ghazal/ہونے ‏لگا ‏تھا ‏کچھ

غزل برائے تنقید

ہونے لگا تھا کچھ جو چھپانا پڑا مجھے

ویسے نہیں تو وجد میں آنا پڑا مجھے

اس دل کے کاروبار میں کچھ بھی نہیں بچا

اک نام رہ گیا تھا لگانا پڑا مجھے

یوں مجھ سے ہمکلام مرا آئینہ رہا

نہ روٹھنا پڑا نہ منانا پڑا مجھے

مشکل سے سر اٹھایا تھا کاندھوں پہ اور اب

اس آسماں کو سر پہ اٹھانا پڑا مجھے

میں ہی کھڑا ہوا تھا ترے میرے درمیاں

بندِ انا کو توڑ کے آنا پڑا مجھے

اب کے جو ہم ملے تو ضرورت نہیں رہی

نہ پوچھنا پڑا نہ منانا پڑا مجھے

اتنی بڑھی ہیں ان کی مہربانیاں کہ اب

دشمن کو دوستوں سے بچانا پڑا مجھے

ناصر گوندل

حلقہِ اربابِ ذوق، نیو یارک

اتوار، ۱۴ فروری ۲۰۲۱؁ء

Nadir Kamal/Back To The Mountain

 

Photo courtesy Asim Amin

On Wednesday February 10^th, 2021, we lost a very dear friend. At 6:30 in the morning I got a text that he had died earlier. He had suffered a massive heart attack the few days back. By 5:30 pm I was on my way back home after his burial. It all happened so quickly; something unheard in corona times. Imam Qureshi alluded to that in his prayers by side, that it's a privilege to be buried without delay. There was not a moment's hold up from the time he was released from hospital to his interment.

Entering New Jersey from New York out of George Washington Bridge, you see a beautiful mosque on the north side of Interstate 95. It is Dar ul Islah, commonly known as Teaneck Mosque. I always wished to be there but never had an opportunity. I would have never thought that would be the place where I meet Nadir Kamal for the last time and accompany him to his final resting place in Laurel Grove Cemetery.

I knew him since 10^th of May 1973, when a hundred of us, the 20^th entry Abdalians, started our journey at age 12. We lived in boarding for five years. Nadir and I were in the same house, Jinnah Wing. By the time we left, it was a fraternity. For each sixteen or so of us in each of the six Wings, it was next thing to be a brother.

We all are similar and different in many ways, but he was more different. Quiet, aloof, but soft spoken and friendly. In those five years, almost everyone would find one person or two to dislike, hate or to be angry with. Not Nadir Kamal. I don’t think anybody had any issue with him.

He was good in studies and got recognition for that. He chose pre-engineering, went to UET Mughalpura and then to USA.

Although not born in mountains, he spent a large part of his life on them. I had accompanied him and others in two trips to Northern Areas in our final year of Hasanabdal and the year after, but that was it for me. He, sometimes alone and other times with fellow travelers like Shahid Ghafoor, have been to almost every mountain range in northern Pakistan, including base camp of K2. One part of his family hailed from the foothills of mountains south of Nepal. Perhaps he carried some inborn inclination.

His search to see new places only grew with time. When I reconnected with him after a while, I found out he was almost done checking the last few states to have all fifty under his feet. He was also working on the 100th mark on countries  of the world and eventually surpassed that. He is the only one I know who has been to all the seven continents including Antarctica.

Barring large cities, he almost never went to the same place twice. If he went, he took a different route. He was not keen to write up about his travels despite being urged about it, we would have learnt much more about him and his world. At a later date, at least, he started putting pictures online. Some of them can be seen on his Facebook page.

It seemed like he was searching for something; a wandering soul. What else took him time and again out of the comfort of home and familiar places to the unknown and unpredictable!

Waqar Sadiq, said he was a Malang. Yes he was in a true sense. He was in I.T. and worked at one time in a job which gave him the opportunity to travel to different places. In good days he had a deal with the company to have a few months off at a stretch, for his international travels. Later when that became difficult, he moved on. He had no issue when he left a job. He would go away for a few months to conquer new lands. 

