Enduring lessons from the Pakistani poet Parveen Shakir’s ‘Khushboo’

IN THE 1994 EDITION of Khushboo, Parveen Shakir left a note thanking readers for embracing her book 18 years after its original publication:.mujhe to sirf itnā patā hai ki muhabbat ke rivāyatī tohfoñ meñ yeh ek kitāb kā izāfa ho gayā hai.I just know this: that this book has become an addition to the customary gifts of love..Just seven months later, the Urdu poet passed away in a tragic car accident in Islamabad. .Khushboo – “Fragrance” – established Shakir as a romantic poet, but its feminist currents remain underexplored. Shakir’s quiet defiance – the insistence on softness and hope in a world designed to crush young women’s dreams – offers a deep, complex portrait of romantic love. Today, in an era when stories of love are often sidelined in cultural and critical conversations, Khushboo is worth revisiting especially as it continues to be reprinted in recent years and a new generation discovers Shakir’s most cherished work online..SHAKIR’S VOICE was shaped by the many roles she inhabited: a teacher and civil servant, a single mother after her divorce, and the daughter of another celebrated poet, Shakir Hussain Saqib. She was initially mentored by the poet and journalist Ahmad Nadeem Qasmi, though they drifted apart in her later years. .Khushboo took the Urdu literary world by storm when it was first published in 1976, earning Shakir instant acclaim and winning the Adamjee Literary Award. In 1990, she was honoured with the “Pride of Performance”, one of Pakistan’s highest civilian awards..Following her debut, Shakir published several more poetry collections during her lifetime: Sad Barg (Marigold) in 1980; Khud Kalaami (Talking to Oneself) and Inkaar (Denial) in 1990; and Maah-e-Tamaam (Full Moon) in 1994, a compilation of her earlier works. Two more volumes of her work were released posthumously: Kaf-e-Aina in 1996, a selection from her diaries, and Gosha-e-Chashm in 2000, a collection of her newspaper columns. .Shakir’s unique perspective is widely recognised in Southasian literary circles. She published her first work when just 25, at a time when societal expectations pushed women of her age to leave girlhood behind. Instead, she reclaimed the innocence and hope of youth, choosing to refer to herself in her writing as a ladki (girl), rather than an aurat (woman)..Reflecting on her contributions, C M Naim, a scholar of Urdu literature, writes:.Her ghazals are a noteworthy contribution to Urdu literature in their own right, some of them carrying the vivid impress of a distinctively feminine voice. The latter is reflected not merely in the consistent use of a grammatical feminine gender or the references to feminine attire and social contexts..Shakir’s work stands out in a literary tradition historically dominated by the voices of men, even as she draws on classical motifs long used by her male predecessors in Urdu poetry – visaal (union), hijr or firaaq (separation), and hasrat (longing). Shakir filters these conventional motifs through a distinctly feminine lens. Her mehboob (beloved) is not a distant or abstract figure nor an unattainable ideal of divine love, as is often the case in classical Urdu poetry. Instead, her beloved returns her love – even if briefly and fleetingly, like “khushboo” (fragrance) itself. .Along with Shakir’s personal struggles, her oeuvre reflects the political upheavals in the Pakistan of her time. Khushboo was published after a short period of hopefulness, early in the populist reign of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, which soon gave way to gloom as the country turned again towards authoritarianism. Her later works – Sad Barg, Inkaar and Khud Kalaami – are more politically charged, though often subtly so, shaped by the repressive atmosphere of Zia Ul-Haq’s martial rule from 1977 to 1988 and the state-led Islamisation that he piloted. .In ‘Shahzadi ka Almiya’ (The Tragedy of a Princess), a poem from Inkaar, Shakir addressed the complexities of female leadership, reflecting on Benazir Bhutto’s struggles during her term as prime minister after Zia’s death. Themes of single motherhood, grief, and her experience as a working woman also come to the fore in her later works..In Sad Barg, published during the Zia regime, Shakir engages with themes of injustice, as seen in these couplets from a ghazal with the matla (first couplet) pa-ba-gil sab hain: .pā-ba-gil sab haiñ rihā.ī kī kare tadbīr kaun.dast-basta shahr meñ khole mirī zanjīr kaun.everyone’s feet are mud-bound, who will orchestrate our freedom?.in the city of bound hands, who will unlock my shackles?.merī chādar to chhinī thī shaam kī tanhā.ī meñ.be-ridā.ī ko mirī phir de gayā tash.hīr kaun.my veil was stolen in the loneliness of the evening.then who created the spectacle of my disrobement?.sach jahāñ pā-basta mulzim ke kaTahre meñ mile.us adālat meñ sunegā adl kī tafsīr kaun.when the truth is found bound in the accused’s stand.who will listen to the explanation of justice in such a court?.(All translations are my own.).These expressions of being tied up, silenced and unable to defend oneself evoke a deep sense of helplessness. In Shakir’s verses, truth appears elusive – even in the courts. While she does not explicitly name any party, these couplets offer a quiet yet pointed reflection on the repressive political climate in Pakistan at the time. .By contrast, Khushboo subverts expectations more subtly, through its intimate explorations of gender and emotion. In Shakir’s universe, love is not only deeply yearned for but also tenderly preserved – an act that becomes quietly radical in a patriarchal society. Her insistence on maintaining the uninhibited voice of a young woman is not just a romantic but also a deeply defiant choice. .The author Naima Rashid captures this duality in the introduction to Defiance of the Rose, her English translation of a selection of Shakir’s poems:.In order to be a prized fighter in the realm of feminism, you had to have no residual traces of love or beauty. And she had too much of both. People find it hard to reconcile the polarity of softness and brazen fearlessness that defines the essence of her work..Shakir’s work finds new life on social media platforms like Instagram and TikTok. Videos of her performing at mushairas, or poetry gatherings, circulate widely, receiving hundreds of thousands of likes. Some clips feature transliterations of her verses, while others reframe her poetry as memes with captions like “men after getting you attached to the relationship.” Shakir-inspired merchandise and ephemera are also available at Urdu book fairs and online stores in Pakistan..Her work is particularly resonant among young women – much like how the Pakistani poet Jaun Elia’s existentialist couplets resonate with a newer generation of Southasian men, and it is clear there remains an appetite for such poetry. Contemporary conversations on media habits often highlight the decline of the romance genre in commercial storytelling and the tendency of critics to dismiss romance as frivolous or lacking in complexity. This dismissal is partly rooted in the fact that romance content is typically marketed to and consumed by women – a major factor in why it is not afforded the attention it deserves. .Shakir’s brilliance lies in her refusal to let her work be trivialised. Through the boldness with which she articulates the experience of love, she reclaims girlhood and feminises the traditionally male-dominated space of Urdu poetry. She reminds us that the political and the romantic are not mutually exclusive in literature, swimming against the stream in how feminism and romance are often portrayed and understood. In contemporary society – where romantic love is often flattened and vulnerability is dismissed – Khushboo continues to offer many lessons. .As Shakir says in her poem ‘Prism’, which likens a drop of water to her verse: .pānī ke ik qatre mein.jab sūraj utre.rangon kī tasvīr bane.dhanak kī sātoñ qosaiñ.apnī bāhein yūñ phailāeñ.qatre ke nanhe se badan mein.rangon kī duniyā khīñch āe!.merā bhī ek sūraj hai.jo mere tan chū kar mujh mein.qaus-e-qazah ke phūl ugāe.zarā bhī zāviya badlā.aur main ho gayī.pānī kā ik sāda qatra.bē-manzar, bē-rang!.when the sun descends upon .a small drop of water .it creates a vision of colours .and all seven bands of the rainbow.spread their arms.the small body of the drop of water.now creates a whole world of colours.I also have a sun.which, when it touches my being.grows flowers of the arcs of colours.if you change the angle, even a little.I become just a simple drop of water.without a vision, without any colour!.She reminds us that even the smallest, most overlooked things – like a drop of water, or a woman’s voice – can hold entire worlds of beauty and meaning, if only we choose to see them from the right angle..SHAKIR WROTE in a dreamy, lyrical voice, often using simple language to evoke the perspective of a young woman. The poem ‘Khwab’ (Dream), from Khushboo, captures this style vividly:.khule pāniyoñ meñ ghirī laḌkiyāñ.narm lahroñ ke chhīñTe uḌātī huī.bāt-be-bāt hañstī huī.apne ḳhvāboñ ke shahzādoñ kā tazkira kar rahī thiiñ.jo ḳhāmosh thiiñ.un kī āñkhoñ meñ bhī muskurāhaT kī tahrīr thī.un ke hoñToñ ko bhī an-kahe ḳhvāb kā zā.iqa chūmtā thaa!.aane vaale na.e mausamoñ ke sabhī pairahan nīlmīñ ho chuke the!.duur sāhil pe baiThī huī ek nannhī sī bachchī.hamārī hañsī aur maujoñ ke āhañg se be-ḳhabar.ret se ek nanhā gharauñdā banāne meñ masrūf thī.aur maiñ sochtī thī.