Friday, March 31, 2023
04:11 AM (GMT +5)

Go Back   CSS Forums > CSS Optional subjects > Group V > Urdu Literature

Reply Share Thread: Submit Thread to Facebook Facebook     Submit Thread to Twitter Twitter     Submit Thread to Google+ Google+    
LinkBack Thread Tools Search this Thread
Old Friday, January 31, 2014
Maha Khan's Avatar
Senior Member
Qualifier: Awarded to those Members who cleared css written examination - Issue reason: CE 2009Medal of Appreciation: Awarded to appreciate member's contribution on forum. (Academic and professional achievements do not make you eligible for this medal) - Issue reason:
Join Date: Jul 2009
Location: Punjab
Posts: 1,782
Thanks: 228
Thanked 2,339 Times in 1,259 Posts
Maha Khan has much to be proud ofMaha Khan has much to be proud ofMaha Khan has much to be proud ofMaha Khan has much to be proud ofMaha Khan has much to be proud ofMaha Khan has much to be proud ofMaha Khan has much to be proud ofMaha Khan has much to be proud ofMaha Khan has much to be proud of
Unhappy Korey Kaghaz Ki Dastaan..!!!

On the fateful night at two o’clock in the month of October; a phone call informed me that Sahir is no longer there, I remember a night that I had spent in Bulgaria just twenty days ago when Doctors informed me that the condition of my heart is critical. On that night I wrote a couplet. And then suddenly I looked at my hands; that these hands had floated themselves in the basket of desires. So how did the desire die out? Who had consumed them- desire or death?

The time had arrived when the first Asian Writers’ Conference was held in Delhi; poets and intellectuals were each given a delegate ‘badge’ with their names on it, and everybody had annexed the badge on their coat. Sahir had used the ‘badge’ which had my name on it, and the badge with his name was on my coat; so at that moment someone pointed out that we were using the “wrong” badge. Sahir smiled and said that those who gave us the badge must have been mistaken, and we should have changed the “badges” which we did not. Now years later when at two o’clock in night I heard about Sahir’s death, it seems to me that death pronounced its verdict after having read my badge that was on Sahir’s coat. The friendship that I had with Sahir was never hostage to words. It was a relationship between two profound silences. The shers (couplets) that I wrote for him won the Sahitya Academy Award. Press reporters started selling my photos. I felt at that moment that I was scribing something on the paper. When the photographer who was taking my photo left, I picked up the paper and then saw that there was only one word that was written- Sahir, Sahir, Sahir….

I felt nervous at this romantic act of mine, in the morning when the photo will appear and when people will read the name on the page- what sort of pandemonium will it create? But the doomsday did not descend. When the photo appeared in the newspaper the white page in my hand was blank. It was only known to me at that time that the page that was blank was not actually so. It was this kinship of poetry with blank paper that, thirty years ago when a new edition of Talkhiya (‘bitterness’) was being published Sahir asked me to write an introduction for it, but my feelings like me remained silent. Today, when Sahir is no more and a new edition of Talkhiya is being published the publisher want that I write an introduction for it. I would not write anything about the poems; Sahir’s poems are part of people’s soul and history’s essence. I was indebted to Sahir that day when he had asked me to write the introduction for his anthology. Then I could not but today I paying that due debt. It is alas too late now that he has left us.

I remember a mushairah (gathering of poets) when a group of people who were taking Sahir’s autograph left. I was alone and I smiled and gave Sahir my hands. He took them like a blank page and wrote his name on it. He said, “this signature is used my me in bank’s cheque, whatever amount you want feel free to put them on a cheque and take them”. My hands may be made of flesh but they had the fate of a blank paper which is I why I cannot bring myself to write any other word. Even today I do not have any word. This is a mere tale of a blank page.

Forty years ago Sahir would come to meet me at Lahore. He would come and silently smoke cigarettes. When the ash-tray would get filled he would leave and then I would light those leftover butts and smoke them. Mine and his cigarette’s smoke met only in the air. Our breath also met in the air and so did our poetry. I think wind can travel any distance, it could even before travel across cities without much hindrance. And it can also travel now from this world to that one.
Amrita Pritam
Fight for your dreams & your dreams will fight for you.
Reply With Quote

Thread Tools Search this Thread
Search this Thread:

Advanced Search

Posting Rules
You may not post new threads
You may not post replies
You may not post attachments
You may not edit your posts

BB code is On
Smilies are On
[IMG] code is On
HTML code is Off
Trackbacks are On
Pingbacks are On
Refbacks are On

Similar Threads
Thread Thread Starter Forum Replies Last Post
Meri Pasand Farrah Zafar Urdu Poetry 158 Tuesday, March 01, 2016 08:54 PM

CSS Forum on Facebook Follow CSS Forum on Twitter

Disclaimer: All messages made available as part of this discussion group (including any bulletin boards and chat rooms) and any opinions, advice, statements or other information contained in any messages posted or transmitted by any third party are the responsibility of the author of that message and not of (unless is specifically identified as the author of the message). The fact that a particular message is posted on or transmitted using this web site does not mean that CSSForum has endorsed that message in any way or verified the accuracy, completeness or usefulness of any message. We encourage visitors to the forum to report any objectionable message in site feedback. This forum is not monitored 24/7.

Sponsors: ArgusVision   vBulletin, Copyright ©2000 - 2023, Jelsoft Enterprises Ltd.