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 The historical reference necessary to appreciate the verse is the episode in early Islamic history when Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) orders the Ka'ba cleared of all idols since these can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).

Ghalib trusts in the Seven Heavens

{46,2}

raat din gardish me;N hai;N saat aasmaa;N
ho rahegaa kuchh nah kuchh ghabraa))e;N kyaa

1) night and day they're in [a state of] revolving/turning/wandering, the seven heavens
2) something or other will end up happening-- why would/should we be perturbed/agitated?

Commentary on Desertful of Roses and parallel post on The South Asian Idea.

A FWP notes, this was a verse Ghalib often quoted in his letters. It is an excellent verse to keep handy in difficult times or when the heavens really seem against you. A defiant yet humble verse. Defiant because we refuse to be intimidated by circumstances, yet humble becuase really we know out own efforts are small compared to the movements of the heavens.

Gardish is again a very multivalent word. According to Platts:
gardish : 'Going round, turning round, revolution; circulation; roll; course; period; turn, change; vicissitude; reversion; --adverse fortune, adversity; --wandering about, vagrancy'.

Ghalib uses it here in the sense of eternal or perpetual movement of the stars (the "seven heavens" of Aristotle). Elsewhere he has used it in the sense of a frightenning perpetualness of motion as in:

kyuu;N gardish-e mudaam se ghabraa nah jaa))e dil
insaan huu;N piyaalah-o-saa;Gar nahii;N huu;N mai;N

Why would this perpetual motion/circulation not terrify the heart
I am human, not a glass and flagon (wine pitcher)

Anyway, returning to the present verse, it is a great example of one of Ghalib's inshaiiyah verses, i.e interrogative, exclamatory, rhetorical versesm, as opposed to ;xabariyah (informative) verses. The meaning itself is straightforward. There are no profundities or paradoxes here. "Merely" a well-put summary of the human condition: eternally hopefully yet eternally powerless also. We get the feeling that many things are happening outside our control. Ironically, not only do adverse things happend witohut our permission, but as Ghalib puts it, even solutions appear by themselves. ho rahega kuch na kuch, has an excellent idiomatic feel that conveys the sense of "something is bound to happen one way or another. "Thus "aasmaaN", the heavens are our friends as they are our enemies. So contrast this "heavans as friends" verse with an explicit "heavens as enemy" take:

ham kahaa;N ke daanaa the kis hunar me;N yaktaa the
be-sabab hu))aa ;Gaalib dushman aasmaa;N apnaa

What kind of wise men were we, in posession of what unique skill
Without cause, Ghalib, the heavens turned against us/became our enemy

This verse also relies on ordinary Urdu vocabulary ("baazaar-haaT language"), showing that Ghalib is quite capable of stating things in a simple straighforward manner if he wishes. Contrast this with some of the heavy duty Persianized verses (See for e.g. this one and this one) we have blogged about in the past.

Ghalib is openly deceived

This week,s verse reaches outside the usual compilation of ghazals in Ghalib's divaan. It is from a qasiidaa (panegyric) in the form of a ghazal.

ہیں کواکب کچھ نزر آتے ہیں کچھ
دیتے ہیں دھوکا یہ بازیگر کھلا

हैं कवाकिब कुछ नजर आते हैं कुछ
देते हैं धोका यह बाज़ीगर खुला

haiN kawakib kuchh nazar aate haiN kuchh

detey haiN dhokaa yeh baaziigar khulaa

1. The stars/constellations are some [one] thing and appear another
2. These conjurers/tricksters trick/fool [us] openly

Acc. to Platts:
A کواکب kawākib, s.m. pl. (of kaukab), Stars; constellations.
P بازي बाज़ी bāzī, vulg. bājī (see bāz, 'playing'), s.f. Play, sport, game, trick; game of chance, hazard; gaming; stake (at play), wager, bet:

This verse does not appear in Desertful of Roses. The translation is ours. Please visit the parallel entry on The South Asian Idea, placing the verse in contemporary social context.

It is a charming verse which exploits the power of the simple yet multivalent word "kuchh" which can mean both "something" and "a few things." The rhetorical power of the verse also derives from the idiomatic use of "khulaa dhoka dena" (to trick or cheat openly).

In one reading here we can imagine the word "aur" at the end of line one. Then the verse reads straightforwardly as the stars are open tricksters because in full view they appear as one thing but are actually something entirely different. Of course we don't know what precisely Ghalib has in mind. Is he talking about real stars in the sky which appear as tiny twinkling spots but are really immense, fiery balls spewing gas plumes?

Or less scientifically and more poetically is he referring to the stars on Earth, the beautiful ones who appear sweet and innocent but really are heartless killers who won't think twice about trampling on lovers' hearts. They trick (play with the lover's heart) openly, in full view of the world. The word "baazigar" is more complex than "trickster," carrying an implication of someone who gambles on love or plays with one's affections.

This verse also sustains a nice socio-political implication if we think of baazigar also as siyaasatdaan (politicians). The post of South Asian Idea explores this connection further.

Ghalib: Heart is a Mirror and Mirror a Heart

This week we have chosen a lesser known and complex verse which nonetheless offers richly rewarding readings.

az mihr taa bah-;zarrah dil-o-dil hai aa))inah
:tuu:tii ko shash jihat se muqaabil hai aa))inah

अज मिहर ता बा-ज़र्रह दिल - ओ - दिल है आइनह
तूती को शश जिहत से मुकाबिल है आइनह

1) from sun to sand-grain-- heart; and heart is a mirror
2) {from / by means of} the six directions, a mirror confronts the parrot

Translation and commentary on Desertful of Roses. Parallel commentary on The South Asian Idea.

The most straightforward reading is offered by Bekhud Mohani on Desertful of Roses:
"From the sun to the sand-grain-- that is, everything in the world-- is a heart, and the heart is a mirror. Thus the parrot sees a mirror in every direction. That is, the world is a mirror-house, in which the mystical knower sees his own face in every direction."

The parrot is a well-used metaphor for the poet since at least Khusro, if not earlier, since it, like the poet is famous for its sweet speech (shirin sukhan). There is something very intriguing about the image Ghalib constructs in the second line. The poet surrounded on all sides by mirrors: an infinite number of reflections surrounding him. But lets take the verse in detail.

