“Chupaye Dil Mein ...”
It is worshiping time again
Strong men, women too, gather ‘round a fire
A kindling fire, drawing minds equally intertwined with no less than Mother Moon
Night falls, Moon emerges, you have ate.
All, then, can not help but draw near the fire
To the fire we all draw, seeking shelter in the warmth of our neighbor
Around the fire then we are,
‘Tis there that we now all are
So around this raging fire then,
Plays something akin to this:
“Chupaye Dil Mein ...”
A wistful sustained tune sung by Amanat Ali Khan
Sense how calmly good it is?
It is no different than the spirits expectantly decked around that fire
See how it slowly animates and builds?
Does it animate us, or do the spirits ‘round the fire animate it?
Know not I. I do know this though,
“That thence does it build, thence does it incite the lovely storm in the breast, and build!”
Lift up the spirit until it almost touches the sky
Until one is almost kissing,
The celestial heavens under impetus of the warmth,
And strength too of the spontaneous sharing
So build it does,
Until,
Wrapping ‘round your mind,
Your spirit and the communal space that,
You have forged with Will, curiosity and a desire to see all whole again
It has finally managed to finagle itself into you and your neighbors’ spirits too
Has it finagled into you yet?
‘Tis should already.
It has finagled into me.
For it speaks,
Not a foreign language,
Constructed of voice, impatience and nasal clickings
But a language quite universal.
A language, babies even understand
A language, playful and gushing forth amidst the heart
A language, saying what one already knows,
And were yelling too forcefully into the void,
With all spirit and the entirety of the person.
Even babies know this language
A language that is as playful as intelligent
Notice dolphins gamboling?
The intelligent spirit loves to play
For, playfulness warms the soul
And should I tell you what else playfulness heralds?
An uncanny intelligence that is what!
Intelligence of the cosmic kind.
Any intelligent animal does this
If it be that truly they are intelligent
Notice the spontaneous good sense of children when it comes to fun
Or as pointed out earlier,
The sense of dolphins gamboling,
Gamboling as one does not expect that they would
Same subtle thing this intelligence,
This intelligience that humans have, or better still ought to have
Here is to a playful intelligence then!
After all, Hitler did not gambol
Nor did Stalin drink
Certainly we are assured,
Chiang Kai-sek was never swayed by Bossa Nova.
So in our lofty yearnings then,
We know one thing if not all,
We know that the path which we amble on
Has little to do with small-minded demagogues, dictators, autocrats, rabid reactionaries, collusionists,
Or in other words,
People who would rather spend their time forcing others instead of living themselves.
We know one thing,
We may not be angels
But we have a warm, small, very human, and therefore good perspectived way,
Here is to our lofty spirits then.
Here is to that spontaneous fire that builds then,
Around which man congregates, warmly and gently with his neighbor
Live!
With the good sense of understanding that it is all quite fleeting
But still live,
As if you were immortal.
As if yours it would be to live a thousand years
And the joys that your friends spark on your cheeks,
Shall perpetually incite smiles from your brow
Live strong and well!
And thus do I rest my voice,
Temporarily now, i might add
As I put on some samba!
And gambol quite carefreely away.