Asrarul-Haq Majaz wrote of love and revolution.
Few People really understand that a creative writer invests his very blood and actually goes through painful throes while giving birth to a piece of literature yet unmindful of it all, most of the naive readers relish it for a moment and forget it in a jiffy, but people having the requisite qualities of head and heart alone keep writers going in this insensitive world of ours where commerce and political sloganeering, takes precedence over everything else. So I wasn’t surprised when two beloved voices insisted on going for a sort of walk the talk and I found myself deserting my computer, rushing to fresh up with a dab of spray for taking the heat of day off me, in the refreshing company amid the ambience of Dal Lake, yester eve. Akin to what I did elusively to one of my companion on walk (endearingly called, The Retiring Bureaucrat) -when my July write ups- Alas! The Child Was Ripped, and the piece on Parveen Shakir had been brought up for goading me to write about Kashmir politics, directly, but since Rahi’s gazal of 1970 – Lob behith chhoes buzaan panin hun hun, Munz a-ts-ith chhoes gazal vanaan baazay ….Aas godderon panun vanaan baazay stuck to my lips like honey, I preferred to drive home its beauty to my young poetry- loving- friend, with success ; when she mischievously recited “Naheed say ki hai sargoshi, Parveen say rishtay joday hain- A.H. Majaz’s)” ; by changing one word in Eliot’s wasteland. “April is the cruelest month”, Eliot said so …nay..December is …I say..You know Parveen died at 42 and Majaz at 44..both in December and in my Saggy ll Novel, too, … ” I said, with a not-well-deciphered smile; likewise today dear readers, I have chosen to present today free translation of my favourite verses excerpted from a touching poem of Urdu poet, Asrar ul Haq Majaz (1913-1955) with a sprinkling of other verses, as we briefly refresh his story; dedicating the Tail Piece at conclusion to a very special person, beset in testing circumstances created by negative forces to thwart his well meant dream from coming true.
Majaz bedecked the poetic firmament of Lucknow, bequeathing two collections; Saaz e Nou and Aahang. He breathed his last there in Dec 1955, at the young age of 44, - soon after filming of Piyasa, earning the name, Keats of Urdu poetry. Readers may recall Faiz wrote in the preface to Aahang: Majaz never beat the drums of revolution, he hummed revolutions. Or even remember his verse:Tere maathe pe yeh anchal bohot khoob hai Lekin tu isse ek parcham bana layti to achha thaa
No doubt Majaz wrote of love as well as of revolution- Tu inquilab ki aamad ka intezar na kar, jo ho sakay to inquilab paida kar; of the need for social change as he belonged to the refreshing Progressive Writers Movement and believed like his contemporary, Faiz Ahmad Faiz,(-latter wrote Foreword of Aahang); that poetry is an instrument of changing lives of masses. Society was the idealized beloved for both, though Faiz is sublimely contemplative and Majaz exuberantly expressive of personal angst and revolt.
Majaz rose when socialism swept India but disillusioned by independence, pained by post partition riots- Yeh musalsal aaftain yeh yourishain, yeh qatal e aam, sense of tragic desolation heightened the personal pain of this sensitive soul and painful lyrics poured out of his restless heart. His poem Aawara is the cry of an anguished heart but Khwab e Sehr dwells on hope of the long awaited dawn of a new socialistic order and freedom from exploitation. Kuchh nahi tau kum say kum khwab e sehar dekha to hai.
Majaz studied in Aligarh but did not complete his Masters degree in Urdu, and even in the tarana of alma mater we come across lines like:
Yeh dashte janoon dewanoo ka yeh bazm e wafa parwanoon ke
Yeh shehr e tarab romanoon ka yeh khulde bareen armanoon ka.
Majaz was basically romantic at heart -spoke of paimana, lutfe guftaar, aagosh, bosay openly in his Sensuous poem Mehmaan and was known for his popularity among college girls of his time (- heard Ismat Chughtai’s recounting words) but the heart of this flamboyant young poet was bleeding in the (unrequited?) love for a rich married woman, Zohra Jabeen- whom he had met in Delhi in 1936. He always faced financial penury and well off people who made him a source of entertainment often invited him to the late night wine gulping parties in taverns.
Now let us come to the selected verses of his poem Aawarah, which I shall attempt to translate freely, quoting only first line in Urdu for easy identification and conservation of space, so that wider circle of interested readers relish the natural lyricism and rich metaphors Majaz penned in 1937:
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| Asrar ul Haq Majaz |
Few People really understand that a creative writer invests his very blood and actually goes through painful throes while giving birth to a piece of literature yet unmindful of it all, most of the naive readers relish it for a moment and forget it in a jiffy, but people having the requisite qualities of head and heart alone keep writers going in this insensitive world of ours where commerce and political sloganeering, takes precedence over everything else. So I wasn’t surprised when two beloved voices insisted on going for a sort of walk the talk and I found myself deserting my computer, rushing to fresh up with a dab of spray for taking the heat of day off me, in the refreshing company amid the ambience of Dal Lake, yester eve. Akin to what I did elusively to one of my companion on walk (endearingly called, The Retiring Bureaucrat) -when my July write ups- Alas! The Child Was Ripped, and the piece on Parveen Shakir had been brought up for goading me to write about Kashmir politics, directly, but since Rahi’s gazal of 1970 – Lob behith chhoes buzaan panin hun hun, Munz a-ts-ith chhoes gazal vanaan baazay ….Aas godderon panun vanaan baazay stuck to my lips like honey, I preferred to drive home its beauty to my young poetry- loving- friend, with success ; when she mischievously recited “Naheed say ki hai sargoshi, Parveen say rishtay joday hain- A.H. Majaz’s)” ; by changing one word in Eliot’s wasteland. “April is the cruelest month”, Eliot said so …nay..December is …I say..You know Parveen died at 42 and Majaz at 44..both in December and in my Saggy ll Novel, too, … ” I said, with a not-well-deciphered smile; likewise today dear readers, I have chosen to present today free translation of my favourite verses excerpted from a touching poem of Urdu poet, Asrar ul Haq Majaz (1913-1955) with a sprinkling of other verses, as we briefly refresh his story; dedicating the Tail Piece at conclusion to a very special person, beset in testing circumstances created by negative forces to thwart his well meant dream from coming true.
Majaz bedecked the poetic firmament of Lucknow, bequeathing two collections; Saaz e Nou and Aahang. He breathed his last there in Dec 1955, at the young age of 44, - soon after filming of Piyasa, earning the name, Keats of Urdu poetry. Readers may recall Faiz wrote in the preface to Aahang: Majaz never beat the drums of revolution, he hummed revolutions. Or even remember his verse:Tere maathe pe yeh anchal bohot khoob hai Lekin tu isse ek parcham bana layti to achha thaa
No doubt Majaz wrote of love as well as of revolution- Tu inquilab ki aamad ka intezar na kar, jo ho sakay to inquilab paida kar; of the need for social change as he belonged to the refreshing Progressive Writers Movement and believed like his contemporary, Faiz Ahmad Faiz,(-latter wrote Foreword of Aahang); that poetry is an instrument of changing lives of masses. Society was the idealized beloved for both, though Faiz is sublimely contemplative and Majaz exuberantly expressive of personal angst and revolt.
Majaz rose when socialism swept India but disillusioned by independence, pained by post partition riots- Yeh musalsal aaftain yeh yourishain, yeh qatal e aam, sense of tragic desolation heightened the personal pain of this sensitive soul and painful lyrics poured out of his restless heart. His poem Aawara is the cry of an anguished heart but Khwab e Sehr dwells on hope of the long awaited dawn of a new socialistic order and freedom from exploitation. Kuchh nahi tau kum say kum khwab e sehar dekha to hai.
Majaz studied in Aligarh but did not complete his Masters degree in Urdu, and even in the tarana of alma mater we come across lines like:
Yeh dashte janoon dewanoo ka yeh bazm e wafa parwanoon ke
Yeh shehr e tarab romanoon ka yeh khulde bareen armanoon ka.
Majaz was basically romantic at heart -spoke of paimana, lutfe guftaar, aagosh, bosay openly in his Sensuous poem Mehmaan and was known for his popularity among college girls of his time (- heard Ismat Chughtai’s recounting words) but the heart of this flamboyant young poet was bleeding in the (unrequited?) love for a rich married woman, Zohra Jabeen- whom he had met in Delhi in 1936. He always faced financial penury and well off people who made him a source of entertainment often invited him to the late night wine gulping parties in taverns.
Now let us come to the selected verses of his poem Aawarah, which I shall attempt to translate freely, quoting only first line in Urdu for easy identification and conservation of space, so that wider circle of interested readers relish the natural lyricism and rich metaphors Majaz penned in 1937:
Ik
mehal ki aad say nikla woh peela mahtaab
Behold! There emerges the pale moon behind a palatial mansion
Profiled like a priestly headgear, resembling a grocer’s account book
Like a destitute youth, like a widow’s wilting prime
Behold! There emerges the pale moon behind a palatial mansion
Profiled like a priestly headgear, resembling a grocer’s account book
Like a destitute youth, like a widow’s wilting prime
Muflisi
aur yeh mazahir hain nazer kay saamnay
I do behold Penury and sordid scenes all around
Tyrant rulers in hundreds flourish all around
Hordes of Changaiz Khan and so many Nadir Shah abound
I do behold Penury and sordid scenes all around
Tyrant rulers in hundreds flourish all around
Hordes of Changaiz Khan and so many Nadir Shah abound
Jhilmilatay
qamqamoon ki raah main zanjeer see
On the roads of metropolis amid glittering lights, chains I see
Gripped in dark hands of night, beloved portrait of the day I see
A red hot jabbing sword but I feel, moving on my breast
On the roads of metropolis amid glittering lights, chains I see
Gripped in dark hands of night, beloved portrait of the day I see
A red hot jabbing sword but I feel, moving on my breast
Ji
main aata hai yeh murdah chaand taray noach loon
All the dead stars and lifeless moon I wish to tear
Clawing from this end and that side of horizon
You speak of a couple I wish to tear them down, all
All the dead stars and lifeless moon I wish to tear
Clawing from this end and that side of horizon
You speak of a couple I wish to tear them down, all
Dil
main ik shoala bhadak utha hai aakhir kya karoon
Aflame I find a smoldering amber in my heart, what to do?
Now the cup of my heart spills from the brim, at last, what to do?
Now that wounds of my chest give out aroma, what to do?
Aai gumm e dil kya karoon, aai vehshat e dil kya karoon.
O’ my grieving heart what to do,
O’ frenzied heart what to do?
One finds wide use of words like maikhaane mein chal …Uss mehfil-e-kaifo-masti mein hum pee bhi gaye - chhalka bhi gaye and in the frolic, I gulped the wine and my goblet was overflowing or even bold admission like: Hafiz and Khayam paid tributes to Beauty and wine, I too am a little guilty of that crime.
Aflame I find a smoldering amber in my heart, what to do?
Now the cup of my heart spills from the brim, at last, what to do?
Now that wounds of my chest give out aroma, what to do?
Aai gumm e dil kya karoon, aai vehshat e dil kya karoon.
O’ my grieving heart what to do,
O’ frenzied heart what to do?
One finds wide use of words like maikhaane mein chal …Uss mehfil-e-kaifo-masti mein hum pee bhi gaye - chhalka bhi gaye and in the frolic, I gulped the wine and my goblet was overflowing or even bold admission like: Hafiz and Khayam paid tributes to Beauty and wine, I too am a little guilty of that crime.
After
his second nervous breakdown, Majaz was treated in the Ranchi Mental Hospital
but he found life to be futile and could never overcome his loneliness. Twice
he suffered nervous breakdown, 1940 and 1945 and in insane moments feared
the lover of a female friend, would kill him. With the help of a Bureaucrat
friend and Sarojini Naidu, Majaz was hospitalized after his health
deteriorated; when nervous breakdown shattered him, but his illness was rooted
in his suffering soul. He was found wandering aimlessly, aawara, on the
streets- Delhi, Lucknow; surely Bombay too, during nights, with only his own
bleeding heart as companion (strange! he looked at woman as humsafer and equal
partner?) On one chilly winter night of 05 Dec 1955 the lonely man died in
Lucknow …probably humming… Aur koi humanawa mil jaaye yeh meri kismet nahi; To
get a companion that is not my destiny, Aai gumm e dil kya karoon, aai
vehshat e dil kya karoon; O’ my grieving heart what to do, O’ frenzied heart
what to do and probably his hurt heightened by the harsh and unexpected
insensitive remarks of his bosom friends- Sahir and Josh, about his
insanity and
poverty?
Lilting lyrical poetry that haunts you today, dear reader, extracted its pound of flesh and the Beloved Humsafar- in human form or idealized one, proved to be Masiha as well as Qatil, paradoxically. Lovers pay the price willingly; kiss the gallows; sing the swan song.
Lilting lyrical poetry that haunts you today, dear reader, extracted its pound of flesh and the Beloved Humsafar- in human form or idealized one, proved to be Masiha as well as Qatil, paradoxically. Lovers pay the price willingly; kiss the gallows; sing the swan song.
• Tail
piece: All is not well at present; true,
I share your concern about our social predicament,
O’ Beloved young navigator.
Unmindful of the rabble rousing storm,
Paddle forward with courage;
The shore is nigh, at the foothill of sangermaal.
The dawn you embarked on, will surely greet you.
-Kuchh nahi tau kum say kum khwab e sehar dekha to hai
I share your concern about our social predicament,
O’ Beloved young navigator.
Unmindful of the rabble rousing storm,
Paddle forward with courage;
The shore is nigh, at the foothill of sangermaal.
The dawn you embarked on, will surely greet you.
-Kuchh nahi tau kum say kum khwab e sehar dekha to hai
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