Wednesday, 22 August 2012



 The vedio at the end of this write up is the one where Tina Sani sings this wonderfull mix of Ghalib and Daagh’s ghazals in Raag Darbari.
Daagh’s real name was Nawab Mirza Khan. He was born in Delhi in 1831.
Daagh lost his father, Nawab Shamsuddin Khan when he was just seven years old. Subsequently, his mother remarried the heir apparent of the Mughal Empire, Shahzada Fateh-ul-Mulk otherwise known as Mirza Fakhru, the son of the last Mughal emperor, Bahadur Shah Zafar. Daagh was young when Ghalib was old.
Here I will try to demonstrate how closely Daagh writes a ghazal which is almost exactly a mirror image of Ghalib’s ghazal in the same zameen.
یہ نہ تھی ہماری قسمت کہ وصال یار ہوتا
ا گر اور جیتے رہتے یہی انتظار ہوتا
عجب اپنا حال ہوتا جو وصال یار ہوتا
کبھی جان صدقے ہوتی کبھی دل نثار ہوتا
2. Ghalib
کوئی میرے دل سے پوچھے تیرے تیر نیم کش کو
یہ خلش کہاں سے ہوتی جو جگر کے پار ہوتا
2. Daagh
یہ مزہ تھا دللگی کا کہ برابر آگ لگتی
نہ تمھیں قرار ہوتا نہ ہمیں قرار ہوتا
3. Ghalib
ہوے مر کے ہم جو رسوا ہوے کیوں نہ غرق دریا
نہ کبھی جنازہ اٹھتا نہ کہیں مزار ہوتا
3. Dagh
کوئی فتنہ تا قیامت نہ پھر آشکار ہوتا
تیرے دل پے کاش ظالم مجھے اختیار ہوتا
4. Ghalib
یہ کہاں کی دوستی ہے کہ بنے ہیں دوست ناصح
کوئی چارہ  ساز ہوتا کوئی غم گسار ہوتا
4. Dagh
نہ مزہ ہے دشمنی میں نہ ہے لطف دوستی میں
کوئی غیر غیر ہوتا کوئی یار یار ہوتا
5. Ghalib
تیرے وعدے پر جئے  ہم تو یہ جان جھوٹ جانا
کہ خوشی سے مر نہ جاتے اگر اعتبار ہوتا
5. Dagh
تیرے وعدے پرستمگرابھی اورصبرکرتے
اگر اپنی زندگی کا ہمیں اعتبار ہوتا
6. Ghalib
کہوں کس سے میں کہ کیا ہے شب غم بری بلا ہے
مجھے کیا برا تھا مرنا اگر ایک بار ہوتا
6. Daagh: No sher found that will correspond to this one.

[The translations are literal for the most part, but I have taken the liberty to convey the subtle meaning hidden in the language when using literal meaning of the words would look awkward in English].
 1. Ghalib:
Yeh na thi hamaari qismat ke visaal-e- yaar hota
Agar aur jeete rahte yahi intezaar hota
 [Me and meet my beloved? It was not to be; had I lived longer, only waiting would have been my lot]
   1. Daagh: 
Ajab apna haal hota jo visaal-e-yaar hota
kabhi jaan sadqe hoti kabhi dil nisaar hota
[If ever I should have met my beloved, it would be a scene to behold; Now I would offer my life, now my soul]
2. Ghalib:
koi mere dil se poochhe tere teer e neem kash ko
ye khalish kahaaN se hoti jo jigar ke paar hota.
[Ask me about the arrow that I received and that has half pierced my soul, If it had passed right through, how come I feel such a pain?]
[Here by the arrow what is alluded is a momentary side glance that the beloved casts and is enough to shatter the inner peace and leaves one in anguish; it is different from the full stare that has no shades of inhibition.] 
2. Daagh:
ye maza tha dillagi ka k barabar ag lagti
na tumhen qarar hota na hamain qarar hota
[it would have been great fun if both sides would have experienced similar burning feeling; neither you would have had any peace (of mind) nor I.]
3. Ghalib:
Hue mar ke ham jo ruswa, hue kyooN na gharq e dariya
Na kabhi janaaza uThta, na kahiN mazaar hota.
[Had I known how people will call me names after my death, I would have preferred getting drowned in a sea. In that way there would be no funeral and no tomb]
3. Daagh:
koi fitna taa qayaamat na phir aashkaar hota
tere dil pe kaash zaalim mujhe ikhteyaar hota.
[If only I was fortunate enough to have full control over your heart, O my beloved, there would never be any trouble till end of time.]
4. Ghalib:
ye kahaN ki dosti hai ke bane haiN dost naaseh
koi chara saaz hota koi gham gusaar hota
[What type of friendship is this that I ended up having priests (preachers) as friends?  I would rather have someone who would guide, or someone who would lessen my sadness.] 
4. Daagh:
na maza hai dushmani main na hai lutf dosti main
koi ghair ghair hota koi yar yar hota
[There is neither any fun in having friends nor is there any ‘pleasure’ (these days) coming from the enemies. I long for some real friends and for a few great adversaries]  
5. Ghalib:
tere wade par jiye ham to ye jaan jhoot jana
ke khushi se mar na jaate agar etbaar hota.
[When you see me live after you have promised (to have a rendezvous with me), then you must be sure that I have considered it to be a false promise, because if I had believed it to be a genuine promise I would have died of the delight and of the anticipation.]
5. Daagh
tere wade par sitamagar abhi aur sabr karte
agar apni zindagi ka hamain aitabar hota
[O my beloved (torturer as you are) I would show more patience at your promise if only I had assurance of my life.(therefore please forgive my being so eager and impatient.)
6. Ghalib:
kahuN kis se main ke kya hai shab e gham buri bala hai
mujhe kya bura tha marna agar ek baar hota.
[How treacherous and painfully long are the nights of my grief is hard to tell. I would welcome death had it been but once, (instead of dying a thousand deaths, every moment of loneliness)
6. Daagh : (I never found yet a sher of Daagh that would correspond to this sher of Ghalib)


Tuesday, 8 May 2012


I coul'nt disagree more when I read some where as an opinion that God is the creation of man's mind and He does not exist actually. see here:
जंगल में एक पेड़ गिरा और जोर की आवाज़ पैदा हुई.आस पास कोई प्राणी नहीं था जो इस आवाज़ को सुनता या गिरते हुए पेड़ को देखता. तो मानो वह पेड़ गिरा ही नहीं.
(Translation: A tree falls in a jungle making a huge noise. There was no one around who could hear the noise or witness the fall.So for all you know the tree never fell.)
God has said,"I was a Hidden Treasure then I decided to make myself known so I created the creation".(Hadees-e-qudsee)
Everything around us including us NOW indicates HIS presence. If we cannot see or hear (or choose not to) we behave as if we are absent when every where 'trees' are falling and 'making' a lot of noise.

Sunday, 18 March 2012

सौवां सौ

आखिर कार सचिन को अल्लाह ताला ने कामयाब कर ही दिया। उस ने भी कोशिश जारी रखी और उस को सिला मिला। इस रिकॉर्ड को बराबर करना बहोत ही मुश्किल हो गा। लेकिन टीम इंडिया भी खूब है। मैं ने पहले भी यह देखा था और इस बार भी यह ही हुआ। सचिन सेंचुरी बनाते हैं और टीम हार जाती है। यह कई बार हुआ है। खैर आगे देखिये क्या होता है। सचिन को बहुत बहुत मुबारक हो। अगर कोई यह सोचे के बंगला देश के खिलाफ १०० बनाना आसान था तो यह भी देखो के उन की टीम से टीम इंडिया हार भी गयी। इस लिए वोह आसान कहाँ हुए?

Tuesday, 6 March 2012


A wonderful piece of witing, from literature. You can feel as if you are watching a movie, NAY, as if you are THERE yourself. For your taste buds......

Paul Bowles
“The Sheltering Sky”
pp. 180

When she finished eating she went to the room and lighted the lamp. … A few minutes later she took up her coat and went out in to the courtyard.Then she climbed to the roof.
The roof of the fort was a great, flat, irregularly shaped mud terrace whose varying heights were a projection, as it were, of the uneven ground below. The ramps of the staircases between the different wings were hard to see in the dark. And although there was a low wall around the outer edge, the innumerable courtyards were merely open wells to be skirted with caution. The stars gave enough light to protect her against mishaps. She breathed deeply, feeling rather as if she were on shipboard. The town below was invisible- not a light showed - but to the north dimly glimmered the white edge, the vast ocean of sand with its frozen swirling crests, its unmoving silence. She turned slowly about, scanning the horizon. The air doubly still now after the departure of the wind, was like something paralysed. Whichever way she looked, the night’s landscape suggested only one thing to her: negation of movement, suspension of continuity. But as she stood there, momentarily a part of the void she had created, little by little doubt slipped in to her mind, the sensation came to her, first faint, then sure, that some part of the landscape was moving even as she looked at it. She glanced up and grimaced. The whole, monstrous star - filled sky was turning sideways before her eyes. It looked still as death, yet it moved. Every second an invisible star edged above the earth’s line on that side, and another fell below on the opposite side. She coughed consciously, and started to walk again, trying to remember how much she disliked Captain Broussard. He had not even offered her a pack of cigarettes, in spite of overt remark. ’Oh God’, she said aloud, wishing she had not finished her last Players in Bou Noura.

As she paced back and forth on the roof, two things happened at once. On one side the large moon swiftly rose above the edge of the plateau, and on the other, in the distant air, an almost imperceptible humming sound became audible, was lost, became audible again. She listened: now it was gone, now it was a little stronger. And so it continued for long time, disappearing, and coming back always a bit nearer. Now, even though it was still far away, the sound was quite recognizable as that of a motor. She could hear the shifts of speed as it climbed a slope and reached level ground again. Twenty kilometres down the trail, they had told her, you can hear a truck coming. She waited. Finally, when it seemed that the vehicle must already be in town, she saw a tiny portion of rock far out on the hammada being swept by the head lights as the truck made a curve in its descent towards the oasis. A moment later she saw the two points of light. Then they were lost for a while behind the rocks, but the motor grew ever louder. With the moon casting more light each minute, and the truck bringing people to town, even if people were anonymous figures in white robes, the world moved back into the realm of the possible. Suddenly she wanted to be present at the arrival down in the market. She hurried below, tiptoed through the courtyards, managed to open the heavy gate, and began to run down the side of the hill toward the town. The truck was making a racket as it went along between the high walls of the oasis; as she came opposite the mosque it nosed above the last rise on its way up into the town. There were a few ragged men standing at the entrance of the market place. When the big vehicle roared in and stopped, the silence that followed lasted only a second before the excited voices began, all at once.

She stood back and watched the laborious getting- down of the natives and leisurely unloading of their possessions: camel saddles that shone in the moon light, great formless bundles done up in stripped blankets, coffers and sacks, and two gigantic women so fat that they could barely walk, their bosoms, arms and legs weighted down with pounds of massive silver ornaments. And all these possessions, with their owners, presently disappeared behind the dark arcades and went out of hearing. She moved around so she could see the front end of the truck, where the chauffeur and mechanic and a few other men stood in the glare of the head lights talking. She heard French being spoken --, bad French -- as well as Arabic. The chauffeur reached in and switched of the lights; the men began to walk slowly up into the market place. No one seemed to have noticed her. She stood still a moment, listening.

She cried: “Turner!”

(she would escape with him presently)

Monday, 13 February 2012


A short speech I was asked to give at the occasion of Walima Dinner for my son Roofi (Ahmad Jamil Akhtar) and his wife Dara( Darakhshan) on 11 Jan 2011. I thought I should share it with my esteemed readers.
Ladies and gentlemen, dear friends, Assalamo alekum and good evening. I welcome you to this important gathering.
I will begin with saying something about dreams.
I have a dream, I have a dream, said Dr Martin Luther King. He died for saying this. His dreams though are now slowly but surely being realized in stages and in measures. For me I am not worried if my dreams do not come true, because my nightmares also do not come true. Even so, I cannot help dreaming. I had a dream I shall have children. I had a dream I shall have grown up children. I had a dream I shall have wonderful, educated, and happily married children. All of these most important dreams have now come true by the grace of Allah (SWT). I also dreamt that I shall have grand children. Allah gave me wonderful ones so that my back when they try to ride me playing horse proves to be too small. Now my next dream is that this my back shall soon experience further shrinkage. Because there will be insha Allah about half a dozen more.
I must say a few words about Roofi who is having, alhamdolillah, his most important and hilarious moments. The Father said to the child," Hold my hand so we can cross the river". "No", said the child, "YOU hold my hand". "What is the difference?" asked the Father. The child said, "If I hold, I may loose the grip when the current is strong. But if you hold my hand I am sure you will never let it go no matter how strong the currents". Here I have been holding Roofi's hand and we have reached to this point by the grace of Almighty Allah. But lately I have a feeling that Roofi is exchanging hands.
There are examples when a son may start getting grey hair while his father is still around. Such a son sent his first grey hair to his father with a note: Dad here is my first grey hair for you. The father replied: Son, thanks, but this is not the first grey hair you have given me. ....But my Roofi cannot be blamed for even one of my grey hair, he has been such a great son. I can never do justice if I start praising him. Suffice will be to say that I am proud to be known as Roofi's father, as indeed I am to be known by my other two children. Actually when these three are together, they form an example where the sum total of the parts gets greater than the whole.
Naturally, Roofi is like me in many ways. Like me he knows the pleasure one feels when one finds unexpectedly something long thought lost when one was looking for something else. This pleasure is unknown to those who are very tidy and organized. Like me he is fond of postponing things to the last minute, when further delay is impossible, before acting, and acting decisively. The relaxation you feel in this is foreign to those who do today what could be left for tomorrow. His sincerity and love is from his mother, dedication from his sisters, but devotion to the family is all from me. I must take this opportunity to register my sincere thanks to Yazdana for being such a great mother and for raising the children so beautifully.
I wish Roofi and Dara a very happy life.
I thank you for being patient and for bearing with me so far.
Thanks again.

Tuesday, 10 January 2012


अगले महीने से चुनाव  हो  रहे  हैं ऐसे   में  पुराने  चुनाव  बहुत  याद  आते  हैं   तब   हम  लोग  जो  गलिओं में रहते  हैं  वोह  भी  शोर  की वजह से  रात  रात  भर  जागते  रहते  थे.  फ़िल्मी  गानों  पर  खूब  चुनाव गीत  लिखे  जाते  थे  और  हम  सुनते  सुनते  थक  जाते  थे. गाँव  की बाज़ारों  में  आमने  सामने  बडे  बडे  भोपू  लगा  कर बोलने  वाले  अपने  चिन्ह  की  बड़ाई करते  थे  की   झोपडी  धुप  -पानी  से  बचाती  है कोई कहता  की  बैलों  की जोड़ी  खेत  जोतती है , कोई   हाथी  की  शाहाना  चाल की  तारीफ़  करता  तो  कोई  तीर-कमान को  बहादुरी  से  जोड़ता  था    मगर  तब  धर्म  और  जात  का  दखल  न  था   अभी  एक  दिन  टीवी पर  एक  ADVERTISEMENT  जब  एक  साईकिल   को  हाथी  से  आगे  भागते  देखा  तो  पुराने  दिन  याद  आ  गए   अभी  भी  जब  ये  बचपना  दीखता  है  तो  अच्छा  लगता  है.

तब  हर  बच्चा  खूब   रद्दी  और  रंग  बिरंगे  बंनर , पर्चे  जमा  करता  था  उनका  खूब  खेल  था  वोह  सब  ख़तम  हो  गया  फिर  खर्चा  कहाँ  हो  रहा  है   ?  फिर चुनाव  क्यों महंगा है ?

Monday, 9 January 2012

पाप भारत भूषण


आज दैनिक  जागरण में  भारत भूषण की  रचना  पाप  पढ़कर  बहुत  दिनों  के बाद अच्छा लगा   और में फ़ौरन  अपने मित्र  क्रिश्नाधार जी को  फ़ोन कर भारत  भूषण जी  के  बारे  में  मालूम  किया   हमारे  पंडितजी  तो भारत भूषण जी  के  बहुत  बड़े प्रशंसक  निकले  और  में  पंडितजी  की  राय का बहुत सम्मान  करता हूँ   रचना ये है.

न जन्म लेता अगर कहीं में ,धरा बनी ये मसान होती,
न मंदिरों में मरदंग बजते,न मस्जिदों में अज़ान होती.

मुझे सुलाते रहे मसीहा ,मुझे मिटाने रसूल आये,
कभी सुनी मोहनी मुरलिया,कभी अयोध्या बजे बधाये,
मुझे दुआ दो बुला रहा हूँ हज़ार गौतम,हज़ार गाँधी,
बना दिए देवता अनेकों ,मुझे मगर न तुम पूज पाए,
मुझे रुलाकर न स्रष्टि हंसती,न सुर ,तुलसी , कबीर आते,
न क्रास का ये निशाँ होता , न पाक-पावन कुरान होती,

बुरा बता लें मुझत मोलवी,की दें पुरोहित हज़ार गली,
सभी चित्रय शकल बना लें बहुत भयानक ,कुरूप , काली,
मगर येही जब मिलें अकेले सवाल पूछो येही कहेंगे,
की पाप ही ज़िन्दगी हमारी ,वही ईद  है वही दीवाली,
न सीचता अगर में जड़ों को कभी जहां में पुण्य फलता,
न रूप का यूँ बखान होता , न प्यास इतनी जवान होती.