For Mirza Ghalib, the legendary Urdu poet, Delhi was the soul of the world. He loved the city and knew his worth here. When someone asked him his postal address, he said: Asadullah Ghalib, Delhi, will be enough.” So it was then; as it is today. Having fully percolated and permeated the Indian literary mainstream, Ghalib’s poetry with its rich thought content, has left an indelible mark on the minds of all connoisseurs of art and poetry. The thought content in him spoke volumes of his cosmic vision, mysticism and the agonizing angst of being forlorn.
When compared to his contemporaries, he was a Goliath. He was disillusioned with his age for it never satisfied his intellectual thirst that grew mightier with every passing day. The one thing that always needs to be appreciated about Ghalib remains his frank and truthful approach regarding all aspects of life. He shuns the ready-made truth for hypocrisy in religion or morals; in fact he believes in discovering one’s own weaknesses and failures and realizing the truth that one has to live with ones’ failures as much as achievements keeping in view that the former dominates the latter.
Too vast, contradictory and controversial, Ghalib’s poetic fabric in spite of all these remains most fascinating with an exquisite charm. The eternal impact of Ghalib’s poetry proves his catholicity, a cosmopolitan outlook, wit, repartee and craving for the spiritual. Delhi is known as the city where Ghalib lived and died. Unfortunately, the city didn’t take care of him either in life or in death. Just see his tomb. The narrow lane leading to it resonates with life. However, the grave itself nestles in a quiet corner and its here that the great exponent of Urdu literature sleeps in anonymity.
Poochhtey hein who ke Ghalib kaun hai/ Koi batlao ke hum batlayen kya? (Ask people blandly who the hell Ghalib is? / What a foolish thing to answer this is!). He was a symbol of Delhi’s cultural heritage and remains one. A mention of Delhi would not be complete if we miss out on Ghalib, Bahadur Shah Zafar and Shahjahan. Though Agra-born, Ghalib came to Delhi when he was 13. Having married Umrao Jan, the daughter of Nawab of Loharu, Ilahi Bakhsh Maruf, Ghalib after having changed some houses finally settled at Gali Qasimjan haveli.
Opines Ghalib expert and Urdu litterateur Gopi Chand Narang, “Ghalib penned both his voluminous Urdu (1,100 couplets) and Persian (6,700 couplets) diwans at his Gali Qasimjan haveli. Though there were umpteen Urdu and Persian poets before Ghalib in Delhi — Naziri, Urfi, Zahoori, Faizi, Bedil, Asir, Shaukat Bukhari — it was Ghalib only who became synonymous with the capital city.”
The Ghadar (mutiny) and its aftermath in Delhi were very testing times, especially for Ghalib and most of the people loyal to the English. Ghalib was in a fix as the mutineers took him to be the one close to the English while the English went after him owing to his affinity to Bahadur Shah Zafar.
Interestingly, owing to his wit and good stars, he managed to escape on both occasions. From the mutineers, as Ghalib’s immediate neighbourhood, Sharif Manzil and Hindustani Dawakhana in Ballimaran, were under the supervision of Maharaja of Patiala who was loyal to the English and sent his soldiers. During the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857, most of the houses were looted by the mutineers, including the neighbourhood of the poet. Umrao Begum, his wife, sent her valuables in her house at Ahata Kaley Sahab where they were stolen. To add to the poet’s chagrin, his unpublished writings too were robbed from the house of Nawab Ziauddin, a cousin of his father-in-law, Nawab Ilahi Bakhsh Maruf. In a letter, Ghalib lamented, “Thieving of my unpublished work was the biggest loss.”
After the Mutiny, the English soldiers wrought the kind of wrath that has no equal in the history as houses of both Hindus and Muslims were looted and women were outraged and raped. The soldiers of Col. Burn, the resident commissioner, arrested Ghalib and took him to his superior officer. Owing to his usual brilliant presence of mind, he was one up against Col. Burn and got out of the snare by showing his correspondence with Viceroy Charles Metcalfe and his qasida in (praise) of Queen Victoria. When the colonel enquired of him what his religion was, Ghalib replied, “I’m half Muslim and half English!” “How?” the colonel howled. “I consume wine; so I’m half Christian. I don’t consume ham, so I’m half Muslim!” Burn let out a hearty laughter and the poet was able to return home.
It is sad that nobody cares about him any more. The Delhi government hasn’t bothered about maintaining his haveli, his couplets have been torn off the walls and this author’s umpteen requests to Sheila Dikshit, Delhi chief minister have fallen on deaf ears. Who bothers? Ghalib gave Delhi its identity but what has Delhi given Ghalib? Oblivion of course.
