I bow before the image of my Love

No Muslim I
But an idolater
I bow before the image of my Love
And worship her
No Brahman I
My sacred thread
I cast away, for round my neck I wear
Her plaited hair instead

Princess Zebunnisa - (Divan-e-Makhfi)

From my published article

Note: the translation is not mine

Indian Muslims blog has posted my travel piece on Delhi.

“…, I tell my workmate of the 22 khawajas buried under Delhi’s soil and the very central role this place has performed in the growth of Sufism in South Asia. My colleague is a little nonplussed as I hold forth, declaring that Delhi is a grand Muslim resource centre. By now, I have made an early morning dash to the Lodhi gardens and walked around the Humayun’s enchanting tomb. My fascination with the saints has not ended and on Thursday I find myself at the dargah of Khawaja Qutbuddin Bakhtiyar Kaki. Aibak was a mureed (disciple) of the saint Khawaja, after whom he named the Qutub Minar. Quite appropriately, the dargah is next to Qutub Minar in the quintessentially medieval Mehrouli area. Bahadur Shah Zafar also built a new residential palace here.”

Read the full article here

Sahir Ludhianvi’s immortal poem Taj Mahal has always fascinated me. It takes a most unconventional take at this beautiful monument where the poet protests at the choice of an romantic rendezvous.

Today, I found a lovely translation of this poem. I am reproducing it below - but first a few lines from Urdu:

Yeh chaman zar yeh jamna ka kinara yeh mahal
Yeh munaqqash dar-o-deevar yeh mehrab yeh taaq
Aik shahanshah nay daulat ka sahara lay ker
Hum ghareebon kee mohabbat ka uraya hai mazaaq 

 Taj Mahal

The Taj, mayhap, to you may seem, a mark of love supreme
You may hold this beauteous vale in great esteem;
Yet, my love, meet me hence at some other place!

How odd for the poor folk to frequent royal resorts;
‘Tis strange that the amorous souls should tread the regal paths
Trodden once by mighty kings and their proud consorts.
Behind the facade of love my dear, you had better seen,
The marks of imperial might that herein lie screen’d
You who take delight in tombs of kings deceased,
Should have seen the hutments dark where you and I did wean.
Countless men in this world must have loved and gone,
Who would say their loves weren’t truthful or strong?
But in the name of their loves, no memorial is raised
For they too, like you and me, belonged to the common throng.

These structures and sepulchres, these ramparts and forts,
These relics of the mighty dead are, in fact, no more
Than the cancerous tumours on the face of earth,
Fattened on our ancestor’s very blood and bones.
They too must have loved, my love, whose hands had made,
This marble monument, nicely chiselled and shaped
But their dear ones lived and died, unhonoured, unknown,
None burnt even a taper on their lowly graves.

This bank of Jamuna, this edifice, these groves and lawns,
These carved walls and doors, arches and alcoves,
An emperor on the strength of wealth, Has played with us a cruel joke.
Meet me hence, my love, at some other place.

Translation by K.C. Kanda, appeared in “Masterpieces of Urdu Nazm”, published by Sterling Publishers Pvt. Ltd. - found here

A friend sent me this beautiful piece rendered by Girija Devi of the Benaras school of music. 

 She has been described as the last living queen of thumri. Her father Ramdeo Rai was a local Zaminadar and interested in classical Indian music. He initiated his daughter’s musical training when she was five years old. Her gurus were Pandit Sarju Prasad Mishra and Shrichand Mishra.

Found this useful background on Thumri  here-

This tragic Thumri was composed by Nawab Wajid Ali Shah of Awadh who wrote under pen-name Qaisar and “Akhtarpiya”. This was the twilight of Mughal rule and the British exiled him to Calcutta. It is said that this forced departure from Lucknow inspired this thumri:

babul mora naihar chuuto hi jaaye
chaar kahaar mil, mori Doliiyaa uthaaye
more apanaa begana chhuTo hi jaaye
anganaa to parbat bhaye, dehlii bhayi bides
je baabul ghar aapano, mai chali piya ke des

Here is the translation - courtesy Bhirgu

O father, I depart forcibly from my home
Four men gathered to lift my palanquin {see the wedding/funeral analogy here?}
my loved ones will become strangers
the innermost portals of my home will be unreachable
as I leave my father’s home and go to my husband’s country.

