Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Alone!!!

Scent of your perfume
Tugging at my heart
It lingers in my room
Even when we are apart

Heart aches for you
This lonely night
I don't know what to do
To set the canvass right

Thoughts of you linger
Weighing upon my mind
Giving you all the love
Is all I long to do

Samy

Monday, November 28, 2005

That sums it up

Hey friend -- It is for you.
Apologies for all my blabber.

Friendship is like the breeze, You can't hold it, Smell it, Taste it, Or know when it's coming But you can always feel it.

Have you ever felt like you knew someone a long, long time ago? Another place, another time, a friendship of souls? Two people who share a bond for reasons neither know, A feeling that they were friends, a long long time ago?

Did they stumble onto each other by pure circumstance, Or was it fate and destiny that played a certian hand? Two souls interwined, they are worlds apart, But the soul, it knows no difference, in matters of the heart. Somehow they are drawn together, fate has brought them back, each living worlds apart, they journey seperate paths. When this life is over, and a new life begins, Their souls will find each other, two souls that we call friends.

I was not even looking for a friend and I found you!

sameer bhat

Heart finds the pathway home

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Saturday, November 26, 2005

Somebody love me

Just let it die
With no goodbyes

Details don't matter
Tears in my eyes
You know sometimes

It'd be like that baby
Now everytime I see you
I pretend I'm fine

When I wanna reach out to you
But I turn and I walk and I let it ride

Thank all

Americans are a wonderful lot. They have some beautiful festivals as well. Thanksgiving is an annual holiday observed in the United States. In the U.S., the holiday is celebrated on the fourth Thursday in November, and is generally considered the second biggest holiday after Christmas.

The first American Thanksgiving was celebrated in 1621, to commemorate the harvest reaped by the Plymouth Colony after a harsh winter. In that year Governor William Bradford proclaimed a day of thanksgiving. The colonists celebrated it as a traditional English harvest feast, to which they invited the local Wampanoag Indians.

Now the US loves Thanksgiving. Families get together for dinners. It has become a commercial event, like all fests. Football is a must on this day. Shopping is at an all time high. Sales go up, spirits go up and overworked Americans take a long weekend -- four days -- off. A rather peculiar feature of the Thanksgiving day is 'Presidential pardon'. Each year the President of the United States pardons a turkey before Thanksgiving at a White House ceremony. In 2005, President Bush gave two turkeys named Marshmallow and Yam a last-minute reprieve. The two turkeys hail from Henning, Minnesota. The Turkeys will be fed and taken care of by a dedicated staff till the birds live.

Wonder, Bush has no heart for fellow humans, who continue to die because of his flawed policies.
Mad, mad world.

sameer bhat

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

lens in mid-air

Cameras are not allowed onboard but the flight from Srinagar was getting boring. So I used my cellphone to take this picture from my window.
Call this ingenuity!
Pic -- Sam, Nov 4 - 2005. Posted by Picasa

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

A quiet passing over

Monday morning she quietly slipped into eternal sleep. She was 60. Sober and pious. Often enough she would talk to me about stuff that I was least interested in. For instance how she was recently in her kitchen garden and saw army men going in a long queue, neat uniforms and guns on their shoulders. I was personally fascinated by her tales, however. Always, old tales of deceit and affection. Small town gossips, which she seemed to have in layers.

Last time I went home, I met her. They are friends of my Pops. Her father was my Pops godfather. His spiritual mentor. She sat in a large room with little light. On a hand-woven, simple rug. She told me that she was happy for me, that I am away from home and hence safe (kashmir is still a violent place). She looked a little glum in her blue eyes but in no mood to die.

I don't know whether I love them but I respect my folks. I truly liked her. She offered me tea, which she made with such ancient love. It didn't taste good but I pretended not to mind the bad-taste. She talked endlessly for nearly an hour, giving me no time to ask or explain anything. Much of what she said was poppycock. In the end, I asked her that I need to go because I was expected for lunch at a friends place. She asked me to have lunch with her. I politely declined, citing prior engagements.

She saw me off at the door, asking me to see her once again before I leave. I said OK. I didn't keep my word. I feel bad, I couldn't.

On Nov 21, 2005, the unmarried 60-year old, kind and affectionate aunty died peacefully in her sleep. She now talks to birds of the paradise.
RIP.

sameer bhat

Kidz at home


Kids...And I love them --infact, all kids.
Usman, Saad, Hasan, Hamza, Amal, Zaid (face turned) and Duva.

Giving hope!!!

Here is a little story:

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoonto help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to theroom's only window.The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.The men talked for hours on end.They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs,their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation.

Every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up,he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.The man in the other bed began to live for those one-hour periodswhere his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activityand color of the world outside.

The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake.Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their modelboats.Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and afine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance. As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, theman on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imaginethe picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by.Although the other man couldn't hear the band - he could see it. Inhis mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it withdescriptive words. Days and weeks passed.

One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their bathsonly to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who haddied peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called thehospital attendants to take the body away. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could bemoved next to the window.The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he wascomfortable, she left him alone. Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take hisfirst look at the real world outside.He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed.It faced a blank wall. The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderfulthings outside this window.

The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see thewall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."

