Simply, a poet
Ahmad Faraz: Carrying on a poetic tradition.
Mera qalam to amanat hai mere logon ki
Mera qalam to adalat mere zamir ki hai
Isiliye to jo likha tapak-e-jan se likha
Jabhi to loch kamaan ka zabaan tir ki hai
(My pen is the trust of my people/ My pen is the court of my conscience/ That is what makes me write with ardour and alacrity/And gives my writing the spring of a bow and the keenness of an arrow.)
Romantic and visionary, a poet of protest and sensuality, the voice of liberty and angst,
AHMAD FARAZ is a heady combination. Of him Faiz Ahmad Faiz had said, "He protests against injustice as passionately as he professes his love." A living legend and, in some ways, Pakistan's very first pin-up star long before rock stars and the like became popular in campuses across Pakistan, he enjoys a near cult status in the pantheon of revolutionary poets. In India he is best known for his ghazals popularised by Ghulam Ali, Mehdi Hasan, Runa Laila, Jagjit Singh and others. Regarded by many as the foremost Urdu poet writing today, Faraz at 74 continues to wield a powerful pen. In Delhi for the Jashn-e-Bahar mushaira he spoke to RAKSHANDA JALIL on poetry, politics and people.
IN Pakistan, poetry has survived the traumas of Partition, the successive waves of repressive regimes, the muzzling of free speech under martial law. Some would say it has flowered despite all attempts to crush the poet's voice. Do you believe the instinct for poetry needs instability and suppression in order to find expression? Does it survive because of it or despite it?
All these factors contributed in making Pakistani poetry a potent piece of literature. From the early days, our political leaders had either lost their credibility or sold out for small petty gains. Only some of the writers who were either jailed or censored or banned on TV and radio or shunted from one province to the other enjoyed some measure of credibility. While all martial laws were severe on the poets, some were harsher than others. Zia's was the worst because it was double-edged — on the one hand it promoted the fundamentalists, on the other it punished the progressive thinkers. That was the worst phase for our country's writers. Yet it also provided ample food for thought for the poet and made protest poetry so popular in Pakistan.
Your first volume of poetry, Tanha Tanha was published in the late 1950s when you were an undergraduate student and became a huge, instant hit. Who would you say shaped your earliest poetic instincts?
There were some names then who were very prominent and attractive to aspiring poets — Faiz, Ghalib, Hafiz, N.M. Rashid, Sahir Ludhianvi. The progressive writers' movement was in full swing. All the young writers were influenced by it, as I was. We were living in the same conditions, so naturally our influences were the same. If there is dust in the air, I will inhale the same dust as others will; the difference will only be there in the breathing-out systems. I was influenced by Faiz, just like others among my near contemporaries, just as Sardar Jafri and Majrooh were influenced by him. In fact, Faiz was the one poet who influenced a whole generation of poets. The romantic, lyrical and protest elements that his poetry embodied moved all of us in greater or smaller degree.
It is said the mantle of Faiz has fallen on you ...
In the early stages, Faiz was a great influence on me. But there were others too, such as the Persian poet Naziri in particular. Faiz redeployed the classical poetic idiom, using a multi-layered tapestry of apparently simple words and images.
We see that in your poetry too, a pronounced literary quality mingled with a sweet simplicity and a fair sprinkling of simple Hindi words as in your ghazal kathin rah-guzar ki ...
Yes, I do feel if Urdu has to survive as a literary language it has to increase its vocabulary. Or else it will dry up. It has to take in more words from Hindi, from Persian and other dialects. For my generation, Persian offered far more to the Urdu poet than the classical idiom of shama and parwana. After Partition they exiled the Persianised and Arabic words from Urdu there; here they banished the softer Hindi words from their poetry. Urdu became a casualty of this language politics — on both sides of the border. The Urdu poet became handicapped because Persian is a sweet language with a vast vocabulary, its idiom is so compressed, the language so sweet sounding and has had such an enriching influence on the Urdu language and poetry. Hindi also has a similar softness and lightness that is missing in the new, Sanskritised Hindi. Faiz used this colloquial Hindi (ganga-jamuni zaban) very effectively. The containers of Urdu can sometimes be small and limited, traditional images and similes can be stifling. The Urdu language and the Urdu poet must be willing to go beyond them.
You are called the Poet of the Masses. What do you attribute this near cult following to, especially among the younger people?
It is the youth who carry the torch forward. So it is definitely a compliment.
In a word, how would you describe yourself? As a lyrical poet? A romantic? A crusader?
Well, I am a poet. These adjectives are meaningless. You can't compartmentalise a poet. Whether you are writing romantic or protest poetry, the poetry should dominate. The lyrical, emotional and cerebral content should combine to produce sangeet, a lyrical softness of language. Jazb-e-azam as it is called in Urdu. I say don't make poetry harsh. Don't take the delicacy and softness, the komalta, out of it. Ideology alone does not, cannot, constitute poetry; it must harmonise with the beat of the words. The choice of words is very essential, but so is rhythm and harmony. A jang ka tarana (battle song) will have a totally different beat and rhythm from a romantic nazm, but it need not be unmusical.
Tell us a little about your professional career.
I started my career as a scriptwriter for radio. Then I taught Urdu, then I was Director of the National Centre, which was primarily oriented towards the cultural landscaping of the whole of Pakistan — East and West Pakistan. Later, I was associated with the Academy of Letters as its first Project Director. Then I was arrested. I was placed in solitary confinement. The court freed me but I was in exile for many years when I floated around Africa, Europe, all over. I came back and was heading Lok Virsa for a while. Presently I am the Managing Director of the National Book Foundation which is Pakistan's premier publishing outfit and book development and promotion organisation with a countrywide distribution network. It organises Kitab Melas and prepares a National Book Policy for the government.
You have been coming to India off and on for many years now. What do you make of this "feel good" factor that is being bandied about? Is there anything here in India that makes you feel good on this particular trip?
Well, for me there isn't any change. The people I meet have always been the same. They have always met me in the same way.
Is there a similar feeling in Pakistan today spawned by the current flow of goodwill between the two countries?
In Pakistan, yes, there is a change in the way they see India. Educated people want peace and harmony and things to change for the better. The hawkish voices are dying down and there is greater openness. But because the people don't trust their own government, they don't fully trust any initiative by the government or through the government. In the end, it is only through people to people contact that there can be any lasting change.
Do you think there is a directive from the establishment? Show greater warmth, talk of aman and dosti or else ...
Directives are always there — when to cough, when not to, when to raise your hand when not to (laughs).
Finally, what do you want to say to the people of our two countries?
The people of India and Pakistan must assert themselves, they must force their will upon the politicians, they must make the most of the goodwill that exists between the common people of these two countries. They must tell the politicians: Why waste money on armouries and bombs and weapons; instead build bridges between people, and win hearts.
Rakshanda Jalil is Visiting Fellow at the Academy of Third World Studies, Jamia Millia Islamia, working on a Pakistan Studies Project.
Printer friendly
page
Send this article to Friends by
E-Mail
Literary Review
