What easterly wind is blowing today! The old pains are awakened Sitting under the passing shade of time, I was writing my story, Laughing and weeping, Had forgotten the old pain. But tell me my dear, What easterly wind is blowing today! The old pains are awakened. Me, the crazy one, was driven out of the town, What had I to do with the town? The burden of pain should have been left behind, Why it should have been carried on? Rizwan, was that burden not enough? What easterly wind is blowing today! The old pains are awakened. Some old dreams are awakened in the wet eyes, Some wounds are opened, some pains increased. Some old pains are awakened. What easterly wind is blowing today! Tell me my dear! |
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Saturday, November 19, 2011
Old Pains Are Awakened
Following The Trail
Where all the people are running to Riding the shoulders of the air? Don't look back even, A crowd is running behind them. Whom should I ask where you are going to? What is the destination, With no address or a sign? If want to know, accompany them, But who knows, Where they might lead to. And never to return, Tell nothing to the people, And in the same way people continue to walk Like an endless caravan. |
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The Legacy
This show of luxurious things, The crowd of charming faces, Or the death of hopes of hundreds of thousands. Who does not want a comfortable living? Who does not seek comforts? Which is not the season of love? But those are the seasons of injuries. If the show brightens with silver and gold, Then the sight of the world is worth seeing, Otherwise the moonlight is deathly pale. For a time the heart was restless in the side, There was a turmoil and craze. But this adversity be damned! Carrying my ego on my palm, Which was my blood-money. What will I do with this valueless thing! God forbid! It becomes the legacy, That bites my children |
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In Lighter Vein
In Lighter Vein
GAJAL A PHARSI RECIPE
by Rizwan ullah
Originally patented as 'Ghazal' in Pharsi is vociferated as 'gajal' in desi bhasa. It is a sort of khichri prepared according to a Pharsi recipe. The blend was introduced in Hindustan by Mogul confectioners, wanderers and peddlers of various sorts just as we have pepsi, cola, pizza among the recent taste teasers. The Pharsi khichri was originally cooked in arrack much hyped by Hafiz and Khayyam and others of their tribe. It reached Hindustani mandi high and dry, again like cola concentrate, and was received with great acclaim sans Mnadi House courtesy. The original colour of the mash was pink and violet.
As we Hindustanis have developed a great liking for hot and strong tastes which is one of the surviving vestiges of Mogul diversities, Lots of mussala was added to prepare wide varieties of the original preparation so as to make it presentable and acceptable to all tastes. Early experiments were made with waters fetched from the Dajla (Tigris) and the Farat (Euphrate). Later, waters of the Ravi and the Chenab of Punjab were experimented with, but waters of the Ganga and the Jamuna, not so much polluted then, proved to be the most suitable indigenous ingredients and more digestible as well. These waters have proved their excellence when milk is mingled with it or when it is sprinkled, of course with a devotional intent, over a large variety of commodities as far apart as sugar, coal and firewood.
History has from the time immemorial used Hindustan as a vast caldron for mixing all sorts of things such as races, religions, languages, cultures, traditions to prepare an acceptable social ketchup. Similarly the Khichri of gajal was prepared by mixing all sorts of ingredients in the Hindustani climes such as rose, thorn, stone sweat. Even non-veg ingredients like blood, pieces of broken heart and minced liver were added. Surprisingly, the preparation was relished by the veg and the non-veg alike. Sweet, sour and bitter tastes were abundantly available to be served on all occasions either in earthenware made by the kumhar the potter and sold at a throw away price, and hence preferred by our great Galib Sahab, or in goblets made in European potteries for the class conscious. However, the muck was prepared widely from the lanes of Dilli to every Urdu medium primary school anywhere, thankfully they are on the decline.
As the days passed the commodity changed hands with generations of traders. Our traders have proved their enterprising excellence in selling all sort of commodities including language and religion. So after promoting preparations like idli, dosa, papad, pickle, pakora in the West they took to exporting the khichri called gajal to the Middle East, West and far West and fetched hard currency. For this they had to hire the services of promoters from amongst the Hindustani diaspora who formed societies and organized contests for vocal presentation of gajal. Reportedly they are doing good business as the people with surplus money in the des of plenty can spend on anything just for the sake of a change.
The choice of colour has also been taken good care of so it is available in rosy, tulip, red, emerald green, saffron and marigold colours. In fact Galib Sahab and before him Mir Sahab were the best producers of the original brand. But for the succeeding promoters like Hali and Azad the brew would have fallen on dull tastes after the fall of their Mogul patrons and Nawab followers.
God bless our law makers they relish all old and new brands of the khichri, that is gajal, with that they get their strained nerves soothed and agitated emotions relaxed, in a state of rage it can be splashed on the rival's face without causing any damage to the person or property. Thus provision of a khichri cafe adjacent to the houses seems to be a sound suggestion.
GAJAL A PHARSI RECIPE
by Rizwan ullah
Originally patented as 'Ghazal' in Pharsi is vociferated as 'gajal' in desi bhasa. It is a sort of khichri prepared according to a Pharsi recipe. The blend was introduced in Hindustan by Mogul confectioners, wanderers and peddlers of various sorts just as we have pepsi, cola, pizza among the recent taste teasers. The Pharsi khichri was originally cooked in arrack much hyped by Hafiz and Khayyam and others of their tribe. It reached Hindustani mandi high and dry, again like cola concentrate, and was received with great acclaim sans Mnadi House courtesy. The original colour of the mash was pink and violet.
