ALAM E ARWAH - DELHI KARAVAN CHRONICLES

चल बुल्लेया चल ओथे चलिए 

जित्थे होवन सारे अन्ने।

ना कोई साडी जात पछाने,

ना कोई सानू मन्ने।

Baba Bulle Shah says let's go to a place where everyone is blind. A land where no one could recognize us with our cast and creed, and no one appreciates us based on who and what we are.

Every walk I have attended with Asif Sahab has an intrinsic value in my life. It is difficult to describe that in words, but you might see a reflection somewhere in between my writeups. Every walk satisfies my appetite in one way or the other. Some quench my thirst for listening to endless stories. Some enrich my awareness of the people, places, and things which existed in some other era. And then there are some which satisfy my wild curiosity.

The last walk I attended was a cocktail of all of those.

We were sitting on the large rocks of the long-lost Aravalli, just behind the tomb of Azim Khan. The gigantic Qutub Minar was in the view. The Sun was about to bid adieu for the day when Asif Sahab began.

'There was a time when we all were formless and shapeless. It was when there was no religion, no caste, no creeds.

It was then we were in "Alam E Arwah", that we were as one soul. We know each other long before entering into this world.'

His words were enough to kick-start my never-ending imagination. I couldn't control my mind at that moment, nor I can control my hand right now.

And then the Almighty took one big bowl of clay and started shaping each of us with his bare hands. Writing the roles one has to play in this physical world. And then we all fall softly one by one on the face of the earth, just as a feather kissing softly the ground. 

'And this world - which you and I call physical is 'Alam E Dunya'.

A crucial thing happens between the journey from Alam E Arwah to Alam E Dunya. Somewhere in between that journey, we lose our memory. We can't recall what all happened there. We can't recognize the souls with whom we were together. All those memories wash away like the blackboard before the next class begins.

I could imagine my soft landing on the earth. 

Yes, I was there once. I must have been conscious at first when I was shaped into this body. I must have been alone for the first time. I must have been overwhelmed when I commenced my journey to Alam E Dunya. 

And then on one alien turn, I must have seen a tunnel of light. By passing through it slowly, all the memories must have vanished.

And then I must have touched the face of the Earth. I must have seen some strange faces looking at me smiling and sobbing. But little did I know that I was trapped under certain labels and identities. I was recognized by a name. A caste was attached to it. A religion must be attached to it. A certain financial status was attached to it. I was identified by the color of my face - my ethnicity must have been important to many.

I was taught quite well to hate people who fall under different labels, recognized by different identities. I was trained to believe that the path I'm following is superior to the others. 

When you zoom out on this scenario a little bit, you start seeing that we all are differentiated with barbed wires from the people whose paths are totally different. I was taught to have a super Ill feeling towards them and they must have thought likewise.

All this drama of labels, identities, and recognition goes on and on when something magical happens.

A day comes when someone enters your life and you suddenly travel before the time when the tunnel of light comes into the journey. At his or her first glance you feel that you know that person quite well. You feel that you can trust him with all that you have. Conversation or no conversation, you still feel that there is something between that person and you that can't be described in this so-called physical world 

That is the person who was once your companion soul in Alam E Arwah.

And sometimes an incident happens and you start seeing some pattern in it. Some conversation, some colors, or some scenarios. Slowly you start recognizing that pattern and you understand that the exact thing has happened at some other time, some other place.

Yes, we term it as DejaVu today. But terms, theories, and equations have majorly no answers to so many 'stupid' questions that come across our minds.

Some other time...

Some other place...

'Is Jannat (heaven) a time or a place?' Asif Sahab asks us. 

After mixed answers, he started explaining about a place called 'Alam E Barzakh'. That is where we all will go when we leave our mortal body and our role ends in Alam E Dunya. 

It is difficult for me to describe that but about one thing I'm quite sure about. A light tunnel will again be there on the route to Alam E Barzakh. When I pass through that tunnel, it will be more like a feeling of waking up from a deep and dreamy slumber.

