Main Kaisa Mussalman Hoon Bhai (What Sort of a Muslim Am I?) - a translation.

Main Kaisa Mussalmaan Hoon Bhai?
Poet : Hussain Haidry
Watch on Youtube a rendition of the same in the original Hindustani.

Sadak pe cigarrete peete waqt joh azaan sunaee di mujhko Toh yaad aaya ki waqt hai kya Aur yeh baat zehan mein aayi Ki main kaisa mussalmaan hoon bhai? Main shia hoon ya sunni hoon Main khoja hoon ya bohri hoon Main gaon se hoon yah shehri hoon Main baaghi hoon yah sufi hoon Main quomi hoon yah dhongi hoon Main kaisa mussalmaan hoon bhai. Main sajda karnewaala hoon Ya jhatka khanewaala hoon Main topi pehanke phirta hoon Ya daadhi udaake ke rehta hoon Main aayat kaul se padhta hoon Ya filmi gaane ramta hoon Main allah-allah karta hoon Ya sheikhon se ladd padta hoon Main kaisa mussalmaa hoon bhai? Main Hindustani mussalmaan hoon. Deccan se hoon, Up se hoon Bhopal se hoon, bengal se hoon,gujarat se hoon Har oonchi-neechi jaat se hoon Main hi hoon julaaha mochi bhi Main daaktar bhi hoon, darji bhi. Mujh mein Geeta ka saar bhi hai Ek Urdu ka akhbaar bhi hai. Mera ek mahina Ramzaan bhi hai Maine kiya Ganga ka snaan bhi hai. Apne hi taur se jeeta hoon Ek doh cigarette bhi peeta hoon Koi neta nas nas mein nahi Koi party ke bas mein nahin Main Hindustaani mussalmaan hoon. Khooni darwaaja mujh mein hai Ek bhool-bhulaiyya mujh mein hai Main babri ja ek gumbad hoon Main shehar ke beech ek sarhad hoon Jhuggiyon mein palti gurbat main Madrasson mein palti cheechat Main Dangon mein bhadakta shola main Kurte pe khoon ka dhabba main Main Hindustani mussalmaan hoon. Mandir ki chaukhat meri hai Mashid ke kible mere hain Gurdwaare ka darbaar mera Yeshughar ke girje mere hain Sau mein se chaudaah hoon lekin Chaudaahi kam nahin padhte Main poore sau mein basta hoon Poore sau mujhmein baste hain Mujhe ek nazar se dekh na tu Mere ek nahin sau chehre hain Sau rang ke hain kirdaar mere Saukalam se likhi kahaani hoon Main jitna mussalmaan hoon bhai Main utna hindustaani hoon Main Hindustaani mussalmaan hoon.

On the street as I smoked a cigarette, Heard the muezzin’s call for prayer, It struck me the hour of the day, Also a motherhood question pray, What sort of a Muslim was I? Am I a shia or a sunni? Am I a khoja or a bohra? Am I from the village or the city? Am I a rebel or a sufi? Am I a commoner or an impersonator? I am a Muslim of what sort? Am I one to offer devotion? Or one to suffer dissonance? Do I wear the skull cap and roam? Or make merry with my beard shorn? Do I read hymns from the Koran? Or sing tunes of Hindi film songs? Do I immerse myself in Allah’s name? Or argue with the sheikhs on a whim? I am a Muslim of what sort? I’m a Muslim the Indian kind. I am from the Deccan and from U.P I am from Bhopal and from M.P From Bengal and Gujarat, Higher and lower class too, I am a sweeper and cobbler, I am a doctor and weaver, I carry in me the Gita’s teachings, An Urdu newspaper &; its preachings, Set aside for me the month of Ramzaan Dipped in the Ganges, as well for my sins, I live by my rules,  Smoke a cigarette or two, No politics in my blood stream No party has control over me, I’m a Muslim, the Indian kind! Inside me is a blood-soaked door, Inside of me is a maze dour I am the minaret of the Babri, I am the border inside a city, In hutments I am the diffidence In seminaries I am the teaching In riots I am the flickering flame The blot of red on a shirt stained I’m a Muslim, the Indian kind! The quadrangle of the temple is mine, The square of the mosque I enshrine, The hall of the Gurdwara embraced, The bells of the church resonate in me. I am only 14 out of a 100 yet, 14 though is not one bit less, I make the 100 all complete, I carry the 100 within me, Don’t you look at me singularly, For I take 100 faces and shapes, 100 colorful characters do I make, Am a story scripted by 100 pens, As much a Muslim am I, The same much an Indian am I, I’m a Muslim, the Indian kind!

