Poets of the world

Mirza Ghalib


Long years ago ….. One day, I was dejected, disappointed and thought hell of myself. It was time of endless agonies for me. When I got no relief by any mode, I went to call on the God and wept all of my woes. I told Him about my sufferings, my hardships. He calmly said – My boy! The story you told me is neither rare nor priceless .There are several human beings in this world who have suffered a lot. And that’s why for people like you I have created – “Ghalib”.

“Ghalib? What’s that?” My amazement was natural. He again smiled and said nothing. There was great peace in His eyes. He gave me a golden book with golden pages. I opened it. There was written in the book in beautiful calligraphy-----
Meri qismqt mein gham gar itna tha
Dil bhi ya rab kayee diye hote
(If there were so many disappointments in my life then god you must have given me a number of hearts too)

And all of my disappointments disappeared like bubbles. I was happy like a child. I came back hopping and galloping all along the way to my home.

This was my first meeting with ‘the Ghalib’. And for the rest of my life I never parted myself with that gift of God. Ghalib’s poetry is poetry of sufferings—sufferings of spiritualism and sufferings of life. That’s why it’s medicine for all the sufferers of this world.

Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib was borne in 1797 in Delhi. His paternal & maternal family boasted of royal lineage. Ghalib himself showed complacency on a number of occasions about his family tree. He would mention about Afarsaib (the great king of middle Asia), Rustum and Sohrab with proud but alas this doesn’t work for your living. His father died when he was only 5 years old. His uncle took the responsibility of his upbringing and he was married at very early age of 16. Again, after some years his uncle died leaving him alone in this world. Then he and his family had to face the living on the edge.

But young Ghalib did not left taking lessons from reputed elders of his family and other learned men of Delhi. In his childhood itself he started writing pieces of verses. Ghalib made the poet Mirza Bedil of Azeemabad (modern Patna) his idol. Mirza Bedil was famous for difficult metaphors and unmatched similes. Ghalib himself was under the influence of sweetness and charm of Persian language. He used too much Persian idiomatic expressions and poetic devices in his Urdu poetry but it was of no use because what he wrote were meaningless poems. His friends and well-wishers would advise him to make his language simple but it went in vain. In Mushairas when he would recite his ghazals, he would not get any applause. Instead, people would taunt him with this she’r (couplet)—

Kalaam e Meer samjhen zubane Meerza samjhen
Magar inka kaha ye khyd samjhen ya khuda samjhe
(We can understand poetry of Meer and meerza but what he says, only he can understand or else God)

In reply Ghalib would say these words---

Na sataish ki tamanna , na sile ki parwah
Na sahi mere ash’ar mein maani na sahi
(I have no desire of applause nor of results, let my poetry have no meaning it doesn’t matter)

The apostle of Urdu ghazals, Meer taqi Meer did a forecasting about Ghalib that this boy could become a great poet if he gets an able teacher otherwise he would say meaningless things all of his life .Perhaps , Ghalib understood the weight of this statement and contemplated on his poetry in the course of his literary life. Later when his Deewan was published, he cut his collection of poems by two third on the advice of his close friends. And the rest what history and world of literature has got is one of the finest creations of man in field of art and philosophy till yet.

When he was young, he wrote in Persian because at that time Urdu was termed as inferior language in comparison with Persian (interestingly he wrote more in Persian than Urdu) but he was primarily called a Urdu because it is his Urdu poetry that gave him name and fame. In beginning Ghalib made his takhallus (pen name) Asad which meant the lion. But later he chose the word Ghalib which now has become a synonym of Urdu poetry. He used this word brilliantly in the last couplet of each ghazal. He would address Mr. Ghalib with a very witty and humorous remark He would make fun of himself. Take an example—

Kaha hai kisne Ghalib bura nahin lekin
Siwaye iske ki aashufta sar hai kya kahiye
(Who says Ghalib is not a wicked man only fault is that he is a nut)

Take another one---
Ka’ba kis munh se jaoge Ghalib
Sharm tum ko magar nahin aati
(Have shame upon yourself Ghalib, how’ll show your face to ka’ba)

Many moments in Ghalib’s life were such as they are unfolding the long reels of cruelty. Ghalib and his family would go hungry and thirsty for many days but he never left hope. He never left his family; instead he adopted children of his brother who had lost his mental balance. He was teased and taunted by his neighbourers but he said nothing to anybody. For eating he fought court cases which were shameful act for a soft writer like him. And think for a while to fetch bread for his family and himself he has to face dark night of prison – Yes, Prison! (It’s not a metaphorical expression). He remained locked in prison for months. See what he wrote in prison –

