I, who am infamous in the love for her captivating gaze, every finger feels like an arrow to me.

My dear friend, Ghalib paints a raw picture here, about the price of loving deeply. He says, "If my intense *ulfat-e-mizhgan* – this profound love, even for a beloved's delicate eyelashes..." "...makes me *angusht numa* – a spectacle, someone people point at publicly..." "...then every single *angusht* – every finger raised in judgment – feels like an arrow to my heart." Imagine the sting, the vulnerability of being so openly passionate, yet met with scorn. It's not just curiosity, but the sharp, piercing pain of public scrutiny, of being 'othered' for your truth. He lays bare the deep emotional wound of standing out for the very depth of your affection. Ghalib reminds us how easily judgment can wound a soul that dares to love so completely.