You know the words which I was listening to were more like deadly bullets shot towards me.  They were hitting me with an enormous force that the damage it had caused was visible to me. I could see a bloody puncture near my heart. The blood that was oozing out of it was dark, almost black.

When nothing was left to ooze out of that wound, the light started entering into it.

'Alam E Arwah'

I think Baba Bulle Shah must have mentioned Alam E Arwah when he said these lines -

चल बुल्लेया चल ओथे चलिए 

जित्थे होवन सारे अन्ने।

ना कोई साडी जात पछाने,

ना कोई सानू मन्ने।

Love, Laughter, and Peace 

HRN

A Mother's Sacrifice - Story That Grew Up With Me...

 

I love listening to stories. No academic degree or professional course can teach you as much as a good story if you ask me. At this phase of life, when I look toward my long-gone past, I remember so many good stories told to me at various stages, and at various unimaginable places. I remember so many of them by heart. But I hardly remember any lecture with that amount of lucidity I attended in college.

Being an imaginative kid, who was considered lost by many around me, I always valued stories. It was and still is a desirable dish for my imaginative mind. Do you know that so many people are researching time travel and the presence of different dimensions? Little do they know that the only way to travel in time and explore different dimensions is possible by telling and listening to good stories.

Do you want to try it?

So sit back and relax. And take a bellyful of breath.

Let me take you to my classroom. In a shady corner on the top floor, just next to the staircase, there's my classroom. It's the last period of the day. It was much hotter than the other days of July month. The least we could do is to relax for a bit after a tiring day.

It was a counseling period. I really looked forward to that period as one can gossip with his or her friends and can stay away from textbooks and notes for a while. It took me years to understand that it was not the vacant time of the day but the stories Counselor Ma'am (may God bless her divine soul) used to tell us that made me look forward to that class.

She entered our classroom and we all stood up to sing our lullaby style Good Afternoon Ma'am. She smiled and told us to settle down. One could tell her with her facial expressions that whether she is in the mood to tell a story or she wants us to carry on with whatever we feel like, of course by maintaining the decorum of the class. That day her expressions displayed the former option. She was clenching her kerchief in her left hand. She stood comfortably against her desk and started the story -

Once there was a saint who used to travel from one place to another, singing devotional songs, and answering innocent questions asked by people around him. He was known for throwing light on unanswered questions which appear in his disciples' minds. 

On the banks of the Godavari River, there was a village. The saint thought of staying in that village under a gigantic banyan tree, before continuing his journey to other places. 

The villagers were delighted and honored by the presence of the saint. They brought fruits, milk, clean water, and various fragrances for him. They sat all around him, listening to devotional songs, praising the greatness of the Almighty. 

After the kirtan session, people asked for solutions to their domestic as well as spiritual problems. When everyone was contented with his simple solutions, everyone stood up to leave. But then one villager raised a question. 

'Oh wise one, I'm a hardworking man. I travel to distant lands to earn money so that I can give all the amenities to my children. I compromise my personal pleasures so that my children can lead a good life. But Your Holiness, if you pick up any religious text, they all sing praises of the divinity and the compromises of the Mother. Can you please put some light on why Mother is expressed as more compromising to the Father in all those texts?

The saint smiled and calmly appreciate the importance of the question raised. He told the villager to come back again the next morning after taking a bath. Then he will answer his question.

When the villager arrived the next morning, the saint was sitting calmly under the tree. 

He told the villager not to sit and raise his arms where he was standing. Then he tied a big rock through a jute rope around the villager's belly. He was not at all expecting something like this. He doubted the wisdom of the saint and thought that he wants to play some kind of prank with him. 

He only understood the seriousness of the business once the saint recited some Vedic chants.

The saint told the villager to go back to his home and come back tomorrow. "And don't even think of untying the rope or getting rid of the rock in any way.  It will bring you bad luck not only for this birth but for the next three births too" the saint said when he turned back.

The villager said nothing. He struggled to reach his home, dragging the stone with force as well as with utmost care. 

