manmarziyaan III

                                          

धुप पानी पे बरस जाएँ 

यह साये,  बनाये मिटाये   

मैं, कहूँ और तू, आ जाएँ

बेहलाये  हर दूरी शर्माए 

तू साथ हैं, हो दिन रात हैं 

परछाइयाँ बतलाये  

तू साथ हैं, हो दिन रात हैं 

साया साया 

माहि वे माहि वे 

मेरी हर बात में साथ  तू हैं 

माहि वे माहि वे 

मेरे सारे हालात तू 

Maahi Ve ~ Irshad Kamil

 

As she sat out on the porch soaking in the sun, enjoying this space and the solitude and her dreams, a smile spread out on her face. Little by little, it went from a buddha smile to a wider smile of happiness, and eventually to a soft smile of contentment. Time had stopped, and usually when she felt like that, her life had a soundtrack in the background. Her fingers started tapping, on the arms of the chair she was sitting on. The beats were notes of Hindustani Classical music set to music by the gorgeous Shantanu Moitra - Tere Bin. When she had the rhythm set, the lyrics started floating into her mind and her voice started to hum to the words as her feet moved to dance while being seated. In her mind, she was twirling to the notes as the sunlight shone a bright spotlight on her. 

This performance, which Kaveri thought was invisible to everyone but her, was being taken in by Karan. He was speaking to the general manager of the hotel seated three chairs away facing Kaveri. He had noticed her at breakfast as well, furiously writing away, as though trying to catch all the words in her mind before they escaped and ran away, back into the fields of her dreams. He saw how, when she was writing something amusing, the corner of lips would lift into a half-smirk and half smile angle before breaking into a small laugh. He saw how her curls would bounce lightly as she laughed her loud laugh with abandon. He saw how the sunlight bounced off her cheeks while leaving a little stain of that glow on them, how the glow transformed to a slow warm heat and brightened them. He saw her smile carry that glow from her cheeks up to her eyes as they crinkled into small tiny eyes of a child who was completely lost i her mirth.

He saw that innocence of a child slowly change into the contentment of a woman as she closed her eyes drumming her fingers on the armchair, again inviting the sun to creep into all the parts of her that hadn't hadn't met it's glow in a long time. He was not being very productive or coherent in his meeting with the GM, he saw her reading and then pausing, closing her eyes to let the words have their effect on her, before opening them again to devour the next line. What was she reading, he couldn't make out the title from afar, but it was obviously resonating deep within her. And now she had read something that had her want to sing and dance. And she was, in her own way, unseen by everyone around her, except him. He saw right through, he saw her sway and spin and swirl, in her mind, in her toes and her fingers. He pulled himself back to the meeting, but he also was holding her in the corner of his eyes. He needed to go up to her and speak, who knows whether he will find her again or not - what if she checks out? 

As he was reviewing some documents that needed his signature, he took his eyes off her for a few minutes, only to look up to see what she was gone. The chair was empty, she had taken her tunes with her, the chair only had the last few beats and remnants of her music. He must have looked a little mad as he craned his neck to see if she was anywhere nearby, as he turned back to see if she was at the bar, as he bent over to look over at the garden to see if she was taking a small walk. She was nowhere, he had lost her. He barely heard the GM utter his gratitude inviting him for an afternoon tipple, only a touch on his shoulder yanked him back to his space and now.  He said yes to the drink, it gave him a few more minutes to locate her, maybe. 

Karan Abhimanyu Singh, was the crown prince of Bikaner and was in Jaipur to meet with the general manager to finalise the details of the small summer palace they were renting out to the Oberoi group of hotels to manage. He rarely advertised his royal heritage and was usually embarrassed when he the lost the opportunity for him to get to know people and for people to get to know him, only him as a person, not Kunwar Karan Abhimanyu Singh, Prince of Bikaner. It always came in between authentic relationships and experiences. It was also the reason, he had been unable to build any real relationships post school. His school friends, men and women, who had known him since he was 5, were really the foundation of his relationships outside his family. He loved them and had not been able to find that connection with anyone else. Except for maybe the three people he had really liked and found a connection with when he was studying in the US. 

For a brief period, he deluded himself into thinking, that maybe he would be able to stay away from the limelight that awaited him back home, and could build a life for himself in New York. Alas, that did not come to be. The family needed him and a part of him missed India too. Or maybe craved that slowness and the serenity, that New York could never give anyone. In those few months when he had considered living in the US forever, he did believe that he was a city guy, he couldn't imagine not having all that NYC has to offer. Which is why when he moved back home to Bikaner, the initial months were tough. He would sit out on the lawns in his free time, which was not a lot, since he was taking over the reins of running a business as well as understanding what being a crown prince meant. One day, his grandfather saw him sitting alone, looking far into the distance, with a withering look on his face, a longing so deep that Karan did not even notice a butterfly sitting on the sleeve of his shirt. 

His grandfather, had lived through times that we've only read about in history books, he had dined in Imperial palaces and in Prison cells. He had been elected to great majorities in a democratic India and had also seen terrible lows & defeats. He had maintained his dignity in Indian politics, which was why he eventually had to quit it - it was no place for a morally and socially honest and upright person. It was probably the only profession he had asked Karan not  to consider right after he came back from New York. That day, he joined Karan on the lawn and asked him what it was about New York that he missed so much. As Karan rattled off the social opportunities, the thrill of the bustle, the ever-awake lights and sounds, the ambition & drive to keep going, and the feeling of being in the epicentre of the world. Raja Dushyant Singh, listened to all of that nodding along and when Karan was done, he smiled a gentle smile and said but son, in your search for the future and in your need to be a part of it, in your thrill to be always on surrounded by people, you've forgotten the sound of your own voice and the colours of your own dreams and the beauty of all this history that surrounds you - all this history that you can hold and run with.  As he finished saying that, he signalled Karan to look at his sleeve, the butterfly was still patiently sitting there, waiting for him to notice her and revel in her beauty, and be drawn into the magic of that small moment in time. His grandfather asked him to taste the stillness and quietude with the same eagerness with which he had embraced the bustle of New York & maybe he would find something here that would be worth building, a new dream to dream amongst all the old and history that surrounded him.

He realised then, he was being unfair by comparing Bikaner, or maybe even India to New York, of course it would never hold up, because they were rooted in different soils, they had different temperaments, they had different sounds and colours and sights. And he decided to take a year to learn India and travel the country. After almost a year, when he was in Ladakh, sitting and sipping his thermos tea as he dipped his toes into a stream of clear water, he felt a joy grip his heart, the pulse of the stream merging with the flow of internal beat, creating a beat that hand't left him. It was now two years to that mountainside symphony and he was in love with India, and everything she offered. He had worked very hard over the last two years to bring to forth all the hidden treasures of this country and her heritage through varied businesses - all to empower the true & often unknown craftspeople of India. While he managed some of his family's other businesses, he spark really came alive when he was diving into Indian Arts. Which was also why he had retained the music the mountains and the stream had produced for him in Ladakh. 

It was also the music he recognised in Kaveri, there was a rhythm that was singing in her. But she was trying to hide it, and he needed to find her, talk to her and find out why she wasn't sharing her gifts with the world. 

यह जीना भी 

न जीना भी,

हैं दोनों का तुमसे ही वास्ता 

मैं ही तो हूँ,

तेरा पता, 

हैं दूसरा न कोई रास्ता 

आये मुझ तक वो तुमको 

जो हैं ढूंढ़ता 

मेरी खामोशियों 

में हैं तू बोलता 

यह जीना भी 

न जीना भी 

जो भी हुआ 

हैं वो तुमसे हुआ