my thoughts are बेक़रान

बेक़रान कायनात है शायद 

कितनी लम्बी रात है शायद 

The universe is limitless, Gulzar told me. And the night is very long. But he attached a “maybe” to it; the paradox here was that the “maybe” did not make me doubt what he said. It made him more credible, more convincing. As if he had put deep consideration into what he had penned down. As if he had allowed himself to question, to speculate. 

“You know what your problem is? You’re too narrow-minded. You have a tunnel vision.” My favourite teacher once told me. In the strictest sense, she wasn’t wrong. It had been true for me, in some speck of time. People change. I had changed. Or you could say that she had changed me- developed me, evolved me. My mind was a questioner’s mind. An asker. It had always been, she just helped me to discover it. Teachers shouldn’t be called teachers. They do not teach you. They bring you out. I call them Bringers.

It is the same for writing. For Gulzar. Poetry is never created. It never emerges from dust. It is simply a bringing out of your soul. 


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