Tag Archives: Mirza Ghalib

The Last Calligrapher of Old Delhi Preserves a Dying Art

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DELHI:

Mohammad Ghalib is the sole remaining practitioner of the centuries-old craft in the city’s historic Mughal-era bazaar.

Mohammad Ghalib sits in his small makeshift workspace in the corner of a book shop in Old Delhi’s Urdu Bazaar. (Darash Dawood)

Mohammad Ghalib sits in the corner space of a book shop, barely a couple of square yards large, that was offered to him by a late friend years ago, as he couldn’t afford it on his own. He is the only “katib,” or calligrapher, left in the celebrated Urdu Bazaar of Old Delhi, witnessing his art form dying before his eyes.

On the wall outside the shop hangs a small, barely noticeable, handwritten nameplate in Urdu, Hindu and English, which reads “Katib Mohammad Ghalib,” desperately seeking attention. Amid large flex boards in the busy market, which was once a literary haven for Urdu connoisseurs, the nameplate itself becomes a telling tale of Ghalib’s bygone profession.

After setting everything up inside his shop, Ghalib hangs his small nameplate on the wall to grab the attention of customers. (Darash Dawood)

A couple of decades ago, about a dozen calligraphers would make this printing and books market come alive with their sharp bamboo pens, creating an aura of ornamental penmanship with their dexterity and delicate strokes. Holding their breaths tight, they would peck the nib of their bamboo pens in the ink and create unique styles and typographies for invitation cards, posters and logos.

Today, most of them are now dead, while many of the remaining few have retired from the profession, as it became obsolete due to technological advancement and digitization. Ghalib, however, still sets up his small workstation every day and lives in nostalgia.

“Kitabat,” or calligraphy, is a centuries-old art form in the Indian subcontinent, which attained its peak during the Mughal era. It was used to write the “farmaan” (official decrees) of the royal courts, as well as manuscripts, books, journals, newspapers, postcards and lineages.

“In earlier times, katibs were hired for Munshigiri [a position held by officials to maintain accounts] and were placed in royal courts,” says Ghalib. “It was the most respectable job. I am proud of the fact that even kings used to learn the art of kitabat and nawabs [governors in the Mughal era] used to keep at least one katib in their court for writing books, biographies or about their kingdom.” He adds that, “It is known as ‘shahi fun,’ or the royal profession.”

Ghalib leafs through his archival work, which dates back to the 1990s. (Darash Dawood)

“If any needy person came to the door of a katib and he had nothing to spare, the katib would write a word, any word, and tell the person to take it to Red Fort [the primary residence of Mughal emperors from the 17th century onward]. When he showed it to even a doorman, he would recognize that some katib had sent him and [would] fulfill all his needs,” explains Ghalib. After a breath, with an expression as if giving his final verdict about the buried brilliance, Ghalib adds, “Even Aurangzeb was a katib. And Dara Shikoh. Such was the value of a katib.” (Aurangzeb was the sixth Mughal emperor; Dara Shikoh was his elder brother and heir apparent whom he defeated, eventually arranging his execution for the throne.)

In kitabat, he says, one needs to be very dedicated. “A person gets lost in this work. It demands your full attention. Even a small movement of the hand can cost greatly. You have to hold your breath in order to write precisely. You can’t talk much when you begin writing; distraction is unforgivable.”

Ghalib demonstrates the art of calligraphy by writing out a name. (Darash Dawood)

The Urdu Bazaar in Old Delhi, where most katibs were stationed, also dates to the Mughal era. The very word Urdu, which means “camp” in Turkish, refers to the army camps in the area. Facing the eastern gate of the Jama Masjid, a large field that lay adjacent to the grand mosque was called Urdu Maidan, or army’s field. The two markets on each side of the grand mosque’s gate were known as Urdu Bazaar. “The army would fetch their essentials from these markets. The supplies of army disposals, including jackets and boots, would be available in this market till [the] late 1970s,” Sohail Hashmi, a Delhi-based writer and historian, tells New Lines.

Toward the end of the Mughal empire, books and printing shops emerged in this market, where one could find the best Urdu books, including translations of the Quran, the Vedas and Ramayana. Poets, writers, readers and publishers would throng the bazaar to discuss the latest Urdu literature while sitting on benches outside the bookstores. Inside their shops, there would be a dedicated corner for the katibs.

The rise of kitabat in the bazaar can also be traced to the lifetime of the famous court poet of Urdu and Persian, Mirza Ghalib, whose mansion in the neighborhood has been designated a heritage site by the Archaeological Survey of India. “Mirza Ghalib would come to this market to get his new work proofread, calligraphed by katibs and compiled as a diwan [collection],” Hashmi says.

The bazaar, along with the city of Delhi, first took a hit during the Rebellion of 1857 — the first major uprising against the British. Mirza Ghalib was heavily dismayed and lamented its destruction: “Urdu bazar ko koyi nahi janta tha to kahan thi Urdu / Bakhuda! Dehli na to shahar tha, na chavni, na qila, na bazaar.” (“When no one knew Urdu Bazaar, then where was Urdu? By God! Delhi was no longer a city, nor cantonment, fort or bazaar.”) The second major blow came during the Partition in 1947, when several Urdu poets and writers migrated to the new state of Pakistan. Over time, the market that had once bustled with book shops, printing presses and katibs became home to eateries serving Mughlai delicacies.

Almost two centuries after the 1857 rebellion, Mohammad Ghalib shares a similar pain. At 60, he is also ailing from many diseases: diabetes, heart disease and hypocalcemia.

He studied kitabat, introductory Arabic and Persian, and qirat (recitation) at Darul Uloom Deoband, the renowned seminary in India, from 1979 to 1983. His calligraphy teacher Munshi Imtiyaz was the son of Munshi Ishtiyaq, one of the most prominent katibs and teachers of Arabic in India in the 20th century. Later, Ghalib migrated to Delhi from the north Indian city of Saharanpur to work as a calligrapher. He has been in the Urdu Bazaar for four decades.

Since then, Ghalib has calligraphed academic books for the National Council of Education Research and Training, a government organization that prepares school curricula. He has also written by hand three volumes of “Tareekh E Arabi Adab” (History of Arabic Literature), authored by Dr. Abdul Haleem Nadvi, known for his contributions to Arabic studies in India. Ghalib has also worked for the National Council for Promotion of Urdu Language. Nowadays, however, he frequently returns home without any work for days and sometimes weeks. “Now all work is done by computers and I am mostly jobless,” he laments.

Once upon a time, calligraphers like Ghalib would be among the busiest professionals in the market, working day in and day out completing their assignments. “There used to be so much work. We would work even on holidays. We would receive assignments to write books on multiple genres, including academic books,” Ghalib says. Professional katibs with expertise in the craft are known as Har Fan Maula, which translates to “jack of all trades,” a tag given to calligraphers who are experts in writing many languages and scripts.

