Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Ek Chahallum Par by Raja Mehdi Ali Khan


ek chahallum par
by
Raja Mehdi Ali Khan

Jameela uttho, ab na aansoo bahaao
Nahin waqt rone ka, dariyaan bichhaao

Yeh duniyaa hai faani, gayaa jaanewaala
Woh rone se waapas nahin aanewaala

Na bekaar ab tum duhaai machaao
Uttho, apne ghar mein safaai karaao

Muazzaz, muazzaz jo aayenge mehmaan
Bahut naak aur bhaaun chadaaengi amma

Tum unke liye jald huqqe mangaao
Miyaan! Bhaag kar chai Lipton ki laao

Woh sab aake izhaar-e-maatam karenge
Woh baithak mein roenge, chai piyenge

Sunaaenge marhum ke woh fasaane
Ki lab bolne ko diye hai khudaane

Dulhan ne utaara na tha surkh joda
Ki dulhe ne duniyaa-e-faani ko chhodaa

Bahut khoobsoorat, bahut nek tha woh
Hazaaro jawaanon mein bas ek tha woh

Namaaz ik bhi hargiz na usne qazaa ki
Shab-o-roz karta ibaadat khudaa ki

Jidhar dekhte hain udhar gham hi gham hai
Karein iska jitna bhi maatam who kam hai

Na ro ro ke behaal ho ai dulhan tu
Na kar is qadar aah-o-ranjh-o-mehan tu

Woh jannat mein khushiyaan manaaega, mat ro
Woh huuron se ab dil lagaayega, mat ro

Jameela, khuda ki kasam musquraa de
Teri beqaraari na hum ko rulaa de

Razia, zaraa garm chaawal to laana
Zakia, zaraa thandaa paani pilaana

Bahut khoobsoorat, bahut nek tha woh
Hazaaro jawaanon mein bas ek tha woh

Jameela, mujhe roghni naan dena
Who firni uthaana, who pakwaan dena

Judaai mein uske hua dil diwana
Ki lagta hai achchaa na peena na khaana

Mangaao pulao zaraa aur Khaala
Badhaana zaraa qorme ka piyaala

Jidhar dekhte hain udhar gham hi gham hai
Karein iska jitna bhi maatam who kam hai

Who Nhanni ke zarde mein kishmish hai thodi
Bahut der se maangti hai nigodi

Woh tukdaa jigar ka, tha aankhon ka taara
Humein apni aulaad se bhi tha pyaara

Padaa hai pulao mein ghee Dalde ka
Khudaa tu hi haafiz hai mere gale ka

Dulhan se kaho aah itni na roye
Bechaari na bekaar mein jaan khoye

Ari, botiyaan teen saalan mein tere
Yeh chichhdaa likhaa tha muqaddar mein mere

Bahut khoobsoorat, bahut nek tha woh
Hazaaro jawaanon mein bas ek tha woh

Dulhan, ghar mein chooran agar hai to laana
Nahin to zaraa khaari botal mangaana

Na kar bain itne, na ro itna pyaari
Hamaare kaleje pe chalti hai aari




At a Wake
translated by
Mustansir Dalvi

Get up now, Jameela
and dry your tears.
Roll out the carpets,
there is no time to weep.

This life is but fleeting,
the one who had to go
has gone. All your tears
will not bring him back.

End your futile petitions
to the Almighty now.
Get up and shake a leg,
this house needs cleaning.

Your guests will soon arrive,
all propah and respectable.
Heed your Mother-in-law now,
watch as she preens and fawns.

Swiftly now, charge huqqas
for the imminent company.
Run Miyaan, run! Remember,
only Lipton Tea is the best.

Your mourners will descend
and express their grief
and weep copiously in the hall
and knock back cups of tea.

They will regale all who hear,
they will spin yarns of the dead,
for why has God provided us
with lips, but to flap liberally?

Hardly had the bride shed
her wedding dress, they will say;
than the groom himself departed,
shuffling off his mortal coil.

     How handsome was he,
     how well-mannered and true.
     He was one in a million,
     he was the acme of youth.

He was never found late
for any of the five prayers;
day or night, he stayed immersed
in worship and devotion.

     And now wherever we turn
     we find sorrow, only sorrow.
     How much should we lament,
     all our bewailing is not enough.

Don’t make yourself miserable
with this incessant bemoaning;
don’t pine and keen, little bride,
no good can come of this.

Look here, don’t cry,
for he is now merry in paradise
See here, don’t weep,
for he now dallies with houries.

Jameela, for the love of God,
grant us a little smile,
or your unseemly grief
will surely drive us all to tears.

Razia, come on,
bring out the warm rice.
Zakia, look here,
give us a cool drink.

     How handsome was he,
     how well-mannered and true.
     He was one in a million,
     he was the acme of youth.

Jameela, reach out,
hand me a butter naan,
push that firni my way
make easy with the pakwaan.

The thought of his absence
is driving my heart crazy.
I no longer have any appetite
for all this food and drink.

Auntie dear please, call out
for some more of this pulao;
and while you are at it, extend
to me the bowl of stew.

     And now wherever we turn
     we find sorrow, only sorrow.
     How much should we lament,
     all our bewailing is not enough.

There were hardly any raisins
in the Tiny Tot’s sweet rice,
the Shameless One’s whining
about his for a while now.

Apple of my eye, he was
a piece of my heart.
More dear to me, he was
than any of my own upstarts.

Look how this wretched pulao
is swimming in Dalda ghee,
Dear Lord, I pray to thee, preserve
my throat from such atrocity.

Console the little bride, tell her
not to howl so much,
her heart may give way
and she would have died for nothing.

Three luscious pieces of lamb
float in your gravy, m’dear,
my lot in life is to stay content
with this fatty scrap in mine.

     How handsome was he,
     how well-mannered and true.
     He was one in a million,
     he was the acme of youth.

Dear bride, are there
any digestives in the house?
If not, a bottle of soda
would see me through.

Grieve not for the dead’
shed no tears, my dear.
Your continuous caterwauling
grates like a saw through my liver.




Translation and Transliteration © Mustansir Dalvi, 2014, All rights reserved.

No comments: