blight
I quiver like a reed when I imagine my son’s plight
My question is to those people who are planning this strife
Do they plan to live forever? Don’t they fear the afterlife?
‘Had I been born a beggar’s girl, this would not be my fate
My life wouldn’t have been subject to this deplorable state
The snake of false prestige would not have bitten me with such hate
You are my son, were you to me less than a kingdom great?
I’d be happy were someone to set fire to this throne and crown
If you leave me, watch me if I don’t burn this kingdom down.’
When the brave prince heard all at once his mother’s piteous words
His heart felt as if it had been struck by a sword or worse
The moment was at hand when eyes would feel tears of remorse
But slowly in a level voice he began to converse
For he thought, she may not survive unless he held his peace
‘My emotions will only cause her distress to increase.’
Then slowly he ventured to speak, and said, ‘My mother dear
Please do control yourself, indeed for your well-being, I fear
I understand your sadness at this parting is severe
But do summon some patience, and this thought may bring some cheer
Perhaps this autumn is the way a new spring to instil
Maybe this is an expression of God’s mysterious will.’
Jigar Moradabadi
Jigar, ab maikade mein aa gaye ho to munaasib hai
Agar chupke se tum pee lo, musalmaan kaun dekhega?
Now that you are already in the tavern
It does behove you to indulge, dear Jigar
Quickly have a drink away from gazes stern
Here you are safe from the Muslim naysayer.
Ali Sikandar ‘Jigar’ Moradabadi (1890–1960) was an optician by trade. His work inaugurated the move of Urdu poetry toward the new century, which began as the century of servitude. Jigar’s poetry reflects, perhaps, the initial response of Urdu poets—denial. His poetry retained the conventions of an earlier era, and he is best known for his exuberance in ghazals. The task of imbuing poetry with the sobering realism of its material and historical reality would be left to others, but Jigar continued to showcase his craft alongside them. His remarkable career continued right down to Independence and after. He was awarded the Sahitya Akademi Award by the Government of India in 1958, shortly before his death. He is also known to have mentored Majrooh Sultanpuri in his initial career.
The ghazal I have translated was sung by Abida Parveen, among others, and boasts two of the more popular shers of the twentieth century: the ones that begin ‘
Kya husn ne samjha hai
’ and ‘
Ye ishq nahin aasaan
’.
Ek lafz-e mohabbat
Ek lafz-e mohabbat ka, adna sa fasaana hai
Simte to dil-e aashiq, phaile to zamaana hai
Ye kis ka tasavvur hai, ye kis ka fasaana hai?
Jo ashk hai aankhon mein, tasbeeh ka daana hai
Hum ishq ke maaron ka itna hi fasaana hai
Rone ko nahin koi, hansne ko zamaana hai
Vo aur vafaa-dushman? Maanenge na maana hai
Sab dil ki sharaarat hai, aankhon ka bahaana hai
Kya husn ne samjha hai, kya ishq ne jaana hai
Hum khaak-nasheenon ki thokar mein zamaana hai
Vo husn-o-jamaal un ka ye ishq-o-shabaab apna
Jeene ki tamanna hai, marne ka zamaana hai
Ya vo thhe khafaa hum se, ya hum thhe khafaa un se
Kal un ka zamaana thha aaj apna zamaana hai
Ashkon ke tabassum mein, aahon ke tarannum mein
Maasoom mohabbat ka maasoom fasaana hai
Ye ishq nahin aasaan, itnaa to samajh leeje
Ek aag kaa dariya hai, aur doob ke jaana hai
Aansoo to bahut se hain, aankhon mein Jigar lekin
Bundh jaaye so moti hai, beh jaaye so daana hai
One word, love
One word—love; when it shrinks, it can fit in a lover’s heart
If it expands it is the whole and this world just a part
Whose imagination made a fable of this story?
Each teardrop in the eye is a bead of the rosary
We love-afflicted souls are cursed; the world enjoys our smile
This is our plight: if we cry, no one wants to stay awhile
Accuse not my love of infidelity! Not a chance!
Don’t make much of
I quiver like a reed when I imagine my son’s plight
My question is to those people who are planning this strife
Do they plan to live forever? Don’t they fear the afterlife?
‘Had I been born a beggar’s girl, this would not be my fate
My life wouldn’t have been subject to this deplorable state
The snake of false prestige would not have bitten me with such hate
You are my son, were you to me less than a kingdom great?
I’d be happy were someone to set fire to this throne and crown
If you leave me, watch me if I don’t burn this kingdom down.’
When the brave prince heard all at once his mother’s piteous words
His heart felt as if it had been struck by a sword or worse
The moment was at hand when eyes would feel tears of remorse
But slowly in a level voice he began to converse
For he thought, she may not survive unless he held his peace
‘My emotions will only cause her distress to increase.’
Then slowly he ventured to speak, and said, ‘My mother dear
Please do control yourself, indeed for your well-being, I fear
I understand your sadness at this parting is severe
But do summon some patience, and this thought may bring some cheer
Perhaps this autumn is the way a new spring to instil
Maybe this is an expression of God’s mysterious will.’
Jigar Moradabadi
Jigar, ab maikade mein aa gaye ho to munaasib hai
Agar chupke se tum pee lo, musalmaan kaun dekhega?
Now that you are already in the tavern
It does behove you to indulge, dear Jigar
Quickly have a drink away from gazes stern
Here you are safe from the Muslim naysayer.
Ali Sikandar ‘Jigar’ Moradabadi (1890–1960) was an optician by trade. His work inaugurated the move of Urdu poetry toward the new century, which began as the century of servitude. Jigar’s poetry reflects, perhaps, the initial response of Urdu poets—denial. His poetry retained the conventions of an earlier era, and he is best known for his exuberance in ghazals. The task of imbuing poetry with the sobering realism of its material and historical reality would be left to others, but Jigar continued to showcase his craft alongside them. His remarkable career continued right down to Independence and after. He was awarded the Sahitya Akademi Award by the Government of India in 1958, shortly before his death. He is also known to have mentored Majrooh Sultanpuri in his initial career.
The ghazal I have translated was sung by Abida Parveen, among others, and boasts two of the more popular shers of the twentieth century: the ones that begin ‘
Kya husn ne samjha hai
’ and ‘
Ye ishq nahin aasaan
’.
Ek lafz-e mohabbat
Ek lafz-e mohabbat ka, adna sa fasaana hai
Simte to dil-e aashiq, phaile to zamaana hai
Ye kis ka tasavvur hai, ye kis ka fasaana hai?
Jo ashk hai aankhon mein, tasbeeh ka daana hai
Hum ishq ke maaron ka itna hi fasaana hai
Rone ko nahin koi, hansne ko zamaana hai
Vo aur vafaa-dushman? Maanenge na maana hai
Sab dil ki sharaarat hai, aankhon ka bahaana hai
Kya husn ne samjha hai, kya ishq ne jaana hai
Hum khaak-nasheenon ki thokar mein zamaana hai
Vo husn-o-jamaal un ka ye ishq-o-shabaab apna
Jeene ki tamanna hai, marne ka zamaana hai
Ya vo thhe khafaa hum se, ya hum thhe khafaa un se
Kal un ka zamaana thha aaj apna zamaana hai
Ashkon ke tabassum mein, aahon ke tarannum mein
Maasoom mohabbat ka maasoom fasaana hai
Ye ishq nahin aasaan, itnaa to samajh leeje
Ek aag kaa dariya hai, aur doob ke jaana hai
Aansoo to bahut se hain, aankhon mein Jigar lekin
Bundh jaaye so moti hai, beh jaaye so daana hai
One word, love
One word—love; when it shrinks, it can fit in a lover’s heart
If it expands it is the whole and this world just a part
Whose imagination made a fable of this story?
Each teardrop in the eye is a bead of the rosary
We love-afflicted souls are cursed; the world enjoys our smile
This is our plight: if we cry, no one wants to stay awhile
Accuse not my love of infidelity! Not a chance!
Don’t make much of
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