Ghalib - Har ek baat pe kehte ho tum

It sometimes happens that a single sher soars above the rest of a ghazal, and makes one cherish, even treasure, the entire poem. We saw an example in the Momin we looked at earlier, where the 'Tum mere paas hote ho goyaa...' sher is just so much better than anything else in the ghazal.

When one comes across such a prize-winner in a Ghalib ghazal, one can be sure that it is going to be a truly outstanding sher. The following ghazal has been a long-loved favourite of mine, simply because of its truly remarkable matlaa, which has something of that 'un-graspable multivalence' that one saw in the 'kuch na thaa to khudaa thaa' couplet. Not that the rest of the Ghazal is poor in any way – it is very good, with at least a couple other gems. But the Mat'laa is, well, in a different class altogether! Ghalib sets such a high standard of poetry here that the rest of the Ghazal dips a little in comparison.

har ek baat pe kahte ho tum ki tuu kyaa hai

tum hii kaho ki ye andaaz-e-guftaguu kyaa hai

हर एक बात पे कहते हो तुम कि तू क्या है

तुम ही कहो कि ये अंदाज़-ए-गुफ़्तगू क्या है

On every occasion/utterance/issue you say 'what are you?'

you tell me, what sort of conversational-style is this?

OK, let us start off by considering the most straightforward interpretation. In this, the words are addressed to the Beloved, and complain about the manner with which she invariably dismisses the ardent lover's advances, with an arrogantly haughty taunt - “You?! Who do you think you are?!!” Now, this sort of reaction is quite in keeping with the 'difference in status and power' that is at the centre of this stylised Ghazal romance, especially when one recalls the imperious, capricious, and self-absorbed characterisation that the Beloved is usually caricatured in. However, it is undeniably ill-bred, in almost any culture. Hence, the poet is well within his rights in rebuking her for her lack of manners, and asking her if this is any way to talk!

Nice as this reading of the sher is, I am constantly amazed at the number of commentators who are quite content to stop there. I mean, this is Ghalib! Could that be all there is to it???

No, not by half. By a slight shift of emphasis, the words, while still remaining directed at the Beloved, attain the form of highest praise. “Your every utterance 'speaks' of what you are! You tell me, how do you manage to talk like this?” See? The enthralling 'conversational style' of the Beloved reveals more about her than about the subject she is expounding on. Moreover, the besotted Lover is probably not even concentrating that much on what is being said...!! It is almost like a totally new Sher!

A sher that can simultaneously constitute an affronted rebuke as well as a fawning compliment to the Beloved, is already excellent. However, much deeper nuances emerge when one changes the subject of the 'dialogue' from the earthly Beloved to the divine one. [The shift is almost 'indicated' - the sort of 'air' the sher wears is definitely Sufistic.]

Let us look at the first reading we considered above. The Beloved was supposed to have shrugged off the Lover's proffered passions with an angry 'What are you?' - meant to highlight the audaciousness of the offer, in light of the huge difference between the Lover and her. When the subject is the Almighty, such 'asymmetry' would hardly need to be highlighted – it would be manifest. Hence if the Almighty responds to the Poet's prayers with a 'What are you?' kind of response, He obviously intends to highlight something quite different. Could He be wanting the poet to reflect upon his own 'unworthiness' in other ways? Could he mean something like, “It is all very well to make these elaborate shows of piety when worshipping me; but in your day-to-day life, what are you?” Could He, therefore, be pointing out that it is futile to expect grace and kindness on the basis of prayers alone, when one remains a blackguard in one's actual life? And realising the justice of this admonition, the Poet (in the second line) offers a sheepishly weak defence... “Come on! How can you talk like that!”

Frankly, I do believe this reading would be quite in keeping with Ghalib's personal credo, one that scoffed at empty religious earnestness in the absence of any higher code of behaviour.

While remaining addressed to the Almighty, the Sher also admits other possibilities. Recall the second 'Beloved-centric' interpretation we looked at above? Where, the Beloved was supposed to 'express' her qualities with every utterance, which held the Lover in thrall? Well, the Almighty is much more 'manifest' in his Excellence than any earthly Beloved could aspire to. On every issue, every 'baat', He shows just what He is! How, complains the Poet, can one have a 'conversation' with someone so invariably, so relentlessly 'Godly'??!

Or perhaps the Poet does dare to address words to the Almighty... to which He responds with demonstrations of what He is... the entire exchange making for a fairly stilted sort of conversation, about which the earthly party to the dialogue can quite justifiably complain!!

And one could go on, digging out nuances and meanings, almost ad infinitum. However, my personally favourite reading of this Sher is somewhat particular. Do we even need a Beloved (earthly or divine) here? Could the words not be entirely in the Poet's own mind?... a pensive, wondering soliloquy by a self-doubting solipsist, who is bemused at his tendency to question his own existence 'on every occasion'! “Snap out of it!” he tells himself. “What manner of dialogue, what sort of 'guftagoo' is this? Who am I talking to?”

Very neat, nahin?

na shole mei.n ye karishmaa na barq mei.n ye adaa

koii bataao ki vo shokh-tunD-khuu kyaa yai

ना शोले में ये करिश्मा ना बर्क में ये अदा

कोई बताओ कि वो शोख-तुंड-खू क्या है

Neither in (balls of) fire is there such miracle, nor in lightning such style

Someone tell me what that mischievous sharp-tempered (one) is!

A nice, and entertaining, sher for oral delivery, no doubt... but a little unexceptional otherwise. A typical 'over the top' praise of the Beloved's fiery appeals... her coquettishness and quick temper defy similes – balls of fire and bolts of lightning make for fairly inadequate comparisons to the kind of power she packs! The sher attributes an undeniably 'sexual energy' to the Beloved, and it isn't so much a question of what she resembles as what she actually is!

ye rashk hai ki vo hotaa hai ham-sukhan tum se

vagarnaa khauf-e-bad-aamoozii-e-aduu kyaa hai

ये रश्क है कि वो होता है हम-सुखन तुम से

वगरना ख़ौफ़-ए-बद-आमोज़ी-ए-अदू क्या है

(I am) envious (only) because he (gets to) converse with you!

Otherwise, what fear (do I have) of the Rival's mis-teachings?

Nice! A show of bravado, perhaps? “I don't care if the Rival [Adu, or 'gair' or 'dushman' is one of the principal characters in the cast...remember?] is telling you stories about me! What burns me up is that he is speaking to you!!” Which could be just a desperate attempt to discount the 'stories', of course!

The 'bad-aamozee-e-Adu' or 'bad teaching of Adu' could also stand for the lessons that the Rival himself is headed for, of course... the same 'lessons' that the poor Poet has already learned to his expense... i.e. exactly how heartless and unfaithful the Beloved can be. Obviously, nobody can blame the Poet for not being too concerned about what lies in store for Adu (he might even take some ghoulish comfort in the thought), but he does object to the fact that the villain gets to enjoy the Beloved's company in the interim!!

chipak rahaa hai badan par lahuu se pairaahan

hamaare jeb ko ab haajat-e-rafuu kyaa hai

चिपक रहा है बदन पर लहू से पैराहन

हमारे जेब को अब हाजत-ए-रफू क्या है

The robe is sticking to the body, with blood

Why does my collar now need (any) darning?

Some of the standard imagery in Urdu poetry is intensely sanguinary, of course. May be a little too much, for modern squeamish tastes... but within the well-defined stylisations of the genre, this is an excellent sher for oral delivery.

The specific stylisation being evoked is, of course, the oft-repeated 'chak-e-gareban' scenario, where the frenzied Lover has clawed his collar to shreds, in his ineffectual attempts to ease the burning in his breast. In the process, drawing out so much of his life-fluid that the tattered remains of his robe adhere quite comfortably to his chest, without requiring any repair... the 'lack of need for repairs' could also be stressed because the Lover has reached a state of crazed ardour where the repaired collar would be immediately ripped apart again – so why even bother to stitch it up temporarily?

