Prateeksha, Mumbai February 8, 2010 Mon 11 : 48 PM
I am weak to day. Weak in thought. Weak in what I do. Weak in circumstance. Weak in memory. Weak with myself.
My weakness could be my exhaustion. An exhaustion not of time or deed. An exhaustion from excessive consumption. My Father’s work consumes me. The Times of India ‘Aman ki Asha’ initiative just got over at the Bandra Fort, where Zia Moyeddin and I recited in the spirit of togetherness and hope for peace. The Fort is actually an old relic, left unattended and has been through some innovative design changes. A small informal stage has erupted, an amphitheater like seating in front, has an air of informality. There are no comfort zones or efforts made to make it happen. People just arrive and seat themselves on the floor with folded feet and relaxed mind.
Whatever the outcome, what I believe is right is that there were this many people who were lovers of poetry. And many among them were first timers, young and oblivious to poetry and by whom. The atmosphere was built in a manner where it was certain that all could be seen out in the open at the press of a button. People had come there to have a good time and I do believe that that is a quality which signifies that the doors are open for a happy nostalgic evening.
My Father’s works at once sonorous and sad and then almost directly posing as happy with sarcasm catches the very large canvas that he covered when he wrote. There was a sense of fulfillment within me and I do hope in the minds of the film Industry that had decorated the place with their own presence.
God has been kind. Perhaps we needed to remember him time and again so as to delay departure..
The crowds were beyond the capacity. It being an outdoor amphitheater with free passes it was bound to get a little boisterous. As the recitation by Zia began the seats in the hall had all begun to be in a mood of reconciliation, and by the time I came over, the pulse in the audience was apparent. There are many that were unable to connect with the purest form of Faiz Ahmed Faiz’s urdu, now the official language of Pakistan and so were perhaps relieved when I came on with ‘Madhushala’ and Viju Shah’s orchestra, the old favorites, smiling and happy.
Wanting to connect with my Father at last, becoming a virtual necessity I volunteered for, it. It was a healthy mix of contemporary and modern times, and I do feel that every time I think of him in such circumstances, a strength comes upon me from him and one that remains dormant for a while ; until circumstances change with power.
Power will be there in many liberated causes, but it cannot just be a Mr Rai. I believe that flimsy surrogate and wasteful research will have just that in life and no mother.
I must rest now. I shall continue later in the day tomorrow.
It is with love , … a love that knows anyway about the brand ..