Spring has been like what it 'normally' is.

Sporadic rain. Green landscapes. Colorful flowers. Slightly wet and nippy mornings. Occasional blue skies with puffy clouds. Freshness. The wonder is that this has lasted a long while. Almost two months.

As the old adage goes (does there exist one like this?), a long winter leads to a healthy spring.

Yes indeed. The tulips stayed alive longer. Even the lilacs are still in bloom and their perfume wafts in the chill air and delights the senses. Our magnolia bush was in bloom for several weeks.

It is almost  the end of May. Yes, it is Memorial day weekend and there is still a chill in the air.

Compare this to last year when we were dealing with hot days and nights and the beginnings of a drought even in May.   Last season, we had had a shorter than usual winter.

A good spring is worth a long winter. After all, the ground has to get its share of sleep before it begins its tireless work again in spring.

The ragas basant, vasanta and bahaar take on a new significance when you actually experience nature's celebration.

LAHORE: Around 500,000 families, directly related to the kite flying business, have lost their sources of livelihood because of the ban on Basant, the stakeholders of the kite flying industry told Daily Times on Friday.

The ban is costing them Rs 200 million annually, and at the same time damaging other businesses that are indirectly related to the festival. They said that the people related to the industry, including kite makers, twine (dor) makers, wholesalers and retailers, had lost their means of earning a living.

The cost of the paper used in kite making is estimated at around Rs 90 million and the cost of the twine used for flying kites is estimated at around Rs 40 million. The process of making kites involves around Rs 40 million, said Lahore Kite Flying Association General Secretary Sheikh Muhammad Saleem. “These were taken two years back. Now the number must have jumped,” he said, adding that 500,000 families had suffered because of the ban. “I know a lot of people who have discontinued this business and are now doing labour. Just two years back, Basant was the identity of Lahore and large numbers of people used to come to celebrate the event in the country. People from the US, Europe, the Middle East and other countries thronged the city to celebrate the gala,” he said. “Rooftops of all hotels were booked. From fruit vendors to pan (beetle leaf) sellers, all felt the economic boom,” he said.

Muhammad Siddique, who used to sell kites two years ago in the Walled City, said that he was now working as a labourer. “I never thought that my business could be ruined like this and I would become a labourer,” he said, adding, “We need to accept that we collectively failed to stop the chemical-coated twine that killed so many people.”

His brother had died that morning just as the cock crowed and the cold, hazy winter sun bathed the village with light. Those seated around the dead man had been waiting. Quickly two of them began to undress his body, at the same time giving instructions to his fifteen-year old brother.
‘Go now, Basant. Bring your neighbour and cousins.'
‘Have the funeral pyre prepared.'
‘Alert the reader of the Holy Book. Bring him with you.'
Basant rose, adjusted his over-blanket around his turbaned head, swept it across his shoulders and left the room crossing the narrow, open courtyard in four long steps. Once over the threshold his body shook with sobs. He leaned against the window, bending like a sapling in a high wind. He took long breaths and tried not to moan. It seemed longer but in a minute he'd pulled himself up. Squaring his shoulders, standing tall, he walked steadily away from the house. The smell of burning buffalo-dung and wood was in the air as the villagers rose to another winter morning. Donkeys brayed and water buffalo moo-ed calling to the person who milked them but Basant hardly heard these usual morning sounds.
On reaching the door leading to the potter's house he stopped, took a deep breath and pushed at the door, rattling the latch. As it was opened he blurted out,
‘It is my brother...the plague has taken him.'
The middle-aged man standing in the small courtyard only nodded in answer, at the same time calling into the house for his son. Together they made their way to Basant's house whilst he turned and took the opposite direction, through narrow lanes towards the centre of the village. Until the sun was overhead it would be cold so all the men he met were wrapped in light blankets over their rough cotton pyjamas and shirts, heads covered with turbans or felt hats.
Basant stopped at two more houses, of his second cousins, to impart the sad news, before making his way through the lanes to the house of the untouchable family. These two families had been linked to each other through generations. Today Ram would prepare the funeral pyre and his wife would see to cleaning the house of the bereaved family. She would also take away the clothes and bedding of the dead man. He had died of the plague and all his personal effects would be discarded as quickly as possible.
Ram stood with Basant in the low walled enclosure outside the one room that was his home. ‘It is a very sad occasion. My sympathies are with you. Your brother was your elder, your protector. Now you must be the protector. It is a heavy burden that is now on your head.'
Basant lifted his gaze from the wall and looked at Ram, ‘I will see you at the cremation grounds.'
‘After I've cleared up, I'll follow to your house, Basant,' the voice of Ashie, Ram's wife, came from inside the room. She was hidden from his view but Basant could see her two children sitting on mats beside the cooking fire.
‘Yes, I am going via the Gurdwara.' Basant looked into Ram's face, nodded and again lowered his head as he left the enclosure.

