

Ralph Russell (1918-2008) has been widely recognized as the greatest western scholar of Urdu. Khushwant Singh described him as 'much the most revered name of interpreters of Ghalib'. life and works'. For over thirty years he headed the Urdu department at the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, and throughout his life regularly spent time in both India and Pakistan, writing, working with fellow scholars and as a popular lecturer. After his retirement he pioneered the teaching of Urdu to English speakers in communities across the UK, to encourage greater mutual understanding between people of different backgrounds. His unusual skill as a translator and his insightful writing have opened up an appreciation of Urdu literature to a wide range of readers.
Also by Ralph Russell

The Oxford India Ghalib

Ghalib: Life and letters (with Khurshidul Islam)

Ghalib, the poet and his age

Three Mughal Poets: Mir, Sauda, Mir Hasan (with Khurshidul Islam)

The Pursuit of Urdu Literature: A Select History

An Anthology of Urdu Literature

How not to write the History of Urdu literature

Autobiography:

Vol 1: Findings Keepings (1918-1946)

Vol 2: Losses Gains (1945-1958)
In appreciation of Ralph Russell's writing on Urdu literature

'Easily the best Urdu scholar in the West.'

Shamsur Rahman Farouqi, Allahabad

'A superb translator... the best introductory book to put in the hands of any student interested in Urdu poetry.'

C.M. Naim, University of Chicago

'A masterly introduction to the Urdu language's greatest poet.'

Bhupinder Singh, Sunday Tribune

'Those uninitiated in the tradition of ghazals will find this immensely enjoyable.'

Shams Afif Siddiqi, The Telegraph

'A veritable feast for connoisseurs of poetry and students of literature alike.'

A.J. Thomas, Deccan Herald

'Urdu literature has gained immensely from his perspective of an outsider not born to the language.'

Mohammed Asaduddin, Jamia Millia Islamia, Delhi

'No one in the West today speaks with such authority about Urdu or is better able to communicate its pleasures to those who do not read the language.'

Francis Robinson, Times Literary Supplement, London
ROLI BOOKS

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back Cover: Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib by a Mughal artist, 1855. Red Fort Museum, Delhi.

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'These themes I write of come into my mind from the unseen  
Ghalib, the sound my moving pen makes is an angel's voice'
Contents

Foreword

[PART 1  
GHALIB AND HIS POETRY](f7_part1.xhtml)

• Ghalib and the ghazal

• Love, mysticism and dedication

• Images and symbols

• Poetic symbolism and the poet's experience

• A poet in Mughal Delhi

• Poets against fundamentalists

• Ghalib's personal philosophy

• Ghalib on his poetry

[PART 2  
Selections from Ghalib's ghazals ](f16_part2.xhtml)

Appendices:

Index to verses

Poetic vocabulary

Editor's note

About the editor
Foreword

This book is for anyone who has heard that Ghalib is a great poet and wants to find out why his poetry has inspired generations of Urdu speakers and many others besides. You may have tried reading some of it in translation but found it didn't make much sense to you. Or you may have listened to his ghazals being sung and wished you could understand more – but if you cannot read the Urdu script it's difficult to get further on your own. Whatever your starting point, Ralph Russell's insightful writing and translations will make it possible for you to get to know Ghalib's poetry, and open up to you a store of delight.

Part 1: Ghalib and his poetry – explains the form of poetry in which Ghalib wrote, and how he used its symbolism to express his response both to the universal experiences of life and to the times that he himself lived through.

Part 2: Selections from Ghalib's ghazals –  gives over 200 couplets in Ralph Russell's translations, alongside the original Urdu – and not just in Urdu script, but also transcribed using both English and Hindi scripts. If you know no Urdu, you can just read the translations. If you know Hindi or understand even a basic level of spoken Urdu, this unique feature will help you get as close to Ghalib's original poetry as your language knowledge allows.

How to use this book

I suggest you start by reading Part 1. The form of poetry in which Ghalib wrote – the ghazal – comes from a centuries-old tradition and his thoughts and feelings are expressed in its terms. Even in the best translations you may miss the point of what he is saying unless you know something of that tradition. Every significant point in Part 1 is illustrated with examples from Ghalib's ghazals, so as you read you will also be getting to know the poetry – but in a context that makes its meaning clear. Even if you are from an Urdu-speaking background and have heard ghazals recited all your life, you will still find this introduction will help you make sense of things you didn't understand before.

Poetry books are to be dipped into and you may prefer to go straight to the poetry, turning the pages and seeing what catches your eye. Where you come across verses that puzzle you, go back and read Part 1 – and when you have done so you will be able to return to those same verses and understand them in a new way.

Reading Ghalib's own words

For those who know Hindi or spoken Urdu there is an added pleasure in store, in getting nearer to Ghalib's original words. Some verses you will immediately understand for they are expressed in everyday words that are common to Urdu and Hindi. Others will seem to be composed almost entirely of words you don'. know, for Urdu has a rich poetic vocabulary. But by comparing the transcribed verse with the translation you can begin to puzzle it out, and the Poetic vocabulary has been added to help you. Many words carry symbolic meaning. Part 1 will start you off with a general understanding of this symbolism, and as you work through the couplets you will begin to recognize more of these. The ideas behind the words will begin to weave together and each couplet will create its own succinct spell of meaning.

For all readers, the Index of verses will help you find a verse if you can remember how it starts. If it was mentioned in Part 1, the English index will also take you back there to give you a context. The selections of poetry in Part 2 are arranged in the traditional ghazal order, that is, alphabetically by the last letter in the rhyme. The numbers in the Urdu index will help you locate the whole ghazal in any published collection.

~

What makes this book different from any other introduction to Ghalib's poetry is the unusual qualities of the author, Ralph Russell. Those who have grown up with Urdu poetry take its form and cultural content for granted – and seeing no difficulties, they cannot easily help newcomers through them. Ralph Russell's response to Urdu poetry was deep and personal but he did not forget how puzzling it had seemed to him at first, and he drew on this experience to find ways to help others over those initial barriers. His readers often say that when they read his books they feel they are listening to him talk, as he explains just what they need to know. This is how one described it – Deepak Kirpalani, a Gujarati speaker whose love of film songs led him to want to find out more about Urdu poetry: 'Ralph Russell's book was unlike anything I had come across before. It combined the knowledge of an expert with the tone of a guide and the familiarity of a favourite uncle who took you as a child to the ice cream vendor or the cricket ground.'

As a translator, Ralph Russell's aim was to let Ghalib speak as directly as possible to an English reader. His translations are as concise as the original, matching Ghalib's intensity with words chosen to convey precise meaning; and they do this in English which flows naturally and with unobtrusive poetic metre. There is a spare, unadorned quality about them that lingers in the mind far longer than flowery language would.

In his last years he talked of drawing on all that he had written over forty years to produce one definitive introduction to Ghalib's poetry. He knew he would not have the energy to do this before he died, so he explained in detail what he intended and entrusted the selection and editing to me. The Editor's Note explains what he wanted done and how I have tried to carry that out.

I am one of the many people who would not have found my way to appreciating Ghalib's poetry if it had not been for Ralph Russell's engaging writing and his lucid translations. I hope that with this book in your hands, you too will discover that pleasure.

Marion Molteno  
London, 2015
Part 1

Ghalib and his Poetry
Ghalib and the ghazal

Ghalib was one of the greatest poets South Asia ever produced, and in my view the greatest poet of two of its great literary languages, Persian and Urdu. His poems are recited and sung wherever Urdu speakers have settled. Many of his verses have become proverbial, part of the everyday life of Urdu speakers much as phrases from Shakespeare have become in English. If his language had been English he would long ago have been recognized all over the world as a great poet. My translations are an attempt to present some of his poetry in English dress so that English speakers may be able to judge his work for themselves.

As is the case with all great poets, there is much in his poetry that needs no explanation for it deals with themes that are universal and are intelligible everywhere, but there is also much that will be difficult to appreciate fully unless one knows something about the times he lived in and the poetic conventions through which poets of his time expressed themselves. Yet he is a surprisingly modern poet, speaking through traditional forms in ways that can make a powerful impact even today.

A poet in the time of Mughal decline

Ghalib was born in 1797 and died in 1869. He lived most of his adult life in Delhi, at a time of political transition when the way of life of the community to which he belonged was under threat. He was part of the predominantly Muslim elite that prided itself on its association with the Mughal dynasty that for centuries had dominated much of India, but whose political role was now in rapid decline. In its heyday, Delhi had been the centre of a vast empire, and the splendour of its court had drawn people of talent and energy from all over central Asia. Ghalib's grandfather was one – he came to seek his fortune as a military commander at the court of the Mughal emperor, and Ghalib's father and uncle had continued in this tradition. They inhabited a medieval world where a noble entered the service of a more powerful overlord to whom he pledged his service in war in return for the wealth and rank appropriate to his position. But during the century before Ghalib's birth, Mughal power had been drastically eroded by successive struggles for the throne, and large areas had seceded to form independent states under great nobles whom the centre was no longer able to control. Meanwhile the British were gradually extending their influence across north India and in 1803, when Ghalib was still a child, they occupied Delhi. From then on they controlled the Emperor, allowing him to maintain the outward forms of power but with none of the reality.

All this time, the thought and feeling of the Muslim nobility was dominated by a bitter awareness of their political decline and a nostalgic yearning for the return of former glory. Ghalib too prided himself on his membership of the old ruling elite and – more significantly – shared its ideals of personal conduct, which he regretted were now less and less observed in practice. But by the time he came to manhood it was clear to realistic minds, his among them, that to think of a restoration of the old order was to yearn for the impossible. He adapted to the changes happening around him, and though culturally a traditionalist, his enquiring mind and independent spirit led him to challenge many of the assumptions of the society he had grown up in, and to form his own judgments on important aspects of life.

Urdu and Persian

To understand the cultural atmosphere in which he lived and wrote, it is important to first know something about the relationship between Urdu and Persian in this period. The succession of Muslim dynasties who had ruled the greater part of northern India had come originally from central Asia, and the lands they ruled were part of that vast area of the Islamic world in which Persian was both the language of government and diplomacy, and the language of culture, just as Latin had been in medieval Europe. No cultured North Indian Muslim before the beginning of the eighteenth century would have dreamed of writing poetry in any other language.

Urdu had developed out of the need of Muslim rulers for a language in which to communicate with their Indian subjects. It shares its homeland with Hindi – the two languages are, linguistically, variants of each other and at the level of everyday spoken transactions are almost identical. As literary languages they are considerably different; where Hindi links culturally to Sanskrit, Urdu uses the Persian script and draws heavily on Persian for its higher vocabulary, and through Persian on Arabic. Like many of the modern languages of Europe, Urdu had to establish itself as a literary medium in the face of a convention that only a classical language could be a fit vehicle for poetry. This happened because many Indians had begun to feel that they could not express themselves as adequately as they would wish in Persian, and major poets appeared who wrote in their mother tongue, Urdu. But all Urdu poets were familiar with the literary heritage of Persian and many still wrote some of their verse in it (just as in England Milton wrote verse in Latin as well as in English). Thus Urdu poetry represents, in a sense, a further development of a literature already centuries old, with only the language changed. Urdu poets had ready to hand all the rich tradition of Persian poetry and they made full use of it – its verse forms, its metres, its delight in verbal conceits, its major themes, and its expression of the teachings of Islamic mysticism. But the use of the mother tongue helped Urdu speakers convey an intensity in their poetry which they could not have expressed in Persian.

Urdu had become accepted as a medium of poetry about a century before Ghalib started writing, but he was one of those who regretted this change and continued to write in Persian as well as in the new medium. He had been given the education traditional to the sons of the aristocracy and had begun writing poetry in both Urdu and Persian in childhood. For some years he had enjoyed the inestimable advantage that his teacher had Persian as his mother tongue, something that was by now extremely rare in India and which no doubt gave added impetus to his poetic ambitions. By the time he moved to Delhi in his late teens he had already written a substantial amount and was making a name for himself as a poet.

That he chose to express himself primarily in poetry is unsurprising. For him and his contemporaries, poetry was the natural medium of expression. Prose literature never commanded the same esteem as poetry did. Poetry was seen as a vital part of life, the highest of arts, and is still the part of their literature which Urdu speakers most value.

The man and the poet

Ghalib was a remarkable man in many ways, remarkable not only for his poetic skill but for his intellectual power, his originality, his unconventional attitudes, his generosity, and his wit. He made a great impression on those who knew him and countless anecdotes about him were circulating among his contemporaries long before they were written down. Many are about his unorthodox attitudes to religion and his wit in deflecting criticism of his behaviour. He seems to have accepted the main tenets of Islam but had a cheerful irreverence towards established religion, and certainly towards its ritual observances. It was well known that he never said the five daily prayers and never fasted during Ramzan, when for a month Muslims are expected not to eat or drink between dawn and dusk. And he openly drank wine, which is not permitted to a true Muslim, and far from attempting to conceal his liking for it he openly sang its praises. He would not be drawn into any serious discussion about it and he could rarely resist the temptation to make fun of people who tried to lecture him. His younger friend and fellow poet Altaf Hussain Hali, whose later Memoir of Ghalib is justly regarded as a classic of Urdu literature, described an occasion when a man in Ghalib's presence strongly condemned wine-drinking and said that the prayers of the wine-drinker are never granted. Ghalib replied, 'My friend, if a man has wine, what does he need to pray for?'

Hali gives us a glimpse of how Ghalib wrote:

He often used to compose his verses at night, under the influence of wine. When he had worked out a complete verse he would tie a knot in his sash, and there would be as many as eight to ten knots by the time he retired to bed. In the morning he would recall them, with no other aid to his memory, and would write them down.

He was a man with a great zest for life. He took himself very seriously as a poet and worked with dedication at his art, but he was also sociable and had a relaxed enjoyment of life's pleasures. He had a wide circle of friends, many of whom were also poets, and maintained a vast correspondence. His frankness about himself in his letters is a major source of what is known about him. These letters are like conversations, and show him to be warm, humorous, blunt when he disagreed, genuinely interested in what was happening to his friends, and supportive to them in their troubles.

He had friends in all communities – race and religious affiliation were alike irrelevant to him. One of his letters says: 'I hold all mankind to be my kin and look upon all men – Muslim, Hindu, Christian – as my brothers, no matter what others may think.'

The ghazal

Ghalib wrote almost all his Urdu poetry and a substantial part of his Persian in a form called the ghazal, one of a number of traditional genres which stemmed originally from medieval Arabic, were then adopted in Persian, and later still in Urdu. It was and is still by far the most popular of the traditional genres. The ghazal is a relatively short poem, comprising a series of two-line verses (couplets), each independent in meaning but knit together by a strict metre and rhyme scheme. Each couplet encapsulates a complete thought or feeling. The couplets can be on any theme and Ghalib wrote on a wide range:

– the delight of a lover:

With only half your charm you lay the base of a new world  
A new earth is created and new heavens start to turn

– barbed attacks on religious orthodoxy:

They offer paradise to make up for our life below  
It needs a stronger wine than this to cure our hangover

– the tensions of one who struggles with his own temperament:

I grapple with that fragment of ill fate that is my untamed heart, The enemy of ease, the friend of reckless wandering

– philosophical reflections:

Though it play only strains of grief, my heart, yet you must   
treasure them  
The music of this lute of life will all be stilled one day

Only exceptionally are the couplets linked in a connected statement or theme. Even the mood may change completely from couplet to couplet. These sudden shifts may be disconcerting to readers not used to this style of poetry for it is almost impossible for people used to a different tradition of poetry to put aside the expectation that a poem should have a unity of theme and tone. But there are solid reasons for it which are not obvious to people whose normal mode of encountering poetry is in reading it. That was not, and still is not, the way in which the Urdu lover of poetry (and almost every Urdu speaker was, and is, one) encountered the ghazal. It is significant that in Urdu idiom verse is not written, it is spoken, and the poet who 'says' it presents it to the audience by reciting it to them; only later does it appear in print. If it becomes popular it may be sung, and so spread to a wider audience still.

Poetry to listen to

Poetry in this tradition is first presented in a musha'ira, a gathering in which numbers of poets assemble to recite their verse. This is how Ghalib's poetry would first have been heard. A musha'ira, can be small and informal, in someone's home, or a large public event. There is always an element of competition among poets, especially when – as was often the case in Ghalib's day – the host would prescribe beforehand a half-line of verse which each of the poets attending had to incorporate in their own ghazal, with both metre and rhyme prescribed for them. Each couplet would be assessed by the listeners/audience as the poet recited it, and approval, indifference or disapproval politely but unmistakably expressed.

Poets who compose in this tradition need qualities which are not needed by those whose poetry will primarily be read. Besides the essential qualities of a poet, they need something of the talents of an orator, a debater, and an actor. They have to be able to hold their audience in competition with their fellow poets, and react sensitively to the audience's changing moods. The musha'ira is a long drawn-out affair which can last for hours and the poets' main enemy is monotony – they cannot hope to keep their audience's attention without variety. Unless the ghazal is one of quite exceptional force, uniformity of tone and emotional pitch are likely to pall. Poets commonly strive to make their impact in two or three couplets only, and intersperse them with others which will be liked, will ease the emotional tension, and even on occasion provide a certain comic relief. The audience will find adequate satisfaction in a couplet which has little to say but says it in a manner that demonstrates the poet's ability to manipulate with ease the metres, rhymes, and complex figures of speech and thought of which any poet is expected to be master. Verses like this are not of course great poetry, but we should not make the mistake of imagining that the people who compose them think they are. Their purpose is simply to heighten the impact of the verses into which they have put what they most want to convey. The audience knows all this, takes it in their stride, and enjoys it all; but what they remember afterwards are the good verses.

The ghazal form

There are aspects of the ghazal form which listeners enjoy that are not always obvious in a translation, but it will help to know something about them. Because a ghazal is primarily intended to be heard, its sound patterns – metre and rhyme – are strongly marked. It is these, and only these, which hold different couplets of a ghazal together. Traditionally, a ghazal has been compared to a pearl necklace – each couplet is an individual pearl, connected to the others by the thread – the metre and rhyme pattern – on which they are strung. (This is not an entirely apt comparison, for not every couplet is a pearl or indeed a precious stone of any kind!)

Urdu poetic metres are considerably more complex than those commonly used in English poetry – there are scores for the poet to choose from, but once chosen, the metre must be followed without variation throughout all the couplets of that ghazal and is the key to what makes it feel a single poem. Competence in handling metre is an essential poetic skill. The rules of how words fit metres are complex; even those who have grown up listening to poetry are unlikely to be able to explain them but they will hear if a verse does not scan properly or if it is misquoted with words that don't fit the metre. Ghalib had about seven favourite metres that he used again and again in his ghazals, and many others that he used more rarely.

Rhyme is equally important. The two lines of the first couplet rhyme, and this same rhyme is repeated in the second line of all the others – so the pattern is AA, BA, CA, DA and so on. The rhyme has an extra dimension which can affect the sense as well as the sound. It has two parts, called, in the usual English translation of the Urdu terms, 'rhyme' and 'end-rhyme'. The end-rhyme is a word or a phrase – sometimes quite long – that follows the rhyming word, and is identical in each couplet. This translation of the first verse of a ghazal by Mir, Ghalib's great eighteenth-century predecessor, is an apt example:

Perhaps the flower in spring compares with you  
Yet what created thing compares with you?

Or this one of Ghalib's:

The world is but a game that children play before my eyes  
A spectacle that passes night and day before my eyes

A long end-rhyme makes a particular appeal, for once listeners have heard the first couplet they know how all the other couplets will end. They wait for it and when it comes they join in, reciting the ending along with the poet. Everyone who has seen this happening knows how much they enjoy this.

The repeated end-rhyme words sometimes create a link of mood across the otherwise independent couplets of the ghazal. Here is an example from a ghazal of Ghalib's with end-rhyme na sahi. I have translated sahi as 'be it so', and na means 'not' – and each couplet speaks of the need to come to terms with a situation which is not what one would like but with which one must nevertheless be content. Here Ghalib accepts that grief is inevitable:

Home is not home unless it holds the turmoil of strong feeling If there are cries of grief, not songs of joy, then be it so.

\- that his poetry may not be understood:

I do not long for people's praise; I seek no one's reward  
And if they say my verses have no meaning, be it so.

– that life is too short:

Treasure the joy of life spent in the company of fair women Ghalib, though you may not live life's full span, well, be it so!

Occasionally, the meaning of the end-rhyme is so specific that the couplets seem to cohere into something much closer to what English-speakers are used to in a poem – as in these from one of Ghalib's Persian ghazals:

The waves are rising high and wreckage floats on them. Why be afraid?  
With you I have no fear of fear – I'm not afraid I'll be afraid

In that house where a lamp burns bright a man feels no uneasiness In this dark corner of the earth I have my heart. Why be afraid?

When you are happy with me, if the times are out of joint,   
why fear?  
When you are true to me, what if the heavens are cruel? Why  
be afraid?

But this degree of thematic unity is the exception rather than the norm. Shorter end rhymes are more common, providing a link in sound pattern but little in meaning.

Ghalib took it for granted that to write poetry meant to work within the strict forms that tradition had prescribed. Ideally I would like to reflect this by translating his ghazals into a form which maintains the rhyme scheme. But the stubborn and unalterable fact is that while in Urdu there are rhymes in abundance and rhyming is easy, this is not the case in English. Only rarely can one find in English a good, consistent rhyme which one can maintain through all the verses of a ghazal without distorting the sense or the quality of the poetry. So while my translations are all in poetic metre, I have usually not attempted to make couplets in the same ghazal rhyme. You as the reader will just have to imagine this as an added dimension that Urdu speakers enjoy.

Since it is only these features of form that give a ghazal its unity, there is in most cases little point in presenting whole ghazals in translation. Ghalib himself defined poetry as 'the creation of meaning, not the matching of rhymes'. It is the couplet which is the unit of meaning, so in this book I have not presented whole ghazals but let the couplets stand independently.

The poet's signature

The last couplet of a ghazal has a special feature: the poet must include a pen-name (takhallus), rather like a signature. 'Ghalib' is such a pen-name – his actual name was Asadullah Khan. Using it creates the effect that poets are speaking about themselves in the third person (... Ghalib says...). And there are ways that poets can play with the convention. Here Ghalib uses it to suggest that someone is trying to reason him into being sensible:

Ghalib, what do you hope to gain that you should taunt her as you do?  
You tell her that she is unkind. Will that, then, make her kind to you?

He may use it ironically – as here, where someone upbraids him for his well-known disregard of religious observance:

Ghalib, you have the face to go to Mecca?  
But then you never feel a sense of shame

– or in this verse, where the woman he is wooing uses his name, but only to put him down:

She is perplexed. She asks me, 'Who is Ghalib?'  
Tell me, someone, what answer can I give?

– and here he fends off rejection with wit:

I grant that you are right, Ghalib is nothing  
But if you get him free, then what'. the harm?

Sometimes it creates the effect that he is observing himself from the outside, and this can underline the strength of feeling:

All that she is puts Ghalib's soul in turmoil  
All that she says, and hints, and looks, and does

The art of the couplet

There is an art to appreciating ghazals which can be easily cultivated. To Ghalib's audience it came naturally, and it does still to Urdu speakers who have grown up with the ghazal. People used to a different kind of poetry may find it takes an initial conscious effort to cross a barrier of cultural difference, but this will be amply rewarded.

The starting point is to recognize what a couplet can and can'. do. Poetry in which everything has to be said in two lines cannot set a scene, tell a story, track fluctuating emotions, explore layers of memory. What it does lend itself to is the succinct expression of states of mind and feeling. Ghalib's couplets offer us wonderful distilled moments – the quiet joy when desire is unexpectedly fulfilled:

At last she came into my home – such is the power of God! Sometimes I turn my gaze on her, sometimes upon my home

Awareness of the transience of all existence:

Not one created atom here but what is destined to decay   
The sun on high a lamp that gutters in the windy street

The experience of union and separation:

Without you, just as wine within the glass is parted from it  
My soul is in my body, but is not a part of it

A poetic form as brief as this makes more demands on the reader than you may be used to. The words must go straight to the heart of a situation and that leaves you having to imagine how it arose. Who is speaking? To whom? What events might have led up to it? Sometimes you feel you are hearing the last lines of a story:

It was her beauty I described, and my words that described it  
And he is now my rival who was once my confidant

The context and significance of a verse may be obvious, or it may be a challenge to work out – but this is part of the pleasure.

Poetic effects

The poetic effects that Ghalib creates come partly from the connotations that words and images carry from long use. This makes ghazals notoriously difficult to translate – though the main sense of each word can be translated, the effect on the reader will not be the same. However, even in translation it's possible to get a sense of these poetic effects. As one reads one becomes increasingly aware of Ghalib's skill in conveying complex meaning concisely. He plays with contrasts:

I sought my own delight and found abundant misery  
Good news for any enemy that I may seek to harm

He may use two closely related words, each with its own connotations – here it is the ambiguity between 'man' and 'human':

Exceeding difficult an easy task can prove to be  
Not every man can manage to achieve humanity

He may strengthen the impact with   
balancing phrases, two images that reinforce each other – as here, to evoke our helplessness to control the course of events:

The steed of life runs on. None knows where it will stay its course  
The reins have fallen from our hands, the stirrups from our feet

He says things that sound simple but set you thinking – what does he actually mean?

I am so far away that even I  
Have not the least awareness where I am

He can state a profound religious paradox without using one complex word:

When nothing was, then God was there; had nothing been, God would have been  
My being has defeated me: had I not been, what would have been?

He turns a situation on its head to create unexpected insights:

Had he not robbed me in the day, could I have slept so sound at night?  
I feel no more the fear of theft. My blessings on the highwayman!

This couplet also points to one of the fundamental themes in Ghalib's poetry – it is through our response to crisis that we develop real understanding. Here he uses the image of lightning to evoke a sudden, potentially destructive experience, which nevertheless illuminates:

We pass our lives in journeying in constant restlessness  
This year it is the lightning, not the sun, that marks time'. course.
Love, mysticism and dedication

Almost all of Ghalib's most popular ghazals have couplets about , love. Love is a major theme in all ghazal poetry – the word 'ghazal' itself originally meant something like 'conversation between lovers'.

Ghalib on love

Because love is a universal experience, people in all places, in all times, will be able to respond to much of Ghalib's love poetry. With the conciseness of which he is a master, he evokes the heightened, fluctuating feelings of someone caught up in love. The sense of wonder:

Your radiance gives being to the world –  
The sun's light shines in every particle

– being overwhelmed by desire:

Desires in thousands – each so strong it takes away my breath anew   
And many longings were fulfilled – many, but even so, too few

– the joy when love is returned:

Sleep is for him, and pride for him,  
and nights for him Upon whose arm your lovely tresses all dishevelled lay

– the confusion when it is withdrawn:

Lord, how the passion of my heart recoils upon me! Why is it  
The more I strive to draw her close, the more she draws away?

– the compulsion to love, even when it is useless:

O foolish heart, what has befallen you?  
Do you not know this sickness has no cure?

But not all his verses on love are easy to convey in English. I try to get as close as possible to an unrealizable ideal, which is to produce in English what Ghalib would have written himself had English, and not Urdu, been his mother tongue. But language is not the only issue – ghazal poets write within a cultural idiom which is foreign to English speakers, and there are many verses whose significance can only be appreciated if you know something about this. Two features of it need spelling out. The first is the constraints on love in the essentially medieval society in which ghazal poets lived. The second is the concept of love that derives from the ghazal's origins in mysticism.

Love in medieval society

The ghazal is the poetry of what may loosely be called a medieval society, and the parallels between the ghazal and the love poetry of medieval Western Europe are very striking. Both reflect the conditions of lovers in a society whose structure was hierarchical and whose norms of conduct were strictly prescribed, enforced by the overwhelming pressure of public opinion, backed by religious conviction. In such societies, romantic love was regarded as a menace to ordered social life. It had nothing to do with marriage, which was an alliance between families whose purpose was to maintain their social and economic status. The ghazal – the poetry of intense romantic love – celebrates a love that in the society which produced it could only be illicit.

The institution of purdah, that most drastic form of segregation of the sexes, was designed to make falling in love impossible. Young girls and women were kept in the strictest seclusion. Houses were divided into two separate parts, one for the men and one for the women, and from puberty onwards boys and girls were kept strictly apart. No male outside closest kin could so much as see a woman's face. Every girl was destined to be married, but the arrangement of marriage was considered far too important a matter to be left to the inclinations of youngsters – it required maturity and experience which they could not possibly possess. What they did possess was the desires, romantic yearnings and sexual feelings natural to any young person, and all responsible parents felt it to be their duty to arrange a suitable marriage for them before such emotions led them astray. Early marriage, and an even earlier betrothal, so binding that it could be broken only at the cost of great scandal, was favoured. Ghalib's own early marriage is an example – he was thirteen and the girl eleven.

But even in societies with the strictest surveillance, people still fall passionately in love, and when they do the results are drastic. A man may catch an accidental sight of a young woman outside his family – perhaps as Ghalib pictures it here, on the roof of an adjoining house, where in the hottest weather people take their midday siesta or sleep at night:

I long once more to see one standing there upon the roof  
Black tresses loosed to play dishevelled all about her face

Such tantalizing glimpses generated impossible longing:

You came and went before my eyes like lightning flashing. Why? Could you not speak to me? My ears were thirsting for your words

Love at first sight was almost the only possibility, and those who were bold enough to act on these feelings might stay awake and cross surreptitiously from one roof to another. It was a Romeo and Juliet situation, and the expression of the lovers' intense feelings is often strikingly similar:

Parting and meeting – each of them has its distinctive joy  
Leave me a thousand times: come back a hundred thousand times

But with early marriage as the norm, any girl old enough to be capable of passionate love was already either married or betrothed, and any man who thought himself in love on the basis of such stolen moments would provoke extreme anger and outrage. Lovers who were discovered meeting secretly could be killed, and even where the families shrank from so violent a reaction, they would be forcibly separated and face the strongest condemnation. When Ghalib, in the voice of the poet-lover, says:

Who knows what I am raving in my madness?  
God grant that nobody can understand

– he speaks as one who knows that if people do understand, he will face drastic consequences. And since the lovers were inextricably part of the society that condemned them, to be caught up in passionate love was a tragedy for all concerned.

For the ghazal lover, driven by desires which could not be openly expressed, love was an overwhelming experience. It transformed his view of what matters, giving him the desperate courage to challenge the values of the society in which he lived. He would be constantly aware that being in love was potentially a calamity. Ghalib tells a would-be lover that he will have to be ready to face all the barriers to love which society erects:

Yes, one day you'll win kisses from those lips, but you will need  
To summon boundless love and reckless courage to your aid

Not the least of the obstacles the lover faced would be the reaction of the woman he had fallen in love with, for – faced with the danger which his unsolicited and possibly unwelcome attention was certain to bring, she would almost certainly be unresponsive, even, in his eyes, cold and heartless. Even if she felt drawn to him she would need to test his loyalty before she could feel sure that no matter what it cost him he would be true to her. This drama is played out in verse after verse of the ghazal. She responds – she withdraws – she is hostile – leaving him never certain of what her actual feelings are:

She fights me, and I tell myself she loves me  
When she feels nothing, what can I dream then?

What the lover most consistently expresses is his complete dedication – and he would have to be dedicated, to continue in love in such circumstances. He is careless of risk – in the ghazal image he stands in the lane outside her house, waiting for a sight of her. To others, such open defiance is close to madness – and divana, which means mad, is the word often used to describe someone in the throes of intense love. He seems lost to all other considerations, continuing to love her regardless of how she behaves. It is useless for friends to try to counsel more sensible behaviour:

No, she does not bow down to God; yes, she is faithless too. Now go!  
If I had prized my heart and faith, would I have gone into her lane?

In all societies, passionate love may entail suffering and distress; in the kind of society that produced the Persian and the Urdu ghazal, it invariably did. The very much more fortunate lover in the modern West can best envisage this situation by imagining what lovers of different races could face in South Africa in the period of apartheid or in the southern states of the USA. Even today, similar situations occur, where lovers know that their love will bring pain, shame and anger to almost all around them, and not least to those whom they themselves hold most dear, their parents and their family. In the social setting of the ghazal it was not considerations of race or colour that gave rise to these intense, bitter and distressing feelings, but any passionate love, which was seen in just the same way as subversive of the foundations of ordered society.

The metaphoric interpretation

The expressions of love in the ghazal convey the inevitable intensity of this situation. But though the pictures the poet summons reflect real life, they are often intended to be taken metaphorically. This is an absolutely central feature of the ghazal, and essential to an understanding of what Ghalib is saying in couplets that express his dedication as a lover. In the last verse quoted he says:

If I had prized my heart and faith, would I have gone into her lane?

No one listening to him would have been likely to imagine him literally waiting in the lane where his beloved lived. For love in the ghazal can represent any experience of dedication as intense, as committed, as careless of the consequences, as that of a lover prepared to expose himself to the dangers his behaviour is likely to bring upon him. Essentially what the ghazal celebrates is the ability to be steadfast in the face of this.

Look for instance at this verse:

Love's madness brings no loss. What if my home goes all to ruin?  
A desert for a plot of land is not a bad exchange!

The literal picture is of a lover who has risked all for his love and is now cast out by society, to wander in the desert. But few listeners would take this picture literally. What they hear is that Ghalib is affirming his commitment to live in the way he thinks is right, even though he knows this will earn him the hostility of society; and that he will accept calmly the misfortunes which this will inevitably bring. He consoles himself that all he has lost is the narrow confines of conventional society – and in its place he has acquired a kind of freedom – symbolized by the vast emptiness of the desert. This is an interpretation that would have been familiar to all in Ghalib's audience; and to fully appreciate it we need to go back to the ghazal's origins in Islamic mysticism.

Mystic love

Many of the early Persian poets – including Hafiz and Rumi – were followers of a sufi mystical tradition in Islam. To the mystic, 'love' meant love of two kinds – love of human beings for one another, and love of God. The soul's longing for God owes as little to reason as does a lover's involuntary, powerful attraction to a human beloved, and it is on this direct, deeply emotional relationship with God that the whole structure of mystic love is built. The mystic poets used situations of passionate human love as a metaphor, to communicate the intensity of their longing for mystic union with the Divine Beloved. They called one kind of love majazi – symbolic – and the other haqiqi – real; and the modern English reader may be disconcerted to discover that it was mystic love which was considered 'real', while love in the sense of 'being in love' was 'symbolic'.

The intertwining of these two kinds of love is central to the ghazal. Dard, an Urdu poet who lived a century before Ghalib, wrote:

As long as I can speak it will be you I seek  
As long as I can speak it is of you I speak

The longing that I feel is longing for you  
And when I yearn, it is for you I yearn

What is it draws my inner eye towards you?  
No matter where I turn you are before me

Urdu has no capital letters, and no one can tell whether the English translator should write 'you' – a beloved person – or 'You', for God. Nor does it matter. The lines are equally valid whichever meaning one attaches to 'you'.

Urdu speakers accept without difficulty that the most sensuous expressions of love for a human beloved can be valid allegorical statements of love for God. In this respect too the ghazal bears a striking resemblance to the love poetry of medieval Western Europe. This readiness to identify God with a beautiful woman should be a salutary jolt to the preconceptions of societies which have always imagined God as male. Perhaps the example of this parallelism best known to English readers is in the Song of Songs in the Old Testament, where the sensual, detailed description of his beloved's body is headed, 'Christ sets forth the graces of the Church'.

Few Urdu poets were in real life mystics in any very meaningful sense of the term – Dard is the most famous. Ghalib certainly was not. But even in the hands of poets who are not themselves mystics the symbolism of the ghazal moves simultaneously on the different planes of human love and what is commonly called mystic love (though not using the term in its precise religious sense). Readers need to be constantly alert for these double meanings. When Ghalib says:

Though I do not understand her words, and may not know her heart  
Is it not enough that one so beautiful now speaks to me?

– the first interpretation that occurs to the listener is in terms of human love. But if he is speaking as a mystic-lover, it could be God's intentions that he cannot understand, yet all of creation is so beautiful that it is enough to keep him believing that there is a God.

Ghalib shared the mystics' conviction that being close to God was not a function of supposed 'piety' but of the feelings in the heart. They rejected both narrow-minded religious orthodoxy and the concern of conventional society with wealth and social status, and the ghazal poet symbolically identifies with them in the person of the darvesh or faqir – words in which the sense of beggar and holy-man are still closely associated. Though Ghalib's way of life was far from that of a faqir, he believed as they did that the cardinal religious command is to love others:

'Do good to others: good will come to you'  
This, this alone is the darvesh's cry

– and that goodness is expressed in how people behave to others:

Ghalib, I dress myself in beggar's clothing  
And watch the way the bountiful behave

The conflict between mysticism and orthodoxy

What all the really worthwhile Urdu poets have in common with the mystics is a sense of dedication to ideals which they feel to be greater than themselves and which they know are likely to bring them into varying degrees of conflict with most of their contemporaries. For just as a lover had to face the hostility of conventional society, so too did the mystic. If your overriding aim in life is to draw ever closer to your God, then the great ones of this world are unimportant in your eyes. You rely on your love of God to guide you and do not need the advice of learned divines, nor do you accept their pretensions to be in some special sense the guardians of true religion. This made mysticism a doctrine potentially subversive of authority in medieval society and therefore deeply suspect to it.

We can piece together from the verses of the great ghazal poets many of the mystics' beliefs, and can readily understand why the orthodox hated them and why this hatred was most cordially returned. Some of the leading ideas are these: The worship of God means the love of God. Rituals of worship are of no significance as compared with this. Of the five duties of a Muslim (faith, prayer, fasting, almsgiving and pilgrimage) only the first is essential. Performance of the others may conceivably help you to draw closer to God but mostly they are positively harmful, for they lead you to see religion as the hollow performance of external rituals, which may lead to an arrogant self-satisfaction that you are 'not as other men are'.

In the ghazal this radical, potentially subversive trend in mysticism is made quite explicit and, like almost everything else in the ghazal, is carried to an extreme. The hero of the ghazal poet in his mystic role was Mansur al Hallaj, who lived a couple of centuries before the great masters of the Persian ghazal. He was crucified by the orthodox in 922 of the Christian Era, for crying out 'anal haq! anal haq!' ('I am God! I am God!'). To the mystic these words express the complete merging of the individual soul in the Divine Beloved; to the orthodox they are unspeakable blasphemy. The poet Mir has a verse:

You must have heard what happened to Mansur –  
Here, if you speak the truth, they crucify you.

In Mir's original, the word that I have translated as 'truth' is haq- but 'truth' is only one of several meanings it can have. The Urdu reader knows that it is the same word as that which Mansur used in the sense of 'God'. In the convention of the ghazal the poet-lover's position is Mansur's position – someone who speaks the truth to a hostile world and pays the penalty for it.

With this in mind, look now at this verse, where Ghalib talks of remaining dedicated despite being cruelly treated:

Though I have passed my life in pledge to all the age's cruelties  
Yet never was the thought of you once absent from my mind

It is clear that he has suffered – 'in pledge to' means 'at the mercy of'. It is also clear that he has remained steadfast. What is (deliberately) not clear is – who or what is 'you'? We may imagine 'you' to be a woman he has loved for years, even though loving her is the cause of his suffering. But it may equally be God, whom he continues to believe in despite all the suffering life has brought him.

For God appears to inflict upon those who love Him [Her] suffering which in our human frailty we find hard to conceive of as justified – yet the mystic lover accepts it. And though elsewhere Ghalib rails against God's injustice, he too ultimately accepts it. When writing about the traumatic events of the revolt of 1857 when many of his friends were brutally murdered, he could still say:

God sets the skies in motion. Understand then   
Nothing that comes from them can be unjust

Whatever God – the Divine Beloved – ordains for him, it does not diminish his dedication. He responds as a mystic lover:

We, ignorant and powerless, maintain our love for  
You Intoxicated always with a wine that does not fail

Love as dedication

The metaphoric interpretation of love in the ghazal derives from the mystic concept of love of God but is in fact considerably broader than what most people today would understand by this. As the twentieth century ghazal poet, Hasrat Mohani, puts it:

All love is unconditionally good  
Be it for God, be it for human beauty

– and the key words here are all love. The love of which the poet speaks may be any intense love – passionate love for a man or woman, dedication to an intimate friend, or to any deeply felt humanistic ideal – moral, social or political. For the poet-as-mystic conceives of all these loves as being simply aspects of a single love that embraces them all, or at any rate that can embrace them all.

To the early mystics, and equally to people in Ghalib's day, values and ideals of life were always conceived of in religious terms – there was no intellectual framework other than religion within which they could formulate them. Today there are still many people for whom religious belief forms the basis of their approach to life but there are many others whose values and ideals are expressed in entirely secular terms. Urdu poetry will speak to them more powerfully if they think of the poets' assertion of love of God as an expression of commitment to their highest ideals of life and conduct.

This multi-level possibility is the key to understanding much of what Ghalib says. For him, a life guided by love is one lived with dedication to your own deepest values. Look again at this couplet:

Though I have passed my life in pledge to all the age's cruelties  
Yet never was the thought of you once absent from my mind

We have seen that 'You' may be a woman he loves, and it may be God – but it might equally have been other kinds of dedication – Ghalib's own adherence to principle – his intellectual integrity, perhaps, which he consistently refused to compromise even when it would have been to his material benefit to do so. But whatever interpretation we put on 'you', what the verse affirms is something about himself - his ability to remain steadfast in his commitment, regardless of what this may cost him.

The universality of the ghazal

You can look back now on practically any couplet on love and read it in this additional sense. There are some which one naturally takes as referring to human lovers; others which seem most naturally interpreted at a mystic or metaphoric level, but many can be taken in any of these senses or in all at the same time. Look at this verse, which speaks of the nature of love itself:

No one can govern love, Ghalib. This is a kind of  
fire No one can kindle; and no one can put out

What he says obviously fits being-in-love; but it could also apply to the unconditional love of parent for child, or an exceptionally close friendship. It could refer to love of God, or the dedication of a musician or artist or poet to their art. And the same is true here, where he talks of love's transforming power:

Love furnishes the pride of those whose hearts are truly humble  
Makes every grain of sand a desert, every drop a sea

There is no certain means of knowing the sense that was uppermost in Ghalib's mind in composing these or any other verses, but we do know that he was fully aware of the whole range of possible interpretations and was content with the knowledge that different listeners would take a verse in different senses. This great diversity of possible meanings presents no problem to the ghazal's traditional audience. In fact, it is this very universality that gives it its strongest appeal. For every verse can serve (to apply Olive Schreiner's words) as 'a little door that opens into an infinite hall where you may find what you please'.

1. Olive Schreiner, The Story of an African Farm (London, 1896) p.172.
Images and symbols

All forms of poetry use images to evoke other levels of meaning, but the way they are used may be culturally specific. English poetry gives a high value to originality in the use of words. In the ghazal there is an opposite tendency, to value images which have been used over centuries and have acquired symbolic associations. This provides poets with a kind of emotional shorthand, through which they can pack layers of meaning into a brief couplet, knowing its symbolism will be familiar to those listening. But for readers new to the ghazal, these images require some introduction.

The symbolism of ghazal love

Ghazal poets need images to represent situations of love which will work at all the different levels of interpretation. Some of these will be familiar to many readers for they have found their way into English idiom. Translations from Omar Khayyam introduced nineteenth-century English readers to the idea that wine represents spiritual intoxication, and so is associated with the mystic'. desire to experience a different state of consciousness through which to approach God. Oscar Wilde'. beautifully told fable, The nightingale and the rose, was inspired by the imagery of Persian poetry – the nightingale, symbol of the devoted lover, pours out his song of love to the unmoved rose, symbol of the desired but heartless beloved. He sings because he has to sing, as the lover cannot help loving even when he knows it is useless.

Because love brings inevitable suffering, the standard metaphors for love and the beloved – human or Divine – often evoke a sense of threat. The long tresses of the beloved'. hair are the bonds with which she binds the lover. Her glances are arrows, her eyelashes daggers that pierce his heart. The lover is a bird and love is a fowler, out to snare him and imprison him:

A strong snare lay in wait for me, concealed close to my nest  
I had not even taken wing when it imprisoned me

And when he is caught:

No hunter draws his bow, no fowler lies in wait for me  
Here in the corner of the cage I live a life of ease

It is typical of Ghalib's instinct for paradox that he speaks of being imprisoned as 'a life of ease'. To love means to lose your freedom – but he cannot regret it because love brings its own reward. In mystic terms, loss of self brings a higher state of awareness, and through that, joy.

Images are often drawn from nature – the forbidding desert, the vast ocean – but there is little 'nature poetry' in the way English speakers may be used to. Rather such images are used to evoke qualities of human interaction or prompt philosophical reflection about the nature of love. In this verse the sun – concentrated heat and light – is the blinding power of love; we are defenceless against it, we know it may destroy us, yet we long for it, as lovers long to become one:

The radiance of the sun teaches the dew to lose itself  
I too live till I win the favour of a glance from you

Some of these images reflect the harsh reality of natural forces in South Asia – heat and dust, the lightning that brings monsoon rains but also destroys homes and crops:

Ghalib, no matter how I toil, my labour bears no fruit  
Lightning will strike my granaries if locusts spare my fields

But ghazal poets also draw images from the cultivated coolness of a Persian rose garden, which was far from their daily experience. The rose is an image of beauty that powerfully attracts, that no one can avoid responding to. The tall, proud cypress symbolises independence – but here Ghalib says that it too is rooted and cannot move beyond the range of the rose:

Love for the rose binds all. All claims to liberty are false  
The garden'. prison holds the 'independent' cypress fast

Here the rose embraces everything that is valuable in life:

Ghalib, it is the rose's beauty teaches us to gaze  
No matter what the scene, no man should ever close his eyes

It is easy to value things that are beautiful, he is saying, but we need to use the sensitivity we gain through that to face up to less attractive reality, and not to flinch from what we see. To a reader used to a different tradition of poetry, the image of the rose here may seem inert – if he had omitted the word his point would be equally well made. But the mere mention of the rose enhances the effect for Urdu speakers, by triggering connotations derived from many other verses where the rose was used to evoke beauty. So it is part of what makes the verse powerful for them.

A skillful poet could rely on the connotations that the standard ghazal images would evoke but also say something of his own within them. Here Ghalib uses the symbol of the nightingale and the rose to half-mock devoted lovers, himself included:

All that the nightingale can do provokes the rose's  
laughter What we call love is really a derangement of the mind

And here he uses the picture of a lover outside his beloved'. house, so familiar that his listeners do not need him to spell out that he will wait there for hours, hoping for a sight of her, oblivious of the fact that he is courting danger by being there so openly:

He who sits in the shade of his beloved'. wall  
Is lord and king of all the realm of Hindustan

But he uses this well-known symbol to state a paradox of a kind typical of Ghalib. For how can a suppliant lover feel like a king? The image of 'shade' suggests the answer. Cool shade is a pleasant concept in English but it is even more so in a country where the intensity of heat can be unbearable, and in Urdu 'shade' has a powerful connotation of protection. When a father dies it is said that the children have been deprived of the 'shadow' of their father, which had protected them from the heat of life. Here the shade of the beloved'. wall provides that protection, for his own constancy in love provides the meaning of his life. His dedication to something higher than himself, and lack of concern for his own safety brings its own profound spiritual happiness. And this is what makes him 'lord of all Hindustan'.

Characters in the ghazal drama

Ghazal love poetry does not tell stories but a drama underlies much of its symbolism, one that centres on the conflict between the lover (in all senses) and conventional society. It is as if the poet surveys humankind from this viewpoint, observing the way people react – or fail to react – to this central conflict. He notes the typical reactions and encapsulates each in a stock character which represents this behaviour in its purest form. The lover is the ashiq, a word which perhaps translates best as 'true lover' – someone who loves selflessly and with dedication and who represents humanity at its best and bravest. Opposed to him is the shaikh who represents conventional morality and religious orthodoxy. The word originally meant an older man but subsequently acquired the connotations of a religious leader; in Urdu poetry he is always narrow-minded. The poet-lover regards him with a combination of scorn, pity and mockery. In the mystic sphere there is the darvesh, who pays no attention to the prohibitions of orthodox religion, and dances to music to induce a state of ecstatic transcendence in which to become close to God. He has abandoned worldly ambition and freed himself from fear. By contrast the sheikh, who regards music and dancing as sinful, is full of the fear of punishment in hell:

Your shaikh will not permit himself ecstatic joy in music  
But should the thought of sudden death come to him he will tremble

– and ironically, trembling in fear of the punishment of sin,  he almost seems to dance!

Then there are those who stand and watch as the lover defies society; they are personified by the nasih, the counselor. He is not actively hostile but offers 'common sense' wisdom, advising the poet-lover to conform for his own sake – but completely failing to understand what motivates him. The lover is never going to heed his advice:

If it please his grace the preacher, let him come, with all my heart!  
Only let someone persuade me: what will he persuade me of?

There is the raqib, a rival for the beloved's love, a self-styled 'lover' whose real motive is mere self-interest but who often succeeds in winning her, leaving the true lover marginalized:

My rival's honeyed words have worked the spell that he intended  
And I am dumb; the thought 'He loves me' does not cross her mind

All of these characters are symbolic types. In the ghazal the lover is one who has the capacity to remain true to chosen ideals, no matter what the personal cost – and of course the poet knows that in real life not every lover is like this. In the ghazal context 'shaikh' always means a narrow-minded, moralizing person, and often hypocritical – outside that context it does not necessarily mean that (just as to the English reader 'Pharisee' in one context means one who thanks God that he is 'not as other men are' while in other contexts it is a purely neutral term describing a member of a particular sect). In the ghazal the rival is always an insincere lover – outside that context the poet knows as well as anyone else that two rivals for a woman's love may both be equally sincere.

Interpreting symbols

To appreciate the significance of almost any verse it is necessary to look beyond the literal picture and try to imagine the symbolic interpretations that its poetic images might carry. Let us look at a few examples. In this couplet Ghalib evokes an intimate moment, a lover watching his beloved combing her hair:

You, and the coiling tresses of your hair –  
I, and my endless, dark imaginings

In a society in which a woman's hair is always covered the image is immediately erotic – that she lets him be there as she lets her hair fall shows that they are already physically intimate; and perhaps for this reason the beloved's tresses conventionally suggest the sensual bonds with which desire binds him. But what are the lover's 'endless, dark imaginings'? There is a poetic echo here – long black hair, long dark imaginings; and there is often a connected image of the long dark 'night of separation' when he cannot be with her. 'Coiling' suggests the lover's anxiety – fear, of things he imagines may happen. Perhaps in her concern to make herself beautiful she is thinking not of him but of some unknown rival? But there is level of interpretation beyond that – the woman we imagine that he is watching may herself be a symbol. 'You' in the first line may be God, who puts before us all the sensual attractions of life but whose ways are inscrutable, and the poet's 'endless, dark imaginings' may be anxiety about the unimagined tribulations that God – life – has in store for him. Or 'you' may be some cause he is committed to but which he fears may demand things of him which he may not have the strength to give. All of these things may suggest themselves to those who have, so to speak, grown up with the ghazal.

Every manifestation of the beauty of the beloved can carry symbolic meaning. Here it is her eyelashes:

My yearning stirs once more to see someone confronting me  
The daggers of her eyelashes sharp with collyrium

Each word carries significance. To talk of her eyelashes as daggers sets the tone – loving is dangerous. Collyrium (or surma, which is applied to brighten the eyes) suggests that she deliberately seeks to attract him. Confronting shows that the love he is looking back to brought conflict. Once more suggests that he has backed away from the experience – yet for all the strife it brought, he yearns for it again.

The ghazal from which this couplet comes is one of those where repeated words give some unity of theme across the different couplets. The end-rhyme, kiye hue, evokes a state of being-in-love that happened some time ago but is now over; and all couplets after the first one have the word phir – once again – announcing his desire for it to happen again. The ghazal begins:

An age has passed since last I brought my loved one to my house  
Lighting the whole assembly with the wine-cup's radiance

The image of radiance that comes from light shining on red wine immediately suggests a metaphoric interpretation, for wine symbolizes intoxication, but often of a spiritual kind. Whatever kind of love he is thinking of, it is one which lit his life. And this verse suggests how it came to an end:

I seek to gather up once more the pieces of my heart  
As in time past to be the target of her eyelashes

The pieces of my heart' imply that he was shattered by the tribulations that love brought, and lost the courage to love again. Now he is determined to regain that courage – symbolized by allowing himself to be open to love ('to be the target of her eyelashes'). And here he uses the image of standing in her lane:

Once more my heart goes pilgrim to her lane, courting disgrace  
Leaving the shrine of self-esteem empty and desolate

The lane is familiar; but the 'shrine of self-esteem' adds something by suggesting that what kept him away from love was concern for how others would judge him. Now, by openly announcing his love, he will be disgraced in the eyes of all those around him – and he welcomes that, for he will be free from the self-concern that was holding him back.

'The assembly of the heart's desires'

Ghazal imagery often evokes an assembly – a gathering in which everything is designed to appeal to the senses. Music plays, rose petals are strewn on the carpet. Candles light the assembly and moths are irresistibly drawn to the flame and so to their death, like lovers blind to danger. Wine flows, and those gathered actively seek intoxication. Glasses are filled by the cup-bearer, the saki, usually seen as a beautiful young man. In this sensual atmosphere there is the suggestion that he arouses the amorous feelings of those he serves; in the mystic sense he is God's messenger, bringing spiritual intoxication. The 'assembly' is a wide concept that can mean a number of things but often it is a short-hand for the world, which the lover-of-life feels part of, or is lonely in, or knows he will have to leave. And perhaps the one who holds court is God, watching detachedly while we, the lovers, are caught up in life's desires:

The rose's scent, the heart's complaint, smoke rising from the lamp  
None comes from your assembly but distraught, in disarray

IIn a ghazal in which untypically one theme continues over a number of verses, Ghalib creates an extended metaphor of 'the assembly of the heart's desires' and warns those embarking on this experience:

Newcomers to the assembly of the heart's desires  
Beware, if it is wine and music that you seek!  
Look well at me, if only you have eyes to see  
Listen to me, if you have ears to hear me speak

The saki's charm will steal away your faith, your wits,  
The minstrel's song will rob you of your sense, your powers.  
At night you see the carpet laden all with bloom –  
A gardener's apron, filled with fresh, sweet-scented flowers

The saki walks, the flute plays on enchantingly,  
Heaven to the eyes, paradise to the ears of all.  
Come in the morning: Look at the assembly then,  
Life, joy, wine, music – all are gone beyond recall

Bearing the scar of parting from its erstwhile friends,  
One candle stands, burnt out. Know: this is how it ends

Another of his best-known ghazals, which also has a close unity of theme, provides an extended example of the ghazal symbols being used to represent love as dedication. Here the repeated end-rhymemere bad, which I have translated as 'now I am gone', suggests that Ghalib is looking back at the life he was once part of, after death has moved him on. It begins:

Beauty will rest, its war of glances cease, now I am gone  
Fair cruel mistresses will live at peace now I am gone

Clearly this is not to be taken literally – he is unlikely to be saying that once he is gone beautiful women will no longer feel it worthwhile trying to attract men. He is surely speaking as a lover in the broadest ghazal sense, one who has lived with dedication to ideals that give life meaning, and he is using the symbolism of 'fair cruel mistresses' to represent the passions that life inspired in him and the cruelties it inflicted. In the couplets that follow it becomes clear that as he faces the thought of his own inevitable mortality, he feels that no one will ever care about the things he cared about as he did, or live with the integrity that he has done:

Love's throne will seek in vain a lover worthy of my place –  
And beauty's airs, and beauty's graces, fail now I am gone

Each couplet is framed in terms of one of the standard ghazal images. Here it is the saki, filling the glasses, offering spiritual intoxication:

Who now takes up the challenge of love's wine? Who drains the cup?  
This is a cry the saki must repeat now I am gone

He thinks of the light that will be extinguished when he, poet and lover-of-life, dies:

The candle is put out; smoke from it rises in the air  
Love's flame dons black to mourn my memory now I am gone

The whole ghazal is a lament that the values he holds dear may die with him:

die of grief, for now the world will not bring forth a man  
To mourn the death of love and loyalty now I am gone

And so it becomes also a proud assertion of his own uniqueness:

Ghalib, I see love's helplessness, and weep to see it so  
Whose home will its destroying flood turn to now I am gone?

Poetic convention

The poetic symbolism of the ghazal has a continuing popularity in South Asia – even film-songs owe their standard imagery to it. To people who have grown up with it, the stressful situations of love it assumes and the correspondingly intense feelings that the images are intended to convey seem natural. But to people from outside that cultural tradition the emotions may seem exaggerated and some of the imagery far-fetched. It is worth remembering that, as Dorothy Sayers once put it, 'there are fashions in sensibility as in everything else.' A modern English sensibility is accustomed to understatement; the ghazal does the opposite. If a lover is caught in hopeless love, he suffers, and he sees no reason why he should not tell the world how intense his suffering is. (It may be useful to remember that neither did Shakespeare's Romeo.) These forms of expression are the conventions the ghazal's audience grew up with and they do not seem strange to them.

Conventions, whether in cultural forms or in personal and social life, very commonly lack any discernible rational basis and perhaps have the power they do for that very reason. What John Stuart Mill wrote of 'rules of conduct' is equally applicable to literary conventions, and is worth quoting at some length. He asks 'what these rules should be':

No two ages, and scarcely any two countries, have decided it alike: and the decision of any one age or country is a wonder to another. Yet the people of any given age and country no more suspect any difficulty in it than if it were a subject on which mankind had always agreed. The rules which obtain among themselves appear to them self-evident and self-justifying... the subject is one on which it is not generally considered necessary that reasons should be given.

People are accustomed to believe... that their feelings on subjects of this nature are better than reasons and render reasons unnecessary.

So where you meet a couplet that seems a bit outlandish, pause to think why it seems so. The chances are that only the unfamiliarity of the convention in which it is expressed will stand between you and the appreciation of a worthwhile verse, and it will do you no harm to get used to accepting the unfamiliar convention.

The relevance of ghazal concepts today

The central conflict in the ghazal is in my opinion entirely relevant for us today. Some of the situations of human lovers which the ghazal portrays – or, more often, of which it assumes a knowledge and understanding – are now unfamiliar to the modern reader, and some of the lover's reactions to these situations are correspondingly difficult to identify with. But though the contexts of loving have changed, the situations of the lovers in the ghazal are still to be found even in modern societies. In any country where there is racial or communal tension (and their number has greatly increased since the end of the Second World War) lovers from different racial or religious groups are likely to experience the hostility which all lovers experienced in the society that produced the ghazal; and the millions who will never experience this in their own loves, have, I hope, the imaginative sympathy to identify with what such lovers must feel. The experience of unrequited love is still both universal and common. Even more common is the experience of two people who fall so deeply in love that their love informs and guides their whole life, and yet they still have to live their lives physically apart because of obligations to others – partners, husbands, wives, children – voluntarily entered into and voluntarily maintained. Homosexual lovers – gay men and lesbian women – still face deep prejudice and hostility. To all such lovers and to all who have the humanity to identify with them, the ghazal still has a great deal to say.

In the wider areas of life, the ghazal's contemporary relevance is perhaps even greater. All human societies have needed and will continue to need people with the dedication to principle and steadfastness of the ghazal-lover, and poetry which sustains and inspires them will always have the power to appeal. There are millions of people whose ideals are as strongly held as were the religious ideals of their medieval forebears. There are ashiqs in all societies, people who even under great pressure remain steadfastly committed to people they love and values they believe in. The rival has a familiar modern counterpart in politicians who profess high ideals of service to 'the people' and see this as no more than a means to attain their own selfish ends – and all too often succeed where the honest fail because they can use all the demagogic tricks which honest people cannot. Anyone who takes a stand for principles of which the establishment disapproves, soon finds out how accurately the ghazal categories portray the most common reactions of his or her fellow citizens. Few people are prepared for the sake of what they like to call an 'abstract principle' to do anything that incurs even the mildest disapproval of those in authority over them. And when openly opposing the pressures of society would mean putting their livelihood or even their lives at risk, one knows very well what most people do. What was the attitude of most Germans during the Hitler years when the Jews were being exterminated? What was the attitude of most Americans when McCarthy and his lieutenants were slandering and persecuting those accused of 'un-American activities'? Hitler and the much less terrible MacCarthy were the shaikhs of their respective societies, and in these and many other situations the small numbers of people who put themselves at risk and actively resist evil act as the ashiq, the lover-hero of the ghazal, acts. Anyone who admires them or strives to be such a person can read the expression of this dedication in the symbols of the ghazal.

