(First at Desicritics)
Ahmed Faraz succumbed to kidney failure on August 25th in Islamabad. My first Urdu book ever was his "Be Aawaaz Galii KuuchoN meN" (In Voiceless Lanes and Quarters). But that's just one of those trivia you think of and smile wistfully when you learn of the passing of a writer you've admired.
Faraz was admired by many. Along with Faiz and Parveen Shakir (whom he graciously referred to as the most read poet after Faiz in Pakistan), he formed the holy trinity of Urdu poetry in Pakistan. Much like a Hindu god, he had many titles bestowed on him - progressive, communist, traitor, rebel, non-conformist and what not. Both India and Pakistan heaped their highest literary awards on him. But labels never do justice to an artist. So we may call him a Pakistani but he has said,
ab kis ke geet sunaate ho, woh mulk ke jo taqsiim huwaa
With Akhtar Shirani, he penned the most eloquent paean to the country he left behind, "O des se aane waale bataa" (Tell me, o visitor from my country). Despite the Persian slant in its diction, Faraz's poetry had an earthy, colloquial quality about it. He could be scathing when, for instance, speaking of the hypocrisy of the religious. Here he notes how after the pious return from Mecca, they're back to their deceiving ways.
bazm-e-hareefaaN phir sajtii hai
kizb-o-riyaa kii daf bajtii hai
and drums of falsehood beat again
And here's an unflinching introspection:
merii bastii se pare bhii mere dushman hoNge
par yahaaN kab koii aGhyaar kaa lashkar utraa
aashnaa haath hii aksar merii jaanib lapke
mere siine meN meraa apnaa hi Khanjar utraa
I may have foes outside, indeed
But no army besieged us from without
Familiar hands sought to kill me
My own blade tears my breast, no doubt
Of course these laments against the hypocrisy of the pious and self destructive politics are particularly relevant to Pakistan, but good poetry is never prisoner to its context.
Faraz often displayed a deft satirical genius. In a single sher, perhaps my personal favorite, he could pull the rug from under all civilization:
raftah raftah yeh hii zindaaN meN badal jaate haiN
phir kisii shah'r kii buniyaad na Daalii jaaye
eventually, they become prisons
lets never build cities again
His 'Kaneez' is the only Urdu poem I know which speaks of the sexual abuse of servant-women by the feudal gentry. And, in keeping with the golden rule of speaking for the oppressed, the poem comes from the victim's point of view; the narrator, the kaneez, is pleading to a drunken master at her doorstep to leave.
Faraaz wasn't content with lament and demanded that we act.
shikwah-e-zulmat-e-shab se to kahiiN behtar thaa
apne hisseh kii koii sham'a jalaate jaate
Rather than complain of the night's darkness
Wish you'd've lit your share of lamps
The beloved in his poems was often the country he lost to the Partition - famously in ranjish hii sahiih - but he could be playful and optimistic about this troubled romance of nations.
awwal awwal kii dostii hai abhii
ik Ghazal hai k ho rahii hai abhii
Its a new and budding romance.
A Ghazal being formed, per chance
Note the clever use of "Ghazal" in its traditional sense, as a conversation between lovers.
It's a cliche, but it’s true: the passing of Faraz is the passing of an era. Here's a poet who has seen his country go from Jinnah to Musharraf via Zia, and on every occasion spoken against the injustice and questioned the prevailing absurdity of the day. He will be missed, no doubt, but the huge body of work he leaves behind is fertile ground for more of his ilk.
dil giraftah hii sahiih, bazm sajaa lii jaaye
yaad-e-jaanaaN se koii shaam na Khaalii jaaye
Meet and sing, O poets! sad though the heart may be
No evening should pass without her memory
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