The Taste of Words: An Introduction to Urdu Poetry

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