How Does Taufiq Rafats Integration Of Idioms And Colloquial Language Reshape The Boundaries Between Local And Universal In Poetry
Born in Sialkot and educated at Dehradun, Aligarh, and Government College, Lahore, Taufiq Rafat was a thoroughly Pakistani voice who made his mark as a poet, playwright and translator. As a poet, he championed the importance of developing “the Pakistani Idiom” in English (poetry) writing to give it a colour and flavour of its own. He was of the view that the idiom entailed much more that the use of words from native language. It referred to a characteristic mode of expression; a vocabulary of a peculiar dialect or district. Taufiq Rafat is the only Pakistani poet who has been featured in all three Oxford University Press collections of Pakistani English poetry. His poems have been included in several poetry magazines and anthologies including Poems of the Commonwealth, Mentor’s Modern Asian Literature and The Encounter. Many of his poems are a part of taught syllabi in different parts of the world. ‘Arrival of the Monsoon’ (1985) and posthumously published ‘Half Moon’ (2009) are his two poetry collections. Rafat also rendered into English the Punjabi classics Puran Bhagat by Qadir Yar (1983), and poems of the great Sufi master Bulleh Shah. Kitchens Taufiq Rafat Kitchens were places we grew up in. High-roofed, spacious, they attracted us with the pungency of smoke and spices. From December beds we hurried to the cheer of wood fires, above which sang black kettles. Once there, we dawdled over last night’s curry and fresh bread dripping from the saucepan, eggs, and everlasting bowls of tea. Discussions centred on primaries: births, deaths, marriages, crops. Mother presided, contributing only her presence, busy ladling, ladling. Noise was warmth. Now in these cramped spaces, there is no time for talk. A stainless homogeneity winks back our sneers Chairs are insular; they do not encourage intimacy like slats. The table tucks bellies in. We would not dream of coming to this place to savour our triumphs, or unburden our griefs. Chromium and Formica have replaced the textured homeliness of plaster, teak. Everything is clean as a hospital. The surrealistic clock, where once the eloquent grandfather swung, clicks forward, stiffly. We are deferential to the snap pleasures of electric toast and take our last gulps standing up. Notes: Kitchens are an integral part of an ordinary household, with so many activities revolving around them. The daily practice of cooking, eating together, gossiping, sharing experiences, laughing, and what not. On top of it all, the presiding figure of the mother. With changes in our lifestyles, all that was associated with a traditional kitchen is gone. Taufiq Rafat’s poem thus evokes cultural memory by comparing a rural kitchen with an urban one, whereby he highlights the huge change that has occurred in our lives and lifestyles. The poet first describes the rural kitchen and all the happy associations it carried. He then turns to the cramped urban kitchens where things may have improved outwardly but love and intimacy are gone. Everything in the urban kitchen is mechanical and artificial, with no time for company and small talk. The poem becomes all the more relevant in the present-day world of social media and digital connectivity, where nobody ever seems to be emotionally available even when everyone is physically present. Add to this the modern practice of online food delivery and fast food, and you would get to appreciate what Rafat is talking about. Stylistically, Taufiq Rafat is a modernist, using free verse, and conversational language. He just seems to be giving an account of the two kitchens, and yet he manages to bring forth the contrast between the two lifestyles. One can notice the shift in tone when the poet transitions from the rural to the urban kitchen. Wedding in the Flood Taufiq Rafat They are taking my girl away forever, sobs the bride’s mother, as the procession forms slowly to the whine of the clarinet. She was the shy one. How will she fare in that cold house, among these strangers? This has been a long and difficult day. The rain nearly ruined everything, but at the crucial time, when lunch was ready, it mercifully stopped. It is drizzling again as they help the bride into the palankeen. The girl has been licking too many pots. Two sturdy lads carrying the dowry (a cot, a looking glass, a tin-trunk, beautifully painted in green and blue) lead the way, followed by a foursome bearing the palankeen on their shoulders. Now even the stragglers are out of view. I like the look of her hennaed hands, gloats the bridegroom, as he glimpses her slim fingers gripping the palankeen’s side. If only her face matches her hands, and she gives me no mother-in-law problems, I’ll forgive her the cot and the trunk and looking-glass. Will the rain never stop? It was my luck to get a pot-licking wench. Everything depends on the ferryman now. It is dark in the palankeen, thinks the bride, and the roof is leaking. Even my feet are wet. Not a familiar face around me as I peep through the curtains. I’m cold and scared. The rain will ruin cot, trunk, and looking-glass. What sort of a man is my husband? They would hurry, but their feet are slipping, and there is a swollen river to cross. They might have given a bullock at least, grumbles the bridegroom’s father; a couple of oxen would have come in handy at the next ploughing. Instead, we are landed with a cot, a tin trunk, and a looking-glass, all the things that she will use! Dear God, how the rain is coming down. The silly girl’s been licking too many pots. I did not like the look of the river when we crossed it this morning. Come back before three, the ferryman said, or you’ll not find me here. I hope he waits. We are late by an hour, or perhaps two. But whoever heard Of a marriage party arriving on time? The light is poor, and the paths treacherous, but it is the river I most of all fear. Bridegroom and bride and parents and all, the ferryman waits; he knows you will come, for there is no other way to cross, and a wedding party always pays extra. The river is rising, so quickly aboard with your cot, tin trunk, and looking-glass, that the long homeward journey can begin. Who has seen such a brown and angry river or can find words for the way the ferry saws this way and that, and then disgorges its screaming load? The clarinet fills with water. Oh, what a consummation is here: The father is tossed on the horns of the waves,and full thirty garlands are bobbing past the bridegroom heaved on the heaving tide, and in an eddy, among the willows downstream, the coy bride is truly bedded at last. (Biography and texts courtesy: Taufiq Rafat Foundation) Notes: This is a narrative poem in which the poet recreates a rural wedding on a rainy day that ends up flooding the river. As the wedding party departs from the bride’s home amid torrential rain, the poet gives perspectives of five different characters in the five stanzas of the poem. The mother is worried how her shy daughter will adjust to the “cold house” among strangers. The bride though is carried in the palanquin and the party departs. The second stanza reveals what the bridegroom is thinking. He can forget about the scarce dowry the bride has brought if she turns out to be beautiful and accommodating towards his mother. The next stanza brings the bride under the spotlight. She is scared and feeling cold. She is also anxious about her dowry items lest they should be spoiled in the rain. Stanza 4 deals with the thoughts of the bridegroom’s father, who is angry and agitated at the scarce dowry. He would have expected at least a bullock. He is also worried about the swelling river which has to be crossed. The final stanza gives the ferryman’s perspective who waited longer than usual for he knew the wedding party would come. He also expected to earn a bit extra, so he waited. As the homeward journey begins, the river rages, the ferry shakes and capsizes, and the party drowns. The marriage is consummated and the bride finally settles in the bed. Written in free verse but carrying a stanza pattern, the poem touches upon a variety of themes such as arranged marriage, women’s status, greed and materialism, and fate. The poem is deeply steeped in Pakistan’s rural culture and can be seen as a perfect example of Rafat’s concept of the Pakistani Idiom.