I have heard maa singing “Ajeeb Dastan Hai Yeh” while she cooks or serves the food. The first two lines of the song are “Ajeeb Dastan Hai Yeh, Kahan Shuru Kahan Khatam” which roughly means that the course of life’s journey is strange without the beginning or end.
Wonder if we pause and let the words trickle down in us, syllable by syllable. As they permeate our porous skin, are we filled with an epiphany that life is a whirlpool of experiences and we do not know what happens in death? The one we have, the one I have where I listen to my mother sing this song each night as she opens the lid to place a few chapatis and vegetables with lentils for my dinner, one day she may not if I do not ring the bell that evening for I might have met with an unfortunate and untimely accident, my life, like ours, is measured in memories we collect.
I have a jar of memories which I have hidden in a brown bag with bits of holes in it in a cupboard above my bed. I have done this because these memories are personal and I do not want to bare this to anyone.
But I would be lying like the time I lied when I was young and had stolen a dairy milk bar and told my mother that I didn’t take it; when the evening I lay on the road looking at the sky with the stars looking back at me that I didn’t remember last night maa singing “Ajeeb Dastan Hai Yeh, Kahan Shuru Kahan Khatam”.