1. Dorothy Sayers, in the introduction and on p15 of her translation of The Song of Roland (Penguin, 1957); Romeo and Juliet, see Act III scene 3.
Poetic symbolism and the poet's experience

In a form of poetry where so much is expressed through images that have symbolic meaning, we may wonder to what extent the poetry reflected the poets' own personal experience. We know that some poets did have the kind of intense illicit love affair with a woman in purdah which the ghazal portrays – Mir was one – and that they suffered accordingly. But the deterrents which society had at its disposal were generally effective enough to make most of its members hold back from anything so dangerous. For some poets and many in their audience, the ghazal may have represented the release in fantasy of emotion which could not without drastic consequences have been released in real life. But this is not to say that most poets had nothing more than a fantasy experience of being in love, for other possibilities existed.

Opportunities for passionate love

In Ghalib's day – and earlier in the ghazal's history – the most likely possibility was love for a courtesan. In Mughal India, as in other societies with extreme sexual segregation, the low cultural level allowed to respectable women gave rise to a class of courtesans who learned the skills of lovemaking as a professional accomplishment, and added the attainments – poetry, music, dancing, conversation – which would make their company appealing to a cultured man. Though such relationships were formally frowned upon, society always tolerates a good deal in those who have wealth and status and Ghalib's society was no exception. In the circles in which the poets moved, courtesans were an accepted part of the social scene and association with them was virtually the only way in which a man could freely enjoy the company of women. Ghalib was open about the fact that he himself had relationships with courtesans, and passing references in his letters and other contemporary accounts make it clear that even for respected religious scholars to keep a courtesan as a mistress was considered perfectly normal. In a letter written late in life, Ghalib refers to the passionate affairs in his youth, with the clear implication that they were with courtesans. His letters also show that some of these relationships had the quality of close and respectful friendships – he talks of a courtesan who was 'in service' to a man he knew: 'I used to know her extremely well, and often used to spend hours together in her company.'

In the ghazal the portrayal of the beloved often suggests a courtesan. When Ghalib expresses nostalgia for lost love it is not usually for a particular woman but for a time of life when he was frequently in love:

My spirit seeks once more the leisure I once had to sit  
Lost night and day in memories of loves that won my heart

Sometimes it is clear that the beloved is one whom many men have loved:

I have to do with her of whom no man in all the world  
Has ever spoken yet without calling her 'cruel one'

She sits surrounded by her admirers and provocatively plays them off against each other:

I said, 'From love's assembly every rival should be banished'  
What irony! She heard me, sent me out, and said, 'Like this?'

He might long for sole possession of her love, but he knows it is impossible:

Were it not easy to gain access to you, all were easy  
The difficulty is just this: it is not difficult

Another possibility was that the beloved of the poet could be a man. Where society makes it virtually impossible for men and women to meet and become intimate, the urge to passionate love will find an outlet in homosexual love. Ghazal images like the saki \- the cup-bearer, always portrayed as a beautiful young man – suggest that love of this kind was part of the poet's frame of reference. Though it was strongly condemned in orthodox Islam, in the cultured society of Ghalib's day passionate love between men – usually of an older man for a younger one – was commonplace, and in practice evoked no hostile reaction. It seems likely that many poets had at least some emotional experience of this kind, and that it will have been part of the raw material on their poetry – and of those who listened to their poetry and were moved by it.

Grammatically, the ghazal leaves the question of gender open. By convention, the ghazal poet speaks in the voice of the male lover, and the beloved too is conventionally referred to with masculine forms – but this is so even where it is obvious that the loved one is a woman. The poetry is essentially concerned with the nature of the passion not the gender of the person experiencing it. In medieval literatures conventions of this kind were strict and binding; and if it is true that the poet generally was masculine and that this fixed the convention, it is no less true that convention, once fixed, was binding on all poets, so that the few women ghazal poets also speak of themselves in the masculine. (A similar but opposite convention is found in much of Hindu poetry. There the archetype is a woman, Radha, expressing her passionate love for Krishna, a male god, and all poet-lovers, male or female, speak of themselves in the feminine gender. In neither tradition do poets, listeners or readers of either sex feel that the poetry does not speak for them.)

All the possible situations of love in such a society had one feature in common – the lover knew that the union he desired would always elude him. A woman married or a girl betrothed could never be his. A boy grew up, and society would not countenance a union of two men. A courtesan could not give herself to one lover alone. The desperation of the lover in the ghazal is a desperation founded upon real experience. The ghazal poet often talks of singing a 'lament' – the longing of the lover for what can never be:

This was not to be my fate, that all should end in lovers' meeting  
Even had I gone on living I should still be waiting, waiting

Breaking with tradition

While for his most serious love poetry (on love as dedication) Ghalib expresses himself within standard ghazal symbolism, he has another mood when it is clear that he is referring only to human lovers, with no metaphoric intention. Here he often breaks with tradition, treating the experience of love – including his own – as though he were outside it all, looking on with the humorous detachment of a sympathetic but somewhat sceptical observer. This sceptical eye is seen by Urdu speakers as something characteristically and uniquely Ghalib. He often ridicules the idea – standard in the ghazal – that love is synonomous with adoration of the beloved:

To think desire is adoration is to be a fool  
How should I worship her who treats me with such tyranny?

Where the lover traditionally accepts all that fate inflicts upon him, proud to do so for the sake of his love, Ghalib often stresses his own rights in the relationship and asserts his self-respect:

To every word that I utter you answer, 'What are you?'  
You tell me, is this the way, then, I should be spoken to?

Nor is it in any very respectful way that he addresses his 'friend', as the Urdu ghazal calls the beloved (even though the friendly feelings are generally only on the lover's side), when he says:

Is this affliction not enough to work one's ruin utterly?  
When you become a friend, why should the sky become an enemy?

He protests against the harsh treatment designed, as she alleges, to test his loyalty:

If this is testing, can you tell me, what would persecution be?  
It is to him you show your favour. Why then are you testing me?

And humorously he points out that her excuses for keeping him at arms' length are not credible:

Since I have made my home, without your leave, right by your door  
Will you say, even now, you need directing to my house?

He uses wit to beguile. To his beloved's taunt that he is 'mad', he replies:

'It is not love, but madness?' Be it so.  
My madness is your reputation though

– that is, it is my mad love for you that makes you famous. He can make a joke even of the deafness that afflicted his later years:

Since I am deaf I make a claim to double kindness from you  
I cannot hear what you have said unless you say it twice

He tells lovers briskly – himself included:

You gave your heart away. Why then lament your loss in plaintive song?  
You have a breast without a heart – why not a mouth without a tongue?

Ghalib's emotional range

There is only fragmentary information about Ghalib's own experience of love, but his ability to capture vivid moments of real feeling leaves no doubt that he was drawing on situations he knew from his own experience. This is particularly clear in couplets where he does not use the ghazal's traditional symbolism, and we are therefore not being invited to read different levels of meaning into what he is saying. Speaking simply as a man in love, his emotional range is wide. Here he describes an erotic fantasy that his shy lover has lost her usual reserve:

I slept; she came into my dreams, her tunic open, drunk with wine  
I cannot tell what spell my love had cast on her last night

He expresses simple delight in her existence -

I shall write to you even without cause –  
Simply to write your name fills me with love

– regret at a love that comes too late:

The news comes hot that she is on her way  
Just on the day my house is empty, bare

– ironic humour:

Once you are kind to me you can send for me when you will  
I am not like time past, that I can never come again

When he feels he is in danger of losing her, he pleads for any kind of feeling rather than none:

Do not break off the bond uniting us –  
If nothing else, grant me your enmity

Faced with the pain of jealousy he lashes out, blaming her:

Jealousy says, Alas! Alas! Her love is for my rival!  
Reason says, One cold as she cannot love any man

At other times he talks himself into feeling it's no concern of his if someone else loves her – what matters is that he does, and he can't cut himself off from her:

I will not be my own worst enemy  
My rival loves you. What is that to me?

Though he powerfully expressed both desire and unfulfilled longing in love, his letters show that he was fundamentally pragmatic about such relationships, accepting what was possible and facing up to what was not. A key to his outlook is given in two successive verses, deliberately parallel in their structure:

The fair are cruel. What of it? They are fair  
Sing of their grace, their swaying symmetry

Spring is soon fled? What of it? It is spring  
Sing of its breezes, of its greenery

Women are there to be loved, he says, as spring is to be enjoyed. Neither can last, but both are to be celebrated.

Ghalib and the ghazal lover

From a letter written late in life we know that he did have at least one deep emotional engagement. She was a domni, one of a Hindu caste of singing and dancing girls, and he talked about her to a friend who was grieving at the death of his mistress, a courtesan:

I received your letter with its grievous news. [A mutual friend] has told me of your relationship with her – how devoted to you she was and how much you loved her. I felt extremely sorry, and deeply grieved... Friend, we 'Mughal lads' are terrors; we are the death of those for whom we ourselves would die. Once in my life I loved a fair dancing girl. God grant both of them His forgiveness, and both of us, who bear the wounds of our beloveds' death, His mercy. It is forty years and more since it happened, and although I long ago abandoned such things, there are times even now when the memory of her charming ways comes back to me, and I shall not forget her death as long as I live. I know what you must be feeling. Be patient, and turn your back on the turmoil of earthly love... God is all-sufficient: the rest is vanity...

A subsequent letter – concerned that the friend is still unable to move beyond grief – states the philosophy of love and of life which he formed at that time, and to which he adhered for the rest of his life:

I have lived sixty five years, and for fifty of them have seen all that this transient world of colour and fragrance has to show. In the days of my lusty youth a man of perfect wisdom counselled me, 'Abstinence I do not approve: dissoluteness I do not forbid. Eat, drink and be merry. But remember that the wise fly settles on the sugar, and not on the honey.' Well, I have always acted on his counsel. You cannot mourn another's death unless you live yourself. Give thanks to God for your freedom and do not grieve...

In a letter written years earlier he had expressed essentially the same view (the letter is in Persian, and the style accordingly more literary):

Though grief at a beloved's death tears at the soul and the pain of parting for ever crushes the heart, the truth is that to true men truth brings no pain... A man should let the world of colour and fragrance win his heart, not bind it in the shackles of one love. Better that in the assembly of desire he draw afresh from within himself the harmonies of happiness and draw into his embrace some enchanting beauty who may restore his lost heart to its place.

He almost certainly never experienced – or more accurately, perhaps, did not allow himself to experience – the kind of love for a woman which the ghazal celebrates, in which the lover's dedication to his beloved is complete and unshakeable. But that is not to say that he never wished he could have experienced it. It is possible that in some of his verses he was creating in fantasy the beloved which real life denied him, and expressing for her all the feeling which he would have wished to experience but which no real woman ever inspired in him. In a letter in which he looks back on his life he quotes a verse of the Persian poet Anwari as describing his own position:

Alas! there is no patron who deserves my praise  
Alas! there is no mistress who inspires my verse

In verses of his own he echoes the sentiment – that there is no one, and no cause, to evoke the love and commitment of which he is capable and which he yearns to give:

Ghalib, don't ask again why I wander so restlessly  
I said, My forehead seeks a threshold to bow down upon

And:

Once more I seek a purchaser willing to take my love  
And offer wit and heart and soul to her if she will buy

Whatever his human love relationships, it is absolutely clear that Ghalib saw himself as an ashiq – a true lover using the word in its broadest significance. This is evident in the whole body of his poetry, and in many things he said of himself in his letters. He was dedicated to his art, put a high value on loyalty to friends, and honoured his responsibilities to others however burdensome they might be. Like the mystics he rejected orthodoxy and narrow communalism, and considered all men his brothers, regardless of race or religion. He would not compromise his intellectual independence and lived according to his own moral standards. And also like the mystics, he assumed that to take one's stand uncompromisingly on such values and not to flinch from their practical implications meant that he had to be willing to face hostility and even persecution at the hands of the upholders of the established order. His poetry consistently affirms that whatever suffering love brings, a life without it would be not worth living:

Grief wastes our heart away – and yet, how shall we flee the heart within us?  
Had we not known the grief of love, we would have known the grief of living.
A poet in Mughal Delhi

Ghalib's poetry often comments obliquely on the society in which he lived, the behaviour of his contemporaries, and his response to critical events in his own life. Condensed into a ghazal couplet, these reactions are lifted above the detail of specific circumstances and become philosophical statements with universal relevance. But it adds to our appreciation of them to know something about what experiences gave rise to these reflections – and the kind of man he was, and the values that he lived by. Fortunately we have abundant information about his life, much of it from his frankness about himself in his letters to and conversations with his friends.

Ghalib in the Delhi renaissance

For most of the time Ghalib lived in Delhi the city was experiencing a flowering of literature and learning to which men of the next generation looked back with nostalgia. Through the period of rapid decline of Mughal power, when the emperor's territory had become restricted to a small region around Delhi, the city had been repeatedly fought over, besieged and plundered. But since the British had taken control it was for the first time in a hundred years in the hands of a power which no rival from without could effectively challenge and no force from within could effectively oppose. Lawlessness and brigandage had been methodically suppressed, and life and property in the city and on the roads leading to it were once more secure. Aristocratic families who had fled during the worst times began to return, and among them were leading poets and scholars. The Mughal court, deprived of political powers, turned more and more to cultural interests and was an important patron of the arts.

In the half-century of internal peace that followed, Delhi became once again a famous centre for Arabic and Persian studies, attracting students from far afield. It had a group of distinguished poets, of whom Ghalib was one. He was known for his exceptional knowledge of classical Persian poetry, and though he felt throughout his life that his own poetry had not won the recognition it deserved, he was in fact highly regarded both in Delhi and far beyond. Other well-established poets considered him their ustad – mentor in poetry – and sent their poems to him for 'correction' (that is, to be sure they were in accord with the complex technical requirements of Persian poetics). In other areas too he impressed his contemporaries with his unusual intellectual powers – it was said that he had only to read a text once to have a complete mastery of the arguments in it. But intellectual life at the time was dominated by debate between the traditionalists in religion and the radical reformers who, like the Protestants of the European Reformation, thought of themselves as reviving the original purity of their faith, and the substance of these debates was essentially of no interest to him. All sides appealed to religious authorities to back their positions and it was his life-long conviction that a man must use his own judgment to decide on the correctness or otherwise of a belief.

Ghalib and his poetry

Poetry was the focus of his life. He felt that to be a poet was his destiny:

Ghalib, it was not by your wish that you attained this rank  
Poetry came itself and asked if it might be your craft.

For decades he concentrated on writing in Persian, which he considered a more appropriate language for serious literature, and it was in Persian that he wrote much of what he considered his best work, both poetry and prose. Even his letters to fellow poets were in Persian. Hali tells us that he initially regarded writing in Urdu as something of a diversion:

He would write an occasional Urdu ghazal, sometimes because he himself felt like it, sometimes at the request of his friends, and sometimes in fulfilment of the commands of the [Mughal] King... Yet in his Urdu poetry too he was concerned to maintain the same pre-eminence as in Persian, and he gave all his attention and all his efforts to writing it.

When he was pleased with the result he said so with an engaging lack of reserve:

If people say, 'Can Urdu then put Persian verse to shame?'  
Recite a line of Ghalib's verse and tell them, 'Yes! Like this!'

And on one occasion he compared himself to the great eighteenth-century poet Mir, ironically feigning ignorance of Mir's status as one of the supreme exponents of the Urdu ghazal:

Ghalib, you aren't the only one supreme in Urdu verse  
They tell me that in former times there lived a certain Mir

Pride and patronage

One of Ghalib's most striking qualities was a highly developed sense of his own worth – as a man but particularly as a poet. The title for this book is taken from a verse which begins:

I am the famous Ghalib, you need ask no more –

A highly developed self-respect is frequently evident in his poetry, and is saved from seeming like arrogance by the fact that it is often expressed in a tone of irony or humorous self-mocking – as when he says to his lover:

You tell me, is this the way, then, I should be spoken to?

But however light the tone, it reflects a serious feeling. Throughout life he was unduly sensitive to any suggestion that others might regard him as socially inferior, which perhaps arose out of the experience of his early years. His father had died in battle when Ghalib was three years old, leaving the family dependent on his widowed mother's parents – not an enviable position for a woman in Indo-Muslim society, and a sensitive and intelligent child such as Ghalib clearly was, would have felt this keenly. Then from his late teens he was living in the household of his wife's parents, a family wealthier and more socially distinguished than his own, and was once again in a dependent position. The experience of being in a family but not fully part of it probably contributed to his ability to hold himself aloof and to rely on his own inner resources, but also made him sensitive to slight – all the more so because he himself accepted the yardsticks with which his society measured people – birth, wealth, rank, social and political influence. He knew that he could not compete in these fields, and he reacted with a jealous assertion of his worth as a poet

I do not grieve if in men's eyes I seem to be a beggar  
Within the realms of meaning it is Ghalib's writ that runs

He considered it a point of honour to keep up the style of life appropriate to one of his class, but as his income was far from adequate to sustain this he was constantly in debt and frequently had to suffer the humiliation of being hounded by his unfortunate creditors. He made constant efforts to secure patrons. Patronage of the arts, and particular of poets, was one of the accepted functions of princes, and in return the poet was expected to flatter his patron with occasional panegyrics and odes on special occasions. Even in this relationship he asserted his independence. This is how he expressed it in an ode he presented hopefully to the ruler of Avadh:

I pledge my faith, and swear I never fawned on kings;  
Our independent pride was handed down to us.  
We too give bounty, and I need to feel no shame  
To come now asking bounty from the bounteous

But he found it galling that he and his fellow poets had to waste their talents flattering patrons who could not even appreciate them. Once when he had polished an ode that his Hindu friend Tufta wanted to send to a potential patron, Ghalib wrote:

The man to whom you addressed your ode is as much a stranger to the art of poetry as you and I are to the problems of our respective religions... These people aren't fit to be spoken of, much less to be praised.

Of his own efforts to win patrons he wrote:

No one whom I praise survives it. One ode apiece was enough to dispatch [two earlier kings of Avadh]. Wajid Ali Shah [the last king] stood up to three and then collapsed. A man to whom I addressed ten to twenty odes would end up on the far side of oblivion.

The outspokenness for which he was famous frequently stood in his way. He undiplomatically composed a verse hinting at his unflattering opinion of the current court poet, which did not help his own chances of a position. And however badly he needed extra income he would not seek it in any way he thought derogatory to his honour – he turned down the opportunity of a professorship in Persian at Delhi College because the British official handling the appointment did not come out to greet him in a manner he considered appropriate to his dignity.

Ghalib and the British

He was the first of the great classical poets to form intimate contacts with British officials. His main source of income in fact came from a hereditary 'pension' granted by the British to descendants of his uncle and guardian, who had pragmatically switched allegiance to the British at a critical moment in their wars. Distant cousins also claimed part of this pension and as a young man he had gone to Calcutta to try to get the authorities to recognise his greater entitlement. In this he was unsuccessful, but the journey brought him into contact with poets and scholars in cities along the way, and Calcutta made a big impact on him. It was a modern city which had expanded under British rule, and English influence and English material progress were more evident there than anywhere in India. Ghalib's intelligence and exceptionally tolerant outlook made him receptive to some of the new ideas which this brought.

At this stage the British in India operated as far as possible through the old Mughal forms. Persian was still the official language; the educational system, the administration of justice, and indeed the administration in general were largely along traditional lines. A number of British officials were men who were thoroughly at home in the Mughal setting. They lived in India like a new class of princes, maintaining all the medieval modes and grafting onto them some of the more modern social and political institutions that prevailed in contemporary Britain. Several of them felt a respect – a very proper respect, as Ghalib would have thought – for the traditional Muslim elite and its culture, and were proficient in Persian and Urdu. Some even wrote poetry in both these languages, and several of those in Delhi came to Ghalib to be mentored in classical poetry. So it is not surprising that, with all his awareness of what was new in the world around him, he continued to see it from within the framework of essentially medieval ways of thought.

A poet at the Mughal court

In his fifties when his pre-eminence as a poet was widely recognized, influential friends secured for him an appointment at court, to write a history (in Persian) of the Mughal dynasty. Soon after, he became ustad to the heir to the throne, and then to the Mughal king himself. For the first and only time in his life, he was free from financial worry. The historian Percival Spear describes the atmosphere around the court in these years:

Looked at with hindsight, the pageantry of the court has a dreamlike quality. It was the product of a group pretending that a dead past still existed because they had nothing to look forward to... The court held its regular durbars in the Diwan-i-Khas and on the great festivals the Emperor would parade the streets on his elephant. Musicians sounded trumpets and rhapsodists recited the imperial praises... But the court was also a school of manners and etiquette – the 'old world dignity and courtesy' often praised by visitors as one of India's virtues stemmed from this centre, and affected Muslims and Hindus alike. It continued the royal tradition of patronizing the arts... and the most favoured was poetry. It was the major intellectual occupation of the Delhi classes, both in the Persian and Urdu idioms. The poetical contests at the literary assemblies at the court were major social events. Literary controversies were a substitute for political ones.

His attachment at the court stimulated a shift in emphasis to writing in Urdu. His commissioned writing in Persian prose took a great deal of time and effort, and perhaps because of this he began writing most of his personal letters in Urdu. And since both the Mughal king and his audiences asked for Urdu ghazals, these now formed a greater proportion of what he wrote.

Hali describes the impact Ghalib made on this audience:

His style of reciting his verse was most moving and effective. I myself only heard him once, a few years before the Mutiny, when musha'iras used to be held in the Hall of General Audience. His turn came at the very end, so that it was already morning when he rose to recite. 'Gentlemen,' he said, 'I too must sing my lament.' Then he recited, first an Urdu ghazal and then one in Persian, in a voice so full of feeling that his voice alone seemed to be saying that in this whole assembly he sought in vain for one who knew his worth.

Hali's estimate of his feeling may well have been accurate. Looking back on his life a few years before his death, Ghalib wrote to a fellow poet:

I share your inauspicious stars and feel your pain. I am a man devoted to one art. Yet by my faith I swear to you, my verse and prose has not won the praise it merited. I wrote it, and I alone appreciated it.

Mir once said of his own poetry that he was 'speaking a language no one understood'. Ghalib could have said this in a literal sense about his Persian work. A century earlier, a poet of his stature writing in Persian would have had an audience over a vast area, but by his time men beyond the borders of India had ceased to be greatly interested in what Indians produced, and within India many men whose fathers and grandfathers would have had the measure of Ghalib's worth no longer possessed the literary taste, or indeed even the knowledge of the language, to appreciate what he wrote. When he wrote in Persian, then, he knew that he wrote for a few, and he never ceased to lament that even to these few, much of what he wrote went un-comprehended and unappreciated:

Ghalib, who honoured you at home, that other lands should value you?  
Be frank: you are the straw that does not feed the bonfire's flame

What he wrote in Urdu, his own and his fellows' mother tongue, sometimes struck his audience as equally difficult to follow. Both his thought and the language in which he expressed it were often complex, and even when his language was clear and simple, what he was saying might be subtle, and it was not surprising if those listening did not immediately get the point. One of his verses states his position with wry humour:

0 Lord, they do not understand, nor will they understand my words.  
Give them another heart, or else give me another tongue

Sometimes he ascribed his lack of recognition to envy:

Envy's the punishment you're sure to get for writing  
Hostility's what you get paid for talent, what is there to say?

– or to the assumption that no modern poet could rank with the great ghazal poets:

You who are lost in wonder at the poets of the past  
Do not deny my claims because I live in your own time

But often he felt it was because of the limitations of his listeners:

1 give my poetry away, and give myself along with it  
But first I look for people who can value what I give

He was forthright about those who wrote poetry merely to display their technical skills. Poetry was not poetry unless it came from the heart – and that too a heart that had experienced suffering and then had something deeply significant to say:

What of it if you write a hundred thousand novel verses? Speak one, a cry that comes to us all blood-soaked from your heart

Friendship and responsibility

His closest relationships were with other poets, and these friendships, based as they were on deeply shared interests, were the focus of his emotional life. It is impossible to read his letters without being aware of how important these friends were to him, and how warm and generous he was in his relationships with them. One of his closest friends was the poet Tufta, a Hindu of the Kayasth caste among whom Persian scholarship and culture were traditional. Ghalib described him as 'a man free in spirit, love embodied, and kindness incarnate... a man of one spirit and one voice with me.'

In one of his verses he states as a principle the need to be focused on others:

Your eyes are there to look for ways to serve friends. Open them!  
Your heart is there to feel the pain of other men. Awake!

In his day, friendship was spoken of as love – his letters talk frequently about the depth of his love for the person he is writing to – and the same is true in ghazal idiom. Verses which delight in the qualities of someone he loves can apply to a close friend as much as to a lover:

Just see the sweetness of his speech! At everything I hear him say  
I feel as if that very thought is there in my heart too

Verses about steadfastness in love might reflect even more obviously the love of a close friend, since his passionate affairs were not life-long commitments but many of his friendships were. Ghalib himself quoted his own verses on love when writing to his friends, sometimes with a characteristic touch of humour – as here, when urging a friend to come to see him:

Meet with my rival if you like: I leave that to your whim  
But what is wrong with asking after me as well as him?

He believed that true friendship imposed demands which it was a matter of honour to fulfill. If people cultivated 'friendship'

for selfish reasons, this was the equivalent of lust rather than love:

A straw on fire burns only for a moment  
Can lust be equal to the tasks of love?

In strong contrast to his pleasure in friendship was his feeling about family. 'Family cares,' he once wrote to a friend, 'are the death of me; they are a bondage in which I have never been happy.' His only brother had become insane as a young man, and he and his family remained until his death a constant source of anxiety. Ghalib's own early marriage had brought no joy. Hali makes it tactfully clear that Ghalib and his wife had nothing in common – she was 'an exceedingly pious and sober lady, as strict in her religious observances as Ghalib was lax'; but he said that 'Ghalib's treatment of her and her relations was always considerate in the extreme'. Ghalib's own occasional comments about his wife were less tactful – he described her once as 'prime source of all my troubles'. A major aspect of these 'troubles' was financial. His father-in-law had died when Ghalib was in his twenties, leaving him responsible for a large household which he had not the means to support. But however burdensome he felt his responsibilities to be it did not occur to him not to carry them, and he was critical of those who did not take them equally seriously. One of his letters responded to the news that a friend had gone off with a 'boy' (a young man) with whom he was infatuated. Ghalib was shocked – not at the love affair itself, which he took in his stride, but at the fact that the man had got so carried away that he had forgotten his other responsibilities. He wrote to a friend:

For God's sake, make Hasan Ali Beg see sense. Is this any way to go on – to leave his wife for a boy? The poor woman is stranded there with her aunt.

He was fond of children and often asked after those of his friends, but none of the seven children his wife bore survived infancy. Sometimes he talked of this as a blessing because having children would only have increased his financial burdens, but it was also obviously a source of grief. Having no son of his own he gave a father's love to his wife's nephew Arif. He described to a friend what he felt for him:

He is the flame of the candle that lights my house, and the pen in my fingers dances for joy as I write his name.

He was deeply distressed when both Arif and his wife died young, leaving two very young children. His own experience had made him particularly sensitive to the plight of fatherless children. Once when he heard of the death of someone with young children he had written to a mutual friend:

I know what they must feel, for I was myself a child when I lost my father. By God I tell you that the care of these poor children is a prime duty, a binding duty, upon you... You must keep their helplessness ever before your gaze and never be heedless of them.

After Arif's death he adopted his children as his grandsons, and Hali said that Ghalib loved them more than if they had been his own, and wanted them always close to him. A later letter summarizing major events in his life says:

Five years ago I took to my bosom two orphaned boys from the family of my wife. They had just learned to talk and love for these sweetly-speaking children melted me and made me one with them.

A letter to his friend Tufta gives a picture of the effect the boys had on a man now in his fifties, with scholarly habits and set in his childless ways. Its tone also gives a sample of the generosity that was typical of him. He is responding to Tufta's apology for sending him so many verses to correct:

Listen, my good sir. You know that the late [Arif] was my son, and that now both his children, my grandsons, have come to live with me, and that they plague me every minute of the day and I put up with it. God is my witness that you are a son to me, hence the products of your inspiration are my spiritual grandsons. When I do not lose patience with these, my physical grandsons, who do not let me have my dinner in peace, who walk with their bare feet all over my bed, upset water here and raise clouds of dust there – how can my spiritual grandsons, who do none of these things, upset me? Post them off at once for me to look at. I promise you I'll post them back to you at once.

Disillusion with his contemporaries

For all his sociability he often felt – and had good reason to feel – that many of his contemporaries neither understood nor appreciated him, and that in many respects he stood alone:

I may be good, I may be bad – I live in ill-matched company A flower thrown on the bonfire or a weed among the flowers

He was repeatedly disillusioned when people around him didn't measure up to his high standards of personal conduct – standards which they rhetorically shared. He felt that values that had once been common to the nobility were now everywhere disregarded:

How can I tell the virtues of the men to whom this age gave birth? They do me harm to whom I have done good repeatedly

A number of distressing experiences had given rise to this feeling. One arose over his friendship with William Fraser, the British Resident (most senior official) in Delhi. He and Ghalib had many qualities in common – Fraser was a proud and independent man, impatient of convention and filled with intellectual curiosity, and his easy intimacy with the aristocratic families of Delhi was in marked contrast with his lack of interest in his British colleagues. In 1835 all Delhi was plunged into crisis at the news that Fraser had been murdered; for Ghalib it was also a devastating personal loss. It was partly on his information that the murder was traced to a Muslim nobleman, Shams ud Din, who had a grievance against Fraser – and for assisting the investigation Ghalib faced a barrage of hostility. He describes this in a passionate letter to a friend outside Delhi:

The men of Delhi now all assailed me and laid at my door the seizure of that man of black ingratitude and killer of a just ruler. High and low they have spread abroad the slander that Shams ud Din is innocent, and that [his cousin] and I have out of our abundant malice caught the authorities in a web of lies... At first my heart felt only the grief of William Fraser Sahib's death, but now that the man who killed him is identified, and the slanderers of the city loathe and shun me, I raise my voice each morning in prayer to that God who strikes down the oppressor and succours the oppressed, and call on Him to speed the day when that ruthless, overweening man shall pay the penalty.

