Jahane Rumi In search of the unsearchable: O, my soul! where would you find your house?

30Jun/088

that overgrown suitcase of memories

This poem (or an excuse of a poem) was written in a flash for a friend who asked for advice whether to meet an old flame or not.

If you have to go to the North, my love
Why not take the first train
To gaze at the autumn sky

Feel the chilly air in your bones
Clear all the dust
A painting has gathered in years.

Stroke the love that is not lost
Even if for the few moments
when you look at the sky

When all the dust has been cleared
Alas, that will be the time to come back
It will be sad, as it was before

But the quivering moments stolen from life
will come back with thee
And, life shall not be all that empty

you will smile at the little treasure in
that wobbling and quavering,
overgrown suitcase of memories

18Nov/071

Singing of youth and beauty, life and death

by Vidya Rao

 I was fortunate to be one of the women invited to the first meeting of the Grandmothers' University at Bija Vidyapeeth early this year.

19Oct/0725

The devastating midnight attack

140 dead and 538 injured - this little byline cuts through hearts and our future!

Yesterday was the day of images - moving pictures of excitement, energy, applause and then the saddest of recent tragedies.

30Sep/072

The roar of Rumi – 800 years on

Today is Mevlana's 800th anniversary. Centuries later, his poetry and messages of love resonate across the globe. I am posting this piece by Charles Haviland (published on the BBC website). Haviland visits Balkhand meets the locals. This is a readable travel account, well informed and empathetic. And some great quotes, for instance a local official saying:

"Whether a person is from East or West, he can feel the roar of Rumi,"

I was struck by the beauty of the verses cited by the writer's companion:

"Mawlana says - if the sky is not in love, then it will not be so clear. If the sun is not in love, then it will not be giving any light. If the river is not in love, then it will be in silence, it will not be moving. If the mountains, the earth are not in love, then there will be nothing growing."

Read the full article here

Thanks to Isa, Mohib and Faisal for sending me the links to this article.

27Sep/075

Weave not, like spiders..

There was a tragedy in my family recently. It has been a sobering week, reflective as well as chaotic.

 Last night, I read this translation of Rumi and understod how important it was to have faith and trust the power of Love. 

Weave not, like spiders, nets from grief's saliva
In which the woof and warp are both decaying.
But give the grief to Him, Who granted it,
And do not talk about it anymore.
When you are silent, His speech is your speech.
When you don't weave, the weaver will be He.

-- Translation by Annemarie Schimmel

23Aug/079

The tributes continue – remembering Qurratalain Hyder

The literati in India and Pakistan are grappling with the larger question of Qurratulain Hyder's stature in Urdu, and some would say, World literature. The Daily Times, Pakistan has published an appropriately titled editorial, Quratulain Hyder, Urdu's greatest novelist. This paragraph struck me:

...her view of culture was intensely pluralistic, explaining Muslim culture too in a transmigratory technique in her big novel Aag Ka Darya. The Pakistani public paid her a back-handed compliment by making her books bestsellers in Pakistan; but most of them were pirated, meaning that someone other than her got rich selling them. She was always a chronicler, a kind of Tolstoy in Urdu that our critics have ignored. When someone asked her in Bombay to write about the Iran-Iraq war she naturally began with the Arab conquest at Qadissiya.

Outlook India had to say this:

Only a few days back, to mark the 60 years of Independence, when we asked an eminent jury to pick out 60 Great Indians in 60 years of our Republic, the name of Qurratulain Hyder was introduced prominently as Urdu's Marquez."Through her novels and short stories, this prolific writer gave Urdu fiction a brave and endlessly inventive new voice," we wrote, and quoted the London Times: "Her magnum opus, Aag Ka Darya (River of Fire), is to Urdu fiction what A Hundred Years of Solitude is to Hispanic literature

In C M Naim's piece, published in the Outlook:

What counts, for her, is the human spirit and the relationships it generates and nurtures. That is where the linearity of time seems to curve into a spiral, urging us to recognize a past that never quite disappears.....What, then, is our choice as individuals? Here it may be worthwhile to recall the characteristically modest, even self-mocking, remarks that Hyder made in 1991 in her acceptance speech at the Jnanpith Award function: "My concern for civililzational values about which I continue writing may sound naive, wooly-headed and simplistic. But then, perhaps, I am like that little bird which foolishly puts up its claws, hoping that it will stop the sky from falling."

and he concludes with this superb analysis:

...what Hyder tacitly offers us is nothing but that wise Candidean response: even in the best of all possible worlds, it is best not to neglect to tend our garden. Certainly, through the several thousand pages of her writings, she has shown herself to be an eloquent witness to that truth.

