If this is your first look at the site, don't be intimidated by the extraordinary amount of commentary on this first verse of the first ghazal. This verse is unique, not typical, and there's a reason for that.

[1865, to Shakir:] First listen to the meaning of the
meaningless verses. As for naqsh faryaadii :
In Iran there is the custom that the seeker of justice [daad-;xvaah], putting on paper garments,
goes before the ruler-- as in the case of lighting a torch in
the day, or carrying a blood-soaked cloth on a bamboo pole [to
protest an injustice]. Thus the poet reflects, of whose
mischievousness of writing is the image a plaintiff? --since the
aspect of a picture is that its garment is of paper. That is to
say, although existence may be like that of pictures, merely
notional [i((tibaar-e ma;ha.z], it is a
cause of grief and sorrow and suffering.
==Urdu text: Khaliq Anjum vol. 2, p. 837

The author's meaning is that in life, we become
separated and divided from the True Source, and separation from
that Beloved is so grievous that even a figure in a picture
complains about it. And after all, the existence of a picture is
no existence! But it too longs to become lost in God: it laments
its life.
The suggestion of the paper dress of a
plaintiff is present in Persian too, and in Urdu in the poetry
of Mir Mamnun, and I've seen it in the poetry of Momin Khan too.
But the author's saying that in Iran there is a custom that the
justice-seeker puts on paper robes and goes before the ruler-- I
have never seen or heard any mention of this anywhere.
As long as in this verse there's no word that
would make manifest an ardor for becoming lost in God, and a
hatred for worldly existence, we cannot call it meaningful.
Nobody deliberately composes things without meaning. What
happens is that because of the constraint of scansion and rhyme, there
was no scope for some necessary words, and the poet considered
that the meaning had been expressed. Then, however many meanings
have remained in the poet's mind, they should be called [in
Arabic] 'meanings internal to the poet' [al-ma((nii
fi))l-baa:tin ash-shaa((ir].
In this verse, the author's intention was that
the figure in the painting is a plaintiff about an
insubstantial, unworthy existence. And this is the reason for
its paper robe. There was no scope for 'insubstantial existence'
because it was awkward, and his purpose was to compose an opening-verse.
In place of 'existence' he put 'mischievousness of writing', and
from this no presumption about the cutting out of 'existence'
was created. Finally, even to his face people said, 'This verse
is meaningless'. (1-2)
== Nazm page 1; Nazm page 2

Urdu text: Vajid 1902 {1}.

The meaning is that existence is a cause of
pain and suffering because of its instability and mortality. The
commentary is that the world-- that is, the population of the
world-- is a plaintiff, about the Eternal Engraver's
mischievousness of writing. (The dress of a plaintiff, according
to an ancient custom of Iran, used to be of paper, the way in
Hindustan those with complaints used to carry a lighted torch in
the day, or in Arabia they used to put a murdered person's
clothing on a spear and go to seek vengeance.)
The meaning of
'mischievousness' is 'not to stay fixed'. And 'not to stay
fixed' is already proved, because of the picture's having a
paper robe. That is, the common custom is that a picture is made
on paper, and paper is a thing that gets ruined quickly. By
'every figure in the picture' is meant the totality of animals
and plants. And all these things are destined for oblivion. The
only difference is that a flower withers in the course of a day;
for a human's death, no [fixed] interval has been decreed. Even
things made of wood, stone, metal finally become useless and
broken.
When all the things in the world are in this state, then
for an image of existence to be a plaintiff about its
own instability and contingency, is a complete proof of the poet's
lofty imagination and uncommon inventiveness. In my opinion this
verse is meaningful, and the thought is one heretofore
untouched. To call this verse meaningless is to do violence to
the claims of justice (9).

I am entirely astonished at Janab [Nazm]
Tabataba'i's words. Five objections to one verse, and those
objections too such that a sound taste puts its finger to its
teeth [in amazement]! The aforementioned gentleman doesn't find
any word in this verse that expresses aversion to insubstantial
existence. Although in the first line, not to speak of aversion,
a powerful word like 'plaintiff' is present. And the complaint
too is such that the plantiffs, like those seeking vengeance for
the murder of an innocent, have donned paper robes.
'Aversion'
was a commonplace word; so in such a place why would a
pulse-taker of words and meaning like Mirza have selected it?
After a look at what I have submitted, probably [;Gaalib;an] it cannot be said that the verse
is in the realm of 'meanings internal to the poet'. And it
hardly depends on my reply. Mirza himself has given a response [in the form of]
{13,1}.
As for the claim that people told Mirza to his
face that this opening verse was meaningless, in my opinion it's
not necessary to give a reply, because the aforementioned
gentleman has not given any source for this information. But
it's necessary to say this much: that if such a thing happened,
it's no cause for astonishment. There are many such
'connoisseurs' today; nor were they few in Mirza's time
either....
I am astonished at Janab [Nazm]'s presumption--
that he didn’t even reflect that Mirza chose this opening-verse
for the opening-verse of his divan. He
ignored the fact that the rank Mirza held as a poet, he also
held as a judge of poetry. The pitilessness with which Mirza
made a selection from his own poetry [for publication]-- such
examples are not to be seen even in the case of the Persian
purists. Then, those venerable elders who were destined to have
the honor of taking part in the making of the selection-- in
that day there was heartfelt acceptance of their understanding
of poetry, their grasp of subtle points; and even today people
don't dispute their decisions. Everyone also knows that Mirza's
divan was published in his lifetime. Even after the publication
of his divan, Mirza lived for some time. It's astonishing that
he never had the suspicion, 'My opening verse is meaningless!'.
[Arabic:] 'Take heed, you who are insightful'. (1-3)

Except for [Nazm] Tabataba'i, all the
commentators
call this verse meaningful. (7)

Naushervan the Just hung a chain outside his
bedchamber; on the bedchamber end a bell was tied. Seekers of
justice used to come and pull on that chain, and used to wear
clothes of paper. Naushervan used to call them in and provide
them with justice.... Jahangir too had this chain copied. He
called it the Chain of Justice. Naushervan was its inventor.
[Information about the history of paper at
various times and places, and then brief paraphrases of Nazm's
criticisms.]
The word ta;hriir , which
has had to come in as the rhyme, is the worst disrupter of the
meaning. I am applying a canvas patch to satin. If the
possessors of accomplishment should approve, then that's fine;
otherwise, I mean no disrespect:
naqsh faryaadii hai kis hastii-e ;Gam-taa;siir
kaa
[the image is a plaintiff of whose grief-affecting existence?]
naqsh faryaadii hai kis kii duurii-e dilgiir
kaa
[the image is a plaintiff of whose heart-seizing distance?]
naqsh faryaadii hai kis ke ;hijr-e daaman-giir
kaa
[the image is a plaintiff of whose garment-hem-grasping
absence?]
I don't mean one of these very lines-- but
rather, that there should be some well-formed line expressing
this thought. (91-93)

Some say that this verse is nonsensical. But
this is entirely an injustice. Mirza [Ghalib] Sahib says in a
style of feigned
ignorance, 'Who has, through his artisanship, displayed so
much mischievousness in the image of every creature, that each
individual is unable to endure that mischievousness, and can be
seen to make a complaint?' In the second line is the verbal device
of 'elegance
in assigning a cause'. The clothing of a picture is of
paper. Mirza takes that clothing to be the clothing of
plaintiffs. 'Mischievousness' refers to the coming into being,
and destruction, of substances, and thus to the various types of
events that keep erasing one creature after another. (49)

The words of the verse hint at still another
meaning, and in this connection Ghalib's own commentary guides us.
The key question of the first line is 'Whose?': that is, as yet
it has not been proved which being it is against whose
'mischievousness of writing' the image is a plaintiff. In other
words, this verse is indeed about the transience of existence or
its inescapable grief and suffering; but its fundamental
question is, 'Who is that Power before whose might and grandeur
everything is helpless?'
The first line's 'Whose?' is more
interrogatory than astonished: it is possible that if 'Whose
mischievousness of writing?' can receive a true answer, then the
'figure in the picture' can seek justice. The 'image' is, in
truth, man, who is speechless like a picture, and who in a
language of speechlessness is making the complaint, 'Who
ensnared us in suffering?'. It is also a cause for reflection that the
image is speechless, and its very speechlessness is the proof of
its being a plaintiff. Ghalib was very fond of this kind of
paradoxical utterance.
In addition to the affinities
('image', 'writing', 'of paper', 'robe', 'figure', 'picture')
Ghalib has also taken good care in this verse to have harmony of
sound ( faryaadii , kis kii , sho;xii ,
kaa;Gazii hai pairahan har paikar ) [in which ii occurs four times, ai
and ar three times]. In the second line
there is a special emphasis on har ,
which knocks against the two r's of paikar-e
ta.sviir and increases the elements of intensity and
mystery in the line.
The first line is also constructed as inshaa))iyah
, that is, interrogative. Interrogation is Ghalib's special
style. It's possible that he learned the art of interrogation
and other interrogative principles from Mir. But the
first verse of the divan, the theme of which
ought to have been founded on praise of God,
calls the arrangement of the two worlds into question. This
mischievousness, or free-spiritedness, or lofty-mindedness, is
Ghalib's special style.
Mir too has called the arrangements of
the Creator of the Universe into question; for example, in his
very first divan
he says,
M{468,2}.
Seeing the word 'mischievousness' the suspicion
arises that Mir's verse might have stuck in Ghalib's mind. But
to use the theme of the mischievousness of the Creator of the
Universe, and on top of that to turn that mischievousness into a
subject for question and place such a verse at the head of the
volume-- this mischievousness was possible only from Ghalib.
[A discussion of inshaa))iyah versus ;xabariyah speech, and why the former is preferred in poetry (p.26).]
== (1989: 22-24) [2006: 24-26]

SETS
CLOTHING/NAKEDNESS: {3,5}
COMMERCE: {3,3}
WRITING: {7,3}
This is one of only a handful of ghazals from which Faruqi has selected every single divan verse as superior.
This verse is a very special one, by virtue of its position. Tradition required every classical poet's divan of ghazals to begin (like most Islamic texts) with praise of God [;hamd]. The first verse of the first ghazal in the divan was thus the canonical place for this praise; praise was strongly expected to be there, and the verse was read in such a light. The 'mischievousness' of Ghalib's faux-naïf question is thus, in this position, far more potent and punchy than it could be in any other verse.
We can also take ta;hriir
to mean 'setting at liberty', as well as 'writing' (see the
definition above). For it works excellently with the law-court
imagery. We can think of it as spoken by the 'plaintiff'
somewhat sarcastically: the figures in a picture may look as
though they inhabit a luxurious world, but of course they can't
even move around in it, and they haven't been 'set at liberty'
in any sense at all-- despite their 'liberation' they remain
helpless like prisoners (and like us humans in our 'free'
lives?).
Prashant Keshavmurthy points out (Dec. 2008)
that in the preface to his Persian divan, Ghalib describes
mystical lovers as 'paper-shirted like pictured figures, silent
at the astonishment of being' [kaa;Gazii
pairahanand chuun paikar-e ta.sviir az ;hairat-e vaaqi((ah
;xaamosh], and as 'torch-bearers, clad in black like
lightning from heart-smoke'. So it's clear that this image was
meaningful to Ghalib in more than one context. But did he truly
believe that there actually was any such (implausible-sounding)
custom in Persia? Who can say? And does it matter? In the world
of the classical ghazal, verisimilitude is not exactly anything
that anybody aims for. An unpublished verse in which he again uses the paper-robe idea (very cleverly) is {361x,9}. Another 'sign of justice-seeking': {392x,5}.
There has been a great deal of commentarial
controversy about this verse, stemming first from Nazm's
notorious claim that it is meaningless (despite his then
immediately proceeding to explain its meaning), and then
secondarily from the strong reaction the claim provoked-- at great
length from Bekhud Mohani, but in one way or another from
virtually everybody else. Nazm makes a similar claim of
meaninglessness about {5,3},
{17,5}, {28,1}, and {223,1}, among other
instances.
But look at how Ghalib begins his own analysis,
in a letter to a friend written only a few years before his
death. Why does he say 'listen to the meaning of the meaningless
verses' [ma((nii-e abyaat-e be-ma((nii suniye]?
Along with this verse, he explains two others: {6,1} and {6,2}. I've written an
article about the commentarial tradition, using this verse as a
particular example: 'The Meaning of the Meaningless Verses'.
Harish Trivedi suggests a mention
of the fact that Faiz took the title of his first volume of
poetry (1943) from this verse. Faiz inserted
an i.zaafat into it, making it naqsh-e faryaadii , which could mean
something like 'the complaining image' or 'the image of the
plaintiff'. (From this phrase, by an act of very free
transcreation, Agha Shahid Ali took the title of his book of
Faiz translations, The Rebel's Silhouette.)
Note for translation fans: Carla Petievich suggests 'caprice' as a
translation for sho;xii , and I like it a
lot. And in fact 'capriciousness' would be even more accurate, except
that it doesn't quite sound as if it does the harm that
'mischievousness' actually does.
 