The first line, as FWP points out, has a flowingness (ravaangii) created by the phrase dil-o-dil. Semantically, the line can easily be read as two separate thoughts as outlined above: the world is a heart and the heart is a mirror. However, other readings are not ruled out. Breaking the first line after sand-grain, we get 'from sun to sand-grain, heart after heart is a mirror.' But this does not substantially change the meaning, particularly given the more specific context of the second line. A more radical departure from the interpretation given above would be to take advantage of Urdu grammar which allows "dil hai aainah" to be read both as "heart is a mirror" and "mirror is a heart." Thus, we interpret the first line as the whole world (or each aspect of the world) is heart-like and the mirror too is a heart. Why privilege the mirror separately? Is it not part of the world as well. Yes and no. The mirror is of the world and also reflects the world. It is thus like the heart (or in modern terminology consciousness or the brain), which is also part of the world and at the same time reflects it. Thus both heart and mirror are united in this property and the equation works both ways (heart = mirror).

Coming to the second line. As I said, here Ghalib constructs a highly memorable vision, almost Borges like in its exploitation of the mirror theme (I will write something soon exploring the Ghalib-Borges parallel a bit further). The parrot/poet/seeker wherever he turns is confronted by a mirror or is confronted by the heart/consciousness. Wherever we turn we find both a conscious reality and we find ourselves reflected in it. Further we cannot rule out a double meaning of finding ourselves face to face with ourselves. We face ourseleves everywhere as ego that we are unable to get rid of, but we also face ourselves because we know that the atman (self) and brahman (universe) are One.

The language of mirror and confrontation is used by Ghalib in a Persian verse that I have blogged about before:

Ghalib chuN shaKhs-o-aks dar aainah-e-Khayaal
ba Khveshtan yaki o do char khudiim ma

Ghalib, like the person and the reflection in the mirror of thought
With ourselves we are one annd we confront ourselves

Mirrors are particularly favored by Ghalib's paradox-loving nature, because of that aspect I alluded to earlier of mirror being part of reality and also reflecting it, as do minds.

Ghalib: Indifference is worse than enmity

Last week's she'r brought to mind another excellent use of the word "laag" by Ghalib. This one fully exploits the fast that "laag" can mean affection/love as well as animosity/enmity.

laag ho to us ko ham samjhe;N lagaa))o
jab nah ho kuchh bhii to dhokaa khaa))e;N kyaa

لاگ ہو تو اس کوہم سمجھیں لگاؤ
جب نہ ہو کچھ بھی تو دھوکا کھائیں کیا

लाग हो तो उस को हम समझें लगाओ
जब न हो कुछ भी तो धोका खाएं क्या

1) if enmity/love would exist, then we would consider it a bond

2a) when nothing at all would exist, then-- why would we be deceived?
2b) when nothing at all would exist, then-- would we be deceived?

Commentary and translation on Desertful of Roses. Parallel commentary in a social context on The South Asian Idea.

Let us explore this simple yet alluring verse. First here are the meanings of the two key words in the first line according to Platts Dictionary:
laag : 'Attachment, affection, love; ... enmity, animosity, hostility, rancour, spite'. (Platts p.946)
lagaa))o : 'Attachment, connexion; bond, link; ...inclination, propensity'. (Platts p.961)

Now the first line: If affection or hostility existed we could understand a bond to exist. Both are relationships albeit of the opposite kinds. So far what we have is an excellent use of the double-meaning of the word "laag." Incidentally this is a good time to reitirate that word play (iham) appears so centrally in Ghalib's poetry that there is no way to consider it incidental or accidental. Punning or word-play are considered inferior devices in much of poetry today (certainly in English poetry, but I think also in Urdu/Hindi). But in the hands of masters like Ghalib word-play is used in a way that greatly expands the meanings in a she'r. Since the she'r is severely constrained in its length and the ghazal very rarely extends a particular thought beyond one verse, the ghazal poet has to say as much as she can in a very small amount of space. In classical poetry this is achieved in several ways. One, metaphors build upon previous metaphors obviating the need for explanation within the poem. Thus one can speak of the Beloved or wine or the gatekeeper to the Beloved's lane and explain no further relying on the knowledge of the listener/reader to conjure up the full range of associations in the ghazal universe. Second word-play and ambiguity allow an even greater expansion of meaning. Ghalib is the master of both strategies.

In any case I digress. After the word-play of the first line the second line then says: when nothing exists then why would we be deceived? So neither enmity nor affection is displayed by the Beloved. Notice, connecting to my point earlier about brevity in a ghazal, that Ghalib does not even bother to mention " by the Beloved." It is understood. Now if nothing exists between the lover and the Beloved, why then would the lover be confused or deceived about whether the behavior implied affection or hostility? Indifference is complete and allows for no false hopes.

Exploting the divine meaning of the Beloved, this also becomes a plaint for one who feels ignored or forsaken by God. If God at least punished me I could imagine that She cared about me, enough to be hostile or rancorous. But when there is nothing between us, why would I be deceived? Asking rhetorical questions is a common and powerful device often employed by Ghalib.

Dont' forget to visit the parallel post on The South Asian Idea.

Ghalib: Paradise Lost and a Good Thing Too!

A wealth of Ghalib verses relate to theological or religious notions of the Godhead, of reward and punishment for good or bad behavior, of the nature of true worship, faith and so on. In our series we have seen several examples of these already. The question of the nature of God came up on The South Asian Idea and that prompts the latest post.

:taa((at me;N taa rahe nah mai-o-angabii;N kii laag
doza;x me;N ;Daal do ko))ii le kar bihisht ko

طاعت میں تا رہے نہ مے و انگبیں کی لاگ
دوزخ میں ڈال دو کوئ لے کر بہشت کو

ता'अत में ता रहे न मै ओ अन्गबीन की लाग
दोज़ख में दाल दो कोई ले कर बहिश्त को।

1) so that, in obedience/worship, the attachment/desire of wine and honey does not remain
2) take Paradise, and cast it into Hell

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

Platts Dictionary: Arabic اطاعت it̤āʻat [inf. n. iv of طوع 'to be or become submissive'], s.f. Obedience, submission, subjection, subordination, fealty, allegiance; observance; reverence, worship, homage; obsequiousness:—it̤āʻat karnā (-kī), To obey, do the bidding (of);

This verse is from a relatively short ghazal (118) consisting of only four verses. The brief length might be explained by the somewhat unusual rhyme scheme, "isht ko." It is a mischievous, even blasphemous verse. Paradise (bahisht) is famed as the land of flowing honey and wine. The preacher (shaikh, vaaiz) regularly demands obedience and worship from his followers by tempting them with the prospect of paradise. This of course rubs Ghalib the wrong way. Of what use is worship or obedience or submission to God (see above for the Platts entry on the word ta'at) if it is motivated out of a desire for such rewards? So Ghalib says: so that reverence and obedience are not obtained with wine and honey in mind, let us just take Paradise and cast it into Hell. Na rahe gaa baaNs, ne bajegi baaNsuri (a Hindi idiomatic expression, lit. neither the bamboo will remain, nor the flute make its sound, meaning to remove the root cause of some trouble).

