Urdu poetry and the tradition of Marsiya Goi

Marsiya is an elegiac poem of mourning written when someone close, someone much loved dies. Urdu literature has a rich tradition of Marsiya goi.

There are two types of marasi. The riwayati marsiya, one that is written to commemorate the martyrdom of Imam Hussain and his family and friends in the battle of Karbala which was fought on the 10th of October 680 AD; and Shaksi marsiya – a marsia written on a person’s death by his follower, admirer or a loved one. Marsiya-e-Gopal Krishna Gokhle by Brij Narayan Chakbast, Marsia-e-Daag by Allama Iqbal, Marsiyae-Gandhi by Majaz Lucknowi, A marsiya written by Mirza Ghalib after the demise of his elder brother, Jan Nisar Akhtar’s marsia written on the demise of his wife, Safiya are shaksi marasi. 

The earliest marasi are reported from the 16th century Deccan in the deewan of Muhammad Quli Qutub Shah. However, the riwayati marsiya writing began in Lucknow somewhere around the 17th century. 

The battle of Karbala was fought at Karbala (central Iraq) between a small group of people that included men, women, old and young;  lead by Husayn Ibn Ali against the huge army of Yazid, the second Umayyad Khalifa (Caliph).  Several hundred centuries later, the shadow of the events that took place on the grounds of Karbala still influences the Urdu literary tradition in India and that is simply because of the power of narration of poets like Mir Anis, Mirza Dabeer, Ali Hyder, Josh Malihabadi and several others. 

A typical riwayati marsia has a preamble (tamheed), portrait or description of the character (chehera), description of the physical qualities of the character (sarapa), departure for the battle (rukhsat), his arrival on the battlefield (aamad), the character’s declaration of his noble ancestry and his superiority (rajaz), the battle (jang) the martyrdom (shahadat) and lamentations (bain). 

The heart-wrenching description of the battlefield, the thirst, the helplessness at rukhsat, and the pain of losing dear ones, and the resolve to stand by the truth moves the reader of a marsiya and one can not help but shed a tear.

I leave you with some lines by Mir Anees. 

The caravan is departing for Kufa from Madina, Hazarat Sugra is ill, she can not travel and and has to stay back at Madina.  She is lamenting that she may loose her brothers in the war when her mother tells her:

माँ बोली ये क्या कहती है सुग़रा तिरे क़ुर्बां 
घबरा के ना अब तन से निकल जाये मिरी जां
बेकस मेरी बच्ची तेरा अल्लाह निगहबां
सेहत हो तुझे मेरी दुआ है यही हर आँ
क्या भाई जुदा बहनों से होते नहीं बेटा
कुन्बे के लिए जानों को खोते नहीं बेटा

The caravan reaches close to Kufa and there is a standoff. A battle is imminent. Mir Anees describes the morning scene at the battlefield of  karbala

चलना वो बाद-ए-सुब्ह के झोंकों का दम-ब-दम
मरग़ान-ए-बाग़ की वो ख़ुश-अल्हानियाँ बहम
वो आब-ओ-ताब नहर वो मौजों का पेच-ओ-ख़म
सर्दी हवा में पर ना ज़्यादा बहुत ना कम
खा खा के ओस और भी सब्ज़ा हरा हुआ
था मोतीयों से दामन-ए-सहरा भरा हुआ

And the scene where after offering the namaz, the men are ready to fight knowing what the outcome is going to be.

तैयार जान देने पे छोटे बड़े हुए
तलवारें टेक टेक के सब उठ खड़े 

And the drama at the battlefield, describing the army of Yazid 

घोड़े को अपने करते थे सेराब सब सवार
आते थे ऊंट घाट पे बाँधे हुए क़तार
पीते थे आब-ए-नहर परिंदे आ के बेशुमार
सके ज़मीं पे करते थे छिड़काओ बार-बार
पानी का दाम-ओ-दर को पिलाना सवाब था
इक इबन फ़ातिमा के लिए क़हत-ए-आब था

A description of the attack by spears on Hazarat Abbas

यूं बरछीयॉं थीं चारों तरफ़ इस जनाब के
जैसे किरन  निकलती है गर्द आफ़ताब के

And when Imam Hussain is ready to leave for the battle he says

जिस वक़्त मुझे ज़बह करे फ़िर्क़ा-ए-नारी
रोना ना सुने कोई ना आवाज़ तुम्हारी
बे-सब्रों का शीवह है बहुत गिरयाँ-ओ-ज़ारी
जो करते हैं सब्र उनका ख़ुदा करता है यारी
हों लाख सितम , रखियो नज़र अपनी ख़ुदा पर
इस ज़ुलम का इन्साफ़ है अब रोज़-ए-जज़ा पर

And the prayer of Zaynaib after the martyrdom 

सर पर अब अली ना रसूल फ़लक वक़ार
घर लुट गया गुज़र गईं ख़ातून-ए-रोज़गार
अम्मां के बाद रोई हुसैन को मैं सोगवार
दुनिया में अब हसीन है इन सब का यादगार
तो दाद दे मिरी की अदालत पनाह है
कुछ उसपे बन गई तो ये मजमा तबाह है

Cover Photo: Mir_Anees_in_Hyderabad_in_1871_reciting_marsia

Ye chahat ki ada teri qayamat hai. Ek ghazal

मिरे ज़िम्मे तिरे घर की निज़ामत है
ये चाहत की अदा तेरी क़यामत है

शिकायत है! शिकायत है! शिकायत है!
तिरी हर बात बस ला’नत मलामत है

सफ़र से थक के आने पर मिली तस्कीं
ये देखा जब कि मेरा घर सलामत है

शिकायत क्यों करो नाकारा बैठे हो
कि सुस्ती मौत ही की तो अलामत है

बड़ी मुश्किल से खुलते हैं ये दरवाज़े
मिरे दिल के किवाड़ों में क़दामत है

– स्वाति सानी “रेशम”

مرے ذمے ترے گھر کی نظامت ہے
یہ چاہت کی ادا تیری قیامت ہے

!شکایت ہے! شکایت ہے! شکایت ہے
تری ہر بات بس لعنت ملامت ہے

سفر سے تھک کے آنے پر ملی تسکیں
یہ دیکھا جب کہ میرا گھر سلامت ہے

شکایت کیوں کرو ناکارا بیٹھے ہو
کہ سستی موت ہی کی تو علامت ہے

بڑی مشکل سے کھلتے ہیں یہ دروازے
مرے دل کے کواڑوں میں قدامت ہے

سواتی ثانی ریشم —

एक अकेला शेर ایک اکیلا شعر

ये लीडर सच नहीं कहते कभी हम से
सियासत है, न कह इस को क़यादत है

یہ لیڈر سچ نہیں کہتے کبھی ہم سے
سیاست ہے، نہ کہہ اس کو قیادت ہے

Photo by Arthur Savary on Unsplash

Ham Dekhenge – Faiz Ahmad Faiz

We shall see
it is certain that we will
the day that was promised
the day which is destined

When the mountains of tyranny and oppression
will float away like cotton balls
we the ruled and oppressed will hear
our heartbeats pounding under the earth
and the sky over the heads of our oppressors
will echo with thunder and lightening

When from the home of God
silent spectators and icons of falsehood are dismissed
we who are pure of hearts, and who were denied the holy sanctuary
will be given a high platform
The crowns will be seized
and the thrones will be overturned

There will be only one name that of almighty
the one who can not be seen but is everywhere
He is the spectacle and He is the spectator
A cry of “I am the truth” will rise
Which you are, and so am I
The sons of God will rule this land
which you are, and so am I

We shall see
it is certain that we will.

Painting of Faiz by Shubnum Gill

Papa!

My relationship with my dad went through many phases. As a small child, I was scared of him but not scared enough to not ask questions – as long as they are not “stupid questions” and I did not pester him.

As a young girl, I respected his scientific acumen and as an adult, I learnt from him that to have healthy relationships, one needs to give space, privacy and respect others’ individuality

Papa ran a small photo studio and did some pathbreaking work in his field and was always busy. A Geologist by education, he decided to follow his passion for photography when it came to choosing a livelihood. He started the studio on 20th February 1962 when he was 28.

Also, at that time my grandfather was retired and Papa was the only earning member of our joint family. A decade later, in 1973, when my sister was born, my grandfather also embarked on a new business which eventually was very successful.

Papa’s photo studio was known as Retina Studio and he was the only photographer in the city and perhaps one of the few in the country, in the mid-1970s who did photomicrography for medical sciences and research work. His work involved long hours of peering into a microscope and taking photographs of the slide samples provided. These photos were then made into transparencies to be used for the purpose of education and research.

The other work he did was taking photographs of medical procedures. He has photographed most of the pathbreaking surgeries that have happened in Nagpur.

For a brief time, he also did industrial photography for some government organisations but he could not get around to beat the bureaucracy and was always unhappy. He was not the person who could go and sit at the babu’s office just so his payment is released. He was of the opinion that he did good work and the payment should be made promptly and as professionally as he did his work. However, he thoroughly enjoyed working in the field of Medical Sciences.

Papa’s typical day started with waking up at 8.30 AM and leaving for work around 10.00 AM. He would on most days come home for lunch around 2 pm and then go back only to return at around 10.00 PM, have dinner, read whatever novel he was reading and go off to sleep around midnight. His weekly off was Saturday and every Saturday evening he and mom would go out and spend some time together. At times my sister and I went along too and we were treated to a meal of Dosa or a glass of Sugarcane juice. I looked forward to and loved this outing and it is a lovely memory.

On Saturdays I had a morning school which got over at 11 AM and I would come back to papa being home and listening to Ghazals or classical music on our gramophone (and in later years on a spool tape recorder) . I would hang around with him upstairs just so that I could listen to it too; much to the annoyance of my mother who expected me to help her with the household work.

He also inculcated the love of reading in us. Even though money was tight he always bought one Amar Chitra Katha and Chandamama every month ever since I was 10 years old. He kept buying these magazines till I finished school -although I had graduated to reading classics in English and Hindi by that time. When I was 15, looking at my love for Urdu poetry he also bought the prepublication copy of “Aaina e ghazal” for me.

There would be days when I would go with mom and spend the evening time at the studio where he would either be attending to his patrons or sitting and talking with a few of his many friends. Retina studio was the “adda” where all of them met. Sometime in the early ’70s he also joined the Masonic Lodge and his circle of friends grew bigger.

He was a people’s person. Loved having friends and family around. Our ancestral home too was a place where people, relatives, and relatives of relatives, or friends of relatives kept coming, sometimes even staying for an extended period of time, much to my irritation and annoyance as it would disturb my school and study schedule. Ours was a traditional family and as the eldest daughter, my first responsibility was to help in the kitchen, attend to the guests.

But Papa always encouraged me to study – study science and even helped me with my physics, and biology lessons. Chemistry I was always good at – I later learnt that our family was a family of chemists. Papa’s ways of teaching me, however, weren’t very pleasant when he realised that I am slacking. He would throw the book away and get angry. I don’t ever remember hitting me but his loud voice was enough to scare me to death. But I still loved being taught by him, he was a good teacher and I could understand the concepts easily if I paid attention.

As I grew up, our relationship changed. He became a confidante and an advisor to me. Gave me all the freedom and taught me to take the responsibilities that came with the freedom. He was the first person to know when I fell in love for the first time at an age of 19. He did not react when I told him, just said, see to it that this does not affect your studies. Ours was an orthodox Kayastha household, and this (while it may not be now) was a big deal for me. Although there was one time when I showed a photograph to him, of me and my boyfriend, which he destroyed along with it’s negative. Many years later, when I was talking to him about it, he said he did not know better and that he destroyed the picture because he was worried it could affect my life in future.

Papa was a modern man, never made me or my sister felt that we were any less just because we were girls. Much of what we both are is because of our upbringing by him and Mom.

