Uncle and his radio

Mr. Abbas runs a ittar (attar) shop and must be over the age of 70. His little shop is on this slope that takes you to a temple. Very close to public parking, the shop would have sunlight during noon. A small entry in to the shop will reveal a bench where at max 3 people can sit.

Mr. Abbas is passionate about perfumes we call Ittar or Attar. He says his salaam and ask what would you like to see or buy. I replied some ittar and if you would have Oodh. Now, oodh is a famous ittar amongst those who use or have been using ittar for sometime. On asking for it, his eyes lit up and says I’ll keep that for the last.

He quickly went and gathered a few bottles and started telling us which was what smell. He slowly progressed towards stronger smells and finally to oodh. He said, “I don’t show oodh to a lot of people, because a lot of them don’t understand /appreciate the smell”.

There was a radio (see the photo) and I asked about it. He tells me it was very old and that he went for Haj this time. He went on and told me it was a great trip and he didn’t feel like coming back.

We soon purchased our bottles of perfumes and said our goodbyes. Mr. Abbas sounded genuine and very happy with his shop. A man who likes his fragrances and those who buy them.

I’d very much like to meet him someday again. Oh! Did I tell you that I bought a bottle of Oodh for my abba too? I think he’ll like it.

Until next time.

-J

Gullad ka Ped

Raat ke kuch 11 baje honge use yaad aaya ki gaadi bahar khadi hai aur choriyaan badhti jaa rhi thi. Neend main behaal woh utha, chappal pehni aur chabhi utha kar bahar nikla. Darwaze ke us par ek choti si CFL jal rahi thi aur mausam thanda sa tha. Sardi ke aasar in dino ke saath badhte jaa rahe the, pehle subah aur raatein kuch thandi hoti aur fhir dekhte dekhti hi dilli main sardiyaan aajati.

Haan toh woh apne doosre maale se neeche utra aur dekha ki pehle maale par andhera ho raha hai, bahar kuch motorbike ke jaane ki aawaz aayi. Hawa tez this toh laga ki neeche kuch hai, neeche utarne par billi ko jaate dekha. Hairaani ki baat thi ki is waqt aas pados main sab shaant tha, lighte band ho chuki thi.

Gate ki kundi kholkar bahar aaya toh sadke khali aur upar ek bada sa streetlamp jal raha tha. Paas hi Gullad ka ped aur uspar mandrati hui chimkadar thi. Ab neend kuch ud si gayi thi, yeh pehli baar tha ki bahar ki hawa thandi lag rahi thi itni lambi garmiyon ke baad aur sadke khali aur sunsaan thi. Alag hi lutf hai raat ka aur khamoshi ka. Gaadi main chabhi lagayi aur fm par kuch puraane gaane chal padhe. Yeh janab kuch der baithe is chote lamhe ka maza liya aur fhir.

Fhir kya, reverse main gaadi park ki kyunki bhai agle din subah daftar ko fhir se jaana tha na!

 

Mez (Table)

Chote se kamre main kone ko ek mez rakhi hui thi. Raat ka waqt tha toh andhera laazmi tha. Us kone wali mez par ek lamp rakha tha. Us lamp ki roshni se mez par ralji kitaabe dikhi aur baaki samaan bhi. Woh kamre main ghusa aur dekha ki kamra thanda sa tha lekin pankha band tha. Mez par pahucha toh dekha khidki khul thi, neeche ek sunsaan gali thi jisme do kutte bhaunk rahe the.

Mez par kuch 6-7 kitaabe, 2 diary aur kuch lifafe padhe the. Ek diary uthai toh usme se ek syahi wali kalam giti. Lamp lekar usne kalam uthai aur wapis diary main rakhne laga. Ek pan-na khola toh us par kuch likha tha. Paas rakhi kursi kheechte hue usne diary ko tawaj-jo (importance) se padhna shru kiya….

Diary main likha tha, “Chote se kamre main kone ko ek mez rakhi hui thi…….”

-Jafar Rehman

Garmi ka ek din

Hello again. I recently invested in a diary and now my aim is to put it to a good use. Today, I wrote a short story and a sher. Now you will have to wait for the sher because this post will have the story. Read it and let me know your views. 🙂

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In the past

In those days, I had ample amount of free time. In the evening I would grab my camera and go to the roof and watch clouds, kites and sunset.

I would also take a picture and review it, sometimes with tripod and wanting to experiment with long exposure. I believe this was taken in 2012.

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Pilot Supply

Aapne kabhi pilot supply ke baare main suna hai? Maine bhi nahi suna tha aaj se pehle kabhi.

Hua kuch aisa ki mai subah metro mai tha kaam par jaa raha tha, adaatan maine apni kitab nikali aur padhna shru kardiya. Kuch der baad peeche khade ek janab ka phone baja aur unhone uthaya aur bole Good morning Sir, udhar se Sir ne kuch bola hoga fhir thodi hi der baad janab bolte hai ki pilot ki supply karadun? Woh kaafi zor se bol rahe the toh mera dhyan kitab se hath kar unki baat ki taraf chala gaya. Ab aap batae ki koi pilot supply ki baat karega toh aap hairaan nahi honge? Udhar Sir ne na jaane kya jawab diya aur in janab ne kaha ki mai 10 baje tak pahuchunga keh kar phone kaat diya.

Main apni peeth kare hue saari baat sun raha tha aur mujhe bharosa se aur log bhi sun rahe honge. Maine is cheez ka jaldi se ek note banaya aur fhir main wapis apni kitaab main lag gaya.

Agar aapko iilm hai is pilot supply ke baare toh mujhe zaroor batana.

