The Taste of Words: An Introduction to Urdu Poetry (14 page)

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.
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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
.
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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.

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 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.

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.

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.