FWP:
SETS == GENERATORS; REPETITION
Here's one of the brilliant and famous verses of the divan, the kind that is known by anybody who knows any Ghalib at all.
The verse plays enjoyably with the common verb nikalnaa , 'to come out, to emerge'. In the first line, the usage is relatively straightforward: the breath would 'emerge' from the body, in death. The speaker's longings are such that he would die for every one of them, or die over them, or die at the very thought of them, or die to have them fulfilled, or die in the process of their fulfillment-- but in any case, he'd die.
The use of hazaaro;N emphasizes the inclusiveness: not just 'thousands of longings', but 'all the thousands of longings', every longing he's got. It's the same difference as between 'two' [do] and 'two out of two', or 'both' [dono;N], and 'all three' [tiino;N], so on. The longings may be all those thousands, but the breath is one, so nikle is clearly a singular subjunctive.
When we come to the second line, however, the seemingly repeated nikle is cleverly, and enjoyably, different, for it has now morphed into a masculine plural perfect form: many of my longings 'emerged' (or the longings 'emerged' as many), but nevertheless few of them 'emerged' (or they 'emerged' as few). And here, the many idiomatic senses of the remarkably fertile and colloquially productive nikalnaa come into play; see the definition above for the full range of possibilities. For longings to 'emerge' can mean, among other things, for them:
=to appear, to be produced (to 'emerge' from nonexistence
into existence)
=to be expressed or uttered (to 'emerge' from silence into speech)
=to be accomplished or effected (to 'emerge' from hope into fulfillment);
see {6,4})
=to go away, to depart (to 'emerge' from their previous dwelling and move
on)
=to turn out to be, to be discovered or revealed as (to 'emerge' from unclearness
into full comprehensibility)
Isn't this mind-boggling? Really, what else could happen to a longing (or regret), other than to appear, and/or to be expressed, and/or to be accomplished, and/or to disappear? It might of course also be thwarted or denied-- which can be conveyed in the idea that the above-mentioned things happened to only 'a few' of the longings. Or perhaps the longings don't act at all, but are acted upon, as in (2c)-- they are discovered (by someone) to be something, they 'turn out' (a parallel usage in English) to be something.
The above had all been written before a fruitful discussion with Sean Pue, who pointed out (May 2015) that if we adopt the idiomatic sense of armaan nikalnaa (see the definition above) as 'to be satisfied, or gratified', then the second line would be much simplified, as is shown in translation (2). This seems quite a legitimate and useful point. Yet to my mind, the other multivalent possibilities (2a, 2b, 2c) still definitely hover around, and the penumbra of their presence enhances the verse. Other verses that make implicit or explicit use of the multivalence of nikalnaa : {81,5}; {132,3}.
Because of the complexity and enjoyableness of the refrain nikle , in this ghazal I've tried to keep it visible at the end of every line in my translation. One more sense emerges in other verses that isn't available in the present verse: that of 'to come out', the way one would 'emerge' from a building or an enclosed place; for examples, see {219,3}, {219,5}, {219,7}, {219,9}.
Compare the 'onrush of longings' in {314x,7}; compare also {319x} and {320x}, which have the refrain nikaaluu;N .
Ah, the rewards of fame: *the CEO of Microsoft (mis)quotes this verse (2016)*. And then a reporter *misquotes his misquotation*.
AN APOCRYPHAL VERSE: Over the course of time, this ghazal has come to have often attached to it an extremely well-known and popular apocryphal verse. I'm not sure how long ago the verse came to be attached, but the minimum figure is several decades ago, as I know from personal experience. Here's the verse:
;xudaa ke vaas:te pardah nah ka((bah se u;Thaa vaa((i:z
kahii;N aisaa nah ho yaa;N bhii vuhii kaafir .sanam nikle
[for the Lord's sake, don't lift the curtain from the Ka'bah,
Preacher!
may it not somehow be that here too that same infidel idol would emerge]
Please note: this verse is NOT by Ghalib. Even if you have heard it recited as such, even if in your heart you think it is, it's just not. (For a real Ghalibian verse on almost the same theme as this apocryphal one, see the far more subtle and sophisticated {231,6}.) In fact the verse seems to be by Zafar; it appears in kulliyaat-e :zafar , jild suvvum - chahaarum (Lahore: Sang-e Mil Publications, 1994), p. 459, with only a small rearrangement of the first line. (I thank my friend S. M. Shahed for finding this verse and bringing it to my notice.)
