O Love, When You Hit Me With The Squirter

Balam pichkari jo tune mujhe maari
Toh bole re zamana kharabi ho gayi
Mere ang raja, jo tera rang laga
Toh seedhi-saadi chhori sharabi ho gayi

O Love, when you hit me with the squirter,

The time is saying that defect has happened.

When your colour came on my body, o King

The straight and simple girl became an alcoholic

Itna maza, kyun aa raha hai
Tune hawa mein bhaang milaya
Dugna nasha, kyun ho raha hai
Aankhon se meetha tune khilaya

Why is so much fun coming?

You have mixed cannabis in the air

Why is double intoxication happening?

You have fed me sweet through eyes.

Ho teri malmal ki kurti gulabi ho gayi
Manchali chaal kaise nawaabi ho gayi, toh?

Your kurti of muslin has become rosy

How your footloose walk has become royal, so?

Balam pichkari jo tune mujhe maari
Toh seedhi saadi chhori sharaabi ho gayi
Haa Jeans pahen ke jo tune maara thumka
Toh lattoo padosan ki bhabhi ho gayi (x2)

O Love, when you hit me with the squirter,

The straight and simple girl became an alcoholic

O, after wearing jeans, when you did the pelvic thrust,

The neighborhood's sister-in-law went crazy

Teri kalaai hai, haathon mein aayi hai
Maine maroda toh lagti malaai hai

You have a wrist, it's in my hand

when I twist it, it feels like cream.

Mehenga padega ye chaska malaai ka
Upvaas karne mein teri bhalaai hai

The taste of cream will prove costly,

it would be better for you to fast.

Ho bindiya teri mehtaabi ho gayi
Dil ke armaanon mein behisaabi ho gayi

Your bindiya has become the light of moon

The feelings of heart have become countless

Balam pichkari jo tune mujhe maari
Toh seedhi saadi chhori sharaabi ho gayi
Haa Jeans pahen ke jo tune maara thumka
Toh lattoo padosan ki bhabhi ho gayi (x2)

O Love, when you hit me with the squirter,

The straight and simple girl became an alcoholic.

O, after wearing jeans, when you did the pelvic thrust,

The neighbourhood's sister-in-law went crazy.

Kyun 'no-vacancy' ki, hothon pe gaali hai
Jabki tere dil ka kamra toh khaali hai
(kamra toh khaali hai...)

Why is there a swear word of no vacancy on your lips

while there is an empty room in your heart 

(the room is empty..)

Mujhko pata hai re
Kya chahata hai tu
Boli bhajan teri
Neeyat Qawwali hai

I know

what you want

your words are psalm

but your intentions are Qawalli

Zulmi ye haazir-jawaabi ho gayi
Tu toh har taale ki aaj chaabi ho gayi, toh?

This tormentor has become quick-witted

you have become the key to every lock today, so?

Balam pichkari jo tune mujhe maari
Toh seedhi saadi chhori sharaabi ho gayi
Haa, Jeans pahen ke jo tune maara thumka
Toh lattoo padosan ki bhabhi ho gayi (x2)

O Love, when you hit me with the squirter,

The straight and simple girl became an alcoholic

O, after wearing jeans, when you did the pelvic thrust,

The neighbourhood's sister-in-law went crazy.

Haan, bole re zamana kharabi ho gayi
Haan, bole re zamana kharabi ho gayi...

Yes, the time is saying that defect has happened.

Yes, the time is saying that defect has happened.

The primary purpose of this post is to highlight the pathetic quality of lyrics these days. When such words are mixed with jangling, hypnotic and mostly plagiarized music, they become bearable and *shudders*  hummable. The English translation is basically there to keep you entertained. :-)

Original 'Credits':

Film: Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani

Music: Pritam

Lyrics: Amitabh Bhattacharya

Image courtesy: santabanta.com

Darkness

This post was written during one of the delusional and melancholic phases of my life... Now that I read it again, I can't relate to it anymore... But still feel that it's worth sharing...

 

I turn off the lights and look at myself in the mirror...

I see what I am.. shorn off all my delusions..

I see the “I”... neither the “I should” nor the “I would” or the “I think”..

I hate darkness... It makes me see too much of myself...

