Ma'roozi Tanqeed

To understand Urdu literary criticism, if we look back a little, our gaze falls upon Mir Taqi Mir’s *Nukat-ush-Shu'ara*. Here, the word *intiqaad* (criticism) has been used in its truest sense. We may devise whatever parameters we wish for poetic criticism, but without articulating the merits and flaws of a literary work, criticism will always feel incomplete. You may call this objective criticism, or you may term it practical criticism. In his *tazkira* (biographical anthology), Mir primarily employed objective criticism. From there, this tradition evolved and eventually reached my spiritual mentor, Abul Ma'ani Mirza Yaas Yagana Changezi, and Maulana Niaz Fatehpuri. A vibrant example of practical criticism can be found in the lectures included in Ustad Yagana Changezi’s book, *Ayaat-e-Wijdani* (First Edition, Karimi Press, Lahore, 1927). For the first time in the global history of Urdu, Persian, and Arabic poetry, a poet included within his own poetry collection the interpretations of his verses, explanations of his core themes, the structural and linguistic forms of his couplets, and the underlying causes and motivations behind his creations—all articulated with unparalleled elegance. To my knowledge, this was the very first experiment of its kind. Subsequently, immensely valuable examples of objective criticism can be gleaned from Ustad Yagana’s works *Shohrat-e-Kaziba al-Maroof ba Khurafat-e-Aziz* and *Ghalib Shikan*, as well as from the archives of the literary magazine *Nigar*.

The reality is that the concepts, styles, and forms of literary criticism have shifted in every era, yet objective criticism has consistently asserted its presence throughout. This holds true whether it was employed for the refinement of poetry or for the purpose of detraction. Modern criticism—heavily influenced by the likes of Matthew Arnold, T.S. Eliot, and Goethe—has convoluted the comprehension of literary works to an extent unparalleled in the literature of any other language. Our modern critic becomes so hopelessly entangled in determining the stature of a literary work or its creator that the reader can barely make it past the first two or three pages of a critical essay. The scarcity of readership for literary criticism in the present era points directly to this issue.

On another front, Urdu criticism has fallen prey to severe factionalism. A non-critic (yet a poet possessing immense critical insight), Meeraji, made a profoundly accurate observation: We are all prisoners of our environment, customs, and habits. When evaluating literature and art, despite our best efforts, we cannot completely free ourselves from bias. However, in the present day, the situation is the exact opposite. Our contemporary critics make every possible effort to deliberately maintain their biases. If you wish, you may term this conscious bias as factionalism.

Today’s general reader has grown weary of literary criticism. If the merits and flaws of a verse were presented directly and clearly, this type of objective criticism would undoubtedly capture the general reader's interest. But the reality is quite the contrary. Who can deny that our Urdu criticism is hopelessly ensnared by Western influences? To make matters worse, just like our poetry, our criticism continually alters its complexion under the sway of various literary movements. We see Romantic criticism born of the Romantic movement, aesthetic criticism from the Aesthetic movement, progressive criticism from the Progressive Writers' Movement, and, superseding them all, Western criticism. Based on an affiliation with a specific movement, a creator might alter their mode of self-expression, or even change the very core of what they wish to express. However, the idea that the criticism—written merely to comprehend and explain an artwork born of self-expression—should also change its fundamental form is a puzzle I have never been able to solve. It is another matter entirely if one attempts to justify this shift by categorizing these fluctuating critical attitudes under the umbrella of creative criticism. While shifting paradigms of aesthetic values in poetry are understandable, comprehending the constantly changing angles of literary criticism seems to be an unsolvable dilemma. Caught in this tug-of-war between creation and critique, critics have increasingly drifted away from their true axis. As Dr. Muhammad Hasan notes in one of his writings:

He was first a tasteful advocate for the poet or writer, and a critic only second. He wishes to fully unveil the complete aesthetic ecstasy of a literary work to the reader, and becomes so absorbed in this process that he forgets the fundamental duty of creative criticism itself. (*Urdu Adab Mein Romanvi Tehreek* [The Romantic Movement in Urdu Literature], Danish Mahal, Amin-ud-Daula Park, Lucknow, 1955, p. 68)

The followers of Plato, Aristotle, Plotinus, and Augustine remain entangled in a specific school of aesthetic criticism. Critics who align with Freud have fallen victim to psychoanalysis. Meanwhile, the disciples of Dante and Shakespeare, in their zeal to pay homage to their masters, have trapped themselves in the labyrinth of a new aestheticism. On the other hand, our Urdu critics, heavily influenced by European literature, have become champions of the theories of Descartes, Hume, Goethe, Bergson, Samuel Alexander, Kant, and T.S. Eliot. Amidst all this intellectual wrangling, standing right alongside aesthetic criticism, we find our impressionistic criticism. In the modern era, Niaz Fatehpuri emerged as its vanguard. Niaz writes:

Composing a successful and beautiful verse is, without a doubt, an incredibly difficult task. Adhering to the *radif* (refrain) and *qafiya* (rhyme), maintaining structural principles and meaning, ensuring the accuracy of language and idiom, achieving loftiness of thought, maintaining a freshness of expression, ensuring that rare similes and metaphors are swiftly grasped by the mind, preserving the sincerity of emotion, balancing the meter of the lines, and harmonizing words and phrases according to the subject while using them correctly—none of this is an easy feat. (*Malahu wa Ma'alaih: Shehri Mahasin-o-Maa'ib*, Niaz Fatehpuri, Lucknow, p. 6)

Through an ancient Urdu couplet (nearly four hundred years old), I will now turn to my primary objective.

*Kufr kafir ko bhala, sheikh ko Islam bhala*

*Aashiqaan aap bhalay, apna dil aaram bhala*

[Infidelity suits the infidel, Islam suits the Sheikh,

Lovers are well in themselves, and their heart's peace is what suits them best.]

Following this brief preamble, please observe a critical review of Dr. Bashir Badr Alig’s poetry, framed within the context of impressionistic or objective criticism.

Recently, I have been studying Dr. Bashir Badr’s poetry collection, *Aamad*. I would never have read *Aamad* with such meticulous scrutiny had I not seen the endorsements of highly esteemed literary figures published on the collection. Prominent among these figures are Dr. Jameel Jalibi, Professor Muhammad Hasan, and Professor Qamar Rais. Professor Qamar Rais went so far as to declare, In India, aside from Bashir Badr, I am only an admirer of Hasan Naeem and Bani. Thank God the matter stopped at merely being an admirer.

On the back cover, a lengthy list of the esteemed Doctor’s achievements is provided. It meticulously chronicles exactly how many times His Excellency has set foot in various countries. Let us now move to the contents within.

The true wellspring of Bashir Badr’s popularity has been *Aamad*. His poetry is certainly not the sort that makes the blood boil with sudden agitation. (I am referring here to the verses I intend to categorize under his literary merits). Rather, it is the intoxicating output of a profound mind. He knows perfectly well how to dip flower buds in honey. To begin, here are a few beautiful excerpts from his poetry (specifically from *Aamad*).

*Aankhon mein raha dil mein utar kar nahin dekha*

*Kashti ke musafir ne samundar nahin dekha*

[He lingered in the eyes but never descended to see the heart,

The passenger in the boat never truly saw the ocean.]

The entirety of the aforementioned *ghazal* is exquisitely crafted. In every single couplet, each word is set perfectly in place, like a precious gemstone.

This beautiful five-couplet ghazal truly serves as an example of genuine and universal poetry.

Yahan libas ki qeemat hai aadmi ki nahi

Mujhe glass bare de sharab kam kar de

[Here, clothes hold value, not the man

Give me large glasses, but reduce the wine]

Bashir Badr has beautifully wrapped a golden thought in silver foil. This couplet is highly deserving of praise.

Koi lashkar hai ke barhte hue gham aate hain

Sham ke saye bohat tez qadam aate hain

[Is it an army, the way these advancing sorrows come?

The shadows of evening approach with very swift steps]

This ghazal is also among his most comprehensive works. He has truly elevated the poetic meter and rhyme scheme originally established by Faiz.

Kabhi barsat mein shadab belein sookh jati hain

Hare pairon ke girne ka koi mausam nahi hota

Bichharte waqt koi badgumani dil mein aa jati

Use bhi gham nahi hota mujhe bhi gham nahi hota

[Sometimes, lush vines wither even in the monsoon

There is no specific season for green trees to fall

If only some misunderstanding had entered the heart while parting

Neither she would have felt sorrow, nor would I]

An absolutely original thought. Bashir Badr possesses a remarkable mastery over the uniqueness of ideas. In light of these couplets, there should be no hesitation in calling him a great and genuine poet.

Sham tak kitne hathon se guzrunga main

Chai khane mein Urdu ke akhbar sa

[Through how many hands will I pass by evening

Like an Urdu newspaper in a teahouse]

After Jan Nisar Akhtar, Bashir Badr appears at the very top when it comes to the use of imagery and allegory. Fresh metaphors, novel similes, and original imagery make his poetry exceptionally potent. The reader is compelled to feel its profound impact. Fearing that this essay might become too long, I am limiting myself to the couplets cited above, even though his collection *Aamad* contains many instances where it is impossible to just glance and move on; pausing to admire them is inevitable.

However, despite such brilliant poetry, it is with great regret that I must point out an abundance of flaws in Dr. Bashir Badr’s work. These include issues with language and expression, redundancies, metrical errors, far-fetched themes, and awkward phrasing. I would never have taken the step to highlight these had India’s most distinguished critics not offered such overwhelmingly supportive endorsements of his poetry collection. Given the sheer volume of flaws present, one cannot help but suspect that all these esteemed gentlemen offered their opinions without actually reading Dr. Badr’s book.

Rakhiyo Ghalib mujhe is talkh nawai se maaf

Aaj kuch dard mere dil mein siwa hota hai

[Forgive me, Ghalib, for this bitter speech

Today, the pain in my heart is somewhat greater]

From here, I begin detailing the series of flaws.

Wohi shehar hai wohi raste wohi ghar hai aur wohi lawn bhi

Magar us dariche se poochna woh darakht anaar ka kya hua

[It is the same city, the same roads, the same house, and the same lawn too

But ask that window, what happened to that pomegranate tree]

Observation: In the second line, the letter *Alif* in the word *Anaar* (pomegranate) is awkwardly suppressed, and if read fluently, the line falls out of meter. Even if the elision of the *Alif* is technically permissible, it severely damages both the structure and the beauty of the couplet. Furthermore, why specifically a pomegranate tree? Why not a guava or mulberry tree?

Bhatak rahi hai purani dulaiyan orhe

Haveliyon mein mere khandan ki khushbu

[It wanders around wrapped in old quilts

The fragrance of my family in the mansions]

Observation: In the second line, the juxtaposition of *mein mere* (in my) creates an auditory dissonance due to the repetition of the m sound.

Daba tha phool koi mez posh ke neeche

Garaj rahi thi bohat pechwan ki khushbu

[A flower was pressed beneath the tablecloth

The fragrance of the hookah was thundering loudly]

Observation: The couplet is completely disjointed. Who knows which English essay this is a translation of.

Ghazal ki shakh par ek phool khilne wala hai

Badan se aane lagi zafran ki khushbu

[A flower is about to bloom on the branch of the ghazal

The fragrance of saffron has started emanating from the body]

Observation: The doctor has placed a *Saad* mark over the word *Ghazal* and provided the explanation *Rahat* in the footnote. The poetry collection is also dedicated to Dr. Rahat Badr. Regarding this couplet, I must say: the imagery makes the scene of a maternity ward dance before one's eyes. This is hardly poetry.

Sajaye bazuon par bazu woh maidan mein tanha tha

Chamakti thi yeh basti dhoop mein taraj-o-gharat si

[Resting arm upon arm, he was alone in the field

This settlement shone in the sun like something plundered and ruined]

Observation: The meaning of this couplet is incredibly far-fetched. Perhaps only Bashir Sahib knows what it means?

Lawn mein ek bhi bel aisi nahi jo dehati parinde ke par bandh le

Jangli aam ki jaan-lewa mehak jab bulayegi wapas chala jayega

[There is not a single vine in the lawn that can bind the wings of the rustic bird

When the lethal fragrance of the wild mango calls, it will return]

Observation: In the first line, the word *Dehati* (rustic) has been metrically weighed against *Satati* (tormenting), which is incorrect. The correct metrical weight for *Dehati* is *Muskati* (smiling). Similarly, in the second line, the word *Jangli* (wild) has been weighed against *Daldali* (swampy), which violates the rules of prosody. The metrical weight of *Jangli* should be like *Halki* (light). I respectfully request the doctor to acquire a sufficient grasp of prosody before composing poetry, because not everyone is Jalaluddin Rumi, who could say, I do not know the meters of *Fa'ilatun Fa'ilat*.

Mere bachpan ke mandir ki woh murti dhoop ke aasman pe khari thi magar

Ek din jab mera qad mukammal hua us ka sara badan barf mein dhans gaya

[That idol from my childhood temple stood on the sunny sky, but

One day when my height was fully grown, its entire body sank into the snow]

Observation: Even the doctor himself could not provide an explanation for this couplet, so who am I, a humble reader, to dare speak on it!

Chamakne wali hai tehreer mere qismat ki

Koi charagh ki lau ko zara sa kam kar de

[The writing of my destiny is about to shine

Someone, lower the flame of the lamp just a little]

Observation: In the second line, the word *ko* is redundant. Without it, the phrasing would naturally be: *Charagh ki lau zara si kam kar de* (lower the flame of the lamp just a little).

Kisi ne choom ke aankhon ko yeh dua di thi

Teri zameen Khuda motiyon se nam kar de

[Someone kissed my eyes and gave this prayer

May God make your earth moist with pearls]

Observation: The phrase moist with pearls is an absurd construction. Modernism certainly does not mean ruining the aesthetic taste of the language.

Mohabbat karne wale jab kabhi aansu bahate hain

Dilon ke aaine dhoti hui palkein sanwarti hain

[Whenever those in love shed tears

Eyelashes, washing the mirrors of hearts, are adorned]

Observation: The flaw of clashing refrains (*Taqabul-e-Radifain*) has crept in here with the repetition of *hain* (are).

Main shahrah nahi raste ka pathar hoon

Yahan sawar bhi paidal utar kar chalte hain

[I am not a highway, I am a stone on the path

Here, even riders dismount and walk on foot]

Observation: Firstly, the connection between a stone on the path and riders dismounting to walk is incomprehensible. It has become convoluted; the doctor has turned the couplet into a riddle. Secondly, the use of the word *Yahan* (here) creates the context of a broken road in the first line—as if to say, I am not a highway, I am a broken road; here, even riders dismount and walk. Yet, the poet is calling himself a stone on the path.

Unhein kabhi na batana main un ki aankhon mein

Woh log phool samajh kar mujhe masalte hain

[Never tell them that I, in their eyes

Those people crush me, thinking I am a flower]

Observation: What is meant by I, in their eyes in the first line is completely beyond comprehension.

Un mein roshan hai abhi tak tere boson ke charagh

Is liye hum apni aankhein khud bichhane aaye hain

[The lamps of your kisses are still lit in them

That is why we have come to lay down our eyes ourselves]

Observation: In the second line, the word *khud* (ourselves) is redundant.

Chand chehra zulf darya baat khushbu dil chaman

Ek tumhein de kar Khuda ne de diya kya kya mujhe

[A moon-like face, river-like hair, fragrant speech, a garden-like heart

By giving me just you, what all has God given me]

Observation: In my extensive essay *Sarqa-o-Tawarud* (Plagiarism and Coincidence), I have proven this to be plagiarism. The original couplet belongs to Allama Seemab:

Gham mujhe hasrat mujhe wahshat mujhe sauda mujhe

Ek dil de kar Khuda ne de diya kya kya mujhe

[Sorrow to me, longing to me, terror to me, madness to me

By giving me just one heart, what all has God given me]

Since this couplet was also found in *Aamad*, I considered it appropriate to bring this up again. This absolutely does not befit Bashir Badr.

Chhappar ke chai khane bhi ab oonghne lage

Paidal chalo ke koi sawari na aayegi

[Even the thatched teahouses have now started to doze

Walk on foot, for no transport will come]

Observation: The word *ab* (now) is required in the second line, not the first. It should be: Now, no transport...

*Main bikhar jaunga aansuon ki tarah*

*Is qadar pyar se bad-duain na de*

[I will shatter like tears / Do not give me curses with such love]

Critique: Shattering like tears is quite a novel concept; until now, only sandcastles were known to shatter. Even from a logical standpoint, how can a liquid shatter?

*Aisa lagta hai har imtihan ke liye*

*Zindagi ko hamara pata yaad hai*

[It seems that for every trial / Life remembers our address]

Critique: In the first line, a phonetic dissonance (*tanafur-e-lafzi*) occurs at the juxtaposition of the words *hai har*. Although in English poetry, this is considered a figure of speech, likely referred to as alliteration.

*Maikade mein azaan sun ke roya bohat*

*Us sharabi ko dil se khuda yaad hai*

[He wept bitterly upon hearing the call to prayer in the tavern / That drunkard remembers God from his heart]

Critique: In the second line, the phrase from his heart (*dil se*) feels clumsy. The appropriate phrase here would have been even now (*ab tak*) or something similar.

*Dil par jami theen gard-e-safar ki kai tahein*

*Kaghaz pe ungliyon ka nishan koi bhi na tha*

[Several layers of the dust of the journey had settled on the heart / There was not a single fingerprint on the paper]

Critique: As for the meaning of this couplet, only the esteemed Doctor understands it, or God does.

*Sannate aaye darjon mein jhaank kar chale gaye*

*Garmi ki chhuttiyan theen wahan koi bhi na tha*

[Silences came, peeked into the classrooms, and left / It was summer vacation, no one was there]

Critique: In the first line, the syllable nk in the word *jhaank* (peeked) falls out of meter, while only jhaa fits within the metrical structure.

*Ab bhi chehra charagh lagta hai*

*Bujh gaya hai magar chamak hai wohi*

[The face still looks like a lamp / It has been extinguished, but the glow remains the same]

Critique: Once a lamp is extinguished, how can its glow possibly remain?

*Nahin hai mere muqaddar mein roshni na sahi*

*Yeh khirki kholo zara subh ki hawa hi lage*

[If there is no light in my destiny, so be it / Open this window a little, at least let the morning breeze touch me]

Critique: Keeping the word destiny (*muqaddar*) in mind, the appropriate refrain (*radif*) for the second line should have been receive (*mile*)—as in, at least let me receive the morning breeze (*hawa hi mile*).

*Use kisi ki mohabbat ka aitbaar nahin*

*Use zamane ne shayad bohat sataya hai*

[He has no trust in anyone's love / Perhaps the world has tormented him greatly]

Critique: In the second line, the phrase *zamane ne* (the world has) suffers from phonetic dissonance.

*Tamam umr mera dam isi dhuen mein ghuta*

*Woh ek charagh tha main ne use bujhaya hai*

[All my life, I suffocated in this very smoke / He was a lamp, I have extinguished him]

Critique: In the second line, the word him/it (*use*) should appropriately be replaced with whom/which (*jise*).

*Pehli baar nazron ne chaand bolte dekha*

*Hum jawab kya dete kho gaye sawalon mein*

[For the first time, the glances saw the moon speaking / What answer could we give, we got lost in the questions]

Critique: The first line uses the word *nazron* (glances/sight). The esteemed Doctor has failed to grasp the subtle distinction between *nazrein* (sight) and *aankhein* (eyes).

*Yun kisi ki aankhon mein subh tak abhi the hum*

*Jis tarah rahe shabnam phool ke piyalon mein*

[Thus we were still in someone's eyes until morning / The way dew remains in the cups of flowers]

Critique: What exactly does the phrase we were still until morning (*subh tak abhi the hum*) in the first line mean? What kind of language is this? Had it been phrased as until morning, there was only us (*subh tak hum hi hum the*), it would have been somewhat acceptable.

*Tere saath itne bohat se din to palak jhukte guzar gaye*

*Hui shaam khel hi khel mein gayi raat baat hi baat mein*

[So many days with you passed in the blink of an eye / Evening fell in mere play, the night passed in mere conversation]

Critique: In the first line, the word *itne* (so many) is an awkward and unnecessary filler (*hashw-e-qabeeh*).

*Agar aasman ki numaishon mein mujhe bhi izn-e-qiyam ho*

*To main motiyon ki dukan se teri baaliyan tere haar loon*

[If I too am granted permission to stay in the exhibitions of the sky / Then from the shop of pearls, I would buy your earrings and your necklaces]

Critique: The phrases *mein mujhe* in the first line and *mein motiyon* in the second line both suffer from phonetic dissonance.

*Khoon pani bana ke peeti hai*

*Dhoop sarmayadar lagti hai*

[It turns blood into water and drinks it / The sunlight seems like a capitalist]

Critique: This couplet suffers from the metrical flaw of clashing refrains (*taqabul-e-radifain*).

*Angnai mein khare hue beri ke per se*

*Woh log chalte waqt gale mil ke roye the*

[With the jujube tree standing in the courtyard / Those people hugged it and wept when leaving]

Critique: What is so special about a jujube (*beri*) tree? Had the word lush green (*sarsabz*) been used instead, this would have truly been a poetic couplet. Since we are destined to wither away (as Ghalib noted, a person withers in love: Having fallen in love, that fairy-faced one became even more fragile), it would make sense to embrace a lush green tree and weep. However, one wonders why the esteemed Doctor took such a liking to the jujube tree. It also reveals that a thorny jujube tree is planted in the esteemed Doctor’s courtyard! Astonishing!

*Is hadse se mera ta'alluq nahin koi*

*Mele mein ek saal kai bachche khoye the*

[I have no connection to this tragedy / One year, several children were lost in the fair]

Critique: This couplet is entirely meaningless. The poet’s psychological confusion and the sheer incoherence of the verse's essence can undoubtedly only be termed modernism (*jadeediyat*).

*Bhool kar apna zamana yeh zamane wale*

*Aaj ke pyar ko mayoob samajhte honge*

[Forgetting their own era, these people of the world / Must consider today's love to be flawed]

Critique: The use of the presumptive tense (*zamana-e-shakki*) here is incorrect. It should have been consider (*samajhte hain*) instead of must consider (*samajhte honge*).

*Naam pani pe likhne se kya faida*

*Likhte likhte tere haath thak jayenge*

[What is the use of writing a name on water / Your hands will get tired while writing]

Critique: The second line is exceedingly clumsy and pedestrian.

*Teri aankhon mein aisa sanwar jaun main*

*Umr bhar aainon ki zaroorat na ho*

[May I adorn myself in your eyes in such a way / That for a lifetime, there is no need for mirrors]

Critique: In the second line, the singular mirror (*aaine*) should have been used instead of the plural mirrors (*aainon*). If the eyes are likened to a mirror, even though there are two eyes, they cast only a single reflection.

*Kisi ko neelam karte ho bazaar mein*

*Yeh kisi ghar ke mandir ki moorat na ho*

[You are auctioning someone in the market / May this not be the idol of some home's temple]

Critique: The first line has fallen out of meter (*saqit-ul-wazn*). Although the meter would be corrected if the phrase *kisi ko* (someone) in the first line were read as *kis* (whom), given the sheer abundance of metrical flaws throughout, the mind refuses to accept this as a mere typographical error.

*Ujale apni yaadon ke hamare saath rehne do*

*Na jane kis gali mein zindagi ki shaam ho jaye*

[Let the light of your memories remain with us / Who knows in which alley the evening of life may fall]

Critique: This couplet is plagiarized. I clarified this in my essay, Plagiarism and Coincidence (*Sarqa o Tawarud*). Bashir Badr has committed a major act of plagiarism (*sarqa-e-kabeer*). In reality, this couplet belongs to the late Arshi Rampuri:

*Kafan dabe baghal mein is liye phirta hoon ae Arshi*

*Na jane kis gali mein zindagi ki shaam ho jaye*

[I wander with a shroud tucked under my arm for this reason, O Arshi / Who knows in which alley the evening of life may fall]

*Aashiqi mein bohat zaroori hai*

*Bewafai kabhi kabhi kar li*

[In love, it is very necessary / To commit infidelity sometimes]

Observation: In the first line, the context demands *tha* (was) instead of *hai* (is). If *hai* is retained, the phrase *kar li* (committed) in the second line becomes redundant (*hashw*). The prose version of this would simply be: In love, infidelity is sometimes very necessary.

*Hum nahi jaante charaghon ko*

*Kyun andheron se dosti kar li*

[We do not know the lamps / Why did we befriend the darkness]

Observation: The meaning of this verse is known only to the poet, Badr.

*Phool shakhon ke hon keh aankhon ke*

*Raste raste chuna karna*

[Whether the flowers belong to branches or to eyes / Keep picking them along the paths]

Observation: Calling tears flowers is a fabrication and goes against established idiom. While I cannot speak for French or Russian poetry, the phrase flowers of the eyes is entirely impermissible in Urdu and Persian poetry.

*Dil pe chhaya raha us ki tarah*

*Ek lamha tha sau baras ki tarah*

[It remained cast over the heart like him / A single moment was like a hundred years]

Observation: The first line is out of meter (*saqit-ul-wazn*). After the word *raha*, there should have been a two-letter word such as *so* or *mein*. It is also possible that this is a scribe's error.

*Khwab in aankhon se ab koi chura kar le jaye*

*Qabr se sookhe hue phool utha kar le jaye*

[Let someone now steal the dreams from these eyes / Let someone take away the dried flowers from the grave]

Observation: Throughout this entire six-verse *ghazal*, the word *kar*, which forms part of the *radif* (refrain), is redundant (*hashw*). The meaning would have been perfectly complete with *chura le jaye* (steal away) and *utha le jaye* (take away).

*Hamare dilon ke diye bujh chuke hain*

*Hum aankhon ki tehreer kaise parhein ge*

[The lamps of our hearts have been extinguished / How will we read the writing of the eyes]

Observation: Even an ordinary reader with a basic understanding of Urdu grammar and tenses would notice this flaw. In the second line, the word *ge* (will) is redundant. And where does this redundancy appear? Right in the *radif*! Having a redundant word in the *radif* is considered a severe defect.

*Kabhi pa ke tujh ko khona kabhi kho ke tujh ko pana*

*Yeh janam janam ka rishta tere mere darmiyan nihan hai*

[Sometimes losing you after finding you, sometimes finding you after losing you / This bond of lifetimes is hidden between you and me]

Observation: In the second line, the word *nihan* (hidden) is out of meter and is also redundant.

*Udasi ka yeh pathar aansuon se gham nahi hota*

*Hazaron jugnuon se bhi andhera kam nahi hota*

[This stone of sadness does not become grief from tears / Even with thousands of fireflies, the darkness does not lessen]

Observation: What does *gham nahi hota* (does not become grief) mean in the first line? The actual idiom is *ghami hona*, which means to come to an end. Here, *ghami* has been altered to *gham*, which is incorrect. Using *gham ghalat karna* (to alleviate sorrow) would have been acceptable. On the other hand, if I assume the intended word was *nam* (moist) instead of *gham*—making it *nam nahi hota* (does not become moist)—it becomes difficult for me to justify! There are so many errors that this no longer feels like a mere scribe's mistake.

*Ehsas ki khushbu kahan aawaz ke jugnu kahan*

*Khamosh yadon ke siwa ghar mein raha kuch bhi nahi*

[Where is the fragrance of feeling, where are the fireflies of sound / Nothing remains in the house except silent memories]

Observation: What exactly do fireflies of sound mean? Until now, we only had fireflies of the eyes. From where has the esteemed Doctor acquired this new passion for creativity? The extent to which modernism has damaged the meaningfulness and precision of Urdu poetry is unparalleled in any other literature of the world. This is a matter of grave concern.

*Muddat se ret ke sehra mein aaya na gaya badal koi*

*Kis desh gaye sare panchi sookha hai shajar tanha tanha*

[For a long time, no cloud has come or gone in the desert of sand / To which land have all the birds gone, the tree has dried up all alone]

Observation: The tree has dried up all alone. Does this imply that if the birds had been there, they would have dried up as well?

*Phir yaad bohat aaye ga zulfon ki ghani shaam*

*Jab dhoop mein saya koi sar par na mile ga*

[Then the dense evening of the tresses will be remembered a lot / When no shadow will be found over the head in the sunlight]

Observation: It is utterly astonishing that the esteemed Doctor treats the word *shaam* (evening) as masculine. To present authoritative references to prove the gender of such a commonly understood word would be an insult to one's own intelligence. It is becoming increasingly difficult to determine how often the scribe is at fault and how often Mr. Badr is to blame.

*Mujh se shaam bata deti hai*

*Tum kaise kapre pehne ho*

[The evening tells me / What kind of clothes you are wearing]

Observation: In the first line, the usage of *mujh se* (to me) is unidiomatic and ineloquent; *mujh ko* would be correct. If *mujh se* had to be used, the phrasing should have been: *Mujh se shaam kahe deti hai* (The evening says to me).

*Phool agar pairon ke neeche aayein ge*

*Aankhon ki beenai kam ho jaye gi*

[If flowers come under the feet / The eyesight will decrease]

Observation: If this is not sheer absurdity, then what is? Usually, it is *after* one's eyesight weakens that everything—let alone flowers—gets trampled underfoot. But here, the flowers will be trampled first, and *then* the eyesight will weaken. Bravo, sir, bravo!

*Pat jhar ke peele sone se ladi*

*Pake baalon wali ik aurat aaye gi*

[Laden with the yellow gold of autumn / A woman with grey hair will come]

Observation: In the second line, the word *ik* (a/one) is out of meter.

The aforementioned flaws are sufficient to deem a poet deficient. It deeply saddens me to find such weaknesses in the work of an educated poet. I liken such a poet to a rosebush. A rosebush has far more thorns than flowers; from a distance, the plant looks incredibly beautiful, but up close, it is equally thorny. I hope that Dr. Bashir Badr (may he be forgiven) will rectify all these flaws in the next edition of *Aamad*. (The edition currently before me is the February 1993 print published by Husami Book Depot, Hyderabad.)

The intent of this essay is by no means to mock or belittle the esteemed Doctor. The dust jacket of *Aamad* features endorsements from renowned literary figures from around the world. My respected father (the late Khalil Farhat Karanjvi) often used to say, A thousand Mirs and Ghalibs combined cannot turn a non-poet into a poet, and a thousand Niazs and Seemabs combined cannot prove a true poet to be a non-poet. The Doctor is a poet of fine temperament. Poetry composed in a spontaneous flow is bound to fall prey to certain flaws. However, fluency and spontaneity can only aid in the creation of a verse, not in its refinement. Revising one's poetry is absolutely essential. I earnestly request the esteemed Doctor to pay attention to this matter.