Today is the 220 birthday of poet Mirza Asadullah Beg Khan, born in Agra. Google is celebrating. Stumbled on a mobile video of NaseeBabu, licking a mango slice, chatting Mirza Ghalib's love for mangos and the poet. Till the age of 5, Naseebabu spoke Urdu;lost it at school which did not allow for Hindi and Urdu. The moment came when Gulzar chose Naseebabu for the 12 part TV serial (one hour part) on Ghalib. Have seen it even as the classical Urdu bounced. The 11 minute video, dwells on Naseebabu being enticed forever by Ghalib. And at over 70, me has no tongue or root. Sure, have dwelt on it, but the guilt is not going off. Did not even try like Naseebabu. Being born in Kottarakara village did not give me roots as never studied Malayalam, never spoke it, never wrote it, never lived there for even two moths together. At home in Calcutta, spoke Brahminised Tamil of Kerala - a mix of Tamil and Malayalam- but never went near the languages. We spoke in Tamil, as mother did not know English and father did not approve; but he pushed me into English at school and today me has only English. Have read Marathi and Hindi poets and writers in English which is not quite the same; Perumal Murugan me reads in English, losing the Tamil flavour. Come to think of it, after watching Naseebabu video, me knows India in translation. In Mumbai, familiar with broken Marathi, a bit, which is in no way appetising. Can one be an Indian without an Indian tongue and roots. Suspect, Jawaharlal Nehru knew India mostly in English. Maybe, me am wrong. But this DNA defect, at least, lames me. Take Ghalib, today, read him a bit in English. Or for that matter, Bahadur Shah Zafar, the last Mughal emperor; a Mughal dynasty which has given us its own music, architecture, gardens, poetry and enriched me country. In the morning, for the first time, read the famous and moving, Malayalam lullaby by Irrayin Thambi ... Omana thingal kidao ... on google with English meanings. Rama lullabied her children and two grandchildren with Omana .. Thats how me fell for it. Sorry, is India me country? Do me belongs? Perhaps, it is mot juste that me became an English journalist, typing press notes, clerically. Today, me understands: English made me a clerk. Me have to own up, is a clerk. And Naseenbabu hero. An insufficient living.
Tuesday, December 26, 2017
Ghalib
Today is the 220 birthday of poet Mirza Asadullah Beg Khan, born in Agra. Google is celebrating. Stumbled on a mobile video of NaseeBabu, licking a mango slice, chatting Mirza Ghalib's love for mangos and the poet. Till the age of 5, Naseebabu spoke Urdu;lost it at school which did not allow for Hindi and Urdu. The moment came when Gulzar chose Naseebabu for the 12 part TV serial (one hour part) on Ghalib. Have seen it even as the classical Urdu bounced. The 11 minute video, dwells on Naseebabu being enticed forever by Ghalib. And at over 70, me has no tongue or root. Sure, have dwelt on it, but the guilt is not going off. Did not even try like Naseebabu. Being born in Kottarakara village did not give me roots as never studied Malayalam, never spoke it, never wrote it, never lived there for even two moths together. At home in Calcutta, spoke Brahminised Tamil of Kerala - a mix of Tamil and Malayalam- but never went near the languages. We spoke in Tamil, as mother did not know English and father did not approve; but he pushed me into English at school and today me has only English. Have read Marathi and Hindi poets and writers in English which is not quite the same; Perumal Murugan me reads in English, losing the Tamil flavour. Come to think of it, after watching Naseebabu video, me knows India in translation. In Mumbai, familiar with broken Marathi, a bit, which is in no way appetising. Can one be an Indian without an Indian tongue and roots. Suspect, Jawaharlal Nehru knew India mostly in English. Maybe, me am wrong. But this DNA defect, at least, lames me. Take Ghalib, today, read him a bit in English. Or for that matter, Bahadur Shah Zafar, the last Mughal emperor; a Mughal dynasty which has given us its own music, architecture, gardens, poetry and enriched me country. In the morning, for the first time, read the famous and moving, Malayalam lullaby by Irrayin Thambi ... Omana thingal kidao ... on google with English meanings. Rama lullabied her children and two grandchildren with Omana .. Thats how me fell for it. Sorry, is India me country? Do me belongs? Perhaps, it is mot juste that me became an English journalist, typing press notes, clerically. Today, me understands: English made me a clerk. Me have to own up, is a clerk. And Naseenbabu hero. An insufficient living.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment