Kaifi & I
Shabana Azmi reads from her mother Shaukat Kaifi’s memoirs at the Jaipur literary festival. The segment was introduced by Urvashi Butalia
Presented by DNA
Jaipur Literature Festival 2010 from Dreamcast India on Vimeo.
‘My life-achievement’ – karnama e hayat
What great lines
Mera karnama-e-zindagi
Meri hasraton kay siwa nahi
Yeh kiya nahi, woh hua nahi
Yeh mila nahi, woh raha nahi
The achievement of my life is nothing
But things that could not be done
I could not do it, [or] 'that did not happen'
Did not get that and what I got, did not stay with me
Bahar Ayee (Spring Has Come)
*By Faiz Ahmed Faiz
Translated by Ayesha Kaljuvee
Spring has come
So have returned suddenly from the past
* *
All those dreams, all that beauty
That on your lips had died
* *
That had died and lived again each time
All the roses are blooming
That still smell of your memories
That are the blood of my love for you
* *
Saadat Hasan Manto – part II
After partition of India Saadat Hassan Manto arrived in Lahore sometime in early 1948. In Bombay his friends had tried to stop him from migrating to Pakistan because he was quite popular as a film writer and was making reasonably good money. Among his friends there were top actors and directors of that age—many of them Hindus—who were trying to prevail upon him to forget about migrating. They thought that he would be unhappy in Pakistan because the film industry of Lahore stood badly disrupted with the departure of Hindu film-makers and studio owners. But the law and order situation post-partition of British India was such that many Muslims felt insecure in India, just as many Hindus felt insecure in newly created Pakistan. That was the reason that Manto had already sent his family to Lahore and was keen to join them. Manto and his family were among the millions of Muslims who left present-day India for the newly created Muslim-majority nation of Pakistan.
Tilism means magic (book review)
Raza Rumi relives the enchantment of the dastans (published in The Friday Times)
Musharraf Ali Farooqi and the Urdu Project have revived a tradition that was fading in the age of instant communication, sms lingo and a dying reading culture. When I started reading the book, I could not help remember the day when my Uncle, Zaheer Ahmad Bhutta, a man of letters and book-lover handed over a set of Tilism-e-Hoshruba to me in my early childhood. I distinctly remember the summer when I devoured all the abridged versions, feeling thirsty for more. So I read them again. As a young man I dared to read the originals and could not help being pleased with myself. Tilism and its magical kingdom remains a part of me, and of many others of my generation who grew up on its diet of bravery, magic, lust and a peculiar aesthetic.
Tilism is a wonderful product of our composite Indo-Muslim culture that took centuries to evolve. This is why it defies the clergy’s diktat and religious bigotry, and its characters are a mix of all that the Indian context offered to outsiders such as Arabs and Central Asians. It is a larger than life metaphor for our past that has been lost now. Perhaps forever.
Hoshruba, Book One: The Land and the Tilism begins by telling us how Amir Hamza and his armies have chased the giant Laqa to the dominions of King Suleiman Amber-Hair on Mount Agate. While out hunting nearby, Hamza’s son, Prince Badiuz Zaman, follows a unique fawn and enters the land of Hoshruba.
Urdu short stories – ‘The Myna of Peacock Garden’
Published in The Friday Times last week:
A new collection of translated short stories reminds us how Urdu literature needs to connect with a global audience, says Raza Rumi
As I hold the recently published “The Oxford Book of short stories” in my hands, I cannot help bemoan the fact that Urdu literature has been almost invisible from the arena of global literature. Admittedly, translation is difficult; the tediousness of translation daunts many a brave heart. Having said that, there have been a handful of remarkable translators such as Khalid Hassan, Alamgir Hashmi, CM Naim, Aamer Hussain, Umer Memon and Rakhshanda Jalil, to name a few. But a wide corpus of Urdu literature lies forlorn and hidden from global readership, which alas is dominated by English language readers. For this very reason, Amina Azfar has done a remarkable job of compiling a collection of Urdu short stories. Her earlier translations have been competent and quite often lyrical. For instance, Akhtar Hussain Raipuri’s Gard-e-Rahh (the dust of the road) and Sajjad Zaheer’s Roshnai ( the Light ) are noteworthy for their tone.
The book has a nice little foreword by Aamer Hussain, who is correct in stating that Azfar’s collection provides a fine introduction to the genre of the Urdu short story. The stories selected encompass a range of various experiments undertaken by the great Urdu writers. The stark realism of Munshi Premchand is counterpoised by Khaleda Hussain’s two short stories that are allegorical and somewhat postmodern in their sensibility. Iftikhar Arif, the renowned poet-bureaucrat, in his formal introduction quotes Dr Jamil Jalibi, terming the selected short stories “in the category of the very best”.
Parveen Shakir – ‘coins of my truthfulness’
 |
|
 |
|
|
Parveen Shakir with her mentor Qasimi whom she called Ammu |
|
 |
|
|
Young Shakir at a mushaira |
|
 |
|
|
Fifteen years later Shakir remains intensely popular. Her poetry has been reinterpreted and critics who dismissed her as a poetic lightweight have realized that there was much more to Parveen's poetic vision than just henna-dyed hands |
|
Parveen Shakir (1952-1994) has defined the sensibilities of several generations and beyond. At the relatively young age of 42 years, Parveen Shakir died on an empty Islamabad boulevard, as if this was an essential part of her romantic persona. But she had lived a full life where poetry and tragedy intersected each other and became inseparable from her being.
As a young student in high school, I was introduced to Shakir’s romantic poetry, which was best represented by her first collection of poetry ‘Khushbu’. I had won an essay writing competition in Urdu and a delightful award came in the form of this tender volume of poetry. Since then I have always returned to bits and pieces of Khushbu. It may not be according to the cannons of literary theory, but it is spontaneous, fresh and almost dreamlike. Shakir was bearly 24 years old when Khushbu was published and since its first edition, this book has been a best seller wherever Urdu poetry is read or appreciated.
Khushbu turned Shakir into a celebrity. Aside from mushairas, newspapers and public fora, she was ever-present on the Pakistan television, perhaps as its only saving grace during the rigid years of Zia-ul-Haq’s Martial Law. Shakir had a natural talent for public speaking, reciting poetry and just being herself. I remember one monsoon evening in Murree when we were hooked to her presentation on Pakistan’s Independence Day. There was a distinct tenderness in her voice that was in sharp contrast to the platitudes being churned out. Above all she was beautiful. I remember she would read verses from her own work and from the great masters of Urdu poetry with complete ease and immense refinement. In the short period of time that she lived as a poet, Parveen did rather well and was quite prolific. Her later collections comprised Sad Barg (marsh merrygold), Khud Kalami (conversing with one’self), Inkaar (refusal), Maah-e-Tamaam (full moon) and Kaf-e-Aaina (edge of the mirror).
Her raw romanticism runs through her poetry. For instance, yay haseen shaam apni is a love poem of rare beauty; and has always been a favourite of mine. It is composite, taut and melodic; and here is my translation.
This melting evening of ours
Where everything dissolves
The scent of your clothes
The blossoming sprouts of my dreams
A deferred vision, this is
In a little while,
A star will emerge on the horizon
To gaze at you meaningfully…!
Your heart shall then reminisce
The echo of a memory
The tale of a separation,
Of an unfinished moment
Of un-blossomed dreams, things unsaid
We ought to have met
In times, considerate
In pursuit of attainable dreams
On a different sky
On a different earth
We ought to have met
A TRIBUTE TO KAIFI AZMI
Dr. Visho Sharma has been kind enough to send me this guest post that pays tribute to a legendary poet of the subcontinent who was committed to his principles and ideology throughout his life. RR
Jo bejaan khilonon se bahel jaati haiy
Tapti saanson ki haraarat se pighul jaati haiy
Paaon jis raah mein rakhti hai phisul jaati haiy
Bunkey seemaab hur ek zurf mein dhul jaati haiy
Zindagi jihad main hay sabar kay qabu main nahin.
Jannat ek aur hay jo murd kay pahloo main naheen.
Uski azaad ravish pur bhi machalna hay tujhey
Zeest key aahni saanchey main dhulna hai tujhey
Uth meri jaan mere saath hi chalna hai tujhey.”
These verses are from the Urdu poem “Aurat” (Woman) written by the famous Urdu poet from India , Kaifi Azmi. What is remarkable is that Kaifi wrote this poem in the 1940s before the independence of India . In that era when the Indian society was very traditional and very much a man’s world, such thoughts were almost unheard of. But then Kaifi was always decades ahead of his time.
Yeh Daagh Daagh Ujala – Faiz
As I was commenting on the Pak Tea House, I just recalled Faiz's wonderful poem Subh-e-Aazaadii, a masterpiece of our times.
I am posting the Urdu version with translations here:
Ye daagh daagh ujaalaa, ye shab-gaziida sahar,
Vo intizaar thaa jis-kaa, ye vo sahar to nahiiN,
Ye vo sahar to nahiiN jis-kii aarzu lekar
Chale the yaar ke mil-ja`egi kahiiN na kahiN
Faiz’s ‘Intesab’ – a lovely translation
A reader - Joe 31 - has rendered a great translation of Faiz's poem - "Intesab". I am posting it as a separate blog entry for all those who read and enjoy Faiz Ahmad Faiz, Pakistan's eminent poet. This poem appears as an introduction to one of his early collections of verse. This timeless poem is relevant even today as it celebrates the resilience and courage of Pakistani proletariat.
