The Taste of Words: An Introduction to Urdu Poetry
Page 8
A hakim by profession, Momin also dabbled in mathematics, was a musician, and was known to have played a mean game of chess. His epicurean life unfortunately ended in an ultra-religious phase, which must have made some of his naughtier verses very sad.
I include here what is perhaps the best-known ghazal by Momin: ‘Vo jo hum mein tum mein qaraar thha’.1
Vo jo hum mein tum mein qaraar thha
Vo jo hum mein tum mein qaraar thha, tumhe yaad ho ke na yaad ho
Vahi yaani vaada nibaah ka tumhe yaad ho ke na yaad ho
Vo naye gile vo shikaayaten, vo maze maze ki hikaayaten
Vo har ek baat pe roothna tumhe yaad ho ke na yaad ho
Koi baat aisi agar hui jo tumhaare ji ko buri lagi
To bayan se pahle hi bhoolna tumhe yaad ho ke na yaad ho
Suno zikr hai kai saal kaa, koi vaadaa mujh se tha aap ka
Vo nibaahne kaa to zikr kya, tumhe yaad ho ke na yaad ho
Kabhi hum mein tum mein bhi chaah thi, kabhi hum se tum se bhi raah thi
Kabhi hum bhi tum bhi thhe aashna, tumhe yaad ho ke na yaad ho
Vo bigadnaa vasl ki raat kaa, vo na maan-na kisi baat ka
Vo nahin nahin ki har-aan adaa, tumhe yaad ho ki na yaad ho
Jise aap ginte thhe aashnaa, jise aap kehte thhe baavafaa
Main vahi hoon Momin-e mubtalaa tumhe yaad ho ke na yaad ho
That familiarity between us
That familiarity between us
You may remember perhaps, perhaps not
Those days we made each other promises
You may remember perhaps, perhaps not.
Your annoyed reproach at matters minor
They led me to label you a whiner
At every moment, your feigned distress
You may remember perhaps, perhaps not.
Perchance if something had really hurt you
You would forget in an instant, I knew
Your wonderful forgiving affections thus
You may remember perhaps, perhaps not.
I recall a promise you made years ago
It remains unfulfilled, don’t you know?
Is this matter unfit for us to discuss?
You may remember perhaps, perhaps not.
Your anger at me on our union right
When you perceived my actions as a slight
The words ‘no, no’ the way I saw you stress
You may remember perhaps, perhaps not.
The one you found trustworthy to the end
The one you always counted a friend
I remain that Momin, I do profess
You may remember perhaps, perhaps not.
Dagh Dehlavi
Nawab Mirza Khan is hardly a household name among Urdu enthusiasts, but the Urdu-daans of Delhi and Hyderabad bare their fangs when they dispute the affiliations of Dagh (1831–1905), who lived much of his life in Delhi but chose to move south after the 1857 upheaval and its aftermath. Dagh wrote many of his famous ghazals after he moved southward1, and his grave near the Yusufain Dargah is still a site of pilgrimage to Hyderabadis. He is most notably invoked by oldies when they quote the first line of the following sher as they sit down: ‘Hazrat-e Dagh jahaan baith gaye, baith gaye / Aur honge teri mehfil se nikalne vale’ (‘Where Sir Dagh sits, he stays seated / There may be others who choose to exit your presence’).
The two ghazals I have chosen to translate are among his more popular ones.2
1Ji jaanta hai
Lutf vo ishq mein paaye hain ke ji jaanta hai
Ranj bhi, taane uthaaye hain ke ji jaanta hai
Jo zamaane ke sitam hain vo zamaana jaane
Tu ne dil itne dukhaaye hain ke ji jaanta hai
Tum nahin jaante ab tak ye tumhaare andaz
Vo mere dil mein samaaye hain ke ji jaanta hai
Inhin qadmon ne tumhaare, inhin qadamon ki qasam
Khaak mein itne milaaye hain ke ji jaanta hai
Dosti mein teri dar-parda hamaare dushman
Is qadar apne paraaye hain ke ji jaanta hai
Only the heart knows
Such pleasure in love I have found, only the heart knows
Sometimes taunts, sometimes grief profound, only the heart knows.
Let us leave time alone to deal with its tyrannies
Of the souls that you have drowned, only the heart knows.
You do not know this yet but your careless flirtations
In my earnest mind, abound; only the heart knows.
Your feckless feet, I swear on your cavalier feet
Many they have into dust ground, only the heart knows.
The distinction between friend and foe is no longer clear
Such taxonomies do confound, only the heart knows.
2Sabaq aisa
Sabaq aisa padha diya tune
Dil se sab kuchh bhula diya tu ne
Hum nikamme hue zamaane mein
Kaam aisa sikha diya tu ne
Laakh dene ka ek dena hai
Dil-e be-mudda diya tu ne
Be-talab jo mila mila mujhko
Be gharaz jo diya diya tu ne
Kahin mushtaq se hijab hua
Kahin parda utha diya tu ne
Mit gaye dil se naqsh-e baatil sab
Naqsha apna jama diya tu ne
Dagh ko kaun dene waala thha?
Jo diya, ai khuda diya tu ne.
Such a lesson
Indeed, such a lesson you have taught
All previous knowledge my heart forgot.
I’ve been rendered useless to the world
Such fruits your feckless labours have wrought.
Priceless is the gift that you gave me
A content heart that no longer sought.
I received without seeking bounties
You gave me with future motives, naught.
Sometimes you gave, veiled and secretly
Sometimes you were obvious, a lot.
Your visage became so clear, that I
Forgot that your face was with evil fraught
Who else will give with such great elan?
Who else but God, that’s what ‘Dagh’ thought.
Maulana Hali
When he was a young poet, Maulana Altaf Husain Hali (1837–1914) recited his work in front of Ghalib, who is said to have approved. But 1857 intervened, and he returned from Delhi to Panipat. Eventually, he made the acquaintance of Sayyid Ahmad Khan and, at his behest, went about composing an epic poem Musaddas-e Madd-o Jazr-e Islam (A Musaddas on the Ebb and Flow of Islam). The poem was published in 1879, and is now known simply as Musaddas-e Hali. It critiques the Muslims of Hali’s era as decadent when compared to the glory of Islamic history; however, despite this self-reflexivity, it is not difficult to see how such narratives presented a defensive posture, given the ascendency of the West and the ‘victory’ of the colonists (Ashis Nandy reflects about similar tendencies in Swami Vivekananda’s thought in his book The Intimate Enemy). Depending on one’s perspective, it is ironic or fitting to see these ideas being expressed by a poet with the takhallus ‘Hali’ (meaning ‘of the present’). One may mention in passing that Hali wrote perhaps the first biography of Ghalib, titled Yaadgaar-e Ghalib. His Muqaddama-e Sher-o-Shairi (Exegesis on Poems and Poetry) remains one of the earliest works of literary criticism in Urdu.
In this collection, I am translating one of his more famous ghazals.
Hai justaju
Hai justaju ke khoob se hai khoobtar kahaan
Ab dekhiye thaharti hai jaa kar nazar kahaan
Yaarab is ikhtilaat ka anjaam ho ba-khair
Tha us ko hum se rabt, magar is qadar kahaan
Ek umr chaahiye ke gawaaraa ho naish-e ishq
Rakhhi hai aaj lazzat-e zakhm-e jigar kahaan
Aalam mein tujh se laakh sahi, tu magar kahaan
Hoti nahin qubool dua tark-e ishq ki
Dil chaahta na ho to zuban mein asar kahaan
Hali, nishaat-e naghma-o-mai dhoondte ho ab
Aaye ho waqt-e subh, rahe raat bhar kahaan
My ambition
To be better than the best, that is my ambition
Let us see where my sight rests, ends its exploration
O God, I pray this intimacy ends happily
Love was warm before, but this is fiery ignition
Verily, it takes an age to get used to love’s pain
The wounded heart slowly makes friends with its condition
Thus far I had been taken in by a strange visage
I want you, not someone like you, an apparition
My prayer that love should vanish remains unanswered
For the heart does not back up the tongue’s composition
Hali arrives in the morn seeking wine and song
Whose company caused you to miss the night’s edition?
