Shahr Namaah Banaam Mumbai

I am Mumbai. Not long ago, I was known as Bombay. Still some call me by my old name because they love me– as one loves a dear one by names more than one.

By Rekhta July 20, 2018

MIRZA MOHAMMAD RAFI SAUDA, Sauda, urdu, urdu blog, rekhta

Jo Guzri Mujh Pe Mat Us Se Kaho Hua So Hua

As a child was born, an itinerant Dervish made a prophecy: “In sha Allah, your fame will travel to all four corners of India…”

By Rekhta June 27, 2018

Ishq Naamah banaam Afzal Panipati

When love got a human incarnation, the incarnation became Afzal Panipati–both literally and metaphorically. The word ‘afzal’ suggests excellence and the lover-poet Afzal exceeded excellence in the way he loved, languished, and found his ultimate resolution.

By Rekhta June 22, 2018

Jogi Ka Nagar Mein Thikaana Kya…

This man of simple words and emotional exuberance, wandering soul and kind heart, individual style and common appeal, could easily be called the modern day sufi in a suit

By Rekhta June 13, 2018

Situated on the eastern bank of river Hooghly, I have had many a name through ages. Some called me Gol Gotha, others named me Kilkila. Some believed I was Kol-ka-hata, others favoured Kalikata. Then came those who concluded I was Khal Kata, but still others chose to call me Kalkata and then Kalikota. Later, I became Calcutta; now I’m Kolkata. I have had many incarnations; each one looking at the other in the spirit of curious camaraderie. What is in a name, or appearance, after all? I’m indeed history; I’m witness. I’m over two millennia old. My tale is long; your time short. In short, I open up to you. You may pass on my tale to others. With many a name, I’ve many a face. I’m a port; I traded in opium. I’m the Nawab of Bengal; I’m the East India Company. I’m the capital of the Raj; a face of the independence movement. I’m Bengal renaissance. I stand partitioned, bombed, starved. I am revolutionary, but stagnated too. I refuse to grow, yet I do. I choke; I breathe; I live on.

Shahr Naamah Banaam Kolkata

I stand partitioned, bombed, starved. I am revolutionary, but stagnated too. I refuse to grow, yet I do. I choke; I breathe; I live on.

By Rekhta June 7, 2018

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Tag : indian