The verse's content is shocking but not particularly profound. What makes it work is the chutzpah and the way it is constructed, as also the choice of words. First, as always notice that the first line does not give too much away. It simply makes a general proposition: we are going to do something such that worship is no longer tied to the promise of reward. The second line reveals the momentous nature of what we propose to do. It is fun to try and guess the informed listener's reaction as the verse is recited. As the first line is repeated a few times, our mind starts spinning, "what could be coming?" Then as the second line starts, "cast into hell..." initially it seems only a regular curse (in English "to hell with"). But since we have already h eard the first verse of this ghazal and therefore know the rhyme scheme, our mind is drawn to the word that both fulfills the rhyme scheme and offer a wonderful counter-point to "dozakh" (hell), and that word of course is bahisht (paradise). In a sudden "ah" moment we get the full impact of the verse. This is one of those verses which one gets the full meaning as soon as it is heard and understood.

Lastly the choice of words, once again Ghalib makes full use of Urdu's vocabulary which ranges from Arabic, via Persian to the Prakrit derived languages of the Subcontinent (the languages like braj, awadhi, hindvi that came together to form modern Hindi). So the wonderful word "laag" appears here. A very evocative word that conveys fondness, attachment, desire, the feeling of being entangled, all at once. It works perfectly here because it conveys exactly how attachment to earthly pleasures, which gets int the way of true worship, is simply transferred to heavenly pleasures. The fact of attachment remains and hence the obstruction to true worship also remains...as long as we don't do away with the whole notion of paradise. And not only should we do away with Paradise, Ghalib even tells us how we should do it- to hell with it! What excellent wordplay and contrast!

The conversation continues into more contemporary and socially relevant territory on The South Asian Idea.

Ghalib on striking one's own path

We continue with the second post of the year on Ghalib. New readers should know that this is part of an ongoing series on reinterpreting Ghalib for today. It is a collaborative project with The South Asian Idea. Click on the category "The Ghalib Project" for past posts.

Here is this week's verse:

لازم نہیں کہ خضر کی ہم پیروی کریں

جانا کہ اک بزرگ ہمیں ہم سفر ملے

laazim nahii;N kih ;xi.zr kii ham pairavii kare;N
jaanaa kih ik buzurg hame;N ham-safar mile

लाजिम नहीं की खिज्र की हम पैरवी करें
जाना कि एक बुजुर्ग हमें हमसफर मिले

1) it's not necessary that we would follow in Khizr's footsteps
2) we considered that we had acquired one venerable-elder as a fellow-traveler

Click here for commentary on Desertful of Roses.

This is one of Ghalib's "independence of thought" verses. In Khizr Ghalib takes on one of the most revered wise men of the Islamic tradition. Khizr is said to have drunk from the fountain of youth and acheived immortality. He appears throughout history with Moses, with Alexander, at Mohammad's (PBUH) fuuneral and even today has been seen by many Sufi saints. The Sufi's consider him a guide to all those who are lost. Revealing himself to those who are worthy, he is also said to reveal divine secrets (sirr) to them. Ghalib is at his tongue-incheek best here. First he accepts Sufi tradition which claims that Khizr is still alive today (otherwise how would be meet him in our travels?), and Ghalib grants to himself the status of those to whom Khizr would deign to reveal himself (i.e. someone who is worthy of what Khizr has to offer). But then he undermines Khizr's special place by saying: its not really binding on us to imitate or follow him. We will just think we have found a buzurg as a fellow-traveler, a companion. The word buzurg is very multivalent and well-chosen. According to Platts:

P بزرگ buzurg [Pehl. vazr; Zend vazra; S. vajra], adj. & s.m. Great, reverend, venerable, aged, noble, respected, respectable;—great man, grandee; old man, elder, respectable person; holy man, saint; sage, wise man;

So you can see that it accords Khizr just the right amount of respect, without making him someone who should be followed blindly. Because, after all, we are smart enough to chart our own path. But the question is: what is Khizr doing here in the first place. Ghalib seems to suggest that his (Ghalib's) destination or at least search, is the same as Khizr (how else could they be hamsafars, or fellow-travelers?).

Finally, a bridge to modern times. This verse is quite open-ended in the sense that "ham" can be interpreted more broadly in terms of a country or society and Khizr could be several models of progress, development etc which are in front of us, which need not be imitated, but rather considered to be "elders" who accompany us in our search for a better world. For more on this line of thought please visit the parallel post on The South Asian Idea.

Ghalib on the New Year

We are back after a break for the Holiday Season. And what better way to start off the new year than with a verse pontificating on the possibilities of what the year holds in store. Admittedly it hasn't been a promising start with the Israeli invasion of Gaza and the US Dept. of Labor announcing record breaking layoffs. Lekin phir bhi...

دیکھیے پاتے ہیں عشاق بتوں سے کیا فیض
اک برہمن نے کہا ہے کہ یہ سال اچھا ہے

dekhiye paate hai;N ((ushshaaq buto;N se kyaa fai.z
ik barahman ne kahaa hai kih yih saal achchhaa hai

1) let's see what grace/favor/benefit lovers find from idols
2) one Brahman has said that this year is good

Frances Pritchett calls this a "sly and witty little verse." And so it is. Witty, tongue-in-cheek, almost nonchalantly beguiling. The first line is very innocuous, hackneyed even, alluding as it does to a very conventional Ghazal image of lovers (ushshaaq is the Arabic plural of aashiq) obtaining beneficience/grace/bounty from idols, idols here meaning the respective beloveds. But the second line enhances the effect substantially. One can almost imagine the verse being recited in a mushaairaa, where after several repetitions of the first line, we begin the hear the second one, ik barahman ne kahaa hai, and knowing what the rhyme scheme of the ghazal is (since we have heard a few verses being recited before this one), we can feel what is coming, and perhaps in unison we join the poet in exclaiming, yeh saal achchha hai! At that moment we realize that the word "but" or idol in the first line can be taken in two senses, the conventional Ghazal sense of the Beloved and the religious sense of an idol to be worshiped, on which of course Brahmin's are acknowledged experts.

