I will always love you. So let me take leave.

I have listened to Whitney Houston sing Dolly Parton’s poignant lyric, “I will always love you.”. I like it.
One feels sorry for her just as one felt sorry for other unfortunate celebrities like Elvis, Marylyn, Michael Jackson and a host others, who by their thoughtlessness for their own welfare, broke the hearts of many of those who loved them immensely.

But , as Atreya the Telugu lyric writer, tells in a memorable lyric in the movie Manchi Manasulu,
“They are all great, those dear departed,
Those that remain behind, are their sweet relics”.
They ought to be respected.

Talking of Atreya, I am reminded of another great lyric of his, from the 1964 Telugu movie, Murali Krishna. The song “Ekkada vunna, yemaina”, picturised on ANR, set to tune by Master Venu and sung excellently by Ghantasala, parellels the Houston/Parton lyric, “I will always love you.”

I know not, dear, where I might live hence , and, where you,
And what Fate possibly, has in store for you and me ,
We’ve turned strangers to one another, true,
And I am on my way, – away,
for I wish you well, for ever.

Does anything happen just because one hopes it ought to ?
And something else,does it stop from happening, just because one wishes it not to ?
Ain’t it one’s duty then, to just shrug.
And take it that what ever happens, happens for one’s good?

I had cuddled you like one would, a child,
I cared for you like an eyelid would, an eye.
I carved my heart verily into a shrine for you,
You’ve spurned it. Alas, you’ve deserted it.
.
My heart knows to love,
Is it so crass as not to forget the bygones?
Need any more proof that I love you still?
Ain’t it proof enough that I’ve forgiven you ?
Let your dreams bear delicious fruit,
Let my memory wither away from your mind.
I bless you, my fairy, that you should live happily forever,.
I leave you dear, now,
I am on my way, – away,
For I wish you well, for ever.

A gift to him who loveth best,- from heaven

Here is another great poem we had as part of our curriculum in our school days.
—————–
Abou Ben Adhem

By James Henry Leigh Hunt

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:—
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said
“What writest thou?”—The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered “The names of those who love the Lord.”
“And is mine one?” said Abou. “Nay, not so,”
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still, and said “I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow men.”

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,
And lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest.
————

The angel looks somewhat like Chitragupta in the Hindu pantheon. And if indeed they both are one and the same, one can rest assured that , ‘fellow men’ would include infidels too.

I find that,Leigh Hunt wrote another poem with a similar message, ” The Plate Of Gold.” regarding a gift from Heaven, “to him who loveth best.”
Still another poem by Leigh Hunt carrying a message is ,”The Glove and The Lions”. It cautions you not to take your lover’s devotion to you for granted. He is not your pet retriever.
Another memorable poem by Hunt though not containing a similar weighty message is,
” Jenny kissed me when we met.”

Caged linnets sing of hope and of despair.

Here is another poem I had learnt in school, the last stanza of which we were expected to know by heart.
The poem has been much analyzed, especially in the context of the tumultuous historical events that happened during the miid-seventeenth century in Britain as a consequence of the squabbles between the parliament and the Puritans on the one side and the Loyalists on the other, which culminated in the execution of King Charles I.

It is believed that this poem was written by Lovelace while he was incarcerated for a first time in 1642. This plight of Lovelace had a close parallel to that of his monarch who. himself too suffered confinement and hardship.

Lovelace was a Cavalier who.was steadfastly loyal to his king. After spending sometime in exile, he got imprisoned for a second term later and died in penury after his property got confiscated.
The main appeal of this poem lies just not in its historical setting but rather in its romantic content and in the defiant celebration by a linnet, of his cage as an hermitage.

It is also viewed by some as an allegory to the struggle of the spirit to rise above the limits imposed on it by the flesh.As another defiant, but disloyal subject of the Ultimate Lord states when he gets exiled from his haven headlong into perdition,,
” The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n”

 
To Althea, from Prison
Richard Lovelace.
  