As we Hindustanis have developed a great liking for hot and strong tastes which is one of the surviving vestiges of Mogul diversities, Lots of mussala was added to prepare wide varieties of the original preparation so as to make it presentable and acceptable to all tastes. Early experiments were made with waters fetched from the Dajla (Tigris) and the Farat (Euphrate). Later, waters of the Ravi and the Chenab of Punjab were experimented with, but waters of the Ganga and the Jamuna, not so much polluted then, proved to be the most suitable indigenous ingredients and more digestible as well. These waters have proved their excellence when milk is mingled with it or when it is sprinkled, of course with a devotional intent, over a large variety of commodities as far apart as sugar, coal and firewood.
History has from the time immemorial used Hindustan as a vast caldron for mixing all sorts of things such as races, religions, languages, cultures, traditions to prepare an acceptable social ketchup. Similarly the Khichri of gajal was prepared by mixing all sorts of ingredients in the Hindustani climes such as rose, thorn, stone sweat. Even non-veg ingredients like blood, pieces of broken heart and minced liver were added. Surprisingly, the preparation was relished by the veg and the non-veg alike. Sweet, sour and bitter tastes were abundantly available to be served on all occasions either in earthenware made by the kumhar the potter and sold at a throw away price, and hence preferred by our great Galib Sahab, or in goblets made in European potteries for the class conscious. However, the muck was prepared widely from the lanes of Dilli to every Urdu medium primary school anywhere, thankfully they are on the decline.
As the days passed the commodity changed hands with generations of traders. Our traders have proved their enterprising excellence in selling all sort of commodities including language and religion. So after promoting preparations like idli, dosa, papad, pickle, pakora in the West they took to exporting the khichri called gajal to the Middle East, West and far West and fetched hard currency. For this they had to hire the services of promoters from amongst the Hindustani diaspora who formed societies and organized contests for vocal presentation of gajal. Reportedly they are doing good business as the people with surplus money in the des of plenty can spend on anything just for the sake of a change.
The choice of colour has also been taken good care of so it is available in rosy, tulip, red, emerald green, saffron and marigold colours. In fact Galib Sahab and before him Mir Sahab were the best producers of the original brand. But for the succeeding promoters like Hali and Azad the brew would have fallen on dull tastes after the fall of their Mogul patrons and Nawab followers.
God bless our law makers they relish all old and new brands of the khichri, that is gajal, with that they get their strained nerves soothed and agitated emotions relaxed, in a state of rage it can be splashed on the rival's face without causing any damage to the person or property. Thus provision of a khichri cafe adjacent to the houses seems to be a sound suggestion.
GROWING THE BEARD
The razor's edge as usual,
Was face to face with my beard,
Quizzed rather harshly,
For the first time in fifty years,
The barbs should you grow and pop
the speckle fins?
To prick the arms at night?
And frighten the mirror at dawn?
Presto cam the answer!
Why not quiz the whiskers, trimmed to size,
To snoop and spy
On the in and out of the nostrils?
That blow with gusto;
The vile mustache that grow and align along the lip,
Propped by the façade of dwindling teeth
That bare in anger and shiver in pain?
The poor beared!
Fumed froth and vanished.
The razor's edge as usual,
Was face to face with my beard,
Quizzed rather harshly,
For the first time in fifty years,
The barbs should you grow and pop
the speckle fins?
To prick the arms at night?
And frighten the mirror at dawn?
Presto cam the answer!
Why not quiz the whiskers, trimmed to size,
To snoop and spy
On the in and out of the nostrils?
That blow with gusto;
The vile mustache that grow and align along the lip,
Propped by the façade of dwindling teeth
That bare in anger and shiver in pain?
The poor beared!
Fumed froth and vanished.
NEXT DAY
The razor been shy the other morn,
For what had passed, its edge was worn;
It made a break from the yester past,
And the break for days did last;
Thus the beard got respite,
Dropped the quarrel and the fight;
Played in sun with rays that shine,
Chummed with chin, with neck did whine;
The shady sheep, the few w're happier,
As they too were reaped with rapier;
The saying goes that the poor weevil,
If ground with wheat, is not evil,
Askance looked the men around,
Look miserable as they found;
Rushed relatives feigned their sorrow,
Friends promised to come 'tomorrow';
Urchins called me Baba Baba!
Alla, Alla; Toba, Toaba!!
The razor been shy the other morn,
For what had passed, its edge was worn;
It made a break from the yester past,
And the break for days did last;
Thus the beard got respite,
Dropped the quarrel and the fight;
Played in sun with rays that shine,
Chummed with chin, with neck did whine;
The shady sheep, the few w're happier,
As they too were reaped with rapier;
The saying goes that the poor weevil,
If ground with wheat, is not evil,
Askance looked the men around,
Look miserable as they found;
Rushed relatives feigned their sorrow,
Friends promised to come 'tomorrow';
Urchins called me Baba Baba!
Alla, Alla; Toba, Toaba!!
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