The challenge in doing a tazkhira (review) of an intikhhaab (anthology) compiled by Sanjiv Saraf is the man himself.
Saraf is not just a compiler, he is a patron. In another time and age, there would have been a darbaar at aali-jaan’s residence where shaayar after shaayar would have aspired to recite kalaam in huzoor’s honour in return for a nazar-e-inaayat, asharfis or wazeefa (pension).
In today’s suspicious maahaul, Saraf has had to reinvent himself. The man runs a company that has operations in various countries and whose shares are listed on the stock exchanges. Interestingly, he has done more for zubaan-e-Urdu in the last decade than most have attempted in decades. He has drawn Urdu out of refined living room conversations into the public stage. He has made Urdu a selfied event in a photo-op world. He has Instagrammed Urdu for the social media-ed aam aadmi.
Sanjiv Saraf has done more for ‘zubaan-e-Urdu’ in the last decade than most have attempted in decades Rekhta.org
Allah kasam, one of my disappointments is waking up on Republic Day and finding that Saraf’s ismay-giraami (name) does not figure in the honours list.
So when Saraf sends a book compiled by him to be reviewed by naacheez, I feel awkward. Patron ke liye to achcha likhna durust hoga is the usual approach, but there is an internal voice that keeps prompting: ‘Say ‘Faarigh hotay hi karta hoon’ (Will review as soon as I am free). Once he forgets, you better forget that this book existed.
A clever ‘jugalbandi’
Last week, I started Saraf’s latest work called Love Longing Loss. My problem with compilations is that is that it is not even old wine in a new bottle; kambakht, whoever packages the old distillation recycles even the damn bottle. So I said phanss gaye yaar. Nothing could lift me; not even pen-and-ink-sketched cover by Muzaffar Ali (Umraao waale). Not even the thickness of the book (394 pages). Not even the presentable typefacing on the cover (Trajan). Not even the quality of kaagaz inside. Not even the nafees printing.
Until.
The first page. Ghulam Mohammed Qasir’s two-lined pronunciation: ‘Karunga kyaa jo mohabbat me ho gaya naakam. Mujhe to aur koi kaam bhi nahi aata.’ I kind of stopped because it reminded me. Of a long list line floating into my consciousness. ‘Woh log bahut khush-kismat the, Jo ishk ko kaam samajhte the. Yeh kaam se aashiqi karte the, Hum jeetey-ji masroof rahein. Kuch ishk kiya kuch kaam kiya, Phir aakhir tang aakar humne, Dono ko adhoora chhor diya.’ Faiz Ahmed Faiz.
Ahh Faiz. That name. Emotion-evoker. It paints the picture of a man inside the cell of an alien jail. Beaten but not defeated. The streak of morning light slanting through the bars. As he reaches for paper and scribbles, ‘Chamak utthay hain salaasil to hamne jaana hain, Ki sahar tere rukh par bikhar gayi hogi…’
Faiz Ahmed Faiz, emotion-evoker Wikimedia
I turn pages of Saraf’s book. There is Firaq Gorakhpuri’s kalaam: ‘Hazaar baar idhar se zamaana guzra hai, Nayi nayi si hain kuchh teri raahguzar phir bhi.’ Curiously, Saraf has provided a metred translation: ‘A thousand time the world has passed by here, E’en then your street doth somewhat new appear.’ Ahh, so that is what Saraf has done: he has not only provided the Urdu kalaam, but has also provided a rhyming angrezi tarjuma (translation). How clever.
Like falling in love, falling out, falling in again
I am getting curious. I am sure there will be some waahiyaat (obnoxious) kalaam that will convince me that this book would be best given away to an unsuspecting raqeeb (rival in love). But this is what I found on page 9 by Jigar Moradabadi: ‘Allah agar taufeeq na de insaan ke bas kaa kaam nahin, Faizaan-e-mohabbat aam sahi, irfaan-e-mohabbat aami nahi.’ The meaning: ‘If God gives not His guidance, man is not competent. Love’s favours may be common, not Love’s enlightenment.’
Poet Jigar Moradabadi
Er, interesting. Jigar makes a point. Two pages later, Mir Anis (who probably wrote the most moving elegies on the Great Husain) writes: ‘Anis aasan nahi aabad karna ghar mohabbat ka, Yeh unka kaam hain jo zindagi barbaad karte hain (‘Anis’ it is not easy, Love’s home to populate, It’s the task for people who their life annihilate).’ Killed it.
I am beginning to get the drift. What this Saraf fellow has done is that he has not just attempted a random compilation. He has themed it. And in sequence. He has collected verse from what others have written but beaded it in a manner to evoke a story.
Like a person falling in love, then falling out, then falling in again — sequenced in a flow with the relevant Urdu kalaam and emotions under each sub-theme. If you read the kalaam in a sequence, you get the drift of a ‘story’ — there are no names and there is no plot but enough for you to feel that yes, shaayad 32 years you felt the way Firaq wrote or Jigar rhymed or Ghalib expounded.
Page 19. Faiz again. I intoned when no one was looking: ‘Maqaam ‘Faiz’ koi raah mein jachaa hi nahin, Jo kuue-e-yaar se nikle to suu-e-daar chale (With no station on my path, O ‘Faiz’, was I content. When I left my lover’s lane, gallow-wards I went).’ What kind of a shaayar was this man? What went on in his mind? How did he distil?
Khair, let me get on. Faraz. Faiz. Jigar. Ghalib. Dagh. Mir. Momin. Iqbal. So many more shoaara that I turned the book around to see ke bhai, ‘Yeh hain kya cheez?’
(L-R) Iqbal, Dagh, Ghalib and Momin
This book that I had dismissed as a waste I have now put away near the bedside. I have instructed the maid that ‘Koi isko yahaan se hataayega nahi.’ Maybe I will read two pages each morning. Maybe I will mark the great lines. Maybe I will transfer them to my smartphone. Maybe I will send them to WhatsApp groups. Maybe I will sneak glances during Zoom calls when someone else is speaking.
Then — sometime in 2023 — I might be prepared to write that tazkhira.
I have left word that if Saraf calls in the interim, he should be informed that saab is in his chamber with the book and that ‘It’s under process.’