Reminiscing on the days when the calligraphy market was booming, Ghalib recalled the time he made a letterhead of his name. (Darash Dawood)

The craft is traditionally practiced with a “qalam,” a pen made from dry bamboo, which is used to write several scripts of Urdu and Arabic calligraphy including Thuluth, Nastaleeq, Kufic, Naksh and Diwani. “Contemporary calligraphy has taken the shape of an aesthetic art with colors and other decorative elements. They write Arabic in different ways, in colorful ways,” he explains. “People now write with brushes while we practice with wood pens. If you ask them to do some fine work or write a newspaper, they won’t be able to do it.”

Ghalib holds a selection of his wooden pens, recalling that the finest he ever used were manufactured in Iran. (Darash Dawood)

For Ghalib, kitabat means everything. Despite the challenges, he speaks of it with a high sense of honor, in euphoria. “It is dearer to me, more than my own life,” he says. “I have earned a lot of things because of this profession. Because of this profession, I met a number of educated people.”

He traces the decline of kitabat to almost two decades ago. “I witnessed the sharp decline when most of the books were typed on computers 15 to 20 years ago,” he says. He acknowledges that technology gets work done quickly. It would take a month for Ghalib to write a book of about 500 pages, which typists could complete within a week.

“I will tell you one thing,” Ghalib continues. “I, too, would have left it [calligraphy] a long time ago. I am not boasting. I am Har Fan Maula — I write in Urdu, Persian, Hindi, Arabic and English. Sometimes, they would call me to the courts to write their papers. Last time, a few people from Medina, Saudi Arabia, sent 15 property papers in Arabic through someone. I do every kind of work. I write posters, receipts, etc.,” Ghalib says. His recent assignments have been limited to receipt writing for Islamic seminaries in Kashmir during Ramadan, designing calligraphic logos and layouts for wedding cards.

Ghalib sharpens his bamboo pens meticulously. (Darash Dawood)

The only institution that still uses this dying craft in India is The Musalman, an Urdu newspaper published, or rather handwritten, in the city of Chennai, capital of Tamil Nadu, a state in south India, 1,400 miles from Ghalib’s workspace. Published since 1927, The Musalman is a daily, four-page paper, currently run by Syed Arifullah, the youngest son of its former editor, Syed Fazlullah.

The craft has also taken a hit due to language politics in South Asia. Prior to India’s Partition, Hindustani, a vernacular of the country’s northern regions, especially Delhi and its surrounding area, bifurcated into Hindi and Urdu. After Partition, Pakistan adopted Urdu as its official language, which further complicated the language politics, yet a 2011 census showed that India still had over 50 million Urdu speakers. Over time, however, the language has come to be taught only in madrassas, which is why Muslims in India have come to be seen as its sole proprietors. Even young Muslims in India don’t engage with the language as much anymore. “People actually don’t read Urdu now … writing in Urdu is a little costly,” Ghalib says.“They print in Urdu, only if someone insists. Otherwise, they say who knows Urdu now?”

Ghalib too has fallen victim to this unfounded language divide of late. “Here [India], even if I upload a video on Facebook, they call me Pakistani. The condition here is such that you can’t even write anything in favor of uplifting the Urdu language. Hindus in India think that Urdu is the language of Muslims. Many people call me ‘Pakistani Khatat’ on my Facebook,” Ghalib laments. (Khatat is another word for katib.)

Four decades later, Ghalib is now dealing with his poor eyesight. His hands shiver while holding the pen. He takes long gasps before making each stroke on the paper. He is too withered to do any intricate work requiring precision. His teeth have fallen out due to disease and medicine. “I can’t eat properly, can’t even hold a cup of tea easily. My work suffers,” he says in a tone of exasperation.

Even on the days when Ghalib returns home without any work, he still holds out hope that “enthusiastic people” will eventually visit his little corner. “Sometimes, when I don’t have work for a week, I do not let this art die at home,” he says. “I return to my shop and then it is like Allah sends work one day that compensates all those days.”

source: http://www.newlinesmag.com / New Lines Magazine / Home> Reportage India / by Ubaid Majeed & Darash Dawood / February 09th, 2023

The Father Of Urdu Poetry: The Disputed Disappearance Of Wali Gujarati’s Grave

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Ahmedabad, GUJARAT:

The Father Of Urdu Poetry: The Disputed Disappearance Of Wali Gujarati's Grave

Amidst the busy roads of Gujarat that have thousands of cars passing by every day, there lies a neglected divider that holds reverence for many. A petal-strewn corner on a broken divider signifies the tomb of an Amdavadi poet credited for the advent of Urdu poetry that gave rise to a league of poets like Zauq, Mir, and Mirza Ghalib.

The poet in question is none other than the father of Urdu poetry, Wali Muhammad Wali, whose contribution towards uplifting Urdu poetry to being at par with its Persian counterpart is considered indispensable.

Challenging the notion that elite poetry can only be Persian, Wali opened up a world of poetic possibilities for Urdu poets and his influence can be seen in a piece penned by the Poet Meer Taqi Meer as a tribute to the Urdu Chaucer.

Khugar nahin kuch yun hi hum Rikhta-goi kay/
Mashooq jo apna tha, bashinda-e-Dakhan tha”

(It isn’t casually that I began dabbling in Urdu/I picked it from my lover, a native of the Deccan).

The poetic legend who died 300 years ago was buried in his family graveyard in Ahmedabad after his demise. Post Independence, Wali’s grave was separated from the graveyard and found itself situated in the middle of the road.

While the death and origins of Wani might be disputed, the razing of his grave has been linked to the communal past of Gujarat. Destroyed during the Gujarat violence of 2002, Wali’s grave was part of the riot that saw thousands murdered and the demolition of many significant Muslim shrines and Dargahs. Eliminating any and all signs of the Dargah, roads were built overnight and the atrocities of communal violence were swept under the layers of tar and repairs that ensued.

A Twitter user recently went searching for the shrine and impressively remarked on the presence of the Urdu poet’s legacy that remains etched in the mind of locals. Street vendors, shoemakers, and locals seem happy to guide and give precise directions to the grave for those looking to visit the shrine. Once an ornate shrine, the grave now portrays a sad picture of desolation and jarring neglect that can be blamed on the political powerplay as well as the ‘divide and rule’ ideologies that plague the nation.

One cannot miss the imprint of Wali’s work on Urdu poetry. It remains immortal in the hearts of people and keeps the light of consciousness alive.

source: http://www.homegrown.co.in / Homegrown / Home> #HGExplore / by Riya Sharma / August 08th, 2022

The City of Mushairas

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The life and times of Delhi’s leading poets of the Mughal era and their enrichment of a syncretic language

Beloved Delhi: A Mughal City and Her Greatest Poets

Beloved Delhi: A Mughal City and Her Greatest Poets
Saif Mahmood
Speaking Tiger
367 pages
Rs 599

Shaikh Mohammad Ibrahim Zauq, the poetry ustaad of the last Mughal Emperor, Bahadur Shah ‘Zafar’ saw, in his lifetime, the Mughal Empire brought to its knees (though not formally ended — Zauq, perhaps mercifully, died three years before the ‘Ghadar’ of 1857, the uprising that was to so impact the fabric of Delhi’s social, cultural and literary life). But an impoverished Mughal court and an equally penurious north Indian aristocracy meant that many of Zauq’s contemporaries drifted south to Hyderabad, where there was still patronage to be sought and stipends to be earned. Zauq, however, when asked why he did not migrate to the Deccan, had famously remarked, “In dinon garche Dakan mein hai bohot qadr-e-sukhan/ Kaun jaaye Zauq par Dilli ki galiyaan chhor kar?” As Saif Mahmood translates this in his book Beloved Delhi: “Although poetry is greatly valued in the Deccan these days, Zauq, who would trade that for the lanes of Delhi?”

It is this — the connection between Delhi and her Urdu poets, an almost umbilical cord that binds the city to her greatest bards — that forms an important theme in Mahmood’s book. Beloved Delhi has, as its subtitle, A Mughal City and Her Greatest Poets, and those words describe the book perfectly: it is about the Mughal city of Delhi — not the city before or after the Mughals (though there is a fleeting mention of those as well), and about its greatest poets of the 18th and 19th centuries.

Mahmood examines the life and work of eight of Delhi’s greatest Urdu poets, against the backdrop of the city. Mirza Mohammad Rafi Sauda, Khwaja Mir Dard, Mir Taqi Mir, Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib, Momin Khan Momin, Bahadur Shah Zafar, Shaikh Mohammad Ibrahim Zauq and Nawab Mirza Khan Daagh Dehlvi are the eight poets who form the subject of Mahmood’s book. For each poet, Mahmood begins with a biography (often preceded by a description of the current state of the poet’s grave or former home). The biography is followed by an insight into the most relevant aspects of the poet’s work — Sauda’s satire, Zauq’s use of everyday language, Momin’s sensuality, Ghalib’s often cryptic verses, and so on. Finally, there are selected verses (with translations) by each poet.

There are several reasons to recommend Beloved Delhi. Firstly, it’s a well-written, readable book that manages to strike a balance between being informative on the one hand and unintimidating, entertaining, even witty on the other. Mahmood handles with commendable skill a subject that is often perceived as unapproachable by those not familiar with the Urdu script, or who are daunted by the more Persianised form of the language. But it’s also a subject that is regaining popularity and Mahmood’s translations, his occasional helpful notes, and the very fact that he takes care to bring in popular connections — Hindi film music’s use of couplets and ghazals from classical poets, for example, or ghazals rendered by popular singers — helps make this poetry more relatable.

Also playing a major role in making the poetry easier to relate to is Mahmood’s approach to the lives of the men who wrote that poetry. He uses various sources — autobiographies, reminiscences of contemporaries, memoirs, correspondence, even the poetry they penned— to bring alive the men behind the verses. Sauda, so acerbic that his satire repeatedly got him into trouble. Mir, the mad egoist, who willingly wrote poetry in exchange for groceries. Momin, a brilliant hakim as well as a great poet. Ghalib, so addicted to gambling that it brought him into repeated conflict with the law (which, Mahmood, himself a lawyer, points out as being reflected in the many legal and judicial terms — muddai, talab, hukm, faujdaari, giraftaari, etc — that Ghalib uses in his poetry). Mahmood even busts some myths, such as the authorship of popular works attributed to poets like Zafar and Ghalib.

And there is Delhi. The Delhi of mushairas. A city where fakirs and courtesans could be heard singing Ghalib’s ghazals, where a language born out of a syncretic confluence of cultures and traditions was nurtured even through the turbulence and horror of 1857 and its aftermath. As much as he brings alive the eight poets he focusses on, Mahmood brings alive the Delhi that was so beloved to them.

Madhulika Liddle is a Delhi-based writer

source: http://www.indianexpress.com / The Indian Express / Home> Lifestyle> Books / by Madhulika Liddle / May 18th, 2019

Depicting various hues of life with Urdu poetry: A dying art

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Image Courtesy: Nohar Patrika
Image Courtesy: Nohar Patrika

“Quidquid Latine dictum sit altum videtur” (“Whatever is said in Latin seems profound”), they say, and the language’s sonorous tones aren’t confined to religion, but law and medicine too. In the South Asian millieu, Urdu has the same position with its assimilative nature and its courtly pedigree giving it refinement as well as ability to express elaborate, sophisticated concepts. Its poetry is the vanguard.

And once we avoid the trap of confining Urdu poetry to its romantic aspect — though that is the area where it is fairly prolific and popular — we find that, like any other long-standing literary tradition, it also spans a wide expanse of life beyond love and longing, and in a variety of styles.

In fact, there are few issues of the human condition or for the natural world that Urdu poets have not covered in the few centuries the language has existed so far, beyond the usually known motifs of the pining lover, the cupbearer or the tavern, the flame and the moth, and so on. Let us see something new.

Take the sky and Jaleel Manikpuri, in an eloquent negation of man-made borders and divisions, writes: “Main kis sar-zameen ki qadr karun/Asmaan saath saath chalta hai”, and on wind, Nawaz Deobandi brings out its misuse as agency for human depredations: “Yeh jala diya, yeh bujha diya, yeh kaam kisi aur ka hai/Na hawa kisi ke saath thi, na hawa kisi ke khilaaf hai.”

Image Courtesy: SantaBanta.com
Image Courtesy: SantaBanta.com

Other human emotions and traits also figure. On wisdom, Allama Iqbal says: “Guzar ja aql se aage, ke ye noor/Chirag-e-raah hai, manzil nahi hai”, Saqib Lakhnavi on the “pleasure” of difficulty, observes: “Bu-e-gul kaliyon mein rahi thi magar reh na saki/Main to kaanton mein raha aur pareshan na huya” and Shad Azimabadi, on “sharafat” (integrity), says: “Gulon ne khaaron ke cherhne par siva khamoshi ke dam na mara/Shareef uljhe agar kisi se, to phir sharafat kahan rahegi.”

Likewise, there are many more, and let’s take up a few more unexpected topics and issues, with an attempt to give “shaairs”, who are not well known outside committed connoisseurs or scholars, their place in the sun — as far as possible.

