From Nuskha-e Hamidiyya, ghazal # 135. This ghazal comprising eight she’rs is exceptionally poignant. The radif is used to its full potential in every she’r. Although there are two matla’s and a beautiful maqta’ , the ghazal was not selected by Ghalib for publication.

Naked ecstasy I have of the spring morning I am crazed with longing For a full garment, or a full wine glass

Barahnah stands for naked, exposed, bare, open; junoon for madness, a state of possession (by a jinn), insanity, frenzy; masti for drunkenness, ecstasy; hasrat for desire, generally of the unfulfilled kind; jamahvar in Urdu for a woven fabric with a floral design (this is not a Persian word as assumed by the commentators); jamahvar for cup full of wine (same as jam); var for full (as in sogvar); var for complete, similar.

Note that var has many meanings in Persian. I have chosen only the most relevant. The readings of the she’r are: Asi: jamahvar resembles spring (bahar); the speaker’s naked passion is compared to the naked intoxication of spring. Spring is intoxicated because it has blossomed in a glorious display of colour and beauty. The poem’s speaker’s heart is full with the intoxication of spring and the longing for a flower-patterned garment just like spring.

Jain: morning tears the garment of the night, therefore it is naked. Having one garment is almost equal to being naked. Thus, longing for a garment produces naked intoxication.

Kantoori: spring’s garment is jamahvar because it is speckled with flowers. Spring is symbolic of junoon or madness and madness of nakedness. The crazed one longs for a garment like spring.

My reading is that there are lots of interesting semantics and wordplay in the she’r. Barahnah masti is an unusual, powerful expression created by Ghalib. It enhances the she’r because of its multivalent congruity with subh-e bahar (spring’s morning). One of the conceits of ghazal poetry is that the morning is usually described as gariban chak (one whose collar, therefore, the front garment is rent, torn open). It has the connotation of a pure, pristine state of barahnagi / nakedness associated with birth. Morning of spring also means the dawn or beginning of spring, a season of renewal. Masti, junoon and hasrat are interrelated words with nuances that bring additional, delicate, emotional colour to the verse. Spring always produces these emotions in the poet-lover. The longing for a full, spring-like garment that was hidden in the speaker’s heart becomes apparent because the speaker wants to be identified with spring.

The opposition between barahnah, meaning unclothed, and jamahvar, a flower-patterned robe or shawl, is delightful. It must be noted that that the ‘flower-patterned robe’ is an additional meaning because Ghalib has used jamahvar in a different sense, as explained in the glossary. But the additional meaning, though not intended, can be considered as present, even if not entirely valid.

Going deeper into the implications of the relationship between spring and the lover, I am reminded of the heart rending image of the crazed, bruised lover in chains. A flower-patterned shawl could be the bruised, scar-studded body of the lover. A scar / bruise looks like a flower. Flowers like poppies and tulips that have a dark centre are poetically scarred. The she’r could be read as the lover craving to declare his passionate ecstasy at the arrival of spring with a body of scars.

Every Urdu speaker who reads the above she’r sees the apparent play between barahnah and jamahvar. This natural gravitation towards the meaning of jamahvar occludes us from exploring other meanings of jamahvar. Another hurdle is the string of izafats at the beginning of the second line: junoon-e hasrat-e yak jamahvar. This (mis)reading of junoon-e hasrat, prompted by Maulana Imtiaz Ali Arshi’s definitive edition of Ghalib’s (published and unpublished) divaans, has gone unnoticed by the commentators because of Ghalib’s predilection for izafats and comparatively obscure meanings, especially in his younger days. In this instance, however, Ghalib did not intend an izafat after “junoon.” If we remove the izafat and read junoon as a vocative: (Oh) junoon! hasrat-e yak jamahvar rakhta hoon, the she’r becomes more accessible.

I suggest the following readings: Spring has made me openly crazed. O madness, I crave for another garment to tear. Spring has made me openly crazed. O madness, I crave for another glass of wine.

This she’r is imbued with an exquisite, Ghalibian agony, very cerebral in the way it is enunciated, though the connection between the two misras is not established clearly. It can be contrasted with another mustarad she’r that creates an intoxicated, more cheerful, vision of spring:

Saqi, the joy / Of the season of flowers is intoxicating; I’ve broken my promise; / I want a glass of wine

Mehr Farooqi is Associate Professor in the Department of Middle Eastern and South Asian Languages and Cultures at the University of Virginia. She is currently writing a commentary on the mustarad kalam of Ghalib.