Some etymological niceties... the word 'jeb', now used mostly to describe any sort of pocket, initially stood for the front portion of a robe's collar, which fell over the chest (it was the Arabs who reportedly began the practice of sewing in a storage compartment under this collar, which evolved into the present shirt pocket). By induction, the word was also sometimes used to stand for the 'heart' which physiologically lay just under the 'jeb'. Hence, Ghalib could have been indulging in some clever word-play here... hinting that not just his collar, but even his heart is now beyond the requirement of a darning needle!!

jalaa hai jism jahaa.n dil bhii jal gayaa hogaa

khuredte ho jo ab raakh justazuu kyaa hai

जला है जिस्म जहाँ दिल भी जल गया होगा

खुरेद्ते हो जो अब राख जूस्तज़ू क्या है

Where the body has been burnt, the heart must have been burnt too

(Why are you) now scrabbling about in the ashes? What do you search?

Again, very nice. And must have been a delight to listen to in a mushairaa... the first line leaves you completely unprepared for what's to come in the second. The taunt is directed most obviously at the Beloved... having ignored the pining Lover to the point where he was finally engulfed in the flames of his agony, she is now scraping the ashes, in (remorseful? perverse? 'trophy-hunting'?!) search for his heart. 'Don't bother yourself', the dead Lover drily informs her, 'it must have got scorched along with the rest of the body'. Rather certainly, in fact, given that it was the incendiary organ in the first place!

Do note the lovely sound effects of the first line, with all the 'j' sounds rolling over each other, and providing a nice counterpoint to the 'justajoo' of the second.

rago.n mei.n dauRne phirne ke ham nahii.n kaayal

jab aankh se hii na Tapkaa to phir lahuu kyaa hai

रगों में दौड़ते फिरने के हम नहीं कायल

जब आँख से ही न टपका तो फिर लहू क्या है

I am not impressed with (it merely) running about in veins

Until it drips from the eyes, what (sort of) blood is it?

Once again, this is an extremely competent sher for listening to. Building upon the audience's pre-knowledge of Ghazal stylisation to enhance the punch of the second line...with the first line providing little prior hint of what's being got at!

As we examined earlier once, in classical imagery, the doomed Lover is condemned to weep tears of blood, until he finally runs out. This, according to the Poet, is almost the only worthwhile function a Lover's blood can perform. If it merely keeps circulating in his arteries and veins, it would only help perpetuate the suffering that a Lover's life is. No, the ultimate purpose, the 'karma' of the vital fluid is quite definite – it must ebb out through the Lover's eyes, in the process draining out his life force and freeing him from a torturous existence, in the process 'proving' the true-ness of his ardour.

vo chiiz jis ke liye ham ko ho bihisht aziiz
sivaa-e-baadaa-e-gulfaam-e-mushk-buu kyaa hai

वो चीज़ जिस के लिए हम को हो बिहिश्त अज़ीज़

सिवा-ए-बादा-ए-गुल्फाम-ए-मुष्क-बू क्या है

The thing for which we would hold paradise dear

other than rose-coloured and musk-flavoured wine, what is it?

Sweet, very sweet! At the oral level, this is once again a sure-shot hit, 'playing to the gallery' by a delightful 'self taunt', made doubly enjoyable by the public knowledge about Ghalib's appreciation for drink. 'Why would we look forward to Paradise', he asks, 'if it wasn't for the fact that we will all get amazing booze there!' But, at a deeper level, the taunt is against the religious obscurantism that sees no inconsistency in advocating strict abstinence in the earthly life, by promising lake-fuls of intoxicating 'kausar' waters in the next world! At a still deeper level, of course, the sher could be not a taunt at all, but an intriguing speculation that paradise might actually offer something even more desirable than the intoxicating drink described in the sher...

piyuu.n sharaab agar kham bhii dekh luu.n do-chaar

ye shiishaa-o-kadaa-o-kuuzaa-o-subuu kyaa hai

पियूं शराब अगर खम भी देख लूँ दो-चार

ये शीशा-ओ-कदा-ओ-कूज़ा-ओ-सुबू क्या है

If I am to drink wine, let me see (check out) a couple of casks too

these glasses, pitchers, tumblers and flasks; what are they?!

Ha Ha! This one was obviously meant to amuse... once again in a deliberate 'play to the gallery'. If one wishes to establish one's drinking prowess, it is wimpish to talk in units of glasses and bottles... one must 'up the ante' a little and start measuring oneself against cask-fuls!

rahii na taaqat-e-guftaar aur agar ho bhii

to kis ummiid se kahiye ki aarzuu kyaa hai

रही ना ताक़त-ए-गुफ़्तार और अगर हो भी

तो किस उम्मीद से कहिए कि आरज़ू क्या है

The power of speech remain no more; and even if it did

with what hope would one say what (one's) desire was?

Having finally capitulated under the burden of pain, the Poet has been left too weakened, too listless, to speak any longer... in abject self-pity, he comforts himself that this is no great loss...even if he could continue to speak, what would be the point? What hope or expectation could have justified articulating his desires? And to whom? The Beloved (either earthly or divine) obviously remains just as unmoved and unapproachable as before!

Note that the 'aarzoo kya hai' articulation could refer to the Beloved's desire too.... the scenario changes slightly... as before, the Lover has been weakened to a state of speechless, and then the Beloved actually does come by...but he is still sufficiently convinced about the wretchedness of his fortune that he can't imagine she could have come to grant him any favours... hence, even if he could still speak, with what hope could he have asked her, 'What do you want?'

huaa hai shaah ka musaahib phire hai itraataa
vagarnaa shahar mei.n Ghalib kii aabruu kyaa hai

हुआ है शाह का मुसाहिब फिरे है इतराता

वगरना शहर में ग़ालिब की आबरू क्या है

He has become the king's associate, (and hence) struts about (all over the place)

Otherwise, what is Ghalib's standing in the city?

Once again, as so often in this Ghazal, this outstanding maqtaa was obviously written for the immediate moment of its delivery! Think of the impact it must have made in a mehfil held under the Emperor's patronage... What an elegant compliment to the patron! – that mere association with him lends honour and standing to one.

Yet, at the same time, there is also a slightly perverse needling sense in the second line, isn't there? For Ghalib was, of course, an acknowledged master of his craft even in his own time... and there could be little doubt in the minds of the listeners about his 'aabroo' in the city... hence the whole thing sounds like a deliberately dramatised taunt at the state of the world, where even a master-poet needs to take on a 'master' in order to make a living (despite his habitually impecunious finances, Ghalib was intensely conscious of the worth of his poetry and scholarship, and the humiliating necessity of finding 'patrons' was something that bothered him no end. He was entirely capable of having risked making a joke of it even within the royal court!)

Baazeechah-e-atfaal hai

This one has long been among my favourites. Principally on account of its first four shers, which lucidly bring out Ghalib's (typical) scorn for the world around, as also for those who would take its workings seriously!

baaziicha-e-atfaal hai duniyaa mere aage

hota hai shab-o-roz tamashaa mere aage

 
बाज़ीचा-ए-अत्फाल है दुनिया मेरे आगे
होता है शब-ए-रोज़ तमाशा मेरे आगे

To me, the world is (nothing more than) a plaything of kids
night and day, there is a spectacle (in progress) in front of me

This pretty much sets the scene for the next three shers too! Ghalib testily telling you exactly what he thinks of this entire carnival that is the universe... or maybe not testily, but with an indulgent smile... or maybe not even aloud, but pensively to himself... the words themselves provide no clue to the 'mood' they are said in, but are enjoyable in almost any that you choose to read them in!

Even in a sher that seems tossed out with such airy disdain, note the careful choice of words by the master. 'Bazeechaah' is a diminutive of 'baazee', literally something like a 'bout', which carries a distinctly 'adversarial' air... and is therefore a likely comment on the variety of (childish?) conflicts that animate the fates of kings and commoners.

And 'spectacle' is a fairly inadequate translation of 'tamaashaa', of course. The original word carries a more palpable sense of unnecessary drama and theatrics - the dismissive contemporary colloquialism 'what a circus!' might be a closer translation of what Ghalib feels (in the second line) about what he is forced to observe, 'night and day'. Note also that the second line could even mean that the interplay of night and day is itself a circus in Ghalib's eyes!

