Kuchch kadam mere, humraah bunker chaliye

Kuchch kadam mere, humraah bunker chaliye

Jindagi hai apani, na majdhar bunker chaliye;

Hausale hon to, sapane bhi hain nikhar jate

Raah hai apani, ek rajdaar bunker chaliye.

Dil ke kunwe mein, lal-lal pani hai dikhata

Apane rangon ko, lalima mein na chchupa chaliye;

Hosh, madhosh hoker, kuchch aapse hai kahata

Apani hi baton ko na, khud se bhula ker chaliye.

Talashane se kabhi, khud ko nahin dhoondh pata insaan

Khojbeen chchod, jindagi ke saath chaliye;

Kaun milata hai, kaun chchootata hai, na gaur karein

Dard sahana hai to, masti ke saath chaliye.

Umar ret ki tarah, sarak rahi hai herdum

Samay ke rang-dhang, mridang sang chaliye;

Umang ka sambandh ho, chahatein prasang ho

Raag-anuraag ho to, sang mere chaliye.

Kuchch kadam mere, humraah bunker chaliye

Jindagi hai apani, na majdhar bunker chaliye.

Kuchch kadam mere, humraah bunker chaliye

Kuchch kadam mere, humraah bunker chaliye

Jindagi hai apani, na majdhar bunker chaliye;

Hausale hon to, sapane bhi hain nikhar jate

Raah hai apani, ek rajdaar bunker chaliye.

Dil ke kunwe mein, lal-lal pani hai dikhata

Apane rangon ko, lalima mein na chchupa chaliye;

Hosh, madhosh hoker, kuchch aapse hai kahata

Apani hi baton ko na, khud se bhula ker chaliye.

Talashane se kabhi, khud ko nahin dhoondh pata insaan

Khojbeen chchod, jindagi ke saath chaliye;

Kaun milata hai, kaun chchootata hai, na gaur karein

Dard sahana hai to, masti ke saath chaliye.

Umar ret ki tarah, sarak rahi hai herdum

Samay ke rang-dhang, mridang sang chaliye;

Umang ka sambandh ho, chahatein prasang ho

Raag-anuraag ho to, sang mere chaliye.

Kuchch kadam mere, humraah bunker chaliye

Jindagi hai apani, na majdhar bunker chaliye.

Urdu Shayri - DIL KI BAAT

Dil ki koi baat to ho

Ek apni aisi raat to ho

Jab tum saamne bethe ho

Pal ki sahi mulaqaat to ho

Jab tum saamne bethe ho

Pal ki sahi mulaqaat to ho

Jab tum saamne bethe ho

Pal ki sahi mulaqaat to ho

Urdu Shayri - DIL KI BAAT

Dil ki koi baat to ho

Ek apni aisi raat to ho

Jab tum saamne bethe ho

Pal ki sahi mulaqaat to ho

Jab tum saamne bethe ho

Pal ki sahi mulaqaat to ho

Jab tum saamne bethe ho

Pal ki sahi mulaqaat to ho

Poetry of Revolution

Before I forget or get distracted. I just found a post by Zaheer "Zak" Kidvai on his blog that is just a jewel for lovers of Urdu and Urdu poetry. You have just got to read it:

http://www.kidvai.com/windmills/2007/11/long-night-and-riot-of-memories.html

Technorati tags applicable to this post: Pakistan - Emergency - CrisisPKUrdu Pakistan - Faiz Ahmad Faiz

Aaj bazaar main, pabajaolaan chalo...

... so said Faiz Ahmed Faiz, probably the most popular poet of revolution in the latter half of the 20th century in South Asia; Pakistan, India, and particularly on the Left.

South Asia has a very rich tradition of poetry, one which draws on both the spiritual tradition that gave the world Rumi and Khayyam, and the revolutionary spirit of the last century or two. And because of the Sufi tradition it is steeped in, allegory, depth of meaning, and multi-faceted verbiage is the norm, rather than the exception. The words "Aaj bazaar main pa-bajaolaan chalo..." are probably some of the most recognized word. The "jewels" being described are, for the uninitiated, the ball and chain of oppression. Here's the poet himself reciting the poem, with English sub-titles, followed by one of the best renditions of the poem with music, in this case with an overlay of dramatic video:


[You can read the piece by Dr. Adil Najam, where I first found this video, here.]

