تم سے ہی Tumse Hi — Only From You

Irshad Kamil

1971– living

Geet

A man is trying to say who he is, and every answer he reaches is the same person. The day happens only from you, the evening comes only from you, even the breath is called life only from you. The song is the inventory of a life that has been handed over, item by item, and it was written by Irshad Kamil for Jab We Met in 2007.

Three passages ahead, and the first one states the rule the other two prove: it is neither having nor losing, and the not-having of you somehow has to happen. The rest of the song is the proof that it cannot.

01 — na hai ye paana, na khona hi hai

نا ہے یہ پانا، نا کھونا ہی ہے
تیرا نا ہونا جانے کیوں ہونا ہی ہے
تم سے ہی دن ہوتا ہے
سرمئی شام آتی ہے
تم سے ہی تم سے ہی
ہر گھڑی سانس آتی ہے
زندگی کہلاتی ہے
تم سے ہی تم سے ہی

ना है ये पाना, ना खोना ही है
तेरा ना होना जाने क्यों होना ही है
तुमसे ही दिन होता है
सुरमई शाम आती है
तुमसे ही तुमसे ही
हर घड़ी साँस आती है
ज़िन्दगी कहलाती है
तुमसे ही तुमसे ही

na hai ye paana, na khona hi hai
tera na hona jaane kyun hona hi hai
tumse hi din hota hai
surmai shaam aati hai
tumse hi tumse hi
har ghadi saans aati hai
zindagi kahlaati hai
tumse hi tumse hi

Neither is this having, nor is it losing. The not-having of you, who knows why, has to happen. From you only the day happens, the dusk-blue evening comes. From you only, from you only, every moment the breath comes, and it is called life. From you only, from you only.

The passage opens with the song's one philosophical line, and it is deliberately unresolved: the love is neither possession nor loss, and even the beloved's absence is something that must occur, hona hi hai, the grammar of the inevitable. The refrain that follows is a list of the world's daily events, day, evening, breath, life, and every one is traced to her. Surmai, dusk-blue, is the exact colour of the Punjabi evening, and the word carries the whole landscape of the poet's home.

سرمئی surmai: the grey-blue of kohl; the colour of dusk

02 — aankhon mein aankhen teri

آنکھوں میں آنکھیں تیری
باہوں میں باہیں تیری
میرا نا مجھ میں کچھ رہا ہوا کیا
باتوں میں باتیں تیری
راتیں سوگاتیں تیری
کیوں تیرا سب یہ ہو گیا ہوا کیا
میں کہیں بھی جاتا ہوں
تم سے ہی مل جاتا ہوں
تم سے ہی تم سے ہی
شور میں خاموشی ہے
تھوڑی سی بے ہوشی ہے
تم سے ہی تم سے ہی

आँखों में आँखें तेरी
बाहों में बाहें तेरी
मेरा ना मुझमें कुछ रहा हुआ क्या
बातों में बातें तेरी
रातें सौगातें तेरी
क्यों तेरा सब ये हो गया हुआ क्या
मैं कहीं भी जाता हूँ
तुमसे ही मिल जाता हूँ
तुमसे ही तुमसे ही
शोर में ख़ामोशी है
थोड़ी सी बेहोशी है
तुमसे ही तुमसे ही

aankhon mein aankhen teri
baahon mein baahon teri
mera na mujh mein kuchh raha hua kya
baaton mein baatein teri
raatein sougaatein teri
kyun tera sab ye ho gaya hua kya
main kahin bhi jaata hoon
tumse hi mil jaata hoon
tumse hi tumse hi
shor mein khaamoshi hai
thodi si behoshi hai
tumse hi tumse hi

Your eyes in my eyes, your arms in my arms. What is left of me in me? Your words in my words, your nights as my gifts. How has all of this become yours? Wherever I go, I meet only you. In the noise there is a quiet, a slight unconsciousness: only from you.

The passage is the disappearance, reported item by item. The mirrored structure, teri in both halves of every pair, makes the exchange total: the man keeps only the pronouns of the beloved. The two questions, kya raha, kya hua, what is left, what has happened, are the song's way of checking the damage. The last couplet is the passage's gift, shor mein khaamoshi, the quiet inside the noise, and behoshi, the slight loss of senses, both traced to the same source.