As Hali notes, Ghalib comments on the fact that for a Lover the only meaning of a "good year" is the year in which he will obtain the grace of his Beloved: "he considers the sole meaning of its being good to be that perhaps this year beloveds might be gracious to lovers, not that this year there would be no famine or pestilence or wars, etc. etc." But the double meaning of "idol" that Ghalib invokes by speaking of a Brahmin, can take us further. The Lover is hopes for grace not only from the Beloved but from the Supreme Beloved or God, without whose grace, in fact no earthly grace is possible. Let us join Ghalib then in praying for a New Year in which we the seekers and searchers of Divine and earthly beloved find the grace we are looking for.

Please visit the parallel post on The South Asian Idea.

Ghalib, Sufism and the attack on symbolism

Going after conventional symbols, ridiculing them, inverting them to provoke thought in the listener or reader is a favorite Sufi trick. The aim is to make us think about the arbitrary nature of the customs we consider holy. Ghalib is a master at this art, as we have had occasion to note before. Recall, mare but;xaane meiN to ka'be meiN gaaDho barhaman ko. So here is another verse in the same spirit. This one is not part of the regular divaan, so we are not providing a link to Desertful of Roses.

کعبے میں جا بجایںگے ناقوس
اب تو باندھا ہے دیر میں احرام

ka'be meN jaa bajaaeNge naaquus
ab to baaNdhaa hai dair meN ahraam

काबे में जा बजाएंगे नाकूस
अब तो बंधा है दैर में एहराम

1. (we) will go and strike a gong in the Ka'ba
2. since now we have tied the holy cloak in the church/temple

Parallel commentary on The South Asian Idea.

According to Platts dictionary:
A ناقوس nāqūs (v.n. fr. نقس 'to strike (a gong),' &c.), s.m. A kind of wooden gong; a thin oblong piece of wood, suspended by two strings and struck with a flexible rod (used by the Eastern Christians)
Steingass Persian-English dictionary adds the following: a kind of wooden gong (used by the Christians in Muhammadan countries instead of church-bells)

The main symbolism is thus in ka'ba, naaquus, dair and ehraam. By taking visibly Chirstian and Muslim symbols and mixing them up, reversing their place, Ghalibs shows powerfully how our mind grows to make certain associations which are somewhat arbitrary or conventional. A true Sufi or one who seeks the Beloved would not think twice about flouting these conventions. In fact would flout them to show others their sectarian nature. Even to a secular mind like mine the image of blowing a conch in the ka'ba or wearing a holy cloak to a temple is startling.

Prof Moazzam Siddiqi offers the following explication:
The associations between, ka'ba and iHraam and dayr and naaquus are quite obvious, and they follow an apparently logical, rather, traditional logic: The iHraam is always tied in the holy precincts of Mecca, and the only call to prayer one hears there is the azaaN. It would be an unthinkable act of defiance and blasphemy even to imagine the naaquus being blown in the Ka'ba. Not content with one act of blasphemy and defiance (breaking the norms of established religion), namely blowing the naaquus in Ka'ba, and thus defiling it (in the eyes of the upholders of the followers of exoteric [zaahirii] aspect of religion), the poet wants to repeat the same act by defiling the dayr [could be a Christian church/monastery, a Jewish synagogue or a Hindu or Buddhist temple] by donning the iHraam there. For those [someone like Rumi] who are the Sufis [ahl-e baatin or esoterists] it is inconsequential where you blow the naaquus or where you cry out the azaaN or tie the iHraam; it does not matter whether you do it in the Ka'ba or butkhaana or dayr, because the One you are looking for and want to please resides in all these houses of worship. The shocking effect is deliberately created for maximum impact, so that the poet may drive his/her point home more effectively. This kind of Ghalibian iconoclasm deliberately breaks the established norm (which we are brain washed to believe that this is the only logical/rational way of doing things, because our ancestors/the society in their infinite wisdom have done so and said so). It is this mode of thinking that Ghalib wanted to change. If he had lived in the present day Pakistan he would long be dead, killed by some salafi/jihadi/lashkari/taliban/jamaa'ati zealot. For the same reason Ghalib in one of his Farsi she'rs (which I cannot recall at this point) once said that a person who is ahl-e khirad (endowed with intelligence and reason) would not be pleased with the established ways of the faith of his ancestors and discover a new path for himself. Some people argue that this was the reason why he turned away from Sunni Islam (the religion of his ancestors) and chose to follow the Shia belief. It is interesting to note that we come across this brazen iconoclasm largely in his Urdu poetry. His Persian poetry on the other hand is not tinged with this quality. In it he comes across more as a devotee of the Prophet and his family, especially Ali...MS
Thanks to Dr. Moazzam Siddiqi for explaining the meaning and intent of the sh’er. The onus of the liberties we have taken is on us.

Ghalib on Difference and Unity

After a break of a few weeks we are back our series on Ghalib. This time we take a somewhat lesser known verse from a very famous ghazal. The verse is chosen to affirm our unity in the face of differences that threaten to overwhelm us. The Ghazal (#111), sab kahaaN, kuchh laala-o-gul meiN is deservedly one of Ghalib's most quoted, most sung, most recited ones. The verse is the following:

ham muva;h;hid hai;N hamaaraa kesh hai tark-e rusuum
millate;N jab mi;T ga))ii;N ajzaa-e iimaa;N ho ga))ii;N

1) we are monists, our practice is the renunciation of customs
2) when the communities were erased, they became parts of the faith

Translation and commentary on Desertful of Roses.

To see why we prefer "monist" to "monotheist" as translation of muvahhid, see companion commentary on The South Asian Idea.