It might just be a matter of appealing to one's personal philosophy, but the delightfully irascible way Ghalib goes about relativising the reality of the universe in this sher (and the next three), and by implication scorning those who insist on remaining earnestly caught up in these illusory conflicts, makes this ghazal very very dear to me...

ek khel hai aurang-e-sulemaa.n mere nazdeek 

ak baat hai ijaaz-e-masiihaa mere aage  

एक खेल है औरंग-ए-सुलेमां मेरे नज़दीक
एक बात है इजाज़-ए-मसीहा मेरे आगे

Solomon's throne is merely a game/pastime/recreation/play, for me
(and) the messiah's miracle is (some feat!)/(the same thing)/(merely something talked about)/(something spoken aloud)

A wonderful, truly wonderful sher... fully loaded with Ghalib's naughty word-plays and allusions.

The first line makes the grandiloquent claim that the legendary throne of Solomon seems, to the Poet, to be merely a 'khel'.

Solomon's miraculous throne is supposed to have been equipped with a set of wondrous contrivances which would put on quite a 'show' when the wise King was about to take his seat on it. Now, apart from a game in the sporting sense, 'khel' can also denote a 'play' or a theatrical spectacle. And, the biblical descriptions of the workings of Solomon's throne does make it sound like quite a stage-prop!

However, what I think is the most brilliant part of the first line is the way it ends with 'mere nazdeek'. This is an expression that can very well mean something like 'to me' or 'in my view', and is hence quite in keeping with the kaafiyaa line ending. However, literally, of course, it means, 'close to me'... Now think about this - this Ghazal dates to the 1850s, when Ghalib was enjoying the patronage of Zafar's court. The Ghazal was probably first recited at a royal 'mehfil' oranised by the king, over which Zafar would himself have been presiding. And one can almost imagine that Zafar's throne might actually have been quite close to where Ghalib, as a leading poet in the gathering, would have been seated... So, could this not have been a totally brilliant way of flattering the royal patron then? Namely, "Close to me, there is a throne, compared to which Solomon's seems like a mere stage-prop"!!!

And after that bit of cleverness, one comes to the totally brilliant second line.

There is unfortunately no adequate English equivalent to the Hindi/Urdu word 'baat' (although French has an almost as rich construct in 'parole'). We are all so used to using this 'carry-all' word in its varied expressions, that its multifariousness doesn't even strike us normally. Depending on context, it can stand for significance [ वाह, क्या बात है!] as also a total lack of significance [ये सब ख़ाली बातें हैं!] And at the same time, it carries that sense of something being said aloud, of course... Ghalib plays with all these senses in the second line.

The 'miracle' that the second line evokes is, of course, any of supernatural feats that the bible records Jesus as having carried out, particularly the three-odd times that he is supposed to have brought the dead back to life by simply commanding them to rise.

Ghalib, by using the ambivalent 'baat', manages to say something that can be read either to mean that these feats are, indeed, something worth talking about... or alternatively something that is just talk, a superstition perpetuated by the pious! To make a statement that can be interpreted in almost entirely opposing manners, on so vital a point... isn't it totally brilliant?!

And it doesn't stop there. Consider the dismissive Hindustani expression " सब एक ही बात है!" which means something like 'It is all the same!' The 'ek baat' of the second line could well be read in this sense, which would then seem to suggest that the Messiah's miracles are, in Ghalib's view, pretty much the same kind of thing as Solomon's throne (and we have already heard what he feels about that bit of theatrics!)

Finally, there is the literal meaning of 'baat' of course... namely, something that is 'said'. And, well, that is pretty much how Jesus is supposed to have performed many of his miracles... by saying aloud a sentence or two!!

वाह, क्या बात है, indeed!

juz naam nahii.n suurat-e-aalam mujhe manzuur

juz vaham nahii.n hastii-e-ashyaa mere aage 

जुज़ नाम नहीं सूरत-ए-आलम मुझे मंज़ूर
जुज़ वहम नहीं हस्ती-ए-अश्या मेरे आगे

I refuse to accept the appearance of the world, except as a (mere) name
(The) existence of (worldly) things is nothing more than an illusion, for me

Sufi philosophising, Ghalib style! The sheer, palpably deliberate, 'over the top' self-importance with which these observations are delivered robs them of the silliness that such grandiloquence might otherwise have carried!

 hotaa hai nihaa.n gard mei.n sehraa mere hote

ghistaa hai zabii.n khaak pe dariyaa mere aage    

होता है निहां गर्द में सेहरा मेरे होते
घिसता हैं जबीं ख़ाक पे दरिया मेरे आगे

In my presence, the desert hides itself in the dust
the sea rubs its forehead in the dirt, in front of me

The final couplet of this unparalleled quartet.

Here, Ghalib brilliantly 'substantiates' the illusoriness of perceived phenomena, which he has been asserting in the first three shers.

The first line, on first reading, seems to be suggesting that the desert lurks out of sight when the poet confronts it... as if in fear of coming face to face with someone who has such knowledge of 'wildernesses'! However, on closer reading, what he is actually saying is, "look, the desert disappears into dust, when I am around"... But then, what is the desert but for an expanse of dust?? And can it, therefore, ever not hide itself in the dust?? Of what significance is the fear that the poet supposedly inspires in the desert then, if the latter reacts to it by simply...being itself!!

Similarly, the seemingly arrogant claim of the sea 'rubbing its forehead in the dirt' at the poet's feet, is nothing more than a fanciful picturisation of the normal 'lapping of the shores' by its waves... indeed would it even be a sea if it didn't rub its forehead on the sand like this? Hence, the poet's arrogant imagery of the sea abjecting itself in front of him is immediately revealed as being pompously empty and imagined... as it was meant to be, of course. Because the whole point of the sher is that all appearances of respect, abjection, dominance and subservience in the world are no more real than these fanciful imaginings of this contrivedly self-important poet!

So much so for those who would go about looking for power, prestige and dominance in the world!!

mat puuchh kyaa haal hai meraa tere piichhe 

tuu dekh ki kyaa rang hai teraa mere aage

मत पूछ क्या हाल है मेरा तेरे पीछे
तू देख की क्या रंग है तेरा मेरे आगे

Ask not in what state I am, after/behind you
you see what is your state/colour/splendour/fate, in front of me

The arrogant pompousness of the previous four shers seems left far behind, in a return to the more standard abjectness of the Ghazal world.... but then again, is it really so abject?

This is a very competent sher, its first impression of simplicity being only because it uses admirably common words. Under the surface, it hides layers of meanings that many commentators don't bother to dig into. Most of the richness of the sher comes from the many different nuances that can be ascribed to 'rang' (in the second line), even in ordinary speech.

First of all, note that the first line's use of 'peeche', in conjunction with the 'aage' of the kaafiyaa, makes for an unequivocally unequal contextualisation - between the poet and whoever is being addressed in this sher.

In its most straightforward reading then, the words could be directed as a bitter barb at the Beloved, who has 'moved on' after breaking the poet's heart, but has, in a possibly hypocritical gesture of goodwill (or possibly to mitigate the awkwardness of a chance encounter) just been inquiring about the wellbeing of the poet. Testily, the poet responds - 'please don't bother about how I am faring where you left me behind. You concentrate on the pleasures you are enjoying wherever you are now'... the 'rang' in this case standing for something like 'rang rangat', or 'splendour and enjoyment'.

But this is just the simplest reading, of course. Even in exactly the same hypocritical situation (of a chance encounter between the poet and his unfaithful ex), the 'rang' could actually stand for 'colour' in the physical sense... Perhaps the Beloved is 'blushing' shamefully on encountering someone she has been so cavalier towards in the past? Is the poet saying, with ghoulish relish... 'forget about how I am doing... look at your state in front of me!'?

And then again, it may not be so 'situational', of course... the words could be only rhetorically directed at the beloved... 'never mind how I am suffering after your having moved on... think about what impression I carry about you now, about how you must appear to me after I've seen your unfaithful ways'!

Even within this last reading, there are various nuances possible. The poet could be advising the Beloved not only to pay attention to how she appears to him in the above sense, but perhaps even physically... namely, pointing out that her beauty, which makes her so heartlessly arrogant and unfaithful, is, after all, an ephemeral thing, and will eventually fade... and then it is the poet who will have the last laugh. Hence the advise could be something challenging like 'just continue to pay attention on your own fate'...

And then, of course, there is always that delicious possibility that the Beloved in question is not the earthly one. Could the words be a taunt at Almighty himself? "Fine, don't bother to look into my welfare, but do at least think of how unmoving and 'ungodly' you must appear to me!"

