Writer, translator and literary historian Rakhshanda Jalil’s critical work on Urdu progressives and other writers is well-recognised as are her translations from Urdu. In her latest book, Love in the Time of Hate: In the Mirror of Urdu (Simon & Schuster), a collection of essays on Urdu poetry and the Indian polity, she expounds the role and significance of the Urdu poet in a fast-changing world. Edited excerpts:
At a time when Congress leader Rahul Gandhi has claimed to set up a ‘shop of love in a bazaar of hate’, what can Urdu writing from different ages tell us that’s new? Why do we need the mirror of Urdu? Can Urdu be a lamp?
This book is not about ‘party politics’. But, yes, it is a search for voices that speak of love rather than hate, inclusion rather than exclusion, commonalities rather than differences. I am not claiming that any of this is new. I am calling attention to a wealth that has been hiding in plain sight for Urdu readers for centuries; through translations and a narrative that strings together these diverse ‘pearls’ on a common thread, I am simply making them accessible to English readers.
Also, poets seldom, if ever, fall victim to bigotry, prejudice and narrow mindedness; a propagandist or publicist might but not a poet. And the Urdu poet, in particular, has always been known for his/ her liberalism and eclecticism. Even in matters of religion, he/ she has always spoken for qaumi yakjahati and muttahida tehzeeb — communal harmony and the co-mingling of cultures.
Does the mirror reflect, speak, aestheticise, or critique?
Yes, it does all this and more; ever the contrarian, the Urdu poet provides more than one way of seeing the same thing — be it the Taj Mahal or the monsoon. For instance, the Taj is both an enduring symbol of love and a showy exhibitionist declaration of love, an insult to the love of ordinary mortals who cannot afford an emperor’s self-indulgence.
You have quoted Ursula K. Le Guin to call poets ‘the realists of a larger reality’. Can you expand on this? Why is it important to listen to the poets to understand our existence as humans and Indians?
Poets are not prophets. They see, feel, experience what you and I do but they have a special ability to express those feelings. As Ghalib pithily said, “...goya yeh bhi mere dil mein hai” (...this too is in my heart). The Urdu poet has written something for every occasion, every sentiment, every impulse that flickers through the human heart. There may be plenty one disagrees with, but there is always something on nearly every subject. Nothing is beyond the pale, nothing is sacrosanct or unquestionable.
I think there comes a time in the history of nations when they need their poets most; not the politicians, nor policy-makers and publicists but the poets who are true visionaries. For, it is the poets who can remind people of the essential values that hold them together. For us in India, that time is now, lest the clamour of the strident illiberals drowns out the voices that have always pointed towards the larger reality and the greater good, and the bloody tide of unreason sweeps away the India we have known and cherished.
Artists performing the ‘Ramlila’ in Urdu at the Urdu Heritage Festival in New Delhi, February 2024. | Photo Credit: Sushil Kumar Verma
Urdu is often seen as the language of Muslims, but you call it a pan-Indian Indian language being claimed by different people.
Urdu is not the language of any one state or region, unlike, say, Marathi for Maharashtra or Tamil for Tamil Nadu; it is willing to be embraced and owned by anyone who wishes to do so, both north and south of the Vindhyas and across the breadth of India. Over the centuries, it has displayed a dogged refusal to be tied down to a caste or community or region. The problem, however, is that the blind refuse to see and the deaf can’t hear, hence the stereotypes.
Your book is divided into four alliterative sections: politics, people, passions, places. What was the logic behind this structure, why are they important as matters of love and hate?
I didn’t set out to write 80 essays divided into four sections. The topics ‘revealed’ themselves to me, often prompted by real-life events, tremors in the seismograph that is the present-day Indian political and social milieu, sometimes jogged by the passing of a much loved pan-Indian figure such as Dilip Kumar or Lata Mangeshkar. Some were triggered by my travels, some by newspaper headlines and quite a few were written in response to small, everyday increments of change. Running through them is a common current: of love for this, my land, my India. The alliterative section heads are a happy serendipity.
You have a long career now behind you as a literary historian, critic, translator, columnist and more. How do you place this volume within your trajectory?
I see it as a natural, organic coming together of all of the above and, yes, my anguish as an Indian. As I say in the introduction, I am scared, fearful, often depressed, and I find release through writing.
What’s next from Rakhshanda Jalil?
A biography of the poet-politician Maulana Hasrat Mohani.
What are your hopes for India and its world of letters in Urdu and English?
Writing this book is an attempt to staunch the fear and depression I alluded to earlier. For, in looking back, and in looking into the mirror of Urdu, these essays also show the way forward. I hope we as a nation will be able to counter fear with inclusion, and hate with love.
The interviewer is a poet, translator, and professor at O.P. Jindal Global University.
