Hazaron Khawaishen Aisi
Page 11
I have known it well, why should I pine for the world now?
2
Beete hue dinon ki hilaawat kahaan se laaein
Ek meethhe meethhe dard ki raahat kahaan se laaein
Dhoonde kahaan wo nala-i shab taab ka jamaal
Aah-e sehar gahi ki sabaahat kahaan se laaein
Samjhaaein kaise dil ki nazaakat kaa maajra
Khamoshi-i nazar ki khitaabat kahaan se laaein
Tark-e ta’alluqaat ka ho jis se ihtemaal
Be baakiyon mein itni sadaaqat kahaan se laaein
Afsurdagi-i zabt-e alam aaj bhi sahi
Lekin nishaat-e zabt-e musarrat kahaan se laaein
Har fat’ha ke ghuroor mein bewaj’ha besabab
Ehsaas-e infa’aal-e hazeemat kahaan se laaein
Asoodagi-i lutf-o inaayat ke saath saath
Dil mein dabi dabi si qayaamat kahaan se laaein
Wo josh-e iztaraab pe kuchh sochne ke baad
Hairat kahaan se laaein nadaamat kahaan se laaein
2
The bliss of the days gone by, where shall I get now?
The pleasures of a sweet pain, where shall I get now?
Where shall I find the beauty of the radiant nights?
The grace of the dawn’s moaning, where shall I get now?
How shall I describe what a fragile heart I have?
The magic of a quiet glance, where shall I get now?
The fear of parting ways that lurks around ever
That truth of artful daring, where shall I get now?
The sorrow of bearing pain lives on even today
But the delight of bearing pleasure, where shall I get now?
In the vain pride of each victory for no reason
The sense of shame on each defeat, where shall I get now?
With that rare contentment drawn from love and care
A torment hidden in the heart, where shall I get now?
After sparing a thought on my effusive ways
That very shock and that surprise, where shall I get now?
Har lahza tazaa tazaa balaaon ka saamna
Naa aazmooda kaar ki jur’at kahaan se laaein
Hai aaj bhi nigaah-e muhabbat ki aarzu
Per aisi ik nigaah ki qeemat kahaan se laaein
Sab kuchh naseeb ho bhi to ai shorish-e hayaat
Tujh se nazar churaane ki aadat kahaan se laaein
A new disaster, each passing moment, each day
But the courage of a novice, where shall I get now?
I crave for a glance of love even now, my love!
The cost for such a glance, where shall I get now?
My life’s upheavals! What if I have my wish granted?
The nerve to evade your looks, where shall I get now?
28
Jan Nisar Akhtar
Jan Nisar Akhtar (1914–1976), son of the famous Urdu poet Muztar Khairabadi, hailed from a family of eminent poets and men of letters. He was born in Gwalior, where he received his early education before joining Aligarh Muslim University. He began his career as an academic who taught at Victoria College, Gwalior, then at Hamidia College, Bhopal. He was closely associated with the Progressive Writers Movement of which he also became the president. Later, he shifted to Bombay and joined the film industry as a lyricist and wrote some of the most haunting lyrics.
Akhtar started writing in the romantic tradition, but later subscribed to Progressive aesthetics which had become the model of the day. He developed an individual signature, clearly distinguishable from his contemporaries. He disengaged himself from the aesthetics which had become the model of the day, and from the Progressive writers, who treated literature as a site for slogan-raising and propaganda. Akhtar’s poetry is a fine example where message is artfully rendered in a lyrical mode. His poetry collections include Nazr-e Butaan, Salaasil, Pichhla Peher, Ghar Aangan, Khaak-e Dil, Taar-e Garebaan and Jaavedaan. The letters that his wife, Safia Akhtar, had written to him were put together in Zer-e Lub and Harf Aashnaa. They were later collected in Tumhare Naam. The letters unravel the tales of their lives lived with remarkable sincerity, and a deeper understanding of their severe limitations.
1
Fursat-e kaar faqat chaar ghadi hai yaaro
Ye na socho ke abhi umr padi hai yaaro
Apne taareek makaanon se to baahar niklo
Zindgai shama liye dar pe khadi hai yaaro
Hum ne sadiyon inhi zarron se muhabbat kee hai
Sub’ha aaee hai magar door khadi hai yaaro
Kis ki dehleez pe le jaa ke sajaaein us ko
Beech raste mein koee laash padi hai yaaro
Un ke bin jee ke dikhaa denge unhein yoon hi sahi
Baat itni hai ke zid aan padi hai yaaro
1
Just a few moments for the deed, O my friends
Don’t say life is long to succeed, O my friends
Emerge from your dark cloisters, reach up for the door
Life waits with a guiding lamp to lead, O my friends
I have loved these specks for millions of years
The dawn has shown but shies indeed, O my friends
Whose door do I choose, which one do I embellish?
A corpse on the road is lying to proceed, O my friends
I will live without her; I will show how I can
Now let that be my only creed, O my friends
2
Ash‘aar mere yoon to zamaane ke liye hain
Kuchh sher faqat un ko sunaane ke liye hain
Ye bhi to naheen theek ke har dard mitaa dein
Kuchh dard kaleje se lagaane ke liye hain
Aankhon mein jo bhar loge to kante se chubhenge
Ye khwaab to palkon pe sajaane ke liye hain
Dekhoon tere hathon ko to lagtaa hai tere haath
Mandir mein faqat deep jalaane ke liye hain
Socho to badi cheez hai tehzeeb badan ki
Warna to badan aag bujhaane ke liye hain
Ye ‘ilm ka sauda, ye risaale, ye kitaabein
Ek shakhsh ki yaadon ko bhulaane ke liye hain
2
My verses are for the world to cheer
But only a few lines for you to hear
But how can I erase all my pains?
May I have some pains to hold them dear?
If you hold them close, they will prick your eyes
They are dreams for the eyelashes to cheer
When I look at your hands, I find your hands
Are made to put the temple lamps in cheer
This body’s piety is a boon I know
It’s also to quench its raging fire here
All this living among books and journals
Is only to keep her memories in clear
29
Majrooh Sultanpuri
Majrooh Sultanpuri (1919–2000) is the nom de plume of Asrarul Hasan Khan. He was born in village Nizamabad of qasba Azamgarh. He received his education on the pattern of Dars-e Nizami with an emphasis on Arabic, Persian and religious knowledge. Later, he earned a degree in traditional Unani medicine from Lucknow, which he practised but relinquished soon. Majrooh joined the Bombay film industry as a lyricist and wrote many memorable songs. He won Filmfare’s Best Lyricist Award and then the most prestigious Dada Sahib Phalke Lifetime Achievement Award. He subscribed to the aesthetics of Progressive Writers Movement, staunchly believed in Marxist philosophy, was imprisoned for his leftist leanings, but was finally disenchanted with the way socialism had chosen to follow of late in Russia and China.
Majrooh earned his reputation essentially as a poet of the classical ghazal tradition. He knew the standards of the traditional poetics well enough to be able to use it to his benefit and acquire an individual voice in the melee of voices around. Majrooh allowed his ghazal to remain a traditional ghazal in its essential make-up, even though he found ways to insert contemporary realities into its content and form, following the norms of the modern poetics. He published his poetry in Ghazal and Mis’hal-e Jaan.
1
/>
Hum hain mat‘aa-e kucha-o bazaar ki tarah
Uthh’ti hai har nigaah khareedaar ki tarah
Wo to kaheen hain aur magar dil ke aas paas
Phirti hai koee shai nigah-e yaar ki tarah
Is kue tashnagi main bahut hai ke ek Jaam
Haath aa gayaa hai daulat-e bedaar ki tarah
Seedhi hai raah-e shauq pa yoon hi kaheen kaheen
Khum ho gaee hai gesu-i- dildaar ki tarah
Be tesha-i nazar na chalo raah-e raftagaan
Har naqsh-e paa baland hai deewaar ki tarah
Ab jaa ke kuchh khula hunar-e naakhun-e junoon
Zakhnm-e jigar hue lab-o rukhsaar ki tarah
Majrooh likh rahe hain wo ahl-e wafaa ke naam
Hum bhee khade hue hain gunahgaar ki tarah
1
Each buyer surveys the wares in the market
And I—like only a ware in the market
She is not here, but close to my heart, here
Something lurks about—like her fleeting glance
In the home of thirst, a cup of drink is luck
Like a treat of fate—like a gift in hand
The way to the cherished goal is laid straight
Coiled but here and there—like her curly tresses
Don’t walk the older paths without much caution
Each footprint is amazing—like the high walls
Only now I can guess what artful nails can do
The wounds of heart have become—like lips and cheeks
Majrooh! He’s scribbling the names of lovers
I too stand with them—like a damned sinner
2
Hum ko junoon kya sikhlaate ho, hum the pareshaan tum se ziyaada
Phaade honge hum ne azizo, chaak garebaan tum se ziyaada
Chaak-e jigar muhtaaj-e rafoo hai aaj to daaman sirf luhoo hai
Ek mausam tha hum ko raha hai shauq-e bahaaraan tum se ziyaada
‘Ahd-e wafa yaaron se nibhaaein, naz-e harifaan hans ke uthhaaein
Jab ye armaan tum se siwaa tha, ab hain pashemaan tum se ziyaada
Hum bhi hameshaa qatl hue aur tum ne bhi dekha door se lekin
Ye na samajhna hum ko hua hai, jaan ka nuqsaan tum se ziyaada
Jaao tum apne baam ki khaatir, saari lawein shammon ki katar lo
Zakhm ke mehr-o maah salaamat, jashn-e chiraaghaan tum se ziyaada
Dekh ke uljhan zulf-e dota ki kaise ulajh padte hain hawaa se
Hum se seekho hum ko hai yaaro fikr-e nigaaraan tum se ziyaada
Zanjeer-o deewar hi dekhi tum ne to Majrooh magar hum
Koocha koocha dekh rahe hain aalam-e zindaan tum se ziyaada
2
Don’t tell me what being crazy is; I was the one, and more than you
I must have torn my own clothes many a time, and more than you
The torn heart calls for relief for I stand smeared in blood
But there was a time I cherished the spring, and more than you
Let me keep my words with friends, suffer the follies of my foes
My desires soared high but now I’m humbled, and more than you
You kept apart, you watched me slay, every time I met my fate
Don’t think I’ve suffered more but I’ve surely pined, and more than you
Go and prune the wicks of lamps to light your homes, both in and out
Let my wounds live for long, I shall have the lights, and more than you
Looking at those curls of tresses, how you curse the ruffling wind
Look at me, learn from me, how I cared for her, and more than you
You have only seen the four walls and the iron chains, Majrooh
But I’ve seen prison houses in every street, and more than you
NEW POETICS
The mid-twentieth century saw the emergence of what may be called the new ghazal. It was new as poetry elsewhere and in other languages too was new. While some poets from India and the newly-created Pakistan drew upon past traditions to develop their own models of the decisively modern, others broke completely free from them to project their novel, drastic or even desperate versions of what can, in retrospect, be ambivalently called the postmodern. This liberal stance towards life and art resulted in the emergence of a large variety of thematic and stylistic variations. Exposed to contemporary realities of the time, the new poets wrote of existential angst, turned the abstract into concrete and the concrete into abstract, the mundane into sublime and the sublime into mundane.
The new generation of poets lived in an increasingly shrinking world of migrations and diasporas, even while inhabiting an expanding world of doubt and faith, belonging and estrangement. Experimenting with language—resorting to intermixing of various linguistic codes, turning playful with it to evolve a secular parlance—turned out be their credo. Some of them even went to the extent of writing the ‘anti-ghazal’ by defying the age-old principles of poetics. They aimed at evolving a unique diction, with a fresh usage of metaphors and moods, images and moments, channelling auditory and visual elements in these. In moulding the contemporary speech as gendered, communal, political or even prosaic, they wished to manoeuvre their compositions in their individual style. Thereby, the new poets also experimented with form, breaking the traditional moulds of the ghazal. They showed immense intellectual curiosity and carried it closer to other arts. They turned to the avant-garde and the surrealist modes of poetry, chose to be allusive and ambiguous, as well as downright playful and humourous. At the same time, they also turned mythopoeic in their perceptions of the historical and literary time.
