My father said if you want to be a cobbler, I will support that too: Shabana Azmi on Kaifi Azmi

How did the idea for a website come about? What has been the response like?
It was long overdue. Fans from all over the world had been asking for it. Rahul Agrawal, a young man based in Varanasi, has given it all his passion and commitment. The response has been overwhelming! Way beyond my wildest imagination. This nails the lie that audiences today are only interested in 'sasti shayri'. And it’s so heartening to find so many young people warming up to poetry.

Are the recitations being put up in Kaifi saab’s voice part of an existing archive?
They have been sourced from all over. Many fans from all over the world have sent us recordings done in their homes. There are also recordings from Kaifiyat.

What are some of your earliest memories of your father?
He didn’t ‘go to office’ or wear trousers and shirts like other fathers but a white cotton kurta-pyjama. He didn’t speak English and I didn’t call him ‘Daddy’ like others, but ‘Abba’! I couldn’t imagine letting my school friends know he was a poet. I then thought it was a euphemism for someone who did no work.

My school required both parents to speak English. Since neither of mine did, I faked my entry into school. Sultana Jafri, Sardar Jafri’s wife, pretended to be my mother and Munish Narayan Saxena, a friend of Abba, pretended to be my father. Once in the 10th std, my vice-principal said that she’d heard my father at a mushaira and he looked quite different from the gentleman who had come in the morning for Parents’ Day. I went completely blue in the face and said: “Oh he’s been suffering from typhoid and has lost a lot of weight, you know…” and made up a story to save my skin.

Once he began writing lyrics for films, a friend’s father read his name in the newspaper. That did it! In the class, only my father’s name was in the newspaper! I perceived his being “different” as a virtue for the first time. I was a ‘different’ daughter of a ‘different’ father! That was the first lesson he taught me, of turning what is perceived as a disadvantage into a scoring point.

What do you recall of life in the commune?
Till I was nine we lived at the Red Flat Hall of the communist party. Each comrade’s family had just one room with a common bathroom and lavatory. My mother was touring quite a lot with Prithvi Theatre and in her absence Abba would feed, bathe and look after both my brother Baba and me.

I have extremely fond memories of childhood being raised in an environment of poetry, theatre and politics. Films played a marginal role. Abba started the tradition of celebrating all festivals – Holi Diwali Eid and Christmas. On 26th Jan we would all be put in a truck and taken to watch the Republic Day lights at Chowpatty. India's composite culture and pluralism were valued very deeply.There was never any money because Abba gave all that he earned to the Communist Party and he would be left with only Rs 40 to look after the family. But it never seemed to matter. My parents were tuned to the sound of a different drummer..

Some of the biggest litterateurs-artistes came home?
That’s right. Amongst Kaifi saab’s female friends, Begum Akhtar, who stayed with us sometimes, was my favourite. Josh Malihabadi, Firaq Gorakhpuri and Faiz Ahmed Faiz would stay with us too despite there being no separate guest room. Luxury was never their central concern; they preferred the warmth of our tiny home to the 5-star comforts available to them. I was fascinated by these mehfils at home. I would sit up in rapt attention, not even half understanding what they recited, but excited nevertheless. Their beautiful words fell like music on my young ears. I found the atmosphere fascinating – the steady flow of conversation, the tinkering of glasses, the smoke-filled room. I was never rushed off to bed; in fact I was encouraged to hang around, provided I took the responsibility for getting up in time for school. It made me feel very grown up and included.

There were many stalwart contemporaries of Kaifi saab you saw at mushairas too...
When I started attending mushairas, Sahir Ludhianvi was popular, Ali Sardar Jafri greatly respected, but Kaifi Azmi had a different magic. He was always amongst the last to recite – his deeply resonant voice pulsating with vigour, drama and power. Baba and I’d be fast asleep on stage, behind the gao-takiyas and invariably wake up to the thunderous applause when his name was announced. I never saw Abba surprised or flattered by the applause. In fact, to my mother’s despair, he’d never come home and say how the mushaira went. A non-committal ‘theek tha’ was all he said. Years later when I was about 18, I remember prodding him to tell me which nazm he’d recited and the response. When I persisted to a point he couldn’t avoid answering, he told me, “Chhichore log apni tareef karte hain, Jis din bura padhoonga, aake bata doonga (Only the petty indulge in self-praise, the day I recite poorly I will let you know).” Even after a song recording, he’d never bring the cassette back. A far cry from young lyricists today, who subject all their guests to their latest, goading them into ‘Wah-Wahs’!

Writers and poets need quiet and get temperamental in face of disturbance. Was he like that?
On the contrary. With him the creative process is occurred over the radio blaring, children laughing, children’s friends over taash going on in the house. We were never made to hush up because he is writing. In fact, the door of his study was always open so he could keep in touch with the outside world too. I once shifted his desk away from the door because I felt he’d get more privacy. Abba made Mummy change it back to the original position in the evening.

Did Kaifi saab try to influence your choices in life?
Never! He was just not like that. When I asked him if he’d support my decision to take up acting he said, "I’ll support any choice you make. If you want to become a mochi (cobbler), I will support that, provided you promise yourself that you will aim to become the best mochi in the business."

When I got involved with Javed, a married man, my mother was unhappy. There was tremendous pressure to break up with Javed. Heart pounding I turned to Abba “Do you think Javed is the wrong man for me?” “He is not wrong, his circumstances are” came the reply.” But what if he can change the circumstances?” “Trust me, the marriage was over long before I came into the scene” I said quietly. There were no further questions asked, he didn’t probe, didn’t want to know the details of what that meant. He trusted me enough to take me for my word and gave his blessings. That was one of the most momentous decisions of my life – had Abba truly said no, wonder if I’d have had the courage to defy him – not because I’m afraid but because in the most personal of matters he can be relied upon to make the most objective judgement.

Kaifi saab was a foodie...
He was very fond of good food and couldn’t eat a meal without gosht (meat). Hugely proud of being a UPite he wouldn’t ‘condescend’ to eating Hyderabadi food, even though mummy tried to cajole him over the 52 years! Each time we ate khatti dal, a separate arhar ki dal would be cooked for him.

He’d never serve himself and you couldn’t ask him what he wanted. Mummy’s trained eye knew what to serve and how much. When I protested saying that’s dadagiri, Mummy told me she was warned by her mother-in-law that unless she served him, he’d go hungry rather than open his mouth and say yeh cheez aur chahiye.

The only time he does ask for more is when I cook. Unfortunately, cooking is not one of my talents and the family runs for miles when I do but Abba treated it like the best of Avadh’s cuisine! Of course, he fooled nobody but I’d get touched nevertheless.

Kaifi saab must have been proud to find you taking to activism – on issues like right to housing?
My childhood was spent traveling with my mother’s Prithvi theatre on one hand, and mazdoor kisan meetings with my father – there used to be red banners everywhere, a lot of naarebazi and a lot of protest poetry. Today when I’m at a demonstration, participating in a padyatra or in a hunger strike, it is an extension of what I saw as a child. I was on a five-day hunger strike for slum dwellers in Mumbai in 1986 when my blood pressure dipped and my pulse weakened. Mummy rang Abba in Patna to persuade me to give up the fast. He sent me a telegram:"Best of luck Comrade!"

On the eve of leaving for the padyatra for communal harmony from Delhi to Meerut, I was nervous and uncertain. I’d been warned of the dangers, roaming the streets of UP. Mummy, Baba, his wife Tanvi and Javed were all tense. I walked into Abba’s room and hugged him from behind. He pulled me up front, looked me in the eye and said, “Arrey meri bahadur beti dar rahi hai? Jao, tumhe kuchch nahin hoga!”  It was as though oxygen had been pumped into my bloodstream. Needless to add, the padyatra was a big success.

Communal hatred and bigotry affected him as a person and poet
The poet who wrote Bahroopni - a frightening poem on communalism - was out marching in Ayodhya, at the height of the Babri masjid–Ram Janmabhoomi dispute, while others were content with condemnations at cocktail parties or 5-star seminars. The Gujarat carnage shattered him. I’d watch him looking at TV coverage, face frozen in pain. I once asked, “Don’t you feel frustrated and defeated with the hateful revenge, man killing man in the name of religion?” He wiped my tears and said quietly, “When working for change, one should factor the possibility that change may not occur in one’s lifetime yet continue working towards it.” His belief in innate goodness kept him going through the darkest of times. I try hard to keep my faith in his faith. Pyar ka jashn nayee tarah manana hoga/ gam kisi dil mein sahi gam ko mitana hoga. In wiping the tears of victims of the Gujarat carnage and thousands who have fallen prey to communal riots, in wiping the tears of slum dwellers constantly displaced by mindless government policies, in wiping the tears of all marginalised sections of society particularly women, I feel I pay tribute to my father.

Have you yourself thought of writing? Perhaps a book on him
My mother Shaukat Kaifi’s written her memoirs Yaad Ki Rehguzar in Urdu which has been translated in Marathi, Gujarati, Hindi, Japanese, and in English too – as Kaifi And I. It has been selected by 14 universities in USA in their syllabus. Javed and I also do a theatre production by IPTA called Kaifi Aur Main where he plays Kaifi and I play Shaukat. It is interspersed with Kaifi’s poetry and film lyrics sung live by Jaswinder Singh. We inevitably get standing ovations. There’s a poem Javed’s written on Abba, Ajeeb Aadmi Tha Woh. It encapsulates the essence of the man Kaifi was...

Do you agree Urdu literature and particularly poetry suffer because of polarisation and politics of language?
Partition impacted Urdu very badly. Urdu was marginalised as it came to be regarded as the language of Muslims. This is a construct. Urdu is the language of North India. It is the language of the region not religion! As a result Urdu was neglected and Hindustani was sacrificed because all Urdu words were removed artificially and we started using Doordarshan-type Hindi. Similiarly in Pakistan, they removed all Hindi-Sanskrit words and made it into a language that few can follow. Languages die unless they can help you earn a living. 

To read dna Anniversary stories, click here