Simple? Decidedly not!

sach kahte ho khud-biin-o-khud-aaraa huu.n, na kyo.n huu.n 

baiThaa hai but-e-aaiinaa-siinaa mere aage 

सच कहते हो खुद-बीन-ओ-खुद-आरा हूँ, न क्यों हूँ
बैठा है बुत--ए-आइना-सीना मेरे आगे

You are right, (I) am self-regarding and self-adorning; why shouldn't (I) be?
(A) mirror-faced idol is sitting in front of me!

Ghalib at his brilliant best again!

In its most straightforward reading, the sher is somewhat flat. In effect, the poet has been accused of being vain and a bit of a dandy, and concedes the point by explaining that he can hardly help being somewhat self-obsessed, given that he spends most of his time staring at someone with a face as silvery as a mirror, (namely the Beloved, who is often deified as a 'but' or idol in the ghazal world).

Which is not a bad defence, of course...for people do feel compelled to 'pretty themselves up' a bit when confronted with a mirror in an elevator, for instance, don't they? However, in this reading, the sher is little more than a smart way of complimenting the Beloved's complexion (or the limpid reflectiveness of her eyes).

But this is Ghalib, and the straightforward reading is merely an appetiser. 'Self regarding' and 'self adorning' admit of much more nuanced meanings than the physical act of looking at a mirror or equipping oneself with fancy sartorial accoutrements. The words could be used in an entirely figurative sense, in the sense of being egoistical, or self-praising (the latter being an accusation that must often have been directed against Ghalib!)

In this reading, the Poet rationalises his self-obsessiveness by pointing out that his attentions are actually directed at the Beloved, but his ability to appreciate her exquisiteness 'reflects back' so positively on his own tastes and discernment, that 'worshipping this idol' makes one appear 'self praising'. Think of any connoisseur talking about the intricacies of his favourite art form, and one gets a handle on the kind of thing being said here!

My personally favourite reading of this sher is, however, a rather different one. It works best if the sher is seen as being directed not to the earthly beloved, but the celestial one. In effect, the poet has been accused of being self-obsessed and self-gratifying (by someone who might be seated in front of him, and hence might well be the subject of his subsequent response). 'Well', he responds, 'the idol I worship is so reflective, that I end up looking only at myself when I regard her!'.

See the 'divine' scorn here? Ghalib is, in effect, telling the Almighty that He is little better than his worshippers. Thanks to His unvarying unmovingness and injustice, when people look at him, they see the same feebleness and foibles that they perceive in themselves! Like a mirror faced idol, God has nothing to offer his parishioners that they themselves can't come up with! Why would one even bother worshipping a God as unexceptional as this? One might as well look out for oneself! In effect, Ghalib is speaking not for himself, but for all of Humanity here!!

phir dekhiye andaaz-e-gul-afghaanii-e-guftaar 

rakh de koii paimaanaa-e-sahbaa mere aage

फिर देखिए अंदाज़-ए-गुल-अफ्शानी-ए-गुफ्तार

रख दे कोई पैमाना-ए-सहबा मेरे आगे

Then look at (my) style of scattering rose (petals) in speech

(if) someone (were to) place a glass of wine before me!

This is a nice and naughty one, even if it doesn't amount to more than a 'standard' acknowledgement of the powers of Bacchus to get one's creative enzymes flowing!

It must have been a particularly nice sher for oral delivery... the patent loveliness (both in terms of its sound as well as its imagery) of the multiply linked expression 'andaaz-e-gul-afshaanee-e-guftaar'; the way the introduction of the wine motif seems to anti-climactically 'puncture' the theatrically expectant air initially created by the first line; the fact that Ghalib's weakness for the bottle was already well known to his listeners; all contribute to add charm and amusement to the sher.

nafrat ka gumaa.n guzre hai, mai.n rashk se guzraa

kyo.n kar na kahuu.n lo naam na un kaa mere aage

नफ़रत का गुमां गुज़रे है, मैं रश्क से गुज़रा

क्यों कर न कहूं लो नाम न उन का मेरे आगे

The suspicion of hatred passes/comes about; I (passed through)/(overcame) jealousy

How can I say 'don't take her name in front of me/mine'?

We had evidence of the amazing multivalence of the word 'guzarna' in one of the Faiz ghazals we looked at earlier – remember? In effect, the word can be used in many ways, some almost antonymous to each other! And it is this which makes the above sher extremely difficult to pin down as regards meaning, at the same time giving it its rare beauty.

In most commentators' reading of it, the poet seems to be making the point that while hearing others talk about the Beloved does make a wave of jealousy wash over him, he is constrained from requesting them to not talk about her in his presence, because doing so might create the impression that the poet harbours some sort of hatred for the Beloved, and can't bear to hear her name.

However, the various senses one can read the guzre-guzraa combination of the first line allows us to invoke a variety of other meanings. Perhaps the poet is saying that the suspicion he had about the Beloved hating him has finally dissipated (it has been 'settled', one way or the other)... and at the same time he has also managed to overcome the jealousy he used to feel on hearing someone speak her name... hence now he has no reason to not converse with people about her (earlier he could not do so either because of his jealousy, or because of the fear that the Beloved might hate him more if she heard that he has been gossiping about her!).

The 'nafrat kaa gumaan' in the first line could also be evoking the suspicion the poet himself used to feel whenever people talked about the Beloved... that they were doing it out of hatred towards him, to torture him further. However, he has now gotten over such fanciful imaginings. Hence it is OK for people to talk about her now, even in his presence.

Finally, the 'lo naam na un ka mere aage' could mean not just “don't take her name in front of me” but also “don't take her name in front of mine”!! Meaning, that he has no reason to stop people from 'linking their names' i.e. talking about their supposed relationship! Because there is no more suspicion of the Beloved hating him, and he has also managed to overcome the jealous hostility that his relationship with the Beloved used to evoke in other aspirants to her favours!

The possibilities multiply...!

iimaan mujhe roke hai jo kiinche hai mujhe kufr

kaabaa mere piiche hai kaliisaa mere aage 

ईमान मुझे रोके है जो खींचे है मुझे कुफ्र

काबा मेरे पीछे है कलीसा मेरे आगे

Piety/Honour/Faith holds me back, (while) infidelity pulls me

the kaabah is behind me, a church in front of me

Ha! Brilliant! 'God' save those whom Ghalib chooses to heap scorn on!!

In this case, the object of his derision is, of course, the earnestness of a religious discourse that gratuitously warned 'true' believers against 'insidious' attempts at proselytism by competing faiths. Ghalib, with his universalistic values and general impatience with small-mindedness, would naturally have found such talk immature and infantile. Therefore, in this sher, he sets up a deliberately and childishly ridiculous picture of a person held in suspended animation, being pulled either which way by the retentive powers of the kaabah on one hand, and the beguiling charms of a church on the other! Sometimes the best way to demolish a discourse is to agree whole-heartedly!!

One can imagine how enjoyable a sher this must have been in its original oral delivery, isn't it? The first line repeated ad-infinitum to build up an expectation of some piously pithy denouement, and then the anticlimax of the second line!!

aashiq huu.n par mashuuk-farebii hai meraa kaam 

majnuu.n ko buraa kahtii hai lailaa mere aage

आशिक हूँ पर माशूक-फ़रेबी है मेरा काम

मजनूँ को बुरा कहती है लैला मेरे आगे

A lover I am, but my vocation is to lead Beloveds astray (or dupe them)

(Why, even) Laila speaks ill of Majnoon (in my presence)/(compared to me)!

Once again, a delightful sher for oral recitation. The poet creates a deliberately roguish and 'sneaky' persona for himself, admitting that he habitually philanders around with Beloveds, or poisons their minds against their true lovers, because of which even Laila succumbs to sharing unflattering confidences about Majnoon with him! Of course 'mere aage' can equally well mean 'compared to me', hence Laila might even be going so far as to make public statements stressing the superiority of the poet vis-a-vis her true lover!!