As the new poets represented their times and climes, they also tested themselves in a larger melting pot of the native and non-native cultures. They constituted a part of the socio-political condition of their times defined by some of the major events in south Asian history, like the lingering shadows of India’s Partition (1947), the Indo–China war (1962), India–Pakistan wars (1965, 1971, 1999), India’s nuclear experiments (1974, 1998), and the unending skirmishes between peoples and nations. The new poets found their ways of assent and dissent in the way they internalized the conditions around them in the spirit of curiosity, interrogation, escape and affirmation.
30
Majeed Amjad
Majeed Amjad (1914–1974), who lived a very private life and had little respect for extra-literary considerations, was born in Jhung (now in Pakistan). He received his early education in Arabic and Persian at a local mosque, and continued his education there before going to Islamia College, Lahore, to get his bachelor’s degree. He began his career as a journalist, editing the weekly Urooj, which was published from Jhung. It was there that he started publishing his poetry, and was later fired from his job for publishing a poem against the British Raj. Amjad joined the Civil Supplies Department and kept moving from place to place.
Amjad is a typical case of an acknowledged but ignored genius. Although in serious critical appraisals he has been rated as one of the most remarkable poets to determine the contours of modern Urdu poetry, he continues to be read less and evaluated even lesser. His poetry is a configuration of memory, metaphor and space. What distinguishes all these configurations is his narrative, which has the ability to carry the reader forward in time and space. He is a poet of the nazm, but his ghazals shake hands with the techniques he employed in his nazm, with respect to the constructions of myths and metaphors, language and modes of narration. Shab-e Rafta is the only collection he published during his lifetime; Mere Khuda Mere Dil and his collected works, Kulliyaat-e Majeed Amjad, were published posthumously.
1
Jung bhee, tera dhyaan bhee, hum bhee
Siren bhee, azaaan bhee, hum bhee
Sab teri hi amaan mein shab bedaar
Morche bhee, makaan bhee, hum bhee
Teri manshaaon ke mahaaz pe hain
Chhaauni ke jawaan bhee, hum bhee
Dekhne wale ye nazaara bhi dekh
‘Azm bhee, imtihaan bhee, hum bhee
Ek ajab etamaad se
enon mein
Fat’ha ka ye nishaan bhee, hum bhee
Too bhee aur teri nafraton ke saath
Shahr mein Tikka Khan bhee, hum bhee
1
The war, your nagging thoughts, and me too
That siren, this call for prayer, and me too
All of them in your care, all night long
Those frontiers, these abodes, and me too
They are on the borders of your target
Those soldiers from the cantonment, and me too
Onlooker! Come and look at this scene too
This resolve and this trial, and me too
There is a strange confidence in hearts
This very sign of victory, and me too
You, and with all your hatred, all over
That is Tikka Khan in town, and me too
2
Her waqt fikr-e-marg-e ghareebaana chaahiye
Saihat ka ek pehloo mareezaana chaahiye
Dunya-i be-tareeq mein jis samt bhi chalo
Raste mein ek salaam rafeeqaana chaahiye
Aankhon mein umde rooh ki nazdeekiyon ke saath
Aisa bhi ek door ka yaarana chaahiye
Kya pastiyon ki zillatein kya azmaton ke fauz
Apne liye ‘azaab judaagaana chaahiye
Ab dard-e-shash bhi saans ki koshish mein hai shareek
Ab kya ho, ab to neend ko aa jaana chaahiye
Raushan taraaiyon se utarti hawa mein aaj
Do char gaam laghzish-e mastaana chaahiye
Amjad un ashk bar zamaanon ke waaste
Ek saa’at-e-bahaar ka nazraana chaahiye
2
Only to die a humble death is all I desire
Ailment as a face of health is all I desire
Whichever way I move in a rowdy world, I may
Only a kind greeting on the way is all I desire
May all the warmth of souls light up bright in the eyes
Such a distant bond of souls is all I desire
What humiliation in pits! What glory in heights!
A different curse for myself is all I desire
Now the abundance of pain joins the efforts of breaths
What now, now the sleep’s arrival is all I desire!
With the winds descending from the luminous foothills
To walk a few wobbling steps is all I desire
Amjad! What do I want for those tearful days?
Only a moment’s spring of joy is all I desire