Maaeri by Euphoria (Lost in Translation)

I've forgotten yours and mine,
forgotten of losses and wins,
Ma, what good is a victory
if there are no friends...
if there is no friend...

When she put on Bindi, those eyelashes fluttered, O Mother,
As she readjusted her Chunni, she forged promises for the next day, O Mother
Her hand was in my hands,
Her words were like honey drops,
O Ma, she used laugh on her own, cry on her own,
O Ma, I remember her, remember her.
She chatters Ma, her eyes fight battles Ma,
O Ma, I remember her, remember her.
O Maaeri!

Wrapped in monsoons, she used to come on foot, O Mother,
If she got delayed, she would softly sob, O Mother,
May I cry again, may she sing again,
Like cool breeze spring again,
O Ma she sings ballads, she dances Gidday,
O Ma I remember her, remember her.
She crosses heavens, she asks for blessings,
O Ma I remember her, remember her.

What must I do now? Who must I talk to?
What must I do now? Who must I talk to?
Hey Maaeri...

O
Leave the world, come back,
Break the false vows, come back,
Swear to God, come back once,
If we meet this once, we will never part,
Never part... never part...

O she should come now, can someone bring her now
O Ma I remember her, remember her
She chatters Ma, her eyes fight battles Ma
O Ma I remember her, remember her

She forgot my love, Ma, it took her four months Ma
O Ma I remember her, remember her,
O Ma her memories come, she comes in my memories
I remember her, remember her.

What must I do now? Who must I talk to?
What must I do now? Who must I talk to?
Ay Maaeri!


Note on the translation:

The song opens with a sufi line. It is always hard to capture the sufi sentiments in English, for these talk of mother and father, beloved and friends as both their human manifestations and the universal mother, father or beloved, using subtle wordplay and duende. My translation aims at providing a lyrical transliteration of the song. I have tanslated Hiraan as ballads, which I think is the right equivalent, but Mannatta as Blessings is a mistranslation. Mannataa is "that wish expressed before Gods which exists in your Mann", and the concept of Mann is hard to translate (some call it mind, but that is unsatisfactory description). The video of the song provides tells the background story and also shows some of the expressions which are so Indian that English language fails to picturize them. Maeri or Maaeri is only used at the end of certain stanzas and not eslewhere, as the syllables and stresses in English imply that Maaeri has a "feminine ending" whereas many of the other sentences do not. Mother rhymes with remember, Ma expresses the notion, and so on.

Random fact: In my college days at Indian Institute of Technology Delhi, I once organized an event called Lehren, in Rendezvous 2000. Euphoria and KK performed that night, and what a night it was! The Open Air Theatre was packed, the prediction of rain was proved wrong, no major glitches happened, and when KK launched into the opening number "Where Streets have no Name" I was being hugged by all friends and co-organizers for making the show a success. So I have personally met each of the band members, fed them according to their preferences (like Palash wants a dozen bananas and lots of glucose water on stage), had them shout at me and curse me as lunch delivery was delayed, and after the show, I had my Event Head badge autographed from them. I have attended several concerts by Euphoria and others, before and after that, but that night in IIT was special. It showcased their songs, made possible by my sweat, with contributions from all those friends and co-organziners. And so Maaeri is special for me on so many counts... O Maaeri!

Teriyaan, meriyaan pul gaya
Pul gaya haar te jeet
Hey maaye ki karna main jeet nu
Howey na je meet, howey na je meet
Bindiya lagati thi to kaampti thi palkain meri
chunniyan sajaa ke woh deti waadein kal ke maaeri
Mere haathon main tha uska haath
Thi chaashni si har uski baat
Maaeri aap hi hansdi, maaeri aap hi rondi
Maaeri yaad vo yaad vo aaeri
Gallan o kardi, maaeri aakhan naal larhdi
Maaeri yaad vo yaad vo aaeri
He maaeri

Baarishon main lipatke maa aati thi vo chalke maaeri
Deriyaan ho jaye to roti halke halke maaeri
Phir se main roun, phir se vo gaye
Thandi hawaaen ban ke chhaye
Maaeri heeri o gaandi, maaeri gidde o paundi
Maaeri yaad vo yaad vo aaeri
Jannataa o longdi, maaeri mannatta o mangdi
Maaeri yaad vo yaad vo aaeri

Ab ka karoon, kaa se kahoon e maaeri
Ab ka karoon, kaa se kahoon e maaeri
Ho....
Duniya paraaee chhod ke aajaa
Jhoote saare naate tod ke aajaa
Saun rab di tujhe ik baari aajaa
Ab ke milein to honge na judaa
Na judaa... Na judaa... ho...

Hoonte to aaye, koi te le aaye
Maaeri yaad vo yaad vo aaeri
Gallaan o kardi, maaeri akhiyan nal larhdi
Maaeri yaad vo yaad vo aaeri
Pull gayi mera pyaar maae, bas lage maheene char
Maaeri yaad vo yaad vo aaeri
Yaad vo aaeri, maaeri yaad vo aaeri
Maaeri yaad vo yaad vo aaeri

Ab ka karoon, ka se kahoon e maaeri
Ab ka karoon, ka se kahoon e maaeri.

Elections in India, 2009: Vote for moderation and maturity?

Elections in India or Bhaarat present outcomes which require an analysis encompassing divergent rationals that co-exist in our bouquet society. Each state, each constituency decides in its own way. The reasons are emotional, historical, economic, caste-based, and rooted in aspirations as well as fascinations of voters. Hence cricketers, movie and TV-stars get elected, sons and granddaughters of erstwhile Rajahs win, political dynasties win and lose, and occasionally you find a maverick rookie like writer/diplomat Shashi Tharoor win. I was not in India to vote this time, but I waited for the outcome. Here are my thoughts, random thoughts of a chaotic being, which show that I love and hate all the political parties. Yet, I am Indian, optimism never deserts me, and this election gives me hope.

In this election, we see an economist, academician, soft-spoken, PhD, the erudite but restrained Manmohan Singh return to the Prime Minister's chair. The policies and practicies of the Congress and its allies have their flaws, yet it is the ability to nurture men who have depth and substance, that allows this grand old party to stay in power at national and state level. With Manmohan at the helm, and Rahul's much publicized role in the 'victory' in Uttar Pradesh, the Congress party promises the next generation of reforms as well as next generation of leadership.

While BJP provides mercurial leaders of its own, who boast of no dynasties or grand births, leaders like Advani and Atal Bihari Vajpayee outlive their productive years, before they find themselves as potential candidates for the country's most important post. I am amazed that they have not realized it yet that unless they have leaders who are well-established by the age of forty-five or so, groomed to lead the country before they cross the age of sixty-five or so, they will always appear to be lead by old, power hungry leaders. I have enormous respect for these leaders and yet I cannot understand what logic tells them that leading a nation like India must be trusted to an eighty-one year old. Age brings wisdom, but grand old age brings senility, or atleast health problems, spiritual crisis and so on. In any case, India has far too few voters above the age of fifty, and I cannot see the justification for keeping middle-aged, mature and sensible leaders away from ministerial berth to accomodate people who used to be cult figures, much before many the voters were even born. If you had only read my satire on age based reservation, you'd know how skewed the age distribution in India is right now. The age of the leaders is a significant problem, it is only one of many problems that plagues BJP's pursuit for power.

The most promising outcome of this election was the defeat of parties and leaders with a caste-based agenda. The so called saviors of a certain caste or religion put every effort of Indian democracy towards harmony and progress in danger. I really envision a moral code, enforced strictly, that prevents leaders from making pro- or anti- caste remarks. If inciting people in name of religion violates the code of conduct, I see no reason why a castist remark be left out of the purview of this code of conduct. While the reservation of certain seats itself identifies the canditates as belonging to a certain community, everywhere else, the mention of caste must be made crime punishable by law. There must be no room for candidatures that rely on caste, color, creed, birth, and yet, it is easier said than done. My liberal view tells me that we need not make any new rules, for in time, the farces, the fallacies, the fascists, will self-destruct. Yet, the danger posed by these forces is real and too imminent to be ignored. The erection of statues and memorials of living leaders at the expense of state treasury must be dealt with strict penalties on the responsible party, no matter how ludicruous the leader looks in this enterprise, the joke must not be staged on public money.

