In the introduction to her new book, Love in the Time of Hate: In the Mirror of Urdu, Rakhshanda Jalil writes: 바카라There are love jihads and there are love jihads. Mine turned into a labour of love.바카라 바카라Labour of love바카라 is, of course, a bold and brilliantly astute translation of 바카라love jihad바카라. It is also a translation that seizes from the jaws of hate a love worth fighting for.
This book is Jalil바카라s labour of love. It is a khazana, a treasury, of Urdu shayari that provides succour in our dark time. Over the course of 80 short essays, drawing on her deep love and knowledge of Urdu poetry written over many centuries by both Muslims and non-Muslims, Jalil attends to a startlingly wide array of themes: from politics (religious intolerance, the plight of migrant workers, the perils of populism) and people (Gandhi and Nehru, Bose and Bhagat Singh, Dilip Kumar and Lata Mangeshkar) to passions (the hope of spring, the joy of paan, the untranslatability of love) and places (Delhi, Banaras, Kashmir). The thread that links all these diverse meditations is Urdu poetry바카라s championing of inclusivity over hatred.
Jalil바카라s labour of love consists of using shayari aphoristically, of taking a line or two out of their original contexts and applying them, in sadness and in hope, to our broken present. Like T S Eliot in The Waste Land, she uses the fragments of old poetry to 바카라shore against my ruins바카라.
The book opens with this poignant statement: 바카라I am sixty years old and confess to a crushing fear바카라I suspect that I am not alone in this. I feel this fear among a great many Muslims in urban India.바카라 As this statement suggests, Jalil바카라s labour of love is a deeply felt personal struggle to deal with the hatreds of the current moment. Her struggle is evident in the many postscripts to the chapters. These not only inject a personal element into the book but also allow her to express doubt about its very project: Jalil wonders whether reminding us of Urdu poetry바카라s embrace of pluralism serves any purpose when hatred is so rampant. But this note of near-despair is also coupled with messages of hope. One particularly moving instance is the postscript to Jalil바카라s chapter on the tiranga; in it, she describes how she has never felt so proud of being Indian as when she spied the tricolour in Saudi Arabia in 2012, flying above the camp set up by the Indian government for Indian hajis. It바카라s a startling moment바카라a reminder of Muslim love for country and also of a government바카라s care for its citizens and their welfare, regardless of their faith.
The phrase 바카라labour of love바카라 hints at how much work is required to overcome hate. Sigmund Freud asserted that hatred is primal: rejection of the other is the condition for forming an identity. Hate, then, comes easily to us, but love requires work. The untranslatability of love, as Jalil keeps reminding us, means we have to keep working to define and inhabit it. Many of the poets she quotes rework love in unexpected ways. Some transform it into a political possibility: Faiz remakes 바카라ishq바카라 into the zeal required to organise against totalitarian power. Others imagine it as more than just an individual바카라s feelings for a lover or for God바카라it is also the glue of a collective 바카라hum sab바카라 that transcends religious and communal identity. But that collective spirit has been too often undone by the project of pitting Hindu and Muslim against each other. As Saghar Khayyami writes:
Nafraton ki jang mein dekho to kyaa kho gayaa
Sabziyaan Hindu huinn bakra Musalman ho gayaa
(See what all has happened in this battle of hatred
Vegetables have become Hindu and the goat Muslim)
Communalising our eating habits is easy in a climate of nafrat. What demands hard graft is the work of building love. To quote Sahir Ludhianvi:
Nafraton ke jahaan mein hum ko pyaar ki bastiyaan basaanii hain
Duur rahnaa koi kamaal nahiin paas aao to koi baney
(In this world of hatred we have to set up habitations of love
Staying away is no big deal, coming closer is the real thing)
At the heart of Love in the Time of Hate바카라s labour of love is Hindi cinema, for which Ludhianvi wrote some of his finest shayari. Jalil keeps returning throughout the book to films, and not just in her chapters on Dilip Kumar and Lata Mangeshkar. One of the open secrets of Hindi cinema, at least until fairly recently, is that it was never 바카라Hindi바카라바카라at least not in the hyper-Sanskritised form that we often hear now in official discourse. It was, rather, Hindustani, a rekhta or a mix of Hindu and Urdu바카라something Jalil reminds us of in regard to Mangeshkar, who cultivated perfect Urdu pronunciation to master the film songs that made her famous.
Films have increasingly jettisoned the Urdu-inflected shayari that was once synonymous with Hindi cinema. Yet there have been some notable holdouts. Let me finish with an example from a recent film that is a fitting companion for Jalil바카라s book. Gully Boy바카라s (Zoya Akhtar, 2019) signature tune, 바카라Apna Time Aayega바카라 (My/Our Time Will Come), is a rap song with Urdu lyrics by Javed Akhtar:
Taakat ki hai, aafat ki, himaakat ki, ibadat ki
Adaalat yeh hai chaahat ki, mohabbat ki, amaanat ki 바카라
Kyunki apna time aayega
(The need is of strength, of troubles, of madness, of prayers
This is the court of desire, of love, of possession바카라
My/our time will come)
As the massive popularity of the song attests, Urdu shayari still speaks to us바카라though now in new forms. Yet the message is the same: the future promises mohabbat, but in a time of aafat, that promise can materialise only through commitment and hard work. Jalil proves that with her labour of love. It is up to the rest of us to make sure that her labour is also apna.
(Views expressed are personal)
Jonathan Gil Harris is Professor of English at Ashoka University
