Showing posts with label ghazal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ghazal. Show all posts
Wednesday, 2 November 2011
Zahera
Zahera is a Turkish/Arabic name which has various meanings attached to it. Zahera is radiance, she is a white, blossoming flower, as bright and luminous as dawn... Zahera is you, Zahera is me... She is in each one of us. The little moments of brightness in our lives is what Zahera is...
This is my first attempt at writing a Urdu Short Story. I have presented the first part of the story in this post. The Video or A/V is a vocal rendering to the words written by me. I have attempted to translate my words in English. You can refer to the translation for reference. The ghazal/thumari has been selected from various sources. The voice/narration/composition is my own, and the photographs have been taken from the Internet.
Suggestion: Buffer the entire video and play it on full screen
Original Text:
Zahera - Part One
Unki aab daar aankhon se maano aansu rukte nahin the... Har lamhe ko masroofiyat mein badalne ki hazaaron naakaam koshishon ke baad unhone socha ke ab is bechain ,beqaraar jism ko fursat ke kuch pal de dein. Jism maut ko mujassam hona bhi na chahta tha. Yaadon ke qafas mein naa jaane kitne khwaab batore rakhti thi... 'Khaalah' 'Khaalah' keh ke pukaarte the log unhe... Jab mukhaalif ne bhi yaaron ki tarah dagaa de diya aur apni mehfil se door kar diya to khaalah ko maano aise khaalipann ne gher liya jaise burkhe ke saaye mein chupi timtimaati sard aankhein ho. Puraane postcardon ka ek majmaa banaye rakha tha... Zahera ke bheje postcard the woh.
Zahera... Zahera... Zahera.... yaad karte karte, khaalah ki boodhi aankhon mein aisi saqib nazar aane lagti, maano jaan atki ho unki us ladki mein... Train mein mili thi ek roz... Dilli se Lakhnau jaa rahi thi woh bhi... Saamne waali seat pe baithi thi... Chikan ka kadhaidaar dupatta maano sar pe tik ta hi na ho... halki gulaabi salwaar ke silvatein kaale naqaab ke peeche se jhaank rahe the. Un mein maknoon narm nange paon mein bandhe dhaage jaise do bareek chaandi ke paazaib chipe the. Unki sheereen mauseeqi jab Khaala ke kaanon pe padti to maano raag-e-dil ko qaraar mil jaata.
Khaalah bachpan se hi baatuni qism ki thi. Mauka milte hi logon se humnavaaii kar leti. Zahera se bhi kuch aisi guftagu hui ki rukne ka naam na liya. Do tanha be-kas aurton ko masroor hone ka isse accha kya bahana milta? Zahera ne bataya ke uske shauhar barri fauj mein sipaahi hain. Watan ki khidmat mein Kashmeer ki vaadiyon mein hi unka basera rehta. Do saal ho gaye the nikaah ko gar deedar bas ek baar hi hua tha. Muntazar ke intezaar mein tanha raatein fughaan ke shab mein badal jaati... Har saher , darvaaze pe hasrat-e-deedar hota. Magar unka aana to maano ab khwaab sa lagne laga tha...
‘Nakkhas’ ki un tang galiyon mein ek chote se makaan mein Zahera ne apna aashiyaan banaya tha. Aangan mein jab achaar ke martabaan bhar jaate tab woh unhe sametne jaaya karti thi. Dhoop mein chamakte woh rangeen shishiyan bhi uske tanhaaii ke aage pheeke lagte. Kabhi kabar ek purane se takht par baith woh kuch gungaati nazar aati thi. Maano khud se baatein kar rahi ho. Padosiyon ne bhi kayi majrooh kar dene waali ghazalein suni thi...
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| Painted by Anukriti Sharma, Nov 1, 2011 |
Translation:
It seemed that her bright eyes could no longer behold tears. Failing miserably even after innumerable attempts to change every moment into comfort and leisure, she thought, why not give this anxious, restless body a few moments of rest. But her body did not want to embody/embrace death. She kept countless dreams collected and captured in the cage of memories. ‘Khaalah(Aunt) , Khaalah’ that is how she was known to the world... When opponents too betrayed her like her friends, and abandoned her, Khaalah was enveloped in a cloud of emptiness... This emptiness seemed like a woman's cold, twinkling eyes, hidden behind a veil (Burkha). She had stacked a lot of old postcards... All were sent by Zahera...
Zahera....Zahera...Zahera...whenever her thought crossed the mind, Khaalah's old eyes filled with brightness... It seemed that her life depended on the girl... They had met in a train...Zahera too was travelling from Delhi to Lucknow... seated in front of her. A Chikan embroidered stole constantly uncovered her head . The creases of her light pink Salwar(Pyjamas) peeped from the black coloured veil... Hidden within its folds, tied on smooth, nude feet were two thin thread-like anklets. Whenever its sweet melody reached khaalah's ears, the strings of her heart played musical notes.
Khaalah had been talkative since childhood. Given an opportunity, she could befriend any one. Even with Zahera, the kind of interaction she had was so delightful that it continued endlessly. What better way to rejoice/please two helpless, lonely women? Zahera said that her husband was a soldier in Indian Army. Dedicated to the service of the country, he had made the valleys of Kashmir his abode. Even after two years of marriage, she had seen him just once... Waiting for one awaited, lonely evenings turned into nights of lamentation... Every morning she awaited his arrival standing at her doorstep. But now, his homecoming seemed like a faraway dream...
Zahera had created a little home for herself in the congested alleys of Nakkhas (part of Old Lucknow). When her courtyard was filled with pickle pots, she went to assemble them. Even those colourful glass pots, illuminated by sunlight, seemed faded in the face of her loneliness. Sometimes she could be seen seated on an old armchair, humming verses ... as if talking to herself. Even the neighbours had heard many heart-wrenching couplets/ghazals/songs..
Saturday, 7 November 2009
Na Jaane Kyun...?
Raah-e-dahar par masarrat dhoondhte ho, apna muqaddar dhoondhte ho...(On the path of life,you look for happiness, you look for your fate/destiny...)
Hasraton ke qafas mein na jaane kyun aaj bhi tum humdard dhoondhte ho?
(I don't know why you look for sympathizers even in the prison of regrets/intense sorrow?)
Fasaana-e-shab-e-gham hai peeche; Zulmat hai tumhare aage...(The story of a night of sorrows lies behind you, darkness lies before you...)
Aisi fizaaon mein bhi na jaane kyun aaj bhi tum saher dhoondhte ho?
(I don't know why you are in the pursuit of the morning even in such an environment?)
Manzilein khud bana kar bhi to raahon mein gum-raah ho jaate ho...(Even after creating the destinations yourself, you get lost in the paths you created...)
Haram ki raah par phir bhi na jaane kyun nahin chalte ho?
(I don't know why then do you not travel on the path of God's House?)
Gam-e-hayaat ki bekasi mein jab itne tanhaa reh jaate ho,(When you are helplessly stricken with life's grief into the realm of loneliness)
Tab kabhi jazbaa-e-imaan ki rehguzar par na jaane kyun nahin chalte ho?
(Why then don't you ever travel on the path of abiding faith?)
Sunday, 5 April 2009
Israar-e-hayaat ~ The Secret of Life
[Translation in brackets... for people who have problems understanding urdu... ]Israar-e-hayaat ki nahakat hoon main,
(I am the fragrance of the secret of life)
Aagosh-e-tassavur ki taabeer hoon main,
(I am the realization of imagination)
Qissa-e-ulfat se bahot parey hoon main,
(I am detached from the story of love)
Kabhi Zaakir hoon, kabhi kaafir hoon main,
(At times I am a believer, at times a non-believer)
Ehsaas hoon, aab-e-chashm hoon main,
(I am emotions, I am tears)
Bejaan zeest hoon, bechain wajood hoon main,
(I am a lifeless life, I am an impateint existence)
Benaam, bezabaan, beparwah tanhayi hoon main,
(I am a nameless, speechless, indifferent lonliness)
Muqaddar se aagaah, ek zinda mazaar hoon main.
(Aware of my fate, I am a living grave).