This is a complex and densely packed verse with some heavy-duty Persian and Arabic vocabulary. Heavy-duty not only in the sense of difficulty (such as the arabic plural of juz, ajzaa), but also in the sense of using words that are multivalent and heavy with philosophical and theological meaning. For me this is an example of Ghalib in his erudite and didactic mood. Of course the beauty of Ghalib is that even in such a mood he retains a measure of poetic stature which a lesser poet would find difficult to attain. One way Ghalib does this is to rely on his quintessential sense of paradox or contradiction. So as S.R. Faruqi notes, the verse claims that "In our capacity as monotheist we know that the only true religion [مذہب] is not to have a religion [مذہب]." The second way he does this, also typical of his style is to exploit the formal structure of the Ghazal itself and to hold the powerful image for the very end. A third way, again something which I have commented on a few times before, is to mix high Perso-Arabic terminology with a few Indic words well chosen to accentuate the difference in consonants. Here the hardness of "mit jaanaa" amidst the other words, works very well, particularly if you recite the verse with dramatic effect, stressing the hard "t" in "mit."

Now for the meaning: FWP notes that "The terms here are a wild conceptual jungle, and surely deliberately framed to be so. All of them are notably broad and highly flexible." As proof I give below the Platts Discitonary entries on the key words.

A مؤحد muʼaḥḥid and muwaḥḥid act. part. of أحّد and وحّد 'to make, or to call, one; to declare God to be one,
P کيش kesh, s.f.m. Faith, religion, sect;—manner, quality (often used in comp.):—kāfir-kesh, adj. Prone to infidelity; (met.) a mistress, sweetheart.
A رسوم rusūm, s.f. pl. (of rasm, q.v.), Customs, usages, &c.;
A ترك tark, s.m. Abandoning, forsaking, leaving; setting aside; abandonment, desertion; relinquishment
P ملت millat (for A. ملة, v.n. fr. ملّ 'to turn; to convert,' &c.), s.f. Religion, faith, creed;—a nation, people
A اجزا ajzā (pl. of جز juz), s.m. Parts, portions, divisions, sections; sections of the Qorʼān; feet (of a verse); constituent parts (of a thing), elements; members; ingredients (of any compound or mixture).
A ايمان īmān [inf. n. iv of امن 'To be safe or secure'], s.m. Belief (particularly in God, and in His word and apostles, &c.); faith, religion, creed; conscience; good faith, trustworthiness, integrity:

You will see that "religion, faith, creed" appears as one possible meaning of three different words in the verse, kesh, millat and imaaN. But each time something different is meant. The first line is more straighforward. Since we are monists and we believe in the oneness of God or oneness of Being, our religion is the renunciation of particular rituals (note that rasm, of which the plural is rusuum, is here translated as customs, though in the context of the verse I think rituals would be a better translation. Even today we refer to rituals as rasm-o-rivaaj, e.g. shaadi is rasm and so on). The second line offers us a vision of what would happen if rituals and customs were indeed renounced. When distinctions between communities and creeds and nations who each have a distinct identity based on their customs and rituals are erased, the different parts become part of the Whole. Since the Whole in question here is God/Being, it is One and indivisible, and hence cannot consist of parts. So there is subtle wordplay here. They are parts (ajzaa) and yet not parts (because they have been erased). This is tight way of communicated a profound truth of Sufism. That when the one is lost in the One, individual identities are lost in the Whole, and Union (wasl) is achieved.

As Kabir would say:
mera mujhe meiN kucch naiN, jo kucch hai so teraa
tera tujhko sauNp rahaa, kyaa laage hai meraa

Nothing is mine in me, everything is yours
When I entrust you yours, what is left of me?

And speaking of Kabir tark-e-rusuum was a very important theme with him as well. Rituals are constantly attacked for getting in the way of true Union with the Beloved.

malaa to kar meiN phire jeebh phire mukh maahii
manvaa to chahuuN dish phire ye to sumiran nahii

the rosary turns in the hand, the tongue roams in the mouth
the mind roams the four directions, this is not meditation

topi pahire mala pahire chhap tilak anumana
sakhi sabade gavat bhule atam khabari na jana

wearing a cap, turning the rosary, adorning marks of the faith
singing hymns, they keep no knowledge of the soul.

Kabir and Ghalib offer fascinating examples of how similar ideas can be expressed in completely different idioms of expression. South Asia is heir to all these idioms and these thoughts are not foreign to us. Rather they are in the fabric of our being. Bringing them forward, affirming them and reaffirming them is our task for the times.

Ghalib on Inheritance and Worthiness

sul:tanat dast bah dast aa))ii hai
jaam-e mai ;xaatim-e jamshed nahii;N

1) the kingship has come from hand to hand
2) the glass of wine [is] not the {signet-ring / seal} of Jamshid

Translation and commentary on Desertful of Roses.

This week we depart from the ethereal realms of Paradise and reflection on the Divine. Rather we reflect with Ghalib on kingship, inheritance and worthiness.

First on the structure of the verse itself. Note that the logical connection between the two lines seems more loose than usual. But we know that a good she'r must display the quality of "rabt" or connection/relationship between its two lines. The challenge faced by the Ghazal writer is how to connect the two lines such that the relationship is clear and yet open to several interpretations. We have seen on many earlier occasions that Ghalib is the master of this art. FWP outlines several possibilities inherent in this verse.

In this verse, first we learn that kingship passes from hand to hand, or in other words, is inherited. So far so good. Merely a routine observation, though made very economically. Next we learn that a glass of wine is not the seal of Jamshed (a King of Ancient Persia). What does this mean? Firstly, note that a glass of wine is a complex metaphor in the Ghazal universe, on par with the wine tavern (mai;xaanah), the garden (gulistaaN), the Beloved (maashooq), the nightingale (bulbul) and so on. It can stand for life affirmation and rakishness (rindi) as opposed to the life-denying, asceticism of the preacher. It can also stand for the vehicle of mystical experience (wine).

Thus Ghalib may be saying that unlike kingship which we know is merely inherited (regardless of worthiness), a glass of wine, or the mytical experience only comes to those worthy of it. It is not like the seal of Jamshed which either belongs only to Jamshed himself, or perhaps is passed on as kingship is, via inheritance or via bloody conquests and wars.

One way to get this interpretation directly, and a way which also connects the seal of Jamshed to the notion of kingship, is to read ;xaatim-e-Jamshed" as the subject rather than object of the second line, which the Urdu flexible word ordering allows us to do. So the second line becomes, "the seal of Jamshid is not a wine glass," rather than "the wine glass is not the seal of Jamshed." This allows a direct reading of the entire verse as: Kingship is inherited. The Seal of Jamshed (a symbol of Kingship) is not a wine glass that will only go to those worthy of it.