When love with unconfined wings  
  Hovers within my gates,  
And my divine Althea brings  
  To whisper at the grates;  
When I lie tangled in her hair          
  And fetter’d to her eye,  
The birds that wanton in the air  
  Know no such liberty.  
 
When flowing cups run swiftly round  
  With no allaying Thames,   
Our careless heads with roses bound,  
  Our hearts with loyal flames;  
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,  
  When healths and draughts go free—  
Fishes that tipple in the deep  
  Know no such liberty.  
 
When, like committed linnets, I  
  With shriller throat shall sing  
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,  
  And glories of my King;   
When I shall voice aloud how good  
  He is, how great should be,  
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood,  
  Know no such liberty.  
 
Stone walls do not a prison make,   
  Nor iron bars a cage;  
Minds innocent and quiet take  
  That for an hermitage;  
If I have freedom in my love  
  And in my soul am free,   
Angels alone, that soar above,  
  Enjoy such liberty.  

 Urdu poetry is replete with, “getting tangled in her hair and fettered to her eye”, and ” steeping thirsty grief in wine.” The immortal Sanskrit epic , Megha Sandesam by Kalidas enthralls you with its captivating lyrics of longing of a forlorn celestial sentenced to banishment for an year away from his beloved
The basic tenet of Hinduism is that the pristine soul itself is sentenced again and again to don successive terms of mortal incarnations. Its sufferings in this lowly cycle terminates and it is released when it attains moksha or Deliverance, as a culmination of the net effect of all the good deeds one performs in those successive incarnations.

India too has had its own flocks of caged linnets like RamaDasa, Jawaharlal Nehru,Mahatma Gandhi and SriSri to name a few, who defied incarceration, taking inspiration from whatever was dear to them.

The first war of Indian Independence against the repressive regime of East India Company was on during 1857-1858. The rebellion scored a temporary victory in Delhi as also at several places elsewhere in India. Though Bahadur Shah Zafar (who was in his eighties at that time) is regarded as the last Mughal Emperor of India, his reign at that time as a vassal of the East India Company, getting a pension from them, effectively did not extend much beyond Delhi .A crown of thorns as the Emperor of free India was thrust on his tired and reluctant head after this pyrrhic victory. Soon the uprising was crushed by the East India Company and Bahadur Shah Zafar was taken prisoner . His two sons and grandson were executed and the severed heads of the sons were gifted to the defeated emperor, by the victorious Major William Hodson.
Zafar who takes it equanimously, He later gets exiled to Rangoon, Burma where he later breaths his last.
Hope in the face of repression breeds defiance. Hopelessness peters out into depression and self pity. Here is a poem of despair in the face such hopelessness.

This lyric ‘Na kiseeki aankh ka noor hoo”, by Bahadur ShahZafar in Urdu was included in the 1960 movie Lal Quilla. Set to soulful music in Siva Ranjani Raga by S.N.Tripathi , it was rendered poignantly and inimitably by, Mohamad Rafi.

It is averred by some that this lyric was not authored by Zafar Shah but by Riaz Khairabadi, grand-father of Javed Akhtar, the noted Urdu lyricist and husband of Shabana Azmi., I feel that, even if this were true, the lyric attained greater fame by having been ascribed to the forlorn, fallen emperor.

The poignant Urdu lyric , is reproduced below. Along with the lyric below, is an attempt by me to translate it into English.

Na Kisi Ki Aankh Ka Noor Hoon (Bahadur Shah Zafar)

Na Kisi Ki Aankh Ka Noor Hoon,
Na Kisi Ke Dil Ka Qaraar Hoon
Jo Kisi Ke Kaam Na Aa Sake Main Woh Ek Musht-e-Ghubaar Hoon

Neither am I the sparkle in someone’s eye,
Nor the solace to someone’s heart,,
I’m just a fistful of dust, fit for nothing,

Na To Main Kisi Ka Habeeb Hoon,
Na To Main Kisi Ka Raqeeb Hoon
Jo Bigad Gaya Woh Naseeb Hoon, Jo Ujad Gaya Woh Dayaar Hoon

Neither am I the beloved of someone,
nor do I strive with a competitor,
I am ill-luck personified, I am a hovel that has gone to decay.

Mera Rang Roop Bigad Gaya,
Mera Yaar Muhjse Bichad Gaya
Jo Chaman Khizaan Mein Ujad Gaya, Main Usi Ki Fasl-e-Bahaar Hoon.

I’ve turned pale, I look gnarled.
And I am bereft of my chum.
Foul weather has ravaged the garden , of what avail to it is this season of spring?

Pay- Faatiha Koyi Aaye Kyun,
Koyi Chaar Phool Chadaye Kyun
Koyi Aake Shama Jalaye Kyun,
Main Woh Be-Kasi Ka Mazaar Hoon

Why visit this place to say a Prayer,
Why place a few blossoms over it,
Why light a candle on it.,sir ?
I’m just the wretched tomb of a destitute.

Main Kahaan Rahoon Main Kahan Basoon,
Na Yeh Mujhse Khush Na Woh Mujhse Khush
Main Zameen Ki Peeth Ka Bojh Hoon,
Main Falak Ke Dil Ka Ghubaar Hoon

I’ve no place to live, I’ve no place to lie,
Neither these are happy with me, nor are they.
I am a burden to this very earth.
I am a clot in the heart of the heaven.

Na Kisi Ki Aankh Ka Noor,,
Na Kisi Ke Dil Ka Qarar Hoon
Jo Kisi Ke Kaam Na Aa Sake Main Woh Ek Musht-e-Ghubaar Hoon

Neither am I the sparkle in someone’s eye,
Nor the solace to someone’s heart,,
I’m just a fistful of dust, fit for nothing,

 

The lame tramp who longed just to stand and stare.

Here is a poem by William Henry Davies which we were required in our school to learn by heart and recite. Though it was a chore at that time, I am grateful now for the framers of the syllabus for having stolen some of our childhood leisure.

LEISURE

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

Restless and roving soul that he was, he uncharacteristically rues, in this poem that life provided him with no time to stand and stare. But ironically indeed, life did, provide him time to stand, (but only on one of his natural legs) and stare not only at the world at large but his own inner self, after he lost one of his legs in an accident.,

Another such poem that I like is, ‘Woh kagazh ki kashtee woh barish ka paani”, penned by Sudarshan Fakir, and sung memorably, by Jagjit Singh and Chitra, his wife.
This song greatly rendered by Jagjit singh and Chitra has been a favourite of mine. It strikes a chord of nostalgia in the minds of who ever listens to it. it. But, I, for one, always felt, it could have been a lot more adorable, had it been rendered in a more wistful manner rather than a melancholic one

I will try to translate the poem into English,

” Those paper-boats floating away in the rain water

ye daulat bhii le lo, ye shoharat bhii le lo
bhale chheen lo mujhase meree jawaaanee
magar mujhako lautaa do bachapan kaa saavan
vo kaagaz kii kashtee, vo baarish kaa paanee.

Take away My Lord, my entire wealth, and all my glory included,
Do tear away from me, if you will,
Even this tender season of youth of mine,
But pray, My Lord, do grant me back,
The festive season of monsoon, the paper boats
And the puddles of rain-water, of my cherubic childhood,

muhalle kii sabase nishaanee puraanee
vo budhiyaa jise bachche kahate the naanee
vo naanee kii baaton mein pariyon kaa deraa
vo chahare ki jhuriryon mein sadiyon kaa pheraa
bhulaae nahee bhuul sakataa hai koi
vo chhoteesi raaten vo lambee kahaanee

The oldest relic of the neighborhood,,
In whose words did pervade a procession of lovely fairies,
That old lady whom the kids used to call , Granny,
Replete in the furrows of her brow, were aeons of folk-lore.
I still remember them, can anyone forget at all,
Those fleeting nights and the stories that went on and on.