He returned to his house with the Granthi, the reader of the Holy Book. The men and women in the courtyard turned to look at him. A prayer, consisting of God's name, ‘Waheguru, Satnam,' was being chanted in a quiet murmur. The men had lowered the body from the woven rope bed, carrying it to be ritually washed at the ‘wet' corner of the house, near the door. On entering, the Granthi, greeted the elders of the extended family with words of condolence. Two men were tying some thick canes of bamboo into a ladder. The body was covered in a white sheet and placed on it. The face was made visible.
The cousins Basant had called on were now coming into the courtyard. It was crowded. Some people had moved into Basant's uncle's house through the connecting door, at the back of the courtyard, to make more space. Four women, two aunts, a cousin and a sister of the dead man, came to sit near the body. Other women sat further away. They wept in high keening voices that sounded like waves in the wind and then urged each other to speak of him,
‘Where have you gone, you're leaving a young baby and a wife. What will become of them?'
‘She also has the plague. She will not survive. Their baby will be orphaned.'
‘There were ten deaths in the village yesterday. The cremation grounds are very busy.' In between the waves of weeping, there was time for normal conversation. This was the traditional and necessary pattern of grieving.
‘What about his wife? Is she be allowed to look at his face for the last time?' asked the dead man's sister, Bhani.
The elder of the women answered, ‘No, Bhani, but only because she is too ill. We will have to let that custom go in these circumstances.'
‘Take him now, quickly.' Basant's aunt looked towards the men. As if in agreement, the Granthi began to recite the evening prayer for the dead man. Everyone stood barefoot and with covered heads because, with the prayers, it was believed the Guru was also with them. As the prayers came to a close everyone touched their foreheads to the ground. The women sat down. Six men bent to lift the ladder onto their shoulders. The Granthi took his place at the front of the small procession, chanting God's name in a clear voice. As they moved away, a soft, keening wail came from Bhani. She slapped her hands to her forehead and let them fall, heavily on her thighs. Rising towards the men as they moved away she made to accompany the group. Her aunts held her back, also weeping. Women and girls did not go to the cremation grounds. The last rites of the dead were left to men to perform.
With slow steps the group left the house, carrying the body shoulder high, and proceeded down the lane towards the Mansapuri shrine and the well. The houses on either side of the lane were quiet, with their doors closed. The word was out about that morning's death. Everyone knew that you didn't cross the path of a funeral group. When the group walked passed the shrine, still murmuring the words of the chant, into the wider street, people who were out, quickly stepped into the shadows. Doors were closed and opened only after sounds of the chanting had passed. No-one stared, one look was all that seemed proper. Taking too much interest was like an encouragement to one's own misfortune.

I have to hand it to the decoration committee - they did a great job. The chunri hung over the door and the kites spelling out "Basant Bake Sale" gave the whole cafeteria a very basant atmosphere. The girls were dressed in reds, yellows and greens and the guys in kameez shalwar. Since early morning, there was an excited air with all the CWS people running around to get things ready for break time.

Around twelve o'clock, things really took a turn as the weather decided to join the celebration. Wind blew in our faces and in an hour or so, the sound of thunder accompanied the sound of the loud bhangra music. There was plenty of food for everyone which does not in any way signify a lack of interest but merely that the CWS had prepared well.

The haleem was absolutely mouth-watering, the chaat even better. At break, the gola ganda guy popped up and was the hit of the day. However, this writer found the most scrumptious item on the CWS menu to be the ice-cream with the yummy cake. The writer is least concerned with the name of this dessert but what the writer does know is that the cake absolutely melted in the writer's mouth and the icecream was the cherry on top of this heavenly combination of vanilla, chocolate cake, marie biscuit and almonds.

It was a delightful morning and the rain did nothing to dampen the students' moods. If anything, it added to the festive atmosphere and made the whole morning more enjoyable. The bake sale was a success and I just hope that the CWS collected the funds it needed.

Every culture has some form of a Spring Festival. To suppress such activities is to suppress the cultural aspirations of those that enjoy them. No, I am not in favour of bacchanalian excess, but some fun, please

The incarcerated CJ of Pakistan might be a great man but for me he will always be the person who put the kibosh on Basant. I have said it before and I will say it again, in my book he is a conservative jurist more in line with Islamist thinking. I do not, for instance, remember his court ever taking any suo moto action to help women incarcerated under the infamous Hudood laws or non-Muslims jailed under the blasphemy laws.