 
“A Palace Complex with Harem
Gardens,” India, Faizabad or Lucknow; c. 1765, perhaps by Faiz
Allah. From the David Museum.

kaav-kaav is 'digging,
scraping'. The meaning is, in solitude and separation, don't even ask
about the kinds of excavation and wear and tear that I experience at the
hands of the movement of tough-lifedness and the inability to die. To
pass the night, and to turn it into morning, is not less than bringing
the river of milk. That is, just as it was a difficult task for Farhad to bring the
river of milk, in the same way it's extremely difficult for me to turn
night into morning. In this verse the poet has used as similes Kohkan for himself, the
mountain for his tough-lifedness during the night of separation, and the
river of milk for the whiteness of daybreak. (2)
== Nazm page 2

Urdu text: Vajid 1902 {1}

The sound of Farhad's axe falling
on granite seems to be heard, and kaav-kaav has
taken on an onomatopoetic role-- for the invention of which the wreath
is on Mirza [Ghalib]'s head. (3)

But there is a special point in the second line.... That is,
success in bringing milk proved to be a message of death for Kohkan. In the same way, I will
be able to end this evening of grief only by dying. (49-50)

SETS == INEXPRESSIBILITY;
OPPOSITES
NIGHT/DAY verses: {1,2}; {4,13x}; {46,2};
{65,3x}; {66,6}; {78,8x}; {85,1};
{97,13}; {107,1};
{107,2}; {120,10};
{125,6}; {131,5};
{142,2}; {158,3}; {161,2};
{169,1}; {180,4}; {190,8};
{208,1}; {211,1} // {261x,4}; {261x,5}; {261x,6}; {274x,7}; {293x,7}; {306x,2}; {322x,1}; {376x,1}; {398x,1}
ABOUT PLURALIZED ABSTRACTIONS: To be called sa;xt-jaan
, 'tough-lifed', is not a compliment but almost an insult; it implies
a weed-like hardihood, a kind of shamelessness (another example: {2,2x}). To pluralize its abstract-noun
form is just as clumsy in Urdu as it is in English, and seems to multiply
the awkwardness, clumsiness, and terrifying persistence of solitude.
For other such pluralized abstractions, not all of which are so radical, see {8,4x}
for 'flowingnesses'; {21,7} for 'wanderingnesses';
{35,3} for 'simplicities'; {51,9x}
for 'gone-from-self-nesses'; {63,4x} for 'bentnesses'. In {108,7} we
have 'fatigues/laggings'; in {108,10x} we have 'melancholy-heartednesses'. In {111,2} and
{153,7} we have 'party-adornings' (or even
'party-adorningnesses'). In {149,4} we have
'unveilednesses'; in {155,2}, 'bloomings';
in {167,1}, 'immoderatenesses'; in {182,4x}, 'donkey-mindednesses'; in {190,8},
'forlornnesses'; in {211,1}, 'intoxications'; in {212,5x}, 'self-sellings'; in {351x,2}, 'numbnesses'; in {360x,4}, 'faithfulnesses'; in {376x,5} and {404x,1}, 'cookednesses'.
They're a favorite device of Ghalib' s. They also of course add a metrically convenient syllable or two-- often too cleverly to constitute out-and-out 'padding'. (There's also a list of often-abstract 'Personifications' in the Names Index.)
In the present verse, the first line is almost incomprehensible until we hear the
second-- a typical ploy in the mushairah-based
oral poetics of the ghazal. And in fact, the whole verse would be incomprehensible
unless we knew the stories about Farhad and Shirin.
Farhad was a stone-mason; he fell desperately in love with the princess Shirin. His helpless passion became
the talk of the town. Shirin's husband, Khusrau, decided to mock him by playing
a cruel joke. He told Farhad that he could have Shirin if within a fixed time
he could cut a channel through the Pillarless Mountain [koh-e
be-sutuun] to bring milk for her bath. The task was impossible, but such
was Farhad's mad zeal that eventually he had almost completed it. Alarmed,
Khusrau sent an old woman to tell him that Shirin was dead. When he heard
the news, he plunged his axe into his own forehead and died. (This is not exactly Nizami's version, but it seems to be the gist of Ghalib's.)
This story is told in varying versions throughout the Persianized
cultural world, but its most famous literary source is the Khamsah
[;xamsah] of the Persian poet Nizami Ganjavi (1140-1230).
Of the five masnavis contained
in this work, the second, and most famous, is 'Khusrau and Shirin' [;xusrau-o-shiiriin]. Khusrau is identified with the historical Khusrau II (r.590-628),
the last king in the Sasanian dynasty, and Shirin is an Armenian princess. Here is a prose rendering of Nizami's version, with discussion: Peter Chelkowski et al, 1975: pp. 21-48.
The grammar of the i.zaafat construction
makes possible both the active (1a) reading, in which the speaker does the digging, and the passive (1b) reading, in which the speaker experiences the digging. For a similarly
multivalent case involving the related kaavish , see
{13,7}. For another sa;xt-jaanii verse, see {424x,3}.
And don't the two readings work brilliantly, as the two halves
of a terrible night? You have to claw your way through deserts of loneliness,
before deserts of loneliness claw their way through you. And who is the 'you'?
Ghalib doesn't say. So of course it can be all of us.

The word dam has two meanings, 'breath' and
'edge', and here both meanings are related and suitable. He has said 'breast
of the sword'-- the meaning is that in my eagerness to be slain, such passion
is attracting the sword's dam that it is drawn out
of the sword's breast. (2)
== Nazm page 2

Urdu text: Vajid 1902 {1}

They call the temper and sharpness [aab-daarii] of a sword the dam of the sword.
And this aab is always on the outer part of the edge.
The lover declares the aab of the sword's being outside
the sword to be evidence of the uncontrolled passion of his ardor, and the
claim includes a clear proof. Who can doubt that the verse
is aab-daar ? (10)

The edge of a sword faces toward the outside, but the ardent
lover, in the extreme ardor for martyrdom, entirely forgets that everyday
fact; instead, he thinks that either out of an ardent desire to slay him,
or drawn by his ardent desire for martyrdom, the edge of the sword has emerged
from the breast of the sword. This verse is based on 'elegance in assigning a cause'. (4)

SETS == EXCLAMATION;
MULTIVALENT WORDS ( dam ); REPETITION
SWORD verses: {1,3}; {4,14x}; {12,3x};
{14,3} (with dashnah list); {17,5} (with shamshiir ); {19,4}; {26,3} (with ;xanjar list); {56,5}; {59,6} (with dashnah-o-;xanjar list); {60,4} ( with talvaar ); [{62,7}]; {72,4}; {84,7x}; {88,6x}, showing polish-lines; {91,7} ( chhurii ); {92,3}; {109,7x}; {112,9}; {115,4}; {120,3}*; {120,9}; {132,5}; {137,4x}; {139,9}; {157,1}; {186,5}; {193,2}, with discussion of aab wordplay verses; {200,2}; {209,4}; {209,8}; {217,2}, zahr-aab ; {219,7}; {221,2}; {226,2}; {227,3}; {230,8}; {233,13} // {249x,5}; {264x,6}; {282x,2}; {282x,7}; {286x,4}; {287x,2}; {297x,5}; {342x,2}; {345x,1}; {370x,6}; {374x,1}; {376x,4}; {380x,2}, eyebrow as scimitar; {384x,4}; {396x,7}; {402x,2}; {403x,1}; {414x,7}; {417x,2}; {418x,1}; {418x,4}; {418x,6}; {421x,3}; {421x,5}; {431x,4}
A SPECIAL DISCUSSION: HOW MUCH dam IS ENOUGH? The real delight of the verse is the lovely wordplay
on dam , in which two of its meanings-- the edge of
a sword, and the breath-- are dead-on perfect. Other verses in which multiple meanings of dam are exploited include: {22,7}; {92,3}, which also features a dam-e shamshiir ; and {98,3}. The present verse can also be used as a kind of focal point for a discussion of poetic principle. The question is, how much wordplay, and/or philology, is too much? For dam , from Arabic, also means 'blood'; and dam has other Persian- and Hindi-based meanings as well, of 'trickery' and 'arrogance' (see the definitions above). Do those meanings count too? Here are some thoughts on this problem: *FWP*.
The sword's eagerness could be an illusion created by the lover's passion.
Or the uncontrolled enthusiasm could be that of the sword itself, which
has come to share the lover's passion. Is that why the word shamshiir has been so conspicuously repeated, to alert us to the fact that plays it
two roles? It is both a weapon and a manifestation of 'ardor'; and of course,
we can't tell whether the ardor is its own, or the lover's, or even the beloved's-- as Faruqi has suggested (July
2000). Since the first line promises a spectacle, the emotion might even be that of some eager would-be gawker. And no matter who feels the emotion, the word ja;zbah itself carries strong overtones of its root, ja;zb , with its strongly relevant sense of 'drawing, attraction' (see the definition above).
Another verse in which inanimate things seem to quiver with eagerness:
{120,6}.
Note for grammar fans: dekhaa chaahiye is an archaic form of what would nowadays be dekhnaa chaahiye . For other such instances see {94,1}; {126,11}; {127,2}; and many verses of {189}, in which it's often worked into the rhyming elements.
Compare Mir's brilliant use of the sword's wild emotions: M{144,5}.
It was common for the hilt of a sword or dagger to be given the form of a dangerous animal's head (here, a lion):
Here's a sword-hilt with *an elephant's head*, here's one with *a snake's head* (but then, here's *a horse's head* and *a peacock's head*). Here's one that depicts both predator and prey:
A more systematic look at another shamshiir :
"A
Lucknow enamelled shamshir, India, early 19th century. With
single-edged watered steel blade inscribed near hilt, silver fittings
engraved with floral decoration, remains of green and blue enamelling
to the quillons and lion head terminal, the hilt of ivory with
cross-hatching and scabbard of shagreen - 36 1/4in. (92cm.) long."

That is, you can report my speech to whatever extent you
may desire; it is impossible to arrive at its meaning. Even if the ardor for
awareness becomes a hunter and spreads the net of hearing, so what? The
meaning of my speech is the Anqa bird, upon which a net can
never be flung. In short, my verses are entirely mysteries [saraasar
asraar]. (2)
== Nazm page 2

Urdu text: Vajid 1902 {1}

That is, my speech is entirely a mystery from the Unseen
[saraasar asraar-e ;Gaibii]. It is not popularly comprehensible,
such that every Tom, Dick, and Harry would be able to understand it. Accordingly,
Mirza Sahib says in one Urdu letter that poetry is a name for theme-composition
[ma.zmuun-nigaarii ; though what Ghalib actually wrote
was ma((nii-aafiriinii (see {119,7})], not for rhyme-weighing
[qaafiyah-pemaa))ii]. (10)

No matter how much effort the power of understanding makes,
it is deficient in understanding the goal and purpose of our speech. Gesturing
toward his own 'love of difficulty' [mushkil-pasandii]
and 'difficulty of style' [mushkil-bayaanii], he says
that his poetic speech is very difficult to understand. Perhaps for this reason,
growing annoyed, he versifies a thought very similar to this one: {62,2}.
(4)

The ʿanqā (the mythical bird in Persian and Urdu literature characterized solely by its unlocatability) has a parallel in the Western tradition: the black swan. The Roman poet Juvenal (first/second c. CE) wrote in despair of finding a wife with all the right qualities that such a woman is “rara avis in terris, nigroque simillima cygno” [in this world a rare bird, very much like a black swan] (Satires 6.165). In his time and for most of the next two millennia, the black swan was presumed by Europeans not to exist. Indeed, “all swans are white” had long been a favorite postulate in philosophy. When black swans were finally discovered in Australia in 1697, many people thought for years afterwards that it was a hoax. (Mar. 2013)

SETS == GENERATORS;
IDIOMS; POETRY; SYMMETRY
GENERATOR verses: {1,4}*; {4,4}*,
on 'list' verses; {4,5}; {4,9x}; {5,4}; {5,8x}; {15,10}*;
{15,11}; {15,17x}, vexing;
{18,2}; {21},
most verses; {24,1}; {26,8}; {27,1};
{32,1}***; {35,4}*;
{36,7}; {38,5}*;
{40,3x}; {41,4};
{42,2}; {42,6}; {45,3}**;
{46,7}*; {49,9}; {68,6x}; {71,3}*;
{75,6}; {79,1};
{82,2x};
{96,1}*; {97,10};
{98,5}; {98,10}; {101,5}*; {103,2x}; {106,1};
{111,1};
{111,14}; {119,6};
{131,8};
{138,1}*; {141,3}, problematical;
{145,14x}; {147,3}; {152,4}; {155,1}; {165,2}*; {167,1}**;
{169,3}**; {170,2};
{177,1}; {183,4};
{189,1}; {190,1};
{196,7}; {202,4}; {203,2}; {206,3};
{208,8};
{213,2}; {213,3x}, Gyan Chand; {214,2};
{214,10};
{219,1}; {220,2};
{230,1}; {230,7}*;
{232,4} // {319x,7}; {398x,4}; {424x,6}
As Faruqi has pointed out (July 2000), to say mudda((aa ((anqaa hai , 'the meaning is an Anqa', is also an
idiomatic way of saying that something is meaningless. Ghalib's Anqa verses
do in fact tend to be on the obscure side.
Line two is, in almost a mathematical sense, 'symmetrical': it plays on the Urdu grammatical fact that to say 'A is B' is equally to say 'B is A'. So we can say either
that the mudda((aa is an Anqa, or that the Anqa is a
mudda((aa -- or, of course, both, since there's no way to choose between them.
It is common to take the apne in the
second line as equivalent to mere apne , 'my own'; for examples and discussion of this flexibility in apnaa , see {15,12}. But
it literally means 'belonging to the subject of the sentence', thus yielding
the abstruse (and very post-modern-looking) meaning presented as (2c). Moreover, we must
then ask whose intention-- the poet's in composing poetry, or the reader's in seeking to
understand it?
The result is an early example from a set of verses that might
well be called 'meaning generators', since they're impossible to resolve into
one interpretation (or even two, or even three or four). There will be many more of these to come.
I used a free transcreation of this verse as a source for
the title of Nets
of Awareness. Could there possibly be a better introduction to Ghalib's
poetry than this verse?
And here's a salute to our Urdu poetry group: they very much improved (Oct. 2023) my translation of this verse. I had somehow translated aagahii as 'intelligence'; they pointed out that 'awareness' was a much better translation, more in accord with my own commitment to maximum literalness.
Here's a provincial Mughal vision of the Anqa:

They call a restless and impatient person one with
'fire under his feet'. And when fire is under the feet, then it's as if
the ankle fetters are singed hairs. And it is known that when a hair
'sees' fire, it curls up and takes on a form like that of the link of
a chain. (2)
== Nazm page 2

Urdu text: Vajid 1902 {1}

In this verse too 'elegance in assigning a
cause' has been employed. The circles of the chain look like eyes--
eyes which are fire-raining and from which sparks of the fire of love are
emerging, and which make the prisoner of love restless and uneasy. (4)

[The commentator Sa'id] writes that a burnt hair gives rise
to a kind of bad smell. In my opinion, the appearance of a bad smell in chains
does not generate any meaning. (8)

