I LOVED Ahmed Faraz's poetry, and I'm not even an Urdu litrature aficionado. Unlike other Urdu poets who seem to delight in the undecipherable, his verses were simple, some say simplistic, that went straight to the heart – even for someone as Urdu challenged as me. My father, who is very keen on Urdu poetry introduced me to Faraz's poems as a teenager. It was the stuff I grew up hearing around the house: in snatches of conversations between my father and his friends, over the tape-recorder, rendered in the form of mellifluous ghazals. Somehow, the simple words and the powerful images and emotions they conveyed remained embedded in my mind. This was the kind of poetry that needed no memorization -- it was the stuff memories are naturally made of. Faraz wrote about universal themes -- loneliness, abandonment, memories and love -- in such an unaffected style, his verses seemed like the voice of your own soul. For example, for someone who has fallen out with a friend (and who hasn't?) his words seem eerily prescient: Dost ban kar bhii nahii.n saath nibhaanevaalaa Wahii andaaz hai zaalim kaa zamaanevaalaa Tum takalluf ko bhii ikhalaas samajhate ho ‘Faraz' Dost hotaa nahii.n har haath milaanevaalaa (Friendship doesn't necessarily guarantee companionship/ Not everyone who shakes your hand is a friend) Who wouldn't have these words echoing in their mind when a relationship breaks up, amid mutual recrimination and regret: Sholaa thaa jal-bujhaa huu.N hawaaye.n mujhe na do Mai.n kab kaa jaa chukaa huu.N sadaaye.n mujhe na do Aisaa kahii.n na ho ke palatakar na aa sakuu.N Har baar duur jaa ke sadaaye.n mujhe na do (I was a flame, and have been extinguished/ Why do you call me from afar now?) And who can forget ‘Ranjish hi sahi', which was the stuff legends are made of. There was another side to Faraz, where he considered his pen a trust of the people, and wrote verses driven by his conscience. Mera qalam to amanat hai mere logon ki Mera qalam to adalat mere zameer ki hai Isiliye to jo likha tapak-e-jan se likha Jabhi to loch kamaan ka zabaan teer ki hai (My pen is the trust of my people/ My pen is the court of my conscience/ That is what makes me write with ardor and alacrity/ And gives my writing the spring of a bow and the keenness of an arrow.) He wasn't afraid to take a stand against social ills, tyranny and repression in any form -- and there was plenty of that during his lifetime in Pakistan. He went into self-imposed exile during the Zia-ul-Haq era, after he was held for reciting poems criticizing the military rule. After a stint in the UK and Canada, he returned to Pakistan and was awarded the Hilal-e-Imtiaz in 2004 for his literary achievements. However, disenchanted with the Musharraf regime and its policies, Faraz returned the honor in 2006. Soon after, the regime had his family evicted from their Islamabad house and their belongings thrown out on the street. “My conscience will not forgive me if I remained a silent spectator of the sad happenings around us. The least I can do is to let the dictatorship know where it stands in the eyes of the concerned citizens whose fundamental rights have been usurped. I am doing this by returning the Hilal-e-Imtiaz (civil) forthwith and refuse to associate myself in any way with the regime...” he said in a statement. An epitaph for Ahmed Faraz, whose death was reported twice (once erroneously on 14th July, and then, correctly on August 25) is as much the epitaph of an era when the written word emerged straight from the soul, free from the dictates of commerce and coercion. Faraz himself wrote an epitaph of sorts, bequeathing his work to posterity in his own verses: Yeh meri ghazale.n yeh meri nazme.n Tamaam teri hikaayate.n hai.n Yeh tazkire.n teri lutf ke hai.n Yeh sher teri shikaayate.n hai.n (My verses and songs are really stories about you They are remiscences of delight These couplets are actually my complaints) Mai.n sab teri nazr kar rahaa huu.N Yeh un zamaano.n ki s'ate.n hai.n Jo zindagi ke naye safar me.n Tujhe kisii roz yaad aaye.N (I am leaving you these stories of the past which you may remember in your new life) To ek ek harf jii uthegaa Pehan ke anfaas ki qabaaye.N Udaas tanahaa_iiyo.n ke lamho.n me.n Naach uthe.ngii ye apasaraaye.N (If you go back in time Each letter will come back to life Wearing the apparel of your breath) Mujhe tere dard ke alaavaa bhii aur dukh the, yeh jaantaa huu.N Hazaar gham the jo zindagii kii talaash me.n the, ye jaanataa huu.N Mujhe khabar hai ki terii aanchal me.n dard kii ret chhaanataa huu.N (I know I had other things to think of besides you And that I had a thousand sorrows besides you) Magar har ek baar tujh ko chhuu kar, yeh ret rang-e-hinaa banii hai Yeh zakhm gul_zaar ban gaye hai.n, yeh aahe.n-sozaa.N ghataa banii hai Yeh dard mauj-e-sabaa huaa hai, yeh aag dil kii sadaa banii hai (But in your presence, all losses are restored and sorrows end) Aur ab ye saarii mataa-e-hastii, yeh phuul, yeh zakhm sab tere hai.n Yeh dukh ke nauhe, ye sukh ke naghme.n jo kal mere the, woh ab tere hai.n Jo terii qurbat terii judaa_ii me.n kat gaye roz-o-shab tere hai.n (And now all this inheritance the songs and memories of sorrow and delight, Are all yours) Woh teraa shaayar, teraa mughannii, woh jis kii baate.n ajiib sii thii Woh jis ke andaaz khusro-vaanaa the, aur adaaye.N gariib sii thii.n Woh jis ke jiine kii khvaahishe.n bhii, Khud us ke apane nasiib sii thii.n (Your poet, whose words seemed strange Whose aspirations to life were limited) Na puuchh us kaa ki vo diivaanaa bahut dino.n kaa uja.d chukaa hai Woh kohakan to nahii.n thaa lekin, ka.dii chattaano.n se la.d chukaa hai Woh thak chukaa hai aur us kaa teshaa usii ke siine me.n ga.d chukaa hai (Don't ask about him, He is tired, and no more). __