Some twenty years back he suffered a big loss. Both of his parents died naturally the same night. He had to adjust his professional life to take care of family affairs, being the only brother among four sisters.  He put his family responsibilities ahead of his personal life.

In pre social media era, meeting him would mean meeting with at least another twenty or so of your old classmates; if not eighty. He was one keeping contact with almost everybody. After all he was the one who travelled most.

He never married, perhaps never had a long-term serious relationship. That kept people guessing but did not bother him. He had made a place in many hearts and it shows up now when the bereaved talk about him and find him in each other’s heart. That is what we all felt when the same night his classmates met on Zoom, benefits of modern times, to mourn together, from California to Australia. Everybody had a personal story to tell about him.Friends in Pakistan were able to be together for Ghaibana Nimaz e Janaza in Lahore. Our old teacher and housemaster Mahfooz ul Rahman Sahib was kind enough to attend at age 81, from Narowal.

He lived an independent life, not owing anything to anyone and by the time he left, he had fulfilled all his obligations to near and dear around him. Many would wish such a contented exit.

True to his name, Javed Iqbal aptly said that he was Nadir and he was Kamal.

He loved mountains and spend the most of his life tracking and searching them. In his final days, he was perturbed by the tragedy in waiting on K2 where mountaineers could not be accounted for.  His last Facebook post is about the concern he was sharing with his other mountaineer friends.

Three days later I was back in the cemetery with Zubair Niazi, who travelled four hours each way to visit him. 

Nature chose a mountain for him for his last resting place. His last worldly travel is to a serene slow uphill road, where he finally rested on the top of the cemetery hill, next to Passaic River and Christopher Columbus Highway, the Interstate 80. You can hear low humming sound of travelers. That would keep him happy.

Nadir belonged to the mountains; he is back there.      

                                                       

 

I had to mention some names to give the proper credit. Otherwise the post is a reflection of the collective sentiments of all of his 20th entry classmates.

My thanks to Naheed Usmani for letting me know at the right time. It would have been otherwise impossible for me to have a proper closure.

اک ‏ویری ‏اندر ‏بیٹھا ‏اے/ik ‎vairy

My first Punjabi verse

 https://youtu.be/yM3MjLlmmPI

Asaf Ali Dar, Rest is Peace.

 چلے  گئے ہیں کہیں جن کے دم سے رونق تھی

شکستہ  حال  سا  خالی  مکان  باقی  ہے

آصف علی ڈار

 My last communication with him was in early October when he introduced me to the Facebook page of Ohio Literary Group. His last post was on December 7^th.  Then we heard that he is sick in hospital. And then came the news that Asaf Dar is no more. In our profession we know it always a commitment to a higher calling. It is ever more so these days. And so, he was called.

If I have only the acquaintance of Asaf Dar as my reward of countless hours and days over the years given to APPNA, it was worth it.

Asaf Dar was someone you would always see in APPNA meetings. Impeccably dressed, clean shaved, quiet, personable and looking much younger than his age, he was a regular fixture at the nightly sittings where there was music, jokes, banter, and gupshup. His participation was mostly as an appreciative member of the audience. He was revered by his colleagues. With time I found out. He was a mentor to many.

And in due course of time he became my mentor. He heard me reading poetry and initiated the conversation. He helped me learn the nuances of Urdu verse, in a very disarming way. His guidance was earnest and genuine. In the process we became closer friends. Due to differences of space and age I never knew him as much as I wished I had.

One of my more memorable moments with him was during one of APPNA meetings in San Francisco. We toured the Rock together as a part of trip. He had been under a lot of personal stress in time leading up to that. It took a lot of toll on him and he was off the main scene in APPNA for a while.

If APPNA has reached the level of a citadel and institution for Pakistani physicians in America, Asaf Dar is one of the lesser known pillars of it. He worked, more than anyone else I know, to provide a space for writers and literature lovers in APPNA.  While people get together in meetings to do all the good work the organization was known to do, there was an unmet need for the conducive and nurturing environment for arts and letters;  when there is a time to relax and loosen up a bit. Asaf Dar help provide that space.

