Running on Poetry: Elegance in the everydayness

Kashmiri poet Agha Shahid Ali

My friend Naveen has been telling me to write a column on Urdu poetry. I am not an expert and have only a general awareness and appreciation of this mystical world. It would be a huge disservice, on many levels, to take this soulful, refined language and create a token attempt. With this caveat, let me go on.

The reason I write today is because of an earworm. I recently re-heard Begum Farida Khanum singing the ‘Aaaj jaane ki zid na karo’ (Tonight, don’t insist on leaving). At 80, there are places where her voice doesn’t quite lift or sing like it used to, but there is no denying the magic that sparkles in her wonderful rendition. There are many versions of this song written by Fayyaz Hashmi. My favourite is the one by Shankar Tucker and Rohini Ravada.

The

ghazal is a lyric poem. It has rhythm and a refrain. Think of a

ghazal as a collection of

shers (a two-line verse). Many Hindi movies prominently feature the

ghazal .

Umrao Jaan and

Arth come to mind. The whole idea of Urdu poetry reminds me of a genteel time, fragrant with roses and

khus , replete with love and passion. It’s the kind of poetry I envisage reading in a whitewashed house, full of straw mats, sprinkled with water to beat the summer heat. It is a cool afternoon and the slow-moving breeze provides some relief. And the poems make their way into the world, through beautiful calligraphy and dulcet utterances. Or, on a star-filled night, illuminated by the iridescent joy of poetry.

A name that is inimitably linked to this writing is that of Mirza Ghalib. You’d be hard-pressed to find a discussion on this genre of poetry without a mention of the great Ghalib. In one of his

ghazals , he says, “ Ask my heart about the pain of love and it will tell you/The half-drawn bow’s the assassin, not the arrow that pierces through. ”

Faiz Ahmed Faiz says in ‘Bekarari Mein Karar’ ( Hope in Despair), “ Last night the lost memory of you stole into my mind/Stealthily as spring steals into a wilderness/As on desert wastes a gentle breeze begins to blow/As in one sick beyond hope, hope begins to grow. ”

Urdu poetry also has its playful elements. In Amir Khusrau’s work, for instance, double entendres and riddles made for delightful wordplay. “

Why did the wall fall, won’t you say?/What made life unsafe on the highway?/There was no mason/There was no governance .” In Urdu, the word for mason and governance is the same: Raj.

It’s hard to capture the essence of work in translation. I find that true of poetry, in particular. Thankfully, there are some great translations. There’s also the interesting idea of the Urdu poetry tradition followed in English. It makes sense, of course. We take a tradition and apply it in the way we know how, using the tools we use. Haiku in the Indian context, for instance.

In the lyrical ‘Rain’, Kazim Ali writes: “ The sky is a bowl of dark water, rinsing your face./The window trembles; liquid glass could shatter into rain./I am a dark bowl, waiting to be filled./If I open my mouth now, I could drown in the rain./I hurry home as though someone is there waiting for me./The night collapses into your skin. I am the rain. ”

Urdu poetry could well be another way of describing love poetry. The Kashmir-born Agha Shahid Ali wrote poetry that brings together the literary mores of many languages. In his ghazal , ‘Tonight’, he brings in multiple references including The Bible , Moby Dick , Emily Dickinson and the gorgeous ‘Kashmiri Song’ by Laurence Hope. “ Where are you now?/Who lies beneath your spell tonight?/Whom else from rapture’s road will you expel tonight? ”

In ‘Red Ghazal’, Aimee Nezhukumathathil rhymes the second line of each couplet: Read-dread-bred-read-reddened-red-unread. “ I throw away my half-finished letters to him in my tiny pink wastebasket, but/my aim is no good./The floor is scattered with fire hazards, declarations unread. ” I am taken by the ‘fire hazard’ reference. Paper burns easily and well. But the unsaid words bear the danger of exploding.

Urdu is a culture, and a cultured presence. Its poetry is aesthetic, appealing and enduring. A reminder of peace in turmoil and elegance in the everydayness.

Srividya is a poet and teacher. Read her work at at www.rumwrapt.blogspot.in