ḳhudā-yā! ye ham laḌkiyāñ.kachchī umroñ se hī ḳhvāb kyuuñ dekhnā chāhtī haiñ.ḳhvāb kī hukmarānī meñ kitnā tasalsul rahā hai!.the girls were gathered in open waters.splashing the soft waves into the air.laughing with every single word.describing the prince of their dreams.those who were quiet.still had a smile written in their eyes.the taste of unsaid dreams kissed their lips .the clothes of the new seasons had turned blue in anticipation.a little girl was sitting far away on the shore.unknowing of the rhythm of the waves and our laughter.was busy making a small house of sand.and I thought.oh god! us girls.why do we want to dream from such tender ages?.the rule of dreams has persisted on!.Shakir highlights the continuity (tasalsul) of dreams: the older girls in the water describe their dream prince while a younger girl imagines building her future home. From an early age, women are socialised to dream of love. While there is joy and innocence in these reveries, Shakir was acutely aware of their weight. .‘Khwab’ is followed in the collection by ‘Mashwara’ (Advice), where Shakir returns to the image of building sandcastles. Here, she reveals the other side of dreaming – the waiting, the uncertainty and the inevitable disappointment when those dreams remain unfulfilled. Shakir offers a quiet warning:.nannhī laḌkī .sāhil ke itne nazdīk.ret se apne ghar na banā.koī sarkash mauj idhar aa.ī to.tere ghar kī buniyādeñ tak bah jā.eñgī.aur phir un kī yaad meñ tū.saarī umr udaas rahegī!.young girl.do not make your home.out of sand, so close to the sea.if some rebellious wave comes.your house will drown with its foundations.and in its memory .you will remain sad your entire life!.Here Shakir offers advice – perhaps to a younger girl, or to her younger self. The voice is that of a woman who has lived through and learnt from the experience of heartbreak. .Yet even as Shakir offers this darker reflection on dreams, her advice is not to stop dreaming. Instead, her mashwara carries a quiet hopefulness. Take care where and how you build, she seems to say, root your dreams in intention and self-awareness, and with luck you will not have reason for regret. She holds these dreams tenderly, seeking not to discard them but to anchor them on firmer ground, a place more tenuous than the seashore..This tension – between the dreams of girlhood and the disillusionments of womanhood – comes into sharper focus in the poem ‘Masla’ (Issue). Shakir recounts a conversation with the fellow Urdu poet Fahmida Riaz at a mehfil, or literary gathering. Riaz, known for her fierce and unapologetic political critiques, tells Shakir that she, too, used to write like her – soft, romantic, hopeful – but has since disowned “all that”. Shakir reflects on this encounter:.“patthar kī zabāñ” kī shā.era ke.chambelī se narm haath thāme.“ḳhushbū” kī safīr sochtī thī.dar-pesh havāoñ ke safar meñ.pal pal kī rafīq-e-rāh mere.andar kī ye sāda-lauh ‘Alice’.hairat kī jamīl vādiyoñ se.vahshat ke muhīb jañgaloñ meñ.aa.egī to us kā phūl-lahja.kyā tab bhī sabā-nafas rahegā!?.vo ḳhud ko Disown kar sakegī!?.the representative of “fragrance” took .“the tongue of stone” poet’s hands.that were jasmine-soft and thought.in the trials of the wind’s journey.my constant fellow traveller of every moment.my inner, simple ‘Alice’.when she travels through the beautiful valleys of astonishment.in the wild jungles of fear.when she comes back.will her flowery tone still remain like a gentle breeze?.will she be able to disown herself?.Shakir articulates the central conflict that she navigates through Khushboo: the desire to continue believing in the young girl within her, the inner Alice – a reference to Alice in Wonderland. This inner child, her rafiq-e-raah (companion on a journey), walks alongside her through the world. Will she survive the beauty and torment of this world? Will she remain warm, or be forced to disown herself? There is fear in these questions, but also defiance..Shakir does not want to disown her Alice, the part of herself that believes in dreams. She suggests that her softness is often masked or hidden. She contrasts this with Riaz, referring to her as a poet with a patthar ki zabān, or tongue of stone, even as her hands remain soft as jasmine. The implication is clear: Riaz, too, held on to some tenderness no matter how hardened she may seem. .Shakir, ultimately, refused to disown her inner Alice. She held on to the complexity of carrying romantic dreams alongside her fears, of feeling both vulnerable and resilient. Her work is a quiet but firm commitment to preserving the more tender parts of herself. In choosing to do this, she affirmed her strength..LOVE, FOR WOMEN, comes with consequences – something Shakir understood intimately. In Khushboo, she captures the shame and vulnerability of being a woman left behind in love: .kaise kah duuñ ki mujhe chhoḌ diyā hai us ne.baat to sach hai magar baat hai rusvā.