- The psychology behind Faraz-bashing
Back in 1994 in the monthly Adabiaat, Ahmad Nadeem Qasmi wrote a beautiful piece on Ahmad Faraz. Using anecdotes and a sample of Faraz’s couplets, he clinically debunked the Faraz-is-a-teenagers’-poet ‘theory’. I do not propose to add anything to that, because the article was as definitive as it was readable.
One thing that I have never understood, however, is this: Pray, what is wrong with being a teenagers’ poet anyway? In any country, teenagers constitute arguably the most important demographic of all. In Pakistan, they account for an even greater chunk of the population than is the case elsewhere, so one could do worse than becoming their darling. Besides, teenagers do not stay teenagers forever. They age, but they are apt to keep cherishing through the rest of their years the things they liked in their formative years. I am no teenager, but nobody has ever had a greater influence on me than Ghalib, Russell, Iqbal, Miller and Faraz – all of whom I first loved in my teens. And no thinker has ever been a source of more joy than these gentlemen, barring Shafiqur Rehman, whom I fell in love with even earlier. For my part, I would love to be the teenagers’ favourite. So would the self-proclaimed poets who never tire of labelling Faraz as a teenagers’ poet, but who would give their right arms to become one themselves. What is said as a taunt is really a thinly disguised case of sour grapes.
Faraz’s cardinal sin was that he was not only good at his craft, but he was able to enjoy recognition and fame – in fact, he remained a rock star practically all his life. Also, in what is a rare accomplishment in Pakistan, he was able to earn considerably from the sale of his books. Furthermore, in what goes against our best literary traditions, he managed his finances, made sure his children were well-educated, and lived a comfortable life. Many ‘poets’ never forgave him for this betrayal. Our poets can tolerate (with some difficulty) a celebrity poet so long as they know he is not very good. They can also tolerate a rival who has merit but who goes unrecognized. What they cannot handle is one who is appreciated in his own lifetime and who deserves it as well. There is an old tradition of this in the subcontinent. Even Ghalib’s unparalleled literary merit was recognized rather late in his life. We just don’t know what to do when time-tested traditions break down.
Faraz was a freak of nature: A Pathan who wrote many volumes in Urdu and yet not his worst critic can point to an instance where he violated Urdu. A man who could articulate thoughts in ways the ahle-e-zubaan can only dream of. The unabated propaganda against him shows that he continues to haunt his detractors from his grave. If anything, his stature as a literary giant is growing with time. Faraz was a great poet, and time is kind to great people.
Many of these critics are poets of the free verse. Now it might sound impressive, but this description is a euphemism for those who desperately want to be known as poets but who do not possess the talent or the skill to adhere to metre or rhyme. In Urdu, free verse is translated as aazaad shaeri but it would be more accurate to call it maadar-pidar aazaad shaeri. Most of their ‘creations’ are nothing more than prose (of rather low quality) broken down haphazardly into lines. They fail to realize that pressing the enter key at random places in a paragraph does not transform it into a poem.
The good old Dunning-Kruger effect is at play here, but there is more to it than that. Firmly of the opinion that their own undeniable merit has gone unrecognized, these ‘poets’ think that merit always goes unrecognized, and vice versa. While it is true that merit sometimes does go unrecognized; still, there are far more cases of recognized demerit than there are of unrecognized merit.
Another group that cannot stand the thought of Faraz consists of the so-called realists – talentless hacks that believe that throwing in words like ‘laptop’ and ‘jeans’ is somehow enough to make a poem the last thing in literary excellence. Some of these poems are so ‘close to real life’ that one fears that at any moment the poet will inquire about the retail price of potatoes. No wonder these landmark creations are not appreciated by anybody save a coterie of like-minded individuals. And no wonder there is so much bitterness against somebody who is so widely appreciated – not because of cheap gimmicky, but on account of genuine skill demonstrated over a career spanning half a century.
By way of dismissing Faraz as an insignificant poet, it is repeatedly asserted by some wannabe poets that he was fond of protocol, drink, and money. Well, by this token Ghalib would be a below-average poet as well. Surely there must be different criteria to judge the worth of a poet and that of a primary school teaching candidate. Genuine poetic talent is rare; in contrast, there is no dearth of teetotallers who believe they are exemplary in their disgust for money and fame but who keep producing heaps of nonsense in the guise of poetry.
Faraz was a freak of nature: A Pathan who wrote many volumes in Urdu and yet not his worst critic can point to an instance where he violated Urdu. A man who could articulate thoughts in ways the ahle-e-zubaan can only dream of. The unabated propaganda against him shows that he continues to haunt his detractors from his grave. If anything, his stature as a literary giant is growing with time. Faraz was a great poet, and time is kind to great people. As for the pygmies who keep venting their anger by disparaging him, they are non-entities now and they will remain so. I can think of no better way to end than by quoting Faraz himself:
