The life of Faiz Ahmed Faiz, one of the most widely quoted poets from the subcontinent, has been a source of much romanticisation and speculation. A new biography of the poet, written by Ali Madeeh Hashmi, his grandson, tries to contextualise Faiz’s work in terms of the politically turbulent times he lived in. Excerpts from a conversation with Hashmi:

How tough is it, being the grandson of Faiz Ahmed Faiz and writing his biography?

It works both ways. It is tough, because of the expectations people have of us as members of his family. Sometimes, we feel that perhaps we are not living up to his greatness. On the other hand, it does open a lot of doors. People give us a lot of respect because of him. As for the book, there was a bit of pressure, because everyone said whatever you write will become authoritative, so I had to take extra care with the factual details.

You have tried to demystify Faiz by depicting him as a regular person. This involves, as you say, divesting him of the legends that have grown about him. Could you specify how you have accomplished this? Is this even possible for a poet of Faiz’s stature?

Yes, it’s possible to do it. In fact, it must be done; to humanise someone is to make him or her accessible to everyone. I’ve tried to show Faiz’s ‘human’ side as much as possible. His worries, his passions, his concerns about his family, his regrets, even his favourite colognes and brands of whiskey. A very senior journalist, a friend and colleague of Faiz, said at my book launch recently that he thought I was a ‘born writer’. I appreciated his compliment but pointed out what Faiz had said (it’s in the book): that nothing can happen without hard work and ‘sweat’. Faiz called it arq raizy, literally, squeezing the vital juice out of something.

You attribute Faiz’s espousal of communist ideas to the economic fallout of the Great Depression. How do you explain this?

Not in his own personal case but, yes, the Depression was a global event which led, eventually, to World War II and hence, indirectly, to India’s freedom and so on. So yes, it had a huge impact on his generation. Personally, his introduction to communist ideas came through his first job: as a lecturer in Muhammadan Anglo Oriental (MAO) college, Amritsar, where his mentors were the author Rashid Jahan and her husband Sahibzada Mahmooduzzafar.

What new facets of Faiz’s life does your book bring to light? Something that his earlier biographer Ludmilla Vassilyeva doesn’t?

Vassilyeva’s book is not really a biography. Since she is a scholar of Urdu and a researcher, there are pages and pages of literary criticism and detailed dissections of Faiz’s poems, which can get tedious for the casual reader. The book has some biographical information as well. Plus, there are some factual errors in her book. For example, her version of the account of Faiz’s father’s life has been disputed by some scholars. I’ve tried to correct that and my goal was to write a very personal, very readable book with lots of quotes from family and friends to really try and get at the essence of who he was as a man, not merely as Faiz the famous poet.

Faiz wasn’t happy with the Partition. He was pained over the war in Bangladesh, too. How do you think he would have dealt with the current situation in Pakistan? (It is a hypothetical question)

I think after he was falsely accused and imprisoned in the 1951 conspiracy case, he decided he was going to steer clear of overt politics. In our countries (India and Pakistan), politics is really not a hospitable place for honest, principled people (with some honourable exceptions, of course).

I suppose politics has always been a dirty game everywhere, but he decided that he was going to concentrate on what he knew and loved best: culture and the arts. Of course, in our part of the world, there is also no way to not get involved in politics, one way or another, in whatever one does. If he were alive today, he would be doing the same thing he was doing when he was alive: writing poetry to protest injustice, oppression, violence and inequality; talking to people, meetings and conferences, perhaps writing in newspapers.

When we remember Faiz, it is not for what he stood for, his social or ideological concerns; it is for his poetry.

That’s right, because no matter how ‘big’ an event, how momentous, it is ultimately rather trivial when placed in the context of human history in its entirety.

Even the earth-shaking events of the past century will begin to recede from collective memory eventually. So, for example, people of my generation have no personal memories of Partition or the Second World War although they were pivotal events of their time. And our children and grandchildren will know and remember even less. That’s the nature of the world: time passes and things fade away.

But poetry tugs at the feelings and emotions that lie deep inside the hearts of all humans, and for that reason it’s universal, primal and unforgettable.

Plus the beauty of great poetry is that it is timeless. So Amir Khusro or Mirza Ghalib’s verses still move us to tears, although we may know nothing about the times in which they were writing. That’s the beauty of poetry. That’s why a hundred years from now, people may have forgotten what Faiz was writing about, but they will still be marvelling at the beauty of the verses.

Riyaz Waniis a journalist based in Srinagar

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