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The forgotten craftsmen

Calligraphy
Last Updated 28 July 2016, 18:43 IST

The sound of evening namaz from Jama Masjid enwrap the busy streets of Chawri Bazaar, drawing the attention of the passers-by. In the words of the inhabitants of this area, “These streets have witnessed the coming and going of emperors, different circumstances and times. But, one thing which it has managed to maintain is its ties with the age-old traditions and practices over the years.”

However, these ties with such historical practices are being challenged in today’s tech savvy age, and calligraphy is one such art which is plunging down the road of a distant and forgotten past.

Abdul Rahman is one of the few who is still continuing with his profession as an Urdu calligrapher. Having set up his shop amidst hundreds of cramped streets in Urdu Bazaar. One can reach him only if one wants to find him, which has become a rarity these days.

Born in Uttar Pradesh, Rahman came to Delhi in 1982 for his education. That was when he stumbled upon the art of calligraphy. After learning it for four years at Ghalib Academy in Nizamuddin, he embraced it as his profession.

However, the art which he imbibed into his ‘blood and soul’; the one that fed him and his family for years, now seems to have an uncertain future due to the antlers of technology overpowering the market. With ‘premium calligraphic fonts’ just a click away, the penmanship has lost its charm amongst the new generation, leading to an exponential drop in customers of the skilful calligraphers.

Asked what he thinks about the technological development resulting in loss of income, he tells Metrolife, “Haan kami to hui hai! Jabh computer nahi the to sabh humare pass hi aate the. Par ab bas vahi aate hain jo iss kala ke shaukeen hai. Nojawan to aate hi nahin!” (There has been an evident reduction in income. When there weren’t any computers, people would come to us for their work. However, now we only get those customers who are fond of the art. We never get any youngsters.)

“Pehle to puri kitaabein likha karte the, ab to unke title milna bhi mushkil hota hai,” he adds referring to how in the recent times, even getting to write the title for a book seems difficult.

He tells us that he earns about Rs 100 for each title that he writes. Many a times, some of them are scanned, modified and further used by designers who sell them at an approximate price of Rs 500 each. With a profound sorrow in his voice, he says that he is aware of the injustice being done to the art, but has to accept it, nonetheless, as he also has the responsibility of feeding his family.

“When I began my work, I too had installed a computer in my shop. That time I had a lot of work so never felt the need to use the computer. However, now I think if I would’ve learnt to use it, then I wouldn’t be sitting idle now,” he adds remorsefully.

Six months ago, on a trail to discover Urdu calligraphers, we had visited Taliq Mohammad Yaqub, a 68-year-old calligrapher in Urdu Bazaar. We had observed in him, a glint of hope and fervour to make his art survive.

He had told us then, “Time might be a vicious endless cycle, altering ways of lives but the effect of art and art itself is something which can never be altered.”

Alas! On another visit to his shop recently, we found he had closed it down four months ago due to low income. Sadly, his spirit was rendered helpless by the harsh, fast-paced world.

Asking around for any other Urdu calligrapher surviving in the murky lanes of Urdu Bazaar, we were told about Mohammad Tasir. However, inquiring further we got to know that he rarely comes to his shop now and spends greater part of the year in his home town.

It somehow feels that two decades down the line the sheer existence of this art may only evoke nostalgia.


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(Published 28 July 2016, 14:17 IST)

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