Love in the Time of Hate

By Dr. Rakhshanda Jalil

Kabhi hum bhi tum bhi thhe aashna tumhein yaad ho ke na yaad hoOnce you and I were friends, whether you remember it now or not--Momin Khan MominThis is a book about love—love for one’s country and for all that goes to make it one we can be proud to belong to. Poetry, it has been said, flourishes when all else is uncertain. With that in mind, renowned literary historian and translator, Rakhshanda Jalil, uses Urdu poetry to look at how the social fabric of secular India is changing. Rakhshanda delves into the past, to the events that have threatened communal harmony, from the bloodletting of partition, or the politics of successive elections, to communal riots, Mumbai, Gujarat and so on, to the present moment, to recent events around Ayodhya, cow slaughter and ‘love jihad’.The book is divided into four sections: politics, people, passions, places. Strewn with delightful, thoughtful Urdu couplets that bring depth, lyricism and gravitas to the narratives, the writer cautions us against current popular sentiments based on hating the ‘other’. Living in an India that now requires us to be resolutely one or the ‘other’, all of us are losing the wonderful capacity to contain within ourselves many seemingly diverse ideologies and beliefs which is a motif that is reiterated through the verses and words in this book.The section titled ‘People’ has the most delightful, charming vignettes of popular icons, from Tipu Sultan and Rani Lakshmi Bai to Gandhi and Nehru, from Ghalib and Majaz to Dilip Kumar and Lata Mangeshkar, viewed through an Urdu lens that makes each person memorable, unique and an advocate of peace and unity. From essays doused in the language of secular patriotism like Har Dil Tiranga, to pieces redolent with nostalgia like Dopahar ki Dhoop Mein, Rakhshanda invokes the power of love, inclusivity and communal harmony that is the trademark of poetry and literature, and which must continue to permeate the way we live our lives if we want to bequeath a meaningful legacy to the generations to come in our country.

Excerpt: Love in the Time of Hate

Urdu verses overflow with spice. Melons, mangoes, biryani—each dish holds a season, a memory. The roti poem bursts, gladness barely contained, a

By Dr Rakhshanda Jalil

Perhaps no other Urdu poet has written as much on food as Nazeer Akbarabadi, who we have encountered many times in these pages. In his vast and varied ouvre there are poems entitled ‘Agre ki Kakdi’ (The Cucumbers of Agra which he famously likened to Laila’s ribs!) ‘Tarbuz’ (Watermelon), ‘Kharbuze’ (Melons), ‘Santara’ (Orange), ‘Narangi’ (Chinese Orange), ‘Jalebiyan’ (the swiggly, doodle-like syrupy sweets) but possibly the most recited are these lines on roti (flat bread) from ‘Rotinama’:

Jab aadmi ke peit mein aati hain rotiyaan Phooli
nahin badan mein samaati hain rotiyaan
When the rotis enter a man’s stomach
They can barely suppress their gladness

Like Nazeer others have talked of seasonal foods, especially fruits. And rightly so. In a country with three well-demarcated seasons—winter, summer, rains—there are distinct foods that have been traditionally enjoyed according to the changing seasons. Of these, the king of summer fruits, mangoes, have received their fair share of attention from Urdu poets. LikeGhalib, Akbar Allahabadi had no qualms about asking his friends to send him mangoes from their orchards: ‘Iss fasl mein jo bhejiye bas aam bhejiye’ (The one thing you should send from this harvest are mangoes). Shaheen Iqbal Asar writes a qasida (panegyric) in praise of mangoes ending thus:

Ik faqat main hii nahin shaida Asar Shaida
hai aalam ka aalam aam ka
I am not the only one in love with mangoes
The entire universe is besotted with mangoes

Bashir Badr uses food as a metaphor for fruition, for reward, as in this sher:

Kuchh phal zaroor aainge roti ke perh mein Jis
din mira mutaalba manzoor ho gaya
Some fruits will surely appear on the tree of roti On
the day when my claims are accepted

As does Rahat Indori here:

Phal to sab mere darakhton ke pakey hain lekin Itni
kamzor hain shaakhein ki hilaa bhi na sakoon
All the fruits on my trees have ripened
But the branches are so weak I can’t even shake them

This heart-felt prayer by Dilawar Figar acquires a new resonance now that meat has become so ‘dear’ for reasons of both politics and the pocket:

Ya rab mire naseeb mein akl-e-halaal ho
Khaane ko qorma ho khilaane ko daal ho
Dear Lord, let there be halal food for me Enough
qorma to eat, and daal to feed others

How camouflage—culinary or otherwise—doesn’t always work is evident from this verse by Shauq Bahraichi:

Rahzan libaas-e-rahbari mein na chhup saka Aalu
ne laakh chaha par ghuiyaan na ho saka
The highway robber could not hide in the guise of a guide Despite
all efforts the potato couldn’t turn into colocasia

Then there are the foods associated with festivals especially the kabaab-sevaiyan-biryani combination that is almost synonymous with the two Eids. Here is Murtaza Sahil Taslimi describing the manzar (scenario) in most Muslim households on Eid:

Theen sevaiyan qorma sheer aur biryani kabaab Hum utthe
khush-zaaeqa khaanon se ho kar faizyaab
There was sevaiyan, qorma, sheer, kabaab and biryani We
rose blessed from these delicious-tasting spreads

On a grimmer note, there are the foods that are offered to the poor, the neighbours and the extended family while offering fateha (funerary prayer) for the dead as described in this sher by the acerbic Akbar Allahabadi:

Bataauun aap ko marne ke baad kya hogaa
Pulao khaaenge ahbaab fateha hoga
Shall I tell you what will happen after you are dead?
Your friends will eat pulao after the fateha has been recited

While the food purists debate over the relative merits of a pulao versus biryani, the poet talks of both. Here is Dilawar Figaar talking of the pulao that will be served in a waleeme ki daawat (wedding reception):

Uss shokh ke waleeme mein khaa kar chikan pulao
Kankii ke chaawalon ka mazaa yaad aa gayaa
Eating chicken pulao at that lovely lady’s wedding reception I
was reminded of the delicious taste of broken rice

The same Dilawar Figar speaks of the new-fangled trend of mini-mushairas in people’s homes where poets are invited to recite their poetry followed by a lavish repast:

Qorma istu pasanda, kofta, shaami kabab
Jaane kya kya kha gaya yeh shair-e-maeda-haraab
Qorma, stew, pasanda, kofta, shaami kabab
How much was eaten by this poet with bad digestion

There is also ample mention of the conjoined twins, sharaab- kabaab, in a great deal of Urdu poetry. Here is no less a person that Ibrahim Zauq, the last poet laureate of Mughal Delhi and ustaad (teacher) to the last Mughal emperor Bahadurshah Zafar, declaring:

Waiiza chhorh zikr-e-nemat-e-khuld Kah sharaab-o-kabaab ki baatein
O Preacher stop these descriptions of the gifts from heaven Let us talk instead of sharaab and kabaab

Every now and then the kabaab is used as a metaphor for burning with envy or sorrow as in this sher by Mir Taqi Mir:

Aatish-e-gham mein dil bhunaa shaayad Deir se buu kabaab ki sii hai
The heart was roasted in the fire of sorrow For long one can smell a kabaaab

Or this by Abdul Hamid Adam:

Kyaa zaruurat hai bahs karne kii Kyuun kaleja kabaab karte ho
What’s the need to argue?
Why turn your heart into a kabaab?

And this by Ameer Minai:

Kabaab-e-seekh hain hum karwatein har-suu badalte hain Jal uthtaa hai jo ye pahluu to woh pahluu badalte hain
I am like a seekh kabaab turning this side and that When one side begins to burn I turn the other side

In a similar vein, sherbet is often used as a metaphor as in this sher by Yagana Changezi:

Sherbat ka ghoont jaan ke peetaa hoon khoon-e-dil Gham khaate khaate munh kaa maza tak bigarh gayaa
Knowingly I drink my heart’s blood as though it is sherbat The taste in my mouth has been ruined by all my sorrows

That food is inextricably intertwined with nostalgia and, by extension with one’s warmest happiest memories is best illustrated by this sher by Nida Fazli redolent of a kitchen of yore with its everyday implements that would be unheard of by young people today:

Besan ki saundhi roti par khatti chatni jaisi maa
Yaad aati hai chaukaa baasan chimtaa phukni jaisi maa

Mother who was like the tart chutney on a chickpea flour roti

I remember her who was like the hearth, basin, tong, blowpipe

Excerpted with permission from Love in the Time of Hate by Rakhshanda Jalil published by S&S India, 2024.