by Editor | May 25, 2021 | Opinions
By Vikas Datta,
“Quidquid Latine dictum sit altum videtur” (“Whatever is said in Latin seems profound”), they say, and the language’s sonorous tones aren’t confined to religion, but law and medicine too. In the South Asian millieu, Urdu has the same position with its assimilative nature and its courtly pedigree giving it refinement as well as ability to express elaborate, sophisticated concepts. Its poetry is the vanguard.
And once we avoid the trap of confining Urdu poetry to its romantic aspect — though that is the area where it is fairly prolific and popular — we find that, like any other long-standing literary tradition, it also spans a wide expanse of life beyond love and longing, and in a variety of styles.
In fact, there are few issues of the human condition or for the natural world that Urdu poets have not covered in the few centuries the language has existed so far, beyond the usually known motifs of the pining lover, the cupbearer or the tavern, the flame and the moth, and so on. Let us see something new.
Take the sky and Jaleel Manikpuri, in an eloquent negation of man-made borders and divisions, writes: “Main kis sar-zameen ki qadr karun/Asmaan saath saath chalta hai“, and on wind, Nawaz Deobandi brings out its misuse as agency for human depredations: “Yeh jala diya, yeh bujha diya, yeh kaam kisi aur ka hai/Na hawa kisi ke saath thi, na hawa kisi ke khilaaf hai.”
Other human emotions and traits also figure. On wisdom, Allama Iqbal says: “Guzar ja aql se aage, ke ye noor/Chirag-e-raah hai, manzil nahi hai“, Saqib Lakhnavi on the “pleasure” of difficulty, observes: “Bu-e-gul kaliyon mein rahi thi magar reh na saki/Main to kaanton mein raha aur pareshan na huya” and Shad Azimabadi, on “sharafat” (integrity), says: “Gulon ne khaaron ke cherhne par siva khamoshi ke dam na mara/Shareef uljhe agar kisi se, to phir sharafat kahan rahegi.”
Likewise, there are many more, and let’s take up a few more unexpected topics and issues, with an attempt to give “shaairs”, who are not well known outside committed connoisseurs or scholars, their place in the sun — as far as possible.
What could be a better topic to begin with than “hamdardi”, or empathy, with Ameer Meenai telling us: “Khanjar chale kisi par tadapte ham hai ‘Ameer’/Saare jahan ka dard hamare jigar mein hai”, or “himmat”, which conveys more than courage, as Pandit Brij Narayan Chakbast brings out the difference between its possessors and others: “Ahl-e-himmat manzil maqsood tak aa bhi gaye/Bandahe taqdeer qismat ka gila karte rahe.”
Or take human breath, which Arzoo Lakhnavi advises: “Ae saans! Na aa ke dil mein hai zakhm/Thes abhi hai jab hawa lagti hai” and Fani Badayuni looks on offered medicine with some trepidation: “Fani! Davaye dard jigar zahar to nahi/Kyun haath kaanpta hai mere charah-saaz ka.”
On advice, Bebak Shahjahanpuri wryly holds: “Kami wafaa mein agar ho to voh jafaa na kare/Salah dete hai kya kya salaah kar mujhe” and for effort, who can better Mirza Ghalib himself, making good use of shared religious imagery, with: “Kuch farz hai sab ko mile ek sa jawaab/Aao na, ham bhi sair karen Koh-e-Toor ki.”
Akbar Allahbadi makes a definitive stand on human nature with: “Tarkeeb-o-taklif lakh karo fitrat kahi chupti hai, Akbar/Jo mitti hai voh mitti hai, jo sona hai who sona hai”, while Bahadur Shah Zafar, the emperor of poets more than subjects, has some frank advice on on”s good and bad points: “Na thi haal ki jab hame apni khabar, rahe dekhte auron ke aib-o-hunar/Padi aapni buraiyon pe jo nazar, to nigaah mein koi bura na raha.”