There are a few questions on which I do not agree with many of my friends and so called liberals. I think religion has a role in politics, and religion itself is not a demon. A personalized belief system protects the leader from various corrupting influences. A personalized belief system, like that of Mahatma Gandhi, when practized properly, also serves as the lighthouse for the others. Do we need to build temples at particular sites? I don't know, but we need to ask those interested to at least look after and care for the temples that already exist. I will trust their devotion more, if it is used in providing help where the need exists. Also, I want my Ram back, I want my Lord back, I want my Ram back. I want him clean of every stain the politicians have inflicted in his name. I also want to see Mathura cleaner, Nashik, Haridvar and Varanasi made into properly managed, maintained, cities of pilgrimage. The filth there shows that the corruption of our within has spread into every street and public place, even the places where Gods once lived. Also, I believe that if in certains ways, Hindus or certain castes, exploit others, democracy allows minorities to exploit the rifts in the majority to their advantage as well. The Hindutva issue is not misplaced, some anger is justified, and need to be addressed. It is about time that equality of religion and caste in eyes of law provide neither discrimination nor reverse-discrimination to any sect, faith, group, community. Voters must see to it; in my ideal world, they will.

If any party believes that locals are not able to find jobs, I want those parties to help in education and employment efforts. If any community thinks their language is being ignored, I want to see great literature emerge from the mouths or pens of those who know only to burn others and not the hate within. If any leader makes his life's aim to get justice for his people, let him start by empowering his people with opportunities for education and enlightenment. If any party wants to distribute free televisions, sell rice that exceptionaly low price, distribute funds to families of terrorists while not caring for the lifes of armymen or jawans, let the politicians of these parties sit out of elections. If a man has murdered, raped and killed, has a criminal background, let us not judge him too harshly, and allow him to stand in elections only after he has done twelve years of community work, and shown to himself, and society, that 'every sinner has a future, every saint has a past.' No shortcuts to redemption exist, and even if the voter faults once or twice, over democratic system has to be mature enough to keep the criminals and the corrupt at bay.

Did India or Bhaarat vote for moderation? Yes, but not everywhere. Did we vote for harmony and maturity in places where religious and caste agendas were defeated by progress bandwagon? Yes, not everywhere. Has Indian democracy matured? Not yet, not quite, but the journey, it seems has taught it a few lessons, and will teach it many more. We have a lot of issues to resolve, economic hardships, coupled with terrorism and Naxal movement, religious and regional rifts, compounded by the pervasive hydra of caste system. Let us gather all forces together, hope next five years take us to a better socio-politico-economic situation. Let us applaud the peaceful comepletion of another election. Eventhough it is hard to know what everyone among the seven hundred million voters thought, lets assume that we saw the victory of moderation, maturity, progress, erudition and harmony.

The saga of why elephant was not chosen the king?

When elections begin, I am often asked to sing,
the tale of why elephant wasn't chosen the king.

After dinos left the earth, the animals gathered together,
the jungle had decided to elect their leader.
The problems were moo many, and there were moo many voices,
and when it came to the king, there were boo many choices.

This is before humans, demons and demon-cracy existed,
before royalty was thought divine, or guillotine was invented,
sharing land, food, caves, was forever a problem,
and without a king, there seemed no solution.

The monkeys shook trees, wolves howled, birds roosted,
elephants shook the earth, cows mooed, jackals boasted,
an owl chaired the session, the crows spread rumors,
and cats, rats, dogs, hare, turtles, deer, lions talked in murmurs.

Finally the session began, owl asked for nominations, stated,
"There are things I know, and things I don't,
and there are things I don't want to know,
but before we begin, I must tell you how it is fated.

The king shall rule, by his will, and by his skill,
and take what belongs to him, no less, no more,
and have our respect, for who he is, as a beast,
and treat us as equals, no less, no more".

The pigs began to grunt, and showed intention to squeal.
Owl permitted it, and a boar then stood up on two feet,
and said, "A king cannot be a king, if he is equal to the others".
Owl hooted, "As king he is equal, more equal than the brothers."

Few hands went up, monkeys rose first up,
but were deemed too naughty, too childish for responsibility,
and since insects, birds were always fleeing from calamity,
rats were too small, cats too clean, dogs always licking others,

soon most of the animals were dismissed back their place,
and only the elephant and the lion were left in the race.
(There was no divine hand in this, no lotuses or roses thrown,
and no walkouts, boycotts occurred, for such things were unknown).

The elephant raised its trunk, and announced his intent,
and began his high pitched, arrogant rant,
"For years, we vegetarians, have been kept down by some,
we are in majority, we are kept on low ground by some.

We don't get full share of meals, our water bodies are attacked,
and we are always blamed for our overgrazing in hinterlands,
Elect me, I promise a turnaround, a leash on those carnivores,
see my stature, see my snout, my size, I will reinvent jungle mores."

The deer clapped, birds seemed unruffled, cows thought it boo-ring,
Wolves gnashed their teeth, cats, dogs, jackals found this talk alarming.
So when the lion rose with a roar, they felt the tremor within, and emerged an uproar,
and then the lion coughed, stretched and unstretched, and began his eloquent address:

"Friends, the elephant is strong, it lives as a throng, keeps its tribe together,
but when it comes to governance, we lions and tigers are better.
For elephant never forgets, is ever full of regrets, and is slow in many respects,
and we all know, an ant up its nose kills it, so its afraid of even little insects.

Elephant eats too much, never shares its meal, is never satisfied,
and believes its grand, but to prove it on land, wants always to be deified.
Must I mention the white elephant projects, caste/species based promises, false teeth?
You show it a bunch of bananas, or sugarcane farm, and see him sneak and steal.

We are lions, we hunt our fill, and share our meals with jackals and vultures,
and when we kill, we cleanse the herds of their weakest members,
we take what belongs to us, we are our own masters on this earth, we're brave,
and when we are satisfied, we stay low, or we return to our quiet cave.

In intention you can never suspect us, we ensure the survival of fittest!
The balance of the world, food chains, populations depends on us.
In a jungle, the unity of your herds, your morality, begins with us,
As for a king, chose the being, who can make you way of life long lasting."

The lion sat down, and elephant held his ground, and animals began to talk,
"The elephants is tough, too big to ignore, and yet can he walk his talk?
In elephant's rule, will the rabbits and rats and deer and cows overrun the earth?
There will be too many of us, the jungle will be in throes, it will be just chaos...

The lion is bathed in blood, and has hunted our kind for so long,
and yet, when he in slumber, it seems, he can do us no wrong,
so stately in slumber, so elegant in its walk, so sleek in hunt,
and he knows how to take out the brothers, who are miscreants or defunct.

When lion stays around, young ones behave, old ones watch their own backs,
and wolves and dogs and bears and hyenas, always stay together as packs,
when lion holds his ground, we are discrete, we are God fearing, we're ourselves,
but in an elephant kingdom, we'd be overrun by their calves".

Jackals whispered, "and you know how elephants behave when they go 'mast',
a hungry lion can be satisfied, but an angry or 'mast 'elephant is quite worse",
Wolves howled in unison, "Lion! King! Lion! King!" and pigeons began cooing,
Dogs joined in, asses joined in, deer consented, hare jumped to feet, cows began mooing

The elephants held their noses up, and cried "foul play, foul play"
but on the day of that election, the lions took the day,
and to the crowd now in commotion, owl spoke to ease any tension,
"The results are clear, we need an overseer, an animal we all respect,

While elephant is huge, and has some popular views, its not a kingly thing,
And for the greatest benefit of all, for unity, and for a healthy co-living,
for the sake of progress, for making most happy and to prevent an uprising,
it becomes clear in this meeting, the elephant must not be the king".

Since that day the lions rule, and the jungle law is set,
"Your king must be the animal, you ever hold in respect.
While we live as God or natural selection devised us,
in the end, it is our leaders who define us".

"There are things that I know, and things I don't,
and there are things I don't want to know",
I repeat owl's words, as I loudly sing,
The raga of how or why elephant was not chosen the king.

Random Thoughts (21 Feb - 5 April)

Isn't Hanuman Chalisa most popular Hindi poem ever written?

The verses written by Goswami Tulsi Das continue to be recited throughout the North India with much affection and faith. Fully translated version exists online at
http://www.hanuman.com/cha.html

You can listen to these on youtube here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fKKSurfd6Ys

I was particularly offended by the portrayal of Hanuman in White Tiger. Perhaps Arvind Adiga needs to hear these verses as well, but I doubt if the meaning and intent of Hanuman Chalisa can be explained to the faithless, irreverent folks.

The verses written in 'khadi boli' (old Hindi, 'the language used while standing') are written metrically. This is a verse that describes Hanuman as a great warrior sage. As you recite Hanuman Chalisa, you are reminded of the whole Ramayana, how Hanuman plays a central role in the story of Lord Ram. While Lord Ram is portrayed as an ideal human, Hanuman, even though he is a monkey, possesses superhuman abilities. The chosen God of wrestlers, as well as of "brahmachari" (bachelors forever), the most entertaining character of Ramlila (stage performance of Ramayana in ten days preceding festival of Dussera), the superhero of my childhood, Hanuman exercises a strong influence on the spiritual development of nearly every Hindu. These verses have inspired faith and valor in us for five centuries already, and here, I again thank Tulsi Das ji for creating Ramcharitamanas, the poem for common man which has been our moral code and religion's cornerstone for centuries.

