Listening to 1980s ghazals. I usually get into the mood when I spend some time by myself, and today I have spent time by myself, a bit resentful as well as sick with a cold.
Who am I quietly carrying in myself, as I cook leek soup and and casseroles and discuss American politics with students? Is this world within me decaying or merely hibernating?
گزر گیا وہ زمانہ کہوں تو کس سے کہوں
خیال دل کو مرے صبح و شام کس کا تھا
داغؔ دہلوی –
Those are days are gone. To whom can I speak,
whose thoughts enthralled me day and night?
Ghulam Ali’s total immersive delight in the ghazal, the melody, and the appreciative audience. I’m an aging immigrant in love with a world that I plug into alone.
I’m asked: ‘What does it mean? I wish I knew what it means.’ But meaning is not translation. It’s a whole world unto itself.
اب نزع کا عالم ہے مجھ پر تم اپنی محبت واپس لو
جب کشتی ڈوبنے لگتی ہے تو بوجھ اتارا کرتے ہیں
I’m in the throes of death now, take back your love
When a boat begins to sink, they unload its burdens