Tere mere sapne

US immigration & us. They may have been unkind to Shah Rukh but...!

US immigration and us
by Rajbir Deswal
Holidaying in the US this summer, I did keep myself informed of happenings back home in India through the net, but had a total eclipse of the Shah Rukh Khan issue, which on landing I learnt, had put the entire country and Bollywood on the boil, on a “near blasphemous and sacrilegious” act on the part of US immigration.
Being a cop myself, I don’t find any reason why someone should not be questioned, if he needs to answer some queries. And all the more justifiable it is if the man on duty wants him to. But I have had different “tastes” of, and “treatment” from the US immigration, having made it to that country seven times, during the past nearly seven years.
First time at Baton Rouge, Louisiana, I was not at ease with myself to reply to a curt, “What brings you here?” Since it was an official assignment under an Indo-US programme, I had the cheek to tell the officer, “It’s your own country!” He looked up after scanning my official passport and smiled back to say: “A cop! Enjoy your stay!”
The second time I and my wife were questioned on our “visiting interest” in Denver, Colorado. To amuse the officer I said, “We want to have a view of the world from your mile-high city!” “Be careful not to miss out on Molly Brown House at California Street.” He smiled and “stamped” us suggesting a visit to the “Unsinkable” Titanic survivor’s History-home.
Then at Seattle, the immigration officer put to us all the leading questions and answered them himself. “And you have come to visit your son. And he works for Microsoft. And he lives in Redmond. And you will meet your grand-child. And you will do baby-sitting for him...!” All this while he was processing our passports too, which he returned duly stamped. We wondered why do they call the playful activity “baby-sitting” and not “being-baby”.
Entering the US from Canada after a visit to Vancouver, the officer, this time a woman, was informed by our son saying, “Three of us live in Redmond and my folks are from India”. Reacting to this rather American “introduction” of us, Anaysa, our three-plus granddaughter, chipped in, uninvited. “But they are my Dadi and Dadu, Papa!”
“What did the baby say?” Sawan explained it when to the Immigration Officer’s other question he replied that he worked at his West Lake office in Seattle. “But you work in Redmond, Papa!” Anaysa again connected. “Yes Beta, I work from both places. Will you play with your Leapster” said Sawan in disgust. We were let in with the woman officer waving a “bye” to Anaysa who had a longish “baaaye” to reciprocate, without lifting the eyes from her screen.
When we narrated this to a friend there, he came up with an interesting episode involving one of our own desis, who on having been otherwise cleared for immigration, was told he could not carry a basket full of mangoes from the Canadian side.
“Well, can I eat them?” he pleaded and was allowed with a “Here and now”! And the fellow ate them all in a corner, holding each piece the way a baby holds his milk-bottle. With a loud burp he thanked the US immigration for their “kindness and generosity.” Smile SRK, and forget about it!

A glimpse into the small little world of Deswals

Blue Mysteries

Blue mysteries
By Rajbir Deswal
One of the recognised astrologers of the country proclaimed that blue would be the colour of the new millennium. After hearing this, my mind was all set to explore the blue world.
Why is a woman keenly interested in literary pursuits called a blue-stocking? Why is the blood flowing in the veins of members of royal families called blue? Why is the hard-so-swat big fly termed bluebottle? Why is making an appearance or doing things after long intervals said to be doing so, “once in a blue moon”? Why is a product on celluloid with porn details dubbed a blue film? Why is something untoward labelled as “a bolt from the blue”? Why is a blue ribbon always a mark of distinction? Why does a depressed man look blue? Only an athlete representing his institution can wear a blue scarf or a blue cap. Why? Why is a sea-man called a blue-jacket? Why are hardships and inconvenient things termed blue? Why is a loyal member of a party called “true-blue”?
Why, in business and finance, is a stock that is considered strong and reliable in terms of dividend yield referred to as a blue-chip? And in the computer era, why should a blue-chip control your daily routine? Why is a murderer of children called a “blue-beard”? Why is “blues” the nomenclature given to melancholy lyrics which are tales of woe or unhappy love in African-American music? Why does a blueprint deserve that appellation in making plans before they are executed?
That should be enough, I think. And blue is not only blue. It’s navy-blue, sky-blue, ocean-blue, British-blue, Oxford-blue, Cambridge-blue and so on. If I were to pluck a piece from the sky, it might not be blue, yet it looks blue. Nearer home, in Hindu mythology, Lord Shiva is believed to have swallowed the poison that emerged after the sagar manthan. When the poison reached the throat of Shiva, he retained it there because if it had been gulped down, the Devtas residing in his stomach would have been endangered. Hence, Neelkanth is appellation given to Lord Shiva’s throat, which turned blue as a result of harnessing the deadly poison. And since poison, in all its form, when it effects the human body, turns it to blue, no edible stuff was given this colour by Mother Nature. The fathomless depth of the oceans confirms the profundity of blue.
The vastness of the expanded skies proclaims the infiniteness of blue. The blue-shift in the spectrum exhibits its frequency and intensity in a striking manner. And all that is even described as blue, as we have seen, may not at all be blue. Surely then, here it becomes mystifying. Blue is not the colour to eat. Hence, no blue rasgullas; no blue cheese! Any takers!