After Valmiki's Sanskrit verses found Tulsi's khadi boli rendition, a new era of Bhakti and bhajans set in. While Tulsi is (with Valmiki, Kalidas, Tagore, Bachchan, Dinkar, Tiruvullar and Kabir) one of the most important Indian poets ever, our modernized, Westernized education has kept us away from his verses and message. Perhaps it is not too late for people like me to rediscover and read the iconic verses of our language.

**

On April 1st: I love fools day... its reminds me of a group of friends in High school, who wanted to make a World Fools Association, with Ashish as the President... and recited doggerel verses continuously :)

**
On another note:
Poetry about drinking
One of the finest Ghazals about drinking: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eHWL7uGg3jk
Dev Anshul (Arbit) introduced us to this song in IIT days (kal jo pi thi uska nasha hai)
If you are wondering why I recommend this song, the answer is simple:
sharab pio na pio, gaana sunnan witch ki harz hai?
suroor to hamesha se raha hai mujhe,/ pehle bahana jaam ka nahin banaya karte the...
{Weird translation:
How does it matter if you drink or not... you can still appreciate Ghazals.
From ever I have been on a high/ but earlier, we refused to blame the goblets}

I was amazed that someone issued a fatwa against Madhushala, nearly eight decades after the book length collection of rabaiyats (verses) was published. Even Mahatma Gandhi, did not object to Harivansh Rai Bachchan's verses which use Madhushala (tavern) as a metaphor. Haven't the masters, Ghalib and Hafiz, written likewise about drinking, tavern and wine?

Charlie Wilson's War by George Crile

Charlie Wilson's War by George Crile is an incredible yet true story of perhaps the largest and the most expensive covert operation in our immediate history. The major protagonist, Charlie Wilson is a six-feet-four-inch Texas Congressman. He gets involved in serial affairs with beauty queens and belly dancers, appears liberal on most issues, keeps the most handsome, personal staff in Washington, and drinks excessively, or rather nearly to his death and destruction. But Charlie is also the man who believes in underdogs, in anti-communist policies, in support of Israel on one hand and on the other, to build 'a billion dollar a year' funding for covert operation in Afghanistan, for the US sponsored jihad against the Soviets. The importance of this story must be measured in terms of the consequences that Charlie Wilson's War brought upon the world. The defeat and dissolution of USSR in late nineties, rise of Taleban and Al Qaeda leading to the September 11 attacks and ongoing Afghan and Iraq war in their aftermath, the twenty years of (spin-off) terrorism in Kashmir, all are the consequences of the Charlie Wilson's War.

While Charlie is the politician, the man on the ground, is an equally improbable character. Enter a second generation Greek-American, street-smart CIA operative, Gust Avrakotos. His language is infested with slurs. He is an outcaste of sorts in the ivy league dominated detective agency. Crile introduces him in a chapter titled "A rogue elephant in the agency woods". Gust's character was brewed in small town bar-fights and brawls. Gust has had his share of adventures and misadventures before he got involved as the operative that masterminded the ground operation in Charlie Wilson's War. While Charlie would run through Congressional committees to get the money sanctioned, and find Israeli or Egyptian or European or American arm dealers (or politicians) to get insane amounts of ammunition, Gust worked out how, what, where, when of the mission they both loved. The mission of killing the communists. In that mission, the jihadists, the Afghans with all their tribes and peculiarities, seemed the perfect warriors for the agency as well as the key actors in the game.

The novel, like the movie based on it, moves through landscapes that tell you something about each character. Like the young Charlie transports as many voters as possible to the voting booth in Texas, to ensure that the guy who shot his dog loses the case. Gust grows up in a small town, Aliquippa, Pennsylvania, and then learns about the distastes and despair of men of different nationalities, basically when he just needs to figure out how to sell more cigarettes to bars frequented by Russians, Lebanese, Serbs, Poles, Greeks and so on. Charlie Wilson always gets into trouble, whether it is a case that made him famous as Cocaine Charlie (he got away due to lack of evidence), or a hit-and-run case, where he eventually was saved by his more than supportive staff. He has the gall to take a belly dancer to Egypt and have her perform for the minister there. He had one or the other pretty woman by his side, while he met 'the holy warriors who were destined to destroy the evil Russian empire'. Gust and other characters are developed in great detail, and if it were only a novel, I would perhaps say something about plot, writing style, sequence of events and so on. While this reads like a spy novel, with lots of sex bombs and lots of exploding bombs, Congressmen and Russian army, belly dancers and Mujahideen, billions of dollars and exotic locations, the mind-boggling thing is that Charlie Wilson's War is a line by line description of how our world was transformed. Not necessarily into a better place!

