With A Smile

When I entered the festooned gates of JMC on the morning of 23rd February, I found the atmosphere inside ridden with confusion, with some palpable heat and anxiety flowing around. Reason? The Women Studies and Development Center, my alter ego while I was still in college, was waiting to launch one of their most prideworthy initiatives of the year in the august presence of the Mayor of Delhi, Ms. Rajni Abbi. Quite obviously, my juniors, who now hold the reigns of WSDC, were facing essential bouts of pre-event jitters.It is not everyday that the Mayor of Delhi herself agrees to walk in through the gates of your college to give to your endeavours her blessings and encouragement. However, that is precisely what Ms. Abbi consented to do- to be with a bunch of enthusiastic young scribes wanting to make their quill their sword of revolution- and the kind of person she is, we were easily stunned and mesmerized by her.

"Still I Rise"- this is the name of  a recently launched monthly newsletter by WSDC, JMC, which seeks to address bold topics relating to gender issues- the concerns and the celebration. It is a unique and unprecedented initiative, at least as far as the history of JMC is concerned. If the first issue of this journal is anything to go by, I am more than sure that the forthcoming issues will only get better and more interesting, and will carry lots of informative and entertaining content which will definitely appeal to the sensibilities of the young, the concerned and the daring. You can know more about this newsletter by clicking here. This link directs you to the blog of this still nascent product of young imaginations, trying hard to mark its presence among people who take interest in issues relating to women empowerment, gender parity, inter alia. 

A simple half hour rendezvous with Rajni ma'am ensured us that their could not have been a better icon of female strength and achievement whom WSDC could have invited to launch the first issue of Still I Rise. The fact that they invited me, their ex-President alongside her is something that makes me swell with pride. Tantamount to pride also lingers the humbling feeling of gratitude. Rajni ma'am had a personality that makes one instantly like her. She is a teacher by profession, a teacher at heart, and somehow, I always believed that teachers make for excellent leaders. They already know how to shape futures, mold young minds into mature ideals, and be inspirations without having to try too hard. 

Professor Rajni Abbi heads one of the three municipal corporations of Delhi, namely the MCD. The designation of a Mayor has a lot of pomp associated with it. So while we were expecting a VIP to enter our college at 11:30, Prof. Abbi nonchalantly walked into our campus at 11:25, not as a VIP, but like a humble leader who belongs to the masses. Her punctuality and humility were immediately noticeable, but what was even better was her keen understanding of a student's life and an urge to cooperate with us. She was friendly, and gave us helpful sermons which we ought to remember for our own benefit. No moment spent with her lacked the dynamism she effortlessly exuded. It was the first time I met her, and though I have no idea of what her accomplishments are, I still felt like sharing the first impression she left on me. Political ideologies, I have none. But an addiction to recording the best of experiences in life I certainly do. This was one of them.

My best wishes to the WSDC team. Make sure each step you all now take only takes your forward. What you have began should not end with college. Your passions should accompany you everywhere you go. You all make me proud, for all the right reasons.

PS- Sometimes, its just a smile you need. A smile that you carry, a smile that you can lend. I think some of you reading this will understand what I am referring to :)

With Ms. Rajni Abbi and a copy of Still I Rise in my hand

Dear Delegates

Today happens to begin what must be one of the most eagerly looked forward to conferences of the year 2012 in the Delhi college circuit. Delhi Technological University is organizing DeltechMun'12 over the next two days where delegates from pan Delhi colleges will congregate to discuss issues encompassing Human Rights, Global Security Concerns, Financial Stability, Climate Change, inter alia. Though not a regular MUN person, I do have my fair bit of experience now spanning more than 6 years in this genre of debating. As I write this, I do feel excited and happy that in some hours, I will be Chairing a non-MUN committee at Deltech, one which I simulated in my own college (JMC) without any precedents to look up to. The Model G20 Summit. Being an economics student, a committee which simulates the debates between Finance Ministers and Central Bank governors of 20 significant economies of the world on core financial and policy coordination issues, G20 seemed like the ideal platform to extrapolate arguments contained in text books and ET to a conference where we talk like world leaders making important decisions. The responsibility associated with researching and understanding is manifold when we prepare for such conferences, and it is this academic bent which appeals to me- not the flamboyant oratory or chic ensemble on display.

Today, when we assemble for the two day G20 Summit we are looking to simulate, two agendas of immense contemporary and future relevance would be put to debate. These are-
1. Coordinating economic policies and reducing global macroeconomic imbalance
2. Need for a global strategy to reduce carbon emissions and its growth implications.

