How can a song about a god make you feel so many things?
It didn’t have such an impact until it got associated with a person, a moment and the strongest emotion known to me. Ever since that happened, I have often returned to this song.
As it always happens, I reach a moment when I have to write about these thoughts. Sometimes, it dissipates after I write. But this one is unlikely to.
I remember subscribing to Youtube Music just for this rendition of the song which was not available on Spotify or Apple at that point of time.
But that was much before the event which sealed my relationship to this song.
I go back to it for inspiration, reassurance and the strength to digest it all. More than that, I seek the wherewithal to match my words with actions no matter how hard it seems.
It is also coincidental and apt that I am writing this from a place called Saket, in Delhi (which is literally the Sanskrit name for Ayodhya).
At this point I lost my chain of thought. I wanted to understand the line by line translation of the song. I knew where to find it. On Suja’s Music blog. I don’t have to reproduce it here.
If that be the case, what else do I have to say about it?
Suja says that she gets beautiful memories of Rama Navami when she listens to it.
Thankfully for me, unlike Scrooge’s Ghost, my Ghost only shows me warm and wonderful memories of Ramanavami. From its annals of collective memory, it shows me the joy of Lord Rama’s birth and from my own personal memory, it shows me the joys of celebrations past.
I say that I get bittersweet memories of Diwali. I wonder if I should reopen the most beautiful memories which were later besmirched by the hand of fate.
I would rather not. But I am unable to erase it either.
Whom should I be blaming? My tendency to romanticise absurd events because I don’t have a better memory to romanticise? Or is the curse of fate, that keeps me locked back in time.
Sure, it has always been my intention to be a man of my words. And do difficult things in spite of challenges to keep up with my promises. But is it even worth it? What has been gained and what has been lost.
I keep the tally everyday. The numbers are very clear.
A lot has been gained and very little has been lost.
But the memory remains and its value doesn’t diminish every by a decimal point. The contradiction of this thought is frustrating and fascinating in equal measure.
It seems that I landed on lines that aptly describe this scenario in an unexpected place. In a Bollywood movie song that picked them from a poem by Sahir Ludhianvi.
नाज़-ओ-अंदाज़ से कहते हैं कि जीना होगा,
ज़हर भी देते हैं तो कहते हैं कि पीना होगा
They say—full of pride and playful airs—“You must go on living.”
Even when they hand me poison, they insist, “You must drink it.”जब मैं पीता हूँ तो कहतें है कि मरता भी नहीं,
जब मैं मरता हूँ तो कहते हैं कि जीना होगा
When I drink it, they sneer, “Look—he doesn’t even die.”
And when I do die, they say again, “You must go on living.”ये इश्क़ इश्क़ है इश्क़ इश्क़, ये इश्क़ इश्क़ है इश्क़ इश्क़
This is love—love. Love—love.
This is love—love. Love—love.
There is no choice but to live with this contradiction.
To live with this and many more contradictions. And try to be what I seek to become in spite of the limitations placed on me by myself.
And to be more like Rama, the one described as “सङ्ग्राम जित”, the victor of battles.