Poetry is not merely a play of words but a serious spiritual exercise whose very being is pledged to the comprehension of the self and the universe. Good poetry is not possible in the absence of the flame of love because it is this light that tears apart the mist of obscurity surrounding the secrets of the universe. Shorn of the mist, the details become vibrant and the poem becomes aware of the enigma of reality.
Tishnagi, Minu's first book, garnered her unstinting praise from connoisseurs of Urdu poetry and hardened critics as well.
Mauj-e-Saraab, her second book of Urdu ghazals, is a manifestation of the various hues of the pageant of love and passion. It is the figurative expression of the tableaux of worldly spectacles that according to her is nothing but waves of illusion, while the reality is far beyond the purview of the physical eye.
Mauj-e-Saraab includes transliterations in Urdu, Hindi and English with translation of the ghazals in English by Nyla Daud.
Minu Bakshi's poetry from Tishnagi to Mauj-e-Saraab is a saga of love. It is the expression of her journey, from the body to the soul. Hence, it displays the hues of material love and passion along with true lofty love. Thus, she should neither be taken merely as a painter of human relationships, nor simply as an illustrator of spiritualistic values. Instead she should be taken as a translator of both notions.
The book beautifully and elegantly designed by the famous couturier Ritu Beri is presented in a coffee table format and comprises a series of Urdu ghazals, nazms and qitats with transliterations in Hindi and English.
The acuity of all beings, is the measure of the Lord's will Don't let yourself fallen be, in the eyes of the created
Minu's kalaam has matured with time and the liberation of a timeless spirit, forever seeking; forever wandering; forever taking with it whosoever came in its sweep.
Tishnagi to Mauj-e-Saraab tells it all.
Her latest anthology is one of the simplest and most eloquent tributes to the Urdu ghazal which flows like a river coming together from unknown sources of several mountain streams becoming a mighty river, making its way through realism and illusions woven with rapidly changing rhythms almost taking the garb of a nazm in tone and tenor. As I read through the anthology, I felt like a broken branch carried away in its gushing torrent. Time and again, I witness this river pass the city of the beloved and each time it seems like it is a new habitat and yet each time it is the same fragrance of dedication and surrender. It is only when it reaches the ocean of limitless love, that this broken branch is washed to the shore.
Such is the journey through Minu's ghazaliat. As she meets the ocean, her connect with divinity, as a measure of creativity, rises like a sun above countless frozen idols gleaming like waves in its rays.
I love both Urdu and the ghazal because together they infuse the soft ardour of love in the atmosphere and light up the heart and soul. The language and the genre have both faced unprecedented opposition and yet they continue to prosper and stay vibrantly alive because they have the capacity to reign over the heart.
The idea, that only love is permanent in the world and all else is false, has been expressed through the ages by many poets.
Mujhse kaha jabreel-e-junoon ne ye bhi wahi-e-ilahi hai Mazhab toh bas mazhab-e-dil hai, baaqi sab gumraahi hai
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