February 2020

  • In pursuit of beauty

    Satyam Shivam Sundaram   मैं तसव्वुर भी जुदाई का भला कैसे करूँ मैंने क़िस्मत की लकीरों से चुराया है तुझे   How can I even imagine being separated from you? For I have stolen you from the lines of fate. — Qateel Shifai   I can’t help but wonder what goes on behind the scenes,… Continue reading

  • लगता नहीं ग़म से डर

    लगता नहीं ग़म से डर डर इस बात से लगता है कहीं खा-खाकर ठोकरें यह दिल पत्थर का ही न बन जाए   देखो इस चमन में यारों हैं गुल भी कई बुलबुल भी कई पर कशिश अब इश्क़ में नहीं इतनी कि वस्ल-ए-गुम-ओ-बुलबुल हो पाए   आज गोश-ए-गुल नाला-ए-बुलबुल के लिए तरस गए आज… Continue reading

  • एक कविता जन्म लेती है

    जब भी अन्तःकरण में एक कविता जन्म लेती है आकर चुपके से वो मेरे कानों में कुछ कहती है Continue reading

  • Like a pebble in my shoe

    Your thoughts got lodged in my brain Like a tiny pebble in my shoe And now I can’t think of anything else No matter what I do.   It’s like when you are walking down the street And you know something hurts your foot This pesky little pebble is big enough to notice But small… Continue reading

  • An Ode to My Street Dogs

    Oh dear dog on the street Barking away in the dead of the night At the empty space beside that quiet tree Pray tell me What is it that you see That I can’t see?   When I wake up in the middle of the night To you and your friends Howling at an invisible… Continue reading

About Me

Nehaan in Persian means ‘secret’ or ‘hidden.’ In Japanese, the same word means ‘nirvana.’ In these pages, I will make an attempt to explore, and if possible, partly or fully reveal what lies hidden from our view in our day-to-day lives. The path will be characterised by a certain lack of method which I think is characteristic of human intuition. I write and shall continue to write only when inspired to do so. This also means I might occasionally make forays into varied fields such as science, music, philosophy, language, linguistics and poetry, to name a few. I hope this would not put off new readers and tire the old ones! But who am I to complain–even the lovers of fine wine feel repulsed by the first drop and still, quite strangely, dizzy by the last.