It's been more than three years now, since I moved to Oulu; a small, quite, snowy, cosy and very homely city in Northern Finland...200 KM from the Arctic Circle. I still remember my apprehensions and those of my family when I decided to travel to this part of the world on a work assignment. Lets face it, Finland is not an America or a Britain or France, one of those 'magnificent' places you grow up hearing/reading about and always cherish a desire to visit. My only fleeting recollection of Finland before I was asked to travel there was in 6th grade during my Geography class. The text about "6 month summer and 6 month winter" was all that stayed and I still cannot remember if it was Finland or Norway that was under discussion. Plus there were these stories about how cold it can get there, how you had to drink alcohol to survive in that country (me being a teetotaller) and Polar bears in the Finnish jungles.
Thankfully most of the predispositions have proved to be untrue! All except the cold weather. It can get cold, yes very cold in Oulu. In my first year itself I experienced -30 degrees temperature in February and the experience was one to remember. Frosty eyelids, frosty hair, blue lips and frost-bitten lips is not something you expect from a 10 minute walk after all. Over time I started to enjoy the cold weather though and specially the abundance of snow (Oulu sure has lots of it). Seasons changed and the winter turned to spring, to summer, to Autumn and back! Four disctinct, but beautiful seasons of Oulu.
Wednesday 28 January 2009
Tuesday 27 January 2009
Qasid ke Aate Aate
Qasid Ke Aate Aate, Khat Ek Aur likh rakhoon,
Main jaanta hoon, jo wo likhenge jawaab mein.
....Mirza Ghalib
[Let me be ready with my reply, before the postman arrives,
for I already know what she would have written in response to my letter]
Ghalib the Master! Makes me wish I knew Urdu better, if only to understand more of his work. A rarest of rare poet. How subtly he portrays the relationship between two lovers, through the unread, undelivered letters carried by the postman. Hats of Sir!
Main jaanta hoon, jo wo likhenge jawaab mein.
....Mirza Ghalib
[Let me be ready with my reply, before the postman arrives,
for I already know what she would have written in response to my letter]
Ghalib the Master! Makes me wish I knew Urdu better, if only to understand more of his work. A rarest of rare poet. How subtly he portrays the relationship between two lovers, through the unread, undelivered letters carried by the postman. Hats of Sir!
The Solitary Glove
On the great expanse of a frozen sea,
lay a solitary glove, for all to see.
Left behind by a soul, with a mind depressed,
four fingers, a thumb, on the snow impressed.
The ice, the wind, what misery, what plight,
motionless...in a fading, blue light.
Once, the sun was out and the grass was green,
and he had felt the touch, of his darling queen!
All that was past...she was gone...she was lost,
leaving behind the pain and frost.
He had pined for those hands, he had longed for her love,
screamed the deafening silence of the solitary glove!
...Nadeem.
lay a solitary glove, for all to see.
Left behind by a soul, with a mind depressed,
four fingers, a thumb, on the snow impressed.
The ice, the wind, what misery, what plight,
motionless...in a fading, blue light.
Once, the sun was out and the grass was green,
and he had felt the touch, of his darling queen!
All that was past...she was gone...she was lost,
leaving behind the pain and frost.
He had pined for those hands, he had longed for her love,
screamed the deafening silence of the solitary glove!
...Nadeem.
Imagination
Many years ago, I wrote a poem about the vivid details of a few dead leaves, stoked up by the wind. My leaves danced, they sang and were silenced together. They were like paint on a golden canvas and spoke more than I had expected to say with the piece. I had not seen an autumn till then, neither had I seen my leaves...sometimes the mind can travel to unknown places...to a few dead leaves!
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