I have pages of Target and Teens Today filed in a school folder back home in Patna. And a lot of precious pictures from another era. There are old clothes in the attic, and letters dad and I wrote to each other during his long voyages. And birthday cards when friendships seemed like the only thing worth living for. There are collages, posters, and graffitis.

Sometimes I want to bring all of it to where I live. But I don't think I will. Because all of it is not just "stuff". Back home is where it belongs. They are the memories I go back to when I go home. Next month I will travel, and this will be different from the many other out of town trips R and I make. I have been to Ranchi twice since I got married. There is a lot of R's stories that I have "seen". The houses he called homes, the school, the roads, and that famous dam. I have seen his Career Launcher, and I have eaten samosas at Church Complex. If there is one thing I resent, it is that he has roots to go back to. Unlike me. With Bombay being my parents' home for most part of the last decade, I seem to have lost the only important connection I had with Patna. And how I wish it wasn't so. No, I don't want my parents still living there, not till they decide it is time to return. I want the best of both worlds, and well, that is wishing for the impossible. At least for the next decade or so.

So all I have is stolen moments. This trip was planned months in advance to make sure "we" are all in Patna at the same time. R has not been there since the wedding, and it kills me to know that there is a huge part of my history he doesn't know much about. Oh who am I kidding. He knows, he has heard all there was to hear. But he still hasn't "seen" that extended window sill in my bed room, where I used to plan my future. He hasn't seen that study table where I did not study. He hasn't seen that living room I used to make my home the minute ma would step out of the house, because many years ago, small families had one TV in the living room, and a family desktop, and neighbours. He has not "seen" my school, the lawns, the tennis tables where we did not play tennis. He hasn't gone with me to the bank of the river on a chilly November morning, to celebrate Chhatth. He hasn't eaten the Chinese in Banjara, or mausi ke ghar ki kheer.

I am very, very excited about this trip next month. Because for all the history we share in our conversations, there is still so much to know, so much to see. He and his Ranchi, me and my Patna :)

This might just be the best of both worlds.

I have come far, far away

Many years ago, on rakhi, my sister and I used to wake up early on a holiday, dress in our best salwaars and wait for our brothers. Or wait to visit them. We used to do the whole traditional thing of rakhi, mithai, teeka, paisa.. We used to eat awesome food, there was so much love and laughter and happiness. Blood was thicker than water. Now my brothers, and I will not call them cousins, are all over the place. And none in my city. Some of them, I talk to on rakhi. Some I haven't spoken to in a while. Rakhis are booked online, they are all only a phone call, a family wedding, a chance meeting, a reunion, or a facebook like away. I miss them. I miss the festivity that gave us something to look forward to in our laid back, boring home towns. Money did not come on salary day, but it did come on Rakhi. I did not "own" a car, it was my parents'. I did not wear branded clothes, we didn't have too many of those back home when I was growing up. But there was just so much warmth. I had no freedom, but I had a lot of love. The kind of love that comes from years of familiarity and belonging and shared history and inside jokes. Blood is thicker than water.

I am not sure if I would want to trade places now, if I would ever want to go back to those times if I had the choice. Now there is a lot of freedom and a different kind of warmth that comes from knowing that our pasts are behind us and we have a present and future that is our own. There is more individuality than I could dream of then. Funny, that rakhi is alway so close to independence day. It is as if the dates remind us of what is at stake when nostalgia strikes.

But nostalgia does have a charm of its own. Those times look just so much nicer, more beautiful than they would have if things had not changed so much and I had not come so far away from it all.

I miss those growing up years. I miss the times when neighbours used to come home for chai. But I don't want to give up what I have now. The trade offs. They make lives the legends they are. The things you give up to get what you really want, not live with only what you inherited.

Life, it is an interesting little thing.

Growing up

4 years back, fresh from the wildness that was my college years, I moved to Bombay. And started living with parents again. And boy, what a (joy)ride it was! I was going through some blog posts from those times (nicely saved in notepad files because the blog does not exist anymore) and I wonder just how much was going on in my head then! There still is, but nostalgia has a charm of its own. Especially on a cozy Friday night at home. I am glad I have not really diverted much from all the things I learned and unlearned in those years. In all my life, those 2 and a half years in Bombay is all that has really mattered in making me the person I am (and I wanted to be). In every possible way - work, relationships, and "the way I roll (now)". I am starting a new tag today, 2007-2009. There is so much gyaan in those blog posts that I really think they should make their way back to the internet for the greater good of womanhood :P I will not edit anything, no matter how much it makes me cringe. Here goes the first rerun.

Mental peace is all about being able to maintain a balance between the extremes that we are so used to in life. A balance between work and pleasure, between being a complete workaholic and being able to take it easy... A fine balance between family responsibilities and much as I hate to call it that, "social life". This balance doesn't necessarily come into the picture when you talk about the bigger things in life. Of late I have noticed that it's the smaller, seemingly unessential, inconsequential things that really make a difference. Like finding the right balance between wild, crazy weekends and ones spent at home doing nothing in particular, giving your body the rest it unconsciously seeks after 5 stressed days at work. The balance between downright madness and laughter and uninhibited fun and those moments of quiet solitude, doing all the planning and thinking one needs to do, something that we cannot do without, no matter how much we tell ourselves that we can.

As we grow older, our periphery of acquaintances expands every minute and the core of those true, real, 3 am friends, decreases. The superficiality of relationships increases. But then again, more often than not, it's these superficial acquaintances that eventually help you network, something that is fast becoming indispensable in our world, especially as far as career moves are concerned. So again, the balance between networking with acquaintances and spending quality, "no hang ups" time with close, "real" friends...

Emotional attachments, yet another thing that screams attention when it comes to balancing. One of the most difficult things according to me is being able to find the right balance between being emotionally independent and letting your guards down and opening yourself up to hurt and despair. After all, you win some, you lose some. Acceptance doesn't come easy, especially in our world when we condition ourselves to these guards. But to find happiness, a lot of times these guards have to come down. Easier said than done, but that's the way it is.

And then comes the balance between holding on and letting go... Something I don't want to detail on, for reasons known best to me.

Somewhere between planning and dreaming about my future and getting nostalgic about my past, I was beginning to forget that I have a present that's completely mine. Probably the only thing in my life that I have complete control on. And I knew I had to balance it out... Again! It might sound funny coming from someone who had always been at extremes with everything and someone who never believed in shades of grey and always saw life only in black and white until a year ago, but I seem to have found my balance. Not the perfect one, but a balance nevertheless. The balance between being wise. And otherwise.

Taking a risk

Taking a cue from @surekhapillai, I have decided to list down my various feats through school and college-

8/100 for two consecutive terms - Engineering Graphics. Any more details on this subject and you and I would be both be embarrassed.

1/10 many times over in History - still not sure what got me that lone mark.

3.5/10 many times over in Geography - 4 would have respectable for me in a social science subject. But the teacher hated me and I magically missed the pass mark term after term.

No marks in map work. Ever. I once even marked New Delhi in Madhya Pradesh. My logic was that the capital has to be in the center of the map.. Err.. Country.

And I once got 4/5 in a question about Telex. I had written two pages on telephone exchange.

I passed Principle of Communications Engineering with only huge diagrams and two unrelated sentences. In all 6 compulsory questions.

And a hat trick in 3 engineering math papers - 40 each in 1, 2, and 3.

By the way, my geography happens to be better than most people I know. I wonder what school/ college taught me. How to have fun? You bet!

Disclaimer: If anyone googles for me before a job interview and decides to reject me on the basis of this post, think again. I didn't turn out so bad eventually.

An ode to Sattu. And several other things.

Every winter in the last whole decade, I have tried to get a little bit of Patna on my plate. A mooli paratha here, a gajar-mutter there. But what I really, and still miss, is everything sattu. And gud. My Bihari cook, a young boy of 22, who left Darbhanga a few years back, is now too Bangalored and commercial, to have the kind of patience that makes litti what it is worth.

I may have the adrak ki chai, but what I really miss is my customary two weekly sattu parathas with baigan ka bharta.

And litti. The real one. Made on real fire. Not steamed and fried and definitely not sattu momos. I miss that real litti that my fufaji would make on a coal lit iron vessel. On chilly winter evenings. Served with gallons of ghee (that once Ma and I avoided like plague) and. Yes. you guessed it. Baigan ka bharta.

And I miss that kilo of laktho that made for the best afternoon dessert ever. All of December and January.

And I miss ma's one stop solution to sniffling and coughing all winters. Gud adrak. And anarsa. And Ramdana ka ladoo.

