Kuch Umer Ki Pehli Manzil Thi, …. Kuch Raste Thay Anjan Buhat, …. Kuch Ham Bhi Pagal Thay Lekin, …. Kuch Wo Bhi Thay Nadan Buhat, …. Kuch Usne Bhi Na Samjhaya, …. Yeh Piyar Nahi Aasan Buhat, …. Aakhir Hamne Bhi Khail Liya, …. Jis Khail Mein Thay Nuqsan Buhat
Today I begin to understand what love must be, if it exists. When we are parted, we each feel the lack of the other half of ourselves. We are incomplete like a book in two volumes of which the first has been lost. That is what I imagine love to be: incompleteness in absence.
HUMAARI LIFE US WAQT COMPLETE HOTI HAI
JAB AAP HON OR MAIN HOON OR HUMAARE
CHHOTHE CHHOTHE PYARE PYARE SWEET SWEET
NANAY MUNAY AUR SHARAARTY "SMS" HON.
