The sculpted beauty

poetry

Ido not know how Pygmalion, a play by George Bernard Shaw, must have felt seeing his labour of love come to life but could connect to it most vibrantly in conversation with the elusive, and candid Zehra Nigah. Holding her book in her hand, she said, “I say how I see it, and for an honest and heartfelt step into my world, and my utmost effort is towards enabling you to see it too.” Her latest collection of poetry ‘Tarasheedam’, published by Sang-e-Meel, has already run through the printed copies of the first edition, and is going in for the second. A separate selection of poems translated by Rakhshanda Jaleel in English has been receiving accolades across the border.

Zehra Nigah has been writing poetry since she was 8. Her poems took centre stage when she was only 12. Her early teen years saw her amidst the giants of Urdu poetry, in mushairas across the subcontinent and later abroad. From Firaq Gorakhpuri, Josh Malihabadi, Jamiludin Aali, Sardar Jafri, Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Ahmed Faraz, John Alia, and so many more, she had the fortune of not only reciting her work in their presence but also receiving unending praise for the depth of emotions entwined into her simple but profound words. She calls her poetry, ‘The sculpted beauty’. The melody reigned supreme with her ‘Chalo us koh par,’ ‘Apna har andaz,’ and then came the philosophical perspectives on political and social issues with ‘Jangalon ka Qannon’, ‘Kafan Chor’, ‘Falasteen’ and many others.

Now, involved more deeply with discussions, keynotes and reflections in events like that of Faiz Mela, Rekhta, and various literature festivals, Nigah looks at her work most critically. For the published 115 pages of ‘Tarasheedam’, she points at a stack of diaries piled on her desk as rejected content. She never considered it worthy of deliberation even. Seeking popularity through work she says is the perfect route to ruining the credibility of work. Mirza Ghalib’s rather slender ‘Kulliyaat’ weighs the heaviest today, for it went through the critical evaluation of each couplet in not just the meter and rhythm, but for the concept and its propriety.

Tarasheedam: The book, dedicated to her 5 sisters, comes with very different notes. It is as if she has decided to throw away any preconceived notions of Nigah’s approach and replaced it with a retrospectively daring outlook. Nigah has again woven her heart into the narrative; but this is not the heart of a 16-year-old looking for stability, nor an overprotective mother of two growing up boys, not even the prominent diplomat’s wife and social figure who welcomed the crème de la crème of art and literature society in her Knightsbridge apartment. This is the heart of a woman who has come home. A woman who has seen life sans the cosmetic appeal, a woman who is neither sceptical nor critical – she is just brutally honest.

“I never know how and when I will write. It happens unplanned and you can see the diaries on side tables in the study for I never know when it comes,” says Nigah. The unpredictability and spiritually driven creativity are a trending issue, and I asked her if she belongs to Gilbert’s club of Creativity being magic? “I insist on sharing my perspective rather grandly; it is not a mundane human skill, but a profound mystical phenomenon that transcends ordinary understanding. It is a form of enchantment - a supernatural force that whispers, manifests, and transforms through inexplicable channels. Magic, a metaphor or a power that defies rational explanation, a rather divine spark, an otherworldly intervention that arrives unbidden, touching the creative spirit with something far more mysterious than mere intellectual prowess. A surreal connection between the tangible and the ineffable, where imagination becomes a portal to realms beyond conventional perception,” explains Nigah. She brushed off my entire spiel with an ‘I am more of a T.S. Eliott fan.’ “Eliott held onto 1 per cent genius and 99 per cent work equation. He spoke of sheer and consistent hard work to get the magic in. Like a sculpture the ‘David’ may be hidden in the stone, but sharp scalpels, knowledge, and focus will (only) reveal the gem. The creative flow does come unabated, but it is the work on it that gives it life,” she elucidates. Can that 1 per cent be taught? I asked. A resounding “No,” was the only response.

Feminism: A term that has perplexed me from day one, and having read from Angelou, Gilman, Plath, Rosetti, Dickinson, it was my next destination in this conversation. Nigah, though a huge fan of all names mentioned, (she has translated a couple of Plath’s poems) feels that the term lost out on its initial objective way too soon in the journey, and instead of evolving indigenously, it took the western ensemble of aspirations too strongly for the world to connect under one banner. Her main objection is on the synonymous blending of crudity with female independence. Having grown up with strong matriarchs and being one of the most well-known female poets today, Nigah is strongly in favour of womanhood and grace as the strongest combination. What about her satire filled ‘Mein bach gaye ma’, is that not a giving in to the patriarchal exploitation? Never a compromise in spirit, she defends her poem as a sharp commentary on the state of affairs and insensitivity of the society to allow female fratricide without a penalty. Is technology the only development that the world can boast of? “The problems of pre-historic and uncivilised societies still persist, and human life is continually caught in the cobwebs of emotional, physical, and monetary exploitation at the cost of the weak and the fragile,” she cries out.

Urdu: The beauty, the depth, and the complexity of the language has been overlooked by the syllabus planners, academia, and employers alike. The language today has no monetary value in Pakistan and is consequentially receding into oblivion. The children do not speak the language, and the adults make a mess of it. How does she look at the future of Urdu language in Pakistan?

Nigah reminisced the absolutely wonderful youth attending the mushaira at the literature festival in the capital territory quite recently. “Not only were they an enthusiastic audience but well versed in the ethos of the poetry to pick on the right phrases and couplets for the traditional appreciation and request for re-recitation,” she observes. She insisted that pockets of commitment to the beauty of Urdu still persist. “The need is for the education planners to understand the richness that exists in Urdu and how it can improve the social moral of the society by ensnaring it in its philosophical and cultural strength. But it is not the language of math and science, and this separation is essential for those in charge. And for the children to truly benefit, Urdu must be given its due space in literary, and social sciences paradigm along with English. In fact, a basic course in Persian and Arabic can do wonders on so many fronts. That is how we studied – our home tutors ensured deep insights through thinking questions on literary and historical texts,” she expresses.

The statue by now had come alive. It was no longer a vibrant celebration of all that is beautiful, but rather of a woman who had seen life closely. She sat holding a diary, reading of the days gone (her ultimate treasure). The silver in her hair gleamed, and so did a single gold bangle that belonged to probably her mother. Her downward eyes scanned the pages for an interesting anecdote to make me laugh, but instead she just smiled and looked up. Her eyes held the tears that should not have been part of the plan.

Photo credits: TDF Ghar

The author is the Director of the Heritage Foundation, a trainer, and an educationist. She can be reached at Shahatariq67@gmail.com