Dr. Rahat Indori (Image courtesy: http://www.rahatindori.com/) January 1, 1950-- August 11, 2020
Whenever and wherever a poet dies, a little bit of poetry too dies. In the death of Dr. Rahat Indori, perhaps the most quoted and extolled popular poet in India in recent times, the country has lost more than a little bit of poetry though. It has lost the great poetic ferment of a particularly creative mind.
I heard Rahat Indori, who died because of complications arising out of the coronavirus infection at age 70 in Indore today, sporadically in YouTube videos. A poet of some rather frenzied gestures onstage wherever he performed he brought the house down with his unique incantation. And in a way it was incantation of a poetic variety that he used to cast his spell on his audiences around the world.
It turns out Dr. Indori was a painter first who turned a professor and then a poet. Quite clearly, paint colors were not enough to capture his restless creative mind. He needed words and what fabulous and powerful words he produced with such ease.
All poets are self-absorbed. A vast majority of them tends to enjoy their words and voices. However, to watch Indori recite his own works was to experience his internal furnace leaping flames. Here was a poet in supreme command of his craft coopting his audience in his own creative process unlike any of his contemporaries. In a way Dr. Indori’s unbridled joy with himself reminded me of the great Raghupati Sahay Firaq Gorakhpuri. Of course, the two were poet of very different kinds.
By all accounts, he was a prolific and eclectic poet whose facility in capturing the quintessence of the zeitgeist was perhaps unlike any of his contemporaries.
Reading some of his works in the aftermath of his passing, one gets the clear sense that Dr. Indori was a poet who leapt from theme to theme with remarkable swiftness. His writing gives you the impression that his verses were born fully formed and required no alteration. I am not saying that was necessarily the case. I am saying his writing gives you that impression. In the process, he may occasional sound glib but never less than sharply engaging.
Just consider these two verses from a particular ghazal. His reference काग़ज़ का बदन or paper robes is so reminiscent of Ghalib’s कागज़ी है पैरहन from नक्श फरियादी है.
ये हवाएँ उड़ न जाएँ ले के काग़ज़ का बदन
दोस्तो मुझ पर कोई पत्थर ज़रा भारी रखो
ले तो आए शाइरी बाज़ार में 'राहत' मियाँ
क्या ज़रूरी है कि लहजे को भी बाज़ारी रखो
Notwithstanding the occasional feeling of glibness Dr. Indori’s extraordinary command over his poetic art was never in doubt and never scarce. Consider this verse that is perhaps appropriate to recall on his death.
मौत लम्हे की सदा ज़िंदगी उम्रों की पुकार
मैं यही सोच के ज़िंदा हूँ कि मर जाना है
Please remember that the poetic glibness that I talk about his not a critique but an acknowledgement of his natural gifts as a poet.
Two verses were born in me in rapid succession on hearing Dr. Indori’s passing. I present them both.
आलम को कुछ तो राहत होगी तुम्हारे शेरों की याद से
ज़माना कुछ तो बदला होगा तुम्हारी मुसलसल फरियाद से
मुसलसल—Constant आलम—The world in this context
***
आप से फ़ुर्सत मिले तो आप को सुनूँ
वैसे मैं कितनों के संताप को सुनूँ
संताप--Annoyance