Longings of Life

“ H e is my friend…” These were the words of the then principal of my school, Sister Ann George. She had cited these words to my mother, but it would make a lasting impact on my life. Teachers, like my friends, have played an underlying role in defining my existence. My weaned childhood was boorish and ignorant about this fact. However, in retrospection, I do realize this inevitable fact. Sister Ann George remained a friend of mine until the time she served as the principal of my school. An equally significant role was played by Sister Eugenia. Sister Eugenia had the incredible ability of remembering all her students by their names even if she met them after long intervals. Those were my school days; a majority of which I do not wish to reminiscence – purely because of the fact that the majority of these days were neither encouraging nor good enough to remember. However, the few days that have made me what I am today are worth remembering.

T here is something peculiar about Mumbai; the showbiz city of India; well, some would still prefer to call it the Financial Capital or New York of India!!! Some days back, Mumbai was in news with rains flooding the city from one end to the other. Somehow, the city manages to be in the limelight always. However, yesterday’s event (catastrophe?! Tragedy?! Calamity?!) was certainly more astounding, abhorrent, detestable, sordid, heartbreaking … (?! no adjective or adverb would suffice enough) than anything else. Seven serial bomb blasts rocked the entire Western Railway local train route in a span of almost 15 minutes; and Mumbai was bleeding. However, as always, the Mumbaikars (as they proudly call themselves) once again demonstrated their featured and unparalleled unity and fraternity while facing the challenge. Hats off to the Mumbaikars; I feel proud too, I have been a Mumbaikar for almost three months!!

“ Blessed is the man who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed ” Alexander Pope In today’s cutthroat corporate world, it is not strange to hear people complaining about frustration. I never paid any heed to this phenomenon called “ frustration ,” until the time I experienced it myself. And there have been more than one instances when I have felt utterly frustrated; the latest instance being yesterday night itself. Yesterday’s frustration resulted from a really insignificant and personal reason, and I will cautiously not put it here… However, as always happens after the “ frustration stroke ,” I set out thinking on the reasons. I thought on why I am getting frustrated so much, and so often? Why don’t I have the same attitude and vigor of enjoying life as it comes, as I used to do some years back when I was in college? Why do things not happen the way I “ EXPECT ” them to happen? Alternatively, did things really happen they way I expected them to happen earlier? If not,

“There are some defeats more triumphant than victories.” - Michel Eyquem de Montaigned, French philosopher and essayist, in “ Of Cannibals ,” Chapter XXX You have struggled for that one thing all through your life; that exalted moment of triumph and rejoice, that construct of ecstasy, that unapproachable slice of conquest and victory… Then, when you have almost reached the end of your journey (and you know that this might be your last chance), victory suddenly comes to you, but goes off in a jiffy, before you can cling to it… Read further if this sounds interesting…

It happened just a few moments back, when I was having tea at one of the roadside dhabas on Ansari Road, Daryaganj, near my office. We normally take a small break and go out to have tea on the roadside dhabas in the evening. Numerous small shops are also aligned on the roadside, which primarily include automobile technicians, welders, and others alike, who work on denting, painting, and repairing of automobiles. The dhaba in which we have tea is next to a welding shop. I found two people discussing something interesting in this welding shop. One person was saying, “ Humein hi rokte hain; koi topi wale ko zara rok kar dekhayein .” [They always stop us only; they dare not stop the people wearing caps (implying Muslims).] The other person says, “ Haan, musalmanon ko kabhi na rokeinge bina helmet ke, hum Hinduon hi rokte hain aur phir fine maarte hain. Unhein to bolte hain aye jaane de, bachche hain ”. [Yes! They never stop the Muslims who do not wear helmets. Only stop us Hindus, and then

I have not been writing much recently; due to various professional reasons [no time for leisure writing!!]. Then, my personal space on MSN, which I had been using for scribbling my poignant thoughts, was lost. Since I would probably not have access to modify it further, I decided to create a similar blog on blogspot itself!!! I would be transferring my articles from MSN space to this blog soon. Will also be writing my heart out more on this blog; insha Allah [God willing]. Was also thinking of giving a more relevant name to this blog. Longings of Life appears to be pretty apt – Longing being a translation of my pen name Arman!! Let me; however, start with my English translation of the famous nazm [poem] by Sir Allama Iqbal – “Lab pe aati hai dua banke tamanna meri”… My longings and desires adorn my lips as supplication; May my life, Oh Lord, be the face of the pious illumination; May my persona ornament my homeland with elegance; As the flowers ornament the garden with their fragr