As the Chair, these are the words which have been conveyed to my committee members, who I am hoping bear these in mind and end the two days of informed debating on a successful note (devoid of filibustering and neck-grabbing tendencies)

Dear Delegates

What we are entering today is an era unlike any seen earlier in terms of doubts, uncertainties and magnitude of issues which plague us as a global community. In matters financial and otherwise, it is truly quoted that the only prediction that will hold true is that no prediction will hold true. The meeting of G-20 nations has thus been convened in February 2012 within the precincts of Delhi Technological University to see if we may locate ways of mitigating uncertainties in matters of global financial stability and sustainability as we pursue growth objectives with a mad zeal.

It is only after the 2008 Washington Summit that G-20 was able to establish its credibility as an effective forum for promoting cohesion for a salubrious financial climate throughout the world and to debate issues which transcend the concerns of any one organization. Stepping into the shoes of Finance Ministers and Central Bank governors, as delegates, we are expecting you to take on two issues that the most erudite experts in the world have failed to arrive at a consensus on. The threats of a worldwide recession unprecedented in scale are looming large over our collective psyche and the skeptics are already out in the open conjecturing if the world will end in fire or ice given the hypocritical attention global warming concerns are receiving. Both these topics shall hopefully be debated with a professional, solution oriented, in depth analysis by the enthusiastic delegates who will constitute my committee.

As for myself, I am a Economics Honors graduate from Delhi University, aspiring to become a proactive, change inducing bureaucrat in near future. With my academic areas of interest encompassing the issues we have put forward for debating, I shall be serving as your Chair along with Sakshi from DTU as the Director. Together, we shall be hoping to provide you with an experience which enriches and entertains.

Being a part of Deltech MUN 2012 is as much a matter of pride for me as if for all of you. Congratulations on being short listed for my committee. Feel free to touch base for any query.

Looking forward to an amazing session.

Regards,
Saumya Kulshreshtha

A Ruhani Sojourn

"Gori sove sej par, mukh par daare khes.
Chal khusro ghar aapne, saanjh bhai chanhu des."

Nestled at the heart of alleys bustling with religious books, flowers and chaadar for worship, food shops to feed the lesser privileged, and beggars hauling you from all sides is one of the most inspiringly spiritual places in all of Delhi- The Dargah of Khwaja Nizam-ud-din Auliya. Whether you visit his dargah with the faith of a devotee, or the curiosity of an explorer- the unmistakable aura in the air flowing through its sacred precincts will touch you in a pleasantly memorable way. Each visit of mine to this dargah has been a mystic experience. Here, I've always experienced tranquility and clarity of thoughts; and an urge to explore the ruhaniyat experienced in Auliya's presence a little more. 

Hazrat Khwaja Syed Nizam-ud-din Auliya was a sufi mystic belonging to the Chishti Silsila (meaning a chain or lineage) of Sufism, the other known name from the same silsila being that of Khwaja Moinuddin Chishti of Ajmer Shareef fame.In Delhi Nizam-ud-din Auliya is arguably the most venerated sufi peer, with the largest list of devotees thronging his dargah each day of the week, at all hours of the day. My luck was shining bright the day I made my first visit to his dargah. While I was lost in the magnificent golden hues which reflect off the dome of the main shrine, some enamouring sufi music greeted my eager ears, and I squatted down for close to two hours on the cold marble floor of its courtyard, soaking in the beauty of the whole atmosphere. Maati ke tum deevare, jo suno hamari baat...

One of the gravest anomalies in my life is that I have not found myself touched by spirituality or divinity in the slightest measure. That was precisely the reason why I explored the whole courtyard of Auliya's dargah with a childlike curiosity and amazement. I was informed of Auliya's almost filial love for his mureed, Amir Khusrau, the last in the line of great peers to have consecrated our land with their presence. Auliya willed that a devotee first pay obeisance at Khusrau's dargah (lying in the same complex) before he proceeded to worship at his own shrine- such was his love for his devoted student. Sufi diaries are filled with fables of  the interactions between Auliya and Khusrau. The dance of dervishes first manifests in one of such fable. Listening to these fables in an erudite company while staring at humble heads bowing down in prayer at Auliya's doorstep is an experience I may not be able to put fairly to words.

