Topic: Rekhti poetry

[Nichi]

Impersonating the Feminine in Urdu Poetry
- by Carla Petievich, Montclair State University

For nearly three hundred years the Urdu ghazal has figured among the most popular art forms of South Asia. Deriving from the Perso-Arabic literary tradition, the ghazal's highly conventionalized aesthetics can tend toward the complex, metaphysical and philosophical while also satistisfying less arcane romantic impulses. As a result, this poetic genre enjoys great prestige and is also highly popular, being claimed and consumed by diverse audiences. Although Urdu as a language has become increasingly associated with Muslim culture in the past decades, the ghazal's popularity and prestige extend well beyond the language community of South Asian Muslims and the territorial bounds of Hindustan, Urdu's historic heartland. The ubiquitous and extraordinarily popular Hindi film song, for example, is clearly inspired by the ghazal, and many of the most successful songwriters in the Bombay film industry have been Urdu poets.

Classical Urdu ghazal (called rekhta) is a literature narrated in the masculine voice (the narrator/lover is called the 'ashiq). Idealized love ('ishq) is its main subject. Rekhti is the name by which all premodern Urdu poetry narrated in the feminine voice has come to be called. Rekhti is associated with the domestic sphere of socially élite, secluded women during the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and alleges to speak in the particular idiom of their milieu. Its reputed creator was one Sa'adat Yar Khan 'Rangin' (d. 1834/5), a famous poet associated with Lucknow. Other authors of rekhti include Insha' Allah Khan 'Insha' (d. 1817), Qalandar Bakhsh 'Jur'at' (d. 1810) and Mir Yar 'Ali Khan "Jan Sahib' (1818 - 1897).

Two things that are important to know at the outset, and to remember, are: (1) Rangin is said to have adapted rekhti from the idiom of the women of ill repute with whom he spent his youth consorting; and (2) that Jan Sahib is said to have dressed himself 'like women and recited verses in the accent and gestures peculiar to them, much to the amusement of his audience'. This sort of 'biographical' information has done much to determine the shape of rekhti's place in Urdu literature.

To Rangin and his contemporaries rekhti doubtless represented an exciting innovation in a talent-glutted cultural marketplace. By the end of the eighteenth century the city of Lucknow had established itself firmly as a major cultural center (markaz). Indeed, it was second in status only to Delhi, the Mughal capital. Delhi had seen hard times through much of the eighteenth century in the guise of invasions by Persians, Afghans, Marathas and Europeans. As the seat of Avadh, the largest spin-off state from a decentralizing Mughal empire, Lucknow was home to legions of refugee nobility and artists from Delhi and environs, including Mirza Suleiman Shikoh, the Mughal heir apparent. The Mughal prince and the ruling Navabs of Avadh offered lavish patronage to scores of poets and other artists from all over northern India, and made Lucknow 'the place to be'. Featured prominently in Lucknow's cultural life were such literary luminaries as Khan-i 'Arzu' (d. 1756), Mirza Muhammad Rafi 'Sauda' (d. 1780), Mir Taqi "Mir" (d.1810), and Shaikh Ghulam Hamdani 'Mushafi' (d. 1834), in addition to the rekhti poets about to be discussed. Great monuments were being built; schools and centers of Islamic learning were thriving; and literature was in a ferment: some of Delhi's erstwhile 'élite were actively engaged in the process of 'perfecting' Urdu in Lucknow as an indigenous literary language to rival Persian. The standard literary genres of the Perso-Arabic tradition were flourishing under Urdu masters and the sense of rivalry among them for patronage drove cultural production to new heights.

