Session 1

1. Examples of poetic forms

Ghazal

Ghazals are often sung in a slow lyrical form such as this famous rendition of a Mir ghazal by Mehdi Hasan.

But recently several Qawwali singers have recorded amazing versions of classical ghazals. For e.g. a famous ghazal by Ghalib sung in Qawwali form by Rahat Fateh Ali Khan. See here for ghazal text and translation: http://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/106/index_106.html

And another one sung by Farid Ayaz, Abu Muhammad and Party. See here for ghazal text and translation: http://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/159/index_159.html

Nazms

In the 20th century, poets, particularly those of a political bent, have used the nazm more extensively. But even in political nazms, you will often find classical imagery. Here is a famous nazm by Faiz recited by Zia Moheuddin

And another famous more recent nazm by Fahmida Riaz:


2. . How to understand this tradition on its own terms

Key concepts: meaning creation (maani afriinii) and theme creation (mazmun aafrinin). Ghalib famously says in one of his letters that “poetry is the creation of meaning not the measuring of rhymes”. We will try to understand this idea. Here is Zia Moheuddin reading that letter of Ghalib’s. Listen from 7:50 minute mark till about 9:00 minute mark.

What makes a good she’r?  I will continue this this question over all the sessions drawing on the work of Shamsur Rahman Faruqi, Frances Pritchett and Ahmad Javaid. See chapters 6, 7, and 8 of Pritchett’s Nets of Awareness. Some key concepts here are rabt (connectedness of the two lines), ravaanii (flowingness), and kaifiyat (mood).  Note that each couplet in a ghazal is a stand-alone poem but alongside this, there is often a mood (kaifiyat) or even a thematic continuity in the ghazal. Gulzar’s famous poem dil DhoonDta hai phir wohi fursat ke raat din is a tribute to Ghalib and beautifully illustrates the idea of kaifiyat. Faiz’s well-known nazm – rang hai dil ka mire, is also a great example of kaifiyat, achieved through the repetition of the word rang. Here is it being recited by Zia Moheuddin:

General Resources and Articles

This post lists a few general resources on the history of Urdu poetry, the Hindi-Urdu controversy, forms of poetry, technical terms etc.

Rekhta – This is a one-stop-shop for a very large corpus of Urdu poetry.

Lectures by Ustad Ahmad Javaid

SR Faruqi – Early Urdu Literary Culture and History (more English writing by SRF here)

Imre Bangha: Rekhta – Poetry in the Mixed Language: The Emergence of Khari Boli Literature in North India

Platts – A Dictionary of Urdu, Classical Hindi, and English

FWP’s page on Hindi-Urdu Literary History

FWP’s page on Hindi-Urdu Sources

Urdu Meter: A Practical Handbook

FWP’s Index of Technical Terms

سرہانے میر کے Sirhaney Meer Ke – Ustad Ahmad Javaid Sb

Ustad Ahmad Javaid Sahab of Lahore is re-recording some of this earlier lectures on Mir Taqi Mir. These were delivered under the title سرہانے میر کے (sirhaaney Meer ke). I archive the videos here as they are published by his team.

Introductory remarks and the first ghazal of Kulliyat-e-Mir:
thā musta.ār husn se us ke jo nuur thā
ḳhurshīd meñ bhī us hī kā zarra zuhūr thā
(Read it on Rekhta)

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 3:

Part 4:

Second ghazal of Kulliyat-e-Mir:
kyā maiñ bhī pareshānī-e-ḳhātir se qarīñ thā
āñkheñ to kahīñ thiiñ dil-e-ġham-dīda kahīñ thā
(Read it on Rekhta)

Part 5:

Part 6:

Part 7:

Part 8:

Mir and Ghalib on the beloved’s street

Recently, while browsing through Frances Pritchett’s excellent online commentary site on Mir Taqi Mir’s poetry, Garden of Kashmir, I chanced upon the following verse:

firdaus se kuchh us kī galī meñ kamī nahīñ
par sākinoñ meñ vāñ ke koʾī ādamī nahīñ

His/her lane is not any less than Paradise
But you won’t find any humans there.

Click here for commentary by Shamsur Rahman Faruqi (SRF) and Frances Pritchett (FWP).

آدمي आदमी ādmī (p. 33) A آدمي आदमी ādmī , s.m. A descendant of Adam; a human being; man; individual, person; adult; a sensible, or honest man; mankind; people; husband; wife; servant, attendant, retainer:—ādmī banānā, v.t. To humanize, civilize; to make a rational creature of; to teach manners:—ādmī-pīćhe, adv. Per man; severally, individually; one by one:—ādmī-zād = ādam-zād, q.v.s.v. ādam:—ādmī hona, or ho-jānā, To become a man, attain to manhood; to become civilized, learn manners, &c.; to recover one’s reason; come to one’s senses.

For those familiar with Ghalib, this will immediately bring to mind his:

kam nahīñ jalvah-garī meñ tire kūche se bihisht
yihī naqshah hai vale is qadar ābād nahīñ

Its not like Paradise is any less splendorous than your street
It looks much the same, though its not as flourishing.

Click here for commentary by SRF and FWP.

آباد इब ābād (p. 2) P آباد ābād [Z. āvāda; S. आवास], adj. Inhabited, populated, peopled; full of buildings and inhabitants, populous; settled (as a colony or town); cultivated; stored; full; occupied;—flourishing, prosperous; pleasant; happy.—ābād-rahnā, To be full, stored, flourishing, prosperous, happy or comfortable.—ābād honā, To be full, flourishing, &c.

Clearly the mazmuN (theme) is the same, and it is a common or conventional one: a comparison of the beloved’s street to Paradise. But by comparing the two verses we can see how two masters handle the same theme in their own ways.

Before we comment on the differences, let us look at the similarities. Firstly, as FWP notes, both poets have obviously been to Paradise, in order to be able to compare it to the beloved’s lane. Since Paradise is only accessible after passing from this world, these verses belong to the larger family of verses where the poet speaks “from beyond the grave.” More on those some other time.

Second, the verse structures are very closely matched. It seems likely that Ghalib was modeling his verse on Mir’s. The first misra sets up the comparison between paradise and the beloved’s lane, though, as we will elaborate later, in opposite directions. The second misra offers the qualification: there is crucial a difference between the two. Here too, the two verses are opposites of each other.

Third, note that the beloved is not explicitly mentioned in either verse. For Mir it is the third person “him/her” and for Ghalib it is the second person “you.” It is the convention of the ghazal world that allows us to say that whenever a kucha or gali is mentioned it is, of course, the beloved’s. In other words, for the poet there exist no other streets in the world.

Coming to what sets the two verses apart, FWP notes the crucial difference in perspectives between the two comparisons. Mir takes the conventional route and notes that there is “nothing lacking” in the beloved’s street as compared to Paradise. That is, it is at least as good. Here the standard to measure up to is Paradise. And the beloved’s lane does not fail to measure up. Ghalib inverts this completely. He chooses to make the beloved’s lane the standard, and notes that Paradise is “not any less” in its splendour. In other words the starting position is that Paradise must naturally be inferior. Our poet feels compelled to defend Paradise and break it to the beloved that after all, it is not so inferior as all that. We expect a metaphor comparing the beloved’s lane to Paradise and we get the opposite. I have commented elsewhere on other such “metaphor-inverting” verses of Ghalib. There is a particular pleasure in the tongue-in-cheek tone here. I have tried to capture it in the colloquial translation above.

In the second line too, the two poets take opposite routes. For Mir, the structure of the argument is that the Beloved’s lane is pretty much the same as Paradise, with one crucial difference: Paradise has (dead) humans. His/her lane has no humans. SRF discusses the various interpretations of “no humans.” “admi”, as you will see in the dictionary entry above, refers to a sensible, honest, civilised human. The beloved’s street is populated by rivals in love. And these aashiqs (lovers), in their passion and madness have long forgotten how to be human. They are there own species. So the irony is that where you expect there to be humans (a street here on Earth) there aren’t any to be found. While Paradise, a difficult place to attain, at least has some lucky human souls in it!

For Ghalib the structure of the argument is that Paradise is pretty much the same as the beloved’s lane, with one crucial difference: Paradise is not as bustling, happy, pleasant, or prosperous! The word “aabaad” means all these things at once (as the dictionary entry above shows). I think is this combined effect of “aabaad” that Ghalib is going for. That is, Paradise is less popular and wears a deserted look compared to the beloved’d street. And for the aashiq, the comforts and luxuries of the former pale in comparison to those offered by latter. You can almost imagine a smile playing on his lips as he delivers the punch line. And as befits a good verse, the suspense is retained till the end. The key word, “aabaad” comes at the very end, with the kafiya or rhyme.

On the whole, Ghalib’s verses seems “cleverer” of the two. It has more going on in terms of surprises and twists. It take a well-worn metaphor and does something new with it. But Mir’s verse has its own lutf or pleasure. In fact I like this verse pair because it shows two different ways of making a verse enjoyable. Mir shows how it is possible to remain conventional, to not to anything novel, and yet make the verse good. This is done through rabt or connections between words and ravaani or how flowing the verse is. Between saakin (one who stays somewhere) and gali there is a clear affinity. The beloved’s lane has people who just stay there, they never go anywhere. Between firdaus and aadmi also there is a connection. One has to be human, a good human, to qualify for entry into Paradise (but being a good human is not a condition for the aashiq, obviously). Ghalib’s verse, on the other hand, does not have this going on. It relies on the twists discussed earlier.

So which is the better verse? I leave it to you to decide.

Ghalib’s "I called it" ghazal

This is a commentary on some verses from Ghalib’s “I called it” ghazal in Farsi. The radif of this ghazal is نامیدمش (naamidamash), I named it or I called it. This radif offers a beautiful way to thematically link the couplets in the ghazal. Several of the verses are about delusions and mistakes. The poet mistakenly takes one thing for another.

Click here for some good Urdu verse-translations of this ghazal. The glossary is taken from Steingass (Persian to English) and Platts (Urdu to English)

(1)

دود سودای تتق بست آسمان نامیدمش
دیدہ بر خواب پریشان زد جہاں نامیدمش

duud-e-saudaayi tutuq bast aasamaan naamidamash
diidah bar khwaab-e-pariishaan zad jahaan naamidamash

Black smoke threw a veil, I called it the sky
Eyes hit upon a disturbed dream, I called it the world

تتق tutuq, A veil, curtain; a kind of net-work in tents for keeping of gnats; coats of an onion;

پریشان pareshān, Dispersed, scattered; dishevelled; disturbed, perplexed, confounded, distracted, agitated, afflicted, vexed, sad, melancholy; unfortunate; disgusted;

A سودا saudā (orig. fem. of aswad, ‘black’; see sawād), s.m. The black bile (one of the four humours of the body), atrabilis; melancholy; hypochondria; frenzy, madness, insanity; love;

This she’r and the following two have the same structure: A did B. I called it C.

The matla opens the ghazal with a surreal image. Through the use of words like سودا (sauda) and پریشان (pariishaan) a dark and disturbed mood is created. As the dictionary entries above show, both these words are polysemic and can contribute to many shades of meaning. Let us see a few different options.

The poet in his confused and tormented state of mind has mistaken black smoke for the sky (not a very fanciful image in our sadly polluted times!) and his troubled dreams constitute his reality. The construction diidah bar khwaab-e-pariishaan zad is a great example of personification of abstract things, a technique that tazah gui (sabk-e-Hindi) poets made extensive use of.

duud-e-saudaayi can also be read as “the smoke of insanity, madness, frenzy” etc. Then the reading is that the poet’s madness and frenzy have produced a smoke which in his delusion he takes to be the sky.  In other words, his madness limits his vision and hides the truth from him.

Let us look at the construction the she’r itself. There is a strong connection (rabt) between saudaa in the first misra and pariishaan in the second. Both evoking a sense of frenzy, madness, disorder etc. Second, aasmaan and jahaan are of course connected through similarity. duud connects to aasmaan via difference (smoke is not the sky), as khwaab connects to jahaan (dreaming is not living in the world).

Interpreting this as a comment on the human condition we can observe that we remain trapped in our thoughts and fancies and we mistake it for the world. The use of the word “veil” or “curtain” links this verse to an important Sufi theme, that the manifest world is only a curtain that hides the real world. The ahl-e-nazar can penetrate the veil, alas our poet cannot.

(2)

وہم خاکی ریخت در چشمم بیابان دیدمش
قطرہ ای بگداخت بحر بیکران نامیدمش

vahm ;xaaki rii;xt dar chashmam biiyabaan diidamash
qatrah-yi beguda;xt behr-e-biikaraan naamidamash

Imagination threw dust in my eye, I saw it as the desert
A drop melted, I called it the endless ocean

A وهم wahm (v.n.), Thinking, turning anything in one’s mind, imagining, persuading oneself; conceiving a false idea; mind, sense; opinion, conjecture; suspicion, doubt, scruple, caution; fear, distrust; anxiety, apprehension

بیابان biyābān, bayābān, Uncultivated, desert; a desert.

کران karān, A shore, coast, margin, bank, side, boundary; an end;

The second verse continues the theme of “mistaken identity.” وہم (vahm) is a complex word as the dictionary entry above makes clear. “Persuading oneself” or “conceiving a false idea” sits very well with the mood of the verse and the overall ghazal. We know that the dust in our eyes is not really the desert, but we have convinced ourselves that it is. In this verse there are some affinities between the following words: biyaabaan and behr-e-biikaraan, these are opposites of each other in a literal sense (one is defined by absence of water, bii-aab) and the other is defined by nothing but water. To melt (gudaa;xtan) and to pour (rii;xtan) are also nicely resonant verbs. ;xaak is the component of the desert, qatrah is the component of the ocean.

(3)

غربتم ناسازگار آمد وطن فہمیدمش
کرد تنگی حلقہ دام آشیان نامیدمش

Ghurbatam naasaazgaar aamad vatan fahmiidamash
kard tangi halqah-e-daam aashiyaan naamidamash

Out of place in my exiled land I thought it my home
The snare of my trap tightened, I called it a nest

آشیان āshyān (S. āsana), آشیانه āshyāna,A nest; a ceiling, roof;–āshyān bastan (sāḵẖtan, kardan, giriftan, nihādan), To build a nest.

To continue the existential theme, we have here once again a lament for the human condition. We know we are exiled from our true (divine) home, and we are not in harmony (naasaaz) in exile, we feel discordant. But we convince ourselves that it is our home. With each tightening of the snare, i.e. with each new desire that traps us here, we fool ourselves by calling it a nest, a home. We mistake our captivity for comfort.

Hence Bedil, using the same metaphor or a bird in captivity, says:
tark-e-aarzuu kardam ranj-e-hasti aasaaN shud
so;xt parfishaanihaa kiin qafas gulistaaN shud

On forsaking desire, sorrow of existence was easy to bear
I “burned” the fluttering of wings and this cage became a garden.

(4)
دل زبان را رازدان آشنایھا نخواست

گاہ بہمان گفتمش گاہی فلان نامیدمش

dil zabaan ra raazdaan aashnaayiha nakhwaast
gah bahmaan guftamash gaahii falaan naamidamash

The heart did not want the tongue to know the secrets of its friendship
Sometimes I called her so and so, sometimes I called her such and such.

(5)

در سلوک از ہر چہ پیش آمد گزشتن داشتن

کعبہ دیدم نقش پای رہروان نامیدمش

dar suluuk az har che piish aamad guzashtan daashtan
k’aba diidam naqsh-e-paa-e-rahravaan naamidamash

Following the path, I passed by whatever appeared before me
I saw the k’aba and called it the footprint of travelers.
A سلوك sulūk (v.n. of سلك), Proceeding, going by the way; conduct; institution, mode, manner, rule; (pl. of silk) Threads;–sulūk kardan (namūdan), To travel; to follow any rule or institution.

This can be added to one of Ghalib’s “k’aba verses” where he asserts that it is only a symbol or a pointer, not the goal. What does it mean to call the k’aba, “footprint of travelers?” And what is the connection of that with the first line? In the first line we are told that in his journey the poet has not let anything hold him back, he passes by everything, leaving it behind, carrying on towards his goal. What is the goal? Not the k’aba, which would be the conventional goal of a pilgrimage (suluuk). The k’aba, for the poet, is nothing but the footprint of travelers before him, in other words, it is an aid to knowing where to go, a direction-pointer of sorts. Like everything else he has left behind in his spiritual quest, he will leave the k’aba behind too.

This brings to mind Ghalib’s qiblah pointing verse.

(6)

بود غالب اندلیبی از گلستان عجم

من ز غفلت طوطی ہندوستان نامیدمش

buud Ghalib andaliibii az gulsitaan-e-ajam
man zi Ghaflat tuti-e-Hindustaan naamidamash

Ghalib was a nightingale from the garden of Ajam
Out of carelessness I called him a parrot of Hindustan

(v.n. of غفل), Doing (anything) inconsiderately; forgetting, neglecting; imprudence, carelessness, negligence, indolence, forgetfulness; unconsciousness, insensibility, stupor; soundness of sleep.

This maqta is justly famous. A beautiful juxtaposition of the two iconic birds of Iran (Ajam) and India, the nightingale and the parrot, respectively.

 

Alternative Cinema of the 1980s

The 1980s were great years for indie cinema in Bombay. The list is not meant to be exhaustive. I will keep adding more as I find them. If you know of some, please leave a comment.

Aakrosh – 1980
Dir – Govind Nihalani

Bhav ni Bhavai – 1980
Dir – Ketan Mehta


Satah Se UThata Aadmi – 1980
Dir – Mani Kaul

Note: Mani Kaul’s highly abstract take on the life and work of Hindi poet Muktibodh.


Sparsh – 1980
Dir – Sai Paranjape


Albert Pinto ko Gussa Kyon Aataa Hai – 1981
Dir – Saeed Mirza

Sadgati – 1981
Dir – Satyajit Ray


Ardh Satya – 1983
Dir – Govind Nihalan
i


Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron – 1983
Dir – Kundan Shah



Katha – 1983
Dir – Sai Paranjape


Mandi – 1983
Dir – Shyam Benegal


Mohan Joshi Haazir Ho – 1984
Dir – Saeed Mirza


Party – 1984
Dir – Govind Nihalani



Subah (Umbartha) – 1984
Dir – Jabbar Patel

Note: This is the Hindi version of Patel’s Marathi movie Umbartha. Both were made at the same time with the same cast.


Aaghaat – 1985
Dir – Govind Nihalani


Mirch Masala – 1985
Dir – Ketan Mehta


Sutradhaar – 1987
Chandrakant Joshi


The Perfect Murder – 1988
Zafar Hai

Note: This may strike some as an odd choice. But watch it and see for yourself! Amjad Khan speaking English the way Englishmen think Indians speak English is just too precious. “Inspector Detector”might be my favorite Khan-ism from the movie. Also a very young Stellan Skaarsgaard.


Ek Doctor ki Maut – 1990
Tapan Sinha


Disha – 1990
Dir – Sai Paranjape