Amir Khusro would pray most of the night. Once his master Nizamuddin Auliya asked him: “Turk, what is the state of being occupied?” “There are times at the end of the night when one is overcome by weeping,” he replied. “Praise be to God, bit by bit is being manifest,” Nizamuddin said. But what was… continue reading
Nasruddin was taking a stroll in the streets of Konya. A few hundred meters from the Mevlana Muzesi, he spotted a neat row of dead telephone booths. He picked up a receiver gingerly to his ear, a strain of nay (an end-blown flute that figures prominently in Middle Eastern music) filled his ear. Curious, a passer-by picked… continue reading
यह नक्षत्रों से भरा आकाश वियोगी जनों के लिए एक बहुत बड़ा सहारा है। उस दिन भी तो आकाश नक्षरों से भरा हुआ था और मैं उस सुनील नभ के प्रत्येक तारे में अपनी प्रिया के रूप-वैभव की गरिमा देखने में तल्लीन होकर, महादेवी जी की यह पंक्ति- सो रहा है विश्व पर प्रिय तारकों… continue reading
रंगों से हिंदुस्तान का पुराना रिश्ता रहा है. मुख़्तलिफ़ रंग हिंदुस्तानी संस्कृति की चाशनी में घुलकर जब आपसी सद्भाव की आंच पर पकते हैं तब जाकर पक्के होते हैं और इनमें जान आती है. यह रंग फिर ख़ुद रंगरेज़ बन जाते हैं और सबके दिलों को रंगने निकल पड़ते हैं. होली इन्हीं ज़िंदा रंगों का… continue reading
It was a smooth touchdown in Kuwait. After a brief wait, he boarded a flight to Delhi. Nasruddin was standing in the boarding queue, a burly man from the airport security team was having an intimate chat with a lissome ground staff. The security guy was from Swat valley, and the girl was from Chennai…. continue reading
The night sky was coal black; the Moon was hidden by a blanket of thick grey clouds, but the prince could see a fire burning at a distance. Four dervishes crouched around the flames to keep the howling icy wind at bay; the graves around them whispering stories of days gone by. One was a… continue reading