It was into this milieu that rekhti was introduced by Sa'adat Yar Khan 'Rangin' (1756- 1834), the son of a Persian nobleman who had migrated to Lucknow around the turn of the nineteenth century. By way of introduction to his literary innovation, Rangin explains that, in the course of a wild and misspent youth, he consorted extensively with the famous courtesans of the day. In their company he developed familiarity with and appreciation of their particular idiom. The pithiness of their expression and their wit so impressed him that he decided to compose poetry in this 'Ladies' Language' (begumati zaban) and to call his collected poems 'rekhti'. The combination of its feminine narrator and its begumati idiom made rekhti a distinct genre. Indications are that this immediately- popular style of poetry was accepted quite unproblematic ally into Lucknow's thriving milieu. Anecdotal sources indicate that Rangin recited his rekhti for the general delight and delectation of the Lakhnavi élite. No less a literary master than Rangin's bosom buddy, Insha' Allah Khan 'Insha' composed a collection (divan) of such poems; and the poet Jan Sahib (d. 1897?) composed at least two full collections (divans) of rekhti, on which his literary reputation largely rests. The few extant scholarly sources offer numerous other names, which are identified as versifiers in rekhti, though few of them are still known today. The very fact that so many names can be found, and so little poetic output can be connected with them, speaks volumes about how attitudes towards this poetry have changed.

Discussion of rekhti in twentieth-century critical writing has been characterized by moralistic judgments and a great deal of evasion. It has received very little scholarly attention in a literary culture nearly obsessed with its own past and present, and does not appear on the syllabi for university-level degree programs. The discrepancy between early enthusiasm, and later distaste, for rekhti may seem at first glance to be anomalous. But a judicious probe into the cultural constructions of gender resolves much of that anomaly, especially shedding light on the logic of its rejection by Urdu literature's modern custodians.

In our time rekhti has become a thoroughly marginalized body of literature. One of the great ironies in all this is that, though narrated by one 'woman' who usually addresses another in intimate terms, our only existing records indicate that rekhti was recited by male poets (sometimes in female dress) to a male audience. Women were, as one writer has observed, quite incidental to this 'women's' poetry. Not only that, but none of the scholars to have mentioned, let alone analyzed, rekhti in Urdu critical literature have been women. This would not have been particularly remarkable during the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, since formal Urdu has been, and remains, a male arena. What does seem remarkable is that two centuries ago, during an expansive period in Urdu culture, men were open to exploring the notion of a distinct female experience; and, during the past century, that openness has been replaced by an anxiety so deep as to lead Urdu's (male) élite to condemn all poetic expression at all real or imagined of women's experience in the feminine voice as delusional, decadent, even evil. If contemporary readers of Urdu are to remain heir to the fulsome and rich past of Indo-Muslim culture, this sort of censorship must be challenged and overturned.

For those interested in learning more about and trying their hand at translating--rekhti, there will be a workshop at Columbia University in New York from 10-5 on Saturday, May 11th. All are welcome and lunch will be served. A packet of materials is being prepared and will be sent to those who register in advance. For more information, please contact Prof. Philip Oldenburg, Associate Director of the Southern Asian Institute at Columbia University [e-mail: pko1@columbia.edu]

(Carla Petievich for Mehraab has abridged this article. It was originally published as "REKHTI: IMPERSONATING THE FEMININE IN URDU POETRY" in South Asia, Vol. XXIV, Special Issue, 2001, pp. 75-90).


http://www.mehraab.com/Article.asp?FilePath=Apr2002\ImpersonatingthefeminineinUrdupoetry.htm

[Nichi]

The laughter of women, the sparkle of Urdu poetry

Lora Tomas  16th Nov 2013
   

Rekhti poets drew from auraton-ki-zuban (women’s language), including slangs picked up from courtesans.

The title of the recent book by Ruth Vanita, Gender, Sex and the City, evokes the cult American television series Sex and the City, thereby revealing some of its thematic preoccupations. Vanita's book deals with Urdu rekhti poetry – literary hybrid poetry – written during North India's golden period, between 1780 and 1870, and predominantly about the city of Lucknow. The author has unearthed forgotten manuscripts, filled in editorial ellipses (rekhti was denounced as obscene and thus heavily censored) and presented some of the poems for the first time. What rekhti poetry and the already mentioned TV series have in common is the female narrator who focuses on urban women, the wit, obsession with aesthetics, fashion, good food and wine, urban entertainment, and above all, love and sexual relationships. Where again the two differ is in the fact that rekhti can be termed Sapphic in the sense that it highlights the female-female sexual desire. The women conventionally addressed their female lovers as du-gana or zanakhi, meaning a female intimate companion, with the first word, as Vanita points out, indicating a double, mirrored self. Thus rekhti verse spills the well-kept secrets of women's everyday existence, their small temptations and indiscretions, and overflows with the flamboyancy of the ordinary. It ritualizes the mundane and "disturbs well-established binary categories like courtesan/respectable woman, mistress/servant, high/low language, and lover/beloved."

However, its best known exponents, whose work is presented in this book, are male poets with suggestive pen-names: Rangin (Colourful), Insha (Elegant Style), Qais (legendary lover Majnun), Nisbat (Comparison/Betrothal), Jurat (Audacity) and Jan Sahib (Sweetheart). They assumed female identities, thus probably giving the female prefix to the poetic practice itself.

The language of rekhti is the so called auraton ki zuban (women's language), that poets Insha and Rangin, among others, eagerly eavesdropped on and meticulously recorded. It is marked by the bubbling jeux d'esprit, puns and wordplays, humour and mercurialness, innuendos, metaphors, double entendres and nuances. The following verses of Insha hint at the underlying erotic charge of the ambiguous words one lover directed at the other: "I am not quite such an innocent, Madam zanakhi ji / As not to understand what your talk means." Ruth Vanita adds that "rekhti's poetic playfulness is not non-serious. It is a manifestation of a world view capable of profound depth but also of lightness, happiness as well as reflection, piety as well as profanity."

This poetry mirrors a cosmopolitan, globalized city, a true melting pot of the time, and reaffirms that urban Indian modernity is not a colonial product as some would like to believe; but moreover that the pre-colonial urban cultures and their way of life were swept away by colonial rule. These urbanities were also performative, artificially constructed by every individual who partook in the city's ambience, its 'waters,' by developing their own unique styles and avatars. The belles and bon vivants of the city lived sans restraint in a culture that lavishly celebrated joie de vivre. Gender was fluid and bendable, and their hybrid and ambiguous relationships are best mirrored in these verses by Insha: "I've thought a lot about the course of this friendship / It's neither straight nor aslant nor crooked nor athwart."
   
The driving force behind the citizens of Lucknow was compulsive desire and a sense of compelling urgency. Ruth Vanita suggests that this urgency probably originated in the feeling of impending doom in the form of British annexation of Avadh, which finally happened in 1856. Nawabs, knowing they are racing against the clock, didn't want to leave anything to the East India Company, so they abundantly spent on arts and pleasure like the money was going out of style. One rekhti verse summarizes a Lakhnavi response to the critics of their pleasure-seeking pursuits in this provocative question, "If I'm full of vices, what is it to you?"

   
Frances W. Pritchett writes that "Lucknowi culture is seen as a cultivation of expertise and connoisseurship, an insistence on pushing even minor arts to their furthest limits, a rejection of moderation ... in favor of elegance and extravagance." The economy of North India was flourishing in the early nineteenth century, and could fuel this bustling intellectual and cultural life of which Lucknow was the epicenter. Some looked at all of this with awe, even stupefaction, but Premchand, born some two decades after 1856, was not so easily swayed. In his short story about the fall of Lucknow, Shatranj ke Khilari, he accurately but unfavorably describes the era: "It was the time of Wajid Ali Shah. Lucknow was absorbed in vilasita (sensuality) ... If one person arranged music and dance performances, then the next took pleasure only in the intoxication of opium ... No one knew what was happening in the world."

In rekhti verse, the city of Lucknow is likened to Indralok populated with fairies, but also with the otherwise unsung workers, vendors and servants, governesses, nursemaids, cooks, bangle sellers and palanquin bearers who all add to the classless mix. Rekhti also abounds in cross-religious references to Hindu pantheon, epics and the Puranas. Veils, bangles, waistbands, bodices, and most regularly, drawstrings (decorative objects back in the day, exposed to sight and bearing heightened erotic connotations), are tirelessly invoked. While ghazals are all about swooning, weeping and unrequited love, Vanita points out, rekhti is down-to-earth and praises the attainable pleasures. One rekhti verse humorously alludes to ghazal conventions that equate love with death: "Oh, oh, I want to die at your hands / But what to do? I can't find a sword right now." The notion of unrequited love is likewise countered in some of Insha's verses that emphasize play and multiplicity in love.