I turn off the lights... and I’m able to hear myself...

A slow nagging conscience not getting drowned in the humdrum of a busy day..

I hear about my failures, my “what ifs”, my “if onlys” and the imagined conversations of people behind my back..

I hate darkness... It makes me listen to the desperate housewife inside me..

I turn off the lights... and all of a sudden, I’m alone...

My poor shadow disappears.. the shadow that stood by me..

Through the long and short of it... 

Through the highs and lows of mine...

I hate darkness... It makes me feel the air swirling above my goose pimples and the trail of sweat channeling through it...

I turn off the lights... and I don’t rhyme any more...

Life is not a musical, anymore... not whimsical, anymore...

I turn on the lights and nothing changes...

I hate darkness... Specially when I can't find the switch inside my head...

The Propositions of a Married Man

Its been two months since we got wed,

Its better now than never, instead,

To ask you if you'd always be,

The butter on my bread.

If I build castles in the air,

Will you feed the crocodiles of the moat?

And if I go whaling to the lake,

Will you promise not to rock the boat?

And in return, I promise to

swing along wherever your mood takes you.

And to always love you the same (if not more)

as the day when I first met you.

Without much ado, let me propose

to be with you, through joys and woes.

And walk with you through sun and rain,

wherever our destiny goes.

_______________________________________________________

For my wife, Bira, on the occasion of "Propose Day" in Valentine's Week 2013 (There is a teenager left in all of us) and for successfully negotiating 60 days as my life partner.

My Grandfather and I

My earliest feelings for my grandfather, V. M. Radhakrishnan were similar to the purported reaction of the Afghans when Uncle Sam came knocking on their doors - Shock and Awe! I had always heard more about him than what I'd seen. I guess that only added to the enigma. I'd heard tales of tyranny and indifference; of raging tempers and acts of rage; of him being a stickler for order and of him meting out punishments for any act of even perceived disobedience.

I remember gawking at this man of immense presence (he towered at close to 6'2" at one time). I remember standing behind the curtains waiting for him to finish off his dosa so that I can promptly bring one more or replenish his glass of 'tootam' (which meant water, in his archaic Tamil). I remember talking to him in spatterings of English and him being impressed with it. I remember him sharing anecdotes from his college days, and of him reciting a poem that he must've read in the 1940s. I remember walking along with him and trying to match his giant and brisk strides with my tiny and inconsequential legs. I remember him giving me advises on what to do with my future; how I should keep notes of all the articles I read in the papers and magazines for future reference and how I should seriously try giving the IAS examination so that he can come stay at the collector's bungalow. In 2001, he had asked me to write a letter to him stating what I wanted to do after my standard 10 board exams. With trepidation, I carefully chose my words and wrote him a letter to the best of my abilities. I'll never forget how happy he was to see a precocious 15 year old kid use the term 'intrigue' in the right context. He was the first one to plant a seed in my brain that I should pursue humanities. Although he wanted me to pursue English Literature, I ended up doing a BA in Psychology. But I always knew that he was proud of me and saw great potential in me. Whether I lived up to his expectation is something that I'd never know.

Pride came naturally to him. He was a proud and confident man. Proud of his memory, his knowledge and his ability to work in the most challenging circumstances. I distinctly remember him telling me once "I would never want anyone to respect me for my age. I want to command respect for my knowledge." He was also someone who always planned and stayed ahead of time. When my grandmother died, he went cold turkey from two packets of cigarettes a day to zero! He did this because he knew that if he continued to smoke then his body would give in faster and he'd end up becoming dependent on his children. Dependency is something that he loathed all his life.

With time, I grew up. But I never saw him grow old. Even at 80, he was still someone who was independent and living life on his own terms. I never saw him asking me to press his aching legs after a long day at work. In fact, I hardly remember seeing any emotion coming from him. It was as if nothing shook or troubled him. Even in his 80s, he was still walking with his long strides.

But time caught up with him eventually... and it got its sweet revenge. One day his legs finally stopped following his brain's orders and gave in. He never quite recovered from there. In February 2012, I and my family came to know that he was suffering from Parkinson's disease and that he might have been suffering from it for quite some time. But no one came to know as he never shared such things with anyone. Suddenly, we realised that all those instances where he used to ask the same question again and again might not have been because he couldn't hear, it could have been because he couldn't comprehend.

