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Archive for the ‘Humour’ Category

What is politics ?


A little boy goes to his dad and asks, “What is politics?”

Dad says, “Well son, let me try to explain it this way: I’m the breadwinner of the family, so let’s call me capitalism. Your Mom, she’s the administrator of the money, so we’ll call her the Government. We’re here to take care of your needs, so we’ll call you the people. The nanny, we’ll consider her the Working Class. And your baby brother, we’ll call him the Future. Now, think about that and see if that makes sense.”

So the little boy goes off to bed thinking about what dad had said.

Later that night, he hears his baby brother crying, so he gets up to check on him. He finds that the baby has severely soiled his diaper. So the little boy goes to his parents’ room and finds his mother sound asleep. Not wanting to wake her, he goes to the nanny’s room. Finding the door locked, he peeks in the keyhole and sees his father in bed with the nanny. He gives up and goes back to bed.

The next morning, the little boy says to his father, “Dad, I think I understand the concept of politics now.”

The father says, “Good son, tell me in your own words what you think politics is all about.”

The little boy replies, “Well, while Capitalism is screwing the Working Class, the Government is sound asleep, the People are being ignored and the Future is in deep shit.”

Courtesy: As e-mailed by a friend.

Category:

Humour, Politics

In love with Ghalib , the witty.


Recently I grabbed a book called Yadgar-e-Ghalib, by Altaf Hussain Haali in Urdu, and read bits from it. This has rekindled my fancy for him all the more.

Mirza Ghalib the humourist , is awe inspiring. Leave aside his superb poetry , his wit with which he lived and laughed off the troubles of his tough life, reveals a person extremely fascinating to read and know. He was an open book.

No doubt he indulged in various vices which would easily label him as a reckless person. But the honesty with which he admits all his vices and even laughs at himself makes him an adorable scamp and one feels like a shrewd hypocrite in front of him.

Ghalib teaches us what is it to live with a life of stark poverty, tragedy after tragedy of losing one’s progeny seven times, living off without a source of income and still to be able to maintain sanity and humour to enjoy one’s present day. (Although being a woman I hail and salute his wife as an epitome of patience and forebearance.)

Reading through I learnt what a friend he was. He never procrastinated in replying back to the letters. And many of his friends send him letters that were ‘bearing’ i.e. without a stamp, and he postpaid twice the amount to releases those letters from the postman. His silver tongue and the golden pen, won hearts of his friends and critics alike.

He wrote that he wanted to write a language, that whoever reads his letters gets elated. (Yes Mirza you still make us elated by them.)

His letters talked.( Yes one can hear you talking through them, Mirza)
One of them said:
“sau kos se ba-zaban-e-qalam baatein kiya karo aur hijr mein visaal ke maze liya karo”
(from hundred of miles talk with the tongue of the pen and enjoy the joy of meeting even when you are separated]).

He joked openly about his being a non-conformist and a sinner. When Ghalib bought a house in Gali Qasim Jaan, he wrote,

‘Masjid ke zer saya ek ghar bana liya hai,
yeh banda kamina, humsaya khuda hai’
(I have made my house on the shadow of the mosque; this wicked fellow is now a neighbour of God).
The mosque he was referring to was the Delhi’s famous Jama Masjid.

During Ramzan somebody asked him if he fasted , and he replied : “ek na rakha.”( I did not keep one.).

On yet another hot day in Ramzan, Mirza was playing chess when a friend, Maulana Arzoo came.
Maulana remarked :“I had read in a Hadith that the devil is imprisoned in the month of Ramzan. But today I doubt the validity of the Hadith.”
Mirza retorted: “Sir, the hadith is absolutely correct. But you be aware that this is that den where the devil is imprisoned.”

Making a serious satire at the gluttony that people indulge during the month of Ramadan he said:

Iftaar-e-saum kii jise kuch dast.gaah ho
us shakhs ko zaroor hai rozaa rakha kare
(The one who has the wherewithal to break his fast
that person should indeed keep the fast)

Jis paas roza khol ke khaane ko kuch na ho
roza agar na khaaye to naachaar kya kare
(The one who has nothing to break his fast with
what else can he do but be constrained to ‘eat the fast’)

And on being questioned for not fasting he said:
Ruza mera eman hay Ghalib! Laiken
Khas Khana wa barf aab kahan say laoon?
(Fasting is part of my faith, but from where should I get khus curtains and chill water for it ?).( Correction courtesy Sohail Bhai).

On another occasion, in a letter that he wrote to a friend, in Persian:
“These days Maulana Ghalib (God’s mercy be upon him) is in clover [very happy]. A volume of the Dastaan-i-Amir Hamza has come — about 600 pages of it — and a volume of the same size of Bostan-i-Khayal. And there are seventeen bottles of good wine in the pantry. So I read all day and drink all night.
The man who wins such bliss can only wonder What more had Jamshed? What more Alexander?”

Ghalib often bragged about his reputation as a rake. He was once imprisoned for gambling and later narrated the incident with great fancy.

Once, when someone praised the poetry of the pious Sheikh Sahbai, Ghalib immediately retorted:
“How can Sahbai be a poet? He has never tasted wine, nor has he ever gambled; he has not been beaten with slippers by lovers, nor has he ever seen the inside of a jail”

When someone poked fun at him for being a drunkard and that a wine-bibbers’ prayers are never answered he said with a laugh, outwitting the person:
“My friend, if a man has wine, what else does he need to pray for?”

He did not even spare his ‘economic poverty’ from the wrath of his wit. ( But Mirza, we know you were far richer the many rich then and now)
Qarz kii piite the mai lekin samajhte the kih haan
Rang laavegii hamaarii faaqah-mastii ek din

The King, Bahadur Shah Zafar was planning to go for Hajj and Ghalib heard it. He wrote to the King :
Ghalib, gar is safar maiN mujhay saath lay chalaiN
Haj ka sawaab nazr karooN ga hazoor ki
If he will take me with him on the Pilgrimage
His Majesty may have my share of heavenly reward

He never minced words about his inclination towards practicing the faith.

Jaanataa huun  savaab-e-taa’at-o-zahad 
Par tabiiyat idhar nahiin aatii 

(I am aware of the reward of religious deeds in the next life, but I somehow do not get inclined towards them.)

It isn’t that those who live happy, are not sensitive and pained by the troubles that come their way. Like everyman with a mind and a heart , to be hurt by the whips that life lashes at them, Ghalib too felt his share of pain.