What could be a better topic to begin with than “hamdardi”, or empathy, with Ameer Meenai telling us: “Khanjar chale kisi par tadapte ham hai ‘Ameer’/Saare jahan ka dard hamare jigar mein hai”, or “himmat”, which conveys more than courage, as Pandit Brij Narayan Chakbast brings out the difference between its possessors and others: “Ahl-e-himmat manzil maqsood tak aa bhi gaye/Bandahe taqdeer qismat ka gila karte rahe.”

Or take human breath, which Arzoo Lakhnavi advises: “Ae saans! Na aa ke dil mein hai zakhm/Thes abhi hai jab hawa lagti hai” and Fani Badayuni looks on offered medicine with some trepidation: “Fani! Davaye dard jigar zahar to nahi/Kyun haath kaanpta hai mere charah-saaz ka.”

On advice, Bebak Shahjahanpuri wryly holds: “Kami wafaa mein agar ho to voh jafaa na kare/Salah dete hai kya kya salaah kar mujhe” and for effort, who can better Mirza Ghalib himself, making good use of shared religious imagery, with: “Kuch farz hai sab ko mile ek sa jawaab/Aao na, ham bhi sair karen Koh-e-Toor ki.”

Akbar Allahbadi makes a definitive stand on human nature with: “Tarkeeb-o-taklif lakh karo fitrat kahi chupti hai, Akbar/Jo mitti hai voh mitti hai, jo sona hai who sona hai”, while Bahadur Shah Zafar, the emperor of poets more than subjects, has some frank advice on on”s good and bad points: “Na thi haal ki jab hame apni khabar, rahe dekhte auron ke aib-o-hunar/Padi aapni buraiyon pe jo nazar, to nigaah mein koi bura na raha.”

But despite all, love however can crop up — though in various unexpected guises — and Jigar Moradabadi likens it to a story being told to some eager listeners with: “Koi hadd hi nahi shahd mohabbat ke fasaane ki/Sunta ja raha hai, jisko jitna yaad hota hai.”

On the other hand, Maulana Hasrat Mohani, whose ghazal of a former romance that still pricks the heart (“Chupke chupke raat din..”) has never been bettered, gives tassavur or imagination a new spin with, “Tassavur mein bhi in ke kuch ajab aalam nikalta hai/Isi par to meri hairaniyon ka dam nikalta hai” and Asr Lakhnavi tries the same with dreams: “Gulon ki god mein jaise naseem aake machal jaaye/Isi andaaz se in par khumaar aankhon mein khvaab aaya.”

There are much more, specially on the overarching issues of life and death, and love which may cause and also transcend them, but the habit of quoting an apt Urdu couplet on any occasion — on the pattern of a Biblical or Shakespearean reference — is dying out. Learn the language or use one the sites offering transliterated versions, but don’t let it happen. (IANS)

source: http://www.indianewengland.com / India New England / Home> News> Entertainment> Leisure / by Vikas Datta / July 22nd, 2018

The book ‘Aankh Aur Urdu Shayeri’: A poetic eye on ‘aankh’

Arts, Culture & Entertainment, Books (incl.Biographies - w.e.f.01 jan 2018 ), Community Involvement / Social Issues, Education, Leaders, Science & Technology, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Aligarh, UTTAR PRADESH :

UrduBookMPOs11mar2019

An anthology of Urdu verses and proverbs, all on eyes, was launched recently

Eyes are a mirror of the soul, it is said. Some eyes are sly and roguish, some serene and shining, a few, seductive and mysterious. Prod Dr Abdul Moiz Shams and he reels out details about a variety of eyes and their intrinsic worth. He should know considering he is an ophthalmologist by profession, but then Dr Shams also has a keen eye for Urdu  poetry.

DrAbdulMoizMPOs11mar2019

During his long service as an ophthalmologist, he has looked into innumerable defective eyes holding a little flashlight. While restoring vision, he has also looked beyond, into the soul. And what he has come up with is a book titled Aankh Aur Urdu Shayeri.

Inki aankhen ye keh rahi hain Faraz

Ham pe tasneef ek kitab karo

(Her eyes tell Faraz

Write a book on us)

Dr Shams has compiled a 389-page book containing couplets of different shades and emotions on eyes. It’s a treasure trove for connoisseurs of poetry. From Mirza Ghalib, Allama Iqbal to Meer, Sauda, Shaad, Faiz, Majaz, Jigar Muradabadi, Ali Sardar Jafery, Parveen Shakir — a whole lot of Urdu poets and their verses on aankh have been listed.

The book is divided into three parts — the first one contains couplets beginning with aankh, the second one has verses which are allegorical in nature and the third part has proverbs containing the word aankh, listed topic-wise. The book is a ready reckoner of sorts, on eyes. This is perhaps the only book of its kind where all the pages are full of verses on one body part.

Right from his student days Dr Shams had a love for poetry and when he became an eye specialist, his passion took a different turn. He started focussing on poetry of eyes. It’s no wonder that he has four other books to his credit: Hamari Aankhen, Jism-o-Jan, Jism-Be-Jan and Aab-e-Hayat.

“The eye is the jewel of the body. Its function is not just to see but to look beyond and sense colour, form, light and movement. That’s why I started collecting couplets on eyes,” says Aligarh-based Dr Shams who released his book in Hyderabad.

The insightful couplets are real eye-openers. Sample this couplet of Parveen Shakir.

Aankh ko yaad hai wo pal ab bhi

Neend jab pehle pehal tuti thi

Full-length ghazals of Ali Sardar Jafery, Khaisar Siddiqi, Hasrat Mohani and Basheer Badr, all on eyes, make for delightful reading.

Gulab aankhen, sharaab aankhen

Yehi to hain lajawab aankhen

Aankhen uthen to dard ke chashme ubal pade

Palken juhken to payar ka badal baras gaya

One can get an eyeful of couplets in this book which was released at the recent two-day National Urdu Science Congress at the Maulana Azad National Urdu University. “There is no dichotomy between science and literature. In fact they complement each other,” says Dr Abid Moiz, who is also a good humour writer.

source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Life & Style> Book / by J S Ifthekhar / March 06th, 2019

DOWN MEMORY LANE – Revisiting the poet’s hearth

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Agra, UTTAR PRADESH / NEW DELHI :

AT HOME Visitors at Ghalib’s Haveli | Photo Credit: Sushil Kumar Verma
AT HOME Visitors at Ghalib’s Haveli | Photo Credit: Sushil Kumar Verma

We know Mirza Ghalib as a Dilliwallah, but the bard had a strong emotional connection with Agra as well

Mirza Ghalib’s death anniversary on 15th February did not evoke the same interest as his birth anniversary two months earlier. Of course, there was a literary festival in Connaught Place and another in India International Centre, one can say the 210th birth anniversary drew greater public attention than probably that of any other Urdu (or Hindi) poet. The haveli he lived in and the Town Hall were the main venues of the functions then, along with the Subz Burj Park in Nizamuddin, now named after him. But nobody thought of holding a function at Kala Mahal in Agra, where Mirza Nausha was born on December 27, 1797 and of which he was so nostalgic because of childhood memories. Just goes to show how possessive Delhiwallahs have become of Ghalib and of Mir Taqi Mir, who was not only born in Agra but also had an affair with his cousin in the vicinity of the Taj. An enraged family then shunted off the Mir to Delhi where he attained great heights before moving to Lucknow at the invitation of the Nawabi Court of Awadh, where his outdated attire provoked him to recite his famous introduction: “Dilli jo ek Shahr tha alam mein intikhab…/Jisko falak ne loot ke bezar kar diya/Hum rehne wale hain usi ujre dayar ke” (I’m a resident of the same looted garden, Delhi, devastated by heaven).