ī kī.how can I say that he has left me.it’s the truth – but it’s a disgraceful truth.In the world of Urdu poetry, where the female beloved is often a passive and silent figure and the male poets traditionally do not concern themselves with mutuality or reciprocation, Shakir shifts the perspective. She offers us a radical voice – the voice of a woman who is rejected, undesired and aware of the gendered consequences of failed love, yet still speaks..In another couplet, from the ghazal ‘dhanak dhanak mirī poroñ ke ḳhvāb kar degā’, Shakir states:.maiñ sach kahūñgī magar phir bhī haar jā.ūñgī.vo jhuuT bolegā aur lā-javāb kar degā .I will speak the truth and still lose .he will tell lies and will make others speechless .She writes with a recognition that rejection and divorce carry vastly different consequences and social weights for men and women, and she writes from the losing side. Her poetry reflects an acute awareness that women who dare to love openly are often left carrying shame while men move on unscathed. .Perhaps her best-known couplet touches on this very sentiment:.vo to ḳhush-bū hai havāoñ meñ bikhar jā.egā.mas.ala phuul kā hai phuul kidhar jā.egā.oh, he is the fragrance – he will scatter into the winds.the issue is the flower – where does the flower go?.The “Khushboo” – here symbolising a departing lover – is fleeting, while the flower – the woman – is rooted, unable to leave. This imagery captures the disproportionate burden placed on women in love’s aftermath. In a patriarchal society, to be jilted is not just painful – it is also stigmatising..The dispersal of the fragrance here also gestures to the fleetingness of love, a common theme in her works. Over and over again, Shakir returns to love’s evanescence. In the closing lines of her poem ‘Ecstasy’, for example, she evokes both the sensuality and transience of love:.kāñpte hoñToñ pe thī allāh se sirf ik duā.kaash ye lamhe Thahar jaa.eñ Thahar jaa.eñ zarā!.my trembling lips could only pray to Allah for one thing.if only these moments could pause, could pause somehow!.There is tenderness here, a yearning for love to be lasting and real. But she also knows that time wears love away – that it is as impossible to hold on to as fragrance itself. Yet Shakir was not merely a melancholic, scorned lover. In many of her poems, she also acknowledged the silver linings of impermanence, the quiet wisdom that comes from understanding love’s fragility..āḳhirash vo bhī kahīñ ret pe baiThī hogī.terā ye pyaar bhī dariyā hai utar jā.egā.in the end she must have also sat somewhere on the bank.your love is also a river – it’ll pass.There is power in Shakir choosing to love, in protecting her inner Alice as she questions love and its demands. Khushboo becomes a love letter to love itself – one that does not side-step patriarchy, but speaks back to it with grace and courage..What we might now describe as “radical softness”, Shakir embodied simply as a way of being. For her, to exist with tenderness was courageous, because the alternative was detachment. Khushboo, in its layered explorations of gender and romantic love, invites us to hold space for complexity, especially in a time that can feel dismissive of vulnerability. Women’s stories and voices are too often diminished or devalued – but Shakir insists that hers, and ours, matter. She honours her reader, referring to them in her dedication in Khushboo, perhaps as her rafiq-e-raah – her companion or dear friend – who transforms Khushboo into a gift of love..She was right in her assessment. Nearly three decades after the writing of her dedication, a copy of the book was handed to me by a dear friend – a fellow rafiq-e-raah..Shakir’s Khushboo is a gift not only to love but also to us, her readers. To those still willing to engage deeply with love and its complexities. To those still holding on to hope even as womanhood and the scars of patriarchy leave their mark. It is a love letter to those holding softness in an often harsh and unforgiving world – a gift given to those on the same journey as her.