Just wanted to post a tiny snippet of a conversation I had with my grandmother today. It may look like a trivial thing but quality conversation is so rare these days that I really cherish and try to preserve it when I have one.
We were listening to Jagjit Singh’s ghazal,
ہوش والوں کو خبر کیا بےخودی کیا چیز ہے
عشق کیجئے پھر سمجھیے زندگی کیا چیز ہے
“The sensible will never grasp the state of ecstasy;
Dive into love, and learn what life can be.”
when she exclaimed how volumes of timeless poetry had been written by men head over heels in love but when some of the same men eventually found or married their love, they were unable to live up to the romanticized unions of their own poems.
I agreed with her acute observation and marveled at her ability to note such an objective point while listening to, and appreciating, the lyrical rendition of Nida Fazli’s celebrated poem. I responded,
Women and men make classic, tantalizing milestones in each others’ journey of Love. The destination of Love continues to be someplace else though. In a higher calling than flesh and blood.
She fell quiet for a moment then responded aptly with the following verse of Iqbal:
متاع بے بہا ہے درد و سوز آرزو مندی
مقام بندگی دے کر نہ لوں شان خداوندی
“The true treasure glows in longing’s secret blaze;
I spurn the loftiest rank, preferring humble ways.”
I think all great poets and philosophers have pondered upon the remarkably evident thirst that women and men fail to satisfy in each other in the name of love. Love, like unquenched fire burning in the very center of one’s being, demands desperate action. Iqbal, in this verse, holds this suffering dearer than any material or spiritual wealth. Knowing its subject (God, woman, etc.) though cannot alleviate the pain, it can certainly impart the sense of it being worthwhile thus, making it more tolerable, and even, enjoyable for some as it’s in the case of Iqbal.
