speak.

Tired of endless conversation, she took the left turn. What was there, eh? A big blue monster with three heads. The first head was red, the second green and the third orange. The monster was called G. The monster fed on Time. But when the monster threw up, there was a strange gooey green thing. The thing was nice. Still, it was not named. It was green, and gooey. It was the greenness of the goo which made it nice.

But she loved conversation. With Wisdom. And a little folly.

Ladies and Gentleman, if you have ever wanted to commit sooocaaide, remember that it is a constitutional offense. If you fail, that is. 

So, you better not.

And if you have too many things made up in your head, try to shampoo twice a week.

This does not mean a thing. But I never wanted to make meaning. Maybe I just want to say aboo times and syar may I please talk and excoos me. The point I am trying to make is, I need a little break. Or I am heading for a breakdown.

Iqbal Bano.

    1935~2009

The death of Iqbal Bano is being referred to as the death of Ghazal in Pakistan. It is, to a great extent. But the death of Iqbal Bano means much more than just the death of a voice. It is the death of an era. The death of a sensibility. 

I encountered the music of Iqbal Bano when I was too young to understand the meaning of the poetry she sang. I was introduced to her by a man I have now disowned. Years later, when I was 17, I heard her again. 'mere dil, mere musafir' -- a song that perfectly described all that I had felt ever since I was a child. I had myself not recognised these thoughts, feelings. This is the magic of music, this is the magic of poetry. It heralds recognition. The magic in Iqbal Bano's voice is such. It can articulate things that you feel, but feelings that you will never be able to translate into words. Often, when we talk, we misrepresent our feelings. At least, I do. But certain songs, they say everything that I would want to tell myself. 

Iqbal Bano has always been a special presence in my life. Many times in great despair have I turned to Iqbal. The voice has consoled me, soothed me and often given birth to a new kind of despair that is deep like water, a melancholic sense of aloneness. 

The music of Iqbal Bano has been a strange kind of company for me. Her voice always leaves me in anticipation. No matter how many times I listen to dasht - e - tanhai mein, I cannot overcome that ache lying deep within. Although I know the poem by heart, there is a sense of restlessness, unease and suspense with each couplet. There is wonder.  And there is the magic of a voice that can never, never die. 

The knowledge that the body behind the voice is dead leaves the songs stranded in a newfound profundity. I have found another meaning in these words:

'uht rahi hai kahin qurbat se 

teri saans ki aanch 
apani khushbuu mein sulagti hui 
maddham maddham' 

*pic courtesy www.dawn.com

**I have uploaded two songs. Listen to Dasht-e-tanhi mein and Payal mein geet hai. If you want any other song, feel free to ask!

I feel awful, awful. And I feel good, good too.

I feel awful because of whatever I have seen.
I feel awful because I can't do much about it.
I feel good because I will not let it be repeated.
I also feel good because somewhere deep inside, I know I wouldn't have let things be like this years from now even if I hadn't seen this.

I do not know whether memory defeated him or he chose to be defeated by memory. I do not know him either. But something about him is so much like a kid. I have an inkling that he has chosen to forget so much. Whatever time he has left, we can try and make things better. 

And you! I will not let you forget. You will be happy and yo when you are like him!

Roger that, General!