...main nashe mein hoon!

At the end of it all, it might not remain the epitaph originally meant for the ghazal maestro...and might end up as a narcissistic monologue of my memories. Since the late 'render of emotions' passed away a few days back, I have been meaning to explore the labyrinths of my grey cells and trace out a path that led to my liking the singer and his ghazals. The idea to pen down a recognition of Jagjit Sahab in my life started as a status update on a social networking site, but quickly fermented into much more than the word limit would allow, hence this.

No doubt, the master had a ghazal for every emotion and mood known and experienced by humanity - one for the lover's longing and sadness, and one that allowed him to woo a sweetheart. One that a man who has succeeded in love could identify with, and one which could be made an anthem by someone who has failed in life. His rendition of poems requesting the world to live in peace and the ones where he longed for his lost son in 'Someone Somewhere', all have left their impressions on the many who drew parallels with his masterpieces in their own lives.

As a child, my discovery of music started with Jagjit Singh and Chitra Singh. Probably my late father, who knew Dr. Allama Iqbal's 'Qulyat-e-Iqbal' by heart, inter alia, trusted the late singer to do justice to the oracles of the world of Urdu poetry. Ergo, the first music tapes that I laid my 5-year old hands on were Arth and Saath-Saath, managed my teenage turmoils with Sajda, and had still not outgrown the master when Marasim soothed my young adult days. Till this day, even though I ventured into the heavy metal scene during my senior college years, experimenting with popular pop along the way, listening to 'woh kaghaz ki kashti, woh baarish ka paani...' manages to moisten the eye.

A Panasonic tape recorder/player from 1980's was the only form of entertainment in our house - used more to tape and listen to the many mushaira that were held in and around the town I grew up in, than for any other purpose. And it was in that player that mom would allow me and my sister to slip-in a cassette of Jagjit Sahab and appreciate the few ghazals that we could (at least I could - my sister was learning nursery rhymes at that time!) make an attempt at understanding. However, mom soon realised that the purpose of inciting a liking for Urdu poetry was was lost on me when, while listening to the eternal 'yeh tera ghar, yeh mera ghar...', I would be strumming along on the steel wires and beads of my sister's abacus!

It was during the time that I was working in Delhi that my former Boss' benevolence took the form of concert tickets for Jagjit Singh's show. And so it was, that along with 4-5 other friends (who if not for anything else, only the fact that we were going to see a live concert) I made it to many of the vast expanses that Gurgaon hosted before the construction boom set in. And on that chilly winter evening, we could feel the late ghazal singer enveloping us in his magical warmth, making every shayar's work seem as if it was a gem of a couplet. And when it all ended and he was getting in the car, I was so close that I could have touched him (along with a zillion others). But decency (and the fact that magic doesn't rub off!) prevailed and I had to make do with a smile that a king allows his subjects - each one feeling as if it was meant for him.

Though ghazal singers like Pankaj Udhas and Ghulam Ali have also ensured their respective places in the hearts of ghazal lovers, Jeet (as Jagjit Sahab was fondly known by family and friends) will remain to ghazal what the Bard of Avon has been to English literature. And as a sign-off to this prosaic ode, I'll use the title of this piece - not only doing it is de rigueur, but it also saves me a lot of trouble thinking of a better sign-off! So...'thukrao ya ab ke pyar karo karo, main nashe mein hoon/ jo chahe mere yaar karo, main nashe mein hoon...'