Zulmat kade mein mere shab e gham kam josh hai
Ek shama hai daleel e sahar woh khamosh hai

Daagh e firaq e sohbat e shab ki jali hui
Ek shama rah gayi hai so woh bhi khamosh hai
(A candle was burnt by the last impression of my meeting with my beloved
Now that candle of hope too is silent)

Ghalib got help from his wealthy wellwishers like nawab of Lharoo for the best part of his life. In last years of 1850s he was appointed as the court poet of Mughal emperor Bahadur Shah Zafar. But it was too late. The revolution of 1857 and its suppression in 1858 snatched everything. Delhi the city he loved too much was transformed into a big graveyard. His children died in front of him. His own health fell like dry leaves. Such a witty and humorous man writes in disappointments –
Ibn e mriyam hua kare koi
Mere dukh ki dawa kare koi
(May there be Jesus, son of Mariyam, but who’ll medicate my woes)

Although there were so many painful moments in his life he remained calm and composed. He faced each and every cruel assault of time and fate with courage and patience. He writes in a letter to Munsh Hargopal tafla (his favourite pupil) – “zindagi ki pareshaniyan to tahayaf hain inhe mardana uthao.”(Difficulties of life are gifts take them with manly attitude)

And really he was master of sensitivities. He knew how to describe the beauty of life’s drama even if you are in immense pain. Even living among tough and toiling hardships he would never forget his tasawur-e-jaanan (reminiscences of beloved). This dog eat dog world was only a bazecha-e-atfal (play ground of children) for him. He did not care for religious extremities. He was equally ignorant towards shaikh and brahman. He wanted only to spread the most subtle and elegant ideas which he was getting from ghaib (unknown divine power), perhaps the most intelligent and sacred sarosh (angels) were guiding him to perform his chosen duty. He could see this world with entirely different pair of eyes for example look at this she”er –

Sab kahan, kuchh laal o gul mein numayan ho gayeen
Khaak mein who kya suratein hongi ke pinhan ho gayeen
(Not all of them only few people in this world are so beautiful that after their death when they are disguised in the soil, the soil gets such an immortal fertility that it produces the most charming and fragrant flowers of this world )

Uff! What a great human he was. Even he couldn’t tolerate the agony but still he was writing about the beauties, fragrance, merry and ecstasy.

He was famous for rare usage of word, unseen and unread metaphors. He gave Urdu poetry some of the classics which will remain fresh for centuries to come. Many of his couplets have been read and recited umpteen numbers of times. They have become ‘zarbul masal’ that is, these couplets are used as proverbs in literary and daily usage of Urdu-Hindi language. Like two of them are

Bahut be aabru hoke tere kooche se hum nikle…….
(I returned from your home with plenty of disgrace)

woh aaye ghar pe mere khuda ki qudrat hai……
(It’s god’s grace that he came to my abode)


One of the reasons which elevate the height of his art of poetry is that he follows the idea of perfect freedom in thought. He had deep knowledge of traditional asset of literature but he didn’t keep himself in the bond of any particular style of thought and art. That’s why his poetry is not a fairytale. It tells about boiling nerves and blood stained heart. He gave us rare and new ideas, and a method to perform them, a philosophical art to think and a way to identify and criticize them. Ghalib sees his own images in mirror which he shows to the world. The story he is narrating is the melancholy commentary of his own experiences and he enjoys it. Ghalib’s personality is not only an article of respect but he is the finest literal company. You may go there with any robe and colour it will recognize you. It already knows about your sufferings so it will give you peace and pleasure. No doubt he possesses a remarkable individuality. He himself says

Ghalib ka hai andaz-e-bayai aur……
(Ghalib’s art of poetry is different from others……)

Ghalib was drunkard by default and died in 1869 due to alcohol he was fond of and that he was drinking for several years. He lived in Agra, he lived in Calcutta, in Benaras in Rampur but he died in his dear city of Delhi. Those zigzag streets in ballimaram behind Jama Masjid still have his imprints. His footmarks from gali qasim jaan to payewalan are still there as living memoirs of this legendary character. His house where he died, his grave where he was buried and several other marks of his life are living and pleasant not sorrowful and mourning as he had advised to his well wishers -

Ghalib e khasta ke beghair kaun se kam band hain
Royie zaar zaar kiya kijiye haye haye kyon

(Nothing in this world will cease to work after this miserable Ghalib then why should anybody mourn and cry for him)


I still remember his wry smile when he shook his hand with mine. His energy traveled through my body to my soul and gave my pen an incredible and renewable source of vitality. I became able to write these words about him who has become an institution in disguise for me.

MILIND