Har Ek Baat Pe Kahte Ho Tum — Mirza Ghalib
Table of Contents
har ek baat pe kahte ho tum ki tu kya hai
tumhin kaho ki ye andaz-e-guftugu kya hai
na shoale mein ye karishma na barq mein ye ada
koi batao ki wo shoKH-e-tund-KHu kya hai
ye rashk hai ki wo hota hai ham-suKHan tum se
wagarna KHauf-e-bad-amozi-e-adu kya hai
chipak raha hai badan par lahu se pairahan
hamare jaib ko ab hajat-e-rafu kya hai
jala hai jism jahan dil bhi jal gaya hoga
kuredte ho jo ab rakh justuju kya hai
ragon mein dauDte phirne ke hum nahin qail
jab aankh hi se na Tapka to phir lahu kya hai
wo chiz jis ke liye hum ko ho bahisht aziz
siwae baada-e-gulfam-e-mushk-bu kya hai
piyun sharab agar KHum bhi dekh lun do-chaar
ye shisha o qadah o kuza o subu kya hai
rahi na taqat-e-guftar aur agar ho bhi
to kis umid pe kahiye ki aarzu kya hai
hua hai shah ka musahib phire hai itraata
wagarna shahr mein ‘ghaalib’ ki aabru kya hai
Sher 1 — Matla #
हर एक बात पे कहते हो तुम कि तू क्या है
तुम्हीं कहो कि ये अंदाज़-ए-गुफ़्तगू क्या है
तुम्हीं कहो कि ये अंदाज़-ए-गुफ़्तगू क्या है
| Word | Roman | Meaning |
|---|---|---|
| हर एक बात पे | har ek baat pe | at every turn, on every matter |
| अंदाज़-ए-गुफ़्तगू | andaz-e-guftugu | the manner of speaking, the style of conversation — ezafa construction |
The matla opens on a note of wounded exasperation. At every word, every gesture, every attempt — the beloved's response is the same dismissal: *tu kya hai*, what are you, what do you amount to. And Ghalib's pivot is immediate and devastating: *tumhin kaho* — you tell me — what kind of way is this to speak to someone? He does not defend himself. He turns the question back. The dismissiveness itself becomes the subject of inquiry. The radif *kya hai* — what is it, what is this — will carry every sher, each time asking the same question of a different thing.
Sher 2 #
न शोले में ये करिश्मा न बर्क़ में ये अदा
कोई बताओ कि वो शोख़-ए-तुंद-ख़ू क्या है
कोई बताओ कि वो शोख़-ए-तुंद-ख़ू क्या है
| Word | Roman | Meaning |
|---|---|---|
| शोला | shola | flame |
| करिश्मा | karishma | miracle, magic, captivating power |
| बर्क़ | barq | lightning |
| अदा | ada | grace, manner, charm |
| शोख़ | shoKH | bold, mischievous, vivacious |
| तुंद-ख़ू | tund-KHu | fierce-natured, quick-tempered — tund = sharp, fierce; khu = nature, temperament |
The beloved's quality defies comparison. Not even flame has this miracle, not even lightning has this particular grace. Ghalib asks someone — anyone — to explain what this bold, fierce-natured one actually is. The sher is a compliment constructed as a question: the beloved is beyond the most vivid natural phenomena Ghalib can name. *Shoq-e-tund-khu* — bold and fierce-natured — captures someone whose charm is inseparable from their volatility, whose attraction comes partly from the danger they represent.
