When I first came to these United States, of the few CDs I had with me were those of Gulzar. However I used to avoid listening to them except on some long afternoons, when I felt it was appropriate to allow myself to feel longing for a country from which I had eagerly sought escape, or voluntary exile as I called it. Milan Kundera wrote something along those lines somewhere, in the novel 'Forgetting' I think.

Gulzar was also there at the begining of a relationship forged on a long roadtrip, and he was there at its explosive end, intoning words in his gravelly voice.

This evening as it has proved impossible for me to do any work, I invited Gulzar again into this tomb of books, old laughs, and night time noises. He came readily, with his bag of poems, which he has been reciting in my ear for the past many hours as we drink some vodka together.

And I in that half drunk state have been putting his words into half baked foetry. Still purpose served. Folks who want to drink direct from the source can listen to the orginals recited here.