In the case of his early ghazals, Ghalib often composed longer ghazals and only included some verses in his published divan; for discussion, see {4,8x}. But in his late ghazals, his practice was just the opposite: he published virtually every verse he composed. We also have far better documentation of this later period of his life from his letters and other sources.
This is a late ghazal, composed in 1853. Ghalib published his own divan two times after composing this ghazal-- in 1862, and again in 1863; from his letters we can tell how closely and even passionately he supervised the publication of his divans. If this verse were authentic, why wouldn't it appear in Ghalib's own two divan editions?
In fact I think Ghalib would have shuddered at the thought of having this verse attached to his name; see the two letters quoted above, in which he fiercely repudiates other (second-rate) verses that had been wrongly attributed to him. In the first letter he indulges in obscene personal abuse of the offender who tampered with his poetry. In the second letter he reproachfully asks his friend Aram to look, in making such judgments, at the 'style of the writing' and the 'path of the thought'; it sounds as though he even changed his pen-name to avoid being 'credited' with the verses of another 'Asad'. (Another such anxious and distressed letter: {193,1}; a similar case of false attribution involving his Persian poetry: Russell and Islam, p. 272.) Elsewhere he also passionately insists that his own poetry is in no way derived from that of others (see {119,7}).
Nevertheless, many people do think the verse is Ghalib's, and they like it, and they want it to be his. People sometimes give me suspicious stares, or even quite dirty looks, if I say it's not. Jagjit Singh includes it in his sung versions for 'Mirza Ghalib'. One modern commentator, Yusuf Salim Chishti, not only inserts it into the ghazal (as the penultimate verse) without question, but actually discusses it at unusual length and considers it 'the high point of the ghazal and one of Ghalib's best verses' (p. 815).
The case of Ghulam Rasul Mihr is more complex, for he quite properly comments only on the standard nine verses. But someone (maybe a helpful calligrapher?) has inserted this apocryphal verse into the ghazal as calligraphed (p. 695) in his commentary: the apocryphal verse appears as the penultimate verse.
The real composer of this verse was apparently Zafar; it appears in kulliyaat-e :zafar , jild suvvum - chahaarum (Lahore: Sang-e Mil Publications, 1994), p. 461. This original version had a slightly different first line: ;xudaa ke vaas:te zaahid uu;Thaa pardah nah ka((be kaa . I thank my friend S. M. Shahed for pointing out (Sept. 2022) this reference.
Anyway, to return to the implications of the Case of the Apocryphal Verse, there's one more such apocryphal verse that I know of, that has also sometimes been attached to this ghazal:
;zaraa kar zor siine par kih tiir-e pur-sitam nikle
jo vuh nikle to dil nikle jo dil nikle to dam nikle
[please/just apply force to the breast, so that the cruel arrow would emerge
when that would emerge, then the heart would emerge; when the heart would emerge, then the breath would emerge]
The same arguments apply to this verse as well. Most basically: if were authentic, why wouldn't it be in the divan?
For discussion of another apocryphal verse attached to a different ghazal, see {6,1}. And here's a related, though more minor, instance: a Pakistani stamp that misquotes a verse (see {43,3}); and there's apparently a divan edition that does the same (see {233,16}). In addition, some famous verses erroneously attributed to Zafar are discussed in {49,5}; a verse erroneously attributed Amir Khusrau is discussed in M{324,1}.)
Some Mirian misattributions are discussed in M{1015,1}. There I make a distinction between 'erroneous attributions' (serious verses that could well have been misattributed through some kind of understandable error of transmission or the like) and 'false attributions' (awful 'verses' that could be inflicted on Mir only through radical ignorance of the whole ghazal genre). I don't know if this distinction will be very sustainable, but I thought it was worth considering.
Taimoor Shahid has provided (May 2013) a striking example of such 'false' attribution-- a whole apocryphal ghazal that doesn't even scan:
He attests to the great popularity and longstanding currency of this ghazal; as you can see on youtube, it's actually been sung by Noor Jehan. (To do her justice, she at least sings the refrain as kiije , which scans, rather than kiiji))e , which doesn't.) But no matter how many singers sing it or reciters recite it, it is just NOT by Ghalib.