But despite all, love however can crop up — though in various unexpected guises — and Jigar Moradabadi likens it to a story being told to some eager listeners with: “Koi hadd hi nahi shahd mohabbat ke fasaane ki/Sunta ja raha hai, jisko jitna yaad hota hai.”
On the other hand, Maulana Hasrat Mohani, whose ghazal of a former romance that still pricks the heart (“Chupke chupke raat din..”) has never been bettered, gives tassavur or imagination a new spin with, “Tassavur mein bhi in ke kuch ajab aalam nikalta hai/Isi par to meri hairaniyon ka dam nikalta hai” and Asr Lakhnavi tries the same with dreams: “Gulon ki god mein jaise naseem aake machal jaaye/Isi andaaz se in par khumaar aankhon mein khvaab aaya.”
There are much more, specially on the overarching issues of life and death, and love which may cause and also transcend them, but the habit of quoting an apt Urdu couplet on any occasion — on the pattern of a Biblical or Shakespearean reference — is dying out. Learn the language or use one the sites offering transliterated versions, but don’t let it happen.
(Vikas Datta is an Associate Editor at IANS. The views expressed are personal. He can be contacted at vikas.d@ians.in)
—IANS
by Editor | May 25, 2021 | Opinions, Urdu
By Vikas Datta,
His fame mostly endures on one couplet, which ably uses changes of nature to reflect the turmoil in human affairs. But even among those familiar with “Zameen-e-chaman gul khilati hai kya kya/Badalta hai rang asmaan kaise kaise”, only a few would know the poets identity. That is a pity, for “Aatish” was far from just another Urdu poet.
A standard-bearer of Dabistan-e-Lucknow, or the Lucknow School of Poetry, a master of poets and a mentor to hundreds of poets in his lifetime, Khwaja Haider Ali “Aatish” (1778-1847) played a key role in delineating the contours of his era’s poetry, but through his own independent approach.
But more importantly, his main motif was human nature and dignity — usually in the face of adversity.
Take, for instance: “Aadmi kya voh na samjhe jo sukhan ki qadr ko/Nutq (power of words) ne haivan se musht-e-khaak ko insaan kiya”, or “Tibl-o-ilm na paas hai apne na mulk-o-maal/Ham se khilaaf hokar kya karega ka zamana” or even “Hamesha main ne gareban ko chaak chaak kiya/Tamaam umr rafugar rahe rafu karte”.
This was closely followed by liquor motif — what has become a perceived staple of the literary tradition — but “Khamariyat”, or a call for self-inebriation, is not what it appears to be superficially. Its purpose is not to display a hedonistic and dissolute lifestyle but rather to show a certain pathos, which is not circumstantial but a conscious choice — as a subtle retort to an unjust world.
Also, “Aatish”, unlike his contemporary and rival, Imam Baksh “Nasikh” — who swore by poetic form, correct idioms and patterns of rhythm — plumped more for express subjective experiences, but did not neglect poetic parameters entirely.
Take: “Ae falak kuchh to asar husn-e-amal mein hota/Shisha ik roz to waiz ke baghal mein hota (Oh sky, if there was any effect in the grace of inspired action/The goblet would one day be at the preacher’s side)”, or “Kaaba-o-dair mein hai kis ke liye dil jaata/Yaar milta hai to pahlu hi mein hai mil jaata”, or “Butkhaane todh daliye masjid ko dhaiye/Dil ko na todiye ye Khuda ka maqaam hai”.
Mohammad Hussain Azad, in his pioneering history of Urdu literature, observes that Nasikh’s followers attacked “Aatish” over his poetry being only “casual chit-chat” without any maturity or lofty themes, but rejects the argument, as his own study shows the poet’s work is “not devoid of sophisticated themes”.
“Undoubtedly his expression is limpid. He doesn’t give twists to straightforward matters. Among his constructions there are also Persianised similes and metaphors, but they are readily understandable. And along with this he’s very faithful to his own (Urdu)… It is easy to exalt poetry with colourful expressions, similes, metaphors. But to present a simple, clear meaning in everyday idiomatic language, so that it will move the listener’s heart — this is very difficult,” he said in his “Aab-e-Hayat”.
And Azad also goes on to term Aatish’s poetry “the founding charter of colloquial Urdu idiom, and a lofty example of Indian literature”.
But before we see more of Aatish’s poetry, let us learn a bit about the man.
Azad tells us that his family, descended from Sufis, was from Delhi, but his father Khwaja Ali Baksh moved to Lucknow and the Faizabad-born “Aatish”, when young, took up poetry, and “bid farewell to the family ways and manners; from them he took only freedom from the world’s conventions, and detachment, to bear him company”.
He displayed his expertise at mushairahs and thinking the grammar book, which he had mastered, sufficient and further study useless, polishing his poetry through practice to the extent he was deemed the authoritative ustad of his age.
Thin and tall, he was “a simple, innocent, straightforward man, who never went to nobles’ courts to recite ghazals, nor composed odes in their praise, choosing to spread out his cheap jute mat in a broken-down house, sheltered by a roof of straw and thatch”, says Azad.
And there are more tales about “Aatish”, who tellingly gave up composing after his rival “Nasikh” died, but let us look at some more of his poetic virtuosity. “Bayan khvab ki tarah jo kar raha hai/Ye qissa hai jab ka ki ‘Aatish’ javan tha”.
As noted earlier, though “Aatish” focussed on human nature and dignity, not sensuousness that many of the Lucknow School are known for, he was also not immune to it.
While there is the plaint “Ae sanam jis ne tujhe chand si surat di hai/Usi Allah ne mujh ko bhi mohabbat di hai” — and if this sounds familiar to some, it was a song in Raj Kapoor starrer “Diwana” (1967), where lyricist Hasrat Jaipuri just changed the second word of the second line to “Maalik”.
A better example is “Aap ki nazuk kamar par bojh padhta hai bahut/Badh chale hain hadd se gesu kuch inhen kum kijiye”, or “Kuch nazar aata nahi us ke tasavvur ke siva/Hasrat-e-deedar ne aankhon ko andhaa kar diya”.
But these are exceptions.
And finally, Aatish, in the same ghazal from which his famous couplet is taken, said: “Na gor-e-Sikandar na hai qabr-e-Dara/Mite namiyon ke nishan kaise kaise”.
Let’s not let that happen to him.
(Vikas Datta is an Associate Editor at IANS. The views expressed are personal. He can be contacted at vikas.d@ians.in)
—IANS
by Editor | May 25, 2021 | Opinions
By Vikas Datta,
The ultimate test of a language’s survival is how it is chosen by its users to express their innermost feelings.This yardstick could well explain the case of Urdu, especially when it struck up its enduring partnership with films. And a standard-bearer among those responsible for bringing the ghazal out of courtly soirees to become an eloquent expression for everyman was this failed businessman.
Consider these songs: “Milkar judaa hue to na soya karenge ham/ Ek dusre ki yaad mein roya karenge ham”, “Zindagi mein to sabhi pyar kiya karte hai/Main to mar kar bhi meri jaan tujhe chaahuunga”, “Ye mojeza bhi mohabbat kabhi dikhaaye mujhe…“, or even “Mohe aayi na jag se laaj/main itna zor se naachi aaj/Ke ghunghru toot gaye” or “Chaandi jaisa rang hai tera sone jaise baal/Ik tu hi dhanvan hai gori baaqi sab kangal“.
“Qateel Shifai” penned the lyrics of some of the most heard songs rendered by some of the subcontinent’s best-known voices — Mehdi Hasan, Jagjit Singh, the Sabri Brothers, Pankaj Udhas and more. And he is one of the rare lyricists who has written for both Lollywood and Bollywood.