Of Aindees & Khoppartunns ! रोहतक के एंडी और हरियाणा के खोप्पर-टन

Of Aindees & Khoppartunns !

By:Rajbir Deswal
One doesn’t to be a Haryanvi to know aindees and khoppartuns because they are typical to all societies and the Haryanvi dialect has labelled them with a definite nomenclature.

To pinpoint the habitat of the aindees, Rohtak region can be truly given the credit for producing them, or if you hail from outside, there are fair chances of you too becoming an aindee if you possess HIS qualities, while in Rohtak, Mind you, Rohtak for this purpose is not a city but a region, a breeding ground for aindees.

If you are a daredevil, a go-getter, flamboyant, impressive, aggressive, a carry-along type, brave, rescuer, and self-possessed then you stand a good chance to deserve the appellation – Aindee. But it is to be remembered that an element of rusticity, uncouthness, rashness devil-may-care and hardihood has always to be there besides your “ability” to retrace your steps, go back on your word and “when did-I-say-that(?)” or “when-did-I-do-that”, if your scheming turns topsy-turvy.

Yes, of course, for all that is good, if you are able to grab credit. “Who could have otherwise done it, rhetoric” and “Here I throw the challenge”; It is guaranteed that some magnanimity and larger than life façade, has to be there always.

An aindee is always more smartly dressed than others; he is the one who will break the ice and is the least of an introvert. He is to be overriding all others’ arguments even if his conscious mind accepts the facts contrary to his perception and to the admittance of all others. The aindee has really to have one-upmanship and he is a cut above all.

In the countryside any act can be hilarious if it is not really so and any act can be un-inspiring which is actually the other way round. It depends on the sharpness of the mind of the aindee how beautifully he gives it a turn in his favour or not owning the idea at all.

While in Rohtak to be an aindee or to envelop one in that mantle, titled or self-assumed, the word is his. A mere mention of AINDEE is praise of you or prefixing or suffixing this title with your name gives you acceptance in that seemingly sleepy society. Sleepy because these are the very people who have still retained their untainted character typical of the (Jat-heart) land!

Now (and how?) about khoppartunns? The expression is quite suggestive. The only thing you have to do is translate it into English. Well ‘Khoppar’ is the Khopri or the skull and ‘Tunn’ is the sound produced resonating from a hollow utensil, bell, pitcher, well etc. etc. So the empty skull with its resonance of blankness or nothingness above one’s shoulders will make you a good khoppartunn.

Khoppartunn is not the exact antithesis of an aindee for the latter has an imbibed and inculcated trait of deceit, craft and machinations. Yet,l while the aindee will do some smarting also the khoppartunn will blissfully miss all that and will work in a blind bargain situation. The khoppartunn will never think and act, will never accept a sound advice to think and act, will act but on his own and not at someone’s bidding, goading, coaxing, inspiring, commanding, cajoling, luring, and do what you will to stir him up.

Khoppartunn will jump in a well, dash against a wall, swing on the tallest tender branch of a tree, make pace with a running vehicle, lift a quintal stone, burn his fingers literally and have no regrets, not even the wisdom of not repeating the act again will “tunn” against his khopri.

Khoppartunns are quite close to simpletons but only to the extent that while all khoppartunns may be simpletons but all simpletons cannot be khoppartunns. Amongst the simpletons there is always an element of innocence while the khoppartunns may not even know what is innocence. Yet they will justify their acts as “done-so-done”. A simpleton may repent on his deeds but a khoppartunn may never ever say a word of remorse or feel the guilt of it.

Within the aindees and khoppartunns, although all aindees may have something of a khoppartunn but all khoppartunns should have nothing of an aindee. Admittedly, the rusticity of a khoppartunn is always the main ingredient of the making of an aindee.

