Langauge and identity

I was listening to Ghalib on my laptop when a friend walked in and asked about what was playing. Ghalib, I told her and she gave me a questioning look. I tried explaining Ghalib to her and she asked me to translate for her.

Problem is Ghalib is not to be explained and translated. Ghalib is not even really to be understood. I think poetry loses meaning if you try explaining it or even try too hard to understand it. I remember Shoaib Hashmi once said about Faiz that his poetry was spiritual. You need not understand the words to appreciate them. It is about feeling.

I felt Ghalib today. I have felt Faiz through many difficult times in my life. I was mocked by a friend when packing a book each by Ghalib, Faiz, Manto and Parveen Shakir in my luggage for my first trip from good old land of the pure to the land of opportunity. She had said 'what are you afraid of? losing your high school urdu?'

I am not afraid of losing my urdu. I do occasionally worry about forgetting how to write it though. But that is not the point. The point is that language is identity. Urdu is my identity despite all the theorizing and academic babbling I do in English. I regret not being able to write in Urdu. I feel guilty for writing poetry and prose in English.