An old Indian adage says: "Behind every successful man, there is a woman". Charlie Wilson was seduced into the mission of fighting Russians and helping Afghans (termed as freedom fighters by Reagen) by the ever resourceful , glamorous, social lioness, Texas bombshell, Joanne Herring. Crile says, "In the pivotal first years of jihad, she became the matchmaker and muse to Pakistan's Muslim fundamentalist, military dictator, Zia-ul-Haq, as well as to the scandal prone Charlie Wilson". Joanne brought together the key players, Charlie, Zia, Saudi princes, and so on, who later fought and financed the war, and yes, all this was happening behind the scenes. The most interesting bits in the novel are where it gets into details of how much money was used to finance these missions, how weapons were acquired by fair and unfair means, even donkeys that carried weapons in Afghanistan were imported at exorbitant price, and how many nations were involved in this mission.

To quote from the book:
"No insurgency had ever enjoyed such a range of support: a country (Pakistan) completely dedicated to providing it with sanctuary, training and arms, even sending its own soldiers along as advisers on military operations; a banker (Saudi Arabia) that provided hundreds of millions in funds with no strings attached; governments (Egypt and China) that served as arms suppliers; and the full backing of a superpower (the United States through CIA). All of that plus various kinds of support from different Muslim movements and governments, as well as intelligence services of England, France, Canada, Germany, Singapore, and other countries."

It is true that this support inflicted heavy losses on the Russian army and air force. It is true that Charlie Wilson's War was the grand punch which bought down the Soviet Empire. It is true that the mission remained covert in spirit and achieved its goals by using some of greatest resources (brainpower, muscle, technology, espionage). The grand warriors of that time, the Afghan freedom fighters, were even transported to American hospitals for treatment. What is curious and interesting, for it is most apparent throughout the story, is the fact that the extreme fervor of jihadis, their hate for people outside their tribe and culture, was ever staring in the face of the key operatives. If ends satisfy means, then Charlie Wilson's War was a justified, for it met its initial aim. But, but... things must come a full circle, and the story just doesn't end with Wilson's script.

The Russians left, but the tribal mistrust that has existed for centuries did not. The warriors were not disarmed, were not resettled, and to top it, a whole system of planning, organizing and manning armed struggle was created. Soon these jihadis were up in arms against each other, and Afghanistan continued to bleed. Many warriors were now sent to other missions. Kashmir and Punjab in India became hot beds of militancy, and the weaponry and savagery procured for fighting Russians destroyed the peace and sub-cultures there. Since Zia was the man in charge of covert operation, he was kept in power (that he had hung Bhutto, democratically elected leader, was forgiven) and the amount of money poured into Pakistan then, was what financed their nuclear arsenal, their army and their propensity to support jihadis against chosen enemies. Later and before, US supported such dictators to meet their ends in Pakistan and elsewhere.

Only a decade after the grand exit of Russian army, American armies were to enter Afghanistan to hunt for Osama Bin Laden, Al Qaeda and Taleban... and fight against some of the very people US & CIA has trained and armed with their taxpayers money. It is said in India that whenever outsiders tried to rule the Afghans, they failed or they perished soon after, and this legend dates back up to the times of Alexander. The unsuspecting British army had a harsher experience in early nineteenth century. But of course, in this case, even the more immediate history is not discussed or remembered. It is not recalled that every exhibition of brutality by the jihadis that has hit headlines in the past decade was cheered when it was done against the Russians. Every tactic of using air force to bomb villages in Afghanistan was criticized by the US when the planes and pilots were Soviet. Sadly, only the characters have changed, the methods, motives and means have not, the telling effects on a country ravaged by war are very much there. Charlie Wilson's War is a reminder of not only how a war was won, but also of how the neo-enemy of United States was created out of a breed of men who wanted to fight and slaughter their enemies with bare hands.