Whether it was the magazine or the mushaira poetry sessions, APPNA owes him for setting a tradition, hard to emulate by any other organization in North America. He lobbied and eventually help establish the Annual Literary Award for an APPNA member. Starting in 2011 under his leadership, APPNA recognized literary figures amongst itself. The awardees include Amanullah Khan, Amjad Hussain, Abdul Rahman Abd and Latafat Hamzavi. He was awarded the same in 2017. The last recipient of the Award was Mansoor Hussain, awarded in 2019.

He strongly believed in encouraging the budding writers and acknowledging those who should be recognized. APPNA should recognize talent of its own, he stressed.

Reading over his poetry again, I celebrate his life and work. The title of ones works tell a lot about the writer. His first is Adhuri Kahanian, Unfinished Stories; and the second is Kaghzi Qandeelain Paper Candles.

 His verse is of a young man growing up in Lahore, with deep passion for his surroundings and his ancestral land of Kashmir, moving to Iran and then to USA. He remains young and passionate all along. His topics are diverse and his take is subtle.

A few of his verses:

The distance which always remains between two friends.

میرے  اس کے درمیاں کچھ فاصلہ ہر دم رہا

دوستی کی پائیداری کا یہی اک راز تھا

He talks about how he was confronted by a drunken physician in Iran who thought his job was stolen by Asaf and the likes, and the mysteriously found strength he mustered to stand up to him. Iran Main Nadaan ایران میں نادان

Puppy love between two kids in monsoon rain. Barish main beeghtay huway

بارش  میں بیگھتے ہوئے

اپنے گھروں سے دور کچھ

معصوم سے اک خواب میں

چھوٹے سے چھپر کے تلے

ساون کی اس بارش میں ہم

کچھ دیر تک بھیگا کئے

کچھ میں نے اس سے کہہ دیا

کچھ اس نے بھی مجھ سے کہا

پھر اپنی اپنی راہ کو

گھبرا کے دونوں ہو لیے

He must have spent some time in Multan in his childhood

مجھے ملتان جانا ہے

 

فرازِ دمدمہ

قاسم باغ کی پھلواریاں

صوفیانِ کرام کے مزار

حسین آگاہی بازار

حسن پروانہ کی سڑکیں

ابدالی روڈ پر واقع سکول

مرے بچپن کے دوست

مرے خوابوں میں آتے ہیں

مجھے واپس بلاتے ہیں

مجھے ملتان جانا ہے

Pain of living in a faraway land when someone closer to you is gone, and could not get the last gaze of the dying father:

والد مرحوم کی یاد میں

 

الوداعی اک نظر سے بھی رہا محروم میں

جاں فزا یادوں میں اس کی مسکراہٹ  رہ گئی

کر رہا تھا سائیں  سائیں گھر شبِ تاریک میں

بے کراں خاموشیوں میں میری آہٹ رہ گئی

 

Longing for Pakistan is all over his poetry.

Pakistan bulata hay

رات کی گہری خاموشی میں پاکستان بلاتا ہے

Main sheher kharabi main a to gaya

میں  شہر  ِ خرابی   میں  آ   تو  گیا

کئی رنگ چھوٹے سے گائوں میں تھے

 

And of course, Lahore

پر تمکنت سی خامشی لاہور پر رہے

ہم خاکِ راہ گزار میں ہوں گے یہیں کہیں

 

مدت سے دیکھتے ہیں خالی مکاں ہے ان کا

اس شہر سے  نہ  جانے کس شہر کو گئے ہیں

And I will end with the verse he stated his first book, after the Hamd and Salaam e Hussain

مری  کاوش ثمر آور  نہ  ہو شاید مرے جیتے

کہانی زندگی کچھ ادھوری رہ ہی جاتی ہے

 

 

