The love of a son permeates every word and every picture of this humongous labour of love.
Mir Ghulam Rasool Nazki [16 March, 1910 – 16 April 1998] has left behind a corpus of literature in three languages, Kashmiri, Urdu and Persian, including both poetry and prose. It has been studied by scholars for their dissertations, some published too. Besides this, he had also penned hundreds of papers on mysticism, poetry, culture, history, current affairs, etc.
He shed his earthly garments on 16th April 1998 exactly one month after completing 88 years of life. Strangely enough, some weeks before the day, he had predicted his day of death and composed his own epitaph which adorns his final resting place.
Night of Friday,
18th, month of Hajj
You accepted this, the lowliest of men!
And what was the chronogram of this union?
‘Pray, intercede on my behalf, my Prophet.”
When told by the doctor that a proposed surgery would be done on him, under anesthesia, the poet is said to have quipped,
“Do you think, I have lived this long to die in sleep? I do not want to miss the thrill of death.”
This multi- lingual anthology, Nazki – The Poet from Kashmir (A Tribute to Mir Ghulam Rasool Nazki), impeccably edited by Vinita Agarwal and beautifully published by Ink links, Publishing House, Kashmir, is not just a son’s tribute to his legendary father, but a rich literary offering to the world of literature.
The poet’s iconic stature is reflected by the fact that a Nazki quatrain in praise of Prophet Muhammad is engraved on black marble on a raised brickwork tableau- outside Kashmir University and the famous Hazratbal Shrine- the only place in Jammu and Kashmir where a poet’s verse adorns a busy street crossing.
The book has pictures of the iconic poet, reciting his poems in a mushaira in London and receiving the Sahitya Akademy Award, Nazki in the company of Sufi saints and exponents of Shaivite thought, like Swami Laxshman Joo, eminent Kashmiri poet, Dina Nath Nadim, Nazki broadcasting a running commentary from Radio Kashmir on the visit of the President of India, Nazki hosting a children’s programme in the studio of Radio Kashmir. And Nazki wielding the cricket bat in the corridors of his house, playing with his grandchild. These rare photographs have embellished the anthology, making it a visual delight too.
Poets from all over the world have poured their verses extolling the mystic aura of this legendary icon, who not only enriched his country, but the world.
The Dedication by Gulzar, has an English translation, which goes thus:
Mir Ghulam Rasool Nazki is to Urdu, a whiff of fresh air,
the same way Kashmir’s clime is to Hindustan.
For Kashmir he has something like this to say:
The snow, the mountain, the landscape
Emerald gemstone cast in a ring of silver!
And Nazki occupies the same position in Urdu poetry.
He says in his hermit-like style
You the apple of my eye, always pleasant to look at;
Be it winter or be it summer.
For this, his collection of poems is rightly titled ‘Matai-faqeer ’ (Hermit’s Possessions).
Every time, when Mir Ghulam Rasool Nazki opens up his heart, he also talks about his place and his people. He particularly excels in the genre of the ghazal:
Tonight this city faces the wrath of Gods
You too are its inhabitant, don’t leave me alone!
Urdu is proud of this poet.”
In the Editor’s note, Vinita Agarwal says,
“It was Pablo Picasso who said that the meaning of life is to find your gift. The purpose of life is to give it away. Mir Ghulam Rasool Nazki’s life seems to echo that verbatim. A stalwart poet and a formidable literary figure in Kashmir, he had indeed found his gift. The gift of insightful, sensitive writing.”
In her heartfelt piece, ‘A granddaughter Remembers’, Aliya Nazki, an award winning journalist, with decades of journalistic experience as a TV news presenter for the BBC World Service, says:
“They say my grandfather, Mir Ghulam Rasool Nazki, an acclaimed poet and writer (who started his career as a teacher at the tender age of 16) found his literal and metaphorical voice through radio. His long and celebrated association with Radio Kashmir is part of the tapestry of our family memory. Woven into it is the dramatic episode of his journalistic career (documented by a treasured couple of images in our family archives) when he commentated live during President Rajendra Prasad’s boat procession in Srinagar in 1950. This was a high-profile event – India’s first President accompanied by Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah, Kashmir’s Prime Minister at the time, in a procession of boats along Srinagar’s beautiful river Jhelum.”
In A Few Words, Ayaz Rasool Nazki, his versatile son, a multilingual poet, scholar, translator, researcher, columnist, with interests in painting, photography, calligraphy, cultural history and manuscript studies, engaged with the questions of identity, memory and aspirations in South Asia’s most sensitive and turbulent zone—Kashmir, says, that every year around March, the family members used to celebrate the life of his father [16 March – 16 April], who ‘loved the spring of Kashmir and he was conscious of Ides of March too!’
This year, an online event was organized on 16 April 2021, where poets from all over the world uploaded their poetry videos, ‘celebrating the memory and legacy of a poet who wrote of human values, beauty, peace and amity. The poet who combined in his person and poetry different cultures and many languages. Nazki’s genius represents a synthesis of everything beautiful and worthy.’
The book, partly the outcome of those videos, offers a delectable literary fare.
