IN Pakistan, the political circumstance and social condition make people feel at times that they are living through dark ages. That we have turned into an intellectual wasteland where there is no spirit of inquiry left, where there is no place for innovation, where beauty is not appreciated, where art is not valued, where life cannot be lived to the full, and where the four seasons mean seasons of fear, discontent, melancholy and death. But then all of a sudden appears an assertion of a new description, a passion to see and interpret the world differently, and a desire to create art and cherish what has been created. This assertion springs from the depths of a rare consciousness of life — human existence, suffering, strife and struggle; from an understanding of the contradictions that shape us and yearnings that define us; and, above all, from an unrequited love. Musadiq Sanwal was the bearer of this rare, nuanced consciousness.

Sanwal’s collection of poems, published posthumously, is a celebration of life with all its inconsistencies, ambiguities, successes and joys. Pain is a part of life and so is death. He knew it well. He did not fear it. He did not feel discontented. He was never melancholic. He saw death coming and wrote poems. He treated life and its offerings with a certain contrariety, a compassion for the weak and an indifference towards the strong. But there is no contempt for any being or any experience to be found in his expression.

Like his person, Sanwal’s work is plural. Lived experiences, observations, feelings, ideas, all are woven into his poems with relentless ease. Mir said, Paida kahan hain aisay paraganda tab’a logg/Afsos tum ko Mir se sohbat nahin rahi (Where would you ever find such scatter within a man/Pity you never revelled in Mir’s company). Aptly titled, Yeh Naatamaam Si Ek Zindagi Jo Guzri Haiy (This unfinished, underspent life), the collection of Sanwal’s verse is compiled with such love by his friends, novelist Mohammed Hanif and poet-journalist Hasan Mujtaba, who also jointly penned a preface that extends insights into Sanwal’s personality and work. Sanwal’s poetry confirms that his embrace is large where all scatter gets contained. But it is the humility of the artists that may make them call their containment of multitudes as scatter, be it the greatest among all, Mir Taqi Mir, or one of his many spiritual disciples, our friend and contemporary Musadiq Sanwal.

In terms of thought and sensitivity, Sanwal comes from the tradition of Mir and other mystic poets of the subcontinent, particularly those of the Indus Valley where he belonged. However, his style and treatment is modern and inspired by the likes of Majeed Amjad, Meeraji and Noon Meem Rashid. His grasp over music and other forms of fine art has enriched his expression which gets reflected in his choice of words and genres. Not only his geets, but also in his ghazals and short nazms, there is a blend of old and new linguistic formulations which are either derived from or improvised upon our folk and classical lyrical tradition. His reading and singing of mystic poetry by Khawaja Fareed, Baba Fareed, Shah Hussain and Bulleh Shah in Seraiki and Punjabi adds to the flavour of his verse in Urdu, which he prefers to call Hindustani due to his inherent nativity and rootedness in Indo-Gangetic civilisation as an artist.

There is no attempt being made to draw a comparison between Sanwal’s work and that of the masters. In any case, art is not like athletics where you win or lose a race. But it is important to recognise that Sanwal is a poet who imbibed his multilingual poetic tradition, enjoyed it thoroughly and moved ahead in his own unique fashion. Like any genuine artist, he is guided by his personal experience but is able to universalise pain and anguish in a way that others can relate to. Once pathos is established, it is dealt with irony. In Ghalib’s words, Gham nahin hota haiy aazadon ko besh az yak nafas/Barq se kartey hain raushan sham’ey matam khana hum (The free spirited are seldom bothered by sorrow for a moment further/With thunder, we light a candle in the house of mourning).

Some of the haunting lines from Sanwal’s teenage years include Woh jis ne uss ko lahed mein rakh kar lahed ke moonh par chatan rakh di/Woh yad rakkhey keh uss ne goongi zameen mein haiy zaban rakh di (One who laid him down in the grave and then covered the mouth of the grave with a rock/Mustn’t forget that he has put a tongue in the mouth of the mute earth). These were written when Zulfikar Ali Bhutto was hanged by Gen Ziaul Haq. Subsequently, when studying at the National College of Arts, Lahore, he lost an eye to police torture under the martial law regime. Two other poems that merit mention among others that are full of political wit and bring out Sanwal’s rejection of power and dominant political ideology are ‘Janab-i-Vijdaan’ and ‘Janab-i-Aalyah’.

There is a sense of loss and an admission of meaninglessness in life and its pursuits in poems written after he became aware of his terminal illness in the last couple of years of his life. But these get overwhelmed with a quest for meaning and a desire for moving beyond. He says, Aiy abr-i-bayqarar zara do ghari thaher/Tufan-i-muztarib se zara humkalam raih/Maen bhi kisi se ja ke kahoon saath to chaley/Gar yeh safar haiy aakhri to jashn kyoon na ho (Oh you jittery cloud, wait for a few moments/Keep the agitating storm engaged/Let me ask someone to come along/Lest this is the last journey, why not celebrate). In the same mood, he ends another poem by saying, Wasl aagosh- i-judaai mein hi madhosh rahey/Zindagi maut ke gardaab mein purjosh rahey (Let this desire for union with my beloved stay euphoric in the lap of separation/Let life remain fervent within the swirl of death).

On the one hand his metaphors are drawn from nature like the sky, earth, clouds, forests, birds and snakes, and on the other, there is direct usage of signs, symbols, markers and objects of urban life. Sanwal hailed from Multan, was educated in Lahore, worked in Karachi and London and then chose to work and live in Karachi for many years before passing away in one of its hospitals and was then sent to Multan for burial.

Perhaps it was the anguish and wonderment enveloped in the suffering and resilience of Karachi that he identified with, made him settle there and turn that association into a recurring theme in his poetry. This was the city where he experimented with different art forms, composed his music, wrote and directed theatre plays, led a rich professional life as a print, broadcast and web journalist, and shared the enormous pain of its cosmopolitan dwellers. In the poem titled ‘Keranchi’, Musadiq Sanwal writes, Haan usi baymehr-o-jabir shehr mein/Jo m’ra dildar tha ghamkhaar tha/Jis ne mera haath bhi thama sahara bhi diya/Jis ne mujh ko khaab mein aakar ishara bhi diya/Aur phir ek khubsurat raat uss ne qatl kar dala mujhay (Yes, in that callous and cruel city/Which once was my comforting beloved/Always held my hand and gave me solace/Came into my dreams to convey her desire/But then on one beautiful night, she took my life).

Harris Khalique is a poet and author based in Islamabad. He has published eight collections of verse, co-authored a book of non-fiction and contributed to news and literary publications internationally.

Harris Khalique | 13 Dec 2015 | Dawn

Musadiq Sanwal
Calm, but intense. That was Musadiq Sanwal. Singer, musician, producer, journalist, political activist, writer, director, poet, artist, husband, father and the best of friends, Musadiq was somehow amazing at everything.

مصدق سانول
کسے خبر
کسے خبر
کہ وه ذرا سا جاگتا بھی ہوگا یا ابھی نہیں
کسے خبر کہ مُنکر و نکیر کی
زباں سے ہو لہو رواں