He wrote:
Sozish e batin ke hain ahbab munkir warna yaan
Dil maheet e girya aur lab aashnaa e khanda hai.
(Though my friends give no credence to my inner aches
While my lips are all smile, my heart is but a tearful waste).

Indeed, his wit must have been therapeutic to his own self, but to readers like me it is very addicting.

P.S. I am extremely indebted to Sohail Hashmi bhai, who I know is an expert in Urdu poetry from very young age, has added some other incidents related to the above context:

The house next to a mosque belonged to Kale saheb, a gentleman who was into sufiism and was respected greatly by bahadur shah zafar. In fact the House was given Ghalib on the recommendation of Zafar, Ghalib has refered to the mosque and his house in two other shers

Bhaun paas aankh qibla-e-haajaat Chahiye
Maajid ke zer-e-saayaa kharaabaat chahiye

Dil Khush hua hai Masjid-e-veeraan dekh kar
Meri tarah Khuda ka bhi Khaanaa Kharaab hai

Once during the month of Ramzan, a maulana who was a friend of Ghalib and also a poet went to meet ghalib, ghalib had a a plate of kabaabs in front of him and a glass of Wine besides him.
The maulana said, “Tumhaara roza nahin hai.”
Ghalib said “Hai”
The Maulana asked “Phir yeh sab kya hai”
Ghalib response was, “Roze ko behlaane ka saamaan hai.”

[P.S. His humour on his first love deserves a complete blog in itself, which shall follow later. No his first love wasn’t either ‘women’ or ‘wine’.]

Category:

Art, CULTURE, GHALIB, Humour, India, Indo-Pak, Poetry, URDU POETRY

Delhi Diary: Gossip on Wheels –2


Continued from the previous post….

Delhi roads, or for that matter roads on any metropolitan city in the world is so very stressfull. If only these vehicles did not share their light hearted smalltalks or gossiped or flirted on the way, they would be having high rates of ‘heart attacks’ like us humans.
Only if we too knew how to wade our ways through chaotic and bumpy roads of life with humour, life would seem much less of a burden.

Again open your ears, shush your mouths and hear them gossip and flirt and romance…..
Madame Maruti: Haaaye teri baat ne dil khush kar diya.

Truck ji: Chal Rani tera Rabb Raakhaa
Mme Maruti: Rani, haan who tou main hun. Thankyou for the dua, yaar.

Auto bhai: “Papa Jaldi Ghar aa Jaana.”
Maruti behn: Bhai, ghar mein bachey wait kar rahe hain, zara safely
chalao.

Another auto bhai: “Mera Bharat Pareshan[My India is Troubled].”
Maruti : Tere jaise careless auto se pareshaan nahi hoga tou kya hoga…India.

Maruti, the advisor: Yar tou kaali ko bhool ja, kamai kar buss…

Romeo Truck: “Kaho na pyaar hai”
Laila Maruti: Kyun, ek baar bol diya na, bar baar kyun boloon, huhh.

Maruti( sharma ke): Awaein, mere kol koi hor kum ni haega..

Truck Dada: “Road King”
Maruti: Tabhi tou itna chaura ho ke chalta hai, sarak pe.

Lalchi Maruti: Hain, to kya ye sara maal vi mera. Haaye meri kismat.

Truck in denial: “Gori fir se hui jawan”
Maruti: Kya bola? Zara apne aap ko sheshey mein tou dekh.

Creepy Truck: Tou hi meri dulhan, tou hi mera dahej
Maruti: Yar mat tang ker, us bichari nai Maruti ko.

Truck ji: Bus peecha karoge, ya kabhi dil mein bhi baithogey
Maruti: Arre, peecha kaun kar raha hai, awein hero mat ban.

Truch ji: Dekho, dekho,dekho,magar pyaar se
Maruti: Yahan marne ki fursat nahin hai, tum pya se dekhne ki baat karte ho.

Maruti: Haan, haan woh to nazar aa raha hai.

JattTruck: Jatt Di Mercedez
Maruti, the sophisticated: To tum bhi koi Jutt se kam nahin ho bhai.

Truck the philospher: Hun Tu Kaun te Main Kaun
Maruti the sufi: O truckeya, tu ki jana main kaun…

Maruti: Hahaha kya baat hai…:D

Haseen Lorry: “Kashmir Ki Kali”
Maruti( jealous): Chal chal zyada ghuroor mat ker apne ooper.

Badtameez Tanker: Zarra Hatt ke Laadli
Maruti( ghussey se): Oye tameez se baat ker…

Filmi Truck: “दुल्हन वही जो पिया मन भाये,
गाड़ी वही जो नोट कमाए”
Dulhan wohi jo piya man bhaye
Gaari wohi jo note kamaye.
Maruti, the feminist: Yaar, aajkal to dulhan bhi note kamaye…

Pendu Truck: Himmat hai to pass ker, warna burdass kar.
Shehri Maruti: Lagta hai gaon se naye naye aaye ho, Dilli shehr mein. 🙂

When we part, we get emotional 😥 :
Maruti: Chal TATA. Kabhi Salam bho ker liya ker…

Jazbati Truck: Milega Mukaddar , Pher milangey
Maruti, (equally emo): Haan kismet hui tou zaroor milenge isi road pe, ek na ek din.

Devdaas Truck: Chalo ek Baar Phir se Ajnabi ban JaayeN
Paro Maruti: *sob sob, sniff sniff* Haan chalo, Khuda Hafiz.

And this is how they meet each day, with gossipping, joking, flirting on the roads and making their way through packed roads. Their spirit and zest to survive is touching.

Maruti remarked: Yess we give space on the roads to these beings too, . Do you Humans do the same with animals?

Maruti taunted: Dont you think there are Supermen amongst you only. We have them too.

Maruti( with proud): We have Superwomen too.

Maruti: See we are considerate for our poor too. And we give them way.

Maruti: We believe in UNITY IN DIVERSITY.

Maruti, the thinker: And we believe in PEACEFUL COEXISTENCE .

Indeed, one thing remarkable about the traffic community is their ‘unity in diversity’. How they coexist with some noisy peace and give way to each other with no vengeance, is worth commending.

We humans need to learn some real ‘good’ lessons from these vehicles.

Category:

Art, Beautiful Pics, CULTURE, Humour, India, My world, Peace, Personal, Social Issues, Women

Delhi Diary: Gossip on Wheels–Part 1


Commuting through the streets of Delhi with almost an hour and a half’s drive each side was no less than a Herculean task. The journey back home, in the evening, would result in a bursting headache.

