Tongue-tied and twisted

August 15, 2014 07:15 pm | Updated 10:29 pm IST - New Delhi

BEGUM NOT BEGHUM Hoarding of Doordarshan Urdu programmes Photos: Shanker Chakravarty

BEGUM NOT BEGHUM Hoarding of Doordarshan Urdu programmes Photos: Shanker Chakravarty

After all, Urdu, in the mind of the common man then, was all about refined poetry, those wondrous exchanges between shama and parvana!

Back in the 1970s, when the young and ambitious were swearing by Manmohan Desai’s outrageous hit Amar Akbar Anthony, one of my teachers in primary school encouraged me to participate in a baitbaazi competition in Talimi Samaji Markaz, a school catering largely to first generation learners in the Walled City. I was, and continue to be, poetically challenged. And Urdu, though my mother tongue, was not the language of instruction in school. But being a Muslim, it was easy for my teacher to assume that I would know Urdu. And in a perfect stereotype, if I were to know Urdu, how could I not know shayari? After all, Urdu, in the mind of the common man then, was all about refined poetry, those wondrous exchanges between shama and parvana!

So, I was asked to mug up some lines from the kalam of Daagh, Momin and Zauq. Never mind that back in primary school, I mistook Daagh for a smudge and Momin for me stood for a pious Muslim. But my devoted teacher wouldn’t have any of it. So, she trained me to recite “Kaat Kar Zuban Meri Keh Raha Hai Woh Zalim, Ab Tumhe Ejazat Hai Hal-e-Dil Sunane Ki”, a couplet penned, I was to learn much later, by Tariq Badayuni, whose work was sung by Jagjit and Chitra Singh as well. With her constant rehearsals, I learnt my lines and in the baitbaazi competition I was happy to bask in reflected glory with the school’s teachers and others praising the couplet which was not so frequently heard on stage in Delhi.

The same couplet came back to my mind the other day when passing by Doordarshan’s office at Mandi House. The State-owned channel is, apparently, the only channel trying to promote Urdu programmes and serials through a channel devoted exclusively to the language. And it precedes the recent laudatory accounts that have greeted Zee’s Zindagi that showcases Pakistani serials. Driving down Copernicus Marg, I saw hoardings of some of the serials on DD Urdu. One look at Lazawaab Dastaan and another talking of Ganga Yamuni Tehzeeb and I remembered why many, many summers ago, my teacher, blessed with undoubted foresight, had asked me to learn Tariq’s “Kaat Kar Zuban Meri…”

Indeed, the language is throttled even if DD is asking us to express ourselves in it! Pray, why cannot an Urdu channel promote itself better? Or at least, get its spellings right and not irritate an everyday user of Urdu with expressions like “Jashn-e-Beghum Akhtar”, for a legendary artist whose life was often driven by sorrow. Surely a person with a smattering of Urdu will understand that the expressions are “Lajawaab Dastaan”, “Ganga Jamni Tehzeeb” and “Jashn-e-Begum Akhtar”. With such carelessness in promotion of its programmes, one can only wonder at the contents and quality of such ventures.

That in turn reminds me of another couplet. This one is more recent. There was a rare baitbaazi programme at India International Centre and, mercifully, I was among the audience. Talking of the celebration of Ghalib in an age when many call him “Galib”, a poet rued, “Mit Rahi Hai Zabaan-e-Ghazal Aur Ghalib Ka Jashn Jaari Hai”! I nodded.

That soiree too was more than a decade ago – imagine the state of Urdu programmes in the city when one calls a programme more than a decade old recent! However, the couplet has stayed with me, leaving me wondering if there are any connoisseurs of the language left in the city once known for its mushairas.

Talking of mushairas, well known theatre director-actor Sayeed Alam brings one to the stage every now and then in a dramatic fashion with “Lal Quile ka Aakhri Mushaira”. That provides a few drops of relief to parched souls. And hey, talking of Sayeed, he too is a victim of Doordarshan’s lackadaisical ways. His programme “Ghubar-e-Khatir” is routinely called “Gubar” or worse, even, “Gubbaara”. Ah! All that gas about Urdu. Really, in the city which once compelled Zauq to write, “Kaun Jaye Par Zauq Dilli Ki Galian Chhor Kar”, Urdu is fast becoming a language of one community. And considering that the community itself has lost its political voice, Urdu may just be disappearing from public fora. Amar Akbar Anthony , anyone?

The author is a seasoned literary critic

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