Remembering Ghalib on his birth anniversary

 

Haiñ aur bhī duniyā meñ suḳhan-var bahut achchhe

kahte haiñ ki 'ġhālib' kā hai andāz-e-bayāñ aur

 

suḳhan-var: eloquent poet

andāz-e-bayāñ: style of narration

 

(Although there be in this world many great poets but the style of narration of Ghalib stands unparalleled)

 

Mirza Asadulla Baig Khan, takhallus (pen name) Ghalib and Asad, the great poet, was born on 27^th Decmeber 1797. His has been the greatest voice in Urdu poetry and his shairi is rendered in singing and recitation and heard the maximum. Ghalib wrote in a nascent language and not only gave it innumerable embellishments but took it so much farther that he made his thought and words talk to the reader; so gifted was he that the language itself became Ghalib; Ghalib made Urdu, Urdu did not make Ghalib. Such was his charisma that even 200 years after he started writing, his shairi and shakhsiyat (poetry and individuality) continue to be an enigma for analysis and research by scholars. His obscure poetry remains a challenge for extended metaphysical and psychological exploration. Interested readers may like to read, Mirza Ghalib: A Self-Actualizing Poet with Poetry of Nihilism, a critical essay by Dr. Nandu M. Mulmule at:

 

https://doi.org/10.1177/0253717620969070

  

Ghalib persevered through numerous tribulations and misfortunes in his life, which naturally caused immense pain and anguish. He suffered frequent financial difficulties, separation and loss of loved ones. Instead of getting disillusioned into depression and dolefulness, his poetry indeed reflects these tragedies, but without a sense of self-pity. His experiences strengthen his muse, transcending the temporal to sublime, as if cleansed in purgatory. His unparalleled creative genius and prowess in conjuring elegant imagery led him to compose gems of poetry with arcane mysticism, wondrous contradictions, pleasing misery, satirical paradoxes and even perplexing humour.

 

All this in a language which was essentially inceptive in his times and the poetry was more or less about matters of heart, God and simple spirituality, and affairs of men. Ghalib continuously explored intrinsic meaning into human existence, inevitability of afflictions and thorny dilemmas. In the process, even as the world tried to find meanings in his abstruse creations, the language itself got enriched with new phrases, idioms and imagery; in this respect, his contribution perhaps matches that of Shakespeare. His poetry mesmerizes you with metaphors and beautiful play of word and as you waft in wonderment and struggle with nuances, the abstractions start to goad you into a quest for judgements and interpretations.

 

For those who are already smitten by Ghalib’s magic, it would hardly be my place to attempt to annotate and unravel his poetry. But for those who are not, I will definitely demonstrate something in the form of one of his most memorable ash.aar (shers) and ghazals. One of those days, when I was not initiated into the astounding and mystical realm of Ghalib, having heard only his popular filmi ghazals and was foolishly ignorant of our Dabir-ul-Mulk, the most renowned poet of the country, Najm-ud-Daula, the star of the times and indeed Mirza Nausha, the groom of the realm, one of my friends called him shair-e-aqawam-e-alam (poet for the nations of the world) and recited this sher to me:

 

Go haath ko jumbish nahīñ āñkhoñ meñ to dam hai

rahne     do     abhī      sāġhar-o-mīnā     mire    aage

(Although my hands are devoid of movement {in debility}, my eyes can still see and let the goblet and the decanter {of wine} remain in front of me)

 

Wine goblet and flagon appear to be metaphors for his beloved and so Ghalib seems to be saying - let her stay on my death-bed without any fear of any harm coming to me as although I may not be able to embrace her, her mere graceful sight comforts and sustains me. It could also mean that Ghalib in extreme weakness is moribund and if his beloved is present, it is real and he pleads for her to continue to be present and if she is in his thoughts or mind’s eyes, he wistfully cherishes her sight to keep comforting her. The second misra can lead to many other twists, Ghalib’s wish is to have wine left in front of him as his last wish is for his fading vision to dwell on this wine to the very end. Alternatively, he may simply be dead sozzled in Sufistic intoxication and seeks to prolong the pleasure. Or that Ghalib is dying and is taking a thoughtful look at the world, wondering if his beloved, or God himself, might or might not come to his bedside.

Take your pick but the sheer poignancy and a very moving imagery of this sher made me an avid reader of his creations; creations which only a khaliq (creator) of his capability, could conceive and invent or forge and compose. I, therefore, consider this sher to be certainly one of his greatest, and for me, the most memorable.

His diwan is full of ghazals whose elegance, musicality and mysticism are the reasons why he was, is and will be the shohra-e-aafaq (famous in all hoizons) for the world. Yet this one, which I knew of, and liked immensely, even before my initiation, remains certainly a quintessential Ghalib, and for me, the most memorable, ghazal, I present the literal meaning leaving the readers to indulge in their own interpretation based on the beloved, God, Sufi thoughts or worldly futility and wherever their flight takes them in picturing paradoxes, ironies and contradictions:

 

Matla (first sher of a ghazal)

 

Ye na thī hamārī qismat ki visāl-e-yār hotā

agar   aur   jiite   rahte    yah ī intizār   hotā

 

visāl-e-yār: consummation of love with the beloved 

(It was not my good fortune to have cherished union with my beloved in my lifetime, but then, had I lived longer, I would still remain expectant in waiting for this rendezvous)

 

Sample ash.aar

 

Koī mere dil se pūchhe tire tīr-e-nīm-kash ko

ye ḳhalish kahāñ se hotī jo jigar ke paar hotā

 

tīr-e-nīm-kash: half-drawn arrow

Khalish; Unease

 

(My heart alone knows the agony that your half-drawn arrow inflicts on me, would I still have this agony and edginess had it pierced through my jigar cleanly? Two simple hints: A half-drawn arrow is one released from a bow which, at the time of release, is not fully stretched and therefore lacking in force to plough through the body. Both the words dil and jigar, heart and liver, appear here which are, at times, used interchangeably in poetry. The difference is that while dil speaks in happiness and pain, moans and whispers, jigar is silent, a symbol of fortitude and courage; so while the former is emotive and ebullient, the latter embodies perseverance and sangfroid.)

 

Rag-e-sañg se Tapaktā vo lahū ki phir na thamtā

jise  ġham  samajh  rahe  ho ye agar sharār hotā

 

sharār: spark

 

(From the veins of a stone would drip such streams of blood as would not heal, if the latent grief hidden in my heart turned into sparks buried in that stone. Simplifying, if what you can think off as my agony became a spark in the body of a stone, it would spill unstoppable blood; this anguish would make my heart incurably blood-soaked)

 

Maqta (last sher of a ghazal)

 

Ye   masā.il-e-tasavvuf  ye   tirā  bayān  'ġhālib'

tujhe ham valī samajhte jo na bāda-ḳhvār hotā

 

masā.il-e-tasavvuf: matters of Sufi mysticism

valī: a great saint

bāda-ḳhvār: a drinker

 

(Your Sufi thoughts and your style of narration {are profound}; we would follow you as a great saint only if you were not a drunkard. Ghalib’s greatness lies in dissuading others from thinking of him as great saint. In reality, there is no greater adabi valī, or literary pietist, in matters of poetry as a reflection of temporal, mystic and divine life.)

 

May the creations of Ghalib continue to bewitch and exhilarate generations after generations!