SETS == BASKIH;
IDIOMS; SYMMETRY; WORDPLAY
BASKIH verses == {1,5}***, discussion; {12,3x}
( z-bas ); {13,5}**;
{17,1}; {17,4}
( az-baskih ); {23,3x} ( z-bas ); {49,7}*;
{49,9}*; {53,11}
( z-bas ); {62,1}*;
{68,7x} ( z-baskih ); {72,6}; {73,3x}; {79,4x}*; {81,6x}; {81,7x};
{94,4x}, not 'although'; {94,5x}; {111,11}; {143,7x}*; {145,7x}; {149,4};
{150,1}; {154,6x}*;
{172,1}; {203,2}; {206,1}
( z-baskih ); {212,5x}; {222,4x} ( z-bas ) // {278x,2}; {286x,1}; {326x,3} ( z-bas ); {376x,4} ( z-bas ); {404x,4}; {405x,3}; {406x,5} ( z-bas ); {409x,1}; {417x,1}
( z-baskih ); {417x,5}
( z-baskih ); {431x,3} ( z-bas )
ABOUT BASKIH: This is the first of many examples of the wonderful (and
wonderfully exploited) powers of baskih ( or z-baskih , or z-bas ) to multiply
meanings within a small space. The difference between 'to such an extent'
(1a), with its emphasis on magnitude, and 'although' (1b), with its concessive
sense, is sufficient to completely reframe the logical relationship between
the two lines. In principle, the word can have three quite distinct meanings: 'to such an extent'; 'although'; and 'whereas, since, because' (see the definitions above). In practice, the first two meanings are much more common than the third.
BONDAGE verses == {1,5}; {4,12x}; {7,6}; {10,9}; {15,13};
{15,14}; {19,5};
{19,6}; {22,2};
{23,4x}; {26,6}; {29,5x}; {33,5};
{34,3}; {36,4}; {39,6x};
{44,5x}; {57,11x}, 'tying-together'; {67,4x}; {82,1};
{83,2}; {92,1}; {94,2}; {96,7x}*; {101,7}; {103,2x}; {108,4}; {108,9x}; {108,11x}; {109,2x}; {109,4x}; {111,4}; {112,7}; {113,9}; {115,5}; {120,6}; {121,3}; {123,2}; {124,5}; {145,6x}; {145,11x}; {155,4x}; {165,2}; {167,2}; {172,4x}; {184,4x}; {203,3}; {204,8}; {207,4}; {224,3x}; {230,7}; {234,6} // {240x,1}; {245,7}; {251x,5}; {255x,8}; {261x,2}; {264x,3}; {283x,2}; {284x,6}; {284x,9}; {297x,6}; {311x,5}; {321x,2}; {321x,8}; {331x,1}; {342x,3}; {360x,3}; {360x,9}; {361x,3}; {364x,5}; {378x,7}; {396x,1}; {424x,9}; {427x,2}; {430x,5}; {430x,6}; {434x,1}; {434x,4}
It's worth noting that although 'end-stopped' lines (in which each line is a grammatically complete phrase) are definitely more common, the use of 'enjambment' (in which the grammar of the two lines forms a single unit) is also not so rare. In this first ghazal itself, here's a fine example.
In the second line, in what I call 'symmetry', we can read either 'A is
B' or 'B is A'. If we read (1a) and (2a), we learn that Ghalib is restless 'to such an extent' that it is impossible to keep him confined (his fiery passion turns his chains into
frail curls of ash). Altenatively, if we read (1b) and (2b), we learn that 'although' Ghalib is restless, he is so burnt-out by the effects
of passion that the frail ring of a singed hair is sufficient to make a shackle for his feet.
Compare {67,4x}, in which the same
kind of symmetry is invoked with regard to chains on the feet.
The idiomatic 'fire-under-foot', meaning 'restless', is used in a two-fold way, with its literal meaning invoked as well. (This is Ghalib's normal practice.) For the round shackle on the foot of such a madman could well be described as a muu-e aatish-diidah ,
a 'hair that has seen fire'-- since a singed hair takes on the appropriately round shape of an eye,
and also the round shape of a link in a madman's fetters. In fact, if you've
ever seen a burnt hair, you'll know it really does curl into a loop as it
burns. In addition, it contributes to a set of words that enjoyably evoke parts of the body: 'foot', 'hair', 'eye' (from diidah
).
Baqir's observation is an excellent example of the ghazal's
poetics at work. The bad smell may be there in reality; but if it can't be
used in poetry, it's not there in the ghazal world.
For another verse about the impossibility of stopping the speaker's
desert-wandering, and the uselessness of the (round) chains on his feet, see
{92,1}.

Having seen this situation, he asks in amazement, 'Which construction has the flood destroyed, that every aspect of the construction is in this state of grief?'
== Asi, pp. 49-50

He says that in the tempest of the rainy season, falling bricks place the 'back of the hand' on the ground to express weakness, and in order to take leave of them an embrace has been spread. This is a preferred theme of Ghalib, which he has versified in various places in different guises. From this it seems that it is his real life story [aap-biitii ;haqiiqat hai].
== Zamin, p. 24

For the wineglass of a building to be filled with the flood, is just the kind of harm as for a person's wineglass to be filled with poison! By qaalib is meant a mold for bricks. Although the framework of the building could also have been meant; but Ghalib often brings in the theme of a brick-mold.
Seeing bricks being made somewhere, he says that these bricks are weak, like the back of the hand. In their mould, the embrace for taking leave is in such a style that it seems that the building that will be built from these bricks will be so weak that as soon as it is built it will take its leave [and collapse]. What building's fated death-hour is coming, that it is being built of such bricks? For flood waters to come into the foundation of a building is a sign of its being demolished.
In this verse is the extremity of Ghalib's despair. That is, in every construction he sees the signs of ruination-- as in {10,6}.
== Gyan Chand, pp. 60-61

SETS
For background see
S. R. Faruqi's choices. This verse is NOT one of his choices; I thought it was interesting and have added it myself. For more
on Ghalib's unpublished verses, see the discussion in {4,8x}.
On the nuances of pusht-e dast-e ((ajz , see {155,3}. On the 'embrace of leave-taking', see {57,6}. The excellent paimaanah with its meanings of both 'measure of capacity' and 'cup, goblet' (see the definition above) also works well, uniting the architectural imagery with the 'torrent, flood'.
Every brick, lying flat and prostrate along the ground, is (like) a helpless, submissive hand; every framework with its scaffolding that surrounds a space within it is (like) an embrace opened for leave-taking. Every act of building invites-- or even provokes, if we take {10,6} seriously-- its own ruin. And by framing the second line as a question, the verse invites us to think of our own 'construction', and our own built-in doom. It pretends not to know, but of course it does. (Think of the innocent-sounding kis kii in the first line of {1,1}.)
It's depressing to notice that 'natural poetry' commentary like Zamin's begins cropping up from the very first ghazal. For the record, please note that the fact that a ghazal poet has often used some theme does NOT show that the theme is part of his autobiographical 'real life story'.
Compare also the brick-making in {251x,2}. A more metaphysical brick-mould (but with even more human-body associations) appears in {428x,6}.

Every eyelash on the eye ought to be a polish-line on the mirror of interpretation. The eyelash that does not have this quality, is not an eyelash-- rather, it is wildness for the dream of nonexistence, and tumult for a spectacle.
Or else this: that the tumult of the spectacle has become wildness for the dream of nonexistence. This is the reason that the eyelash is not the polish-line of the mirror of interpretation.
== Asi, p. 50

By 'mirror of interpretation' is meant the eyes; and by the eyelashes not being interpreted as polish-lines on the mirror is meant the eyelashes not closing; by 'tumult of the spectacle' is meant the tumult of the spectacle-place of existence.
He says that the reason for the dream/sleep of nonexistence being disturbed-- that is, after death, for sleep not to come or for bad dreams to come-- is that the commotion of the spectacle-place of existence is still wandering before the eyes.
== Zamin, p. 25

When a metal mirror is polished, then the lines that appear are its jauhar . An eyelash has a similitude with them. For the mirror of interpretation to have polish-lines-- that is, to have skill in making interpretations. The prose is like this: jo mizhah aa))iinah-e ta((biir kaa jauhar nahii;N ( us mizhah kaa ) shor-e tamaashaa-o-va;hshat-e ;xvaab-e ((adam hai . A frightening dream, and that too a frightening dream of nonexistence-- how agitated it will be!
The meaning of the verse is that if a person's eyes are not acute/penetrating, then his claim that he is seeing the scenes of the world is false. These 'scenes' are agitated dreams that have been seen in nonexistence.
== Gyan Chand, p. 61

SETS == SYMMETRY
DREAMS: {3,3}
JAUHAR: {5,4}
MIRROR: {8,3}
TAMASHA: {8,1}
For background see
S. R. Faruqi's choices. This verse is NOT one of his choices; I thought it was interesting in its own cosmic way, and have added it myself. For more
on Ghalib's unpublished verses, see the discussion in {4,8x}.
Just notice how the wild and crazy young Ghalib could fling around abstractions-- shooting them off one after another in any and all directions, aiming to stay barely inside the lines of comprehensibility (and not always succeeding). This verse brings together a vintage collection of much of his favorite imagery.
We have three commentators, and four different readings. Just this once, I will take the liberty of saluting my fellow commentators in a friendly way, and not adding my own two cents. But I do enjoy the extravagance of that second line, even if I can't be sure I really understand it.

That is, the rain prevented her from showing mercy, and I
was in such a state from weeping and weeping that here, instead of a cotton
pillow there was the foam of the flood. (15)
== Nazm page 15

Urdu text: Vajid 1902 {15}

[Sa'id says:] The cloudburst of my tears itself prevented
her from moving along-- tears which were caused by her not coming. (51)
[Asi says:] The foam of the flood was the cotton of the pillow,
that is, the cotton pillow had floated away. (51)

This verse begins a verse-set. (131)

SETS == CATCH-22;
HERE/THERE; SYMMETRY
CATCH-22 verses: {9,7}; {14,3}; {15,2}; {24,5};
{41,3}; {78,3}; {84,1}; {95,6}; {97,1}; {97,3};
{112,2}; {121,4};
{145,3}; {151,7};
{153,1}; {161,6};
{174,5}; {177,1};
{184,2}; {189,5}; {198,2}; {202,5};
{203,4}; {205,1};
{209,8}; {215,5};
{231,9}; {233,11} // {314x,1}
HERE/THERE verses: {15,2}; {15,3};
{15,4}; {15,5};
{15,6}; {15,7};
{15,19x}; {24,6}; {25,8}, temporal;
{29,1}, implicit; {43,3}; {115,7};
{122,1}; {138,9x}*, abstract; {149,6x};
{153,4}, ardor vs. heart; {167,9}; {185,2};
{205,4} // {351x,5}; {402x,1}; {405x,2}
Despite Shadan's assertion, most editors and commentators
don't treat {15,2-7} as a verse-set, but it's easy to see
what Shadan means. Unlike the verses before and after them, these six are
all structured around the contrast between vaa;N ('there', meaning in the beloved's world) in one line,
and yaa;N ('here', meaning in the lover's world) in
the other. The witty and appropriate parallels between these two worlds both
disguise and reveal how radically incommensurable they are. Another such verse, that didn't make it into the divan: {15,19x}.
Sa'id's explanation has an elegant circularity: the beloved
was prevented from coming by a rainstorm-- that is, by an effect of the
flood of tears the lover wept when he learned she was not coming. Or perhaps it shouldn't
be called circularity, but 'mutual causality'-- her behavior causes his behavior, and his behavior causes her behavior. Thus lover and beloved are intimately
linked, even though they are (literally) poles apart. (After all, aren't the
two poles intimately linked?) Another potential case of such mutual causality can be seen in {15,3}.
Sa'id's notion also amounts to a form of 'catch-22'. (The
original 'catch-22', for those who don't remember the novel: you can only
be excused from having to fly bombing missions if you're insane; but if you seek
to be excused from flying bombing missions, this proves that you're sane.) The lover hopes
to earn a visit because he weeps so much; but because he weeps so much, the beloved
has a 'flood' excuse not to visit him.
The cotton of the lover's pillow was white like sea-foam,
and from his weeping it was also just as wet (2a). Or, as Asi says, the
sea-foam was all the pillow the lover had, since his own pillow had long since
floated away (2b). The difference between (2a) and (2b) depends on the
direction in which we choose to read the metaphor; the Urdu grammatical rule that I call 'symmetry' means that both are equally legitimate. There's a similar
situation in {11,1}, which also involves
waves of water and a hard-pressed lover (though in that verse the lover is much
more confident).
Note for translation fans: It seems as though some use should be made of 'rein-ing in'!

That is, on the thread of the glance so many tears had been
threaded that that it itself became hidden and obscured, the way pearls hide
the string. Look, the whole simile
is found [in earlier poetry], but the freshness is in this, that he does not
wish to give the simile. The poet mentions the similar elements, and then
does not give the simile. (15)
== Nazm page 15

There, for her self-adornment and decoration she was string
pearls, and in that occupation her promise was also forgotten. Here, I was
in such a state that while waiting I had wept and wept to the degree that
the profusion of tears had obscured even the thread of vision. The point is
that the beloved wanted no lack or shortful in outward beauty to remain; and
the lover's ardor demanded that the time of union should come quickly. A picture
of self-adornment and the restlessness of passion cannot be drawn in better
words than these. (32)

There, her adornment and decoration never came to an end;
and here, so many tears have been strung on the thread of the glance that
because of the abundance of tears the thread of the glance itself can't be
seen. For the wordplay
of tear-shedding, in the first line mention has been made of stringing pearls
by way of adornment; and by way of comparison, although the desired simile
is not present, the pleasure of the simile has been created. (69)

SETS == HERE/THERE
GAZE: {10,12}
The present verse is part of something like a verse-set; for discussion, see {15,2}.
The pleasure comes from the parallel and yet utterly contrasting situations of beloved and lover: 'there', the (implicit) 'thread' of her self-adorning gaze turns toward stringing pearls; 'here', the lover's gaze is 'threaded' with so many pearl-like tears that it becomes lost to sight in the 'rush'.
The verse can also be read as an example of that same 'mutual causality'
on view in {15,2}. The beloved's indifference to the lover, her preoccupation with the
details of self-adornment (possibly to show herself to Others), causes
the lover to weep floods of tears; his lavishly flowing pearl-like tears cause her to become more
devoted to self-adornment and more interested in stringing pearls. As we
know from {10,2}, her eyelashes can pierce
blood-drops to make a set of coral prayer-beads; no doubt the process
of piercing and stringing tear-pearls would be similar, and equally
effortless.
Nazm's point is a good one: that the verse is built on the metaphorical equation of tears with pearls, but the equation is never made explicit. Here too we are obliged (or permitted) to do a good part of the interpretive work ourselves.