He was an agnostic, but respected mom’s right towards her religious beliefs, and mine of being an atheist.

After he retired and closed the studio in 1999, he started spending more time at home. By that time I was married, Aasim was born and that is when we started talking more. Aasim too spent his growing up years with papa and was also taught a lot of things, and perhaps some more than what he taught me.

It was after he fell down the stairs in 2013 that I insisted that he and mom come and stay next doors to us since I was constantly worried about their well being. I have a huge library and a big collection of music, and he loved being here although he did miss being in the house he made for himself, after moving away from the ancestral home in 1998, he understood my concerns so he and mom kept shuttling between both the homes, for the next couple of years.

Papa was an active person and till he was 83 he regularly walked 5 km every day. He had left smoking and had started working out since he suffered an angina attack when he was in his early 50s.

He was also aware of his advancing age and the issues of health that come with old age. While he was always clear and had told us and several others, that after he is no more, his body should be donated for the cause of medical academics and research, in 2016 he decided to do the paperwork.

Papa was the eldest in the family in his generation and was respected and loved by everyone. Everyone was also very afraid of talking to him. His two brothers and three sisters are very close to each other but rarely talk their hearts out. All the siblings love being together, not talking much with each other but sitting in comfortable silence, each doing their own things.

Over the past 20 years, Papa talked a lot with me. We would sit and discuss books, music, poetry, and matters of life and death. He had entrusted me to carry out his will of body donation, knowing that I will respect his wish and do it even at the cost of going against our extended family.

When he was diagnosed with fast progressing Interstitial Lung Disease earlier this year, he knew that it’s just a matter of time.

A few months back, one morning he told me “For the first time in my life, I have written something, see if it makes sense” It was a couplet and one small poem. He gave it to me “isko rakh lo” he said.

Papa was an emotional person but always found himself at a loss of words to express his feelings. Perhaps it was social conditioning or it was his upbringing that made him suppress his feelings. He wanted to tell the people around that he loved them, but could not get around to saying it. Although I am sure, everyone did understand that he did. I asked him once as to why does he not express himself, to which he replied. “Pata nahi, kabhi kiya hi nahi”

By March end his health deteriorated, and when we went for a check up, he wanted me to tell exactly how much of his lungs were still clear.

He did not like being very emotional, and while he was a sensitive person, he rarely portrayed it outwardly. The best way to communicate with Papa was on a logical and practical level and that is where he could connect with me most.

A day after his hospitalisation, on the 19th May, he spoke to everyone. Most of the family had already flown in as he was deteriorating fast. He even called my eldest bua, his sister who was to reach in a day or two. A few of my cousins made video calls and he spoke to them, and had a hearty laugh when Atul told him on video call “Mamaji your hairstyle is so spunky”

He was in the best of health that day, could breath effortlessly, and even speak very clearly, which he could not a day earlier. He ate moong dal khichidi, his favourite meal, heartily. Even consumed good quantity of liquids. He spent most of the day talking to everyone who came to visit him in the hospital.

By late afternoon, just the two of us were there, I told him to sleep but he wanted to sit and talk. We talked for a long time, of various things, people and incidences. He reminisced his childhood and spoke to me about his parents and the family. He spoke of his grandsons. “Ishan is too young but it was good that Aasim had come last month” he said. He also instructed me to take the printout of the family tree which he sat and made with Aasim.

A while later he said he is feeling very good and much better but knows that the lungs are giving up. He asked me if he was right, and I did not lie, I said yes, papa, the lungs are not good. To which he recited a couplet

layi hayaat laye, qaza le chali chale
apni khushi na aaye, na apni khushi chale

We talked a bit about this ghazal and then he wanted to hear the K L Saigal version of this ghazal

After this one he recited one misra from another ghazal and wanted to me to recite the entire ghazal for him. We played that ghazal too.

kamar bandhe hue chalne ko yaaN sab yaar baithe hain
bahut aage gaye baki jo hain tayyar baithe hain

 

We listened to more ghazals by K L Saigal and C H Atma together and then he said “play that piece of Bhairvai by Ustad Vilayat Ali Khan and Ustad Zakir Hussain”. I knew which piece he was talking about. It’s a favourite of both of us. So I played this while he closed his eyes and heard it and drifted off to sleep.

