the mysticism of kabir (great sufi saint and poet of India)

I have been listening to Kabir for quite some time now. You must be wondering listening or reading? well, I had read him during my school days (mostly to get good grades to top the class) and later on, on the internet (as one of the ways to kill some precious office time), but thanks to Beghum Abida Parveen (famous sufi singer from Pakistan) and Gulzaar (lyricist and poet) and Times Music for the wonderful album 'Gulzaar presents Kabir by Abeeda' , The Listening started. As they say if you find a rare jewel, a fountain of joy or something really special the best thing, one might not agree to it immediately, would be to share it with the world. So, here is my effort to do so and since the colloquial Hindi (also called sadhukhadi - a mix of Hindu, Bhojpuri, Braj Bhasha, Awadhi and Rajsthani which became popular during the bhakti and sufi movements in India) may not be commonly understood, a free translation is attempted. Please consider them as an attempt by a tiny earthen lamp to remove darkness to the best of his capacity when the sun has gone down on the western horizon.

sukhiya sab sansaar hai, khaye aur soye
dukhiya das kabir hai, jaage aur roye
look at the joy of the world
that eats, drinks and sleeps in peace
fated but is poor Kabir
stays awake and cries
(very beautiful couplet that shows the differences between the state (days and nights) of the seeker and of non-seekers. Kabir says, these people of the world are lucky, as compared to seekers like him. Guru Nagendranath Bhaduri of Bengal used to say " the people of the world are real renunciants, not me. I have only given up a few stones(property, diamonds etc.), metals(gold, silver), rupee notes and other comforts of the world for everlasting bliss . But these people have renounced the creator of all these things for a few comforts of the world"
Even Buddha wonders at his dissuader, a friend of his " My friend you must be of strong heart: for after seeing all three (old age, disease and death) you still can indulge in the pleasures of the world. My house is on fire (his mind is perturbed), and surely one can not be condemned for running (his act of leaving his kingdom, riches, post and his family in search of the truth) out of the house on fire."

jo kachhu kiya so tum kiya, main kachhu kiya nahin
kaha kahoon jo main kiya, tum hi the mujh mahin
what is done, is by you lord
none by me
if any i claim the otherwise
you only did through me

man laago yaar fakiri mein...( o mind! devote yourself to austerities)
bura bhala sab ko sun lijo
kar gujran garibi mein
रूखा सूखा खायीके ठंडा पानी पीयो |
देख परायी चोपदी मत लाल्चावे जीयो ||
कबीरा सो धन संचीये, जो आगे को होए|
शीश चढाये गठरी, जात न देखा कोए ||
akhir ye tan khaak milega
kyon phirta magroori mein
man laago yaar fakiri mein...

माला कहे है काठ की, तू क्यों फेरे मोहे |
मन का मनका फेर दे, सो तुरत मिला दूँ तोहे ||
कहे कबीर सुनो भाई साधो,
साहिब मिले सबुरी में
मन लागो यार फकीरी में |

kabira ret sindoor, ur kajar diya na jaye
nainan pritam ram raha, duja kahan samaye

karta tha to kyon raha, ab kahe pachtaye
bove ped babol ka, aam kahan se khaye

sahib sun sab hot hai, bande te kachhu nahin
rai te parvat kare, parvat rai mahin

jyon til mahin tel hai, jyon chakmak mein aag
tera sain tujhme base, jaag sake to jaag
like the hidden oil in the oilseed
and the fire in the firestone
the 'kingdom of lord' lies within you
realise this if you can

this is one thing that all regions unequivocally state -
know that the kingdom of God lies within you - Christ in New testament
al haq ( i am that) - bulleh shah, sufi saint
and kabir puts it in his inimitable style

Moko Kahan Dhundhere Bande
Mein To Tere Paas Mein

Na Teerath Mein, Na Moorat Mein
Na Ekant Niwas Mein
Na Mandir Mein, Na Masjid Mein
Na Kabe Kailas Mein
Mein To Tere Paas Mein Bande
Mein To Tere Paas Mein

Na Mein Jap Mein, Na Mein Tap Mein
Na Mein Barat Upaas Mein
Na Mein Kiriya Karm Mein Rehta
Nahin Jog Sanyas Mein
Nahin Pran Mein Nahin Pind Mein
Na Brahmand Akas Mein
Na Mein Prakuti Prawar Gufa Mein
Nahin Swasan Ki Swans Mein

Khoji Hoye Turat Mil Jaoon
Ik Pal Ki Talas Mein
Kahet Kabir Suno Bhai Sadho
Mein To Hun Viswas Mein

ah ! need no explanation...what realisation...what truth !!
nainan(eye) ki kar kothdi, putli(iris) palang(bed) bichaye
palkon(eyelid) ki chit darke, pi(beloved) ko liya rijhaye

nainan antar aao to, nain jhamp tohe lyun
na main dekhun aur ko, na tohe dekhan jyun

mala(rosary) to phire kar(hand) mein, jeebh(toungue) phire mukh maahin
man(mind) bapu chahun(everywhere) dis phire, yeh to sumiran naahin

what kind of prayer is this
with the mind scattered and disturbed?
only the tongue moves in the mouth,
mechanically the rosary is revolved.


mati(clay) kahe kumhaar(potter) se, tu kyon raunden mohe
ek din aisa ayega main raundoongi(grind) tohe

at the inevitability of time-i wonder,
the diligent potter ploughs the clay
of which he is made up of
and would sure return to one day

yeh tan(body) vish(poison) ki belari(creeper), guru amrit(nectar) ki khaan(reservoir)
shish(head) diye guru mile, phir bhi sasti(cheap bargain) jaan(know)

gods be praised
a cheap bargain i made today
traded my being dry and dead
for the elixir of teacher's grace

sab dharti(land) kaagad(paper) karoon, lekhan(quill) sab panraye(trees)
saat samundra(ocean) ki syahi(ink) karun, guru gun (virtues/grace) likha na jaye
the greatness and kindness of a satguru (teacher) is explained here

the greatness of my teacher
mere words can describe not
even if use all landmass as canvass
and all oceans and ink pot

jab lag naata jagat (world) ka, tab lag bhagati (devotion) na hoye
naata (ties) tode hari bhaje, bhagat kahave soye

till the ties of the corporeal tie us
no devotion could percolate our hearts
he only is a devotee true
all ties of delusion who ruthlessly cuts


jab main tha hari nahin, ab hari hai main naahin
jab andhiyara mit gaya, deepak der kamanhi
There is another version of it. I dont know which is correct but both convey beautiful meanings themselves
jab main tha hari nahin, ab hari hai main naahin
prem gali ati saankri, tate do na samahin.

don't be surprised, seeing one pair of footsteps
on the wet sand covered narrow street.
we can not walk side by side here as two;
our beings get merged, what to say of feet

now the Lord has filled up the spaces
where ego used to hide
can they ever co-exist
darkness and light ?

souun (sleep) to sapne milun, jagun to man manhi
lochan ratein sab ghadi, bisurat (separated) kabhun nahi

meet me in my dreams when asleep
within the privacy of my heart when awake.
ever in the range of the inner eye,
let me not for a minute be separate.


साधू कहावत कठीन है , ऊंचा पेड़ खुजूर |
चढ़े तो चाखे प्रेम रस , गीरे तो चकनाचूर ||

to be a saint is no task easy
like the tall palm tree, the path lies
reach the top and taste the fruit,
or fall and shatter into pieces.


sadhoo bhooka bhav(feeling) ka, dhaan (money) ka bhooka nahin
jo dhan ka bhooka (hungry) hoye, wo to sadhoo (saint) nahin

the saint craves not for lucre,
feelings, his only bait.
one who feeds on money,
call him any but saint.


mariye (to die) to mar jayiye choot pade janjal(farce)
aisa marna kya bhala din mein sau(hundred) sau bar

echoes the same spirit as - cowards die many times

'tis better that death be embraced once
and the farce of life be got rid of
than numerous times a day
of fear, humiliation and death thereof.

bhala(good) hua meri matki(pot) phooti re
main to pania(water) bharan se chooti re

kabir talks about death, the routine of life and activities we do to sustain our body in form of allegory of a broken pot.