That is, there, there were so many flower-beds,
and they extended so far, that their reflection seemed to create a
lamp-display. And here, tears of blood had flowed so far that the wet
eyes were comparable to streams; and in answer to the branches of the
rose, drops of blood on the eyelashes. (15-16)
== Nazm page 15; Nazm page 16

There, so many flowers were blooming that from their reflection
lamps seemed to be lit in the water of the water-channels. And here, tears
of blood were flowing like a river from the eyes. (32)

He says, she had arranged flowers of many colors and looked
at their reflection in the water of the water-channel, and was strolling among
the lamp-display. And here, I was in such a state that tears of blood dripped
from my eyelashes. He has given for roses the simile
of lamps, and with the wordplay
of their redness the mention of blood has come in. (69)

SETS == HERE/THERE
JALVAH: {7,4}
This verse is part of a sort of quasi-'verse-set' that begins with {15,2}. However, it lacks the self-reflexive
'mutual causality' that makes {15,2} and {15,3}
so enjoyable. It has a straightforward simplicity of tone, lyrical meaning,
good sound effects; it also is-- as it should be, given the theme-- full of
'flowingness.'
For more on the 'lamp-display', see {5,5}.
The stream in the garden reflected the red radiance of the roses so brilliantly
that it looked like a 'lamp-display'. But the lover too had his counterpart:
the stream of his brilliantly roseate bloody tears.

That is, because sleep didn't come, my head was searching
for a wall, and I wanted to beat my head against it. (16)
== Nazm page 16

Urdu text: Vajid 1902 {15}

Mirza Sahib prefers smashing his head against a wall and dying,
compared to waking up in his condition of separation [farqat].
(32)

For 'the sleep of peace' [;xvaab-e raa;hat]
he searched out a good rhyme-word as well, ;xvaab. For the expression of comparison, in
every verse to juxtapose the equipment for grief and repose is also worthy
of praise. Then, there's the pleasure that in this comparison the similes
too are very appropriate. (69)

SETS == HERE/THERE;
WORDPLAY
This verse is another part of a sort of quasi-'verse-set' that begins with {15,2}.
The wordplay with farq is cleverly left
implicit: the word here refers to the beloved (or more literally to
her 'head') as the 'summit' of coquetry, but its far more common meaning is
the 'separation' that drives the lover toward suicide (see the definition above).
In addition, the lover's be-;xvaabii or sleeplessness is juxtaposed to the beloved's
pillow of kam;xvaab ('kincob', thoroughly explained in Hobson-Jobson), an elegant fabric made of silk brocaded with flowers in gold or silver. As a fringe benefit (like
the fringe on a fancy pillow, of course), the literal meaning of kam-;xvaab
(though not the etymological source of the name) is 'little-sleep,' which resonates beautifully with the 'sleeplessness' of the lover.
It's the sleepless lover's head that's in search of a wall; he longs
to smash his head against a wall and thus attain at least unconsciousness,
if not death. And the literal 'summit of coquetry,' the beloved's own head,
lies unconscious, deeply asleep, having sunk itself luxuriously into its fancy brocaded ('little-sleep')
pillow. This is a verse of gorgeously interlocked wordplay.

That is, in our gathering the candle of sighs was lit;
and in the company there, there was a carpet of flowers. By 'friends'
the beloved's friends are meant. (16)
== Nazm page 16

Urdu text: Vajid 1902 {15}

Here, my hot sighs, like a candle, had become illumined. From
my lips flames were emerging together with breath, and those flames kept augmenting
my self-lessness of passion. (32)

Here, our breath was lighting the candle in the gathering
of self-lessness; that is, here we were always on the verge of fainting. And
there, there was a gathering of companions, and there were so many flowers
that it was as if a carpet of flowers had been spread. (35)

SETS == HERE/THERE; MULTIVALENT WORDS ( nafas )
BEKHUDI: {21,6}
CANDLE: {39,1}
GATHERINGS: {6,3}
JALVAH: {7,4}
ABOUT nafas : This is not really a complex or 'multivalent word', but students often think it is, so I want to clarify it. People are often tripped
up by the word nafas versus the word nafs . Casual students of the ghazal may be confused between the two, but meter-knowers
realize instantly which is intended, since the different scansions ( - = , na-fas, versus
= - , naf-s) tell us clearly and reliably. (This is just one of the many benefits of paying close attention to meter.) The two words are spelled in the same
way, but differ considerably in meaning. The one Ghalib uses, nafas , is basically
'breath' with some extended meanings (see the definition above) and also some well-developed
metaphorical possibilities, including fieriness and spark-shedding. Some other
examples of nafas : {24,6};
{28,1}; {29,9x};
{76,2}; {81,1};
{91,8}; {114,4};
{143,2}; {156,2x}; {156,3x}; {173,9};
{175,4}; {233,4} // {278x,2}
By contrast, nafs is in principle wildly versatile: it means 'Breath (of life), animal
life; --soul; spirit, self, person; substance, essence, individual thing itself;
a person, an individual; --mind, thought; will, pleasure, desire; --body;
flesh; blood; --fact, truth, reality; --text (of a work); --concupiscence,
carnal or inordinate desire, sensuality, lust, sexual passion; --sperm; --penis;
--pride; grandeur, magnificence, pomp; --envy; vice, fault, blemish' (Platts
p.1144). In practice, in modern usage, it
has associations of lust and sensuality. No ghazal in the divan uses nafs .
This verse is another part of a quasi-'verse-set' that begins with {15,2}.
The beloved has the company of friends, in a gathering so radiant that it's carpeted with roses. Meanwhile the lover,
in his state of self-transcendence or devoid-of-self-ness , doesn't even have
himself. But he still has a 'gathering' [bazm] of some
kind, and in mystical or Sufistic terms it may be greatly superior to hers. The breath as lighting the candle is in one sense paradoxical,
since in the real world breath extinguishes a candle. But for the sufistically inclined,
fanaa or oblivion may be a truer 'illumination' than
life in this transitory and unstable world. Since the lover not only is alone, but has also lost even his 'self', an extinguished candle may in fact be the most appropriate
light for his 'gathering'. Ghalib's candles are not exactly naturalistic in any case; not only is this one lit by breath, but another one is lit by lightning ({81,1}). Moreover, the lover himself may be a candle. As Bekhud Dihlavi points out, the lover's sighs are hot from
the flames in his heart, so they are fiery; in addition, a candle melts away while burning,
and so does the lover. In the beloved's world radiance and luxury are so exquisite that
the rose itself is a mere carpet; in the lover's world the redness and radiance come
only from his own burning, so that through his breath he becomes his own candle.

That is, there vivid, colorful, luxurious enjoyments were
taking place; and here, we were burning. With 'a matter of burning' the past,
present, and future tenses are all intended. The subtlety is that the poet
has concealed the extension of time that would be found in the conjugation
of so;xtan . The second aspect that also emerges is
that here, earth and heaven were capable of starting fires. (16)
[See also his comment in the discussion of {194,4}.]
== Nazm page 16

In this verse he has changed the order. In the first line
he has shown the situation of the beloved. He says, from the earth to the
sky, there, a storm of waves of happiness had arisen (he has used for 'abundance'
the word :tuufaan ). Here, from ground to sky was filled
with fire to burn us; that is, longing, regret, envy of the Rival,
a turmoil of love, restlessness of the heart-- all these disasters were giving
us trouble. The beauty with which, from opening-verse
to closing-verse [of this
'verse-set'], he has presented the situations of himself and the beloved--
the pleasure of this, people of taste can enjoy. (33)

SETS == HERE/THERE
SKY verses: {3,12x}; {15,7}; {15,15};
{15,16x}; {27,8}; {43,3}; {43,8}; {46,2}; {47,4x}; {50,1}; {51,6x}; {51,10x}; {64,3}; {66,5}; {68,5}; {74,1}; {105,2}; {111,3}; {110,7}; {126,8}; {131,3}; {132,6}; {132,8x}; {136,1}; {138,1}; {143,4}; {148,8}; {160,5}; {177,4}; {177,7}; {180,2}; {181,3}; {204,10}; {217,4}; {217,11x}; {234,1}; {234,5}; {234,11}; {234,12} // {287x,6}; {309x,5}; {351x,1}; {376x,4}; {405x,6}; {420x,7}
This verse marks the end of a sort of quasi-'verse-set' that begins with {15,2} (and is discussed there).
To leave the beloved 'there' in a typhoon of waves of rang with all its joyous, 'colorful' possibilities (see the definition above); and to leave the lover 'here' in a realm
of unchanging, undifferentiated fire is not a bad end to this sequence of 'here-there'
verses. The beloved's storm of radiant waves extends from this earth to the celestial
heavens; the lover has for his 'burning' merely a plain 'section' between ground and sky.
On the complexities of baab see {7,1}.

The scratching of fingernails is a metaphor for the
scratching of grief. (16)
== Nazm page 16

Urdu text: Vajid 1902 {15}

This is a verse of 'taking flight'. Whatever has been mentioned
above, he has finished it. He says that suddenly in that way a longing arose
in the heart to write another ghazal in the same ground. (33)

All of a sudden the heart, which was acquainted with the
relish of pain and difficulty, began to drip blood; that is, the pain-filled
heart began in this way to complain. (36)

SETS == KIH
Bekhud Dihlavi considers the remaining verses of this ghazal ({15,9-15}) to be a separate ghazal; on this see {15,1}. Thus he takes this verse to be a sort of introduction to the new, formally identical ghazal. But nothing in the verse itself requires this reading.
Had the heart found relish 'of' or from the scratching of
fingernails (having been scratched was what caused it to bleed),
or 'for' the scratching of fingernails (it began to bleed out of sheer relish
or longing, or a sort of masochistic fantasy)? The versatility of the i.zaafat
is once again displayed to advantage.
And was the heart in a general state of pleasure going back
some time, such that it began to drip blood simply as a spontaneous expression
of overflowing delight (2a)? Or was there a clear cause-and-effect relationship--
the enjoyable relish of/for scratching was what caused the heart to drip blood?
The versatile kih can go either way.
To use rang , literally 'color,' to
mean 'style, manner' and so on as well, in a verse with other color imagery, is one of Ghalib's (and everybody's) favorite bits of wordplay-- just think of the range of interpretive possibilities it opens up (see the definition above). What is remarkable
about the dripping of the 'pure' blood-- color, beauty, manner, style, suddenness, (un)causedness? Any or all
of them, of course-- and we're left to make the decision for ourselves.
Still, the verse is not exactly one of his thrilling ones.

That is, from the coming of the flood, the lover's
house became an instrument of the voice of the waters, hearing
which the heart feels joy and delight. The word 'harmony' has an affinity with the word
'instrument'. In short, the lover feels pleasure at his own house-wrecked
state. (16)
== Nazm page 16

Urdu text: Vajid 1902 {15}

By '[musical] instrument' is here meant the jal-tarang , which is played by putting water in seven china
cups and using a small reed [to strike the edges]. (33)

In this verse he has drawn a picture of the ardor for oblivion,
and worship of difficulty, of the 'people of the heart' [ahl-e
dil]. (36)

SETS == GENERATORS;
KYA; MAGAR
HOME: {14,9}
MUSIC: {10,3}
KYA verses: {7,5}, on the idiomatic negative use of ko))ii ; {10,2}; {14,4};
{15,10}***; {15,11}, with a list of kyaa kahuu;N verses; {18,3}, similar use of kaun ; ghazals {19}, {21}*,
refrain
of kyaa ; {22,1};
{31,2};
{32,1}; {32,3};
{36,10}**, omitted but required; {39,2}, kis qadar ; {45,3}; {45,7x};
{46}, refrain
of kyaa ; {64,3}*; {46,5}, only a negative rhetorical question; {72,8x}, kab ; {77,1}**, discussion;
{77,2}, kis
qadar , Nazm affirms; {78,3}; {84,5x}; {87,10}*, four options;
{91,9}, implied but assumed; {98,7}*; {99,7}; {107,7};
{111,1}; {117,5x}; {119,9}; {120,1}; {120,11};
{123,2}; {126,8};
{137,5x}, implied but required; {138,1}*; {148,3}*;
{149,9x}, taa chand ; {150,1}; {151,9}*, four options;
{161,7}, implied but required; {162} (most verses); {163,9}*;
{165,2}; {167,5}; {178,5};
{178,6}; {180,5}; {202,7};
{205,5}*; {209,11}**;
{214,2}**, kab tak ; {228,10}; {231,3};
{231,7}; {232,4}; {232,9}, implied but assumed // {320x,1}
ABOUT THE 'KYA EFFECT': Ghalib loves to create undecideability, and often forces our minds into ricochet mode, as he does in this verse. One of his finest tools for achieving this effect, the little word kyaa
, is here displayed to full advantage. Deployed as it is here, kyaa can generate three meanings: it can create (1) an exclamation of emphatic
affirmation for which we have an English counterpart in 'How joyous!'; (2) an
exclamation of emphatic denial for which we have no exact English counterpart ('What--
joyous?! Nothing of the kind! The very idea!'); and (3) a yes-or-no question. The result is three distinct, unforced, legitimate
interpretations of the first line. I've discussed this in Nets
of Awareness, Chapter 8, p. 107. Depending on the grammatical context of the line, there may sometimes be even four or more theoretical possibilities; see for example {111,1}, or the insanely multivalent {32,1}. There is also the strange and fascinating case of {36,10}, in which kyaa is not present at all but must be inserted in order to make the verse intelligible. And there's {46,5}, in which the only possible reading is as an emphatic denial.
In the case of the present verse, it's also very convenient that magar means
both 'perhaps' and 'but'. Thus two different logical relationships between
the lines are effortlessly provided, and can be combined with the three possibilities
of the first line in a variety of suitable ways; for more on such usages,
see {35,7}.
When the verse also contains
words like 'heart' and 'house', and 'water' and 'flood', all of which are
conjoinable and opposable in multiple ways among themselves, the possibilities become
astonishing.
Let me try to chart out a few of the basic ones:
(1a) and (2a): The flood plays the lover's house (body?)
like an instrument, a jal-tarang perhaps: it delights
the lover's heart with its siren song of the dissolution of normal life and
all its sufferings.
(1a) and (2b): The heart is delighted to welcome the
flood, even though it will lose the house (body?) that the flood had
been using as an instrument for its entertainment.
(1b) and (2a): The heart is sorrowful at the coming
of the flood, perhaps because it will lose the house (body?) that the
flood had been using to entertain it with.
(1b) and (2b): The heart is sorrowful at the coming
of the flood, even though it will be able to hear the music that the
flood makes when it uses its house (body?) as an instrument.
(1c) and (2a): Is the heart happy at the coming of the
flood, or not? Perhaps its house (body?) was the flood's instrument, and
it will be glad to hear more and louder music as the flood approaches? Or
perhaps its house (body?) will be swept away, and it will be sad (or
glad?) to hear no more music at all?
(1c) and (2b): Is the heart happy at the coming of
the flood, or not? But in any case, it's clear that
the house (body?) was the flood's instrument.
And then, of course, for 'happy' substitute the more evocative
'joy-harmonied', with its strong musical associations (not to say overtones),
for further mystical nuances between heart and flood.
And also, notice the clever tense shift between the verses,
such that it's hard to tell when the flood played music on the house
(always? as it approached? as it swept the house away? after it swept the
house away?). We are given no guidance at all here. Obviously, how we interpret
the sequence of events-- playing music in relation to wrecking, losing, and/or
drowning-- will multiply the range of reactions, and thus also the interpretations
of the verse. And of course Sufistic possibilities are constantly welling up (sorry, sorry) from the interpretive depths.
Then if we still have any interpretive energy
left, the i.zaafat constructions in the second line
provide further variability. ;xaanah-e ((aashiq can
be read as either 'the lover's house' or 'the house that is the lover'. And
the final sequence can be read as either ( saaz-e .sadaa )-e
aab , the 'voice-instrument of the water', or as saaz-e
( .sadaa-e aab ) , the 'instrument of the water-voice'. Further changes
can of course be rung on these as well, and various interpretive subtleties
teased out of them.
It makes your head spin, doesn't it? At least, it does mine.
And that, I submit, is the real punch of the verse, the real reason people
would say vaah vaah!' when they heard it. That is also,
of course, why verses like this are entirely untranslatable. They are really
little meaning-generators, and the blur of indeterminacy that surrounds
the orbits of the meanings is a large part of their enjoyableness.
For a somewhat less complex but quite similar use of this same theme, see {211,5x}.

That is, although I was sitting in the dust, because of my
heart's pride at its own contentment, it was rolling around on a bedding of
ermine. (16)
== Nazm page 16

Urdu text: Vajid 1902 {15}

In the time of prosperity, he is looking back: those things
even the thought of which gave pleasure-- now there is no such joy even in
their attainment. Zauq:
;hir.s ke phailte hai;N paa))o;N bah qadr-e
vus((at
tang hii rahte hai;N dunyaa me;N faraa;Gat-vaale
[the legs of Greed are spread according to the scope
those at leisure remain only/emphatically straitened in the world]. (37)

Because of shared color, wordplay has developed
between the 'bedding of ermine' and the 'sitting in ashes'. (54)

SETS == GENERATORS;
INEXPRESSIBILITY; IZAFAT
INEXPRESSIBILITY: {1,2}; {5,4};
{9,8x}; {10,2};
{15,11}**, with a list of kyaa kahuu;N verses; {16,4};
{16,8x}; {17,5};
{18,4}; {20,8};
{29,5x}; {34,3};
{39,4}; {49,2};
{56,2}; {58,9};
{68,5}; {75,6};
{81,13x}; {86,8};
{87,4}; {88,3};
{91,2}; {92,5};
{92,8x}; {97,2};
{108,6}; {113,4};
{129}*, nah puuchh ; {133,5x}; {136,7}; {147,6x};
{167,4}; {172,3};
{183,2}; {194,6};
{196,8x}*; {197,1}; {199,6x}; {201};
{208,5}; {210,5};
{224,2x}; {227,3} // {261x,6}; {350x}, nah puuchh ; {383x,5}; {398x,4}, nah puuchh
ABOUT kyaa kahuu;N : That irresistibly idiomatic phrase kyaa kahuu;N is a form of the 'inexpressibility trope' of which Ghalib makes excellent use. What more convenient way could there be to both suggest and avoid description, in a poem fifteen or twenty words long? It's expressive, like 'What can I say?!' I've translated it accordingly (though literally of course it's 'What might I say?'). Other examples: {39,4}; {88,3}; {92,8x}; {97,2}; {136,7}; {194,6}. Ghalib seems not to use kyaa kahe;N .
Structurally speaking, the verse is a tribute to the powers
of the i.zaafat construction. To take one crucial example,
what is an endowment 'of' a bedding [vaqf-e bistar]?
Is it an endowment bestowed by a bedding? An endowment bestowed on a bedding? An endowment that consists of a
bedding? An endowment that resembles, or is somehow otherwise related to,
a bedding? In a verse so full of abstractions forcibly yoked together, we're
not able to be at all sure. And of course, 'endowment' is far from the only meaning of vaqf (see the definition above), as can be seen from the several translations given above. 'Endowment' may be the primary sense that occurs to us today, but was it necessarily so for Ghalib?
Ashes and ermine-- how different are they, really? Both soft,
both a mottled greyish-whitish, both capable in some sense of being slept on.
By careful and subtle word choices, Ghalib has made possible a variety of
readings of the second line. Three of them are shown above; they all can be appropriately
associated with the pride-in-humility described in the first line:
=(2a) is at least initially physical, with a body
lying in bedding. The body of Thought, apparently, which is in fact
lying in ermine even while (or precisely because?) the physical body
lies in ashes.
=(2b) is ambitious: while sitting in ashes, proud
Thought is focused upon (and scheming about) riches to come.
=(2c) is religious: Thought has been endowed by
religious bequest with the ability to see ashes as ermine, and ermine
in ashes.
In a few words the verse is thus able to set up a picture
which might be that of ostentatious religious hypocrisy, coquettishly pluming
itself on its austerities; or that of ambition, busily scheming about how
to move from present rags to future riches; or that of a genuine religious
sensibility, which finds luxury in simplicity. Or, of course-- especially
if we think of the 'days' as those of youth-- something of all three together. And how excellently the possibilities of the (Persianized) naazish (see the definition above) resonate with these various alternatives!
Another verse that also somewhat oddly combines a vaqf
and bedding: {194,1} (which also discusses the nature of bistar ). Another abstract vaqf verse: {200,4x}. Another, less powerful invocation of ;xaakistar-nishiinii : {73,4x}.
Consider also the piquant but maddening {18,7x}.
And then compare Mir's own nostalgic (?) vision of the good old days: M{115,1}.

'Incapable madness did nothing', that is, it kept me deprived
of receipt of generosity and union with the beloved. Otherwise, every single
grain of dust [would have] received so much light that it resembled the sun.
(16-17)
== Nazm page 16; Nazm page 17

In this verse a moral lesson has been given, that if we
can do nothing, then it's no fault of our nature and the natural world. The
cause of our failure was the deficiency of our passion....
[Or:] Every sand-grain, like the sun itself, is an expression
of the divine light. If we aren't possessors of mystical knowledge, then why
aren't we-- apart from our lack of zeal? (37)

[Asi says:] My madness displayed incapability, and could
not arrive at the limit of madness. Otherwise, every grain of the realm of
madness was [=would have been] the envy of the sun. (2) In the realm at which
madness had already arrived, in that realm even every grain assumed the aspect
of the sun. (55)

SETS == SUBJECT?;
VARNAH
MADNESS: {14,3}
ZARRAH verses: {6,8x}; {6,10x};
{15,12}; {16,4}; {29,1};
{33,1}; {42,2};
{42,3}; {68,4};
{87,3}; {95,3};
{113,6}; {128,1};
{138,2}; {143,4};
{228,3}; {228,7} // {320x,4}; {332x,1}, also 'a tiny bit'; {364x,7}; {371x,2}; {435x,3}
ABOUT apnaa : Officially apnaa
means 'pertaining to the subject of the sentence'. But since here the subject
is junuu;N , we need to read apnii
as short for kisii kii apnii , 'someone's own'. (For a discussion of gender issues and the omitted baat , see below.) Only
the conventions of the ghazal then permit us to read that 'someone' as the
speaker (=the lover), so that it becomes a contracted form of merii
apnii . Which then raises the further question: why didn't Ghalib just
use merii , which scans the same way as apnii
, and would have removed all ambiguity? Perhaps he wants us also to consider
a reading of hamaarii apnii , 'our own', so that the
reference might be to all lovers. Or perhaps even to all human beings, since
yaa;N , 'here', can easily mean 'in this world'. Or perhaps the reference could be to the madness itself, which did not accomplish 'its own' work? For
other examples of this kind of unspecific-- and often deliberately ambiguous--
use of apnaa , see: {1,4}; {30,2};
{43} (which has apnaa
as a refrain); {86,5}; {114,1}; {148,4}; {167,3}.
As Baqir, quoting Asi, points out, the past-tense grammar of varnah permits either a past or a contrafactual reading of the
second line (for discussion of this see {3,5}). There are other such varnah examples, in
which the meaning can be either indicative or contrafactual; this is another
tool in Ghalib's tool-kit of what might be called meaning-multipliers.
If we read varnah as a simple past as in (2a), then the emphasis
falls on yaa;N , 'here,' meaning in the lover's vicinity
or the lover's world. This world is already in the desired state
of radiant sun-like madness, and the failure is in the inability either to
extend the condition-- no doubt to vaa;N or 'there,' where the beloved is-- or else to somehow
use the condition as a jumping-off point for the great leap to the beloved
that the lover is always longing for.
If we read varnah as contrafactual as in (2b), then the lover is
accusing unhelpful madness of failing entirely, of not achieving the kind
of 'access' that he wanted from it. He wanted
a madness so acute and brilliant that every grain of sand would have glistened
and radiated heat and energy like the sun. Perhaps then, seeing such a cosmic
feat, the beloved would have paid attention.
Or alternatively, perhaps what the madness was supposed
to do was not to create but to react to this astonishing world, in which every
sand-grain resembled (or would have resembled) the sun. The word varnah
is so flexible that it can permit a lot of ambiguity and shifting around.
In a world of miracles and wonders, why do we live so tamely? Why can't we
offer a response proportional to the dazzling sensory (and
emotional) experience of the cosmos?
The commentators take ruu-kash to mean
something like 'rival' or 'equal', and that's clearly a sense that works very
well. Platts, however, offers a definition that emphasizes the covering up
of something inner with something else on the outside, like an imitation;
and in particular, he says the term applies to 'the cover of a mirror'-- quite a piquant way to think of a sand-grain in relation to the sun.
Note for grammar fans: Since junuun is masculine we have to take apnii as referring to some implied feminine noun, presumably the usual baat . (Or here perhaps mar.zii , or karnii ?) For discussion, see {59,2}.
Note for translation fans: It's true that a zarrah can be any tiny particle (see the definition above); but since its main Ghalibian role is in relation to the sun, I use 'sand-grain' to emphasize the possibilities of glittering and reflecting.

These [two verses] are a verse-set, and 'circle of the net'
has been used as a simile for 'sleepless eye'. The reason for the similitude
is that the sleepless eye, like the circle of the net, remains open. (17)
== Nazm page 17

Urdu text: Vajid 1902 {15}

He says, 'You remember those days too, when every circle of
your net was an unsleeping eye, in waiting for prey'. How eloquently the simile
of the circle of a net for an unsleeping eye (which is open at all times because
of its unsleepingness) has been established. (34)

That is, you wanted someone to die [of love] for you. I'm
that very one who, before all the others, fell in love with you. Now why have
your eyes been averted from me? (In every way he wants to make the beloved
gracious. It's the common rule that when past events of love are recalled,
then love is aroused afresh.) (38)

SETS == EK
BONDAGE: {1,5}
This is the second and concluding verse of the little verse-set that began with {15,13}.
Images of the Hunter [.saiyaad]
and the prey are of course common in the ghazal world.
Each circle of the hunter's net is a round, open eye; and
the activity the hunter is engaged in is, by no coincidence, inti:zaar
with its root of na:zar , 'sight, vision, gaze' etc.
The Hunter is engaged in 'waiting' by extension from the literal sense
of 'looking out'.

That is, the flood of tears would have reached up to the sky.
(17)
== Nazm page 17

He says, last night I prevented Ghalib from weeping-- otherwise,
you would have seen the spectacle that his flood of tears would have reached
to the sky and become a torrent of water. (34)

That is, the sky would have swum in water the way foam does
in a flood. The Ustad of
the Age so decrees it. It's worth seeing, where he has put thaa .
(38)

SETS == DIALOGUE;
VARNAH
GRANDIOSITY: {5,3}
SKY {15,7}
WARNING verses: {15,15}; {24,4}; {54,3}; {78,6}; {88,4}; {111,16}; {124,2}; {142,1}; {155,5x}; {169,6}*, and the whole verse-set; {172,3}; {177,2}; {189,10}; {204,5}; {228,12x}; {233,17} // {244x,7}; {360x,8}; {361x,5}
On the twofold grammar of varnah (of
which vagarnah is the full Persian form) see {3,14x}.
The lover either did weep the sky into a mass of foam (clouds),
or would have done so if he had not been stopped by a prudent bystander. This
'cosmic destruction' theme involves sometimes weeping, and sometimes fire.
Usually these cataclysms seem to occur only in the lover's own world, but
in other verses, like this one, they appear to be evident and dangerous to
ordinary human beings as well.
The wordplay of sail and sailaab , with their similar but slightly different meanings (see the definitions above), also helps to energize the verse.
Compare this verse with its less fortunate unpublished cousin,
{15,16x}.

