by Mir
Scared, she must have avoided each recriminating gaze
But in a hundred images, she may have seen my face
When she must have moved my picture from its familiar place
She would have found me everywhere, a painful silhouette.
An innocent tease may have led emotions to overflow
Her tentative and bashful smiles would have betrayed sorrow
But when she burst into tears at my name, don’t I know
Her head on her friend’s shoulder would have stayed, upset.
If friends insisted on making her up, combing her hair,
Her saddened beauty must have seemed so barren and bare
Her face would strike no lightning awhile in hearts debonair
It would not have regained colour for days, alas not yet.
2Makaan
Aaj ki raat bahut garm hawaa chalti hai
Aaj ki raat na footpath pe neend aayegi
Sab utho, main bhi uthoon, tum bhi utho, tum bhi utho
Koi khidki isi deewaar mein khul jaayegi
Ye zameen tab bhi nigal lene pe aamaada thhi
Paaon jab toot’ti shaakhon se utaare hum ne,
Un makaanon ko khabar hai, na makeenon ko khabar
Un dinon ki jo gufaaon mein guzaare hum ne
Haath dhalte gaye saanchon mein to thakte kaise
Naqsh ke baad naye naqsh nikhaare hum ne
Ki ye deewaar buland, aur buland, aur buland
Baam-o-dar aur, zaraa aur sanwaare hum ne
Aandhiyaan tod liya karti thhi shamon ki laven
Jad diye is liye bijli ke sitaare hum ne
Ban gaya qasr, to pehre pe koi baith gaya
So rahe khaak pe hum shorish-e taameer liye
Apni nas nas mein liye mehnat-e paiham ki thhakan
Band aankhon mein usi qasr ki tasveer liye
Din pighalta hai usi tarha saron par ab bhi
Raat aankhon mein khatakti hai siyah teer liye
Aaj ki raat bahut garm hawaa chalti hai
Aaj ki raat na footpath pe neend aayegi
Sab utho, main bhi uthoon, tum bhi utho, tum bhi utho
Koi khidki isi deewaar mein khul jaayegi
House
A hot air blows tonight
It will be impossible to sleep on the pavement
Arise everyone! I will rise too. And you. And yourself too
That a window may open in these very walls.
The earth had forever threatened to swallow us
Since we descended from trees and became human,
Neither these houses, nor their residents care to remember
All those days humanity spent in caves.
Once our arms learned the craft however, how could they tire?
Design after design took shape through our work.
And then we built the walls higher, higher and yet higher
Lovingly wrought an even greater beauty to the ceilings and doors
Storms used to extinguish the flames of our lamps
So we fixed stars made of electricity in our skies.
Once the palace was built, they hired a guard to keep us out
And we slept in the dirt, with our screaming craft
Our pulses pounding with exhaustion
Bearing the picture of that very palace in our tightly shut eyes
The day still melts on our heads like before
The night pierces our eyes with black arrows,
A hot air blows tonight
It will be impossible to sleep on the pavement
Arise everyone! I will rise too. And you. And yourself too
That a window may open in these very walls.
Sahir Ludhianvi
Before he was Sahir Ludhianvi1, Abdul Hai (1921–80) was born in a family of Punjabi landowners. His anger at his class position led to his expulsion from college. However, even before he turned twenty-five, he had published Talkhiyan, a bestseller till date. Sahir, of course, is known in the public imagination for his incredible career as a film lyricist. A partial collection of his film lyrics titled Gaata Jaaye Banjara (And the Gypsy Sings On) outsells most poetry books in serious bookstores. Sahir has been credited with recasting class-rebellion as romantic rebellion in film songs to shoehorn his politics into the filmi idiom. However, he was strangely ignored by the intelligentsia. For example, in his analysis of Urdu literature Mohammed Sadiq, after a chapter each on Ghalib, Iqbal, and even Akbar Allahabadi, dismisses Sahir in one paragraph. His analysis begins thus: ‘Though deficient in imagination, Sahir has a strong intellectual approach.’2
But despite being ignored by some of the intelligentsia, the poet lives on in the public imagination. In this crowded field, let me declare that despite all his flaws, Sahir is my favourite poet, and his Parchhaiyan my favourite poem. It has to do with a variety of personal reasons, and I will not be aghast if this surprises some readers.
I have chosen to translate three poems from Sahir here. The first is his uber-famous ‘Taj Mahal’, which was sung beautifully by Mohammad Rafi in the 1964 film Ghazal. The second is a qataa that exemplifies the defiance of Sahir the poet. The third is a selection from his film work: ‘Main pal do pal ka shaayar hoon’ from the blockbuster 1976 film Kabhie Kabhie.
1Taj Mahal
Taj tere liye ek mazhar-e ulfat hi sahi
Tujh ko is vaadi-e rangeen se aqeedat hi sahi
Meri mehboob, kahin aur mila kar mujh se!
Bazm-e shahi mein ghareebon ka guzar kya maani?
Sabt jis rah pe hon satvat-e shaahi ke nishan
Us pe ulfat bhari roohon ka safar kya maani?
Meri mehboob, pas-e parda-e tashheer-e vafaa
Tu ne satvat ke nishaanon ko to dekha hota?
Murda shahon ke maqaabir se bahalne vaali
Apne taareek makaanon ko to dekha hota?
Anginat logon ne duniya mein mohabbat ki hai
Kaun kehta hai ke sadeq na thhe jazbe un ke?
Lekin un ke liye tash-heer ka saamaan nahin
Kyon ke vo log bhi apni hi tarah muflis thhe
Ye imaaraat, vo maqaabir, ye faseelen, ye hisaar
Mutlaq-ul hukm shahenshahon ki azmat ke sutoon
Daaman-e dahr pe us rang ki gulkaari hai
Jis mein shaamil hai tere aur mere ajdaad ka khoon
Meri mehboob, unhen bhi to mohabbat hogi
Jin ki sannaai ne bakhshi hai isey shakl-e jameel
Un ke pyaaron ke maqaabir rahe benaam-o-namood
Aaj tak un pe jalaayi na kisi ne qandeel
Ye chamanzaar, ye Jamunaa ka kinaaraa, ye mahal
Ye munaqqash dar-o-deevaar, ye mehraab, ye taaq
Ek shahenshah ne daulat ka sahara le kar
Ham ghareebon ki mohabbat kaa udaayaa hai mazaaq!
Meri mehboob, kahin aur mila kar mujh se!
Taj Mahal
The Taj may be a symbol of love for you
And you may place faith in that verdant valley
But my love, please meet me elsewhere.
What is the meaning of the presence of the poor in these palaces?
On the paths, where the majesty of kings has been etched
Why should loving souls sojourn here?
My love, behind the curtain of exhibitionist romance
Do you not observe the marks of elitism?
You who are calmed in the mausoleums of dead kings
Could you not cast a look at your own dark house?
Countless people have fallen in love before
Who says their emotions were not authentic?
But this indelible memory is not for them
For they, like us, were poor.
This building, those tombs, these parapets, that fort
&nb
sp; The signs of the grandeur of sovereign kings
Are like rose-hued writing on the face of this world
That has been coloured with the blood of your ancestors and mine.
My beloved, they too must have loved passionately
They—whose craft has given [the Taj] its beautiful visage
Their loved ones lie in unmarked graves
Where no one even lights a candle.
These gardens, these banks of the Jamuna, this palace
These intricately carved walls and doors and awnings
An emperor has used his immense wealth to mock the love of us poor.
My love, meet me anywhere but here.
2Qataa
Vajh-e be rangi-e gulzaar kahoon to kya ho?
Kaun hai kitna gunahgaar, kahoon to kya ho?
Tum ne jo baat sar-e bazm na sun-na chaahi
Main wahi baat sar-e daar kahoon to kya ho?
Quatrain
What if I told you why the garden had no colour?
What if I outed those whose sins had caused this squalor?
Those words you do not wish whispered in civil soirées
What if those very words on the gallows I holler?
3Main pal do pal ka shayar hoon
Main pal do pal ka shayar hoon
Pal do pal meri kahani hai
Pal do pal meri hasti hai
Pal do pal meri jawani hai
Mujh se pehle kitne shayar aaye aur aa kar chale gaye
Kuchh aahen bhar kar laut gaye kuchh naghme gaa kar chale gaye
Woh bhi ek pal ka qissa tha, main bhi ek pal ka qissa hoon
Kal tum se juda ho jaoonga, jo aaj tumhara hissa hoon
Har nasl ek fasl hai dharti ki, aaj uth-ti hai kal kat-ti hai
Jeevan vo mehngi midra hai, jo qatra qatra bat-ti hai
Pal do pal main ne sunaya hai, itni hi sa-aadat kaafi hai
Pal do pal tum ne mujh ko suna, itni hi inayat kaafi hai
Kal aur aayenge naghmon ki khilti kaliyan chunne wale
Mujh se behtar kahne wale tumse behtar sunne wale
Kal koi mujh ko yaad karey? Kyon koi mujh ko yaad karey?
Masroof zamaana mere liye kyon waqt apna barbaad karey?
Main pal do pal ka shayar hoon
I am a poet of a few moments
I am a poet of a few moments
And a few moments’ worth is my story
A few moments’ worth is my existence
And a few moments’ worth is my youth.
Before me, so many poets came and went away
Some sighed in great anguish and left; others sang their songs and left too
They were the story of a few moments
I am a story of a few moments, too
Tomorrow, I’ll be separated from you
Though I feel an integral part of you.
Every generation is a crop, grown today and harvested tomorrow
And life is that expensive liquor that is distributed by the drop
I have recited for a moment or two, this fortune is enough
You have listened for a moment or two, this favour too is enough.
Tomorrow, there will be others who will pluck the flowering buds of songs
Those who speak better than me, and those who listen better than you
Tomorrow, will someone remember me? Why at all should they remember me?
Why should this busy world waste its time for someone as inconsequential as me?
I am a poet of a few moments.
Sulaiman Khateeb
Main raste ki panti hoon, deepak hoon fan ka
Ye saara ujaala hai mere sukhan ka
Mujhe naich pehchaane logainch mere
Main anmol heera hoon Dakkan ki khan ka
I am the traveller of the path, I light the lamp of art
Through my dexterity this brightness do I impart
Alas, I remain unheeded! My people missed the signs
I am the invaluable gem of Deccan’s diamond mines.
Sulaiman Khateeb (1922–78) was indeed a true gem from the mines of the Deccan, a Koh-i-noor. He was born in present-day Karnataka, and his family was steeped in devotion to Khwaja Banda Nawaaz, the patron saint of Gulbarga. Orphaned as a baby, he managed to channel his experiences of marginality into his poetry, and wrote evocatively about the poor and oppressed, including those trapped in moribund social institutions such as oppressed daughters-in-law, impoverished widows, financially strapped parents of girls facing dowry demands, and victims of sectarian riots. The most incredible part about Khateeb’s work is that, despite its dark themes, it is witty—not smile-inwards witty, but roll-on-the-floor funny.1 Despite his own precarious financial existence (he worked for the Karnataka State Water Works Department and yet won no patronage from the state), Khateeb managed to hold his own as a poet of repute; despite his ability to write in traditional idioms (and his fluency in Persian), he treasured and nurtured the Dakkani style of speaking and writing in his work, legitimizing it in the eyes of a broader community of poets and listeners.
The poem I have translated is a small excerpt from a longer poem titled Saas Bahu, which is structured as a dialogue between a foul-mouthed, abusive and ignorant woman and her educated, urbane daughter-in-law who has no option but to listen to her mother-in-law’s rants and reflect on her status. I wish I could have translated the whole poem with all its twists and turns; I hope this excerpt will provide a fleeting, partial sense of his turn of phrase and linguistic felicity.
