Shortly after Meena Kumari’s death in 1972, at the age of only 39, the lyricist and poet Gulzar arranged for Hind Pocket Books to publish the matinee idol’s poetry. Kumari’s poems are unfussy and ungarnished, capable of striking an uncanny intimacy between poet and reader. The strength of her poems lie in their audacity. The actress is free here of the constraints of stardom, and her true spirit emerges remarkably. Four poems:
Badli Hui Ra’t
Kuch ajeeb sa maloom ho raha tha
Abr a’lood a’sman ki mauhoom raushni
Mauhoom saye
Paharon ke hayule
Tarah-tarah ki khusbuen –
Sub kuch badla-badla hua sa tha
Shayad isliye
Ki ra’t thi
Aur ra’t
Har shai ko badal deti hai
Barfbari ki weeran ra’t ho – ya
Sa’ns leti hui mahakti chandni ra’t – ki
Andhion ki udas ghamnak ra’t,
–Sari raten
Purfusun hoti hain jab
Jani-Pahchani cheezen
Kuch
Aisi shaklen akhtayar kar leti hain ki
Pahchani nahin jati’n!
The Altered Night
There was a sense of eeriness
The illusory light of the cloudy skies
Spectral shadows
Magic mountains
Sundry fragrances –
Everything stood altered
Perhaps because
It was night.
And night transforms
All that is
Be it the snowing, solitary night
Or the breathing, fragrant, moonlit night
Or the sad, forlorn, stormy night.
All nights
When they exert their magic
Lend familiar things such shapes
That they’re hard to recognize.
***
Zamana
Lamhe urte hain kabhi ya to titlion ki tarah
Ya kabhi khusbuon ki manind cheekh uthte hain
Simat’te-phailte sanche mein waqt ke dhal kar
Ajeeb shakl ke ban kar ‘Zamana’ rakhte hain na’m
Zamana?
Lamhe – boorhe, ghareeb, f’aqajadah
Lamhe ma’zi ke jo ki mar na sak’e
Zamana!
Jaise f’aqajadah giroh gid’dhon ka
Bekafan um’meedon pe pahra deta hai
Time
Moments flutter like butterflies at times
Or on occasion scream like fragrances
Cast in the plastic moulds of time
Transformed into a strange shape Come to be called “Time”.
Time?
Moments – old, indigent, emaciated
Moments of the past that never died
Moments of the past that couldn’t survive
Time!
Like a band of starved vultures
Keeping vigil over unshrouded hopes.
***
Pakeezah
Siah naqab mein uska sandili chehra
Jaise ra’t ki tariki mein
Kisi khnakah ka
Khula aur raushan tak
Jahan mombat’tian jal rahi ho’n Khamosh
Bezaban mombat’tian
Woh sunahri jild wali kitab jo
Ghamgeen muhabbat ke muqad’das ash’ar se muntakhib ho
Ek pakeezah manzar
Siah naqab mein uska sandili chehra
The Virgin
Her moon-like face
Under the inky veil
Like the resplendent niche
In a shrine
Illumined with candles
Silent candles
Or
The golden, hardbound book
Containing the pure poetry
Of despondent love
A sacred sight
Her moon-like face
Encased
In a black veil.
***
Zindagi Yeh Hai
Subh se sha’m talak
Doosro’n ke liye kuch karna hai
Jisme’n khud apna koi naksh nahin
Rang us paikare-tasweer hi mein bharna hai
Zindagi kya hai, kabhi sochne lagta hai yeh zehan
Aur phir rooh pe cha jate hain
Dard ke saye, udasi ka dhuan, dukh ki ghata
Dil mein rah-rah ke khayal a’ta hai
Zindagi yeh hai to phir maut kise kahte hain ?
Pyar ik khwab tha, is khwab ki ta’bir na pooch
Kya mili jurme-wafa ki hame’n ta’zir na pooch
This is Life
From morning to night
We must do things for others,
That living picture must be vivified
In which there is no trace of one’s self.
What is life, the mind sometimes wonders
And then the soul
Is overcast by shadows of grief
The smoke of despondency
Clouds of agony.
My heart wonders incessantly
If this is life, what is it that they call death?
