Urge to Fly

I realize that the title of this post can be a little misleading. This is not about Mirza Ghalib, the 1954 film by Sohrab Modi that had Bharat Bhushan and Suraiya in lead roles. I am talking about how Ghalib’s poetry has been adapted in Hindi films. Again, not Ghalib’s ghazals that were used in that film., but about adaptation of his poetry.

While searching for rare Lata Mangeshkar melodies from the 40s and 50s, I came across a ghazal from the 1950 film Aadhi Raat, composed by Husnalal Bhagatram. The song went:

दिल ही तो है तड़प गया, दर्द से भर न आए क्यूँ
रोएंगे हम हज़ार बार कोई हमें सताए क्यूँ

रोते हुए गुज़ार दी जिसने तमाम ज़िन्दगी
उसको हँसी से काम क्या कोई उसे हँसाए क्यूँ

ऐ मेरे बदनसीब दिल देख ये तेरी भूल है
तू तो ख़िज़ाँ का फूल है तुझ पे बहार आए क्यूँ

आँख में आँसू दिल में ग़म जीने को जी रहे हैं हम
मौत से पहले ज़िन्दगी ग़म से निजात पाए क्यूँ

Dil hi to hai tadap gaya dard se bhar na aaye kyuN
RoeNge hum hazaar baar koi hameiN sataye kyuN

Rote hue guzaar di jisne tamam zindagi
Usko haNsi se kaam kya koi use haNsaye kyuN

Ae mere badnaseeb dil dekh ye teri bhool hai
Tu to khizaaN ka phool hai tujh pe bahar aaye kyuN

AaNkh meiN aaNsoo dil meiN gham jine ko ji rahe haiN hum
Maut se pehle zindagi gham se nijaat paye kyuN

Just read the opening and the closing couplets: they are clearly ‘inspired’ by Ghalib’s famous ghazal:

दिल ही तो है न सन्ग-ओ-ख़िश्त दर्द से भर न आए क्यूँ
रोएंगे हम हज़ार बार कोई हमें सताए क्यूँ

क़ैद-ए-हयात-ओ-बन्द-ए-ग़म अस्ल में दोनो एक हैं
मौत से पहले आदमी ग़म से निजात पाए क्यूँ

Dil hi to hai na sang-o-khisht, dard se bhar na aaye kyuN
RoeNge hum hazaar baar koi hameiN sataye kyuN

Qaid-e-hayaat-o-band-e-gham asl meiN dono ek haiN
Maut se pehle aadmi gham se nijaat paaye kyuN

I don’t know much about what the credits of this song said when it was released, so I am not sure if one can call it plagiarism. However, it is quite clear the seemingly tough words from the original were ‘toned down’ to ensure wider comprehension. Personally, I feel that by changing the words, the intent of the original is completely lost, especially in the last couplet. The philosophical mood and existential angst of the original got transformed into a very trite depiction of personal sorrow.

Interestingly, the song is written by Asad Bhopali, who shares his pen name – Asad – with the great Mirza Ghalib.

The brings me to another song, where one of Ghalib’s couplet was modified to form the mukhda for an otherwise original, and, if I might say, very evocative poetry. I’m talking about Gulzar’s Dil DhooNdhta Hai from Mausam (1975). The modification of the opening couplet was quite significant. Consider this:

दिल ढूँढता है फिर वही फ़ुर्सत के रात दिन (गुलज़ार)
जी ढूँढता है फिर वही फ़ुर्सत कि रात दिन… (ग़ालिब)

Dil DhooNdhta Hai Phir Wohi Fursat Ke Raat Din (Gulzar)
Jee DhooNdhta Hai Phir Wohi Fursat Kih Raat Din… (Ghalib)

There are two differences in the above line. Jee (जी) was changed to Dil (दिल), apparently on Madan Mohan’s suggestion. This does not change the meaning much, but let’s look at the other modification. Gulzar got rid of the enjambement that Ghalib’s verse had. Translated into English:

The Heart searches for days and nights of leisure (Gulzar)
The heart searches for leisure, so that day and night…. (Ghalib)

Ghalib’s she’r would not make sense without the next line, which is:

बैठे रहें तसव्वुर-ए-जानाँ किये हुए
Baithe raheN tassavur-e-jaanaN kiye huye

Translation: ...Keep sitting with the thoughts of the beautiful ones

And that is what makes Ghalib’s verse so beautiful. In true mushaira tradition, it leaves the first line open-ended so that you eagerly wait for the next line. That kind of anticipation is missing from Gulzar’s version as the first line is syntactically and structurally complete.

However, Gulzar’s modification works well in the context of the song, where his character is off on a vacation and sitting with the thoughts of the beautiful ones (तसव्वुर-ए-जानाँ) is not the only thing he is seeking, as the antaras (stanzas) of the song reveal. He’s looking for leisure when he could sit with the thoughts of the beautiful ones OR laze around and enjoy the winter sun OR sleep on roof tops on a hot summer night….

So here you get two instances, one where simplification makes the poetry seem pedestrian and another where modification adds another dimension.

I am looking out for more such adaptations of Ghalib’s poetry …

One of my favorite songs these days is from Sudhir Mishra’s forthcoming Khoya Khoya Chand. What drew me to this song was that it had elements of qawwali (I have always been fascinated by this genre of music), and, more importantly, absolutely outstanding lyrics by Swanand Kirkire….

आज शब जो चाँद ने है रूठने की ठान ली
गर्दिशों में हैं सितारे बात हम ने मान ली
अन्धेरी स्याह ज़िन्दगी को सूझती नहीं गली
कि आज हाथ थाम लो एक हाथ की कमी खली

Aaj shab jo chand ne hai roothne ki thaan li
Gardishon mein hain sitare baat humne maan li
Andheri syaah zindagi ko soojhti nahin gali
Ki aaj haath thaam lo ki haath ki kami khali

The meter used in these lines, alternate long and short syllables, makes the rhythm easy to grasp and instantly appealing.

While listening to the song, I was quite stumped by one line:

क्यूँ तू आज इतना वहशी है मिज़ाज में मजाज़ है ऐ ग़म-ए-दिल
Kyun tu aaj itna vahshi hai mizaaj mein majaaz hai aye gham-e-dil

I just couldn't understand the usage of the word 'majaaz'. Of course, this word sits very well phonetically with the earlier 'mizaaj', but what did the line mean? Mizaaj means temperament/ disposition; Majaaz on the other has multiple meanings like metaphor, allowable, artifice. So this would translate as:

Why are you so mad today, there’s ‘metaphor’ in your temperament, O sorrow of the heart!

This does not make much sense, does it? I kept struggling to decipher this one, and even thought that the poet was trying to use a Ghalibian metaphor… Till I read a post on PFC, that made me understand this line and go “aha, that's a clever verse”.

The Majaaz in the line refers to the poet himself!

It seems that the lyrics of this song are inspired by a very famous nazm called Awaargi by the late poet Majaaz Lucknawi (Javed Akhtar’s maternal uncle). One of the lines in this nazm goes:

ऐ ग़म-ए-दिल क्या करूँ, ऐ वहशत-ए-दिल क्या करूँ
Ae gham-e-dil kya karoon, Ae vahshat-e-dil kya karoon

But why would Majaaz the poet suddenly make an appearance in this song without a context? Actually there is a context. Just preceding this line is a chorus that describes the level of madness of the heart (vahshat-e-dil). It goes

जी में आता है मुर्दा सितारे नोच लूँ
इधर भी नोच लूँ उधर भी नोच लूँ
एक दो का ज़िक्र क्या मैं सारे नोच लूँ<

Jee mein aata hai murda sitare noch loon
Idhar bhi nooch loon udhar bhi nooch loon
Ek do ka zikar kya mein sare noooch loon

These lines are adapted from Majaaz’s original nazm.

Now everything falls into place:

First you have a description of the 'madness of the heart' in Majaaz’s words, and then you get this line that almost taunts the 'heart' for taking on a Majaaz-like temperament.

I would have loved it if for the chorus the lines from the original were used as is, instead of modifying them to fit the song’s metre; but maybe then it would have been simply 'Majaaz' and not 'Majaaz-like temperament'.

What an original way to pay tribute to a poet! I wouldn’t say that this line is great by poetic standards, but the cleverness of composition cannot be disputed. What else can you say about this…subtle hints of the original verse by use of the words vahshi and gham-e-dil, reference to the poet by his takhallus (nom-de-plume) that also literally has an affinity with poetry (i.e. metaphor), and the deliberate soundplay created by putting two similar sounding words (mizaaj and majaaz)…

What a clever verse, indeed!

P.S. Old Hindi Film Music buffs will recall that parts of this nazm have been immortalized in Talat Mahmood’s silken voice in a film called Thokar (composed by Sardar Malik) from the early 50s

Mohammad Hussain Azad's Aab-e-hayaat (Water of Life) is regarded as the first documented 'history' of Urdu literature. It is a book that has shaped and influenced the thoughts of the Urdu literary community all through the 20th century. I'm not much of an on-line reader, so while a link to the online version of the English translation by F.W Pritchett and S.R Faruqui figures prominently in my IE favorites folder, I desperately wanted to own a copy of the book. So you can imagine my delight when I found an old copy of this translation at a bookshop last week.

As I opened the book, I was quite amused by the very first line. The translators try to warn the reader –

"Āb-e ḥayāt is not a trustworthy history of Urdu literature. It cannot and should not be read as such."

Now, this is interesting… the first documented 'history' of Urdu literature is not 'trustworthy' after all. As I dived deeper into the initial chapters – the translators' introductory notes – it became obvious to me that the translators felt very strongly about what Azad had written in this seminal book.

"The unique power exerted by Āb-e ḥayāt is what made us decide to translate this exasperating, moving, wrongheaded, fascinating, all-too-persuasive text."

As I moved further along, I understood why FWP and SRF used these words to describe the book. While theorizing on the history of Urdu literature, Azad starts off with a critique, going completely ballistic in condemning the stagnation that had crept into classical Urdu poetry. Given the influential status of Azad's book, generations of critics that came after him perpetuated the same thought process, so much so that classical Urdu poetry (ghazal in particular) lost its stature in the eyes of the people. It's quite common to read points of view that condemn the ghazal as 'decadent' or 'immoral'.

Azad's main concern, however ill-founded it was, was that by drawing Persian imagery and metaphors into Urdu poetry, and then by holding on to it, the Urdu language was stagnating. His point is that many of the conventions used in classical Urdu poetry are alien to the Hindustani milieu and no efforts were made to lend vibrancy to the language by indigenizing or even widening the scope of these metaphors, or for that matter exploring new themes. He had a problem with ghazal restricting itself primarily to themes of love and sensuousness, which is thought of as 'immoral'.

This is how Azad puts it:

"Those same fixed things! Here and there we move the words around, here and there we do some substitutions--and we keep on composing with them. As if they're morsels that have already been eaten--or at least chewed--by other people. We chew on them, and we're happy. Think about it--what relish do they still have left? Beauty and love--marvelous!--very fine! But for how long? Whether she's a Houri or a Pari, once you're stuck with her, she becomes sickening. How long can it be till you get fed up with beauty and love? And by now she's become a hundred-year-old crone!"

Azad was not alone in this thinking. Altaf Hussain 'Hali', who was even more vitriolic in his diatribe against classical Urdu poetic traditions, went on to say the exact same thing in his critique. I have read Azad and Hali only cursorily, so I can't really comment on the validity of their attacks, but it sure makes for some very interesting reading.

