By Mushtaque B Barq
The chill upon my memories has unmistakably influenced my flow to write about Dr. Shujaat. I take privilege as a well-wisher of Kashmir Pen to pay tribute to him but as an admirer of his writings, I register my sorrow by making an attempt to bring at fore my personal interactions with him. I am in a dilemma and truly I shall not be able to fasten myself formally to write an official tribute, but certainly, I shall let the heart bleed to serve my impulse. Reasons are numerous, yet the strongest one is circulating within the ambits of my frame that has administrated vim and vigor into the recesses of my heart and the echo is here. It takes a moment to a wandering wasp to pump in the venom but takes a lifetime to negotiate the pain. A slice of time at times rewinds the reel of realities, and life takes a back turn. How wonderful is to look back, but how unfeasible for a loving heart to drag itself out of the gulf of gloom. Reasons are numerous, yet another set of it is still scratching my conscious mind to put forth my reason to remember him. Dr. Shujaat Bukhari, a journalist by profession for the rest but to me a man of different skin, different skill, and skull. A man who knows how to treat a stranger, a gentle soul who knows how to care for a friend and above all a responsible and loyal lover of his mother tongue besides a critic who knows how to pull the skin off the bones.
I met the tall man at Hari Parbat when I had taken my students for the photoshoot. The young enthusiastic aspirants were clicking randomly. The randomness hardly irritated Shujaat Sahab; he let them click to obey what was in their frames. He was aggravated to the extent of frustration when he called me and thrashed me for something I was not aware of. He roared, “Haven’t you taught them how to speak Kashmiri, why are they using an alien language? Then and there he carved his place in my heart. He pinpointed what I had never thought of. He exposed my ignorance. My students flocked around him for the reason they know the best, but they were moved about by his powerful speech on the importance of mother tongue. A casual outing he turned into a remarkable session. Their lenses that day captured Dr. Shujaat for a reason and I kept myself wondering how Dr. Shujaat turned the table. I was a mute spectator. He changed the ambiance of the fort by motivating them to communicate in the language he was proud of.
My second meeting with him brought before me a different Shujaat Sahab. I showcased my poetry; he appreciated it. His positive reception encouraged me to move ahead to seek his help. He without wasting a minute agreed to write a blurb for my anthology Withered Petals.
He wrote: The anthology by Mushtaque Barq is soul-stirring reflections of the surroundings he has been living in. Barq is a prolific writer and has come to us a poet who peeps through the ups and downs of today’s Kashmir. His heartfelt expression is very much visible in his poems which I believe are speaking about pain and sufferings of contemporary Kashmir. Since our vocabulary has changed in the last 27 years, he has not been able to avoid the new jargons and that is why the poems are dotted with bullets and pellets. To my understanding, Barq’s latest work is representation of the grind of hard routine through which an average Kashmiri has to pass. His work is recognizable and readable. I am sure this will be read worldwide, and the pathos it carries will be felt by those who are yet to visit and understand this place. I am confident that Barq will occupy a space among the poets of reckoning as his flow, diction and the way of expression is worth noticing.
Dr. Shujaat Bukhari
Journalist/Writer/ President Adbee Markaz Kamraz Jammu and Kashmir.
This brief note on my Anthology branched over my head a spell of surprise and serenity. I kept reflecting upon the fact that how can a man you have met only twice peeped down your spine and read your state of mind, know your pain and pleasure, acknowledge your metaphors and explore the diction that one has picked from the noisy streets. On one hand I found myself rediscovered by a legend, yet on the other hand, my quest for the conclusion was sincerely addressed. For a multidimensional character like Dr. Shujaa, it might have been too easy to read the script of a man from his forehead.
When Verses of Wahab Khar was released at Hotel Shahanshah, I presented him a copy of it at his office after a few days. The tall man stood up, hugged me, kissed my forehead and embraced the book. His response filled my eyes. We discussed at length the problems and the hardships a translator faces while translating Sufi poetry into English. His love for Sufi Kashmiri poetry and Wahab Khar in particular further glued our friendship. He gifted me a mug with Rising Kashmir written on it, and I received with love, the mug is still lying on my writing desk as a token of love. He was too enthusiastic to publish my interview and offered to start a column in Rising Kashmir which I started as well. But his absence silenced my ink as well. The empty cabin haunted me; I never visited that place after he left the table.
Apart from this his occasional visits to Jammu Kashmir Fiction Writers Guild would infuse new energy among the budding writers. The way he used to analyse the short stories, one would love to listen and forget his piece. He was known for his comprehensive understanding and wit. He suggested apt titles for most of my short stories. His death is my personal loss and as a mark of respect, I still have few of my stories untitled for the reasons enough strong to remember him.
May Allah grant him peace.
Mushtaq B.Barq is a Columnist, Poet and Fiction Writer. He is the author of “Feeble prisoner, “ Wings of Love” and many translation works are credited to the author like “ Verses Of Wahab Khar” and “ Songs Of Sochkral”