Sher 3 #
ये रश्क है कि वो होता है हम-सुख़न तुम से
वगरना ख़ौफ़-ए-बद-आमोज़ी-ए-अदू क्या है
वगरना ख़ौफ़-ए-बद-आमोज़ी-ए-अदू क्या है
| Word | Roman | Meaning |
|---|---|---|
| रश्क | rashk | jealousy, envy — specifically the jealousy of seeing what you love given to another |
| हम-सुख़न | ham-suKHan | one who converses with, a speaking-companion — ham = together; sukhan = speech |
| वगरना | wagarna | otherwise, if not that |
| ख़ौफ़ | KHauf | fear |
| बद-आमोज़ी | bad-amozi | being taught wrongly, learning bad habits — bad = bad; amozi = teaching/learning |
| अदू | adu | enemy, rival |
A sher of extraordinary psychological honesty. What bothers Ghalib is not that the rival is harmful — it is that the rival gets to speak with the beloved. *Rashk* — this particular jealousy, the ache of seeing intimacy given elsewhere — is the real feeling. The fear of the rival teaching the beloved bad habits is a pretext, and Ghalib admits it openly: *wagarna*, otherwise, what fear of the enemy's corrupting influence is there really? He catches himself mid-rationalization and names it. The jealousy is the thing; everything else is cover.
Sher 4 #
चिपक रहा है बदन पर लहू से पैरहन
हमारे जेब को अब हाजत-ए-रफ़ू क्या है
हमारे जेब को अब हाजत-ए-रफ़ू क्या है
| Word | Roman | Meaning |
|---|---|---|
| पैरहन | pairahan | garment, shirt |
| जेब | jaib | collar, the neckline of a garment — also: pocket |
| हाजत-ए-रफ़ू | hajat-e-rafu | the need for darning, the need to mend — rafu = the art of mending torn cloth invisibly |
The shirt is stuck to the body with blood — the wound has soaked through. And the question: what need is there now to mend the collar? *Rafu* — invisible darning, careful repair — is pointless when the garment is already drenched. The tearing of the collar (*jaib*) is a classical image of grief and madness — the lover tears his collar in anguish. Ghalib takes that image and renders it practical: the shirt is already ruined by blood, so the question of mending it is absurd. There is a dark wit here — the very precision of "what need is there to darn it now" makes the ruin more complete than any direct statement of suffering would.
Sher 5 #
जला है जिस्म जहाँ दिल भी जल गया होगा
कुरेदते हो जो अब राख जुस्तजू क्या है
कुरेदते हो जो अब राख जुस्तजू क्या है
| Word | Roman | Meaning |
|---|---|---|
| जिस्म | jism | body |
| जला है | jala hai | has burned |
| कुरेदते हो | kuredte ho | you are raking through, you are stirring up — the action of stirring ash to find embers |
| राख | rakh | ash, cinders |
| जुस्तजू | justuju | search, seeking, quest |
Where the body has burned, the heart too must have burned. And now you rake through the ash — what exactly are you searching for? The sher catches a moment of futile investigation: looking for what cannot be found because it no longer exists. *Kuredte ho* — the specific act of raking through ash, the way one might look for an ember in a cold fire — is the precise image of someone searching for feeling in a place that has been wholly consumed. The question *justuju kya hai* — what is this search — is both a genuine question and a quiet reproach.
Sher 6 #
रगों में दौड़ते फिरने के हम नहीं क़ाइल
जब आँख ही से न टपका तो फिर लहू क्या है
जब आँख ही से न टपका तो फिर लहू क्या है
| Word | Roman | Meaning |
|---|---|---|
| रगों में | ragon mein | in the veins |
| दौड़ते फिरना | dauDte phirna | to keep running around — the circulation of blood through the body |
| क़ाइल | qail | convinced, persuaded, in agreement |
| टपकना | Tapakna | to drip, to fall drop by drop |
One of the most celebrated shers in the ghazal. Ghalib is not persuaded by blood merely circulating in the veins — that is not enough to count as blood. Blood is only blood if it falls from the eye as tears. The sher redefines the very substance: if it has not been transformed by grief into tears, it has not earned the name. This is the logic of the ghazal taken to its extreme — only what passes through feeling is real. The body's ordinary functioning does not qualify. It is a line that sounds outrageous and then, upon reflection, feels exactly right.
