by Mir
Anginat sadiyon ke taareek bahimaana tilism
Resham-o-atlas-o-kam-khwaab men bunvaaye huwe
Jaa-ba jaa bikte huwe koocha-o-bazaar mein jism
Khaak mein lithde huwe, khoon mein nahlaaye huwe
Jism nikle huwe amraaz ke tannooron se
Peep bahta hua gal-te huwe naasooron se
Laut jaati hai udhar ko bhi nazar, kya keeje?
Ab bhi dilkash hai tera husn magar kya keeje?
Aur bhi dukh hain zamaane mein mohabbat ke siva
Raahaten aur bhi hain vasl ki raahat ke siva
Mujh se pehli si mohabbat, meri mehboob na maang
My love, do not ask me for that old love again
My love, do not ask me for that old love again
I had felt that with you around, the world would be luminous
If I had your sorrows, what were the sorrows of this world worth?
Through your visage, spring had beauty
What else was left on this earth but your eyes?
If I could have you, my fortune would be resplendent
It was not to be, it was just my fantasy.
Indeed, there are more pains in the world than love
And more joys than the joy of union
For countless centuries, dark odious spells
Stand cloaked in silk and velvet and fine fabric
While on streets and markets, bodies are sold like commodities
Coated with dust, bathed in blood
Bodies fresh out of the ovens of disease
Pus flowing quietly from rotting, unhealed wounds
But the gaze returns there too, what am I to do?
Your beauty is alluring still, but what am I to do?
Indeed, there are more pains in the world than love
And more joys than the joy of union
My love, do not ask me for that old love again.
Miraji
Sanaullah Dar ‘Miraji’ (1912–49) burnt the candle of his life at both ends, and died tragically young, but not before he produced a corpus of poetry that has stood the test of time. As a title, he took on the name of a woman he was infatuated with. This act may be seen, in hindsight, as his attempt to decentre the patriarchy and heteronormativity that afflicted Urdu poetry in the twentieth century.1 His poetry traversed the spectrum, from relatively simple ghazals and nazms to complex surreal tracts. The influence of Charles Baudelaire on Miraji was profound, but he was also struck by the lyricality of Omar Khayyam, whom he translated into Urdu.
Miraji briefly headed the Halqa-e Arbaab-e Zauq (circle of connoisseurs), a literary organization that was formed in 1939, and infused Urdu poetry with modernism. He was himself a modern character, who affected a bohemian appearance and liberated much of his verse from the prison of rhyme and metre, while still tossing out the occasional classical ghazal. The one I have translated below was immortalized by Ghulam Ali. I have also included a nazm that is more reflective of his oeuvre.
1Bhool gaya
Nagri nagri phira musafir ghar ka rasta bhool gaya
Kya hai tera kya hai mera apna paraaya bhool gaya
Apni beeti jag beeti hai, jab se dil ne jaan liya
Hanste hanste jeevan beeta, rona dhona bhool gaya
Andhiyaare se ek kiran ne jhaank ke dekha, sharmaayi
Dhund si chhab to yaad rahi, kaisa thha chehra bhool gaya
Hansi hansi mein, khel khel mein baat ki baat mein rang gaya
Dil bhi hote hote aakhir ghaao ka risna bhool gaya
Ek nazar ki, ek hi pal ki baat hai dori saanson ki
Ek nazar ka noor mitaa, jab ek pal beeta bhool gaya
Jis ko dekho us ke dil mein shikvaa hai to itna hai
Hamen to sab kuchh yaad raha, par ham ko zamaana bhool gaya
Koi kahe ye kis ne kaha thha, keh do jo kuchh ji mein hai
‘Miraji’ keh kar pachhtaayaa, aur phir kehna bhool gaya
He forgot
The wayfarer went from town to town, the way back, he forgot
His possessions, his friends and foes, he lost track, he forgot
Once the heart knew that the experience of self and world were one
It started laughing so hard, to let sobs wrack, it forgot
A lone sunbeam broke through the dark, it looked and shyly smiled
Made out a face, but its features in the dark it forgot
In playful laughing talk with you, I became enamoured
Although my heart remained wounded, your attack it forgot
Each glance and each moment is part of life’s evolving string
A glance lost its radiant light, when a moment one forgot
Whoever I meet has one major complaint with the world
‘I remembered everyone’s woes, my woes the world forgot’
I don’t remember who urged me to bravely say my piece
‘Miraji,’ I said with regret, and to say more, forgot.
2Safar
Tum ne tahreek mujhe di ke jaao dekho
Chaand taaron se pare aur duniyaayein hain
Tum ne hi mujh se kaha tha ki khabar le aao
Mere dil mein vahin jaane ki tamanaayen hain
Aur main chal diya ghaur kiya kab is par
Kitna mehdood hai insaan ki quvvat ka tilism
Bas yahi ji ko khayaal aaya, tumhen khush kar doon
Ye na socha ke yoon mit jaayega raahat ka tilism
Aur ab humdami-o-ishrat-e raftaa kaise
Aah! Ab doori hai, doori hai, faqat doori hai
Tum kahin aur main kahin, ab nahin pehli haalat
Laut ke aa bhi nahin saktaa ye hai majboori
Meri qismat ke judaai tumhen manzoor hui
Meri qismat ko pasand aayi na meri baaten
Ab nahin jalvaagah-e khilavat-e shab afsaane
Ab to bas teeraa-o-taareek hai apni raaten.
Journey
You commanded me, go on and see
There are worlds beyond the moon and stars
And it was you who bade me get news
For your heart desired to visit those worlds as well.
And I headed off, without realizing, reflecting
How limited the power of humanity is, its spell
I just desired that you should be happy, did not know
That the spell that would break would be of my contentment.
And now, where is the companionship, the desire for the past?
Ah, all that is left is distance. And distance. Only distance.
You are somewhere, I elsewhere; the earlier situation was not to be
And this is a journey where return is impossible.
It is my fate that separation was acceptable to you
But my fate did not like my words
No more the privacy of the evening tales
My nights are now nothing, just dark and opaque.
Ali Sardar Jafri
For some reason, Ali Sardar Jafri (1913–2000) never received his due as a poet, perhaps due to his programmatic verses and his overt association with the Communist Party of India. In his later years, he experienced some recognition as a poet who wrote optimistically about Indo-Pakistan relations. When Indian Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee took a bus journey to Pakistan in 1999, the following four-liner by Jafri was played on its PA system, and became quite the rage for a while:
Tum aao gulshan-e Lahore se chaman bardosh
Hum aayen subh-e Banaras ki raushni le kar
Himalaya ki havaaon ki taazgi le kar
Aur us ke baad yeh poochhenge kaun dushman hai?
Come bearing the fragrant garden of Lahore
And we will bring the light of a Banaras morning
And the fresh breeze from the Himalayas
And then let
us ask: who is the enemy?
Jafri began his career as a fiction writer, but later moved to poetry. He also wrote a few plays for the Indian People’s Theatre Association. He was subjected to periodic incarceration twice: first, by the British in 1939, and then—in a moment that reminds us of Frantz Fanon’s account of the betrayal of the moment of decolonization by local elites—Jafri was arrested by the government of independent India in 1949 for espousing the cause of socialism, joining his colleagues like Faiz and Sajjad Zaheer who had suffered similar incarceration in Pakistan. Like a good communist, he also aroused the ire of religious fundamentalists, and was subjected to death threats in the 1980s when he came out against the treatment of divorced women under the Muslim Personal Law. His opposition to the infamous Muslim Women’s Protection Act in 1986 earned him the ire of Muslim communalists; I remember, as a college student, watching him being shouted at, slapped and garlanded with chappals by goons—a moment that politicized me further against the atmosphere of rapidly increasing communalism in India. However, in the end, we must remember that Jafri led a celebrated life, having had the Jnanpith award bestowed on him in 1993. In 2013, on the occasion of his birth centenary, a website was inaugurated in his honour.1
Jafri’s long poem ‘Karbala’—recited by him—is available in the public domain, and has been translated by my friend Syed Akbar Hyder in his book Reliving Karbala.2 I have chosen to translate two other poems here. The first is his ‘Guftagu Band Na Ho’, speaking of the possibilities of more harmonious Indo-Pakistan relations. The second is an excerpt from Jafri’s long poem ‘Avadh ki Khaak-e Haseen’ (‘The Beautiful Land of Avadh’). I include the latter as an exemplar of progressive poetry, which turned labour into romance and ordinary folk into protagonists.
1Guftagu band na ho
Guftagu band na ho
Baat se baat chale
Subh tak shaam-e mulaaqaat chale
Hum pe hansti hui ye taaron bhari raat chale
Vo jo alfaaz ke haathon mein hai sang-e dushnaam
Tanz chhalkaye to chhalkaaya karen zahr ke jaam
Teekhi nazren hon tarash abru-e khamdaar rahe
Ban pade jaise bhi dil seenon mein, bedaar rahe
Bebasi harf ko zanjeer ba-paa kar na sake
Koi qaatil ho magar qatl-e nava kar na sake
Subh tak dhal ke koi harf-e vafaa aayega
Ishq aayegaa ba-sad laghzish-e paa aayega
Nazren jhuk jaayengi, dil dhadkenge, lab kaanpengey
Khamoshi bosa-e lab ban ke bahak jayegi
Sirf ghunchon ke chatakne ki sadaa aayegi
Aur phir harf-o-nava ki na zaroorat hogi
Chashm-o-abroo ke ishaaron mein mohabbat hogi
Nafrat uth jaayegi, mehmaan muravvat hogi
Haath mein haath liye, saara jahaan saath liye
Tohfa-e dard liye, pyaar ki saughaat liye
Regzaaron se adaawat ke guzar jaayeingey
Khoon ke daryaaon se hum paar utar jaayeingey
Guftagu band na ho
Baat se baat chale
Subh tak shaam-e mulaaqaat chale
Hum pe hansti hui ye taaron bhari raat chale
Let not the conversation cease
Let not the conversation cease
Let one word lead to another
And let our evening tryst go on till dawn
While the starry night-sky smiles down on us
Though we have hurled the stones of bitter words at each other
We have swirled poison in our goblets in the form of sarcastic jibes
Our brows furrowed, our gazes venomous
But be that as it may, let hearts awaken in chests
Let not despair imprison our words
Whoever the murderers are, let them not kill dialogue
If that is done, a word of faith may escape at dawn
Love will arrive on trembling legs
Eyes downcast, hearts aflutter, lips atremble
Silence will then be fragrant like a kiss on the lips
And the only sound left will be that of buds flowering
And then there will be need for neither word nor talk
In the movement of the gaze, an emotion will sprout
Tenderness will be our guest, hate will be asked to leave
Hand in hand, accompanied by the whole world
Bearing the gift of pain, and the bounty of fondness
We will cross the deserts of animus
And find ourselves on the other side of oceans of blood
Let not the conversation cease
Let one word lead to another
And let our evening tryst go on till dawn
While the starry night-sky smiles down on us.
2Avadh ki khaak-e haseen3
Ye seedhe saadhe ghareeb insan, nekiyon ke mujassame hain
Ye mehnaton ke khuda, ye takhleekh ke payambar
Jo apne haathon ke khurdarepan se zindagi ko sanvaarte hain
Lohaar ke ghan ke neeche lohe hi shakl tabdeel ho rahi hai
Kumhaar ka chaak chal raha hai
Suraahiyan raqs kar rahi hain
Safed aata siyaah chakki se raag ban kar nikal raha hai
Sunehre choolhon mein aag ke phool khil rahe hain
Pateeliyaan gunguna rahi hain
Dhuen se kaale tave bhi chingaariyon ke honton se hans rahe hain
Dupatte aangan mein doriyon se tange hue hain
Aur un ke aanchal se dhaani boonden tapak rahi hain
Sunehri pagdandiyon ke dil par
Siyaah lehngon ki surkh koten chamak rahi hain
Ye saadgi kis qadar haseen hai
Main jail mein baithe baithe aksar ye sochta hoon
Jo ho sake to Avadh ki pyaari zameen ko god mein utha loon
Aur us ke shadaab lahlahaati jabeen ko
Hazaaron boson se jagmaga doon.
The beautiful land of Avadh
These simple poor folk are the epitome of goodness
These gods of labour, these prophets of creation
Who make life beautiful with their calloused hands
Under the blacksmith’s anvil, iron is changing shape
The potter’s wheel hums
And goblets dance to its beat
The white flour emerges from the black millstone like a musical note
Flowers of fire bloom in stoves and ovens
Cooking utensils sing along
Skillets black with smoke laugh with lips made of sparks
Dupattas hang on ropes
And from their borders, a row of drops fall to the ground
On the hearts of these golden streets
The red borders of black long skirts shine on
How beautiful is this simplicity!
I sit in my prison cell and often wonder
That if I could I would take the beautiful earth of my Avadh in my lap
And light up its beautiful, shimmering forehead
With thousands of kisses.
Jan Nisar Akhtar
Bhoole na kisi haal mein aadaab-e nazar hum
Mud kar na tujhe dekh sake waqt-e safar hum
Jeene ka hamen khud na mila waqt to kya hai
Auron ko sikhlaate rahe jeene ka hunar hum
I never did lose sight of the protocols of the gaze
Thus did not turn to say goodbye as we went our ways
I admit I had no time to lead my own life but
My advice guided so many through its tricky maze.
A little birdie persistently whispers that Jan Nisar Akhtar (1914–76) ghostwrote many of the film songs that Sahir got credit for. Such rumours are not particularly useful, since they cannot be confirmed, but they do serve as a reminder that Jan Nisar’s style was similar to Sahir’s, and his
command over poetry was as strong.1 Akhtar himself is credited with quite a few song lyrics, such as the haunting ‘Ye dil aur un ki nigahon ke saaye’ (‘This heart, and the shadow of the gaze’) from the 1973 film Prem Parbat, and ‘Ai dil-e nadaan’ (‘O naive heart’) from the 1983 film Razia Sultan.
Jan Nisar gave up a career as an academic and moved to Bombay, where he mostly hung out with Mulk Raj Anand, Krishan Chander, Rajinder Singh Bedi and Ismat Chughtai—the so-called ‘Bombay Group of Writers’. He published several anthologies of his work, including Khaak-e Dil (The Dust of the Heart; 1973).
I have translated two of his poems. The first, ‘Ash-aar Mere’ (‘My Verses’), was rendered beautifully by Mukesh in a non-film work.2 The second poem hews more to the progressive tradition. ‘Aakhri Lamha’ (‘Last Moment’) is part of a long poem dedicated to his daughter Uneza. The poem incorporates narrative sweeps, shifting rhyme schemes and combines personal narrative with broader social concerns.
1Ash-aar mere
Ash-aar mere yoon to zamaane ke liye hain
Kuchh sher faqat unko sunaane ke liye hain
Ab ye bhi nahin theek ki har dard mitaa den
Kuchh dard kaleje se lagaane ke liye hain
Aankhon mein jo bhar loge to kaanton se chubhenge
Ye khwaab to palkon pe sajaane ke liye hain
Dekhoon tere haathon ko to lagta hai tere hath
Mandir mein faqat deep jalaane ke liye hain
Socho to badi cheez hai tahzeeb badan ki
Varna to badan aag bujhaane ke liye hain
Ye ilm ka sauda, ye risaale ye kitaaben
Ek shakhs ki yaadon ko bhulaane ke liye hain
My verses
My poetry of course for the entire world I deploy
But some verses are set aside for that one person’s joy
Some deep wounds are meant to be kept in the heart closely guarded
No joy can compensate if those unique pains are destroyed
Store them not inside your eyes, they will sting you like sharp thorns