In another alternative reading of this sher, which few commentators seem to prefer but which, I think, is just as enjoyable, the sher could be a bit of a 'set-up'... in effect, the poet might be trying to highlight that his own love for his Beloved is no less ardent than that of the legendary Majnoon's for Laila. However, there must be some exceptional 'mashooq-farebee' in him which makes the Beloved still speak ill of him! "Why, the whole thing is as ridiculous as Laila criticising Majnoon!!" See...? The taunt than would be directed not at himself, but at the Beloved, who inexplicably fails to recognise her true Lover...!

khush hote hai.n par vasl mei.n yuu.n mar nahii.n jaate

aayii shab-e-hijraa.n kii tamannaa mere aage

खुश होते हैं पर वस्ल में यूँ मर नहीं जाते

आयी शब-ए-हिजरां की तमन्ना मेरे आगे

(one) is happy, but one doesn't die like this during Union!

(perhaps) the wish/desire of the night of separation came (before me)/(to me)!

This is a very nice sher!!

In its commonly accepted meaning, the sher is invoking a delicious irony. The Lover was finally, improbably, united with the Beloved... and, quite expectedly, the momentousness of the moment promptly killed him off (to 'die of joy' was almost certain under the circumstances, wasn't it?). Somewhat put off by this anti-climactic turn of events, the poet wryly observes that people normally don't die when United with their Beloveds – howsoever happy they might be. Hence, in his case, it must be all those 'death wishes' he voiced during the long night of separation, which must suddenly have been answered just when he needed to remain alive!! In its 'jinxed-ness', this is a truly delicious picture! 

 

However, we can also look at this sher somewhat differently. What if the poet, in the first line, is not dead, but is actually making a wry observation that he doesn't seem to be too affected by the Union with the Beloved...?! It could very justifiably be read as such. In effect, “Ok, I am definitely happy, but I am not exactly dying of joy.” And then, introspectively, he goes on to realise, in the second line, that what he is missing, what is making the Union less than perfect, is a sudden desire, a tamanna, he feels for the 'shab-e-hijraan'!!! 

 

On first glance, that might seem breath-takingly perverse... but, on reflection, why should it? After all, what can Union offer compared to the infinitely sweet sufferings of separation?? It is not such an unlikely sentiment in the Ghazal world, is it? That strand of lingering doubt... 'this is all very well, but wasn't that glorious longing somehow better, more intense, than this momentary joy??' And do remember that this ghazal began with some nifty relativising of the entire Universe's significance...why should the 'shab-e-vasl' be not treated to the same questioning?? In my view, therefore, reading the second line as “a longing for the night of separation (suddenly) came upon me” makes for a very enjoyable alternative! [a question of 'personal philosophies' again, perhaps? At least for all of us 'commitment-phobic' types!!]

hai mauj-zan ek kuljum-e-khuun, kaash yahii ho
aataa hai abhii dekhiye kyaa kyaa mere aage

है मौज-ज़न एक कुल्जुम-ए-खून, काश यही हो

आता है अभी देखिए क्या क्या मेरे आगे

A blood-sea is (rough with) waves; may it be just that!

let us see what all (remains to) come before me yet!

What makes Ghalib so 'ungraspable' is just this sort of Inshaaiyah versification... where little is actually 'stated'; it is all wishes, expressions of foreboding and rhetorical questions.

The only 'concrete' part of the sher seems to be the observation that a 'sea of blood' is on boil...'wave generating' is the actual expression used, evoking a tempestuous, raging, stormy and blustery body of water (or rather blood, in this case). And what is this ominous 'sea of blood' being talked about here? There are no immediate classical allusions which spring to mind, so one presumes that the imagery is figurative – perhaps the tears of blood that the Lover is famously supposed to shed in copious quantities have now reached proportions where they are threatening to become a veritable ocean, and a stormy one at that!

Having evoked this scary picture of tsunamis welling up in a sea of blood, the poet goes on, totally incongruously, to apparently wish 'kaash yahee ho', or 'may it be this only!' (to use a common Indianised expression!). Which seems totally at odds with the picture of a squally sea of blood! Why would one wish for an ocean of blood anyway? Well, as the second line points out, the poet is uncertain whether the future might not hold even more ominous tests in store for him, compared to which a sea of blood might seem a minor inconvenience! And in any case, you know what they say about a 'known devil'... it is the uncertainty of what the future might throw up that apparently makes the poet 'accept' the sea of blood, provided his misfortunes stop at that!

go haa.nth ko jumbish nahii.n, aankho.n mei.n to dam hai

rahne do abhii saagar-o-miinaa mere aage 

गो हाथ को जुम्बिश नहीं, आँखों में तो दम है

रहने दो अभी सागर-ओ-मीना मेरे आगे

albeit the hand is without motion, (my) eyes do (still) retain life/breath

let the wine goblet remain before me yet!

This is again a celebration of drink...along the lines of the seventh sher above. The air is again slightly facetious – the poet seems to have drunk himself into a state of listlessness, and somebody has sensibly pointed out that the wine goblet should perhaps be removed from in front of him, because he can't, in any case, reach out to pick it up any more. Well, he slurs out, maybe I can't move my hand, but what makes you think I am not continuing to imbibe through my eyes??!!

Other possibilities remain, of course... maybe the 'paralysis' of the hand is brought about not by intoxication, but because the poet is on his deathbed? And he wishes to die with the vision of the wineglass in his eyes... And when one recalls all that wine symbolically stands for in the Ghazal world, over and above the alcoholic beverage, the sher can be much more than a tribute to firewater!

ham-peshaa-o-ham-mashrab-o-hamraaz hai meraa

Ghalib ko buraa kyo.n kaho achhaa mere aage

हम-पेशा-ओ-हम-मश्रब-ओ-हमराज़ है मेरा

ग़ालिब को बुरा क्यों कहो अच्छा मेरे आगे

(he) shares my vocation, my drinks, my confidences

why (do you) criticise Ghalib? (He is) good in front of me!

A masterful maqtaa, as always, from the Great One! And expectedly self-centred, as usual!! 

 

The sher is evidently directed at somebody who has been badmouthing Ghalib...which could even be the Beloved herself, of course. Apparently, this person doesn't recognise Ghalib by face though, which allows him to indignantly spring to his own defence, without revealing his identity. “I know Ghalib very well – he is of my trade, we drink together, we even swap secrets! He has always been very good in my presence. What business do you have to go about criticising him?” 

 

Note that while this is undeniably and ignobly sneaky, it is not untrue – for the poet does evidently 'share' Ghalib's trade, drinks and confidences! Only Ghalib could come up with such sly self defence!

Zafar - Lagtaa nahin hai jee meraa

Apparently, this week saw Bahadur Shah Zafar's 232nd birth anniversary. I wouldn't have known, but Hindustan Times carried a feature on the 'last Emperor of India' (or rather the last 'Indian' emperor - nominally, of course, India came under Queen Victoria a couple of decades after the 1857 revolt, and the British sovereign formally remained India's emperor until Independence).

We do know that, even before he was deposed, Zafar's was merely a 'paper reign', and his personal limitations as a statesman are also well-documented. However, at a human level, his is a truly fascinating story - a poet at heart, reluctantly trapped on the seat of power in times too tumultuous for him; a man destined to be immortalised by what he would come to represent - the passing of an age, the end of a dynasty....

However, even if Zafar hadn't become the iconic historical symbol he is, Urdu poetry would still owe him a greater debt than probably to any other single individual. A passionate - and not incompetent - shaayar himself, Zafar provided the crucial royal patronage that permitted the remarkable flowering of Urdu poetry - and the refinement of its poetics - in the 19th Century, and led to the eventual shift away from Persian. Just consider - Zauq, Ghalib, Momin and Daagh all enjoyed the patronage of Zafar's court; one shudders to imagine what we might have lost but for him!

It is the end of his his life, of course, that makes Zafar's story so poignant - stripped of his throne, forced to watch the beheading of his sons and grandson, then exiled to the foreign climes of Rangoon for his remaining years. And it is this history which imbues the following ghazal - written by the octogenarian king during his final incarceration - with rare beauty, a beauty that one probably may have failed to perceive in it in the absence of this context. Generally seen as Zafar's epitaph for himself, particularly on account of its Maqta, these are fated to remain the best-known words of the poet-king:

लगता नहीं है जी मेरा उजड़े दयार में
किसकी बनी है आलम-ए-नापायेदार में

I remain dispirited in (this) desolate place
(but then) who has found fulfillment in (this) fleeting world?