kadee dhuup mein apane ghar se nikalanaa
vo chidiyaa vo bulabul vo titalee pakadnaa
vo gudiyaa kii shaadee mein ladanaa jhagadanaa
vo jhuulon se giranaa vo gir ke sambhalanaa
vo piital ke chhalion ke pyaare se tohafe
vo tuutee hui chuudiyon ki nishaanee

The stealing out from home in blistering heat,
The birds, the warblers, the catching of the butterflies,
The fights and the squabbles at the wedding of the dolls,
The falling off from the swing and recovering from the stagger,
The lovely tinsel gifts of brass,
And the gash marks of broken bangles.
-
kabhee ret ke unche teelon pe jaanaa
gharaunde banaanaa banaake mitaanaa
vo maasuum chahat ki tasviir apanee
vo khwaabon khilaunon ki jaageer apanee
na duniyaa kaa gam thaa na rishton ke bandhan
badii khuubasuurat thee vo zindagaanee.

The roaming around over dunes of sand,
Building castles on them over and yet over,
And trampling over them again and yet again.
We were pictures perfect, of innocent desire,
No cares of the world, no shackles of creed,
Life indeed, was glorious and beautiful.

Take away My Lord, my entire wealth, all my glory included,
Do tear away from me, if you will,
Even this tender season of youth of mine,
But pray, My Lord, do grant me back,
The festive season of monsoon, the paper boats
And the puddles of rain-water, of my childhood,”

P.s : (Another of the albums of the duo, I like most is the cassette album , “Hope”, released soon after their son, Vivek’s death in a car accident in 1990.Chitra stopped singing after that, but Jagjit found solace in continuing to keep busy, singing. I understand, they were estranged after this loss.I cherish Jagjit’s album, “Sajda”, he sang along with the legendary, Lata Mangeshwar soon after the tragedy. Chitra unfortunately suffered yet another tragedy, when her daughter suffering from depression, chose to leave the world in 2009.Another blow to her indeed was the demise last year of Jagjit, himself. Puddles of water and Boats of paper, and respite enough to stand and stare as long as sheep or cows are treasures enough to cherish in preference to floundering in the rat race)

