چپکے چپکے رات دن آنسو بہانا یاد ہے Chupke Chupke Raat Din Aansu Bahana Yaad Hai — I Remember Crying Quietly, Night And Day

Crying quietly, night and day — I remember it. I still remember that whole time of being in love.

The poem tells you its rules in the first two words. Chupke chupke, quietly, quietly. Everything that follows happens in secret, and nothing in this ghazal is ever done openly. And what he says he remembers is a zamana, an era, rather than a person. He is dating a period of his life the way you would date a decade.

عاشقی ashiqi

being in love; the whole condition of it

زمانہ zamana

an age, a period, a whole era

With a thousand kinds of restlessness and a hundred thousand kinds of longing — I remember losing my heart to you, that very first time.

The first line is Persian and the second is plain Urdu, and the joke lives in the join. He counts his feelings in thousands and hundred-thousands, in the grandest language he has. Then he says what actually happened in the smallest words available: dil ka lagana, getting attached.

با ہزاراں ba-hazaran

with thousands of

اضطراب iztirab

restlessness, agitation, not being able to settle

اشتیاق ishtiyaq

eager longing

My longing eyes lifting again and again toward the same spot. And you, up at the little window, holding my gaze — I remember.

A ghurfa is a small window or alcove on the upper floor. Her place in the house is her place in the affair. Above him, set back, free to pull away at any moment without having to explain herself. Ankhen ladana literally means to make eyes fight, which is the phrase for holding someone's gaze and refusing to look away first. She is winning.

جانب janib

direction, side

نگاہِ شوق nigah-e-shauq

a look full of longing

غرفہ ghurfa

a small upstairs window or alcove

آنکھیں لڑانا aankhen ladana

to hold someone's gaze — literally, to make eyes fight

How shameless I would turn the moment I got near you. And you, biting your finger between your teeth — I remember.

Biting a finger is the classic gesture for shock. It is not a real objection. Two gestures answer each other across two lines, his boldness and her performance of being scandalised by it, and neither of them stops.

بے باک bebaak

fearless, unabashed; forward

Me, yanking the corner of the curtain aside all at once. And you, hiding your face in your dupatta — I remember.

Dafatan: all at once. That is the speed of the line. This is an ambush, not an approach. And her answer is to cover her face and stay, not to leave the room. The curtain is the house's rule, and both of them are busy finding ways around it.

دفعتاً dafatan

suddenly, all at once

دوپٹہ dupatta

the long scarf worn over the head and shoulders

Thinking you were asleep, I set out to kiss your feet. And you kicked my head away — and smiled. I remember.

Kissing feet is what a servant does for a king, so he puts himself as low as the poem allows. Then the reply, which is the best moment in the ghazal. She was awake. The whole time. The kick and the smile arrive together and neither cancels the other.

قصد qasd

an intention; setting out to do something

پا بوسی pa-bosi

kissing the feet

ٹھکرانا thukrana

to kick away; to spurn

Whenever I managed to find you alone, then — out of pure good manners — I would let the state of my heart slip out inside ordinary conversation. I remember.

Az-rah-e-lihaz means out of consideration, from politeness. He is describing being indirect on purpose: saying the thing while appearing to talk about something else. And he files the dodge under good manners, which is either very charming or very sly depending on your mood.

از راہِ لحاظ az-rah-e-lihaz

out of consideration; from good manners

حالِ دل haal-e-dil

the state of the heart

جتانا jatana

to let something be known without saying it outright

Back when I was the only one out of his mind over you — tell me honestly, do you remember that whole business too?

The only couplet that asks her anything, and it does not ask whether she loved him. It asks whether she remembers. Kar-khana means a workshop or a factory, a word for an operation with a lot going on inside it. He will not call it a romance. He calls it that whole enterprise.

دیوانہ deewana

mad, out of one's mind — the ordinary word for a lover

کارخانہ kar-khana

a workshop or factory; a whole busy affair

Dodging everyone's eyes, against what every single person wanted — you came at night, in secret. I remember.