One December I will go to Patna, I will sit in the heated living room of my Patliputra apartment. I will have chai with my neighbours. And I will eat all this and throw in some noodles from Banjara for variety. And I will ring in Christmas in the Notre Dame chapel, and eat all the brilliant pastries and cookies and donuts that the Sisters make. And I will ring in the new year in Golf Club. Dancing to unbelievable music. Or sitting around a bonfire. I wonder how I never thought any of this was fun while I was living it. Distance does make the heart grow fonder.

I miss Patna. The most in December.

Image courtesy: Various Google image searches. None of the pictures are mine.

Shonar Bangla

Believe it or not, Calcutta is my one of my favourite places in the world. I was reading about a blogger's life in Calcutta, and I remembered another era. Not even remotely like her's. But what an era it was!

The 12 hour train ride in a ladies' coupe in Danapur Howrah Express.

A station with more cars and less porters. And murals?

Howrah Bridge.

The freedom to wear brighter, nicer, lighter sweaters away from the biting cold in Patna. The freedom to not look like a fat version of Vickey from Small Wonder.

The Flury's of the 80's and 90's. The high tea, eclairs, beans on toast, and stolen sugar cubes in paper napkins. And Christmas evenings in the middle of decorations fit for the queen!

Christmas mornings spent shopping in New Market, buying Christmas goodies - colourful pencils, trees and decorations, toy bugles, flowers and cakes. And stockings and caps.

That one Christmas mass I attended.

Momo shops in refugee living rooms.

Long walks along Park Street, picking up Enyd Blytons from footpaths full of books.

The best Chinese food I have ever had, at Bar-b-Q. Being pushed forward to speak to the Captain at the restaurant, so everyone could be sure I wouldn't grow up to be an "introvert" :-) Boy did they succeed!

Passing by Loreto's on weekday afternoons, and being a tad jealous because their skirts were shorter than what Notre Dame, Patna would ever allow.

Nizam's. Astor's garden restaurant.

Earl Street. Didis from my aunt's neighbourhood.

That park in Earl Street. Long walks for the many dogs my aunt kept (and once even cats that walked all over you at night - not my best memory!) and early teenage ogling for me.

Spending winter afternoons in the lawns of Dabur House. Sipping cola, being driven around, feeling important, and pretending to myself that I was in my office.

China Town. Mum's birthday at the Taj. Bengal. My sister and I, in our identical frocks and 'boy cut' hair styles, at our absolute best behaviour. Meeting and getting pecked on the cheek, and autographed by Md Ali. My dad remarkably more excited about him though, I had no idea who he was!

And Puja. And pandals. And pandal hopping. And the bengali thalis at The Park. Being overfed. The bengali sound of celebration to drive the bad vibes away. I don't know what that sound is called.

Deshbandhu. Sharma's.

Hobby Corner. Choco chip ice creams.

Calcutta Club.

AC Market, the closest I got to a mall then. All the shopping in the 3 short weeks we spent there. Summer, winter, or Puja.

The smell of Bengali food that the cook made, moong daal, maaccher ghonto, maachher ghonto in moong daal.

The distinct sound of hyperactive, early morning 'clean behind the door/ dust the shelves today' conversation in fluent Bengali.

Driving past Moulin Rouge/ Waldorf, and mum reminiscing about her very few and far between experiences inside a pub.

Victoria Memorial and faces hidden behind black umbrellas.

And sometimes, a drive to Haldia or a drive to the harbour to join dad on the ship.

While trips to Bombay and other voyages happened randomly and often impromptu, it was the immaculate planning and rhythm of Calcutta trips that clearly make them my first and most firm tryst with The Big City Life in my growing up years. The one place that showed me all the opportunities that lay ahead. That had me give everything I had, to the one chance I had of getting out of Patna - graduation :-)

So many memories. With Puja in the air and all, I am getting hopelessly nostalgic about my Calcutta sojourns. The next time I travel to those parts, there is no way I am not going to aamar shonar Bangla.

What a time it was..

Time it was, and what a time it was, it was 
A time of innocence, a time of confidences

I had brought back a really old CD case from Bombay when I went there last. I finally went through its contents yesterday and what I found in a CD dated 8th Jan, '05 - folders called "arbit crap" and "more arbit crap", ebooks of Ayn Rand and DBC Pierre, all versions of Knockin' on Heaven's Door ever released, Pacman, Metallica.. 10 years of C&H. And 4 of Dilbert. And Winrar :-) And smudged handwriting on the CD that claimed that the best things in life come free. I couldn't agree more.

