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February 2010 Issue |
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Post Blog
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First flush of Love
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Posted On:
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Friday, July 16, 2010
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Without a warning, Ahmed Faraz’s sonorous voice wafted through the car stereo replacing the sensuous Mallika Pukhraj’s, ‘Hum Apne Aansoonyon ka Afsana’ and I instinctively pressed down on the brakes. It was unmistakably Faraz, I could have recognised his voice even in deep sleep, but still pulling the car to one side, I reached out for the CD cover to make sure. How did I stumble upon this treasure and not know. Meanwhile, Faraz was reciting ‘Yeh meri ghazlaen, Yeh meri Nazmaen, tamam teri hikayaten hain…’ A few days ago, browsing through the collections of ghazals in a music shop, I came across an album titled A Tribute to Ahmed Faraz. Since I have been in love with Faraz for as long as I remember, I bought the CD without really seeing what the selection was or who the singers were. And buried in this nondescript CD comprising the usual suspects like Mehdi Hasan, Mallika Pukhraj, Noor Jehan, Runa Laila, Nayyara Noor was Faraz himself: his deep voice, his poignant recitation, his half open eyes, everything flashed by. Though it was only 10 in the morning, the April sun was already lashing mercilessly at the car. Faraz’s voice, unexpectedly hot April and my own rush of emotions took me back to another summer morning nearly a decade ago. Faraz was reciting ‘Ab ke tajdeede wafa ka nahin imka jaana’, half reclining against the pillows on his bed. I was sitting opposite him on the chair, my notebook and pen forgotten, gaping at him recite the ghazal which he had recited the previous evening at the mushaira (poetic soiree) to several demands for an encore. Having heard it so many times the last evening, I knew the ghazal by heart; yet it was a completely new experience having Faraz recite it to me and me alone. It was not yet 10 in the morning and Faraz still seemed to be intoxicated both by his success the previous evening and post-mushaira revelry. His voice was steeped in whisky perhaps, the rich texture lingering after each verse. In his inimitable style, as he recited the couplets, he paused at each sentence before uttering ‘jaana’, so that it actually sounded like an endearment meant for me. ‘Awwal awwal ke mohabbat ke maze yaad to kar, bin piye bhi tera chehra tha gulistan, jaana (Remember the first flush of love, even without wine, your face glowed)!’ Faraz’s eyes were half closed but I believed that he was watching me from the corner of his eyes. A teasing smile was playing on his lips and each utterance of ‘jaana, jaana’ was pulling at my heart strings. Through the blinds, sunrays were filtering in and I was falling in love. Faraz was in Delhi for a mushaira. With great difficulty I had managed to get a breakfast appointment with him at his room in India International Centre. I was meant to interview him for a Sunday feature in Telegraph. But no interview happened that morning. Faraz recited one poem after another; and each recitation seemed so personalised that I was convinced he was talking to me through his verses. After more than an hour, the spell broke with a phone call. Faraz had another engagement. I panicked. Love notwithstanding, I had a job to do. He smiled and invited me for tea in the late afternoon. “Then we will only do the interview,” he promised. As I got up to leave, he asked me to wait. He lumbered towards his bag and took out what looked like a very old book. “This is the first copy of the English translation of my book,” he said, signing it in Urdu. He wrote, Ghazala ke liye, mohabbaton ke saath. The English translation would only make it corny. He walked me to the door and before I stepped out, put a bunch of fragrant mogra (jasmine) flowers in my hand. “Yeh aap le jaayen, (you take these)” he said. In a moment I was in the corridor and the door behind had shut. I returned to the office in a trance. I cherished those flowers for several days. I met Faraz several times after that lazy, romantic morning; the magic gradually ended, but my love lingered on. When I learnt of his death last year, and read his last poem, I felt a deep sadness and melancholy within. A melancholy which returned now as I heard Faraz’s voice once again. On the CD Faraz was saying, Na Pooch Us Ka Keh Voh Diwana, Na Jaane Kab Kaa Ujar Chuka Hai/ Voh Kohkan To Naheen Thaa Lekin Kari Chatanon Se Lar Chuka Hai/ Voh Thak Chuka Thaa Aur Us Kaa Taisha Usi Ke Seene Mein Gar Chuka Hai. Without my realising it, tears brimmed to my eyes.
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