Why this blog is called "Gallimaufry".

gal-uh-MAW-free\, noun.

Originally meaning "a hash of various kinds of meats," "gallimaufry" comes from French galimafrée; in Old French, from the word galer, "to rejoice, to make merry"; in old English: gala + mafrer: "to eat much," and from Medieval Dutch maffelen: "to open one's mouth wide."

It's also a dish made by hashing up odds and ends of food; a heterogeneous mixture; a hodge-podge; a ragout; a confused jumble; a ridiculous medley; a promiscuous (!) assemblage of persons.

Those of you who know me, will, I’m sure, understand how well some of these phrases (barring the "promiscuous" bit!) fit me.

More importantly, this blog is an ode to my love for Shimla. I hope to show you this little town through my eyes. If you don't see too many people in it, forgive me, because I'm a little chary of turning this into a human zoo.

Stop by for a spell, look at my pictures, ask me questions about Shimla, if you wish. I shall try and answer them as best as I can. Let's be friends for a while....

5 August 2008

Sleepless in Shimla

therefore a poetry post. A long-standing favourite by a poet, who, in my opinion, has just not been celebrated enough. A poet of pathos. A poet who celebrates melancholy. Mir Taqi Mir.

Faqiraana aaye sadaa kar chale
Miyaan khush raho hum dua kar chale.

Jo tujh bin na jeene ko kehte the hum,

So is ahd ko ab wafaa kar chale.

Koi naummeedana-si karte nigaah,

So tum hum se munh bhi chhupa kar chale.


Bahut arzoo thi gali ki teri,

So yaan se lahoo mein nahaa kar chale.


Dikhai diye yun ke bekhud kiya,

Humen aap se hi judaa kar chale.


Jabin sajda karte hi karte gayi,

Haq-e-bandagi hum adaa kar chale.

Parastish ki yaan taeen ke ai but tujhe,

Nazar main sabhon ki khudaa kar chale.

Kahen kya jo puchche koi hum se Mir,
Jahaan mein tum aaye the kyaa kar chale?




Mendicant-like I came and (now I) part
Praying that you be blessed.

"I will not live without you" I pledged,
Words that I now redeem.

I could have cast (at you) a despairing glance,
But you hid your face walking past (me).

I deeply longed to visit your street,
And, look, I now leave it bathed in blood.

A glimpse of you left me entranced,
And estranged from my self.

My life was a tale of obeisances to you,
My debt of homage I have paid.

I adored you so deeply, my love,
That people mistook you for a God.

How shall I answer, Mir, were someone to ask:
"Why were you sent here:: what did you achieve?"

1 comment:

shankari said...

Both the nights at Shimla were totally sleepless nights for A and me! ;)

It was great even if I ended up leaving pieces of me there :P

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