But such quibbles aside, my immediate concern is Basant. The reason ostensibly given to ban kite flying is the use of metal strings that can be hazardous to ordinary people. I entirely accept this premise but I cannot help but wonder why the famous Punjab Police that can, in a matter of minutes, arrest every known opposition member or recalcitrant lawyer in the entire province is unable to find and arrest those that manufacture the illegal metal strings.

Illegality can only flourish if law enforcement is involved in it at some level. The lower-level police force in Pakistan is known to be extremely corrupt. I am convinced that metal string use could be prevented if there was determination to do so. But more than the metal string, the real problem is that Basant has become an issue that pits the killjoy Islamist types against the fun-loving people of Lahore.

I don’t know what stand the expected government in the Punjab is going to take on this issue. I do know that based on his past reputation, if Mr Shahbaz Sharif does come back as CM, and if he decides to take this matter in hand, metal strings for kite flying will not be sold in Lahore or anywhere in Punjab. Sadly, Basant season will have passed by the time that happens.

The reason why Basant and kite flying is such a big deal for me is that it represents one of those ‘soft’ issues that are used by Islamists to beat up on all those they hate for daring to have fun. After all, many more people die in a single day from vehicular accidents than many a Basant and yet there is no hue and cry to ban vehicular traffic or even to improve it!

The reason why I bring up traffic is that most of the so-called public transport vehicles that I have seen around probably have never been inspected for roadworthiness. Many if not most accidents happen because of poor vehicular maintenance, improper enforcement of traffic laws and, of course, inappropriately awarded driving licenses. Here again I will reiterate my contention that such rampant lawlessness can only exist in collaboration with those that purportedly enforce the law.

Now back to those beautiful soaring pieces of paper that epitomise the Lahori spirit. For me, there is no sight prettier and, in its own way, uplifting than the site of a sky full of kites, almost each one of a different colour and shape. As I have also confessed in these pages in the past, I am like Charlie Brown, unable to keep a kite in the air and gave up trying a long time ago.

For me, Basant in particular and kite flying generally are two activities that like many others are a unique part of the Lahore scene and make the city what it is. Over the last few years, killjoys and ascetic-minded Islamist types have had it for the poor kites. I realise that the cutting string, especially of the metal variety, can be hazardous to people and I am sure that if the government puts its mind to making such string unavailable, it can do so.

During the nineties when I visited Pakistan, I tried to make sure that my visits coincided with Basant. Interestingly the best Basant visits I had were when Mr Shahbaz Sharif was the CM of Punjab. Even though I only spent a few weeks at best in Lahore, it was truly a magnificent sight to see all those kites up in the air every day culminating in the frenzy of kite flying on Basant. Yet I do not remember any talk of steel strings killing people. Is it because I do not care to remember or is it because the government made sure that such string was not being used?

Either way, I do hope that the new SC, whatever its bona fides, decides to lift the ban on kite flying and instructs the government of Punjab (do we have a government of Punjab these days?) to ensure that the dangerous string is not sold or used. Punjab Police has clearly demonstrated its ability to maintain law and order and terrorise the general population into submission. Therefore terrorising a few errant string manufacturers should be child’s play for it.

It is entirely true that over the last few years, Basant festivities have become an excessive demonstration of pomp and splendour and much money is spent during Basant parties. That may be so, but the fact remains that it is still the ordinary people that have the most fun. The rich can have fun anytime and anywhere. But why must we force the poor to give up one of the few chances they have to have some fun too?

And this perhaps is the populist argument in favour of Basant. Every culture has some form of a Spring Festival. To suppress such activities is to suppress the cultural aspirations of those that enjoy them. As it is, our melas have been neutered and are now a pale representation of what they once were. No, I am not in favour of bacchanalian excess, but some fun, please.

So, I beseech the powers that are and are to be, please give us our kites and our Basant back. Spring without kites is like a spring that never happened.

Syed Mansoor Hussain has practised and taught medicine in the US. He can be reached at smhmbbs70@yahoo.com

हर ओर खिली हैं उम्मीदें, महकी जीवन बगिया सारी,
कल तक नन्हें पौधे थे, फल देने की है अब तैयारी।
भूल ले बीते पतझड़ को, शुरू नए सृजन की तैयारी।

मौसम हैं दो सुख-दुख, ज़िंदगी होती इनसे प्यारी,
जीवन वन में, पतझड़ संग, आती हैं बसंत ऋतु प्यारी।
भूल ले बीते पतझड़ को, शुरू नए सृजन की तैयारी।

ओढ़ के आँचल हरा भरा, फल फूल से भरी धरती न्यारी,
ज्यों डाल के वस्त्र कोमल, आभूषण पहन निकले नारी।
भूल ले बीते पतझड़ को, शुरू नए सृजन की तैयारी।