And the memories it brought back... Of a time less complicated. Of the bonds made and broken. Of free pizzas. Of the drives to Sinhgad and FC Road for kulfi and bhajiya. Of KP and Osho and awe. Of German Bakery. Of shopping during sale, dividing the cost of 2 pe ek free kurtas and T shirts. Of drunken nights out and farji signatures and flipping out on Floyd and men who sang Floyd.

Of the hostel room.. The hostel corridors, and the many fights and heartbreaks and arguments and night long conversations it saw. Of champi nights. And crazy nights. And nights turning to mornings turning to afternoons of no sleep. Of print outs and submissions. And treks. And friendship days. And birthday celebration. And the mean warden. Jai Bihar vs rest of the country. OMS vs Maharashtra. Par charcha.

Of fetishes and failures and placements and just making it to 1st class. Chai and Parle G. Spellings. "Cuisines". Learning to rock. Six seaters. Bandit queens. Rickety bikes and open jeeps and broken Santros. And hitchhiking. And road trips. And NDA Road. NC ki coffee. Masala Maggi. Wasting prep leave, mugging endless 8056 programs. Stupid profs. Making it to every notice put up up on the board - short attendance, flunking internals, acing theory papers, college magazine lists, hostel indiscipline, not paying the mess anna for over 2 months.

What nostalgia! Reading my posts from 2004-2005 is not helping much. Oh and I used to write "anassuming" then. And many posts on loneliness. And confusion. And teenage angst. And not knowing one thing I really wanted to do in life. Or didn't. And engineering graphics. The just one chapters. Love lines, triangles, squares, circles. The chaos.

I choose to remember the positives :-)

Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph 
Preserve your memories; they're all that's left of you

So I leave you with a photograph. Hostel room. 2004.

On rare occasions, I miss my bunch of monkeys. Those that I am in touch with, and those that I'm not.

In the end, even the lives of the most awesome bunch of Friends we have ever known was about growing up and growing apart. Sometimes I wish life really had frozen during one of those 8 pm Nescafe sessions. Bah! It's only PMS doing its bit :P

90's Nostalgia

This morning the first thing I did when I reached work was call someone. And the caller tune I heard was this...


And it made me nostalgic. My favourite memory of this song is not the video reruns on MTV and Channel V. My favourite memory is a game my little sis and I used to play every time we were left alone in the car or in the house and every time there was a power cut. Each one of us used to sing one syllable at a time Tere. Bin. Jeena. Nahiiiiiiiiiiin. O. Meri. Jaane. Wafaa. Zindagi. Bhar. Saath. Rehkar. Mujhe. Hona. Nahiin. Hai. Judaa. And we used to fight over who gets all the better words. We were lousy bachchas, true! (Must remind myself to play this with R when I get home today. Sometimes he believes in indoor sports too :P)

On that note, my baby sister is coming to town soon. I can't wait! :-)

