Katra Katra Jeene Do...
- Independent Ink
- Sep 7
- 6 min read
Updated: Sep 12
Love had changed. Become deep. Wistful. Shifting in shape.
By Monita Soni
In every season of my life, knowingly or unknowingly, I’ve read, shared, hummed, and reflected on Gulzar’s poetry. His evocative lines haven’t just resonated in moments of joy or sorrow. They have slipped into my breath.
Gulzar has not merely accompanied me; he has lived within me, silent and essential, his words woven into the fabric of my becoming. Like morning light filtering through redwood forests, like mist blanketing the Dal Lake in Srinagar at dawn, his verse made lucid the contours of my inner world.
Sampooran Singh Kalra, known to us all as Gulzar, born on August 18,1934, in Dina, Punjab (now in Pakistan), shares more with my late father than a birth year. They shared a language, a literary heritage, and a common emotional topography. Gulzar gave voice to the inescapable pain, loss, separation. The breath between silences, the unshed tears behind smiles, the nostalgia of a heart-home we carry within us even when the world shifts beneath our feet.
His poetry, written in Hindi, Urdu, and that exquisite mingling of both, has formed a universal language of the soul. His Triveni—three precise lines that say more than many manuscripts—has become his signature form: brief, impactful, boundless.
“Milta toh bahut kuch hai is zindagi mein,Bas hum ginti uski karte hainJo haasil na ho saka.”
In my college years, the thought of romantic love was still a fragrant mirage. I remember the lines that first opened a yearning within me: “Aap ki aankhon mein kuch meheke hue se khwaab hai,” and how lovely Shabana Azmi looked in the song picturized on her: “Huzoor is kadar yoon na itraaye ke chaliye…”
In medical school notebooks, on scraps of paper, in study halls, tucked away in library corners, I scribbled half-poems, searching for something deeper than anatomy, electrocardiograms, and biostatistics. Dil Dhoondta Hai pulsed quietly in the background, “Phir wahi phursat ke raat din…” a longing mirrored in my own busy student life, seeking something beyond bookish knowledge, seeking a human connection, a resonance, a gaze that held a promise of love and trust.
Later, unexpected and unannounced, came an offer for an arranged marriage. My sister skipped up and down the living room, singing the song from the 1980 movie Khubsoorat, “Sun sun sun didi tere liye ek rishta aaya hai.”
Her laughter became a teasing joy that wrapped itself around my fiancé and the preparations for my wedding. My romantic spirit soared and I sang, “Aaj kal paon zameen par nahi padte mere… bolo dekha hai kabhi tumne mujhe udte hue.”
I was the first in my class to be whisked away into a fairytale marriage, buoyed by a Bollywood-style dream-wedding, and blessings from all relatives.
But the idea that “Tujh Mein Rab Dikhta Hai” could anchor love in reverence did not materialize. From different backgrounds and born under different planetary ascendants, we drifted apart, like kites fluttering in the wind, floating in different directions.
Love became complicated.
“Bahut andar tak jala deti hain woh shikayatein jo bayaan nahin hoti…”
Then came two baby heartbeats. The air was suffused with young light, with fresh hope. “Tum Aa Gaye Ho, Noor Aa Gaya Hai” was no longer just a song. It became my reality. In my children’s eyes, I saw bright galaxies. “Do naina, ek kahani, thoda sa baadal, thoda sa paani”.
In the joyful chaos of toddlerhood, poetry multiplied. Baby burps, sticky fingers, first steps, first words, soft cheeks smiling contentedly in sleep. These were the happiest moments of my life.
When the siblings laughed and played in the courtyard, like so many children in India: “Lakdi Ki Kathi, kathi pe ghoda,Ghode ki dum pe jo maara hathoda,Dauda dauda dauda ghoda dum utha ke dauda…”became the background score. This song immortalized Gulzar in the hearts of children forever, through giggles and horseplay.
In every season of my life, knowingly or unknowingly, I’ve read, shared, hummed, and reflected on Gulzar’s poetry. His evocative lines haven’t just resonated in moments of joy or sorrow. They have slipped into my breath.
