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| A DAY OFF @ HOME AND AROUND |
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| jaihoon |
| 02/18/04 at 21:55:02 |
| A DAY OFF @ HOME AND AROUND ************************* A filament that is burnt all through day and night does require a little rest or it will very soon go burst. A child playing all day long is in want of some work so that later in life he won’t become a jerk! Understandable in Affinity is a little distraction, or else in the eyes of the Beloved, the Lover will be doomed to absorption. The near ones at home were eager to see me around in front of their own eyes, than to see this dear one roaming in some historic base. The rain and wind insisted on me staying behind. For a day’s sake, I decided to have a break. Instead of traveling across the roads and fields, that day I chose to travel in Time, than in space. It was less tiresome (for body) but the rewards were more handsome (for the mind). And the best companion to take along for this ‘time travel’ would be someone from the ‘grand generation’. This generation had patiently covered more ‘distance’ in time than those around me. And they were in possession of that envious treasure called ‘Experience’. And this ‘treasure hunt’ took them years to attain. In front of it, the impatience of youth is in vain. But this tale is not to honor this ‘ageing treasure’ alone. It is chiefly about the generation that is full of ambition. From there to here… Lend me an ear to hear what is near! Look on the left! Those fast-moving kids skating on the land that is soft. The ‘age-full treasure’ is walking in boredom; the ‘age-less treasure’ is flying in freedom. They are eager to cover more space within a little time. If there comes a wound when falling on the ground, on them shall be no blame. They swing ad stretch to whatever they can reach, without caring if their motion is in rhyme. Tasbih! Where else but this lagoon, to narrate my tale in a manner so soon! Some come here alone while others in a group. But when it is a battle against Solitude, Affinity is the best for the troop. There is nothing new to learn at this serene evening. Yet the visitors come here to unlearn the corroding influence upon their hearts acquired since morning . In the Dotcom world, knots are tied and ears and eyes making everything in a wrangled mess. Not a thing is visible for the Nightingale’s eyes but the Rose. Trial over trial! Ah! What a trial Is descending over this little Nightingale As he tries to bring the tale back on the rail. His heart is going pale and frail when narrating this blood-written tale! “And how do we find him in this environment? A restless being engrossed in his ideals to the point of forgetting everything else, capable of inflicting pain on himself in his ceaseless quest after fresh scope for expression. With all his failings, he is superior to nature, in as much as he carries within him a great trust which, in the words of the Quran, the Heavens and the earth and the mountains refused to carry.” I sat with this ‘grand’ member. He on a grand chair. I on a little chair. He had the tea. Simple tea with no milk. But I could not have a sip from that tea so black. He has his own style of keeping fit- not wearing slippers and eating only once a day. I wore branded shoes and sat for food many more times. He stretched his legs to steer the talk. I sat cross-legged to hear the talk. As the time progressed, natively on the scale of serial time, we were far behind. Thirty or 40 years back. The story of experience began with the ‘song box’ . For me, it was an old analog device, messy to operate and costly maintain. In those days, the tapes were priced Rs. 30-35. In those good old days just after Indian Independence, not everyone in the neighborhood had this musical box. Therefore the box was given on rent to cafes, usually between four and 8 in the afternoon. The grand storyteller told me that he earned Rupees Ten to 20 for such services. The music box had more than Dotcom uses as well. To a place called Tirur , the music box was taken so that in listener’s heart would come Noor. The ‘dead’ box had the capacity to enliven their ‘alive’ heart, they thought. They were aroused by the metallic device, of a human voice. They mistook the hive for the honey, and in our eyes, we feel sorry (for them). Music creates ripples of emotion; Affinity stirs the tides of affection. The ripple ends very soon while the tide goes on and on! My heart is getting restless to tell you a line that isn’t out of place.: “Indeed with a view to secure a wholly non-emotional experience the technique of Islamic Sufism at least takes good care to forbid the use of music in worship and to emphasize the necessity of daily congregational prayers in order to counteract the possible anti social effects of solitary contemplation.” Tasbih! On your face is a refreshing light, from which I tried and tried, but cannot move my sight! In your eyes are the colors of black and white, on whose surface I saw no scar of commercial art. You have kept them safe fro the Idiot Box for in your eyes this world is a Pandora’s box. You realize nothing but His Pleasure. His Fear in your heart flows without any measure. An heir if you become for Rabia of Basra, envy will be spread in the circles of Basra In the past and present, the chemistry of business practices has the remained the same, probably because everyone expects the same reward from this game. Pre-bundled packaging was true of the tapes of the song box as is the case with other products today. Except the fact that consumers had no choice then, which they now have to their gain. Related or unrelated, products are bundled to keep the consumers delighted. In the Dotcom world, the disparity between (that which controls the) Operation and Application is about to sink . The cup is getting bundled with the drink. No one cares if between the needle and thread exists a link. When to start and when to stop (the topic) this I know when your eyes wink. This topic I will definitely shrink (for) it has come to the brink. The grand old man continued his vishesham of the grand old days. It was nice to listen to his experienced voice for which I never had to pay heavy fees. He talked about movies. Those old movies of olden times, which only had two olden colors that, I am now seeing in your golden eyes. Speech for the actors was not among the factors (for a movie those days). Like the flight of a swift, he tried to drift and shift the direction of his story to right and left. “The bells made big noise” said he about the wagon, that went into the city toured by Logon . The bell-ed wagons carried people to the courts to hear their reports* The witness had time. The lawyers had time. The judge had time. In those days, everyone had more than a handful of time. The day was about to end. Since then, the old man couldn’t recall anything more to his mind. From the direction of South, the crackers were fired. The drums started playing. Carpenters and stonecutters were returning home after work. And so were the others after earning their perk. And after a little span, from the Masjid in the west sounded the adhan. It was time to bow before Ar-Rahman, who taught us the Holy Quran. Who created the Jaan and Insan under the Asmaan and established the mizaan so that everything works as per His Plan. Darkness was spreading and so were the stars in the sky. Dear One! While you are nigh lift the veil of your heart and be not shy. A word or two if your heart whispers in praise of the Most High, the pride and glory of my head will go in sigh. ****************** |
| 02/18/04 at 21:56:58 |
| jaihoon |
Madinat al-Muslimeen Islamic Message Board |