Unfortunate victim

Beside the armchair in which I sit and spend most of the day reading, writing or dozing off, there is a pile of books, the existence of which had escaped my memory. One afternoon I decided to take a look at the books. I was surprised to find among them Celebrating The Best of Urdu Poetry, published by Penguin and jointly produced by Kamna Prasad and me. I was both overjoyed as I could reproduce its contents in my columns, and depressed as well that I had forgotten a publication of mine brought out only five years ago. Was this an early sign of the disease, Alzheimer’s? This was the forgetfulness that had ruined the last eight years of my wife’s life. This disease reduces a person to nothing. The former president of the United States of America, Ronald Reagan, succumbed to it. The former Union defence minister, George Fernandes, is also afflicted by it.

However, the first entry in my book cheered me up. It is a piece by Mirza Muhammad Rafi Sauda (1713-1781). He was born in Delhi, and boasted of an Afghan lineage. He moved to Farrukhabad and then to Lucknow, where he died. I enjoyed reading my translation of these lines. The cheerful lines read thus:

Saaqi gayee bahaar, dil mein

rahee havas

Too minnaton sey jaam dey aur

main kahoon key ‘bas’

O Saqi, gone is the spring of youth;

Remains but one regret in this

heart of mine:

Had you but pressed the goblet in

my hand

Had I but said, “Enough! Enough;

no more wine!”

Even more cheerful are the lines by Meer Taqi Meer (1723-1810). He was born in a village close to Agra. He migrated to Delhi and witnessed the devastation of the city by the invader, Ahmed Shah Abdali. He recorded this in his autobiography, Zikr-e-Meer. He moved to Lucknow, where he died a pauper. I quote one of his better known poems on love.

Ishq he ishq hai jahaan

dekho

Sarey aalam mein bhar

rahaa hai ishq

Ishq maashooq ishq

aashiq hai

Yaanee apnaa hee mub tala

hai ishq

Kaun maqsad ko ishq bin pahoncha

Aarzoo ishq muddaa hai ishq

Dard hee khud hai khud

davaa hai ishq

Shaikh kya jaaney too ki kya hai

ishq

Too na hovey to

nazm-e-kul uth jaaye

Sachchey hain

shaairaan khuda hai ishq

It is love and only love

whichever way you look,

Love is piled high from the

earth to the sky above.

Love is the beloved, love

the lover too,

In short, love is itself in

love with love.

Without love, what man

his goal attains?

Love is desire, love is the ultimate

aim.

Love is anguish, love the

antidote of love’s pain

O wise man, what would

you know of love?

Without love the order of the

universe would be broken

God is love — truly have the poets

spoken.

Quick comeback

A minister of the Shiromani Akali Dal, when asked how Punjab has slipped from its number one position in the country to number 12, replied: “It is wrong to say Punjab is no longer the number one state — think of the national anthem, Punjab’s name figures first.”

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Question: Have you seen badals on earth?

Answer: Yes, visit Punjab!

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A former deputy commissioner of police in Amritsar, who trimmed his beard ruthlessly, once called a meeting in order to observe Vanmahotsav. He stressed that trees are the ornaments of the earth, a gift of nature which should not be cut. During his speech, an invitee rose from his seat and interrupted the former DCP by saying: “Sir, hair too is an ornament of human beings, given to mankind by nature. We shouldn’t cut it.” Stumped, the former DCP called off the meeting.

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Question: What is common to a governor and an appendix?

Answer: Both are of no use when inactive, and liable to be removed if active.

(Contributed by K.J.S. Ahluwalia, Amritsar)