Raghupati Sahai, better known as Firaq Gorakhpuri, was my father‘s elder brother and I called him ‘Tauji’. Although I wasn’t aware of his genius, popularity, and greatness during my growing years, I was very close to him. He lived a few houses away from us and very fond of me. He was 54-years-old when I was born, and I was attached to him till the end of his life.
Firaq, as is well-known, was not a family man. He remained in isolation even when his wife and children lived in another portion of the house. But I enjoyed a special place in his heart, and house, and got the opportunity to see him in his various moods.
Firaq came from a prosperous family of Gorakhpur. His father Vakil Gorakh Prasad provided good education to him as a kid. Seeing his interest in language and his poetic sensibility, his father engaged tutors to teach him Urdu and Persian. Firaq‘s inquisitive and sensitive mind was quick to grasp the subtle nuances of language.
He got inspiration by observing simple day-to-day activities of the village and his household and depicted those images delicately- he mentioned women at the well, the transparent veil ‘Ghunghat’, and the ringing of anklets and bangles.
Firaq’s life and work are like two sides of a coin — connected but facing opposite directions. It is known that Firaq and his family were cheated when his marriage was finalised. A different girl was shown to them before the finalisation of the nuptials. This one incident in Firaq’s life when he was 17 years old, devastated him and the debris of his burnt down expectations kept playing havoc in his life till the very end.
Firaq said that as an aftermath of this treacherous wedding, his body, heart, mind, and soul felt the tremors of earthquakes and volcanic eruptions resulting in storms of anger and hatred.
Writing in Urdu was an uphill effort for Firaq. Hindu thoughts and traditions were so deeply instilled in him. Precious impressions and realities of a Hindu life were at that time not present in Urdu poetry — nor was the resonance of the Hindu way of life. However, what is known as ‘Khadi Boli’ was a style and technique of expression.
Firaq got lots of praise for his work and the Mushairas that he attended made him very popular. In that period, the audience was familiar with Urdu and enjoyed his delicate and suggestive style of projecting beautiful emotions in verse.
Although Firaq was always aware of the superb quality of his verses and the variety that he was capable of, he remained humble as a poet. He always admired the poetry of stalwarts like Mir, Ghalib, and Josh. Josh and Majnu, in fact were close friends and Firaq was disturbed when they decided to shift to Pakistan at the time of Partition. Firaq did have an issue with Iqbal, who called Firaq ‘the Hindu poet of Urdu’.
Coming to his career, it is relevant to mention that Firaq was a lecturer of English literature at the University of Allahabad and retired as a reader. This adds another dimension to his greatness, as he claimed his English was flawless and he was an expert in the Romantic poets’ work- those of Wordsworth, Shelley, and Keats. I have seen Firaq recite long verses from various poets. He did have a computer-like memory.
In Firaq’s Urdu poetry one can find a mention of temple bells and references to Krishna and Radha. One feels overwhelmed while reading his verses. It’s like a stream of emotions flowing so lovingly and smoothly that one feels his words and suggestions are caressing the reader. Most people feel the need to re-read his poems because each time a fresh meaning peeps out from between the lines.
Firaq had created an imaginary poetic world of his own — ironically nowhere close to his actual life.
The union (Vasl) with and separation (Virah) from the ‘Mehbooba’ (beloved) are fine emotions which he may never have experienced. The beauty of love, the longing, and memories play a major role in his verses and the word ‘yaad’ which means memory, is often repeated in different shades.
Firaq was a great orator. He would enthrall whoever listened to him with such apt descriptions and interesting anecdotes that people’s attention was captured totally. He picked up his stories from incidents of his childhood household, traits of distant relatives, the sounds he heard and the people he interacted with.
He invoked mixed responses from his audience — mostly of awe and appreciation — but sometimes if he got annoyed by a small thing, people saw the dark side of a man full of anger and profanity. Firaq said he could not suffer idiots — so the best way in his presence was to sit, smile and praise whatever he said. He especially got irritated if people used the wrong pronunciation.
Coming back to my experience of having him as my uncle; it’s full of memories. I grew up seeing him in every sphere of my life. I went to study English poetry from him. In a strange way we enjoyed a kind of mutual admiration. He didn’t say anything to me and instead just looked at me with love, but I was thrilled when he praised me in front of other people, whether relatives or friends.
There is so much to write about a multifaceted person like Firaq and the evocative connotations of his verses; I could go on and on. With the present shift in our culture, art, and literature to the preferences of the new generations, it is likely that people will not be interested in poets like Firaq.
The greatness of his work, as with the work of several great writers and poets will be lost forever. The quick gratification and the shorter concentration spans are heading in a direction where great verses may struggle to find an appropriate place. With this, the joy of an exquisite, delicate stirring of our emotions and the uplifting of our artistic sensibility will gradually die out.
Firaq would have been 125 years old on 28 August, 2021. This is a small tribute in his memory and I will soon be publishing a book on Firaq’s life and my memoirs. Let me end with his philosophy of life. Although there were so many things poisoning his life, he gave something beautiful and something sublime to the world.
‘Talkhian sare zamane ki piye jate hain
Hum ko jeena hai bahar hal jiye jaate hain’
We go on drinking the acrid waters of the world
We have to live at any cost so we keep on living.
‘Zeest ko ek nai saugat diye jate hain
Aaj hum zahre tabassum bhi piye jate hain’
We go on and after offering a new gift to life
We also endure poisonous smiles now.
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