Dedicated to these times, and the sorrow of these times.
The pain of today, that is set against the plentiful garden of life.
The forest of dead leaves, that is my land.
The collection of pain that is my land.
Dedicated to the gloomy lives of clerks
Moth eaten hearts and words.
Dedicated to the postmen
Dedicated to the coachmen
Dedicated to the railway workers
Dedicated to the innocent beings in the factories.
A CHILD CARPET WEAVER—
Qudraatullah Shahab – Enduring Legacy
Syed Naveed Abbas has sent this contribution for Jahane Rumi. Shahab was an outstanding writer though his politics remains controversial and his extraordinary claims of piety and sainthood are deeply contested. However, he has inspired generations of writers and readers. RR
MAQDOOR HO TUO KHAK SAY POCHOO KEH AIE LAYEM
TUO NAY WO GANJ HAAE GERA MAYA KYA KEA
(If I was fortunate enough, I would ask the earth, Oh! Miser,
What did you do with those priceless treasures?) -- Ghalib
A careful study of the biographies of great men reveals that they lived for a central idea and their life’s work consisted of delivering that message to humanity. History tells us that when such men met with obstacles in their path, they further intensified their efforts to achieve their objectives. The greater the challenges great men had faced, the more determinedly they held
Majeed Amjad and chopped trees
In response to my article on Lahore's vanishing trees, a reader reminded me of one of my favourite poems in Urdu composed by the lesser known genius, Majeed Amjad. I am posting this poem though I am not sure if everyone will be able to read the Urdu script. I am taking a chance at translating the opening lines:
For twenty years, these trees stood at the doorstep of a singing canal
Gallant guards at the borders of swaying fields
Shady, enticing, blossoming chatnars
All were sold for a mere twenty thousand rupees
In the last stanza, after all the trees have been chopped, the poet cries
Now I stand by the singing canal and muse
In this murderous environment, only my thought sways
Adam's descendants ought to chop me, why not?
Qurratulain Hyder – it is as if she were an oracle
It is not a coincidence that Qurratulain Hyder, grand dame of Urdu literature, is remembered whenever we are faced with crises of state and society. Hyder was not just a fiction writer but a chronicler, for her sense of history remains unparalleled in the annals of South Asian vernacular literature. Her magnum opus “Aag Ka Darya” (AKD) was written and published in the highly contested milieu of the post-partition Indian subcontinent, when the new nation states were re-writing their historical discourses. In Pakistan, AKD was a sensation right from the time when it was published in the late 1950s. The controversy it created remains pertinent despite the passage of five decades.
Hyder’s nuanced and highly sophisticated vision was not easily apparent to officialdom or to state-sponsored literary critics in Pakistan.
Two new poems by Kishwar Naheed
My Nation, Listen to My Entreaty / Aey Meri Qom! Meri Binti Sun!
My country came into being through a law,
the law of the British
British – whichever line they drew
and gave it the name of two countries,
we just accepted it.
Our nation accepts every thing and every person
This nation accepted tyrants
it accepted lackeys, accepted impostors
If it did not accept,
it did not accept maulvis
it did not accept vampires and wolves,
did not accept declarations and fatwas.
O my nation
Your ancestors also had not accepted them
Your courts also had not defended them
Your flag also had not worn their amulets.
O my nation,
beware of those people
saluting them
defending them
wearing their amulets.
They hate woman,
as if they hate their own mother and their own daughter
In every shape of woman they see lust
and decorate their dreams as such
May any disaster fall upon the world,
they will not speak
May all the officers of all the country
become corrupt, drunk, venal,
they will not speak
On each and every step throats are slit,
people are bought and sold,
they will not speak.
Yes, but if any woman emerges with a banner in hand –
instantly they will speak
instantly delete her from the sphere of Islam,
from every reward of life.
O my nation!
Seek shelter from these merchants of Islam
Else in the harems of tribal leaders and landlords
our futures will be nurtured
These people will not issue fatwas against them
And when our future children
won’t be able to tell the names of their father
then even flocks of swallows will not come to their help.
A Solemn Conversation with the Taliban / Taliban se Qibla-ru Guftagu
Those who were frightened even of girls
Those even averse to knowledge,
they speak of the great Lord
He who commands of knowledge
Unrelated to His command,
they announce these declarations:
That no book be in any hand
Nor a pen between fingers
No place remain for writing a name
That women become nameless
Those who were even frightened of girls
announce in every city:
That the budding contours of a young girl
be veiled
That to the query of every heart
answer this –
There is no need
that these girls
soar like birds
There’s also no need
that these girls
head to any schools, any offices
If there be some blazing beauty, some one pious
then only within the walls
is her place
This is the Decree
This Written.
Those who were frightened even of girls
they are here, somewhere nearby –
See them, know them
Expect anything from them
in the fallen city
Keep courage, believe this
that those who were frightened even of girls
what pygmies they are
Announce in every city:
Keep courage, believe this
That those who were frightened even by girls
they are such pygmies.
Ghalib: Heart is a Mirror and Mirror a Heart
Ghalib: Heart is a Mirror and Mirror a Heart
az mihr taa bah-;zarrah dil-o-dil hai aa))inah
:tuu:tii ko shash jihat se muqaabil hai aa))inah
1) from sun to sand-grain-- heart; and heart is a mirror
2) {from / by means of} the six directions, a mirror confronts the parrot
Translation and commentary on Desertful of Roses. Parallel commentary on The South Asian Idea.
Cast the paradise into hell…(Ghalib)
Courtesy mehr-i-niimroz, I found one of my favourite verses from Ghalib
taa((at me;N taa rahe nah mai-o-angabii;N kii laag
doza;x me;N ;Daal do ko))ii le kar bihisht ko
1) so that, in obedience/worship, the attachment/desire of wine and honey does not remain
2) take Paradise, and cast it into Hell
Commentary here
Mir Taqi Mir’s discovery of Simurgh
Tha woh to rashke hoor-e-behesti hameen mein Mir!
Samjhe na hum to fahm ka apne qusoor tha
(That hoor from paradise was part of my being.
I blame it on my utter lack of comprehension of the Ultimate Truth).
Mir, like other great Urdu poets, has seen Simurgh.
mujhay koray na maaro – a poem by Neelum Basheer
Fahmida Riaz – “Her dreams of the future”
Barricaded Islamabad enveloped by the ghosts of national gloom has one little corner of hope. The Pakistan Academy of Letters, under its dynamic and committed Chairman, Fakhar Zaman, continues to weave narratives that still inspire. Even when the bitterness of our grim present affects us all, Fakhar Zaman was forthright in his views on Pakistan, its future and most importantly, its literary tradition. The venue was the book launch of Fahmida Riaz’s novel Godavari that has been translated into English. Fahmida Riaz is better known as a poet but her unique prose is lesser known. Her short stories and novels are extraordinary pieces of literary works rendered into sheer poetry. Often it is difficult to determine the genre of her ‘prose’ works as the lines between watertight compartments blur and fade away, only to reappear as a gentle reminder to the readers that our author is experimenting in her inimitable style.
Godavari was published last year by the Oxford University Press and Fakhar Zaman organised its launch under the aegis of PAL only to ensure that there are many indigenous, native voices in English that have yet not caved in to the pressures and inducements of Western publishing houses. Godavari is a deceptively simple story of a few characters visiting a holiday hill resort in Maharashtra a little before the communal riots that shook Bombay and India in the 1980s. But deep within its lines, sub-textual connotations and shifting moods lie tales of discrimination, communal hatred and the unfettered spirits of its universal female characters. The heartening aspect of this book launch was that there were a few dozen enthusiasts present on the occasion, and a few powerful
Ahmed Nadeem Qasmi (1916-2006)
I am republishing an old article that appeared in The Friday Times, Pakistan on the great Urdu poet Ahmed Nadeem Qasmi.
Ab aik baar to qudrat javaabdeh thehre
hazaar baar ham insaan aazmaaye gaye
Now Nature must be held accountable at least once
We humans have been held answerable a thousand times
Few men evoke such awe and respect as the departed poet and writer Ahmed Nadeem Qasmi who breathed his last on July 10 2006. His mastery over poetry – he has been equally prolific in traditional ghazal and nazm – and prose – as a short story writer, journalist and literary critic – stand at the pinnacle of Urdu literature and he has contributed to the language over 50 titles.
Born in 1916 amidst the scenic Soon-Sekasar valley in district Khushab, nature influenced the evolution of Qasmi’s poetic sensibilities. Exposure to the grim realities of rural India’s inequities also played their part in his development as a writer; the underlying theme of his poetry is human dignity and his short stories – regarded as next in line to another master, Munshi Prem Chand, for their directness and simplicity – portrayed the woes of the Punjabi peasantry and their interaction with power structures. Following his matriculation from Campbellpur in 1931, around the time when he wrote his first poem, he moved to the Sadiq Egerton College in Bahawalpur and graduated in 1935.