An Eye for the Relevant

"Awareness is important,
For it has a bearing,
On the immediate & distant.
Pick up your bows,
Archers, step up as I call,
But first, answer me my question."

Along came Durya,
First of the Kauravas,
An ace of weaponry.
Yodhana the warrior,
Puffed chest, he strode,
All pomp and show.

He took position, beside his bow.
'You see what, Prince?'
The Acharya, whispered.
'The tree, leaves & birds,
Branches, twigs et al,
Awareness extreme, I see all!'

Drona nodded gravely,
'Step down Prince,
A lesson's still undone!'
Trooped up & down, the princes,
Unable to satisfy the master,
Kaurava, Pandava, others.

Finally Drona called upon,
Arjuna the archer, ever dutiful,
His favorite pupil, sharply mindful.
He eased into a stance.
'What do you see Prince?'
Drona whispered, giving him chance.

'See an eye, is all'
Drona sought to distract,
'No leaves, twigs et al?'
'For your call, am ready,
Arjuna sees what he sees',
Pleased Acharya asked him to go!

The arrow zinged from the bow,
Clean through the clay eye of,
A parrot on a tree yonder.
To the lost students,
Chance begone, bit crestfallen.
'So then princes' advised Drona.

"The lesson of the day
Was not in shooting,
But in un-recognizing.
Awareness, while good,
Most of the time,
In life what matters is,

Simplicity & focus,
Clarity & aim,
Uncluttered zeal,
Stillness of gaze.
Important of all,
An Eye for the Relevant!"

Leftovers

the prompt was "Leftovers" with a 1000 char limit :

"Look Mother, what I have brought" Arjuna said, calling out to Kunti, the Pandava’s mother, having won Draupadi from amongst a court full of suitors, piercing the eye of a fish atop a circling wagon-wheel with a single arrow.

“Share it equally with your brothers” she said. To the five brothers, her pronouncements were above negotiation.

‘Impossible and improbable!’ said Bheema, always the one with the quick temper,

‘Doesn’t Draupadi have a say in all this?’ asked Nakul the first half of the twins of Madri.

‘Krishna, I am all ears. I would like to see you sell this one to me!’ said Draupadi to the great advisor of the Pandavas, sure nothing would come of this preposterous ask.

“Well it really is of your own doing. The fulfillment of a boon from a previous birth and penance. Lord Shiva had appeared before you and granted a wish. You wanted to be married to someone with five specific qualities. Each time you asked for that quality, the Lord had said Tathaastu – So Be It! He added, such a thing was possible only when the Pandavas were born, which is your current birth!’

‘Ah so this is a fulfillment of leftovers from a previous birth?’

‘Indeed my pretty one. The great cosmic reconciliation of accounts,' said Krishna knowingly.

Waqt Ne Kiya

Film: KAAGAZ KE PHOOL

Lyrics : Kaifi Azmi

Music : SD Burman
Singer : Geeta Dutt

Waqt Ne Kiya Kya Haseen Sitam Tum Rahe Na Tum, Hum Rahe Na Hum Beqaraar Dil Iss Tarah Mile Jis Tarah Kabhi, Hum Juda Na The Tum Bhi Kho Gaye, Hum Bhi Kho Gaye Ek Raah Par Chal Ke Do Qadam Jaayenge Kahan, Soojhta Nahin Chal Pade Magar Raasta Nahin Kya Talaash Hai, Kuchh Pata Nahin Bun Rahe Hain Dil, Khwaab Dum-B-Dum

वक़्त ने किया क्या हंसीं सितम तुम रहे न तुम हम रहे न हम बेक़रार दिल इस तरह मिले जिस तरह कभी हम जुदा न थे तुम भी खो गए, हम भी खो गए एक राह पर चलके दो क़दम जाएंगे कहाँ सूझता नहीं चल पड़े मगर रास्ता नहीं क्या तलाश है कुछ पता नहीं बुन रहे हैं दिल ख़्वाब दम-ब-दम

Time will do this, Treachery sublime, You’ll steadily change, Me too, I don’t remain. Fluttering Hearts do Mate in trepidation, As though we ne’er were, Ever in separation. You are pretty lost, Better I fare not, On a lonesome path, Couple of steps along. This journey wherefore, Undecided, unknown, Hardily we set out, On roads unmade yet. That which we seek, Unfound, Undefined, As our hearts stitched, Dreams beat by beat.