“The moon waxes big so that it might become your forehead”: Ghalib’s metaphor-inverting verses

The human mind works through metaphors and analogies. And no one understands this better than a poet. In the sub-continental Urdu-Persian poetic tradition, the metaphor was carried to great heights of sophistication during the classical period. The “Indian style” of Persian poetry (sabk-e-hindi)and its allied Urdu tradition became famous (some would say notorious) for their “metaphorical excesses.”[1] Mirza Asadullah Khan “Ghalib” (1797-1869) one of the foremost exponents of this style, is known for his intricate and abstract metaphorical constructions, so much so that he is sometimes called a “mushkil pasand shaayar” or “difficulty loving poet.” But Ghalib also wrote many accessible verses and has always been a very popular poet in India and Pakistan. Choosing some verses from his Urdu and Persian ghazals, in this essay I discuss a particular device that Ghalib used to impart freshness to established metaphors.

Both simile (tashbiih)[2] and metaphor (istiyaara) form the soul of the Urdu-Persian poetic tradition. An entire universe of equivalences has been poetically established over the centuries. Many have been used (and overused) in Bollywood songs. The beloved is like the flame of a lamp (sham’a) and the lover like the moth (parwaanaa). The world is like a wine-tavern (maiKhana), a place of sin. The beloved’s glances are like arrows (tiir-e-nazar), her eyes like cups of wine (aaNkhoN kii mastii). Her lane (kuu-e-yaar) is like heaven while the lover’s house is like the desert or wilderness (biyaabaaN).[3] The list is long.

Good poets create new meanings out of old metaphors thereby lending freshness to them. Here we will see one technique Ghalib uses towards this end. But before we go into that let us understand a bit more about the use of metaphors in Urdu-Persian poetry. All the examples here are in the form of a two-line poem, known as she’r which forms part of a ghazal.[4] But since a ghazal does not usually have a thematic unity, a she’r can be considered in isolation as a stand-alone poem. Consider the following famous verse by Jigar Moradabadi (1890-1960):

yeh ishq nahiN aasaaN bas itnaa samajh lijiye

ek aag kaa daryaa hai aur Duub ke jaanaa hai.

What they call love, understand, it isn’t easy

You must immerse yourself in this river/sea of fire.[5]

The metaphor is straightforward here: love (ishq) = a river or sea of fire (aag kaa daryaa). And both appear explicitly in the verse. But metaphors such as this one have become so thoroughly part of the language that usually poets do not need to be as explicit. For example here is Meer Taqi “Meer” (1723-1810) on another fiery aspect of love, the burning it produces within the lover:

chhati jalaa kare hai soz-e-daruuN balaa hai

ek aag lag rahi hai kyaa jaaniye ke kyaa hai

The breast burns with a calamitous ache

A fire is burning, who can tell what it is

Love is not mentioned in this verse at all. The rhetorical (inshaiyaah) style of the she’r(“who can tell what is it?”) leaves it implied. Similarly, whenever a poet uses the words “sham’a” or “parwaana” the audience knows instantly that these are stand-ins for something else. A coded language comes into being, through which poets and their knowledgeable audiences (the ahl-e-zabaan or the sah-hridaya) communicate. So whenever the word “chaman” (garden) is used, we know that the poet’s intention is not to talk about an actual garden, but to call to the readers’ mind the entire corpus of poetry that has previously used the word “chaman” to speak about a flower garden as a metaphor for the world as a collection of objects endowed with divine beauty, the coming of the spring season with the beloved’s arrival, and so on. With equations being so well established only half the metaphor need appear in the poem. And the verse “says” a lot more than is contained in its words. This is a very handy device because in a two-line poem every word counts.

Naturally, poets also compete with each other to see who makes the most skillful, startling, beautiful use of a well-worn metaphor. Indeed, a poet’s reputation and stature is measured by the freshness that he or she brings to an old theme (mazmuun) and the way a new theme is created using well-known symbols (known in the tradition as mazmuun aafriinii). A particularly interesting such device is the turning of a metaphor on its head. Let us take the same metaphor on which we have seen two verses so far, fire and love. Ghalib says in a Persian verse:[6]

az daruun-e-siina-am iN taur paidaa aatish ast

khalq migoyand aatish ra ke goyaa aatish ast

loose Urdu translation:

mere siine meN paida hui aisi aatish hai

duniya ne aatish ko kaha, yeh goyaa aatish hai

In my heart such a fire has been born

Seeing fire, people said, ‘in a manner of speaking, that is fire.’