In a scholarly essay, Nazki in the light of his Kashmiri poetry, author and columnist Dr. Muhammad Maroof Shah says,
“In Kashmir almost every third person is a poet or can recite selections from the Masters. It appears that poetry is the staple diet of the soul here and one need not wonder why it is the case. The beauty of landscape and the aristocracy of the spirit or intellect that have been characteristically Kashmiri, nurture poetic sensibility”.
“A multilingual poet and connoisseur of literature, Nazki was a champion of Sufi poetry and traditional aesthetics and criticism, during turbulent times when art was largely framed or appropriated for sectarian or political ends. He has rendered exemplary service to the cause of native literary tradition and spiritually oriented Kashmiri culture…. His poetry, informed by Sufi aesthetics and appropriation of Sufi metaphysics of beauty, has been cherished for formal dexterity, rich and sensuous imagery and sublime felicity and beauty of expression.”
Pran Kishore Kaul, Sahitya Akademi awardee, in a very touching piece, My Friend, guide and Mentor- Mir Ghulam Rasool Nazki, says that he had hero- worshipped this great humanist, little realizing that he would one day work with him in Radio Kashmir, imbibing a lot from his tutelage. Never give up was the lifelong mantra that he imbibed from him.
In the English translation of his own Urdu poem, Barqi Azmi who writes in Urdu and Persian, calls his poetry soul- stirring:
“Moist eyes depict his passion
blood gushes out of damp eyes”
The firmament shines with
his verse.
Candles of thought and art
are alight.
His poems are a balm to the soul.”
The anthology has three Urdu poems by Nazki Sahab, and in one of the poems translated by Avtar Mota, A Blind Girl’s Desire, speaking through the blind girl, the poet says, that she is neither interested in seeing the splendour of the stars, the elegance of the sun, nor the moon and it light,
“What I desire and seek
is just to see the face of my mother, lord.”
In one of most talked about poems of Nazki , translated from Kashmiri by Nisar Azam, written in 1985, almost four years before a great fire (militancy) broke out in Kashmir, it is as if he has foreseen the turbulent times that would be unleashed four years later:
“In the wee hours a fire broke out,
burning every dwelling.
Orchards burned, deserts burned, gardens burned, wildernesses burned.
Fire broke out in the market lighting up the sky,
shopkeepers tore their shirts
Ledgers burned,
weights burned,
capital burned and grocery burned.”
It somehow reminded me of one of the most moving poems of Pablo Neruda that I have ever read, I’m explaining a Few Things, where very poignantly, he says,
“My house was called
the house of flowers
because in every cranny geraniums burst.”
But that was before the outbreak of the Spanish civil War, which destroyed everything.
Aadil Ashraf, a prominent poet and playwright from Kashmir, working in Kashmir University, has penned an Urdu Ghazal which follows the rhyme and rhythm of one of Nazki’s own ghazals, Who says the night of sorrow has come to an end?
“I wrote this ghazal in Nazki’s mould
The ink of my pen thus gains in trust and repute
The caravan of love passed through the eyes and then the soul,
body and heart came to know
The bonhomie between Brahmins and Sheikhs was good to behold
but the beholder’s vision has narrowed today.”
In a short, succinctly sharp Gujarati poem, translated by Dr. Vijaya Pandya, [Breath], the versatile poet, Kathak dancer and theatrist, Akash Naik says,
“With brittle breath
missed pulse,
countless memories start streaming.
Swirl in the tidal blood of veins.
rolling in the eyes.
Mundane recognition is blurred.
The natural flow of speech is halted.
Suddenly life is snuffed out.
Now sinking, now gone!
But no, the ventilator holds the breath.”
Ali Shaida writes poetry in Kashmiri, Urdu and English. Here are some poignant lines from, The Highway of Sirens:
“The pain cries inside the ambulance marked by oozing wounds,
the emblem of Red Cross. The fire fighter halts till the Smoke touches the witness sky.
The frightening noise gushes out of the bulletproof gown.
Time halts inside the cabin of breathing,
Are you from… doubt asks Yes, I whisper;
“The hamlet, tagged to this highway of sirens.”
In Roads, Amanita Sen, acclaimed writer and mental health professional writes about the rhythm of different feet on roads – sprinting, tired, trudging and pirouetting:
“The marks of livid bruises and the ones carrying the lightness of pirouetting toes,
both leave imprints on its ever-tolerant body.”
In My Nostalgia, Aminur Rehman, a reputed poet from Bangladesh, writes,
“I hear the jingle of chains
and lose myself continuously in the never ending clinking.
Intense pungency of old tobacco makes me dizzy
Again euphoria touches my soul.
I hear the jingle of chains! Staying with Coronavirus.”
The Italian poet, Angelo Rizzi, a guitarist, a painter, living in Paris, says in the English translation of his Italian poem,
“Today I woke up
fulfilled by what I have
by the coffee that awaits me
by the echo of the flute
and I give thanks.”
Barnali Ray Shukla, a writer, film maker, poet, in her heart wrenching poem, Travelogue writes,
“The leaf now is midair…has secrets of a summer ahead,
a summer more than mangoes, more pollen, more garden,
less walks, more birds, less bullets, more mirrors
in a sheesh mahal of windows to a world that’s not
just falling…but rising, from the ashes.”
…to be continued
ABOUT THE REVIEWER
/is an academician, essayist-novelist-poet, Dr Santosh Bakaya is the author of three mystery novels for young adults, and a book of essays titled Flights From My Terrace.