The next day when the villager returned he saw the saint in a deep meditative saint. The villager was panting heavily, drenched in sweat. He sat near the tree where the saint was sitting. When the saint opened his eyes, the village was just too eager to ask for the answer to his question. But the saint stopped him and told him to come back again the next morning.

With a heavy heart and a heavier belly, he went back to his home.

The next morning again the villager came back, slowly dragging his stone. He sat next to the saint this time. He tried to look for his answer, but the saint stopped him again and told him to come back again the next morning. 

Being said that the villager was all fierce and uncontrollable. He stood up and started abusing and screaming at the saint.

" Do hell with your answer, you old, grey-hair langoor. Just set me free with this rope and your stupid rock".

The saint smiled and untied the rope, relieving him after so many hours. 

"My brother, you couldn't bear the weight of this rock for mere forty-eight hours. And your Mother didn't complain, rather celebrated your weight around her belly for so many months. She spent so many sleepless nights because you were growing slowly in her belly. The greatness of a Mother and the compromises she made can't be described in mere words my friend. No scripture is capable enough to describe the greatness of a Mother." The saint replied. 

The villager was awestruck with the answer. He fell immediately at the steps of the saint, asking for forgiveness.

When the counselor ma'am ended the story, I can't forget what she said next. 

'To all the boys who are here in the class, one day you will become amazing Fathers. But a Mother's compromises really can't be described in words.'

And the story stayed with me since that day. Unfortunately, Counselor Ma'am left this world on the last day of the year 2022. When I heard that news, more than feeling sad or angry, I felt cheated.

I felt cheated because no one I've ever come across is so humble, so caring, so giving. 

I felt cheated because our younger generation can never listen to those stories, which had the capability to change one's life.

I felt cheated because I will not be able to see that face ever again in whatever days of mortality are still left with me.

I have dealt with physical pains quite gracefully in my life. But emotional pains, I really doubt my capabilities in handling them.

I wanted to share this story with every one of you on the occasion of Mother's Day.

It's hard to send wishes to the divine land where Counselor Ma'am has got a golden desk to stand against and tell wonderful stories. But I'm taught with utmost care to at least try.

Happy Mother's Day Sangeeta Ma'am...

Dissection of Storytelling - A walk with Asif Sahab

This is an entry from my journal I wrote after one of my initial walks with Asif Sahab. After filling a dozen of pages in my journal, I tried to analyze certain value points, which may benefit a storyteller. I can update the entry and add many more points,.but it will make things complicated and you will scroll down. So, I will stick to the basics and I will try to give some rest to your thumbs (those little creatures, genuinely expecting some mercy from you). But, I will not spare you with my bracket commentary. I love doing that. (You can imagine me showcasing my devil smile).

Let's get started.

27/10/2021- 23.15 hours - Wednesday - New Delhi

Storytelling

What I learned in my last walk with Asif Sahab, comprises certain elements of storytelling.

The first and most crucial element is Gestures (to make your listener/ audience imagine). When Asif Sahab said " Abhi hum Babar ko Kabul mai rakhte hai" he used his left hand, rotated his wrist, and gestured to take a pause from a story and jumped to the other story, which probably running parallelly somewhere else. And then he started explaining about Ibrahim Lodhi, his uncle Daulat Khan Lodhi. Now, these gestures help the audience to bifurcate one story from another. Without these gestures, your words will fall flat and your story will disappear in thin air.

As a listener, it was easier for me to imagine that time and era - All the happenings and mishappenings - I could see everything happening in front of me.

(Imagine, Babur, coming with his troop, family, and kin - all the way from Uzbekistan to India. And just with rotation of a wrist, Babur froze in Kabul - not physically though - and, Ibrahim Lodhi was preparing his army of over one lakh men. That's the power of appropriate gestures in storytelling. It strongly induces imagination in the listener's mind.)

The other element is the Language of the storyteller. The words he or she uses adds beauty to the story. There should be an intrinsic value to every word he or she uses. The words should not be everyday words that we use casually. They must tickle the listener's mind so that he or she demands more such words. And yes, It must induce some visual imagination into the listener's mind. The Hindustani language contains innumerable such words which can help you imagine. If I talk about Asif Sahab, Tassavur is my favorite. And using Beharhal often helps my mind to stick to the core of the story, after wandering in different directions. By the way, Tassavur itself means to imagine. (Don't disturb my dear friend google for this).

