Part II

In his poetry Ghalib displays a deep insight into all aspects of human nature and it is in these revelations that some of his verses have acquired everlasting value. His poetry has universal appeal because of the breadth of his vision, his wonderfully pithy observations and his lyrical sensitivity.

Just as he gave a new dimension to ghazal by broadening its scope, Ghalib also blazed a new trail in Urdu prose by doing away with the stilted and highly affected style in which it used to be written in his time. He has adopted a simple lively manner in his letter writing.

Mirza Hargopal Tafta was Ghalib’s favourite pupil. He wrote more letters to Tafta than to anyone else. Every now and then he admonishes him:

"My very life,

What do you think the world is? Dr you really expect all people to behave like Tafta and Ghalib?

Har yaki ra behr kaaray sakhtand

(every man is made for a special function)

All’s well that ends well. Sugar is sweet; salt is saline. You never change the taste of things. You     remarked in your letter that I reckoned the man among my kinsmen. Sainted patron, to me all of Adam’s sons are dear, whether Muslims, Hindus or Christians, and I regard them as my brethren, no matter what anyone else may say. Now, as for that relationship which is termed ‘kinship’, its nature is determined by all sorts of factors -- race, caste, creed or religious order -- and there are levels and degrees to all of these. If you look at the question, with these levels in mind, my relationship to this person doesn’t carry the weight of so much as a grain of chaff. If, out of courtesy, I mention him in my letter as an Aziz, this isn’t necessary to be taken literally…"

Read the first part here.

(Aziz, means a relative. The man referred to in his letter, (Ab’dur Rehman) was, in fact, a relation by marriage to Ghalib. Ghalib in remarkably controlled language is distancing himself from this man who had slandered him).

In several letters to his intimate friends Ghalib has dwelled upon his woes -- financial woes mostly -- but he does not ever become maudlin. And he never forgets to laugh at himself. It was his sense of humour that made him bear his woes with equanimity.

"Alai Maulai,

Listen. Thursday to Thursday makes eight; Friday makes it nine, Saturday, ten; Sunday, eleven. In all this time, the rain hasn’t paused long enough for the eye to twinkle. Right this minute it is pouring riotously. I have placed before me a brazier full of glowing coals. I write a couple of lines and then dry the ink over the fire. What else can I do? Answer the letter I must… I am reduced to having to get by on a pension of sixty two rupees and eight annas from the collector’s office and a hundred rupees a month from Rampur. The only person who will lend me money now in a pinch is my solicitor, and he is bound and determined to collect the interest and a piece of the principal. Among my liabilities may be numbered: Income-tax, the salary of the night-watchman, the interest on loans, the instalments towards borrowed principal, wife, children, and servants. And yet my income still stays fixed at a hundred and sixty two rupees. A sorry state of affairs indeed. So what could I do?

How could I cut expenses, I wondered, to create a little extra room? So my morning beverage was let go by the boards. The ration of meat at breakfast I cut to half. The evening blend of wine and rosewater was suspended. I managed to save some twenty rupees a month by these frugalities and everyday needs once again began to be met. My friends said, ‘How long would you be able to go on without your morning beverage and your wine?’ I answered, ‘until once more I am given something to drink.’ They said ‘But without your liquid treat how will your heart beat?’ and I replied ‘it is not for me to say what may or may not be granted to me.’

The month was not yet at an end when some money came my way from Rampur over and above my regular stipend. The loan instalment was paid and as for the rest, let’s not talk about it. The morning beverage and the wine were at once resumed and the full ration of meat was revived……"

Ghalib’s financial situation was always extremely precarious but during the aftermath of the uprising in 1857, it took a turn for the worse. With twenty people to feed, and practically no income, he treats his situation with a touch of levity.

"Good Sir…

For me there is neither reward nor hard labour, justice nor injustice, wrath nor favour. Until fifteen days ago I enjoyed my meals by day and my liquor by night. Now I continue to enjoy my meal, but no liquor. I still have the clothing that was made for me in the days of my prosperity, so I have no anxiety on that score."

Ghalib rarely gives vent to his anger, but on one occasion he was truly riled. Mirza Shahabuddin Khan Saqib had published Ghalib’s collection of his Urdu poetry. Ghalib was amazed when he saw that the printed edition had, on the margins of several pages, verses written by someone else. What hurt him even more was that these verses were of very poor quality. Incensed, he wrote to Mirza Saqib:

"By God you owe me an explanation! What the hell have you done to my Divan? I don’t know what son of a whore inserted his verse in it. The Divan from which the transcription was made is a printed one, for heaven’s sake. The verses in the matn (middle of the page) of that edition are mine; those in the margin are by somebody else. If the verses which you have sent me have somehow crept into the matn, you should be aware that they are simply garbage that some bastard put there after scraping off my poetry. In short, whoever the clown was who fabricated these verses, a curse on his father and his grandfather. He is a bastard, the son of a bastard, the grandson of a bastard and great-grandson of a bastard, and the same back to the seventh generation of his ancestors. What else is there to say?"

* * * * *

Ghalib revolutionised the art of letter-writing in Urdu. Today his letters serve as a text for study, not just for their artful use of the language, but for their profundity and their verbal wit. They are our priceless cultural heritage.