Memory and Architecture

Mera Kuch Saamaan

Ijaazat (1987)

Music Director: RD Burman

Singer: Asha Bhosle

Lyricist: Gulzar

Mera Kuch Saamaan Tumhare Paas Pada Hai -2

Saavan Ke Kuch Bheege Bheege Din Rakhe Hain

Aur Mere Ik Khat Main Lipti Raat Padi Hai

Vo Raat Bujhaa Do, Mera Vo Saamaan Lauta Do - 2

Mera Kuch Saamaan Tumhaare Paas Pada Hai - 2

Patjhad Hai Kcuh ... Hai Na ?

Patjhad Mein Kuch Patton Ke Girne Kee Aahat

Kaanon Mein Ek Baar Pahan Ke Laut Aai Thee

Patjhad Kee Vo Saakh Abhi Tak Kaanp Rahi Hai

Vo Shaakh Gira Do, Mera Vo Saamaan Lauta Do - 2

Ek Akeli Chhataree Main Jab Aadhe Aadhe Bheeg Rahe The - 2

Aadhe Sookhe Aadhe Geele, Sukha To Main Le Aaye Thee

Geela Man Shayad Bistar Ke Paas Pada Ho Vo Bhijwa Do,

Mera Vo Saamaan Lauta Do

Ek Sau Sola Chaand Ki Raatein Ek Tumhare Kaandhe Ka Til - 2

Geeli Mehendi Ki Khushboo, Jhooth Mooth Ke Shikwe Kuchh

Jhooth Mooth Ke Wade Bhi Sab Yaad Karaa Do; Sab Bhijwa Do,

Mera Vo Saamaan Lauta Do - 2

Ek Ijaazat De Do Bas, Jab Isako Dafanaaungee

Main Bhi Vaheen So Jaungee

Main Bhi Vaheen So Jaungee

---

English Translation

Some of my things (belongings), with you, are still kept,

Some damp, wet days of the monsoon lay,

And a night nestled in one of my letters...

Help me forget that night, return me my belongings.

Some autumn... isn't it?

In autumn of some leaves, the light sound of their fall,

Came back as my ears wore it at once,

Of autumn, the branch that is still shivering,

Let that branch fall, return me those of my belongings...

Under one umbrella, when we both were soaking partially,

Partially dry, partially wet – I had taken the dryness with myself,

Perhaps the wet mind that is still lying near the bed,

Send that (wetness) across, send across my belongings...

One hundred and sixteen moon nights and a mole on your shoulder,

The smell of the wet henna, and some cooked up false complaints,

Remind me all those false promises too, send them across

Return me my belongings...

Give me the permission when I shall bury all of this

And I myself will sleep there

And I myself will sleep there...

State of Mind

These days I don't like to write. Although I think of transcribing many things that I listen in discussion that people around me engage in. I keep wondering if they are just talking something much more important than what I have (if at all) got to say. I don't think I have anything to say any more.

When I ritualistically listen to the Bollywood songs on my headphone while traveling to and back from work, I pay attention to the space they create in my head, the composition, the meaning in the composition, and make evaluations in my head about their overall effect. 

I read excerpts of my masters thesis today. Inspite of my belief that there is something significant in that idea, I was disappointed in my writing. Very few have read it. I don't ask people to read it, and yet I want it to be discussed. Who will read it, critique it, help me make it more meaningful?

I am still not able to find place in this place. This place, that is the city, the home, the new school - that which I thought to be mine. Where do  I belong? And if not here, where do I go? In this spirit, I gathered courage to talk to my parents of finding a new place, failing to receive any encouragement. 

I don't connect to anyone, I am disconnected to myself. My ideas remain in my head, they bloom and burst in my own mind - because I feel they are insignificant as compared to the ideas my peers are producing. I doubt the intangibility of ideas. What do ideas really do anyway? Where have they taken me - am I not back to pavilion? 

That day I sang for the students and felt empty. My songs were empty. As if they came from a voice outside of me. They did not transform me in any way. The students yet appreciated!

What is this state of mind? Am I experience another culture shock? And I just realized that the whole post is dotted with 'dont's'. Quite opposite to what the positivist America should have done to me. Although, it will take time, may be to realign and re establish.

Escalator / Borivali

I cross over the footbridge from Borivali East to West, where the staircase that takes me up has recently been modernized into an escalator. Watching that piece of machine in a public space like the railway station of Mumbai is pure entertainment. People of all kinds in the city - young, old, infants, men, women, villagers, migrants, rich, poor are subject to this new animated object that takes them up. Every morning I see different encounters of such cross section of people with this machinic animal. Women in saris pull them high to avoid their flowing ends to get into the complicated machinery, villagers look astonished and puzzled about when to step into the moving platform, they wait for others to hold hands and give them the confidence and assurance that the machine wouldn't overpower them, or many are confused where to keep the hands once on the moving treads - finally holding the shoulders of strangers standing besides them... It is pure joy to look at such first experiences with technology. Does this not become art in public space - if one considers the pure function of art to amuse people in a way that they find their own selves?

Repetitions