By Amit Basole
Ghalib’s haveli in Ballimaran
On occasion of Mirza Ghalib’s death anniversary (Februrary 15th) once again, we can expect articles on the man and his poetry. Many articles take the form of laments for Ghalib’s legacy, usually his physical legacy such as his house in Ballimaran (near Chandni Chowk, old Delhi) or his grave near the dargah of Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya. Other authors prefer to focus on the man’s tragic life and personal circumstances, his drinking or his love affairs. I have no quarrel with any of this.
But the Ghalib I like to remember is someone else. He is one of South Asia’s preeminent 19th century intellectuals. A man who saw in his own lifetime, three published editions of his Urdu divaan, one published edition of his complete Persian works, and a published volume of his letters. A master prose stylist, a man of letters. A man who mastered the Indo-Persian poetic tradition from Khusrau to Bedil and trained many shagirds in this craft. A man who engaged in polemics on various aspects of language and linguistic devices in three cities across the sub-continent (Delhi, Lucknow, and Kolkata). A man who was part of the Delhi renaissance. A man whose Urdu divaan has inspired more commentaries than any other poet in this tradition. A man who is unarguably the most famous exponent of his tradition across the world, overshadowing even Mir Taqi Mir (who was by come accounts a better poet). A deep humanist, familiar with the best that the Indo-Muslim world had to offer, from Vedanta to the Sufi and Bhakti saints. A man who inspires incredible labours of love across the seven seas: such as Prof. Frances Pritchett’s website in which she comments on each and every one of Ghalib’s 1459 published Urdu she’rs, in addition to quoting major commentators on each of those verses. But most importantly, a man whose words are on millions of lips all across the world. How many can boast of this?
If a man lives in so many hearts, what need has he for a house and a grave?