Faiz’s Shaam
koi ujrra huwa, benoor, puraana mandir
dhooNdta hey jo kharaabi ke bahaaney kab se
chaak har baam, har ik dard ka dam-e-aakhir hey
aasmaaN koi prohit hey jo har baam taley
jism pe raakh maley, maathey pe sindoor maley
sir-niguN betha hey chup chaap naa jaaney kab sey
Iss tarha hai ke pas-e-parda koi saahir hai
jiss nay aafaaq pe phelaaya hai yuN sehar kaa daam
daaman-e-waqt sey pewast hai yuN daaman-e-shaam
ab kabhi shaam bujhey gi na andhera ho ga
ab kabhi raat dhaley gi na sawera ho ga
AasmaaN aas leeye hai ke ye jaadu tootay
chup ki zanjeer katay, waqt ka daaman chhootey
day koi sankh duhaai, koi paayal boley
koi butt jaagey, koi saaNwali ghooNgat kholey
seeking excuses to tremble
since who knows when–
their roofs are cracked,
their doors lost to ancient winds.
And the sky is a priest,
saffron marks on his forehead,
ashes smeared on his body.
He sits by the temples, worn to a shadow, not looking up.
has hypnotized Time
so this evening is a net
in which the twilight is caught.
Now darkness will never come–
and there will never be morning.
for history to tear itself from this net,
for Silence to break its chains
so that a symphony of conch shells
may wake up to the statues
and a beautiful, dark goddess,
her anklets echoing, may unveil herself.
On Habib Jalib
Kazim Aizaz Alam has sent this piece on the great poet for publication at Jahane Rumi.
I was recently introduced to someone who had been a companion of Habib Jalib. Khurshid sahib now works at the Karachi-based afternoon paper, Qaumi Akhbar, and sometimes reminisces about the good times he shared with people associated with the film industry. Being a film/theatre reporter for 59 years now (yes, he started his journalistic career in 1950!) Khurshid sahib has come in touch with every notable film star, director, writer, poet, musician and singer of Pakistan.
One of his dear friends was Habib Jalib. According to Khurshid sahib, whenever Habib Jalib was in town, his Vespa (that he still drives) would serve as the poet’s conveyance. Last time when he met Jalib sahib, he was in Karachi for a book-launch ceremony. In those days there used to be a UBL hostel in Saddar. The then president of the UBL was Jalib sahib’s fan who had arranged his stay at the hostel. Khurshid sahib picked him up from there and took to the Arts Council of Pakistan where the ceremony was to take place. He clearly remembers that Jalib sahib’s health was not good and he looked too frail. The poet walked into the venue with the help of Fehmida Riaz and Khurshid sahib. Benazir Bhutto was the chief guest and was accompanied by Begum Nusrat Bhutto. He says that both the distinguished ladies rushed forward and welcomed the ageing poet with utmost respect. Such was Jalib sahib’s regard that despite his bitter criticism of Benazir Bhutto’s policies during her first government, she had come to pay homage to the great revolutionary.
It Has Been Written
Last night I stumbled upon this translation of Parveen Shakir's poem (Navishta) rendered by C M Naim. This is where she addresses her only son on the perils of living with a famous mother. Parveen was extraordinary and her poems continue to cajole, haunt and address the readers.
“. . . then Zaid cursed Bakar, ‘Your mother
is more well known than your father!’ ”
My son,
this curse is your fate too.
In a fathers’ world you too, one day,
must pay a heavy price
for being known by your mother,
though your eyes’ color, your brow’s
expanse,
and all the curves your lips create
come from the man
who shared with me in your birth,
yet alone gives you significance
in the eyes of the law-givers.
But the tree that nurtured you three
seasons
must claim one season as its own,
to comb the stars, turn thoughts into
perfumes,
make poems leapfrog your ancestors’ walls . . .
a season that Mira couldn’t send away,
nor could Sappho.
Now it must be this family’s fate
that you should frequently feel abashed
before your playmates, and that your
father
must grin and bear it among his friends.
The name on the doorbell means
nothing;
the world knows you by one name
alone
Fahmida Riaz: A neglected genius
My op-ed for The NEWS
Whilst my earlier piece on the IMF programme and the tremendous discussion it has invoked deserves a rejoinder, I want to write on a completely different subject this week. I am perturbed by the fact that thousands of jobs have been recreated for those who were rightly or wrongly dismissed in the earlier dispensations; there is silence about one luminary, a towering one at that, who lost state employment twice. Fahmida Riaz's name is yet to appear amongst the reinstated ones.
Following the physical departure of the leading Urdu poets – Qasmi, Munir and Faraz – Fahmida Riaz is arguably the greatest living poet of Pakistan. Controversial though this statement might be, her originality and path-breaking poetry has yet to find an equal in the turbulent waters of the Pakistani cultural river. It is hardly surprising that Fahimda Riaz has been targeted all through her otherwise illustrious creative career by state and society alike. She was branded as unpatriotic when she had to run for her life in the Zia-ul-Haq days and live in exile. In India, she was termed as a Pakistani agent since she criticised the communal tensions that the Indian state had encouraged.
