Pure Sin

O my Lord

I’m seeking Pure Sin

your immense power

You’ve showered

on me

your sweet love

You’ve given

to me

your magical chants

You’ve sung for me

O my Lord

I’m empty again

Fill me …..

With your Power

Your Love

Your Sweet Voice

And You…

O my Love

I’m seeking Pure Sin

Come Inside Me…!

—— Sufi

 

ओ मेरेया मेहरमा (O Mereya Mehrama)

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ओ बुलंदी ते वस्सन वालेया  
कदे धरती ते नज़र तां मार
लूह छडेया कंडेयाँ ने पिंडा
तूं नूर दी चद्दर तां खिलार …!

कदे भूल के वी तूं भुलेया नही 
दर्द सिम्दा रेहा कदे जम्मेया नही 
तेरे नां दा तीर आर पार लंघेया 
कदे याद तां कर भुल जान वालेया…!

अखाँ मेरीयाँ चों नींदरे रुस गे 
हंझुआँ दे सैलाब आये ते मुड गे 
तूं दित्ती सी झलकारी जेह्डी रब वरगी 
कदे फेर वी विखा मुड के न आऊंन वालेया 
 

Towards Selflessness…

This was a regular Sunday morning,  full of laziness and sleep. As usual the day started little late. I think you all agree with me that a perfect Sunday morning is a romance with coverlet and laziness of sleep in a same time. Not only body but also mind cherishes to play with sleep on this very day. But I had one crucial appointment. Actually it is not an appointment it is a sincere round on the ancestral path.

So I threw away my laziness and coverlet at the same time and  readied my self to meet the past. Yes, some places have something within…something special; you name it spiritual aura or some magical enchantment; whatever you wish. Our native place is just like that. A small village about ten kilometers away from our centurian old home a simple temple with some transcendental feel within, Something other than its appearance, Something beyond explanation. I always feel a deep touch of solace whenever I give just a thought to it. 

Not only the place but I love the path which follows to that place. It is a small concrete road snaking around the farms filled with greenry. I saw some farms with bright yellow mustard flowers- glistening in the golden aura. It was breathtaking scene. But today the silence of farm  was broken by the colorful villagers. This was a rustic fair with roadside venders with balloons golbbled up in dust. 

Anyway I was there at 11 in the morning. The whole place was packed with colorful villagers. Even the parking was badly packed with the vehicles. I parked my bike and the first thing that I  listened was the shabad “Mera mujh main kuchh nahi Jo kuchh hai so tera” means I have nothing  mine in me all in me is yours. And the first thought that occurs to me was how selfish we people are . . . We always find a sophisticated yet self seeking chat from Him. We never understand what God is telling with His simple ways. This was the effect of that place – one feels detached with one’s present and experiences the holy string bound with Him. How simple He is…How simply He shows and showers His Love…I wonder…!

That reminds me a story written by Amrita Pritam.
Years ago, a simple saint lived in the outer skirts of a village. People always praised him for his simplicity and unselfish behavior. He never asked for anything from the villagers. The villagers gave him food for his daily need. That was sufficient for him. One day a young girl of that village gave birth to a child. When her family and the other villagers forced her to reveal the name of the father of her child, first she refused and after being pressurised hard by everyone she raised her finger on that saint.
People got angry and went to that saint with that  new born. The father of that girl handed over that child to him and said,” this is yours”. Saint didn’t answer any of their questions but said “Oh this is mine. . .”and took that child simply. But he had nothing to feed him. So he went to the every house of the village to beg milk for the infant.
People were so angry that they didn’t open their doors. After wandering all around the village he reached at that house where the lingering mother of that child was living. She didn’t tolerate her child’s cry for milk and she rushed to him. When her father and other family members stopped her she started weeping and said that saint is innocent. I said his name only to save the real culprit. Her father, drenched in guilt,fell on the saint’s feet… He took the child from him and said,” he is not yours so there is no need to look after him anymore. Please give me the child and forgive us”. The saint gave him the child simply and said, “Oh this is not mine.”

This story touched me deeply. Can we become as selfless as that saint? Can we take everything causelessly and then return it simply? Why we relate everything with us as ours?  Why can’t we 

say satiatedly that this is not mine???

The significance of Dignity

Winters have almost flown away. But this night is not quite just like all other nights of winters. The sky is shrouded with black,wet,thick clouds saturated with water. Thundering and lightening broke the silence of the murky night. Not a wink of sleep was in my eyes. I was wondering how nature anticipated my gloomy state. Something was stuck in my mind, something which is as bright as moon, as enlightened as sun as sweet as blossoming nectar but I can’t figure it. I don’t know how to reveal it but it always vibrates within me.

