Many summers ago when it was easier to smile and the joys and pains of life were more intense, I once asked my mentor the exact wordings of the famous couplet, “Rahiye Ab Aisi Jagah Chal Kar Jahan Koi Na Ho/ Hum Sukhan Koi Na Ho Aur Hum Zaban Koi Na Ho”. Once I got the words right, I searched for the ghazal. In vain. And finally settled for Talat Mahmood’s rendition, “Ae dil mujhe ais jagah le chal”, from the film “Aarzoo”. The emotion passed. Mahmood’s song too was worthy of a rewind only a few times. Ghalib’s words though can last more than a lifetime. And stayed with me many a lonely night.
So it was the other day, without provocation, without design, his words fell off my lips again. “Har Ek Baat Pe Kehto Ho Tum Ke Tu Kya Hai…Tum Hi Kaho Ye Andaaz e Guftagu Kya Hai”, I said to no one in particular. And immediately realised Ghalib is not a shair to be remembered only while eating mangoes! I did think though of his love for mangoes and his trenchant wit when mangoes were offered to a donkey, who, however, refused to eat any. “Jo gadhe hain wohi aam nahin khate”, the legendary poet is said to have remarked. So, to please the fan in me, I headed to watch Sayeed Alam’s eminently likeable play “Ghalib” at LTG auditorium in New Delhi the other day. It was a decision I won’t mind taking again. Quietly exhilarating. Such was the charm of watching Ghalib’s tale unfurl on stage. Such was the joy of watching ageless Tom Alter playing the legendary poet, his right hand for ever trembling, his left hand often used to scratch. And his lips almost always left loose. In such details did Alter’s Ghalib live. He spoke little. He conveyed a lot.
Equally delightful was Alam himself as Zauq. Now Zauq caters to the lover of the lesser star in me. Zauq and a lesser star or an underdog? Well, yes. If you compare the recognition that he has received from posterity for what work that essentially deserved more than a generation’s full throated acquiescence. And to think the dignity, the composure with which he conducted himself as young Ghalib found his feet in the realms of poets and stars. He guided him, he chided him, he admonished him. And applauded too. Alam was a picture of constant dignity, not for a moment overplaying the zest in Zauq. Nor was he guilty of hyperbole when enacting the dithering old man in the poet. Every thing quiet, every thing calm. If it were not for monsoon and a dramatic adaptation of a poet’s life, I would have happily settled for the expression, “All is calm, all is quiet.”
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Such beautiful moments, such gentle joys. One moment, there was an Alter master-class, next moment, young maid (Chhabra) was busy leaving her impression as a girl who could not quite get her diction right. Not to forget, the fakirs and their songs which reminded one of Awadh towns of the years gone by. Such nostalgia! Such wistfulness!
Hey, but why are we talking of joys, heady as they can be? Isn’t “Ghalib” essentially a play all about melancholy? Isn’t it a play that makes you feel for the legendary poet? It is. And the way the pathos, the pain of the poet comes through with a little couplet here, a little silent drawl of the lips by Alter there makes one reach out to one’s own heart. Ghalib too resides there.
Yes, “Ghalib” for all its timeless poetry and fine acting, is essentially a sad song; of a poet who was too talented for his own good, a man almost too immodest to work as an academic in a college, yet a man who had to run a huge family with little money that was similar to scattered rain drops that could keep hope floating without fulfilling the larger needs. And wasn’t he the man who held his own in poetic soirees in the court of Bahadur Shah Zafar? Also the man ready to challenge tradition, custom and religion? Asadullah Khan Ghalib was all this and much more. Credit to Alam and his team for bringing to stage a two-hour long rich slice of the poet’s life that evokes, that hurts, that rankles yet pleases the fan in you. There may be other plays on the poet that showcase better poetry, maybe even make you hum along, but there can be fewer essays on the angst-ridden life of the genius.
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