रसखान

मानुस हौं तो वही रसखान, बसौं मिलि गोकुल गाँव के ग्वारन।

जो पसु हौं तो कहा बस मेरो, चरौं नित नंद की धेनु मँझारन॥

पाहन हौं तो वही गिरि को, जो धर्यो कर छत्र पुरंदर कारन।

जो खग हौं तो बसेरो करौं मिलि कालिंदीकूल कदम्ब की डारन॥

या लकुटी अरु कामरिया पर, राज तिहूँ पुर को तजि डारौं।
आठहुँ सिद्धि, नवों निधि को सुख, नंद की धेनु चराय बिसारौं॥
रसखान कबौं इन आँखिन सों, ब्रज के बन बाग तड़ाग निहारौं।
कोटिक हू कलधौत के धाम, करील के कुंजन ऊपर वारौं॥

सेस गनेस महेस दिनेस, सुरेसहु जाहि निरंतर गावै।
जाहि अनादि अनंत अखण्ड, अछेद अभेद सुबेद बतावैं॥
नारद से सुक व्यास रहे, पचिहारे तू पुनि पार न पावैं।
ताहि अहीर की छोहरियाँ, छछिया भरि छाछ पै नाच नचावैं॥

धुरि भरे अति सोहत स्याम जू, तैसी बनी सिर सुंदर चोटी।
खेलत खात फिरैं अँगना, पग पैंजनी बाजति, पीरी कछोटी॥
वा छबि को रसखान बिलोकत, वारत काम कला निधि कोटी।
काग के भाग बड़े सजनी, हरि हाथ सों लै गयो माखन रोटी॥

कानन दै अँगुरी रहिहौं, जबही मुरली धुनि मंद बजैहै।
माहिनि तानन सों रसखान, अटा चड़ि गोधन गैहै पै गैहै॥
टेरी कहाँ सिगरे ब्रजलोगनि, काल्हि कोई कितनो समझैहै।
माई री वा मुख की मुसकान, सम्हारि न जैहै, न जैहै, न जैहै॥

मोरपखा मुरली बनमाल, लख्यौ हिय मै हियरा उमह्यो री।
ता दिन तें इन बैरिन कों, कहि कौन न बोलकुबोल सह्यो री॥
अब तौ रसखान सनेह लग्यौ, कौउ एक कह्यो कोउ लाख कह्यो री।
और सो रंग रह्यो न रह्यो, इक रंग रंगीले सो रंग रह्यो री।
-रसखान
Click here for translation...
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Dull, rainy afternoons make me sit back and think about 'days bygone'. Today I was thinking about my absolutely disinteresting school days. I never enjoyed them except for a few memorable occasions. At school, I used to be a total introvert, permanently seated in the second bench (only dare-devils sat in the very first bench!!!). Most of the subjects bored me except languages like English, Hindi and Tamil. I was entirely out of place in Maths classes and Science used to fascinate me depending on the teacher who taught it. I was academically above average. During my schooling, I was quite unfortunate to get teachers who used to equate creativity with academic brilliance. A class-topper who was absolutely blind to the beauty of rain-drops gliding on the dainty leaves of the trees nearby my school was given more importance. The first-rank holder was also assumed to be well versed in music, arts, crafts, poetry and creative writing. Others were harshly sidelined. What right did the pupils who were passionate about fine-arts had, when their marks in Maths used to be average? It was hard to enjoy school with teachers having such a narrow-minded attitudes.

The most sympathetic and just were my English and Hindi teachers. Worth mentioning are Ms. Bhanumathy (English), Mrs.Lakshmi Gopalan (English) , Mrs.Radhamani (English again)Mrs.Anuradha Jagannathan (English yet again) and Mrs.Rajeshwari (Hindi).This trend carried-over to my college days as well. I can never forget my English lecturer Mrs.Pervez Bhote and the way in which she taught Tagore's play Chandaalika or my Hindi lecturer Mrs.Shanti Mohan who taught history of Hindi literature and the poetries of Meerabai with such fervour.

With dismay, I tried recalling something which made me plough through the tiresomely long school years. Memories of English and Hindi classes were the only ones etched green in my mind. I used to love Tamil too, but being the third language, we had only one Tamil period per week and the Tamil teacher thought I was flippant. Most of my favourite teachers were also language teachers. There was one Mrs.Rajeshwari who used to teach Hindi as I mentioned before. I fondly remember the delightful way in which she taught us the poetries of Raskhan and Meerabai and Mythili Sharan Gupt and Sumitra Nandan Pant. It used to be like a dream to sit with my hands cupped on my chin and just listen to the descriptions translated in Hindi from Brij bhaasha about Krishna leela. I used to feel transported to the era of Lord Krishna and his exploits in Brindavan and feel pleasantly weird about it. I used to feel very goose-pimply about it and never shared this with my friends for fear of ridicule. Writing 'saprasang-Vyaakhya' for the poem thereafter was sheer joy!My friends found this to be a sheer torture. Solving a Math problem was their idea of fun.

Of all the poets of Bhakti kaal, Syed Ibrahim 'Raskhan' used to be my favourite. He was a Muslim saint who was a great devotee of Krishna. With a wave of love for Raskhan poetry, I ran a google search and found one of my favourites. However, it was a shock not being able to find his life history. I vividly remember the way that page carrying his life history in my Hindi book looked like!

As I type this, I am actually able to imagine myself as a quiet teenager in Mrs.Rajeshwari's class, sitting dreamy eyed, listening to this poem with awe. I open my notebook and fondle the peacock feather with unearthly thoughts of Bhakti kaal.The sharp ringing of the bell makes me want to cry. Was it going to be followed by an unromantic Physics or worse...cruel Maths?