Category: Poetics

  • Birth of a Sher – Vatsal Sharma

    Mir says:

    Dii aag rang-e-gul ne waaN ai sabaa chaman ko
    YaaN ham jale qafas meiN sun haal aashiyaaN ka

    Rang-e-gul – colour/style of rose, waaN – wahaaN, sabaa – morning-breeze, chaman – garden, yaaN – here, qafas – cage, aashiyaaN – nest

    It would be a sin to translate this, so I would just provide the literal, for-the-sake translation done by Frances Pritchett:

    There, the color/style of the rose set fire, oh spring-breeze, to the garden
    Here, we ‘burned’ in the cage, having heard the condition/state of the nest

    Do not ask ‘why’ after reading the couplet; instead, ask ‘what.’ It is not for us to know ‘why’ the rang-e-gul has set fire to the chaman/garden (at least not initially); I say this because these are ever-lasting metaphors and their effect can exist even if you do not understand why they are performing their actions. So, now ask, what is happening?

    There is a bird inside a cage (qafas), and the morning wind (sabaa) has come to visit. The bird says to the wind: “colour/style of rose (rang-e-gul) was destroying/setting fire to (aag dena) the garden (chaman) and here, I was ‘burning’ in the cage (qafas) having heard the condition (haal) of the nest (aashiyaaN).”

    I would not consider this any less than a story. You do not agree? It works well with the definition and the six elements of tragedies given by Aristotle:

    Tragedy – a process of imitating an action which has serious implications, is complete, and possesses magnitude; by means of language which has been made sensuously attractive, with each of its varieties found separately in the parts; enacted by the persons themselves and not presented through narrative; through a course of pity and fear completing the purification (catharsis) of such emotions.

    Overlooking the physical aspects of the definition, we can see that the couplet:

    1. has serious implications (raises pity and fear in a general and psychological sense) – the captivity, helplessness of the bird, the burning of her nest and garden and her ‘burning’ desire to be there validates this
    2. might not be complete story in the sense of having a beginning, middle and an end, but it implicates towards all of those since it is a dialogue from a character
    3. language is sensuously attractive (without a doubt) and relevant as well
    4. though this is not enacted by people, but when you read it, you are the one enacting it, and the powerful use of language enables effect even if you read it in a toneless manner
    5. this couplet catharsises the reader in a way that it manifests a very common thought of inability in a fluid manner

    Aristotle gives these six elements of a tragedy:

    1. Plot – see how the couplet unfolds:
      This meter has a quasi-caesura break at the middle. Think of this break as a stress or a breath taken after “ne” in the first and “meiN” in the second line. So, when we recite this couplet in a flow, it is divided in four perfect parts (or as tragedy would have it, acts).
    1. The first part: dii aag rang-e-gul ne. It introduces a character (rang-e-gul) and tells us of its actions. We do not get to know much, but we get a somewhat idea as to where we’re heading and it does not seem like a good place.
    2. The second part: waaN ai sabaa chaman ko, the word waaN (wahaaN) tells us that the character who is speaking this dialogue is far from the scary action in the first line. This should be a good thing, right? Yes, we think that so far. In this part the character being spoken to (sabaa) is introduced, and we are told that the villain (rang-e-gul) is setting fire to the garden. What relation does the speaker have with the garden? We don’t know. We just know that he/she is in a safer place.
    3. The third part: yaaN ham jale qafas meiN, we finally get to know where the speaker is: in a cage. This union of yahaaN (yaaN) and wahaaN is a simple way of speaking, for example, “wahaaN pe tum maze kar rahe ho yahaaN mere exam chal rahe hai.” We also get to know that our speaker is ‘burning.’ We thought the speaker would be happy, given that he/she is not in the burning garden. Why is this happening?
    4. The fourth part: sun haal aashiyaaN ka, this part gives us the reason to the last part and enough to predict. The speaker is ‘burning’ because he/she heard the condition of the nest; quite possibly their own nest. It is implied that the nest is in the garden, and who lives in a nest? That’s right. A bird.
      That was a roller coaster ride of feelings.

    Aristotle also believes for plot to be the most important element, and as you can see here, in mere 19 words a story has been unfolded in perhaps a cathartic way.

    1. Characters – bird is the tragic hero, morning breeze is a sort of middleman, rang-e-gul is the villain.
    2. Diction/verbal expression – the dialogue is implicating, layered, idiomatic, colloquial and fluid. The idiom of aag dena, metaphor of rang-e-gul, the simple yet powerful waaN, the duality of jale, the falling of the “l” in “haal” on “aashiyaaN” can be appreciated in detail, alas: “had we but world enough and time.
    3. Spectacle/visual adornment – in context of a tragedy these are decorations of the stage, and they are intended to bring the audience closer to the scene of the play. Though the couplet is not a play, the imageries or the spectacles created by it are unparalleled. A play on the stage would find it difficult to convey scenery like this through decoration.
    4. Thought – this is the mental pattern of the characters over the course and we can see how the speaker’s way of speaking (if not his thoughts) goes through different shades of thought.
    5. Song – the couplet flows like water and a sher is part of a song if not one in itself.

    I hope a convincing case has been made. Now, is this my whole argument that a sher is a story? But, what if I tell you that there is a lot more to it?

    As any speaker of Hindi-Urdu would know “jalna” is relevant for jealousy as well. We never really paid attention to the captivity aspect in our tragic hero’s life, right? Let’s take the “jale” in second line this new view.

    Now, the lament becomes about the captive bird’s condition and not about the garden or the nest. The bird has become jealous hearing the state of her (burning) nest. Why? Perhaps because anything is better than this captivity or watching her garden and nest burn helplessly. 

    You can probably recall the scene from The Dark Knight Rises where Bane takes the broken Batman to the underground prison and forces him to watch his city ‘burn;’ before Batman gets his courage back he asks the prisoners to kill him, even if for pleasure. This reading of the couplet is much more sadistic and highlighted a different level of tragedy.

    Shamsur Rahman Faruqi provides an interpretation where he considers the fire to be metaphorical. Instead he says the rose has lit up the garden with its illumination, but because the speaker is not there the nest is dark.

    It is interesting to treat it as a metaphorical fire, and it provides with these ideas:

    1. The speaker has become jealous/envious having heard the illumined, decorated condition of the nest.
    2. The speaker is glowing/radiating out of happiness as the good news of the illumined, decorated nest has reached.

    If you have made it this far, then you have successfully participated in a 1,214 word long discussion on a sher of 19 words. And believe me I can probably bring out a few more ash’aar (plural of sher) that can prove the same things. But what is my point exactly? Because it is clear that a sher is not just a story. So what is it or more like what do I think it is?

    This couplet – like many other couplets – is an essence (or as Sanskrit would have it: saar) common to various stories. Merriam-Webster defines essence as:

    “the permanent as contrasted with the accidental element of being.”

    So, in this couplet, the essence of various stories relevant to the characters remains captured like the bird. This characteristic of “various” comes through the use of rich words; for example, the word rang is Persian, and you would lose your mind if you see the various meanings given to it in Urdu and Persian dictionaries, however, here I have selected a few that I have found relevant from Platts and Steingass:

    “Colour, imposture, playfulness, pleasure, condition, manner, dishonour, grief/pain, desire, game at dice, possessor, blood, an old patched garment, like/resembling, beauty/bloom.”

    You can easily come up with entirely different tragedies or something else if you make use of these meanings in the couplet.

    Personally, I do not focus on these back-stories, rather I enjoy the rushing effect that the sher has, I believe for it to be the primary pleasure. But, I do believe these stories are necessary to the birth of sher. It is well known that the meaning of the word ghazal was to talk to women. However, over the time only talk has remained. And as it was said earlier, this couplet is a proper dialogue with speaker, subject and addressee.

    So, the poet stands in the centre of imagination or certain situation (which is not of any reader’s business) and is able to capture the essence of the story in such a way that it has an instant effect on the reader/listener and it can also provide for the reconstruction of various such situations or imaginations.

    Here is a rather funny example:

    There is a story about the two poets Jurat – who was blind – and Insha where the former was immersed in his thoughts. Insha came and asked, “where are you lost?”
    Jur’at said, “nothing, I have a line, but cannot think of the other to complete the couplet.”
    To this Insha asked Jurat to tell him the line so that he could help, but the blind poet remarked that the latter will instead make a couplet of his own (this is insulting indeed). But, Insha requested again and then Jurat told him the line:
    us zulf pe phabtii shab-e-diijuur kii suujhii
    This could perhaps translate to, “on that hair the decoration of the dark night was made apparent.” So, Insha – to help his friend – provided with a second line immediately:
    andhe ko andhere meiN baDii duur kii suujhii

    In response to this, blind Jurat picked up his stick and tried to catch Insha and for enough time the poor bloke kept trying.

    Our focus is the second line, which Insha immediately composed. He had already said that he would help with the second line and after that he was even teased/accused/insulted by his friend – this is the situation in which the poet of this line stands. And the second line that he composed immediately is the essence of the situation that remains relevant and satisfies both the first line as well as Insha’s desire to tease Jurat back. So basically, when Insha composed this couplet he worked as two different speakers: one for the first line and second for his own personal agenda. These things that I specified in useless detail about this couplet subconsciously enable us to take instant pleasure as we hear the entire anecdote; this can be supported with a little experiment, that is, recite this whole couplet to one person without telling the anecdote and then to another after telling the anecdote and you will see that the latter will have a greater pleasure. This is perhaps because the speaker of the couplet has a duality that is only activated with this situation that he was in.

    Before reaching near conclusion, I can say that a ghazal poet takes forms of various characters sher after sher: he becomes a drunkard, madman, lover, saint, bird, ghost, omnipresent narrator, etc. in a mere sequence of breaths. This makes me perceive the ghazal world as a never-ending, all-mood, stage-less play (this raam-kahaani) where the characters are only in control of their dialogues and the writer of the plot is fate. So, here are a few couplets at last that strengthen this idea of mine:

    Mir says:

    gham-e-zamaana se FaariG hai maaya-baaKHtagaaN
    qimaar-KHaana-e-aaFaaq meiN hai haar hii jeet

    Translation:

    Those that played and lost their wealth are free from grief of the world
    In the gamble-club of horizons, to lose is to win

    This gives the view of a down-trodden tragedy hero who opens to his audience (the world) this depressing revelation.

    Ghalib says:

    muNh na khulne par ye aalam hai ki dekhaa hii nahii
    zulf se badh kar naqaab us shoKH ke muNh par khulaa

    This is a couplet telling an entire story just as well. I will attempt to explain it next time.

    waaN khud-aaraai ko tha motii pirone ka KHayaal
    yaaN hujuum-e-ashq meiN taar-e-nigah naa-yaab tha
    yaaN sar-e-pur-shor be-KHwaabi se tha deewaar-juu
    waaN wo farq-e-naaz mahv-e-baalish-e-kam-KHwaab tha
    waaN hujuum-e-naGma-haa-e-saaz-e-ishrat tha ‘Asad’
    naaKHun-e-Gam yaaN sar-e-taar-e-nafas mizraab tha – Ghalib

    Translation:

    There, Self-Adornment had the thought of stringing pearls
    In the rush of tears the string of gaze was un-findable here
    Here, the noisy head was seeking a wall out of sleeplessness
    That summit of coquetry was absorbed in pillows of silk there
    There was the rush of songs of instrument of joy ‘Asad
    The nail of grief, on the string of breath was a plectrum here

    This seems like a complete song where an overly-emotional lover laments about his helplessness and loss of love.

    Couplets like these show us how important mat sahl hameiN jaano is in Mir’s infamous, prophetic sher:

    mat sahl hameiN jaano phirta hai Falak barsoN
    tab khaak ke parde se insaan nikalte hai

    Translation:

    Do not consider us simple.. the sky revolves for ages
    Then from the veil of dust.. human beings emerge

    The first four harmless words establish a dialogue between innumerable characters of which you are a part as well.

    At last, Intizar Hussain said that Mir appears like a great novelist. I have only tried to prove it.


  • Non-Indian & Non-Muslim Poets of “Urdu”

    Urdu, usually associated with the Muslims of the Indian sub-continent, is a language that, even though was born and developed in India, is still perceived as an alien language to the land. The reasons behind such perception are several historical and linguistic misconceptions about the language that are backed by political factors. The idea behind writing this piece is to make an attempt at clearing these misconceptions by briefly discussing the history of its literature.

    What’s in a name?
    That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.

    (Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet)

    The language had many names before being known as “Urdu”. Depending on the different space-times, the language was called as – Hindavi, Dehlvi, Gujri, Dakhni, Lahori, Lashkari, Hindoostanee and Hindi. The script was Perso-Arabic, its syntax/grammar and phonology Indian; and apart from many loanwords from Persian, all the verbs were derived from Prakrit and Sanskrit. The word “Urdu” came much later in the end of 18th century – when this language replaced Persian at the Mughal court, and colonists like John Gilchrist (1759-1841) started propagating a division in the language (not based on any linguistic grounds, but based on communal grounds, although being a linguist himself), which was then picked by the Hindu Nationalists and certain Muslim political groups that supported the idea of a separate independent state for Muslims carved out of the British-India. During this period, the language was forced to be written in a recently developed script “Devanagari” and many loan words of Persian origin were replaced by Sanskritised words – making it ‘Hindi for Hindus’, and the same language when written in its original Perso-Arabic script – ‘being Urdu for Muslims’. As said earlier, the difference between Hindi & Urdu was communal rather than linguistic. Later on, the word “Urdu” which also has one of its meanings as “army camp” in Turkish, was used to create a pseudo-history of the language – claiming that the language came with the Muslim invaders and is therefore named as “army camps”.

    “A Martian Scientist would conclude that all earthlings speak dialects of the same language.”
    (Guy Duetscher, from “NoamChomsky on Anarchism”)

    Apart from the linguistic studies of the language – like the language-family-tree of Urdu, and how different diglossia/dialects of the same language are confused and framed as different due to various reasons (mainly political) – the literary history of this language clearly shows that the language was born and developed in the Indian sub-continent by its inhabitants – both Hindus and Muslims (and even Sikhs and Christians) – and is still, although with lots of struggles, being carried by them.

    From the 14th century – when early traces of the language being spoken and used for literature are found in its primordial forms – to the late 20th century – when the language became known all over the world with a literary heritage of more than 400 years; poets like Kabir (d. 1518) and Raghupat Sahay Firaq (d. 1982) are mentioned; whereas – Ajay Chand Bhatnagar (d. 1550s), Tek Chand Bahar (d. 1766 Persian lexicographer), Budh Singh Qalandar (d. 1780s), Teka Ram Tasalli (1780s), Raja Ram Narayan Mauzoon (d. 1762), Jaswanth Singh Parwana (d. 1813), Ratan Nath Sarshaar (d.1903), Brij Mohan Kaifi (d.1954)  and many others are often forgotten while mentioning the literary history of Urdu.

    Although a work is yet to be done on these classical writers, poets and scholars of the language, Syed Bashir Ahmad (PhD, Osmania University, Hyderabad) has compiled brief biographical notes along with some literary works of non-Muslim writers in Hyderabad post-1947. This work – titled “Hyderabad meiN ghair-MuslimoN ki Urdu KHidmaat (Urdu-literary services of non-muslims in Hyderabad) – is even more interesting when contextualised by the partition of British-India into Muslim-majority Pakistan and Hindu-majority India, and further by the annexation of the erstwhile Hyderabad State (which was an independent state ruled by a Muslim with a population of Hindus in majority) by the Government of India in 1948. During which, mass-migrations and displacement of different communities occurred, and with them, the languages believed to be associated with them also suffered.

    Another less focused area is the contribution of Europeans – not as aliens, but as native speakers (whether or not having Anglo-Indian descent) to this language. Some works like – “Ahl e Europe ne Urdu ki kya KHidmat ki?” (What service did the Europeans do to Urdu?) by Maulvi Abdul Haq (1870 – 1961) and “Europian Sho’ra e Urdu” (European Poets of Urdu) by Sardar Ali – do show an attempt made at this research.
    Most notable of such works is “European & Indo-European Poets of Urdu & Persian” written by Ram Babu Saxena and published in 1941 by Nawal Kishore Press, Lucknow.

    Unfortunately, not much attention has been paid – apart from certain political slogans and academic discussions – on this topic; and due to the lack of awareness, the divide has further increased in the common public narratives, and led to the marginalisation of Urdu (by attaching it to the Muslim minority of India). I intend to study the history of this in greater detail in the upcoming years.


    مقدور ہو تو خاک سے پوچھوں کہ اے لئیم
    تو نے  وہ  گنج  ہائے  گراں  مایہ  کیا  کیے
    if there would be the power/ability/presumptuousness,
    then I would ask the dust: ‘Oh wretch/miser,

    what did you do to/with those valuable treasures?!
    – Ghalib
    (translated by Prof. Frances Pritchett, UoC)