The megacity with hundreds of newly built flyovers and underpasses, still gets choked in its veins at the peak office hours. The traffic is dense, diverse and chaotic. Perhaps when going through licence training they are made to practice to honk horns as much as possible, sworn not to use the dipper and taken pledge not to follow lanes. In fact the dividing lines whether broken white or solid yellow are to be kept exactly in the middle of one’s vehicle—be it a cycle, a cycle rickshaw, auto rickshaw , a car, truck or a tanker.

I felt the dire necessity to have the cake ( wading the traffic all the way each day) and relish it too( enjoy their antics without getting headache).

So I began to hallucinate…

….and began to see and hear all the secret conversations and the relationships the my car had with the traffic around it. I was enlightened now as to why they dive and dodge across the lines ( just like a five year old kid) when another vehicle tries to overtake or chase them. And no wonder why they honk horns so much—in disgust ( just like us humans) when they see injustice .

Oh ! they are all so much like us humans- chaotic and noisy. And like us they gossip, flirt and swear too at each other, on the way.

Only the wise could see that, and I happen to be one of those few. 
I began keeping my eyes and ears open to what was going on between my car and the other fellow vehicles…..

And from then on travelling was fun—after all I am as human as them. and I too love to eavesdrop on what Madame Maruti ( my car) would babble and flirt with fellow trucks and autos along the way.

So from here on just shhh…and listen to what Madame Maruti gossips…

Mme Maruti: “Yeah , I know we’ve got to honk the horn for ‘Road Symphony’, but what’s this OK doing in the middle.”

Truck Ji :“Use horn ok please dipper”
Mme Maruti: Hold on, What did you say? Pagla gae ho ?

Mme Maruti: “Kyon? Kya landan se aae ho? Yahan koi dipper wipper nahi janta”.
( Have you come from London, no one knows dipper here).

Mme Maruti: “Yeah only if you had listened to your Mum and been to school, you would know how to say Hallo.”

Mr Truck: “Wait for side.”
Mme Maruti: I’m waiting. But kab takk? ( How long)

We have some of wicked amongst us, just like humans, who can’t wish well for others….
Idealist Maruti: Since when did you become racist, man. Ain’t humans enough?

Burger Truck: “Bad nazar wale tera thobda black.”
Desi Maruti: Lagta hai dost, angrezi filmein zyada dekhne lage ho ?

Dukhi Truck: “चलती है गाड़ी, उड़ती है धूल, जलतें हैं दुश्मन, बिखरतें हैं फूल.”
Chalti hai gari urti hai dhool, jalte hain dushman bikharte hain phool
Maruti, the reformer: Yaar, kabhi kisi ka bhala bhi soch liya karou.( Think of good also sometimes).

Foul mouthed Truck:“बुरी नज़र वाले, तेरे बच्चे जियें, बड़े होकर, देसी शराब पियें”
( Buri nazar wale tere bachey jiyein, Bade ho kar desi sharab piyein).
Maruti, the preacher: O’ bhai, uski to nazar buri hai, per tumhari to soch insaanon ki tarah gandi hai. Uske bachon ney tumhara kya bigada hai?

Mean Truck: बुरी नज़र वाले तू जिए, और तेरा बेटा बड़ा होकर तेरा खून पिए! ( Buri nazar wale tere bachey jiyen, bade ho kar tera khoon piyen).
Maruti, the Gandhian: Arre bhai, kya tum bhi insaan ban gaye jo khoon peene ki baat kar rahe ho ?

Some of us are really kind and thoughtful too:
Maruti: Wah, yeh ki na tum ne sau aane wali baat. 🙂

Saint Truck: Na koi buri nazar
Na kisi ka muh kala,
Sab ka bhala chahta hai
barah tiresath (12-63)wala!
Maruti:Kaash, hamre baqi bhai log bhi aisa hi sochein? Aur insaan bhi 😦

Maruti: Sach keh rahe ho, magar ye insaan ki samajh mein aye to baat hai.

</
Maruti: Wah bilkul theek kaha tum ne.

Our social responsibility, we understand so well. I wish all mankind could think like us too:
Maruti, the samajhdar: Agar insaan ki ye samajh mein aa jae to is duniya ki mushkil hi khatm ho jae.

Maruti, the patriot: Is mehengai ke daur mein, bilkul theek.

Mr Truck: “Ek ya do buss.”
Mme Maruti: “Kya shaadi ya bacheyy?”

Mr Truck:बीवी रहे टिपटॉप
दो के बाद फुल स्टॉप
(Biwi rahe teep taap
Do ke baad fullstap)
Mme Maruti: “Khayal umdah hai, feminist lagtey ho !”

Truck, the Anna Hazare: Sau mein nabbey beimaan, phir bhi mera desh mahaan.
Maruti, the Sonia: Han haan, buss tum hi to ek imaandar ho poore desh mein.

Mr Truck, the poet: शेर दो हों मगर सलीके के,
घर को ऐसी ग़ज़ल बनाना है
(Sher do hon magar saleeqe ke
Ghar ko aisi ghazal bana hai).
Mme Maruti: “Uff, ye ‘sher’ aur ‘ghazal’ se tou Ghalib ki
yaad taza ho gai.”

Truck, the poet: “Malik ki gadi, driver ka pasina, chalti hai road par, banke hassina”
Maruti: Haaye, kya Shayar ban gaya…

Truck Sahab, the wannabe poet: “Fool se kante ache hai jo daman tham lete hain, dost se dushman ache hain jo jal kar bhi naam lete hain”
Maruti, the judgemental: Haaye teri Urdu se tou Hazrat Ghalib pareshan ho jayeinge.

Maruti: “What should I say, you said it all?”

PS: Some less serious gossip in the next blog.

Category:

Art, Beautiful Pics, CULTURE, Humour, India, My world, Social Issues, Women

Ghalib’s Mangoes


It is Summers and mango time. Mango is synonimous with Mirza Ghalib. And I am here after ages in the mango season in Delhi, the city of Ghalib. And then Amir Khusrau’s praise for mangoes is not secret either. His soul resides in Delhi too.

How could one enjoy Ratols, Chausa, Dussehris in Delhi, consumed in their aromas and flavours, and not pay tribute to Ghalib’s love for mangoes. Perhaps ‘his first love’ was neither poetry nor liqour. But mangoes. Why do I say that ?

Here is a fascinating piece on Ghalib and his love for mangoes, to prove my claim, by Firoze Bakht Ahmed:

Ghalib was a great mango connoisseur

Altalf Hussain Hali, an ardent admirer of Mirza Ghalib and himself a poet of no mean achievement once had a very hot debate with the latter’s friend Nawab Mustafa Khan Shefta on the topic that Ghalib was the sole Indian poet who had tasted the maximum varieties of mangoes.

Shefta maintained that it wasn’t so but with his stunning memory and deep study of Ghalib’s life, Hali was the winner in proving that Ghalib had in fact tasted most of the 4,000 varieties of mangoes
grown in India. This might be a funny incident but the truth is that Ghalib was the one who loved eating mangoes in sweltering summers more than composing his couplets.

The varieties of mangoes that Ghalib mentioned in 63 letters written to his friends are – Malda, Fasli,Chausa, Zard Aaloo, Jahangir, Dasehri, Rehmat-e-Khas, Sarauli, Malghoba, Aziz Pasand,
Mahmood Samar, Sultan-us-Samar, Ram Kela, Bombay Green, Ratol, Safeda Mallihabadi, Dil Pasand, Husan Aara, Nazuk Pasand, Kishan Bhog, Neelam, Khudadad, Hamlet, Tota Pari, Nishati, Zafrani, Sinduri, Khatta Meetha, Barah Masi, Langra, Alfonso, Fajri Samar Bahisht, Gulabakhsh, Bishop, Xavier, Rumani and Badami. Ghalib had tasted all these.

His love for mangoes was in fact more than that of wine or even poetry when the season of the heavenly, juicy fruit came in the months of June and July.

Quoting Ghalib regarding mangoes, Hali mentions in his Yadgar-e-Ghalib that the poet was also very well versed with the history of mangoes.

Ghalib wrote to a friend, Maulvi Sadruddin Azurda about the history of mangoes: ‘The mango has been cultivated in India for over 4,000 years and is so much a part of the Indian heritage and culture that it is almost an object of veneration in Hindu households. Down through the centuries, emperors have pledged their devotion to the mango!

‘The records of Hieun Tsang, the Chinese Buddhist pilgrim who visited India during Harshavardhan’s reign in the 6th century B.C., contains references to the attentive cultivation of the mango in the country. The Mughal emperors also evinced keen interest in the mango’s systematic cultivation and emperor Akbar is credited with having planted genetically superior mangoes in an orchard known as
Lakh Bakhsh, north of Agra.

‘Small wonder that our best varieties of mangoes bear names such as Jahangir and Himayun-ud-Din. Even Bahadur Shah Zafar, had a mango garden known as Hayat Bakhsh in the gardens of the Red Fort in which some of the most delicious and juicy varieties were grown.’

Mango is such a fruit that the accounts of it qualities are there since Vedic times. In fact there is a very interesting incident quoted in Persian by Ghalib’s friend Yusuf Mirza that traces the history of mango to the Vedic times.

It says that god once witnessed a contest between the two celestial brothers – Ganesh and Subramaniya popularly known as Kartikeya. Their parents Shiva and Parvati announced that the
one to race round the world and emerge the first would receive a wonderful gift.

While Subramaniya set off on this arduous race, Ganesh, the shrewd and calculating one, did some clever thinking. He circled around his parents, suggesting that they were world to him, and won the fabulous prize – a luscious mango!

Even Sufi poet Amir Khusro had praised the mango in his Persian poetry and called it Fakhr-e-Gulshan.

According to Ghalib it is a remarkable fruit in the sense that it can be cut with a knife, sucked like ice cream or crushed for its juice. It gives more joy in comparison with other fruits if it is cut and eaten.
He called such a mango as Qalmi Aam.

Even great poets like Nazir Akbarabadi and Iqbal too have written gloriously about mangoes.

Ghalib wrote to his friends as far as Calcutta, Bombay and Madras for sending him the mangoes and he was really fortunate enough that they obliged him by sending the tokris (baskets) of the fruit.

To a friend living in Calcutta, Mir Sarfaraz Hussain, he wrote as many as 15 letters requesting him to send him Bengal’s famous Gulbakhsh mangoes. Finally Sarfaraz Hussain sent him two baskets.
During May, 1857, when the Sepoy Mutiny was at its peak, Ghalib went to a friend of his in Meerut, who was a Subedar by family tradition and owned many mango orchards in Meerut and Saharnpur.

Once during the afternoon, Ghalib felt the urge to eat mangoes. That was not the time for the fruit to get ripened as most of the varieties in northern India ripe in the sweltering heat of June. While
Ghalib was just gazing at the kachcha aam (unripe mangoes), a British soldier saw Ghalib and without ado arrested him.

In fact that area was densely populated by Muslims who revolted against the British. The poet was taken to the Meerut Kotwali after arrest. In those days Hindus and Muslims used to wear almost
similar clothes.

When he reached the police station, the military governor Colonel Burn asked Ghalib: ‘Are you a Muslim?’

Ghalib was witty and his friend confirmed his presence of mind was par excellence. He replied: ‘ I am only a half-Muslim.’

‘What exactly do you mean by that? Be clear,’ said Col. Burn.

‘By that I mean Sir, that I take liquor but I do not touch pork!’

Hearing this, Col. Burn burst out laughing and let him off advising him not to mix up with the rioters.

Shefta narrated that in one gathering there were Maulana Fazl-e-Haq, Ghalib and other friends and they discussed about mangoes.
When everyone had had one’s say, Haq asked for Ghalib’s comments.

And he said:
‘In my opinion, there are only two necessary requirements concerning mangoes. Firstly, they should be sweet and secondly, they should be plentiful!’

(Firoz Bakht Ahmed, chairman of Friends For Education which works among Urdu schools to improve their standards, filed a public interest suit for restoration of Ghalib’s house in old Delhi. He
can be reached at firozbakht@rediffmail.com)
( © IANS / India eNews)Copyright 2011 IndiaeNews.com. All Rights Reserved.

Category:

Amir Kusro, GHALIB, Humour

OSAMA OBAMA HUMOUR IN MEDIA


“Humour is the weapon of unarmed people: it helps people who are oppressed to smile at the situation that pains them.”