Incidentally, it was the Mir Sahib who had predicted that the boy Ghalib (whose early recitals he had heard) would one day become a big shair. But Yours Truly spent a whole afternoon in and around Ghalib’s haveli last week and wondered at the sudden twist of destiny that has brought it into the limelight again. The area of Ballimaran, of which Gali Qasim Jan is a part, got its name (there are other versions too) from the boatmen who once inhabited it. Thereafter, it saw a sea-change with the high and mighty deciding to build their havelis there. It is after Nawab Mir Qasim Jan, an Iranian nobleman, that the gali is named. Qasim Jan at first lived in Lahore, where he was attached to the court of the Governor, Moin-ul-Mulk, in the 1750s. That was the time when Ghalib’s grandfather also migrated to India from Turkey.

Qasim Jan was an influential man and a great friend of the Governor. But when the latter fell fighting Ahmad Shah Abdali, who had invaded Punjab, Qasim Jan helped Moin-ul-Mulk’s widow, Mughlai Begum, to rule the province in the name of her infant son. He seems to have been particularly close to the begum, who admired his sagacity. But the admiration was mutual for Qasim Jan could not have been immune to the charm of the begum who continued to defy Abdali despite losing her husband.

It was during the reign of Shah Alam that Qasim Jan joined the court at Delhi. He was conferred the title of Nawab, and in order to be close to the Red Fort built his haveli in Ballimaran. After the death of Qasim Jan, his son Nawab Faizullah Beg resided in the haveli. Ghalib also lived in Ahata Kale Sahib for some time after his release from debtors’ prison and that is the time he is said to have remarked that after being an inmate in the “Gora” (white man’s) jail he had moved to Kale’s (black man’s) jail.

Ghalib subsequently moved to the haveli in Qasim Jan Street. But during the First War of Independence of 1857, he lived for some time in Sharif Manzil where Hakim Ajmal Khan’s father used to reside. The reason was that Sharif Manzil was a protected place in those days because its owner was the personal physician of the Maharaja of Patiala, who was on good terms with the British. After the upheaval, Ghalib went back to his house, where his wife Umrao Begum held sway and made it into a virtual mosque.

However, there is still a mosque next to Ghalib’s house. An old bearded man, wearing a brand new sherwani and with a stick in hand, was standing next to it. Asked if Ghalib ever visited the masjid, he shook his head and declared, “I don’t think so, unless when he became old. What else can you expect from a man who wrote: ‘Masjid ke zer say ek ghar bana liya hai/Ek banda-e-qamina hamsaye khuda hai” (I have set up abode in the vicinity of a masjid so a wretch is now God’s neighbour). As one walked away after hearing him, the first “degh” of biryani was being opened by the roadside seller and the smell was too appetising to resist the temptation of tasting it. Ghalib too must have eaten like this sometimes or sent his faithful servant Kallu to buy the stuff.

Before settling down in Gali Mir Qasim Jan, Ghalib lived in the house of his in-laws, where several mushairas were held. Why they were discontinued at the haveli is not known but one reason may have been the opposition of his puritanical wife. So the mushairas the poet attended were generally the ones held at the Red Fort and Haveli Sadr Sadur in Matia Mahal. In Agra, of course, he was too young to take part in poetry recitation and instead flew kites with the son of Raja Chet Singh at Kala Mahal, where some claim that his spectre is still seen on moonlit nights. He, no doubt, missed Kala Mahal and the Redstone Horse at Sikandra, Agra, to which he always sent greetings through his friend Mirza Tafta Secundrabadi. The Ballimaran haveli somehow did not evoke the same nostalgia in him, probably because most of his children died in it in infancy. Wonder if he would have approved of the museum set up there! But at Kala Mahal fateha is still offered for his repose.

source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Society> History & Culture> Down Memory Lane / by R.V. Smith / February 26th, 2018

Sharif Manzil’s Hakims

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NEW DELHI :

Hakim02MPOs30dec2017

Not far from Gali Mir Qasim Jan, where Ghalib’s haveli is situated, is Sharif Manzil. Here the descendants of the famous hakim Sharif Khan live in comfort. Among the hakims of Sharif Manzil were such physicians as Mahmud Khan and his sons, of whom Hakim Ajmal Khan (in sketch) became almost a legend in his lifetime. It was he who established the Hindustani Dawakhana nearby and also the Tibbia College in Karol Bagh.

At Sharif Manzil, which had dropped the suffix haveli, came rajas and maharajas and even government officials, besides ordinary people to seek medical advice from Ajmal Khan and his two elder brothers. During the “Mutiny” of 1857, the Manzil was guarded by the troops of the Maharaja of Patiala, who patronised the hakims. Ghalib too escaped arrest and destruction of his haveli because the hakims sent some of the Patiala soldiers to guard it. When Ghalib’s younger brother died and a sort of curfew order was in force in the troubled city it was under the protection of these troopers that the dead body was taken for burial.

Lala Chunna Mal’s haveli in Chandni Chowk is a 120-room building with shops below it. The haveli is partly occupied by his descendants, while the others have locked their rooms and gone to stay in modern bungalows in the posh areas of New Delhi. Chunna Mal, who belonged to the Khatri community, was an influential banker of the Mughals and a friend of the Sharif Manzil hakims, but after the “Mutiny” he came into the good books of the British, who allowed him (on payment) to take control of some Mehrauli palaces and Fatehpuri Masjid, which was given back to the Muslims only in 1877, otherwise it was closed to the namazis.

Skinner’s haveli in Kashmere Gate area is now a ruin of its former self and occupied by transporters. It was at this haveli that Col Skinner used to hold his lavish parties in which the main attraction was his friend and British Resident at the Mughal court, William Frazer. The Christmas, New Year and Easter get-togethers here have passed into legend.