We were watching with our own eyes when that typhoon of calamity was arising-- such that in it even the sky seemed to be a single froth/foam of the flood. Probably it was this very verse that Mirza altered and composed the closing-verse, {15,15}.
== Asi, p. 58

A flood such that its foam would be the sky-- what kind of a balaa would that be?! In this verse bah chashm-e ;xvud dekhte the offers no benefit of meaning, it's only padding.
== Zamin, p. 42

The sky is very extensive; thus it is responsible for calamities
descending on the whole world. Our eyes have, weeping, caused such an ocean
to flow that its typhoon was more extensive than the sky and more calamitous
than the sky. In the typhoon of calamities of the eyes, the sky seemed to
be only the foam of the flood; that is, our eyes had filled up a flood of
calamities greater than the sky.
== Gyan Chand, p. 80

SETS == PETRIFIED PHRASES
EYES {3,1}
GRANDIOSITY: {5,3}
SKY {15,7}
PETRIFIED PHRASES: {4,14x}; {15,16x}; {25,1}*, on be-takalluf ; {34,4}; {34,8}, evoked; {46,5}; {46,6}; {50,8x}; {51,1}; {53,6}; {54,5x}, evoked; {62,5}*; {62,7}**; {65,1}***, on takalluf bar-:taraf ; {106,2}; {115,5}, a.sl me;N ; {132,2}; {193,2}, evoked; {205,3}*, qi.s.sah
mu;xta.sar , evoked; {205,6} // {323x,3}, evoked; {373x,1}; {383x,6}, evoked; {396x,3}; {398x,5}*, evoked; {431x,7}
ABOUT PETRIFIED PHRASES: Ghalib has notable skill in revitalizing petrified phrases. Verses using this device often have a '1,2' structure, so that we are first induced to pass quickly over the phrase, and then given additional information that invites us to revisit the phrase and experience it, with a shock, in its full literalness. Perhaps his favorite phrase to use in this way is takalluf bar-:taraf , but there are a number of others.
For background see
S. R. Faruqi's choices. For more
on Ghalib's unpublished verses, see the discussion in {4,8x}.
The first time through, 'with
our own eyes' registers as a stylized claim of truth-telling, like its literal English counterpart ('We saw with our own eyes what he was doing').
It's not really about eyes in themselves, it's just an assertion of direct, first-person, 'eye-witness' observation.
Only after hearing the second line do we realize that
'with our own eyes' is a wonderfully operative phrase: the speaker's typhoon of tears
and sighs may well be the origin of the cosmic flood that towers up furiously
to the sky, and makes the 'low' sky look like a puny handful of grey foam by comparison.
(For a similar activation of another such stylized phrase, see {62,5}.) This verse belongs to the 'snide remarks about the natural world' set; for others, see {4,8x}.
There are also the implications of the past habitual dekhte
the to consider. The speaker used to see this awesome cosmic sea-storm, but apparently
he doesn't expect to see it again. Why not? Because his eyes are now wept out
and can't produce any more such storms? That's one possibility, but there
might be another as well.
For calamities, as Gyan Chand notes, traditionally originate
in the sky. And now the sky has been (perhaps in reality, but at least rhetorically)
minimized, turned into froth, and swept away in the wild currents of the flood.
So perhaps there are no new calamities left? Or at least, surely there are
none so dire-- none that can hold a candle to the ones we used to see 'with our own eyes'.
Compare this verse with its more fortunate divan-verse cousin,
{15,15}.

Oh cruel one, why do you call us unaware/ignorant? Just inquire about our situation through your own self-regardingness, because when you were looking in the mirror, at that time compared to the ocean of our relish of/for sight, the mirror was nothing, and we were seeing your self-regardingness. (58)

That is: oh cruel one, you call us ignorant of the springtime of beauty-- although when you were absorbed in self-adornment, at that time where was your mirror?! Now just listen: this mirror was drowned in my own relish of/for sight! That is, it was my own relish of/for spectacle that made you aware of your own beauty and absorbed in mirror-regarding. For paa-yaab is the opposite of drowning, but here Mirza has taken it in a contrary meaning. (43)

Whose is the 'relish of/for sight', the beloved's or the
lover's? From both aspects, two meanings emerge:
1) Oh cruel one, don't call us unaware and self-ignoring!
You, before the mirror, were so absorbed in self-regardingness that your relish
for the sight was as fathomless as an ocean in which the mirror, having come
within its depth, was passing. That is, you were immersed in mirror-regardingness.
What did you know about our state? Thus you're not entitled to call us unaware.
2) Don't call us unaware! What do you know-- ask your own
self-regardingness! You were looking at the mirror, and we were looking at
you with such intensity and absorbedness that our relish of/for sight was
like an ocean, in which the mirror, within its depth, was wandering around.
The first meaning is better. From 'self-regardingness' it
appears that the relish of/for sight is that of only/especially the beloved.
(81)

[See his comments on Mir's M{1501,5}.]

SETS == A,B; GENERATORS
MIRROR: {8,3}
For background see
S. R. Faruqi's choices. For more
on Ghalib's unpublished verses, see the discussion in {4,8x}.
In my view this verse simply offers too many possibilities,
with no particular way to narrow them down. It is not enticing like a river, but dismaying like a swamp. Not only can we not definitively choose among three or four readings (a situation entirely and excellently common in Ghalib's verses), but we can't even confidently formulate
a smallish number of readings to try to choose among.
At least the literal grammar of the verse is fairly straightforwardly
translatable, and I have translated it, word by word. You, dear reader, can
see for yourself exactly where the difficulties lie. How many important entities
are in the verse? There's the addressee (who receives the intimate tuu
and is presumably the beloved), and the speaker, who seems to be the lover.
But then is 'self-regardingness' a form of behavior-- and
if so, is it the beloved's, or the lover's? Or is it a personified abstract
quality, an agent in its own right (since it can be 'asked' something)?
And then, of course, we have
be-;xabar : is it the adjective 'ignorant' or the adverb 'ignorantly'?-- and if the former, is it a vocative ('oh ignorant one') or is it what the addressee might call the speaker? Similarly, is be-dard a vocative ('oh cruel one'), or is it what the addressee might call the speaker?
Nor should we forget and the i.zaafat
of ;zauq-e na:zar (is it a relish 'of' sight, experienced
during sight, or is it a relish 'for' sight, experienced as a longing to see?).
In addition, is the mirror 'fordable' (like a shallow stream or pool through which one could wade), or is it 'a ford' (a special, local shallow place in the midst of deeper water)? See also the definition above from Steingass; clearly the word is particularly multivalent in Persian.
And even more radically, we have the 'A,B' situation: how do we connect the
two lines? There are so many possible ways to do so that I really find myself
at a loss-- how to start, or rather how to even want to start? This doesn't seem very satisfactory.
For other verses about 'self-regardingness', see {22,2}.

Last night when because of your [his text reads tere] taste for conversation the heart was becoming restless, then the situation was that the magic-spell of sleep, because of mischievousness and wildness, had become a story. The 'incantation of sleep', the task of which is to bring sleep-- it too was entirely futile and ineffective. That is, not even from the magic-spell of sleep was sleep able to come.
== Asi, p. 57

That is, last night when the heart became restless to hear your conversation, and wildness began its mischievousnesses, then even/also the incantation of sleep became a story (that is, sleep vanished). Between afsaanah and fusuun there's the device of [a shared] 'derivation' [ishtiqaaq]. In the first line with an extremely displeasing convolutedness he has said ;zauq se tere instead of tere ;zauq ; but there was the duress of the meter.
== Zamin, p. 41

In this whole ghazal-- or rather, 'double ghazal' [do-;Gazlah] -- there are themes of a single style/'color'. That is, the comparison of the state of the lover in separation, and the beloved's indifference and voluptuousness. Between afsaanah and fusuu;N there's wordplay [ri((aayat]. And fusuun-e ;xvaab is that incantation, the reciting of which brings on sleep or unconsciousness....
Last night, the heart was becoming restless to converse with you. There was such a state of wildness/madness that sleep could by no means come. Even if someone would recite an 'incantation of sleep', that too became a useless false idea like a story, it did not work.
If on the contrary 'story' would be taken as the subject and 'madness' as the predicate nominative, then the meaning will change. Last night, having told a story, sleep is brought.
On the other hand, there is a sleep-binding [;xvaab-bastan] incantation-- one through which sleep would be bound. Then, an 'incantation of sleep' means an incantation that drives away sleep. Thus the meaning of the second line becomes that because of wildness/madness, instead of a story's bringing sleep, it was causing sleep to disappear. In {243x,3}, there's a mention of the 'magic' of sleep-binding. Here too, 'incantation of sleep' can have the same meaning.
== Gyan Chand, pp. 78-79

SETS == A,B; SYMMETRY
For background see
S. R. Faruqi's choices. This verse was NOT among those chosen by SRF, but I'm now adding it anyway because I find it interesting. For more
on Ghalib's unpublished verses, see the discussion in {4,8x}.
This opening-verse appears in Raza's text as the original one at the start of the whole long ghazal, while {15,1} and {15,9} appeared embedded among its twenty-three verses.
Gyan Chand's description of the 'sleep-binding incantation' adds an enjoyable multivalence. Last night, the speaker's ardent longing for, and enjoyment of, the beloved's conversation had one or another kind of powerful effects. Through the mischievousness of the lover's passion and craziness,
=the 'story' that she was telling acted as an 'incantation of sleep' and put him to sleep.
=the 'story' that she was telling was an 'incantation of sleep-binding' that kept him awake.
=the 'incantation of sleep' became a (purely fictional) 'story', and failed to bring sleep to him.
=the 'incantation of sleep-binding'
took the form of the 'story' she was telling, and deprived him of sleep.
A pretty good range of possibilities, isn't it? Ghalib has paired fasaanah with the apparently related (see the definitions above) fusuun or afsuun elsewhere as well-- for example, in {145,14x}, and in an unpublished verse from {188} that is not discussed on this website (you can use the Raza link to find it).

The situation of the beloved's gathering was that from the musical instrument of conviviality colorful melodies were emerging. And here, we made the fingernail of grief into a plectrum and were picking/plucking our breath-- that is, here, grief was finishing us off.
== Asi, p. 57

That is, there, a gathering of music and pleasure was lively; and here, the fingernail of grief was picking/plucking the thread/string of our breath.
== Zamin, p. 42

In the beloved's house, from the instruments of happiness melodies were bursting out. My fingernail of grief was picking/plucking the thread/string of my breath like a plectrum. That is, here there was grief and more grief. For the sake of the affinity, he has taken care to have a saaz and a mi.zraab !
== Gyan Chand, p. 80

SETS == HERE/THERE
MUSIC: {10,3}
For background see
S. R. Faruqi's choices. This verse was NOT among those chosen by SRF,but I'm now adding it anyway because I find it interesting. For more
on Ghalib's unpublished verses, see the discussion in {4,8x}.
For more on such 'here/there' verses, see {15,2}.
The image of the fingernail of grief acting as a plectrum on the thread or string of the breath works elegantly here. It suggests that the lover's breath might create not only lamentation, but in fact music. Although it would be some very impoverished kind of music, since the 'thread' of the breath-- a traditional image for its lifelong continuity-- would provide only a single string, and that too a most delicate one. If the 'thread' of the life-breath were picked or plucked too vigorously, it would break, and the result would be only silence.
The contrast of this frailty and solitude with the 'onrush' or 'impetuousity' of the collective music of 'conviviality' pouring out of the beloved's gathering does some very effective imaginative work.

That is, the rain prevented her from showing mercy, and I
was in such a state from weeping and weeping that here, instead of a cotton
pillow there was the foam of the flood. (15)
== Nazm page 15

Urdu text: Vajid 1902 {15}

[Sa'id says:] The cloudburst of my tears itself prevented
her from moving along-- tears which were caused by her not coming. (51)
[Asi says:] The foam of the flood was the cotton of the pillow,
that is, the cotton pillow had floated away. (51)

This verse begins a verse-set. (131)

SETS == CATCH-22;
HERE/THERE; SYMMETRY
CATCH-22 verses: {9,7}; {14,3}; {15,2}; {24,5};
{41,3}; {78,3}; {84,1}; {95,6}; {97,1}; {97,3};
{112,2}; {121,4};
{145,3}; {151,7};
{153,1}; {161,6};
{174,5}; {177,1};
{184,2}; {189,5}; {198,2}; {202,5};
{203,4}; {205,1};
{209,8}; {215,5};
{231,9}; {233,11} // {314x,1}
HERE/THERE verses: {15,2}; {15,3};
{15,4}; {15,5};
{15,6}; {15,7};
{15,19x}; {24,6}; {25,8}, temporal;
{29,1}, implicit; {43,3}; {115,7};
{122,1}; {138,9x}*, abstract; {149,6x};
{153,4}, ardor vs. heart; {167,9}; {185,2};
{205,4} // {351x,5}; {402x,1}; {405x,2}
Despite Shadan's assertion, most editors and commentators
don't treat {15,2-7} as a verse-set, but it's easy to see
what Shadan means. Unlike the verses before and after them, these six are
all structured around the contrast between vaa;N ('there', meaning in the beloved's world) in one line,
and yaa;N ('here', meaning in the lover's world) in
the other. The witty and appropriate parallels between these two worlds both
disguise and reveal how radically incommensurable they are. Another such verse, that didn't make it into the divan: {15,19x}.
Sa'id's explanation has an elegant circularity: the beloved
was prevented from coming by a rainstorm-- that is, by an effect of the
flood of tears the lover wept when he learned she was not coming. Or perhaps it shouldn't
be called circularity, but 'mutual causality'-- her behavior causes his behavior, and his behavior causes her behavior. Thus lover and beloved are intimately
linked, even though they are (literally) poles apart. (After all, aren't the
two poles intimately linked?) Another potential case of such mutual causality can be seen in {15,3}.
Sa'id's notion also amounts to a form of 'catch-22'. (The
original 'catch-22', for those who don't remember the novel: you can only
be excused from having to fly bombing missions if you're insane; but if you seek
to be excused from flying bombing missions, this proves that you're sane.) The lover hopes
to earn a visit because he weeps so much; but because he weeps so much, the beloved
has a 'flood' excuse not to visit him.
The cotton of the lover's pillow was white like sea-foam,
and from his weeping it was also just as wet (2a). Or, as Asi says, the
sea-foam was all the pillow the lover had, since his own pillow had long since
floated away (2b). The difference between (2a) and (2b) depends on the
direction in which we choose to read the metaphor; the Urdu grammatical rule that I call 'symmetry' means that both are equally legitimate. There's a similar
situation in {11,1}, which also involves
waves of water and a hard-pressed lover (though in that verse the lover is much
more confident).
Note for translation fans: It seems as though some use should be made of 'rein-ing in'!

That is, on the thread of the glance so many tears had been
threaded that that it itself became hidden and obscured, the way pearls hide
the string. Look, the whole simile
is found [in earlier poetry], but the freshness is in this, that he does not
wish to give the simile. The poet mentions the similar elements, and then
does not give the simile. (15)
== Nazm page 15

There, for her self-adornment and decoration she was string
pearls, and in that occupation her promise was also forgotten. Here, I was
in such a state that while waiting I had wept and wept to the degree that
the profusion of tears had obscured even the thread of vision. The point is
that the beloved wanted no lack or shortful in outward beauty to remain; and
the lover's ardor demanded that the time of union should come quickly. A picture
of self-adornment and the restlessness of passion cannot be drawn in better
words than these. (32)

There, her adornment and decoration never came to an end;
and here, so many tears have been strung on the thread of the glance that
because of the abundance of tears the thread of the glance itself can't be
seen. For the wordplay
of tear-shedding, in the first line mention has been made of stringing pearls
by way of adornment; and by way of comparison, although the desired simile
is not present, the pleasure of the simile has been created. (69)

SETS == HERE/THERE
GAZE: {10,12}
The present verse is part of something like a verse-set; for discussion, see {15,2}.
The pleasure comes from the parallel and yet utterly contrasting situations of beloved and lover: 'there', the (implicit) 'thread' of her self-adorning gaze turns toward stringing pearls; 'here', the lover's gaze is 'threaded' with so many pearl-like tears that it becomes lost to sight in the 'rush'.
The verse can also be read as an example of that same 'mutual causality'
on view in {15,2}. The beloved's indifference to the lover, her preoccupation with the
details of self-adornment (possibly to show herself to Others), causes
the lover to weep floods of tears; his lavishly flowing pearl-like tears cause her to become more
devoted to self-adornment and more interested in stringing pearls. As we
know from {10,2}, her eyelashes can pierce
blood-drops to make a set of coral prayer-beads; no doubt the process
of piercing and stringing tear-pearls would be similar, and equally
effortless.
Nazm's point is a good one: that the verse is built on the metaphorical equation of tears with pearls, but the equation is never made explicit. Here too we are obliged (or permitted) to do a good part of the interpretive work ourselves.

That is, there, there were so many flower-beds,
and they extended so far, that their reflection seemed to create a
lamp-display. And here, tears of blood had flowed so far that the wet
eyes were comparable to streams; and in answer to the branches of the
rose, drops of blood on the eyelashes. (15-16)
== Nazm page 15; Nazm page 16

There, so many flowers were blooming that from their reflection
lamps seemed to be lit in the water of the water-channels. And here, tears
of blood were flowing like a river from the eyes. (32)

He says, she had arranged flowers of many colors and looked
at their reflection in the water of the water-channel, and was strolling among
the lamp-display. And here, I was in such a state that tears of blood dripped
from my eyelashes. He has given for roses the simile
of lamps, and with the wordplay
of their redness the mention of blood has come in. (69)

SETS == HERE/THERE
JALVAH: {7,4}
This verse is part of a sort of quasi-'verse-set' that begins with {15,2}. However, it lacks the self-reflexive
'mutual causality' that makes {15,2} and {15,3}
so enjoyable. It has a straightforward simplicity of tone, lyrical meaning,
good sound effects; it also is-- as it should be, given the theme-- full of
'flowingness.'
For more on the 'lamp-display', see {5,5}.
The stream in the garden reflected the red radiance of the roses so brilliantly
that it looked like a 'lamp-display'. But the lover too had his counterpart:
the stream of his brilliantly roseate bloody tears.

That is, because sleep didn't come, my head was searching
for a wall, and I wanted to beat my head against it. (16)
== Nazm page 16

Urdu text: Vajid 1902 {15}

Mirza Sahib prefers smashing his head against a wall and dying,
compared to waking up in his condition of separation [farqat].
(32)

For 'the sleep of peace' [;xvaab-e raa;hat]
he searched out a good rhyme-word as well, ;xvaab. For the expression of comparison, in
every verse to juxtapose the equipment for grief and repose is also worthy
of praise. Then, there's the pleasure that in this comparison the similes
too are very appropriate. (69)

SETS == HERE/THERE;
WORDPLAY
This verse is another part of a sort of quasi-'verse-set' that begins with {15,2}.
The wordplay with farq is cleverly left
implicit: the word here refers to the beloved (or more literally to
her 'head') as the 'summit' of coquetry, but its far more common meaning is
the 'separation' that drives the lover toward suicide (see the definition above).
In addition, the lover's be-;xvaabii or sleeplessness is juxtaposed to the beloved's
pillow of kam;xvaab ('kincob', thoroughly explained in Hobson-Jobson), an elegant fabric made of silk brocaded with flowers in gold or silver. As a fringe benefit (like
the fringe on a fancy pillow, of course), the literal meaning of kam-;xvaab
(though not the etymological source of the name) is 'little-sleep,' which resonates beautifully with the 'sleeplessness' of the lover.
It's the sleepless lover's head that's in search of a wall; he longs
to smash his head against a wall and thus attain at least unconsciousness,
if not death. And the literal 'summit of coquetry,' the beloved's own head,
lies unconscious, deeply asleep, having sunk itself luxuriously into its fancy brocaded ('little-sleep')
pillow. This is a verse of gorgeously interlocked wordplay.

That is, in our gathering the candle of sighs was lit;
and in the company there, there was a carpet of flowers. By 'friends'
the beloved's friends are meant. (16)
== Nazm page 16

Urdu text: Vajid 1902 {15}

Here, my hot sighs, like a candle, had become illumined. From
my lips flames were emerging together with breath, and those flames kept augmenting
my self-lessness of passion. (32)

Here, our breath was lighting the candle in the gathering
of self-lessness; that is, here we were always on the verge of fainting. And
there, there was a gathering of companions, and there were so many flowers
that it was as if a carpet of flowers had been spread. (35)

SETS == HERE/THERE; MULTIVALENT WORDS ( nafas )
BEKHUDI: {21,6}
CANDLE: {39,1}
GATHERINGS: {6,3}
JALVAH: {7,4}
ABOUT nafas : This is not really a complex or 'multivalent word', but students often think it is, so I want to clarify it. People are often tripped
up by the word nafas versus the word nafs . Casual students of the ghazal may be confused between the two, but meter-knowers
realize instantly which is intended, since the different scansions ( - = , na-fas, versus
= - , naf-s) tell us clearly and reliably. (This is just one of the many benefits of paying close attention to meter.) The two words are spelled in the same
way, but differ considerably in meaning. The one Ghalib uses, nafas , is basically
'breath' with some extended meanings (see the definition above) and also some well-developed
metaphorical possibilities, including fieriness and spark-shedding. Some other
examples of nafas : {24,6};
{28,1}; {29,9x};
{76,2}; {81,1};
{91,8}; {114,4};
{143,2}; {156,2x}; {156,3x}; {173,9};
{175,4}; {233,4} // {278x,2}
By contrast, nafs is in principle wildly versatile: it means 'Breath (of life), animal
life; --soul; spirit, self, person; substance, essence, individual thing itself;
a person, an individual; --mind, thought; will, pleasure, desire; --body;
flesh; blood; --fact, truth, reality; --text (of a work); --concupiscence,
carnal or inordinate desire, sensuality, lust, sexual passion; --sperm; --penis;
--pride; grandeur, magnificence, pomp; --envy; vice, fault, blemish' (Platts
p.1144). In practice, in modern usage, it
has associations of lust and sensuality. No ghazal in the divan uses nafs .
This verse is another part of a quasi-'verse-set' that begins with {15,2}.
The beloved has the company of friends, in a gathering so radiant that it's carpeted with roses. Meanwhile the lover,
in his state of self-transcendence or devoid-of-self-ness , doesn't even have
himself. But he still has a 'gathering' [bazm] of some
kind, and in mystical or Sufistic terms it may be greatly superior to hers. The breath as lighting the candle is in one sense paradoxical,
since in the real world breath extinguishes a candle. But for the sufistically inclined,
fanaa or oblivion may be a truer 'illumination' than
life in this transitory and unstable world. Since the lover not only is alone, but has also lost even his 'self', an extinguished candle may in fact be the most appropriate
light for his 'gathering'. Ghalib's candles are not exactly naturalistic in any case; not only is this one lit by breath, but another one is lit by lightning ({81,1}). Moreover, the lover himself may be a candle. As Bekhud Dihlavi points out, the lover's sighs are hot from
the flames in his heart, so they are fiery; in addition, a candle melts away while burning,
and so does the lover. In the beloved's world radiance and luxury are so exquisite that
the rose itself is a mere carpet; in the lover's world the redness and radiance come
only from his own burning, so that through his breath he becomes his own candle.

That is, there vivid, colorful, luxurious enjoyments were
taking place; and here, we were burning. With 'a matter of burning' the past,
present, and future tenses are all intended. The subtlety is that the poet
has concealed the extension of time that would be found in the conjugation
of so;xtan . The second aspect that also emerges is
that here, earth and heaven were capable of starting fires. (16)
[See also his comment in the discussion of {194,4}.]
== Nazm page 16

In this verse he has changed the order. In the first line
he has shown the situation of the beloved. He says, from the earth to the
sky, there, a storm of waves of happiness had arisen (he has used for 'abundance'
the word :tuufaan ). Here, from ground to sky was filled
with fire to burn us; that is, longing, regret, envy of the Rival,
a turmoil of love, restlessness of the heart-- all these disasters were giving
us trouble. The beauty with which, from opening-verse
to closing-verse [of this
'verse-set'], he has presented the situations of himself and the beloved--
the pleasure of this, people of taste can enjoy. (33)

SETS == HERE/THERE
SKY verses: {3,12x}; {15,7}; {15,15};
{15,16x}; {27,8}; {43,3}; {43,8}; {46,2}; {47,4x}; {50,1}; {51,6x}; {51,10x}; {64,3}; {66,5}; {68,5}; {74,1}; {105,2}; {111,3}; {110,7}; {126,8}; {131,3}; {132,6}; {132,8x}; {136,1}; {138,1}; {143,4}; {148,8}; {160,5}; {177,4}; {177,7}; {180,2}; {181,3}; {204,10}; {217,4}; {217,11x}; {234,1}; {234,5}; {234,11}; {234,12} // {287x,6}; {309x,5}; {351x,1}; {376x,4}; {405x,6}; {420x,7}
This verse marks the end of a sort of quasi-'verse-set' that begins with {15,2} (and is discussed there).
To leave the beloved 'there' in a typhoon of waves of rang with all its joyous, 'colorful' possibilities (see the definition above); and to leave the lover 'here' in a realm
of unchanging, undifferentiated fire is not a bad end to this sequence of 'here-there'
verses. The beloved's storm of radiant waves extends from this earth to the celestial
heavens; the lover has for his 'burning' merely a plain 'section' between ground and sky.
On the complexities of baab see {7,1}.

The scratching of fingernails is a metaphor for the
scratching of grief. (16)
== Nazm page 16

Urdu text: Vajid 1902 {15}

This is a verse of 'taking flight'. Whatever has been mentioned
above, he has finished it. He says that suddenly in that way a longing arose
in the heart to write another ghazal in the same ground. (33)

All of a sudden the heart, which was acquainted with the
relish of pain and difficulty, began to drip blood; that is, the pain-filled
heart began in this way to complain. (36)

SETS == KIH
Bekhud Dihlavi considers the remaining verses of this ghazal ({15,9-15}) to be a separate ghazal; on this see {15,1}. Thus he takes this verse to be a sort of introduction to the new, formally identical ghazal. But nothing in the verse itself requires this reading.
Had the heart found relish 'of' or from the scratching of
fingernails (having been scratched was what caused it to bleed),
or 'for' the scratching of fingernails (it began to bleed out of sheer relish
or longing, or a sort of masochistic fantasy)? The versatility of the i.zaafat
is once again displayed to advantage.
And was the heart in a general state of pleasure going back
some time, such that it began to drip blood simply as a spontaneous expression
of overflowing delight (2a)? Or was there a clear cause-and-effect relationship--
the enjoyable relish of/for scratching was what caused the heart to drip blood?
The versatile kih can go either way.
To use rang , literally 'color,' to
mean 'style, manner' and so on as well, in a verse with other color imagery, is one of Ghalib's (and everybody's) favorite bits of wordplay-- just think of the range of interpretive possibilities it opens up (see the definition above). What is remarkable
about the dripping of the 'pure' blood-- color, beauty, manner, style, suddenness, (un)causedness? Any or all
of them, of course-- and we're left to make the decision for ourselves.
Still, the verse is not exactly one of his thrilling ones.

