ان کے اندازِ کرم Unke Andaz-e-Karam — The Way They Were Kind

Pir Naseeruddin Naseer Gilani

1949– 2009

Ghazal

Read this once and you notice that the man speaking barely does anything at all. The heart falls for somebody. The heart swells up. The heart loses its address, gets robbed in a side street, slips out of his hands and walks off with a stranger. He is mostly standing there, watching it happen.

Naseeruddin Naseer was the custodian of a Sufi shrine at Golra Sharif near Islamabad, published thirty-six books, and drew large crowds to hear him recite. The poem runs to thirteen couplets, and by the last one the heart has left his keeping and is going about its own business in the room.

01 — un ke andaz-e-karam un pe vo aana dil ka Matla · the opening

ان کے اندازِ کرم ان پہ وہ آنا دل کا
ہائے وہ وقت وہ باتیں وہ زمانہ دل کا

उन के अंदाज़-ए-करम उन पे वो आना दिल का
हाए वो वक़्त वो बातें वो ज़माना दिल का

un ke andaz-e-karam un pe vo aana dil ka
haae vo vaqt vo baaten vo zamana dil ka

The way they used to be kind. The way the heart went straight to them. Oh, that time, those conversations — that whole era of the heart.

The first line is two fragments with no verb holding them together, and it is meant to be. This is remembering, not telling. Then the last phrase: zamana dil ka, the heart's era. He does not date the period by his age or by when they were together. He dates it by what his heart was doing, as if the heart kept its own calendar.

انداز andaz: manner; the particular way someone does a thing
کرم karam: kindness, a favour given freely
زمانہ zamana: an age, a period, a whole era

02 — na suna us ne tavajjoh se fasana dil ka Another matla · both lines rhyme

نہ سنا اس نے توجہ سے فسانہ دل کا
زندگی گزری مگر درد نہ جانا دل کا

न सुना उस ने तवज्जोह से फ़साना दिल का
ज़िंदगी गुज़री मगर दर्द न जाना दिल का

na suna us ne tavajjoh se fasana dil ka
zindagi guzri magar dard na jaana dil ka

They never really listened to the heart's story. A whole life went past, and they never found out what it was hurting about.

The complaint is precise. He does not say they refused to listen. Na suna tavajjoh se, they did not listen with attention. They were there. Fasana is a long tale, the kind told over many sittings, and a lifetime is plenty of time to have taken it in. The second line hands them all of it, and still ends with them not knowing.

توجہ tavajjoh: attention, actually paying heed
فسانہ fasana: a story, a long tale told over time

03 — kuchh nayi baat nahin husn pe aana dil ka Another matla · both lines rhyme

کچھ نئی بات نہیں حسن پہ آنا دل کا
مشغلہ ہے یہ نہایت ہی پرانا دل کا

कुछ नई बात नहीं हुस्न पे आना दिल का
मश्ग़ला है ये निहायत ही पुराना दिल का

kuchh nayi baat nahin husn pe aana dil ka
mashghala hai ye nihayat hi purana dil ka

There is nothing new about a heart falling for beauty. It is a very old hobby of the heart's.

Mashghala is what you do to pass the time, a hobby. Calling love that is the joke: the most serious thing that ever happens to a person, filed under things the heart gets up to when it is bored. This is the third couplet running where both lines rhyme, and by now it has stopped being chance.

حسن husn: beauty
مشغلہ mashghala: a pastime, something to keep yourself occupied with
نہایت nihayat: extremely, very

04 — vo mohabbat ki shuruaat vo be-thah khushi

وہ محبت کی شروعات وہ بے تھاہ خوشی
دیکھ کر ان کو وہ پھولے نہ سمانا دل کا

वो मोहब्बत की शुरू'आत वो बे-थाह ख़ुशी
देख कर उन को वो फूले न समाना दिल का

vo mohabbat ki shuruaat vo be-thah khushi
dekh kar un ko vo phoole na samana dil ka

The beginning of the love, that bottomless happiness. The way the heart swelled up too big for the body the moment it saw them.

Phoole na samana is an everyday phrase for being so full of joy you cannot be contained. Said on its own it passes without notice. Set right after be-thah, bottomless, it stops being ordinary: one word says the joy has no floor, the next says the container has run out of room.

شروعات shuruaat: the beginning, the first days of something
بے تھاہ be-thah: bottomless, with no depth you can reach
پھولے نہ سمانا phoole na samana: to swell with joy until you cannot be contained

05 — dillagi dil ki lagi ban ke mita deti hai

دل لگی دل کی لگی بن کے مٹا دیتی ہے
روگ دشمن کو بھی یا رب نہ لگانا دل کا

दिल-लगी दिल की लगी बन के मिटा देती है
रोग दुश्मन को भी या-रब न लगाना दिल का

dillagi dil ki lagi ban ke mita deti hai
rog dushman ko bhi ya-rab na lagana dil ka

A bit of fun turns into a fire in the heart, and it finishes you. God — do not give this illness even to an enemy.

Dillagi and dil ki lagi sound almost the same and mean opposite things: a joke, and something set on fire inside you. The line makes you hear one become the other. Then it changes mood completely and turns into a prayer, which is the oldest way of saying a thing is unbearable. You would not wish it on the person you hate most.

دل لگی dillagi: a joke, a flirtation, a bit of fun
لگی lagi: a burning; something having caught fire
روگ rog: a disease, especially a long one you do not shake off
یا رب ya-rab: O Lord — spoken directly to God

06 — mere pahloo mein nahin aap ki mutthi mein nahin

میرے پہلو میں نہیں آپ کی مٹھی میں نہیں
بے ٹھکانا ہے بہت دن سے ٹھکانا دل کا

मेरे पहलू में नहीं आप की मुट्ठी में नहीं
बे-ठिकाना है बहुत दिन से ठिकाना दिल का

mere pahloo mein nahin aap ki mutthi mein nahin
be-thikana hai bahut din se thikana dil ka

Not here at my side. Not in your fist either. For a long time now the heart's address has been no address at all.

Be-thikana hai thikana, the heart's place is no place at all. Urdu lets you set a word directly against its own negative like that and leave it unresolved. And look at the two places offered and refused. Pahloo, at my side, is where you keep someone you love. Mutthi, a closed fist, is where you keep a thing you own. He does not say which would have been better.

پہلو pahloo: the side of the body — where someone close to you sits
مٹھی mutthi: a fist, a closed hand
ٹھکانا thikana: an address, a place to be, somewhere you belong

07 — vo bhi apne na hue dil bhi gaya haathon se

وہ بھی اپنے نہ ہوئے دل بھی گیا ہاتھوں سے
ایسے آنے سے تو بہتر تھا نہ آنا دل کا

वो भी अपने न हुए दिल भी गया हाथों से
ऐसे आने से तो बेहतर था न आना दिल का

vo bhi apne na hue dil bhi gaya haathon se
aise aane se to behtar tha na aana dil ka

They never became mine, and the heart went out of my hands as well. If this is what coming looks like, it would have been better never to have come at all.

The plainest couplet here, and the bleakest. Two losses in the first line, counted out with no decoration at all, and then a verdict. Aana, coming, has been the rhyme word since the opening, where it meant the heart arriving at love. Here the same word is the thing he wishes had never happened.

اپنا ہونا apna hona: to become one's own; to belong to someone

08 — khoob hain aap bahut khoob magar yaad rahe

خوب ہیں آپ بہت خوب مگر یاد رہے
زیب دیتا نہیں ایسوں کو ستانا دل کا

ख़ूब हैं आप बहुत ख़ूब मगर याद रहे
ज़ेब देता नहीं ऐसों को सताना दिल का

khoob hain aap bahut khoob magar yaad rahe
zeb deta nahin aison ko satana dil ka

You are fine. Very fine indeed. But keep this in mind — tormenting a heart does not suit people like you.

Zeb dena is what clothes do: to suit someone, to look right on them. So cruelty gets treated as a badly chosen garment, something that does not go with the face. It is the most polite way there is of telling somebody they are behaving beneath themselves. And the repeated khoob in the first line has an edge you can hear from across the room.

خوب khoob: fine, excellent — said twice here, and not entirely sincerely
زیب دینا zeb dena: to suit someone, to look right on them
ستانا satana: to torment, to keep on hurting

09 — be-jhijak aa ke milo hans ke milao aankhen

بے جھجک آ کے ملو ہنس کے ملاؤ آنکھیں
آؤ ہم تم کو سکھاتے ہیں ملانا دل کا

बे-झिजक आ के मिलो हँस के मिलाओ आँखें
आओ हम तुम को सिखाते हैं मिलाना दिल का

be-jhijak aa ke milo hans ke milao aankhen
aao ham tum ko sikhate hain milana dil ka

Come and meet me without hesitating. Meet my eyes, and laugh while you do it. Come here — I will teach you how hearts are joined.

Milna, to meet, comes three times in two lines: meet me, meet my eyes, join hearts. The same verb goes deeper each time without changing its shape. And after eight couplets of being hurt, this is where he offers to teach, the only place in the poem where he has something the other person does not.

بے جھجک be-jhijak: without hesitating, without holding back
آنکھیں ملانا aankhen milana: to meet someone's eyes
ملانا milana: to join two things together

10 — naqsh-bar-aab nahin vahm nahin khwab nahin

نقش بر آب نہیں وہم نہیں خواب نہیں
آپ کیوں کھیل سمجھتے ہیں مٹانا دل کا

नक़्श-बर-आब नहीं वह्म नहीं ख़्वाब नहीं
आप क्यों खेल समझते हैं मिटाना दिल का

naqsh-bar-aab nahin vahm nahin khwab nahin
aap kyun khel samajhte hain mitana dil ka

It is not a line drawn on water. It is not something I imagined. It is not a dream. So why do you treat wiping out a heart as a game?

Naqsh-bar-ab, a mark written on water, is the standard image for a thing that disappears in the act of being made. He lists three kinds of not-quite-real, denies all three, and only then asks his question. Mitana is the verb for rubbing out writing, so the heart has been a written thing all along, and erasing it takes a hand and some effort.

نقش بر آب naqsh-bar-aab: a mark drawn on water; something gone as soon as it is made
وہم vahm: a doubt, a suspicion, something you only imagined
مٹانا mitana: to erase, to rub out

11 — hasraten khaak huin mit gaye armaan saare

حسرتیں خاک ہوئیں مٹ گئے ارماں سارے
لٹ گیا کوچۂ جاناں میں خزانہ دل کا

हसरतें ख़ाक हुईं मिट गए अरमाँ सारे
लुट गया कूचा-ए-जानाँ में ख़ज़ाना दिल का

hasraten khaak huin mit gaye armaan saare
lut gaya koocha-e-jaanan mein khazana dil ka

The longings turned to ash. Every last wish was rubbed out. In the beloved's own street, the heart's whole treasure was robbed.

Koocha-e-janan, the lane where the beloved lives, is somewhere this poetry has been walking for centuries. Here it becomes the place you get mugged. And look at what the couplet does not say: nobody is accused. The treasure is simply gone, in that street, and no thief is ever named.

حسرت hasrat: a longing, especially one that never got satisfied
ارمان armaan: a wish, a thing hoped for
کوچۂ جاناں koocha-e-jaanan: the beloved's street
خزانہ khazana: a treasure, a hoard

12 — le chala hai mire pahloo se ba-sad-shauq koi

لے چلا ہے مرے پہلو سے بہ صد شوق کوئی
اب تو ممکن ہی نہیں لوٹ کے آنا دل کا

ले चला है मिरे पहलू से ब-सद-शौक़ कोई
अब तो मुमकिन ही नहीं लौट के आना दिल का

le chala hai mire pahloo se ba-sad-shauq koi
ab to mumkin hi nahin laut ke aana dil ka

Somebody is walking off with it from my side, and enjoying it enormously. There is no chance now of the heart coming back.

