I don't want to die. I don't want my thoughts to die. I don't want my desire to make a difference to things around me to die. But I am so afraid that this will become blunt as time goes on. There is so much that needs attention right now. I need to do so much more than what I am doing. Thinking is just one aspect. There is more that needs to be done.
The biggest fear is that getting caught up in the mundane realities of life will leave me with no time for thought, will suffocate my spirit of action and nullify my existence.

Discovering Faiz

An evening with Faiz Ahmad Faiz, with Shubha Mudgal's dramatic voice playing the medium. Can one ask for more?

Mudgal began her tribute to the revolutionary poet with Jashn ka din hai, Junoon ki yaad manao. Delivered in her powerful voice, the words of Faiz reverberated through the auditorium at Nehru Memorial Museum and Library. Her rendition of his poems stirred the audience, which included veterans on Faiz like Prof S.R Kidwai and those like me who are just beginning to be initiated into the works of the master of Urdu poetry.

Mudgal's voice brought him back to life 25 years after his death on November 20, 1984.

It was a journey of the discovery of an art form, a genre of thought, an era long past, but which still retains a relevance for the present that is fast dissipating into an abyss of hopelessness and despair.

Hum dekhenge, wo din ke jiska wada hai,

Jo lau-e azal par likha hai...

It's the message of hope in the face of adversity, of love in the face of hatred and peace in the face of war.

Mudgal confessed to her lack of Urdu talim, and her 'bhakti' for Faiz saab. But that is the magic of Faiz, isn't it? It draws you out of your inhibitions at not knowing a language and gradually leads you into a a magical journey of exploring something new at every step.

The beauty and cadence of his words weave a web that intoxicates the listener, leading him on to a revolution, a cause and much more.

That is the magic I have found in Faiz, and am still looking for more, to fulfil my desire to drink his poetry to the lees.

May his words give wing to hope wherever there is darkness, and courage wherever there is fear and conviction wherever there is indecision.

Raqt-e-dil bandh lo, dil figaro chalo

Phir hamin qatl ho ayen yaron chalo

Aj bazaar mein pa bajaula chalo

Mcleodganj

Hills, beautiful hills

Barren peaks in the distance

That give way to snow, which like a scoop of vanilla ice garnishes the hills

Peace in the air

Sombre monks in flaming attires

Flowing red robes everywhere bustling about in their dogged pursuit of peace

Blue skies

Fluttering prayer flags

That refuse to be weighed down by the hopes they ferry to the blue skies

Lotus petals

Dragons and heavy metal

Buddha sits on a lotus alongside Bon Jovi and Che looking out of earrings and badges

Tea, hot Tibetan butter tea

Steaming momos

That pave the path to salvation wrapped in gastric juices and needs of existence

Piety, prayer, devotion

Church, temple, monastery

Beckoning to the faithful, to lovers of art and curious explorers of the Self

Mountain trails

Gurgling streams

Long walks through both to lose yourself before a renewed discovery

Silent revolution

Austere penance

Living in a home that never will be home, keeping alive their past to empower their future

Liberty, sovereignty, self-determination

Web of words that keeps struggles alive

And give wings to dreams in distant places and times

Gathering hope,

Beaming them across mountains

To mobilise strength to save Tibet, Free Tibet and spread Peace

Taken in by Origami. Now am just folding every bit of paper I can lay my hands on to create birds, animals and more