The Lord Treks, To Grace A Wedding

1810 A.D.
TyagaRaja is tense.
He is attired in a resplendent off-white silk dhoty and a like Uttareeyam (much like the regulation peetambarams of his Great Lord Rama), far removed from the spartan but clean white raiments he wears normally. Wallajahpuram silk they say, Whatever, nothing better than cotton for comfort. By the way why has Venkata Ramana not yet turned up? Unusual. It is no doubt far away from Wallajahpet to Tiruvaiyyar, but knowing him, he ought to have been here by this time at the latest.
A bright red long Tilak mark is there in the middle of TyagaRaja’s forehead, just above and betwixt his eyes. This red Tilak is in the middle of a U shaped white chalk mark. His head and face which normally are drab with a stubble,are shining and clean shaven, except for a long tuft of salt and pepper hair at the back of his head which is neatly tied into a knot. Tall and lanky, he looks much younger than his forty four years of age
Yes he is tense. It is not a simple thing for someone, who is not worldly-wise like him, to get a daughter married, He, his friends, well -wishers and his brother Japesa, had been trying hard to find a suitable boy, for his daughter, Sita Rama Lakshmi for the past few years.
By the Lord’s grace, he could settle her wedding with Kuppu Swami. Good, nice boy. Couldn’t hope to get a better match for her. Hopefully Sitamma, the lovable, cute, quiet girl would be happy with her husband. And perhaps bless her parents with a few worthy children. What else better, can a papa hope for?
The elaborate preparations for the wedding have engaged his full attention for the past few weeks and he could not devote as much time to the service of his Beloved Lord as he was wont to. Of course, brother Japesa and his wife have put aside their differences with him and have been toiling hard, looking into the minutiae relating into the arrangements for this, their dear daughter’s wedding.
Poor Japesa, he has suffered enough. People mistake him, that he was callous towards him, his younger brother. What they do not realise, is that, in his own manner he desired sincerely and ardently that his talented younger brother came up in life and prospered.
“Sir, the priest wants you to be at the dais within a few moments, to partake in the rituals and give away your daughter in marriage, “, It is Thanjavoor Rama Rao.
This young man has been a great help to him since he was a kid . Rama Rao has been a good organiser and manager, right from his childhood.. Used to keep a tight leash on all his fellow-pupils, while they were following their teacher along the streets of the town seeking alms, or when they sat down to do their assignments while he left them for a while to do some chore. Not that they were an unruly lot, but boys are boys, you see.
Thyagaraja remembered the time, long years ago when as a pupil of his, Rama Rao requested him to compose a song, (Mohana Rama), a hymn to the Lord in Mohana Ragam, He desired that the word ‘Mohana’ be embedded in it so as to serve as a mnemonic for the raga when he practised singing the hymn.
For sometime now he has been requesting him to compose a few more lyrics like the YendaroMahanubhavulu ,with notation running in parallel with the lyrics. “I would have liked him to show a li’l bit more interest in music than he had evinced in organising things”, Thyagaraja tells himself. But then, not all can be a Subbaayyar, a Venkata Ramana, or a Kuppayyar or one of the many of his other exceptionally musically-talented sishyas. Since, he grew up to be a fine young man, Rama Rao chose to keep on assisting his teacher in managing his worldly affairs and in getting his works preserved He would have made a great minister to a king, “Ramu, please tell the priest that I will be with him in a moment. I am looking forward to the arrival of Venkata Ramana any time now, from Wallajahpet.
Venkata Ramana Bhagavathar had been one of his devoted disciples and continues to be an ardent admirer. He had been a constant source of assistance to him while he stayed here in Thiruvaiyar.. He would have been a great help now too had he come a bit earlier, but had to stay at his native Wallajahpet. There are encouraging reports about the music school he is running there.
The rituals and the festivities are on. Seeing the bride and the groom enjoy themselves is great, but it causes him a pang towards his daughter. He knows that a yogi has to view all these worldly kinships as transitory and stoically go about performing his duty. . But giving away a daughter ? It is a different and onerous sort of duty altogether. Even consummate sages like Janaka and Kanwa could not rise above the filial pangs of separation from a daughter . Could he claim to be more equanimous than those exalted souls?
There is a lull in the proceedings. The priest permits Tyagaraja to move around the guests for a while before the next round of rituals starts.
Tyagaraja surveys the gathering. To his great pleasure, he finds Bhagavataar in the front row. He has with him a big framed picture of some dieties, but not clear enough from the distance, The eyes are in their fifth decade of service to this frail body. Chatwaaram seems to be setting in. He shudders to think of the day when he would not be able to behold with his eyes, the Smiling Visage, the Nagu Momu, of his God Lord.
He goes forward to meet his disciple. Bhagavatar carefully hands over the portrait to his disciple standing beside him, gets up and moves towards his Guru and touches his feet in reverence. He rises up and asks, ” Sir, how are you?. You have grown thinner than when I saw you last.”
Tyagaraja shrugs. He hugs him and says,”Ramana, my child, I am fine. You seem to be tired and look famished. Have’nt you eaten anything. “, he looks around for someone to bring his beloved sishya something to eat. “Sir, don’t you worry. Ramu has taken care of everything.”, Bhagavathar says.
‘ How is your institute going? They say it is shaping up well.”,Tyagaraja enquires.
“Sir, With all you blessings, it is growing. I wish that you visit it sometime and bless the students, me and the institute.”
“My blessings are always there with you and for whatever you do, Ramana. It will be difficult for me to leave now but surely sometime or other I will visit you at your institute,God-willing. By the way, how did you come? I understand some of the streams along the way were in spate and infested with muggers.”, Tyagaraja enquires.
“Sir, I trekked the way from Walajapet to here. How can it be any other way when I am on a pilgrimage to your sacred abode, to attend a divine wedding. And when the Great Lord who saved the ,Gajendra from the mugger sojourned with me, where was cause for any worry?”
He takes the framed picture of The Divine Couple from his own disciple and reverentially places it in the hands of his own guru and says,,” Sir, I wanted to present you a unique gift apt for the occasion. What else would be more appropriate than a portrait of the Divine Couple?.”, he says and adds, “Sir, This is Ellayyar, one of my own pupils. He sings well. People are already calling him Pallavi Ellayyar. He is a good painter too. This portrait is done by him at my request.”
Ellayyar touches the saint’s feet who blesses him ardently for having depicted his Lord and Mother so well.
“So my Great Lord and his Spouse have taken the trouble to walk all the way along with you ! “, Tyagaraja is beside him with joy, beholding the beautiful portrait of his Lord.