Notre Dame... And Everything It Means to Every One of Us

... The colourful clothes and sand dunes in Montessori... And Mrs Mower's lessons on etiquette.
... The transition to the reds and whites that became eternal to our being for the next 12 years.
... The assemblies... The speeches... The ABBAs we sung at 7 in the morning.
... The colourful rides (?) in the playground.
... The P.T. lessons.
... The basketball court.
... The gossip sessions on the tenis court.
... Taking off shoes outside the Computer labs.
... Mrs Rekha Srivastav, who to this day remains my style icon!
... Mrs Rajni Verma who, my mom told me many years later, took off her shawl in the biting cold, because her class 4 students were performing a skit without their sweaters on on a cold January morning.
... May Day celebrations.
... Discovering rock music with a band whose name I forget, back in class 6!
... The Work Experience classes, and what we really did during those 80 minutes.
... The sports days, the drills, the school band, the music, the colours.
... Walking in impeccable straight lines, irrespective of where we were headed - bus lines, assembly lines, post lunch break lines.
... Sr. Joan's music lessons, and our motley bunch wanting to sing at the start of English classes, just so that we could stall "getting educated" for just 5 more minutes.
... The white sports uniform.
... The one act plays, the tableaus, the elocution contests, the debates, the salad dressing contests, the essay writing contests.
... Echo. Says it all, doesn't it?
... The red and white salwaar kurtas in plus 2 that made us feel like we had conquered the world just by growing up enough to wear what we thought only grown ups did.
... The Children's, Teachers', and even Principal's Day celebrations and all the music and dance that came with it.
... Board exams and how overrated they were!
... The Julie School - our first lesson in compassion.
... The canteen samosas, phuchka waala, and the piping hot dosas on dry leaves.
... The labs and how much we looked forward to them strictly because it meant no lectures.
... The oaths of a lifetime of no alcohol, that I don't think any of us really took :D
... The earnest atteempts of those teachers to turn us wild things into what they called "ladies". But then it only meant "no stamping your feet on the staircase" :)
... The Chapel, the Christmas celebrations, the Santa Claus, and a month of Christmas Carols.
... The socials that didn't happen for our batch.
... The "social standing" we had among "men" in the nearby schools, and all the waiting and pining outside the school campus ;)
... The school trips - to Calcutta and Bombay and Goa and Sikkim and the Sanjay Gandhi Jaivik Udyaan.
... The Mamma's meets and the PTA meets that every one of us abhorred with the same intenity - toppers and back benchers irrespective.
... The dismissals :)
... The bomb blast, the suspension, and the discussions, laughters, kudos it triggered.
... The farewells and the entire year's planning that went into them.
... And the friends, the acquaintances, the batchmates, the teachers, the principals - a bunch of spirited women - the type one doesn't see everyday.

I may never have said this before, but of all the women I have met in life so far, the most spirited are those that belong to Notre Dame. They don't make such women anymore. I owe almost everything I am to my school, my alma mater. And whatever I have missed will come back to me in a few years I am sure. In the small town that I grew up, Notre Dame was a different world altogether! I can only thank my stars that my parents decided to send me there, in spite of the "social standing" and the "pining and craving". LOL! Almost a decade later, I can now appreciate how Notre Dame recognised and appreciated the individual in each one of us.

It's Notre Dame Day today. And I want to celebrate it. But I don't know how! If I start singing my school anthem, my neighbours will think I am crazy and I can't even guarantee that they don't already. But I will sing nevertheless.

Here's to Notre Dame. Here's to Damians. Thank you for making us the women we are!

P.S. - There's a Sisters of Notre Dame institution here in Bangalore. And a few years down the line, I want a daughter only so that I can revisit the best days of my life :)

Ringing in the new year… Finally!

I was on vacation the last 2 weeks. I had been travelling. Amidst many smiles, much conversation, breaking some rules and following many, these holidays made me look back and think long and hard about where I am. The fact that these trips also marked the end of my most favourite year in life made me a tad bit jittery!

All of 2009, I felt blessed. Everywhere I looked… The smiles, the tears, the farewells, the homecomings… The holidays I went on… The laughters, the jokes, the fights… The people I met… Even the ones I lost… And the ones I rediscovered… The new family, the old one… The dreams that were fulfilled… The new job (oh yes, that too!)… The newfound attachments, commitments, and ironical as it may sound, the feeling of liberation that came FROM them and not in spite… The effortless good days… The endless conversations (and monologues, very often ;)) I have been blessed! 2009 was almost like my final deliverance from everything that had gone wrong in life until now – personally and professionally. People who have known me long or well enough know what I mean. 2009 was a year when I realized that it’s true that one can have fun just doing the everyday things, that fun and happiness truly is a state of mind… 2009 was a year when all my confident “I deserve better” lines came to life… From all the years gone by!

I feel sentimental… This was a year, a time that I really didn’t want to let go of! But then again, 2010 comes with its own set of things I am looking forward to. My 3 wishes for 2010 - a little more patience, mostly with myself. A little more general goodness, mostly with people who don’t see it often – the ones I truly love and the ones I don’t love at all (yes, I will not use the word “hate” anymore :P) And just a little more fun – no matter how much you have it, you never really have enough of it!

Let the game begin... :)

On a lazy winter(?) afternoon...

A winters day
In a deep and dark December...
-- I am a rock, S&G

I miss that feeling. I miss the early morning, mid morning, early afternoon, mid afternoon, early evening, late night adrak ki chai, I miss the feeling of warmth that just holding a cup of chai brought. I miss my razai, I miss the tonnes of warm clothes... I miss the red sweater and stockings days back in school... I miss watching my mom knit for everyone she knew! I miss the childish pleasure of watching my breath float like fog... I miss the new year eve bonfires... I miss the sight of watchmen huddling around small bonfires every evening. I miss the Christmas celebration in school and on our terrace and the bright (and yummy) Christmas eves at Sonya's place. I miss the scarves and mufflers... I miss sattu ka paratha and gud adrak. I miss lazing in the sun for hours on end. I miss the afternoons I spent in the lawns of my aunt's professors' quarter, that was in reality a haveli with the most awesome old worldly charm ever! I miss the bright and colourful gaajar matar... I miss the pleasure that only mom-made gaajar ka halwa can bring. I miss my wintry birthday parties. I miss the board exam prep leave and the gallons of chai that came with it. And most of all, I miss Ma's warm slippers and ready hugs.

It's been years since I have been at home in a wintry city, Mahabaleshwar and Lonavla, Ladakh and Manali not withstanding. Pune wasn't my definition of cold, Bombay is always hot and humid, and the Bangalore temperature hasn't varied much in the last 6 months. I can't wait for 18th, I can't wait to go to Ranchi (and I still wish I was going to Patna too, I wish I still had roots back home) I can't wait to be home this December... I am hopeful :)

Disclaimer 1: I know I think/ write/ reminisce most about food, even when I write about cities, people, and seasons. I KNOW that ;)

Disclaimer 2: Neha Thakur, don't kill me for plagiarism, I couldn't leave out the watchmen and chai bits just because you decided to ghost write for me last weekend :P

Nostalgia

Time it was, and what a time it was, it was.
A time of innocence, a time of confidences.
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph.
Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you...

I have lived in 3 cities. This is my fourth one. And yet when I think home, I think of the place I grew up back in Patna. The pretty place that my parents nurtured with so much love. My room - with all its childhood pleasures like stuffed and battery run toys, pink barbie dolls, little cups and medals and cute things we would pick up on our journeys.And huge posters of hearthrob cricketers :) The extended window sill where I would spend many late nights reading. And thinking! Yes, my 14 year old self used to do a whole lot more thinking than I can remember :) Waking up to Ma or Kishore Kumar when dad would be home from his voyages. The vacations that would be so full of guests coming home for dinner every evening. The neighbours who were always welcome, unlike our times. The laughter, the jokes, the fun... The "punishments" even! The long wooden trunk full of Enid Blytons and classics and Mills and Boons covered with brown paper hidden under them :)). Maths tuitions that meant friends coming over for chai pakoda and bakar with the super duper Chandrashekhar Sir. The music system (that used to play audio tapes!!) on a shoe box just outside my room - the one where I first discovered Aerosmith and Dylan and and the Beegees (And Backstreet Boys and Boyzone and Spice Girls :P). And my most prized possession - a huge computer set up, modem, HP printer et al that had cost my parents bomb back then. Our computers are now smaller, the world has shrunk a great deal since then. I wonder when our hearts got so small! Ok... I digress.

But yes, THAT was home. What brought this on today? My most vivid memory of home is my sister and I launching into an impromptu Bollywood music session as soon as there would be a power cut. It was never inconvenient. If anything, the power cut was much awaited. It meant a break from shaam ki padhai. Something that we could so do without! Ab jab bijli jaati hai toh log gaane nahii gaate.

But today is different. Today is one of those days when I know again that we could do with a lot less convenience in life. There's a power cut. There are candles all around. There's Simon and Garfunkel playing on the laptop. Homeward Bound (but obviously). It's a beautiful evening :)

Dhoop Kinaare...

Hansi khanakti hui, aur bujhi bujhi khushiya
Hai dosti ki mehek se, hai rachi hui ghadiyan
Mazaa anokha sa hai, aate jaate lamho mein
Kitaben god me faili, hai khoye baaton me
Rafaqaton me khazana, jo hum ne paya hai
Na dil pe bojh hai koi, na gum ka saya hai
Hamein ye ghun hai ke khushboo, ko hum to dekhenge
Yakeen hai ke sitaro, ko barh ke choolenge
Khula ye raaz bicharna, bhi tha bahaaron ko
Kisi ke haath nahi, choo sake sitaro ko
Kabhi dareechon mein shamme, jo hum jalate hai
Ko geet lahje khayalon, mein gungunate hai...

Nostalgia it is! :)