The havelis of Mirza Jahangir and fellow-royal Mirza Babar in Nizamuddin were magnificent buildings during the last days of the Mughals and still retain some of their old grandeur.

source: http://www.thestatesman.com / The Statesman / Home> Features / Statesman News Service  / December 17th, 2017

How a royal wedding erupted into an epic battle of wits between Ghalib and the court poet

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DELHI :

Zauq and Ghalib took digs at each other through a sehra penned for a prince’s wedding and the Red Fort reverberated with this clash of titans.

The sehra, or prothalamion, (song to celebrate a wedding) is now a vanishing genre. I remember while I was growing up that almost all nikahs would have a sehra read by a relative with poetic aspirations, after the ceremony.

Though sehras are supposed to be in praise of the groom and a prayer for his wedded life, these would be witty and laudatory at the same time, usually a humorous dig at all relatives. A copy of this would then be distributed to the wedding guests.

Sehras fall into the category of nazms and have to be in meter.

The most famous sehra, of course, is the one penned by Mirza Ghalib (1797-1869) for a royal wedding, in which he took a dig at the emperor’s Ustad, Sheikh Ibrahim Zauq (1788/9-1854).

Zauq and Ghalib were contemporaries in Delhi, and their rivalry was legendary. Zauq had been given the title of Khaqani e Hind and drew a nominal salary of Rs 4 per month. The respect and position that he gained as a result was immense. It also gave him free access to the Qila e Moalla (Red Fort).

This was a constant thorn in the side of Mirza Ghalib, who felt he was better and deserved a royal position too. Thus, he never let go of any chance to score poetic points over his rival.

One such chance came at the last grand Mughal wedding, on April 2, 1852 – that of Jawan Bakht, Badshah Bahadur Shah Zafar’s son by his favourite and youngest wife Zeenat Mahal, to Nawab Shah Zamani Begum.

Begum Zeenat Mahal asked Ghalib to write a ‘sehra’ for her son’s wedding. The honour should have gone to Sheikh Ibrahim Zauq, but he was reportedly unwell.

William Dalrymple in his book The Last Mughal writes: “The marriage procession of Prince Jawan Bakht left the Lahore Gate of the Red Fort at 2 am on the hot summer night of 2 April, 1852.”

Dalrymple goes on to write that what was remembered longest and discussed most about the wedding was not so much the festivities or the feasting or the fireworks, but “the marriage odes recited by the Poet Laureate Zauq, and his rival Mirza Nausha, now more widely known by his pen-name Ghalib.”

Ghalib wrote a ‘sehra’ whose maqta (the last couplet in an Urdu ghazal which contains the poet’s pen name) was:

  • ‘hum suKhan_fahm haiN, Ghalib ke tarafdaar nahiN
  • dekheN keh de koi is sehre se baRh kar sehra’

We are connoisseurs of poetry, not partial to Ghalib

Let’s see if there’s anyone who can write a better ‘sehra’

The emperor, realising that this was a dig at his mentor Zauq, is said to have been displeased with the maqta. A slight to his mentor was seen as a slight to the emperor himself. Zafar asked Zauq to write a ‘sehra’ too. Not one to let go of an opportunity, Zauq included these line.

  • jin ko daawa ho suKhan ka yeh sunaa do unko
  • dekh is taraH se kehte haiN suKhanwar sehra

Tell those who claim to be eloquent

This is how poets write a sehra

The fort reverberated with this clash of titans and it is recorded that the Crown Prince Mirza Fakhruddin (also a disciple of Mirza Zauq) exclaimed, “Ustaad ne maidan maar liya“.Dalrymple writes: “The squabble at the wedding was over a single verse in Ghalib’s sehra (or wedding oration) where he appeared – characteristically – to suggest that no one in the gathering could write a couplet as well as he…. Zafar [the king] also encouraged Zauq to reply to Ghalib’s unprovoked sally. The fine sehra that the Poet Laureate came up with ended with a couplet tossing the challenge back to Ghalib:

The person who claims poetic skills,Recite this to him and say,”Look-this is how a poet”

This round went to Zauq as the singers in attendance picked up the verse and spread it all over Shahjahanabad. By next day it was in the newspapers.”

Ghalib then wrote his celebrated qat’a-e-ma’azerat’ (letter of apology), in response to the emperor’s reaction. However, the egoistic poet left no ‘verse’ unturned in adding insult to injury, using poetry as a medium to prove his supremacy and take a dig at Zauq’s humble origins and the Emperor’s negligence of him.

The maqta of this ghazal became even more famous.

      • manzoor hai guzaarish-e-ahvaal-e-waaqa’aii
      • apna bayaan-e-Husn-e-tabii’yat nahiN mujhe
      • I accept the request to state the facts, To praise oneself is not a habit of mine
      • sau pusht se, hai pesha-e-aaba sipahgarikuchh shayari,
      • zari’ye-e-izzat nahiN mujhe
      • My forefathers have been warriors for hundred generations
      • By writing poetry, fame I seek not
      • aazaadah rau huN, aur mira maslak hai sul
      • H-e-kulhargiz kabhi kisi se adaawat nahiN mujhe
      • I am a free spirit and my conduct is always peaceful,I bear malice against no one
      • kya kam hai yeh sharaf ke Zafar ka Ghulaam huN
      • maana ke jaah-o-mansab-o-sarwat nahiN mujhe
      • Is the privilege not enough that I serve Zafar,
      • Agreed rank, position and affluence I have not
      • ustaad-e-shah se ho mujhe par Khaash ka Khayaal
      • yeh taab, yeh majaal, yeh taaqat nahiN mujhe
      • The thought of a row with the king’s mentor
      • This arrogance, this audacity, this strength I have not
      • jaam-e-jahaaN_numa hai shahenshaah ka zameer
      • saugand aur gawaah ki Haajat nahiN mujhe
      • The king’s conscience is all encompassing,
      • The need for an oath and witness I have not
      • sehraa likhaa gaya ze_rah-e-imtiSaal-e-amr
      • dekhaa ke chaarah Ghair ita’at nahiN mujhe
      • The sehra was written in obedience of orders,
      • Non compliance with that order I dare not
      • maqt’e meiN aa paRi hai suKhan gustaraana baat
      • maqsood is se qat’a-e-moHabbat nahiN mujhe
      • I wrote something in the maqta’ which became popular,
      • A reason to ending friendship I want not.
      • ruu-e-suKhan kisi taraf ho, tau ruu_siyaah
      • sauda nahiN, junooN nahiN, veHshat nahiN mujhe
      • If I aimed it at someone in particular then may my face beblackened,
      • I am neither mad, nor crazed nor so deprived of sense.
      • qismat buri sahii, pa tabii’yat buri nahi
      • Nhai shukr ki jagah, ke shikaayat nahiN mujhe
      • Although my luck is bad, but my habits aren’t bad,
      • I’m in a place of thankfulness and complain I do not.
      • saadiq huN apne qaul meiN Ghalib Khuda_gawaah
      • kehta huN sach ke jhooT ki a’adat nahiN mujhe
      • Always true to his word is Ghalib, as God is my witness,
      • I tell you the truth as lie I do not.