thank you O Lord! for kindness
that this earthen pitcher is broken.
no more filling it up
no routine guards now and worries none

mali(gardener) awat dekh ke kaliyan(buds) karen pukaar(shout)
phool(flower) phool chun liye, kaal hamari baar (turn)

the tiny buds watch perturbed,
plucking of fully blossomed flowers.
today the gardener chooses them,
tommorrow, it is surely us.

bura(evil) jo dekhan main chala, bura na milya koi
jo dil (heart) khoja apna, ta mujh sa bura na koi

i looked at the world around
an evil one but, could not find,
gazing inwards realized, none worse
than the evil inside my mind.


shabad shabad har koi kahe, shabad(words) ke haath na paon,
ek shabad aoshudh(medicine) kare, ek shabad kir ghaav(wound)

no limbs or armory they have
these words, words all around
some do the anointment,
some inflict wounds profound.

stray flashes

that one line of insolence;
could it stand up against
a whole lifetime of service?

the sheer effort and number
of words of an essay or book,
lighter than a word of recommendation?

could the flowers hold it against
the gardener, being plucked
is he not hurt equally or even more?

could the lumps of clay
accuse the potter, of manipulating
throwing them to the kiln.

is it fair and just,
the tsunamis be charged against
the calm nature of the ocean

is there not a law of averages,
stray incidences of despicable act
balanced by one of nobility

the long pauses between words
say much more than
what precedes and follows.

words and their meanings you
deciphered well, but Alas!
failed at the intentions.

"kal chaudvin ki raat thi.."

har roz yeh sochta hun ki bhool jaun use
har roz yeh hi baat bhool jata hun...

before i forget to record this experience i must type down it.
Place - Kolkata, Time - 5.30 PM, Venue - Nazrul Manch, Southern Avenue
Event - Umeed (A musical journey with Ghulam Ali and Jagjit Singh)

By the time I entered the hall and found a place to sit, Khan Sahab was already on his seat. He had to urge, unfortunately not for the last time, to the audience to settle down in their respective seats. People kept coming and coming noisily and settling down noisily (if you have not already got it - sandals of ladies, good-to-look-at-but-noisy jewelery, shoes, words where hand signals would have done and of course the newest menace-mobile phones). They were bothering my attention. Nevertheless Khan Sahab started. Humility - that is the first thing that would strike you about this colossus of an artist. He never gave any signs of that, he did not talk to audience much but that wonderful but rare quality comes out and you feel embraced by the man himself. My introduction to Khan Sahab is not much, I have had the fortune of listening to his most popular numbers and that is it. But in a live performance I could feel that connection a performer makes with the audience, real, spontaneous and true. He started with couple of ghazals that I had never heard and despite the desperate efforts of the people pouring in noisily I sat in awe of the wonderful poetry of the words and the melodious and soulful rendition. If you are thinking that may be I complain too much, you should have heard the pleading tone of Khan Sahab in the midst of a performance asking the audience to settle down, stop using cameras, mobiles, recorders etc. I was just reminded of a few lines of Auden - "In relation to a writer(or a performer like Khan Sahab), must readers(audience) believe in double standard: they may be unfaithful to the writer(or performer) as often they like, but the writer must never, never be unfaithful to them"
After an hour and half of being treated to pure devotion to the perfection of music/art - you may call it performance he left the stage for another mastero Jagjit Singh. When he came on stage they embraced each other. Someone who has dived tho the nadirs knows what the other diver who does so, is exposed to; how much of practice, how much of patience, single-minded devotion, absolute dedication to perfection, of an disenchantment with ordinary/mediocre and of course humility is required to be where these two titans of their fields have reached can be really appreciated by only these people. We can only write, speak, eulogies vicariously, second hand at best.
That Jagjit was only a perfectionist came forth very soon, tweaking with the base-revv etc etc..asking for volume of one instrument to be increased, other decreased, softening of the overalls. I was wondering whether the show would be more of the preparation for performance rather than performance itself.
"ye inayaten ghazab ki ye bala ki meherbani
meri khariat bhi poochi kisi aur ki zabani
meri bezuban ankhon se gire hen chand katre
wo samaj saken to ansu na samaj saken to pani "
This was his first and for the first time I closed my eyes and got completely absorbed in the performance. Jagjit's voice was so trained, so ready and so on the spot that it was almost natural for you to concentrate without effort and loose yourself to his music. There is not much point in calling a beautiful flower beautiful. All I can say is "Hoshwalon ko khabar kya...bekhudi kya cheez hai"

smells like...

