I love the clouds. And the vibrant greens and dark browns of trees against the gray sky. It makes me feel like singing. And it brings back memories of long walks with Rini didi in the Janaki Devi college grounds, of the concerts of Pandit Jasraj and Bhim Sen Joshi, of the chudela dance...
Suddenly I am thinking of the first time, I heard Mehndi Hassan. His song Awargi. His voice soft and smooth like velvet. In the Triveni Kala Sangam library in Mandi House. Pinki had taken me there. Black vinyl records. The first time of hearing Prabha Atre sing, Tan man dhan tope varun. The first time of hearing Farida Khannum.
Last year when Farhat had come home for dinner, I had made her listen to Farida Khannum. She had taken the urdu book given to me by Nabeeha so many years ago and had read aloud some poems.
She was sitting on the sofa, her face glowing with poetry. It is already one week since she died. Not even six weeks from the day they had diagnosed the tumour. This time, I hope to go home to see the kids before the next dose of chemotherapy, she had written in her last message...
***
Suddenly I am thinking of the first time, I heard Mehndi Hassan. His song Awargi. His voice soft and smooth like velvet. In the Triveni Kala Sangam library in Mandi House. Pinki had taken me there. Black vinyl records. The first time of hearing Prabha Atre sing, Tan man dhan tope varun. The first time of hearing Farida Khannum.
She was sitting on the sofa, her face glowing with poetry. It is already one week since she died. Not even six weeks from the day they had diagnosed the tumour. This time, I hope to go home to see the kids before the next dose of chemotherapy, she had written in her last message...
***
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