Ghalib plays often with these ideas of worth and the wine goblet. Two other examples come to mind. One cited by FWP:

mujh tak kab un kii bazm me;N aataa thaa daur-e jaam
saaqii ne kuchh milaa nah diyaa ho sharaab me;N

1) when did the going-round of the cup, in that one's gathering, come as far as me?

2a) may the Cupbearer not have mixed something into the wine!
2b) might the Cupbearer not have mixed something into the wine?

And another one:

girnii thii ham pah barq-e tajallii nah :tuur par
dete hai;N baadah :zarf-e qada;h-;xvaar dekh kar

1) the lightning of glory/manifestation should have fallen on us, not on [Mount] Tur
2) they give wine [only after] having seen the capacity of the cup-drinker

In both verses, Ghalib plays with the question, "who is worthy of the wine?" or in order words "who is worthy of love/life/the mystical union/divine experience?" In the second verse the theme of merit or worthiness is more explicit. In a wine tavern, they hand out wine only according to the drinkers capacity to drink it. Similarly Ghalib boasts that the divine lightening bolt that fell on Mount Sinai (when the Ten Commandments were revealed to Moses), should have fallen on him instead, because is more worthy of it! The first verse is more oblique on matters of worthiness. Ghalib asks, when was I ever worthy of the wine-glass in that company? Now that is has come to me, I suspect something is fishy.

Please do visit this verse and its commentary on The South Asian Idea for contemporary relevance and meaning.

Ghalib: The Scream of Silence

kyuu;N nah chii;xuu;N kih yaad karte hai;N
mirii aavaaz gar nahii;N aatii

1) why would I not scream? for she/he/they call(s) me to mind
2) if my voice does not come

We have a classic Ghalibian mind-twister for this week. FWP has a lot of fun with the Catch-22 possibilities of this verse. Click here for her commentary.

In a nutshell, Ghalib confronts us with the following paradox: The unnamed party whose attention the poet wishes to attract only remembers the poet when he is silent. But when he is silent, no dialogue is possible. So he screams in agony but of course the screams go unheeded, because...well they only remember him when he is silent! In the traditional interpretation, the poet is the lover and the party being refered to is the beloved. But of course, as usual Ghalib exploits the ambiguities allowed by Urdu and chooses to omit the subject of the phrase "[he/she/they] remember." So the person(s) being refered to can be not only be the beloved, but perhaps the King or the powers-that-be in general, who usually ignore our protagonist's shouts and pleas. They remember him only when he falls silent. At which point, being silent, he is unable to state his case.

Coming to another recurring theme in this entries; Ghalib's use of Hindi/Urdu idioms. As FWP points out, "yaad karna" has a active meaning of calling into one's presence, not merely recalling to mind which might be expressed as "yaad aanaa." Notice the language of this verse. A very simply Hindustani vocabulary has been used to convey the witty (though not particularly profound) thought.

Politically, this is a very astute summary of the situation that the dispossessed and the marginalized find themselves in. Their screams (Ghalib uses the evocative word chii;x, چیخ which is used even today when referring to the cries of the poor) go unheeded routinely by their rulers. Silence on the other hand can prompt action. Because it can be a sign of more serious trouble brewing (either revolt or disaster).

On a lighter note, this verse also applies to baby-sitting. As anyone who has taken care of a baby knows, its when they go quiet that they are up to the most mischief!

In wittiness (of the Catch-22 paradoxical kind) this verse is equal to:

tire va((de par jiye ham to yih jaan jhuu;T jaanaa
kih ;xvushii se mar nah jaate agar i((tibaar hotaa

1) if we lived on your promise, then know this-- we knew [it to be] false
2) for would we not have died of happiness, if we had had trust/confidence [in it]?

So we are able to subsist on your promise only because we don't believe it. If we did believe in your promise (to come to us) then we would die of happiness!

As always be sure to check out the parallel commentary on this verse on The South Asian Idea.

Ghalib: Paradise or the Beloved's Lane?

کم نہیں جلوہ گری میں ترے کوچے سے بہشت
یہی نقشہ ہے ولے اس قدر آباد نہیں

kam nahii;N jalvah-garii me;N tire kuuche se bihisht
yihii naqshah hai vale is qadar aabaad nahii;N

1) it's not less in splendor-possession than your street, paradise--
2) there is this very same design/layout, but it's not populous/flourishing to this extent

Click here for commentary and translation on Desertful of Roses.

This week's verse is lesser known but nevertheless great follow-up on last week's verse. As we saw last week, Ghalib took a rather "instrumental" approach to the existence or non-existence of paradise. It may or may not exist (and we suspect it doesn't), but its still a good idea to keep us happy or contented.

This week's verse has Ghalib continuing his pontifications on paradise. Now he finds it lacking from another angle. It is not any less splendorous than "your street", it even has the same map/layout/plan though its not quite as populated or flourishing. Conventionally we interpret the "you" in the she'r to be the beloved, and more so in such a verse an earthly beloved (as opposed to God). So the standard interpretation goes that the poet having witnessed paradise himself, finds it quite similar to his beloved's street, but also finds that the later is much more popular and flourishing, perhaps because its easier to get there, perhaps because only boring ascetics go to paradise and hence its much less popular (see S.R.Faruqi's interpretations on this point). Lastly the commentators also note the cheekiness or mischievousness (sho;xii) in comparing paradise to the beloved's street rather than the beloved's street to paradise.