This verse is difficult to translate without losing all its beauty but the gist is conveyed. Before coming to the metaphor inversion, let us note some other strengths of this verse. Recall that classical poetry was composed to be recited in oral performance (the expression in Urdu is still “she’r kehnaa” not “she’r likhnaa” i.e. to “say a she’r” to “to write a she’r”). Thus the placement of the words and their sequence was critical in achieving the correct mood. A common trick used by many poets was to withhold the punch till the last possible minute. Thus a well-constructed verse would have a first line that was deliberately vague or general. And in the second line, the word right before the refrain (radiif) would deliver the punch.[7]

In this verse, the most important word is “goyaa,” which Ghalib holds back till the last minute, right before the refrain or radiif, which in this ghazal is “aatish ast.” “Goyaa,” is a beautiful word that can mean “so to speak,” or “as it were” or “in a manner of speaking.” So Ghalib says, what a fire there is within me, when people see real fire out there in the world, they say that it is fire only in a manner of speaking. What a marvelous though, and so compactly expressed! This verse is an excellent example of how a well worn, almost stale, theme like “fire in the heart” can be taken and elevated to a different level through metaphor inversion.

Consider another common theme. The beloved’s lane or street is a crowded, thriving place. Her famous beauty attracts lovers, rich and poor, from near and afar, to her neighborhood. Before we see Ghalib’s “inverse metaphorical” take on this theme, let us see a more conventional treatment by Ghalib’s contemporary, Momin Khan “Momin” (1800-1851):

rahte haiN jamaa kuucha-e-jaanaaN meN Khaas-o-aam

aabaad ek ghar hai jahaan-e-Kharaab meN

Rich and poor gather in the beloved’s lane

One house flourishes in this wretched world

In itself, this is a good verse. Specially, the two contrasting words “aabaad” or flourishing, and “Kharaab” or wretched, bracket the second line creating a pleasing effect. Note that wordplay (riaayat) and relationships between words are extremely important in appreciating a well-crafted she’r. But now consider the following she’r by Ghalib on the same theme:

kam nahiN jalwaagarii meN kuuche se tere bahisht

yehi naqshaa hai vale is qadr aabaad nahiN

Heaven is not any less splendorous than your lane

It has the same design/plan, though its not as flourishing

The point is to extoll how popular, thriving, and attractive the beloved’s lane is, and to this end poets will often compare it to heaven. But Ghalib is not comparing the beloved’s street to heaven; he is comparing heaven to the beloved’s lane. And he finds it wanting. This simple inversion adds an incredible mischievousness (shoKhi) to the verse. The first line starts with a back-handed complement to heaven by saying it is “no worse” than the beloved’s lane. But the second line takes it to another level. The word “naqshaa” can mean a design, a plan, a map, or a model. So Ghalib is saying to the beloved, heaven is modeled on your street! Just as the metaphorical fire in the heart became the measure of real fire, instead of the other way around, here too the same trick is employed. And the final stroke is the use of the rhyme word “aabaad” before the refrain, “nahiiiN.” Notice that it is the same word used by Momin in his verse to describe the beloved’s lane. But in Ghalib’s verse it does much more work because of the inverse-metaphorical construction.

Ghalib uses this technique repeatedly and to phenomenal effect. An extension of the beloved’s lane-compared-to-heaven metaphor is that the guard (darbaan) who watches the entrance to the beloved’s house is like rizwaan, the guard who stands at heaven’s door. Our poor lover has no better chance of entering his beloved’s house than he does of entering heaven. Again, watch Ghalib in action with this popular metaphor:

ba’ad-e yak umr-e vara’a baar to detaa baare
kaash rizwaaN hii dar-e yaar kaa darbaaN hotaa

After a whole lifetime of abstinence, he would have granted entry

If only rizwaaN had been the darbaaN of the beloved’s door.