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Collection of cartoons from the International Print Media

Comments from the Standup Comedies on Electronic media

“There’s already been some trouble for Osama bin Laden in the afterlife. There was a mix up and he was greeted by 72 vegans.” —David Letterman

“Osama bin Laden’s death has been in the news all day. Leftish stations are going, ‘President Obama saves the world.’ Stations on the right are going, ‘Obama kills fellow Muslim.'” –Craig Ferguson

“Apparently, members of al-Qaida are online slamming the U.S. I don’t understand why they’re so upset. Everyone in al-Qaida just got a promotion.” –Craig Ferguson

“What?! Not only did we kill Bin Laden, we killed him in Abottabad! Abottabad sounds like name most New Yorkers would have invented for the fictional place they would have loved to kill Bin Laden.” –Jon Stewart

“President Obama must be very happy because he finally took down his arch enemy: Donald Trump. The bin Laden announcement interrupted ‘Celebrity Apprentice.'” –Craig Ferguson

“President Obama must be very happy because he finally took down his arch enemy: Donald Trump. The bin Laden announcement interrupted ‘Celebrity Apprentice.'” –Craig Ferguson

“I would like us to kill bin Laden every Sunday night. It makes for a much brighter start to the week.” –Jimmy Kimmel

David Letterman’s “Top Ten Final Words Of Osama bin Laden”

10. ‘My horoscope says ‘Big surprises are in store”
9. ‘See, this is why I normally don’t answer the door’
8. ‘The one time I give my bodyguards a day off to go to the zoo . . . ‘
7. ‘What on earth could be interrupting ‘Celebrity Apprentice?”
6. ‘I hear Brian Williams is on Dave to discuss my imminent demise’
5. ‘At least I’ll be reunited with my dear departed friend Jack LaLanne’
4. ‘I’m not sure I want to live in a world where ‘Fast Five’ is the No. 1 movie’
3. ‘Any man with multiple wives welcomes death. Am I right, fellas?’
2. ‘I need a house full of Navy SEALs like I need a hole in the head’
1. ‘Oh, crap!’

Twitter Comments:( sender’s names withhled)

They buried #OBL out to sea right after Japan released radioactive water into the ocean. This has the makings of an awesome monster movie

#Republicans brought #US #Watergate #Gitmo #Rendition #Waterboarding #Democrats do sex in #OvalOffice. They don’t fake deaths esp #OBL

I was sent a complete random msg: ‘can you boss me around and terrorise me.’ WTF?! Someones obviously missing #OBL

That awkward moment in hell when #OBL has to explain to the despo suicide bombers where all those virgins are!

Every pakistani & Digvijay singh is asking “why was #OSAMA JI killed” he was a ISI human rights activist like “KASAB JI” !!

It is not good for Pakistan that Osama was found in their territory.They must now answer to Arnab Goswami on The Newshour

According to India TV Osama and Obama are the same person because no one saw Osama after 9/11 and no one saw Obama till 9/11

A week back they were asking for Obama’s Birth certficate.A week later he has shown them Osama’s death Certificate #Osama

Osama should’ve hid in India.Worst thing that would’ve happened if he was caught he’d be arrested.Apply for bail & hire Ram Jethmalani

Its good that Osama is dead.He’s lucky.No one wants to live in a world where Akshay Kumar still acts in films like ‘Tees Maar Khan’

This is confusing.The guy who died is Osama.The guy who killed him is Obama.Name problems.I’ll just call Obama as Mohan from now on

India TV has confirmed that Osama’s Punar Janam has taken place already.He is back as a pimple on Rakhi Sawant’s face

US policy = Osama Chahiye? Pakistan mein ghoos kar maro.India Policy = Cricket match jab tak nahin hota hum Pak se baat nahin karenge

Actually Osama jumped into sea when he heard Udhay Chopra was to play Osama in sequel of Tere Bin Laden

Facebook Statuses or Comments:

when he rolls over, there will be a tsunami. God forbid that.

A Jihad Fish, a new species.

“Osama is dead? Yup! Where’s the body? We threw it in the ocean. — Timmy, have u done your homework? Yep! Where is it? My dog ate it!”

The real news is not that Osama is killed – he was as good as dead for a long time – the real news is Pak Army and ISI have been caught pants down. Now will they receive spanking. I think in private they will. Civil leadership is innocent – they did not have clue.

CEO post vacant in M.N Organization. Very attractive salary, security, travel and medical covered. Package includes 72 virgins and paradise gauranteed. Requirement: proven track record in terrorist activities and radical ideology. Contact H.R@alqaeda.com

Osama: Batti Kaddo ayi gi. aes tu changa tay mera tora bora ala ghaar c
Young wife Number 7: Lagda eh kuwaiti nai generator chalata eh phakkay di awaz aari eh bar
*First Dhamaka
Osama: Lo ge transformer udd gya jay. Hun sawairay e ayay gi batti. Mospel la kay so jao
*Kuwaiti from outside
Kuwaiti: Nass o Osama, Amreeki aa gay nay. aglay kehnday nai parhna nyi tenu, geetay tay fire marna eh.
Osama: Fittay moun Rajay pervaiz Ahsraf, Amreeki aagay Batti ni ayi.

Breaking News: Osama is being bashed in the Hell by the Ex-Suicide bombers. “WTH are the 72 virgins?
Comment 1: They are passing him on instead of the 72 virgins.
Comment 2: Yeah no wonder he had a busy day up there.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Category:

Humour, International, Politics

Obama Osama Heart to Heart


Obama: I loved the way ISI let you stay nearby.

Osama: Yeah, to catch me, they didn’t even try.

Obama: No wonder why, now they feel so shy.

Osama: Say they didn’t know it. Oh what a lie !

Obama: They thought you were, in Afghan mountains high.

Osama: Sure I would if AZ wasn’t a bigger idiot than Karzai.

Obama: Ofcourse who doesn’t know him? That 10% guy.

Osama: He aint so bad. Pasha brought his salams whenever passing by.

Obama: After we nabbed you, did you bid your host goodbye?

Osama: Knowing I’ll be with 72 virgins, “I wanna come too” he began to cry.

Obama: Gosh! You’ll have Seventy two, after all those killings? You lucky guy.

Osama: Huhh and you fools thought t’was for Jehad, those suicide bombers die !

Obama: We killed many in Iraq too. For a place in Heaven, can I also try?

Category:

General, Humour, International, Islam, MY POETRY, Pakistan, Poetry, Politics

Obama, You’re born Lucky !


