The mushaira at Richmond, Virginia, in late August this year reminded me of gatherings from my childhood, when poets congregated at my parent’s home in Allahabad.

Our drawing room sofas would be pushed back to the walls, the carpet would be overlaid with durries covered with freshly laundered chandnis transforming the room from a Western-style to an Eastern-style visitors’ room. The kitchen would be bustling. Trays full of steaming mugs of tea would be served to incoming poets-guests.

Such indeed was the scenario at the house of Drs Rizwan Ali and Sarwat Zahra in Richmond. I arrived from Charlottesville, to find their living room abuzz with conversation, the kitchen humming with the cheerful sounds of cooking. An informal, welcoming aura emanated from their home.

I tried to absorb this familiar-yet-unfamiliar scenario, trying to make up my mind if I wanted to sit with the gentlemen or the ladies! There is always this awkwardness about mingling among genders at cultural gatherings from my part of the world.

I opted to hang out with the women, primarily because I wanted to get to know Sarwat Zahra. She moved to the US a couple of years ago from Dubai.

What made this gathering different was the presence of stalwart poets. Prominent among them was Irfan Sattar, who had flown down from Toronto. The towering presence of Sarmad Sehbai, who presided over the mushaira, added lustre to the gathering. The crowd had swelled with the arrival of more women poets — Mona Shahab, Bina Goindi and Naureen Talat Arooba. They had come from New York, Maryland and Washington DC.

After the welcoming lunch, we moved to the mushaira venue. An audience of more poets-doctors and listeners were there already. More tea was brought in with samosas on the side. Finally, we settled down to the main purpose of the gathering. The hosts recited their poems to open the mushaira. Dr Rizwan Ali, a prominent psychologist offered a verse that spoke to his professional expertise:

Koi aisa bhi gunahgar hai mere jaisa/ Mere andar jo giriftar hai mere jaisa

[Is there a sinner like me/ Who is a prisoner of the self like me?]

And Sarwat Zahra touched on the angst of modern womanhood:

Hamaray daur mein raqqaas ke paon nahin hotay/ Adhooray jism likhti hoon khamidah sar banati hun

[In our times dancers don’t have feet/ I write of incomplete bodies, bowed heads]

I wish it were possible for me to quote verses from each poet who recited at this mushaira, but I am constrained by limitations of space for this column. There are a few points that I would like to emphasise here — the ghazal was evident in its full glory. And, the audience was thirsty for poetry and more poetry.

Dr Abid Raza, from Roanoke, Virginia, captured the audience with his recitation:

Yahaan tau robot tak apnay aansoo ka zaaiqa bata rahay hain/ Machine-zaadon pe kya qayamat utar parri hai ajab gharri hai

[Even robots here can taste the salt of their tears/ What calamity has hit these machine-born creatures — what strange times!]

Fanaa ke andhay koo’n’wein mein koi tilism aisa bhi
jalwa-gar hai/ Keh zindagi ki pari bhi iss mein utar rahi hai ajab gharri hai

[An unknown illusion is manifest in annihilation’s dark wells/ That life’s fairy is descending in the well — what strange times!]

The black humour evident in Dr Raza’s poetry is tinged with a surrealistic element of empathy that is emphasised by his graceful refrain “ajab gharri hai.” While the first verse is bizarre in its empathetic insight, the second one gives a modern spin to the classical ideas of illusion, mystique and despair.

A verse from Dr Raza’s second ghazal is worth quoting

Shehr-i-panaah ke andar ik jadoogarni ka afsoo’n tha/ Dushman khud apni aankho’n mein teer chubhonay lagtay thhe

[There was a spell cast inside the city of shelter/ Enemies would start to pierce their own eyes with arrows]

These ghazals have the flow of some of the best musical, mellifluous rhythms that remind us of the great masters of this genre of poetry. Moving on to Irfan Sattar’s ghazals, allow me to mention that Irfan sahib is among the brightest stars on the horizon of contemporary Urdu ghazal. His presence added a necessary depth to the event:

Muqaablay pe miray khud miray siwa koi hai/ Nabard-i-zaat se barrh kar maarika koi hai

[Is there another rival but myself?/ Is there any other conflict but the battle with the self?]

Koi tau hai mujhay mairay khilaaf karta hua/ Sawaal yeh hai woh main hoon ke doosra koi hai

[There is someone turning me against myself/ The question is, is that me or is there anyone else?]

Existential angst could not be expressed better. The struggle with the ‘self’ that we face in myriad forms in today’s world is reflected in the modern ghazal in so many colours in Irfan sahib’s poetry. At times it seems like a continuous dialogue, at other times a lament or a deeper question into the mysteries of human existence; these poems stir inside an emotion of empathy. Irfan Sattar’s poems evoke a response not unlike the poetry of the great Mir Taqi Mir.

I am in awe of the genius of poets writing the ghazal. It is an occasion to be proud of our language, Urdu. It is a moment for us to pause and ensure that we carry on the legacy, that we teach our coming generations the beautiful language that connects us to our history and culture. To quote Irfan Sattar again:

Suno baghaur yeh ghazal keh phir bohat sakoot hai/ Agarchay lag raha hai yeh ghazal bhi aakhri nahin

[Listen carefully to this ghazal, for then there is silence/ Although it seems that this ghazal too is not the last one]

The columnist is professor in the Department of Middle Eastern and South Asian Languages and Cultures at the University of Virginia. X: @FarooqiMehr

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, September 24th, 2023