Once again, the verse is carefully constructed to achieve maximum effect. The first line is ambiguous. It most likely refers to rizwaaNsince there is a reference to a lifetime of piety and to entry being granted somewhere, most probably heaven, though we can only guess at this point. Only in the second line, and towards the end of the verse do we get the full impact, with the word darbaaN. What makes it special is the complete inversion of the metaphor. It is not that the fellow guarding the beloved’s door is as strict and impassable as heaven’s guard. No! If only it were heaven’s guard on duty at the beloved’s door! He at least would let the lover through after a lifetime of abstinence and piousness. No chance of that happening here, because the beloved’s darbaaN is far more formidable. Though, the way the poet has constructed it, it doesn’t even need to be said explicitly. The word “kaash” does all the work. There are also obvious affinities in the verse between a lifetime of abstinence and rizwaaN, as well as granting entry and darbaaN.

Let us take another example. Tears are often compared to blood, as in the expression khoon ke aaNsoo rona (to cry tears of blood). The metaphor is simple and rooted in the daily observation that when say, a hand or a leg suffers a physical wound, blood runs down it. Similarly when the heart is (metaphorically) wounded in love, tears run down the cheek. Many verses can be found on this theme, but for illustration purposes, here are two, the first by Meer and the second by Ghalib, which make straightforward use of this metaphor.

we din gaye jo zabt kii taaqat thii hameN bhii

ab deeda-e-Khoonbaar nahiN jaate sambhaale

Gone are the days when we had self-control

We cannot control these blood-steaming eyes

juu-e KhuuN aaNkhoN se bahne do kih hai shaam-e firaaq
maiN yeh samjhuuNgaa kih sham’eN do furozaaN ho gaiiN

Let a river of blood flow from the eyes, it is the evening of separation

I will think that two lamps have become radiant

Note, this metaphor works by elevating tears to the status of a much more precious bodily fluid, viz. blood. Now here is a verse by Ghalib that turns it on its head.

ragoN meiN dauDte phirne ke hum nahiN kaail

jab aaNkh hi se na Tapka to phir lahuu kyaa hai

We don’t accept its running around in the veins,

If it doesn’t drip from the eyes, what good is blood

Let us see what makes this verse work. It is one of Ghalib’s famous verses and also “mushaira verse,” (see note 7) a verse carefully constructed to achieve maximum effect in oral recitation. The first line is deliberately ambiguous. It makes a general proposition without giving too much away. In the second line too, the most important word, lahuu, does not make an appearance till the last possible minute, right before the refrain (kyaa hai). Adding pleasure is the inventive use of the colloquial expression “dauDte phirna” or to run around, usually without purpose or without result.

Using this phrase for blood coursing through the vein is, of course, highly ironic, since this movement is anything but pointless. In real life, if anything, it is the flowing of tears that can be said to be pointless. For the lover, however, blood running in the veins is blood wasted. Unless it pours through the eyes, it has not fulfilled its potential. The overall effect is that of a metaphorical inversion. Instead of comparing tears to blood Ghalib is comparing blood to tears. It is not tears that are elevated to the status of blood, but blood that is found wanting in status before tears. Running around pointlessly in veins, what is that good for? As long as it doesn’t flow from the eyes, its not really blood is it?

A final example is again from Ghalib’s Persian verse:

chun ba-Khabar ke na aaNast bakaahad az sharam

maah yak chand babaalad ke jabeen-e-to shavad

loose Urdu translation:

jab Khabar hoti hai ke woh, woh nahi hai, sharm se ghaTtaa hai

chaaNd baDhtaa hai ke teri jabeeN ban jaaye

when it thinks it is not that, then it diminishes in shame

the moon waxes big so that it might become your forehead

(English Translation – Yusuf Husain, Persian Ghazals of Ghalib)

The comparison between the moon (maah) and the forehead (jabeen) is so much part of the language that there is a word in Urdu that embodies the metaphor: maahjabeen (it also a name). Ghalib makes clever use of this common association in the verse. By now readers know to look at the crafting of the word order: the ambiguous first line followed by the second line which delivers the punch at the very end, right before the refrain (which in this ghazal is –e-to shavad). But the wordplay is also worth noticing here. There is an obvious connection between diminishing or waning in the first line and increasing or waxing in the second. Further both these actions are connected to the moon. Finally, the waxing and the waning of the moon are connected to the beloved’s forehead. The moon waxes in an attempt to rival the forehead and wanes (in shame) when it realizes that the task is hopeless.

No doubt many more examples can be found in Ghalib as also in other poets. Classical Urdu-Persian poetry is worthy of many more such pleasurable explorations. It is hoped that interested readers will explore this and other themes further.

Notes

[1] See S R Faruqi’s “A Stranger In The City: The Poetics of Sabk-i Hindi,” Annual of Urdu Studies Vol. 19 (2004)

[2] Urdu words have been transliterated into Roman script using a simplified version of the scheme developed by Frances Pritchett, available here: http://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/about/txt_translit.html?

[3] Note that even though I am using the feminine pronoun to describe the beloved, conventionally the beloved is referred to as male in Urdu poetry. Persian of course has no genders.

[4] For a description of the ghazal form see: http://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/about/x_genre_overview.html?

[5] All translations are the author’s unless otherwise noted.

[6] Quoted by Ustad Ahmad Javed in his lecture on the sabk-e-hindi(Indian School) style of Persian poetry The lecture is available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=almrPXMjPMQ&feature=relmfu (see 1:30:00 for the verse.)

[7] Prof. Fraces Pritchett has labeled such verses “mushairah verses.” See http://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/terms_index.html#mushairah

Man Kunto Maula at Sufi Dargah in Sarnath, India

I have blogged before about the “little qawwali traditions” referring to the countless qawwals who sing at small town dargahs all over South Asia. Here is another example of the same. Bachcha Mohsin Qadri Qawwal and Part from Ghazipur, UP sing qaul at the urs (death anniversary) of a Sufi saint who lies buried in Sarnath near Banaras. Sarnath is famous as a “Buddhist town” because the Buddha preached his first sermon there after gaining enlightenment. But on this day, Muslim weavers from Banaras were to be found in the hundreds, strolling down Sarnath’s main thoroughfare usually populated by Buddhist monks and European tourists.

Subverting Our Epics: Mani Ratnam’s Retelling of the Ramayana

A review I wrote of the recent film Raavan came out in the Economic and Political Weekly last week. It can be found here:

Mani Ratnam’s film Raavan depicts the contradiction between the adivasis and the State through the framework of the Ramayana. The film, however, deviates from the message of the Ramayana, and raises the disturbing possibility that our myths of morality and bravery are someone else’s stories of rape and conquest. The recasting of Raavan as the wronged subaltern and Ram as the scheming agent of imperialism brings to mind similar reinterpretations of other Hindu legends by Phule, which completely subvert the orthodox interpretation. In the context of the ongoing struggle between the tribals and the State, one hopes that the movie Raavan might stir this debate up once again. View Full Article

Dantewada, Dec 14th to 17th 2009: Three days in the cauldron, on the eve of the Padyatra

Some of my readers know that I have been in India since September 2009 working on my dissertation research. I have had little time to write on the blog although there has been no shortage of things to write about.

A couple of my recent travel reports were published on sanhati.com. One on my experience of visiting Himanshu Kumar’s Vanavasi Chetna Ashram in Dantewada (the site of the latest battle between the Maoists and the CRPF) is available here:

Dantewada, Dec 14th to 17th 2009: Three days in the cauldron, on the eve of the Padyatra

Here is an audio recording of a press conference on the Maoist issue held in the Raipur Press Club by HImanshu Kumar, Sandeep Pandey (NAPM), and Rajendra Saiil (PUCL-Chhattisgarh):

http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=8574824&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1

Press Conference on Dantewada, Raipur, Dec. 17, 2009 from amit basole on Vimeo.

Ghalib: Idols and the Ka’ba

With this verse we are concluding, at least for now, our collaborative series of commentaries on Ghalib.

{231,6}

go vaa;N nahii;N pah vaa;N ke nikaale hu))e to hai;N
ka((be se un buto;N ko bhii nisbat hai duur kii

1. even though [they] are not there, still [they] have been expelled from there
2. with the ka’ba even those/ also those idols have a distant relationship

nisbat : ‘Referring (to, – se ); deriving (from); –reference, respect, regard (to); attribute; relation, connexion; affinity; analogy; comparison; –ratio; proportion; –relationship by marriage; matrimonial alliance; betrothal; –a relation, or connexion; –a conundrum’. (Platts p.1137)

Click here for translation and commentary on Desertful of Roses. Click here for parallel commentary on The South Asian Idea

A charming and straightforward verse, though not without its hidden depths, as we explore here. The historical reference necessary to appreciate the verse is the episode in early Islamic history when Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) orders the Ka’ba cleared of all idols since these can have no place in a monotheistic faith which preaches belief in the one abstract God.

But Ghalib is not content with this. So what if the idols are not in the Ka’ba, have they not been expelled from there? Hence they have a relationship, albeit a distant one, to the Ka’ba. One cannothelp but think of Ghalib (or the archetypal poet/sinner) who has similarly been expelled from the mosque, but seems to be saying: sure, I have been removed, I am no longer welcome there in the house of worship, but at least I have been expelled (as opposed to never having been there at all), so I have a relationship still, its one of expulsion!

This theme, that even expulsion or a negative relationship is better than nothing at all is explored by Ghalib in other ways where the beloved’s greatest “sitam” is to ignore the lover. Click here for an example. To be expelled from her mehfil would be a far greater honor than to not be there in the first place due to neglect! In a volte face here it is the idols (but, which is the usual metaphor for a beautiful person or the beloved) who are being expelled from God’s mehfil. And interestingly some of these idols were indeed of godesses (banat allah or daughters of God).

Philosophically Ghalib seems interested in exploring the relationship or connection between True and False belief. He seems to challenge the everyday perceptions of idol-worshipers (but-parastaaN) (Hindus) and idol-crushers (Muslims) as being really different, unrelated when it comes to matters of faith. He is obviously constrained by space in how much he can say in two lines, but does a great job, in the process using the word “but” (idol) in its non-metaphorical form.

Structurally, the she’r follows all the usual rules to make it work in a recitation. The first line gives almost nothing away, it is too general. The second line holds back the punch until we hear the word “nisbet” and then if we have kept the radif (rhyme scheme) in mind, we can fill in the end in unison with the poet, since “duur” is the obvious choice. In terms of wordplay, Ghalib uses the potential hidden in “bhi” which doubles as “also” and “even.” Both those meanings work here, even though “even” seems to work better in context.

Ghalib sets off for Mount Sinai

This week, Ghalib at his irreverent best.

{231,7}

kyaa far.z hai kih sab ko mile ek-saa javaab
aa))o nah ham bhii sair kare;N koh-e :tuur kii

1a) is there an assumption/obligation that all would get a similar answer?
1b) what assumption/obligation is there that all would get a similar answer?
1c) what an assumption it is– that all would get a similar answer!

2) come on, won’t you? let’s even/also us take a stroll around Mount Tur

Click here for translations and commentary on The Desertful of Roses. Parallel commentary on The South Asian Idea.

This verse is impossible to interpret until we understand the significance of Mount Sinai (koh-e-tuur). As many readers will be aware this is the mountain on which Moses goes in order to ask God for an appearance, so that his people would believe that Moses was truly a prophet. The answer (jawaab) that Moses receives is “No! You cannot behold the radiance of God.” (I am not sure what the exact words are according to the Quran. I am giving the gist here). There follows a bolt of divine lightning which burns the mountain and strikes Moses down.

Now for Ghalib’s take on this story. Frances Pritchett, who offers us the translations above, calls this verse “mischievous.” We could call it downright cheeky and insolent (gustaaKh). Why so? There are multiple reasons for it. First, taking the verse as a whole there is the basic premise: “it is not necessary/why is it necessary that everyone should receive the same answer (No!)? Come let us try our own luck, who knows maybe we will be graced by the vision that was denied Moses.” This is already a cheeky proposition. But the way it is made, as Pritchett notes, is even better. Ghalib uses the expression “sair karna,” i.e. to take a stroll. So we are not setting out determined or prepared or afraid or any such thing. We are just out for a stroll and we will see if we might not get a glimpse of God.

As the parallel commentary on The South Asian Idea notes, we see in the two lines a link to tradition (via the symbolism of Mount Sinai) and to modernity (via the questioning of received wisdom). The questioning is effected via the clever use of “kyaa” which as the translation above shows is compatible with a few different readings. A derisive reading, “as if everyone would get the same answer, what a thought!” or a more innocent question “what is the necessity of everyone getting the same answer?”

Finally let talk about the structural properties of the verse itself. As always, the suspense is withheld till the last minute. We don’t get the full import of the verse, or indeed in this case, we do not understand anything specific about what is being said until we hear the rhyme word, tuur. Fran Pritchett makes this point very well. Next, commentators of this verse have also noted the use of the very colloquial “aao nah” which we use in contemporary language as an expression of familiarity. If fact all the words used are of a simple nature. The power of the verse lies in the bringing together of simple words and sentiments with the complex valences associated with a significant event (Moses going to Sinai).

From the point of view of theme-creation (mazmuN afiirnii) I wonder if one can point to a novel theme being generated here to do with “cosmic sawaal-jawaab” the questions posed by humans and answers given by life. This theme would be a sort of variation on the more traditional sawaal-jawaab between the lover and the beloved in which also the lover repeatedly asks the question only to receive the predictable answer (No!). Perhaps readers who know more poetry would know of a precedence for this “cosmic sawaal-jawaab” theme.

Ghalib is…God

We are back after a long hiatus with an ever-green favorite.

{32,1}

nah thaa kuchh to ;xudaa thaa kuchh nah hotaa to ;xudaa hotaa
;Duboyaa mujh ko hone ne nah hotaa mai;N to kyaa hota

1a) when there was nothing, then God existed; if nothing existed, then God would exist
1b) when I was nothing, then God existed; if I were nothing, then God would exist
1c) when I was nothing, then I was God; if I were nothing, then I would be God

2a) ‘being’ drowned me; if I were not I, then what would I be?
2b) ‘being’ drowned me; if I did not exist, then what would I be?
2c) ‘being’ drowned me; if I were not I, then what would exist?
2d) ‘being’ drowned me; if I did not exist, then what would exist?
2e) ‘being’ drowned me; if I were not I, then so what?
2f) ‘being’ drowned me; if I did not exist, then so what?

Translations are by FWP. Click here for commentary on Desertful of Roses. And the parallel entry on The South Asian Idea is here.

This is probably one of the most famous verses in Urdu poetry and justly so. FWP calls it “a two-line complete portable library of possible existential speculations.” And as you can see from her possible translations above she does an fantastic job pulling out the possible meanings hidden in the verse. In fact, until I saw her commentary on the verse I had rather a poor understanding of it merely as a combination of 1a and 2b. And many native Hindi/Urdu speakers I have talked to haven’t grasped the magic of the omitted subject which is revealed spectacularly here. Ghalib exploits the ambiguity caused by omitted subjects all the time to great effect but this is truly mind-boggling. And as Shamsur Rahman Faruqi notes multiple profound meanings are generated via the use of extremely simple language. Only one word, Khuda is Persian and that too a very common Persian word. This verse also perfectly illustrates Ghalib’s famous description of poetry: bhaii, shayari ma’ani aafirnii hai, kafiyah paimaaii nahiN hai” (my friend, poetry is meaning creation, not the measuring out of rhymes).

In a mushairah where the first line would be repeated several times to allow people to absorb it an interesting effect is produced. One may be inclined after just hearing the first line to go for interpretation 1a. Other meanings are hidden and the line appear well crafted but somewhat plain apart from the obvious existential profundity (what does it mean for nothing to exist?). But then after the seemingly impersonal reflection on existence of the universe, Ghalib surprises us with the second line coming straight to the highly personal: “being was my downfall, if I had not been [I], then what would [I] have been?” When we encounter the personal note in line 2, we go back to line 1 and find a hidden personal reflection there too. This is FWP’s 1c: when I was nothing, then I was God; if I were nothing, then I would be God.

This then makes line 2 appear to us in a new light. What Ghalib is effectively saying is that if he had not taken this human form he would have been one with God, one with that which is beyond existence and non-existence. In this interpretation (1c, 2b), the question kyaa hotaa? is a regret of sorts. “See, if only I had not existed what I could have been (God).” Of course the irony of expressing non-existence as a form of existence (na hota to kyaa hota?) is also not lost on Ghalib.

The second interpretation of “to kyaa hotaa” which is “so what” rather than “what could have been” is also intriguing. For it says, if I had not existed, so what? After all, it would be a good thing to not exist. Because then I would have been God.

It reminds me of a qawwali by Aziz Mian in which he weaves this couplet of Ghalib in the middle of the following words:
yahaaN hona na hona hai aur na hona ain-e-hona hai
here existence is non-existence and non-existence the essence of existence

And this train of thoughts ends with Aziz Mian saying:
na yeh duniya bani hoti na yeh aalam banaa hota
aur woh bandaa kise kehte aur woh kiskaa Khuda hota?

neither the world would have been, nor would time/space
then who would He call his follower and whose God would He be?

I haven’t yet managed to discover who has penned this lines above.

Finally, I can’t resist juxtaposing Ghalib’s pontifications on the nature of existence with the famous creation hymn of the Rig Veda (translation by Wendy Doniger). Note the very last line.

There was neither non-existence nor existence then.
There was neither the realm of space nor the sky which is beyond.
What stirred?
Where?
In whose protection?
Was there water, bottlemlessly deep?

There was neither death nor immortality then.
There was no distinguishing sign of night nor of day.
That One breathed, windless, by its own impulse.
Other than that there was nothing beyond.

[deleted text]

Who really knows?
Who will here proclaim it?
Whence was it produced?
Whence is this creation?
The gods came afterwards, with the creation of this universe.
Who then knows whence it has arisen?

Whence this creation has arisen
� perhaps it formed itself, or perhaps it did not �
the One who looks down on it,
in the highest heaven, only He knows
or perhaps He does not know.

Ghalib: In captivity I retain the power of flight

After a longish break, we are back with Ghalib. This time we have selected a verse remarkable for its simplicity and its power.

{71,4}
huu;N giriftaar-e ulfat-e .sayyaad
varnah baaqii hai :taaqat-e parvaaz

1) I am captured/captivated by love/affection of the Hunter
2) otherwise, strength for flight is still left

Click here for translation and commentary on Desertful of Roses. Click here for parallel commentary on The South Asian Idea.

Before we get to interpretations, a note on the construction of the verse. As we have seen on this blog before, and as Fran Pritchett often points out in her commentaries, the positioning of the lines and words usually are the result of great thought. We see that at work here. Upon hearing the first line, our first thought might be that the poet is going to tell us what happens to him in this state of captivity. Perhaps some lament on his helplessness or something about how enjoyable this bondage of love is, etc. But Ghalib delivers a completely contrary idea. The lover is thinking of flying away! What heresy! And yet, not really, because does he actually fly away? Of course not. But “I am just saying, I could fly, I retain the power of flight…I am just saying…” And via the skillful use of parvaaz, the metaphor of ensarement and hunting is complete.

Coming t0 the interpretations, they turn on who the “sayyaad” (hunter) is in this story. The simplest reading is the earthly beloved, the beuatiful one who has ensnared the lover in her love. So despite having the physical strenght to get up and walk away from it all, the lover is simply unable to do so. Anyone who has experienced romantic love will know what this is about. Moving on and enlarging the scop;e of our reading, the Hunter can be, as Nazm and Josh both read it, “wordly relationships.” So here, the trappings of the maerial world ensanre and bind us in captivity “lovingly.” We have it within us (as humans) to escape these bonds and to be free, but the attachment (ulfat) to the world and its attractions keeps us unfree. In this reading it is a simple lament of one who has discovered the transience or ephemeral nature of the world and yet lacks the capacity to trascend it. A typically Ghalibian moment. Awareness without trascendence. Knowledge without action.

A few other readings are possible. If the hunter is not the earthly beloved but rather the Divine Beloved of Sufi thought, then the verse says: I am ensnared in the love of the Absolute/God. That is why I remain a Believer. Otherwise I retain the power to fly (or in this case “to doubt”). This reading doesn’t sit too well with the general Sufi inclination of Ghalib’s thought, but on the other hand it fits right in with his impish sense of humor. It says, look I have the power to break free of the bondage of your love, O Divine One, but your love keeps me here. For anyone other than Ghalib I would not suggest such as reading!

Finally, more in keeping with the socio-political dimensions of our project, the hunter can be our beloved leaders, politicians, even institutions in our society who are objects of our affection and who keep us from being free. For more along these lines see the post on The South Asian Idea.

For Ghalib the world is merely children at play

This week we proceed from last week’s mood of resignation and defiance combined, to a mood of bemused indifference towards the goings-on in the world. Here it is:

{208,1}
बाज़ीचा-ए-अत्फाल है दुनिया मेरे आगे
होता है शब-ओ-रोज़ तमाशा मेरे आगे

baaziichah-e a:tfaal hai dunyaa mire aage
hotaa hai shab-o-roz tamaashaa mire aage

1) the world is a game/plaything of children, before me
2a) night-and-day is [habitually] a spectacle, before me
2b) night and day, a spectacle is [habitually] before me
(Translation: FWP)
Commentaries on Desertful of Roses and parallel post on The South Asian Idea.

This is a justly famous verse from a justly famous ghazal. The various commentaries collected by Prof. Fran Pritchett offer the agreed-upon reading of it. It is indeed a relatively simple yet powerful verse. Though as wee will see it is not without its hidden meanings. As far the language itself goes, the only phrase likely to pose some difficult is baaziichah-e a:tfaal, for which here are the meanings:
baaziichah : ‘Fun, play, sport; wagering; toy, plaything’. (Platts p.122)
a;tfaal is the Arabic plural of tifl which means child.

The clear reading is that this temporal world is merely a children’s game or plaything as far as I am concerned (mere aage = in front of me, or in my estimation). Note that “dunyaa” is a loaded word and evokes the meaning of this material/temporal world as opposed to the next immaterial/eternal one (diin wa dunyaa). And how do I know that the world is a mere plaything? Well, night and day there is a spectacle in front of me. The word tamaashaa is used brilliantly here and again contains more possbilities than conveyed by “spectacle.” It has the sense of something fake or theatrical, as in, when someone is said to be doing tamaashaa we mean that they are creating a scene or behaving in a manner that is not only undignified but also shallow (“creating a scene” perhaps). This entire range of commotations is appropriate here. We of course do not know what sorts of tamaashaas Ghalib had in mind when he said this, but as the post on The South Asian Idea notes, contemporary politics often provides us with plenty of opportunities to remember this verse.

There is a second meaning in the verse which is not mentioned by any of the commentators. This meaning is allowed by the grammatical structure of sentences in Hindi/Urdu and Ghalib uses it very often. Any line that says “A is B” can equally well be read as “B is A” in Hindi/Urdu. Thus baaziichah-e a:tfaal hai dunyaa can be read as “the world is a plaything of children” (or “the world is merely children at play”), which is the favored reading here, or it can also be read as “plaything of children is a world” (“or “children at play show us a world”). The second reading adds an entire new dimension as we consider below and provides a delightful new angle to the verse, since we now see the playing of children as a metaphor for the material world just as the world reminds us of children at play.

What does it add? Coming back to the idea of dunyaa as speciafically the material world, we can also see why activities in this world are like children at play. Because, just as children at play are in their own play-world and oblivious of the “real world” (i.e. for them their toy world is the real world), but we who are adult or grown-up see them as being in error or just being children, so also those who possess knowledge of existence beyond the material world consider those whose thought is limited to the temporal/material world, to be in error. Thus “children” are a metaphor for spiritually unaware people.

As always a seemingly simple verse hides a world of meanings (alaam-e-ma’ani).

Pakistani classical vocalist Ustad Naseeruddin Saami of the Delhi Gharana

An absolutely stellar performance from Karachi-based Ustad Naseeruddin Saami of the Delhi Gharana, trained by Munshi Raziuddin and by the descendants of Tan Ras Khan, Bahadur Shah Zafar’s music teacher. This was performed at the All Pakistan Music Conference in 2006. Hindustani classical has many excellent practitioners in Pakistan, another in a long list of shared cultural traits between India and Pakistan, that deserves far greater awareness. So we may counter the virulent logic most recently articulated by Varun Gandhi, who appears foolish and immature and yet only strongly vocalizes that which many softly mutter.

http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2118140&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1
Ustad Naseeruddin Saami from Tasawwuf on Vimeo.