Some poets are carved by history out of its wounds. Along with words, they also bring the dust of their era, people’s tears, the cries of those being separated, and the sadness of devastated seasons. Ahmad Rahi was such a poet. In his work, poetry is both a lament for life and a dialogue. September 2 is the death anniversary of Ahmad Rahi, and today marks his 24th death anniversary.
Born in the soil of Amritsar in 1923, this child would go on to become such a respected name in Punjabi poetry that his words carried the fragrance of Punjab and the blood of its history. His real name was Ghulam Ahmad, but he chose “Ahmad Rahi” for himself. Rahi means traveler; perhaps he himself did not know that this name would become a metaphor for his entire life.
He truly was a traveler—from Amritsar to Lahore, from poetry to film, from love to deprivation, from fame to solitude, and from memory to history.
His childhood and youth were spent in Amritsar. It was a time when the streets of the subcontinent were filled with voices of politics, freedom, and cultural awakening. It was in this environment that he met people such as Saadat Hasan Manto, Saifuddin Saif, and A. Hamid. It was no ordinary matter that the same city, the same era, and the same educational environment brought together people who would later leave deep imprints on the literary history of Urdu, Punjabi, and the subcontinent.
Due to his political activities, he had to leave his studies. When the path of education was interrupted, life showed him another path. He started a business with his father, but how long can a person whose soul burns with the fire of words weigh his dreams on the scales of the marketplace?
Then the country was partitioned. It was also a partition of people, homes, relationships, memories, and dreams. Ahmad Rahi did not read this tragedy in a history book; rather, he witnessed it with his own eyes and endured it in his soul. Perhaps that is why migration in his poetry transforms into a human tragedy.
When his book “Tranjan” was published, a new voice was heard in the landscape of Punjabi poetry. Through “Tranjan,” Ahmad Rahi proved that the delicacy of a language lies less in words and more in the depth of feeling.
In “Tranjan,” the pain of the communal riots of Partition emerged in the form of a woman’s suffering. A woman for whom neither the groom came nor did her brother arrive to take her in a bridal palanquin. Her existence was snatched away in the riots, and her suffering was not recorded in any official document. He mourns the devastation of the land of Punjab and the helplessness of women in these words:
How shall I cut, how shall I endure, O mother of sorrows?
Today, in the Tranjan, the spinning wheels lie scattered,
The clinking of bangles,
The merchants have looted them all.
The great quality of his poetry is that he turns a collective tragedy into personal grief and personal grief into collective feeling.
Another interesting reference associated with “Tranjan” is Saadat Hasan Manto. At Ahmad Rahi’s request, Manto wrote the flap of this collection in Punjabi. Thus, it became a very important and memorable example of Manto’s Punjabi prose. Ahmad Rahi’s son Salman had said that Manto was the son of Ahmad Rahi’s paternal uncle. Thus, two brothers, two friends, two writers of different languages, and a history that wounded both of them in their own ways.
Ahmad Rahi was also a poet of the silver screen. Saadat Hasan Manto’s insistence and companionship took him into the world of films. His cinematic journey began with the film “Bailli,” whose story was written by Manto and directed by Masood Parvez. Later, Ahmad Rahi wrote stories, dialogues, screenplays, and songs for Punjabi and Urdu films.
His real identity became his songs. In film songs, he filled the language of Punjab, the fragrance of its soil, women’s desires, the pain of separation, the restlessness of love, and the colors of rural life.
Whether the songs of the film “Heer Ranjha” or songs from other films, when Ahmad Rahi’s words merged with music, they became the heartbeat of Punjab. When this masterpiece of his echoed in the voice of Malika-e-Tarannum Noor Jehan, it touched the strings of hearts:
Listen to the sweet melody of the flute,
I have sacrificed myself for you.
Rahi’s songs appear simple, but once they enter the heart, they remain there for a long time. That is the hallmark of a great lyricist.
The song sung by singer Afshan, which was written by Ahmad Rahi, is a brilliant depiction of the rural beauty of Punjab and the restless state of mind born from the memory of a beloved who has gone away:
I toss and turn, yet sleep does not come,
A soft breeze keeps blowing,
One memory has deceived us,
A soft breeze keeps blowing.
Fame never made Ahmad Rahi bow before it. He was among those people who could make art their livelihood, but could never insult art for the sake of livelihood. Despite writing hundreds of memorable songs, he never went to film producers’ doors to ask for work.
As the film industry began to change, subjects changed, tastes changed, and superficiality began to enter the cinematic temperament, which Ahmad Rahi could not accept. Consequently, he gradually distanced himself from it.
In the final years of his life, an accident deepened his solitude even further. A fire that broke out at his home reduced his literary and intellectual collection and much of his belongings to ashes. When a poet watches his papers, books, and memories burn, he feels as though the precious years of his life are turning to ashes. He was already tired from within, and after this incident, he became a recluse.
In an interview with Ahmad Rahi, Parveen Malik asked him about the colors of the life he had experienced. He gave a brief answer: “It has passed, that’s all. What is there to think about now?”
Reading this sentence, it feels as though an entire autobiography has been condensed into five words.
What had passed? Amritsar had passed, childhood had passed, friends had been separated, Partition had passed. Lahore had come, “Tranjan” had been published, the glitter of films had passed. Countless songs had reached people’s lips, fame had arrived, and then fame too had passed. Friends gradually became fewer, one by one, and in the end, the poet continued to descend deeper into himself.
On September 2, 2002, Ahmad Rahi’s journey came to an end. But where do travelers ever end? They continue to walk through their words.
Even today, when an old film is playing and one of its songs suddenly knocks on the door of the heart, it becomes clear that Ahmad Rahi has not yet died. He exists in the soft sound of a radio, in an old memory, in an old love story, in the eyes of someone being separated, and in a mother’s silence.
Ahmad Rahi wrote very fine songs and gave modern Punjabi poetry a new direction. He gave voice to the emotions of Punjab that often find no place in grand narratives. He listened to the pain of women, understood the defeat of lovers, felt the wounds of migration, and preserved in words the ache of a person separated from his soil.
Ahmad Rahi was not only a poet; he was also a witness to his era, who not only saw history but felt it as well.
Some voices do not fade with time; rather, time makes them deeper. Ahmad Rahi is also such a voice. He himself has gone, but left his words behind for us. Those words are now his home. As long as Punjabi continues to be spoken, a lamp will continue to burn in that home.