Home is Where Your Mom Is: Religion, Domesticity, and Art in “Jewel House Ghazal”
If a waltz could be transcribed, it would probably take the form of a ghazal. The dancers are the poet and poem itself, set to the uncompromising rhythm of its qafia—rhyme scheme—and radif—refrain. Once the first couplet has established this recurring rhythm, the poet enters an almost suspenseful cycle of pulling away with the first line of each subsequent couplet, and being neatly tugged back into place just in time for the second. While the poet is bound to this steady cycle of repetition for which the ghazal is famous, this pattern can hardly be called a limitation. This particular rhyme scheme creates a sort of “breathless excitement” (Ali 213) through its repetition, which lends itself well to the romantic extremes of human emotion. One couplet “may be comic, another tragic, another romantic” (Ali 210) as the ghazal whisks from highs to lows to somber middles, all thanks to the independent, self-enclosed nature of each couplet. However, like a waltz, each set of seemingly isolated box steps, repeated over and over again, culminates in a careful, complete dance. Each couplet, and the details within, can be assembled to create a beautiful story.
This is how Rafique Kathwari manages to capture several different kinds of longing all within one short poem, titled “Jewel House Ghazal.” Put simply, Kathwari misses his mom. She is not just his mom, though—she is at the center of his religious faith, the foundation of what he considers home, and even a major influence for his art. This is established alongside the qafia and radif in the poem’s first couplet: “In Kashmir, half asleep, Mother listens to the rain. / In another country, I feel her presence in the rain.” (Kathwari 214). Two major recurring images are established here: Kathwari’s mother, and the rain. These ideas and their relationship to one another are repeated many times throughout the poem, each time echoing the message that first key couplet; though hundreds of miles apart, rain brings Kathwari and his mother back together again, however briefly.
Understanding Kathwari’s relationship to rain (and water in general) is integral to understanding not only his longing for this mother, but also his longing for the kinship found in religion and faith. “In the rain” (Kathwari 214) acts as the poem’s radif, appearing again and again, highlighting and underscoring each couplet’s unique view of the writer’s yearning. Water “becomes a reverence” (Kathwari 214), is made sacred, in Kathwari’s hands. It is also literally made sacred by God’s as he “performs ablutions” (Kathwari 214) across oceans. It—and by extension, his mother, whose relationship to him is symbolized by the rain—are the foundations of his faith, which binds him to his mother even while she is an ocean away.
Kathwari’s mother is also a symbol of home. Twice, he mentions their kettle. First, he fears that his mother must be wondering “who will put on the kettle” and again, in the very last line of the very last couplet, he mentions it once more (Kathwari 214). The kettle represents the domesticity of the writer’s mother. It is initially brought up aside various other domestic tasks (before, of course, the couplet circles back to the rain). It comes again, later, after a one-line peak into what life was like back when they were together in their city. It was an important, although mundane, part of their lives and their home. Quite similarly, in fact, to the rain.
Kathwari’s mother’s influence over his art is almost self-explanatory—this entire poem is a testament to that fact. For in-text evidence, though, there is one, brief line: Kathwari fondly recalls his mother reshaping his ghazals, sternly reminding him that there shall be “‘No enjambments!’” (214). Her advice is evident in all the hard-stops, commas, and semi-colons placed at the end of each line; throughout the entire poem, in fact, there is only one enjambment. It makes sense that it would slip through his notice—his mother isn’t there to point it out. It is one easily overlooked testament to everything he is missing.
There are other little images that I don’t know how to incorporate into this reading of the text, such as the wilting forsythia (a flower that represents new beginnings, and, interestingly, sunshine), but as I said before, one thing is clear: Kathwari misses his mom. He waltzes through that and much, much more in this wonderful testament to the repetitive beauty of the ghazal.
Ali, Agha Shahid. “Ghazal: To Be Teased Into Disunity” An Exaltation of Forms: Contemporary Poets Celebrate the Diversity of Their Art. Edited by Anne Finch and Kathrine Varnes, U of Michigan P, 2002, pp. 210–216.
Kathwari, Rafique. “Jewel House Ghazal.” An Exaltation of Forms: Contemporary Poets Celebrate the Diversity of Their Art. Edited by Anne Finch and Kathrine Varnes, U of Michigan P, 2002, pp. 210–216.