And invokes Him soulfully iin Mohanam,

” Lord of my very life,
Have You taken the trouble to trek all the way here just to bless me ?
My Lord , with eyes like pristine wild blossoms,
Knowing with your kind heart that it is my life’s mission
Deeply entrenched in my mind to ever keep on gazing at your graceful face,
Have you taken this trouble of trekking all the way here ?
Lord of the celestials, served eagerly by Tyagaraja ! Your body glistening like a dark blue topaz, sporting a garland of white pearls strung together into several shining strands and
Holding a lustrous bow and arrow in your hand and
Accompanied by the Daughter of Mother Earth,
Have You taken the trouble to trek all the way here just to bless me ?

@@@@@@
Ps: The picture reportedly, is still available at the house of Tyagaraja in Thiruvaiyyar.

A new I, every day.

It is the season for meditation, contemplation, introspection and retrospection . Seeking the self, seems to be the in-thing among my friends, .I am beginning to worry. I am way behind my cohorts in this regard. A lot of sacred water has flown down the rivers of India and the world, with out my having something tangible to show as a raison de’etre for my long mundane stay here on this crowded lonely planet.
I have lived a reasonably humble existence. I loved my people and though to a lesser extent, people not strictly my own .( Not that I have not received much more by way of affection in return). I have learnt a little about some things and used a wee bit of what I have learnt, for the benefit of, others even, besides myself. And I hope to leave a li’l bit of some junk or other, as a legacy at least for my kin. What more can Stephen Covey expect from someone like me?
I feel it is easier to perceive life as something or other that goes on getting written into the RAM of a computer. A program and some data is fed in at the start and the program works on the problem, generating more data in the process and it arrives at some outcomes. After a while the battery gets discharged . And that is that.
I think a human is not very much superior to the other beings on the earth, except that he is endowed with a better intellect. And his superior intellectual capability seeks to find a rationale for all this seemingly meaningless plodding, called life. And to reassure one’s self that it was not finis after all, when one leaves the world. And to know how all this happens, at whose behest and for what purpose.
All the exalted things that the spiritual treatises of every religion of the world, say about things like reincarnation, the soul and the like, seem to me, are after all inspired surmises, rather than gospel truths.
There are people who have left this world while they were in slumber. And ain’t slumber itself a sort of death. And if death were some sort of deep slumber, then what is troubled sleep, continuing the same metaphor? The late night horror movies we take recourse to when sleep eludes us, attempt to answer this.
Can one view the waking up from slumber at the dawn everyday as some sort of reincarnation? I am inclined to think so, but then I do not have to lose all the material or mental baggage that I had managed to acquire since my birth, in the process..
I feel this reincarnation every day is a benediction from Whomever, which I ought to put to the optimum use. For the benefit of me and for that of everyone else. When you were born you did not have the good fortune of all the knowledge and sensibility to know what was wrong and what was right. But at the dawn of every day you have this asset with you intact, if only you choose to use it.
As a gesture of thanksgiving for having been born again thus, what remains for me to do is, to try and selectively wipe out whatever things that are gross in me so as to prevent them from keeping on infecting my RAM when the RAM is booted up from the hard disk at the dawn.
And try to put this fresh lease of twenty four hours of life ( minus the time that is lost to slumber) to improve myself body and soul, leveraging all the assets and good sense that I have acquired to date.
Good luck to this, my new Avatar-of-this-day.. And may this Avatar lead to a series of progressively better ones.