A rather inadequate translation, I admit - 'dil na lagnaa' is an extremely multivalent expression, which can mean anything from 'being bored' to 'not being able to get used to a place' to outright 'being melancholy'. Similarly, 'kiskee banee hai' is also a broad colloquialism which can express a variety of nuances. However, the overall idea seems straightforward - the second line 'qualifies' the lament in the first line (Zafar complaining about being forced to live in alien strangeness?) by pointing out that, in any case, it isn't as though anybody manages to quit this transient world satisfied...

बुलबुल को न बागबां से न सैय्याद से गिला
किस्मत में कैद लिखी थी फ़स्ल-ए-बहार में

The bulbul has no complaints, neither against the gardener nor the hunter
It was written down in (its) destiny, to be imprisoned in the flush of spring

Once again, the context in which these words were written almost forces us to see them as a personal statement. However, even otherwise, the sher expresses a fatalism worth relishing, and would have been quite enjoyable from anyone's pen.

I rather like the ambiguities that can be pulled out of the second line. In its straightforward interpretation, it was in the bulbul's destiny to fall into the hunter's net during spring (as in my translation above), which expresses a sorrowful resignation. However, a more triumphant interpretation can also be gleaned out of the words, namely, the blessed bird was destined to remain (perpetually) trapped in the height of spring! The two readings reflect back in very different ways on the first line also!


कह दो इन हसरतों को कहीं और जा बसें
इतनी जगह कहाँ है दिल-ए-दागदार में

Tell these desires to find some other abode
Where is the space (to accommodate them) in (my) wounded heart?!

Not too deep, but still touching in its disconsolate intensity! Probably because one invariably thinks of the words as coming from a broken man, on the eve of his death...

एक शाख-ए-गुल पे बैठ के बुलबुल है शादमान
कांटे बिछा दिए हैं दिल-ए-लालाज़ार में

Seated on a flower-bearing branch, the bulbul is content
(even if) thorns line (its) heart's garden

A little more ambiguous, but it has a nice sound to it. Presumably the idea is the standard one that the bird is happy with its proximity to the bloom, even if its breast is rent by thorns in the process of enjoying it. However, the 'dil-e-laalazaar' could also be read as the 'heart of the garden' I think, which would admit alternative interpretations...

उम्र-ए-दराज़ माँग के लाये थे चार दिन
दो आरज़ू में कट गए, दो इंतज़ार में

Having asked for longevity, (I) had brought (a span of) four days (with me)
Two (of them) were spent in longing, (the other) two in waiting

One of the most famous couplets in the ghazal, and probably its best. The first line could mean simply that the poet had requested from the almighty a life-span of four days and brought the same to the world. However, since the more common sense in which 'daraaz' is used is for emphasising the length or duration of something, a nicer reading is that he had asked for a long life, but had been given only four days. Then the second line goes on to ruefully observe that even this abbreviated duration was wastefully spent, first in desire, then in anxious anticipation...

दिन ज़िंदगी के ख़त्म हुए, शाम हो गयी
फैला के पाँव सोएँगे कुन्ज-ए-मज़ार में

life's span is over, the evening falls
(I) shall spread out my legs and sleep, in a corner of my tomb

Very nice... while the haunting quality of the verse certainly depends on our knowledge that the King is dying, and is destined to actually be entombed soon, the devil-may-care colloquialism captured in 'phailaa ke paanv soenge' shows a triumphant expectation of restful repose! And then, to follow it up by saying that this rest shall be availed of in a mere 'corner' of the tomb...a deft touch!


कितना है बदनसीब ज़फर, दफ्न के लिए
दो गज़ ज़मीन भी मिल न सकी कू-ए-यार में

How wretched is Zafar (that even) for (his) burial
(he) could not get two yards of land in the lane of the beloved

This is the 'defining' signature-sher of this Ghazal - quoted almost as often as some of the best ones of Ghalib! And invariably seen as Zafar's final cry of anguish at dying away from his Delhi. Coming from the failed Emperor, this sher could hardly have become anything other than the abiding symbol of his personal tragedy!


This ghazal has been reproduced, along with some other of Zafar's writings, in his mausoleum. Incidentally, the Myanmarese authorities have done a credible job of maintaining Zafar's tomb - I had had occasion to visit it a few years back while on a tour to Yangon, and was quite impressed with the upkeep of the premises and the stately dignity with which religious ceremonies were regularly performed there. Looking at the shameful shambles we had made of, say, Ghalib's tomb and haveli until the Courts intervened (or almost any of our monuments), one wonders if Zafar was really 'unfortunate' in not having found the 'do gaz zameen' in his beloved city, nahin?

Mir - Ulti ho gayin sab tadbeeren

We've been a little remiss in not having looked at anything by Mir so far. Not only because his oeuvre is huge (in quantitative terms) but also because Mir was, in many ways, the defining poet of the Mughal tradition that has come to dominate the classical Urdu poetry popular until today. He pre-dated the great names of the Delhi durbar, and was a point of reference for many of them. Ghalib is said to have approached Mir for guidance in his youth, and Mir reportedly predicted a bright future for the young poet. Zauq and even Ghalib (despite the contempt he usually professed for other wielders of the quill) have penned shers conceding the merit in Mir's work... In one of them, Ghalib describes Mir's deewaan as being nothing lesser than a Kashmir garden!

न हुआ पर न हुआ मीर का अंदाज़ नसीब
ज़ौक यारों ने जोर बहुत ग़ज़ल में मारा

रेखता के तुम ही उस्ताद नहीं हो गालिब
कहते हैं अगले ज़माने में कोई मीर भी था


I haven't read a great deal of Mir. What I have read, I have found a little uneven. He is truly wonderful in places - and in a way that is somehow very heart-warming, even if it lacks the outright brilliance of a Ghalib. In other places, he seems almost exasperatingly formulaic and conventional. I realised later that at least a part of the reason for this was that Mir actually defined much of the 'imagery' that later became standard in the poetic tradition. Hence when he used an idiom, it probably wasn't as formulaic as it was destined to become later - in fact, the very fact that so many of his stylisations have come to be the standard fare of urdu poetics is, perhaps, testimony to their worth!

We'll look at a ghazal that is among the 3 or 4 best-known of Mir's. Incidentally, Begum Akhtar has breathed life into a few shers from this, in her inimitable voice - do check out if you haven't heard it so far!

उल्टी हो गयीं सब तदबीरें, कुछ न दवा ने काम किया
देखा इस बीमार-ए-दिल ने आख़िर काम तमाम किया

Every solution/scheme turned contrary, the medicine had no effect
See? This affliction of the heart, it finally finished (me? you? him?) off

An otherwise simple sher, it turns on a clever word-play involving 'kaam kiya'. Since the idiom 'kaam tamaam karna' (which signifies something like 'to kill off') literally translates as 'to do a LOT of work', it provides a nice juxtaposition to the medicine, which 'did no work at all'! However, whereas someone like Ghalib would have grasped the word-play potential inherent in the idiom, and teased and tweaked at it until he ended up saying something truly profound or witty, Mir is happy to merely present the word-play to us...gently, without too much of a fuss. There's merit in his approach...

The way the sher is said, it remains deliciously ambiguous whether it is a lament from the afflicted party himself, or a dispassionate observation by someone who has merely seen the afflicted one succumb to his heart's affliction...


अह्द-ए-जवानी रो रो काटा, पीरी में ली आँखें मूँद
यानी रात बहुत थे जागे, सुबह हुई आराम किया

The days of youth, (I) spent in tears; (and) in old age, shut (my) eyes
That is, (I) had kept awake a lot during the night; (hence) in the morning, (I) rested

Nice. While, on first reading, the sher seems to be (in a reversal of convention) equating youth with night and age with morning, what the poet is actually stressing that his entire life was encapsulated/contained in that one wakeful night of separation! Hence, he first gives what seems to be an overview of a lifespan - a youth spent in sorrow, and an old-age of deliberate restfulness - and then explains (look at the opening 'yaanee' in the second line) that this picturisation is based on the fact of him having spent the previous night in teary-eyed wakefulness, and having finally dozed off at dawn!