Ba-sad-shauq means with a hundred eagernesses, the phrase for doing something gladly, and normally a warm one. Here it describes the person carrying his heart away, and it is the only detail he gives us about them. He does not know who they are. He knows they were delighted.

بہ صد شوق ba-sad-shauq: with a hundred eagernesses; very gladly indeed
ممکن mumkin: possible

13 — un ki mahfil mein 'nasir' un ke tabassum ki qasam Maqta · signed by the poet

ان کی محفل میں نصیرؔ ان کے تبسم کی قسم
دیکھتے رہ گئے ہم ہاتھ سے جانا دل کا

उन की महफ़िल में 'नसीर' उन के तबस्सुम की क़सम
देखते रह गए हम हाथ से जाना दिल का

un ki mahfil mein 'nasir' un ke tabassum ki qasam
dekhte rah gaye ham haath se jaana dil ka

In their gathering, Naseer — I swear it on that smile of theirs — I simply stood and watched the heart go out of my hands.

The closing couplet, signed with the poet's own name. He swears the oath on their smile, which is the thing that did the damage in the first place. And dekhte rah gaye is exactly the phrase for standing there while something happens to you. Thirteen couplets of the heart acting on its own, and it ends with the owner as a bystander.

محفل mahfil: a gathering; the sitting where poetry is read or sung
تبسم tabassum: a smile
قسم qasam: an oath, a swearing-by

Reading it whole

The heart in this poem is not a metaphor for the man. It is something he lives alongside and cannot control, like a lodger who keeps bringing trouble home. By the last couplet he is in a crowded room and the heart is leaving it with somebody else. He does not chase it. He swears an oath on the smile that caused it, and that is the entire response.

Urdu makes that possible in a way English cannot copy. Dil ka means of the heart, and in Urdu it lands right at the end of the line. So every line runs its course, describes something happening, and only in its final breath tells you who it happened to. Thirteen times the poem names an action and then hands it over to somebody else. The man is the heart's landlord at best.

It matters who wrote this, and it settles nothing. Naseeruddin Naseer ran a shrine. He was a religious figure with a following, writing a poem full of smiles, wrists, gatherings and a beloved who will not listen. In this tradition that is no contradiction, and it is not a code to be cracked either. The beloved has always been readable as a person or as God, and a good poet keeps both alive rather than choosing between them.

The couplet about the mark on the water is where it presses hardest. Not a line on water, he says, not something imagined, not a dream, so why treat wiping out a heart as a game? Read one way, he is telling a careless lover that what he feels is real. Read another way, he is telling all of us that the soul is.

It travelled the way most of this poetry travels now, through qawwali. Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan's recording is where most people first hear it, and like most sung versions it takes a selection of the couplets rather than all thirteen, in whatever order suits the singing.

How it rhymes

Every second line closes on the same word — دل کا , dil ka. That repetition is the radif. The rhyme falling just before it is the qafiya: The -ana sound just before the refrain: aana, zamana, fasana, jana, purana, samana, lagana, thikana, satana, milana, mitana, khazana. Hearing the two land together at the close of every sher is most of what makes this form sound the way it does.

Recordings

Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan

The recording most listeners know it from. Like most sung versions it takes a selection of the couplets, not all thirteen.

Text and rights

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

Sung versions use a selection of the couplets and reorder them. This is the poem as written, not a transcript of any one recording.

Pir Naseeruddin Naseer Gilani died in 2009, so this poem is still in copyright. It is quoted here as the subject of Harf's own criticism: the translation, the reading of each couplet 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.