Just Like That | The forgotten Urdu poet who once challenged Indira Gandhi with his verses
Kalim Ajiz, who left an indelible mark on the literary landscape in Bihar, should be celebrated widely for his profound verses
It was January 2013. I had just resigned a month ago from the Indian Foreign Service and left Bhutan, where I was the Ambassador, to join politics under Nitish Kumar. He had appointed me his advisor and asked me to take a special interest in reviving and preserving Bihar’s great cultural heritage.
As part of this process, we organised the first Bihar Literary Festival in March 2013. Partnering with the government was the Navras School of Performing Arts, run by the dynamic husband-wife duo of Anvita and Dr Ajit Pradhan. Ajit is a man of many parts. A top-notch cardiac surgeon by profession, who has his own hospital in Patna, he is also passionately interested in all the arts, especially classical music and Urdu poetry. His knowledge is emotional and impressive, and classical music plays in the background when he does an open-heart surgery.
For this first literary festival, where renowned authors were invited from all over India, including Gulzar Saheb, the aim was to focus on all the languages spoken in Bihar such as Hindi, Bhojpuri, Maithili and other Indian languages, and not make it — as most festivals become — an English dominated congregation. Of course, English writers were not excluded, but the structure of the programme was linguistically more democratised.
It was in this context that I first met the great Urdu poet Kalim Ajiz. He was then 93 years old. His home, opposite Bihar National College in Patna, was an airless hole covered by a green curtain. Not in very good health, he was lying on a charpoy. I was anguished to see the condition to which one of India’s finest poets had been reduced. But his hospitality was not lacking. With alacrity, he asked one of his relatives to bring tea and biscuits from the dhaba just outside his home.
He was certainly Bihar’s most celebrated Urdu poet. He had a doctorate in Urdu, taught the language at Patna University, and was chairperson of the Urdu Advisory Board of Bihar until his death. He began writing poetry at the age of 17. In 1976, his first collection of Urdu poems was released at Vigyan Bhavan in New Delhi by no less than the then-President of India, Fakhruddin Ali Ahmed. He was conferred the Padma Shri in 1989.
I invited him to be the chief guest for the Patna Literature Festival, where chief minister Nitish Kumar would also be present. His wrinkled face came alive with a smile, as he recited: “Yun tau hamein munh pher ke dekhe bhi nahin ho, jab waqt pare hai tau madaraat karo ho (“Normally you do not even turn around to notice me, but when the time comes you come with hospitality for me”). Despite this thinly veiled remark, he had graciously accepted to be at the festival. And, the lamp at the opening of the festival was lit by him to thunderous applause.
Ajiz Saheb had the mastery to retain the chastity of a ghazal or nazm while giving it a colloquial flavour. That is why many of his compositions ended with a “ho”, rather than “hai”. He did this to make his poetry accessible to the common person, using the same lehja or idiom that would resonate with them. In 1976, he was invited as the sole representative from Bihar to participate in the national mushaira at the Red Fort in Delhi, during the Emergency imposed by Indira Gandhi.
Ajiz knew that what he recited could not be directly critical of the government, so he had to resort to ironic subterfuge to make his point.
The Emergency had been promulgated by using the provisions of the Constitution. No law had been overtly broken, but it had put almost the entire Opposition in jail and snatched away the liberty of free expression. In this background, Ajiz recited a couplet, in the presence of Indira Gandhi, that brought the house down:
Na daaman pe koi cheenth, na khanjar pe koi daagh
Tum qatl karo ho ki karamat karo ho
Not a stain on your garment, nor any blood on the dagger
Have you enacted a miracle or committed a murder?
There are several works of Ajiz that I strongly recommend for lovers of Urdu poetry. The language is simple, and many critics have compared it to that of the great poet, Meer. Among his noted books are: Woh jo shairy ka sabab hua and Jahan khusboo hi khushboo thi. Many of his lines are relevant for all times, especially when freedom of expression seems to be under threat.
Here’s a sampling:
Ghar bhi tera, gali bhi teri, shahr bhi tera
Jo chahe jise keh de tujhe rokta hai kaun
‘Aajiz’ ye kis se baat karo ho ghazal mein tum
Parda uthao, hum bhi tau dekhein chhupa hai kaun
This home, this street, this city belongs to you
You can say what you want, who can stop you
‘Aajiz’, who do you converse with in your ghazal
Lift the veil, let me also see who is the hidden you.
Kalim Ajiz died in February 2015 at the age of 95. His legacy lives on.
Pavan K Varma is author, diplomat, and former Member of Parliament (Rajya Sabha). Just Like That is a weekly column where Varma shares nuggets from the world of history, culture, literature, and personal reminiscences. The views expressed are personal
Recommended Topics