Aur bhi dukh hain zamane mein mohabbat ke siva/
Rahaten aur bhi hain vasl ki rahat ke siva.
(There are sorrows, other than love in the world/
There are comforts other than a lover’s union can provide.)
I don’t know how old I was when I first heard my mother reciting the lines, but they opened my eyes to a world where poetry was used not for singing in the beloved’s praise but for talking of the rights of the oppressed. I was growing up in an independent India which was seeped in idealism, socialism and secularism. My favourite poet while growing up in the 1960s was, of course, Sahir Ludhianvi.
Learning defiance
But this nazm, or poem, by Faiz Ahmad Faiz (1911-1984) soon became my favourite verse — its first line is “Mujh se pahli si mohabbat meri mahbub na mang (My love, do not ask me for that earlier [intense] love)”. It would be used variously for defiance, protest and, in my initial teenage years, even laughingly when I tried to skip chores. A teenager wasn’t expected to understand everything.
The poem was part of his first collection of poetry Naqsh-e Faryadi (The Supplicant’s Portrait), published in 1941. This was an age of turmoil, with undivided India fighting colonialism amid World War II. Along with other poets of the subcontinent, Faiz had become part of the Progressive Writers’ Movement founded by Sajjad Zaheer and Mulk Raj Anand, among others, in London in the 1930s. Anguished by the tumultuous events around them, poets and writers wanted to use their voices to highlight the plight of the common man.
No longer was the emphasis on the Beloved — the focus had shifted to ‘sorrows of the material world’ as opposed to ‘sorrows of the Lover’. Poets and writers wrote on oppression at the hands of imperialists, capitalists and dictators.
At the beginning of this nazm, Faiz quoted the 12th century Persian poet Nizami Ganjavi: “Dil-e-ba-farokhtam jaan-e-khareedam (I have sold my heart and bought a soul)”.
Faiz’s poetry was the poetry of protest, of conscience, of soul, of raising his voice against tyranny, whether it was imperialism or political dictatorship in Pakistan. In India, we had Sahir Ludhianvi (1921-1980) crying out, “Jinhe naaz hai Hind pe vo kahan hain (where are those people who take pride in Hind)?”
Having led a sheltered life, these verses by Faiz opened a new world to me, to the concept of using our voice for causes that we believed in. But then, that is not surprising because Faiz does that to a person. We are forced to think, to examine the context and decide whether we want to sell or be true to our souls.
All these years of hearing or reciting Faiz, the one thing that stood out for lovers of his poetry was the ease with which he communicated the anguish and the struggle of the oppressed. That is not to say that his love poetry was any less moving, but it is his poetry of resistance that resonates.
‘We shall see’
Poetry can express every emotion in the most economical and allegorical way, that is why it’s quoted in protest marches, meets and gatherings. We saw his poem ‘Hum Dekhenge’ (We Shall See), being widely recited in protests against the Citizenship (Amendment) Act in the winter of 2019-20 in India. It was composed in 1979 to protest the military dictatorship of General Zia-ul-Haq of Pakistan. Faiz himself had gone into exile in Beirut, after Zulfikar Ali Bhutto was overthrown by Zia — but his words were free to reach his fellow country men and women.
And they reached Lahore. Zia had banned Faiz, as well as the wearing of the sari by government personnel as it was considered non-Islamic. It was against the backdrop of these two bans that the legendary Pakistani singer Iqbal Bano, in a black sari, sang ‘Hum Dekhenge’ at a Lahore stadium in 1986.
The poem was laced with religious allegory to protest the Islamisation of the nation, to mock the powerful and to give strength and voice to the powerless. It was an extraordinary poem written by a communist and atheist poet who took symbolism from the scriptures to talk about justice, divine and human; to challenge fundamentalism; and to convey the essence of Islam. Iqbal Bano’s defiance was cheered by an audience of tens of thousands in Lahore.
Resistance and protest against power may be the right things to do as far as one’s conscience is concerned, and may be food for the soul, but they can result in deprivation and physical punishment. Faiz was jailed a number of times. He was denied pen and paper, but who can imprison a voice? He would compose and commit to memory, smuggle out his poems through guards and sentries. He became extremely popular amongst a populace struggling to put words to their emotions.
‘Walk the streets with shackled feet’
During one of his jail terms he was taken to the dentist in a tonga with shackles. Along the way he was recognised, and he wrote one of his most iconic poems expressing his love for his country:
Chashm-e nam jaan-e shoreeda kaafi nahin/
Tohmat-e ishq-e posheeda kaafi nahin/
Aaj baazaar mein pa-bajaulaan chalo.
(It is not enough to shed tears or be anguished/
It is not enough to nurse a secret love/
Walk the streets with shackled feet.)
His words indicted the silent spectators, standing impervious to human suffering around them, their indifference more cruel than the harsh punishments meted out to him and others. His words sought to awaken their love for the country and compel them to speak up.
Poets can be dangerous for the well-being of dictatorial regimes, for they can capture the public imagination and rule minds with love instead of force.
That is why Faiz is important, and why young minds should read him — to learn to question and not obey blindly.
Rana Safvi is a Delhi-based writer