سوغات sougaatein: gifts brought back from a journey

03 — aadha sa vaada kabhi

آدھا سا وعدہ کبھی
آدھے سے زیادہ کبھی
جی چاہے کر لوں اس طرح وفا کا
چھوڑے نا چھوٹے کبھی
توڑے نا ٹوٹے کبھی
جو دھاگا تم سے جڑ گیا وفا کا
میں تیرا سرمایا ہوں
جو بھی میں بن پایا ہوں
تم سے ہی تم سے ہی
راستے مل جاتے ہیں
منزلیں مل جاتی ہیں
تم سے ہی تم سے ہی

आधा सा वादा कभी
आधे से ज़्यादा कभी
जी चाहे कर लूँ इस तरह वफ़ा का
छोड़े ना छूटे कभी
तोड़े ना टूटे कभी
जो धागा तुमसे जुड़ गया वफ़ा का
मैं तेरा सरमाया हूँ
जो भी मैं बन पाया हूँ
तुमसे ही तुमसे ही
रास्ते मिल जाते हैं
मंज़िलें मिल जाती हैं
तुमसे ही तुमसे ही

aadha sa vaada kabhi
aadhe se zyada kabhi
jee chahe kar loon is tarah vafa ka
chhode na chhoote kabhi
tode na toote kabhi
jo dhaaga tumse jud gaya vafa ka
main tera sarmaaya hoon
jo bhi main ban paaya hoon
tumse hi tumse hi
raaste mil jaate hain
manzilein mil jaati hain
tumse hi tumse hi

A half promise sometimes, more than half sometimes: I want to make my loyalty that way. May it never be let go, may it never break: the thread of loyalty that has joined me to you. I am your capital, whatever I have been able to become. From you only. The roads are found, the destinations are found: only from you.

The passage is the vow, and the vow is made in the language of threads and ledgers. The thread of loyalty, dhaaga vafa ka, is the image of the wedding and the bracelet, and the promise is that it will not come untied. The last couplet moves the whole song to its closing register, sarmaaya, capital: the man is the beloved's investment, and everything he became was her doing. The word is deliberately unromantic, and that is why it lands: the accounting language makes the surrender absolute.

وفا vafa: faithfulness, keeping your side of a bond
سرمایہ sarmaaya: capital; everything a person is worth

Reading it whole

The song is built on the repetition of one phrase, tumse hi, only from you, and the repetition is the argument. Everything the man can name is traced back to her: the day, the evening, the breath, the quiet in the noise, the intoxication, the roads, the destinations. The song does not describe the beloved once. It describes the world with her inside it, which is a stronger thing.

The first passage is the song's strangest verse, and it is the one people remember. Na hai ye paana, na khona hi hai: neither is this having, nor is it losing. The not-having of her is itself a condition that must happen. It is the only line in the song that admits the beloved is not fully present, and it does it in the grammar of fate, jaanay kyun hona hi hai, who knows why it must be.

The middle passages are the surrender, reported as a disappearance. My eyes in your eyes, my arms in your arms, nothing of me left in me. The inventory of exchange ends in the song's clearest line: main tera sarmaya hoon, whatever I have become, I have become from you. The word sarmaya, capital, is the poet's own register, a word from the counting-house used for the heart, and it lands harder than any of the older love words.

Mohit Chauhan's voice made the song the confession of a generation, and the film's runaway romance gave it a place to live. It is the song that made Irshad Kamil the lyricist of the decade, and it remains the standard by which his later songs are measured.

Recordings

Mohit Chauhan

From Jab We Met (2007), composed by Pritam.

Text and rights

Devanagari text supplied and checked by a reader who knows the language. The Urdu script and the transliteration follow that reading.

The song is from the film Jab We Met (2007), music Pritam, lyrics Irshad Kamil. The refrain returns between passages in the recording more often than it is printed here.

Irshad Kamil is alive and the song is recent work. It is quoted here as the subject of Harf's own criticism: the translation, the reading of each passage and the essay around them are original work written for this page. If you hold the rights and would like something changed, tell us on Instagram.