| Author reflects on the years of neglect that Mirza Ghalib’s house had to face a few decades ago | |
| Mamoni Raisom Goswami | |
| IT'S MY LIFE | |
The writer recalls an anecdote about the cucumber and mango shops of Chandni Chowk... Mirza Ghalib’s house in Old Delhi is no more what it used to be, as I had seen many years ago. Much was written in those days about the pathetic condition of the house by his multitude of admirers. Today, it wears a very different look; the Ghalib Academy has also become famous. But it was not only Ghalib’s house which had borne the brunt of indifference and neglect to turn into a decaying and squalid edifice. There was a lot of furore at the time over the alleged construction of a toilet over the grave of the famous Urdu poet Momin. This was possibly rectified eventually. We think only Assam has a monopoly over such neglect of famous historical landmarks. But that is not true. I have seen it in Delhi, too. Particularly of priceless statues from the Mughal era. These used to lie dumped near a village called Burari, forgotten and uncared for. But things have changed. What I saw of Ghalib’s house about 30 years ago no longer holds true. The very design appears to have undergone a change. Now it has been converted into a sombre museum and has become a must-see on the tourist’s itinerary and college and university students make a beeline for it, reminding me of similar scenes at the house of Charles Dickens in London. Ghalib loved mangoes and there used to be a veritable mango market on the pavements just outside his house. The vendors would eagerly wait for him to come and shop for the delicious fruit. There are many interesting anecdotes about mango and cucumber shops of Chandni Chowk and these particularly revolved around the merchants of the area. One of the more popular ones was about two such merchants and two wilting cucumbers. It goes like this. One of the two merchants once was gripped by a strong desire to have cucumbers and asked his aide to buy some for him. The munshi went and after an extensive search found one vendor sitting on the pavement with two wilting cucumbers. Dusk was setting in and the vendor was preparing to pack up for the day. As the munshi began bargaining, the other merchant’s aide also arrived. “Where have you come from?” shouted the first to the second munshi. “I am buying these,” he said and offered a particular price to the seller. The second munshi was not to be outdone. He doubled the offer and soon the two were trying to beat each other’s offers. So intense was the competition that finally the price offered for the two wilting cucumbers went up very high with the second munshi outbidding the first. The second munshi returned to his employer and narrated the entire episode to him. “Shabbas! You have kept my pride,” said the merchant to the munshi and patted him on the back. The first munshi, on the other hand, came in for some sharp ridicule from his employer for having failed to get the cucumbers. The second merchant then had the two cucumbers washed and placed in a silver bowl and sent it to the first merchant as a gift. It was like rubbing salt into the wound of the second merchant. Th first merchant kept the two cucumbers and filled the bowl with gold coins and sent it back. He then took poison and died. I had heard about a similar incident, but this time over a mango, at a house close to Ghalib’s. Two begums had, it is said, got into fisticuffs over the fruit. Ghalib’s love for the mango is enshrined in a letter which is part of a collection published by the National Book Trust. “I eat mangoes till I am full. I eat so many that at times I find it hard to breathe,” he wrote. Coming back to Ghalib’s house, 30 years ago I had felt an excitement, but today I don’t think I can feel the same at the orderly and sombre house. |
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