हर्फ़ नहीं जां-बख्शी में उसकी, खूबी अपनी किस्मत की
हम से जो पहले कह भेजा, सो मरने का पैगाम किया

(there's) no doubt about her life-sparing nature, it is the exceptionalness of my (good) fortune
that the first message (she) sent across, it was a death-sentence!

Wonderful! This is the typical sort of 'yeah, right!' sher that Ghalib does so well, isn't it?

The poet sarcastically absolves the Beloved of any blame in his death - because 'sparing lives' is so unambiguously inherent to her nature, after all! It is only the excellence of his kismat, he explains, because of which the first message he received from her was a death-sentence. It's so deliciously over-the-top, this sarcasm-laden thankfulness that the Beloved's professed gentility didn't get in the way, at least in his case, of a summary execution!


नाहक हम मजबूरों पर ये तोहमत है मुख्तारी की
चहते हैं सो आप करे हैं, हम को अबस बदनाम किया

(it is) unjust that we, the helpless, are accused of (possessing) power
you do whatever (you) like, it's needlessly that we stand defamed

Once again, a sher of endearing simplicity. 'Mukhtaaree' is a word of almost judicial import, signifying legal authority, autonomy, or plenipotentiariness. For the wretched lover to be attributed such sovereignty is like rubbing salt in his wounds... given that the Beloved holds his very destiny in her dainty fingers, the very least she can do is to acknowledge this reality!! To imply that her Lover has some power over his state shifts the responsibility for this state on to him, which is certainly defamatory!

The sher could evidently constitute a witty response to a protest by the Beloved against some forward sign of ardour by the Lover... "listen - don't blame me. It is not as though I am in control of anything here!' However, the first part of the second line also hints that the sher could be directed against still 'Higher Powers'... the 'chaahate hain so aap kare hain' being close to a specific Koranic allusion that describes the Almighty's omnipotence...


सारे रिंद औबाश जहां के तुझ से सुजूद में रहते हैं
बांके, टेढ़े, तिरछे, ठेके, सब का तुझ को इमाम किया

All the drunkards and waywards of the world bow before you
the crooked, the bent, the askance, the twisted; you've been made the Imaam of all (these)

This one is quite delightful! What an unflattering caricature of the Beloved's other devotees! And by implication, of course, also of her - - "yes, yes, you may have thousands worshipping you, but don't get too uppity; just look at the sort of motley crowd they constitute!" The honorifics heaped upon this fan club - 'baanke, Terhe, Tirchhe, Theke' - conjure up a truly apalling picture of a physically malformed gathering, which when read with the first line's verdict on their moral qualities, leaves them little hope for redemption, howsoever pious their devotion to the Beloved may be...!

Of course, nothing in the Sher shows that the poet is explicitly excluding himself from this sorry bunch - after all, he too prostrates before the Beloved just as frequently as her other devotees, as the next Sher shows!


सरज़द हम से बे-अदबी तो वहशत में भी कम ही हुई
कोसों उसकी और गए पर सजदा हर हर गाम किया

As for discourtesy, very little was committed by me, even in madness
(it is true that) I moved miles towards her, but I prostrated myself at every step!

Ha! Another delightful one! How charmingly the Poet absolves himself of having breached any proprieties... he acknowledges having approached the Beloved - he also implicitly concedes that that, in itself, could well have been seen as rudely ambitious - but goes on to point out, in all innocence, that since he punctuated every step of this pursuit by falling flat in worshipful abjection, no discourtesy can possibly be attributed to him! One would imagine that even the Beloved would be moved to a smile on hearing this defence!


किसका काबा, कैसा किब्ला, कौन हरम है, क्या अहराम
कूचे के उसके बाशिंदों ने सब को यहीं से सलाम किया

Whose Kaabah, which Kiblah, what are places of worship or pilgrimage-clothes?
(as for) the denizens of her street, they (just) bestow a salaam on everyone from right here!

This is another rich one! The sher reiterates the oft-made point that those in the thrall of the Beloved are condemned to lose their faith - hence these besotted street-dwellers (of whom the poet is evidently one; as shown by his use of 'yaheen' in the second line) couldn't care lesser about the Kaabah, or in which direction Mecca is (a 'Qiblah' indicates this direction in a mosque), and have no interest in leaving the Beloved's lane to undertake any religious journey either.

Until here, the Sher is commonplace. What gives it its exceptional charm is the way the second line provides an additional picture - these besotted lovers, while determinedly ensconsed on their preferred perches in the Beloved's lane (in the evident hope of catching a glimpse of her), are quite prompt in 'wishing on', with courteous salaams, others who are going about their prayers, or setting off for pilgrimages!! This hypocritical show of religious fellow-feeling (all the while keeping a watchful eye on the Beloved's door) makes one feel almost fond of these roguish 'baashindaas', doesn't it?


शेख जो है मस्जिद में नंगा, रात को था मैखाने में
जुब्बह, खिरका, कुर्ता, टोपी, मस्ती में इनाम किया

The Sheikh who is naked in the Mosque, was in the tavern yesterday
(where he) , in inebriated enthusiasm, gave away as prizes, his cloak, robe, Kurtaa and Hat!

It was a custom of the time, of course, for persons of wealth and influence to grandiosely hand over a necklace or ring in reward to someone whose service or performance they found praiseworthy.

The Sher evokes an amusing picture of a Sheikh, in drunken stupor, carrying this a little too far, by distributing even his clothes away to sundry hangers-on in the tavern, who might have been entertaining him in one way or the other... The picturisation of the Sheikh being naked in the mosque on the following day is figurative - for we don't expect the personage to have actually landed up for prayers 'au naturel', of course. It is a sort of reversal of the 'Emperor's new clothes'... he might be clothed now, but in light of his silliness in the tavern on the previous night, he stands permanently denuded - of his dignity and authority, at least - in the public eye!


काश अब बुर्का मुह से उठा दे, वरना फिर क्या हासिल है
आँख मूंदे पर उन ने गो दीदार को अपने आम किया

I wish she would lift the burkah from her face now, else what would be achieved
(if) after (my) eyes are shut, she (even) makes her view completely public!

hmm... a little pedestrian. In a cultural context where a sight of the Beloved's face could be afforded only through good fortune or extreme generosity on her part, the groaning exclamation captured in the first half of the first line might have been quite common... the sher creates its pathos by invoking a situation where the Beloved might wait just a bit too long before she finally lifts the veil - by which time the Lover might have already died of unfulfilled longing...! In fact, if she does put herself 'in public view' after the Poet's death, he would probably see it, quite justifiably, as a double disaster!!


यां के सपेद-ओ-स्याह में हम को दख्ल जो है सो इतना है
रात को रो रो सुबह किया या दिन को जों-तों शाम किया

In the (interplay of) Black and White here, the involvement I have is (just) this much
(I) wept the night into the morning, or willy-nilly passed the day into night

In my opinion, this is by far the best sher in the Ghazal. It is a little difficult to translate though, because it hinges on very smart leveraging of a particular idiomatic usage.

Let us first see what is being asserted in the first line... the poet seems to be discounting or denying an implied power that has apparently been attributed to him. And no ordinary power, mind you - the power to influence matters of 'black and white' or 'dark and light', no less! Well, says the poet, if he does have any influence over such cosmic cycles, it is merely this much -- he has often 'wept the night into day', etc...

It is lucky that the 'weeping the night into the day' idiom comes through in English, actually - because otherwise it would be well-nigh impossible to capture the beauty here in translation. When we say 'raat ko ro ro subah kiyaa', we are talking, of course, about the difficulty of taking oneself through the interminable duration of the night. But LITERALLY, the idiom would translate as 'making the night into the morning, through one's tears'. Similarly, the 'din ko jon-ton shaam kiyaa' is equally an assertion of the poet's powerlessness - what it actually means to say is that the wretched creature 'somehow managed to get through the day'. But the wording of the idiom allows us to read an 'active' role for him - as if he 'somehow' managed to make the day into night!

It is this insightful observation - that an idiomatic usage meant to denote a complete lack of power can actually be read as an assertion of power, albeit an obviously contrived one, that allows Mir to weave such magic with 'yaan ke saped-o-syaah'!

I also love the exquisite wording of the first line... the use of 'dakhl' - meaning something like 'interference' or 'involvement' or 'having a hand in something', rather than outright 'power' - is a delicious touch!