(photo left- Gauri Gill 2005) The Indian Prime Minister Manmohan Singh also expressed the sense of loss: "..In her unfortunate passing away the country especially Urdu literature has lost a towering literary figure. She will be truly missed in literary circles in the country.'

Read Jawed Naqvi's piece in the DAWN; and reactions of various writers in the daily NEWS . Rediff has published an article entitled, She was one of a Kind. Javed Akhtar, the eminent Indian lyricist has paid this grand tribute and held that she was a true genius and rightly said that he felt sorry for those people who read fiction but had not read Hyder:

"When I say that it is a great loss, it's not only to Urdu literature, not only to Indian literature, but to the word literature. I am not exaggerating at all.. the years to come, Haider's novels will reach everywhere."

"The kind of work she has done... its only because she was born in a third world country and wrote in a language that is not of the imperialistic powers, her novels have not reached everywhere. I am sure the time will come when they will reach..".

The blogosphere is also remembering Ainee Apa with great respect. Desicritics published An Enigmatic Icon, Adnan wrote a lovely piece on Ainee Apa and her books entitled A legend passes away and 3 Quarks Daily also remembered her. Urdu India has a brilliant post here and another tribute can be found here. Pakistaniat carried my post - click here to see the comments. And the best was from Delhi Walla, who went to the Jamia graveyard and took some great photos.

This will continue given the sad traditions of our literature - the literary and civilizational merits of authors and poets have often been discovered after they left this world. Having said that Ainee had established herself given her powerful voice and unique style of writing. But her real stature as Javed Akhtar says is yet to be discovered.

About the photo (top left): Gauri Gill in the Outlook writes:

Qurratulain Hyder was first photographed by Prashant Panjiar in what was a coup of sorts, everyone talked of how elusive and difficult she could be. When I met her last week to persuade her, she said, 'Tell the magazine I'm a difficult woman.' I told her that was her reputation anyway. For the first time that afternoon she cracked a grin. She seemed flattered.

21Aug/0720

Qurratulain Hyder is dead!

I have been upset the entire day. Perhaps it does not matter in the larger scheme of things. But this is a sad, sad day. Qurratulain Hyder, the literary giant of our times is no more. At a personal level it is not just the death of another literary figure but it is far greater and deeper than that. Ainee inspired generations of Urdu readers and there is not a single Urdu writer of post-independence era who has not been influenced by her.

Ainee had a civilizational consciousness that took us beyond the nation-state identities that we are so familiar with in our everyday lives. And, of course there was romance - the notion of eastern and Indic romance - that touched our lives. As I wrote earlier, that the way I have understood the world and perhaps parts of myself were deeply influenced by Ainee.

And now her death is a blow that this source of inspiration is not there anymore; as it is we are living in barren times where literature is about marketing and packaging and catering to consumers.

Ainee primarily wrote for herself but reached out and made her mark - and in the process she connected with millions of readers. And I am just one of them. My friends and I have talked today and we recounted how she shaped our inner lives.

I have at least avoided a regret - I met her after years of longing. Met her twice at her house in her frail state and enjoyed the hours. The impressions were indelible. Of course, the ambitious self had planned a meeting later this year.

But there will be nobody in that Noida house. That little temple opposite her house will remain and the sound of Azaan from a neighbouring mosque will also heard. But the hearty laughter, quick witted lines and inimitable writings will not be there.

However, as a friend said - writers die, their stories don't -makes me a little content.

Farewell, Ainee Apa. May God keep you happy wherever you are..