Sher 7 #
वो चीज़ जिस के लिए हम को हो बहिश्त अज़ीज़
सिवाए बादा-ए-गुलफ़ाम-ए-मुश्क-बू क्या है
सिवाए बादा-ए-गुलफ़ाम-ए-मुश्क-बू क्या है
| Word | Roman | Meaning |
|---|---|---|
| बहिश्त | bahisht | paradise, heaven |
| अज़ीज़ | aziz | dear, beloved, precious |
| बादा | baada | wine |
| गुलफ़ाम | gulfam | rose-coloured, the colour of roses |
| मुश्क-बू | mushk-bu | musk-scented — mushk = musk; bu = scent |
The only thing that could make paradise worth wanting is rose-coloured, musk-scented wine. Ghalib reduces the promise of heaven to its single desirable element — not virtue rewarded, not eternal peace, but wine of a particular quality. The sher is characteristic Ghalib heresy: paradise is not intrinsically desirable, it is desirable only for the wine. *Gulfam-e-mushk-bu* — the doubled compound of colour and scent — makes the wine so precisely imagined that the theological claim lands almost as an aside. What is paradise for? This.
Sher 8 #
पियूँ शराब अगर ख़ुम भी देख लूँ दो-चार
ये शीशा-ओ-क़दह-ओ-कूज़ा-ओ-सुबू क्या है
ये शीशा-ओ-क़दह-ओ-कूज़ा-ओ-सुबू क्या है
| Word | Roman | Meaning |
|---|---|---|
| ख़ुम | KHum | a large wine vat, a barrel of wine |
| शीशा | shisha | glass bottle |
| क़दह | qadah | a wine cup |
| कूज़ा | kuza | a small jug or pitcher |
| सुबू | subu | a wine flask |
I would drink wine — if I could first see two or four wine vats. These glasses, cups, jugs, flasks — what are they? The sher is a comic escalation: the ordinary vessels of wine-drinking are not enough, Ghalib needs to see the vats themselves, the source, before he will commit to drinking. The four vessels named — *shisha, qadah, kuza, subu* — are listed with relish, each a different container for wine, and each dismissed as insufficient. There is playfulness here, the pleasure of naming things and then waving them away. It is Ghalib in his lighter register, but the pleasure in the words is real.
Sher 9 #
रही न ताक़त-ए-गुफ़्तार और अगर हो भी
तो किस उम्मीद पे कहिये कि आरज़ू क्या है
तो किस उम्मीद पे कहिये कि आरज़ू क्या है
| Word | Roman | Meaning |
|---|---|---|
| ताक़त-ए-गुफ़्तार | taqat-e-guftar | the strength of speech, the power to speak — taqat = strength; guftar = speech |
| उम्मीद | ummid | hope |
| आरज़ू | aarzu | desire, longing, wish |
The power of speech is gone — and even if it were there, on what hope would one speak? What is desire worth saying? The sher turns inward and arrives at a double exhaustion: the physical capacity to speak has failed, but more than that, even if it returned, there is no hope that would make speaking worthwhile. *Aarzu kya hai* — what is desire, what is longing — asked not with curiosity but with the tiredness of someone who has desired too long and received too little. The ghazal's questioning radif here becomes genuinely hollow: the speaker can no longer fill the question with either energy or expectation.
Sher 10 — Maqta #
हुआ है शाह का मुसाहिब फिरे है इतराता
वगरना शहर में 'ग़ालिब' की आबरू क्या है
वगरना शहर में 'ग़ालिब' की आबरू क्या है
| Word | Roman | Meaning |
|---|---|---|
| शाह | shah | king |
| मुसाहिब | musahib | companion, courtier — one who has the king’s ear |
| इतराना | itraana | to strut, to walk with pride, to show off |
| आबरू | aabru | reputation, honour, face |
The maqta arrives with brutal self-knowledge. He has become the king's companion and now struts about the city — otherwise, what would Ghalib's reputation in this city be worth? The *wagarna* — otherwise — is the pivot everything hinges on. Without the king's patronage, without that borrowed status, Ghalib's standing in the city is nothing. He names himself in the maqta as poets traditionally do, but instead of the usual proud or ironic self-portrait, he offers a reckoning: his social position is contingent, his *aabru* borrowed. The ghazal that opened with wounded pride at being dismissed ends with Ghalib dismissing himself — not with self-pity but with the clear-eyed frankness that is his signature. He sees himself as the city sees him, and says so.