The Taste of Words: An Introduction to Urdu Poetry (16 page)

Hua hai hukm ke Kaifi ko sang-saar karo

Maseeh baithe hain chhup kar kahaan, khuda jaane

Stone Kaifi to death, the rulers cried

The Messiah? We do not know where he hides!

Born Syed Athar Hussain Rizvi (1919–2002), Kaifi Azmi was initially educated in Islamic seminaries, but eventually became a true adherent of Marxism, dedicating his life to the service of the Communist Party of India, and writing his most tortured work,
Aavara Sajde
(Vagabond Obeisances), when the CPI and CPM split in the 1960s. He is well known for his proclamation: ‘I was born in enslaved India, have lived in independent secular India, and God willing, I will die in socialist India.’ Alas, his last wish was not to come true; indeed, the year he died was especially difficult even for secular India, thanks to the Gujarat pogroms. Kaifi’s death became a moment when people took it upon themselves to rededicate themselves to the idea of secularism.

Kaifi won many awards in his life, but was proudest of his Soviet Land Nehru Award. The Urdu Academy conferred on him the Millennium Award in 2001, and he was awarded the Sahitya Akademi Fellowship in 2002. His presence is well represented on the web
1
, and translations
2
of his work have been well received.

I have translated two poems below. The first, ‘
Andeshe
’ (‘Premonitions’) is a poignant description of an ending relationship, and was adapted by Chetan Anand in the 1964 film
Haqeeqat,
picturized on soldiers presumed dead in the Indo-China war imagining their spouses grieving them. In the second poem ‘
Makaan
’ (‘House’), Kaifi writes about construction workers and their role in the conquest of nature. In its unselfconscious modernism, the poem extols the power of labour in achieving mastery over nature (through the use of walls, and cables of electricity), and is reminiscent of a similar poem by Majaz on the train, also translated in this volume, albeit with a lot more anger on behalf of the dispossessed workers. To me, the poem depicts the ultimate potential failure of modernity from the point of view of the socialist: that it does not automatically ensure a just and egalitarian society. Modernity sometimes fails the very subjects who were promised freedom from the feudal system they had laboured under in earlier eras. Kaifi ends with a call for collective action, which is a trope he was to deploy consistently in his work.

Rooh bechain hai, ek dil ki aziyyat kya hai

Dil hi shola hai to ye soz-e mohabbat kya hai

Vo mujhe bhool gayi iski shikaayat kya hai

Ranj to ye hai ke ro-ro ke bhulaayaa hoga

Jhuk gayi hogi javaan-saal umangon ki jabeen

Mit gayi hogi lalak, doob gaya hoga yaqeen

Chha gaya hoga dhuaan ghoom gayi hogi zameen

Apne pehle hi gharaonde ko jo dhaayaa hoga

Dil ne aise bhi kuchh afsaane sunaaye honge

Ashk aankhon ne piye aur na bahaaye honge

Band kamre mein jo khat mere jalaaye honge

Ek-ik harf jabeen par ubhar aaya hoga

Us ne ghabra ke nazar lakh bachayi hogi

Mit ke ik naqsh ne sau shakl dikhaayi hogi

Mez se jab meri tasveer hataayi hogi

Har taraf mujh ko tadapta hua paaya hoga

Bemahal chhed pe jazbaat ubal aaye honge

Gham pashemaan tabassum mein dhal aaye honge

Naam par mere jab aansoo nikal aaye honge

Sar na kaandhe se saheli ke uthaaya hoga

Zulf zid kar ke kisi ne jo banayi hogi

Roothe jalvon pe khizaan aur bhi chhayi hogi

Barq ashvon ne kayi din na girayi hogi

Rang chehre pe kayi roz na aaya hoga

The soul itself is upset; it’s not merely the heart’s pain

The heart is all afire, agony is a refrain

I’m not sad that she forgot me and scrubbed memory’s stain

But she did it with tears and hurt—that is what I regret.

Resigned, her young expectations must have bowed their forehead

Her certitude must have sunk to resignation with dread

A pall of smoke might have set in, the earth turned on its head

When her first dream-nest she was forced to destroy and forget.

The heart must have narrated to her such a complex tale

That she would have held back her tears composed and calm, but pale

But when she burned my letters in a closed room with a wail

Every word must have floated up and made her eyes more wet.

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.

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

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.

Before he was Sahir Ludhianvi
1
, 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
.

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!

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

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.

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?

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?

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

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.