Selected Poems Gulzar - Translated by Pavan K. Varma

Pavan Varma, a diplomat with the Government of India, is also a writer. He has written close to a dozen book. His writings include his take on Krishna, biography of Mirza Ghalib, a realistic look at Havelis of Old Delhi, his witty interpretation of Kama Sutra and many more. In this book, “Selected Poems – Gulzar”, Pavan assembles some of the writings of Gulzar over a period of many years and provides his interpretation of the poems. Gulzar has penned most of his writings in Urdu and this limits the audience for his writings. Pavan has tried to translate the poems into English so that a wider audience gets to read and appreciate the work of this acclaimed poet.

The collection starts off with an excellent poem on books. It is a take on how books have lost meaning in life. All these years we were close to them and we have suddenly lost touch with them. Gulzar says, “The books stay in the shelves without being touched for months. There was a time when every evening was spent with them, now we spend them in front of computer. The books now stare at us longingly. They are so restless that it feels like they are sleepwalking now”. In the same poem Gulzaar takes a look at how values have changed with time. He says, “The values that the books taught are no longer found in homes. The relationship that they talked about (taught us), no longer exist in real life. The words written in those books, their meaning, are all lost. These works of literature now look like dried twigs on which leaves no longer grow. So many traditions lie scattered like the earthen cups scattered on the ground. We use glass tumblers now”. Gulzar takes us to the good old days and those fond memories of reading the books. He says, “When we used to turn pages using our fingers, licking them, it used to leave a distinct flavor on our tongue. Now we just click a finger and pictures appear one after the other. There is no personal connection with the books now. There was a time when we used to keep it on our chest or on our lap. Now a days we get knowledge from varying number of ways, but where will we get those dried flowers that used to lay in the books. Where will we get those scented sticks that we used to keep in the books? Where will we find the love blossoming in the garb of borrowing books, falling books and the act of picking the books”. The poem takes one to the good old days when books had a meaning in life and were not merely a collection of words on sheets bound together.

Gulzar has written a thought provoking poem for Naseeruddin Shah. He writes, “I am an actor who gets to live several lives. My character and situations change. Even my face changes to suite the story and so does my habbits. But the stains on my cloths don’t fade away. The marks remain etched on my heart. I seem to live the characters written for the screen. The characters keep making an impact on my life even though they are mere characters. At the end of the day I am just an actor, yet I am no longer a mere actor. I am a snapshot of time”! How touching and true. Naseer plays innumerable characters but invariably, each character leaves a mark on him and he ends up being not just Naseer.

In another deeply emotional poem, dedicated to his beloved friend R. D. Burman (whom everyone calls Pancham) , Gulzar writes, “Pancham do you remember those days of monsoon, there used to be railway tracks below the mountains and the mist used to cover them. We both used to sit on the tracks like two saplings that were planted together. We used to talk about the traveler who was supposed to arrive the other night but who never made it. We used to wait for long, looking for the train to arrive. The train did arrive, but before it was time for the train to leave, you simply walked a few steps in the mist and then suddenly melted away. I am alone in that mist Pancham”.

In another poem which was probably addressed to his wife, Gulzar writes, “Old women, I have shared everything with you, food, drinks, cloths, sleep, wakeful nights. I have shared every stage of my life including the birth of our kids, grief, quarrel, reconciliation, solitude. I have shared all my tricks, my truths and lies as well. You have borne my pains as we lived together. But how can we die together? One of us will leave the other at the funeral and the other one will come home, alone”.

In another beautiful poem which was adapted as a song in a movie, Gulzar writes, “There is a turn from where there are many roads, one leads to a mansion of stone, one to a citadel of glass and another to a house of straw. Some roads are brisk and some are slow. Some lead to deserts and some descend to cold valley of death. Another path is laden with thorns and leads to a forest and another one jumps into an unknown void. I am sitting at that turn from where these different roads start”. This is a beautiful poem that captures the crossroads that each one of us finds ourselves at, many a times, during our lifetime.

Gulzaar ruminates on the futility of life and the loss of dear ones in a poem called fuel. He says, “As children we used to sit around our mothers when they used to make the cow dung cakes. We used to draw eyes, nose, ear, turban or a cap on them and we used to argue that this is mine and that is yours. We even used to give names to the dung cakes. During the day the cakes used to dry and by night we used to flock around our mothers to see which dung would get burnt to ashes for the evening meal, and we used to shout that one was a pandit, that one was a child, that one was a child. Now, years later, as I sit in the cremation ground, I can’t help but think, tonight, one more dung cake is going to get burnt. One more friend is gone”.

In a poem titled Bosky, Gulzar writes about his daughter. He compares the growing of his daughter to the passing of time and says, “I have never seen time come or go pass by. I have only seen it collect in one place. The day when your eyes were filled with color, I had kissed time and never realized it. I had sensed the time when you had lisped words for the first time. I had sensed it when the first milk tooth fell. When you were all wrapped up in the silk, I never realized that time just lay there. I had brought you from the crip and gently lay you on the bed and had sung a lullaby to you and caressed you. (Over the years) the bangles came one and off your arms endlessly. Sometime your hands held the books and sometimes they dropped them, I never realized that time was written there. I never realized time come or go by, I have only seen it getting collected in one place and tomorrow you are going to turn eighteen”!

In a fitting tribute to the Martyrs of the 1857 war, Gulzar wrote a poem called 1857. This was narrated in the Parliament house by Gulzar on the 150^th Anniversary of the 1857 war. He writes, “It was a thought of revolution, of fervor and passion. All the suffocation and pain erupted 150 years ago. Each spark was nurtured for so many years, seeds were sown in so many places, through violence and non-violence. We lit countless bonfires, in Kanpur, Jhansi, Lucknow, Meerut, Roorkee, Patna. When the first war of independence began people could feel each other’s pain. For the first time our blood boiled and so did our souls. For the first time, dry rotis rolled out from village after village. Tandoor after tandoor were lit and the sparks began to blow, hot air began to blow. This was the first thunder of revolution. For days at end dead people used to be hung in Mehrauli. All the souls used to ask just one question, what is the route to Delhi? The horse of revolution had left the stable but there was no one to rein them there was no-one to mentor them. Now everything is ours, the river are all ours. But we are not able to quench our thirst. Now-a-days whenever the sky is filled with clouds I feel someone will steal them away. Every time I grow the sun, the fields are eclipsed again. We are a free nation now, I need more sparks so that I can sow them again. I want to sprinkle a fresh new radiance on my people, so that they can say again Inquilab! Inquilab! Inquilab!

Gulzar ponders about God in one of the poems and says, “Dear god, you must have been hurt when I yawned while I was praying. Ever since I remember, I have been told that the day and night are at his mercy and everything is in the hands of him, so pray to him. It feels strange, the futile one sided dialog with someone, whose both face and proof of existence is imagined”.

In more than one poem, Gulzar shows his concern for Kashmir. In a poem Titled “The valley of Kashmir” and dedicated to one Salim Arif, he writes “Valley is in a very sorrowful state. Someone is choking the life out of it as it desperately tried to breathe. Trees grow here wondering if they really should and the first to rise its head would get chopped off. Clouds float by with their heads bowed down as if they feel they will not be able to wipe out the stains of blood. The migratory birds have stopped coming sensing the fear and wounded air. The valley is filled with sorrow.

Gulzar has been vocal about the nature and the man’s greed that is hurting the nature. In a poem titled Mountain he writes, “The bruised mountains tried to hold on to the falling tree, but some people carried it away on their shoulders to the factory and the mountains kept staring stonily at the sky. Man has mercilessly pierced my flesh and torn away the forests from my head. Even my rivers and waterfalls have been denuded. My heart would any day rip apart and spew out molten lava. But I cannot say the same for a man. His heart is made of stone”.

Gulzar writes what his heart seeks at times. In a poem titled, “The Heart Seeks”, he writes “The heart seeks again those moments of leisure when lying down in the courtyard in the mellow sun, the shade of your drape pulled over my eyes, sometimes I slept with my face down and sometimes with my face on one side. My heart also seeks those summer nights when the east wind used to blow and I used to sleep on those white sheets sprawled on the roofs and I used to endlessly gaze at the stars. My heart also seeks those cold snowy nights when I used to sit embracing the mountains, listening to the silence echoing in the valley. My heart seeks those days”. The couplets in Urdu/Hindustani truly touch the heart.

In a poem called Self Portrait Gulzaar talks about his name and says, “People used to address me by different names, some called me ama (meaning I say), some a ji (meaning Listen sir) and some abe oh (meaning “you there”). I was called by any name that came to their minds. But then one day you called out “Gulzar”. It felt as if a pearl broke free from its shell. That is when I found a new meaning in Life. This is a beautiful name. Call me by my name again”!

Gulzar captures the pain and anxiety of a lost love in the form of a poem called “That lane”. He writes, “Due to business reasons whenever I visit her town, I invariably pass by the lane where she lived. And at the corner there is an old lamp post where I stood the whole evening waiting for her to come before I left the town for good. I see that the lamppost is still there. I go back to the lamppost even today and ask, had she come here after I left. Did she come”?

The book has many more poems that cover various aspects of life. This collection of poems has an unmistakable bend for man’s apathy towards nature as well as his sheer neglect of the beautiful valley of Kashmir. The book also has a tone of sadness to it and is sprinkled across the book. I was a tad disappointed with the collection as many of the poems seemed to be fleeting thoughts penned by the poet. Gulzar has penned some excellent poems that are missing here. Having said that, I would be wrong not to admit that many of the poems were beyond my expectation and stayed with me long after I read them. The earthy poems touch your heart and beg you to read more. No wonder Gulzar is one among the handful of contemporary poets who have redefined the field of poetry.