Shukriya!

P.S. I recently came across a blog where the writer is putting his thoughts in Hindi and I loved reading it. Inspired by that, I thought I’ll post something of my own in the similar fashion.

Incidences in Fahistan

This dates back to 27th of February 1952 and it happened to be a leap year when Mrs. Singh gave birth to a baby boy who’d grow up to be the protagonist of this story.

The boy was named Rajendra Singh and had a pleasant childhood despite the fact that he was a thin boy who always looked 3-4 years younger than he was. An average student in school who was later pushed by his parents to study in one of the prestigious university of the country and that is when he left his home for the city called Fahistan.

This city of Fahistan was far more developed than any other in the whole country. There were better horse carts in the city and paved roads for them to go around smartly, even the houses were made of bricks and cement. The university attracted brilliant minds from all the places and Rajendra was lucky to get admission there. It was a little difficult for him to adapt to this new style of life where people spoke differently and also ate different kinds of meals but 4 years of his life passed easily.

Now it was time to return home and see what he would do next. From many options he could join his father’s shop and expand the business or he could go and work for someone else and possibly earn more. Little did he know that luck had something else in store for him and that is precisely when the trouble struck and due to a series of events he couldn’t go to his hometown.

One of his acquaintance had called him for an important matter during the last days and on arriving he realized that it would take him months to solve the problem his acquaintance had ventured into. He could have said no and turned his head but that’s not how he was raised. He sent a telegram to his parents in the village and told them that some important matter had come up due to which he won’t be able to come home early and he let them know that he was safe and sound which wasn’t completely true.

Two months had passed but the rounds to the police station and court didn’t decrease, they even contacted some influential people in the city of Fahistan but no one helped. Left to their own, Rajendra and Shamshad fought for themselves or say Rajendra and Shamshad fought for Shamshad.

After 4 months, it looked like they might win the case and go their ways happily but something had to happen again. One night both of them were returning from the small hotel, two men on motorcycle came to them asking for an address when the pillion rider took out a gun and shot Shamshad in the chest. They sped away while Rajendra stood there too shocked to react and when he looked down he realized that Shamshad had died and was in the pool of blood. As he leaned in to shake Shamshad, he saw his reflection in his eyes which still held some life.

Rajendra couldn’t stay in the city of Fahistan any longer and soon returned to his hometown. He joined his father’s business and tried hard to forget what happened to Shamshad. But he never could.

 

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Stories behind the photographs

So, they say that every photograph should tell a story and that it should talk or it should make one wonder. Now the thing is I like to get feedback from people who show interest in the photographs that I show to them, I like hearing their views and opinions and it also tells me who they are or what do they notice and prefer.

A lot of people, friends have told me and asked me to write something about every photograph that I showcase to the world. Keeping that in mind, from now on I am going to write something either about the photograph or how I took it. I now have two windows open- on one, I am writing this post and the other one has this photo (see below).

I randomly decided to take the camera to work with the hope that I might click something nice, so I mounted my favorite lens i.e. Nikon 50mm f1.8 and kept the camera in my bag.

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Today I was certain that during my small breaks I was going to use the camera and click some pictures and there was a phone lying next to the lens cap and I snapped a few shots. The picture below it is of the book which I started reading a day earlier, it’s called Blind Willow Sleeping Woman by Haruki Murakami. Now, everyone takes a picture where the book is in focus and everything is nice and visible so I though let’s blur our that part and focus on something else. Once I got back home, I uploaded the photographs on my laptop and started cleaning them up (like color adjustments, crop etc.) and these are one that I managed to take nicely.

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From now on with every photograph, I plan to write something.

Hope you enjoyed reading. Let me know and share your captures as well.

Observing someone

There is a guy in his early 20’s in the metro, he is reading a book and is engrossed in it. He is thin and wears baggy jeans and a shirt that looks faded. There is a bag on the floor between his legs and he is facing the window but he is not paying attention to anything but his book.

Metro for several stations has been underground and now it emerges to an elevated track and the surroundings change with sun filling the whole metro coach with light. Suddenly, it feels like that others also exist. The guy with the book looks up and stares outside the window, he is thinking about something. He then places his thumb on the page and closes the book and looks on to his right for a while and then on to the left and then gets back to his book.

Something must have caught his attention and I guess it was that metro coach he was in today was silent and not as crowded as they usually are at that time. He must have been wondering what was the reason behind that silence and where were those people who usually talked or laughed loudly.

I see him every day, I am him.

Continue reading

I am no Puneet

There is a guy named Puneet out there who looks like me. How do I know about that? Well, let me tell you a story.

I entered this metro and stood to one side knowing very well that it will get crowded soon. After five minutes I realize that this guy sitting on a seat is staring at me, I look at him and he hesitates and then looks away. Then I notice him looking at me again, he is looking at me in the manner of enquiry and I realize that. So I plan to ignore him and continue standing, looking around and observing people.

After a while, he points towards me and says- “Tumhara naam Puneet hai kya?” (Is your name Puneet?), I tell him no and he is like um..Okay. Believe me., he was a little disappointed but that is again life. It is full of disappointments but let’s not get into that. I turned out and laughed it was funny for me.

Well, Mr. Puneet I am not really sure if we look alike or not but that guy did confuse me with you.

Well, Mr. Puneet I am not really sure if we look alike or not but that guy did confuse me with you.
I wish you good luck and I wish that gentleman good luck and he may find you very soon.

*Raises glass* To Puneet and to me!

Bye! my friends, until next random entry here. And yep see this photograph too. 🙂

 

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From the Book Fair