This verse brings to mind a verse from Ghalib's predecessor Mir Taqi Mir:

کس کا قبلہ کیسا کعبہ کون حرم ہے کیا احرام
کوچے کے اس کے باشندوں نے سب کو یہیں سے سلام کیا

kis kaa qiblah kaisaa ka'ba kaun haram hai kya ahraam
kuche ke uske baashindoN ne sabko yahiiN se salaam kiya

whose qiblah what ka'ba who is pure and what is impure
the denizens of his/her street greet everyone from here itself/have no need to go anywhere (on pilgrimage)

Here's a twist though on this theme. What if we interpret the "you" in the verse (staying for the moment with Ghalib's verse) not as the earthly beloved but instead as the divine beloved (or God)? Addressing divinity by the second person familiar pronoun is of course a well established convention in the ghazal (as in "jabke tujhe bin nahiiN koi maujuud, phir yeh hungamaa ai ;xudaa kyaa hai"). Then the beloved's street becomes God's neighborhood. How is that different from paradise? Perhaps this is Ghalib's point. That the conventional paradise that the religious orthodoxy speaks about is remote, unreachable except for the chosen few (chosen by the criteria of the orthodoxy itself). On the other hand, a personal God, who can be directly experienced, which is a major theme in Sufism and Bhakti poetry, is available to many more of us. His street therefore, is much more popular than the paradise of the religious establishment. The establishment in the name of bringing us closer to divinity, only separates us from it.

I admit that this interpretation doesn't sit entirely comfortably with the general tenor of the verse. So the earthly beloved may still be the better way to go here.

My interpretation may work better with Mir's verse. Rather than worrying about the Ka'ba and the qiblah and about what is pure or impure, those who live in the proximity of God (the personal, immediately accesible beloved on Kabir and Tukaram) don't need to be go anywhere to purify themselves. This theme is very popular in Sufi and Bhakti poetry, as I said before. Here is another example of it. As the famous ghazal atributed to Khusro goes (sung today as a qawwali):

har qaum raast raahay diine wa qiblah gaahay
man qiblah raast kardam bar samt kaj kulaahay
sansaar har ko poojay kul ko jagat saraahay
makkay meiN koi DhoonDhay kaashi ko koi jaaey
guyyiyaN meiN apne pii ke payyaaN paDuuN na kaahay

Every sect has a faith, a direction (Qibla) to which they turn,
I have turned my face towards the crooked cap (of Nizamudin Aulia)
The whole world worships something or the other,
Some look for God in Mecca, while some go to Kashi (Banaras),
So why can’t I, Oh wise people, fall into my beloved’s feet?

On the South Asian Idea Weblog we take this discussion into more contemporary and socio-political contexts.

Ghalib on uses and misuses of Paradise

This week we take a well-known and beloved verse from the master. As always we offer three levels of commentary, language and structure, meaning, and contemporary relevance.

ہم کو معلوم ہے جنت کی حقیقت لیکن
دل کے خوش رکھنے کو غالب یہ خیال اچھا ہے

ham ko ma((luum hai jannat kii haqiiqat lekin
dil ke ;xvush rakhne ko Ghalib ye ;xayaal acchaa hai

1) we know the reality/truth of Paradise, but
2) to keep the heart happy, Ghalib, this idea/fancy is good

[Translation and commentary on Desertful of Roses]

Note as always that Ghalib chooses to open with an uncontroversial statement but the second line takes the though in a very unexpected direction. Click here for another example of this device.

He says: "We know the truth about paradise, but..." And he leaves it hanging there. So under conditions when we hear the she'r recited with the first line repeated again and again, we are left wondering where will he go with this? As FWP notes this could simple be followed by some kind of lament. "We know the truth about paradise, but we can never hope to get there" or something like that. Instead, characteristically, the uncontroversial opening is given a startling direction ("kahani meiN twist" as they say in Bollywood). Ghalib says, not that he is sorry he will never get to paradise, but instead that "to keep the heart happy, this idea is good."

The commentators all note Ghalib's cheekiness in saying this. He sounds like an atheist who recognizes the social utility of the concept of paradise (in guiding human behavior for eg). Another interpretation offered by a commentator (Bekhud Mohani) is that this is Ghalib's attack on literal interpretations of the idea of paradise.

But the commentators don't spend much time on Ghalib's choice of words here. He chooses the highly multivalent ";xayaal" to describe Paradise. Platts Dictionary lists the following meanings for this word:

خيال ḵẖayāl, Thought, opinion, surmise, suspicion, conception, idea, notion, fancy, imagination, conceit. whim, chimera; consideration; regard, deference; apprehension; care, concern;—an imaginary form, apparition, vision, spectre, phantom, shadow, delusion;

You can see that ;xayaal here can mean not only simply the idea of paradise, but the fancy, phantom, delusion of paradise, which is a far stronger take on the whole concept. Interpreting ;xayaal not simply as the neutral "idea" but as the more mischievous "fancy/delusion" also fits in with the idiom used earlier in the line, "dil ko ;xvush rakhnaa" which indicates that the heart is being kept happy with the help of a delusion in the face of a reality that will make it sad.

Thus one further interpretation of the she'r is that, deep down we know the reality of paradise (i.e. we know it does not exist), but to save us from the terror/sadness that would result from the absence of it, this fancy or delusion is good to keep us going. Of course the "we" in the verse is not specified. It could be the poet himself or it could be the populace at large who needs this idea, this imaginative fancy to keep its heart happy.

The South Asian Idea Weblog carries us into the verse's contemporary relevance.

Ghalib on the object of true worship

This week's verse, all of Ghalib's commentators note, could only have occurred to Ghalib. His penchant for paradox, for surprising the reader by using common words and ideas to make uncommon points, for holding the suspense till the last possible minute, and all the while making a profound (in this case philosophical) point, all this is in evidence here. It is verses like these, that compel us to agree with Ghalib and say, "haaN Mirzaa saahab, aapkaa andaaz-e-bayaaN hai aur!"

So without further ado, the verse:

ہے پرے سرحد ادراک سے اپنا مسجود
قبلے کو اہل نظر قبلہ نما کہتے ہیں

hai pare sar;had-e idraak se apnaa masjuud
qible ko ahl-e na:zar qiblah-numaa kahte hai;N

1) beyond the limit of the senses/perception/comprehension is [their/our] own {worship/prostration}-object
2) people of vision call the Qiblah the 'Qiblah-pointer'

The literal translation is Frances Pritchett's with some additions from me. Click here for this verse's entry on Desertful of Roses.

The first line makes a broad comment. Our object of worship is beyond (a beautiful use of a simple word, pare) the border or limit of the senses or of perception. Most commentators have chosen to interpret idraak here as simply the senses or sense perception, but it can also mean understanding or comprehension. The later gives a stronger interpretation. Not only is our object of worship beyond the senses, it is beyond human comprehension. And since that which cannot be perceived can still be comprehended (for e.g. the existence of unseen planets or start, or even a magenta colored flying horse), it actually means something to say that the Absolute is not only beyond our senses, it is also beyond comprehension.

