Mujhe Tum Nazar Se Gira To Rahe Ho — Masroor Anwar

What Masroor Anwar is saying: Yes, you are casting me from your sight — that I grant you. But you will never be able to forget me.

The opening sets the whole poem’s emotional logic. The speaker does not deny the reality of rejection. The beloved is indeed lowering him in her esteem, dismissing him from her gaze. The concessive to — gira to rahe ho — acknowledges this with remarkable candour: yes, that is happening. But the second line pivots: the act of rejection and the act of forgetting are two different things, and you can do the first but not the second. The abandoned one has more power than he appears to have.

What Masroor Anwar is saying: I don’t know why, but a certainty has come over me — you will not be able to erase my love from yourself.

The verse deepens the paradox. The speaker himself cannot explain the source of his conviction — na jaane kyun — yet the conviction is there, settled and complete. The phrase ho chala hai — has gradually come to be — suggests that this is not a defiant claim he is making in anger, but something that has arrived quietly, through reflection. The love he gave cannot be unmade. Whatever she does with her eyes, it has already entered her.

What Masroor Anwar is saying: Wherever you go, my memory will be there — sometimes as a melody, sometimes as tears. You will find me aching everywhere. The flame my faithfulness has lit — even if you try to put it out, you will not be able to.

The verse moves into imagery. The speaker’s memory will not simply be a thought — it will inhabit different forms: music she hears, tears that come unexpectedly. Naghma ban ke, aansoo ban ke — the remembered person transforms, enters through the ear as a song and through the eye as grief. The flame of wafa — fidelity, the love given without condition — cannot be put out by an act of will. She cannot choose to stop feeling it, because faithfulness once received leaves a mark that does not depend on the giver’s continued presence.

What Masroor Anwar is saying: Some day, if my name comes up in conversation, you will become restless, clutch your heart. Grief’s darkness will settle over your eyes. And if someone asks you why you are crying — even if you want to explain, you will not be able to.

The verse traces the unravelling in precise, bodily terms. It begins with something small — a name spoken in passing, in someone else’s conversation — and follows what happens: the restlessness (be-chain), the physical reaching for the chest, the spreading darkness. And then the final incapacity: she cannot even say why she is weeping. The grief has become too intimate to explain, too deep to put into words. The speaker who was cast from her sight has become the thing she cannot name and cannot silence.