December 6th is a day of mourning. For the entire country, perhaps, but doubly so for me. It is the day my grandfather died. Not in 1992, of course. He died in his bed: practically blind, bed-ridden, in pain, and given to whispering 'ab bas' to nobody in particular, once in a while, even though he showed little sign of 'bas karo'-ing otherwise. Since he could no longer read or write, a kaatib had been hired so he could dictate and finish the last few projects he'd been working on. (One of them had been the researching of various versions of the Ramayana in Urdu.)
On the 6th of December, he slipped away. Quietly, I hear, leaving so much unfinished, unseen, unsaid.
About the other great tragedy of this date, I find I cannot find any new words. But poetry often says the unsayable, and Kaifi Azmi has said some part of it.
"Ram banvaas se laut ke jab ghar mein aaye
Yaad jungle bahut aaya jo nagar mein aaye
Raks-e-deewangi aangan mein jo dekha hoga
6 Desambar ko Shri Raam ne socha hoga..."
Read Doosra Banvaas, here.
Hmmm... Kahaan se kahaan link bithaaya hai! Wah!
ReplyDeleteDid all of Grandpa's contemporaries have the same style of poetry?
Pity but Grandpa ke bahut saare sher capture hee nahi huye... Woh aise hee taxi mein chalte chalte keh dete thhe... with no one writing anything down.
You must compile all of your grandpa's writings. Im sure you will do a great job!
ReplyDeletebro: no, all of grandpa's contemporaries did not have the same style. ali sardar jafri's was different from his. but their concerns and the essence of their content was often the same. at least in their early nazms.
ReplyDeletecandid: a lot of it is already out there. and i don't know the urdu script, which is a major handicap.
anything goes: anything does not go.