Badiuzzaman Khawar: The Poet Who Hid Verses and Bridged Two Worlds

Badiuzzaman Khawar once hid his poems under his pillow, terrified of mockery and rejection. That frightened boy from Ratnagiri would grow into a poet who bridged Urdu and Marathi, transforming personal pain into verses that still echo across generations. How does a hidden dreamer become a literary bridge-builder? His story reveals the answer.

Badiuzzaman Khawar belongs to that rare breed of poets whose verses carry the weight of lived experience rather than mere literary exercise. Born in 1938 in Ratnagiri, Maharashtra, he emerged as a significant voice in Urdu poetry during the latter half of the twentieth century. His work represented something unusual: a fusion of Marathi sensibility with Urdu’s classical elegance.

While many poets of his generation confined themselves to traditional themes, Khawar drew from the coastal landscapes of his childhood, the struggles of ordinary people, and the quiet dignity of daily life. His poetry spoke to readers because it reflected their own joys and sorrows. He wrote about crows stealing fruit, grandmothers telling stories, and power failures during storms. These seemingly small subjects became windows into larger truths about human nature.

Khawar also distinguished himself as a translator, bringing Marathi poetry into Urdu and creating cultural bridges at a time when such exchanges remained uncommon. His death in 1990 did not silence his voice. Today, his verses continue to appear in anthologies, get recited at literary gatherings, and find new audiences through digital platforms like Rekhta and UrduPoint. His story reminds us that great art often comes from unexpected places and that true poets write not for fame but because they must.

Hidden Verses and Childhood Dreams

Ratnagiri gave Khawar more than a birthplace. The town provided him with a sensory education that would later fill his poetry with vivid images. He grew up watching sunsets paint the Arabian Sea in shades of orange and gold. He listened to folk songs sung by fishermen as they returned with their catch. He absorbed the rhythms of Marathi speech while learning Urdu at home. This bilingual upbringing became his most significant asset, though he did not recognize it initially.

As a child, Khawar filled notebooks with verses that he kept secret. He feared his teachers would dismiss his work as childish. His classmates already teased him for preferring books to sports. Only a handful of friends encouraged his writing, and even they did not fully grasp his potential. His first complete poem, “Hamari Nani Jaan,” celebrated his grandmother and her stories. When he finally showed it to her, she burst into tears. That moment validated his instinct to write.

The poem remained within family circles for years before appearing in print. Khawar’s early verses focused on immediate surroundings: narrow lanes, marketplace conversations, monsoon rains, and domestic scenes. He captured the texture of everyday life with such precision that readers later said his poems felt like memories of their own childhoods, even if their backgrounds differed completely from his.

Rejection, Poverty, and Walking Miles for Applause

Success did not come easily or quickly. Khawar faced years of financial hardship and professional rejection. His family pressured him to find stable work rather than chase literary dreams. Publishers returned his manuscripts with polite notes or no response at all. During his twenties, he worked as a translator to support himself, converting Marathi poems into Urdu. This work initially seemed like a compromise, a distraction from his original writing.

It turned out to be his apprenticeship. By translating others, he expanded his vocabulary and learned how to convey emotion across linguistic boundaries. Eventually, his translations gained recognition in scholarly circles, which opened doors in Mumbai and Pune. Still, recognition did not mean financial security. Khawar lived frugally, spending whatever money he had on books and travel to poetry gatherings. One story from this period reveals his dedication.

He walked several miles under intense heat to recite at a local mushaira. After performing, he received enthusiastic applause and a small packet of sweets. He walked home with nothing else, satisfied that his words had moved the audience. Another untold chapter involves a personal tragedy that nearly broke him. He spent nights by the sea, writing verses as a way to process grief. Those poems remained unpublished for years before appearing in his collection “Sabz-o-Taza Nihalon ke Amboh Mein,” where they became some of his most celebrated works.

Books, Bridges, and Verses That Connected Generations

Khawar published several important collections during his lifetime. “Bayaz” appeared in 1973, introducing readers to his distinctive style. “Saat Samundar” followed in 1982, expanding his thematic range. “Sabz-o-Taza Nihalon ke Amboh Mein” arrived in 1986, cementing his reputation as a poet who could transform personal suffering into universal wisdom. His poem “Kawwe Ki Chori” used the image of a crow stealing fruit as a metaphor for unexpected loss and recovery.

“Ho Jati Hai Bijli Fail” explored how life’s interruptions mirror power failures during storms. “Ek Unt Ne Mannat Mani” told a whimsical story that delighted children while containing layers of meaning for adult readers. These poems shared common traits: clear language, emotional honesty, and attention to small details that most poets overlook. Khawar avoided ornate vocabulary and complicated metaphors. He wrote in a way that made readers feel he was speaking directly to them.

His translations proved equally significant. By incorporating Marathi poetry into Urdu, he established a dialogue between two literary traditions. He demonstrated that cultural boundaries could be crossed without losing the essence of either language. This work earned him respect from scholars and poets in both communities, although it also drew criticism from purists who believed that translation diluted the original meanings. Khawar ignored such complaints and continued building bridges through language.

A Legacy That Refuses to Fade

Badiuzzaman Khawar passed away in 1990, but his influence endures. His poems continue to be recited at literary festivals, included in school curricula, and shared on digital platforms. New generations discover his work and find that verses written decades ago still speak to contemporary concerns. What explains this enduring appeal? Perhaps it comes from his refusal to separate poetry from life. He wrote about the world he knew rather than inventing artificial scenarios.

He transformed his struggles into art without romanticizing suffering or pretending hardship was noble. His story carries lessons beyond literature. It shows that dedication matters more than immediate success, that rejection need not be permanent, and that patient work eventually finds its audience. Khawar never achieved wealth or fame during his lifetime. He never won major awards or received government honors.

Yet his poems have achieved something more valuable: they have become part of the emotional vocabulary of readers who return to them during times of difficulty. Archives contain only scattered information about his life. Most of what we know comes from family stories and rare interviews. This obscurity makes his achievement more remarkable. Without institutional support or powerful connections, he created work that outlasted him and continues to inspire writers, translators, and readers who believe language can unite rather than divide.

Also Read: Saqi Farooqi: The Rebel Poet Who Kept Urdu Alive in London

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