DOBARA Lampshade Open Mic

A Saturday. Twenty-five Members of DOBARA seniors well-being network. A published poet and a chilly evening. This set the perfect setting, albeit online for a poetry session and the stage filled with laughter and love and well-dressed poets, shaeras and the founders of DOBARA, Mateen ji and Sameen. 

The session started with Mala Pasha ji talking about her book, Fire in the Soul, published recently. Founder of Torn Curtains, a theater group, Mala Pasha loves to travel and has encapsulated the stories she heard in her poetry collection. After the poetry reading by Mala ji, the members of the DOBARA group, read their poems - a few read about life, a few about home, a few about the new year and a few added satire to their verses. 

Presenting a few poems here:

A Poem by Shreyasi Rodricks

जीवन की संध्या

गम ना करूँगी मैं क्योंकि

जीवन को पूरी साँसें दीं,

दिन को अपनी मिहनत दी

रातों को अपने सपने सौंपे।

मिहनत ने बेशक फूल दिए,

सेवा में तन मन लगा दिया,

पर रातों ने वादे भुला दिए,

सारे सपने साकार नहीं किए!


आज थक कर जब बैठी हूँ ,

एक साँस भरपूर लेकर अब

देखा तो सब कुछ गुजर गया,

शायद बस एक पल ही रह गया।


इन आख़िरी साँसों को गिन कर

मैं जाकर आऊँगी मिलकर,

उस बचपन से जिसने मुझे

ला खड़ा किया इस पार मुझे!


यह जीवन कैसे सरक गया

बेहोशी के आलम में,

अब धीरे-धीरे चलना है,



संध्या के समापन उत्सव में!



Twilight of Life

The twilight of life is not somber,
Because I have given it all.
Hard work each day without a seam,
And to the nights, my dreams.

All the toil and service bore fruits
Of achievements and fulfilment.
But nights did not keep their promise,
Leaving many unfulfilled dreams.

Fatigued and worn when I rest today,
To take the first deep breath of ease,
The journey is almost over I see,
With just a few moments for me.

In this last juncture I must go
To meet my dear childhood,
From where my journey began,

All the way from there to here.
Oh how my years have slipped off
In heedless hurry of compelling duties,
It’s time now to slow down

And celebrate the twilight’s festivities!

**

Womb bearer by Laxmi Mansukhani

  A young mother bore a prince,

Amongst the children 

Was, he her favourite, then since.

Elegant and royal she stood,

With a matching coat and hat,

Matching gloves and purse,

A tiara on her head,

None, did miss a glance.

She waved to the milling crowds,

They loved and cheered her,

For she was their Queen,

Queen of the land and their hearts.

But something somewhere went unmatched!

Doting was she, a disciplinarian,

For the family and all,

But something somewhere went unmatched!

The apple of his mother’s eye,

No longer cared, where he fared,

The cold winds of infamy and shame,

Dishonour and disgrace,

Blew, and soiled her face.

Today, the aged mother lives to see,

Her child’s royal finery stripped to tee,

And bear the heavy cross of Truth,

On her shoulders weary,

While her eyes turn teary.

Truth, the ultimate Truth,

Masks not a Royal, nor a beggar,

But unmasks itself bare, for the world to see.

**

A poem by Atiya Afsar 

Zindagi ke panne kuch yun palat te gaye 

Kuch lamhe Khushiyoun ke toh kuch aankhen nam kar gaye

Kuch log khushbu ki tarah dil mein baste gaye

Aur kuch dil se uttar te gaye

Waqt ke Saath hum bas chalte gaye

Kabhi baharon ka mausam aur kabhi khizaa se guzarte gaye

Kabhi khile phool ki tarah khilkhilate gaye

Aur kabhi sukhe phool ki tarah murjha se gaye

Kuch khwaab poore hote gaye

Aur kuch tootke bikhar se gaye

Hum apna honsla khud badate gaye

Aur ummeed ke sahare jeete gaye

Kabhi talq aur kabhi khoobsurat yaadoan mein doobte gaye

Toh kabhi haheeqat ka saamna karte karte thak se gaye

Khushiyoun mein Shukr aur aazmaish mein sabr karte gaye

Har haal mein jeene ka salikha seekhte gaye

Maut apni aagosh mein lene se pehle zindagi bharpur jeete gaye

**

Poem by Suri Penubulu

This free verse depicts my childhood days in old Hyderabad of the 60’s and is a story of the Hyderabaadi rickshaw which had its glorious days then and now is obsolete and has descended into disuse or use as a carrier of goods only and that too is scant numbers. Its written in Hyderabadi /deccani urdu which is a language/dialect I love and enjoy speaking .

Urdu galli ki bijilee

Urdu galli ki utaar mein ....bijliee jaisi rickshaw thi mai.
Dabal ghanti meri baji tho turum khanan bhi satak jaate............ waisi rickshaw thi mai.
Salma Aaapa ki chadaao ki sawaari , chaarane mein birambaat...
waisi rickshaw thi mai.
iskool ke potton ko 2nd bell se paile le jaaon .....utti taakhat thi meri

Peeche raam aur shyaam ki pilastic ki poster
aur saamne parde par paakeezah ki photu ......waisi sajti thi mai.
Handel ki dabal aainne mein sajjad miyaan ki baalon ki ishtyle baiththi thi.
Iseech aaine mein reddy kaalej ke pottiyaan lataan set karthi thi.

Chaadau me kabbi bi chain philsalne ki naubat aateech nai thi
Salma aapa ki zamarrud talkies ki har jumme ki sawaari
aur main bhi ....bahar dilip- sairaa ke duet gaa leti.
Ab bhi padhi hoon un yaadon mein kho kar

ek sadi hui dhhanche ke maafik .
Jang se bhari meri dabal ghanti ab sirf khaasthi rehti.
Raam aur Shyaam poster ke jagah ,ab mai pailes dawa ki poster chipkaaliya
Meri Paakeezah bepardaa ho gayi.... zamaana pahle
Isteel ke sariye aur barrelon ka wazan uthaaneki aadat laggai merko

chain aur isproket ki sube- sham ki kir kiri laggai merko.
Bejaan sawaariyaan lene ki aadat padh gayi merko

Urdu galli ki chadaau me aaj Salma aapa ki janaaza bhi aage nikal gai
Janaaze par timepe phool bhi nai chadaaya..
aisi naubaat aa gayi merko.

Nakko hason. ji ....Ab waisi rickshaw nai rahi main....
Urdu galli ki bijlee....