Saas bahu
Saas:
Aanch ghar mein lagaa ko baithi hai
Ghar ka gampa gira ko baithi hai
Vo to potta sada ka deevana
Poora bandar banaa ko baithi hai . . .
Ujla dekha, uchhal gaya potta
Peela dekha, phisal gaya potta
Mere haatan se, kya karoon, amma
Saaf poora nikal gaya potta
Kaise jaale mein is ko pakdi hai
Admiyan khaane ki ek makdi hai
Bahu (Deevan-e Ghalib ka ek safa ulat-te hue):
Na suno gar bura kahe koi
Na kaho gar bura kahe koi
Rok lo gar ghalat chale koi
Bakhsh do gar khataa kare koi
Jab tavaqqo hi uth gaya Ghalib
Kyon kisi ka gila kare koi
Saas:
Kaun Ghalib, ye tera sagga hai?
Ki kaleje ko thham leti hai?
Itti deeda-dileri dekho ma!
Ghair mardon ka naam leti hai!
Bahu:
Baatein karti ho kis tarah ammi?
Baat heera hai baat moti hai
Baat lakhon ki laaj khoti hai
Baat har baat ko nahi kehte
Baat mushkil se baat hoti hai
Baat seene ka dagh hoti hai
Baat phoolon ka baagh hoti hai
Baat khair-o-sawaab hoti hai
Baat qahr-o-azaab hoti hai
Baat barg-e gulab hoti hai
Baat tegh-e itaab hoti hai
Baat kehte hain rabb-e arni ko
Baat ummul kitaab hoti hai
Baat bole kaleem ho jaye
Sun-ne wala nadeem hojaye
Baat khanjar ki kaat hoti hai!!
Saas:
Minje khanjar ki kaat boli na!
Minjhe kadhki so naat boli na!
Dikh ke murdon ki khaat boli na!
Ghud po pheke so taat boli na!
Minje chipkaa so chamboo boli na
Minje tadqaa so bamboo boli na!
Minje duniya ki kutni samjhee gey?
Laal mirchiyaan ki bukni samjhee gey?
Minje dammey ki dhuknee samjhee gey?
Minjhe phutti so phookni sa
mjhee gey?
Marad aaney dey peet phodongee
Teri turbat banako ch’hodongi
Kitte jaatey hain tu bhi jaana gey
Aako khai-dast tujhe lejana gey
Ghis ke mirchiyan tujhe lagaana gey
Pooray peeraan ke haath jodonngee
Mitthe ghoday banaake ch’hodoongi
Ujlee shakkar ke chongay todoongi
Chaar nariyal mangaa ko phodoongi
Mere dil ko sukoon mil jayinga
Sukki daali pey phool khil jayinga
Bahu (aankhon mein aansoo laake):
Hum gharaane ki shaan rakhte hain
Band mutthi mein aan rakhte hain
Ghar ki izzat ka paas hai, varna
Hum bhi moonh mein zaban rakhte hain
Apni taleem rok leti hai
Baat badhte hi rok deti hai . . .
Mother-in-law, daughter-in-law
Mother-in-law:
She lit a fire in my house and relaxed
She broke our gampa2 and relaxed
My son was always such an idiot
Now she has made him a monkey and she relaxed
He saw some white flesh and see how he slipped
He saw her ochre complexion and jumped
What can I say, friend, my own son
Is lost to me completely now
Look how she has ensnared him in her web
She is a man-eating spider, I tell you.
Daughter-in-law (turning the pages of the Deevan-e Ghalib):
Listen not if someone speaks ill
Speak not if someone speaks ill
Stop them if they go astray
Forgive those who bear ill-will
When expectation has been betrayed, Ghalib
How can one recriminate, still?
Mother-in-law:
Who, Ghalib? Is this a buddy of yours?
That you grab your heart with such feeling?
Look how forward is this wench, look
How she takes the name of unrelated men!
Daughter-in-law:
Why do you use such words, Ammi?
A word is a diamond, a word is a pearl
Not all words are worthy of being so termed