Friday, 30 September 2011

In Retrospective


A journey that takes place on the next day of birth and moves through the seven valleys, crosses seven oceans, reaches to seven heavens, ascends and descends in itself and into itself and lasts for seven days, seven periods and seven lifetimes.

21 September: journey is stepping out of self and moving in all those directions where there is any imminent chance of finding a possible path that may lead to quench the thirst. This is the thirst that leads one to the oasis.

22 September: an oasis is a place which keeps one grounded; one doesn’t want to leave the coolness, the warmth, the satisfaction, the engrossing closeness and the beauty those eminences from whatever you look at.

23 September: heart and mind fight, the meaning and thoughts quarrel both have an ax to grind, heart has its own ways and mind its own. Heart wants to stay, mind wants to travel, and movement takes precedence as head is stationed above heart.

24 September: the first milestone is so satisfying that the other possible paths that lay across and ahead seems meaningless, but the possibilities that those paths carry makes the desire of letting go of this satisfying junction to move ahead.

25 September: the consensus of heart and mind develops and a unique consciousness takes form. The inside world takes the outside world as a partner and co creator, water extinguishes fire and fire burns water, thus the dichotomy ends.

26 September: the novelty of new a realization opens a flood of mysteries and on the waters of that flood floats whatever there is to be seen and under the currents swims all that which is possible.

27 September: the beginning needs an end but not necessarily the dead end so what is afloat drowns to see what is beneath and what is beneath rises to see what is afloat. Quest to find and know optimizes itself and then actualization of it surfaces, sinks, rises and converge into light that is what is there to see.

Wednesday, 28 September 2011

Majid Jahangir Khan

Today is the 65th Birthday of legendary Pakistani batsman Majid Jahangir Khan. In his playing days when MJK used to walk down from pavilion to bat in his immaculate white flannels, sleeves buttoned and rolled down at wrists, wearing faded sunhat, taking small and measured steps in such a gait that one use to wonder if a Greek god has descended from mount Olympus to bat. Everything on the cricket field use to lose its ambience when MJK was at the crease taking guard, standing slightly bend down in most unperturbed and relaxed manner like a statue of Michael Angelo and then playing his exquisite shorts stylishly, effortlessly and majestically, while batsman at the other end used to look in awful difficulty huffing and puffing. Everything on ground use to become nonexistent for me and as a young boy I was mesmerized by his charms and class acts. For me cricket was never same again when MJK played his final Test match on a fateful day in the winters of 1983.