In Mahabharata, unarguably the greatest epic poem ever written, it becomes clear that in wars, there are no real winners. There is no moral war, for in a war, men and armies use any means possible to win. Even though the valor is real, there are heroic fights, exhibitions of skill and martial superiority, the only outcome a war warrants is the destruction of both parties. Charlie Wilson's War ends with an epilogue titled: "Unintended consequences". Since we live in a world terrified of these unintended consequences, since we wish to understand how it all began, and how is it all carried out, we all must take time to read the Charlie Wilson's War. While the movie gives a sampler of what the book portrays, the movie is not full of as many details or rather, it is impossible for anyone to assimilate this information so easily. Yet, if it were not for the unintended consequences, and if it were not all real, Charlie Wilson's War makes for a 'fun' reading. Once you start thinking about it, which you will, it turns into a horror. Since it is better to face the facts and fight our ghosts, I recommend this book to every thinker, politician, historian, American and human being living in our times.

America as a disputed territoy

The poem first appeared on 28 March 2009 @ protestpoems.org (here), an online forum/magazine that encourages political pieces and writing for human rights. United States of America is such a wonderful nation, and for last century, she has inspired and cradled some of the best artists and scientists... We all need US of America to keep going. This verse is nearly two years old, and was written in Bush-Cheney era. Lets hope things change for better in Obama era.

(PS: In the following verse, America refers to USA, and not the continent; my apologies about using "America" to typify a nation or a notion, not necessarily representative of the continent America. Also I thank Bala for pointing this out; for ambiguity of such kind should be unacceptable to everyone belonging to the continent of America... But for the verse, American & America is used in its limited, slangy meaning. {Note added after a comment})

America as disputed territory

It is not politically correct to say it, but
the foreigners foresee a possibility
of America becoming a disputed territory.

Imagine those Indians, dead for centuries
rebirthing armed and angry
demanding their original property
and at gunpoint, asking for compensation
for their generations of depravity.

You might dismiss their fears
under charges of improbability
but they see the possibility
of America as a disputed territory.

Imagine the slaves, lynched to their graves,
returning able bodies, seeking a revolution,
rights listed in the constitution -
equality, liberty and retributions
to their lack of real opportunity.

You might think that racism is past
does not exist in your country
but when the foreigners see your reality
they, unbiased by propaganda machinery,
can smell in the future a possibility
of America becoming a disputed country.

What if millions in Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan,
Palestine and South American hinterlands,
announce their own demands
decide to arrive as refugees
to their much hated country.

Immigration laws are defenseless
against swarms of locusts
arriving unexpected, unannounced
to feed on the harvest of others
without pang or guilt or sympathy;
they believe you've caused them to suffer terribly,
they could haunt you, or at least explore the possibility
of converting America into a disputed territory.

When oil will run out and dollar decay
owing to a stronger world economy,
when Saudi lenders will pinch you harder
for every Japanese byte of luxury,
when inflated GPAs will crash
under the feet of third world intellect,
when your cars, your weapons, your movies,
a reformed world will start to reject,
when Mexicans will refuse to bow down,
work for less for Americans,
when African dictators will be executed
and new democracies rouse new developments,
when China's industry, India's IT, Russian exports
will foster new fraternities, new Europes,
and even friendly nations will demand spoils,
ask for return of imperialistic colonies
if Jewish, Christian and Muslim zealots
chose this nation as center of conflict
and if in embattled economy
the victorious President turns socialist,

you will find yourself in strange calamity
your lifestyle, as you know it, will cease to be,
and even though this all seems unlikely,
and it may turn out to be all fallacy,
foreigners words (one poet's fancy ?)
or maybe they are just rephrasing
the recurrent lessons from human history -
the power center shifts recurrently.

It is not politically correct to state it,
but we foreigners hear the alarm bells,
and fear the possibility
of America becoming a war worn territory.

Hindi poem: Mere sang aao, manavenge Holi

Recently (8 March 2009) I got the opportunity to recite at Shaam-e-shauq, an evening of Hindi/Urdu poetry organized at Monkey Town, New York. I was the featured Hindi poet with three prominent Urdu/Pakistani poets: Humaira Rahman, Altaf Tirmizi & Raees Warsi. While the four poets, (including me) recited our original verses, the event, organzied by Geetanjali Mittal, also featured recitals of Ghalib & Bachchan poems by her, and recital of Dinkar and Ghalib by Nichshaya Khera. The audience included engineers, bankers, poetry enthusiasts from not only Indian and Pakistani origin, but also from other cultures, including Americans dressed in colorful sarees.