I do distinctly remember this very fair, middle aged lady, dressed in a rich black fabric, sitting on the right side of the main shrine from my first visit to the dargah. She had her forehead pressed to the wall lining the inner sanctum on which were engraved some religious words in Arabic script which I obviously could not decipher. Upon close scrutiny I realized that she is mumbling something. On closer scrutiny I realized that she is cring softly, huge beads trickling down her cheeks. I checked myself immediately, for it felt grotesque to be intruding in someone's personal moment of connection with her Lord. But I did settle down myself near her. She was reciting one of the chapters of Quran, the Sura-e-yaseen. Did I say reciting? No, she was singing it in a lovely husky but muffled voice, stopping only to kiss the Arabic calligraphy decorating the wall. I sat for almost as long as she did, listening intently to her, not understanding a word, but experiencing something overwhelming. The last thing I remember from that day is some tears in my own eyes before I left the sacred courtyard.

Ever since, I do feel overwhelmed when I visit this dargah. Devotion, faith, amity, honesty, miseries, smiles, desires, gratitude, divinity-all of these are palpable in the very air of this place. Since spirituality is not my domain, I end up shedding soft tears, sometimes in confusions, at others in relief when there. Each time, it is an overwhelming, yet liberating experience of its own kind. There is so much still for me to understand about things which are not easily perceivable. The only thing I understand as of now is that Auliya preached a message of love, patience, tolerance and secularism while he was making his important contributions to our city's rich history around 13th century AD. Tolerance and patience are virtues I am attempting to imbibe in. Love is what I make sure to carry within myself each moment the way Auliya and other sufi mystics preached it. When it is to that love that one surrenders, the peace and bliss we so yearn for can be the only natural thing to follow.

Do visit the Nizam-ud-din dargah complex if you still have not. There are lot of other historically significant sites in the vicinity, more on which I would perhaps write later.

Sultan-ul-Mashaikh Nizam-ud-din Auliya's mysticism is all that has charmed an amateur Delhi explorer's quill as of now.

Notes.
1. The couplet at the beginning was composed by Amir Khusrau at the time of Auliya's demise. Succinctly, yet hauntingly it captures Khusrau's crestfallen state when his object of devotion had escaped from his mortal body.
2. Sultan-ul-Mashaikh is an epithet for Nizam-ud-din Auliya, often used as a prefix before his name. It toughly translates as the "King of spiritual guides".
3. A rickshaw ride from the Jangpura Metro Station on the purple line is what you would need to have your own personal rendezvous with Delhi's greatest sufi peer, and also his mureed.

Winter Reminiscences- Favorite Delhi Moment

Delhi is a city for the romantics! Whether the Victorian air which greets you as you enter its heart in Connaught Place or the priceless remnants of Mughal and Sultanate architecture which grant it the haunting, old world feel- Delhi will offer you numerous picturesque backgrounds to write your story against. All it needs is the explorer in you, which wants to indulge in its deep set history, and usurp those facets- tangible and intangible- of Delhi life, which grant it its distinct charm. I am, veritably, in love with Delhi! And why not- this is the city which makes me the incorrigible romantic that I am, by giving me such moments which become fond, indelible beauties on the canvass of my memories.

A pity it is, that despite having spent my whole life here, I have primarily explored the city through books and internet. Growing up constraints. But independence brought with it the coveted opportunity of actually going out and understanding and appreciating the city in all its hues. So then, whether it was the monuments, the food, the culture, or the people- I reached out to all that I knew made Delhi special. And this time, the smells, the touches, the emotions, the tastes, the smiles, the textures, the colors- they were all exclusively mine to savour.

Past year was especially brilliant for me, as far as exploring Delhi is concerned. It was a little slow too, because I thought I had discovered my favorites in the city. Janpath, Dargah of Nizam-ud-din Auliya, North Campus alleys, SDA Market Coffee shops, Lotus Temple, Taj CCD, inter alia, top my list of favorite Delhi hang outs. But a decisive winner made its way to the top of this list in October this year. With my best friend in Delhi, and a cooperative weather to make me smile, I thought I might not get a better chance of visiting this one place in Central Delhi I had always wanted to explore. Agrasen Ki Baoli. For those of us who are in love with Mayank Austen Soofi's Delhi diaries, we cannot not know about this place. But visiting it in person is an altogether different experience. And this I discovered on the 19th of October, 2011- what I also like to remember as my favorite Delhi moment from this year.

We reached there early morning. Me and this extremely special friend of mine. Situated a little further up on a small detour off the Hailey road (near Kasturba Gandhi Marg)- one which you are most likely to miss- Agrasen Ki Baoli is not an easy to find monument for first timers. But a cooperative autowallah, content to receive 30 bucks for a 25 rupees worth of journey from Rajiv Chowk, helped us locate it in no time. An unmistakable mustiness greeted us as we stared down the 104 steps of this Baoli. As we later learned from each other, my friend and I resolved almost in our first glimpse down the steps to be back here, back whenever we felt like escaping the pace of life, back whenever we thought serenity would not come so cheap to us at any other place.

Baoli-literally a stepwell. Stepwells were constructed by ancient and medieval rulers as respite zones from scorching heat of Indian summers. There are some more in Delhi, but this one is known to be the most charming. As you will figure out when you visit, the plaque outside its entrance declares it as 'Ugrasen Ki Baoli', but common nomenclature replaces the 'U' with an 'A' to alter the eponymous ruler's identity who is credited to have built this stepwell. At its sides are built some mysteriously inviting niches and chambers, and a staired passageway which leads you to the very top of the reservoir which has now dried up completely. Its popularity and maintenance are both poor. Not many people frequent the place, and in the close to three hours we spent there, it was mostly college students who came, descended to the base of the stairs, and then left as quickly as they came.

We sat around for a long time. It was just very peaceful. Seemed like the perfect place to think, to slow down, and to have a heart-to-heart conversation. When you climb down to a sufficiently low level, you can see just the CP skyline merging with the ancient stones of the Baoli. Nothing else of the concrete world is visible. You feel like you are in two different eras at the same time. Your ambitions want to see you ascend to the top of those tall buildings, your emotions want to restrain you to the tranquility this musty, stagnant well has to offer. Ennui can sometimes be pleasing. And satisfying.

My reverie was broken by the thoughtful look on the face of my friend. Something told me that what I am about to share with this really special friend of mine now is going to be entrenched in my memory forever. I was not wrong. He is a friend I like to call my own; but complications and complacency had both crept in to portend a ruin for perhaps the most special relationship I have nurtured over the past few years. May be it was the feel of being in a time warp, may be it was the calming lull of the surroundings- something enabled me to confess my fears and sadness to him from behind a blur of tears. Some intimate thoughts were then shared. Some dreams, some responsibilities reminded. We went home with a better understanding of each other. We went home a little happier.

A friend, some tears, some words. Delhi's old world beauty in the background. Does one need more to live that cherished, loved, special moment?

At The Edge Of Sunshine

I mugged up this line when I was 11. Partly because my favorite teacher reiterated it time and time again, and partly because I found it fancy and inviting at my age. "Life is like a bus. People come and people go, but the bus does not stop. It keeps going on and on and on." Seems like a simple thought at present. Simple enough to not even have any significance.

Why am I thinking about it then? Perhaps because something happened recently, a chance meeting, which influenced me so much, that it is not leaving my mindscape. Even after 4 days. Each day we go out, we meet people. Few we do not as much as notice. Few we click with, or feel happy in the company of. Few we look forward to meeting again. Few, we know, stand apart from the crowd. They constitute a category of people who are mighty charming, who impress with the first word they utter, the way they move, the sort of respect they command from others, but who are also beyond your reach, despite being extremely humble in their disposition.

It is precisely this last category of people I look forward to stumbling upon during my social interactions. My good fortune, I usually do. The charm, and aura which they create is something I feel drawn towards. A new person, a good person, an interesting person always leaves your heart a little more elated than before meeting him. And December gives me the best of such meetings to cherish. However, my last such meeting was a little different. I was happy, but with tears in my eyes. Not the cliched khushi ke aansu. They were what they were supposed to be, tears because something pinched hard, very hard.

You don't give yourself a lot of chances, do you?
I had had breakfast at the All American Diner in the morning with my sunshine friend, and so, I was ebullient. Happy, and smiling to myself. I was happy also for a completely unplanned rendezvous with this person (the subject of this post), still an alien to my world, to whom I had been introduced via lengthy eulogical testimonials from some common friends. Two cups of Barista Cappuccino to start the conversation, what more could I ask for?  Then came this one question, rhetorical-I reckon, which completely caught me unaware. Who was this person asking me this question anyway? It was just a polite coffee I had looked forward to sharing with him, with loads of thought-provoking exchange of ideas embellishing our meeting, just like it happened the last time. This one line, not only provoked my thoughts, but kind of intruded in my personal space. Am I that easy to read? Was he even right?