But the sweetness of childhood does not last forever. All good things have an expiration date. As I look back on the innocent questions in the eyes of my children, the grief of separation, caused by circumstances and my own reactions, reminds me of another song: “Tujhse Naraaz Nahin Zindagi, hairan hoon main…”
This led to a lifelong quest of staying connected across oceans.“Tere Bina Zindagi Se Koi” no longer felt like a complaint; it became a way of living with what was lost. When my son left home, “Tujhse Naraaz Nahin Zindagi” took on new texture. Silence stretched across phone lines, across time zones. I tucked “Aaj Phir Dil Ne Ek Tamanna Ki” under my pillow... “Aaj phir dil ko humne samjhaaya hai…”
Love had changed. Become deep. Wistful. Shifting in shape.
The only kindred spirit who suffered silently with me was my dear father.“Tumko dekha to yeh khyaal aaya,Zindagi dhoop, tum ghana saaya…”
Alone in a strange country, among unfamiliar faces, in hotel rooms and studio apartments, in snowstorms, stranded in airports, walking ten to twelve blocks from the west side to the upper east side of New York to save a few dollars—far from the shade of the mango tree in my parents’ home—I often felt rootless. Aimless. I could not forget the taste of fluffy chapatis, aromatic gatte ka saag, fresh kachumbar, and nimbu ka achaar served on a steel thali. But “Musafir Hoon Yaaron” reminded me that I wasn’t lost, I was simply growing, gathering experience.
“Dil Dhoondta Hai Phir Wahi Phursat Ke Raat Din”, those endless summers spent curled up with storybooks, stayed with me. And “Katra Katra Milti Hai” became my truth. Home, belonging, meaning—they arrived not in grand gestures, but in fragments, quiet and earned.
At life’s many crossroads, Gulzar’s wisdom became a mantra.“Is Mod Se Jaate Hain Kuch Sust Kadam Raste…Aane Wala Pal, Jaane Wala Hai…”
His verses whispered like ancient scriptures, like the “road less traveled.” Be present. Let go. Taste this moment before it vanishes.
And I did.
When my father neared the end, all he wanted was to listen to my words.
“Tu bol,” he said with labored breath.
“Apni bhasha.”
I gave him my words soaked in verse.“Naam Bhool Jayega, Chehra Yeh Badal Jayega…Meri Aawaaz Hi Pehchaan Hai…”
He held my hand, and I gave him, “Tere Bina Zindagi Se Koi…” not as a complaint, but a recognition of the transience of life. A blessing. A few last breaths, immersed in poetry.
Now, with both my parents gone, I am deeply aware of their presence around me. In the bluebirds, cardinals, and swallows at my window. In the playful squirrels scampering on the fence. In the soft eyes of my children, I glimpse my mother’s grace.
Her sense of purpose in my daughter’s gaze. Her gentle touch in my son’s hands. “Do Naina Ek Kahani” lives on.
And when I see my grandson walking in my footsteps along the beach, “Hum Kabhi Paaon Mein Paaon Rakhte Hain…. I know life has passed on to a third generation. Not how I had imagined, but in a surreal, magical way.
An unspoken poem of tenderness has emerged.
However, not all inheritance is soft. When family ties frayed and blood turned bitter, I clung to “Dil Hi To Hai Na Sang-e-Khisht.” The heart is no fortress. I cannot walk through the doors of ancestral homes emptied of warmth. “Mera Kuch Saaman Lautaa Do” played silently in my soul.
No one returned the intangible things I hold dear. But Gulzar returned my language, for grief, for loss, for the ache of what cannot be reclaimed.
He taught me that to love is to lose and still open your arms again, to give more love. That belonging, even if brief, is sacred. That grief is gratitude wearing another name.
That the search itself is the song. How beautiful is a life lived to make another life better. “Maine tere liye he saat rang ke sapne chune..”
And so I continue. “Katra Katra Jeene Do...”
I gather precious drops of life. Moments, I live slowly. I breathe deeply.
And my heart keeps searching.
“Dil Dhoondta Hai Phir Wahi Phursat Ke Raat Din…”
With one foot in Huntsville, Alabama, the other in her birth home, India, and a heart steeped in humanity, Monita Soni writes as a contemplative practice. She has published hundreds of poems, movie reviews, book critiques, and essays, and contributed to combined literary works. Her two books are My Light Reflections and Flow Through My Heart. You can hear her commentaries on Sundial Writers Corner, WLRH 89.3 FM.
Courtesy American Kahani