This is the original sehra written by Ghalib for Mirza Jawan Bakht:

      • Khush ho ai baKht ke hai aaj tere sar sehraabaa
      • Ndh shahazada Javaa.N baKht ke sar par seharaa
      • [baKht = luck; pun on Groom’s name]
      • kyaa hii is chaaNd se mukhaDe pe bhalaa lagataa hai
      • hai tere husn-e-dil_afroz kaa zevar sehraa
      • [husn-e-dil_afroz = beauty that lights up the heart]
      • sar pe chaDhnaa tujhe phabataa hai par ai tarf-e-kulaah
      • mujhko Dar hai ke na chhiine tera lambar sehraa
      • [phabataa = suits]
      • nav bhar kar hii piroye gaye honge motii
      • varnaa kyun laaye hain kishtii mein lagaakar sehraa
      • saat dariyaa ke faraaham kiye honge motii
      • tab banaa hogaa is andaaz kaa gaz bhar sehraa
      • ruKh pe dulhaa ke jo garmii se pasiinaa Tapakaa
      • hai rag-e-abr-e-guharabaar saraasar sehraa
      • ye bhii ik be’adabii thii ke qabaa se baDh jaaye
      • rah gayaa aan ke daaman ke baraabar sehraa
      • jii me.n itaraaye.N na motii ke hamii.n hai.n ik chiiz
      • chaahiye phuulon ko bhii ek mukarrar sehraa
      • jab ke apane mein samaave’n na Khushii mein maare
      • guu.Ndhe phuulon kaa bhalaa phir koii kyuu.Nkar sehraa
      • ruKh-e-raushan kii damak gauhar-e-Galtaa kii chamak
      • kyuN na dikhalaaye faroG-e-maah-o-aKhtar sehraa
      • taar resham kaa nahii.n hai ye rag-e-abr-e-bahaar
      • laayegaa taab-e-giraa.Nbaari-e-gauhar sehraa
      • ham suKhan_faham hain “Ghalib” ke tarafadaar nahii.n
      • dekhe.n is sehare se kah de koii ba.Dhakar sehraa
      • [suKhan_faham = patron of poetry]
      • Zauq’s sehra
      • Ai Javaan Bakht mubarak tujhe sar par sehra
      • Aaj hai Yaman wa Sada’t ka tere sar sehra
      • Aaj woh din hai ke laaye durr e anjum se falak
      • Kashti e zar mah e nau ke lagakar sehra
      • Tabish husn se manind shua e khursheed
      • Rukh e pur noor pe hai tere munawwar sehra
      • Woh kahe Salle Alay eh kahe SubhanAllah
      • Dekhe mukhade pe jot ere mah o akhtar sehra
      • Taa banni aur banne mein rahe ikhlas baham
      • Goondhiye sura e ikhlas padhkar sehra
      • Dhoom hai gulshan e afaaq mein is sehre ki
      • Gaaye’n marghaan e nava sanj na kyunkar sehra
      • Ru e farkh pe jo hain tere baraste anwar
      • Taar e barish se bana ek sarasar sehra
      • Ek ko ek pe tazai’n hai dam e araaish
      • Sir pe dastar hai, dastar ke oopar sehra
      • Ek gauhar bhi nahin sadgaan e gauhar mein choda
      • Tera banwaaya hai le leke jo gauhar sehra
      • Phirti khushboo se hai itraayi huyi baad e bahaar
      • Allah Allah re phoolo’n se moatta’r sehraa
      • Sar pe turra hai muzaiyyan to gale mein baddhi
      • Kangana haath mein zeba hai to munh par sehra
      • Runumayi mein tujhe de mah o khurshid o falak
      • Khol de munh ko jot u munh se uthakar sehra
      • Kasrat e taar e nazar se hai tamaashiyo’n ke
      • Dam e nazara tere ru e niko par sehra
      • Durr e khush aab e mazameen se banakar laaya
      • Waaste tere tera Zauq sanagar sehra
      • Jis ko daawa hai suKhan ka yeh sunaa de usko
      • Dekh is taraH se kehte haiN suKhanwar sehra

 

(This article first appeared on the author’s blog.)

source: http://www.dailyo.in / Daily O / Home> Arts & Culture / by Rana Safvi  @iamrana / December 27th, 2017

Remembering Umrao Begum

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Basti Nizamuddin, NEW DELHI  :

RAVE CONCERN Umrao Begum’s grave, covered in green cloth in Nizamuddin | Photo Credit: V. Sudershan
RAVE CONCERN Umrao Begum’s grave, covered in green cloth in Nizamuddin | Photo Credit: V. Sudershan

The unmarked resting place of Miza Ghalib’s wife deserves an epitaph

The grave of Mirza Ghalib’s wife, Umrao Begum, in Basti Nizamuddin, just at the side of her husband’s tomb, lacks an epitaph, probably because nobody tried to inscribe one on it in 1955 (when the poet’s memorial was built) or because she preferred anonymity as per the strictest tenets of Islam. Even so she deserves one for posterity’s sake. Umrao Begum was a pre-teenager when she married Ghalib, who himself was just 13 at that time, and the two shared conjugal bliss for nearly 57 years.

Umrao Begum was a kinswoman of the Nawab of Loharu, an erstwhile State now merged with Rajasthan, and her cousin was Bunyadi Begum, Ghalib’s sister-in-law. The begum, who was the Nawab’s sister, gave her haveli in Gali Mir Qasim Jan to Ghalib when he was in need of accommodation.

Umrao Begum bore seven children, all of whom died in infancy, leaving her and the poet heart-broken all their lives. Even the nephew, Nawab Zainul-abadin Khan Arif, whom they adopted, died young at the age of 18, though he had made his mark in Urdu poetry by then.

Strict lady

Umrao Begum was a strict Muslim lady, whereas Ghalib was not at all orthodox. After the First War of Independence of 1857, the poet was accosted by an English officer who asked him if he was a Muslim (as most members of the community were suspects in the eyes of the British). Ghalib replied “Half”. The officer sought an explanation to which Ghalib said that though he drank, he did not eat pork. The amused officer, marvelling at his wit, left him in peace.

Once Ghalib came home with a man carrying a basket full of wine bottles, bought with his first pay. Umrao Begum asked him why he had spent all the money on liquor, to which his reply was that God had promised to feed everyone but had not made any provision for drink, for which one had to make one’s own arrangements.