But wait, the Pakistan Federal Union of Journalists has sent out a poster that puts these words above a poster that just needs to be seen to be believed. You couldn't, as we say, make this stuff up:

Please check in regularly at WikiPakistan's Emergency 2007 pages:

http://pakistan.wikia.com/wiki/Emergency_2007

for updates. And contribute what input you can, participate in whichever way you can.

[My previous post on the issue, introducing the Emergency 2007 wiki pages, by the way, is here.]

Technorati tags applicable to this post: Pakistan - Emergency - CrisisPKUrdu Pakistan - Faiz Ahmad Faiz

The romance of Urdu is lost in translation

http://www.livemint.com/2007/07/14001456/The-romance-of-Urdu-is-lost-in.html

All languages convey a culture but, perhaps, no other language does this better than Urdu.

Do you have regrets? I do. One of the great regrets in my life is that I cannot understand Urdu. I am reading this book called The Lost World of Hindustani Music by the late Kumar Prasad Mukherji. His floral descriptions of the Lucknow of his childhood only intensify my regret. Apparently, even the tongawalas of Lucknow spoke polished and courteous Urdu.
Languages are repositories of a culture. I know this because I grew up with a linguist. My father speaks 10 languages: French, German, Russian and several Indian languages. Now, at age 70, he is learning Mandarin Chinese.

Listening to The Magic Flute, he says, is a completely different experience if you know German; reading War and Peace in the original Russian offers nuances that are lost in the English translation.

All languages convey a culture but, perhaps, no other language does this better than Urdu. America’s exuberance, for instance, isn’t quite captured in English; Punjabi enterprise and risk-taking isn’t fully expressed in the crude bravado of its language; Mumbaiya Hindi captures the capitalist matlabi Mumbaikar but fails to represent Mumbai’s generous spirit that swells, it seems, with every monsoon flood and natural catastrophe that hits this city. Italian barely conveys the depths of Italy’s contribution to the arts, particularly opera. But Urdu... the cadences and sighs of this beautiful language seem to encompass the courtly graces of Islamic-Indian culture which flourished in Awadh.

Urdu is the language of romance; it is the language of poetry, of diplomacy. I can’t help think that if Juliet had uttered her “Good Night” and “Parting is such sweet sorrow” in Urdu, the whole Montague-Capulet quarrel would have been sorted out. When my untutored ear listens to Urdu shairi, what I enjoy is the relish with which the poem is told and the wah wahs with which it is appreciated. When I listen to a Farida Khanum ghazal, I don’t understand the lyrics, but my heart hears the longing. The Mughals were many things but they were, above all, bon vivants. They epitomized the title of my column. They lived the good life by surrounding themselves with decorative things, aromatic cuisine, soulful music and heartfelt poetry. All of this is encompassed in the exquisite nuances of their language.

Living in South India is a handicap if you enjoy Urdu. Besides Hyderabad, there is no bastion of the Urdu language in the South. Purists will probably say you have to go to Lahore or Pathankot to hear good Urdu, but for a novice such as me, New Delhi is good enough. That said, one of the wonderful things about India, though, is that you can find pink lotuses in the most surprising ponds (to slightly alter an ancient Tamil poem). You can find Bengali scholars in Mulund, Sanskrit experts in Lucknow and excellent Bharatanatyam dancers in, perhaps, Noida. In Bangalore, where I live, I know a gentleman called C.R.V. Subramaniam. A more Tamilian name you cannot find. But this gentleman grew up in Varanasi and speaks excellent Urdu. He composes Urdu shairi, usually after a drink or two and then translates it for me. CRV Uncle introduced me to the nuances and gestures of the Urdu language, the lakshan of a shairi or raga; the lilting intonation with which it ought to be spoken. Like Bengalis, who take pride in their language, lovers of Urdu are uniformly fanatical, believing Urdu to be the mother lode, the fairest language of them all. I wish I had learnt it. I wish I could understand it.

Shoba sings Urdu ghazals... with atrocious pronunciation... mercifully when she is alone. Write to her at thegoodlife@livemint.com

Technorati tags applicable to this post: [Urdu] - [India] - [Pakistan] - [Culture] - [Language]