“MADHUBALA”

I recently read “MADHUBALA” by Dr. Harivansh Rai “Bachchan” and am deeply inspired to present its Book Review for you :

                                “MADHUBALA”

“Because of rhyme, word come to an end and yet end not. The utterance finishes, but not its ring, and the ear and the mind go on with their game of tossing the rhyme back and forth. So here, wherein the lap of limitless space, clouds lie down to sleep, I have built my house for thee, O Poetry!”

                                                        ‘Gurudev’ Rabindranath Tagore

On the onset, my sincerest obeisance, for forging into the unexplored territories of reviewing the masterpiece of Hindi Literature in a language called English. But after all that I have read, I’ve begun to think big and beyond. Language, in itself, can never be the medium of restraint. It is the most exquisite and intricate form of art, of wording the expressions and hence liberating the soul. It is food for thought. And Poetry was, is and shall forever remain the elixir to live and die for. As words gently caress the rhyme, and the rhythm is tossed yonder and within, as emotions spill through ink, and volumes are spoken by lyrical gestures, from the annals of self-existence comes surging out a vivid recollection of feelings in the due splendour of a butterfly’s vibrance. And   Bachchan, indisputably, is the king of this forte.

MADHUBALA came after MADHUSHALA and was composed way back in 1934-35. And ever since it has stayed a reader’s favourite. A collector’s item. A vintage treasure. This is one of the most read books of Hindi Literature and is likely to remain so for years to come.

After reading the book, it seems that the author had turned to unstoppable drinking (read alcohol) when he lost his first wife. As if that was the only means of solace for him. But that is where the magic unveils. Dr. Bachchan stayed a teetotaller throughout his life.  But it was in the days after this major loss in his life that these gems of literature were drafted. I’m rightly reminded of the lines which say, “my sweetest songs are those which tell the saddest thought”.

The book has 15 of the world’s best poems, all in five less than a hundred pages. The poet has personified himself to everything that can be closely associated to liquor, right from the drink to the drinker, from the vessel to the house, from the owner of the place to the song that is.  He has introduced the reader to that layer of this process, this phenomenon, which no one could ever even think of. In spite of being a teetotaler, and having observed the repercussions of alcohol-consumption in first person, I was still carried away by what the author offered, even tempted for a while.

He feels so relaxed, so much at peace with himself and the world, with good and bad, with people, with pain, with all that life has and has not to offer, that at a point, impersonating a vessel, he says,

“pal me mrit peene waale ke kar se gir bhoo par aaunga

Jis mitti se tha main nirmit, us mitti me mil jaunga

adhikar nahi jin baato par, un baato ki chinta kar ke

ab tak jag ne kya paaya hai,

main kar charcha kya paaunga?” 

He is reluctant even to think of getting out of that stage of self-obliteration. Underscoring all creations is, unquestionably, the love of his life. “is paar priye, madhu hai, tum ho, us paar na jaane kya hoga”.

Simply reading through this text makes one swim into that state of oblivion, where nothing matters, but liberation. Freedom from all shackles of worldliness, pure-impure, caste, creed or for that matter, anything else. All seekers have entered that hall of realization where it isn’t them who rule the world and it hardly matters whoever does. They are the emperors of their own lives, their own destinies.

As I wade through this review, I feel I could go on, without stopping. But in middle school, we were taught to read as much as we could, so that no on else could deprive us of the pleasure that reading fresh text could fill us with. So, I pass it on. And yes, I am filled with boundless love, respect and gratitude for the language and the author. More so for the latter, for re-introducing the reader to the eternal beauty of Hindi language and revitalizing them with the ‘cup of life’ as served by Madhubala. But readers, don’t go by what I say. Go, find it, feel it for yourself. And only when u start loving to treasure it, I’ll consider my task done. Till then, I sign off, in ecstasy.