When he was brought to stay with us in June 2012, he was a shadow of his former self. Dependent on a caretaker for even his basic necessities, he was  bed-ridden, repentant and regressive. With Parkinson's came Dementia and with Dementia came his irrational fear that people around him were there to rob him and harm him. Initially, I failed to recognize him. Then I realised that the V. M. Radhakrishnan I knew had long ceased to exist and the person lying there was just a body without soul; waiting for destiny to roll its dice.. one last time. I guess in the game of life, the house always wins.

I know that time will catch up with me as well. Some years from now, I might not remember him the way I remember him now. This post is just my humble effort to record my memory, for posterity.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Addendum: Shri. V. M. Radhakrishnan passed away at 5 am on January 06, 2013. He never recovered from Parkinson's to actually read this post that was written for him. All my life, I've seen him know everything that is worth knowing; so I firmly believe that he'd know about this post as well.

A Congress-man's Verbal Diarrhea

Here is Congress-man (pun intended) Mr. Abhishek Manu Singhvi's resignation letter... with some minor additions and major simplifications.

I have decided to resign as Chairman, Parliamentary Standing Committee on Law, Justice. Personnel and Grievances and have informed the Hon’ble Congress President accordingly.

I have also decided not to brief the press. (But will ensure that this letter goes public)

I have done this only to prevent even the slightest possible Parliamentary disruption (disturbance) regarding the purported (alleged) CDs being circulated about me. Since I am a disciplined party soldier, I did not think it fit to subject the party to any inconvenience on this account. All allegations are patently (evidently) baseless and false.

I wish to categorically (unconditionally, without conditions) state that canards (a false derogatory story) and baseless allegations are being spread about alleged inappropriate conversation in the CD. People inimically (harmfully, unfavorably) opposed to me, who have assiduously (constantly) spent over 10 days hearing, seeing, amplifying (increasing, enlarging) and distilling (extracting components) the CD have found no vestige (a slight trace) of any reference, not even remotely, to any illegality, corrupt practice, or wrongdoing.

Specifically, some sections of the print and visual media are spreading a falsehood simply by repetition and hearsay (unverified) that there is reference in the CD to the promise of any post. No one has heard any such reference in the CD.

There is none simply because it does not exist. It is pure imagination, wishful thinking and sensationalism (designed to please vulgar taste).

The canard (strike 2) was spread simply to give the issue a public interest flavour since otherwise the contents of the CD, assuming them to be true (which they certainly are not), would disclose only something private and consensual giving a cause of action only to aggrieved (disturbed) family members (who have stood completely by me) and to no one else.

It is lamentable that such canards (strike 3!! you are out!) are being spread about a CD which has, in fact, been accepted thrice over to be fabricated and morphed. The driver’s disclosure statement to the police, his detailed written statement (ie written pleading) in the High Court and his oral statement recorded on oath physically in the presence of the judge, all explain how and why he created this fabrication.

A reputed media house which was co-defendant in the suit also recorded a consent statement based on the statement of the author of the CD ie the driver. A final permanent (final AND permanent! Wow!) decree (order) of injunction has been passed over five days ago.

It is noteworthy that the the driver’s threatening and blackmailing SMSes sent to my phone (including therein references to a potential CD) had been recorded in the last week of March itself (later extracted by the police), followed by a detailed four-page police complaint filed as far back as 29/3/12, i.e a full 13 days before the alleged CDs first surfaced in the media.

Either the CD is morphed or it is not (Mr. Singhvi claims that the contents are certainly not true, the driver has accepted thrice that the cd is fabricated and morphed, yet this statement!). In either event it raises no public interest issue, yet evokes salacious (obscene, indecent) private and prurient (causing lust) interest and contumacious (stubbornly disobedient) internet violation of a flagrant (obvious, glowing, scandalous) kind. As a political or a professional class, instead of gleefully (merrily, delightedly) watching, promoting or participating in a person’s natural and understandable discomfiture (embarrassment, confusion), we must respect privacy issues.

Dear Mr. Singhvi,
Dictionaries are quite easily available and accessible these days. So the next time you feel like writing a letter in a language that no one understands... Don't..