Apr 15 2009
Dedicated to Papa.
I remember when I was some five years, my Papa asked me to fetch some stuff from a nearby shop. Back then, I was a pretty shy girl and I used too hate my father for not ‘respecting’ my shyness. ( He always wanted his kiddo to groom into a beautiful-brave girl .)
So he asked me to go, and I made a bad face, and he made an even worst face to me. Hence I went. I returned with some wrong stuff, at which my Papa asked me to go back and exchange it. I felt really irritated, and said, ‘I will not. Shopkeeper might just shout at me.’
Papa then wrote something on a piece of paper and asked me to hand that to the shopkeeper. I took it with half heart, and went.
Inquisitive as children are, I too opened that page. And to my amazement it wasn’t written in Hindi or English. I was very much comfortable with English and Hindi words then, and could clearly read Children’s Bedtime Stories to self. So I thought Papa is making a fool of me, and I returned home midway.
I told Papa, that he shouldn’t make me do this funny thing, and he laughed and said, ‘Its Urdu’. I didn’t believe his words. So he raised his voice and lo I went. And I was relieved to find out that my Papa wasn’t lying, cause the shopkeeper actually could make sense of that language.
That time, I felt, if only I too knew Urdu, I could have made out what Papa wrote to the shopkeeper.
But then, from age five to age nineteen, I wonder if I ever even remembered this incident save tonight, that too while pondering over the introduction of this write-up.
Nevertheless, this is the oldest incident that I can recollect, owing to my deep thirst for Urdu literature, and particularly Urdu Poetry or ‘Nazm’.
So here it goes followed with an English translation:
PORTRAIT OF A PROSTITUTE by Your Highness, ‘Gulzaar’
Khet ke sabze mein besuudh si padi hai dubkiEk pagdandi ki kuchli hui adhmui -si - laash Tez kadmoN ke tale dard se karaahti hai
Do kinaaroN ke pe javaaN sittoN ke chehre tak-kar
Chup si reh jaati hai yeh sochke bas
Yun meri khokh kuchal dete na raahgeer agar
Mere bete bhi jawaan ho gaye hote ab tak Meri beti bhi to ab biyaahne ke kaabil hoti
English Translation by my dummy friend, ‘Abhrajeet’
[ Abhrajeet blogs at:
http://www.babagoesawry.blogspot.com/
check it out only if you want to see his silly dedications to me. SMILES.]
Amidst green meadows, lies she, futile, agonized and terrorised
Tramped by sidewalks, bearing a seared face, a grotesque corpse
Squealing in pain under unforgiving stompings
Seeing young faces from the corner of her eyes
She falls quiet just at the thought of this,
Hey traveller, if you would not have pried open my womb
My sons would be young too by now
And my girls, I would be looking to marry them off.
I don’t know how would you all find it. So if you are one of those reading it, please do stop by and leave a comment on a scale of 1 to 5. 1 being the worst and 5, excellent.
This would help me to know your tastes, and put up more Nazms here.
As somebody said that Urdu was tailor made for literature, so what we have now is a Urdu literature which very honestly mirrors the society it lives in. For generations Urdu was closely associated with the man on the street and his emotions, that’s why Urdu is now more popular than ever. A language Jannat ( Heaven). P.S: If someone feels that justice to the nazm isn’t duly credited in the translation, your suggestion is always a welcome.
After this post enjoyed some moments on the blog, I have come back to add this, I don’t know why, but Papa, I would want to dedicate this post to you.
Love you a lot for being with me always. I love you Papa, and I miss you a lot, though now, sometimes.