Here's another example that includes outrageously implausible verses attributed to Ghalib and Iqbal both-- but people are lovingly presenting these in answer to the question, 'What is the best two-liner that you know?'. Even Modi has joined the fake-Ghalib club, taunting his foes with this absurdity: 'Ta umr Ghalib ye bhool karta raha, dhool chehre pe thi aur aaina saaf karta raha' ; he was soon corrected and reproached. Then Shashi Tharoor and a couple of other twitterites made their own inadvertent contributions; as Shashi Tharoor ruefully realized, 'Just as every clever quote is attributed to Winston Churchill even if he never said it, so it seems that whenever people like a shayari, they credit Ghalib for it!'. Here is a cri de coeur from Nomanul Haq against this general fog of ignorance.
In most such cases, people trust their own knowledge (or memory) of the verses through oral (or, nowadays, internet) circulation-- trust it so implicitly (or are so indifferent) that they feel no need to check the verses in a real divan. This could certainly be called carelessness or sloppiness. But isn't it also kind of a perverse compliment to Ghalib, that people are so sure they know his poetry by heart-- even when they don't? They feel possessive about him, as English speakers do about Shakespeare-- even when, in both cases, they mostly don't read him very much, or very carefully. Ghalib might even be somewhat pleased by this admiring cultural embrace.
But if it's an embrace that's merely warm and fuzzy (or sloppy, or exploitative), and doesn't include serious attention to the poetry on which he so prided himself, how deep would his pleasure be? Just think of all the energy that went into buying, clearing out, and setting up for visitors (part of) the last rented haveli that Ghalib lived in-- and then after all that, there was nothing of his to put into it, so it's a mere shell. When I saw it, it had only some calligraphed verses on the walls, and a wax image of Ghalib, sitting behind glass in a niche, engaged in composition. (Recently I was told that since my visit that wax model has been removed.) Really Ghalib has left us almost nothing except his poetry and his letters. To be represented primarily by his poetry, and secondarily by his letters, is a fate that he would gladly claim as his rightful due. But he would certainly demand to be represented only by his OWN poetry, and he would HATE to have the second-rate verses of others foisted upon him. In fact he would hate to have even the first-rate verses of others foisted upon him; for discussion of his insistence on self-reliance at all costs, see {9,1}.
Ghalib's last, rented haveli, as it looked when I visited in 2005:
Reported by the 'Economic Times', Jan. 18, 2017 (with a [video on youtube]):
At a company event in India, Satya Nadella, CEO of Microsoft, revealed that the twin passions in his life are poetry and computer science. Perhaps the audience half-expected him to quote a few lines by a famous American or British poet at that point. But what came next was a complete surprise. In a heavily accented voice, Naella quoted the noted 19th century poet, Mirza Ghalib:
"Hazaaron khwaishein aisi ho, ke har khwaish pe dum nikle, Bahut nikle mere armaan, fir bhi kam nikle."
And here is a fitting epitaph for the haveli itself (Indian Express, July 28, 2019):
His last home, where he died, was under the shadow of a mosque. This prompted the couplet: Masjid ke zere saaya ek ghar bana liya hai / ek banda-e-kameena hamsaya-e-khuda hai (Under the shadow of the mosque, I have made my house / a scoundrel is the neighbour of the God).
Needless to say, the haveli is not under the shadow of a mosque, and the verse is not by Ghalib (though it might have begun as a sort of inverted echo of {131,1}). Poor Ghalib!
Ghalib:
[1858, to Saqib; cited because of the discussion of an apocryphal verse:] Brother Shihab ud-Din Khan, for the Lord's sake, what have you and Hakim Ghulam Najaf Khan done to my divan?! These verses that you've sent-- the Lord knows what son of a bitch [vald al-zanaa] has inserted them! The divan has been printed. If these verses are in the text, then they're mine; and if they're in the margins, then they're not mine. In short, even if these verses would be found in the text, then consider that some accursed prostituter-of-his-wife [zan-jalab] has scratched out the real poetry and and written in this trash. In short, whatever scoundrel is the author of these verses, curses on his father and his grandfather and his great-grandfather, back to the seventh generation of the bastards [vald al-;haraam]! More than this, what can I write?
==Urdu text: Khaliq Anjum vol. 2, p. 694