The last one is an element with which I personally share a bitter-sweet relationship. Bitter, because sometimes it wants to become the main lead instead of providing assistance. Sweet - good storytelling itself makes it sweet. I'm talking about the third and last element I discovered - Facts.

You are roaming in a monument that carries a historical value, and you are telling stories related to a particular period. The facts will undoubtedly add charm to your storytelling - But (ahem!) emotions should always overlap the facts - and the facts should gladly allow emotions to come forward. When facts come forward, the soul of your story is lost. 

(The first battle of Panipat happened back in 1526 AD - The soul is lost. 

Babur, who came from the lineage of Taimur Lang, was all set with canons, trained soldiers, and yes, charming tactics. The ground of Panipat was all red with blood, as the Babur's army of twenty thousand men defeated over one lakh men of the Lodhi army. The price was not only the decapitated head of Ibrahim Lodhi - Dilli was now in Babur's hands. - I hope it finds the soul again?)

(That's what a twenty-eight-year-old me discovered about storytelling. The twenty-nine-year-old me has discovered a few more things. I will discuss that some other time. 

For me, imagination is the key. You can't imagine blank facts. You need a base of gestures, pitch, voice modulation, and whatnot. Just like you can't imagine my devil smile - because you don't have a base. Either you haven't seen me physically, or you might have not given much attention to me. Even if you know me personally... I don't smile devilishly.

Oh Please! )

#Statutarywarning - Storytelling can't be concluded in an article, a single book, or a documentary. It's a stream of cool and refreshing water - flowing and will keep on flowing till eternity... and maybe beyond.

Gratitude, Love, and lots of Happiness Asif Sahab and Delhi Karavan. A lot has been left to listen, observe, and feel. So let's keep on flowing :-)

Love, Laughter, and Peace

Himanshu R Nagpal

Picture credits

Praveen Sir

Aaliya

The Dancing Ghost - The Adventures of Hunny Bunny

 In the middle of the evening market, there Is a little shop which sells different things in different seasons. In summers, they serve flavored Soda, Squashes, and ice creams. And in winters, they generally rely on Boiled eggs and omelets. The owner of the shop is a middle-aged Sikh gentleman, called Manjeet Singh. He was famous for his fresh soda, delicious omelets, and funny anecdotes. His shop was quite popular among students who go to tuition classes and among those who bunk classes frequently.

Their daily Customers were Hunny and Bunny. If we talk about Hunny, his build doesn't look like a fourteen-year-old kid. He looked more like a grown-up man. His chest was naturally broad, and his arms were big. On the other hand, he is known for using his strength more than his mind.

Bunny was small, but a sharp guy. He analyzes things before taking any decision. He never flows with the emotions and knows when to start and when to stop.

They both were special customers of Manjeet and they always get flavored soda, irrespective of the season.

One thing which is common between them is their differences, which make their bond so strong.

And yes, they both are ultimate pranksters.

Just a week before, bunny talked to one of his classmates on phone for more than one hour in a girl's voice. That poor guy brought a bunch of red roses for a girl studying in another section. And no points for guessing, the principal called his parents to see her in her office. No one knows who did that prank, but yes, they are very good at it.

Sitting on the bench inside Manjeet's shop, and holding glasses of orange-flavored soda, they both were discussing the last night's match. 

'You know Dada wears a piece of elephant tooth around his neck to perform well in every match.' Hunny said while folding the arm of his t-shirt.

'From where do you get this cheesy news, you dumbass?' Bunny said while poking his finger on his belly.

'Arey! I listened to it on the radio last night.' he took out his brand-new yellow color Walkman from his bag.

'From where did you get this?' Bunny asked.

'I bought it from my pocket money he said while taking out earphones from his bag.

'Pocket Money? How much can you save from the two rupees you get every day? If you have that much money, at least clear Manjeet Paaji's balance amount.' he raised his voice so that Manjeet could listen to their conversation.

