Ishq sufiyana

I came across this dargah in Delhi just behind Humayun's Tomb,it was called "Pattey-wali Dargah",where as the story goes a Sufi saint lived and meditated under a tree.

People who come to pray here eat a leaf and make a wish,if their wish is fulfilled they come back with a silver leaf.

This place has an aura around itself and offers a great deal of peace and I used to love visiting this place,it was not as crowded as the Nizamuddin.Through the months I went there I befriended the old caretaker whom I just called Baba.He had become a friend without ever revealing his name or asking mine.Effortlessly,in a quiet corner of the city,we became friends.He used to tell me Sufi stories,those he must have heard growing up.One that endures in my heart is a love story.It begins like any other:there was a man,woman,and then there was Love.In this case the man was poor,the woman privileged,the love doomed.He was a dhobi,and she a beautiful princess who lived on a high hill.

A strange love story,with unspoken Sufi tones.The young man was the son of Dhoban,a washerwoman,and he was madly in love with her,without even seeing her.His mother would go to the palace and bring down the clothes of the princess down the hill to wash by the lake.He would wash them marvelling at their beauty,imagining how the one who wore them must be.Tenderly he would wash and dry them.fold them caressingly,sprinkling Jasmines on their folds.His mother would then carry the clothes and receive praise for the job well done.Each passing week the clothes would turn newer and newer with the love of the young man.The dhoban got worried.What if the King discovered her Son's love for the princess?His head would be chopped off.'Before that happens I will end my life,'the young man said.And he did.A distraught mother washed the princess clothes and returned weeks later to the princess."Who has washed these clothes? they were not what they used to be" asked the princess."I did myself", said the Dhoban."Then who was washing them before"asked the princess.She felt the difference.These clothes had just been cleaned.No eyes of love had gazed at them.No hands had touched them with tenderness.The Dhoban finally revealed her son's secret love."Take me to his grave" the princess commanded.Together they went in the dark of the winter night down the hill and stopped in an abandoned yard where the lover lay under a mound of fresh earth."What kind of a lover are you to leave this world without even setting eyes on the object of your love?''the princess said.The earth split open,the princess stepped in,the earth closed over her.'In Love there is no death nor borders",said Baba.He didn't explain me much further nor I asked him any questions.

Run, Run, Sweet Road Runner

I was just eight years old when my city completely changed for me and showed me one of her ugly sides.Those were the days when Bombay was burning.I was in school then and in the middle of our class,the Principal of my school made an announcement on the mic that the current period would be the last and we had to leave for home after that.On listening to the news all of us erupted in joy, little did we know then what was happening around the city. Our teacher told us that there was a bomb blast in the city hence we were leaving the school early.I could sense something eerie in the air as I was returning home.

Thereafter for over a month the school was closed.

Apparently there were a series of  bomb blasts in the city on that day, the cycle of vengeance had started.The bomb blasts were an answer to Babri Masjid demolition which had taken place a month earlier in Northen India.

The crazy rumors people in my building were discussing were laughable, one such was that Pakistan is sending people with swords in ships and they will reach Bombay in a few days.One sad incident which appalled me was friend of mine making petrol bombs under the supervision of his parents.

Curfews were imposed during the days but one day I saw a gang of people raiding a shop owned by a Muslim gentleman from my window.

I was never much aware about different ideologies each religion had,I did have friends who were muslims, catholics and parsis but we never questioned each other why we had different kind of names or why we were different. But this school break did make us realise the difference.

As time passed by the rioting had slowed down and the school break which was for over a month long now felt like eternity. For a change I was looking forward to go back to school. The 

school did resume in January and one of our classmates called Nadeem didn't make it the first day.His mother had come weeping into the class to tell the teacher that their home was burned down during the riots and how they had barely survived, Nadeem was fine but will not be able to make it to school for a few days and she left.

After sometime after that one of my class mates tells us the class that once Nadeem comes back we need to beat him up.

This conversation somehow reached my teacher and I remember my teacher with tears in her eyes saying to my classmate "I will myself handover him to you".

At that time I didn't realise why there were tears in her eyes.

I think my teacher would have felt like Atticus would say to Jem "There's a lot of ugly things in this world, Son. I wish I could keep them away from you. That's never possible"

                                      

There They Go-Go-Go!

The events in the dialogue are based on a true story,which yours truly had once a pleasure to listen to during one of the Boy talks we Boys have :)

Neo: Dude did you check out the latest Shakira video,boy the way she moves is simply awesome.

Xerxes:Seriously dude 'Hips don't Lie"

Neo: Shakira is a Colombian,I bet Colombian women are damn sexy.

Xerxes: (with a wide grin) Did I tell you my encounter with a Colombian Girl in London.

Neo: Shut up,don't tell me,You are serious?...I am all ears

Xerxes: One evening I was outside this pub in London hanging out with my friend,We were in the car park and there was this Colombian girl and her friend taking pictures of herself with the cars.

Neo: Wait,wait.wait...How did you know she was Colombian?

Xerxes: I am telling you the story in Past tense right and please don't interrupt my narration,

Neo: Oh sorry please continue I am impressed by your skills of Deduction

Xerxes:(Raising Eye brow but still continuing) So the Colombian chick comes up to me and wants some snaps of us together.

Neo: (Interrupts ) She wanted to click snaps with you but why would she do that?Are you sure she was not a hooker or something

Xerxes: Yeah rite,shut up.May be she never saw a Sardar beforein her life.

Neo: Hahahaha are you kidding me,you are saying you were the first sardar she saw in  U.K.Was she made to travel blindfolded in London.

Xerxes: Do you  want me to stop telling you the story.

Neo: Sorry ,Carry on :)

Xerxes:So she asks me to come to her place for a coffee and we could hang out there.

Neo: Ok ok what next.

Xerxes: I said to myself after all these years of struggle finally the gods have smiled on me.She was coming on to me very strongly.

Neo: Because of people like you,we have great expectations from Firang girls.

Xerxes: Dude not my fault.Ok so we try to take a rickshaw to her place and the rickshaw drivers turns out to be a colombian as well.

Neo: Rickshaw's in London??

Xerxes: They recently started this as a Eco travel thing but can we not digress please.So coming back to this
Colombian girl,she started getting very chatty with the rickshaw wallah.So when I interrupted them ,She
asked me to get a cigarette from the shop.

Neo: Then what?

Xerxes: Dude she ran away with the Rickshaw walla after telling me to get the cigarrete.

Neo: Hahahaha,thank goodness otherwise I would have had to listen to you Colombian inquisition for the rest of my life.

Xerxes: Ohh please,shut up.

Neo: Dude wait what happened to your  friends?

Xerxes: Do you think I would care after being dumped like that.

Boys don't cry

The Wimbledon 2012 finals was a riveting contest between Roger Federer and Andy Murray.In the end the match was won by Federer but my heart went out for Murray.His frank admission of wanting to win the championship badly.The tears flowing out of his eyes only made him more human.Some will say "Boys don't cry" ,but every Boy has cried sometime or the other sometime in his life and if anyone mocks at Murray,he should look deep inside ask himself doesn't human frailty 

makes it that much more human.

Ending as a Runner up is disappointing ,one might call it a personal victory of sorts but a loss is a loss.So near and yet so far,one chance to make it big and you definitely want to make it count. I could empathise with Murray,during 

 my final year in college I became the contingent leader for my college festival "Brouhaha".Being a romantic I wanted to give a fitting tribute to my college by winning the Festival.

We performed quite well in the Literary arts & Performing arts department but performed badly in the Fine Arts.This debacle in the Fine Arts cost us dearly and we lost the championship by a margin of mere 5 points.A

ll dreams of giving the victory speech in front of my college had crashed.When 

I received the runner's up trophy I had to put up a strong face ,but inside I knew that this moment was never going to come back again ever in my life.I wish I had the courage to be as honest as Andy Murray :)