The Taste of Words: An Introduction to Urdu Poetry (18 page)

Inhi pathharon pe chal kar agar aa sako to aao

Mere ghar ke raaste mein koi kahkashaan nahi hai

If you wish to come, you must take the stony road

The stars do not light up the way to my abode.

Mustafa Zaidi (1930–70) died young, and the circumstances of his death were lurid, involving extramarital liaisons, a suicide pact with a lover who survived, and dark accusations of murder. Rather unfortunately, these issues have tended to overshadow discussions about his considerable talent. Zaidi should have been seen as one of the stalwarts of the progressive movement in Pakistan in the 1960s, but his due has mostly eluded him, partly because of the rather colourful posthumous publicity that enveloped him.

Zaidi’s first book,
Raushni
, was published when he was merely nineteen years old, and still in India. He moved to Pakistan in the early 1950s, and after a brief stint in academia, went on to become a senior civil servant. His career ended badly when he was dismissed during Yahya Khan’s purge of 303 bureaucrats in 1970. His death shortly after led to the murder trial of his paramour, which assumed the status of a media circus. During that time, several literary journals brought out special issues on his work. Eventually, his
Kulliyaat
(complete works) was published in the mid 1970s, which also included some of the most superlative praise of his work by Faiz, Firaaq and Josh.
1

I have chosen to translate two brief works. The first is a ghazal that has been sung by Abida Parveen, among others, while the second is an excerpt from his luminous poem ‘
Koh-e Nida
’ (hat tip to my friend Jaffar Naqvi for introducing me to this poem, and to Zaidi). The imagery of the Koh-e Nida is from the Arabian folk tale of Hatim Tai in which a mountain called out to people, who upon entering it were consumed by it. Written at the tail end of Zaidi’s life, this poem has been interpreted by many as a poetic suicide note, where Zaidi sees the world as a beckoning killer mountain.

Aandhi chali to naqsh-e kaf-e paa nahin mila

Dil jis se mil gaya vo dobaraa nahin mila

Aavaaz ko to kaun samajhta ke door door

Khaamoshiyon ka dard-shanasaa nahin mila

Hum anjuman mein sab ki taraf dekhte rahe

Apni tarah se koi akela nahin mila

Kachche ghade ne jeet li naddi chadhi hui

Mazboot kashtiyon ko kinara nahin mila

So intense was the storm, even footprints were wiped out

To lose those I desired—that’s been my fate throughout

Who could have recognized that voice, no one had the gift

That could feel the painful cadence of a silent shout

I locked eyes with everyone in that public soirée

Alas I found none as lonely as me, without a doubt

The clay pitcher survived the swells of flooded rivers

It reached the shore, while the storm shattered ships strong and stout.

Ayyohan-naas chalo koh-e nida ki jaanib

Kab tak aashufta-sari hogi naye naamon se

Thhak chuke honge kharabaat ke hangaamon se

Har taraf ek hi andaz mein din dhalte hain

Log har shehr mein saaye ki tarah chalte hain

Ajnabi khauf ko seenon mein chhupaae hue log

Apne aaseb ke taaboot uthaaye hue log

Zaat ke karb mein bazaar ki rusvaai mein

Tum bhi shamil ho is anboh ki tanhaai mein

Tum bhi ek baadiya paimaa ho khala ki jaanib

Ayyohan-naas chalo koh-e nida ki jaanib

Raat bhar jaagte rehte hain dukaanon ke charaagh

Dil vo sunsaan jazeera, ke bujha rehta hai

Lekin is band jazeere hi ke ek goshe mein

Zaat ka baab-e tilismaat khula rehta hai

Apni hi zaat mein pasti ke khandar milte hain

Apni hi zaat mein ek koh-e nida rehta hai

Sirf us koh ke daaman mein mayassar hai najaat

Aadmi varna anaasir mein ghira rehta hai

Aur phir in se bhi ghabra ke uthaata hai nazar

Apne mazhab ki taraf, apne khuda ki jaanib

Ayyohan-naas chalo koh-e nida ki jaanib

My fellow humans, let’s go answer the mountain’s call.

How long will we use new names to conceal our distress?

You too must be tired of this misfortune and stress

Everywhere the new day brings similar tired woes

In each city folk move strangely like zombie shadows

In their hearts they conceal strange fears camouflaged as cares

Demons disguised as idols, this strange multitude bears

Private pains of existence, the market’s public shame

Don’t you judge this crowd, you too have played this lonely game

Like barren promises, into this void let us fall

My fellow humans, let’s go answer the mountain’s call.

The bright lamps of shops stay lit all night, garish and stark

The heart, though, is that silent island that remains dark

But in every corner of this island, near and far

The magic door of selfhood remains open, ajar

In our self, we see lowly ruins of hurt and pain

In our own self we see the cursed beckoning mountain

In that mountain’s caves—that is where our salvation lies

Else humans stay trapped in webs of relations and ties

And fearful of those too, they slowly raise up their eyes

They summon their God, enveloped in religious thrall

My fellow humans let’s go answer the mountain’s call.

Ahmed Faraz (1931–2008) wrote such exquisite Urdu ghazals that it is almost impossible to believe that he was not a native speaker but rather a Pashtoon who grew up speaking Hindko. Like Jalib, he too suffered incarceration and exile under the Zia-ul Haq regime, but continued to write critically about the regime. Unlike Jalib’s plebeian verses though, Faraz favoured highly stylized language in his compositions.

In a rehabilitation of sorts, Faraz was feted in his later years, and even awarded the prestigious
Hilal-e Imtiaz
by the government in 2004. However, in 2006, in protest against Pervez Musharraf’s anti-democratic policies, Faraz returned the award, and died in 2008, unheralded by institutional awards but with a unique place in the hearts of Pakistanis, Urdu-lovers and lovers of freedom of expression everywhere. The public domain contains many of his performances, including the famous ‘
Mohaasara
’ (‘Siege’)
,
written in direct defiance of Zia-ul Haq.
1
The poem describes a besieged individual under attack from a powerful army, which sends him an invitation to surrender, to which he predictably responds defiantly.

The first ghazal
2
I have translated here (a traditional poem, but one for which he got some flak from conservatives for a direct reference to nudity) stands in stark contrast to the heartbreaking lyricism of Faraz’s best-known ghazal
,
‘
Ranjish hi sahi
’
3
. I include that ghazal along with two more snippets from Faraz’s poetry.

Sunaa hai log use aankh bhar ke dekhte hain

So uske shahr mein kuchh din thahar ke dekhte hain

Sunaa hai rabt hai us ko kharaab haalon se 

So apne aap ko barbaad kar ke dekhte hain

Sunaa hai us ko bhi hai sher-o-shaayiri se sharaf

So hum bhi mojize apne hunar ke dekhte hain

Sunaa hai bole so baton se phool jhadte hain

Ye baat hai to chalo, baat kar ke dekhte hain

Sunaa hai us ke shabistaan se muttasil hai bahisht

Makeen udhar ke bhi jalve idhar ke dekhte hain

Kise naseeb ke be-pairahan use dekhen

Kabhi kabhi dar-o-deevar ghar ke dekhte hain

Ab us ke shahr mein thehren, ke kooch kar jaayen

Faraz aao, sitaare safar ke dekhte hain

My love is the cynosure of eyes, everyone says

Why not stay in this city for just a few more days?

They say that the bereft receive his consideration

Let us destroy ourselves in this anticipation

It has been said that good poetry is close to his heart

So let us try to showcase miracles of our art

They say when my lover speaks, flowers fall from their stalks

Let us speak then, and see what transpires in our talks

Across from my lover’s bedroom, they say heaven lies

Dwellers of the other side this way have cast their eyes

Who is fortunate enough to see my lover nude?

Only his walls and roof, that too rarely, we conclude

Should we stay in my lover’s city, or should we pass?

Let us leave that decision to the stars, dear Faraz.

Raat ke jaan-gudaaz zulmat mein

Azm ki mashaalen jalaaye hue

Dil mein le kar baghaawaton ke sharaar

Vahshaton ke muheeb saaye mein

Sar-bakaf, jaan-ba lab, nigaah-ba qasr

Surkh-o-khooni alam uthhaaye hue

Badh rahe hain junoon ke aalam mein

Chand naadaan, chand deevane

In the murderous darkness

Having lit the torches of their determination

Carrying sparks of rebellion in their hearts

In the intimidating shadows of danger

Heads high, lives in the balance, and eyes on the palace

Carrying red, bloodstained banners

They march with frenzy

A few passionate novices.

Ranjish hi sahi, dil hi dukhaane ke liye aa

Aa phir se mujhe chhod ke jaane ke liye aa

Pehle se maraasim na sahi phir bhi kabhi to

Rasm-o-rah-e duniya hi nibhaane ke liye aa

Kis kis ko bataayenge judaai ka sabab hum

Tu mujh se khafaa hai to zamaane ke liye aa

Kuchh to mere pindaar-e muhabbat ka bharam rakh

Tu bhi to kabhi mujh ko manaane ke liye aa

Ek umr se hoon lazzat-e giriyaa se bhi mehroom

Ai raahat-e jaan, mujh ko rulaane ke liye aa

Ab tak dil-e khush-fahm ko tujh se hain ummeeden

Ye aakhri sham-en bhi bujhaane ke liye aa

Be it unpleasantness alone, just to hurt my heart, come

Come if only to reprise your spurning and leave, come

I know our relations are no longer what they were

But to fulfil empty social obligations, won’t you come?

How many times should I explain why we chose to part?

Be angry with me, but for appearances’ sake, do come

For once at least allow your lover one moment of pride

For once let me be angry, and to placate me, come

For an age, I have been deprived of the sweetness of grief

O solace of my life! Even to make me weep, do come

My foolish optimistic heart still harbours hopes of you

This last lamp remains lit, to extinguish it, please do come.

Gulzar (b. 1934) has served Urdu in multiple ways. His film songs have always been infused with the most elaborate of Persianized rhythms that jostle with more Sanskritic patterns to produce the true Ganga–Jamuna effect of Urdu. His metaphors are unique—my favourite is ‘
ek baar waqt se, lamha gira kahin
’ (‘once a moment fell from time’), invoking a leaf falling from a tree.
1
He has also written several non-film poems and short stories in Urdu; his anthology
Raavi Paar
(Across the Raavi River) is especially notable, as is his recent collection titled
Neglected Poems
, which elevates the quotidian to poetic heights. In addition, he has served the cause of Urdu poetry through his magnificent 1988 TV serial
Mirza Ghalib
, which was the entry point to the work of Ghalib for a new generation.

Gulzar has won seven National Awards, twenty Filmfare trophies, the Sahitya Akademi Award and the Padma Bhushan. His song ‘
Jai Ho
’ won the Oscar for best lyrics in 2009. He currently serves as the chancellor of Assam University, and was awarded the
Indira Gandhi Award for National Integration
in 2012.

I have included three non-film poems here, and one film-based composition, which in my opinion exemplifies the innovative language he deploys in his verse.
2

Zindagi yoon hui basar tanhaa

Qaafila saath, aur safar tanhaa

Apne saaye se chaunk jaate hain

Umr guzri hai is qadar tanhaa

Raat bhar bolte hain sannaate

Raat kaate koi kidhar tanhaa

Din guzartaa nahin hai logon mein

Raat hoti nahin basar tanhaa

Hum ne darvaze tak to dekhaa tha

Phir na jaane gaye kidhar tanhaa

Thus I led my life solitary, alone

The caravan alongside, the journey alone

Startled am I by my own shadow

I have spent my days to this degree alone

All night long, they speak to me

The silences, they never leave me alone

Though I cannot abide people by day

I’m loath to spend nights sans company, alone

I saw them off at my doorway and then

They left, and went on their odyssey alone.

Aadatan tum ne kar diye vaade

Aadatan hum ne aitbaar kiya

Teri raahon mein baar-haa ruk kar

Hum ne apnaa hi intezaar kiya

Ab na maangenge zindagi yaarab

Ye gunaah hum ne ek baar kiya

Out of sheer habit, you made a promise

And similarly, habitually, I trusted you

Tarrying continually by your paths

I kept on awaiting myself, I guess

Never again will I seek life, O Lord

I have made this mistake once; that is enough.

Is mod se jaate hain

Kuchh sust-qadam raste, kuchh tez-qadam raahen

Patthar ki haveli ko, sheeshe ke gharaundon mein

Tinkon ke nasheman tak, is mod se jaate hain

Aandhi ki tarah ud kar, ek raah guzarti hai

Sharmaati hui koyi qadmon se utarti hai

In reshmi raahon mein, ek raah to woh hogi

Tum tak jo pahunchti hai

Is mod se jaati hai

Ek door se aati hai, paas aake palat-ti hai

Ek raah akeli si, rukti hai na chalti hai

Ye soch ke baithhi hoon, ek raah to woh hogi

Tum tak jo pahunchti hai

Is mod se jaati hai

From this bend in the road

Go some slow-paced paths

And some fast highways

To the stone palace, the glasshouse and the nest of little debris

All paths go from this bend.

One path flies along like a hurricane

Another moves with shy footsteps

On these velvet roads, there must be at least one path

That reaches you; that too starts from this bend.

One path comes from really far away, and turns just as it reaches here

And one path, alone, neither stops nor moves

And I sit here, thinking, there must be at least one path

That reaches you

That too starts from this bend in the road.

Makaan ki oopri manzil pe ab koi nahin rehta

Vo kamre band hain kab se

Vo chaubi seedhiyaan un tak pahunchti thhin

Vo ab oopar nahin jaatin

Makaan ki oopri manzil pe ab koi nahin rehta

Vahaan kamron mein itna yaad hai mujh ko

Khilone ek purani tokri mein bhar ke rakhe the

Bahut se to uthhane phenkne rakhne mein choor ho gaye

Vahaan ek balcony bhi thhi

Jahaan ek beth ka jhoola latakta thha

Mera ek dost thha tota

Vo roz aata thha, us ko hari mirchi khilaata thha

Usi ke saamne chhat thhi

Jahaan ek mor baitha aasmaan pe raat bhar

Meethe sitaare chugta rehta thha

Mere bachhon ne vo dekha nahi

Vo neeche ki manzil pe rehte hain

Jahaan par piano rakha hai

Purane Parsi style ka

(Fraser se khareeda thha)

Magar kuchh besuri aavaazen karta hai

Ke us ki reeds saari hil gayi hain

Suron par doosre sur chhad gaye hain

Usi manzil pe ek pushtaini baithak thhi

Jahaan purkhon ki tasveeren latakti rehti theen

Main seedha karta thha, havaa phir tedha kar jaati

Bahu ko moochhon vale saare purkhe cliché lagte the

Mere bachhon ne aakhir un ko keelon se utaara

Purane newspaper mein unhe mehfooz kar ke rakh diya thha

Mera ek bhaanja le jaata hai filmon mein kabhi

Set par lagaata hai

Kiraya milta hai un se

Meri manzil pe mere saamne mehmaan-khaana hai

Mere potay kabhi Amreeka se aayen to rukte hain

Alag size mein aate hain vo jitni baar aate hain

Khuda jaane vohi aate hain ya har baar koi doosra aata hai

Vo ek kamra jo peeche ki taraf band hai

Jahaan batti nahin jalti

Vahaan ek rosary rakhi hai, vo us se mehakta hai

Vahaan vo dayi rehti thhi

Jis ne teen bachhon ko bada karne mein

Apni umr de di thhi

Mari to main ne dafnaaya nahin

Mehfooz kar ke rakh diya us ko

Aur us ke baad, ek do seedhiyan hain

Neeche tehkhaane mein jaati hai

Jahaan khamoshi raushan hai

Sukoon soya hua hai

Bas itni si pehloo mein jagah rakh kar

Ke jab main seedhiyon se neechen aaoon

To usi ke pehloon mein baazoo pe sar rakh kar

Gale lag jaaoon

So jaaoon

Makaan ki oopri manzil pe ab koi nahin rehta

No one lives on the top floor of the house any more

Those rooms have long been shut

The wooden staircase that reached them

Has decayed.

No one lives on the top floor of the house any more

In those rooms, I do remember,

Was an old basket full of toys

Many must be crushed by now in the constant moving and shifting.

There was a balcony there

Where a wicker-swing swung,

A parrot friend of mine

Used to swoop down and I would feed it a green chilli

And there was the rooftop, right there

Where a peacock used to sit

And eat sweet stars from the sky all night long.

My children never saw all that

They used to live on the lower level

Where there used to be a piano

Old Parsi style

(We had bought it from Fraser’s)

But now it makes strange sounds

For all its reeds are now shaken up

And on old tunes, some new tunes have mounted.

On that level, there was an old ceremonial drawing room

Where the photos of the ancestors used to hang

I used to straighten them out, only for the wind to make them crooked again

My daughter-in-law always found the mustachioed ancestors to be clichés

My children finally took those pictures down from those nails

And wrapped them in old newspapers

My nephew sometimes takes them to movie sets

Rents them out for money.

On my floor, there is a guest-room in front of mine

When my grandchildren visit from America, they stay there

Every time they come, they are a different size

God knows if the same children come, or if there are different ones every time!

There is a room at the back, closed

No light shines there

It has a rosary, which exudes fragrance

A nanny used to live there

Who, while raising my three children,

Gave away her whole life

When she died, I did not bury her

But kept her safe there.

And then, there are a few stairs

That descend into a basement

Silence shines there

And peace is asleep.

With just enough room

That when I descend those stairs

I should find room to nestle into it

Embrace it

And fall asleep.

No one lives on the top floor of the house any more.