The one couplet where she takes the risk. Everywhere else he reaches and she deflects. Here she crosses the dark herself, against her entire household. Sab ki marzi ke khilaf, against everyone's will, says a great deal about what it would have cost her if it had gone wrong.

غیر ghair

an outsider; anybody who is not us

مرضی marzi

will, wish, what someone wants

چوری چھپے chori-chhupe

in secret, like a thief

If separation ever came up, even on the night we finally had together, you would cry until I was crying too. I remember.

Union and separation are the two ends this whole poetry runs between, and poets usually keep them in separate couplets. Here they end up in the same room. On the one night they get together, she is crying about all the nights they will not. The grief arrives early, and it is not for show.

وصل vasl

union; being together at last

شب shab

night

فراق firaq

separation

In the middle of the afternoon sun, just to call me — you came out onto the roof with nothing on your feet. I remember.

The clearest picture in the poem, and it is meant to hurt. A flat roof at noon in north India is too hot to stand on. Nange paanv, bare feet, tells you she came out anyway, without stopping for slippers. The couplet never says she loved him. The soles of her feet say it.

کوٹھا kotha

the flat roof of a house, used as a terrace

ننگے پاؤں nange paanv

barefoot

I can still see it — that sitting together, all secrets and pleading. My going is in my memory. Your calling me is in my memory.

The refrain lands twice inside one line, once for each of them, weighed out exactly even. Shared remembering, for the only time in the poem. Everywhere else he does it alone.

صحبت sohbat

company; sitting together

راز raz

a secret

نیاز niyaz

pleading; offering yourself humbly to someone

Starting up some sweet, strange talk of love — and blowing any mention of my rival clean out of the conversation. I remember.

Udana means to make something fly off, to brush a topic aside so smoothly that nobody notices it has gone. He is describing being handled, and what comes through is pure admiration for the skill. The dushman, the enemy, is his rival, and he never gets a name anywhere in the poem.

چھیڑنا chhedna

to start a subject up; also to tease

نرالی niraali

unusual, unlike anything else

اڑانا udana

to make something fly off; to brush a topic away

Whenever you saw me turned away from you, a hundred kinds of charm would come out to win me back — and the moment they worked, you would sulk yourself. I remember.

The whole machinery of a certain kind of relationship, in two lines. She only wants him back so she has somewhere to pull away from again. Naaz, the beloved's deliberate coldness, is a technical term in this poetry, and here it is being used in bulk, as a tool.

برگشتہ bargashta

turned away, estranged

ناز naaz

coquetry; the beloved's deliberate withholding

روٹھنا roothna

to sulk, to take offence

The place you came and met me in secret — ages have gone by, and I still know exactly where it is.

This is the couplet that tells you how old the man writing it is. Not the feeling, the address. He has held on to the place long after everything around it went. Which is what actually happens to people.

مدت muddat

a long stretch of time

ٹھکانا thikana

a place, an address

You so delighted with your henna that you could not use your hands or your feet — and me teasing you, tickling you. I remember.

Henna has to dry, and for those few hours the hands are out of action. Be-dast-o-pa means without hands or feet, and it is normally said of someone genuinely helpless. He uses that serious phrase for a very small problem, then takes full advantage of it. It is the happiest couplet in the poem, and the only one where both of them are laughing.

مہندی mehndi

henna

بے دست و پا be-dast-o-pa

without hands or feet; helpless

گدگدانا gudgudana

to tickle

For all my claims to piety, Hasrat — I still remember the whole long tale of those years of wanting. To this day.

The couplet that changes the sixteen before it. He signs his name, admits out loud that he has been presenting himself as a religious man, and reports that none of it has gone anywhere. Ahd-e-havas is his own name for that time: the era of wanting. He is not asking to be forgiven. He is telling you that becoming religious erased nothing.

باوجود ba-vujood

in spite of

ادعا iddaa

a claim, an assertion made about oneself

اتقا ittiqa

piety; the God-fearing kind of restraint

عہدِ ہوس ahd-e-havas

the era of appetite — his own name for those years

فسانہ fasana

a long story, a tale