ROZ EK SHER : Bashir Badr

[Manish Modi]

|| ॐ ह्रीं श्रीपार्श्वनाथाय नमः ||

|| Auṃ Hrīṃ ŚrīPārśvanāthāya Namaḥ ||

Jay Jinendra

​लोग टूट जाते हैं एक घर बनाने में 

तुम तरस नहीं खाते बस्तियाँ जलाने में 

​~ 

बशीर बद्र् 

​لوگ ٹوٹ جاتے ہیں ایک گھر بنانے میں 

تم ترس نہیں کھاتے بستیاں جلانے میں 

~ بشیر بدر ​

log t

​uu

t jaate hain ek ghar banaane mein 

tum taras nah

​i​

in khaate bastiyaan jalaane mein 

​~ 

Bashir Badr 

It

​​

kills people, just to build a home 

And you burn entire neighbourhoods, have you no

​compassion?

​NB ​

Terrorists deserve no sympathy. But the society that spawns them needs to introspect. 

​​_____

Urdu couplet by ​Bashir Badr

English translation by Manish Modi

[Manish Modi]

|| ॐ ह्रीं श्रीपार्श्वनाथाय नमः ||

|| Auṃ Hrīṃ ŚrīPārśvanāthāya Namaḥ ||

Jay Jinendra

सुना के कोई कहानी हमें सुलाती थी 

दुआओं जैसे बड़े पानदान की ख़ुश्बू 

वह इतरदान सा लहजा मेरे बुज़ुर्गों का 

रची बसी हुई उर्दू ज़बान की ख़ुश्बू 

~ बशीर बद्र 

سنا کے کوئی کہانی ہمیں سلاتی تھی 

دعاؤں جیسے بڑے پاندان کی خوشبو 

وہ عطردان سا لہجہ میرے بزرگوں کا 

رچی بسی ہوئی اردو زبان کی خوشبو 

بشیر بدر ~

sunaa ke koii kahaanii hamein sulaatii thii

duaaon jaise bade paandaan kii khushbuu

vah itrdaan saa lahjaa mere buzurgon kaa

rachii basii huii Urdu zabaan kii khushbuu

~ Bashir Badr

The aroma of the paan tray, as vast as prayers,

Narrated its own bedtime story: 

The perfumed behaviour of my elders,

Immersed in the fragrance of Urdu.

NB These lines remind me of my Dad. Till he gave up paan in 2005, he used to eat 15 - 20 paans a day. At home, we had two ornate brass paan trays, replete with bowls of kattha and chuna and fragrant containers of tobacco and qivaam. He always used carry freshly rolled paans in a machla made of wicker and offered more paans than he ate. And at the bookstore there was always a vial of itr on Dad's desk. 

Like others of their generation, my parents were never demonstrative of their love. But the love with which my mother rolled his paans, the way Dad made sure that both of them attended the best kavi sammelans and mushaairaas in Bombay, the way Dad wanted us to do certain things because Mum would like them, and Mum would do things the way Dad liked them, showed that all was well in their relationship. 

My Dad was not a scholar but as the son and grandson of scholars, he had impeccable taste in literature and poetry. He and even more so, my Mum introduced us (my sister and I) to the beautiful world of literature. My Mum would read out to us for hours together, everything from Noddy to Grimms Brothers' Fairy Tales. We would lie down in bed with Mum and she would read out to us. 

Time flies. My Dad is no more. Mum still sleeps in the same bed, in the same room and still reads late into the night. But my sister lives in Boston.  I live with my Mum but I don't spend enough time talking to her. And I no longer ask Mum to read to me. My loss. 

______

Urdu couplet by Bashir Badr

Courtesy Shri KR Narayanan