Yog Rahi Gupta
drnisarfarhadku@gmail.com
It was 1974. I was studying at Jammu University – that age when dreams appear so clear, and every smile feels like a story. In our class, there was a girl – Simi.
She wasn’t just the brightest student in class, she was also the most lively. Her laughter had a kind of peace in it that could erase a day’s fatigue in an instant. She loved my fearless writing, and she was crazy about my Urdu poetry. I often noticed her saying, “There’s a strange truth in your poetry… as if the heart is speaking, and the pen is just writing its voice.”
I wrote new ghazals for her many times, and each time she read them as if searching for her own name in the words. One day, sitting in the university lawn, she said, “You know, love isn’t bound by age.” I smiled and replied, “Then maybe I grew up too early.”
That moment… that smile… perhaps then I realized that some relationships don’t need names; they simply dissolve into life as feelings. Simi married a businessman, and I moved to New Delhi to complete my journalism degree.
During those days, this couplet lingered in my mind:
“Teri talaash mein jaayein to hum kahaan jaayein,
nishaan bhi koi na chhod ke dil ko behlaayein.”
Translation:
“Where do I go in search of you,
Leaving no trace to comfort my heart?”
Two years later, fate took me to Canada, carrying along some dreams and hopes. Life there moved in new directions – job, marriage, children, home, responsibilities. But Simi… she remained somewhere inside me, like an unfinished poem. Sometimes, when it snowed in Canada, and I flipped through my old diary, those Urdu lines would come alive again:
“Woh jo kabhi lafzon mein muskurai thi, ab bhi khaamoshiyon mein bolti hai…
Tumhaara saath tha to phool veeranon mein khilte the,
nahin tum saamne to ab yeh chaandni bhi acchhi nahin lagti.”
Meaning:
“She who once smiled in words, now speaks in silences…
When you were there, flowers bloomed in the barren lands,
Without you, even this moonlight doesn’t feel right.”
Now, after retirement, life has slowed a bit… My wife and I often visit India – earlier every few years, but now, almost every year. Sometimes Delhi, sometimes Jammu, and occasionally other parts of India. Each trip feels like a walk down the old lanes of my heart.
Two years ago, an invitation arrived from Jammu – my old friend’s son’s wedding, at Patnitop Resort.
The cold mountain air, the resort nestled among clouds, felt like a door to childhood and youth memories was about to open. I said to my wife, “Let’s go to Jammu.” She smiled, “Why not? This is the perfect time to travel.” My heart felt a strange stir – as if an old chapter was about to reopen.
At Patnitop Resort, lights, music, and the cold breeze filled every corner. People were chatting and laughing in the lawn, and I stood in a corner, trying to recognize old faces.
Then a voice called from behind, “Are you… Yog ‘Rahi’?”I turned
and saw a face, changed a little with time, but the eyes were the same – like an endless ocean where every old memory floated. And the smile… the same one that had inspired my ghazals in 1974, now even softer and more heart-touching. My heartbeat seemed to stop.
That moment, that sight, felt like a dream – the dream that always hides behind the eyes. The scent in the air, the gentle fragrance of her hair, the magical love in her gaze – everything surrounded me.
“Simi!” I whispered, and my voice carried the love I had held in my heart for decades. As I walked toward her, each step felt like a song – a song of only us, and our long and short memories. Then she came
toward me, and our eyes met – as if every dream had come true, and every unfulfilled prayer was now answered. That laughter – “Don’t you recognize me?” I smiled, “How could I forget? Your praises are still written in my old diary.”She smiled, and for a while, , we were silent, as if an old song was echoing in the air.
Soon, my wife came over. I smiled, “I want you to meet someone special.” She asked, “Who?” I gestured toward Simi.
“This is Simi… my classmate from Jammu University, 1974.”
My wife warmly shook her hand, “Wow! Yog has told me so much about you. Your Urdu poetry and his stories are still remembered.”
Simi smiled at me, and asked “Do you still write?”I chuckled
lightly, “Now there are fewer words, but more feelings.”
The three of us sat together, sipping tea, lost in old stories of friends, classes, and the canteen. No awkwardness, no regrets, just a deep, peaceful silence.
The next morning, the cold Patnitop air drifted through the window. Clouds hung low, and sunlight fell on the distant hills.
My wife handed me a cup of coffee and asked, “Lost in thought?” I smiled, “Just… revisiting yesterday’s memories.” She said, “Some meetings happen late, but they are never incomplete.”
I looked out the window – somewhere in the air, Simi’s smile seemed to float. And in my heart echoed that line
“Mohabbaton ka taalluq umr se nahin hota, manpasand shaks har umr mein khoobsurat lagta hai.”Meanings: “Love isn’t bound by age, dear.A beloved can be beautiful at any age.”
Fifty years passed, faces changed, life moved on, but some feelings never age. Those Urdu words, that canteen tea, that smile in her eyes – all still reside somewhere, in the quietest corners of the heart. Because true love, when real, has no age – only a long story.
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