Epilogue: "There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations" "Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled""If you want to feel rich, just count all the things you have that money can't buy""Today is a gift, that's why it is called the present."

sameer bhat

Beauty of the sonorous chant

Take this small trip down our little globe. See how Azaan is the most chanted verse, world over:

A look at a map of the world and you will find Indonesia on the eastern side of the earth. The major cities of Indonesia are Java, Sumatra, Borneo and Saibil. As soon as dawn breaks on the easternside Of Saibil, at approximately 5:30 am local time, Fajar Aazaan -- Muslim call for Prayer -- begins. Thousands of Muezzins -- those who give the call -- in Indonesia begin reciting the Aazaan. The process advances towards West Indonesia.

One and a half hours After the Aazaan has been completed in Saibil, itechoes in Jakarta. Sumatra then follows suit and before this process of calling Aazaan ends in Indonesia, it has already begun inMalaysia. Burma is next in line, and within an hour of its beginning in Jakarta, It reaches Dacca, the capital city of Bangladesh. After Bangladesh, it has already prevailed in western India, from Calcutta to Srinagar.

It then advances towards Mumbai (Bombay). Srinagar and Sialkot (a north city inPakistan) have the same timing for Aazaan. The time difference between Sialkot, Quetta, and Karachi is forty minutes, and within this time, FajarAazaan is heard throughout Pakistan. Before it ends there, it has alreadybegun in Afghanistan and Muscat.

The time difference Between Muscat and Baghdad is one hour. Aazaan resounds during this one hour in the environments of Hijaaz-e-Muqaddas (cities of Makkah and Madinah), Yemen, United Arab Emirates, Kuwait andIraq. The time difference between Baghdad and Alexandria in Egypt is again one hour. Aazaan continues to resound in Syria, Egypt, Somalia and Sudan during this hour. The time difference between eastern and WesternTurkey is one and a half hours, and during this time it is echoed with the call to prayer.

Alexandria and Tripoli -- capital of Libya-- are located at one hour's difference. The process of calling Aazaan thus continues throughout the whole of Africa. Therefore, the proclamation of the "Tawheed" and "Risaalat"that had begun in Indonesia reaches the eastern shore of the Atlantic ocean after nine and half hours.

Prior to the Aazaan reaching the shores of the Atlantic, the process of"Zohar Aazaan" has already started in east Indonesia, and before it reaches Dacca, "Asr Aazaan" has started. This has hardly reached Jakarta one and half hours later, the time of "Maghrib" becomes due, and no sooner has "Maghrib" time reached Sumatra, the time for calling "Isha Aazaan" has commenced in Saibil! The cycle continues.

When the Muazzins of Indonesia are calling out "Fajar Aazaan", the AfricanMuazzins are calling the Aazaan for Isha. If we were to ponder over this phenomenon thoughtfully, we would conclude the amazing fact that there is not even a single moment when hundreds of thousands of Muazzins around the world are not reciting the Aazaan on the surface of this earth.

Adapted: With Thanks Isra

Monday, November 21, 2005

Uzi


A beautiful boy, he dances and laughs and makes your heart do a jig. Lovable Usman.

Shanoo


Shanoo, clad in the traditional Kashmiri attire. Pheran, Sakab -- headgear -- and earings.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

The Indian Serenade

I ARISE from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright.
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet
Hath led me—who knows how?
To thy chamber window, Sweet!

Les mots de Shelley, Mon poète préféré

Monday, November 14, 2005

Back to Square one


Mates, I am back and I am being a lil philosophical today. Bear me like this, for a while!

I was in a windswept land. It was cold but serene. They say it rained fire in the countryside and there are occassional booms, that takes the wit out of you but lucikly I saw none. I was too engrossed with myself to notice all that. I met some loving people. I have already known them. They are the reason, I continue to live and love.

I was also jilted -- poem expresses it -- by someone, I hadn't expected to. I took it. I can't say no to what life proffers. The courageous amongst us are those who fall down and get up. To start it over again. I still retain the beauty I feel beneath my skin. I still like the dreams, I lived through!

I am back to work. Day 1 was easy. Day two... the squeeze starts. I'll cope. I know Sam.

Till next time

sameer bhat

Jilted

The sun is warm, the sky is clear,
The waves are dancing fast and bright,
Blue isles and snowy mountains wear
The purple noon's transparent might,
The breath of the moist air is light,
Around its unexpanded buds;
Like many a voice of one delight,
The winds', the birds', the ocean floods',
The City's voice itself, is soft like Solitude's.
I see the Deep's untrampled floor
With green and purple seaweeds strown;
I see the waves upon the shore,
Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown:
I sit upon the sands alone, --
The lightning of the noontide ocean
Is flashing round me, and a tone
Arises from its measured motion,
How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion.
Alas! I have nor hope nor health,
Nor peace within nor calm around,
Nor that content surpassing wealth
The sage in meditation found,
And walked with inward glory crowned --
Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure.
Others I see whom these surround --
Smiling they live, and call life pleasure; --
To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.
Some might lament that I were cold,
As I, when this sweet day is done,
Which my lost heart, too soon grown old,
Insults with this untimely moan;
They might lament -- for I am one
Whom men love not, -- and yet regret,
Unlike this day which, when the sun
Shall on its stainless glory set,
Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet.
Yet now despair itself is mild,
Even as the winds and waters are;
I could lie down like a tired child,
And weep away the life of care
Which I have borne and yet must bear,
Till death like sleep might steal on me,
And I might feel in the warm air
My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea
Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony.