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Human and desires

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By Aaqib Javaid

Every individual strife hard to create his/her own space where he/she can feel full peace, satisfaction and also wishes to be loved genuinely. The voyage for laying down the foundation is as simple as the question of life ‘?’
Humans – came with a peaceful silence into the world until the doctor hit his back and the first cry out makes everyone happy. This is the first joyful stroke, a man gets in this world. Soon the cry became aloud, it gave birth to the desires too. First desire – to see the baby’s smile, and with that, the spree of desires began to increase for every single day of life.
Fact is, the fuss of all desires never rose from a baby. Desires never have beginning and end. At the instant baby knees begin to crawl, then countless wishes and desires raise. Trying to stand him/her on feet even after many falls. The day he/she holds his/her feet up, the birth of desires within took place. Random hits on the attractive object became the point of his/ her faded consciousness. This span of time helps him\her to experience about the cognitions, feelings and focus on the visible entity. When he/she took the first steps for carrying out actions against his/her loved possessions, taste buds of satisfaction and happiness initiates to set up.
Variation towards the desires steadily changes — from one toy to another. While On the journey of variations, he/she faces many restrictions on a certain level. And the circumference of limitations is embroidered on the desire paths of his/her mind. Sadness touches the feet of his/her heart, whenever some blockade came on his/her road of desire.
Unknowingly, the chapter of hatred has been indulged inside them, with the expression of severe aggression and angriness. Our consciousness toward desires resemble with the flame of a candle — strongly hunting for enlightening more and more space for our self-desires and forget that our other part is melting too.

Teen-age / Adolescence: A content of growing up and carriage of changes in attitude, voice, body, perception, attraction, emotions, feelings and desires. It is also an Age of risks, lying, betrayal, mistakes and an ideal thought of being wise or some call it ‘a mesmerizing trip of desires’. The more important challenge is dealing with pressure and stress for their brains — which just haven’t physically matured yet. Illusion among liking and disliking occurs mostly among them. Desire is the only weapon that either destroy or protects the person. Good and evil both are on their track to absorb them and it depends upon his/her choice of desires. I personally demarcate this age as — A Crucial stage of dilemmas with the different route of desires leading towards different destinies.
When adolescence reaches to end, a new phase of life starts, whom we usually in a collective term called as” youth”. During this tenure different connotations of life develops for a person. This is the baggage of desires and battle for proving our self, passion and also a voyage for finding the love of life. The desire of luxuries, comfort, love, career, family, enjoyment, etc. is its key elements. Here, the person’s only desire is to stab his/her name and fame everywhere and influence the whole community. Every day passes with a new aim for new desires.
Soon the young blood’s heat lower to a normal temperature, the age of sharing the desires came on the table of life. The heart and soul became sharable to partner and the desires of both persons get merge into one whole set. Lavishly living and discussing the desires of life. Embracing one another with love and warmth. Obligations for being husband/wife took place on their shoulders. And the vision of their love turned into a love and care for their children. This is the addition to their account of desires without being hesitant.
Every drop of their sweat fall for the desires of children. The desire of life is now the smiling and cheerful face of their children. Like a pot maker who shapes his love for the earth on a wheel; on the same orchestra parent desires to design their growing up kid without any flaw in it. Religious favour also became the fragrance of one person’s desire wing to fly in the sky of peace and repent.
When their children are enough to fly on their own. Expectation raise to a new level with the birth of new desires. Those half- desire which they had left behind are now on new track for transformation. Every action of their children matters a lot for them. Sometimes it brings unending happiness and if the kiss of life strikes hard, then it will flow the stream of unforgettable tears.
And then age has reached where a person needs support for every step of life. He/she wails for ears to listen to them and arms to embrace them. Only desires for those faces, who will accept them. Souls are now connected to the jiggling of newly born grand-souls. Their Whole time passes in evaluating life that — they had lived in past. They had become the hub of the experiences —which are sourced from experiencing life. Desires are not enough in this age but still exists. Just waiting for the peaceful transition from this world. This only happens when their children or family are satisfied and happy with their faded-presence and their good Karma for another world. In this World, there has been no end of desires for man.
During this voyage of desires, we most-time forget or ignore the boundaries which lead us to cross the line of greediness or selfishness. The case is not only related to the wealthy desires, but it is also connected to our bonds around us and outside the circle of family.
Desires are healthful for a body but its excess is poisonous to the soul. Doped in too many desires abandon us and our peace in solitude. Desire’s another form is love. But Love is not a desire until it turns into a string of betrayals. And same is the case with every kind of desire.
Sufis or other saints lived a peaceful and soulful life even in different hardships, it is only because of their true nature towards desire and negligence from betraying any other living soul. The core of peace exists in the happiness of conscience and soul but not in materialistic or self-centred values. Our decision make or destroy any kind of connections. Only we have to do is feed our soul with a thought of learning to understand every action of life. And when our soul became habitant of learning and understanding only then our attitude of forgiveness took birth to save all true connections of life and ultimately lead us to become a peace.
The parameter of variables varies from the scale of imperfection to perfection, reality to vitality, smile to tears, dreams to achievement and so on. The preamble nature of life’s variables lost from not defined to any relative. The absurdity of the truth is always a big Question mark, where an individual is polarised towards the correctness. The notions of socialite attractions rotate like the reflection of the Prism. The relativity of finding congruence digs the deep well of contemplation with only a handful of water, which falls down drop by drop and becomes an illusion with the runaway thoughts.
Desires to lose in the streams of waterfalls are prioritized by the actions of ones who are us but not we. Where to drown and where to swim carries a thin border in between the melancholy of existence.
Mirza Ghalib was well-known about all these unending desires of man and had rightly summarised this spree of desire in two lines as:
“Hazaru khawaishey aisi ki har khawaisnh pay daem niklay,
Bohut niklay meray armaan, lekin phir bhi kaem niklay”
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Opinion

INDESCRIBABLE JOHN ELI

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By Shabbir Aariz

This indeed is proverbially a herculean task to describe or define John Elia in any particular frame. Whosoever while mentioning him, is either trapped in contradictions of one’s own opinion or is able to confine to a few verses of John Elia to judge him. But the more one tries to understand John, the more confused one is and I believe that you need another John Elia to explain him. He is a phenomenon, a thing like a live fish to hold in your hand or an elephant amongst blinds to be described. Wusatullah Khan, a noted broadcaster, holds that knowing John is as good as dating with a liberated lady. And it is quite obvious that a man who in him is a philosopher, a scholar, a biographer, a linguist with command over Urdu, Arabic, English, Persian, Sanskrit and Hebrew and needless to say that the Ismaili sect of the subcontinent could not find anyone other than John to translate Ismaili treatises from Hebrew, it becomes a tedious affair to be conclusive about John. Common perception though with an element of truth is that John is a progressive Marxist, an unconventional poet and always in denial of everything including himself while himself saying in three line verse,

“KISKO FUSAT K MUJSAY BAHAS KARAY…..

 

OOR SABIT KARAY K MERA WAJOOD….

ZINDZGI K LIYAY ZARORI HAY

(Anyone prepared to argue and prove that my existence is imperative for life). His poetry is admittedly very close to life and his verses in the words of a legendry poet, Majrooh Sultanpuri, are like a dialogue which no other poet has the distinction to be capable of. John has an extra-ordinary craft of connecting with his audience that has created an unprecedented fan following which no other contemporary poet can claim to have. So magical is his poetry and its rendition that it has created a cult of his admirers with such an obsession and longing for the life of melancholy lead by John Elia himself. It is no secret that he was never a happy man with defiance and protest against everything and anything around. Loudly a nonconformist when he says
“unjaman main mayri khamooshi…..

burdabari nahin hay wehshat hay”.

His style made him famous and popular. He appears to be disgusted even with creation when he says … “HASILE KUN HAY YEH JAHANE KHARAAB….

YAHI MUMKIN THA AYSI UJLAT MAIN”.

His admirers strangely wish to pass through the same pain and despair that is hallmark of John’s poetry besides satire and the disdain for the system which contributed to his sadness in life. He has so glorified and romanticized the pain and sadness that it leaves his audience in frenzied ecstasy.

John Elia was born in the year 1931 and died in 2002. He originally belonged to Amroha in the state of Uttar Pradesh, younger brother of Rayees Amrohi, a known journalist and writer. John migrated to Pakistan in the year 1957 and settled in Karachi where he is buried now. But Amroha never left his heart and mind. He never felt comfortable after leaving Amroha partly because his stay in Karachi brought him in conflict with the system too. Many other things have also contributed to his sadness in life. He was married to a well-known writer of Pakistan, Zahida Hina but in mid-80’s , the relation between the two became bumpy and ended up in divorce which left John devastated and for ten long years thereafter went in depression without writing a word.

As is true about many in the history of literature, John earned his name and fame more after his death than in his life time while he was not received well and felt a strange type of suffocation when he says,

“AAP APNAY SAY HUMSUKHAN REHNA…..

HUMNISHEEN SAANS PHOOL JATI HAY”.

Thanks to the electronic boom and You Tube that brought him to the lime light and enabled audience to reach him and his works. As if this was not enough that his first poetic collection only came to be published when he reached the age of 60. It is worthwhile mention that he has as many as seven poetic collections to his credit namely SHAYAD, YANI, LEKIN, GUMAAN, GOYA, FARMOD and RAMOOZ. Except one, all other are published posthumously. This is besides his scholarly works in prose which may require greater insight to go into.

John all his life remained honest, direct and straightforward in expressing his views on matters of public interest. He also never demonstrated any pretentions or reservations while expressing the truth of his personal life. He never made any secret of his fantasies, love affairs or drinking habits. Yet he was never at peace either with the times or with himself. John Elia, in my humble opinion lived ahead of times and even the desire of dying young without being bed ridden was not granted to him except that he strangely enough wanted to die of tuberculosis and which he did.

(The author, a senior lawyers, is a well known poet and writer. Feedback at: [email protected])

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Manto: Why I wanted to read a ‘lewd’ writer

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By Naveed Hussain

I first read Saadat Hasan Manto as a teenager and the spirit of what I’m writing now was etched on my memory in those years.

I was too young to understand the intricacies of his stories but I enjoyed what I read and craved for more. Back then, Manto wasn’t available in the small town of Haripur where I lived. A friend introduced me to a schoolteacher, a bibliophile who had a modest collection of Manto in his personal library.

 

“Why do you want to read Manto, he’s a ribald, lewd writer,” he quipped. “This is exactly why I want to read him,” I replied, almost impulsively. He smiled and agreed to lend me Manto’s books. Thus began my journey to explore Manto. The more I read, the deeper my love for him became.

Manto was a nonconformist, an unorthodox and ruthlessly bold writer. He didn’t believe in the so-called literary norms of ‘decency’ and ‘civility’ set by didactic writers of his time. For him, truth is truth. No matter how bitter and despicable the reality, Manto never dilutes the truth. Like a muckraker, he pokes his nose into the muck, rakes it, and then holds it up to the reader – in all its profound ugliness and twisted beauty. “If you don’t know your society, read my stories. If you find a defect, it’s the defect of your society, not my stories,” he says.

Manto wrote on socially taboo topics like sex, incest and prostitution, which earned him the wrath of contemporary traditionalists, conservatives and even progressives. For some of his ‘lewd’ and ‘obscene’ stories he had to face lawsuits – among them were great stories such as Thanda Gosht, Bu, Khol Do, Dhuan and Kali Shalwar.

But it is to miss the point to simply say that Manto wrote about sex. He wrote about the sexual debauchery of men and the sexual exploitation of women; about our patriarchal society where women are often treated as a ‘sex toy’, not a human being. Unlike many, I don’t compare Manto with DH Lawrence, because Manto is not lustful, even though he explicitly writes about the female anatomy. He’s more like Guy de Maupassant, who sees the throbbing heart, not the sensuous body, of the prostitute.

Manto blames the ‘diseased mind’ for reading ‘ribaldry’ into his stories. If a sex maniac derives morbid gratification from Venus De Milo, should we blame Alexandros of Antioch for chiselling such a ‘graphic’ sculpture? No, certainly not.

For contemporary literary pundits, Manto was also unacceptable because he wrote ‘indecent’ language. “They [the critics] criticise me when my characters verbally abuse one another – but why don’t they criticise their society instead where hundreds of thousands of profanities are hurled on the streets, every day,” he wonders.

I also love Manto because he was honest. He was an unflinchingly true writer who believed in calling a spade a spade. Sketch-writing was introduced as a genre in Urdu literature much earlier, but Manto created his own peculiar tell-all style. He didn’t write only the good qualities of his characters. “In my bathroom, everyone is naked. I don’t clothe them because it’s the tailor’s job,” he writes.

Manto’s sketches, which he initially wrote for the Lahore-based Daily Afaq newspaper, were later collected and published as Ganjay Farishtay. Manto wasn’t a hypocrite. He minced no words while writing about his dead friends. “I curse a thousand times a so-called civilised society where a man’s character is cleansed of all its ills and tagged as ‘May-God-Bless Him’,” Manto wrote in Ganjay Farishtay. Manto wrote sketches of filmstars Ashok Kumar, Shyam, Noor Jahan, literary figures such as Meera Ji, Agha Hashar and Ismat Chughtai and some politicians. “I have no camera that could have washed smallpox marks off the face of Agha Hashar or change obscenities uttered by him in his flowery style.”

Before embarking on his literary career, Manto had read Russian, French and English masters like Chekhov, Gorky, Victor Hugo, de Maupassant and Oscar Wilde and translated some of their works into Urdu. Surprisingly enough, despite his love for revolutionaries, Manto was not a Marxist ideologue. He was a humanist who was pained to see social injustices, economic disparities and exploitation of the underprivileged. He hated the obscurantist clergy and parasitic elites alike.

Although Manto had migrated to Pakistan after 1947, he couldn’t understand the rationale of partitioning a land along religious lines. His stories of bloodshed and cross-border migration, such as Teetwaal Ka Kutta and Toba Tek Singh, made him unpopular with ‘patriotic’ Pakistanis. To this day he remains a shadowy figure on the official literary lists of Pakistan: our school curricula, our national awards, our drawing room conversations.

Manto was acknowledged as a creative genius even by his detractors. And he knew this, which is perhaps why he wanted these words to mark his grave: “Here lies Saadat Hasan Manto and with him lie all the secrets and mysteries of the art of short story writing. Under tons of earth he lies, still wondering who among the two is the greater short story writer: he or God.”

Manto’s family feared his self-written epitaph would attract the unwanted attention of the ignorantly religious, so on his grave one finds a Ghalib couplet. He faced censorship all his life and even now has chunks of his stories taken out by the authorities. But as we mark his centenary year, I can say this with the instant certainty I felt as a young man in Haripur: the words and stories of Saadat Hasan Manto will outlive us all.

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Opinion

Gauhar Raza: Giving Poetry the Power to Protest

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By Asheesh Mamgain

If things were different his poems would have been different, or maybe he would not have been a poet at all. But things are what they are. And that is why Gauhar Raza, the poet is writing, and it is why he writes his poetry of protest.

“Maybe I would have written about love, the beauty of nature and science. But as things stand my poetry is predominantly about resistance and protest,” said Raza, who is faithful to the tradition of resistance poetry to the extent that he has throttled, without much difficulty, the romantic and the scientist in him. “The need to write poetry always arose when something happened around me which affected me, to the core. I have never written and will never write poetry just for the sake of it.”

 

“The murder of Safdar Hashmi, the breaking up of the Soviet Union, the demolition of the Babri Masjid, the killing of an activist in Afghanistan, the death of Rohith Vemula are some of those things,” he said.

Raza’s second published collection of ghazals and nazms (71 in all) came out in November 2017 and is titled Khamoshi, or Silence.

Is there a lot of anger in his poems? Yes, there is definitely a lot of anger. But then there is also hope. That is where Raza becomes special.

“For me, a poem that merely complains or rants about the injustice, violence and persecution happening all around is not enough. A poet has to go beyond this; he has to give a vision. The vision of an alternative world, of a better world. Only then will his poetry be successful and meaningful. A poet has to show the consciousness he wants to bring into society.”

So how does he define good poetry? “Well, a good poem should be able to raise the level of the reader at least one notch higher, and also give him a fresh perspective about the aspect being dealt in the poem. Something new to dwell upon,” said Raza.

The influences that shaped his poetic thought came pretty early, at home and at the Aligarh Muslim University where he studied. Raza’s father, Wizarat Hussain, worked in the education department there and was a second-generation Leftist.

“The question about the existence of God came up very early in my life and soon I became an atheist for life,” said Raza. Literature was read with passion at home and by the time he was 15 he had read all the Urdu literature available at the AMU library as well as a solid portion of Russian literature.

“During my growing years, Leftist thought had a major presence in the university. On the other hand, the fundamental forces were also steadily getting stronger. I was smitten by the leftist idea. I was part of a literary study circle, we served tea at the secret meetings of leftist groups and listened to discussions at home between my father and other intellectuals such as Irfan Habib and Iqtidar Alam Khan.”

There was a lot of churning in his mind and soon he started pouring the remnants of all that into his poems. When it comes to poetry some of Raza’s major influences have been Ghalib, Faiz Ahmad Faiz and Sahir Ludhianvi. He is often seen reciting their work at length during his various lectures, with Sahir Ludhianvi’s long poem ‘Parchhaiyan’ or Shadows one of his favourites.

“Writing the kind of poetry I do is not easy. Each time a write a poem I must relive all the pain and emotion I went through when the particular incident happened that forced me to write. All those disturbing images come rushing back to me. It is a difficult thing to undergo.”

Nor is poetry Raza’s only means of reaching the people. He recently retired as chief scientist from the Council of Scientific and Industrial Research. He is also into documentary filmmaking, his documentaries on Bhagat Singh and the 2002 Gujarat genocide being very well known.

Where does poetry stand today, as a means of communication with the reader? According to Raza, “for one, social media has helped. It has helped poets reach a wider audience. Also, the tradition of musharias and kavi sammelans (poetry meets) is still very strong in India. So even if a poet is competing with the multimedia world, it is easy to reach one’s audience with one’s poetry, provided you have something pertinent to say.”

More broadly speaking, however, “I have to say that things have progressed in a disturbing direction. A poem I wrote 20 years ago, I could rededicate it to Rohith Vemula and then to Gauri Lankesh. This disturbing trend is seen all over the world. I believe that the fall of the USSR has been a major turning point in the way our World has evolved.”

A few lines from one of his poems brings out his concern and struggle.

Mein phool khilata hoon jab bhi,
Woh baad e khizan le aate hain,
Mein geet sunata hoon jab bhi,
Yeh aag se ji bahlate hain.

Whenever I make a flower blossom
They bring the autumn wind
Whenever I sing a song
They give the soul succour with flame.

But Raza is still hopeful. “There has been a resurgence of resistance poetry in Urdu in the recent past. The trend of religious poetry in Urdu has also reduced in recent times. The youth today has become more involved in this attempt to bring a positive change. I have seen young people reading protest poetry and reacting to it. Once again universities have become a place of resistance and struggle for change.”

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