Urdu has produced a veritable galaxy of poets who specialized in writing about love and its myriad manifestations in one's life. Many of these poets lived and wrote about love from stratospheric heights, so remain confined to scholars. Jigar was perhaps the only one who lived his life as glimpsed through his pain-soaked philosophy-drenched poetry... a life perhaps more tragic than words could ever describe.
'Jigar' means the liver, though not necessarily the physiological organ that controls our lives every moment, it has its own esoteric meanings, more abstract than poor equivalents in other languages. This was his chosen sobriquet, for his terse couplets always celebrated the self-worth, self-esteem and stolidity that may have eluded him in real life. 'Muradabadi' means one hailing from a tiny town called Muradabad in the northern state of Uttar Pradesh in India. His real name Ali Sikander ( perhaps Alexander in its Greek from) was never used in his 'virtual' life that he lived through his recitals, drunken revelry and worse -probably a schizophrenic life no one could understand, sympathize with nor support appropriately.
Born in 1890, he sailed through unspeakable affronts and near social boycott due to his alcoholism, several agonizing break-ups in marriages and love-life with more and more devastating effect on his personal life. Towards the end he became painfully aware of the demon of alcoholism completely ruling his wayward and meaningless life that went on whiplashing him mercilessly every moment, dragging him ever lower in his own abstractions about a way of life that always lacked peace of mind.
He passed away, finally freed from the perennial restlessness that drove him nearly insane, in 1960 and a parting shot -just two lines packing his personal philosophy speaks volumes :
Dil-ko sukun rooh-ko araam aa gaya
Maut aa gayi ki yaar ka paigham aa gaya.
Translation :
Heart attained peace, soul attained rest finally,
Either death arrived or a message from my love...
Jigar pours his heart out not through a thousand pages but just two lines here, hinting copiously at the unfathomable magnitude of his personal suffering... all his life he hankered for heart's peace and soul's rest -when the final moment arrived, he feels confused : is this death, the final release from the ignominies of daily life, or has a word finally arrived from an abstract lover he hankered after all his life? He may have hinted as most Urdu poets do, about the Almighty being the lover, in a very Sufi tradition. It's the glorious tradition in such poetry to use the minimal expression and throw open the dammed up emotional riches. The reader has to sympathize, even empathize with the poet to treat a couplet as the golden key to these unexpressed riches.
Here's a classic ghazal -as usual a loosely held collection of four couplets, with each couplet a pithy treasure of love-soaked expression and yet also a nugget of personal philosophy that every sensitive soul can identify with :
Har haqueequat to ba-andaaze tamaashaa dekha
Khoob dekha tere jalvon ko magar kyaa dekha
Hamne aisa na koi dekhne vala dekha
Joh yah kah de ke tera husn-e saraapaa dekha
Koi shaist-o-shayaane gham-e dil na milaa
Hamne jiss bazm-emin dekha usse tanhaa dekha
Dil-e-aagaah mein kyaa kahiye 'Jigar' kyaa dekha
Lehren letaa hua eek quatray mein dariyaa dekha.
Translation (very approximate)
I saw every reality as if I were watching a parody on stage
I saw every manifestation of your charms, and yet it wasn't enough
I never saw a true spectator who could claim that
He saw your blossoming charms in its entirety
Perhaps she couldn't get hold of a befitting grief
For whichever gathering I went to I saw her utterly lonesome
With an awakened heart, what can I say 'Jigar'
Within a drop I saw an entire river flowing onwards.
Transcreation :
Life's been no more than a farce
I glimpsed your charms, hungered for more
Where's a real witness to life
claiming he assimilated it all?
Doodling forever with minor woes
My love remained aloof in every gathering
Hey 'Jigar' it needs a true awakening
To visualize a coursing river in just a drop.
(c) Max Babi
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Comments: 23
I had a quiet sort of celebration at home -am still relaxing, and feeling my way after having relocated to Pune from Chennai. Had a great time, simply because we were reunited as a family after six months. Very enjoyable day.
Thanks for the kind comments too.
Cheerz!
This is a vibrant and "spirited" introduction to the haunted poet Jigar, who of course now I must read at some point in English translation (clearly none exist, except for yours) so I will have to wait. As a former drinker myself, with all that doom and longing sweating out of my alcohol-drenched pores until I almost turned thirty, I can truly relate to his struggle with demons. Of course your "transcreation" is the real translation--give me your address by email, Max, and I will send you George Steiner's great magnum opus on translation, so you always "transcreate" and never bother with the literal approximation--and it is a fine poem, that has a haunted sense as well.
I love coming to your pages because there is always such rich nourishment here.
For anyone who wants to send me bouquets or brickbats my email id is maxbabi at gmail dot com. John, it is an honor for me to realize you come back to my pages, just as I keep visiting yours... I attach huge importance to your time, since you fight against so much to be able to spare a moment or two with us.
I had sensed you were an ex-substance abuser ( two decades ago I used to smoke 220 cigarettes a day) and one day decided to end it all. Recently I decided to give up my unnatural addiction to sleeping tablets -and have succeeded. There's a fire in the belly for all these who have 'teetere on the edge' and come back unscathed. One can sense the warmth in their words...
What can I say to the warmth exuded by Carol, Gautami, Ed, Susan, Julian and the latecomer Bruce? Welcome to the fold, Susan. Do keep in touch -this world is throbbingly livel place because of endless diversity. It would suffocate my soul if the McDonalds' fries and Kentucky fried chicken were to rule every city in the world...by the way, local cuisine is a hot topic with me. Happy belated Birthday Susan, september-born are slightly different, aren't they?
Cheerz!
How interesting that Jigar means liver and the esoteric meaning of this organ is the clearing house for emotional sensitivities and issues of personal power.
It makes me think that our names talk about us in some ways.
love and light to you Max and happy belated birthday !
m.
Happy Birthday!
liver makes me think of Prmotheus and how he was punished by the Greek gods to have a raven eat at his liver . could there be a connection? Promotheus brought fire to mankind and was punished by the gods for it. the more i read the poetry of the east the more i am aware of the west myth of being advanced, it is sadly far far behind..
thank you for your teachings!
Yes Nathan, you have finally broached a subject very close to my heart.
It would be lovely to present an Urdu or Gujarati ghazal here for all of you to take a pot shot at... I have no doubt some of you may turn out to be geniuses at assimilating what the poet is transcribing for us from the bottomless ocean of emotions which usually makes our words seem paltry or equivocal.
My good friend David Raphael Israel from Washington DC, and a member of Gather dot com, has produced some transcreations better than mine, and the exquisite wonder of admiring the depth of his perception continues to amaze me even now.
Next post will be for you Nathan and other wonderful poets here!
Get in the mood, please....
Cheerz!
Its a privilege knowing you.
Naren