Urban spaces, both exterior and interior, feature prominently in rekhti, and are sometimes real, historical places. Rooftops were favored (secret) meeting spots for women, the coverging points of the home and the world. In the following verses by Insha a woman in parda addresses a more boyish one: "Du-gana, you climb to the rooftop in the sun, and fly kites / While my colour fades even in moonlight."

The neighbourhood was the most immediate pleasure zone. In one of his poems, Qais describes a woman's infatuation with a neighbour, "What a smoking hot flame she was, bu-bu – / That neighbour lady who came to borrow fire," and even household objects have erotic connotations, "Hair got tangled with hair ... / Huqqas broke huqqas and pipes pipes / The base fought the base and water-pipes water-pipes ... / Insha, in this pomp and show, my eyes too / Met the eyes of another and fought fiercely."

The women of the city often visited melas, festivals and bazaars, gardens and dargahs. Some places were especially alluring during the rainy season: "Come, let's go to Qutb Sahib, put up a swing, and swing there / Du-gana! It's raining wine, this is the month of Sawan." The ladies also had delicate palates and enjoyed savory dishes on their outings, as Nisbat's verses recall the "sweet cakes of bread" and "fried piping hot lentil dumplings."

Cosmetics are mentioned in much detail in rekhti (antimony, paan, henna or kajal), as is fashion. Nisbat's lady notices that "this is the style of an earlier era, madam seamstress," while Jan Sahib's denounces her friend's hairstyle as being out-of-date and Qais's warns of the ancient danger of stilettos, "I beg you, don't climb the stairs in high-heeled shoes - / If your foot slips and ankle twists, would that be good?"

Invoking the fairies and jinns was a widespread practice among the city ladies, Vanita writes, and séances were treated as highly ritualized social occasions, the language of which seeped into rekhti, as in this Rangin's verse: "Her talk (is) sorcery..." All of this seems to proclaim that female lives and gatherings were not oppressed by ennui. Moreover, some of them wielded significant political power, for instance, city's courtesans. They held soirées where men gathered to master social etiquette, Urdu poetry and refinement per se. However, the book illustrates, in the second half of the nineteenth century, by losing the wealthy patrons, the institution of the courtesan was slowly degraded to mere prostitution. Poet Jan Sahib, who composed his verse throughout these political changes, sees rekhti as the symbol of the waning world: "Jan! You are reading rekhti in Lucknow / The nightingale is singing in a deserted garden."

Rekhti poets professed a certain universalism that rested on solid philosophical systems, but mostly on the premise that life is a play and pleasure a worthwhile and honourable pursuit. Their worldview is best reflected in a sort of blessing that Insha dispenses on his readers and listeners: "Enjoy every pleasure and luxury all the time, God willing / May your beauty shine brilliantly, be fairy-faced wherever you go." Reading this book, one is persistently tempted and teased by all the colourful lovers and friends who are "stepping out of the page" to be played and laughed with, and most of all, enjoyed.


http://www.sunday-guardian.com/bookbeat/the-laughter-of-women-the-sparkle-of-urdu-poetry

[Nichi]

Searching for some English translations of Rekhti poetry---
There is an obvious conclusion to be drawn even before reading any, though. It might be valuable, and I'm curious to see this invocation of jinns and fairies. But if it wasn't written by women, it can not be said to reflect women's experience. It will instead reflect the male fantasy of women's experience.

Not that I would summarily reject the male fantasy - after all, there are threads and threads of ragamala paintings here. Those are all male fantasy.

[runningstream]

the feminine energy of the cosmos then

a seed has been placed among the watery world

a strong tree

the two tree tops grow together into the sky

remember the land ?

before every body forgot