Not a matter of concern

I was under the impression that Bhajan Lal of Haryana was the megastar of political nautankis, who could perform acrobatics the likes of which we had not seen in India. I have changed my opinion to give the top position in political comic operas to H.D. Deve Gowda of Karnataka. You may recall that this self-styled “humble son of a farmer” burst on the scene some decades ago and has, for a few months, been our prime minister. He became famous for nodding off in the midst of important meetings but was wide awake if matters concerning his future and those of his sons were on the agenda. The general opinion was that he made the poorest prime minister of India: he decided to consolidate his hold in his home state, Karnataka.

He did not have a high opinion of the Congress, so he set up a party of his own, the Janata Dal (Secular). It did reasonably well in the last state elections but not well enough to form a government on its own. So he made a pact with the non-secular Bharatiya Janata Party to the effect that his son would rule the first half term, and the BJP the second half. The BJP accepted the offer. Deve Gowda put his son in the chief minister’s chair and told him how to run the state. When it was time to hand over power to the BJP, Deve Gowda changed his mind. “You are not a secular party,” he told them, “You will turn Karnataka into another Gujarat. Sorry, no change.” But his supporters were out-numbered. So the state was put under president’s rule. He had not anticipated that and changed his mind again. “Okay, you run the state but you must give my sons important ministerial portfolios.” President’s rule was abrogated. BJP netas were overjoyed. They flew into Bangalore — L.K. Advani, Rajnath Singh, Yashwant Sinha et al. They popped pedas in each other’s mouths. They felt they had conquered the South and soon all of Bharat would be theirs. They chose a chief minister with a mouth-filling, yard-long name hoping his rule would also be as long, Bookanakeri Siddalingappa Yeddyurappa. Deve Gowda demanded his pound of flesh: money-spinning ministerial portfolios for his sons and cronies. BJP said, “Nothing doing.” So once again Karnataka is under president’s rule.

Look upon it as a natak and you will smile; look upon it as a tragic drama of the depths to which our politicians have sunk and you will not sleep peacefully for many nights.

Youthful adventurer

Most poets and writers, though they may have written volumes of poetry or prose, make their name for a very small corpus of their life’s work. Among Urdu poets, the outstanding example of one who is known largely because of one poem sung and recited ever since he composed it is Hafeez Jalandhari (1900-1982). The poem entitled Abhee to main jawaan hoon — I am still young — is in praise of youth and wine. Few people know anything else written by him. You have to hear Mallika Pukhraj sing it, Zohra Sehgal or Saeed Naqvi recite it and you’ll know why it has become an all-time favourite. Its words have music; it is celebratory of youth and libation, and pours scorn on puritanism. I had assumed that one could not catch the rhythm and flow of words in English till I read D.N. Vasu and K.C. Kanda’s translations. I decided to try my hand at it. I reproduce the first half. It begins with a description of the season:

Havaa bhee khusgavaar hai
Gulon peh bhee nikhaar hai
Tarannum-e-hazaar hai
Bahaar pur bahaar hai

Pleasant is the atmosphere,
Flowers blossom everywhere,
There is music in the air,
It’s spring in all its glory here.

The following lines summon the saqi, the wine server — usually a comely lad — to do his duty:

Kahaan challaa hai saaqia
Idhar to laut, idhar to aa
Arey, yeh dekhta hai kya
Uttha suboo, suboo uttha
Suboo utthaa, pyaalaa bhar
Puaala bhar kay de idhar
Chaman kee simaat kar nazar

Saqi, where are you off to now
Come back, come near
Why look here and there
Pick up the goblet and the cup
Pick it up and fill it up
When it’s full, give it to me
Turn your gaze to the garden and see.

Samaan to dekh bekhabar
Voh kaali kaali badliyan
Ufaq peh ho gayeen ayaan
Voh ek hujoom maikasham
Hai sooey maikadah ravaan
Yeh kya gumaan hai badgumaan
amajh naa mujh ko naatvaan
Khayaal-e-zuhad abhee kahaan
Abhee to main jawaan hoon

Think of the season silly boy
Dark clouds gather in the sky
Sweeping across the heavens go
Crowds of revellers coming along
To the tavern in a throng
Why are you lost in doubt
Think not my strength has run out
Abstinence I still disdain
Young in heart I still remain.

Glamorous amorous

A Lucknow-based corporate president entered his large limousine. “Ah, a new driver,” he said “What is your name?”

“Ashiq, Sir.”

“I never call my employees by their first names, What is your surname?” “It’s Pyarelal Sir,”

(Courtesy: Reeten Ganguly, Tezpur)