 

This was the last complete conversation I had with Papa. I returned home for the night as my Swapna, my sister took charge.

The next morning, on 20th, she called me saying that his oxygen levels (SPO2) are fluctuating widely, they don’t look good, and I rushed back to the hospital.

The day passed in making him feel comfortable during the bouts of restlessness due to low oxygen levels. Finally, just before 7 PM, he suffered a cardiac arrest while I was holding him. Swapna and Tarique were also near his bed.

The attending doctors and the staff of the hospital were very quick to revive him, but his lungs were not able to sustain the beating heart. He finally gave up the fight at 7.55 PM.

As per his wishes, his body was donated for medical education and research purposes to NKP Salve Institute of Medical Sciences and Lata Mangeshkar Hospital, Hingna, Nagpur. His eyes were donated to Mahatme Eye Bank and Eye Hospital.

Papa lived a happy and fulfilled life, was surrounded by his siblings and the family during the last days of his life. He had met everyone he wanted to in the past few months of his life. There was no regret and he could feel the love of the family. He lived a life that needs to be celebrated. Knowing him as much as I do, I know that this is how he would want to be remembered.

The photos below were taken in April 2019, when Aasim came home to meet him.

Family
The four of us
Papa with Mom
Papa and Bua

Reciting Allama Iqbal’s Aurat for The Mansarovar Project

وجود زن سے ہے تصویر کائنات میں رنگ
اُسی کے ساز سے ہے زندگی کا سوز دروں

شرف میں بڑھ کے ثریا سے مشت خاک اس کی
کہ ہر شرف ہے ِاسی درج کا درِ مکنوں

مکالمات فلاطوں نہ لکھ سکی لیکن
اُسی کے شعلے سے ٹوٹا شرار افلاطوں

And here’s my translation of the Nazm

The presence of feminine is the colour palette of universe
In her melodies are the pathos and life’s essence

The spark from a fistful is dust in her hands is brighter than the high Pleiades
And her uniqueness is more precious than those of the hidden perls

She is not Plato, she did not scribe philosophies
But it’s from her flames rose Plato, who philosophises

Aasim’s startup Orai App gets Media coverage

Aasim’s first startup, Orai App was chosen to be at Comcast’s Lift Lab accelerator program in 2018 batch where they met a lot of people, were given guidance and learnt a lot on how to run a startup.

Orai App improves upon a person’s spoken skills by giving feedback and ratings and trains a person, or a group of people (like sales forces) for better communication thereby increasing the chances of professional success.

In January 2019, Orai got a funding of $2.3 M and the company was featured on. Aasim’s first startup getting funding is a huge news and as parents we are super proud.

NBC news covered the news and they also appeared on Techcruch.

The Rock Buddhas of Ladakh: Part 3

13th September

Tarique and I woke up early and decided to go and see where the gurgling sound water spring that we heard all night was coming from.

Since there was no direct access to the sound we were hearing, we decided to go through the village. It turned out to be a 2 km plus walk which led us to the small spring, which eventually led us to a huge freshwater melt from the glacier. It was next to the small monastery of the village in the mountains.

Stream at Hundar
Stream at Hundar

 

The Monastery of Hundar  Village
The Monastery of Hundar Village

 

Himnak Boards
The Border Road Organization (BRO for short) and Himnak have put up interesting boards throughout, and they were a constant source of amusement and laughter.

 

Himnak Board
Another signboard

We walked along the stream for almost a kilometre before we turned back and were surprised to see a congregation of raptors – around 45-50 of them next to the mountains near the bridge of the main road. Cursing ourselves for just carrying the kit lens with the camera and not the 100-400 lens, we still took pictures. It turned out that it was a large migrating flock of kites. We stood there for quite some time observing them and then decided that it was getting late for the next item in our itinerary and promised ourselves to come the next day with a longer lens to photograph them.

Hundar Stream
Early morning light, stream and the photographer.

It was time to go to the sand dunes to see the famous Bactrian Camels. The Bactrian Camel has two humps on it’s back, in contrast to the single-humped dromedary or Arabian camel. Their name comes from the ancient historical region Central Asia of Bactria which lies north of the Hindu Kush mountains. The population of these two-humped camels is around two million. About 100 of which are found in the Hunder town in Nubra Valley. This is the only place in India where Bactrian camels live.

Iqbal Bhai’s uncle (Tayaji), Haji Abdul Razak Jamshed , an Urdu teacher from Nubra valley accompanied us to the sand dunes. Haji saheb owns one of the camels and was accompanying us for a photoshoot for the Urdu book he has written on the Nubra valley titled: Wadi e Nubrah ki mukhtasar kahani (وادی نوبرہ کی مختصر کہانی)  The book has been translated into English and is in circulation already.

A brief history of Nubra Valley
A brief history of Nubra Valley

Haji Saheb is 85 years old, still, fit and extremely knowledgeable about the region gave us a brief history of Nubra valley. He told us that before 1929, these sand dunes did not exist but Shyok was in floods 1929 due ice melt from the glacier and a breach in the dam, ,( an account of which I also found on the web), This left a part of Nubra valley completely submerged, but a huge pool of water here stayed much after the floodwaters receded, resulting in sand and over the years the forces of natures made this place a real cold desert, with daytime temperatures in summer being quite high, and the nights very cold.

Haji Abdul Razak Jamshed
Haji Abdul Razak Jamshed (Tayaji) with his pet camel

 

The cold desert of Nubra Valley at Hundar
The cold desert of Nubra Valley at Hundar

 

Stream in the desert
Sitting on the banks of a stream in the desert, discussing the history of Nubra Valley with Tayaji

Continue reading The Rock Buddhas of Ladakh: Part 3

Ek Akela sher

تم آؤ خزاں کی سرد ہواؤں کی طرح
میں زرد پتوں کی طرح تم سے لپٹتی جاؤں
-سواتی ثانی ریشم

तुम आओ खिजाँ की सर्द हवाओं की तरह
मैं ज़र्द पत्तों की तरह तुम से लिपटती जाऊँ
– स्वाति सानी ‘रेशम’

 

Chhattisgarh tour – the story in black and white

 

When we take active vacations together, we tend to push our limits, and we have more fun. We meet and connect with other adventure seekers, and at times make friends for life. Tarique and I have almost always taken active vacations (Yes, a wildlife  safari counts as an active vacation)

It had been long, and a holiday was long overdue. Cycle Safari announced a tour de Chhattisgarh from 26th to 30th January 2018, and even though I was not fit enough to cycle long distances; and Tarique was recovering from an injured knee, we decided to go for it for two reasons.  Chhattisgarh was a place that had been on our list of “to visit” places for very long and this was a fully supported tour, we had a choice of cycling for a part of the distance and travel in the support vehicles. I also decided to take our DSLR along, and it was a wise decision.

Despite not being in a great physical shape I ended up cycling the entire distance of 82 km on the first day but cycling such a distance after almost a year’s gap sprained my left iliotibial band.

Took a day off to rest on day 2 and put my SLR to good use. The rest helped me recover, and I could cycle on day 3 and day 4. On an aside, just before we got on our bikes on day 3, I slipped and fell down injuring both my knees. But that was hardly a deterrent.

What we brought back were tons of beautiful memories and lots of photographs.  After reaching home Tarique and I were browsing and processing the pictures taken during the trip on the iPad when I realised that black and white brought out the mood of the trip much better than colour pictures.

Tarique has written a more detailed journal entry, you can read it here.

So here’s the story of our cycling vacation through the beautiful state of Chhattisgarh in black and white pictures.

Click on the thumbnails of the pictures to view them in higher resolution.

See more photos on my facebook page.