One of the most painful episodes in his life was when, at the age of fifty, he was arrested on a charge of gambling. Though gambling was disapproved of by the orthodox, it was common among the nobility and Ghalib had never hidden the fact that he enjoyed it; and perhaps his constant financial difficulties had drawn him more deeply into it. Then with little warning the British authorities decided to suppress it. Ghalib was sentenced to six months imprisonment with hard labour. The severity of the sentence, meted out to an aristocrat and honoured poet, created a great stir and indignation in Delhi. To Ghalib this traumatic experience was made even more painful because all but one of his so-called friends among the more influential sections of the nobility in Delhi kept their distance, not wanting to be associated with one who was serving a prison sentence. This experience taught him something he never forgot – it showed him how different were the values which respectable men professed from those which they practised when it came to the test. In deep disillusion he wrote:

Were I to tell the tale of all my friends have done to me,  
The custom men call hope would vanish utterly from earth

The friend who stood by him was his fellow poet Shefta. Contemporaries described his response to Ghalib's arrest:

As soon as Shefta heard the news he went to see everyone in authority he could think of, and made continuous efforts to get Ghalib released. He paid all the expenses of the trial. He visited Ghalib in prison every other day. He told people, 'My deep regard for Ghalib was never based upon his sobriety or his piety, but on his greatness as a poet. Today he is accused of gambling, but that he drinks wine has always been known. Why should it make any difference in my regard for him that he has been charged and sent to prison?'

Ghalib's gratitude towards Shefta was as intense as the bitterness he felt towards those who had turned their backs on him. In a long poem from prison he wrote:

He is God's mercy, God's compassion, sent in human form for me And if I die I shall not grieve, knowing that he will mourn for me

Shefta's efforts may have been successful, for so far as is known Ghalib did not have to perform hard labour and he was released after three months. But the scars of disillusion went deep. He began to think that the few people who, like himself, practised the standards of conduct which society proclaimed, were calling down misfortune upon their own heads. Fourteen years after his imprisonment he wrote to one of his friends:

You are a prey to grief and sorrow; but... to be the target of the world's afflictions is proof of an inherent nobility – proof clear, and argument conclusive.

This was a judgment he was to repeat a little more than a year before his death, when he was once again involved in a court case and had to witness the spectacle of respectable gentlemen who had been on visiting terms with him taking the stand and testifying against his character in the most insulting terms. When Hali asked him about this, Ghalib quoted one of his own Persian verses:

Like draws to like; and all men draw to others of like quality The measure of my friendlessness is my inborn nobility

Alone and in society

Though his sense of his uniqueness made him in some respects a lone figure, he knew he had his own resources to keep him company:

Each of us is a world in which all kinds of fancies throng I sit in an assembly even though I am alone

At times his poetry spoke of wanting to remove himself from society:

Now let me go away and live somewhere where no one else will be Where there is none that knows my tongue, where there is none to speak with me

There let me build myself a house with, so to say, no doors, no walls  
And live there without neighbours, and with no one to keep watch for me

If I fall ill, then there should be no one to come and visit me   
And if I die let none be there to weep and wail and mourn for me

But this feeling was balanced by realism. He knew that it was not possible to escape the difficulties which life-in-society created:

To live in freedom does not mean to hold yourself aloof from men Flee from yourself, and not from others, if you want to flee

Even in the most difficult times he had an ability to look at himself with a degree of detachment, and this, together with his ironic scepticism, armed him against some of life's more bitter experiences. In a letter describing a humiliating situation he was facing, he wrote:

I watch myself from the sidelines, and I see myself through the eyes of my enemy. At every blow that falls I say, 'Look! Ghalib's taken another beating! Such airs he used to give himself!'

This sense of observing himself is reflected also in his verse:

I, and myself reflected in imagination's mirror  
Are one, and one who constantly confronts another one

He could also acknowledge aspects of his own passionate nature that caused him problems:

In my construction lies concealed the stuff that is to ruin me The hot blood of the peasant holds the lightning for his crops

And once he admitted more than he normally would about his need for wine:

What idiot takes to wine in hope of finding joy?  
Each day, each night, I seek a refuge from myself

He talked of having to 'break idols' – in this case referring not to abandoning restrictive beliefs but the need to become free from excessive focus on self:

For all the expertise I have acquired in breaking idols  
As long as I exist a heavy stone still blocks my path

The end of an era

One of Ghalib's verses suggests that he had a sense that the world he had been born into, in which he could write his poetry for an audience steeped in its traditions, was ending:

Let the sky's ancient dome collapse and fall – I shall be glad  
Even though it be on my own head that it collapse and fall

He was aware that the British were moving towards reducing even further the power of the Mughal King and withdrawing their financial support to the court. Since he depended on the court's patronage, he took steps to safeguard his livelihood and sent an ode to Queen Victoria appealing to her for patronage. Aware that she might not be familiar with the fact that in this part of her vast empire one of the functions of royal courts was to maintain good poets, he explained this to her, giving examples from the actions of earlier Persian kings. He received a polite reply which much encouraged him. But nothing came of his hopes, for harsh reality intervened. In 1857 a mutiny by sepoys in the British army sparked off a major revolt, and in the fierce retribution that followed, the Mughal court departed from the stage of history – and with it went the way of life of all those around it.

Throughout the Revolt Ghalib stayed in Delhi. He was entirely out of sympathy with the rebels, not because of any loyalty to the British but because he was a shrewd and realistic man: he estimated that it was bound to fail, and that failure would bring disaster in its train. Moreover he was a self-conscious aristocrat and it was men he regarded as plebeian riff-raff who were the driving force of the revolt. His contempt for them and his sympathy for the aristocratic elements who suffered at their hands are evident in what he writes. He had friends in all camps and mourned them all deeply. A letter to a friend says:

I have a deeper sorrow, so deep that I cannot attempt to tell you, and can only hint at it. Among the English whom those infamous black scoundrels slaughtered, some were the focus of my hopes, some my well-wishers, some my friends, some my bosom companions, and some my pupils in poetry. Amongst the Indians some were my kinsmen, some my friends, some my pupils and some men whom I loved. And all of them are laid low in the dust. How grievous it is to mourn one loved one. What must his life be like who has to mourn so many?

He was equally appalled at the excesses which the British committed, and which continued long after Indian resistance had ceased. All able-bodied men were assumed to be rebels and all who could be found were killed indiscriminately. For those who had not fled Delhi, life was dominated by fear and tragedy. He could scarcely move out of the house. He heard that his mentally-ill brother had been attacked and couldn't go to his aid. In a poem written at the time he describes the terror they all lived with:

Now every English soldier that bears arms  
Is sovereign, and free to work his will  
Men dare not venture out into the street  
And terror chills their hearts within them still  
The city is athirst for Muslim blood  
And every grain of dust must drink its fill...

Now every English soldier that bears arms  
Is sovereign, and free to work his will  
Men dare not venture out into the street  
And terror chills their hearts within them still  
The city is athirst for Muslim blood  
And every grain of dust must drink its fill...

His 'pension' from the British had stopped and he was almost without means, and faced with a growing stream of destitute dependents who came to him for aid and to whom he could not say no. In his diary he recorded his fears:

I am face to face with misfortune, and wild and fearful fancies throng my heart... Constant care for my brother consumes me... Calamity has descended on me like an avalanche. Two tender children, tenderly reared and cherished, ask for milk and sweets and fruit, and I cannot give them. We live in anxious thought for bread and water, and die in anxious thought for shroud and grave.

Friends and admirers tried to get help to him, and somehow they survived. Shut up in his house during the worst months, to keep some structure in his life he set himself to write a day-by-day account of what was happening around him, called Dastambu. He wrote in Persian – a demanding task, for Persian prose was expected to be almost poetic in its diction, full of alliteration, plays on words, internal rhyme and rhythm. 'My heart is not stone or iron,' he wrote, 'how should it not burn in sorrow? My eyes are not sightless windows: how should they not shed tears?'

His letters to people outside the city list the tragedies that have befallen his friends. Then he writes of his own sorrow:

When I think of the state in which they are living my heart breaks within me. These are words that any man can say, but I swear to you as Ali is my witness that, grieving for the dead and parted from the living, the world is plunged in darkness in my sight... The wives and children of men who were once wealthy nobles are begging in the streets, and I watch them helplessly. To bear such affliction needs a stout heart...  
Ihave forgotten how to write poetry, and forgotten all the verses I ever wrote – except a couplet-and-a-half. This is the couplet. Whenever my heart sinks within me it comes to my lips and I recite it – five times, ten times – over and over again:

Ghalib, when this is how my life has passed  
How can I think that I too had a God?

The aftermath

The British re-took Delhi in September 1857 and at once expelled most of the population from the city. Somehow Ghalib stayed, and in Dastambu he describes the surreal experience of living in a city from which most of the population has been expelled:

No light burns in the homes at night, no smoke rises from them by day. Ghalib, who knows this city, who had a thousand friends, who had a friend in every home and an acquaintance in every house, now dwells in loneliness with none but the voice of his pen to speak with him and none but his shadow to bear him company.

At one point he was summoned before a British official who demanded to know if he was a Muslim and if so why he had not left the city. Even in this situation his sense of irony did not desert him. He said he was 'half a Muslim' – and added, 'I drink wine but I don't eat pork.' And reflecting on this afterwards he wrote more seriously:

To tell the truth – for to hide the truth is not the way of a man free in spirit – I am no more than half a Muslim, for I am free from the bonds of convention and religion, and have liberated my soul from the fear of men's tongues.

Three months later Hindu residents were allowed to return, but it was two years before Muslims were allowed to return permanently. He wrote of the support he received from many Hindu friends at this time. One used to be his pupil in poetry:

He is like a son to me. He knows my stricken heart and seldom leaves me alone but serves me with all the resources at his command. His son too is one with his father, ever ready in service and unequalled in sympathy.

Another heard that he could no longer afford wine – a not insignificant problem for he could not get to sleep without it. So the friend sent him 'wine made from sugar cane, matching French wine in colour and excelling it in fragrance' (presumably rum). Both his relief and his ability to look at himself humorously are evident in these lines he composed in gratitude, comparing the gift to the water of eternal life which Sikandar (Alexander the Great) was said to have gone in search of:

Long had I wandered on from door to door  
Seeking a flask of wine or two – no more.  
Mahesh Das brought me that immortal draught  
Sikandar spent his days in seeking for

The letters of his last decade

'I thank God for my friends' love and human kindness,' Ghalib wrote. But most of his closest friends were scattered far and wide. The intense feeling of loneliness never quite left him throughout the eleven years of life that remained to him. Yet even in this difficult time his letters were full of the qualities that had always characterized his relationships – strong affection, interest in whatever was happening to his friends, vigorously expressed opinions and frankness about himself. It is striking how quick he was, despite the heavy burden of his own troubles, to encourage and sustain his friends when they were in trouble. And he never, to the very end, lost the sense of humour which was his main shield against the affliction of life.

Except for letters he gave up writing. To a fellow poet who could not believe this he replied:

You ask me for recent verses. Where from? Verses on themes of love are as far from my taste as faith is from unbelief. I was the government's hired bard. I wrote my panegyrics and got my robes in reward. But the robes stopped coming, and I stopped writing. No ghazals, no odes. Lampoon and satire is not in my line. So tell me, what am I to write? I am like an old wrestler, who can only explain the holds.

And to another who suggested he send an ode to the Nizam of Hyderabad in the hope of getting his patronage:

Fifty-five years of practice have given me a certain talent, but I have no strength left in me. I sometimes look at the prose and verse which I wrote in former days. I know that it is mine, but I am lost in wonderment that I could write it. Bedil spoke as though with my tongue when he wrote:   
'My story echoes round the world – and I am nothing.'

In a verse from earlier years that might be read as foreseeing the loss of his poetic voice, he had spoken of himself as a 'tongue-less lamp upon a stranger's grave'. The image refers to the custom that those who could afford it kept a lamp burning on the graves of loved ones; strangers had no one to light a lamp on their grave and keep it alive. 'Tongueless' means 'without the tongue of flame' that keeps it burning – and also, for himself as a poet, silent, wordless:

My silence hides a hundred thousand longings drowned in their own blood  
I am a burnt-out, tongueless lamp upon a stranger's grave

Yet even though he no longer tried to express himself in poetry, he was still constantly trying to make sense of his experience. He describes his state of mind with characteristic self-awareness to his friend Tufta:

You are intent on poetry, while all my faculties are intent on attaining oblivion. To pass one's life one needs a little ease – and all the learning and power and poetry and magic are nothing. What of it if an avatar comes to the Hindus? What of it if a prophet arises amongst the Muslims? What of it if a man wins fame in the world? Let a man have something to live on, and physical health, and the rest is nothing, my dear friend. As a matter of fact these too are nothing, but I have not yet reached the stage where I realise it... In the desolation in which I live I am lost to the whole world, indeed to both worlds. I behave with every man as our relationship warrants, but it is all illusion in my sight – not a river, but a mirage; not reality, but fantasy. You and I are not bad poets. Suppose I grant we win the same fame as Sadi and Hafiz. What did their fame bring them? And what would ours bring us?

He comforted himself by writing letter after letter to his friends. Again to Tufta he said:

In this solitude it is letters that keep me alive. Someone writes to me and I feel he has come to see me. By God's favour not a day passes but three or four letters come from this side and that. I spend the day reading them and answering them, and it keeps me happy.

The great collection of letters which resulted constitutes, after his poetry, his greatest memorial.

1. a 17th-century poet he much admired.
Poets against fundamentalists

Ghalib wrote within a Muslim tradition, for an audience who had grown up in that tradition, so his verse is full of references to Islamic concepts and aspects of the Muslim way of life. But it will already be clear from what has been said in earlier chapters that he was far from orthodox both in his practice and in his own understanding of religion and the thoughts he expresses on these topics are relevant to people of any religion or none. Just as with the poetry of love, some of what he says is expressed in terms that anyone can easily understand, but there are couplets that have more culture-specific references, and to appreciate them you need to understand what his contemporary listeners would have understood by the stories and situations he refers to. (The same is true, for instance, for modern readers of Milton's Paradise Lost,with its frequent references to the Bible and the legends of Greece and Rome, which would have been familiar to his contemporaries.)

The rejection of fundamentalism

Ghalib's whole attitude to life was at odds with religious fundamentalism. He dismissed religious ritual; he rejected all forms of communalism in his dealings with people; he insisted on thinking things through for himself and did not accept handed-down doctrine; he openly enjoyed activities others regarded as sinful; and he was unconcerned about what anyone might think of him for holding these positions. In all this he stood out among his contemporaries; but he was also expressing in practical terms attitudes that for centuries had informed the ghazal.

In these days when resurgent Islamic fundamentalism makes the headlines it cannot be stressed too strongly that a very different kind of Islam – one which challenges the fundamentalists – has existed for centuries, pervading both the Persian and the Urdu ghazal, and has exercised an enormous influence. Like so much else in the ghazal, it owes its origins to the mysticism of the early ghazal poets. They did not spell out in any detailed way the implications of their beliefs for their social relationships, but one thing emerges clearly from their poetry – their beliefs were strongly humanist. They proclaimed the value of all people and mankind's almost infinite potentialities. To love God meant also, to use the Biblical phrase, 'to love your neighbour as yourself,' and this sense of solidarity with all humankind was often expressed in verses which raised no questions about religious beliefs or lack of them. The cardinal commandment was to love your fellow men no matter what their creed and nationality. The great fourteenth-century Persian poet Hafiz declared:

Do not distress your fellow men, and do what else you will  
For in my Holy Law there is no other sin but this

Another unidentified Persian poet made the same point by referring in deliberately shocking terms to the holiest things in Islam – the Kaba (the focus of Muslim pilgrimage) and the Qur'an:

Drink wine and burn the Holy Book, and set fire to the Kaba Dwell in the idol temple – but do not harm your fellow men

Piety and religious observance

Ghalib strongly identified with these views. Conventional religious piety was unimportant to him – what mattered was how people behaved towards others:

To put it briefly, my heart too inclines to piety – but then  
I saw the way the 'good' behaved and fell in with the infidels

He saw no purpose in ritual prayers, and prayer as a set of requests was a debasement of a true relationship to God:

If you are sure that God will grant your prayer, then do not ask  
That is, ask only for a heart that has nothing to ask

He told his beloved:

I would lay down my very life for you  
I do not know what praying for you means

He thought that for many who observed the Ramzan fast, abstinence during the day was no more than using hunger to enhance the enjoyment of the food they could eat once the sun had set and again before dawn:

Abstinence only heightens their concern to fill their bellies  
The bustle of the meals is all; Ramzan's of no account

He urged the need to free oneself from the narrow attitudes of conventional society. Establish your own values, he said, and live by them, and never mind if those around you are shocked:

Abandon all the outworn norms so dear to our good friends  
When they are celebrating, wail; when they are mourning, dance

Many anecdotes were told about how he handled the censorious attitudes of those around him. He was always courteous and did not seek confrontation but used wit to deflect their criticism; and he never allowed the judgments of others, including close friends, to affect his attitude to activities which he enjoyed but which they considered sinful. Once during Ramzan he received a visit from a fellow poet, Azurda, who was also a renowned Islamic scholar. To pious Muslims Ramzan is a 'pure' time, and in addition to fasting they abstain from smoking or other forms of physical or frivolous pleasure. That year Ramzan fell in the hottest season and Ghalib had retreated from the heat to a small dark room, where Azurda found him playing backgammon with a friend. Azurda quoted a Hadis – a religious commentary, said to be an authentic account of the words and actions of the Prophet: 'I have read in this Hadis that during Ramzan Satan is held prisoner; but what I see today makes me doubt its authenticity.' Ghalib replied, 'The Hadis is completely authentic. But I should perhaps inform you that the place where he is held prisoner is this very room.'

Some of the stories come from the period when he was  ustad – mentor in poetry – to the Mughal King. He was always very free in his behaviour with the King. Once at the end of Ramzan the King asked how many days' fasts he had kept. Ghalib replied, 'My Lord and Guide, I failed to keep one,' and left it to the King to decide whether this meant he had failed to keep only one, or failed to keep a single one. And when the King contemplated going on pilgrimage to Mecca, Ghalib, who was only rarely able to gratify his love of travel, proposed this bargain to him:

He goes to Mecca: if the King will take me in his company  
Gladly will I transfer to him the merit that accrues to me

A ghazal which he recited before the King ended in the verse:

With what style you handle, Ghalib, all these themes of mystic teaching!  
What a saint we would have thought you if you had not been a drinker!

The King commented, 'No, my friend; even so we should never have counted you a saint.' Ghalib replied, 'Your Majesty counts me one even now, and only speaks like this lest my sainthood should go to my head.'

The promises of paradise

A leading belief of the mystic poets is that they reject the doctrine of conduct in life being motivated by hope of reward and fear of punishment in the life to come. In this there are parallels in Christian mysticism. Joinville in his Life of St Louis relates how a friar met an old woman in Damascus who was carrying a bowl of burning coals in one hand and a flask of water in the other. When he asked her what they were for she replied that the coals were to burn paradise to ashes and the water to put out the fires of hell, so that people could live their lives no longer motivated by the hope of paradise and the fear of hell but solely by their love for God. This sentiment is common in the ghazal. Ghalib writes:

God's will be done, but not from greed for heaven's wine and honey  
Take hold of paradise, someone, and cast it into hell!

His poetry repeatedly dismisses the kind of conventional piety that consists of prohibitions and self-denial:

Abstinence wins no praise from me. What though it be sincere?  
Behind it lies raw greed to win reward for virtuous deeds

More than any other Urdu poet he expresses scepticism about paradise and its promised joys. He dismisses literal descriptions, like the gardens tended by a legendary figure called Rizvan:

The shaikh sings loud the praises of the gardens of Rizvan; to us  
They lie, a bunch of faded flowers, upon oblivion's shelf

It is said that beautiful women called houris will be provided for the pleasures of the (male) faithful – but he tells his mistress:

I will not cry for more if I may only look at you  
But there among the houris let me look upon your face

The faithful, it is said, will be rewarded with the 'wine of purity' – but what do the orthodox know of it?

Preacher, you cannot drink it, nor can you give us to drink  
What then is all this talk about our 'wine of purity'?

At other times he takes a puckish pleasure in pretending to take the promise literally:

One thing alone gives paradise some value in my eyes  
What else, if not the wine, red as the rose, fragrant as musk?

And he says – a comment typical of him:

I'll drink pure wine, but where will be the dread of being caught?  
And where in paradise the spice of fear it will not last?

Verses expressing scepticism about life after death are strikingly frequent. Though often humorous in tone they are serious in intent, and link to a strong feeling for the value of life here and now. He seeks to live every moment to the full, making no assumptions about the future:

The radiance that lights your lane lights paradise as well.  
The scene is just the same, but where's the joy in living there?

No one who wants to attain all that a human being is capable of would think they have 'arrived' when they reach Tuba, the legendary tree in paradise whose branches are laden with all kinds of fruits and perfumes:

Lost to themselves they doze, reclining thus in Tuba's shade  
Is this the high resolve of men who set out before dawn?

Once he speaks as from the grave, but it's still not clear what awaits him:

I passed my life waiting for death to take me  
And dead, I still must see what I must see

Even if all that is said about paradise were true, there is something in his own nature which would make it impossible to conform to orthodoxy:

How can I tread the beaten path to heavenly reward?  
The knife that nibbed the pen that wrote my fate cut it askew

Symbols of inner liberation

To the mystic, love for the Divine Beloved liberates him from the cramping restrictions that orthodox religion and strong social convention alike impose upon his natural feelings. Along with passionate love, wine and music symbolize this inner liberation – wine which orthodox Islam entirely forbids, and music, of which it strongly disapproves. They are, so to speak, the mystic's allies, for they banish the cowardly inhibitions of worldly wisdom and the austere attitudes of Pharisaical pride and stimulate all that is free and generous in him. The symbols of wine, wine drinkers and the tavern pervade ghazal poetry and are used alike by those relatively few poets (like Ghalib himself) who did indeed drink, and the much more numerous ones who, as far as we know, did not. The wine drinker is often called the rind, a word of which 'profligate' or 'rake' are not very satisfactory English translations. He cares nothing for the conventions of the sober citizens of the society in which he lives, and in this is identified with the mystic. Ghalib implies that he is more likely to achieve closeness to God than the conventionally religious:

The pious bow in prayer to God; no radiance lights their forehead  
See how the wine lights up the faces of the wine drinkers!

The tavern is a symbol for the way to true 'intoxication' – and if that route is blocked, any religion is a poor substitute:

The tavern is no more. What does it matter where I drink?  
Be it the mosque, the seminary, or the hermitage

In a tone of good humoured mockery Ghalib tells the shaikh -the personification of religious orthodoxy – that the tavern is like an eye (through which you see and gain understanding) next to which the mosque, with its arch, is merely an eyebrow:

Beneath the shade of every mosque should be a tavern  
Just as the eye, your reverence, is near the brow

The wine that the saki pours is another symbol. Ghalib says his thirst is unlimited – which in spiritual terms can mean longing for closeness to God, or more generally expressed, for insight into the meaning of things:

Saki, the thirst the drinker feels is matched to his capacity  
And if you are a sea of wine, I am the thirsty shore

The mystic is guided by his strong instinctive sense of what is right and does not limit himself to actions approved by the 'virtuous' for what the orthodox see as sins may not be sinful at all. Ghalib talks provocatively about the desire to sin, with its connotations of breaking restrictive taboos and experiencing all aspects of life. Here he pictures sin as an ocean – but still it cannot quench his desire:

Sin's ocean was not vast enough; it dried right up  
And still my garment's hem was barely damp with it

He regrets that life has not afforded him the possibility of sinning more than he has, and he explicitly tells God not to overlook this:

Note too how I regret the sins that I could not commit,  
O Lord, if you would punish me for these committed sins

And if the promptings of his own heart are not an adequate safeguard, he relies on God's mercy – which all Muslims refer to at the start of any serious undertaking ('In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful'):

What wonder if His mercy should accept in expiation  
The shame that will not let me ask forgiveness for my sins

Rejection of religious authority

The impulses of the heart are the mystics' chief guide, so they accept no religious authority. This is entirely in accord with Ghalib's own view. His poetry is outspoken about self-appointed elders who think they are in a position to guide others:

What makes the 'wise' so proud? Where is the special road they take?  
Common convention marks the path in which they set their feet

He says he is willing to accept the help of anyone who seems competent to give it but ultimately he is on his own, and will not surrender to anyone else's judgment:

I go some way with everyone I see advancing swiftly  
So far I see no one whom I can take to be my guide

He mocks the legendary Khizar, a figure greatly revered by Muslims and one whose guidance is considered infallible. It is said of him that he accompanied Sikandar (Alexander the Great) on a search for a spring of the 'water of life'. He found it – Sikandar did not – and drank of it and thus obtained eternal life. He now roams the desert places and comes to true Muslims who have lost their way and guides them on to the right path. Ghalib says:

I am not bound to take the path that Khizar indicates  
I'll think an old man comes to bear me company on my way

– in other words, I have to find my own way in life, and I have the resources to do that. Rather less politely he hints that Khizar is in any case not above some rather sharp practice – for how didhe get to drink the water and Sikander did not?

You know how Khizar treated Alexander.  
How then can one make anyone one's guide?

Nor is it any use praying to God for help, for prayers are never granted – unless of course you pray for something that has already been given:

If you would solve your problems, prayer's enchantment does not work   
O Lord, accept my supplication: Long may Khizar live!

\- but Khizar already has eternal life!

God and humankind

Ghalib challenges the traditional Islamic teaching about man's relationship with God. This too is in the spirit of the mystic poets but it is also an expression of his own questioning intellect, which will not pass over inconsistencies. He asks what was the purpose of creation? If, as Muslims are told, God made mankind to worship Him, why did He also create things which charm our senses and distract our attention, making us forget that everything is just a manifestation of God?

When all is You, and nought exists but You  
Tell me, O Lord, why all this turmoil too?  
These fair-faced women, with their coquetries,  
Their glances, airs and graces, what are these?  
Why the sweet perfume of their coiling tresses?  
Why the collyrium that adorns their eyes?  
Where does the grass, where do the flowers come from?  
What is the cloud made of? What is the breeze?

Why create man at all, if he was destined to all the misery he has had to suffer? And since suffering was to be his lot, why did God not equip him better to withstand it all?

When, Lord, you fated me to bear such grief  
You should have given me more hearts than one

Humankind is said to be 'the noblest of created things' as the common Muslim phrase goes. This derives from the story that when God created Adam He commanded the angels to bow down before him; Iblis (Satan) would not and was punished by eternal banishment from heaven. But Ghalib asks, if this was the status that God intended for humanity, how is it that He has not continued to uphold it?

Today we are abased. Why so? Till yesterday You would not brook  
The insolence the angel showed towards our majesty

God's treatment of His most esteemed creatures seems incomprehensible:

Those whom You frown upon toil on with neither bread nor water Those whom You favour, sated, are still plied with heavenly food

Like others before and after him, Ghalib cannot reconcile a belief that God predestined everything that people do, with the notion that he gave them a free will:

Good conduct is from You; we do not ask to be rewarded  
And if we sin, that is Your doing. Why then take revenge?

Islam teaches that every action in life is noted down by the recording angels, and it is on their written testimony that our fate is decided. Ghalib speaks up on behalf of humankind:

The angels write, and we are seized. Where is the justice there?  
Did we have no one present when they wrote their record down?

What is most striking about these verses is their tone – Ghalib is never overawed by the idea of God. He speaks bluntly of God's incomprehensible ways, he criticizes God for His inconsistent and unjust treatment of humankind, and, most characteristically of all, he notes with a mixture of irony and pity God's inability to recognize the potential of one particular man – himself. In this verse he cites the story of Musa (Moses) asking if he could be shown the radiance of God. God said that He would show it to the mountain of Tur and if the mountain remained in place Musa might look upon it; but the mountain was reduced to dust and Musa fell down in a swoon. I, Ghalib says, would have had the strength:

You should have let Your radiance fall on me,not on the Mount of Tur  
One pours wine in the measure that the drinker can contain

When he complains of God's unjust treatment he speaks in some sense on behalf of humankind, and the proud assertion of his own capacities can equally be read as being about humanity generally. (The grammar of literary Urdu aids this ambiguity, for 'we' and 'I' can be used interchangeably.) His – humanity's – desires are limitless:

He gave me both the worlds and told Himself, 'He is content' And I, tongue-tied with shame, had not the heart to ask for more

His – our – ability to think and feel and be aware leads us inevitably to aim for a higher state:

Would that I could have looked out from an even greater height Would that I had my dwelling place above the throne of God

He says to God:

We serve You; yet our independent self-respect is such  
We shall at once turn back if we should find the Kaba closed

Many paths to God

The mystic believes that God reveals Himself in many forms and the worship of His true lovers is acceptable to Him no matter in what form they worship Him. This had a particular resonance in India where Muslims were a minority. The overwhelming majority of their fellow Indians were Hindus and by Ghalib's time the influence of Christianity was also beginning to be felt through the British presence. To orthodox Muslims, both Hindus and Christians were 'infidels', unbelievers – a term that includes not only someone with no religion but also those who follow religions other than Islam. Ghalib gives this essentially negative term a positive meaning, talking of the 'lure of unbelief' – the attraction of freedom from orthodoxy, and towards the new ideas inspired by contact with the British – symbolically summarized here as 'the church':

My faith restrains me, while the lure of unbelief attracts me  
That way the Kaba, and this way the church before my eyes

Hinduism was particularly unacceptable to orthodox Muslims because it involved what they considered idol worship. But the poets use this too in a special sense. It is a common mystic concept that God is revealed in the beauty of the universe, and Ghalib, along with most ghazal poets, equates the worship of beauty with the worship of God, whether it be the beauty of nature or of a beautiful woman or of a handsome boy. If in worshiping idols Hindus were expressing devotion to God, though they called Him by another name, and if they felt that love with all their heart, that was better than a Muslim who saw the performance of ritual observances as the essence of religion. So Hinduism came to be used symbolically in the ghazal, to represent the worship of God through the worship of beauty. The idol is the symbol of the irresistibly beautiful mistress you 'idolise' and adore, and she in turn, besides being herself, is also the symbol of your Divine Beloved:

I will not cease to worship her, that infidel, my idol  
Though all creation never cease to call me infidel

Hinduism is used symbolically to challenge the idea that there is only one revealed religion, only one path to God. Here Ghalib represents orthodoxy by the rosary which Muslims move between their fingers as they recite the hundred names of God, and compares this with the sacred thread worn by upper-caste Hindus:

Put on the sacred thread and break the hundred-beaded rosary  
The traveller takes the path he sees to be the even one

Characteristically, he is conveying a serious message through a play on words. Orthodoxy is like a bumpy road – the fingers have to go up and down over each bead; but on the smooth path (the thread) the fingers run easily along it. In other words, those who seek God will find Him more easily if they avoid orthodoxy. But the poet-as-mystic has just as cordial a dislike for an arrogant, bigoted Hindu, represented in the ghazal by the Brahmin, as he does for his Muslim counterpart, the shaikh. It is a broad humanist spirit that one must be faithful to, not the religion one happens to be born into; and he challenges the orthodox to accept that a Hindu priest who has lived true to his beliefs should be considered worthy of burial in the Islamic holy of holies:

One must be constant to the end; this is the essence of the faith  
The priest dies in his temple – let the Kaba be his burial place

He tells his fellow Muslims, you will only achieve closeness to God when you free yourself from the belief that you are a follower of the one true religion; for God created 'infidels' and 'believers' alike, and values them alike:

Faith? Unbelief? The grime of the illusion of existence  
Cleanse yourself! – and your unbelief will become your faith

Conventional Islam has lost its heart, he says – he will abandon it and join his fellow-men, whatever their affiliation:

The mosque is ruined, so I bring its stones into the city  
And build myself a house there in the unbeliever's lane

In one of his most famous verses he uses the central tenet of Islam – belief in the oneness of God – but he turns it into a call for humanity to transcend religious divisions:

Our creed is 'God is one', our cry, 'Abandon rituals!'  
So that communities dissolve to constitute one faith.
Ghalib's personal philosophy

Taken as a whole, Ghalib's poetry communicates what one might term his personal philosophy. Because of the nature of the ghazal, this philosophy is not set out anywhere as a connected statement; rather, we absorb it through the cumulative effect of thoughts that he expressed in many individual couplets, each with a slightly different emphasis. In this chapter we look at some of the leading ideas.

The search for meaning   
Hali tells this story:

Ghalib was lying on his bed [on the roof] at night, looking up at the sky. He was struck by the apparent chaos in the distribution of the stars and said, 'There is no rhyme or reason in anything the self-willed do. Just look at the stars – scattered in complete disorder. No proportion, no system, no sense, no pattern. But their King has absolute power and no one can breathe a word against Him!'

In his poetry there is a similar questioning spirit. Ghazal poets talk of seeking God. Ghalib's search can better be described as seeking the meaning of life, and it was deeper and more comprehensive than most. He does not question the concept of God as creator of the universe but he often uses terms like fate, heaven, destiny, the sky,which imply a more impersonal mechanism that determines what will happen. And he cannot perceive any benevolent controlling force – at times it seems that God has given up on His creation:

The wind blows hard, the night is dark, the stormy waves are rising The anchor's chain is broken, and the captain is asleep

He is definite that conventional religion will not provide answers. The concepts of formal religion are at best metaphors:

The object of my worship lies beyond perception's reach  
To those who see, the Kaba is a compass, nothing more

He appears to survey the whole human drama and the universe in which it is played, acutely aware of unceasing change and the transience of all experience:

O heedless one, your life-span lasts no longer than a glance  
Our life here is as transient as is the dancing spark's

Everything in the natural order and in our own experience is fleeting. He compares spring to henna that decorates women's hands and feet for a wedding, but that fades in a few days – and so does the joy it was there to celebrate:

Spring is the henna on the feet of autumn – nothing more  
In this world lasting sorrow follows transient delight

He feels our human vulnerability, the impossibility of surviving in a universe which exerts all its powers to annihilate everything delicate and beautiful:

It makes my heart quail when I see the effort of the blazing sun  
I, a mere drop of dew that hangs upon the desert thorn

We are insignificant – yet we can only comprehend the meaning of life in terms of the importance of our own existence. Here he conveys this idea using the image of the 'seven heavens' whose revolution was thought to determine one's fate – but says:

The object of creation was mankind and nothing else  
We are the point round which the seven compasses revolve

He talks of cultivating the sensitivity to 'see' fully – to understand significance:

Unless the sea within the drop, the whole within the part  
Appear, you play like children; you still lack the seeing eye

Reality is infinitely rich, and one who is alive to this can sense things that have not yet come into existence:

The roses surge within the branch, driven by the force of spring Like wine still held within the flask – concealed yet not concealed

Given the desire to see, we can see patterns even in inert matter – as the legendary sculptor Azar did:

He who has eyes to see counts up the beauties spread before him And sees Azar's idols dancing, locked within the rock

Much of the time – as in all the verses above – he uses no religious framework or vocabulary in his attempts to find meaning in the apparent chaos of existence. At other times he frames his search in mystical terms, and talks of being pulled in seemingly-opposite directions:

I fear Your wrath; it makes me seek the long sleep of oblivion   
I seek Your face; it makes me journey on through all the world

And occasionally he expresses the conviction that it is possible to reach a deeper level of understanding. To those who stop trying he says:

You are the one who does not know the meaning of His secrets  
Hidden no more than melody is hidden in the lute

In a remarkable Persian ghazal he sets out in a series of connected verses a sort of manifesto of his beliefs. He stresses once again that orthodox religion and the formulations of theology are inadequate, or actually harmful. You need to rely on your own inner resources to assimilate what is valuable in every deep experience. But there is a creative power at work in the universe which will help you to reach a stage when all significant experience, both of pleasure and of pain, will appear to you as a single clear, transparent reality – a reality which you can receive within yourself, but which cannot be described in words. The ghazal ends:

God can be felt entire; the mind can comprehend the world  
Ghalib be silent now. This is a song no voice can sing

Living intensely

Alongside these metaphysical reflections is what may at first seem an opposite tendency – the expression of zest for life, and of the importance of living life to the full, here and now. His letters communicate something similar in the vigour with which he entered into all aspects of life, his own and those of his friends. In a verse addressed to the legendary Khizar (who found the water of eternal life) Ghalib says:

Khizar, weare alive who know the busy world of men  
Not you, who slunk away unseen to steal eternal life

But there is a link to the larger philosophical questions. His very awareness of the transience of existence, and how powerless we are to control what happens to us, is what motivates the desire to make the most of whatever experience he has. He recognizes how limited is the scope our existence offers both for joy pure and simple, and for that more complex joy which is inextricably linked with sorrow and sacrifice. His response is to stress that one should live intensely, treasuring all that life can bring – not only its pleasures, but its suffering too.

He talks of extracting from life all the experience it can offer:

I too gaze on the wonders that my longing can perform  
It matters nothing to me whether I attain my wish

Even if he were incapacitated, he says, the desire to live fully would be as strong:

What if I cannot move my hands? My eyesight is still sound  
So let the goblet and the flask stand there before my eyes

It is the substance of experience that matters to him, not the form in which it comes and perhaps the wine of insight will come in unexpected ways:

If you dislike me, saki, pour the wine in my cupped hand  
I may not have the cup? So be it. Let me have the wine

The more you face up to reality and engage fully, the less reason you will find to envy anyone else:

Your heart is sick with envy? Fire it with the zeal to see  
Keep gazing on; your narrowed eyes may yet be opened wide

The knowledge of our mortality pushes us to live intensely:

What urges to achieve, desire has brought us!  
And but for death where would be all life's joys?

We cannot simply wait for experience to come but must create our own – for no matter how pure the heart, it will itself become impure unless it is active for good:

The staring mirror's brightness is discoloured in the end  
The standing water grows its own green surface in the end

He will continue, even if there is no sense of getting anywhere:

Lost to myself, I strive and strive unstinting on – and fate  
Gives every goal I reach the aspect of a starting point

He sees life as a constant journey, spiritual and intellectual, to which there is no final goal:

Delight in moving on. Why think about your destination?  
Don't measure progress; hear the summons of the bell, and dance

The 'summons of the bell' conjures a picture of camels pausing in their journey across the desert, till the bell signals that the caravan is about to move off. But the call to dance also evokes a picture of a darvesh, who dances to induce a state of spiritual ecstasy.

The grief of life

It is clear in the poetry of Ghalib's youth that even from early on he had had to deal with emotional distress, and been forced by experience to think deeply on the problems of life. We have seen that his adult life brought a fair measure of grief and sorrow, and couplets throughout his ghazals express this. He talks of feeling worn down by the things he has lived through:

Ah! Asadullah Khan, the age has settled scores with you  
Where now is all that zest for life? Where now that vibrant youth?

There is a sense of constantly looming troubles. Even things that should seem welcome – like the sight of clouds that signal longed-for rain – can seem a portent of new disasters:

I feel no joy though clouds should mass a hundred times above my fields  
To me it means that lightning seeks thus early to find out my crop

He asks why fate should target him for special suffering:

What special wisdom did I have? What unique skill was mine?  
Heaven had no reason, Ghalib, to become my enemy

but there is an irony here, for it is supposed to be only the most talented men that fate ruins, and he does feel he has a unique skill which he has been fated not to have recognized.

Sorrow is an inevitable part of existence, and there is no escaping it. We have no choice but to carry on:

Asad, the grief of life can find no other cure than death  
The candle, come what may, burns on until the morning dawns

More significant than his expression of grief is the philosophy he applies in trying to come to terms with it. He knows there is no point in behaving as if we have a right to good fortune:

We cry to fate, 'Restore to us the life of ease that once was ours!'  
We think our looted wealth a debt the robber owes to us

And giving way to self-pity does not help:

Would that I had not voiced my grief! But how was I to know, my friend  
That this would only make more keen the pain within my heart?

Grief has to be accepted; it too is part of the experience of living, and knowing that life is short should make us value every moment:

My heart, this pain and sorrow too is precious; for the day will come You will not heave the midnight sigh, nor shed your tears as morning dawns

Whatever befalls him, he will stay fully engaged – it is not in his nature to give up:

I have not ceased to struggle; I am like the captive bird  
Who in the cage still gathers straws with which to build his nest

The fact that he has never ceased to work for what he desired is enough to support him, even when he has no other source of joy:

back! thronging hosts of black despair, lest you reduce to dust as well  
The one joy left to me – the joy that unavailing struggle brings

By facing up to sorrow we develop the resources to cope with it:

When one becomes inured to sorrow, sorrow vanishes  
Such hardships have befallen me that life is easy now

Love gives meaning to life

Looking back over the whole body of his ghazals, the strongest theme to emerge is about love, in its widest ghazal sense. Love – by which he also means living with integrity – inevitably brings suffering, but it is what gives meaning to life:

All that gives radiance to life comes from the love that ruins your home  
Only the lightning that destroys the crops lights up this gathering

Love gives us a framework not just for accepting grief but for rising through it:

Grief nourishes us lovers in the bosom of adversity  
Our lamp shines through the tempest like the coral through the  
stormy sea

It does not free us from sorrow, but moves it onto another plane:

Love taught my nature what it is to know the zest of life  
I found a cure for sorrow in a sorrow without cure

The first 'sorrow' is the restlessness and dissatisfaction of life; the second is the sorrow of love. It is a 'cure' because it gives meaning to life, but it brings life-long pain for which there is no cure; yet no one who has known it will abandon it.

Some of his strongest statements on love use the image of lightning as a symbol of a force that both illuminates your life and has the power to destroy. As a lover – in the full sense of the word – he commits to its service, even though to do so is to court his own destruction:

I pledge myself entire to love – and love of life possesses me  
I worship lightning – and lament the lightning's handiwork

He talks of 'we who are free' – who have freed ourselves from the constraints of rigid ideas and over-concern with self, to seek a life lived with love. By holding on to what we learn from that, we find the strength to face loss, and carry on:

We who are free grieve only for a moment  
And use the lightning's flash to light our homes.
Ghalib on his poetry

In a long poem written while he was in jail – abandoned by friends, humiliated and fearful for the future – Ghalib expressed his belief in the potential power of his poetry:

Here within prison walls confined I tune the lute of poetry That sorrow bursting from my heart, transmuted into melody May sing a song to draw forth blood – that even from captivity I may work wonders in the world, and build a tavern for the free

Of the value of his own poetry Ghalib never had the slightest doubt. He felt an immense and justified pride in it. He felt that it drew on capacities which he himself could not consciously summon:

These themes I write of come into my mind from the unseen Ghalib, the sound my moving pen makes is an angel's voice

An early poem describes his sense of this high calling:

I asked the Mind Supreme why destiny  
Decreed for me life-long captivity.  
It said, 'Ill-starred one, are you then a crow,  
Caught in the snare only to be set free?  
You are a nightingale, held in a cage  
So that the age may hear your melody

'Poetry,' said the poet Mir, 'is a task for men whose hearts have been seared by the fire of love and pierced by the wounds of grief.' Ghalib shared this view. He felt almost no boundary between himself – his experience of life – and the poetry through which he tried to communicate it:

I am no melody, I am no lute  
I am the sound that my own breaking makes

He wrote from a need to express his own intensity:

My heart is vibrant with complaint as is the harp with music Give it the slightest touch, and you will see what happens then

But it was not just self-expression. He believed that a poet must have something deeply significant to say, something that would banish complacency and challenge the accustomed order of things:

The words I hide within my breast are not those of a preacher Words to be spoken at the stake, not spoken from the pulpit

The ghazal was never for Ghalib just an exercise in conventional themes and poetic skill. It was the form of his choice – one could hardly expect it to be otherwise, for he was a man with a great love of the old cultural traditions, and the ghazal stands at the centre of these. But there are more personal reasons. If one sketches the character of the ashiq, the steadfast lover in the ghazal's symbolism, first in the context of earthly love and then in mystic or metaphoric terms, one can see the striking relevance to Ghalib's character and to his expression through poetry of what he feels. The lover – and the ghazal poet casting himself in this role – is someone whom the experience of an all-consuming love has transformed. All other values, all other standards of conduct, are either discarded or given new meaning by the way of life which love alone can teach. Few people in the society in which he lives have had such an experience, and to those who have not, it is something that thought and emotion alike cannot comprehend. The lover thus lives a life directed by ideals which even the most sensitive among those around him cannot relate to. Ghalib, both as a poet and as a man, felt himself to be in this position. When he depicts himself as the true lover of a beautiful woman, gladly suffering for his love, he is using traditional symbolism to assert his conviction of the soundness of his values and the high quality of his poetry, and declaring that so long as he lives he will continue to affirm them. Here he expresses this in the most dramatic imagery, using the phrase hath qalam hue, which means 'my hands were cut off' – but it can also mean 'my hands became pens':

I filled the blood-stained pages with the story of my love   
And went on writing, even when they had cut off my hands

There is no denying that he is, on the whole, a difficult poet, and he knew this. Though he offers his wealth freely it is sometimes laid out behind barriers which many have not been able to pass. The most obvious barriers for most people in the world today are the languages in which he wrote and the dense set of cultural assumptions which are equally the medium through which his thoughts must travel to reach us. But even in his own time what he had to say was often beyond the imaginative reach of those listening. Here, and here alone perhaps, we have an advantage over his contemporaries, for much of Ghalib's thought is remarkably modern, and there are important elements in it which we can expect to understand more readily than people of his time.

In one of his ghazals he described himself as 'collyrium' – something applied to the eyes to make them brighter, but also, it was believed, to sharpen the sight:

I am collyrium freely given for the eyes of men  
My price, the recognition of what I confer on them

In the time since he spoke this verse many thousands of his fellow countrymen have accepted this 'collyrium' from him, and given him in return the recompense he asked – the knowledge that his gift had indeed sharpened their vision and enabled them to see things they had not been able to see before.

If I were to single out what seem to me to be the most distinctive qualities of the man which his poetry reveals, I would say they are these: First, his way of looking at life – a keen, unsentimental, detached observation of man, God and the universe. Second, his values – his humanist beliefs, his strong sense of intellectual independence, his conviction of the originality and of the value to mankind of what he has to say, and a determination to say it, no matter what others may think – and it is here above all that the ghazal tradition meets his needs perfectly. Third, his capacity to enter into and enjoy whatever life brings, and yet to hold aloof, not to be trapped by desire for the things he loves. Finally, the dry, irrepressible humour which he is capable of bringing to the treatment of any theme, including those on which he feels with the greatest seriousness and intensity. This last quality is one of his most appealing, and one that has endeared him to successive generations of his readers.

He himself was confident that his poetry would win the esteem it deserved after his death. He compared it to wine, which would be valued most once it had grown old:

Today none buys my verse's wine, that it may grow in age  
To make the senses reel in many a drinker yet to come;  
My star rose highest in the firmament before my birth  
My poetry will win the world's acclaim when I am gone

His confidence was justified. His 'world' was the world of Urdu speakers, and since his death they have come to understand and value him as his contemporaries could not. This book has been written in the hope that the boundaries of his 'world' can be extended and that English-speaking people too will be able to understand something of his greatness.
Part 2

Selections from Ghalib's Ghazals

I pledge myself entire to love—and love of life possesses me  
I worship lightning—and lament the lightning's handiwork

Sarapa rahn i ishq o naguzir e ulfat e hasti  
ibadat barq ki karta hun aur afsos hasil ka

Lkjkik jsgu&,&b'd vks ukxqt+hj&,&mYQ+r&,&gLrh  
bcknr cd++Z dh djrk gwW vkSj vQ+lksl gkfly dk

Saki, the thirst the drinker feels is matched to his capacity  
And if you are a sea of wine, I am the thirsty shore

baqadr i zarf hai saqi khumar e tishna-kami bhi  
jo tu darya i mai hai to main khamyaza hun sahil ka

cdnz&,&t+Q+Z gS] lkdh ! [+kq+ekj&,&r'u dkeh Hkh  
tks rw nfj;k&,&eS gS] rks eSa [kfe;kt+k g¡w lkfgy dk

What wonder if His mercy should accept in expiation  
The shame that will not let me ask forgiveness for my sins

Rahmat agar qabul kare, kya baid hai  
sharmindagi se uzr na karna gunah ka

jger vxj dqcwy djs] D;k cbZn gS  
'kfeZUnxh ls mtz] u djuk xqukg dk

Jealousy says, Alas! Alas! Her love is for my rival!  
Reason says, One cold as she cannot love any man

Rashk kahta hai ki, us ka ghair se ikhlas, haif!  
aqal kahti hai ki vuh be-mihr kis ka ashna

j'd dgrk gS] fd mldk x+Sj ls b[+ykl gSQ+  
vDy dgrh gS fd ^oks csesg~j fdldk vk'kuk

Love furnishes the pride of those whose hearts are truly humble  
Makes every grain of sand a desert, every drop a sea

Shauq hai saman taraz i nazish i arbab i ijz  
zarra sahra dastgah o qatra darya ashna

'kSkd gS lkekrjkt , ukft+'k , vjckc , bTt  
tjZ% lgj% nLrxkg vks d+rj% nfj;k vk'kuk

I grapple with that fragment of ill fate that is my untamed heart  
The enemy of ease, the friend of reckless wandering

Main aur ik afat ka tukra vuh dil i vahshi ki hai  
afiyat ka dushman aur avaragi ka ashna

eSa] vkSj bd vkQ+r dk VqdM+k] oks fny&,&og'kh fd gS  
vkfQ+;r dk nq'eu vkSj vkokjxh dk vk'kuk

All that the nightingale can do provokes the rose's laughter  
What we call love is really a derangement of the mind

Bulbul ke karobar pe hain khandahae gul  
kahte hain jis ko ishq khalal hai damagh ka

cqycqy ds dkjksckj i* gS [k+nagk&,&xqy  
dgrs gSa ftldks b'd] [k+yy gS fnekx+ dk

Exceeding difficult an easy task can prove to be  
Not every man can manage to achieve humanity

bas ki dushvar hai har kam ka asan hona  
admi ko bhi muyassar nahin insan hona

cl fd nq'okj gS] gj dke dk vklk¡ gksuk  
vkneh dks Hkh eq;LLkj ugha] bUlk¡ gksuk

Sin's ocean was not vast enough; it dried right up  
And still my garment's hem was barely damp with it

Darya i muasi tunak-abi se hua khushk  
mera sar i daman bhi abhi tar na hua tha

nfj;k&,&evklh] rquqdvkch ls gqvk [kq'd  
esjk lj&,&nkeu Hkh] vHkh rj u gqvk Fkk

Though I have passed my life in pledge to all the age's cruelties  
Yet never was the thought of you once absent from my mind

Go main raha rahin i sitamhae rozgar  
Lekin tire khayal se ghafil nahin raha

xks eSa jgk jghu&,&flregk&,&jkst+xkj  
ysfdu frjs [k;ky ls x+kfQ+y ugha jgk

You are the one that does not know the music of His secrets  
Hidden no more than melody lies hidden in the lute

Mahram nahin hai tu hi navahae raz ka  
yan varna jo hijab hai parda hai saz ka

egje ugha gS rw gh uokgk&,&jkt+ dk  
;k¡ ouZ% tks fgtkc gS] inZ% gS lkt+ dk

Does your independence know no bounds, my gracious love? How long  
Shall I pour my heart out to you, just to hear you answer 'What?'

Beniyazi had se guzri, banda-parvar, kab talak  
ham kahenge hal i dil aur ap farmavenge 'kya?'

csfu;kt+h gn ls xqt+jh] cUn% ijoj! dc ryd  
ge dgsaxsa gky&,&fny] vkSj vki Q+jekosaxs D;k\\*

Ghalib, it is the rose's beauty teaches us to gaze  
No matter what the scene, no one should ever close his eyes

bakhshe hai jalva e gul zauq i tamasha, Ghalib,  
chasham ko chahiye har rang men va hojana

c['ks gS tYo%&,&xqy t+kSd+&,&rek'kk ^x+kfyc*  
p'e dks pkfg, gj jax esa ok gks tkuk

In my construction lies concealed the stuff that is to ruin me  
The hot blood of the peasant holds the lightning for his crops

Miri tamir men muzmar hai ik surat kharabi ki  
hayula barq i khirman ka hai khun i garm dehqan ka

fejh rkehj esa eqTej gs bd lwjr [+kjkch dh  
g;wyk cdZ&,&f[k+jeu dk gS] [+kwu&,&xeZ nsgdk¡ dk

My silence hides a hundred thousand longings drowned  
in their own blood  
I am a burnt-out, tongueless lamp upon a stranger's grave

Khamoshi men nihan khungashta lakhon arzuen hain  
chiragh i murda hun main be-zaban gor i ghariban ka

[k+eks'kh esa fugk¡] [k+qx'r% yk[kksa vkjtw,¡ gSa  
pjkx&,&eqnkZ gw¡] eSa cst+ck¡] xksj&,&x+jhck¡ dk\

What urges to achieve, desire has brought us!  
And but for death where would be all life's joys?

Havas ko hai nishat i kar kya kya  
na ho marna to jine ka maza kya?

gol dks gS fu'kkr&,&dkj D;k D;k  
u gks ejuk rks thus dk et+k D;k\

What will this heedlessness achieve, my proud one?  
How long these 'Whats?' to my petitionings?

Tajahul-peshagi se mudaa kya?  
kahan tak e sarapa naz 'kya, kya?'

rtkgqy is'kxh ls eq|vk D;k\  
dgk¡a rd ,s ljkik ukt+! D;k&D;k\

I want your gaze to turn full force upon me  
Why try me so with constant heedlessness?

Nigah e bemuhaba chahta hun  
taghafulhae tamkin-azma kya?

fuxkg&,&csegkck pkgrk gq¡  
rx+kQqygk&,&redh vkt+ek D;k\

A straw on fire burns only for a moment  
Can lust be equal to the tasks of love?

Farogh i shola i khas yak nafas hai  
havas ko pas i namus i vafa kya?

Qjksx+&,&'kksy%&,&[k+l ;d uQ+l gS  
gol dks ikl&,&ukewl&,&oQ+k D;k\

All that she is puts Ghalib's soul in turmoil  
All that she says, and hints, and looks, and does

Balae jan hai, Ghalib, us ki har bat  
ibarat kya, isharat kya, ada kya

cyk&,&tka gS ^x+kfyc* mldh gj ckr  
bckjr D;k] b'kkjr D;k] vnk D;k

You came and went before my eyes like lightning flashing. Why?  
Could you not speak to me? My ears were thirsting for your words

Bijli ik kund gai ankhon ke age to kya?  
bat karte, ki main lab tishna e taqrir bhi tha

fctyh bd dkSan xbZ vk¡[kksa ds vkxs rks D;k\  
ckr djrs] fd eSa yc r'u%&,&rd+jhj Hkh Fkk

Ghalib, you aren't the only one supreme in Urdu verse  
They tell me that in former times there lived a certain Mir

Rekhte ke tumhin ustad nahin ho, Ghalib,  
kahte hain, 'agle zamane men koi Mir bhi tha.'

js[rs ds rqEgha mLrkn ugha gks ^x+kfyc*  
dgrs gSa vxys tekus esa dksbZ ^ehj* Hkh Fkk

It was her beauty I described, and my words that described it  
And he is now my rival who was once my confidant

Zikr is parivash ka aurphir bayan apnan gaya raqib akhir tha jo razdan apna

ftØ ml ijho'k dk] vkSj fQj c;k¡ viuk  
cu x;k jd+hc vkf[+kj] Fkk tks jkt+nk¡ viuk

Would that I could have looked out from an even greater height  
Would that I had my dwelling place above the throne of God

Manzar ik bulandi par aur ham bana sakte  
arsh se udhar hota kash ke makan apna!

eat+j bd cqyUnh ij] vkSj ge cuk ldrs  
v'kZ ls m/kj gksrk dk'k ds edk¡ viuk

What special wisdom did I have? What unique skill was mine?  
Heaven had no reason, Ghalib, to become my enemy

Ham kahan ke dana the, kis hunar menyakta the?  
be-sabab hua, ghalib, dushman asman apna

ge dgk¡ ds nkuk Fks] fdl gquj esa ;Drk Fks\  
cslcc gqvk ^x+kfyc*] nq'eu vklek¡ viuk

Grief wastes our life away, and yet—how shall we flee the heart within us?  
Had we not known the grief of love, we would have known  
the grief of living

Gham agarchi jan-gusil hai, pe kahan bachen? ki dil hai  
gham i ishq gar na hota gham i rozgar hota

x+e vxpsZ tk¡xqfly gS] i* dgk¡ cpsa fd fny gS  
x+e&,&b'd+ xj u gksrk] x+e&,&jkst+xkj gksrk

When nothing was, then God was there; had nothing been, God  
would have been  
My being has defeated me. Had I not been, what would have been?

Na tha kuch to khuda tha, kuch na hota to khuda hota  
duboya mujh ko hone ne, na hota main to kya hota?

u Fkk dqN] rks [+kqnk Fkk] dqN u gksrk] rks [+kqnk gksrk  
Mqcks;k eq>dks gksus us] u gksrk eSa rks D;k gksrk\

Though I do not understand her words, and may not know her heart  
Is it not enough that one so beautiful now speaks to me?

Go na samjhun us ki baten, go na paun us ka bhed  
par yih kya kam hai ki mujh se vuh pari-paikar khula?

xks u le>w¡ mldh ckrsa] xks u ikÅ¡a mldk Hksn  
ij ;g D;k de gS] fd eq>ls oks ikjh&iSdj [kqyk\

All night, all day, the seven heavens are turning  
Something will happen; set your mind at ease

Rat din gardish men hain sat asman  
ho rahega kuch na kuch, ghabraen kya?

jkr fnu xfnZ'k esa gSa lkr vklek¡  
gks jgsxk dqN u dqN] ?kcjk,¡ D;k\

She fights me, and I tell myself she loves me:  
When she feels nothing, what can I dream then?

Lag ho to us ko ham samjhen lagao  
jab na ho kuch bhi to dhoka khaen kya?

ykx gks] rks mldks ge le>sa yxko  
tc u gks dqN Hkh] rks /kksdk [kk,¡ D;k\

I passed my life waiting for death to take me  
And dead, I still must see what I must see

Umar bhar dekha kiya marne ki rah  
margae par dekhiye dikhlaen kya?

mez Hkj ns[kk fd, ejus dh jkg  
ej x, ij] nsf[k,] fn[kyk,¡ D;k

She is perplexed. She asks me, 'Who is Ghalib?'  
Tell me, someone, What answer can I give?

Puchte hain vuh ki 'Ghalib kaun hai?'  
koi batlao ki ham batlaen kya

iwNrs gSa oks fd ^xkfyc dkSu gS\\*  
dksbZ crykvks fd ge cryk,¡ D;k

The news comes hot that she is on her way  
Just on the day my house is empty, bare

Hai khabar garm un ke ane ki  
aj hi ghar men boriya na hua

gS [kcj xeZ muds vkus dh  
vkt gh] ?kj esa oksfj;k u gqvk

We serve You; yet our independent self-regard is such  
We shall at once turn back if we should find the Kaba closed

bandagi men bhi vuh azada o khud-bin hain ki ham  
ulte phir ae dar i Kaba agar va na hua

cUnxh esa Hkh] oks vktkn%vks&[+kqncha gSa fd] ge  
mYVs fQj vk,] nj&,&dkc% vxj ok u gqvk

Unless the sea within the drop, the whole within the part  
Appear, you play like children; you still lack the seeing eye

Qatre men dajla dikhai na de aur juzv men kul  
khel larkon ka hua, dida i bina na hua

d+rjs esa nty% fn[kkbZ u ns] vkSj tqTo esa dqy  
[ksy yM+dksa dk gqvk] nhn%&,&chuk u gqvk

I see the sunset-reddened cloud and find myself remembering  
How, parted from you, fire would rain upon the rose-garden

Mujhe ab dekhkar abr i shafaq-aluda yad aya  
ki furqat men tiri atish barasti thi gulistan par

eq>s vc ns[kdj vcz&,&'kQ+d+vkyqnk ;kn vk;k  
fd Qqd+Zr esa frjh vkrf'k cjlrh Fkh xqfyLrk¡ ij

We cry to fate, 'Restore to us the life of ease that once was ours!'  
We think our looted wealth a debt the robber owes to us

Falak se ham ko aish i rafta ka kya kya taqaza hai!  
matae burda ko samjhe hue hain qarz i rahzan par

Q+yd ls] gedks ,s'k&,&jQ+r% dk] D;k D;k rd+ktk gS  
erk&,&cqnZ% dks] le>s gq, gSa d+tZ] jgt+u ij

I give my poetry away, and give myself along with it  
But first I look for people who can value what I give

Bik jate hain ham ap mata i sukhan ke sath  
lekin ayar i taba i kharidar dekh kar

fcd tkrs gSa ge vki] erk&,&lq[+ku ds lkFk  
ysfdu] v;kj&,&rCv&,&[+kjhnkj ns[kdj

Since I have made my home, without your leave, right by your door  
Will you say, even now, you need directing to my house?

Ghar jab bana liya tire dar par kahe baghair  
janega ab bhi tu na mira ghar kahe baghair?

?kj tc cuk fy;k frjs nj ij] dgs fcx+Sj  
tkusxk vc Hkh rw u fejk ?kj dgs fcx+Sj\

She says, when I no longer even have the power of speech  
'How should I know a man's heart if he does not speak to me?'

Kahte hain jab rahi na mujhe taqat i sukhan  
'janun kisi ke dil ki main kyonkar kahe baghair?'

dgrs gSa] tc jgh u eq>s rkd+r&,&lq[+ku  
tkuw fdlh ds fny dh eSa D;¡wdj] dgs fcx+Sj\

I have to do with her of whom no man in all the world  
Has ever spoken yet without calling her 'cruel one'

Kam us se a para hai ki jis ka jahan men  
leve na koi nam sitamgar kahe baghair

dke mlls vk iM+k gS] fd ftldk tgku esa  
ysos u dksbZ uke] flrexj dgs fcxSj

I have nothing to say to you; else I am not the man  
To hold my tongue; I would speak out though it cost me my head

Ji men hi kuch nahin hai hamare, vagarna ham  
sar jae ya rahe, na rahen par kahe baghair

th gh esa dqN ugha gS gekjs] oxuZ% ge  
lj tk, ;k jgs] u jgsa ij dgs fcx+Sj

I will not cease to worship her, that infidel, my idol  
Though all creation never cease to call me infidel

Chorunga main na us but i kafir ka pujna  
chore na khalq go mujhe kafir kahe baghair

NksM++wxk eSa u ml cqr&,&dkfQ+j dk iwtuk  
NksM+s u [k+Yd+ xks eq>s] dkfQ+j dgs fcx+Sj

Since I am deaf I make a claim to double kindness from you  
I cannot hear what you have said unless you say it twice

bahra hun main to chahiye duna ho iltifat  
sunta nahin hun bat mukarrar kahe baghair

cgjk gw¡ eSa] rks pkfg, nwuk gks bfYrQ+kr  
lqurk ugha gw¡ ckr] eqdjZj dgs fcxSj

Because her every gesture seems to hint at something different  
When she shows love for me I think 'She must mean something else.'

Hai baski har ik un ke ishare men nishan aur  
karte hain muhabbat to guzarta hai guman aur

gS cl fd] gj bd muds b'kkjs esa fu'kk¡ vkSj  
djrs gSa eqgCcr] rks xqtjrk gS xqek¡ vkSj

O Lord, they do not understand, nor will they understand my words  
Give them another heart, or else give me another tongue

Ya rab, vuh na samjhe hain na samjhenge miribat  
de aur dil un ko jo na de mujh ko zaban aur

;k jc! oks u le>s gSa] u le>saxs fejh ckr  
ns vkSj fny mudks] tks u ns eq>dks t+ck¡ vkSj

For all the expertise I have acquired in breaking idols  
So long as I exist a heavy stone still blocks my path

Harchand subuk-dast hue but-shikani men  
ham hain, to abhi rah men hai sang i giran aur

gjpUn lqcqdnLr gq,] cqrf'kduh esa  
ge gSa] rks vHkh jkg esa gSa lax&,&fxjk¡ vkSj

The world holds other poets too who write good poetry  
But Ghalib's way of saying things, they say, is something else

Hain aur bhi dunya men sukhanvar bahut acche  
kahte hain ki Ghalib ka hai andaz i yan aur

gSa vkSj Hkh nqU;k esa] lq[+kuoj cgqr vPNs  
dgrs gSa fd ^x+kfyc* dk gS vUnkt+&,&c;k¡ vkSj

I am no melody, I am no lute  
I am the sound that my own breaking makes

Na gul i naghma hun na parda i saz  
main hun apni shikast ki avaz

u xqy&,&uXe% gw¡] u inZ%&,&lkt+  
eSa gw¡ viuh f'kdLr dh vkokt

You, and the coiling tresses of your hair  
I, and my endless, dark imaginings

Tu aur araish i kham i kakul  
main aur andeshahae dur o daraz

rw] vkSj vkjkb'k&,&[ke+&,&dkdqy  
eSa] vkSj vUns'k%gk&,&nwj&vks&njkt+

I grant you that you will not be indifferent—but then  
I shall be dust before you realise that I am there

Ham ne mana ki tagaful na karoge lekin  
khak ho jaenge ham tum ko khabar hone tak

geus ekuk] fd rx+kQ+qy u djksxs ysfdu  
[k+kd gks tk,¡xs ge] rqedks [+kcj gksus rd

The radiance of the sun teaches the dew to lose itself  
I too live till I win the favour of a glance from you

Partau i khur se hai shabnam ko fana ki talim  
main bhi hun ek inayat ki nazar hone tak.

ijro&,&[k+qj ls gS 'kcue dks Q+uk dh rkyhe  
eSa Hkh gw¡] ,d buk;r dh ut+j gksus rd

O heedless one, your life-span lasts no longer than a glance  
Our life here is as transient as is the dancing spark's

Yak nazar besh nahin fursat i hasti, ghafil  
garmi e bazam hai ik raqs i sharar hone tak

;d ut+j cs'k ugha] Q+qlZr&,&gLrh x+kfQ+y!  
xfeZ&,&cT+e] gS] bd jD+l&,&'kjj gksus rd

Asad, the grief of life can find no other cure than death  
The candle, come what may, burns on until the morning dawns

Gham i hasti ka, Asad kis se ho juz marg elaj?  
shama har rang men jalti hai sahar hone tak

x+e&,&gLrh dk] ^vln* fdlls gks tqt+ exZ bykt\  
'kek gj jax esa tyrh gS lgj gksus rd

If you are sure that God will grant your prayer, then do not ask  
That is, ask only for a heart that has nothing to ask

Gar tujh ko hai yaqin i ijabat, dua na mang  
yani baghair yak dil i be muddaa na man

xj rq>dks gS ;d+hu%&,&btkcr] nqvk u ek¡x  
;kuh fcx+Sj ;d fny&,&cseqívk u ek¡x

It calls to mind the number of the scars of thwarted yearnings  
So do not ask me, God, to count the number of my sins

Ata hai dagh i hasrat i dil ka shumar yad  
mujh se mire gunah ka hisab e khuda na mang

vkrk gS nkx+&,&gljr&,&fny dk 'kqekj ;kn  
eq>ls fejs xqug dk fglkc] ,s [k+qnk! u ek¡x

You stand away, and purse your lips, and show their rosebud form  
I said, 'How do you kiss?' Come, kiss my lips and say, 'Like this'

Ghuncha i nashugufta ko dur se mat dikha ki yun  
bose ko puchta hun main, munh se mujhe bata ki yun

xqpa%&,&ukf'x+q¶+r% dks nwj ls er fn[kk] fd ;w¡  
oksls dks iwNrk gw¡ eSa] eq¡g ls eq>s crk] fd ;w¡

How does she steal your heart? Why ask? She does not speak a word  
But every gesture, every grace, is telling you 'Like this!'

Pursish i tarz i dilbari kijiye kya, ki bin kahe  
us ke har ik ishare se nikle hai yih ada ki yun

iqjfl'k&,&rtZ&,&fnycjh] dhft, D;k] fd fcu dgs  
mlds gj bd b'kkjs ls fudys gS ;g vnk] fd ;w¡

I said, 'From love's assembly every rival should be banished'  
What irony! She heard me, sent me out, and said, 'Like this?'

Main ne kaha ki 'bazm i naz chahiye ghair se tihi'  
sunke sitamzarif ne mujh ko utha diya ki 'yun?'

eSaus dgk fd cTe&,&ukt+ pkfg, x+Sj ls frgh  
lquds flret+jhQ+ us eq>dks mBk fn;k] fd ;w¡\

If people say, 'Can Urdu then put Persian verse to shame?'  
Recite a line of Ghalib's verse and tell them, 'Yes! Like this!'

Jo yih kahe ki 'rekhta kyonke ho rashk i farsi?'  
gufta i Ghalib ek bar parhke use suna ki yun

tks ;g dgs fd js[+r% D;w¡fd gks j'd&,&Q+kjlh \  
xq¶+r%&,&^x+kfyc* ,d ckj i+ds mls lquk fd ;w¡

Though it play only strains of grief, my heart, yet you must treasure them  
The music of this lute of life will all be stilled one day

Naghmahae gham ko bhi, e dil, ghanimat janiye  
be-sada hojaega yih saz i hasti ek din

uX+e% gk&,&x+e dks Hkh] ,s fny x+uher tkfu,  
cslnk gks tk,xk] ;g lkt+&,&gLrh ,d fnu

I may be good, I may be bad—I live in ill-matched company  
A flower thrown on the bonfire, or a weed among the flowers

Na janun nek hun ya bad hun, par suhbat mukhalif hai  
Jo gul hun to hun gulkhan men, jo khas hun to hun gulshan men

u tkuw¡ usd gw¡ ;k cn gq¡] ij lksgcr eq[k+kfyQ+ gS  
tks xqy gw¡ rks gw¡] xqy[ku esa] tks [kl gw¡] rks gw¡ xqy'ku esa

Your radiance gives being to the world  
The sun's light shines in every particle

Hai tajalli tiri saman i vujud  
zarra be partau i khurshid nahin

gS rtYyh frjh lkeku&,&oqtwn  
tjZ% cs ijrc&,&[kq+j'ksn ughsa

They say that it is hope that we all live by  
I do not even hope that I shall live

Kahte hain 'jite hain ummid pe log'  
ham ko jine ki bhi ummid nahin

dgrs gSa] thrs gSa] mEehn i* yksx  
gedks thus dh Hkh mEehn ugha

Not one created atom here but what is destined to decay  
The sun on high a lamp that gutters in the windy street

Hain zaval-amada ajza afrinish ke tamam  
mihr i gardun hai chiragh i rahguzar i bad yan

gS toky&vkekn% vTt+k vkQjhfu'k ds reke  
esg~j&,&xnwZa gS pjkx+&,&jgxqt+kj&,&ckn] ;ka

My rival's honeyed words have worked the spell that he intended  
And I am dumb; the thought, 'He loves me' does not cross her mind

Hogai hai ghair ki shirin-bayani kargar  
ishq ka us ko guman ham be-zabanon par nahin

gks xbZ gS] xSj dh 'khjha c;kuh] dkjxj  
b'd dk] mldks xqek¡] ge cst+ckuksa ij ugha

It is the sun that sends its gaze in particles to gather there  
No particles of dust are these that throng the windows of her home

Hogae hain jama ajzae nigah i aftab  
Zarre us ke ghar ki divaron ke rauzan men nahin

gks x, gSa tEv] vt~t+k&,&fuxkg&,&vkQ+rkc  
tjsZ mlds ?kj dh nhokjksa ds jkSt+u esa ugha

All that gives radiance to life comes from the love that ruins your home  
Only the lightning that destroys the crops lights up this gathering

Raunaq i hasti hai ishq i khanaviran-saz se  
anjuman be shama hai gar barq khirman men nahin

jkSud+&,&gLrh gS b'd&,&[k+ku% ohjkalkt+ ls  
vatqeu cs'kEv gS] xj cd+Z f[+kjeu esa ugha

Ghalib, who honoured you at home, that other lands should value you?  
Be frank: you are the straw that does not feed the bonfire's flame

Thi vatan men shan kya, Ghalib, ki ho ghurbat men qadar?  
be-takalluf hun vuh musht i khas ki gulkhan men nahin

Fkh oru esa 'kku D;k ^x+kfyc* fd gks xqjcr esa d+nz  
csrdYyqQ+ gw¡] oks eq'r&,&[k+l fd xqy[+ku esa ugha

The radiance that lights your lane lights paradise as well  
The scene is just the same, but where's the joy in living there?

Kam nahin jalvagari men tire kuche se bahisht  
yihi naqsha hai, vale is qadar abad nahin

de ugha tYo%xjh esa] frjs dwps ls fcfg'r  
;gh uD'k% gS] oys bl d+nj vkckn ugha

Ghalib, what right have you to make complaint of other lands?  
Do you forget the callousness of all your friends at home?

Karte kis munh se ho ghurbat ki shikayat, Ghalib?  
tum ko be-mihri i yaran i vatan yad nahin?

djrs fdl eqWg ls gks xq+cZr dh f'kdk;r] ^xkfyc*\  
rqedks csesg~fj&,&;kjku&,&oru ;kn ugha\

Once you are kind to me you can send for me when you will  
I am not like time past, that I can never come again

Mihirban hoke bula lo mujhe chaho jis vaqt  
main gaya vaqt nahin hun ki phir a bhi na sakun

esgjcka gksds cqykyks eq>s] pkgks ftl oD+r  
eSa x;k oD+r ugha gw¡] fd fQj vk Hkh u ldw¡

At last she came into my home—such is the power of God!  
Sometimes I turn my gaze on her, sometimes upon my home

Vuh ae ghar men hamare khuda ki qudrat hai  
kabhi ham un ko kabhi apne ghar ko dekhte hain

oks vk, ?kj esa gekjs] [+kqnk dh dq+njr gS  
dHkh ge mudks] dHkh vius ?kj dks ns[krs gSa

The object of my worship lies beyond perception's reach  
To those who see, the Kaba is a compass, nothing more

Hai pare sarhad i idrak se apna masjud  
qible ko ahl i nazar qibla-numa kahte hain

gS ijs ljgn&,&bnjkd ls] viuk eLtwn  
fdCys dks vgy&,&ut+j fdCy%uqek dgrs gSa

Love's madness brings no loss. What if my home goes all to ruin?  
A desert for a plot of land is not a d exchange!

Nuqsan nahin junun men, bala se ho ghar kharab  
sau gaz zamin ke badle beaban giran nahin

uqD+l¡k ugha tquqa esa] cyk ls gks ?kj [+kjkc  
lkS xt teha ds cnys] cs;kok¡ xjk¡ ugha

He never sent the wine-cup yet my way in her assembly  
I wonder if the saki has mixed something with the wine?

Mujh tak kab unki bazam men ata tha daur i jam?  
saqi ne kuch mila na diya ho sharab men

eq> rd dc mudh cT+e esa vkrk Fkk nkSj&,&tke\  
lkd+h us dqN feyk u fn;k gks 'kjkc esa

Thousands of signs of love cannot match one averted gaze  
Thousands of self-adornings cannot match one flare of wrath

Lakhon lagao ek churana nigah ka  
Lakhon banao ek bigarna etab men

yk[kksa yxko] ,d pqjkuk fuxkg dk  
yk[kksa ouko] ,d fcxM+uk brkc esa

The steed of life runs on. None knows where it will stay its course  
The reins have fallen from our hands, the stirrups from our feet

Rau men hai rakhsh i umar, kahan dekhiye thame  
na hath bag par hai na pa hai rikab men

jkS esa gS j['k&,&mez] dgk¡ nsf[k, Fkes  
u gkFk ckx ij gS] u ik gS jdkc esa

I go some way with every one I see advancing swiftly  
So far I see no one whom I can take to be my guide

Chalta hun thori dur har ik tezraw ke sath  
pahchanta nahin hun abhi rahbar ko main

pyrk gw¡ FkksM+h nwj gj bd rstjkS ds lkFk  
igpkurk ugha gw¡ vHkh] jkgcj dks eSa

To think desire is adoration is to be a fool  
How should I worship her who treats me with such tyranny?

Khahish ko ahmaqon ne parastish diya qarar  
kya pujta hun us but i bedad gar ko main?

[+okfg'k dks] vged+ksaa us] ijfLr'k fn;k djkj  
D;k iwtrk gw¡ ml cqr&,&csnknxj dks eSa\

He gave me both the worlds and told Himself, 'He is content'  
And I, tongue-tied with shame, had not the heart to ask for more

Donon jahan deke vuh samjhe yih khush raha  
yan a pari yih sharm ki takrar kya karen

nksuksa tgku nsds] oks le>s] ;g [k+q'k jgk  
;ka vk iM+h ;g 'keZ] fd rdjkj D;k djsa

Where are they all? Some bloom again as tulips or as roses  
There in the dust how many forms forever lie concealed!

Sab kahan? kuch lala o gul men numayan hogain  
Khak men kya suraten hongi ki pinhan hogain?

lc dgk¡] dqN yky% vks xqy esa uqek;k¡ gks xbZa  
[k+kd esa D;k lwjrsa gksaxh] fd fiu~gk¡ gks xbZa

I too remembered gatherings rich in all kinds of beauty  
Now they are only forms and patterns on oblivion's shelf

Yad thin ham ko bhi rangarang bazmaraiyan  
lekin ab naqsh o nigar i taq i nisyan hogain

;kn Fkha] gedks Hkh] jaxkjax cTe~vkjkb;k¡  
ysfdu vc uD+~'k&vks&fuxkj&,&rkd+&,&fufl;k¡ gks xbZa

Sleep is for him, and pride for him,  
and nights for him Upon whose arm your tresses all dishevelled lay

uhan mldh gS] fnekx mldk gS] jkrsa mldh gSa  
rsjh tq+YQ+sa] ftlds ckt+w ij ijh'kk¡ gks xbZa

Nind us ki hai damagh us ka hai raten us ki hain  
teri zulfen jis ke bazu par pareshan hogain

I went into the garden, and it seemed a school assembled  
The nightingales heard my laments, then sang their songs of love

Main chaman men kya gaya goya dabistan khul gaya  
bulbulen sunkar mire nale ghazal-khan hogain

eSa peu esa D;k x;k] xks;k nfcLrk¡ [kqy x;k  
cqycqysa lqudj fejs ukys] x+ty[+ok¡ gks xbZa

Our creed is 'God is one', our cry, 'Andon rituals!'  
So that communities dissolve to constitute one faith

Ham muvahhid hain, hamara kesh hai tark i rusum  
millaten jab mit gain ajzae iman hogain

ge eqofg~gn gS] gekjk ds'k gS rdZ&,&:lwe  
feYyrsa tc feV xZ] vt~t+k&,&bZeka gks xbZa

When one becomes inured to sorrow, sorrow vanishes  
Such hardships have befallen me that life is easy now

Ranj se khugar hua insan to mit jata hai ranj  
mushkilen mujh par parin itni ki asan hogain

jat ls [k+wxj gqvk bUlk¡] rks feV tkrk gS jat  
eqf'dysa eq> ij iM+ha bruh] fd vklk¡ gks xbZa

No, she does not bow down to God   
Yes, she is faithless too. Now go!  
If I had prized my heart and faith  
Would I have gone into her lane?

Han, vuh nahin khuda-parast, jao vuh bevafa sahi  
jis ko ho din o dil aziz us ki gali men jae kyon?

gk¡ oks ugha [kqnkijLr] tkvks oks csoQ+k lgh  
ftldks gks nhu&vks&fny vt+ht+] mldh xyh esa tk, D;w¡\

Your heart is sick with envy? Fire it with the zeal to see   
Keep gazing on; your narrowed eyes may yet be opened wide

Hasad se dil agar afsurda hai garm i tamasha ho  
ki chashm i tang shayad kasrat i nazzara se va ho

gln ls fny vxj vQ+lqnZ% gS xeZ&,&rek'kk gks  
fd p'e&,&rax 'kk;n] dlzr&,&uT+t+kj% ls ok gks

The urge to sin should match the scale of yearning in my heart  
The seven seas would do no more than wet my garment's hem

Baqadr i hasrat i dil chahiye zauq i maasi bhi  
bharun yak gosha i daman gar ab i haft darya ho

cdnz&,&gljr&,&fny pkfg, t+kSd+&,&evklh Hkh  
Hk:¡ ;d xks'k%&,&nkeu xj vkc&,&g¶+r nfj;k gks

I feel no such constraint, I do not tell you 'You must love me'  
Feel what you feel for me though it be only enmity

Varasta is se hain ki muhabbat hi kyon na ho  
kije hamare sath, adavat hi kyon na ho.

okjLrk mlls gSa] fd eqgCcr gh D;w¡ u gks  
dhts gekjs lkFk vnkor gh D;w¡ u gks

Each of us is a world in which all kinds of fancies throng  
I sit in an assembly even though I am alone

Hai admi bajae khud ik mahshar i khayal  
ham anjuman samajhte hain khalvat hi kyon na ho

gS vkneh ctk, [kqn] bd eg'kj&,&[k+;ky  
ge vatqeu le>rs gSa] [k+yor gh D;¡w u gks

Be knowingly indifferent, that I may have some hope  
This wayward glance that does not know me is like poison to me

Jankar kije taghaful ki kuch ummid bhi ho  
yih nigah i ghalat andaz to sum hai ham ko

tkudj dhts rx+kQ+qy] fd dqN mEehn Hkh gks  
;g fuxkg&,&xyr vUnkt+ rks le gS gedks

Now let me go away and live somewhere where no one else will be  
Where there is none that knows my tongue, where there is none to  
speak with me

There let me build myself a house with, so to say, no doors, no walls  
And live there without neighbours and with no one to keep watch   
for me

If I fall ill, then there should be no one to come and visit me  
And if I die let none be there to weep and wail and mourn for me

Rahiye ab aisi jagah chalkar jahan koi na ho  
ham-sukhan koi na ho aur ham-zaban koi na ho

Bedar o divar sa ik ghar banaya chahiye  
koi hamsaya na ho aur pasban koi na ho

Pariye gar bimar to koi na ho timardar  
aur agar marjaiye to nauhakhan koi na ho

jfg, vc ,slh txg pydj] tgk¡ dksbZ u gks  
gelq[+ku dksbZ u gks] vkSj get+ck¡ dksbZ u gks

cs nj&vks&nhokj lk bd ?kj cuk;k pkfg,  
dksbZ gelk;% u gks vkSj iklck¡ dksbZ u gks

ifM+, xj chekj] rks dksbZ u gks rhekjnkj  
vkSj vxj ej tkb,] rks ukSg%[ok¡ dksbZ u gks

Meet with my rival if you like; I leave that to your whim  
But what is wrong with asking after me as well as him?

Tum jano tum ko ghair se jo rasm o rah ho  
mujh ko bhi puchte raho to kya gunah ho?

rqe tkuks] rqedks xS+j ls tks jLe&vks&jkg gks  
eq>dks Hkh iwNrs jgks] rks D;k xqukg gks\

The tavern is no more. What does it matter where I drink?  
Be it the mosque, the seminary, or the hermitage

Jab maikada chuta to phir ab kya jagah ki qaid?  
masjid ho, madrasa ho, koi khanqah ho

tc eSdn% NqVk] rks fQj vc D;k txg dh dSn\  
efLtn gks] enjl% gks] dksbZ [k+kud+kg gks

All that they say in praise of paradise is true, I know  
God grant, though, that it be illumined by your radiance!

Sunte hain jo bahisht ki tarif sab durust  
lekin khuda kare vuh tira jalvagah ho!

lqurs gSa tks fcfg'r dh rkjhQ] lc nq#Lr  
ysfdu [kq+nk djs] oks frjk tYo%xkg gks

God's will be done; but not from greed for heaven's wine and honey  
Take hold of paradise, someone, and cast it into hell!

Taat men ta rahe na mai o angabin ki lag  
dozakh men dal do koi lekar bahisht ko

rkvr esa rk jgs u eS&vks&vaxcha dh ykx  
nkst[+k esa Mky nks dksbZ ysdj fcfg'r dks

How can I tread the beaten path to heavenly reward?  
The knife that nibbed the pen that wrote my fate cut it askew

Hun munharif na kyon rah o rasm i savab se?  
terha laga hai qat qalam i sarnavisht ko

gw¡ equ~gfjQ+ u D;w¡] jg&vks&jLe&,&lokc ls\  
Vs+k yxk gS d+r] d+ye&,&ljufo'r dks

Ghalib, no matter how I toil, my labour bears no fruit  
Lightning will strike my granaries if locusts spare my fields

Ghalib, kuch apni sai se lahna nahin mujhe  
Khirman jale agar na malakh khae kisht ko

^x+kfyc* dqN viuh lbZ ls yguk ugha eq>s  
f[+kjeu tys vxj u ey[+k [kk, fd'r dks

Here in my cage I mourn; and even if my plaint displeases them  
Yet does my being harm the birds that fill the garden with their song?

Qafas men hun, gar achcha bhi na janen mere shevan ko  
mira hona bura kya hai navasanjan i gulshan ko?

d+Q+l esa gw¡] xj vPNk Hkh u tkusa esjs 'ksou dks  
fejk gksuk cqjk D;k gS] uoklatku&,&xqy"ku dks\

I feel no joy though clouds should mass a hundred times above my  
fields  
To me it means that lightning seeks already to find out my crop

Khushi kya khet par mere agar sau bar abr ave?  
Samajhta hun ki dhundhe hai abhi se barq khirman ko

[kq'kh D;k [ksr ij esjs] vxj lkS ckj vcz vkos  
le>rk gw¡] fd w+s gS vHkh ls cdZ+ f[+kjeu dks

One must be constant to the end; this is the essence of the faith  
The priest dies in his temple—let the Kaba be his burial-place

Vafadari bashart i ustuvari asl i iman hai  
mare butkhane men to kabe men garo barahman ko

oQ+knkjh c'krZ&,&mLrkokjh vLy&,&bZek¡ gS  
ejs cqr[+kkus esa rks dkcs esa xkM+ks cjgeu dks

Had he not robbed me in the day, could I have slept so sound at night?  
I feel no more the fear of theft. My blessings on the highwayman!

Na lutta din ko to kab rat ko yun bekha bar sota?  
raha khatka na chori ka dua deta hun rahzan ko

u yqVrk fnu dks] rks dc jkr dks ;w¡ cs[kcj lksrk\  
jgk [kVdk u pksjh dk] nqvk nsrk gw¡ jgt+u dks

Can I not then write poetry, that I should go in quest of jewels?  
Have I not then a heart within, that I should go and dig in mines?

Sukhan kya kah nahin sakte ky joya hun javahir ke?  
jigar kya ham nahin rakhte ki khoden jake madan ko?

lq[+ku D;k dg ugha ldrs] fd tks;k gksa tokfgj ds  
ftxj D;k ge ugha j[krs] fd [kksnsa tk ds eknu dks

You gave your heart away. Why then lament your loss in plaintive song?  
You have a breast without a heart. Why not a mouth without a tongue?

Kisi ko deke dil koi navasanj i fughan kyon ho?  
na ho jab dil hi sine men to phir munh men zaban kyon ho?

fdlh dks nsds fny dksbZ uoklt&,&Q+qx+k¡ D;w¡ gks  
u gks tc fny gh lhus esa] rks fQj eq¡g esa tck¡ D;w¡ gks\

She will not change her nature and I have my standards to maintain  
How can I stoop to ask of her the reason for her high disdain?

Vuh apni khu na chorenge, ham apni vaza kyon choren?  
subuksar banke kya puchen ki ham se sargiran kyon ho?

oks viuh [kw u NksM+saxs] ge viuh oT+v D;w¡ NksM+sa\  
lqcqdlj cuds D;k iwNsa] fd gels ljfxjk¡ D;w¡ gks\

You have no cause to blame my love. Who is to blame? Do you not see?  
We should no longer be at odds did you not struggle to be free

Ghalat hai jazb i dil ka shikva, dekho jurm kis ka hai?  
na khaincho gar tum apne ko kashakash darmiyan kyon ho?

xyr gS tT+c&,&fny dk f'kdo%] ns[kks tqeZ fdldk gS\  
u [ksapks xj rqe vius dks] d'kkd'k njfe;k¡ D;w¡ gks\

Is this affliction not enough to work one's ruin utterly?  
When you become a friend why should the sky become an enemy?

Yih fitna admi ki khanavirani ko kya kam hai?  
hue tum dost jis ke dushman us ka asman kyon ho?

;g fQ+Ru% vkneh dh [kku% ohjkuh dks D;k de gS\  
gq, rqe nksLr ftlds] nq'eu mldk vklek¡ D;w¡ gks\

If this is testing, can you tell me what would persecution be?  
It is to him you show your favour. Why then are you testing me?

Yihi hai azmana to satana kis ko kahte hain?  
adu ke ho liye jab tum to mera imtihan kyon ho?

;gh gS vkt+ekuk] rks lrkuk fdldks dgrs gSa\  
vnw ds gks fy, tc rqe] rks esjk bfErgk¡ D;w¡ gks\

You said, 'Why should I be ashamed if he too comes to visit me?'  
A wise remark! A just remark! Yes, ask yourself, 'Why should I be?'

Kaha tum ne ki 'kyon ho ghair ke milne men rusvai?'  
ja kahte ho, sach kahte ho,phir kahiyo ki 'han kyon ho?'

dgk rqeus] fd D;w¡ gks xSj ds feyus esa #lokbZ\  
ctk dgrs gks] lp dgrs gks] fQj dfg;ks fd ^gk¡ D;w¡ gks*\

Ghalib, what do you hope to gain, that you should taunt her as you do?  
You tell her that she is unkind. Will that, then, make her kind to you?