सुबह चमन में उसको कहीं तकलीफ़-ए-हवा ले आई थी
रुख से गुल को मोल लिया, कामत से सर्व गुलाम किया

in the morning, the trouble of (taking) air brought her somewhere in the garden
with (her) face, (she) purchased the bloom; with (her) stature, she enslaved the Cypress

Very ho-hum! The Beloved enters the garden for a walk, and the trees and flowers fall to her charms! See what I mean about Mir being quite flat at times?


साद-ए-सीमीं दोनो उसके हाथ में ला कर छोड़ दिए
भूले उस के कौल-ए-कसम पर हाय ख़याल-ए-खाम किया

having brought both her silvery arms in (my) hands, (I) let go
foolishly did (I), alas, delude (myself) on her pledges and promises!

Ok, so a somewhat 'cute' picture is being evoked, here. The Lover manages, in a rare show of daring, to physically accost the Beloved, gripping her 'silvery wrists' in his hand. She wrings and writhes in attempted escape, and upon being unsuccessful, showers the Poet with pledges and promises - of returning to him later, if he lets her go now. He naively believes her, and lets go... only to later rue his gullibility, in the form of the sher above.

Granted that the vignette evoked is not without charm, it is hardly worthy of being placed alongside some of the other amazing shers in this ghazal. Moreover, the kind of situation evoked in the sher is at odds with the general milieu of the ghazal world... it is too intimate, the sort of situation you might expect to see between a man and wife, or at least a couple that implicitly acknowledges their intimacy to each other... the best shers don't deal with such relationships, which seem already 'consummated' in an emotional sense!

काम हुए हैं सारे ज़ाया हर सा'अत की समाजत से
इस्तिघ्ना की चौगुनी उसने जूं-जूं मैं इब्राम किया

all efforts have been wasted, from the (very) moment of every entreaty
she quadrupled her indifference, every time I beseeched her

The sher is undeniably lyrical, thanks largely to the alliterative 'saa'at kii samaajat' in the first line and the colloquial 'joon-joon' in the second. But otherwise, I once again fail to see particular merit in it - the idea that the Beloved would be unmoved by the Lover's entreaties is almost a given in this world...

ऐसे आहू-ए-रम-खूर्दा की वहशत खोनी मुश्किल थी
सिःर किया, ऐजाज़ किया, जिन लोगों ने तुझ को राम किया

for the wildness of such a frightful deer to be lost was difficult
they did magic, achieved a miracle, the people who tamed you

I haven't much idea what this is about. Presumably the Beloved is being addressed, and described as a frightened, flighty, skittish, deer. But who are the people who are supposed to have 'tamed' this otherwise wild beast? Presumably the poet's rivals... why should he be heaping praise on their accomplishment? Even in sarcastic note, this just doesn't ring right...!

Please feel free to chip in if you have a fix on what Mir was trying here...


मीर के दीन-ओ-मज़हब को अब पूछते क्या हो, उन ने तो
कश्का खींचा, दैर में बैठा, कब का तर्क इस्लाम किया

Why do you ask now about Mir's God and religion; (for) he has
worn a caste-mark, sat in a temple, (and has) long renounced Islam!

The maqtaa is quite delicious... and must have raised scandalised smiles from his listeners in the conservative times he lived. But it also demonstrates the admirably liberal ethos that the world of poetry was able to project, even in Mir's epoch, if these things could be joked about so freely...

Faiz - Tum aaye ho naa

It's been months! Sorry. Have been busy moving home and hearth - across continents - which doesn't leave one in a frame of mind for poetry. But, there's been unconscionable laziness too, of course...!

Thought this lovely Faiz ghazal would be a good way to restart. The first sher remains one of my all time favourites. As does the last one.

tum aaye ho naa shab-e-intezaar guzrii hai
talaash mei.n hai sahar baar-baar guzrii hai

तुम आये हो ना शब्-ए-इंतज़ार गुज़री है
तलाश में है सहर बार-बार गुज़री है

You haven't come, nor has the night of waiting passed
the dawn is in search (of something); it has passed by again and again

Delightfully evocative! One can almost see the anguished lover tossing about in his bed restlessly...sleeplessly... telling himself at regular intervals - 'oh good, it's finally morning'... only to realise a moment later - 'no, it isn't. Not quite as yet.' To later explain these various 'imagined dawns' as the morning having actually passed by on the street outside, without stopping - as it seemingly went back and forth in search for someone or something... now that's poetry!!

junoon mei.n jitnii bhii guzrii bakaar guzrii hai

agarche dil pe kharaabii hazaar guzrii hai

जूनून में जितनी भी गुज़री बकार गुज़री है
अगरचे दिल पे खराबी हज़ार गुजरी है

whatever came about in the madness (of love) was worthwhile
although the heart did endure a thousand anguishes

A rather nice one again. To savour suffering, even be redeemed by it, is what love is all about in the Ghazal world, isn't it?


 
hui hai hazrat-e-naaseh se guftaguu jis shab
vo shab zaruur sar-e-kuu-e-yaar guzrii hai


हुई है हज़रत-ए-नासेह से गुफ्तगू जिस शब्
वो शब् ज़रूर सर-ए-कू-ए-यार गुज़री है

Every evening on which there was a discussion with the advisor,
(that) evening invariably passed through the lane of the Beloved

A little more cryptic, this one. 'Naaseh', you would recall, is the well-meaning but officious friend or acquaintance who exhorts the Poet to cure himself of his pointless infatuation with the Beloved. The Sher seems to be thumbing its nose at such advice, and highlighting its ineffectualness, by pointing out that whenever the Advisor offers his gratuitous counsel, the lover invariably ends up in the Beloved's neighbourhood... the use of 'hazrat' - a respectful qualificative - adds to the ironical scorn implied in the sher.

vo baat saare fasaane mei.n jis kaa zikr na thaa
vo baat un ko bahut nagawaar guzrii hai


वो बात सारे फ़साने में जिसका ज़िक्र ना था
वो बात उनको बहुत नागवार गुज़री है

The issue that didn't (even) find mention in the entire saga
that's the one she has found completely unacceptable!

Ha! The capriciousness of the Beloved! To imperiously blow her top at completely imagined slights comes quite naturally to her, after all!

na gul khile hai.n, na un se mile, na mai pii hai
ajeeb rang mei.n ab ke bahaar guzrii hai


ना गुल खिले हैं, ना उनसे मिले, ना मय पी है
अजीब रंग में अब के बहार गुज़री है

the flowers haven't bloomed, (I) haven't met her, nor has the wine been drunk
(how) strangely the spring has passed this time!

Lovely...just lovely! This defies further comment!!


chaman mei.n gairat-e-gulchii.n se jaane kyaa guzrii
qafas se aaj sabaa beqaraar guzrii hai


चमन में गारत-ए-गुल्चीं से जाने क्या गुज़री
कफ़स से आज सबा बेकरार गुज़री है

Who knows what's occurred in the garden with the flower-picker's pillage
(but) it's an uneasy breeze that's passed through the cage today!

One returns to the standard 'chaman-qafas' stylisation here. The bird, caged away from his garden, has somehow heard that the garden has been ravaged by the flower-picker. He doesn't know the details of what passed... but the breeze - that carrier of moods, smells and information - seems, to him, to wear a palpably anxious 'air' as it wafts through the cage!! Hauntingly chilling, isn't it? Reminds me of an even more stomach-churning one by Ghalib, based on the same stylisation:




qafas mei.n mujh se rudaad-e-chaman kahte na Dar hamdam
girii hai jis pe kal bijlii vo meraa aashiyaa.n kyo.n ho


कफ़स में मुझसे रुदाद-ए-चमन कहते ना डर हमदम
गिरी है जिसपे कल बिजली वो मेरा आशियाँ क्यों हो

don't hesitate while giving me the account of the garden, my friend
the one on which lightning has fallen yesterday, why should it be my nest?

Meaning, of course, something like 'I know that lightning has fallen on a nest yesterday... but don't worry, there's no reason why it should necessarily have been mine'. There's such desperation in that confidence - but we can sense why the 'ham-dam' (another bird who's flown over from the chaman...?) is hesitating, can't we? Sends shivers down one's spine everytime one reads it...