But the path of Mohammad Aurangzeb Khan (1919-2001) to become “Qateel” was scarcely obvious or smooth, given that there was no tradition of poetry in his family; nor for that matter was Urdu his mother tongue (he was actually a speaker of Hindko, the western Punjabi dialect prevalent across a huge swathe of highland Punjab and stretching into both present Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa and Kashmir).
Born in a businessman’s family in Haripur in Hazara Division of what was then North-West Frontier Province of British India, he had to stop his studies when 16 as his father died and begin earning for his family. He started his own sporting goods shop in Haripur but as it didn’t prove very successful, Aurangzeb Khan decided to move to Rawalpindi, where he started working for a transport company at the (then) princely sum of Rs 60 per month.
However, his chance to adorn the literary firmament came in 1946, when, out of the blue, he was called to Lahore and offered the post of the assistant editor of a decade-old literary journal “Adab-e-Latif”. His first ghazal was published in Lahore weekly “Star”, edited by Qamar Jalalabadi, the poetic takhallus of Om Prakash Bhandari, who would later become a prominent lyricist in Bollywood.
It was in January 1947, that Qateel — as he had become while adopting the second part of his takhallus from his literary mentor Hakeem Yahya Shifa Khanpuri — was approached by Lahore-based film producer Dewan Sardari Lal to write lyrics for his upcoming film.
This was “Teri Yaad” (1948), starring Dilip Kumar’s brother Nasir Khan, and the first film released in Pakistan. While it is tempting to say that there was no looking back with this, it was not the case yet. For over a decade, it was slogging as an assistant lyricist before he achieved high status in his own right, and it was then we can say that there was no looking back.
Noted for the exquisite simplicity of his love-imbued lyrics, which didn’t remain confined to ghazals, but extended into nazm and geet, Qateel — with “Raat chandni maiin akeli” from “Zehar-e-Ishq” (1956), “Nigahe mila kar badal jaane vaale/Mujhe tujh se koi shikayat nahi hai” from “Mahboob” (1962) or “Dil ke viraane mein ik shamma hai ab tak roshan/Kii parvana magar ab na idhar aayega” from “Naila” (1965) — soon made a name.
But if we are take one particular song as representative of his ability as an incomparable poet of romantic expression at its most sublime, then it has to be “Zindagi mein to sabhi pyaar karte hai…” from film “Azmat” (1973).
With “Apne jazbaat mein nagmat rachane ke liye/Maine dhadkan ki tarah dil mein basaya hai tujhe/Main tasavvur bhi judaai ka bhala kaise karun/Maine qismat ki lakeeron se churaya hai tujhe..” or “Teri har chaap se jalate hain khayaalon mein charagh/Jab bhi tu aaye jagata hua jaadu aaye/Tujhko choo loon to phir ai jaan-e-tamanna mujhko/Der tak apne badan se teri khushbu aaye..”, it deserves a place among the most impressively love lyrics in the Urdu poetical tradition.
But Qateel, who wrote over 2,000 songs in over 200 Pakistani and Indian films, also was lucky, unlike quite a few counterparts on both sides of the border, to be as famous for his “non-filmi” work — be it Jagjit and Chitra Singh in “Milkar juda huye”, declaiming “Aansu chhalak chhalak ke sataayenge raat bhar/moti palak palak mein piroya karenge ham” or Mehdi Hasan warbling “Vo mera dost hai saare jahan ko hai maaloom/Dagah kare vo kisi se to sharm aaye mujhe” and several other classics.
Here he was also not confined to love — the rather ironic “Apne liye ab ek hi raah nijaat hai/Har zulm ko raza-e-khuda kah liya karo” and much more in nearly 20 collections showing his versatility.
And like many others, he could pen an epitaph for himself: “Main apni zaat mein nilaam ho raha hoon ‘Qateel’/Gam-e-hayaat se kah do khareed laye mujhe”. His fear, happily, was misplaced.
(Vikas Datta is an Associate Editor at IANS. The views expressed are personal. He can be contacted at vikas.d@ians.in)
—IANS