 

mujhey milney naheen aana/مجھے ملنے نہیں آنا

مجھے  ملنے  نہیں  آنا

پرانا خط تمیارا

ادھ کھلا

پہنچا  ہے اب مجھ تک

کیٗ برسوں پرانی مہر ہے اس پر

ـْْ’’تمہارے شہر میں کچھ دن مجھے رکنا پڑے گا

ٖضروری کام ہیں ایسے

یہاں آئے بنا جو ہو نہیں سکتے

خبر کر دے تمہیں کوئی

تو دو سے چار نہ کرنا

نظر انداز کر دینا

مجھے ملنے نہیں آنا

’’بہت چرچا رہا  ہےکہ تعلق تھا کوئ ہم میں

فسانے بن چکے ہیں

اور کتنے راویوں نے

سند ہونے کے دعوے کر دیے ہیں

کوئی تردید کوئ تبصرہ اب ہو نہیں سکتا

یہاں انکار اور تردید کے اکثر بیانوں کو

صحیح سمجھا نہیں جاتا

کوئ پوچھے اگر تم سے

کوئ انکار نہ کرنا

کوئ اقرار نہ کرنا

نظر انداز کر دینا 

مجھے ملنے نہیں آنا

ـ’’بہت کچھ ہو چکا ہے 

اور جو لمحے  لٹائے جا چکے ہیں

اب ان کی بازیابی کا 

ہر اک موقع گنوایا جا چکا ہے

اسی گم گشتگی میں

خیالِ رفتگاں کوئ

تمہارے سامنے آئے

اسے رکنے کو نہ کہنا

کوئ اصرار نہ کرنا

نظر انداز کردینا 

مجھے ملنے نہیں آنا‘‘

مرے ہاتھوں میں یہ کاغذ

مجھے کچھ کہہ رہا ہے

مگر جو کہہ رہا ہے 

وہ نہ کرنے کا زمانہ جا چکا ہے

یہاں  آ کے وہ واپس جا چکا ہے

 

یہی وہ سوچتا ہو گا

میں اس کی بات نہ سمجھا

نہ اس کی ان کہی جانا

کوئی تکرار کی میں نے

نہ استفسار کی میں نے

نطر انداز کر ڈالا

اسے ملنے نہیں آیا

ناصر گوندل

حلقہِ اربابِ ذوق، نیو یارک

آن لاین اجلاس  اتوار3/جنوری2021؁ء

sachi baat/سچی ‏بات

سچی بات

سچ کہنا اور سچ پہ رہنا

کتنے عقد کشا کر تا ہے

کس کو کس دن کیا بولا تھا

اس کو اس دن کیا کہنا ہے

یاد نہیں کچھ کرنا پڑتا

لکھ کے کچھ نہیں رکھنا پڑتا

جھوٹ نہیں کچھ کہنا پڑتا

جھوٹ نہیں کچھ کرنا پڑتا

یہ تو بات صحیح ہے لیکن

سچ پوچھو تو سچ تو یہی ہے

سچ میں رہنا ناممکن ہے

سچی بات تو کڑوی ہو گی

سچی بات نہ بھائے گی

دور جو ہیں وہ دور رہیں گے

بالکل پاس نہ آیٗں گے

غیروں کی تم بات ہی چھوڑو

اپنے بھی گھبرایئں گے

یہ سوچا تھا سچ بولیں گے

ہمت ساتھ نہیں دیتی

زندہ رہنا پڑتا ہے تو

جھوٹ میں رہنا پڑتا ہے

دنیا داری ایسے ویسے

اپنے کام کراتی ہے

عادت سی ہو جاتی ہے

نہ چاہو تو پھر بھی منہ سے

سچا جھوٹ نکلتا ہے

اب تو ایسا ہوتا ہے کہ

سچ بولو تو

خود پہ حیرت ہوتی ہے

ناصر گوندل

حلقہِ اربابِ ذوق، نیو یارک

آن لایئن اجلاس

اتوار6/دسمبر2020

Ajay Kumar Lodha R.I.P.

 

Ajay is gone and I could not say good-bye.

