Gul Tarāshnā: The Lamp at Chaderghat

Gul Tarāshnā: The Lamp at Chaderghat

On the terrace of this lime-plastered haveli in Chaderghat, dusk settles slowly over the Musi river. Below, the water carries the spent heat of the day toward the stone piers of the old bridge. On my lap rests an iPad with the clean, flat interface of WritOn; beside it on the parapet sits a small clay diya, filled with unrefined mustard oil—a habit my grandfather brought from our family's older courtyard and never abandoned.

There is a quiet physical discipline to keeping such a lamp alive in the river breeze. If the cotton wick is spun too tightly, the oil climbs reluctantly and the tip begins to char. My grandfather kept a pair of small, dull brass scissors—a qatarni—to snip this blackened ash, an act he called gul tarāshnā. He trimmed the blackened tip whenever the flame began to smoke. In our household, guzashta was the word for what had passed, but to me it always felt like the sentences we left hanging in the warm evening air, waiting for someone to cut away the silence.

Ghazal: Shām ke Ba'd

سلگتی مٹی نے مانگا ہے اک چراغ شام کے بعد
اجڑ گیا ہے مرے خواب کا وہ باغ شام کے بعد
Sulagtī miṭṭī ne māñgā hai ik chirāgh shām ke ba'd
Ujaṛ gayā hai mire ḳhvāb kā vo bāgh shām ke ba'd

گئے جو لوگ انہیں ڈھونڈتی ہیں یہ گلیاں
ملے گا کیسے بھلا ان کا اب سراغ شام کے بعد
Gaye jo log unheñ ḍhūñḍtī haiñ ye galiyāñ
Milegā kaise bhalā un kā ab surāgh shām ke ba'd

تراش کر ہی تو بتی کی لو کو زندہ رکھا
کسے میسر ہے جلنے سے اب فراغ شام کے بعد
Tarāsh kar hī to battī kī lau ko zinda rakhā
Kise mayassar hai jalne se ab farāgh shām ke ba'd

گلہ نہیں ہے جو 'یاسر' اندھیرا پھیل گیا
ہمارے دل میں سلامت ہے ایک داغ شام کے بعد
Gila nahīñ hai jo ‘Yāsir’ andherā phail gayā
Hamāre dil meñ salāmat hai ek dāgh shām ke ba'd

Translation

The smoldering earth has asked for a single lamp after dusk;
The garden of my dreams has been laid bare after dusk.

These narrow lanes still search for those who departed;
How will any trace of them ever be found after dusk?

Only by trimming did one keep the wick’s flame alive;
Who among us is granted respite from burning after dusk?

There is no grievance, Yasir, that the darkness has spread;
Within the heart, one scar remains intact after dusk.

Form: Radif: shām ke ba'd • Qaafiya: -āgh (chirāgh, bāgh, surāgh, farāgh, dāgh) • Takhallus: ‘Yāsir’

A power cut plunges the alley below into sudden, dark silence. Far to the west, the glass corridors of Madhapur and Gachibowli cast a faint, cold glow against the low clouds.

I pick up the brass qatarni. Its metal is cool against my knuckles. With a single, deliberate press of the blades, I snip the charred tip of the cotton wick. The flame dips, drowns momentarily in the dark oil, then catches again—clean, yellow, and unburdened.

On the glass screen in front of me, the cursor blinks in the dark, waiting for the next line.

#Shayari #UrduGhazal #Chaderghat #Hyderabad #Poetry #WordCraft