With the operation accomplished to nab Osama Bin Laden, it isn’t unusual at all that no soon the news was out, conspiracy theories started cropping up. Every Tom Dick and Harry becomes Sherlock Holmes with describing flaws into the details of the operation, about the photograph not being his (the hair being darker than his,), his face not resembling, that he was brought here and declared dead to enter Pakistan( as if they haven’t already), or that Pakistani intelligence did it all and then Americans took the credit. As many mouths, as many stories…
Being an anti conspiracy theorist and a true fan of a lucky man called Obama, I believed every word of what Obama said in his address. I know Obama must be as desperate as anyone in this position to increase his popularity ratings for the next term. But just to say that he will stage a false drama and tell such a huge lie to achieve those, I doubt.
Yes, luck has failed him in his fiscal policies or in getting his health plan implemented but he just hit a huge luck home run as Commander-in-Chief.
I may be unrealistic in taking his words for truth, because I continue to be as fascinated by this brilliant man as I was when I first noticed him during the Presidential campaign.
With Bush’s doubtful mental abilities, who wasn’t even sure of who was the current Prime Minister of India during his election, Obama’s brilliance and thorough knowledge about the world was such a striking contrast. He definitely was a presidential material. And then to be a lucky first man of color to become an American president—it was not just me but the whole world found him mesmerizing. Lucky was he to be a blue eyed of the entire globe.
Knowing the details of his parentage—being multiracial—Dad from Kenya, Mom a white American, step Dad an Indonesian, Grandmom a practicing Muslim, he sure was born lucky—to have lived in various cultures.. A man exposed to so many cultures, religions and travelled widely in childhood ( including Pakistan)—had to be a man with wide horizons and huge luck.
And after all, to have gone to Harvard for the graduate studies, being president of the Harvard Law Review and tenure as a constitutional law professor were no small luck to be so brilliant.
On hearing his live Presidential address – extempore, flawless, no stuttering, no forgetting, no written paper and the substance that he spoke for almost 45 minutes, I was all head over heals for his oratory.
Obama got a Nobel Peace Prize with no substantial achievements. In his thank you speech, in a very matter of fact way, he mentioned his surprise on being chosen for it and remarked that there were others who deserved to get this prize more than him. Yes he was less deserving but got it for he was luckier.
His occasional acknowledgement of having ‘Muslim relatives’ is too an act no less brave considering how he was maligned for having a Muslim name or Muslim roots during the campaign. Not just lucky, he’s brave too.
Just a couple of days ago he cornered Donald Trump with humour. The president poked fun at his birther theory and his background on the celebrity apprentice at the White House Correspondent’s Dinner. The humour rolled the audience into fits of laughter.

In a fundraiser dinner in New York looked more like a stand up comedian than a President of USA
“My name is Barack Obama.I was born in Hawaii,” he continued, which elicited cheers and applause from the audience of supporters, “the 50th state of the United States of America.”
“No one checked my ID on the way in,” he said. “But just in case …” Obama added and reached into his breast pocket before pulling his empty hand out and chuckling.
The lady luck gave him an excellent sense of humour too..
And now the credit of nabbing the world’s most wanted criminal. Bush tried his best, lied about weapons of mass destruction in a desperate attempt to prove his credibility, got shoed, but still failed to catch Osama.
And this brilliant and lucky man—got him quietly in a small operation with minimal collateral damage, and personally supervised it through camera. And no matter what anyone may claim, he got it done with such neatness deep inside Pakistan, leaving the Pakistani officials speechless, faceless and spineless.
Lucky you are Obama. History will go down with you getting the Osama Credit. And probably you will win the second term too.
What else is mother luck bringing for him in future? A fan in me awaits.
I know I may be unduly fascinated by this lucky man, whom many find an unsuccessful president.
And of course, lastly, you are lucky to have me as your ardent fan, you lucky Obama !

Category:

Humour, Indo-Pak, International, Pakistan, Peace, Politics

Men Are Like…


This is the net summary of the conversation I had with a great school friend living thousands of miles away. He began with the pun on women and then another lady friend joined the conference call and it ended up with pun on men as usual…..

Men are like…

… Blenders.
You need one, but you’re not quite sure why.

… Chocolate Bars.
Sweet, smooth, and they usually are a cause of your migraine.

… Coffee.
The best ones are rich, warm, and give you insomnia.

... Commercials.
You can’t believe a word they say.

… Computers.
Hard to figure out and never have enough memory.

… Coolers.
Load them with beer and you can take them anywhere.

… Copiers.
You need them for reproduction, but that’s about it.

… Curling Irons.
They’re always hot with rage and trying to straighten your expenditure while shopping.

… Government Bonds.
They take way too long to mature.

… Horoscopes.
They always tell you what to do and are usually wrong.

… Lava Lamps.
Good to look at, but not all that bright.

… Mascara.
They usually run at the first sign of emotion.

… Parking Spots.
The good ones are already taken and the ones that are left are either handicapped or extremely small.

… Popcorn.
They are hollow in the core with swollen ego all around.

… Weather.
Nothing can be done to change either one of them.

Great Advice to Pass on to Your Daughters and other Single women

1. Don’t imagine you can change a man – unless he’s in diapers.

2. What do you do if your boyfriend walks-out? You shut the door.

3. If they put a man on the moon – they should be able to put them all up there.

4. Never let your man’s mind wander – it’s too little to be out alone.

5. Go for men of any age. Age doesn’t matter- they never mature anyway.

6. Men are all the same – they just have different faces, so that you can tell them apart.

7. Definition of a bachelor; a man who has missed the opportunity to make some woman miserable.

8. Women don’t make fools of men – most of them are the do-it-yourself types.

9. Best way to get a man to do something, is to suggest they are too old for it.

10. Love is blind, but marriage is a real eye-opener.

11. If you want a committed man, look in a mental hospital.

12. The children of Israel wandered around the desert for 40 years. Even in biblical times, men wouldn’t ask for directions.

13. If he asks what sort of books you’re interested in, tell him checkbooks.

14. Remember a sense of humor does not mean that you tell him jokes, it means that you laugh at his.

15. Sadly, all men are created equal…

How do you keep your husband from reading your e-mail?
Rename the mail folder “Instruction Manuals.

How do men define a “50/50” relationship?
We cook-they eat; we clean-they dirty; we iron-they wrinkle.

What makes a man think about a candlelight dinner?
A power failure.

What’s the best way to kill a man?
Put a pretty blonde and a six-pack in front of him. Then tell him to pick only one.

Why do only 10% of men make it to heaven?
Because if they all went, it would be Hell.

Why is psychoanalysis a lot quicker for men than for women?
When it’s time to go back to his childhood, he’s already there.

And the best ones…..

Why do little boys whine?
Because they are practicing to be men.

Why is it so difficult to find men who are caring, sensitive, and good-looking?
They already have boyfriends.</ 😀 😀 😀


(P.S.This is not to offend anyone, please. This is just for light humour, not to be taken seriously. Some of my best friends are men–including my husband and son…).