I lost a dear friend this past week. The news I dreaded for a while but did not want to hear arrived by text from Shankar Sadhwani on November 20^th, Saturday morning.

Ajay was my first non-Pakistani friend. He was the first person I called friend in the United States.

It was June of 1989 and we were having our orientation for residency in Flushing Hospital in Queens NY due to start next week. We had submitted our requests for the holidays for the year to come. Ajay approached me and asked if we can exchange the vacation slots. He wanted the second half of March 1990 and I had already asked for that. Why? I asked. He had to go to back home to get married. I told I had exactly the same plan. He laughed and said that in that case, he will not ask at all. That was our introduction.

We were all foreign graduates, including the few Americans amongst ourselves. We were from all over: Eastern Europe to South America, Middle East to South Asia to the Far East. We had a sort of United Nations of our own. I bonded the most with Ajay Lodha and Ashok Sharma.

He was a few years younger than me. He had wasted no time after graduation to be in residency program, somewhat unusual for a foreign graduate in those times. He had an advantage. His parents were here and he was exposed to the system here. In the pre internet era, it was a huge advantage.

He was a happy man with an innocent smile. We ended up sharing a lot of work.  We were on calls together. Our first year was the one before the Bell Commission’s rules. We had many 36 hours calls together. We learned together how to endure.  Finding difficult iv accesses, drawing bloods, ABG’s and all the skut work. We learnt together how to transition from our British based MBBS’s to American system.  We became friends. We hung out together. We hailed from diagonally opposite traditions. He was a Rajasthani Jain, a strict vegetarian, and I was a Punjabi from Pakistan. But there were more things in common between us than what separated us.

Over time, we both got married, and had kids. I moved out of Flushing but we stayed close.  We attended each other kid’s events, and family gatherings. He attended my father’s funeral. With time our social lives drifted apart but we remained close to each other at work. I cam back to central Queens and we kept on seeing each other and sharing patients.

Ajay was always ahead of his time. He was first to start moonlighting and first to start practice. He helped me almost in all steps of my professional life. He found me a place to start moonlighting in The Parkway Hospital where he was already working, while I was a fellow in training. Later when I was to join a Heme Onc practice in Forest Hills, he put in good word for me to my prospective employer. I am still working in that place. He had nothing to gain in helping me out. He was primary care and I a specialist. Everyone knows who runs the show in private practice.

Apart from my immediate family there are very few in life whom I own a lot and who owe me nothing. Ajay is one of them.

Out of our Class of 92, Flushing, he was perhaps the most successful person. He built his practice from scratch, expanded it and branched out. He was active in Indian American physicians, ultimately becoming the president of AAPI; and much more, which I am not privy of.

He was always in a hurry, he had to be somewhere, he always had his eye on something ahead. That was his strength. But once in a while, when we spend some time, and relaxed, we always reminisced the good times we had together.

It is my misfortune that I did not have the chance to speak to him since he fell ill. By the time I knew, he was beyond my reach. I texted him on April 9^th, “Ajay, I hope you seen this message soon and be healthy, Just today I heard you were sick. And tried to call you. Then I found out you had been transferred. It is a big service and a price to pay in our profession. Wishing for a speedy recovery, I know you can do it. “. I was hoping he would get it, but by that time he was unreachable. I kept on communicating through Sanjay but with time, I realized it is an additional uncalled burden on him.

After so many months of hearing about him third and fourth hand, one day I thought I should try to communicate directly, and texted him the following on Friday the 20^th November, “Ajay, I have been thinking of contacting you but don’t know if you are willing to communicate. I don’t want to cross any lines. I want to tell you that I think of you almost daily and wish the best for you. Huded and I talk about you all the times. Wish you well and whenever you feel like it you can contact me. I am a click away. And if I don’t hear back at all, I will understand that too.”

And the next day I got a text from Shankar Sadhwani.

Ajay, you have paid the ultimate price for the path you took. And you fought well. Rest is peace my friend.

In gratitude

Nasir Gondal

Tuesday, November 24, 2020