Nikala chahta hai kam kya tanon se tu, Ghalib?  
tire bemihr kahne se vuh tujh par mihrban kyon ho?

fudkyk pkgrk gS dke D;k rkuksa ls rw] ^x+kfyc*\  
frjs csesgj dgus ls oks rq> ij esgjck¡ D;w¡ gks\

The thought that beauty would be kind possessed me. What simplicity!  
Your coming was no more than just the prelude to your going

Hamari sadagi thi iltifat i naz par marna  
tira ana na tha, zalim, magar tamhid jane ki

gekjh lknxh Fkh] bfYrQ+kr&,&ukt+ ij ejuk  
frjk vkuk u Fkk] t+kfye exj reghn tkus dh

How can I tell the virtues of the men to whom this age gave birth  
They do me harm to whom I have done good repeatedly

Kahun kya khubi e ausaf i abnae zaman Ghalib  
badi ki us ne jis se ham ne ki thi barha neki

dgw¡ D;k [k+wfc&,&vkSlkQ+&,&vCuk&,&t+ek¡ ^x+kfyc*  
cnh dh mlus] ftlls] dh Fkh geus ckjgk usdh

Would that I had not voiced my grief! But how was I to know,  
my friend  
That this itself would only make the pain I feel more keen

Na karta kash nala! mujh ko kya malum tha, hamdam  
ki hogabais i afzaish i dard i darun vuh bhi

u djrk dk'k uky%] eq>dks D;k ekywe Fkk gene  
fd gksxk ckbl&,&vQ+t+kb'k&,&nnZ&n: oks Hkh

How should the saki of the skies pour you the wine of happiness?  
He sits there with his—one, two, four—his seven cups upturned

Mai i ishrat ki khahish saqi i gardun se kya kije?  
Liye baitha hai ik do car jam i vazhgun vuh bhi

eS&,&b'kjr dh [+okfg'k] lkfd+&,&xnwZa ls D;k dhts\  
fy, cSBk gS] bd nks pkj tke&,&ok'kxwa oks Hkh

Ghalib, I long to be with her, and grieve that fate keeps us apart  
God grant I may tell her one day this longing and that grief

Mire dil men hai, Ghalib, shauq i vasl o shikva i hijran  
Khuda vuh din kare jo us se main yih bhi kahun vuh bhi

fejs fny esa gS] ^x+kfyc* 'kkSd+&,&oLy&vks&f'kdo%&,&fgtjk¡  
[k+qnk oks fnu djs] tks mlls eSa ;g Hkh dgw¡] oks Hkh

He who sits in the shade of his beloved's wall  
Is lord and king of all the realm of Hindustan

Baitha hai jo ki saya i divar i yar men  
farman-ravae kishvar i hindostan hai

cSBk gS tks fd lk;%&,&nhokj&,&;kj esa  
Q+jek¡jok&,&fd'oj&,&fgUnksLrku gS

My heart, this pain and sorrow too is precious, for the time will come  
You will not heave the midnight sigh nor shed your tears  
as morning dawns

Dila, yih dard o alam bhi to mughtanim hai, ki akhir  
na girya i sahri hai na ah i nimshabi hai

fnyk! ;s nnZ&vks&vye Hkh rks eqxrfue gS fd vkf[kj  
u fxfj;%&,&lgjh gS] u vkg&,&uhe'kch gS

They offer paradise to make up for our life below  
It needs a stronger wine than this to cure our hangover

Dete hain jannat hayat i dahr ke badle  
nasha ba andaza i khumar nahin hai

nsrs gSa tUur] g;kr&,&ngj ds cnys  
u'kk% cvUnkt%&,&[k+qekj ugha gS

Home is not home unless it holds the turmoil of strong feeling  
If there are cries of grief, not songs of joy, then be it so

Ek hangame pe mauquf hai ghar ki raunaq  
nauha i gham hi sahi, naghma i shadi na sahi.

,d gaxkes i* ekSd+wQ+ gS] ?kj dh jkSud+  
ukSg%&,&xe gh lgh] uX+e%&,&'kknh u lgh

I do not long for people's praise; I seek no one's reward  
And if they say my verses have no meaning, be it so

Na sitaish ki tamanna na sile ki parva  
gar nahin hain mire ashar men mani na sahi

u flrkb'k dh reUuk] u flys dh ijok  
xj ugha gSa fejs v'kvkj esa ekuh u lgh

Treasure the joy of life spent in the company of fair women  
Ghalib, though you may not live life's full span, well, be it so!

Ishrat i suhbat i khuban hi ghanimat samjho  
na hui, Ghalib, agar umr i tabai, na sahi

b'kjr&,&lksgcr&,&[kw+ck¡ gh x+uher le>ks  
u gqbZ ^x+kfyc*] vxj mez&,&rchbZ] u lgh

The rose has opened wide her arms for the farewell embrace  
Come, nightingale, it's time to go! The days of spring are gone

Aghosh i gul kushuda barae vida hai  
e andalib, chal, ki chale din bahar ke

vkx+ks'k&,&xqy dq'kwn% cjk, fonk gS  
,s vUnyhc! py] fd pys fnu cgkj ds

Yes, one day you'll win kisses from those lips, but you will need  
To summon boundless love and reckless courage to your aid

Us lab se mil hi jaega bosa kabhi to han  
shauq i fuzul o jurat i rindana chahiye

ml yc ls fey gh tk,xk cksl% dHkh rks] gk¡  
'kkSd+&,&Q+qtwy&vks&tqjvr&,&fjUnku% pkfg,

The garden knows my apprehension, and it frightens me To me  
the shade of every rose's branch looks like a snake

Bagh pakar khifqani yih darata hai mujhe  
saya i shakh i gul afai nazar ata hai mujhe

ckx+ ikdj [kQ+d+kuh ;g Mjkrk gS eq>s  
lk;%&,&'kk[k&,&xqy vQ+bZ utj vkrk gS eq>s

The dew has sprinkled water on the mirror of the rose-petal  
See, nightingale, the spring is getting ready to depart

Chirke hai shabnam aina i barg i gul pe ab  
e andalib, vaqt i vida i bahar hai

fNM+ds gS 'kcue vkbu%&,&cxZ&,&xqy ij vkc  
,s vUnyhc! oDr&,&fonk&,&cgkj gS

Note too how I regret the sins that I could not commit  
O Lord, if you would punish me for these committed sins

Nakarda gunahon ki bhi hasrat ki mile dad  
ya rab, agar in karda gunahon ki saza hai

ukdnkZ xqukgksa dh Hkh gljr dh feys nkn  
;k jc! vxj bu dnkZ xqukgksa dh lt+k gS

What is the autumn? What the season  
They call spring? Throughout the year  
We live on, caged, lamenting still  
That once we had the power to fly

Khizan kya? fasl i gul kahte hain kisko? koi mausam ho  
vuhi ham hain, qafas hai, aur matam bal o par ka hai

[+ktk¡ D;k\ Q+Ly&,&xqy dgrs gSa fdldks\ dksbZ ekSle gks  
ogh ge gSa d+Q+l gS] vkSj ekre cky&vks&ij dk gS

'It is not love, but madness!' Be it so  
My madness is your reputation though

Ishq mujh ko nahin, vahshat hi sahi  
meri vahshat tiri shuhrat hi sahi

b'd eq>dks ugha] og'kr gh lgh  
esjh og'kr frjh 'kksgjr gh lgh

Do not break off the bond uniting us  
If nothing else, grant me your enmity

Qata kije na taalluq ham se  
kuch nahin hai to adavat hi sahi

d+Rv dhts u rvYyqd+ gels  
dqN ugha gS rks vnkor gh lgh

Why should my meeting you put you to shame?  
Alright, meet privately, not publicly!

Mere hone men hai kya rusvai?  
e vuh majlis nahin, khalvat hi sahi

esjs gksus esa gS D;k #lokbZ\  
,s] oks etfyl ugha] [+kyor gh lgh

I will not be my own worst enemy  
My rival loves you. What is that to me?

Ham bhi dushman to nahin hain apne  
ghair ko tujh se muhabbat hi sahi

ge Hkh nq'eu rks ugha gSa vius  
xSj dks rq>ls eqgCcr gh lgh

I am not one to fail in loyalty  
Whether you call it love, or misery

Ham koi tark i vafa karte hain  
na sahi ishq, musibat hi sahi

ge dksbZ rdZ&,&oQ+k djrs gSa!  
u lgh b'd] eqlhcr gh lgh

If you dislike me, saki, pour the wine in my cupped hand  
I may not have the cup? So be it. Let me have the wine

Pila de ok se saqi jo ham se nafrat hai  
piyala gar nahin deta na de sharab to de

fiyk ns vksd ls] lkd+h] tks gels uQ+jr gS  
fi;ky% xj ugha nsrk] u ns] 'kjkc rks ns

Lord, how the passion of my heart recoils upon me! Why is it  
The more I strive to draw her close, the more she draws away?

Khudaya jazba i dil ki magar tasir ulti hai?  
ki jitna khainchta hun aur khinchta jae hai mujh se

[kq+nk;k! tT+c%&,&fny dh exj rklhj myVh gS\  
fd ftruk [ksaprk gw¡ vkSj f[kaprk tk, gS eq>ls

Give me respite, despondency, lest I should have to face the day  
You wrest out of my grasp the memory of my love for her

Sanbhalne de mujhe, e naumidi, kya qayamat hai  
ki daman i khayal i yar chuta jae hai mujh se

l¡Hkyus ns eq>s] ,s ukmehnh] D;k d+;ker gS  
fd nkeku&,&[k+;ky&,&;kj NwVk tk, gS eq>ls

Ghalib, how can I bear the thought she journeys with my rival  
She whom I would not willingly trust even to God's care

Qayamat hai ki hove muddai ka ham safar, Ghalib  
vuh kafir jo khuda ko bhi na sonpa jae hai mujh se

d;ker gS] fd gksos eq|bZ dk gelQ+j ^x+kfyc*  
oks dkfQ+j] tks [kqnk dks Hkh u lkSaik tk, gS eq>ls

An age has passed since last I brought my loved one to my house  
Lighting the whole assembly with the wine-cups' radiance

Once more my spirit burns to loose the sparks of hot complaint  
An age has passed since I have looked upon their shining lights

Once more my heart goes pilgrim to her lane, courting disgrace  
Leaving the shrine of self-esteem empty and desolate

Once more I seek a purchaser willing to take my love  
And offer wit and heart and soul to her if she will buy

I long once more to see one standing there upon the roof  
Black tresses loosed to play dishevelled all about her face

My yearning stirs once more to see someone confronting me  
The daggers of her eyelashes sharp with collyrium

My spirit seeks once more the leisure I once had to sit  
Lost night and day in memories of loves that won my heart

Muddat hui hai yar ko mahman kiye hue  
josh i qadah se bazm chiraghan kiye hue

Phir garm i nalahae shararbar hai nafas  
muddat hui hai sair i chiraghan kiye hue

Dil phir tavaf i kue malamat ko jae hai  
pindar ka sanamkada viran kiye hue

Phir shauq kar raha hai kharidar ki talab  
arz e mata e aql o dil o jan kiye hue

Mange hai phir kisi ko lab i bam par havas  
zulf i siyah rukh pe pareshan kiye hue

Chahe hai phir kisi ko muqabil men arzu  
surme se tez dashna e mizhgan kiye hue

Ji dhundhta hai phir vuhi fursat ki rat din  
baithe rahen tasavvur i janan kiye hue

eqír gqbZ gS ;kj dks esgek¡ fd, gq,  
tks'k&,&d+ng ls cT+e pjkx+k¡ fd, gq,

fQj xeZ&,&uky%gk&,&'kjjckj gS uQ+l  
eqír gqbZ gS lSj&,&pjkx+k¡ fd, gq,

fny fQj rokQ+&,&dw&,&eyker dks tk, gS  
fiUnkj dk luedn% ohjk¡ fd, gq,

fQj 'kkSd+ dj jgk gS [k+jhnkj dh ryc  
vt+Z&,&erkv&,&vD+y&vks&fny&vks&tk¡ fd, gq,

ek¡xs gS fQj] fdlh dks yc&,&cke ij] gcl  
tqYQ+&,&fl;kg #[+k i* ijh'kk¡ fd, gq,

pkgs gS fQj fdlh dks eqd+kfcy esa vkjt++w  
lqesZ ls rst+ n'u%&,&fe'kxk¡ fd, gq,

th w¡rk gS fQj ogh Q+qlZr] fd jkr fnu  
cSBs jgsa rlCcqj&,&tkuk¡ fd, gq,

A strong snare lay in wait for me, concealed close to my nest  
I had not even taken wing when it imprisoned me

Pinhan tha dam i sakht qarib ashian ke  
urne na pae the ki giriftar ham hue

fiUgk¡ Fkk nke&,&l[r djhc vkf'k;ku ds  
mM+us u ik, Fks] fd fxfj¶rkj ge gq,

I filled the blood-stained pages with the story of my love  
And went on writing even when they had cut off my hands

Likhte rahe junun ki hikayat i khunchakan  
har chand us men hath hamare qalam hue

fy[krs jgs tquwa dh fgdk;kr&,&[kawpdk¡  
gjpUn mles gkFk gekjs dye gq,

Abstemious one, why do you push the cup away?  
It's wine! It's not the vomit of the bee!

Kyon radd e qadah kare hai zahid?  
mai hai yih, magas ki qai nahin hai

D;w¡ jí&,&dng djs gS tkfgn\  
eS gS] ;g exl dh dS ugha gS

You ask what balm will soothe the wounded heart?  
Its main ingredient is diamond dust

Na puch nuskha i marham jarahat i dil ka  
ki us men reza i almas juzv i azam hai

u iwN uqL[k%&,&ejge tjkgr&,&fny dk  
fd mlesa jst+%&,&vYekl tqT+o&,&vkt+e gS

I too gaze on the wonders that my longing can perform  
It matters nothing to me whether I attain my wish

Hun main bhi tamashai e nairang i tamanna  
matlab nahin kuch is se ki matlab hi bar ave

gw¡ eSa Hkh rek'kkb&,&uSjax&,&reUuk  
eryc ugha dqN bles] fd eryc gh cj vkos

Newcomers to the assembly of the heart's desires  
Beware, if it is wine and music that you seek!

Look well at me, if only you have eyes to see  
Listen to me, if you have ears to hear me speak

The saki's charm will steal away your faith, your wits  
The minstrel's song will rob you of your sense, your powers

At night you see the carpet laden all with bloom  
A gardener's apron, filled with fresh, sweet-scented flowers

The saki walks, the flute plays on enchantingly  
Heaven to the eyes, paradise to the ears of all

Come in the morning: Look at the assembly then  
Life, joy, wine, music—all are gone beyond recall

Bearing the scar of parting from its erstwhile friends  
One silent candle, burnt out, shows you how it ends

E taza-varidan i bisat i hava i dil  
zinhar! agar tumhen havas i nai o nosh hai

Dekho mujhe jo dida i ibrat-nigah ho  
meri suno jo gosh i nasihat-niyosh hai

Saqi ba jalva, dushman i iman o agahi  
mutrib ba naghma rahzan i tamkin o hosh hai

Ya shab ko dekhte the ki har gosha i bisat  
daman i baghban o kaf i gulfarosh hai

Lutf i khiram i saqi o zauq i sada i chang  
yih jannat i nigah, vuh firdaus i gosh hai

Ya subh dam jo dekhiye akar to bazm men  
ne vuh sarur o sur na josh o kharosh hai

Dagh i firaq i suhbat i shab ki jali hui  
ik shama rah gai hai, so vuh bhi khamosh hai

,s rkt+% okfjnku&,&fclkr&,&gok&,&fny  
ft+ugkj] vxj rqEgsa gol&,&uk;%&vks&uks'k gS

ns[kks eq>s] tks nhn&,&bojr fuxkg gks  
esjh lquks] tks xks'k&,&ulhgr fu;ks'k gS

lkd+h] ctYo% nq'eu&,&bZeku&,&vkxgh  
eqrfjc] cuXe] jgt+u&,&redhu&vks&gks'k gS

;k 'kc dks ns[krs Fks] fd gj xks'k%&,&fclkr  
nkeku&,&ckxcku&vks&dQ+&,&xqyQ+jks'k gS

yqRQ+&,&f[kjke&,&lkd+h&vks&tkSd+&,&lnk&,&pax  
;g tUur&,&fuxkg oks fQ+jnkSl&,&x+kS'k gS

;k lqCgne tks nsf[k, vkdj] rks cT+e esa  
us oks lq:j&vks&lksj]u tks'k&vks&[k+jks'k gS

nkx&,&fQ+jkd+&,&l+ksgcr&,&'kc dh tyh gqbZ  
bd 'kEv jg xbZ gS] lks oks Hkh [k+eks'k gS

These themes I write of come into my mind from the unseen  
Ghalib, the sound my moving pen makes is an angel's voice

Ate hain Ghalib se yih mazamin khayal men  
Ghaib, sarir i khama nava i sarosh hai

vkrs gSa xSc ls] ;s etkeha [k;ky esa\  
^x+kfyc*] ljhj&,&[k+ke% uok&,&ljks'k gS

Just see the sweetness of his speech! At everything I hear him say  
I feel as if that very thought is there in my heart too

Dekhna taqrir ki lazzat, ki jo us ne kaha  
main ne yih jana ki goya yih bhi mere dil men hai

ns[kuk rd+jhj dh yTt+r] fd tks mlus dgk  
eSusa ;g tkuk fd xks;k ;g Hkh esjs fny esa gS

Back! thronging hosts of black despair, lest you reduce to dust as well  
The one joy left to me—the joy that unavailing struggle brings

bas hujum i na-umidi! khak men mil jaegi  
yih jo ik lazzat hamari sai i behasil men hai

ol] gqtwe&,&ukmehnh [k+kd esa fey tk,xh  
;g tks bd yT+t+r gekjh lb&,&csgkfly esa gS

Ghalib, when this is how my life has passed  
How can I think that I too had a God?

Zindagi apni jab is shakal se guzri, Ghalib  
ham bhi kya yad karenge ki khuda rakhte the?

ft+Unxh viuh tc bl 'kDy ls xqt+jh ^x+kfyc*  
ge Hkh D;k ;kn djasx]s fd [kq+nk j[krs Fks\

I have not ceased to struggle; I am like the captive bird  
Who in the cage still gathers straws with which to build his nest

Misal yih miri koshish ki hai ki murgh i asir  
kare qafas men faraham khas ashiyan ke liye

felky ;g fejh dksf'k'k dh gS] fd eqx+Z&,&vlhj  
djs dQ+l+ esa Q+jkge [+kl vkf'k;ka ds fy,

I will not cry for more if I may only look at you  
But there among the houris let me look upon your face

Taskin ko ham na roen jo zauq i nazar mile  
huran i khuld men tiri surat magar mile

rLdha dks ge u jks,W tks t+kSd&,&ut+j feys  
gwjku&,&[k+qYn esa frjh lwjr exj feys

None of my hopes can ever be fulfilled  
Seek as I may, I see no way ahead

Koi ummid bar nahin ati  
koi surat nazar nahin ati

dksbZ mEehn cj ugha vkrh  
dksbZ lwjr ut+j ugha vkrh

Death surely comes on its appointed day  
Why then does sleep not come the whole night through?

Maut ka ek din muayyan hai  
nind kyon rat bhar nahin ati?

ekSr dk ,d fnu eqv¸;u gS  
uhan D;w¡ jkr Hkj ugha vkrh\

Once I would contemplate my wounded heart  
And laugh. Now laughter never comes to me

Age ati thi hal i dil pe hansi  
ab kisi bat par nahin ati

vkxs vkrh Fkh gky&,&fny is galh  
vc fdlh ckr ij ugha vkrh

The meek ascetic wins reward in heaven  
I know, but I cannot incline that way

Janta hun savab i taat o zuhd  
par tabiat idhar nahin ati

tkurk gw¡ lokc&,&rkvr&vks&t+ksgn  
ij rchvr b/kj ugha vkrh

If I keep silent, it is for a reason  
You surely know I have the power to speak?

Hai kuch aisi hi bat jo chup hun  
varna kya bat kar nahin ati?

gS dqN ,slh gh ckr] tks pqi gw¡  
ouZ% D;k ckr dj ugha vkrh\

I am so far away that even I  
Have not the least awareness where I am

Ham vahan hain jahan se ham ko bhi  
kuch hamari khabar nahin ati

ge ogk¡ gS]a tgk¡ ls gedks Hkh  
dqN gekjh [k+cj ugha vkrh

Ghalib, you have the face to go to Mecca?  
But then you never feel a sense of shame

Kabe kis munh se jaoge, Ghalib?  
sharm tum ko magar nahin ati

d+kc% fdl eq¡g ls tkvksxs ^x+kfyc*\  
'keZ rqedks exj ugha vkrh

O foolish heart, what has befallen you?  
Do you not know this sickness has no cure?

Dil i nadan tujhe hua kya hai?  
akhir is dard ki dava kya hai?

fny&,&uknk¡! rq>s gqvk D;k gS\  
vkf[+kj bl nnZ dh nok D;k gS\

I long for her, and she is weary of me  
O Lord above, tell me, what does this mean?

Ham hain mushtaq aur vuh bezar  
ya ylahi, yih majra kya hai?

ge gSa eq'rkd+ vkSj oks cst+kj  
;k bykgh! ;g ektjk D;k gS\

I too possess a tongue like other men  
If only you would ask me what I seek!

Main bhi munh men zaban rakhta hun  
kash pucho ki muddaa kya hai

eSa Hkh eq¡g esa t+cku j[krk gw¡  
dk'k! iwNks fd eqívk* D;k gS

When all is You, and nought exists but You  
Tell me, O Lord, why all this turmoil too?

These fair-faced women, with their coquetries  
Their glances, airs and graces, what are these?

Why the sweet perfume of their coiling tresses?  
Why the collyrium that adorns their eyes?

Where does the grass, where do the flowers come from?  
What is the cloud made of? What is the breeze?

Jab ki tujh bin koi nahin maujud  
phir yih hangama, e khuda, kya hai?

Yih pari-chahra log kaise hain?  
ghamza o ishva o ada kya hai?

Shikan i zulf i anbarin kyon hai?  
nigah i chashm i surma sa kya hai?

Sabza o gul kahan se ae hain? abr kya chiz hai?  
hava kya hai?

tcfd rq> fcu ugha dksbZ ekStwn  
fQj ;g gaxke% ,s [k+qnk D;k gS\

;s ijhpsgj% yksx dSls gSa\  
x+Et+% vks&b'c%&vks&vnk D;k gS\

f'kdu&,&t++qYQ+&,&vacjh D;k gS\  
fuxg&,&p'e&,&lqeZ% lk D;k gS\

lCt&vks&xqy dgk¡ ls vk, gSa\  
vcz D;k pht+ gS\ gok D;k gS\

See how I look to her for loyalty  
Who does not even know what loyalty is

Ham ko un se vafa ki hai ummid  
jo nahin jante vafa kya hai

gedks muls oQ+k dh gS mEehn  
tks ugha tkurs oQ+k D;k gS

I grant that you are right: Ghalib is nothing  
But if you get him free, then what's the harm?

Main ne mana ki kuch nahin Ghalib  
muft hath ae to bura kya hai?

eSus ekuk fd dqN ugha] ^x+kfyc*  
eq¶+r gkFk vk,] rks cqjk D;k gS\

I know the truth regarding Paradise, but all the same  
Since it gives happiness, Ghalib, the thought of it is good

Hamko malum hai jannat ki haqiqat, lekin  
dil ke khush rakhne ko, Ghalib, yih khayal achcha hai

gedks ekywe gS] tUur dh gd+hd+r] ysfdu  
fny ds [kq'k j[kus dks] ^x+kfyc* ;g [k+;ky vPNk gS

To every word that I utter you answer, 'What are you'?  
You tell me; is this the way, then, I should be spoken to?

Har ek bat pe kahte ho tum ki 'tu kya hai'?  
tumhin kaho ki yih andaz i guftagu kya hai?

gj ,d ckr i* dgrs gks rqe fd rw D;k gS*\  
rqEgha dgks fd ;g vUnkt+&,&xq¶+rxw D;k gS\

One thing alone gives Paradise some value in my eyes  
What else, if not the wine, red as the rose, fragrant as musk?

Vuh chiz jis ke liye ham ko ho bahisht aziz  
sivae bada i gulfam i mushkbu kya hai?

oks pht+] ftlds fy, gedks gks fcfg'r vt+ht  
flok;s ckn%&,&xqyQ+ke&,&eq'dcw D;k gS\

There if you speak your voice at once is stifled  
She speaks and other mortals listen on

Bat par van zaban katti hai  
vuh kahen aur suna kare koi

ckr ij ok¡ tcku dVrh gS  
oks dgsa vkSj lquk djs dksbZ

Who knows what I am raving in my madness?  
God grant that nobody can understand

Bak raha hun junun men kya kya kuch  
kuch na samjhe khuda kare koi!

cd jgk gw¡ tquw¡ esa D;k D;k dqN  
dqN u le>s] [k+qnk djs dksbZ

All wrath? All cruelty? Be what you may  
I wish that all you are had been for me

Qahr ho ya bala ho, jo kuch ho  
kash ke tum mire liye hote

d+gj gks] ;k cyk gks] tks dqN gks  
dk'k ds rqe fejs fy, gksrs!

When, Lord, you fated me to bear such grief  
You should have given me more hearts than one

Meri qismat men gham gar itna tha  
dil bhi, ya rab, kai diye hote

esjh fd+Ler esa x+e xj bruk Fkk  
fny Hkh ;k jc! dbZ fn, gksrs

No hunter draws his bow, no fowler lies in wait for me  
Here in the corner of the cage I live a life of ease

Ne tir kaman men hai na sayyad kamin men  
goshe men qafas ke mujhe aram bahut hai

u rhj dek¡ esa gS] u lS;kn dehu esa  
xks'ks esa dQ+l ds] eq>s vkjke cgksr gS

Abstinence wins no praise from me. What though it be sincere?  
Behind it lies raw greed to win reward for virtuous deeds

Kya zuhd ko manun? ki na ho garchi riyai  
padash i amal ki tama i kham bahut hai

D;k tksg~n dks ekuw¡\ fd u gks xosZ fj;kbZ  
iknk'k&,&vey dh rev&,&[k+ke cgksr gS

What makes the wise so proud? Where is the special road they take?  
Common convention marks the path in which they set their feet

Hain ahl i khirad kis ravish i khas pe nazan?  
pabastagi i rasm o rah i am bahut hai

gSa vgy&,&f[kjn fdl jfo'k&,&[+kkl is uktk¡\  
ikcLrxh&,&jLe&vks&jg&,&vke cgksr gS

No one can govern love, Ghalib. This is a kind of fire   
No one can kindle; and, once kindled, no one can put out

Ishq par zor nahin, hai yih vuh atish, Ghalib,  
ki lagae na lage aur bujhae na bane

b'd ij tksj ugha] gS ;g oks vkfr'k ^x+kfyc*  
fd yxk, u yxs vkSj cq>k, u cus

Envy's the punishment you're sure to get for writing poetry  
Hostility's what you get paid for talent. What is there to say?

Hasad saza i kamal i sukhan hai, kya kije?  
Sitam bahae mata i hunar hai, kya kahiye?

gln] lt+k&,&deky&,&lq[ku gS D;k dhts\  
flre] cgk&,&erkv&,&gquj gS] D;k dfg,\

The fair are cruel? What of it? They are fair  
Sing of their grace, their swaying symmetry

Nahin nigar ko ulfat, na ho nigar to hai  
ravani i ravish o masti i ada kahiye

ugha fuxkj dks mYQ+r] u gks] fuxkj rks gS  
j okfu&,&jfo'k&vks&efLr&,&vnk dfg,

Spring is soon fled? What of it? It is spring  
Sing of its breezes, of its greenery

Nahin bahar ko fursat na ho bahar to hai  
taravat i chaman o khubi e hava kahiye

ugha cgkj dks QqlZr] u gks cgkj rks gS  
rjkor&,&peu&vks&[+kwfc&,&gok dfg,

Your ship has reached the shore. Why cry to God  
Against your captain's cruel tyranny?

Safina jab ki kinare pe a laga, Ghalib,  
khuda se kya sitam o jaur i nakhuda kahiye

lQhu tcfd fdukjs i vk yxk] *x+kfyc*  
[kqnk ls D;k flre&vks&tkSj&,&uk[kqnk dfg,

The world is but a game that children play before my eyes  
A spectacle that passes night and day before my eyes

Bazicha i atfal hai dunya mare age  
hota hai shab o roz tamasha mare age

ckt+hp&,&vRQ+ky gS nqfu;k] esjs vkxs  
gksrk gS 'kc&vks&jkst+ rek'kk] esjs vkxs

The throne of Sulaiman is but a toy in my esteem  
The miracles that Isa worked, a trifle in my eyes

Ik khel hai aurang i sulaiman mare nazdik  
ik bat hai ejaz i masiha mare age

bd [ksy gS vkSjax&,&lqysek¡] esjs ut+nhd  
bd ckr gS ,stkt+&,&elhgk esjs vkxs

My faith restrains me while the lure of unbelief attracts me  
That way, the Kaba: and, this way, the Church before my eyes

Iman mujhe roke hai jo khainche hai mujhe kufr  
kaba mare piche hai, kalisa mare age

bZek¡ eq>s jksds gS] rks [ksapsa gS eq>s dqÝ*  
dkc% esjs ihNs gS] dyhlk esjs vkxs

What if I cannot move my hands? My eyesight is still sound  
So let the goblet and the flask stand there before my eyes

Go hath ko junbish nahin ankhon men to dam hai  
rahne do abhi saghar o mina mare age

Xkks gkFk dks tqfc'k ugha] vk¡[kks esa rks ne gS  
jgus nks vHkh lkx+j&vks&ehuk esjs vkxs

Desires in thousands—each so strong it takes away my breath anew  
And many longings were fulfilled—many, but even so too few

Hazaron khahishen aisi ki har khahish pe dam nikle  
bahut nikle mare arman, lekin phir bhi kam nikle.

gt+kjksa [+okfg'ksa ,slh] fd gj [+okfg'k i* ne fudys  
cgqr fudys esjs vjeku] ysfdu fQj Hkh de fudys

I shall write to you even without cause  
Simply to write your name fills me with love

Khat likhenge garche matlab kuch na ho  
ham to ashiq hain tumhare nam ke

[k+r fy[ksaxs] xjps eryc dqN u gks  
ge rks vkf'kd+ gSa] rqEgkjs uke ds

The spring has come again, and in such wise  
The sun and moon look on with shining eyes

From end to end the earth is clad in green  
Matching the blue expanses of the skies

And now the earth is clothed, its mantle spreads  
In the green weed that on the water lies

To gaze upon the green grass and the flowers  
God opens up the blind narcissus' eyes

The air has wine's intoxicating power  
To breathe is to take wine in other guise

Phir us andaz se bahar ai  
ki hue mihr o mah tamashai

Ki zamin hogai hai sar ta sar  
rukash i satah charkh i minai

Sabze ko jab kahin jagah na mili  
ban gaya ru i ab par kai

Sabza o gul ke dekhne ke liye  
chashm i nargis ko di hai binai

Hai hava men sharab ki tasir  
badanoshi hai bad-paimai

fQj bl vUnkt+ ls cgkj vkbZ  
fd gq, esg~ j&vks&eg rek'kkbZ

fd t+eha gks xbZ gS] lj rk lj  
:d'k&,&lrg&p[+kZ&,&ehukbZ

lCt+s dks tc dgha txg u feyh  
cu x;k :&,&vkc ij dkbZ

lCtk&vks xqy ds ns[kus ds fy,  
p'e&,&ufxZl dks nh gS chukbZ

gS gok esa 'kjkc dh rklhj  
ckn%uks'kh gS ckn&iSekbZ
Index to verses

This index is in two parts, giving the first phrases of couplets in English translation and in Urdu. Ghazal numbers are given in brackets so that you can find the whole ghazal in other collections.