Yin and Yang

Yin and Song

The inane, insane eTV serial Chandramukhi has been going on and on day in and day out for the past one year. ( The adjectives ‘inane’ and ‘insane’ qualify both the adjective eTV and the common noun ‘serial’, I hope my grammar is fine..I do not find that the other channels are different in any way, in this respect..This is to be expected as the producers seem to sincerely believe that their creativity ought to be tailored for an idiot box’ ),The advertisement jingles are welcome interludes.
In this long drawn bizarre serial tale, ( other serials like, Bharyamani, Abhishekam, Aadade aadharam etc., of eTV are no exception) the lead characters who love each other greatly, , are kept apart by means of one improbable intrigue or the other, contrived by the director or writer or whoever is responsible for the sadism against the viewers, One welcome outcome of the serial, however is that the two lead players got vexed and found themselves made for each other in real life, and tied the knot.

This jingle of Kotak Life in Telugu sounds familiar., “If and when some one like you enters my life, it’s fulfillment enough for me.”
I begin to turn the jingle on and on around in my mind. My grey cells are still faithful. The tube-light lights up at last.The tags are ,Nazia Hassan, Biddu, Feroz Khan, Zeenat Amaan, Qurbani, Aap jaisa koyi…

The early eighties.
I am in a cassette shop. In Punjagutta. A Coney cassette album entitled ,”London Calling” of Hindi/Urdu pop songs catches my eye. On an impulse, I buy it.
I play it in my old Panasonic stereophonic cassette recorder/player, that night .. ( This tape recorder is serving me faithfully to this day.).
The Indipop songs from Europe are catchy and invigorating. One of the songs I particularly liked was, “aap jaisa koyee.”
A few days pass.There is an article in a film journal. about the Hindi movie Qurbani, due for release soon.. There is mention of a great pop song, “aap jaisa koyee,” sung by a beautiful teen aged British girl of Pakistani origin, which was the highlight of the movie.
The teen-age crooner and her brother, soon become a sensation in Asian circles across the continents of Asia, Europe and North America, with the hugely successful Indi-pop album Disco Deewane and its successors.

As a tribute to her I translate the song “Aap jaisa koyee… ” for the benefit of those who are not familiar with Urdu or Hindi.

If only, someone akin to you ……

If only, someone akin to you should pervade my life ,
I’m sure my life gets fulfilled.,
Yes and yes again, my life gets fulfilled
A blossom needs the spring,
The spring craves for a garden,
A heart seeks another heart,
And a body needs another, – for its fulfillment,
Everything needs to connect itself
Physically, with its complement to get fulfilled
If only a kindred heart like yours, latches on to mine,
I’m sure my life gets fulfilled..
Yes and yes again, my life gets fulfilled
I am a human, not a being-divine,
And bereft of love, i’m afraid my forlorn heart may go astray.
But, there is none else like you.
And my heart craves for no one else.
If only someone akin to you should pervade my life ,
I’m sure, my life gets fulfilled.
Yes and yes again, my life gets fulfilled.

The beautiful girl with the feisty voice, received several awards and accolades, but. unfortunately passed away prematurely of lung cancer. while still in her early thirties, at the turn of the millennium, ironically and sadly ‘unfulfilled’ and disillusioned.

Life’s an inane and insane tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound effects and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Or is it so, indeed ?
Believe me,I do not know, honest.
Yes and yes again, I do not know, honest.