The words of others
 |
|
|
Faiz Ahmed Faiz with friends: Faiz's poetry is now being used to advertise phones |
|
 |
|
|
Habib Jalib: anti-establishment |
|
|
|
|
|
Opposition to the military regime was marked by a liberal ethos, a value-system that stressed constitutionalism, rule of law, and the independence of judiciary, rather than identifying with the politics of redistribution or attacking Pakistan's problem uno supremo: poverty |
|
|
|
My piece published in the Friday Times last week
For decades, Pakistan's poets and writers have defied conventions and the almighty establishment. Rooted in the progressive writers' movement, the literature of resistance was a pro-people ideology that kept redistribution of power and resources at its core. The great poet Faiz Ahmad Faiz was often jailed and kept on the margins of the literary and cultural establishment and castigated as a "foreign agent" and "anti-Pakistan." Scores of other writers had to suffer torture and silencing by the state when they challenged its arbitrariness. Habib Jalib faced similar treatment and died a poor man after decades of acting as the poetic conscience of a nation.
It was the lyrical, direct poetry of Habib Jalib that stirred the street for decades, echoing the vision of the world from below. Jalib's expression was popular and immediate, and could be related to easily by the average listener. During the rule of General Ayub Khan, from 1958 until 1969, Jalib particularly represented the public conscience when he chanted his poem Dastoor (Constitution), which was about Ayub Khan's tailor-made "constitution." Later, this work was utilised in support of Fatima Jinnah's (the Quaid-e-Azam's younger sister's) campaign against the general:
Aisay dastoor ko,
Subh-e-baynoor ko,
Mein naheen manta,
Mein naheen janta
(I do not accept/I do not recognise/A constitution that resembles/A morning with no light).
In 2008, we saw the Punjab Chief Minister chanting these lines. The poetry has come full circle. While the Chief Minister's
powerless is the prayer…
Abida Parveen sings Faraz’s poem
Found this enchanting piece of music here:
In his latest double CD "Paigham-e-Muhabbat" composer Muzaffar Ali, who has brought so much pleasure to our lives in the last two decades, included ‘O des aane wale bata'. This nazm by Ahmed Faraz and Akhtar Sheerani is beautifully sung by Abida Parveen.
For those of us who migrated during Partition from India to Pakistan or vice versa and have memories of the old homeland. Also many who have lived overseas, away from our birthplace for several years, and yet have a deep felt love and nostalgia for what was left behind, it strikes a cord.
In memory of Ahmed Faraz who was one of the greatest contemporary Urdu poets...
Ode to Mirza Ghalib’s Haveli
This excellent post brought found here back so many memories - of my two memorable visits to the famed but neglected Haveli
Gali Qaasim Jaan was wrapped in fading darkness. A few tattered curtains hung listlessly on some doors. Pigeons flew overhead and some kids fought over marbles. Somewhere a goat tethered to a threshold, bleated timidly.This was Ballimaaran in the walled city of Delhi more than 150 years ago where one of the greatest masters of Urdu Poetry, Mirza Ghalib once lived.Mirza gave a whole new dimension to the world of Urdu Poetry, and has been hailed as one of the the true Masters. My desire to visit Mirza’s Haveli was soon going to be realized. Regardless of how well one knows the streets of Delhi, it is no joke to locate Gali Qasim Jaan where Mirza’s Haveli still stands.
It is a crying shame that what once was a two-storey Haveli has been reduced to barely a neglected remnant. Years of government indifference has led to severe misuse of the place.Finally, the Archaeological Society of India took matters into its own hands and two ushers now look after the Haveli. Visiting hours are observed for tourists who long to feel the air, which still echoes with Mirza’s recitals.
Recent Comments
- wasyed on Abr mi barad-o man shovm-e az yar-e judaa (The cloud weeps…)
- javed rushdi on Support the documentary on Dr Abdus Salam
- krish on My blog is a stranger to me & Mir – saare aalam mein bhar raha hai ishq
- wasyed on the two insomnias
- Bloggers Pakistan - Pakistani Blog Aggregator on Emperor Jahangir receiving his two sons, c1605-06
- Abida Parveen sings “teray ishq nachaya..” « Jahane Rumi on A red card for the Secular Indian Muslim
- ?ि?्??-???्?: ?ै?्??ा?्? ?ें ?ि?्?ी ?ा?े on Emperor Jahangir receiving his two sons, c1605-06
- Pres on I am a child of love
- Emperor Jahangir receiving his two sons, c1605-06 « Jahane Rumi on Khusrau: The shadow of power
- Ranbir Kaleka on Bulleh Shah and Nukta – In a dot the whole mystery is solved
Recent Posts
- Emperor Jahangir receiving his two sons, c1605-06
- I am a child of love
- A red card for the Secular Indian Muslim
- Abr mi barad-o man shovm-e az yar-e judaa (The cloud weeps…)
- Karachi Literary Festival
- the two insomnias
- Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan – Man Kunto Maula
- Rumi – Guest House
- Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and Peter Gabriel- Signal to noise
- Pak Nobel laureate’s Ahmedi status hurdle for documentary
- Old Nusrat recordings dressed up in dub reggae beats
- Allah Hoo by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
- Lovers have nothing to do with existence
- Support the documentary on Dr Abdus Salam
- In memoriam – Asim Butt (1978-2010)
Categories at Jahane Rumi
- 'Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan' (1)
- Afghanistan (10)
- All My Posts (923)
- Arts & Culture (342)
- Bangladesh (12)
- Blog Babble (70)
- books (72)
- Buddhist (7)
- business and economy (4)
- Central Asia (5)
- China (3)
- Cinema (19)
- Culture (4)
- development (2)
- diaspora (7)
- education (7)
- Egypt (3)
- Environment (4)
- Extremism (1)
- Faiz (2)
- fiction (3)
- folklore (3)
- fundamentalism (24)
- Ghalib (2)
- Globalization (26)
- governance (8)
- Guest Writer (32)
- Health (2)
- heritage (84)
- History (111)
- human rights (17)
- humour (1)
- India (131)
- India-Pakistan History (151)
- Indo Pak peace (53)
- Indus (3)
- Iran (10)
- Iraq (3)
- Islam (98)
- Islamophobia (46)
- Journalism (47)
- Karachi (7)
- Knowledge (3)
- Kosovo (1)
- Lahore (47)
- Law (1)
- Left (1)
- Loss (21)
- Love (52)
- Malaysia (3)
- media (40)
- Middle East (13)
- Motivated (1)
- Mughal (23)
- Music (46)
- My paintings (9)
- My poems (1)
- Nature (4)
- new writers (2)
- NWFP (3)
- On Pakistan (275)
- Pakistan (31)
- Pakistani Art (53)
- Pakistani Literature (20)
- Partition (10)
- Peace (30)
- Personal (214)
- Photo stories (67)
- Poetry (269)
- Politics (141)
- Poverty (5)
- published in DAWN (3)
- Published in Himal Magazine (4)
- Published in HT (3)
- Published in The Friday Times (79)
- Published in the NEWS (31)
- Punjab (48)
- Punjabi (2)
- qawwali (2)
- Random musings (139)
- Religion (91)
- Research (6)
- Rumi (148)
- SAARC (3)
- science (4)
- Sindh (21)
- Soul (36)
- South Asian Art (94)
- South Asian Literature (180)
- SouthAsia (9)
- Sport (5)
- stuckism (1)
- Sufi poetry (244)
- Sufism (186)
- Technology (4)
- terrorism (12)
- theatre (2)
- Tragic (26)
- Translations (21)
- Travel (51)
- Turkey (5)
- Uncategorized (83)
- Urdu (103)
- Urdu Literature (78)
- video (24)
- War (37)
- women (2)
- World Artists (53)
- World Literature (127)
- World Writers (131)
- Sufism and Sufi poetry (25)
Posts Archive
Raza Rumi @ flickr
- Asim Butt's mural for T2F, Karachi
- T2F remembers Asim Butt
- Haris Gazdar at the memorial
- Asim's friends will always miss him
- George recites his poem
- Sabeen speaking about Asim Butt
- In attendance -
- The tribute to Asim Butt
- Asim's picture published by GT
- Another mural for The Second Floor-Asim Butt
Pak Tea House
- Lord Chief Justice Of Lahore High Court Is At It Again!
