A poet of syncretic India who might have been a sage

Mirza Ghalib’s poetry -- his Persian verse and Urdu Divan -- is mystical, existential, and universal. Its central message: It is I who give meaning to the world, not the world that gives meaning to me. I am condemned to be free, to make choices, and it is my own experience of choosing a particular path that lends authenticity to my life. It is poetry that is endearing, but elusive in its meaning. To enjoy the effervescent and timeless poetry of Ghalib, one has to go beyond mere reading; and seek to understand the creative process that reflects the literary genius, the biographical circumstances of his time, and the philosophic worldview that influenced this remarkable poet.

Mirza Asadullah Khan ‘Ghalib’ (1797-1869) was born in Agra, at a time when the Mughal Empire was in precipitous decline. Asad, as he was known in childhood, lost his father when he was five. Brought up by his maternal grandfather, he learnt subjects considered important in those times -- astronomy, philosophy and theology -- and excelled in all of them. But his passion was language – Persian and, later, Urdu -- and poetry. By the time he was 19, Ghalib was an accomplished poet; and also seen to be a hedonist, seeking pleasure in drinking and gambling. Ghalib witnessed a series of crises caused by the decline of Mughal power and the onset of British colonialism while living in the politically volatile milieu of 19th century North India. On a personal level, he suffered the loss of all of his children. He appears to have kept his zeal alive through good wine, a great sense of humour, and his lyrical pen, which enabled him to challenge cherished conventions of his time and thus cope with his own suffering.

Though Ghalib’s presence is ubiquitous in popular culture, our ability to engage seriously with his world of poetry is constrained by three factors: our unfamiliarity with Persian and Urdu; the difficulty in reconciling the serene and unifying world of poetry and the brutal divisive political realities of our own times; and, sadly, the third factor is representative of a deeper cultural malaise that characterises our times. Most people born after Independence -- and I am no exception -- have grown up without cultural roots: they have learnt neither Sanskrit nor Urdu and so remain largely oblivious of our remarkable syncretic cultural heritage. Besides being a masterful poet, Ghalib, through his letters, was a brilliant chronicler of his times. In fact, Ghalib’s Dastanbuy is an excellent diary on the 1857 revolt and provides fascinating insights on what transpired and how.

Ghalib’s best poems were written in three forms: Ghazal (Lyric), Masnavi (Parables), and Qasidah (Panegyric). The profound poetry that flowed from his pen is best described by Ghalib himself: ‘Aate Hain Ghaib Se Ye Mazamin Khayal Mein Ghalib/Sara-e-Khama nava-e- Sarosh Hain.’ ‘It is from the divine that I get these thoughts Ghalib/the sound of my pen is the whisper of Gabriel.’ Much of Ghalib’s poetry is metaphorical. His masterful wordplay and creative imagination combine to weave a web of verses -- on life and its mysteries -- that, to the discerning reader, is at once tragic, witty, and haunting; and the imagery daunting.

Here is one of his classic verses: ‘Gham-e-Hasti Kaa ‘Asad’ Kis Se Ho Juz Marg Ilaaj/Shamaa Har Rang Mein Jalti Hain Seher Hote Tak’. ‘Life is suffering without a cure except oblivion/The lamp burns in all its hues until morning comes and extinguishes the flame.’ Morning or dawn is typically used as a metaphor for a beginning or for creation. Here, Ghalib uses it as a reverse metaphor -- the extinguishing of light.

Ghalib’s most illuminating Persian poem, Chiragh-e-Dayr, or The Temple’s Lamp, is one that is remarkable for the synergy of cosmopolitanism that it harnesses; in which difference is not just accommodated or tolerated, it is cherished and fostered. This Masnavi comprising 108 verses is Mirza Ghalib’s eulogy on Banaras, the quintessential destination of pilgrimage that Hindus believe helps release a man from the bondage of birth and death and become one with God. All this is completely alien to Islam. And yet, Ghalib, a Muslim, sings paeans to The Temple’s Lamp.

Ghalib’s poetry includes the totality of life, not something fragmentary. Reflecting on Ghalib’s metaphor-verse, a worldview emerges. To understand the whole movement of life, we have to grasp time, sorrow, and death. To understand time, to comprehend sorrow, and to abide with death requires complete and unconditional love. After all, Hazaron Khwaishen Aisi, ki Har Khwaish pe Dum Nikle. The best read I can recommend is T P Issar’s Ghalib: Cullings from the Divan Rendered in English. Read it.