Love was a dream
Ask not about the fate of this dream
Ask not about the punishment I received for the crime of loyalty.
Excerpted with permission from 'Meena Kumari the Poet: A Life Beyond Cinema'. Translated by Noorul Hasan and published by Roli Books.
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Badli Hui Ra’t
Kuch ajeeb sa maloom ho raha tha
Abr a’lood a’sman ki mauhoom raushni
Mauhoom saye
Paharon ke hayule
Tarah-tarah ki khusbuen –
Sub kuch badla-badla hua sa tha
Shayad isliye
Ki ra’t thi
Aur ra’t
Har shai ko badal deti hai
Barfbari ki weeran ra’t ho – ya
Sa’ns leti hui mahakti chandni ra’t – ki
Andhion ki udas ghamnak ra’t,
–Sari raten
Purfusun hoti hain jab
Jani-Pahchani cheezen
Kuch
Aisi shaklen akhtayar kar leti hain ki
Pahchani nahin jati’n!
The Altered Night
There was a sense of eeriness
The illusory light of the cloudy skies
Spectral shadows
Magic mountains
Sundry fragrances –
Everything stood altered
Perhaps because
It was night.
And night transforms
All that is
Be it the snowing, solitary night
Or the breathing, fragrant, moonlit night
Or the sad, forlorn, stormy night.
All nights
When they exert their magic
Lend familiar things such shapes
That they’re hard to recognize.
***
Zamana
Lamhe urte hain kabhi ya to titlion ki tarah
Ya kabhi khusbuon ki manind cheekh uthte hain
Simat’te-phailte sanche mein waqt ke dhal kar
Ajeeb shakl ke ban kar ‘Zamana’ rakhte hain na’m
Zamana?
Lamhe – boorhe, ghareeb, f’aqajadah
Lamhe ma’zi ke jo ki mar na sak’e
Zamana!
Jaise f’aqajadah giroh gid’dhon ka
Bekafan um’meedon pe pahra deta hai
Time
Moments flutter like butterflies at times
Or on occasion scream like fragrances
Cast in the plastic moulds of time
Transformed into a strange shape Come to be called “Time”.
Time?
Moments – old, indigent, emaciated
Moments of the past that never died
Moments of the past that couldn’t survive
Time!
Like a band of starved vultures
Keeping vigil over unshrouded hopes.
***
Pakeezah
Siah naqab mein uska sandili chehra
Jaise ra’t ki tariki mein
Kisi khnakah ka
Khula aur raushan tak
Jahan mombat’tian jal rahi ho’n Khamosh
Bezaban mombat’tian
Woh sunahri jild wali kitab jo
Ghamgeen muhabbat ke muqad’das ash’ar se muntakhib ho
Ek pakeezah manzar
Siah naqab mein uska sandili chehra
The Virgin
Her moon-like face
Under the inky veil
Like the resplendent niche
In a shrine
Illumined with candles
Silent candles
Or
The golden, hardbound book
Containing the pure poetry
Of despondent love
A sacred sight
Her moon-like face
Encased
In a black veil.
***
Zindagi Yeh Hai
Subh se sha’m talak
Doosro’n ke liye kuch karna hai
Jisme’n khud apna koi naksh nahin
Rang us paikare-tasweer hi mein bharna hai
Zindagi kya hai, kabhi sochne lagta hai yeh zehan
Aur phir rooh pe cha jate hain
Dard ke saye, udasi ka dhuan, dukh ki ghata
Dil mein rah-rah ke khayal a’ta hai
Zindagi yeh hai to phir maut kise kahte hain ?
Pyar ik khwab tha, is khwab ki ta’bir na pooch
Kya mili jurme-wafa ki hame’n ta’zir na pooch
This is Life
From morning to night
We must do things for others,
That living picture must be vivified
In which there is no trace of one’s self.
What is life, the mind sometimes wonders
And then the soul
Is overcast by shadows of grief
The smoke of despondency
Clouds of agony.
My heart wonders incessantly
If this is life, what is it that they call death?
Love was a dream
Ask not about the fate of this dream
Ask not about the punishment I received for the crime of loyalty.
Excerpted with permission from 'Meena Kumari the Poet: A Life Beyond Cinema'. Translated by Noorul Hasan and published by Roli Books.
