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Tujh Ko Dariyadili Ki Qasam Saaqiya

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 On one of my daily walks, I happened to listen to Jatin-Lalit’s composition from Yes Boss – Ek Din Aap Hum Ko Yoon Mil Jaayenge – penned by Javed Akhtar and sung by Kumar Sanu and Alka Yagnik. Here’s the link - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HHgVlMrkloQ The tune of the first line sounded similar to an old Jagjit-Chitra Singh ghazal - Tujhko Dariyadili Ki Kasam Saaqiya. If I am not mistaken, this ghazal was from the early eighties. Then I was in my teens and had dismissed it as yet another “philosophical song” by Jagjit. But the song (ghazal) stayed with me. Decades later when I “listened” to it once again, it was revelation for me. Also remember this is a Ghazal, not a Nazm. A Ghazal is made up of a number of independent couplets (Sher’s), while a Nazm is on a specific topic or mood. This ghazal written by Sabaa Afghani has several layers and facets – love for the beloved, for self and for the Almighty. For a heart that’s deep in love, this ghazal can sound like a request m...
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Shadows and Lights

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The auditorium lights in Shanmukhanand Hall felt blinding as I walked up to the stage when the anchor announced, " Maharashtra State Award for Best Director-Documentary goes to Falguni Prabhudesai".  I had put my complete energy in this film on migrant workers in Hadapsar, and the applause echoed like a tide crashing against the walls. I smiled, but inside my chest there was a storm of gratitude, disbelief, and a quiet ache. Is this the moment he will finally look at me not just as his daughter, but as an artist? I thought as I looked at my father, the greatest film director this state produced - Lalit Prabhudesai, sitting in the front row, his face unreadable as always. But it was not always like this... I often think of my childhood as a long corridor in our huge bungalow on Prabhat Road, lined with doors that never opened. Behind each door was my father, immersed in his films, his scripts, his endless discussions with colleagues. By the time I was born he was already f...
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Of Solitude And Wisdom

For the first time, I have attempted to write prose in Ghazal form. And it took a lot of time... many weeks. It’s still an amateurish effort 😊 but I’ve tried maintain the Radif and Qafiya while trying to keep the meaning intact. And yes, I know I have many more miles to go…. 😊😊😊 Over the past many months, I had to unlearn and learn a lot of things. My burnout nudged me to get used to many new aspects of everyday life… to pause and admire the daily things that we see, take for granted and move on. Reluctantly though, I started discovering the joy’s of Solitude – not the isolation but revelation. I realised that silence is not emptiness, but truth, and the journey of life itself is the treasure. Solitude is like a philosophy of inner abundance, where life’s deepest rewards are already present, waiting to be discovered. I realise this is getting deep, but the connect with ones “self” was a revelation for me. I think I am now enroute to understand the silence of my father in his las...
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Cracked Mirror

September had came to Pune, when the monsoon lingered like a guest reluctant to leave. The air was thick with dampness, the streets glistened under fading showers, and the smell of wet earth clung to everything. As a real estate consultant in early thirties, I had spent years convincing families that happiness could be measured in square feet and doors facing east.  My husband, Mihir Pandit, was a Chartered Accountant, meticulous and disciplined, with a wardrobe of neatly pressed shirts and a mind that thought in numbers. We lived in a spacious apartment in Kothrud, with French windows opening to Gulmohar trees washed clean by the rains. On paper, our lives were perfect. But little did I know that paper dissolves in water. My second miscarriage happened quietly, like a candle extinguished by a sudden gust. I remember the sterile smell of the hospital, the white walls that seemed to mock my grief, and Mihir’s hand gripping mine with a firmness that felt more like duty than comfort...
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