The following poem was written specially for Holi and recited there...

मेरे संग आओ, मनावेंगे होली
- डॉ. विवेक शर्मा

मुठ्ठी में भरकर रंग चले हैं
आज सारे गालों पर कैनवस धरे हैं
. कोई गुलाब है, कोई सहेली,
. इंतज़ार में है, कोई युवती अकेली,
सतरंगी हिलोर में बहकते चले हैं,
तन कहकहों से भीगते चले हैं,
. वहाँ मेरे अपने, कितने रंगों में रसें हैं,
. यहाँ हम गुलाली बादलों के प्यासे हैं,
मेरे दोस्तों, हम भी बनावेंगे टोली,
मेरे संग आओ, मनावेंगे होली |

बचपन में यारों मैं निर्बल बड़ा था,
होली के एक दिन कीचड़ में पड़ा था,
. गुबार आँखों में, होठों पे हाय,
. मिट्टी हुआ था, मेरा रंग हाय,
फिर पांच दोस्त कूदे मेरे पीछे,
उस दुष्ट को भी लिए घसीटे,
कीचड़ से लिपथे कमल हम हंसें थे,
अपनी माटी से महके, सहोदर जंचे थे,
. बचपने के उन्ही लम्हों के सहारे लड़ा हूँ,
. फिर उसी मिट्टी से चिपटने को आकुल बड़ा हूँ
पर आज विदेश में भी, बनावेंगे टोली,
मेरे संग आओ, मनावेंगे होली |

यौवन में पहला प्रेम पनपा था,
गालों को छूने का ज़ज्बा पैना था,
. बड़ी तरकीब से, पिचकारी लेकर,
. गया मैं बहुरंगा, उस पंखुड़ी के घर,
दोस्त की मोटरसाईकिल, कितने गुब्बारे फटे थे,
कुछ भांग की महिमा थी, उसको पुकारे चले थे,
बेपरवाह लपक थी, मेरे जुस्तजू में,
बस एक झलक भर की आरजू में,
गुलाल माथे पर, बसंत की पूनम,
सुहागन स्वपन बने, फिर बने विगोयगन,
. फिर तुम आई, मेरे हाथ में मेहँदी लगी हथेली,
. नवरस लिए मेरे घर-आँगन की सिंदूरी सहेली,
यारों, मिलेगा तुम्हें भी हमजोली,
मेरे संग आओ, मनावेंगे होली |

हर प्रांत हरिण्यकश्यपों से आक्रांत पड़ा है,
पर हर भक्त प्रहलाद देखो, शांत खड़ा है,
. होलिकाएं ज़ुल्मियों की खाख होगीं एक दिन,
. हम नर सिंह बनेंगे, हमारे नाखूनों में साख होगी एक दिन,
अधरम अगर है क्रिया घमंडी शाषणों की,
चली आ रही रीत कबसे परिवर्तनों की,
भस्म ही कर, सारी शंकाएँ मिटा कर,
लाल, नीला, हरा, केसरी उत्साह सजा कर
चलें हम भी रंगीले, मल्हार ले कर,
हाथों में शरारत, ठंडी फुहार ले कर,
. कोई रंग का हो, हो अलग या सुवर्ण अंगी,
. आज होंगे सभी मटमैले संग, भंगी, बहुरंगी,
बुरा न मनाओ, है आज त्यौहार होली,
मेरे संग आओ, मनावेंगे होली |

छिड़क दो संदल तिलक, अगरबत्ती रजनीगंधा,
गालों से हटा दो, चिहन हर शरद, निष्ठुर मौसम का,
. गले से लगाकर मित्रगण, परिजन, हरिजन, महाजन,
. हर मुहल्ले को सजा दो, बना दो सुहागन,
फिर भर लो फसलें, कनक बर्तनों में,
पतंगों को आकाश की तितलियाँ बना दो,
बने त्यौहार हर देश में सतरंगा, तिरंगा,
चलती रहे प्रजा के मुक्तबोध की परंपरा,
एक घूँट दो मुझे उस ठंडाई का,
मुझपर छिड़क दो, रंग अमराई का,
. धूल दो, गुलाल दो, चहेता गाल दो,
. हर साल नई आशाओं का गुलाल दो,
रंजिशें भुला कर, बना कर के टोली,
मेरे संग आओ, मनावेंगे होली |