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Revision as of 22:16, 18 January 2007 by Sarvagnya (talk | contribs) (see talk)(diff) ← Previous revision | Latest revision (diff) | Newer revision → (diff)The poem Saare Jahan Se Achcha (Urdu: سارے جہاں سے اچھا) was composed by the Indian Muslim poet Sir Allama Muhammad Iqbal in 1904/1905 while India was under British colonial rule. Also known as Tarana-e-Hindi (Urdu: ترانۂ ہندی)"Anthem of India"), it was composed in the Urdu language book Bang-i-Dara, in the ghazal style, a form of Urdu poetry. Iqbal was a lecturer at the Government College, Lahore at that time. He was invited by his favourite student Lala Hardayal to preside over a function. Instead of making a speech, Iqbal sang Saare Jahan Se Achcha with gusto. The poem is in praise of Hindustan (India) and preaches harmony between people of separate religious beliefs. Ironically, Iqbal is also credited with being one of the earliest proponents for a separate nation-state in the Muslim majority areas of the sub-continent, an idea which led to the creation of the state of Pakistan.. One of the first formal articulations of this demand was made in his presidential address to the annual conference of the All India Muslim League in 1930 in Allahabad.
Set to tune by the sitar maestro, Pandit Ravi Shankar, the poem is sung on occasions of national importance. Sare Jahan Se Achcha enjoys the reputation as a popular patriotic song in India. Unlike Jana-Gana-Mana and Vande Mataram, both written in Sanskritized Bengali, Sare Jahan Se Achcha was written in Urdu.
The poem epitomizes the people's love for the nation. Mahatma Gandhi sang it over a hundred times when he was imprisoned at Yerawada Jail in Pune in the 1930s. Astronaut Rakesh Sharma, the first Indian in space, spoke the first line of the song to describe how India looked from space when asked by Indira Gandhi. Manmohan Singh quoted it at his first press conference as Prime Minister.
Urdu text
سارے جہاں سے اچھا ہندوستاں ہمارا غربت ميں ہوں اگر ہم، رہتا ہے دل وطن ميں پربت وہ سب سے اونچا، ہمسايہ آسماں کا گودي ميں کھيلتي ہيں اس کي ہزاروں ندياں اے آب رود گنگا، وہ دن ہيں ياد تجھ کو؟ مذہب نہيں سکھاتا آپس ميں بير رکھنا يونان و مصر و روما سب مٹ گئے جہاں سے کچھ بات ہے کہ ہستي مٹتي نہيں ہماري اقبال! کوئي محرم اپنا نہيں جہاں ميں |
Note: Some Perso-Arabic loanwords are converted to Hindi/Urdu phonetic approximates, in keeping with the pronunciation of the Hindustani dialect in North India.
Roman Transliteration
sāre jahān se acchā hindostān hamārā
ham bulbulain hai is ki, yeh gulsitān hamārā
ghurbat men hon agar ham, rahta hai dil vatan men
samjho vahīn hamen bhī, dil hain jahān hamārā
parbat voh sab se ūnchā, hamsāya āsmān ka
voh santari hamārā, voh pāsbān hamārā
godi men kheltī hain is ki hazāron nadiyā
gulshan hai jin ke dam se, rashk-e-janān hamārā
aye āb, raud, ganga, voh din hen yād tujhko
utarā tere kināre, jab kārvān hamārā
maz'hab nahīn sikhātā āpas men bayr rakhnā
hindi hai ham, vatan hai hindostān hamārā
yūnān-o-misr-o-romā, sab miṭ gaye jahān se
ab tak magar hai bāqi, nām-o-nishān hamārā
kuch bāt hai keh hastī, miṭati nahīn hamārī
sadiyon rahā hai dushman, daur-e-zamān hamārā
iqbal ko'ī meharam, apnā nahīn jahān men
m'alūm kya kisī ko, dard-e-nihān hamārā
Translation
Better than the entire world, is our Hindustan;
we are its nightingales of mirth, and it is our garden abode
Though in foreign lands we may reside, with our homeland our hearts abide,
Regard us also to be there, where exist our hearts
That mountain most high, neighbor to the skies;
it is our sentinel; it is our protector
In the lap of whose, play thousands of rivers;
gardens they sustain; the envy-of-the-heavens of ours
O waters of the Ganga mighty, do you recall the day
when on your banks, did land the caravan of ours
Religion does not teach us to harbour grudges between us
Indians we all are; India, our motherland
While Greece, Egypt , Rome have all been wiped out
till now yet remains, this civilization of ours {it has stood the test of time}
Something there is that keeps us,our entity from being eroded
For ages has been our enemy, the way of the world
Iqbal! Is there no soul that could
understand the pain in thy heart?
References
- http://www.tribuneindia.com/2006/20060528/spectrum/book7.htm A look at Iqbal; The Sunday Tribune - May 28, 2006