Akbar Allahabadi
Syed Akbar Husain, aka Akbar Allahabadi (1846–1921), was a great satirist who unfortunately sobered down and became serious, mystical and religious (in other words, boring) in his later days. I enjoy his earlier poems; they are elaborate jokes set to verse. His later poetry exhibits a more classical mindset, which, while competent, is not as delightful. He was part of a lively debate among the Urduwalas of the late nineteenth century, and opposed his peers like Sir Sayyid for their allegiance to Western mores. Even his conservatism was imbued with wit; opposing the practice of women renouncing the veil, he composed the following qataa:
Be-parda kal jo aayi nazar chand beebiyaan
Akbar zameen mein ghairat-e qaumi se gadh gaya
Poochha jo main ne aap ka parda, vo kya hua?
Kehne lageen ke aql pe mardon ke padh gaya.
Yesterday, as some bareheaded ladies walked down the lane
Akbar bemoaned his culture with a sense of shame and pain
I asked politely, ‘Ladies, how come you have lost your veil?’
Said they, ‘That opaque cloth resides now on our menfolk’s brain.’
I have translated two poems below. The first is a classical ghazal that was sung by the maestro K.L. Saigal, while the second is a comic poem about an imaginary dialogue between Majnu and Laila’s mother. The social criticism of indolent Indians, especially Muslims, is difficult to miss. Muslim culture of a certain social class tended to devalue labour and trade, and Akbar provides an ironic critique of this. I have translated the second verse in jaunty language to preserve its affect.
1Duniya mein hoon
Duniya mein hoon duniya ka talabgaar nahin hoon
Bazaar se guzra hoon, kharidaar nahin hoon
Zindaa hoon magar zeest ki lazzat nahin baaqi
Har-chand ke hoon hosh mein, hoshiyaar nahin hoon
Is khaanaa-e hasti se guzar jaaoonga be-laus
Saayaa hoon faqat naqsh-ba deevaar nahin hoon
Afsurda hoon ibrat se dava ki nahin haajat
Gham ka mujhe ye zof hai beemar nahin hoon
Vo gul hoon khizaan ne jise barbaad kiya hai
Uljhoon kisi daaman se main vo khaar nahin hoon
Yaarab mujhe mahfooz rakh us but ke sitam se
Main us ki inaayat ka talab-gaar nahin hoon
Afsurdagi-o-zauf ki kuchh had nahin, Akbar
Kaafir ke muqaabil mein bhi deen-daar nahin hoon
I’m in this world
I’m in this world but I’m not consumed by its desire
I did pass by the market, but I am no customer
I am alive, but life to me is bereft of pleasure
I am smart but don’t call me devious. That is a slur
From this house that represents life I will exit unspoiled
I am no imprint on the wall, but a shadow, a blur
My conscience is enough for me, I need no sage advice
I’m sick with grief but I’m not ill, no potions for me, sir
I am the flower that has been done in by autumn’s blight
To be the thorn that rends clothes, such a life I don’t prefer
O God, keep me safe from the tyranny of that idol
I am not desirous of the largesse that it might confer
My sadness and self-abasement have no limits, Akbar
I’ve less faith than the infidel, with this you must concur
2Laila ki maa aur majnu
Khudahafiz musalmanon ka Akbar
Mujhe to un ki khush-haali se hai yaas
Yeh ashiq shahid-e maqsood ki hein
Na jaayenge, wa lekin sayi ke paas
Sunaoon tum ko ek farzi lateefa
Kiya hai jis ko main ne zeb-e qirtaas
Kaha Majnu se ye Laila ki maa ne
Ke ‘Beta, tu agar kar le MA pass
‘To fauran byaah doon Laila ko tujh se
Bila diqqat main ban jaaoon teri saas’
Kaha Majnun ne ‘Ye achhi sunaai!