I sighed deeply and completed my daily prayer. This is a routine of mine to go to the terrace and light a small earthen lamp in front of Maa Tulsi. Today this tiny lamp was looking so shallow under those jolts of thunderbolts. But still it was shining with its full strength and vigour.I was amazed to see that the strong wind had a also started attacking the lamp but it hardly affected the flame.


Suddenly I trembled with cold when I felt some drops of water slithering on my neck. It was a light shower of rain. I managed my lamp under a brick bridge and alighted quickly to the verandah. It drizzled silently but the light sound of whispering leaves broke that silence conveniently(*). I saw all of my plants. They were happy with this sudden boon of rain. The Tulsi plant is brightened with the light of that lamp lying under its pot. All its leaves were glistening with the light. It was looking heavenly.

I don’t know why I remembered the story of Vrinda(Tulsi), a woman brimming with love, devotion and the power of belief.

Vrinda was a devoted wife who was attached with her husband emotionally as well as spiritually. Her devotion gave an uncanny strength to her husband who was a barbaric demon. Even God wasn’t able to stop his inhuman atrocities because of Varinda’s love and devotion. For the sake of humanity God took an inhuman decision. He disguised himself as Vrinda’s husband and stayed with her a whole night and ruined the dignity of a woman or a loyal wife. Next day Vrinda realized the truth and was drenched with grief and guilt. Her inconsolable state forced her to suicide. She burned herself alive in front of God. Even God realized his own injustice. He bowed his head and it was said that His body color was changed in black due to His injustice and shame. He declared Vrinda as His wife and gave her a boon that she would always stay in every house as a plant named Tulsi and God Himself would lay at her feet as a black colored stone named Shaligram.

A strong blow of cold spinechilling wind brought me to the cruel reality.The tinkling sound of rain was getting louder from the tin roof of our verandah. Where are those women who became a challenge for God? Where are those women whom love and devotion became a power which couldn’t be broken by the Almighty God even? Where has that true and holy devotion obliviated which is unreachable even for the Gods? Could we ever realize what the significance of dignity is?

I’m a gloom !

The moon is Beautiful–But too far,
The sun is sublime–But to char,
The stars are lovely–But too vague,
The ocean is wonderful–But to lost,
Love is Serene –A Fire in my Heart !

Let me chase the dark clouds,
Let me defeat the dreadful nights,
Let me go through the hidden caves,
Let me tune thy music again…
Who am I…Just a name…!

Who is walking with me on slippery road?
Who is sailing with me on glassy sea?
Who is floating with me in deep sky?
Letting me free from the finiteness…
O My Love…Is That You…?

He is painting with invisible hands!
He is singing in mystical voice!
He is weaving this fairy life!
He is picking all the thorns!
No, not God…He is You…!

My waters for the sea…I’m a stream !
My sweetness for the air…I’m a bloom!
My songs for the woods…I’m a bird !
My essence for the season…I’m a fruit !
Your Love is a shine…I’m a gloom !

Rubaiyat by Rumi…

 Rubaiyat By Rumi…

Time bringeth swift to end
The rout men keep;
Death’s wolf is nigh to rend
These silly sheep.

See, how in pride they go
With lifted head,
Till Fate with a sudden blow
Smiteth them dead.

™
Thou who lovest, life a crow,
Winter’s chill and winter’s snow,
Ever exiled from the vale’s
Roses red, and nightingales:

Take this moment to thy heart!
When the moment shall depart,
Long thou ‘lt seek it as it flies
With a hundred lamps and eyes.

™
The heavenly rider passed;
The dust rose in the air;
He sped; but the dust he cast
Yet hangeth there.

Straight forward thy vision be, 
And gaze not left or night;
His dust is here, and he 
In the Infinite.

™
Who was he that said
The immortal spirit is dead,
Or how dared he say
Hope’s sun hath passed away?

An enemy of the sun,
Standing his roof upon,
Bound up both his eyes
And cried: ‘Lo, the sun dies!’

™
‘Who lifteth up the spirit,
Say, who is he?’
‘Who gave in the beginning
This life to me.

Who hoodeth, life a falcon’s,
Awhile mine eyes,
But presently shall loose me
To hunt my prize.’


Hello world!

Adhi raat pehr de tadke….
Akhan vich unindra radke.
Teri tohr vi surme vargi………
sajna de pind jandi sadke.
jo gall tethoo keh na hoi….
oho gall mere dil vich radke
Lo hi lo si saek nahi si……
Dekh liya mai jugnu fadke…!

अधि रात पहर दे तडके….
अखां विच उनिन्दरा रडके.
तेरी टौर वी सुरमे वरगी………
सजना दे पिंड जांदी सड़के.
जो गल्ल तेथों कह न होई….
ओहो गल्ल मेरे दिल विच रडके
लोअ ही लोअ सी सेक नही सी……
देख लिया मैं जुगनू फडके…!!!