How many times have you logged onto youtube, and not known what you want to type in the search bar? Happens quite often to me. This time, a memory suddenly came to me, and i went where it took me. To this song.
An old favourite, a song which willy-nilly brings tears to the eyes. Reminds me of playing hide-and-seek when there were power-cuts. Or going home with bruised knees from falling while playing. Of days which, I suppose, are our fondest memory.
For those who dont understand the Urdu, heres the translation:
ye daulat bhi le lo, ye shoharat bhi le lo
Take away the fame and the fortune which this world has given me
bhale chhin lo mujhase meri javaani
magar mujhako lauta do bachapan ka saavan
But return to me the lush-green, rain-drenched memories of my childhood
vo kaagaz ki kashti, vo baarish ka paani
And that paper boat, that stream of rain water
muhalle ki sabase nishaani puraani
vo budhiya jise bachche kahate the naani
That old woman we kids used to call Grandma
vo naani ki baaton mein pariyon ka dera
vo chahare ki jhuriryon mein sadiyon ka phera
The centuries of history in the wrinkles on her face
bhulaaye nahin bhuul sakata hai koi
One cannot forget even if one tries
vo chhoti si raatein vo lambi kahaani
Those oh so short nights, and the long tales of Grandma
kadi dhuup mein apane ghar se nikalana
vo chidiya vo bul-bul vo titali pakadana
Listening to the chirping of the birds, chasing those butterflies
vo gudiya ki shaadi mein ladana jhagadana
vo jhuulon se girana vo gir ke sambhalana
Falling from the swing, and getting up laughing, unmindful of the bruised knees or elbows
vo pital ke chhallon ke pyaare se tohafe
vo tuuti hui chuudiyon ki nishaani
Those broken shards of glass bangles which we nevertheless used to store away as keepsakes of friends
kabhi ret ke uunche tilon pe jaana
gharonde banaana banaake mitaana
Making those sand-houses, making and demolishing them
vo maasuum chaahat ki tasvir apani
vo khvaabon khilaunon ki jaagir apani
That kingdom of ours, made of our toys, and our dreams, those dreams …
na duniya ka gam tha na rishton ke bandhan
badi khuubasuurat thi vo zindagaani
This so reminds of the streets where i was raised, in Delhi … the mohalla, flying kits onj the rooftops, and of course, of course … Grandma! and her stories!! they seemed so, so real then, and the feelings of those stories seem to real even now!
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My thoughts exactly. 🙂
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🙂
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