The rhythm of the heart

Naghma hai gham ko bhi ae dil ghanimat janiye

Be sada ho jayega yeh saz-e-hasti aik din

Grief, too, is a melody, says Ghalib - something to be held close, cherished even, for a day will come when the entire symphony of existence will fall silent. Few couplets in Urdu poetry capture the metaphysics of existence with such simplicity and such shattering depth. In just two lines, Ghalib invites us to reflect on the music that underlies all life, the unseen but persistent rhythm that binds breath to time and consciousness to being.

And nowhere is this rhythm more literal, more fragile, more awe-inspiring, than in the human heart.

The heart is often romanticised as the seat of emotion, the sanctuary of longing, the treasury of joy and sorrow. But behind these metaphors lies a more astonishing truth: the heart is rhythm incarnate. With every beat, it composes a private symphony - steady when we are calm, hurried in fear or love, erratic when life falters, and sometimes, tragically, silent.

When the heart stops beating altogether, when its rhythm collapses into an abyss of stillness, we call it cardiac arrest. The body, sensing the sudden quiet, plunges into crisis. Yet even at this precipice, all is not lost. Medical science attempts - sometimes miraculously, sometimes desperately - to restore the rhythm of life.

The first act in this rescue is Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation (CPR). It is humble, manual, almost primal. Hands press on the chest in measured tempo - like a musician tapping a drum - trying to remind the heart of its forgotten beat. The body is lifeless, yet the hope is that beneath the silence, the faint possibility of rhythm remains.

But there are moments when CPR alone cannot retrieve the lost melody. In those acute, perilous seconds, the heart requires something more dramatic - defibrillation, an electric shock delivered across the chest. Contrary to popular belief, the shock is not meant to restart a completely silent heart. Rather, it halts chaotic electrical flutters - storms that prevent effective pumping. By stopping this disordered frenzy, the shock allows the heart to reset, to catch the downbeat, to resume its ancient rhythm once more.

Is this not remarkable? When the organ appears most lifeless, when the body lies motionless, there still exists within it a trembling possibility of rhythm. A few errant electrical impulses - faint, flickering, almost rebellious - become the very condition that allows the heart to be revived. Life hangs by the thinnest thread of movement, the slightest vibration, the softest whisper of lingering rhythm.

Reading Ghalib's verse in this context, the metaphor grows almost unbearably profound. If sorrow itself is a melody, if our grief forms part of the music of our days, then perhaps what we call life is nothing but a succession of rhythms - steady, broken, joyous, turbulent - that echo through our minds and bodies.

Sufi thinkers often describe existence as a cosmic dance, a ceaseless pulsation emanating from the Divine. Rumi speaks of the "breath-wave" that moves through all things; Ibn Arabi writes of the universe as a "continual creation", renewed each instant, each moment beating into the next. Modern physics tells us that even at the subatomic level, particles shimmer, oscillate, and vibrate - they too live by rhythm. Having delved into the heart's medico - philosophical mystery, let me conclude with a beautiful romantic thought captured by Nasir Kazmi in this verse:

Dil dharaknay ka sabab yaad aaya

Woh teri yaad thi ab yaad aaya