It is not till the second line that we get the full significance of the first (a sign of a well-crafted she'r). So what is the consequence of the fact that our object of worship is beyond perception and comprehension? It is that those with vision or those who have true perception (ahl-e-nazar) call the qiblah, qiblah-numa. The qiblah, the direction to prayer for a Muslim (the direction where the Ka'ba is to be found), is itself a pointer to the Real Qiblah. Platts dictionary defines the qiblah-numa thus:

qibla-numa, s.m. lit. 'Showing the qibla'; an instrument by which Muhammadans at a distance from Mecca ascertain the direction of the qibla;—a mariner's compass.

Thus as Nazm notes, "by doing prostrations toward the Ka'bah, the goal is not to do prostrations to the Ka'bah. Rather, the one to Whom we do prostrations is beyond the directions, and a prostration must have a direction. For this reason, He has decreed the direction of the Ka'bah."

So the Qiblah itself is merely a pointer to the Qiblah. As the commentators say, no one but Ghalib would have thought of calling the qiblah, a pointer to guide to the qiblah. What the commentators don't mention is that this second line also sets up a nice little infinite regress. Since the new qiblah being pointed to is itself, a qiblah, it is therefore also a qiblah-numa and so on ad infinitum. This interpretation is sustained by the fact that Ghalib doesn't say, the qiblah is a pointer to the "real qiblah" or anything like that. He simply says, a qiblah (any qiblah) is a qiblah-pointer. Perhaps this is why in the first line Ghalib says that the object of worship is beyond comprehension. Thinking about it sets us down a path of infinite regress.

Actually the verse works at two levels parallely. If we interpret idraak as senses or sense perception then the second line offers "proof" that the real object of worship is beyond the senses just as the real qiblah is only gestured to by what ordinary people call the qiblah. In this reading, there is nice resonance between sarhad-e-idraak and ahl-e-nazar (limit of senses, and people who have sight or vision). On the other hand, if we interpret idraak as understanding or comprehension, then the second line gives a separate proof and can be read in the way I mentioned above with an infinite regress in it.

In either reading, Ghalib invokes his favorite theme regarding the Absolute or the Divine. This is the theme of that worldly objects (existence) gestures to the Other World, points to non-existence. I have commented earlier on other verses that display this theme.

Finally, as always Ghalib has lessons for us today. What do we worship? Are we falling into the trap of symbolsim, mistaking the symbol for the object it signifies? In the course of this project we have seen this theme occupy Ghalib's mind on repeated occasions. Given the turmoil over religion in South Asia we feel this is one theme has bears all the repeating. Visit The South Asian Idea Weblog for for questions and for what we can learn from Ghalib in this instance.

Ghalib on the double bind faced by the one who is promised redress

This week, a wonderful and very famous verse from an equally famous ghazal (aah ko chahiye ek umr sar hone tak). I have commented earlier on another verse from this ghazal.

ہم نے مانا کہ تغافل نہ کروگے لیکن
خاک ہو جائینگے ہم تم کو خبر ہونے تک

ham ne maanaa ke ta;Gaaful ne karoge lekin
;xaak ho jaa))e;Nge hum tum ko ;xabar hone tak

1) we conceded/agreed that you won't show negligence/heedlessness, but
2) we'll become dust, by the time of the news reaching you

Click here for the entry on Desertful of Roses. Note that Fran Pritchett sticks to the original radif, hote tak, which is usually modernized these days to hone tak.

As always for this series run in collaboration with The South Asian Idea Weblog, we try to interpret the verse in a somewhat "hat ke" manner, as they might say in Bollywood. But first the technical aspects worth noting and the convention interpretation.

The first all too obvious matter of construction. Notice how the first line gives away minimal information. All it says is: "we admit or concede that you will not ignore us." This itself is of course interesting in the ghazal universe because ta;Gaaful or ignoring/disregarding is the essential quality of the beloved. As for example Khusro's ze haal-e-miskin makun ta;Gaful, doraaye nainaa, banaaye batiyaaN, and countless others. So contrary to the "regular beloved" this one has promised to come to our lover. So Ghalib says: "I agree with you, I believe your promise that you will not ignore me." But then in the second line, and not only the second line but in the last kaafiyaa part of the second line we are delivered the punch. "I will be dust (I will be dead) by the time the new [of my state] reaches you."

Leaving meaning and focusing on sound for a moment, there is a nice play in the second line where "hum" precedes the very similar sounding "tum," almost like the refrain "hum tum taanaa naa naa" in the classical qawwali by Khusro, man kunto maula.

At the heart of the verse is a contradiction as Fran Pritchett notes: "A lovely, witty, little 'catch-22' lies at the heart of this one. If I don't accept your pledge not to neglect or ignore me, I'll offend you-- and thus I'll never get any favors from you. Yet if I do accept it, and thus earn your good will, I'll never live long enough to get any favors from you. (For I'll of course be in such bad shape in your absence that I'll be dead before you even learn of it.) So no matter what I do, I'm doomed."

This is strongly reminiscent of another paradoxical verse about the beloved's promises to come and the lovers dilemma:

tere vaade pe jiyeN hum to ye jaan jhoot jaanaa
ke ;xushi se mar na jaate agar aitbaar hotaa

This verse is another marvel of meaning creation (ma'ani afiirnii) and I won't go into the intricacies of it here (save it for a later time). But just note the paradox. The only way I can subsist on your promise (to come to me) is by believing it to be false. Because if I actually believed it (believed that you would come to me one day), I would die of happiness! Ghalib can really keep your mind spinning with his little paradoxes.

But now onto a somewhat more serious interpretation. In the wake of the recent Delhi bomb blasts (and other similar blasts in other cities in India) and the ensuing hysteria and Muslim baiting that usually results (witness the controversy over Jamia Milia Islamia University) we offer this verse as a metaphor for the dilemma facing the Muslims and other minorities in India. To the State they say: "We have faith in your promises to pay atention to our state and to do something about it, because how can we not? If we say we do not, we risk your wrath. But even if we believe in your promises of justice by the time you get around to doing anything about our state, we will be finished!"

A sombre note but one that behooves us all to think long and hard about how a beseiged minority may feel even when it exists in a [at least nominally] democratic, pluralistic society. This theme is taken up in the entry on The South Asian Idea.