I knew Bashir Badr as a child. He was my grandfather’s student and was unfailingly kind to us children when we visited our grandparents’ home in Aligarh, offering us toffees in little tin boxes and chocolates in shiny wrappers and, on one memorable occasion, even taking us to watch a movie at the city’s iconic Tasveer Mahal. Writing this, I am reminded of another luminous memory – of Bashir Badr reciting his poetry at university mushairas at the Kennedy Hall. Long before I could fully understand the import of his words, it was his tarrannum, the slightly nasal twang with which he recited his poetry, that made an impact on my young mind and the unfailingly cheerful look he seemed to sport on the dais as though he quite enjoyed being a poet. This sher in particular wafts through my mind redolent with the scents of summers past as childhood memories often are:

Meri muththi mein sukhe huye phool hain / Khusbuon ko urha kar hawa le gayee In my hand I hold some dried flowers / Whose fragrance has been wafted away by the breeze

It might not be an exaggeration to say that Bashir Badr was the last of the great modern Urdu poets from India, along with Shahryar and Nida Fazli. Modern in tone and sensibility,........

© Indian Express