Interestingly, both Azad and Hali, and many others after them, start their histories with scathing attacks on the quality of Urdu literature. The work of their successors compelled Ralph Russell to write a brilliant piece called How Not to Write the History of Urdu literature. His point – "if you don’t think much of Urdu Literature, please don't go to the trouble of writing a history of it"

The bigger problem with Azad's and Hali's views is that they take their Anglophilia to ridiculous heights by proclaiming Western poetry to be much superior to classical Urdu poetry because it was based on 'nature' and things 'real', whereas Urdu poetry was prone to extreme exaggeration and 'unreal' themes. They prescribe the adoption of 'natural' poetry, like - say - Wordsworth. They even urge – at least Hali does in no uncertain terms – that poets should look at the West for inspiration.

'हाली' अब आओ पैरवी-ए-मग़रिबी करें
बस इक़्तिदा-ए-मुसहफ़ी-ओ-मीर हो चुकी

'Hali', come now, let us follow the West;
Enough of the leadership of 'Mus-hafi' and 'Mir'

What? An urge to imitate the West? As FWP would ask: What next? Wordsworthify Ghalib?

I need to read more of Azad and Hali before I can comment on this aspect of their critique, but from the face of it they seem to ask poets to strip the ghazal of its inherent charm, which comes through exaggeration and abundant use of metaphors.

The other day I had an intellectually stimulating discussion on literature and poetry with an office colleague. That made me realize that I've been neglecting poetry for a while now. Take this blog for example. When I started this blog, my intention was to write about my two major passions - poetry and films. While I have written about films consistently and diligently, I have not written much about poetry.

So for a change, I want to write about poetry. And what better way to do that than returning to the unfathomable depths of Ghalib's poetry?

In the context of ghazals, one characteristic that provides an enjoyable multivalence to a couplet (she'r) is called Ma'ani-Aafrini (म`नी-आफ़िरीनी) or, in other words, 'meaning-creation'. Simply put, this refers to a sitiation where a single couplet or she'r can have more than one meaning. If one were to go by S.R Faruqui's definition: 'meaning-creation' refers to a style of expression in which in a single utterance a number of kinds of meanings are manifest or hidden.

Mind you, this multivalence of meaning does not come merely by some clever punning of words; in many cases it can come from varied emphasis on different words or sometimes even by calculated omission of the 'subject' in a sentence - leaving the field open for varied interpretations.

Ghalib's poetry has many instances of 'meaning-creation'. In one of his letters to his friend Tafta, Ghalib says:

भाई शा`इरी म`नी-आफ़िरीनी है क़ाफ़ियह-पेमाई नहीं है
(My friend, poetry is meaning-creation, it's not the measuring-out of rhymes)

Some of Ghalib's verses are deceptively simple, yet contain such "bizarre multiplicity of meaning (that can make) your head spin" (quote: Frances W. Pritchett). One such verse - one of his most famous ones - is:

न था कुछ तो ख़ुदा था कुछ न होता तो ख़ुदा होता
डुबोया मुझ को होने ने न होता मैं तो क्‌या होता
(na tha kuchh to khuda tha, kuchh na hota to khuda hota
duboya mujh ko hone ne na hota maiN to kya hota)

I can't even dare to put all the different meanings that this verse can generate. In fact, Frances W. Pritchett, in her commentary on this verse, calls it a 'meaning machine' or 'meaning-generator'. You can read the detailed commentary on this verse here, but let me just put the various meanings that emerge from the first line due to the omission of subject.

1) when there was nothing, then God was; if nothing existed, then God would exist
2) when I was nothing, then God existed; if I were nothing, then God would exist
3) when I was nothing, then I was God; if I were nothing, then I would be God

As you would notice, depending on where and what you want to put as the subject, the tone of the verse changes from being reverential to almost blasphemous. And I'm not even getting into the varied meanings the second line presents. This is how Frances Pritchett ends her commentary:

"Is this not a two-line complete portable library of possible existential speculations? That's why I consider it a 'meaning machine' or 'meaning generator'-- because of its radical undecideability."

Amazing stuff.

It was Mirza Asadullah Khan 'Ghalib' s birthday on December 27th. Like a ritual, a few events were organized in the capital to commemorate the occasion. A series of events at Ghalib's old haveli at Ballimaran, a handful of hastily organized mushairas, a couple of programmes on TV - and we had done our duty of remembering one of the greatest Urdu poets ever (in my opinion, The Greatest).

For me, however, Ghalib is more than just a poet. He is responsible for my foray into the delightful world of Urdu Adab. I'm still a novice when it comes to the Urdu language, but whatever I know and whatever Urdu poetry I've tried my hand at, it's all thanks to Ghalib. It goes back almost two decades when I saw Gulzar's television serial on Mirza Ghalib (in that respect I consider Ghalib and Gulzar as my poetry gurus). At that time I did not understand, leave alone appreciate, Ghalib's poetry. But the serial had such an impact on me that I decided to learn the Urdu language. I did not have a formal education in Urdu though. It started off with a "Learn Urdu in 30 Days" manual, soon graduating to reading poetry and prose in Urdu, of course with the aid of a humongous dictionary.

Even now, when my Urdu vocabulary is better, I cannot claim that I have the wherewithal to understand the meaning behind Ghalib's verses. Most of the time, I 'get' the words, but to 'get' the meaning is an exercise in mental calisthenics. Ghalib's uniqueness lies in the fact that his verses can be deceptively simple and annoyingly abstruse at the same time. His penchant for Persianized word constructions, non-traditional metaphors, innovative imagery, and complex thoughts earned him the dubious distinction of being called a creator of 'meaningless' and incomprehensible verses during his lifetime. In a remarkable demonstration of wit (even at the risk of being misconstrued as ego and false pride), he has written many tongue-in-cheek verses where he taunts his critics and detractors. See these lines for example:

न सताइश की तमनना न सिले की परवा
गर नहीं हैं मिरे अश`आर में म`नी न सही

( I have) neither a longing for praise, nor a care for reward
if there's no meaning in my verses, then so be it

This brings me to the other person who made me look at Ghalib in a completely new light (and even helped me understand the 'skill' required for the comprehension of Ghalib's verses) - Frances W. Pritchett, professor at Columbia University. Prof. Pritchett is an American but she has completely devoted herself to the Urdu Language, and her mastery over the language can put many native Urdu speakers also to shame. In one of her brilliant papers - "The Meaning of the Meaningless Verses", she has this to say about Ghalib and his detractors:

"Muhammad Husain ‘Āzād’, author of the great canon-forming literary history Āb-e hayāt (Water of Life, 1880), conspicuously dislikes Ghālib, and never misses an opportunity to take potshots at him. Introducing the classical ghazal tradition, Āzād explains that Ghālib’s work has grave problems as compared to that of earlier ustāds....

"Poor Ghālib, what a piquant situation: because of his love of ‘meaning creation’, his poetry is attacked as flawed and even meaningless. The situation is so dire, in Āzād’s eyes, that only one or two hundred of Ghālib’s Urdu verses are really satisfactory....

"Certainly Ghālib had to endure the hostility of those who genuinely preferred a simpler and more colloquial style, and of those who preferred an emphasis on romantic emotion rather than a more cerebral metaphysics. In general, people who liked their ghazal verses to be flowing (ravāñ) and readily, colloquially, intelligible, ended up furious at him: he could write such verses brilliantly when he chose, as his dīvān amply demonstrates, yet he so often didn’t choose! Why didn’t the wretch write more verses like (quotes a verse apparently appreciated by Zauq, Ghalib's arch rival who was like Salieri to Ghalib's Mozart) ? Behind the mockery of his contemporaries one can sense the deep irritation of envious colleagues and frustrated connoisseurs who see a major talent being misdirected into folly..."

(If you want to develop a taste for Ghalib's poetry, I strongly recommend Prof. Pritchett magnus opus - an online collection of commentaries on Ghalib's Urdu Ghazals- A Desertful of Roses ....it is still work in progress)

What I like about Ghalib's verses is actually their apparent incomprehensibility. Deciphering the meaning behind those verses is probably infinitely more satisfying than cracking the Da Vinci Code. And to top it all, just when you think you have 'got' it, it has this annoying, yet challenging, tendency to slip out right from within your grip...and then you get back at grabbing it all over again. And what you might 'get' next might be very, very different. Sounds complicated? How about calling his verses 'elusive and multidimensional'? That is more comprehensible, isn't it?

Let me end with a verse I wrote yesterday. I have tried my hand at some wordplay here....can't say how successful I've been, but it's my own personal tribute to Ghalib on his birthday.

हर्ब-ए-इदराक में कुछ कम तो मुहारिब न हुए
जाँ लगा दी मगर अफ़सोस कि ग़ालिब न हुए

(In the war of understanding there were many warriors
Alas, they gave their lives but could not be victorious)

When J.P Dutta announced Anu Malik's name as the composer of his version of Umrao Jaan (based on Mirza Muhammad Hadi Ruswa's celebrated urdu novel Umrao Jaan Ada), I was a bit apprehensive. But this time the apprehension was not about Anu's calibre – his association with J.P Dutta has never been short of magical, after all. I was more concerned about his ability to compose something that could live up to the standards set by Khayyam in the 1981 version of Umrao Jaan. If Anu could achieve even a fraction of what Khayyam and Asha Bhosle achieved 25 years ago, that would be enough to wipe off all the sins he might have committed by imposing his noisy 'inspirations' on us.

When I first listened to Anu's score for J.P Dutta's Umrao Jaan, my most obvious reaction was to directly compare it with Khayyam's. Then I thought to myself, is that fair? Can I listen to - and enjoy - this score without any comparison? It was difficult to start with, but then I asked myself one question. What if this score belonged not to 'Umrao Jaan' but some other film based on the life a courtesan? Could it then qualify as a good score? The answer is a resounding YES!

Anu Malik's compositions for Umrao Jaan are melodious, deceptively simple yet multi-textured, and truly Indian. In keeping with the setting of the film (19th century Lucknow), the instruments used are all Indian and the compositions are based on Hindustani classical music without being too self-indulgent. His compositions do complete justice to Javed Akhtar's delicately worded ghazals. This is probably the first time Anu Malik has tried his hand at the ghazal/mujra genre, but he doesn't let his inexperience show.

Mirza Ruswa's Umrao Jaan 'Ada' was a poetess in her own right, who mostly composed her own poetry for her public performances. Her poetry was neither profound nor philosophical. Given the fact that she had to entice her audiences with her performances and at times flirt with them, she always wrote on traditional ghazal themes of love and betrayal, using metaphors and imagery that are well established in the ghazal world. Javed Akhtar has done an outstanding job at penning some truly evocative ghazals for Umrao Jaan. The language is simple, and the thoughts traditional; yet with his careful choice of words he has penned couplets that you can instantly relate to without struggling to delve into deeper meaning. This reflects a perfect grasp of the story, where an amateur poetess composes poetry to woo her clients or to express her sorrows and heartbreaks.

For example, the lines below: perfect couplets for the debut performance of a courtesan – teasing, coquettish, yet maintaining a veil of decency.

First, in a boastful manner she tells her lover that one glance from her is enough to make people her slaves, yet she has fallen for him.

ये दिल है जो आ गया है तुम पर वगरनह सच ये है बन्दापरवर
जिसे भी हम देख लें पलट कर उसी को अपना ग़ुलाम कर लें

Then she changes her tone and challenges him to be 'a little audacious' so that their name is also immortalized like the legendary lovers, Laila-Majnu or Shirin-Farhad. (A professional Tawa'if would say these lines in a manner that every one in the audience would believe that they are addressed to him)

वो लैला मजनूँ की हो मुहब्बत कि शीरीं फ़रहाद की हो उलफ़त
ज़रा सी तुम जो दिखाओ जुर्रत तो हम भी उन जैसा नाम कर लें

Or, the lines below, where Umrao urges her lover not to 'show' her any dreams if he can't 'show' her their meaning/ fruition...

या तो ताबीर बताओ मेरे सब ख़्वाबों की
या कोई ख़्वाब इन आँखों को दिखाया न करो

...and then goes on to complain that her lover comes to her only as a matter of routine.

अभी आये हो अभी बैठे अभी जाते हो
सिर्फ़ इक रस्म निभाने को तो आया न करो

There is one song in Umrao Jaan that I'm confused about. It's a brilliantly worded Avadhi song about the plight of women, but the whole concept of a girl urging God not to make her a girl in her next life is entirely alien to the milieu. Umrao Jaan is essentially a story of Muslim characters and Muslims do not believe in rebirth. I wonder how Javed Akhtar, a Muslim himself (though a very secular one), could overlook that aspect! Maybe the film will explain some of this. Till then, this remains my only problem with the songs of Umrao Jaan. Yet, it's outstanding poetry. Read these poignant lines:

अब जो किये हो दाता ऐसा न कीजो
अगले जनम मोहे बिटिया न कीजो
हमरे सजनवा हमरा दिल ऐसा तोड़िन
ऊ घर बसाइन हमका रस्ता मा छोड़िन
जैसे कि लल्ला कोई खिलउना जो पावे
दुई चार दिन तो खेले फिर भूल जावे
रो भी न पावे ऐसी गुड़िया न कीजो
अगले जनम मोहे बिटिया न कीजो

No analysis of the music of Umrao Jaan can be complete without a word about the voice of Umrao – Alka Yagnik. Despite a very good voice, Alka Yagnik was beginning to fall into the rut of similar sounding songs which did not give her any opportunity to explore new grounds. With Umrao Jaan, Alka Yagnik has reinvented herself. She sounds mint fresh and imbues just the right amount pathos to her renditions. If Lata and Asha immortalized the tawai'f (courtesans) of Pakeezah and Umrao Jaan (1981) with their voices, Alka almost achieves the same status in J.P Dutta's version.

In my opinion Anu Malik's Umrao Jaan is one of the best Hindi film soundtracks of 2006 (along with Vishal's Omkara). I just wish J.P Dutta has been able to do with the film what Anu-Javed-Alka trio has achieved with the music of Umrao Jaan. One more week to go…

चाँद गुलज़ार का

चाँद और कवियों का बड़ा ही पुराना रिश्ता है। शायद ही कोई ऐसा कवि या शायर होगा जो चाँद से प्रेरित न हुआ हो। पूर्णिमा का सम्पूर्ण गोलाकार चन्द्र होता ही इतना मोहक है कि भला कौन उससे प्रेरित हुए बिना रह सकता है? यदि हम समय के उस दूसरे छोर पर जायें जहाँ संसार की पहली कविता का सृजन हुआ हो, और फिर वहाँ से कविता के इतिहास का पल्ला पकड़ कर आज तक का सफ़र तय करें, तो निश्चय ही हम पायेंगे कि पीढ़ी दर पीढ़ी कवियों ने चाँद को सुन्दरता का प्रतीक माना है। फलस्वरूप कविता में ‘चाँद’ के उपयोग का दायरा कुछ महदूद सा रह गया है। महबूबा के हुस्न की तुलना से आगे जैसे चाँद का कुछ वजूद ही नहीं।

एक कवि जिन्होंने अपनी कविताओं में चाँद को एक बहुआयामी व्यक्तित्व और अनगिनत संभावनाओं के साथ प्रस्तुत किया है, वो हैं गुलज़ार। गुलज़ार का चाँद एक बहरूपिया है। कभी वो रोटी बन जाता है, तो कभी भीख का कटोरा; कभी भीख में दी गयी कौडी, तो कभी एक फल जो पक कर पेड से टपक जाए। कभी वो कुहनियों के बल चल कर शरारत पे आमादा हो जाता है, तो कभी पुखराजी पीला रंग ले कर सुस्त पड़ जाता है। एक तरफ़ वो अब्र की मैली सी गठरी में छिपा चमकता खन्जर है, तो दूसरी ओर एक चमकती हुई अठन्नी। कभी एक चिकनी डली जो घुली जाती है, तो कभी दामन-ए-शब पर लगा हुआ एक पैबन्द।

मिसाल के लिये:

1
माँ ने इक चाँद सी दुल्हन की दुआएँ दी थीं
आज कि रात जो फ़ुटपाथ से देखा मैंने
रात भर रोटी नज़र आया है वो चाँद मुझे

2
रोज़ अकेली आये, रोज़ अकेली जाये
चाँद कटोरा लिये भिखारिन रात

3
हाथ में लेकर बैठा था मैं दिल का ख़ाली कासा
रात भिखारिन चाँद की कौड़ी दे कर चली गयी
और भिखारी कर गयी मुझको, देखा, एक भिखारिन

4
रात के पेड़ पे कल ही देखा था
चाँद बस पक के गिरने वाला था
सूरज आया था, ज़रा उसकी तलाशी लेना!

5
आओ तुमको उठा लूँ कंधों पर
तुम उचक कर शरीर होटों से
चूम लेना ये चाँद क माथा

आज की रात देखा न तुमने
कैसे झुक-झुक के कुहनियों के बल
चाँद इतना क़रीब आया है।

गुलज़ार का चाँद जैसे नये नये रूप धरने से थकता ही नहीं। हर बार एक नया चोगा पहने हमारे सामने आ खड़ा होता है। अब दाद बहरूपिये को दें या उसके ‘दर्ज़ी’ को?

इस बहरूपिये से ख़ुद गुलज़ार भी परेशान हैं और उसकी गिरफ़्तरी के लिये समन (summons) भेजना चाहते हैं –

रोज़ आता है ये बहरूपिया इक रूप बदल कर,
रात के वक़्त दिखाता है कलायें अपनी
और लुभा लेता है मासूम से लोगों को अदा से!

पूरा हरजाई है, गलियों से गुज़रता है, कभी छत से
बजाता हुआ सीटी –
रोज़ आता है, जगाता है, बहुत लोगों को शब भर!

आज की रात उफ़क़ से कोई
चाँद निकले तो गिरफ़्तार ही कर लो!!

Appreciation of poetry is a complex process, especially in the context of Urdu poetry. Besides a good understanding of the language, it is important for a reader to understand the cultural backdrop and conventions of Urdu poetry. Many metaphors used in Urdu poetry will make no sense to a person who has no knowledge of the culture, myths, fables, conventions and the context that cause these metaphors to resonate with inherent, at times obvious meaning. That's what makes translating Urdu ghazals in English (and consequently their appreciation by non-native speakers) such an arduous task.

Let's take a very simple example - if you've had any exposure to Urdu poetry, or for that matter even Hindi film songs, you would have heard the word 'jigar' (जिगर) very often, too often in fact. (this word has been abused so badly by many of our Hindi film lyricist, that I consciously refrain from using it in any of my poetry... I have probably used it only in one or two of my couplets)

'Jigar' is normally used in the context of love. Now, what is 'jigar'? It means, liver i.e. lakht-e-jigar (लख़्त-ए-जिगर) or jigar ka tukda (जिगर का टुकड़ा), literally meaning piece of liver and hence someone extremely dear. Liver and love - what's the connection? A person exposed to English poetry, or even Hindi poetry, would always associate the heart with love. Even in Urdu poetry, the heart is associated with love, but so is liver. Why? This is brilliantly explained by Frances W. Pritchett in the following lines:

"In ghazal physiology, the liver is the organ that makes fresh blood; thus it's an emblem of fortitude, steadfastness, endurance over time. The heart, by contrast is always consuming blood: bleeding constantly, pumping blood to the eyes so the lover can weep tears of blood, and then tearing itself into fragments as a sign of its proper lover-like self-destruction. For the heart to be done for is an initial state of passion, since more blood can be sent for from the liver. But when the liver is finished, the game is up."

In other words, the association of love with liver implies greater depth.

This example is very basic. Once you understand the 'ghazal physiology', the association is complete and there's no need for any further exposition. 'Jigar' now finds a place amongst the accepted conventions of Urdu poetry. The next time you hear the word 'jigar' in a poem you don't need any explanation or background information.

Yet, there are many great examples in Urdu poetry where knowledge of history and myth is so essential that you just cannot understand a verse without that knowledge. And in many cases you will probably not come across the same imagery again for it to become a 'convention' of poetry, like the way 'jigar' has become. Let me take the example of the opening verse from Diwan-e-Ghalib (collection of Ghalib's verses). It is a particularly interesting verse because the entire meaning of the verse rests on the knowledge of a quaint custom in Persian history, so much so that many commentators have declared this one to be a 'meaningless verse'. No other verse in Urdu poetry has been the subject of so much debate and analysis as this one. Here it is:

नक़्श फ़रयादी है किस की शोख़ी-ए-तहरीर का
काग़ज़ी है पैरहन हर पैकर-ए-तस्वीर का

(about whose mischievousness of writing is the image/painting a plaintiff?
of paper is the robe of every figure of the picture)......translation by Frances W. Pritchett.

If your really look at this verse, it seems completely meaningless. It's not only the typical Ghalibian complexity and abstruseness that makes this verse seem meaningless. This verse demands a certain basic knowledge. What's this stuff about a plaintiff, a picture and a paper robe!!! Now let's see how Ghalib himself explains this verse. (There are very few verses that Ghalib has explained in his own words. The fact that he chose to do that for this one, makes it obvious that people called this particular verse 'meaningless')

[Writing in 1865:] First listen to the meaning of the meaningless verses. As for नक़श फ़रयादी : In Iran there is the custom that the seeker of justice, putting on paper garments, goes before the ruler-- as in the case of lighting a torch in the day, or carrying a blood-soaked cloth on a bamboo pole [to protest an injustice]. Thus the poet reflects, of whose mischievousness of writing is the image a plaintiff? --since the aspect of a picture is that its garment is of paper. That is to say, although existence may be like that of pictures, merely notional, it is a cause of grief and sorrow and suffering. (Arshi p. 159)

Now that you know about this Persian custom of a plaintiff putting on a paper garment, doesn't this verse suddenly resonate with meaning? Read a delightful collection on commentary on this verse (Frances W. Pritchett).

I am very tempted to quote one of my own verses, where knowledge of ancient Persian myth is very essential to understanding it. How can I even think of quoting Ghalib's most intriguing and, in my opinion, the most brilliant verse in the same breath as one of my own? Before someone gets offended and accuses me of blasphemy, let me clarify that I'm just trying to make a point... anyway, here's my verse:

मेरी तक़्दीर पलटने के भी दिन आएँगे
मेरे सर पर भी हुमा बालफ़िशाँ होता है

(one day my fortune too will turn
on my head the 'Huma' spreads its wings)

I don't blame you if you don't get this. If I tell you that 'Huma' is a mythical bird, does it make you any wiser about this verse? Probably not. Now if I were to tell you that Huma is "the king-maker bird of Persian story tradition: anyone upon whom his shadow falls is destined to wield royal power", isn't the meaning of the verse crystal clear?

To be honest, I don't really like this verse of mine - primarily because once the 'secret' is revealed, the thought is quite run-of-the-mill. Moreover, the verse smacks of self-indulgence! But it does prove my point about the importance of 'knowledge' in understanding poetry.

लो हुक्म-ए-तर्क-ए-रब्त की तामील हो गयी
अफ़्सोस है फ़क़त यही ताजील हो गयी

क़ुर्बत हुआ जो करती थी गुफ़्तार में कभी
ऐ हैफ़ फ़ासलों में क्यूँ तब्दील हो गयी

ख़ुद को दिया फ़रेब मुहब्बत के नाम पर
अच्छा हुआ कि बात की तफ़्सील हो गयी

तक़्सीरवार बोलिये ठहराएँ किस को हम
अपना ही था क़ुसूर जो तज़्लील हो गयी

रखेगा याद हम को भी हर हाल में जहाँ
हस्ती हमारी दर्द की तम्सील हो गयी


हुक्म = order, command; तर्क = abandonment, desertion; रब्त = connection, relationship; तामील = execution (of command); ताजील = haste

क़ुर्बत = closeness; गुफ़्तार = conversation; हैफ़ = Alas!; तब्दील = change, modification, alterasion, conversion

फ़रेब = delusion; तफ़्सील = explanation, analysis, clarification

तक़्सीरवार = guilty; क़ुसूर = fault; तज़्लील = debasement, humiliation

हस्ती = existence; तम्सील = example, allegory, comparison

मेरी कविताओं के संदर्भ में लोग अक्सर मेरे समक्ष एक प्रश्न रखते हैं। भला मुझे कविता लिखने की प्रेरणा कहाँ से मिलती है? इस का उत्तर देना मेरे लिये इतना आसान नहीं। सच मानिये तो कोई भी कवि इस प्रश्न का उत्तर आसानी से नहीं दे सकेगा। जहाँ तक मेरी बात है, मेरी कविताओं के प्रेरणा स्रोत इतने विविध और भिन्न हैं कि मेरे लिये उनका व्याख्यान करना सम्भव नहीं। कभी मेरे जीवन के अनुभव कविता का रूप धारण कर कोरे पृष्ठ पर अवतरित हो जाते हैं, तो कभी दूसरों पर गुज़रते हालात छन्दों या शे'रों में परिवर्तित हो जाते है। कभी तो औरों की लिखी कविता से भी मैं प्रेरित हो जाता हूँ।

उदाहरण के लिये ये शे’र पढ़िये –

शहर में तो रुख़सती दहलीज़ तक महदूद है
गाँव में पक्की सड़क तक लोग पहुँचाने गये।

है न एक निहायत उम्दा और बलीग़ शे’र? ये मेरे एक मित्र ने लिखा है। जब ये शे’र मैने पहली बार सुना, मुझ पर इतना गहरा प्रभाव पड़ा कि मुझे अपनी तमाम शायरी इस एक शे’र के आगे फीकी लगी। ये दो मिसरे अपने आप में कितना गहरा फ़लसफ़ा समेटे हुए हैं। मैं इतना अधिक प्रभावित हुआ इस शे’र से कि मैने इसी ‘तरह’ (बहर, क़ाफ़िया और रदीफ़ का निरधारण) में एक पूरी ग़ज़ल कहने की ठान ली। वैसे ये इतना आसान नहीं था। दो-तीन शे’र तो मैने तुरन्त लिख लिये, परन्तु सही ‘मतला’ मिलने के कुछ महीने लग गये।

आख़िरकार मेरी ग़ज़ल तैयार है – हालांकि मुझे नहीं लगता कि मेरी पूरी ग़ज़ल इस एक शे’र का मुक़ाबला कर सकती है। फ़ैसला अब आप के हाथ में है–

गरचिह हम वादाशिकन के नाम से जाने गये
बाइस-ए-ग़फ़्लतशियारी उनको समझाने गये

ऐश-ओ-इशरत की तलब उस पर फ़ना होने की चाह
महफ़िल-ए-रक्स-ए-शरर की ओर परवाने गये

ज़ुल्म ख़ुद पर करने का हम को अजब ये शौक़ है
बज़्म-ए-ख़ूबाँ में हम अपने दिल को बहलाने गये

ये हमारी ख़ू थी जो भेजा किये उनको ख़तूत
वो मगर क्यूँ ग़ैर से तहरीर पढ़वाने गये

दोपहर की रौशनी में लगते हैं शफ़्फ़ाफ़ सब
रात जो आयी बदन के दाग़ पहचाने गये

है नहीं उम्मीद भी उनसे शफ़ाक़त की हमें
चाक-ए-दिल ख़ून-ए-जिगर दुनिया को दिखलाने गये

क़ैस-ओ-लैला शीरीं और फ़रहाद फिर हम और तुम
दास्तान-ए-इश्क़ में बस जुड़ते अफ़साने गये

मैं कौन हूँ, क्या हूँ, कैसा हूँ इतना तो आत्मज्ञान है,
किन्तु चलो स्वयं को आज औरों के दृष्टिकोण से
बस एक झलक देखा जाये ।

मैं भावुक नहीं -
क्षमता नहीं परभावना का आदर करने की मुझ में
और न है सामर्थ्य ही निजी मूक भावनाओं की
अर्थपूर्ण अभिव्यक्ति का ।
पाषाण हृदय मनुष्य हूँ मैं …

मुझ में है साहस नहीं –
जितनी जटिल समस्याएँ जीवन में आती जाती हैं
स्वयं समाधान उनका मैं निकाल तो पाता नहीं
यथार्थ नकार देता हूँ।
संकेत है यह कायरता का …

मेरा कुछ उद्देश्य नहीं -
न लालसा यशोधन की न अर्थसिद्धि का है संकल्प;
राग अस्तित्व का समस्वर और सुस्त गति है जीवन की
किन्तु पूर्णतः संतुष्ट हूँ।
कितना लक्ष्य रहित है जीवन …

मुझ में सच्चाई नहीं –
बाह्य रूप मेरा अलग है, आन्तरिक कुछ भिन्न है
रहस्य दुर्बलता का अपनी सबसे छुपाने के लिये
एक मुखौटा पहना है।
कहते हैं पाखण्ड इसी को …

निष्ठुर, कायर, निरुद्देश्य, दुमुखी और पाखण्डी
और एक दोष है – रहता हूँ अपने मत पर मैं अडिग
और मेरा यह मत है कि औरों के दृष्टिकोण से
कदापि मैं सहमत नहीं।

"Creativity arises out of the tension between spontaneity and limitations, the latter (like the river banks) forcing the spontaneity into the various forms which are essential to the work of art or poem."

Today when I read these lines, they seem very obvious to me, but when I started dabbling with poetry almost a decade and a half back, I had no idea of the important role that 'limitations' play in poetry. Heavily influenced by the poetry of Ghalib (thanks to Gulzar’s TV Serial, Mirza Ghalib), and Mir, I tried my luck with Urdu poetry. Admittedly, it was quite awkward in the beginning because Urdu doesn’t come naturally to me. After learning the script and a lot of reading, I felt reasonably confident that I could write in Urdu. And I started writing ghazals and nazms. It was a very satisfying experience and I felt proud of my creativity and spontaneity.

However, when I compared my poetry with anyone else’s I found something lacking in mine. It wasn’t the language; it wasn’t the thought, but something else. Somehow, the musical quality (tarannum) that one finds inherent in a ghazal as a poetic form was lacking in my poems. I didn’t give it much thought till many years later when I just happened to read about the 'rules' of Urdu poetry. I found it strange that poetry, which to me was the ultimate expression of spontaneity, could have very rigid rules. I knew of the concepts of qaafiya (rhyme) and radif (refrain), but I wasn’t aware of the extreme importance of behr (meter) in Urdu Ghazal. It was a surprise to me that all Urdu ghazals need to follow a few pre-defined metrical patterns. So I read more about meters and looked at my poems again. And now I knew exactly why the musical element was missing in my ghazals!

To my horror, I realized that almost every single ghazal I had written did not conform to the rules of meter. My instant reaction was – how does it matter? My poems were not for public consumption anyway; and I had written them for my personal satisfaction only. So if I was satisfied with what I’d written, how did it matter if it was in behr or not? But was I really satisfied, now that I knew that whatever I had written had inherent imperfections?

Now I had a huge task in front of me. I had to correct (or 'clean', as I like to call it) more than 100 couplets. And when I actually started doing it, I realized that it was not as simple as it seemed at first. It called for some tough choices. In many cases it meant that to convey the same thought as my original she’r I had to use a different set of words, which was painful because there were certain word constructions that I had been very fond of and I couldn't use them. In some cases I had to completely get rid of a few couplets because no matter what I did, I just could not retain their original 'brilliance' and still fit them into the same meter as the rest of the ghazal. If I didn't want to get rid of them due to my fondness for the original couplet, I had to compose an entirely new ghazal in the meter of that couplet. It was a whole lot of hard work!!

See the two couplets below. They have the same thought, almost the same words but one is definitely more musical than the other. Can you guess which the 'cleaned' form is?

डरता था मैं न आए वक़्त-ए-फ़िराक़ मुझ पर
कुछ वस्ल से तेरे अब हौल-ए-दिमाग़ निकले

हौलज़दा था दिल कभी ख़याल-ए-फ़िराक़ से
कुछ तो तेरी वस्ल से वहशत-ए-दिमाग़ निकले

It has taken me almost 2 years to complete this mammoth task, but now that I’m almost done I feel really proud of this achievement.

Now I can say that I’m 'satisfied' with my creativity!

Creativity that has arisen out of the 'tension between spontaneity and limitations'

So I finally have a blog of my own. I have been mulling over this idea for a while now, but somehow I just didn't know how to start. First, there was this natural resistance to the concept of blogging itself. Being a very private person, I wasn't sure if I really wanted to put my thoughts for the whole world to read and comment upon. This was indeed the toughest hurdle to cross. It took me a while to convince myself that being private and expressing oneself through a blog were not mutually exclusive. Afterall, I would have complete control of what I would write about.

Then came another hurdle- not a major one, but quite significant. I love to write in Hindi and Urdu; in fact, I feel (some definitely disagree) that I can express myself better through Hindi and Urdu poetry. I have been writing in Hindi and Urdu for many years now; and if I had to start my own blog, it had to offer me the flexibility of choosing the script I wanted to write in. Even if I had the flexibity of writing simultaneously in Roman and Devnagri scripts, that would suffice. (Urdu can be written better in Devnagri than Roman - that's my personal belief). So, I searched around a bit and found a cool tool that could help me do that.

Finally, what should I call my bog? I didn't have to think much on this, I knew it had to be either "Scribe's Pen" or "Urge to Fly". Very odd choices, you might think. There are two of my Urdu couplets that I'm particularly fond of and these words come from there. They don't translate particularly well in English though (Khaama-e-Kaatib = Scribe's pen; Khwaahish-e-Parwaaz = Urge to fly). Here are the two couplets (शे'र) I'm referring to:

अशग़ाल-ओ-रोज़गार की मसरूफ़ियत जहाँ
चलता वहीं है ख़ामा-ए-कातिब भी ज़ोर से
(where one's busy with one's vocation
the 'scribe's pen' too runs with all its might)

क्यूँ न आग़ोश-ए-तख़य्युल में मैं उड़ता ही रहूँ
दर हक़ीक़त है मुझे ख़्वाहिश-ए-परवाज़ नहीं
(In the embrace of dreams why shouldn't I fly
In reality, I don't have the 'urge to fly')

(Don't even comment on the translations. I can't afford to get Vikram Seth to do them for me!!)

In Urdu I would have chosen "scribe's pen" (simply because I like the way it sounds), but I feel that "urge to fly" translates better in English. I could have chosen the original urdu words as well, but can you imagine anyone remembering khaamaekaatib.blogspirit.com??

Anyway, the name's chosen and that's what it will be.

The scribe's pen has an urge to fly.

How that urge gets expressed, it will soon unravel.

P.S. The phrase Urge to Fly also happens to be used in one of the songs of my favorite Pink Floyd. However, that was never a conscious source of inspiration for the name of my blog.

"I've got a strong urge to fly. But I got nowhere to fly to, fly to, fly to....."
- Pink Floyd (Nobody Home)