Coutesy: http://www.jokesaboutmen.net/men-joke_six.html

Category:

General, Humour, Personal, Social Issues, Women

Amir Khusrau, the playful


Amīr Khusrau Dehlawī, a Sufi mystic and a spiritual disciple of Nizamuddin Auliya of Delhi, was not only a notable poet but also a prolific scholar and a seminal musician. He wrote poetry primarily in Persian for the court and Hindvi for the common man.

Amir Khusrau  had a special connection with the common folk and their language of expression. This led him to use the language  in his playful interaction with the people. His songs(geet), couplets( dohas) and riddles( pahelis) are mainly written in that dialect called Hindvi.

There are an endless number of riddles credited to him-some  as Keh Mukarnis( say-deny ), Dosukhnay (two liners) and chaubolay(four liners) etc. in Hindvi.  The riddles convey the spirit of playfulness, celebration, and surprise.

Khusrau’s pahelis, dohas and geets were so enmeshed into the day to day lives of the common man that they were orally transferred from generation to generation. They were passed on by Qawwals (Qawwali singers), mirasees (professional singers), bhands (stage performers),naukranis (women-folk who were employed by aristocratic families to look after children and perform other daily chores, and of course the family members themselves.

Riddles (Dosukhna ):

Dosukhna, (literally meaning a two-liner or a two-verse-thing) is a smart form of riddle in which one has to find one answer for two completely different questions – though that answer could have different meanings for both questions. Interesting part is that the answer is not simply one word or a noun – it has to be a two or three word explanation, since the questions are always asked in ‘Whys’.

Some examples are:

Raja pyasa kyoon? Gadha udasa kyoon?
Lota na tha.

Why is the king thirsty? Why is the donkey sad?
Didn’t have the pot to drink (the king);
Hadn’t rolled on the ground (the donkey)

Deevar kyoon tooti? Raah kyoon luti?
Raaj na tha.

Why did the wall break? Why was there a robbery on the road?
There was no mason (for the wall);
There was no government (to stop the robbery).

Anar kyoon na chakkha? Wazir kyoon na rakkha?
Danaa na tha.

Why didn’t you taste the pomegranate?
Why wasn’t a minister selected?
Didn’t have the seed (the pomegranate);
There wasn’t a wise one (the minister).

Dahi kyoon na jama? Naukar kyoon na rakkha?
Zaamin na tha.

Why didn’t the curd set? Why wasn’t the servant kept?
There was no essence (for the curd),
There was no one to give security(for the servant)

Ghar kyoon andhiyaara? Faqeer kyoon badbadaya?
Diya na tha.

Why was the house in dark? Why did the beggar grumble?
There was no lamp (in the house);
Hadn’t given anything (to the beggar).

Gosht kyoon na khaya? Dom kyoon na gaya?
Gala na tha.

Why wasn’t the meat eaten? Why didn’t the bard sing?
Wasn’t done properly (the meat); Didn’t have a voice (the bard).

Samosa kyoon na khaya? Joota kyoon na pehna?
Tala na tha.

Why wasn’t the samosa (a patty) eaten? Why wasn’t the shoe worn?
Wasn’t fried (the samosa); Didn’t have a sole (the shoe).

Sitar kyoon na baja? Aurat kyoon na nahayi?
Parda na tha.

Why wasn’t the sitar played? Why didn’t the lady bathe?
Didn’t have a reed (the sitar); There was no curtain (for the lady).

Pundit kyoon na nahaaya? Dhoban kyoon maari gayi?
Dhoti na thi.

Why didn’t the pundit (the priest) bathe?
Why was the washerwoman beaten?
Didn’t have a loincloth (the pundit); Did not used to wash (the washerwoman)

Khichdi kyoon na pakaayi? Kabootri kyoon na bhagayi?
Chhadi na thi.

Why didn’t you cook the Khichdi (a rice dish)?
Why didn’t you drive away the (female) pigeon?
Didn’t have a spoon (for the Khichdi);
Didn’t have a stick (to drive away the pigeon).

Others:

Ghuum ghumelaa lehangaa pahne,
ek paanv se rahe kharii.
aath haath hain us naarii ke,
suurat usakii lage parii.
Sab koii us kii chaah kare hai,
musalamaan hinduu chhatrii.
“khusaro” ne yah kahii pahelii,
dil me.n apane soch jarii..
A: Chhatri

She wears a round skirt, stands on one leg,
That lady has eight legs,
And looks like a fairy.
Everyone wants her,
Muslim, Hindu, Chhatri (of warrior caste).
Khosrow asks this riddle,
just think about it.
A:Umbrella

Baalaa thaa jab man ko bhaayaa,
badaa huaa kuchh kaam na aayaa,
“khusaro” kah diyaa us kaa naanv,
buujhe nahiin to chhode gaanv..
A: diyaa

Was lovable when little (or lit),
but was worthless when grown up (or extinguished)
Khusro has told you his name,
solve this riddle or get out of town.
A: Tealight( diyaa)

Ek kahani main kahun,
Tu sunlay meray poot;
Bina paron ke ud gayee,
Woh baandh galay mein soot.
A: Patang

Let me ask a riddle,
Listen, oh my son;
She flew without wings,
with a thread in her neck.
A: A kite

Nar naari kehlaati hai,
aur bin warsha jal jati hai;
Purkh say aaway purkh mein jaai,
na di kisi nay boojh bataai.
A: Nadi ( Darya)

Is known by both masculine and feminine names,
And lightens up (or burns up) without rain;
Originates from a man and goes into a man,
But no one has been able to guess what it is.
A: River

Pawan chalat weh dehe badhavay
Jal peevat weh jeev ganvavay
Hai weh piyari sundar naar,
Naar nahin par hai weh naar.
A: Aag

With the blow of wind she flares up,
And dies as soon as she drinks water;
Even though she is a pretty woman,
She’s not a woman, though she’s feminine.
A: Fire

Ek guni nay yeh gun keena,
Hariyal pinjray mein dedeena;
Dekho jadoogar ka kamaal,
Daalay hara, nikaalay laal.
A: Paan 

One trickster performed this trick,
Inserted a (green) parrot into the cage;
Oh, what an act the sorcerer shows,
Puts in green, takes out red !
A:Betel leaf for chewing 

Bheetar chilmun, baahar
chilmun, beech kaleja dhadkay,
Amir Khusrau yun kahay
woh do do ungal sarkay.
A;Qainchi 

A screen inside,a screen outside,
a pounding heart in between,
Says Amir Khusrau,
its moving inch by inch.
Scissors 

Ujjal ateet moti barani, paayi
 kabnt diyay moye dharani,
Jahaan dhari wahan nahin paayi,
haat bajaar sabhay dhoondh aayi;
Aye sakhi ab keejay ka?
Pi maangay to deejay kya?
A:Olaiyy

He found some beautiful, sparkling pearls, 
and gave them to me to keep,
But alas, I can’t find them now where I kept,
Have searched every corner, even in the bazaar;
What to do, Oh my friend?
What will I give, when the beloved asks?
A: Hail

The Say-and-Deny Riddles of Khusro (Keh Mukarnis):

Keh (say) Mukarni (denial) is an interesting genre of riddles played between two young women, where one of them describes something in a way that it is mistaken by the other girl as her beloved, and finally turns out to be something completely different.