The English section includes verses in both Parts 1 and Part 2 (page numbers in italics). Translations from Persian are marked P followed by the ghazal number (eg. P219). Lines from poems other than ghazals are marked [O]. For lines by poets other than Ghalib, the poet's name is given in brackets. Where several couplets on one theme are presented as a continuous poem (eg: ghazal 199, Newcomers to the assembly of the heart's desires) only the first line is given, and the number of verses shown as (7 vv).

 Ghazals are traditionally arranged alphabetically (by the end-rhyme) but this order is not completely fixed so numbers vary slightly between editions. The numbers given here are taken from the Diwan i Ghalib edited by Imtiyaz Ali Khan Arshi (Anjuman i Taraqqi i Urdu, New Delhi, 1971) and are also used in Ralph Russell's full set of translations in The Oxford India Ghalib (OUP Delhi, 2003). Persian ghazal numbers refer to the Abidi edition, Ghazaliat i Farsi, (ed) Sayyid Vazir ul Hasan Abidi, Panjab University, Lahore, 1969. Where a verse is marked [P] with no number, I have not been able to identify numbers.
Poetic vocabulary

If you know spoken Urdu or Hindi you may want to try to read Ghalib's verses in the original Urdu (using whichever transcription you find easiest). You will find that in poetry Urdu uses many words of Persian origin which you may not know. Some are part of the normal speech of educated Urdu speakers, others are understood in poetry but not often used outside that. This list gives the meanings of such words, as used in the verses in Part 2. They may have other meanings in other contexts.

It gives a more accurate guide to pronunciation than the simplified transcription used in the verses. The most important feature of this is that long vowels are underlined:

i – long [bina] as in English sleep; short [bin] as in English slip  
u – long [dur] as in English fool; short [durust] as in English full  
a – long [kam = work] as in English calm; short [kam = little] as  
in English ago  
(at end of word 'a' is always long, so is not marked)  
Consonants to note:  
q [qismat] = like k but at back of throat  
kh [khabar] = rubbing at back of palate, as in Scots loch  
gh [Ghalib] = similar, but with more voice  
(as distinct from k or g said with a puff of breath, shown here as kh or gh [khel, ghar]r, t in italics [parhna, lutna] = tongue turns back to touch palate

You will notice that Urdu poetry often uses Persian ways of saying 'and' and 'of':

'o' linking two words means 'and' [dil o jan = heart and soul]

'i' or 'e' linking two words means 'of' [hal i dil = state of your heart]

Persian plurals are sometimes used: -ha, -an at the end of a word makes it plural

Common words are sometimes shortened or lengthened to fit the metre, for example:

short: ik (ek); mira (mera); gar (agar); kije (kijiye); van (vahan) long: ave (ae); hove (hue); talak (tak); vagarna (varna)

a   
ab, water   
abad, living, liveliness   
abna, offspring   
abr, cloud   
ada, actions, grace   
adavet, enmity   
adu, rival, enemy   
afai, snake   
afat, ill fate   
afiyat, ease   
afrinish, creation   
afsurda, depressed   
aftab, sun   
agahi, wits, awareness   
agarchi, although   
age ati thi, there was a time   
aghosh, embrace   
ahl i khirad, the wise   
ahl i nazar, those who see (have  
insight)   
aish i rafta, past life of ease   
ajza, atom, element, a single unit   
alam, sorrow   
almas, diamond   
amada, having come   
amal, deed, action   
anbarin, rich perfume (ambergris)   
andalib, nightingale   
andeshaha, imaginings, fears   
angabin, honey   
anjuman, assembly, gathering   
aqal, reason, wit   
araish/araiyan, adornments   
arbab, people (who)   
arman, desire   
arsh, throne of God   
arz karna, to offer   
arzu, longing   
asal, essence   
ashiyan, nest   
ashiq, lover   
ashna, friend, lover, familiar with   
asir, captive   
ashar, verses (singular: sher)   
atfal, children   
atish, fire   
aurang, throne   
ausaf, people   
avaragi, reckless wandering   
ayar, standard, measure of   
azada, independence   
azam, main   
aziz, dear, valued   
azma/azmana, testing   
b   
ba-/ba-, with   
ba andaza,of the kind   
ba jalva, enchanting   
ba naghma, melodious   
bad, wind   
bad-paimai, taking in breath, breathing   
bada, wine   
bada-noshi, drinking wine   
badi karna, to do harm   
bag, reins   
bagh, garden   
baghban, gardener   
baghair, without, except for   
baha i mata, by way of payment   
bahar, spring   
bahisht, paradise   
bahra, deaf   
baid, wonder   
bais, cause of   
baja, appropriate (lit: in place)   
baja i khud, in yourself   
bakhshna, to bestow   
bala, calamity, cruelty   
bala i jan, thing of devastating impact (lit: calamity for life)   
bala se, what if?   
bal o par, wings, power to fly   
bam, roof   
banao, making up, adornments   
banda-parva, one to whom I am enslaved   
bandagi, serving (enslavement)   
baqadr, matched to   
bara e, by way of, for   
bar ana, to be fulfilled   
barg, petal   
barahman, Brahmin, priest   
barha, repeatedly   
barq, lightning   
bashart, on condition,   
baski, extremely, because   
bayan, description, words, expression   
bayani, speaking bazam, assembly, gathering,  
bazm i naz, (lit: assembly of beauty)  
bazicha, game  
bazu, arm  
be-, without  
beaban, desert (lit: place without  
water)

be-dadgar, unjust   
be-dar o divar, without doors and  
windows   
be-hasil, without outcome, unavailing   
be-khabar, without anxiety   
be-mihr, cold, unkind   
be-mihri, unkindness, callousness   
be-muddaa, without a plea   
be-muhaba, limitless   
be-niyazi, not requiring anyone's  
submission   
be-partau, without light   
be-sada, soundless,   
be-sabab, without reason   
be-shama, unlit   
be-takalluf, informal, frank   
be-vafa, faithless   
be-zaban, tongueless, dumb, unable  
to speak   
be-zar, disgusted   
besh, longer, greater bhed, secret   
bin, without, apart from   
bina, seeing   
binai, ability to see   
bisat, expanse   
boriya, sack   
bujhana, to put out   
bulandi, height   
bulbul, nightingale   
burda, stolen   
but, idol   
butkhana, temple   
but-shikani, idol breaking   
c   
chaman, garden  
chang, flute  
charkh, sky  
chasham, eyes  
chiragh, lamp  
chirakna, to sprinkle  
churana nigah, furtive glance  
chutna, to be abandoned; to cease, to be removed  
d   
dabistan, school   
dad, justice   
dagh, scar   
dahqan, peasant   
dahr, this world   
dajla, ocean   
dam, net, snare   
damagh, brain, pride   
daman, garment, apron; grasp, holding  
on to   
dana, wise person   
darana, to cause fear   
daraz, oppressively long   
darun, inner, in your heart   
dashna,   
dagger   
dastgah, comprising (lit: held in a  
grasp)   
daur i jam, wine cup   
dida, eye   
dida i bina, seeing eye, insight   
dil-bari, heart-stealing   
dila, O heart   
dozakh, hell   
dubona, to sink, defeat   
duna, double   
dushvar, difficult  
e   
ejaz, miracle   
elaj, cure   
etab, anger   
f   
falak, fate   
fana, merging (as, the soul with God)   
faraham, gathering   
farmana, to say (formal or ironic; lit: to order)   
farman-rava, one who must be obeyed   
farogh, enhancement   
fasl i gul, spring   
firaq, separation   
firdaus, paradise   
fitna, turmoil, affliction (deliberately stirred up)   
fughan, complaint   
furqat, separation   
fursat i hasti, life-span   
fuzul, boundless (more than enough)   
g   
garchi, although   
gardish, revolving   
gardun, (revolving) sky   
garm i tamasha, the zeal to see   
garmi i bazam, warmth of the assembly  
(= our life here)   
garo, burial place   
gaz, a measurement of land   
ghafil, neglecting, heedless   
ghair, rival   
ghamza, glance   
ghanimat, value it, though it is less  
than you want   
ghariban, one from another country   
ghazal-khan, singing songs of love   
ghuncha, bud   
ghurbat, foreign lands   
giran, heavy, expensive   
girya, weeping go, though   
gor, grave   
gosha, hem, corner   
goya, as if   
gufta, words, line of verse   
gulfam, rose red   
gulfarosh, rose seller   
gulkhan, bonfire   
gulshan, garden   
guman, thou   
ght, idea   
gunah, sin, wrong action  
h   
haft, seven   
haif, alas   
hamdam, friend   
ham-safar, one accompanying you on  
a journey   
ham-saya, neighbour (living in the  
same shade)   
ham-sukhan, one you can speak with   
ham-zaban, one who shares your  
language   
hangama, turmoil   
haqiqat, truth   
harchand, although, even if   
hasad, envy   
hasrat, yearning   
hasti, life, existence   
hava i dil,   
heart's desire   
havas, desire, lust   
hayat, life   
hayula, matter, not fully formed   
hijran, separation   
hikayat, stories   
hosh, sense, awareness   
hujum, throngs   
hunar, skill, talent   
huran, houris  
i   
ibadat, worship   
ibarat, speech   
ibrat, example, admonition   
ibrat-nigah, learning from what you see   
idrak, perception   
ijabat, granting of prayer   
ijz, humility   
ikhlas, love   
iltifat, kindness   
iman, faith   
inayat, favour   
ishara/isharat, gesture   
ishrat, happiness, joy   
ishva, airs   
j   
jalva, beauty, radiance   
jalvagah, illuminated place   
jalvagari, radiance   
jam, cup   
janan, loves   
jan-gusil, life wasting   
jannat, paradise, heaven   
jarahat, wound   
jaur, tyranny, injustice   
javahir, jewels (sing:   
jauhar)   
jazba, passion   
jigar, heart, mind, spirit   
josh o kharosh, sense of life, liveliness   
joya, seeking   
junbish, movement   
junun, madness (of love), love   
jurat, courage   
jurm, blame   
juz/juzv, part, ingredient  
k   
kaba, Kaba, place of pilgrimage in  
Mecca   
kaf, handful   
kai, green algae on stagnant water   
kakul, tress (hair)   
kalisa, church   
kamal, expert   
kaman, bow (in 'bow & arrow')   
kaman, ambush   
kar, work, achievement   
karda, committed   
kargar, effective   
karobar, work, profession   
kash, would that, if only   
kasha-kash, conflict, being at odds   
kasrat, abundance   
kafna, to be stifled  
kesh, cry   
khalal, derangement   
khalq, creation (people)   
khalvat, being alone, privacy   
kham, coil, twist   
kham, raw   
khama, pen   
khamyaza, thirst   
khana-virani, destroying your home   
khandaha, laughter   
khanqah, hermitage   
kharosh, excitement   
khas, straw, weed   
khatka, fear, suspicion   
khifqani, apprehension   
khirad, wisdom   
khiram, way of walking   
khirman, harvest, crop, heap of grain   
khizan, autumn   
khu, nature, trait   
khuban, beautiful ones   
khud-bin, self regard   
khuda-parast, bowing down to God   
khugar, inured to   
khuld, paradise   
khumar, drinker   
khun-chakan, blood stained   
khun-gashta, turned to blood   
khur, sun   
khurshid, sun   
khushk, dried up   
kishvar, lord   
ku, lane   
kuche, lane   
kufr, unbelief   
kund, bright flash of light   
kushuda, opened   
l   
lab, lip, edge   
lab i bam, edge of the roof   
lab-tishna, thirsting   
lag, irritation, conflict, greed   
lagao, attachment, sign of love   
lahna, usefulness, advantage   
lala, tulips   
lazzat, sweetness, pleasure   
m   
maasi/muasi, sin, sinner   
madan, mine   
magas, bee   
mah, moon   
mahram, participant in   
mahshar, throng (lit: judgement day)   
mai, wine   
mai-kada, tavern   
majlis, public meeting   
majra, happening   
malamat, disgrace, censure   
mani, meaning   
manzar, looking (out over)   
marg, death   
marham, soothing   
masjud, object of worship   
masti, intoxication   
mata, stock, wealth, payment   
matam, lament, mourning   
maujud, in existence   
mauquf, conditional   
maut, death   
mazamin, themes   
mihr, sun   
millat, community   
mina, wine cup   
minai, blue   
misal, example   
mitna, to be dissolved, to vanish   
mizhgan, eyelashes   
muasi, sin   
muayyan, appointed, fixed   
muddaa, something you  
claim or seek   
muddai, rival   
muddat, an age   
mughtanim, precious, to be valued   
mukarrar, repeated   
mukhalif, ill-matched   
munharif, rejecting something you used to accept   
muqabil, confronting   
murda, dead, burnt out   
mushk-bu, fragrant as   
muskmusht, fistful   
mushtak, eager, longing   
musibat, misery   
mutrib, minstrel   
muvahhid, one who believes in the  
unity of God   
muyassar, obtained, able to become   
muzmar, concealed   
n   
nadan, foolish   
nafas, breath, spirit,   
nafrat, dislike   
naghma, melody, song   
naguzir, unavoidable   
nai, music (lit: a pipe)   
nai-rang, wonders   
nakarda, undone, not committed   
nakhuda, captain   
nala, lament   
namus, honour   
naqsh, forms   
naqsha, scene   
nargis, narcissus   
nasha, intoxication   
nashagufta, not yet opened   
nasiyat, advice, counsel   
nasiyat-niyosh, listening to advice   
nauha/navaha, music, cries, voice   
nauha-khan, mourner, lamenter   
na-umidi, despondency, despair   
nava-sanj, one who laments (esp. of hopeless love)   
naz/nazish, pride, beauty   
nazan, proud, giving oneself airs   
nazar, glance, sight, insight   
nazdik, opinion   
nazzara, act of looking at   
nigah, gaze, glance, sight   
nigar, pattern, beautiful woman   
nihan, hidden   
nikala, outcome   
nim-shabi, midnight   
nishat i kar, pleasure in achieving   
nishan, hint   
nisiyan, oblivion   
niyosh, hearing, listening   
nosh, drinking, wine   
numayan, evident   
nuqsan, damage, loss   
nuskha, recipe, prescription   
o   
ok, cupped hand   
p   
pa, feet   
pabastagi, bound by, adhering to   
padash, recompense, reward   
par, wing   
parda, fret on a lute, curtain   
pare, beyond   
parast/parastish, adoration, bowing  
down to   
pareshan, disturbed   
pari, beautiful   
pari-paikar, beautiful-faced   
pari-vash, beautifully formed   
partau, radiance, gleam of light   
parva, seeking, aiming for   
pasban, one who keeps watch   
pas i, due regard for   
peshagi, putting forward   
pindar, self-esteem   
pinhan, concealed   
purshish karna, to enquire   
q   
qabul karna, to accept   
qadah, wine cup   
qadar, value, degree of   
qafas, cage   
qahr, wrath   
qai, vomit   
qaid, limitation   
qarar dena, to agree to   
qarz, debt   
qat lagana, to cut the nib of a pen   
qata karna, to break off   
qatra, drop   
qayamat, calamity   
qibla, Kaba, place of pilgrimage in Mecca   
qibla-numa, a compass (i.e. points to  
the Kaba)   
qudrat, power  
r   
rab, Lord   
radd karna, to push away   
rafta, gone, past   
rahbar, guide   
rah-guzar, road   
rah-zan, robber, highwayman   
rahin, pawned   
rahmat, mercy   
rahn, pawned   
rakhsh, steed   
rang, scene, situation (lit: colour)   
ranj, sorrow   
raqib, rival   
raqs, dance   
rashk, jealousy, envy   
rasm o rah, conventional path   
rau, movement   
raunak, radiance   
rauzan, opening in wall, window   
ravani, flowing movement   
ravish, path, motion   
raz, secrets   
razdan, a confidant   
rekhta, Urdu verse   
reza, dust (small fragments)   
rikab, stirrups   
rindana, reckless (not caring what  
people think)   
riyai, hypocrisy   
rozgar, the age, daily life   
ru, rukh, face   
ru i ab, on the surface of the water   
rukash, taking on the appearance of   
rusum, rituals   
rusvai, disgrace   
s   
sada, sound   
sadagi, simplicity   
safina, ship   
saghar, wine goblet   
sahar/sahri, dawn, first light   
sahil, shore   
sahra, desert   
sai, effort, struggle   
sair karna, to see the sights, to look on   
sanam-kada, shrine   
sang, stone   
saqi, cup-bearer,   
sar i daman, hem of garment   
sar ta sar, end to end,   
sar jae ya rahe, if I die for it (lit: if  
my head goes or stays)   
sarapa, entire, complete (lit: head to foot)   
sargiran, displeased, disdainful (lit:   
heavy headed)   
sarhad, limit, boundary   
sarir, scratching sound (of a pen)   
sarnavisht, writing (of your fate)   
sarosh, angel, angel's voice   
sarur, delight, intoxication   
satah, expanse   
satana, persecution   
savab, heavenly reward   
saya, shade   
sayyad, captor, fowler   
saz, lute, instrument   
saza, punishment   
shab o roz, constantly (night and day)   
shabnam, dew   
shadi, joy   
shafaq-aluda, sunset-reddened   
shakh, branch shama, candle   
shan, honour sharar, spark   
shararbar, shedding   
sparks, sharmandagi, shame   
shauq, love, longing, wanting to   
shevan, complaint, lamenting   
shikan, curls (lit: wrinkling)   
shikani/shikast, breaking   
shikva/shikayat, complaint, grief   
shirin-bayani, sweet   
speech shola, flame   
shuhrat, fame, reputation   
shumar, number   
sila, reward   
sitaish, praise   
sitam, hostility, cruelty   
sitamgar, tyrant, oppressor   
sitam-zarif, witty, ironic persecutor   
siva e, apart from   
siyah, black   
sonpna, to entrust   
subuk-dast, expert, skilled   
subuk-sar, bending the head, prostrating   
suhbat, company   
sukhan, poetry, speech   
sukhan kahna, to write [lit: to say]  
poetry   
sukhanvar, poet   
sum, poison   
sur, music   
surat, stuff (of), form, face, prospect   
surma, collirium (to brighten eyes)   
t   
taalluq, bond, relationship   
taat, submission to God's will   
taba/tabai/tabiyat, nature, temperament   
taghaful, indifference (i.e. not caring)   
tajahul, (pretended) indifference   
tajalli, radiance (esp. God's)   
takrar karna, insist, ask for more   
talab karna, to seek   
talim, instruction, teaching   
tama, greed   
tamanna, longing   
tamasha, scene, (something you look  
at)   
tamashai, onlooker   
tamhid, prelude   
tamir, construction   
tamkin, self-respect, dignity   
tana, taunt   
taq, shelf, niche   
taqat, power   
taqaza, demand, appeal   
taqrir, words, speech   
tar, damp   
taravat, fresh, lush greenery   
taraz, providing   
tarif, praise   
tark, abandonment   
tarz, way, method   
tasavvur, image, memory   
tasir, impression, the power of   
taskin, satisfaction   
tavaf, walking around   
taza, new, fresh   
terha, crooked  
tez, sharp   
tezrau, one who travels swiftly   
thamna, to cease, halt   
tihi, empty   
timardar, one who   
visits the sick   
tishna, thirst   
tishna-kami, thirsty-palated   
tunak-abi, lack of water   
u   
ulfat, love, kindness   
umr i tabai, natural age   
ustuvari, constancy, firmness   
uzar karna, to ask for forgiveness  
v   
va, open   
vafa, love, loyalty   
vafadari, faithfulness   
vahshat, madness   
vahshi, untamed (wild)   
vale, but   
varasta, absence of constraint   
varidan, people who come, participants   
varna, otherwise   
vasl, union   
vatan, your own country   
vaza, way of being, character, nature   
vazhgun, upturned   
vida, farewell, departure   
viran, desolate   
vujud, existence   
y   
ya, ( addressing someone)   
ya ilahi, O lord   
yak/yakta, one, only   
yani, that is   
yaqin hona, to be certain   
yaran, friends, beloveds   
z   
zaban, tongue, language, voice   
zahid, abstemious one   
zalim, one who oppresses   
zarf, capacity, skill   
zarif, clever, witty, ironic   
zarra, particle, grain, particle of dust   
zauq, taste, urge, delight   
zaval, decline   
zikr, mention, talk about   
zindagi, life   
zinhar, beware   
zor, control   
zuhd, asceticism   
zulf, tress (hair) 
Editor's note

Part I in this second edition has been put together according to guidance left by Ralph Russell before his death in 2008. He wanted to draw on all his existing published work to produce a new introduction to Ghalib's ghazals, edited specifically for people who do not read Urdu and know little about its literature. He had clear ideas about what this would involve but recognized that in the time left to him he would not be able to do it himself; so he entrusted the task to me.

He said he wanted 'to do for Ghalib what he had done for Mir'. What he meant by this was that he would use the approach he had used in introducing the poetry of Mir in Three Mughal Poets – not ghazal by ghazal but treating verses independently and grouping them by theme. The response to Three Mughal Poets had shown that this approach was not only effective for people new to the ghazal, but that Urdu speakers already familiar with the poetry found it revealing. He now wanted to do the same for Ghalib, and to illustrate each point about Ghalib's thought with examples from his verses. The material for this existed in his published work but it was scattered.

I should explain why he was confident that I could undertake this task on his behalf. We had worked together for over two decades, jointly editing for publication six of his nine books on Urdu literature as well as his autobiography, and in doing so we had discussed in detail all his writing, published and unpublished. He had passed on to me his understanding of Ghalib, and read with me all Ghalib's Urdu ghazals that he had translated. I also learnt to understand what they signified to him through hearing them used, for Ghalib accompanied him through life, providing an observing eye and a sharp comment on things that happened. All this has informed the judgments that I have had to make as editor. My aim has been to produce something as close as possible to what it might have been if Ralph had put it together himself.

Ralph Russell's writing on Ghalib

His published writing on Ghalib falls into two groups. The first had been written by the time he was fifty. Three major articles were published in 1969, the year of the Ghalib centenary celebrations in Delhi, and also the biography which he co-authored with Khurshidul Islam, Ghalib, Life and Letters. There was then a twenty-six-year gap before he published anything more on Ghalib. He continued throughout this time with translating the ghazals, which he regarded as his most significant life work, but as this had been undertaken as part of a joint project with Khurshidul Islam, he did not for many years feel free to publish the results until his colleague agreed that they were ready. After repeated delays and increasing difficulties in the collaboration, Ralph finally recognized that this stage would never be reached and decided to publish on his own. He included chapters on Ghalib's ghazals in two books, and by 2003, five years before his death, the full collection of his translations of the ghazals had been published in both India and Pakistan.

In preparing this new composite text I have included almost everything in his most recently published writing, which incorporates the understanding of Ghalib formed through decades of work on his translations: Getting to know Ghalib, which appeared in the first edition of The Famous Ghalib (2000), and The ghazals of Mir and Ghalib, a chapter from his Anthology of Urdu literature (1995). I have supplemented this with extracts from Ghalib's Urdu Verse andOn Translating Ghalib, and from In Pursuit of Urdu Literature (all 1969). From these I selected sections that covered points not made in the later writing or that treated a topic in livelier detail. The 1969 articles had been written for an audience familiar with Ghalib's poetry and I have not included anything that is mainly of interest to scholars. Sections on Ghalib's life, extracts from his letters, and poems other than ghazals, come from Ghalib, a Self-portrait andGhalib, life and letters (both 1969). Here I have had to be highly selective but have aimed to include enough to give the reader a picture of Ghalib's qualities as a man and how these are reflected in his poetry. For Ralph's explanations of particular couplets I have drawn on the explanatory notes in The Seeing Eye: Selections from the Urdu and Persian Ghazals of Ghalib (2003) and also from notes from his teaching which never got into print; this applies particularly to some of the examples in the sections on ghazal form, imagery and symbolism. Points on poetic metre are derived from A Primer of Urdu Verse Metre (1974), and from the unpublished manuscript of Ralph's complete translations of Ghalib's ghazals, where he had noted the metre for each ghazal.

Editing decisions

Scholars who know Ralph's work may want to know the process by which this new composite text was put together. On the central themes of the ghazal (love, mysticism and the challenge to fundamentalism) there was material in many of his articles but in each it was presented in a different way. All this I cut and pasted, bringing together everything he had written on a particular topic, and then selected from that what I felt to be the most effective statements on each theme. These I wove together into a connected text. On other topics the task was somewhat different. Ralph had chosen examples to illustrate all the aspects of Ghalib's thought covered here but these had appeared scattered through his published work and his reflections on these topics have not before been brought together in a connected text. I have therefore had a relatively larger role in sequencing his ideas and giving shape to these chapters. If anyone is interested to know the source of any particular part of the text, I have this for reference. Perhaps the major editorial role was deciding on the order of topics, both between chapters and within each. Ralph had insisted that I use my own judgment to arrive at what seemed the clearest way of sequencing the material so as to make clear both the main lines of Ghalib's thought and the logic of Ralph's way of presenting it.

Over 230 translated couplets are now used to illustrate points in the text (40 from Persian ghazals). Two thirds of these are couplets which he had used in his published writing. Where additional examples were needed I chose them first from the selection he had made for The Famous Ghalib, and for themes not well represented there from his full set of translations. To embed new verses into the logic of the text, and for the flow and logic of the rearranged text generally, I have had to provide linking sentences but I have kept this to what seemed essential for clarity. Finally, a certain amount of editing was needed throughout to bring consistency to material aimed originally at different audiences, and written decades apart.

The appendices are new. The Index of verses has been added so that readers can refer back from a couplet in Part 2 to where it and others on a similar theme are explained in Part 1. The Poetic Vocabulary will I hope encourage those who understand some Urdu or Hindi to experiment with reading Ghalib in his own words. It draws on notes I made when studying with Ralph but if there are errors they will be mine and I would be grateful to have them pointed out.

Acknowledgement

Ralph always acknowledged the debt his understanding of the ghazal owed to his long collaboration with Khurshidul Islam, and he would have wanted that acknowledgement made here too. In 1969 Ralph wrote, 'A more ideal collaboration could hardly be imagined. In translating, where every nuance of every word, in both the language of the original and that of the translation can be important, we could do together what neither of us could do alone, for both of us know both languages well and for each of us one is the mother tongue. We could therefore hope to understand fully what the Urdu intends and to convey that intention as fully as English allows.'In the Preface to The Famous Ghalib he explained their method of working: 'In our innumerable sessions together he patiently explained all the nuances of the verses... It was then my task to produce a draft translation and we then sat together again and discussed these, line by line, amending until we were both satisfied that it captured all the essentials of the original.'

In the books that appeared under their joint names the selection of material to be translated was guided by Khurshidul Islam's scholarly knowledge, while the translation, analysis and writing were all Ralph's, as was the awareness of what needed explaining to a new audience.

Marion Molteno

Notes

 With Khurshidul Islam, Three Mughal Poets: Mir, Sauda and Mir Hasan, Harvard University Press & Allen and Unwin; republished by OUP India, 1994.

 Also included in The Oxford India Ghalib, ed. Ralph Russell, OUP India, 2003.

 The 1st edition was titled Hidden in the lute: an anthology of two centuries of Urdu literature, Carcanet, UK and Viking, Delhi. A later edition is titled An Anthology of Urdu Literature.

 A paper at the Ghalib Centenary, 1969, published in Ghalib, the poet and his age, OUP India, 1972, and included in The Oxford India Ghalib.

 Mahfil (East Lansing) 5(4). Included in The Famous Ghalib and The Oxford India Ghalib.

 Journal of Asian Studies 29(1); later updated and republished in The Pursuit of Urdu Literature: A Select History, 1992, Zed Books, UK and OUP India.

 See note 4.

 With Khurshidul Islam, Harvard University Press & Allen and Unwin, 1969; republished by OUP India, 1994; included in The Oxford India Ghalib.

 Alhamra, Islamabad, 2003. This edition, which gives side by side the original verses and English translations, is regrettably now out of print. The English translations alone appear in The Oxford India Ghalib.

 Prepared for students at SOAS and internally published.

 Manuscript in my possession; a copy is also lodged in the Ralph Russell archives in SOAS.

 See note 9.

 See note 5.
About the editor

Marion Molteno studied Urdu with Ralph Russell and worked closely with him for the last 26 years of his life. She edited his autobiography and several of his major books on Urdu literature, and as his literary executor continues to edit his work. She was a senior policy advisor to the international charity Save the Children, working across many countries including those in South and Central Asia. She has written and lectured widely on issues of education and development.

She is a prize-winning author of four novels and a collection of short stories. If you can walk, you can dance won a Commonwealth Writers Prize. Her latest novel, Uncertain Light, set partly in India and Central Asia in the aftermath of the Tajikistan civil war, is published in India by Speaking Tiger Books.
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