At another time he entered the courtyard of the house with his shoes on his head. To the Begum’s query, he replied that as she had made the whole haveli a masjid by her piety he had no other option. Umrao Begum died in 1870, a year after Ghalib, when Mahatma Gandhi was only a few months old and was buried according to her wish next to the poet.

Unfortunately, the Ghalib memorial built 85 years later became a barrier between the two graves, both of which should have come within its ambit. But it’s never too late to make amends for an oversight — if need be with Government help.

Her love for Ghalib was intense or he wouldn’t have been able to lead the carefree life he did. She was the one who took care of the house despite the poet’s love for gambling and dance girls, one of whom took undue advantage of him. Despite mischievous gossip by mohalla women, Umrao Begum was unruffled because she was convinced of her husband’s goodness of heart. Even when there was paucity of funds, she managed to see it to that Ghalib and nephew Arif got three square meals a day.

After the death of her children, she was the one who comforted her Mian Nausha so that the misfortune did not affect his mental equilibrium, without which his wit would not have continued to flow like the sparkling Thames.

Facing the music

Ghalib spent most of his time outside the haveli, except when he was writing poetry, having his meals or resting. So it was Umrao Begum who faced the creditors as she was the one who responded to the knock on the door in the absence of a regular maid. When the fat Kotwal of Delhi tried to bully Ghalib, as he disliked the poet because of their love for the same tawwaif and considered him a potential rival (as he always stole the limelight at the kotha), his wife was the one who confronted the Kotwal’s importunate minions at the haveli’s entrance and sent them away with the proverbial flea in the ear.

When Arif was grooming Alexander Heatherley “Azad” as a shair, despite his Anglo-Indian antecedents, Umrao Begum took it upon herself to see to it that they were not disturbed and had some refreshments too during the long hours of coaching. Ghalib who had earlier imbibed the love for shairi in Arif, also fawned on him and when he died an untimely death, poured out his grief in a heartfelt elegy (quoted from memory) that is among his best poems: “Jatey huey kehtey ho qayamat ko milenge kya khoob, qayamat ka goya din hai koi aur!” (While departing you say will meet on the Last Day of Judgement, what an excuse on the pretext of a reunion on a vague day in Eternity).

Reading the elegy Umrao Begum burst into tears and told Ghalib not to rub salt into her raw wounds, according to Arif’s pupil, Alexander Heatherley’s descendant, George Heatherley who died in Perth a few years ago. Umrao Begum’s grave close to Ghalib’s is testimony enough, if one were needed indeed, of the emotional link between the two. Then why deny her the courtesy of an epitaph to seal the bond for the benefit of future generations? No matter how distant may be Arif’s final place of repose.

source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Society> Down Memory Lane – History & Culture / by R.V. Smith / November 27th, 2017

Gore, Kale and Ghalib

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NEW DELHI :

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THE HAVELI of Kale Sahib is no more but the ahata (compound) still exists, and what a slum it has become since 1847 when Ghalib lived there after his release from prison for debt default! The poet quipped that after being freed by Gore (the British) he had been “imprisoned” by Kale. Kale Sahib was a highly venerated man. Whether he got this name because of his complexion is not known, but it is quite likely that the saint was not as fair as Ghalib. The Moghul emperor was among his devotees and so were Ghalib and his family. As a matter of fact, Ghalib’s sister-in-law, Bunyiadi Begum gifted the ahata to Kale Sahib and the name stuck.

Kale Sahib was a practical minded saint who refused to perform miracles just to please his devotees. He counselled them to pray fervently, pointing out at the same time that in 90 per cent cases prayers went unanswered. But there were instances when he did help people out of their difficulties. He once admonished a man from whom he had driven out an evil spirit that if he went back to his sinful ways he would again become possessed and then even miracles might not help. Apparently Kale Sahib did not have to exorcise him again.

Situated in the Ballimaran area of Delhi, Ahata Kale Sahib forms part of the locality founded by a Persian, Qasim Khan, who first settled down in Lahore about the year 1750 and was befriended by the Governor of Punjab, Moinul Mulk. When Ahmed Shah Abdali invaded Punjab, Moinul Mulk resisted him and was killed. His widow, Mughlai Begum then became the virtual ruler and made Qasim Khan her chief adviser. There were insinuations, but then which young widow is safe from wagging tongues if she befriends a man?

Qasim Khan later came to the court of Shah Alam where he was accepted as a nobleman. The place in which he lived is known to this day as Gali Qasim Jan. Qasim Khan’s son, Faizullah Beg built the ahata. But how Buniyadi Begum came to possess it is not clear.

Congested mohalla

Ahata Kale Sahib now is a congested mohalla. Few of its residents remember Kale Sahib. But the ahata is in the news generally, for whenever BSES resorts to power cuts, Ahata Kale Sahib is as much affected as distant Janakpuri. In fact one finds this link between what was once Asia’s biggest colony and one of the dirtiest amusing. After Ghalib’s joke about Gore and Kale this should surely take the cake for it would have tickled the poet too. But he is long dead and gone.. But one has the feeling that he couldn’t be resting peacefully in Nizamuddin for he was essentially a man of the walled city of Delhi whose charms began and ended within its confines.

The charms are still reflected in a slight difference in speech, the flavour of the kababs and the taste of the water from Hare Bhare Sahib. The breeze that springs from the Jamuna goes past the Red Fort, negotiates the many arches of the Jama Masjid and merges with the smell of the motia and chameli sold at the crossroads before cooling the courtyards of the houses in the narrow gullies.

Ghalib liked to move about in this area of which the Kashmere and Delhi gates were the two extremities, with the fort being the hub and centre and the mosque the cultural bastion of the city. Yes, of course, Ghalib always had a soft corner for Agra, because he was born there and passed his boyhood in Kala Mahal from which the Taj looks just like a building in the next locality.

But his heart had been won over by Shahjehanabad. From Ballimaran to Jama Masjid the walk was long enough via Chandni Chowk. Sometimes one could meet Mir Ashiq who came from the opposite direction and went back to his kucha via Ballimaran. Was the tilt of his cap different from that of the residents of Nizamuddin? People noticed such traits and developed their pet notions.

For a man of such intense likes and dislikes as Ghalib, his grave in Nizamuddin is out of the milieu in which he flourished. It is a small enclosure though beautiful in its own way where sparrows make love in the afternoon. The illiterate take it for another shrine where obeisance must be paid, and budding poets hope to imbibe some of the virtues of the great “shair”.

An old man who sometimes steals up to the mausoleum feels that even a blank page touching the “mazar” would instantly be graced with a ghazal. He has never seen it happen, nor would we surely, but such feelings are the stuff legends are made of.

R.V.SMITH

source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> MetroPlus Delhi / by R V Smith / Monday – November 29th, 2004