Raat samay woh mere aawe
bhore bhaye woh ghar uthi jawe
Ye achraj hai sab se nyaara
Ay sakhi saajan?
Na sakhi taara!

He comes to me at night
At the onset of dawn he goes away
And it is so very exciting.
Is he the beloved?
No dear, a star!

Jab maangoon tab jal bhar laawe
Mere man ki tapan bujhawe
Man ka bhari tan ka chota
Kya sakhi saajan?
Na sakhi, lota!

Brings water whenever I want
Quenches the heat in me
Has a big heart but small body.
Is it the beloved?
No dear, a water jar !

Nange paanv phiran nahin deta
paanv se mitti lagan nahin deta
paanv ka chooma let nipoota
Ay sakhi saajan?
Na sakhi joota!

Does not let me walk barefoot
Does not let my feet get soiled
Hugs my feet always.
Is it the beloved?
No dear, a shoe!

Sej padi moray aankhon aaya,
Daal sej mohay majaa dikhaya,
Kis say kahun ab maja main apna.
Aye sakhi saajan?
Na sakhi, sapna!

I was lying on the bed,
when he appeared in my eyes,
Oh, he let me have such fun on the bed,
Who should I tell my fun now.
Was it the beloved?
No dear, a dream!

Bakhat bakhat moye wa ki aas,
raat dina oo rahat mo paas;
Meray man ko sab karat hay kaam.
Aye sakhi saajan?
na sakhi, Ram!

Each moment I long for him;
Day and night he remains with me,
And does what my heart asks him to do.
Is it the beloved?
No my dear, its Ram( God)!

Sagri raen chhatiyan par raakha,
Roop rang sab wa ka chaakha;
Bhor bhaee jab diya utaar.
Aye sakhi saajan?
Na sakhi haar!

Kept him on my bosom the entire night,
And tasted his various flavours thoroughly;
At dawn, I removed him.
You mean the beloved?
No dear, necklace!

Padi thi main achaanak chadh aayo,
Jab utryo to paseeno aayo,
Sehem gayi nahin saki pukaar,
Aye sakhi saajan?
Na sakhi, bukhaar!

I was lying when he suddenly came upon me,
I was perspiring, when he got away,
Terrified, I could not scream.
Was it the beloved?
No dear, it was fever!

Woh aaye tab shaadi hovay,
Us bin dooja aur na koye;
Meethay laagen wa ke bol.
Aye sakhi saajan?
Na sakhi, dhol!

One can’t get married without him/it,
There is no one like him/it;
And he/it sounds so sweet.
Is it the beloved?
No dear, the drum (for singing)!.

Aap hilay aur moye hilaaye,
Wa ka hilna moye mun bhaye;
Hil hil kay woh huva nasankha.
Aye sakhi saajan?
Na sakhi pankha!

It shakes itself, and shakes me too,
The shaking really pleases me;
It has become so frail by continually shaking.
Is it the beloved?
No dear, a fan!

Lipat lipat kay wa-kay soyee,
Chhaati say chhaati lagakay royee,
Daant say daant bajay to taada.
Aye sakhi saajan?
Na sakhi, jaada!

Cuddled up in his arms she slept,
Bosoms pressed against each other, she sobbed,
When the teeth started clattering, she saw.
Was it the beloved?
No my dear, Winter!

Oonchi ataari palang bichhayo,
Main soyi meray sir par aayo;
Khul gayin ankhiyan bhayi anand,
Aye sakhi saajan?
Na sakhi, Chand!

Had my bed on the roof top,
And was off to sleep, when he came;
Could not sleep any further, it was such a pleasure.
Was it the beloved?
No dear, it was moon!

Ber-ber sovathi jagave
Na jagoon to kaate khaave
Vyakul hui main hakki bakki
Ay sakhi sajan?
Na sakhi, makkhii!

With sound wakes me from sleep
Bites if I don’t wake up
So nervous I wake up.
Is it the beloved?
No dear, a housefly!

Jab woh moray mandir aaway,
sotay mujhko aan jagaway;
Padhat phirat woh birah ke achchar,
Aye sakhi sajan?
Na sakhi machchar!

Whenever he visits my place,
Wakes me up from the sleep,
He sings the song of separation;
Is it the beloved, oh friend?
No, its mosquito!

Ati surang hai rang rangeele
gunwant bahut chateeley
Ram bhajan bin kabhi na sota
Kyon sakhi saajan?
Na sakhi, totaa!

Is so beautiful and colorful
So very talented too.
Never sleeps without prayers.
Is it the beloved?
No dear, a parrot!

Jeevan sab jag jaso kahe
Wa binu nek na dheeraj rahe
hare chinak mein hiye ki pir
Kya sakhi saajan?
Na sakhi , neer!( aansoo)

Says everything about the life
With it one cannot bear
Takes away the pain.
Is it the beloved?
No dear, tears!

Shobha sada badhawan hara
Ankhin se chhin hot na nyara
Aath peher mero manoranjan.
Kyon sakhi saajan?
Na sakhi , Anjan!( Kaajal)

Beautifies me so much
Doesn’t look nice away from eyes
All the time I enjoy it’s presence.
Is it the beloved?
No dear, the kohl! ( in the eyes).

Bin aaye sab hi sukh bhoole
Aye to ang ang sab phoole
Siri bhai lagawat chaati
Kyon sakhi saajan?
Na sakhi , paati!

Without it’s everyone takes forgranted happiness
If arrives, it worries us a lot
And we have to embrace it anyways.
Is it the beloved?
No dear, sadness!

( Dear readers, if you know of any such riddles by Amir Khusrau which aren’t here, you are welcome to add them in the comments. I shall be highly indebted for that ).

Courtesy:
-Amir Khusrau Wikepedia
-Amir Khusrau Website:http://www.ektaramusic.com/ak/index.html

Category:

Amir Kusro, Hindi Poetry, Humour, India, Pakistan, Poetry, Social Issues, URDU POETRY