Something told me he was. Why would that ebullience otherwise plummet so low that I would start averting my eyes from him, and in stead, focus all my attention on two Barista paper napkins hitherto inconspicuously lying on the table? Why otherwise did I catch myself tearing a sugar sachet when for years consistently I have liked my coffee bitter? My mind was bugged by this person's piercing gaze, which I knew was resting on me, waiting patiently for me to assimilate myself and come up with an answer. I could come up with none. In stead, I came up with a question.


What does not giving yourself enough chances mean?
With eyes gleaming of confidence in his own thought, and a mute kindness in his tone, he explained to me the meaning I sought. And that sounded completely like something delineating me- the part of me I try and keep concealed. It sounded painfully like me. By now, that points comes in your meetings with new people, where you realize if the two of you share a kindred connection, or if the initial charm you felt for someone a consequence of a misplaced adrenaline surge, which now has dissipated for the best. As for me in that weird situation, neither of the two happened. I was sitting with someone clearly smarter than myself, but not to intimidating limits. He had lofty ideals in his head, but his head firmly atop his shoulders. His thoughts were a treasure to observe, but suffocating when I tried stepping into the world they created. This was a person I knew I wanted to hear and learn from, but he was definitely a person whom I would not like to have another prompt tryst with.

Of the many arcane things he uttered, one was that he liked making people uncomfortable. Now that was not the most chivalrous of things to say, and hence my response was an obvious grimace. But of all the things I will remember his for, just in case I do never meet him again, this will stay with me. When discomfort settles in, ousting a crippling complacency,  you feel a need to come out, feel alive, make mistakes, learn from them, make mistakes again, and keep learning from a stimulated, active existence. These might not have been his thoughts, but they are my sentiments for sure.

For two days, I was brooding. I had been shaken out of my comfort zone, and pretty badly at that. I am not saying it was a life changing meeting. In fact, it wasn't. But it was one worth remembering, for my own good. His distinct sentences have now condensed in my mind as an elegy to the lost promises of youth, to the unabated acceptance of things as they have come my way. When I think of it now, the gaze- his gaze, coupled with that curl of lips which unnerved me no end as I sat in front of him, seems sort of beautiful in retrospect. I am definitely not meeting up this person again, for being unnerved in an alien company is not an experience I would rush myself towards. For that, I might hate him, but for the warmth which spreads through me as I write, I will definitely admire him.

Most of the worthy, beautiful things in life lie but a step away from us. May be they lie even farther away, but its that first step which we often deliberate too much over taking. By then, the proverbial butterfly has flown away, to a new abode. And we, we lurk right there, right at the edge, still hesitating to take that one step. Insecurities, fears, irrationalities- they exist in each heart, but whether we submit, or make them submit is what differentiates the ordinary from the outstanding. It is not a very well developed thought, but I want to leave it at that. I have found myself lurking at the edge of sunshine many a times in life. Now, with this little, abstract realization, I think I want to step into that sunshine, and open my arms, and feel the rays make my heart their home. Can't help getting poetic, foolishly may be, but it conveys the thought, right?

To end, I again found a painting by my favorite, Leonid Afremov. This one is called

Sun of January

 

Flakes of Love

With a light jacket hung loosely onto my shoulders, I stepped out of my house, like I do daily at ten thirty at night. It is my time for an after-dinner stroll. A step up the stairway, and I found myself smiling, as if something good was going to come my way today. I had not even reached the terrace door when a pleasantly chilly gust of air greeted my face. My loose hair were blown back, and I felt my smile intensifying. The winters I was missing so bad had finally knocked at my door.

Winter, indisputably, is the most romantic of all seasons. Delhi winters especially so. Early morning fog with its musty smell, afternoon rays cascading down to mark their feeble presence, or the extremely chilly nights yearning for the warmth of a lover- winter with all its solemn hues entices hopeless romantics like me. Numerous scenes are automatically added to the fabric of a love story I'm trying to weave. Yes, I am trying to put together a love story. At times for real. At times in just the landscape of my imagination.

Ambling on the terrace was more pleasant than usual today. I was walking through the chill. My hands stretched the jacket to tightly wrap it around my body, but my nose was more than glad to be exposed and breathing in the smell of winters. My mind felt calm, and felt rich. Rich with memories of love. Memories for real, and memories conjured.

In bits, I felt lonely. I have always pictured myself in the warm, cozy embrace of someone special as I open my eyes to a lazy, reluctant morning. In the very next breath, I see myself adamantly returning to slumber, sinking deeper into the same embrace. Sharing coffees by the window, and sharing clasps on a long, aimless walk down the road- these common visions seem to acquire new definition when a fog-rich background is added to them. Lazy smiles. Ceaseless hugs. And beautiful nights. Sigh. I did feel lonely. Acutely.