खुशियों में खोने वालों, दर्द का ज्ञान ना खोना,
याद रहे जीवन बसंत संग, आती फिर पतझड़ की बारी,
भूल ले बीते पतझड़ को, शुरू नए सृजन की तैयारी।

दर्द भरे किसी आँगन में, मीठी बच्चे की किलकारी
अंत है होता क्षण भंगुर, पतझड़ पर बसंत, ही भारी।
भूल ले बीते पतझड़ को , शुरु नये सृजन की तैयारी।

published on http://www.anubhuti-hindi.org/

गुलदस्ता - मोहोब्बत का

[1]
फ़िज़ा के रंग कुछ सवरने लगे है
हवाओं के रुख़ कुछ बदलने लगे है
सुस्त सी सर्दियों पर बिछी सूरज की रश्मि
दिल में तम्मनाओ के काफिले निकलने लगे है
मौसम में छाई है बसंती बहार
मंन में सज रहा मोहोब्बत का खुमार
पपिहरा नये गीतों से वादियाँ चहेकाना तुम 
सावरिया आए मिलन जब,ये राज़ किसे ना बताना तुम |

[2]

मोहोब्बत ये तुम्हारी हमारी
सदियों सी हो चाहे पुरानी
इतने अरसो बाद भी सजना
हम हर लम्हा बुनते नयी कहानी
बरकरार रखी है वही खुमारी
बावरी मैं हूँ तेरी दीवानी
तुम संग जो चली हूँ राह-ए-इश्क़
खुद को समझू सबसे सयानी. |

[3]

मोहोब्बत की घड़ियाँ ज़िंदगी में आए
सारी कायनात बदल ने का दस्तूर है |

इंसान को मसीहा का तसवुर दिया
इतना गहरा मोहोब्बत का सरूर है |

आस पास का सब कुछ बेमानी लगे अब
बेवक़्त उनका ख़याल दिल में हुज़ूर है |

इबादात करते है सौ बार दिन में
पाक-ए-जज़्बे पर हमे बहुत गरूर है |

नफ़रतॉ के खार दिल से रुखसत हुए सारे
इश्क़ -ओ-गुल का हम पर ये असर ज़रूर है |

[4]

खामोशियों से की कई बार कोशिश
बयान करे तुम से अपने मोहोब्बत का अफ़साना
दिलबर हुए हो जब से दिल के सरताज
महफ़िल-ए-चमन  हमे लगे और सुहाना
मिल जाते हों राहों में कभी अकेले
दो बातें कर लेते है तुझ से
की है मुश्किलें ज़रासी आसान
तेरा साथ पाने का मिला यही  बहाना. |

[5]

मोहोब्बत के सफ़र में ,कुछ पल रुक जाए
प्यार के महकते गुलाब आज फिर ले आए
चाँदनी ने की है रौशन सारी फ़िज़ाए
आफताब-ए-गवाह को भी संग बुलाए
तुम मेरी साँसों को महसूस करो दुबारा
तेरी धड़कने सुनू मैं,यूही गुज़रे वक़्त सारा
कुछ तुम कहो,कुछ हम कहे,कभी खामोश नज़ारा
पल पल मिलकर सजाए,बहेती जीवन धारा |

HAPPY VALENTINE DAY

मौरे हे आमा के पेड़ पिंऊरी लिखे हे भाग
गमकथे अमरइया मन-मीत पाये हे ।

कोयली गावथे गीत, कमल मोहाये भौंरा
रात रात भर बंधे सुध खोये हे ।

कोंवर-कोंवर पान, फूले फूल आन-आन
धरती के रूप म मोहन ह मोहाय हे ।

टेसु के लगे आगी धरती-सरग देख
बड़े-बड़े साधु संत धीरज गंवाये हे ।
--- डा. निरूपमा शर्मा रचित एवं सस्‍वर पठित

 आई है बसंत बहार

सर्द हवाए सुस्ताने लगी
कोहरा भी धुआँ धुआँ
कनक सी कीरने जाल बुनती
कोयल गात नीत राग मल्हार
के अब आई है बसंत बहार |

हर शाख पत्तियो से सजी
बेल हरियाली लहराने लगी
गुलमोहर का चमन खिला
कोयल गात नीत राग मल्हार
के अब आई है बसंत बहार |

झूलो की लंबी कतार
चहेरे पर हँसी फुहार
सखियो संग नचू मनसे
कोयल गात नीत राग मल्हार
के अब आई है बसंत बहार |

फुलो की महक छाई
समीरा मंद मंद बहे
पिहु की पाती लाए
कोयल गात नीत राग मल्हार
के अब आई है बसंत बहार |