Black and white photo is by Prashant Panjiar - the others were taken by me


5Jul/072

Waves of anger and fear…

 W.H. Auden's "September 1, 1939," is on my mind..

10Jun/070

“Iraq’s four-year looting frenzy, the allies have become the vandals”

I had posted a poem on Iraq - Halaku, when you will come to Baghdad this time; and today reading the piece by Simon Jenkins brought back that hollow feeling of irreparable loss and destruction of Iraqi civilization, ostensibly, by the 'civilized' world.

Full story here >>

7Jun/072

Sonargaon – A poem by HUR

HUR left this poem on my blog in response to my post on Bangladesh and Bengali art. This is a moving poem with tender moments - much like the water colour strokes. Yet, it has a strong after-effect. Here it is: Click here >>

7May/073

Two striking poems by Alvi

 It is a pleasure to have read Pervaiz Munir Alvi's poetry. ...For now I have selected two poems - personal and profound - for this post. The first echoes what many Pakistanis (or any other diaspora for that matter) observe on their visits to the homeland.....

Read the full post here

6May/070

I will meet you yet again – Amrita Pritam

Yet again, I was mesmerised by the passion and force of Amrita's poetry. Even though this is a translation, it renders the mood rather well..

Read poem here >>

1Apr/071

Ozymandius – Shelley

The name Ozymandias (or Osymandias) is generally believed to refer to Ramesses the Great (i.e., Ramesses II), Pharaoh of the Nineteenth dynasty of ancient Egypt. It was written in December 1817 during a writing contest, and first published in 1818."

Full entry here >>

20Mar/071

Saving Heritage

Not a day passes when we are not reminded of the gradual erosion of our heritage. It is time that we thought of different solutions than a bureaucratic conservation model...

Full entry here >>

16Mar/075

Law, like love and Stop all the clocks – W H Auden

Taking a cue from the recent events in Pakistan, Ammar Qureshi has contributed a beautiful poem by Auden in a newspaper. I love the last lines:

Law, say the gardeners, is the sun,
Law is the one
All gardeners obey
To-morrow, yesterday, to-day.

Law is the wisdom of the old,
The impotent grandfathers feebly scold;
The grandchildren put out a treble tongue,
Law is the senses of the young.

13Mar/075

Faiz translated by Vikram Seth

Came across this beautiful translation of Faiz's touching verse by Vikram Seth.

It is a great translation as it ventures to capture the melody and the mood of the original.

Last night your faded memory came to me
As in the wilderness spring comes quietly,
As, slowly, in the desert, moves the breeze,
As, to a sick man, without cause, comes peace.

 image credit

Full story >>

23Feb/077

Petal to Petal..More of Parveen Shakir


Nirmal has been visiting this blog and requesting for more translations of Parveen Shakir. I have found some on the Internet and here they are. Translations cannot do justice to the original pieces. Nuances are lost and metaphors change their shape. However, some of these are quite creative!

Read more here >>

21Feb/078

“Man-Bitten” Ghalib: introducing himself

Ghalib's immortal and complex poetry transcends time and sometimes even the boundaries of human thought.

The translation of this ghazal was found in Mirza Ghalib – A Creative Biography by Natalia Prigarina. Cited as an apt self-introduction, this is a timeless composition brings together myriad facets and moods of Ghalib. What a fascinating post-modern 'unpacking' of the self (that too in the nineteenth century)!

Read more here >>

20Feb/072

A picture tells a thousand stories

An old man in Iraq looks at the rubble left after another round of bombing. There is a bit of confidence in his posture. He hasn't given up yet... View here >>

18Feb/070

Sharif Kunjahi’s ‘The Village’

Found this lovely poem in a piece that mourns the death of a prominent Punjabi poet, Sharif Kunjahi.

Read poem here >>

15Sep/0616

Remembering the lost voice – Majeed Amjad

I was thrilled to read about Majeed Amjad's amazing poetry on my friend Fawad's blog. In his post titled Majeed Amjad - The Poet Less Remembered Fawad writes:

"In the post-Iqbal era of Urdu poetry there are few greater poets than Majeed Amjad....  Even amongst the lovers of Urdu poetry his name is least likely to be recognized. Reading Majeed Amjad's magnificent poetry I have often wondered how it is that some literary reputations get created from meager contributions but some people forever struggle to gain just acclaim.

In Majeed Amjad's case I think it was a confluence of factors: he was a quiet, reserved introvert with no inclination for self-marketing. He lived away from the literary center of Lahore in small Punjabi towns like Sahiwal and Jhang and never had many influential advocates of his literary merits. But, perhaps more importantly, Majeed Amjad was not an ideological poet affiliated with one or the other group of literary luminaries who could beat their partisan drums on his behalf...  "

Indeed Amjad is less remembered and this is only a metaphor of what sells in the world of Urdu Literature. He was neither a cheap romanticist nor an ideological zealot. He was truly original and therefore not easily brand-able. This is why the literati has found it difficult to place him in a 'category'.

Fawad has posted an excerpt from the first poem - Harf-i-Awwal in the only collection of verse published in Majeed's lifetime. Here is a feeble attempt at its translation:

First WordÂ

From the onerous rocks of woes
I chiseled slabs to createÂ
pavilions of my verse,Â
the bewildered sculptures of my thoughts

Even though
many songs and fables,Â
numerous issues
oozed from the tip of my pen
yet the tale of this heart
remained
locked within the heart

Unremitting endeavour of twenty years
contemplative days and insomniac nights
what was the end-result:
This very yearning for expression

And the Urdu original -

DardoN ke is koh-e-garaaN se
MeiN ne tarashi, nazm kay eewaN
ki ik ik sil,
Ik ik soch ki hairaaN moorat ...

Garche qalam ki nok se tapke
Kitne tarane, kitne fasane
Lakh masaail
Dil meiN rahi sub dil ki hikayat!

Bees baras ki kaawish-e-paiham
Sochte din aur jaagti raateiN
Un ka haasil:
Aik yahi izhaar ki hasrat!

Also found this poem on the web. Apologies to non-Urdu readers as I failed to translate this one. Maybe another time..

Amjad defies the boundaries of conformism, the mainstream was nervous to acknowledge him; and state and civil society being consenting bedfellows in Pakistan conveniently chose to ignore him. He is not known because his works were deliberately under-rated and brushed aside by media, literary critics and mini-mafias that rule Urdu literature across the globe. It was only when the independent and thoughtful Professor Khawaja M Zakariya of Lahore researched for years to compile and document his works, that Amjad re-appeared. Professor Khawaja's labour of love is a befitting tribute to the fountain of creativity that Amjad is.

Fawad concludes:Â

"..... the last poem that I would like to quote in this piece is "Maqbara-e-Jahangir". I was particularly reminded of this reading the poem Raza has posted on his blog with an allusion to Shalimar. Notice the wholly different tone of Majeed Amjad's poem. His reaction to this beautifully historic sight is a deep sadness as he sees human beings (gardeners, people picknicking etc.) in this serene setting either struggling to get through the day or wholly oblivious to this fleeting existence.

Khurdre, maile, phate kaproN meiN boorhe maali
Yeh chaman band, jo guzre hue sultanoN ki
HaddiaN seench ke phulwariaN mehkate haiN
Ghaas kat ti hai ke din in ke kate jate haiN ...

Teen sau saal se mabhoot khare haiN jo yeh sarv
In ki shakheiN haiN keh afaaq ke sheeraze haiN
Saf-e-ayyam ki bikhri hui tarteebeN haiN
In ke saaye haiN keh dhalti hui tehzeebeN haiN ...

MarmareeN qabr ke ander, tahe zulmaat kahiN
Kurmak-o-Moor ke jabroN meiN salateeN ke badan
Koi dekhe, koi samjhe to is eewaN meiN jahaaN
Noor hai, husn hai, tazzayan hai, zeebaish hai
Hai to bus aik dukhi rooh ki gunjaish hai"

And Fawad: bhayya kahan hum aur kahan Majeed Amjad... Challo hamaree Shalimar kay qissay se aap ko yeh sub yaad tau aya...!
Â