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.
