nazeemonline

A person whom I have seen once, and heard umpteen times — that was Jagjit Singh to me. Maybe for millions of his fans. Today, he left this mundane world leaving behind a sea of ghazals and bhajans, as a token of his very existence. A music lover knows what a ghazal means; it is the song of unrequited love, and pangs of separation. And no other ghazal singer was successful in romanticising this pain of love and separation as Jagjit Singh did.  His melancholy-filled, soul searching voice was able to invade any hard-hearted mind. A melting down of emotions that ends in deep agony and tears. How many times haven’t we shed tears listening to his songs! Anyone who tasted love and its darker shades can never turn away from ghazals. And for that “dard” Jagjit Singh becomes a true companion. But is he dead? With his innumerable songs, and act of kindness, which was revealed only after his death, how death could dare to snatch him away from us! It’s true his “deham” or body is gone n

Arriving here in a desert land years back, there were so many things that put me in wonder - long fleet of cars resting bare under scorching sun, buildings and apartments without boundary walls, freedom to move around even after midnight, skyscrapers which seemed like matchbox palaces and facades of artificial palaces built during the temple procession at my birthplace...Gradually, I understood all these are features of this booming city, except one thing- the small little birds, chirping and flying up above the sky in the harsh summer. Sometimes they come in a group and use to rest on my clothes stand too. They seem to tell me always- "Look at me, how cool I am! When you, the mighty human being, feel tired and exhausted by the summer, I could fly." Feeling so low by this challenge put by these little creatures, I always tried to find out an answer. And this summer unveiled the puzzle before me. I was on foot going to a supermarket. A man going in a car caught my attentio

EXISTENTIALISM may be a failed theory in the eyes of contemporary thinkers. Moreover, the world has so much in it for a person to escape from the grip of existentialism. But it seems an expatriate cannot escape from its clutches. As any other expatriate, once I too went for vacation with all that feeling of ‘home going.’ My first trip during all my vacations is to Trivandrum, a city which makes me nostalgic. A usual, I opted for a train journey. I reached the railway station deliberately a little bit early to get that feeling of time wasted and enjoyed on train journeys. Enjoying the fresh air to its fullest; thanks to the lullaby of banyan trees that decorated the railway station premise; I find it hard to believe that no friends are around me now. Before I went into a deep sadness, a woman in her forties, decently dressed, intruded my moments of aching joys. She approached me with a smile and sat near me on the platform bench. Chit-chatting about the train that has to arrive sh