The best example to differentiate between a khoppartunn and an aindee is that if an aindee should break the windscreen of a passing car he may not own it (having done so) but this accusation on being slapped on the khoppartunn, he may admit: “Yes, I did it, what then?”

While khoppatunns are born as such, the aindees have to undergo an appreciation test of their “calibre” well directed towards their “personality development”. And thus there are aindees in the making, regular aindees and super-aindees. The last category is called a ripe one or pucca hoya aindee. If someone questions: “Are you a the twice born.” Yes he is, for he is a Rohtaki. And now the last word about this supremo.

It is said of the aindees of Rohtak that if you hammer a nail in their head, you will need a screwdriver to take it out in the shape of a screw because a nail will develop grooves during its stay in the head of a Rohtaki.

This was publihsed in The Tribune

तू मेरा नाम भी ले जा

जब कतल किया मुझको तो इनाम भी ले जा
दीवान भी ले जा तू मेरा जाम भी ले जा
ले जा मेरे अशआर ये सब तेरे लिए हैं
और इनमे छुपा जज्बये नाकाम भी ले जा
सोचा था तू तड़पेगा कभी याद में मेरी
जो दिल में पले वो मेरे एह्वाम भी ले जा
अब मुझको नहीं रास आस रहा शोबए उल्फत
आगाज़ भी ले इसका तू अंजाम भी ले जा
तुने तो तिजारत से भी छीनी है सदाक़त
ले माल भी ले जा तू मेरा दाम भी ले जा
अब आने लगी रास मुझे शब् की स्याही
अब सुबह भी ले जा तू मेरी शाम भी ले जा
‘आमिल’ हूँ मेरे नाम से पहचान है तेरी
तू जा ही रहा है तो मेरा नाम भी ले जा
राजबीर देसवाल २००७

A Bouquet of Thoughts विचारों का गुलदस्ता Robin Gupta/Rajbir Deswal

'And what remains in the end?
It is the beauty of space
freed from strife and sorrow;
from the anguish and pain
of evolution;
From the veil of miscalculation;
From the checks and balances
of judgement; and merging
with the cleansing breeze
of the limitless desert
The soul is filled with understanding
with the equipoise of silence.'

और क्या बच रहता है अंततह:
केवल सुन्दरता ? मुक्त हो जाने की?
दुखों और वेदनाओ से
काल-अन्तराल से
हमेशा बढ़ते ही रहने के दर्द और कुंठाओं से
आच्छादित सही-ग़लत अनुमानों से
सधे हुए या उलझे पड़े निर्णयों से
और आताम्सात हो कर उस पवन से
जो बह कर असीम मरुसथ्लों से
निर्मल हो जाती है ।
आत्मा तब उस मौन की एकागर्ता से
सराबोर हो जाती है ।
रॉबिन गुपता की मूल कविता से राजबीर देसवाल द्बारा अनुदित

आज गुस्ताख हुई जाती है क्यूं बादे नसीम

आज गुस्ताख हुई जाती है क्यूं बादे नसीम
क्या किसी शोख की ज़ुल्फों से लिपट आई है
वो हैं ज़ालिम कि मेहरबान मैं ये कैसे पूछूं
मेरी हिम्मत ने बिखरने की कसम खाई है
जिंदगी बे-हिसो नाकाम हुई जाती है
इसमे हंगामा ऐ जज़्बात तो तो पैदा कर दे
शहर खामोश हुस शहर ऐ खामोशा की तरह
इसमे जीने सी कोई बात तो पैदा कर दे
ए मेरी जान-ऐ-ग़ज़ल तेरी वफाओं की कसम
तू नहीं साथ तो जीने मैं कोई जोश नहीं
मैं हूँ मख़मूर मये इश्क के पैमानों से
सागर-ओ-मीना-ओ-साकी का मुझे होश नहीं
मेरी पेशानी पे उगती ये पसीने की कली
मुझ को दिन रात के सब राज़ बता देती है
वो जो असरार छुपे रहते हैं नज़रों से मेरी
गोशे एहसास को चुपके से सुना देती है
जिंदगी फत्ब-ऐ-नब्बाज़ की मोहताज नहीं
नब्ज़ चलती हुई मालूम है कब थम जाए
और नस नस मैं ये बहता हुआ सरगरम लहू
बर्फ बन जाए या सड़कों पे कहीं जम जाए
मेरे महबूब ग़नीमत हैं ये लम्हे जब हम
एक दूजे के लिए ख्वाब बुना करते हैं
और महसूस किया करते हैं साँसों कि तपिश
बस यही पल है की भरपूर जिया करते है
राजबीर देसवाल

दिल पे खुशियों की वो बरसात कहाँ होती है

दिल पे खुशियों की वो बरसात कहाँ होती है
वो तो मिलते हैं मगर बात कहाँ होती है
इस नए दौर के जिंदा भी हैं मुर्दों की तरह
गर्मिए शिद्दते जज़्बात कहाँ होती है
दोस्त बातोंमें उड़ाते थे अंधेरे जिसके
अब रसीली वो भला रात कहाँ होती है
खुल के मिलते थे सुदामा से कन्नहिया जैसे
अब वो पहली सी मुलाकात कहाँ होती है
रूबरू आते ही आँचल को हवा ले जाए
अब वो जादू सी करामत कहाँ होती है
अब्र से पहले चले आते हैं आंधी तूफां
दिल लुभाती हुई बरसात कहाँ होती है
जान देकर भी जो हर फ़र्ज़ अदा करते हैं
ऐसे मर्दों की भला मात कहाँ होती है
दिल भी उसका है जुबां उसकी बयां भी उसका
हमसे तफसीरे अनायत कहाँ होती है
तेरी यादों ने ग़ज़ल कहना सिखाया हमको
इस से बढ़ कर कोई सौगात कहाँ होती है
हुस्न पर जान लुटा कर जो मुहब्बत मांगे
इश्क की इतनी भी औकात कहाँ होती है
हम फकीरों को कहाँ इस की ख़बर है ‘आमिल’
दिन गुज़रता है कहाँ रात कहाँ होती है
राजबीर देसवाल ' आमिल '

Ghaggar in full spate

We saw this fury of flash floods in Ghaggar on 12 Sept 2009. Closeby are the hutments and in the backdrop Gurudwara Nadha Sahib.

Rainy Flashback...! बरसात तब और अब मेरे गाँव में

Rainy flashback

By:Rajbir Deswal

Some three decades back if you went to my village, you had to cross three natural drains, a pretty thick jungle of wild growth with butterflies flitting about and, above all, an appreciably large water logged area.

Picking one’s way through the fields after scaling these ‘obstacles’ and with sufficient hop stop and jump and swim, one was able to catch a glimpse of a tiny hamlet with two havelis dwarfing the mud-houses. It was then the real homecoming for us, the natives.

On the way were women singing folk songs to lighten the burden of transplanting paddy while their children ‘trampled’ the slushy waters and the infants lay with their thumbs in the mouth in the make shift cradles hanging from jamun trees in the shady grove.

During the rainy season, my village became an island and you could not reach there without having to negotiate through chest-deep waters. Here and there, where the water was deeper, village urchins would put a flag for you to avoid the course. These children wore like a garland flower of a lotus-like growth with while and green combination.

There were countless people in my village who were bitten by snakes and almost everyone of them claimed having survived the bites of “a dozen snakes, each equal to a lathi measure, every time”. Oldies described the snakes as “not so dangerous for they were the species seen around so frequently only when there were rains.

Over the years, I gradually became a casual rather almost a non-visitor to the village. But there was no keeping out progress and the village witnessed reclamation of all and surrounding it which at one time used to be a large reservoir of water.

The village ceased to be an island even during the rainy season and since there was a pucca road I could drive up to my house without the obstacle race and missing at the same time the female chorus in the paddy fields. The scenario had changed to the extent that urchins chased and stoned your car.

As development proceeded apace, the natural drains, the quick jungle, the jamun grove, the mud-houses and the huge ponds, all vanished, gone were havelis too.

But recently, when I happened to visit my village once again to see my father still clinging to his moorings all alone it was just like the experience three decades back. The excessive rains had submerged all the development, making it seem just like old days.

From a distance, the village looked like an island. I stopped my car a good two kilometres away and with my pants folded up, waded through the water feeling the years slipping off my back as I experienced the long-forgotten excitement of it all. I was almost frolicking while all who gazed at me looked puzzled at the sight.

The childhood sensation once again got the better of me and like the boy who was lost in a mela and was united with his parents afterwards, I became ecstatic. But my euphoric vision got blurred somewhat when father said someone had died of snakebite in the vicinity.

Obviously, with progress man’s vulnerability also increases. The return to the halcyon days of yore is not an unmixed blessing!