'You know what, keeping an elephant's tooth is a black magic trick. You can't imagine how dangerous these black magic tricks are. ' Manjeet said without giving attention to monetary discussions they were having.

'Oh, Paaji how do you know all this?' Hunny said, relieved that Manjeet didn't ask for a month-old pending balance.

'Arey, I was in Himachal for more than ten years. I have seen all these things from my own eyes. I have encountered Chudails, Pishach, and many other demons on the hills. These things are not new for me.'

Hunny was less excited and more afraid listening to all this. But Bunny was chilled out, more eager to listen to the details. 

'Oh then? What did you do?' Hunny asked again.

'I Didn't run away, never. I faced that lady in white, whose feet were backward. My eyes got red and she couldn't face my anger. She ran away like a kid. They only attack weak souls and I belong to the family of truck drivers. Anger is our trademark.' Manjeet's voice was raised. People who were busy with their grocery shopping started peeping inside the shop, thinking that an argument is going on.

'You are so brave Manjeet Paaji, just like our Taara Paaji. He was also a truck driver, you know. He went all the way to Pakistan to get her wife back.' Hunny said with a twinkle in his eyes.

But Bunny was silent. Something was tickling him from inside.

He stood up and gestured to Hunny that it's time to go home.

'What are you thinking Hunny?' 

'He didn't even ask money for the soda we just had' 

Bunny spanked hard on Hunny's back and both of them walked towards their home, which was very near to the evening market.

......................................................................................................................

The power cuts were common those days. In January, when the whole city was freezing, power cuts made less difference to anyone. 

It was 9.40 PM when Bunny called Hunny on their landline phone and called him outside of his house. 

After twenty minutes or so, Hunny came out with Walkman in his hands, without hands-free cable. He was listening to a remix version of an old song called Kaanta Laga.

'You know Bunny, the girl in the video of this song died because she made a tattoo on her arm. These needles cause cancer, you know.' Hunny said.

They start walking towards the gate of the street. Hunny was talking continuously but Bunny was revising the plan he made in his mind. He couldn't afford to make any mistake. He gave a washed handkerchief to Hunny and told him to tie it around his face.

'But what in the world you are trying to do?' he asked while tying up the handkerchief.

'You want to dance?' he asked

'Of course, I would love to. You know I learned that famous step, you want to see?'

He crisscrossed his feet and started jumping

'Aae Mere Dil Tu Gaye jaa

Hey aa Hey aa oh aa hey yaa' 

He sang and danced, trying to imitate a Hindi film star.

'Stop jumping like a maniac you dumb ass' Bunny pushed him to walk faster.

They both hid behind a little wall near the street's gate.

'Hunny! Listen to me very carefully. Wear the Cap of your hoodie and don't remove the handkerchief, no matter what will happen.' he explained to Hunny in a mere whisper.

'When I'll tell you to dance, dance like a maniac. When I'll tell you to run, run like a maniac, do you understand?'

'Yes brother, but why the hell will we dance in the middle of the street, in the middle of the night? It's freezing man, and you want to dance.' Hunny complained.

'Don't use your mind so much, your knees will start aching. just do what I tell you to do.' 

Hunny held his knees and nodded.

Bunny was looking at his radiant, digital watch again and again. And suddenly, the voice of an old scooter's engine was audible to them.

'Wear your cap and follow me' he said 

Bunny started walking more like a zombie in the middle of the street. And behind him, Hunny, who looked like a mountain, started dancing like a monkey. The man on the scooter reduced his speed as he came nearer to them. Now Bunny started making strange metallic voices, which was so creepy that even the dancing Hunny was shivering. 

The man left his scooter on the road and ran backward for a while. Bunny started running behind him. The man, who was wearing a blanket around his shoulders, removed it and threw it on the ground, and ran for his life. He was shouting for help at the top of his voice. 

Bunny stopped as he listened to the gates opening of various houses on the other side of the road. He ran behind the parked cars and scooters before anyone could see him. He looked for Hunny behind the street's gate. 