Kuja aashiq, kuja college ki bakvaas
‘Badi bee, aap ko kya ho gaya hai
Hiran pe laadi jaati hai kahin ghaas?
‘Ye achhi qadr-daani aap ne ki
Mujhe samjha hai koi Harcharan Das?
‘Yehi thhehri jo shart-e vasl-e Laila
To istefa mera ba hasrat-o-yaas.’
Laila’s mother and majnu
May Allah keep all Muslims in his shelter, O Akbar
I pray for their happiness and their well-being as a rule
They love their Prophet who bore witness to his Creator
They will go to their happy fate, and drink from heaven’s pool
I will share with you an imagined tale for your pleasure
That I have composed, I’m sure you’ll find it cool
Said Laila’s mother to Majnu, the suffering paramour
‘Dear son, all you have to do is to go to graduate school
‘Then I will immediately accept you as my son-in-law
And be your mom-in-law and stop treating you like a ghoul’
Majnu started: ‘Hey wait a sec, I don’t think I heard right
A Romeo and higher studies? Don’t take me for a fool
‘You’ve got it all wrong, old lady, why don’t you watch your mouth
A deer is no beast of burden, don’t load me like a mule
‘This is a strange way to treat guests, have you no manners, ma’am?
I am no Harcharan Das, your proposal’s rather cruel
‘If this is the condition of union with your daughter
Please accept my resignation, I’m sad, but I’m no tool.’
Mohammed Iqbal
What can I say about Allama Iqbal (1877–1938) that has not been repeated a million times before? A beautiful website devoted to him is maintained by the Iqbal Academy Pakistan1, and he has his own YouTube channel as well. V.G. Kiernan’s 1955 book of translations of his poetry has been reissued.2 A listing of books devoted to him would be far too immense a task to do justice to; indeed, a few bibliographies of books on Iqbal have been published as books in their own right.
But to scratch that formidable surface that is the persona of the ‘Poet of the East’, let us say that he had a doctorate in philosophy from the University of Heidelberg, that he wrote the most amazing poems in a language that was not his mother tongue, and that when he died in 1938, his funeral was attended by 70,000 people, which included colonialists and freedom fighters, the atheists of the PWA and the fundamentalists of the Ahl-e Hadees, Indian nationalists and Muslim Leaguers, reflecting his ability to defy categorization. I personally find Iqbal to be much more of a progressive; his eng
agement with Islam is critical and borderline heretical. His protagonist asserts selfhood against God in Shikva, his long musaddas, often mocking the creator. One of my brother’s favourite poems is Iqbal’s ‘Gibreel aur Iblees’ (Gabriel and Satan) where Lucifer (Iblees) mocks Gabriel for his blind faith, while proudly asserting that it is his disobedience to God that has imbued the story of creation with life.3
Here, I have translated two poems, the first as free verse and the second more rhythmically. The first is a ghazal, which was sung beautifully by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. The second, titled ‘Farmaan-e Khuda Farishton se’ (God’s Command to the Angels), is from Iqbal’s book Baal-e Gibreel (Gabriel’s Wing), and is a response by God to Lenin. The previous poem in that collection is called ‘Lenin, Khuda ke Huzoor Mein’ (Lenin in God’s Presence), where Lenin has complained to God about injustice. Such an imaginary dialogue is vintage Iqbal, in the vein of the aforementioned Shikva and ‘Gibreel aur Iblees’. Lenin holds his ground, accusing God of being ineffectual, while God is not upset at all with Lenin’s impertinence. Instead, in response to the diatribe, He calls upon His angels to effect a few changes in the organization of the world at large. Wouldn’t you have liked to be a fly on the wall during that exchange? Thanks to Iqbal, you were.
1Kabhi ai haqeeqat-e muntazar
Kabhi ai haqeeqat-e muntazar, nazar aa libaas-e majaz mein
Ke hazaaron sajde tadap rahe hain meri jabeen-e niyaaz mein
Tu bachaa bachaa ke na rakh ise, teraa aaina hai vo aaina
Ke shikasta ho to azeez-tar, hai nigaah-e aaina-saaz mein