Book Launch: When Chachā Ghālib Met Uncle Shakespeare

 

( This blog describes the fun the author, other participants, and indubitably the audience had during the launch of the book “Fun with Chachā Ghālib and Uncle Shakespeare”. Before I begin, please note that interested readers may obtain a copy of the book on Amazon: 

https://amzn.in/d/07UPbbtg )

 

An evening when two immortals walked out of literature and onto the stage

 

"Shakespeare and Ghālib collide in an epic literary crossover!" proclaimed the invitation. It sounded improbable enough to be irresistible. On the evening of 1 August, at the intimate Kala Srot Gallery in Aliganj, Lucknow, improbability became reality.

My eighth book, Fun with Chachā Ghālib and Uncle Shakespeare, was launched before a packed audience of literature lovers, friends and fellow travellers in the world of words. The book carries a foreword by Suhel Seth, noted columnist, actor, keynote speaker and television commentator, besides endorsements from an illustrious constellation comprising: Dr. Ashis Ray, distinguished writer, broadcaster and international foreign correspondent, Padma Shri Dr. Anil Rastogi, eminent theatre personality, Dr. Himanshu Bajpai, the celebrated dāstāngo, and Dr. Ira Pande, noted author, translator and editor. The evening was graced by Professor of Eminence Dr. Nishi Pandey of the University of Lucknow, who delivered the keynote address. The distinguished Kathak exponent Dr. Kumkum Dhar and Dr. Himanshu Bajpai further enriched the gathering with their presence. The proceedings were gracefully compered by Mrs. Rupali Chandra, a theatre cum voiceover artist  and poetically moderated by Mr. Ajay Jain, industrialist, philanthropist and indefatigable patron of the arts.

The book itself grew out of an innocent literary experiment. My previous work, Shakespeare and Ghālib: A Collation by Their Self-Styled Nephew, sought to place the two masters side by side. A perceptive friend then asked a dangerous question: "Why not make them talk to each other?" That single suggestion has now blossomed into a book in which the Bard of Avon and the Chachā of Ballimaran spar over everything from elections and WhatsApp wisdom to management seminars, cricket, bureaucracy and artificial intelligence, all while speaking in the language they knew best, poetry.

Yet the highlight of the evening was not only the speeches and discussions but theatre.

After I entered the stage as Ghālib, complete with a flowing jama (a kaftan-like robe) and his trademark kulāh, the tall Mughal cap immortalised in his portraits, Carlyle McFarland, veteran educator and school principal, strode in as Shakespeare in full Elizabethan splendour. What followed was a riotous exchange of verse, repartee and literary one-upmanship. Shakespeare mispronounced Ghālib with colonial confidence. Ghālib retaliated with an ever more inventive succession of Urdu nicknames for the Bard. The two sparred over borrowed money, disputed authorship, lampooned management gurus, lamented the epidemic of WhatsApp quotations falsely attributed to them, and finally made peace exactly as great poets should, through immortal verse. The audience laughed, applauded and, mercifully, allowed both gentlemen to return to the afterlife with their reputations intact; not surprising as their irreverent nephew, the author, is neither capable of nor would wish any sullying the names of the two greats.

 

Some glimpses from the event

The book is neither scholarship disguised as humour nor humour masquerading as scholarship. It is simply an affectionate invitation to revisit two extraordinary poets who understood human vanity, love, ambition, folly and absurdity better than most of us ever will.

If, after laughing with these two incorrigible uncles, a reader returns to Shakespeare or reaches for a volume of Ghālib, the self-styled nephew will consider his mission accomplished.

The event was widely appreciated by the audience and covered by all the major newspapers of Lucknow. The high point of the event was indeed the skit, so I reproduce its script here before closing.

The Great Cosmic Face-Off: 

Ghālib vs Shakespeare

(script copyright: Dr. Sudhanshu Mani 😀😂)

As Ghālib walks onto the stage, the anchor asks: Āp? Āp kaun haiñ, janāb?

Ghālib: Main kaun? Kaun hūñ maiñ? Merā Ism-e-Sharīf?

Pūchhte haiñ vo ki Ghālib kaun hai

koī batlāo ki ham batlā.eñ kyā.

Hogā koī aisā bhī ki Ghālib ko na jaane

shā.ir to vo achchhā hai pa badnām bahut hai    

Shakespeare bounds onto the stage in full Elizabethan ruff collar. The anchor asks: And you, sire, what is your name and…    

Shakespeare:  ‘Me too’, like this chappie Garlib? Surely mankind has not fallen this low. As my sweet Juliet said, “..What’s in a name? That which we call a rose By any other word would smell as sweet. So Shakespeare would, were he not William called…” Although, let’s be honest, had I been called, Willie Shakes or Billy Bobbins, half the world would today be quoting somebody else on refrigerator magnets.

Ghālib: Shakaspīr Khān, Angrezī bakwās ke sipahsālār, mubārak ho! Tum ne chār sau baras apne nām kī tashrīḥ karte hī guẕār diye. Kyā farmāyā āp ne? Vhāṭs... nām meñ kyā rakkhā hai? Arz kiyā, huzūr, bahut kuchh! Hamāre yahāñ savāl yih nahīñ hotā ki nām kyā hai. Savāl hotā hai, Ḳhāndānī ism, nasab kyā hai? Zāt kyā hai? Ādhār lumber kyā hai? Aur āj kal, yih bhī ki Voter List meñ nām hai yā kaṭ gayā?

(Ḳhāndānī ism, nasab: family name, lineage)

Shakespeare:  Master Galibary, I  actualized things in Love’s labour’s Lost, through the king of Navarre “Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, Live registered upon our brazen tombs, And then grace us in the disgrace of death…”. 

I am the one and only, the bard of Avon, original, no AI, a living legend.

Ghālib:  Ai Bhālā-Hilāo, tum angrez kī aulād to paidā hī apnī buzurgī ke sanad-nāme likhne ke liye hote ho. Lekin tum mujh par ek chhuri bhī nahīñ hilā sakte, bhālā to dūr kī bāt hai. Ab asl shā.irī, asl shakhsiyat kī bāt suno.

(buzurgī ke sanad-nāme: certificates of noble ancestry)

Ik khel hai  aurañg-e-sulaimāñ  mire nazdīk

ik    baat   hai     ejāz-e-masīhā   mire aage

Hotā hai nihāñ gard meñ sahrā mire hote

ghistā hai jabīñ ḳhaak pe dariyā mire aage

Phir dekhiye andāz-e-gul-afshānī-e-guftār

rakh de koī paimāna-e-sahbā mire aage

Aashiq huuñ pa māshūq-farebī hai mirā kaam

majnūñ ko burā kahtī hai lailā mire aage

Yā phir, Romeo ko burā kahtī hai Juliet mire aage

Bāzīcha-e-atfāl hai duniyā mire aage

hotā hai shab-o-roz tamāshā mire aage

(aurañg-e-sulaimāñ: throne of Solomon-illusion, ejāz-e-masīhā: miracle of Massiah/Jesus, nihāñ: hidden, concealed, sahrā: desert, jabīñ: forehead, gul-afshānī-e-guftār: flowery style of conversation, sahbā: wine, māshūq-farebī: bluffing the beloved, bāzīcha-e-atfāl: children’s play)

Shakespeare:  Says the man who calls himself "Gawleeb"—which I am told means "The Dominant, the Victorious." One usually waits for history to award such titles, my dear boy. Even Caesar waited for the Senate. Frailty, thy name is woman... but Vanity, thy name is Gaulib!

Ghālib: Shakhs-e-Pīr, Bhālā-Hilāo Mīr, tum ne sirf ṭūṭā bhālā hilāyā hai. Maiñ to adab kā maidān fatḥ kar chukā thā, qabl is ke us meñ qadam rakhtā. Isī liye mujhe Ghālib kehte hain.

(adab kā maidān fatḥ kar chukā thā, qabl is ke: had conquered the field of literature prior to)

Shakespeare: My good Garlic, I mean Goal-lib, Google…

Ghālib: Ab Gulāb bhī keh dījiye! Ye Bārad-e-Bekār, do sau baras Hindustān par hukūmat kī aur ab tak ek Urdū nām sahīh nahīñ bol sake. Ghālib! Arre Ga ke neeche nuqta hai, 'Ghain', gale se nikaltā hai, Company bahādur kī nāk se nahīñ.

(Bārad-e-Bekār: Useless bard, hukūmat: rule)

Shakespeare: Mr. Gallop of Dark Delhi! Whatever! A spear changed England. A pen merely delayed your creditors. Even on the subject of wheedling loans, you could have done better heeding Polonius of Hamlet, “…Neither a borrower nor a lender be, For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry....”

Ghālib: Miyāñ Palooniaz? Wo to poora ahmaq nikla, parde ke pīchhe qatl ho ga.e. Mere qarz-dār mujhe chhoṛ kar nahīñ ga.e. Balki vahī mere sab se wafādār sāmi'īn ban ga.e. Agar qarz aur udhār kī mai na hotī to merī ādhī ġhazaleñ paidā hī na hotīñ.

(wafādār sāmi'īn: loyal listeners)

Qarz kī piite the mai lekin samajhte the ki haañ

rañg lāvegī hamārī fāqa-mastī ek din

(Qarz: loan, fāqa-mastī: cheerfulness in starvation)

Shakespeare: They certainly knew exactly where to find you on the first of the month. Like Shylock, the lender, “I am not bid for love; they flatter me. But yet I’ll go in hate, to feed upon the prodigal Gawleeb."

Ghālib: Birādar Billī, kam az kam logoñ ko itnā to ma'lūm thā ki maiñ hī maiñ hūñ! Tumhāre ulamā to āj tak kutub-khānoñ meñ sar paṭak rahe haiñ ki khel tamāshe tum ne likhe bhī the yā kisī fāriġh-ul-bāl ashrafiyā kī majlis ne.

(ulamā: the community of scholars, kutub-khānoñ: libraries, fāriġh-ul-bāl ashrafiyā: the affluent elite)

Shakespeare: Ouch! Treason! My dear Acid Owl La Caan Begs, yes... years after my passing, that overly dramatic, soap-operatic Dickens wrote: “The life of Shakespeare is a fine mystery, and I tremble every day lest something should turn up.” Hear this, "To be or not to..."

Ghālib: Bas bas, ai gale meñ jhālar daale firangī! Yeh maktabī misre to har nādān ko yād haiñ. Kuchh ġhair-mashhūr bhī sunāo. Mere ma'āmle meñ koī rāz nahīñ. Sab ko ma'lūm hai merā kalām kis ne likhā.

(maktabī misre:school-level lines, ġhair-mashhūr: obscure)

Shakespeare: Mostly because no one else was broke or drunk enough to write them. I hear every WhatsApp Uncle in your subcontinent now attributes his morning wisdom to you. They steal your name for their poetry, little knowing, like the Prince of Morocco that “All that glisters is not gold.”

Ghālib: Āh, Janāb-e-Khel-o-tamāsha-navīs-e-āzam! Yeh WhatsApp Chachā! Koī behūdah sher apnī mauhūm ma'shūqā yā mardood chachā par likheñge aur nīche dastkhat kar deñge, "Ghālib". Lekin asl imtiḥān nihāyat āsān hai. Agar misra sūraj ke tulū' kī tasvīr ke nīche ek hāth joṛe shakhs ke naqsh ke sāth ho, aur pehlī martabah meñ samajh ā jā.e, to yaqīn jānīye vo merā nahīñ.

(mauhūm ma'shūqā: imaginary beloved, mardood chachā: damned uncle, sūraj ke tulū': sunrise)

Shakespeare: Quite so! Half my internet quotations begin with, "As Shakespeare said..." and continue with some cheesy motivational garbage I would have executed my actors for speaking.

Ghālib (smiling): Jī hāñ, Billy urf Bārad ji Har dūsrī intizāmī nishast tumhāre nām par rahbari ke dars detī phirtī hai. Ab jald hī ek kitāb manẓar-e-'ām par ā.egī: “Miyāñ Ḥumlate ke Faisle Na Karne ke Das Bunyadi Usool”

(Billy urf Bārad: Billy the Bard, intizāmī nishast: management conclave, rahbari ke dars: lessons in leadership, manẓar-e-'ām: the public eye, Miyāñ Ḥumlate: Mr. Hamlet, Faisle Na Karne ke Das Bunyadi Usool: ten basic rules of being indecisive)

Shakespeare: “Module one: Hearsay Management a la Othello.” "Module Two: Delegation, as practised by King Lear." Or, "Executive coaching with Macbeth: How to murder your succession plan." (turns to the audience, smiling) Ladies and gentlemen, you now understand why Heaven wisely lodged us in adjacent quarters in the afterlife. Had they put us in separate wings, we would have spent eternity writing angry letters to the cosmic management.

Ghālib: Aur ye khat-navīs huzūr un ḳhutūt ko apnī us vāhiyāt Angrezī baḥr-o-wazn kī qaid meñ farmāte. Tasavvur kījiye, jannat meñ dāk-ḳharche har misre ke wazn ke hisāb se vasūl ho rahe hoñ, aur rakam bhī kisī se udhār lī ga.ī ho!

(khat-navīs: Letter-writer, ḳhutūt: letters, vāhiyāt angrezī baḥr-o-wazn kī qaid: restricted by nonsensical English metre and rhythm, tasavvur: imagination, dāk-ḳharche har misre ke wazn ke hisāb se vasūl: postage charges collected based on the rhythmic weight of every poetic line)

Shakespeare: But alas, “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances.” Yet, Shakespeare and Gawleeb have no exit from this cosmic comedy. My dear chappie Assed, enough of fame, we've both survived critics. Let us now attempt something impossible. Like, convincing human beings to agree about God?

Ghālib: Wah, Vilāyatī Vā'iz, sau bāt kī ek bāt,

Na thā kuchh to ḳhudā thā kuchh na hotā to ḳhudā hotā

Duboyā  mujh  ko  hone  ne  na  hotā  maiñ  to  kyā hotā

(Vilāyatī Vā'iz: English preacher)

Shakespeare: As we reach the end of this powwow, let me apologise, like my mischievous Puck, from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, “If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended.” (He turns, bowing grandly to Ghālib and the audience) “Give me your hands, if we be friends!”

(Ghālib recites his final line with a theatrical flourish to the audience)

Ghālib (moves forward):

Ham ko ma.alūm hai jannat kī haqīqat lekin

dil ke ḳhush rakhne ko Ghālib ye ḳhayāl achchhā hai

(ma.alūm: aware, jannat: heaven, paradise, haqiqat: reality, ḳhayāl: thought)

Agar arz samajh meñ ā ga.ī ho to karam farmā kar tāliyāñ bajā dījiye. Merā nāshir baṛī hasrat se idhar hī nigāheñ jamā.e baiṭhā hai aur mere qarz-dāroñ ke bar-ʿaks use ab bhī mujh se aur merī kitāb se baṛī ummīdeñ vābasta haiñ.

(nāshir: publisher, ummīdeñ vābasta haiñ: expectations are pinned)

(Ghālib and Shakespeare take a bow)

…

Readers can purchase the book “Fun with Chachā Ghālib and Uncle Shakespeare” by Dr. Sudhanshu Mani, from Amazon through this link:  https://amzn.in/d/07UPbbtg