Valentine's day is again round the corner, and as I was in the line collecting my tickets for the movie, the girl before me exclaimed to her friends, " Ei dekh dekh, aj propose day te ki message likheche!!" And all her friends hovered around her, over giggles and titters! The effects of our man -made Cupid- not bad really, love any day is better than war !!!
And I love love stories !
I like people who give me stories! But not the stories that we read everyday - break ups and affairs and mundane marriages. But something that happens in a tangent like the breaking-the -stereotype marriage that I attended a few months back- a young boy marrying an older girl with a son. I quite marveled at their courage and for breaking the odds and the great societal barrier!
Amrita Pritam and Sahir :) and their unfinished love story , till she met Imroz, again much younger than her !
I will meet you yet again
How and where? I know not.
Perhaps I will become a
figment of your imagination
and maybe, spreading myself
in a mysterious line
on your canvas,
I will keep gazing at you.
Perhaps I will become a
figment of your imagination
and maybe, spreading myself
in a mysterious line
on your canvas,
I will keep gazing at you.
Perhaps I will become a ray
of sunshine, to be
embraced by your colours.
I will paint myself on your canvas
I know not how and where –
but I will meet you for sure.
of sunshine, to be
embraced by your colours.
I will paint myself on your canvas
I know not how and where –
but I will meet you for sure.
Maybe I will turn into a spring,
and rub the foaming
drops of water on your body,
and rest my coolness on
your burning chest.
I know nothing else
but that this life
will walk along with me.
and rub the foaming
drops of water on your body,
and rest my coolness on
your burning chest.
I know nothing else
but that this life
will walk along with me.
When the body perishes,
all perishes;
but the threads of memory
are woven with enduring specks.
I will pick these particles,
weave the threads,
and I will meet you yet again.
all perishes;
but the threads of memory
are woven with enduring specks.
I will pick these particles,
weave the threads,
and I will meet you yet again.
-Amrita Pritam.
(Translated by Nirupama Dutt and published in The Little Magazine2005)
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