6th December, and a Second Exile

6 December 2011 marked the 19th anniversary of the demolition of Babri Masjid. It is a day which is etched in my mind. I was a second-year student at IIM Calcutta and it was at dinner time in the Mess that we got the news that Babri Masjid had been demolished.

Remember this was pre-internet era, no FB or Twitter to disseminate those ugly images which we were to see later: goons in saffron headbands tearing at the ancient dome as the police stood by and watched.

Almost two decades on and nothing much has changed, the shame of the Babri Masjid demolition has got added to that heap where our shames are endlessly accumulated, where they languish knowing that justice in our country is a chimera as perpetrators walk off into the sun like cowboys while we Indians watch : 1984 anti-Sikh pogrom, 1991 Mumbai blasts, 2002 Godhra riots, 2007 Mumbai attacks...

As I mulled thus I stumbled across this nazm by Kaifi Azmi written in the aftermath of the Babri Masjid demolition. Titled 'Doosra Banwas' it is a haunting tribute by a great poet where he gives voice to Ram, in whose name avowedly, the masjid was razed.

Doosra Banwas

Ram banwas sey jab laut key ghar mein aaye,
Yaad jangal bahut aaya jo nagar mein aaye,
Raqsey deewangee aangan mein jo dekha hoga,
6 December ko Shri Ram ney socha hoga,
Itney deewane kahan sey mere ghar mein aaye?


Jagmagate thhe jahan Ram key kadmon key nishan,
Pyaar ki kahkashan leti thhi angdayee jahan,
mod nafart key usee rah guzar mein aaye,
Dharm kya unka hai, kya zaat hai, ye jaanta kaun?
Ghar na jalta to unhen raat mein pehchanta kaun,
Ghar jalane ko mera, log jo mere ghar mein aaye,
Shakahari hain mere dost tumhare khanajar.


Tumne Babur kee taraf pheke thhe saare pathar,
Hai mere sar ki khata zakhm jo sar mein aaye,
Paun abhi Sarju mein Ram ney dhoye bhi na thhe,
Ke nazar aaye wahan khoon key gehre dhabbe,
Paun dhoye bina Sarju key kinare sey uthhe,
Ram yeh kehte hue apne dware se uthhe,
Rajdhani ki fiza aayi nahin raas mujhe,
6 December ko mila doosra banwas mujhe.

For those of you not entirely comfortable with Hindustani, I shall attempt a translation:

The Second Exile

When Ram returned home from his days of exile,
As he entered the city he remembered the jungle of his exile,
As he witnessed the dance of madness in his courtyard,
On the 6th of December the Lord Ram did regard,
From where did such madmen upon my house descend?

Where his footprints had lit the path of right,
Where the stars of love had shimmered their light,
A turn to hatred that same path took -
What is their religion, what's their caste, knows who?
Had my house not burnt would I've recognized them in the night,
Those men who came to my house in order to set it alight?
Vegetarian, my friend, are your daggers.

It was at Babur that you'd aimed your rocks,
It is my head's fault that it bleeds and balks,
In the Saryu Ram had barely washed his feet,
With bloody blotches the water was replete,
From the riverbank arose Ram without washing his feet,
Saying this from his home he did retreat:
The air of my capital city has turned vile,
6 of December I am sentenced to a second exile.

Jagjit Singh, a Friend For All Seasons

Jagjit Singh or Ghazaljit Singh as Gulzar once called him - he should know for the two worked on several albums together and shared an easy camaraderie. Or Ghazal King, as he was popularly called, because, as Prime Minister Manmohan Singh said in his tribute to the maestro, he made ghazals accessible to everyone.

In the palimpsest that is India, ghazal arrived to its shores on ships that sailed from Persia, on horseback as marauders galloped down from central Asia, in the songs of mystics who roamed Hind in the wake of the conquerors. With the eclipse of Persian in the Mughal court, the ghazal of Rumi and Hafiz transitioned to a polyglot language which was birthed in the Indo-Persian-Arabic roiling on the subcontinent, Urdu. 

Ghazal in India is supposed to have begun with Amir Khusrau in the thirteenth century and its golden period is the 18^th and 19^th centuries when luminaries like Mir, Dard, Ghalib, Momin and Zauq elevated this form of poetry. 

For the uninitiated, ghazal is a short poem, rarely exceeding a dozen couplets in the same metre. It always opens with a rhyming couplet called matla which sets the mood and tone of the poem. The last couplet of the ghazal is called makta and often includes the pen-name of the poet and is usually more personal than general in its intent.

Also, though a ghazal is commonly understood to be a love poem, (in Arabic the word literally means talking to a woman) it deals with the whole spectrum of human experience. Ghalib has such a vast oeuvre that it is said there is hardly any situation or state of mind which he hasn’t rendered in his inimitable style. Which, in turn, explains why he is the most quoted of all Urdu poets.

For a whole generation of Indians Ghalib came alive when Jagjit Singh sang his ghazals for the eponymous TV serial directed by Gulzar in 1988. His mellifluous voice gave new life to Mirza Ghalib’s lyrics as entire India nodded and hummed to ‘Zulmat kade mein’, ‘Dil-e-nadaan tujhe’, ‘Bazeecha-e-atfal hai’, comprehending some of the lyrics and suspending incomprehension for the balance, as the voice and words alighted straight from the ears to the heart. 

Jagjit Singh is rightly credited with reviving ghazals in India, with giving them a home again in Bollywood, and with filling our drawers and shelves with cassette tapes, then CDs, now ipods of his melodious renditions.  

In my childhood I was surrounded by Mehdi Hassan and Begum Akhtar and in my adulthood I discovered Abida Parveen. But Jagjit Singh was a friend I made in adolescence, and since then he has remained a steadfast ally. He made the genius of Mirza Ghalib accessible to me; he molded the pain of being away from home by his rendition of Shiv Kumar Batalvi’s Birha da Sultan; he lifted ordinary Bollywood films with his magical singing; his rendition of Bahadur Shah Zafar’s ‘Meri tanhaiyon tum hi laga lo mujh ko seeney sey’ has provided a balm on many a sad day; his Punjabi tappe cheer me up; his teaming with wife Chitra a continual delight both to listen and to watch …

 I have had the good fortune to attend some live performances of the maestro and the delight with which he rendered the ghazals was always palpable – it got the audience clapping hands and jigging shoulders while seated until, eventually, the tapping feet led to dancing in the aisles. For all lovers of Urdu poetry, of ghazals and ghazal-gayaki, he was our rockstar.

Now that he has passed into that great unknown, perhaps his journey will take him to a caravanserai where Rumi and Ghalib are in a mushaira and an enthralled audience is deep into wah-wahs, and Jagjit Singh will pick up the matla, and, with his trademark glint, will begin strumming the rhyming couplet, ta-nana-ta-nana-na-nana …

As for me, I shall always have the company of the friend I grew up with. Jagjit Singh is a friend for all seasons as he so beautifully extolled in Mirza Ghalib’s couplet,

Yeh kahaan ki dosti hai keh bane hain dost naasih,

Koi chaara saaz hota, koi ghamgusaar hota.

What use is this friendship where there is much advise,
O for a friend, who’ll share with me my sighs.

P.S. Note his trademark wit right at the beginning of the above video

It’ll be a Good Year, A Seer has So Ordained …

It’s that time of the year again: fir trees, white-green-plastic-flown from Norway; piped carols in stores; Santas at supermarkets; iridescent lighting on skyscraper facades. We’re spending Christmas in Hong Kong after several years and I am glad. It’s gorgeous at this time, the city dressed up to party! A ferry ride from Kowloon to HK island in the evening is a must do if you are here – the usually impressive HK skyline gets a twinkling-lights facelift. And then there are the fireworks!

It’s also the time for parties, meeting friends and catching up with family and therefore, invariably, time for copious conversation as well. So while you may want to brush up on your talking skills – I recommend How to have a Beautiful Mind by Edward De Bono – you might also like to have some shayrs up your sleeve, to be artfully slipped into chats as a sequitur, rhetoric, irony, metaphor, euphemism …

You know how it goes: pub and poetry, shayr and sharaab, Ghalib and ghazal!

Why Ghalib, you might ask? In the pantheon of poets you could summon anyone from Rumi to Faiz – this party is certainly one where the more the merrier – but Ghalib, like Shakespeare, has opined on every topic under the sun, from art to zephyr, bazeecha to zulmat. He has trawled through tulips and thorns, death and destruction, love and anguish, life and longing, and come up with shayrs that plumb our universal humanity. Ghalib has wit, passion, rhyme and meter and the ability to reveal the universe in two lines – pray why would you go elsewhere? As Ghalib himself said:

Hain aur bhi duniya mein shukhanwar bahut achhe,

Kahte hain ki Ghalib ka hai andaaze-bayaan aur.

Be there many poets in the world,

But Ghalib, it is said, has a diction that is singular.

Ghalib is handy, and how.       

Amongst the topics of conversation will likely feature the important events of 2010, farewell to the present year, and hopes and wishes for 2011.

Let’s start with the highlights of 2010: Haiti earthquake, Pakistan floods, Chilean miners, Dubai property crash, the PIGS Euro crisis, CWG scam, Tea Partiers, Assange and Cablegate, World Cup, Winter Olympics in Canada, eruption of Eyjafjallajokull and Mount Merapi, the BP oil spill, Nobel Peace Prize and China, the release of Aung San Suu Kyi, North Korea’s shelling of South, US-China currency tango …

Ghalib can be deployed with dexterity in any confabulation around the above topics. Witness:

• US-China interaction: Wen Jiabao could aptly tell Obama

Har ek baat pe kehte ho tum ki tu kya hai,

Tumhee kaho ki ye andaaze-guftagoo kya hai?

To everything that I say, your retort remains: Who are you?

Pray tell me, what kind of conversation is this?

Obama could in turn salvo the above shayr to the Tea Partyers!

• The scam masters of India; or Kalmadi, Raja & Inc.

Hazaaron khwaahishen aisi ke har khwahish pe dam nikle

Bahut nikle mere armaan, lekin phir bhi kam nikle.

Thousands of desires, each worth dying for,

Many a wish have I realized, yet I yearn for more.

• And the ennui and resignation of Indians is best summed by:

Raat din gardish mein hai saat asmaan,

Ho rahega kuchh na kuchh ghabrayen kya

Day and night the planets are in motion

Something will work out, why worry ourselves

• The dalliances of Messrs Berlusconi, Putin & Tharoor

Ishq ney Ghalib nikamma kar diyaa,

Warna hum bhi aadmi the kaam ke.

Love has rendered me useless Ghalib,

Otherwise I was a person of much worth.

• BP’s desperate attempts to mop the spill while the Gulf of Mexico perished

Chipak raha hai badan par lahu se pairaahan,

Hamaari jeb ko ab haajta-e-rafu kya hai?

The garment sticks to the body with my blood,

What use is it darning the collar now?

• PIGS countries tell the European Commission

Unke dekhe se jo aa jati hai munh par raunaq,

Who samajhte hain ki beemaar ka haal accha hai.

A smile lights my face when I sight her,

And they take it to mean all’s well with blighted me.

The Greeks could tell Merkel the same!

• Chilean miners

Zindagi apni jab is shakl sey guzari Ghalib,

Hum bhi kya yaad karenge ki khudaa rakhte they.

My life took such a turn Ghalib,

That I realized there is a God who shaped it thus.

So how was 2010 overall? Eventful, insightful, we won some, we lost some – a year like all the others! Time to bid farewell then, and ring in the new.

Hum ko maaloom hai jannat kee haqeeqat lekin,

Dil ke khush rakhney ko Ghalib ye khayaal achcha hai.

The realities of Heaven are known to us Ghalib,

But to beguile the heart, it is a good thought.

            And here’s a handy one for 2011:

Dekhiye paate ushaaq buton se kya faiz,

Ek Barahman ne kaha hai ke ye saal achha hai.

Let’s see what blessings the desirous get from the unresponsive ones,

A seer has ordained the year will be a good one.

December 27 marks Mirza Ghalib’s 213^th birthday. As a writer I am indebted to him for the manner in which he reveals himself anew with every fresh reading of his work. When I first encountered the following shayr –

Aate hain ghaib se yeh mazaamin khyaal mein

Ghalib sarir-e-khaama nawaae sarosh hai.

These thoughts, Ghalib, are heaven-sent,

My pen is the scribe of the voice of Gods.

– I took it to mean that Ghalib had claimed his writing was of a standard that was of the Gods. Not unusual for a man who was aware of his genius and entirely unaffected by false modesty. However, subsequent readings over the years have revealed to me another facet – one in which Ghalib states that he is a vessel for the divine discourse, channeling what he is receiving from the Heavens above. Remarkable humility, Mirza Nosha, for one who is regarded as the greatest Urdu poet. 

Salutations my friend on your birthday!

And to all my other friends, wishing you a Merry X’mas and a very Happy 2011. It’ll be a good year, a seer has so ordained …