THE FLOATING DIARY (Short Story Journal – 12): MIRZA SAHIB AND HIS POETRY

“Literature is Life!” … I have always believed in this statement. Ever since my schooldays, my love for reading poetry has become stronger with the passage of time. Today I would note down about a little effort that I had promised to undertake for “Mirza Sahib”. It is an effort that would make me a bit happier, perhaps. There are so many unsung talents hidden among the multitudes of this country. This is a humble endeavor on my part to try and do something special for even one of them.

Three years ago, I went on an office sponsored trip to Kolkata. I was on a stringent-timeline two-week assignment for my employer, but I was happy because I always wanted to see the “City of Joy” that is famously referred to as the “Cultural Capital of India”! I admit, the city didn’t disappoint me. I was enthralled by the enigmatic mixture of cultural diversity and the abundance of greenery that surrounded Kolkata. In the month of February, the climate of the city was extremely enjoyable and I especially loved my after-office, evening strolls around the famous “Victoria Memorial Hall”.

During my visit, I stayed in my company’s guesthouse located in the Bhawanipur area, which was at a walkable distance from the gardens at the “Victoria Memorial”. The lush green stretches of open fields, popularly called “Maidaan”, were situated close by and I often went there for grasping some cool breeze after sunset and sat on the concrete benches that girdled the area.   

It is here in “Maidaan”, on one such evening, when I met “Mirza Sahib”! While I sat quietly on a lonely bench under a tree, I saw an oddly dressed old man standing on a small platform and performing something animatedly, while a small crowd gathered around him. I felt a bit inquisitive and went up to the crowd, as the conversation was not audible from where I was sitting. The last faint rays of the setting sun were silently receding and the envelope of darkness was being confronted by the dull glow of the gaslights lit by the vendors and hawkers. As the initial confusion cleared, I focused on the man standing upon the makeshift podium. He was reciting poetry, to be more specific, he was reciting “Shayari”, and I loved whatever he was orating and the manner he was enacting the entire performance.

The entire episode lasted for about thirty minutes and then everybody dispersed after offering meagre alms for the show they just witnessed. I felt pained on thinking that a talented man of this age has to literally beg to earn money in exchange for his brilliance! I left some contribution from my end and went away hurriedly.

Even though I went away, the thought about the old man didn’t vanish from my mind and I returned back the next day, at the same time, to see him again. This routine continued for the next four days and I got more and more engrossed in the talent of the old man. Finally, on the fifth day, I approached him and asked him his name.

“Sahib, I am Salim Mirza.” Replied the old man while I sat beside him after his performance got over and the spectators went away. “I am now seventy-two years old. However, my poetry has the richness of over a hundred years! My forefathers were poets in the court of Emperor Wajid Ali Shah and moved here along with him. I still live in Metiabruz, a mirror city of Lucknow that he created here in Bengal.”

I sat speechless and listened while Mirza Sahib continued, “The legacy faded away many years ago but I have clanged onto it. This Shayari of my bloodline is like oxygen to me and I continue to keep it alive… till my last breath. I don’t know how many more years I will live, but I regret that with my death, this great legacy would also die a silent death!”

There were tears in his eyes and I felt a remorse. The unsung hero, Mirza Sahib, is so very correct. Within a few seconds I made up my mind to do something about it. I asked him, “Mirza Sahib, if you permit, I would like to record your poetry on tape. I don’t know whether I would be able to do anything much, but I will definitely try to spread it across to as many people as possible. This would be my humble effort to keep your talent and heritage alive!”

Mirza Sahib agreed and the next day I purchased a portable voice recorder and over the following few days I recorded his beautiful Shayari. Soon, my day of departure arrived and I bid farewell to Mirza Sahib. I gave him some money as a token of respect and promised him that I shall come back soon. However, I didn’t keep my promise and as I returned back to Mumbai, I got lost in my daily routine and Mirza Sahib went missing from my mind.

Years have passed and among those years, my life has been in turmoil while the thoughts and the promises to Mirza Sahib vanished from my mind. However, today, after three years, I again found the tape recorder and spent the entire evening listening to the beautiful poetry of Mirza Sahib. Tears rolled down from my eyes after I finished listening and I sat wondering about the old man.

I don’t know whether he was speaking the truth about his legacy or his association with the Great Wajid Ali Shah. But something was very pure in him… it was his lovely Shayari. I note down today in my journal that I shall treasure the recorded poetry of Mirza Sahib and at least once, I would try to get it broadcasted over radio so that the country can listen to the lyrical genius. I know it would be a tough job, but I shall make it happen, I promise myself!

After that I shall visit Kolkata, find out Mirza Sahib and tell him, “I am sorry Mirza Sahib that I forgot about you. However, I have done my little part to keep my promise finally.”

I don’t know whether Mirza Sahib is still alive or not, but I trust the almighty that my words would surely reach him, wherever he is.