The Taste of Words: An Introduction to Urdu Poetry

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