A Bit About Ghalib
It seems like the perpetual anguish of his life accentuated and embellished his genius rather than crushing it. Through indigence, personal loss and hopelessness, he never lost the sharpness of wit and the amicability of person, mirroring the times in his shers, while also transforming the ghazal from a genre lamenting unrequited and impossible love, to a vehicle for deep metaphysical pondering and spiritual commentary, woven together by this beautiful underlying gloom.
Scouring the streets near Ballimaran, where Ghalib spent his final years, R.V. Smith finds mostly indifference and veiled contempt for the legendary poet. Proud and hedonistic to a certain extent, Ghalib eschewed rigid religious practices and laughed in the face of diktats, enjoying his wine and the throw of the dice, and even losing his heart to a local nautch girl. Like all mystically inclined philosopher-poets before him, he scoffed at the clergy and all constrictive symbols of organised religion. Consequently, he earned the name of a less-than-ideal Muslim, helped in no measure by his ecumenical nature and free participation in festivals of all faiths.
Understanding Ghalib is key to understanding the fascinating twilight of Mughal Delhi. Not just any poet, Ghalib was at the forefront of a unique cultural renaissance in an otherwise dying empire. Relieved of administrative duties, the Mughal elite took to culturally bent pastimes, fueling the flourish of literature and high courtly culture. Artists and poets were given patronage by royals, and evenings of poetry were commissioned at the Fort, under prince Zafar, who was himself a serious practitioner of rekhta. This time was perhaps the other end of a long process of interaction between Indian and Islamic culture, driven by the fuel of the Persianate underpinnings of Mughal society.