back, still the escence remains untouched.

The effort of mine has just started. Will bring more out of my box (machine).  

Above. An aircraft flies above the mighty Qutub Minar

All of these are clicked on my Canon EOS 1000D. (Specifications on request)

Out of action!!

Friends, I will be out of action for a few more days..
Reasons: No accesss to the NET.. Not even mails
Promise: Will be back soon!!

Last Day at work - Bittersweet

Today’s my last day at work…

Today is bittersweet.

Clearing my desk, Consolidating my emails and documents.

Days like this always feel weird and sad.

Weird because you’re leaving your base you’ve reinforced so well to a territory somehow unknown and unexplored, sad because you’re leaving behind a load of memories and mainly because you know you’ll be missing the people, you actually were in constant touch most of your days for over 3 years.

I guess it’s always the people you get to know, how they touch your life, the different relationships you build with them, the good times, and even the not so good ones, that gets onto you.

Why did I take this step? Well, I guess, I just felt the time was right to move on, all the omens were right, maybe the stars were in place too or whatever else you believe in.

It just falls into my basic strategy of trying to set clearer goals for myself in life and to take the steps I see necessary to reach them.

Moving on to something else in my life was simply one of those steps.

My time here at this company has had its fair share of frustrating moments. However, the people at this company have always made the work bearable if not enjoyable. Actually, the work itself can be enjoyable – the joy of hunting down the root cause of an issue can be frustrating but solving a problem and uncovering a root cause is an experience equal to watching Cricket Australia decimating Zimbabwe.

I’d like to thank all the teams throughout the network for the great ride. It was great getting to know you all and to get a chance to work with every single one of you. I hope that we’ll get to carry our connect well on into the future.

I’d like to thank 2020 for having me as part of the team. I’m proud of these years that I spent here, the role I had and the work I did. I’m very happy to see the company diversifying especially going Social inturn going on to higher grounds.

I wish you all the best of luck.

Today is bittersweet indeed.....

I am happy, just because..

Some things are done. And these cannot be undone.

Throughout years I have become what I am. I would like to think that what I am is not just about what I am now, but what I have stabilized to be. But, it is not always like that. I am a constantly changing being. Everyday I surprise myself with things I say and do. Everytime I seek to understand if there has always been something I hid deep down inside and something is always bound to push it out of me.

We shape our own perception of happiness. We remember our sense of happiness based on moments that stand out amidst the chaos in our everyday life. Whether it’s in the shoes we wear or the earth we walk on (or the shoes we wear vs. what shoes other people wear), we can always say “I am happy, just because”.

Am I really happy??

Clicked on my Canon EOS 1000D. (Specifications on request)

Thoughts - worth thinking

"What is life but the angle of vision? A man is measured by the angle at which he looks at objects. What is life but what a man is thinking of all day? This is his fate and his employer. Knowing is the measure of the man. By how much we know, so we are."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

A thought can be an extremely powerful presence in one's life; something that molds us into who we are (or think we are) as well as the kind of life we pursue. However, a thought can also be transient; a momentary idea or reaction to something that is easily replaced by something else.

We can only think one thing at a time, and unless we are sleeping, we are always thinking something. This is what gets us in trouble, but at the same time, it is also what gets us out of trouble.

Our mind is never blank - we are always thinking something. From the moment we open our eyes, we begin to think. But what are we thinking? When we think negative thoughts we will speak in a negative tone. Infact we will speak what we think. Our thoughts can change our life for the better.

We will produce what we are thinking about. So, think nice!