Posts Tagged Urdu

By Raza Rumi

  I wrote a piece on Urdu poet Mustafa Zaidi six years ago. Since then I have received immense feedback. Zaidi’s relatives, friends and admirers across the globe have contacted me and provided documents, information and related anecdotes. It is all turning into a book of sorts that hopefully will be written one day.

I had mentioned in my post that the cause of Zaidi’s death was shrouded in mystery while most believed that he committed suicide. As I have learnt, the circumstances of his death suggest otherwise. News reports and eyewitness accounts point to the absurdity of the claim that he died in a hotel as family members claim that he was found dead in his own home. Thanks to Zaidi’s ardent fan Abeer Zaidi, I have come to know of more precise facts. I remain grateful for that.

Zaidi, at his time of death had produced several outstanding, original collections of poetry. He was married to a woman of German descent and had two children but his last companion was a woman named Shehnaz, the love of his life. His last five poems titled ‘Shehnaz’  immortalised her. That October day in 1970, Shehnaz was found unconscious along with Zaidi’s dead body.

Following are the circumstances of his demise and the lack of evidence to support the commonly held view that he committed suicide:

On March 20, 1971, under the headline ‘Evidence of Zaidi’s nephew recorded’, the newspaper Dawn reported: “Mr. Shahid Raza, nephew of the former CPS officer and well known poet Mr. S.M. Zaidi yesterday said that there were signs of a struggle having taken place in the room in which his uncle’s body was discovered last October 12. He was testifying in the Court of the District Magistrate, Mr. Kunwar Idris, in the committal trial of Mrs. Shehnaz Saleem, Wife of Mr. Saleem Khan, who is charged with the murder of Mustafa Zaidi.”

The report goes on to say that Mr Raza entered his uncles house with police official and a maternal uncle the morning after his death and found the body lying on the bed. The receiver of the phone was dangling off the hook and the cord stretched across his body. There were stains of blood on his back as well as on the bed sheet and furniture. The room was scattered and a sofa was overturned.

The writer Laurel Steel has mentioned this report in her book, ‘Relocating the Post-Colonial Self’ and has also published some letters written by Zaidi to his wife in Germany to help him get a visa to join his family in Germany. Additionally Steel also mentions that on the day of his death he rose at 8 am and washed his car. Later in the day he received visitors including Shehnaz Gul and afterwards told his servant to go home to return the next morning. The question this must be asked, can this demeanor be that of a man bent on committing suicide in hotel room?

Decades later, this case is still an enigma and has left many of those who appreciated his life and work in denial and doubt.

To read my earlier article which was published in The Friday Times in 2005, please click here.

P.S. This post also addresses the issue raised by Kidvai saheb here. Many thanks for his appreciation of my earlier piece.

Today is Sahir Ludhianvi’s death anniversary. Am reposting this poem for the readers.

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 a 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! (more…)

By Raza Rumi:

In a few days, Mohammad Hanif’s new novel will be available in Pakistan. Last week, I met him at his house in Karachi. The grand dame of Urdu literature, Qurratulain Hyder, used to make fun of people who would ask writers what were they writing about. “Are writers cooks that they should be subjected to senseless questions,” she remarked in one of her essays. With this sentence lurking somewhere in the corner of my mind, I was most hesitant to ask Hanif questions about his new novel. In any case, Hanif is not known for responding to inane questions either. We found ourselves locked in this battle: me not wanting to ask; and Hanif avoiding to pontificate about his latest book. Awkward? No. Funny, Yes.

By Raza Rumi

The first half of the 20th century witnessed a transformation in Urdu literature with the emergence of the short story as the choicest medium of literary expression, reflecting the shifting contours of Indian society. Urdu was not a communal language then. The Muslims and Hindus of pre-1947 India preferred the language for its subtlety, richness and aesthetic qualities. This was the age of Prem Chand’s realism, the romanticism of Rajinder Singh Bedi and Krishna Chandar, the irony and brutal directness of Ismat Chughtai and Manto and of course the prescient visions of Ghulam Abbas.

By Raza Rumi

What makes translating Urdu literature a rare indulgence has also kept it closeted from global appreciation.

Ralph Russell, the legendary British scholar of Urdu literature, whose tireless efforts to explore the Byzantine layers of Urdu will always serve as a reference point for global Urdu-walas, once summed up the eternal dilemma of achieving a perfect translation of Urdu literature into English. He pointed out that the work of Indian and Pakistani translators suffered from a lack of command in either language. “The English-knowing products of what in India and Pakistan are generally called ‘convent schools’ have acquired their nearly (but not quite) perfect English at the cost of losing full command of their mother tongue,” he wrote in 1996.

This is not to say that translations of Urdu literature have not been accomplished. In fact, there are many 20th century writers whose works have been translated by competent men and women. Key examples are the translations of the short stories of Saadat Hasan Manto and Ismat Chughtai. Their poignant and non-conformist writings have found a wide readership in predominantly English-reading Indian middle classes and western readers attempting to understand the nuances of South Asia’s literary output. The contribution of The Annual of Urdu Studies – edited by Muhammad Umar Memon and published every year from the US – has been immense in this regard. Some writers and poets whose works have been translated include Abdullah Hussein, Patras Bukhari, Shamsur Rahman Faruqi, Rajinder Singh Bedi, Ghulam Abbas, Hajra Masroor, Premchand, Qudratullah Shahab, Intizar whose contribution and devotion to the translation of Urdu literature remains unparalleled and who has provided fine examples of literary translations, leaving out no major contemporary Urdu writer. His academic journal, The Annual of Urdu Studies, continues to publish translated works from Urdu every year.

Literary magazines are a great introduction to young and fresh voices in Urdu. One can observe a constant process of experimentation in language and expression. Short story writer Ali Akbar Natiq, one of Urdu’s most important new voices, and Mohammad Khalid Toor, who is critical newly- rediscovered voice, have been introduced to readers by Urdu literary magazines. (more…)

Huma Imitiaz has summed up the session I moderated at the KLF. Huma has been kind to me but I am just a humble student of literature and facing Intizar Saheb in this session would remain a milestone in my imagined literary journeys, yet to start…

“There are two forces that have risen in Pakistan: women and mullahs,” said writer and journalist extraordinaire Intizar Husain, at the Karachi Literature Festival. The crowd roared in approval, and Husain smiled. At his session, held on the second day, the room was nowhere near full capacity, but those in attendance were hanging on to his every word. In a one on one discussion with writer Raza Rumi, Husain talked about a variety of subjects, from writing techniques to the Lahore that once was.
(more…)

I had posted Ali Sardar Jafri’s lovely poem and now a reader Farah Aziz directed me to this blog where a beautiful translation of the poem has been shared.

The setting imperial sun
broke into two parts
On this very Border, yesterday.
The dawn of freedom was wounded
On this very Border, yesterday.
This is the Border of blood,
Tears, sights, and sparks,
Where we had sown hatred
And reaped a harvest of swords.
Here, stars struggled
In the eyes of dear ones.
Here, beloved faces
Flickered in streams of tears.
Here, a mother lost her sons,
A brother, his sister.
This border thrives on blood,
Breathes flames of despise
She slithers like a snake
On the bosom of our land.
She comes to the battlefield
Crested with all her weapons .

I stand on this Border
Waiting for the Tomorrow’s  Happy Dawn.

Manmohan Singh whom I have always held in high regard, disappointed millions in South Asia with his distastefully ill-timed hard talk during his Independence day address. As if Pakistan’s current misery was a time to blow India’s trumpet. He surely was also unaware of what his patriotic Indian poet, Ali Sardar Jafri had written years ago -Dialogue Souldn’t Cease. Here is an Urdu version with a full translation. Perhaps, someone should pass a copy of this poem to the exalted Prime Minister of India.

GUFTGOO BAnD NA HO
BAAT SE BAAT CHALEY
SUBH TAK SHAAM-E-MULAAQAAT CHALEY
HUM PE HAnSTI HUEE
YE TAAROn BHARI RAAT CHALEY (more…)

Who will listen to the tale of my woeful heart?
Far and wide have I wandered on the face of this earth
And I have much to impart

It is not a coincidence that the earliest novels of the Subcontinent dealt with the intense and memorable characters of ‘nautch girls’. Essentially a colonial construct, a nautch girl referred to the popular entertainer, a belle beau who would sing, dance and, when required, also provide the services of a sex worker. The accounts on the marginalised women from the ‘dishonourable’ profession are nuanced, concurrently representing the duality of exploitation and empowerment.

Long before feminist discourse explored and located the intricacies of sex workers’ lives and work, male novelists during the 18th and 19th centuries were portraying the strong characters of women in the oldest profession. Stereotypes of the hapless and suffering prostitute rarely find mention in texts from that time, but one early novel, written in Urdu, is Mirza Muhammad Hadi Ruswa’s Umrao Jan Ada. While the Lucknow-based poet Ruswa is said to have persuaded Umrao to reveal her life history, many critics have surmised that the narrative was authored by Umrao herself. The tone and candour of the story suggests that Umrao played a significant role in drafting this semi-documentary piece. (more…)

by GEETA NANDAKUMAR

Song of the soul Farida Khanum

‘Aaj jaane ki zid na karo, haaye mar jaayenge ham to lut jaaenge, aisii baatein kiyaa na karo’.
Strains of her most popular ghazal in all the grandeur of her voice wafted all over the room. Rehearsing for a concert organised by the Indian Council for Cultural Relations and the NGO ‘Routes to Roots’ at the FICCI auditorium in New Delhi this week, Pakistan’s legendary ghazal icon Farida Khanum, looked svelte and poised even in her 70s. She was busy chiding the tabla accompanist, asking him to tone down the percussion. “Flow gently with the music,” she told him. Turning to me with a welcoming smile and immense warmth, she said, “There is too much cacophony and too little mellifluous music these days. Often, I am completely put off by the raucous play of percussion and refuse to sing even in Pakistan.” The irritation was palpable. The rehearsal continued as I soaked in the rich voice. Music that is manna! Age has only added to the infinite variety of her music. Finally, she broke off and asked for another percussionist. (more…)

Who says Pakistani literature was a relic of the past? If anything, Pakistani authors have a global audience today, and our writers are now the greatest harbingers of Pakistan’s complexity and nuance in a way that the embedded media can scarcely fathom.

The first literary festival took off in our cosmopolitan melting pot, Karachi, in March. The Oxford University Press’ dynamic head Ameena Saiyid, and the British Council, together organised this event. Asif Farrukhi, the premier litterateur of the metropolis was central to the festival. Farrukhi’s comprehensive command of Urdu and English literary currents, and the stature which he has earned with his hard work, ensured that we were all set for a fabulous gala.

Earlier, the festival faced the usual hurdles: the Indians were issued visas rather late in the day and my friend Sadia Dehlvi was denied a visa at the last minute, despite earnest efforts by the organisers. The iron curtain was rigidly in place. But the other regional and international delegates arrived as planned. The last minute finalisation of the schedule meant that due notice could not be given to many participants. However, the OUP team, especially Raheela Baqai, were adept at getting things done. Saiyid herself used Facebook to advertise the event. She’s obviously keeping up with technology and its changing frontiers.

We arrived just in time for the launch ceremony that was held at the British Consulate. It was quite a journey from the Carlton Hotel to old-world Clifton – a mini-bus that dazzled with literary icons of our time: Iftikhar Arif, Intezar Hussain, Masood Ash’ar and Shamsur Rehman Farooqi from the world of Urdu. The front seats were occupied by the petite and resplendent Bapsi Sidhwa, the contemplative Zulfiqar Ghose and the younger British Pakistani writer Sarfaraz Manzoor, whose book ‘Greetings From Bury Park’ has created waves across the English reading (more…)

Ghazi Salahuddin’s write up for the NEWS makes interesting points about the festival and also mentions me as one lost between the English and Urdu worlds

Far from the unruly crowds we watch on our news channels, playing hide and seek with an equally enraged and rowdy police, a select group of book lovers was able to retreat, during the last weekend, to the wonderland of literature. This, of course, was the Karachi Literature Festival sponsored by the Oxford University Press and the British Council. And all of us who were there were grateful for a memorable experience.

The two-day festival was held at a hotel tucked into a corner in Defence, by the side of the creek. It also bills itself as a resort. In that sense, being there did enforce a sense of distance from the disarray that pervades our daily existence. It was, thus, a lot of fun, and real pleasure was derived from casual encounters that flourished on the sidelines, with so many distinguished Pakistani writers and poets in attendance.

Now, when I underline this manifestly elitist aspect of the festival, I am not being critical of how it was designed. In fact, the location made the festival possible in spite of security concerns and the overall ambience greatly facilitated the discourse on otherwise rather sombre issues. Besides, the balance in the audience did tilt towards the readers of English and they could find easy access to the location. This is what would be expected of an event organised by the OUP and the British Council. (more…)