Other than Girija Devi, K. L. Saigal sang this thumri in raag Bhairavi (here).

I had earlier posted on the sad state of the heart wrenching denouement to the dazzling Mughal Empire thanks to Indscribe who related the sad story of middle-aged Sultana Begum, who runs a tea-stall in Howrah to earn a living for her family. The great grand-children of last Mughal Emperor Bahadur Shah Zafar, are in misery.

Today I received this email:

It is pleasure to know that you have noticed the misery of Sultana Begum, the great grand daughter in law of Bahadurshah Zafar. She is getting only Rs.400/- as political pension from the govt. of India and runs a roadside scrap shop in Shibpur area’s 103/12/C,Foreshore Road of Howrah town of West Bengal in India for her survival. General people occasionally come for her financial help, but that is not sufficient. At least we should provide her a suitable place to live in with dignity. I hope, international community will come forward to rescue her from poverty. She may be contacted on phone number 033 2641-1043. Thank you.

I am not sure about the authenticity of this message. If it is true then it deserves the attention of my Indian friends in the blogopshere.

We just witnessed the sad demise of Urdu’s greatest writer Qurratulain Hyder who died in relative anonymity. She was alone in the hospital for a month. Indeed everyone is now writing about her and the contributions that she made.

I am not a royalist or a monarchist. But the poor Mughals since 1857 have seen the worst treatment at the hands of colonial [and now ostensibly the postcolonial] state. It is time that this be rectified.

Instead of state patronage, perhaps a private philanthropist could sponsor a small decent enterprise for these unfortunate inheritors.

William Darlymple , based on primary sources has recently published a fascinating book called “The Last Mughal”.” It took a foreign researcher to discover documents that were eating dust in our archives. What a pity!

Do we have any respect or understanding of our heritage?

I had recently posted a few verses from the last Mughal Emperor, Bahadur Shah Zafar. Read this story by Indscribe that spells a heart wrenching denouement to the dazzling Mughal Empire.

Full entry here >>

The last of the Mughal Emperors - Bahadur Shah Zafar - died in exile after the 1857 War of Independence. He was a gifted poet and a patron of struggling artists in Delhi. I found a translation of his famous ghazal. Full entry here >>

Yesterday, devotees were lighting lamps at the shrine of Mian Mir in Lahore to commemorate the saint’s 383rd Urs (death anniversary). Full article here >>

For Indians unfamiliar with Urdu or Persian literature Bedil presents a bit of a paradox: he was born in Patna (died in Delhi) but he is among the world’s greatest Persian poets, and the most loved poet of Afghanistan and Tajikistan—but unknown in India.

Full entry here >>

A great photo from the Lahore city court where the lawyers strike allows the support staff to play some cricket while our team struggles to stay in the World Cup competition.

Full entry here >>

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 >>

 Lady of the age

First published by The Friday Times

Mughal history ignores women of the empire, including Emperor Aurangzeb’s daughter Zeb-un-Nissa: patron of the arts, poet, and a keeper of several lovers – according to rumours. The eldest daughter, she was Aurangzeb’s close companion for several years. She was born in 1638 to Dilras Bano of the Persian Safavid dynasty. Loved by Aurangzeb, she was named carefully to reflect his station.

A favourite, she was exposed to the affairs of the Mughal court. With a sound education in the arts, languages, astronomy and sciences of the day, Zeb-un-Nissa turned into an aware and sensitive princess. She never married and kept herself occupied by poetry and a spiritual Sufi quest.

This is the irony – Aurangzeb’s daughter was an antithesis of her father’s persona and politics. Zeb-un-Nissa was both a Sufi and a gifted poet. The Divan-i-Makhfi – a major divan – is credited to her name. Given her father’s dislike for poetry, she could only be makhfi – the invisible.

Read full article >>