However, I was not open to any gloom today. Winters, eluding the Delhi air for so long, were finally making their presence felt. Under that fast enveloping feeling of loneliness borne out of an acute urge to share my winter mirth with someone, I desperately sought some pleasant distraction for myself. Finding none, I thought it best to plan for an ideal, still 'single' winter. What would be the best options for living a memorable winter, for a romantic who finds herself still single in the city?

Books-romantic fiction strictly.
Coffee by the balcony-a single mug, of course.
Stroll in Central Park- early morning, to miss the sight of all those lucky couples.
Piping hot tomato soup- at D'pauls, warmth and pocket comfort simultaneously.
Journal entries- amid outdoor beauty, Lodhi Gardens or Agrasen ki Baoli.
Clothes- greys or whites, dark or subtle, intense or calm.
Quilt comforts- with a remote and nice love story on tv.

And if all this love is not potent enough to suffocate me, may be I would spend some time reflecting on yet another closing year. The bests of it, the worsts of it. The achievements, the lessons. The friends, the best friends. December is like a mischievous damsel- it gives me the most beautiful painting of nature to gaze at, it gives me the most salubrious weather to feel rejuvenated in, but it also lends me a powerful craving to have someone near by, and even before I know it, it fills me with the gloom of having to watch another year go by.

I have not even finished writing this post, and I'm already receding into imagining yet another scene which will hopefully fit into the love story I'm writing, for real or not. You, my dear readers, I would be indebted to, if you could suggest something new for me to do these winters, given that I am not occupied anywhere else. If for you winters are not just another passing month, if you romanticize them as much as I do, what would you do to make them absolutely special ?

Mysticism...felt by heart

Chhaap tilak sab chheeni re,
toh se naina milaike.....

These lines sound familiar, don't they. Today I had the privilege of a rendezvous with the mystic who wrote these lines- Amir Khusrau. A mureed (student) of Hazrat Nizam-ud-din Auliya, Khusrau was by far one of the greatest sufi mystics India has seen, who, detaching people from clutches of religion, led them to a path of spiritual enlightenment, by preaching the universal religion of love.

Offering prayers at his dargah, with the sound of his 'aaj rang de, more mehboobi ke rang rang de' playing in the backdrop, was nothing short of a mystifying experience. Transgressing my immediate surroundings, i was elevated to a level, where I could just lose myself to the sufism pervading the atmosphere. My mind was intoxicated, yet so clear, for it was cleansed of all clutter. It was in that clarity, that I could visualize my own soul, devoid of all negativity, subscribing to love, and existing as a pure, humble, and loving entity.

Since a very early age, I've been attracted to Sufi music. It took me a lot of time to hear enough of it, so that I gain my own understanding of this form of worship.

I have become you, and you me,
I am the body, you soul;
So that no one can say hereafter,
That you are are someone, and me someone else.

Witnessing your beloved in Lord, and losing yourself so much to Him that you become a part of Him, is the form of sufism I follow. Come to think of it, Meera was a sufi- she was wedded to her Lord, Krishna. Sufis live in a spirit of defiance, and self sacrifice. Sufism is perhaps the only religion, that does not coerce, in stead, respects all creations. The seeker's attitude towards God and the elimination (fana) of the self for merger (wisal) in God is the aim and object of this love. Love overrides all the other aims why God should be obeyed.

This feeling is divine, when you are in so much peace with yourself, that you close your eyes, and besides the many things happening in your life, the only thing that falls on the black canvas behind your eyelids is the face of your beloved. When you sit down in meditation, what you can feel most promiscously around you is the presence of your beloved. The flowing breeze carries a whiff of the scent of your beloved. His eyes are all that you need to witness your own soul in. Not caring for a thing in this world, having no materialistic desires, He is all you crave for, He is all you desire. Without you even realizing it, your mind, in perfect harmony with your heart, humbly bows down in obeisance to Him. When you are not you, but a small part of Him, who you hail, and praise and worship.

Too naive to probably understand the true depths, this is what i comprehend of something which is so divine. However, I do admit, even with this much understanding, I find myself totally blissful, when I lose myself to a Sufi prayer, or a Quwwali, and to my Lord.

The only difference I find with myself is that, whether I witness in Him my beloved, or in my beloved him...is entirely my heart's prerogative.

Khusrau nizam ke bal bal jaoon,
mohe suhagan kinhi,
toh se naina milaike.....