- An Article On Tahira Mazhar Ali
- Precautionary Blood Measures
- Be Part of the Change
- Samina Khawar Hayat: 200 kilos of Reason Why The Pakistani Reservation System Is Flawed
- Let Pakistan Make Its Own Progress
- Roving Report – Ayub Khan Era
- Total National Backlash Against Shahbaz Sharif
- Understanding Islamic Revival In Its Proper Context
- DANYAL MUEENUDDIN WINS
Development Industry
- Pakistan: 92 per cent of USAID projects go to US NGOs
- Learn from the UK. Open up data sources in South Asia
- Kiran Bir Sethi teaches kids to take charge
- State of research in Pakistan…
- Reforming Pakistan Civil Service
- Pakistan – Restructuring of PSEs
- Newinpk
- PAKISTAN: Reinventing microfinance
- Dissent as Democracy
- Pakistan 4th on regional list of adult illiterates
World music on NPR
- Solas: America's Wild Irish Rose
- The Thistle And Shamrock: Fiddle Styles
- Umm Kulthum: 'The Lady' Of Cairo
- Los Amigos Invisibles: A 'Commercial' Breakthrough
- The Thistle And Shamrock: Welsh Roots
- SXSW 2010 Preview
- Elis Regina: The Feeling Between The Notes
Tags
- West Bengal in turmoil – end of an era? - 2 emails
- Imam Hussain: The Beloved of the Beloved - 1 email
- Shah Ast Hussain - 1 email
- Holi has a Muslim History too - 1 email
- On Bhagat Singh, his vision and Jinnah’s support for his struggle - 1 email
- Voices of the oppressed – Dalit literature - 1 email
Pages
- “Man-Bitten” Ghalib: introducing himself
- “Seeds of peace on cricket field”
- ‘Author’s Plea’- Foreword of Aag ka Dariya by Qurutul-ain-Haider
- ‘O City of Lights’ by Khalid Hasan – A book review
- About Thumri
- Adieu Naguib Mahfouz
- adsense sample
- Amrita Pritam is no more 2/6
- Amrita Sher Gil’s Lahore
- An Essay on Nizamuddin by Marta Franceschini
- Basant Moods – Lahore and Beyond
- Beautiful Bird
- Bulleh Shah and Rumi 2/5
- Contact
- Dhaka by degrees
- Dhaka by Degrees – TFT
- Documents Archive
- “Iraq’s four-year looting frenzy, the allies have become the vandals”
- “step into the tavern of ruins..”
- A little more recogniton..
- A Little poem
- A recent Book on Faiz Ahmed Faiz
- Against Forgetting and No Poem is Mine
- Another accidental painting
- Fresh translations of Faiz
- Glimpses of nineteenth century Iran
- Go not without me
- Hope – A poem by Ayesha Salman
- How Art made the World
- How the British Raj took roots in India
- I finally moved here – “You lack a foot to travel?”
- Little Flute, Why So Proud?
- Master strokes
- Mother Goddess – Indus Valley
- Murree Ghosts – my recent painting
- Music Master
- My Journey (Mera Safar): Ali Sardar Jafri
- New paintings inspired by the golden Bengal
- New translations of Parveen Shakir
- No Tolerance for Richistans – Obscene Wealth is not victimless!
- Ominous shadows
- Pakistani media – an alternative view
- Qurratulain Hyder
- Sonargaon – A poem by HUR
- Story of a Painting – Mehrgarh, Indus and Ghalib
- Sufi Zikr – inspiration for a painting
- The rescued letter of Mahatama Gandhi
- Waves of anger and fear…
- Welcome Hatshepsut
- What is arrogance?
- Faiz translated by Vikram Seth
- Faiz translations (by Rehan)
- Femme Feryal
- Halaku, when you will come to Baghdad this time…
- I found Roses in Konya… 2/3
- I found Roses in Konya… 3/3
- I will meet you yet again – Amrita Pritam
- Ideology of intolerance
- Images from Data Saheb’s Shrine
- Images from Mahboob Ali
- Jal gaya tha ik roshniyon ka shaher
- Kafka Country – published in the Friday Times
- Kafka Country published in the Friday Times
- Links
- More of Bulleh Shah – keep swooning
- Mughal Princess Zebunnissa
- Muhammad’s Sword
- Muslim Bloggers from India
- On ‘The Great War for Civilisation’
- On Qurratulain Hyder –
- On Vidya Rao
- Open the Door
- Peace to Beirut with all my heart… 2/3
- Petal to Petal …..More of Parveen Shakir
- Qasmi – Urdu literature mourns a giant 2/4
- Qasmi, Literary Fueds and National Neglect
- Rare objects discovery points to ruins treasure
- Raza Rumi
- Revisiting Kabir – the Weaver, the Myth, the Master
- Sadequain 20 years later
- Shared visions: Khushwant Singh and Fahmida Riaz 2/2
- Standing Alone in Mecca (book review)
- Surveys show that Pakistanis (and Muslims) reject “terrorism”
- Teray Ishq Nachaya – Bulleh Shah – full text
- The Lost Jewel – Rediscovering Hazrat Ali’s Letter
- The roar of Rumi – 800 years on
- The Sultan of Hearts – Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya
- This world without Dr. Schimmel… 2/3
- Tum bilkul hum jaisey nikley
- Ustad Bismillah Khan is no more
- Web resources on Qurrutalain Hyder
- Why I love Pakistan? Top 5 reasons
- Darwin and the grand unity of life
- Khusrau: The shadow of power