In India and especially in Kolkata you gotta have a very heightened sense of smell or a very poor one, with the former helping you to pick up the faintest of good ones that you might encounter in a day and the latter pretty much keeping you in a spirit of abstainance.

Alighting at Howrah station early this morning after an extended weekend back at home, the first smell that I could distinguish from the melee of smells was that of starched bed sheets that you get in AC berths in trains. It was a smell of comfort and of affordable luxury, this realisation dawned upon as I had almost made up my mind to bear with the smell of train toilets whoose doors are left open because I was careless enough to not to book a ticket when they were available or RACable or TATKALable.

Just near the berth door I bumped into a 'Coolie' and they are not exactly the best brand ambassadors for deodorant advertisements. That was the smell of hard work and toil for livelihood. Why else would you get up at 5 AM in the morning to carry the loads of strangers in a winter morning.

These people greet you even before the TTC at the exit of platforms, bump into you to even suggest the place where you live in (I was always taken to be someone who would go to Salt Lake, even if I yelled at them and said that I live near Highland park. The minimum I can say about these two places is one is North and the other is South Kolkata) and claim to give you the best deals in the world(it costs me 220 ruees from Bhubaneswar to Kolkata, a distance of 440 kms and guess what have I paid on a normal non-bandh, non-fire day to Ajaynagar a distance of 20 kms from Howrah-250 bucks). You really can't have a conversation with them, they smell of burnt tobacco(bidi) or pudia(some white powder like stuff in a distinct steel box). That is the smell of irritation and unwanted, even despised street smartness on their part. Why are you so greedy for extra 50-100 bucks if you gonna buy more tobacco with that and shove it into your system(you know what word i wanted to use here).

If you have passes by Science City(Topsia) or ITC Sonar Kolkata you would ready feel repugnant and pukish. This smell would remind one of Kolkata unmistakably. They say there are some leather tannaries and they burn/process leather and hence the smell etc etc. Frankly my dear I give a damn, the smell is so pathetic and disgusting and to top that all you have the best(people who make the vital choices of investment, policy, people etc) visitors to the city coming and staying there(check ITC's ratings). This is the smell of insulation (from what should be done) an d an unaffectedness until something climbs up on your head and cries to be get done.

My taxi halted just in front of a public pay-and-use toilet, I was looking around and cursing my fate"of all places here, not a yard ahead or behind" when this young chap who probably managed the toilet caught my attention. He still had a brown blanket on him, there was another one under the same blanket of course, fast asleep and oblivious to any other thing. There was absolutely no signs of disgust or hopelessness or anything on his face, just a simple expectation for the first customer of the day. This is the smell of reconciliation, acceptance of your destiny and things around you.
Well, there are other smells as well, the smell of puchka(pani puri), sondesh, rasogolla, cigarette, tea in a kulhad (earthen pot), misti doi, jhaal mudi, ilish maach, mutton jhol, peas kachauri, multitude of rolls, whisky and thousands of other things, but I am little impatient and I don't think there is any point talking about these things, whenever you get a chance just eat them. Bon Apetit.

jai baba bhootnath ki!!

"lali mere laal ki, jith dekhun tith laal,
laali dekhan main gayi, main bhi ho gayi laal"
------Indian sufi poet Kabir
I keep bitching about the absolute absence of temples(physical ones made up of stones etc.) at Salt Lake (the part of Kolkata that I live in). So when I heard that there is a shrine of Lord Shiva in North Kolkata near Launch Ghat, called Baba Bhootnathji Ka Mandir and I had no other plans or shall I say excuses, I was exited about the prospect and started at 11 AM on a Sunday morning.
"Can we have a proper darshan Sir?" asked P, at 12.30 PM, and some distance away from the temple. "I think we can", my voice had less conviction though. We were not aware of the timings of customary resting hours for the dieties called 'Pahada' (in Oriya). The autorickshaw in which we were travelling passed through one of the oldest parts of this City of Joy - Shovabazar, Shayam Bazar etc. Thin lanes full of all modes of communication - Taxis, Buses, Trams, Autorickshaws, Rickshaws, Cycles, Mopeds, Two-wheelers and even those that are pulled by human hands, wholesale shops with racks and racks of ganni bags and one young lad transferring them to one of the man-led trolleys, old men in lungi's sipping tea from an earthen pot, tubewells
swarming with people, either waiting to fill water or taking bath, beggars lying on verandas looking up at the sun, kids gathering up their teams for the morning match, ubiquitous horns and thankfully no humidity. The rare cool wind of Frebruary ensured that we both were not irritated. (it is very easy to be so in a city- just get caught in the traffic, miss the lane you should have taken because of someone else's fault, wait for someone at an uninteresting place, you could expand the list by being just being contemplative). Finally we saw the ghats, people coming out of the water shivering, wrapped in wet clothes with water dripping from them on to the ground and saying some prayers mumbled with their attempts to breathe.
One does stop complaining about something very very wrong if it has been happening for sometime. That is the conclusion I could draw about the people living near those Ghats. I mean the huts or PVC sheets wrapped around big nails on adjacent walls, they were living in, were at best my chest-high,the children ate, defecated, played and even slept within that space of few square meters. No complaints on those faces but, or may be they hide it or even that we cant see it anymore.
We reached the temple, the arhictecture of temples of Bengal is not really impressive except say Dakhineswar's main temple building, so I saw what I was expecting-an unpretentious temple. A few red flags and bells suddenly announced the presence. I took off my shoes and went inside. There was the snake and a really big 'trishul' that you associate with Shiva temples all around, then I saw the 'linga', unlike most of them it was brick red in colour. What i could gather from the activities of the preists was that they were starting the 'abhisheka'or 'shringar' the dressing up of the deity. I sat there cross-legged and said a few hyms and then waited for the shringar to start. I was reminded of the satement "the devotion of the devotees could put life into even stones or for that matter anything". There were the most beautiful of flowers, choicest incense sticks and the floors swept by rosewater, they all filled the main hall in an intoxicating aroma. The head priest maintained his silence, he was instructing his helpers with sign language using his hands and raised eyebrows. Then with all things ready in their respective places, he started the 'shringar' and beautifully decorated the dieties with flowers, grass(duba) garlands, sandalwood(chandan), vermillion(sindoor) and then finally he sprinkled all of it in bhabhooti(the holy ash).
A line here about Shiva and his association with ash. Shiva though the most beloved and adorable among Hindu deities is actually very fearsome and ghastly in his appearance and conduct. He roams around in creamatory with the ash of the place smeared all around his body. Though crematory, ash, snakes, demons, garland of skulls are not conventionally considered asthetic due to their association with Shiva these things become very dear and pious to his devotees.
There was a sadhu with matted hair(jata) and he distributed the holy bhabuti to all of us, unsure of what to do with it, i got a cue from the baba himself, he smeared it all over his body and forehead. I opened the button of my shirt and smeared it all over my chest and then with three fingers slightly separated, ran them through my forehead. There was no mirror to see how I looked like but all that was so spontaneous and instinctive that I had no other thoughts to to think otherwise. Then, the head priest started his daily ablutions and slowly with the aroma of the 'bhabhuti' and incence sticks, the purifying glow of campor, the loud sound of cymbals the holy water being sprinkled all over us the atmosphere had a mystic transformation. From a mere piece of red stone the linga became the object of worship of the entire mass present there. Everyone knelt down to pay obeisance to the Lord and then taking the holy 'Bel leaf' and delicious prasad of 'puri and kheer' took leave. That was the 'dhuup' we were told later. I went back my body smeared in the holy ash.
O Lord, please smear the same over my mind, intellect and soul.