A cold sweat moved from his forehead to his cheek when he saw Hunny still dancing like a maniac in the middle of the street.

He threw an empty plastic water bottle towards him to catch his attention. And it worked. Hunny stopped dancing and hid near Bunny, behind a white color Maruti 800.

Bunny punched hard in his belly when he felt something rock solid under his Hoodie.

'Kaanta Laga

Haye Laga

Bangle ke pichhe'

His Walkman, which he was hiding under his Hoodie, came to life and started playing that retro-Remix song, whose model died because she made a tattoo on her arm. 

'Hunny close this shit and run for your life, you dumb ass'.

They ran without looking back, and thankfully, no one saw them.

'Who was that Man? And why you did this to him?' Hunny asked him.

'You didn't recognize him? He was Manjeet Paaji. He came to ask for the money for the soda we had in the evening.' 

'You little devil, why you did this to him? And why the hell you made me dance like shit in front of him?' he said holding Bunny's neck tightly in his arms.

' Didn't you see how afraid he was? I wanted to see the bloodshot eyes of the proud offspring of the Truck driver's family.' Bunny was laughing and catching his breath, trying hard to come out of the reach of the strong arms of Hunny.

They both were sitting on Parked scooters in the middle of the night near their homes. 

'I can't forget your dance till the last breath of my life, you dumbass.' Bunny lied on the scooter, laughing like a maniac.

Hunny was embarrassed for a moment and then joined him in the laughter. 

Bunny punched hard on his belly again.

'Bangle ke pichhe

Teri beri ke niche'

They both sat on the floor, enjoying the uncontrollable laugh and ReMix Version of the song playing on Hunny's Walkman.

......................................................................................................................

The next evening they both went to Manjeet's shop to see him and to drink lemon soda.

'What happened Paaji? Are you sick? You are looking weak.' Hunny asked in uncontrollable excitement.

Bunny poked his elbow in his belly, gesturing him to shut his mouth.

'Arey Hunny Bhai, you won't believe what I saw last night. As a daily routine, I was going to feed leftovers of eggs and bread crumbs to the stray dogs near the main road, when I saw two deadly ghosts walking on the road. I understood the situation very well and parked my scooter near the park. I ran behind them with my bloodshot eyes. They both ran away. But you know ghosts suck up your energy from distance. If they had caught some weaker guy like Bunny, they would have made Keema of him.' Manjeet said in a single breath.

They both control their laughter.

'I was down with a little fever last night, but now I'm perfectly fine. What will you have? Lemon or orange?'

'Paaji you are so brave, just like Taara Paaji. Long live Manjeet Paaji. Long live Taara Paaji.' Hunny said lifting his fist in the air.

Manjeet was smiling. He was happy with the delicious pudding served to his ego. But something made his smile fade. It was the real incident that happened last night.

They both sat on the bench, enjoying their respective sodas. For a change, they paid money and started leaving from there.

'Hunny Bhai, you both must be very careful. There's a big fat ghost in your locality, who is known for dancing like a maniac on the middle of the road.' Manjeet said with a sense of care in his voice.

'Sure Paaji, we'll take care of it' Bunny replied.

They were laughing like hell to their home.

......................................................................................................................

That night, they both were sitting on Parked scooters in front of Hunny's house. He was holding a torchlight and told Bunny to bring his bicycle. They attached the torchlight in front of his bicycle to have a better vision in the dark.

Hunny was riding and Bunny was sitting silently on the carrier behind him. Hunny was whistling and Bunny was smiling, remembering the prank they did last night. 

Suddenly Hunny applied brakes with all the force he had. Bunny slapped his back and told him to ride. But Hunny was all numb. Bunny tried to see the situation when he saw two figures in all white right in the middle of the road. The bigger one was dancing, spreading his arms in the air. The smaller one was dragging his feet and slowly coming towards them. They couldn't move for a while. It was Bunny who dragged Hunny from the Bicycle and they both ran for their life, screaming at the top of their voices, leaving their torchlight attached bicycle on the road.