That is, from the coming of the flood, the lover's
house became an instrument of the voice of the waters, hearing
which the heart feels joy and delight. The word 'harmony' has an affinity with the word
'instrument'. In short, the lover feels pleasure at his own house-wrecked
state. (16)
== Nazm page 16

Urdu text: Vajid 1902 {15}

By '[musical] instrument' is here meant the jal-tarang , which is played by putting water in seven china
cups and using a small reed [to strike the edges]. (33)

In this verse he has drawn a picture of the ardor for oblivion,
and worship of difficulty, of the 'people of the heart' [ahl-e
dil]. (36)

SETS == GENERATORS;
KYA; MAGAR
HOME: {14,9}
MUSIC: {10,3}
KYA verses: {7,5}, on the idiomatic negative use of ko))ii ; {10,2}; {14,4};
{15,10}***; {15,11}, with a list of kyaa kahuu;N verses; {18,3}, similar use of kaun ; ghazals {19}, {21}*,
refrain
of kyaa ; {22,1};
{31,2};
{32,1}; {32,3};
{36,10}**, omitted but required; {39,2}, kis qadar ; {45,3}; {45,7x};
{46}, refrain
of kyaa ; {64,3}*; {46,5}, only a negative rhetorical question; {72,8x}, kab ; {77,1}**, discussion;
{77,2}, kis
qadar , Nazm affirms; {78,3}; {84,5x}; {87,10}*, four options;
{91,9}, implied but assumed; {98,7}*; {99,7}; {107,7};
{111,1}; {117,5x}; {119,9}; {120,1}; {120,11};
{123,2}; {126,8};
{137,5x}, implied but required; {138,1}*; {148,3}*;
{149,9x}, taa chand ; {150,1}; {151,9}*, four options;
{161,7}, implied but required; {162} (most verses); {163,9}*;
{165,2}; {167,5}; {178,5};
{178,6}; {180,5}; {202,7};
{205,5}*; {209,11}**;
{214,2}**, kab tak ; {228,10}; {231,3};
{231,7}; {232,4}; {232,9}, implied but assumed // {320x,1}
ABOUT THE 'KYA EFFECT': Ghalib loves to create undecideability, and often forces our minds into ricochet mode, as he does in this verse. One of his finest tools for achieving this effect, the little word kyaa
, is here displayed to full advantage. Deployed as it is here, kyaa can generate three meanings: it can create (1) an exclamation of emphatic
affirmation for which we have an English counterpart in 'How joyous!'; (2) an
exclamation of emphatic denial for which we have no exact English counterpart ('What--
joyous?! Nothing of the kind! The very idea!'); and (3) a yes-or-no question. The result is three distinct, unforced, legitimate
interpretations of the first line. I've discussed this in Nets
of Awareness, Chapter 8, p. 107. Depending on the grammatical context of the line, there may sometimes be even four or more theoretical possibilities; see for example {111,1}, or the insanely multivalent {32,1}. There is also the strange and fascinating case of {36,10}, in which kyaa is not present at all but must be inserted in order to make the verse intelligible. And there's {46,5}, in which the only possible reading is as an emphatic denial.
In the case of the present verse, it's also very convenient that magar means
both 'perhaps' and 'but'. Thus two different logical relationships between
the lines are effortlessly provided, and can be combined with the three possibilities
of the first line in a variety of suitable ways; for more on such usages,
see {35,7}.
When the verse also contains
words like 'heart' and 'house', and 'water' and 'flood', all of which are
conjoinable and opposable in multiple ways among themselves, the possibilities become
astonishing.
Let me try to chart out a few of the basic ones:
(1a) and (2a): The flood plays the lover's house (body?)
like an instrument, a jal-tarang perhaps: it delights
the lover's heart with its siren song of the dissolution of normal life and
all its sufferings.
(1a) and (2b): The heart is delighted to welcome the
flood, even though it will lose the house (body?) that the flood had
been using as an instrument for its entertainment.
(1b) and (2a): The heart is sorrowful at the coming
of the flood, perhaps because it will lose the house (body?) that the
flood had been using to entertain it with.
(1b) and (2b): The heart is sorrowful at the coming
of the flood, even though it will be able to hear the music that the
flood makes when it uses its house (body?) as an instrument.
(1c) and (2a): Is the heart happy at the coming of the
flood, or not? Perhaps its house (body?) was the flood's instrument, and
it will be glad to hear more and louder music as the flood approaches? Or
perhaps its house (body?) will be swept away, and it will be sad (or
glad?) to hear no more music at all?
(1c) and (2b): Is the heart happy at the coming of
the flood, or not? But in any case, it's clear that
the house (body?) was the flood's instrument.
And then, of course, for 'happy' substitute the more evocative
'joy-harmonied', with its strong musical associations (not to say overtones),
for further mystical nuances between heart and flood.
And also, notice the clever tense shift between the verses,
such that it's hard to tell when the flood played music on the house
(always? as it approached? as it swept the house away? after it swept the
house away?). We are given no guidance at all here. Obviously, how we interpret
the sequence of events-- playing music in relation to wrecking, losing, and/or
drowning-- will multiply the range of reactions, and thus also the interpretations
of the verse. And of course Sufistic possibilities are constantly welling up (sorry, sorry) from the interpretive depths.
Then if we still have any interpretive energy
left, the i.zaafat constructions in the second line
provide further variability. ;xaanah-e ((aashiq can
be read as either 'the lover's house' or 'the house that is the lover'. And
the final sequence can be read as either ( saaz-e .sadaa )-e
aab , the 'voice-instrument of the water', or as saaz-e
( .sadaa-e aab ) , the 'instrument of the water-voice'. Further changes
can of course be rung on these as well, and various interpretive subtleties
teased out of them.
It makes your head spin, doesn't it? At least, it does mine.
And that, I submit, is the real punch of the verse, the real reason people
would say vaah vaah!' when they heard it. That is also,
of course, why verses like this are entirely untranslatable. They are really
little meaning-generators, and the blur of indeterminacy that surrounds
the orbits of the meanings is a large part of their enjoyableness.
For a somewhat less complex but quite similar use of this same theme, see {211,5x}.

That is, although I was sitting in the dust, because of my
heart's pride at its own contentment, it was rolling around on a bedding of
ermine. (16)
== Nazm page 16

Urdu text: Vajid 1902 {15}

In the time of prosperity, he is looking back: those things
even the thought of which gave pleasure-- now there is no such joy even in
their attainment. Zauq:
;hir.s ke phailte hai;N paa))o;N bah qadr-e
vus((at
tang hii rahte hai;N dunyaa me;N faraa;Gat-vaale
[the legs of Greed are spread according to the scope
those at leisure remain only/emphatically straitened in the world]. (37)

Because of shared color, wordplay has developed
between the 'bedding of ermine' and the 'sitting in ashes'. (54)

SETS == GENERATORS;
INEXPRESSIBILITY; IZAFAT
INEXPRESSIBILITY: {1,2}; {5,4};
{9,8x}; {10,2};
{15,11}**, with a list of kyaa kahuu;N verses; {16,4};
{16,8x}; {17,5};
{18,4}; {20,8};
{29,5x}; {34,3};
{39,4}; {49,2};
{56,2}; {58,9};
{68,5}; {75,6};
{81,13x}; {86,8};
{87,4}; {88,3};
{91,2}; {92,5};
{92,8x}; {97,2};
{108,6}; {113,4};
{129}*, nah puuchh ; {133,5x}; {136,7}; {147,6x};
{167,4}; {172,3};
{183,2}; {194,6};
{196,8x}*; {197,1}; {199,6x}; {201};
{208,5}; {210,5};
{224,2x}; {227,3} // {261x,6}; {350x}, nah puuchh ; {383x,5}; {398x,4}, nah puuchh
ABOUT kyaa kahuu;N : That irresistibly idiomatic phrase kyaa kahuu;N is a form of the 'inexpressibility trope' of which Ghalib makes excellent use. What more convenient way could there be to both suggest and avoid description, in a poem fifteen or twenty words long? It's expressive, like 'What can I say?!' I've translated it accordingly (though literally of course it's 'What might I say?'). Other examples: {39,4}; {88,3}; {92,8x}; {97,2}; {136,7}; {194,6}. Ghalib seems not to use kyaa kahe;N .
Structurally speaking, the verse is a tribute to the powers
of the i.zaafat construction. To take one crucial example,
what is an endowment 'of' a bedding [vaqf-e bistar]?
Is it an endowment bestowed by a bedding? An endowment bestowed on a bedding? An endowment that consists of a
bedding? An endowment that resembles, or is somehow otherwise related to,
a bedding? In a verse so full of abstractions forcibly yoked together, we're
not able to be at all sure. And of course, 'endowment' is far from the only meaning of vaqf (see the definition above), as can be seen from the several translations given above. 'Endowment' may be the primary sense that occurs to us today, but was it necessarily so for Ghalib?
Ashes and ermine-- how different are they, really? Both soft,
both a mottled greyish-whitish, both capable in some sense of being slept on.
By careful and subtle word choices, Ghalib has made possible a variety of
readings of the second line. Three of them are shown above; they all can be appropriately
associated with the pride-in-humility described in the first line:
=(2a) is at least initially physical, with a body
lying in bedding. The body of Thought, apparently, which is in fact
lying in ermine even while (or precisely because?) the physical body
lies in ashes.
=(2b) is ambitious: while sitting in ashes, proud
Thought is focused upon (and scheming about) riches to come.
=(2c) is religious: Thought has been endowed by
religious bequest with the ability to see ashes as ermine, and ermine
in ashes.
In a few words the verse is thus able to set up a picture
which might be that of ostentatious religious hypocrisy, coquettishly pluming
itself on its austerities; or that of ambition, busily scheming about how
to move from present rags to future riches; or that of a genuine religious
sensibility, which finds luxury in simplicity. Or, of course-- especially
if we think of the 'days' as those of youth-- something of all three together. And how excellently the possibilities of the (Persianized) naazish (see the definition above) resonate with these various alternatives!
Another verse that also somewhat oddly combines a vaqf
and bedding: {194,1} (which also discusses the nature of bistar ). Another abstract vaqf verse: {200,4x}. Another, less powerful invocation of ;xaakistar-nishiinii : {73,4x}.
Consider also the piquant but maddening {18,7x}.
And then compare Mir's own nostalgic (?) vision of the good old days: M{115,1}.

'Incapable madness did nothing', that is, it kept me deprived
of receipt of generosity and union with the beloved. Otherwise, every single
grain of dust [would have] received so much light that it resembled the sun.
(16-17)
== Nazm page 16; Nazm page 17

In this verse a moral lesson has been given, that if we
can do nothing, then it's no fault of our nature and the natural world. The
cause of our failure was the deficiency of our passion....
[Or:] Every sand-grain, like the sun itself, is an expression
of the divine light. If we aren't possessors of mystical knowledge, then why
aren't we-- apart from our lack of zeal? (37)

[Asi says:] My madness displayed incapability, and could
not arrive at the limit of madness. Otherwise, every grain of the realm of
madness was [=would have been] the envy of the sun. (2) In the realm at which
madness had already arrived, in that realm even every grain assumed the aspect
of the sun. (55)

SETS == SUBJECT?;
VARNAH
MADNESS: {14,3}
ZARRAH verses: {6,8x}; {6,10x};
{15,12}; {16,4}; {29,1};
{33,1}; {42,2};
{42,3}; {68,4};
{87,3}; {95,3};
{113,6}; {128,1};
{138,2}; {143,4};
{228,3}; {228,7} // {320x,4}; {332x,1}, also 'a tiny bit'; {364x,7}; {371x,2}; {435x,3}
ABOUT apnaa : Officially apnaa
means 'pertaining to the subject of the sentence'. But since here the subject
is junuu;N , we need to read apnii
as short for kisii kii apnii , 'someone's own'. (For a discussion of gender issues and the omitted baat , see below.) Only
the conventions of the ghazal then permit us to read that 'someone' as the
speaker (=the lover), so that it becomes a contracted form of merii
apnii . Which then raises the further question: why didn't Ghalib just
use merii , which scans the same way as apnii
, and would have removed all ambiguity? Perhaps he wants us also to consider
a reading of hamaarii apnii , 'our own', so that the
reference might be to all lovers. Or perhaps even to all human beings, since
yaa;N , 'here', can easily mean 'in this world'. Or perhaps the reference could be to the madness itself, which did not accomplish 'its own' work? For
other examples of this kind of unspecific-- and often deliberately ambiguous--
use of apnaa , see: {1,4}; {30,2};
{43} (which has apnaa
as a refrain); {86,5}; {114,1}; {148,4}; {167,3}.
As Baqir, quoting Asi, points out, the past-tense grammar of varnah permits either a past or a contrafactual reading of the
second line (for discussion of this see {3,5}). There are other such varnah examples, in
which the meaning can be either indicative or contrafactual; this is another
tool in Ghalib's tool-kit of what might be called meaning-multipliers.
If we read varnah as a simple past as in (2a), then the emphasis
falls on yaa;N , 'here,' meaning in the lover's vicinity
or the lover's world. This world is already in the desired state
of radiant sun-like madness, and the failure is in the inability either to
extend the condition-- no doubt to vaa;N or 'there,' where the beloved is-- or else to somehow
use the condition as a jumping-off point for the great leap to the beloved
that the lover is always longing for.
If we read varnah as contrafactual as in (2b), then the lover is
accusing unhelpful madness of failing entirely, of not achieving the kind
of 'access' that he wanted from it. He wanted
a madness so acute and brilliant that every grain of sand would have glistened
and radiated heat and energy like the sun. Perhaps then, seeing such a cosmic
feat, the beloved would have paid attention.
Or alternatively, perhaps what the madness was supposed
to do was not to create but to react to this astonishing world, in which every
sand-grain resembled (or would have resembled) the sun. The word varnah
is so flexible that it can permit a lot of ambiguity and shifting around.
In a world of miracles and wonders, why do we live so tamely? Why can't we
offer a response proportional to the dazzling sensory (and
emotional) experience of the cosmos?
The commentators take ruu-kash to mean
something like 'rival' or 'equal', and that's clearly a sense that works very
well. Platts, however, offers a definition that emphasizes the covering up
of something inner with something else on the outside, like an imitation;
and in particular, he says the term applies to 'the cover of a mirror'-- quite a piquant way to think of a sand-grain in relation to the sun.
Note for grammar fans: Since junuun is masculine we have to take apnii as referring to some implied feminine noun, presumably the usual baat . (Or here perhaps mar.zii , or karnii ?) For discussion, see {59,2}.
Note for translation fans: It's true that a zarrah can be any tiny particle (see the definition above); but since its main Ghalibian role is in relation to the sun, I use 'sand-grain' to emphasize the possibilities of glittering and reflecting.