I write, today, with the awareness of speaking at a critical historical moment. I cannot ignore the theatre of war that has been conjured up in the run-up to the 2024 Lok Sabha Elections. A couple of weeks ago, I saw the poster for the film “JNU:Jahangir National University”. The ridiculous, angry, click-baity content did not really hold my attention as I waded through the doom-scroll. I laughed it off, then, as another tacky attempt by the footsoldiers of Hindutva to capitalise on public anger, another film that will, no doubt weaponise allegiances in the battle for political sovereignty. At the same time, I was aware of a ringing anxiety whose decibel level was growing steadily with the subconscious registering of the string of Bollywood “propaganda” films that have been produced in the recent past (including “Kerala Story”, “Bahattar Hoorain”, “The Kashmir Files”, “Article 370”) . These films embrace the now familiar narrative that demonises Muslims, and propels the country into a fascist wet dream that has real implications we encounter on a daily basis (some more than others) in the form of predatory violence.
I ended up entering a rabbit-hole of film trailers a few days ago, to better understand the phenomenon. I was unable to find the language to conceptualise this series of media events. This is because, for me, they do not fit in within the convenient narrative of “propaganda”. Leni Riefenstahl’s “Triumph of the Will” is propaganda. Hitler commissioned it, and film critics have analysed the sheer genius of its craft along with the definitive impact it had in launching the great dictator. While propaganda films need not be aesthetically pleasing, or great works of art, there is no debating the fact that there is a direct continuity between content and impact, art and politics. I am reminded of Sergei Eisenstein’s revolutionary propaganda film, Battleship Potemkin, the Odessa Steps sequence, and the theory of montage that arose out of a political movement of resistance. That is, of course, a fascinating example of the intersection of aesthetics and social movement, poetics and politics. These films, however, arrive in a very different spatio-temporal matrix, a much changed public. They sizzle and burn in a media environment saturated with spectacle. Unravelling the political economy of these films is a dubious affair in a time which allows for easy deceptions and misinformation, but I was comforted to read that “2024 Pro-Hindutva Films Were Funded By BJP-Linked People, Promoted by BJP Netas”. This is important information, and helps makes sense of the dizzying effect of the cinematic barrage.
Still, I couldn’t help feeling overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of this phenomenon. I had picked up snatches of the song from the film Jahangir National University that was released 2 weeks ago on youtube, but I hadn’t really heard it properly until a few days ago. It was this video which made my blood boil the most.
I am not sharing the link of Danish Rana (the lyricist) and Piyush Mishra’s arrogant appropriation of the Pakistani poet, Habib Jalib, simply because I do not want to “give it footage”. No doubt the picturisation and framing of the song requires a careful, scholarly analysis in the vein of Barthes’ commentaries on myth making in Mythologies (including the 1955 Paris Match cover image which showed a young black soldier supposedly saluting the French Flag), but this is not the task I have set for myself in this essay.
The song uses the frame of Jalib’s nazm - Dastoor, and the legendary refrain of “Main nahi maanta, Main Nahi Jaanta” along with other cheap derivative phrases that make a mockery of the original poem and its context of defiance. I have heard this song sung a countless times during protest rallies, and in historic agitations that have been born in the corridors of JNU (sample this and this). While watching the video again, I could not believe the audacity of the creators in appropriating Jalib, whose life and inspiring work is a compelling argument for the fight for freedom of expression, and the power of poetry in unsettling fascist political establishments while speaking truth to power. I was silently cursing myself for sharing Mishra’s previous work in Gulaal which I had read as tributes to revolutionary poets. In those songs, Mishra made sure to cite his influences, either in the text of the poetry itself, or in promotional interviews and such. Of course, there is no reference to Jalib in this mangled excuse for a poem that is parading as protest art in the released video.
But the song has already garnered more than 15 lakh views. The record must be set straight, no? I think we owe it to Habib Jalib, if nothing else.
For those who haven’t heard the poem, here’s a recording of Jalib reciting it in a public function where he narrates the context of its first public reading. I can feel my heart beat faster as I listen to the story of Jalib’s courage in the face of fire, once again.
“After the creation of Pakistan, when our dreams started to shatter one-by-one, we started to seek out those who shared our thoughts, our ideals*, to see what kind of democracy, what manner of freedom, we could establish in our country. I wrote this nazm (poem/poetry/verse) then - Dastoor (system/constitution/custom/conventions)…”
- From Habib Jalib’s preface to a recitation of ‘Dastoor’
Jalib uses the word “humkhyaal”. Sa’hridaya is perhaps another word with sanskrit roots that expands the scope of the idea. I invoke these words in humble allegiance and naive idealism, because he embodied it fully - the notion that poetry is a prism which turns one into many. We are speaking of a man who was jailed several times by successive regimes for his political (or poetic?) activism. Even his books were banned. But Jalib brushes off the fact that he spent a large portion of his life behind bars: If you write against oppression, fascism, and dictators; if you find flaws in the establishment, and if you read and write against them they will punish you, he reasons. Saza to bhugatni padegi (You will have to bear the burden, face the punishment, and the consequences of your actions).
One of my favourite urdu shers which I discovered in a volume of selected Urdu poetry translated by Khushwant Singh is Jalib’s:
‘तुम से पहले वो जो इक शख़्स यहाँ तख़्त-नशीं था
उस को भी अपने ख़ुदा होने पे इतना ही यक़ीं था’
‘Tum se pehle vo jo ik shaks yaha takht-nasheen tha
Us ko bhi apne khuda hone pe itna hi yakeen tha’
I have shared a reading of the entire ghazal on Poetly before. It is a succinct satire on the power of khursi, the aspirations of the power hungry, and the narcissistic tendencies of leaders (Very Ozymandias innit?). There are other famous poems, and you must hear them on youtube, sometimes sung in his own sonorous voice (Maine Usse Ye Kaha from the same evening is another personal favourite). Jalib was truly a poet of the people, and this is visible even in the audience response to his performances (‘poetry reading’ or ‘recitation’ feels quite inadequate). Again, I am partial to the performance of this poetry over the dry reading off the page (So make sure you do watch the video of Dastoor as well, even if it’s not a great recording).
I share with you the nazm in full below. I have shared the poem in Roman, interspersed with English translation.
Note: I have chosen to translate ‘dastoor’ as system, rather than ‘constitution’. Since the poem came in the wake of General Ayub’s controversial constitution, scholars have translated dastoor as ‘constitution’. It is a transcreation in the sense that I have taken some licenses with the original. I have attempted as much as I can to retain the force of the original, without completely ignoring the many translations publicly available. Perhaps there are some awkward choices I have made - such as translating ‘maslehat’ as ‘conspiracy’ . But I think, Jalib would prefer this version to Danish Rana’s.
I have often wondered about the solipsism of poetic tropes; about how poets write poems with the use of the personal pronoun, about their own experiences. This practice becomes more and more apparent, in the age of quick “publishing” on social media. But as I revisited this nazm, as I listened to, watched, read, translated, reworked, and wrote into Dastoor, I think a transformation occurred in my philosophy of creation and art, without me realising it. Honestly, my creative conscience is clear now. My poetic vision is reassured with the certainty that in the final rendition, somehow, ‘I’ becomes ‘we’.
I want to cherish this ‘we’ of defiance, this noor of resistance. Nothing more.
I hope you are finding the space to write, to dream, and to resist.
If you like what you read, do consider ‘buying me a coffee’
The old arts are inspired and powerful. The new arts are called to speak with the same force.