‘Ghalib and Urdu- our nondescript heritage’

At a time, when we see Delhi in a state of literary decline, we must retrospect what should the cause be behind. Delhi- the cradle of Persian, flourished with the highest poetic excellence few centuries ago. Then, came as the trespasser in the plebeian life, another language. This language created literary epochs and touched the pinnacle of literary par excellence. The language fostered by one of the greatest poet laureate known across the world-Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib. He is better known as only Ghalib.

The language was Urdu. Urdu per se was the only medium of expressing thoughts in a larger podium, which is literature. It gradually became the rectilinear method of creativity during the reign of the last Mughal emperor. People embraced it with hearts. And, thus became a source of utmost recreation for the people.

The time that encompassed this golden period was the Victorian rule in England. Urdu was a source of relaxation for even some officers of the imperialist regime. William Fraser, a British resident in the 1830s knew Urdu and Persian like an indigenous and also possessed a library of Persian, Arabic and Urdu books. Charles Metcalfe read Persian and Urdu as a hobby during his leisure.

There were among them a few who also composed Urdu couplets. Some did also adopt takhalluses of their own. General Joseph Bensley ‘Fana’, George Puech ‘Shor’ and Alexander Heatherley ‘Azad’ to name a few. Dr. John Gilchrist was a pioneer in Urdu learning and emulating his style and methods, people like Dr Howard and Dr Hoey became noted scholars of the Urdu language later.

The British presence although was unavoidable at that time, the Indian people learnt English at the Delhi College as a means of additional education. This was only a supplement to the traditional education they received of Urdu and Persian. Further, this was an instrument for gaining larger employment prospects.

The language also developed by Ghalib’s contemporaries and prdecessors like Momin Khan and Ibrahim Zauq were known for their poetic excellence at the verge of the Mughal period. The emperor himself was also a noted bard to be reckoned for his fabulous creations.

Urdu was adopted by the Indian nobility with quite no effort. It meshed with their lifestyles without their conscious endeavor of taking the language. It flowed into their nerves and sinews. The milieu was such that it also encapsulated the minds of the British, who were only gazing without full consciousness from a look-out tower.

It was the tehzib of the Urdu culture that mesmerized the whole polity. That the Indian umara and the British officers initially talked in equation, developed cordiality between, met over dinners and social functions and also fraternized through their common membership at the Delhi Bank and the Archaelogical Society, was only the consequence of their mutual love for the language, Urdu.

Ghalib himself was the friend of many British officials and had a good rapport especially with William Fraser, the Urdu lover. Thus, Urdu was at one time the source of sangam for the Indians and the imperialists. It was a good medium of union, sanctity and peace.

But, where is Urdu now? Segregating some madrasas and a few Muslim homes, everyone has been colonized. The culture has elapsed from the stand-point of the Indian polity, if that is not mistaken. It is only an evanescent memory or sight to recall.

Few days ago, this came to me as a result of the perusal of Pavan K. Verma’s book ‘Ghalib-The Man, The Times’. At the preface, he recalls his stupefying empiricism. While searching for books on Ghalib at some Indian bookstores, he was only able to manage some booklets at countable stores and none at some. This is the Indian love for a died poet. As he says, shall we not blame the English for not keeping Yeats and Eliot at their bookstores?

Nevertheless, Ghalib’s verses are a part of our familiar conversation and stories of his humour are family anecdotes at most of the Indian homes; we fail to produce his books or keep them at our own homes and shops. Leaving apart inculcating the language, which is a vast source of rich world literature.

Verma says, the example of the bookshop not stocking Ghalib is an allusion to the cultural malaise of our times. As Verma, who calls himself a cultural orphan learning neither Sanskrit nor Urdu (that corresponds to me) like other people of his age, he speculates about the imminent drying up of a cultural heritage due to the rampant indifference. Therefore, the book is at a personal level an act of penitence for an age running through its culturally nondescript times, as the author says.

This, as I have described, is not a review of the book, but an homage to our culture, which is witnessing a ramshackle for our own indifferent behavior. This is not either a rabble rouser, but a humble entreaty to the never thinking denizens of the polity.