Munshi Premchand: A legacy unprecedented

A most ardent scholar from the realist school of literature, Munshi Premchand spoke to the very heart of the reading public, with his unique humour and devoted observation and commentary on the social life of that period.

Born as Dhanpat Rai in the year 1880 on 31st of July in the Lamhi village near Varanasi to Ajaib Lal (a post office clerk) and Anandi Devi (a housewife from Karauni village), Premchand was brought up with immense love and care especially from his grandfather. It has been noted that he was an ardent scholar of books from a very ripe age and started learning Persian and Urdu at a Madrassa where his formal education began at the age of 7. A very significant and defining incident that gave shape to his thinking and countenance was the death of his mother and his father's subsequent remarriage. His precarious relationship with his stepmother and the repercussions of his childhood played an integral and defining role in his future writings.

It was only after his enrollment in a missionary school that Premchand learnt English and read George W. M. Reynolds’s eight-volume series named 'The Mysteries of the Court of London, and even though he took admission at Queen's College , in Benares, he couldn't really continue his education because of his early marriage and the untimely death of his father.

 His life after his father's death became an epitome of struggle and sacrifices, but Premchand never really gave up on his love for reading and writing, and continued to cherish and pursue his greatest ambition, his greatest dream , amidst all that chaos that had taken over his life.

      As the literature lovers across the world marks his 137^th, birth anniversary, it is important to remember, that this master novelist and story writer who in his life time gave Indian literature 14 novels and 300 short stories, a feat quite magnificent was a man quite ahead of his time and quite ahead of the humble dwellings that he found himself in by the virtue of his birth. Premchand was a socialist, a feminist and in a society where the peasants, widows, and prostitutes were oppressed and looked down upon, he was an advocate and preacher for their rights and equality. His writings are a living proof of how much bothered and worried he was by the social atrocities of his time, and how zealously he hoped to be the beacon of hope and change that he desperately wanted to see in the world, and perhaps that is why his writings were more social than political, something quite unlike the then trend back then

His short stories ‘Idgah’, ‘Kafan’, ‘Do Bailon ki Katha’  and ‘Shatranj ke Khiladi’  amongst others reflects his genius and his brilliant command over the written word which consisted of a delicious combination of Hindi and Urdu. In these stories Premchand creates an enchantment using the mundanity of human relations. There is something in Hamid saving his pocket money to buy a chimta for his grandmother who had burned her fingers while making chapattis, something in the projection of an Indian farmer’s attachment to his cattle and something in his profound understanding of a child’s psychology, that still moves the reader to tears and reflects an undeniable candor, even after a hundred years since their publication and perhaps it is the very reason that his short stories are still a very prime part of the school curriculum across the country.

       Premchand was a feeling author, he felt the pain of those around him with an intensity that was very much unique of him, and he channelised this very moving intensity into his writings. His novels ‘Karmabhoomi’  set against the backdrop of Satyagraha movement and ‘Nirmala’  which takes up the daunting issue of dowry depicts how well this maestro understood his subject and how much he stood apart from his contemporaries like Jaishankar Prashad and Sharatchandra Chattopadhyaya. These novels along with ‘Sevsadan Mansarovar’ are a symbol of Premchand’s formulating genius and writing but it was with his ‘Godan’ and ‘Gaban’, that he reached his cult status. Considered to be his magnum opus, these canonical works brought out the best of Premchand. His definition of literature as ‘sahitya jeevan ki aalochana hain’ (literature is the device to examine human life) is nowhere better stressed upon than in these novels, where Premchand muses over humanity and nature with a brilliant but almost sad commentary and with a rare but endearing humour. His characters are not ideal; they are aesthete but lacking virulence, very much like his writings and in them he created something universal, they speak to all ages, because in them the reader finds oneself, regardless of the timeline. There are no ghosts in Premchand, his works palpitates with blood, and it is as warm as a living flesh and as serene as the morning sun.

But when one takes a look at his essays, they seem to portray a new side of Premchand; a picture of a human being in search for truth, a restless artist whose views resonates with that of George Orwell. ‘Saahitya ka aadhar’, ‘Saahitya ki pragati’ and ‘Saahitya aur manovigyaan’  talks about his belief that literature could bring beauty to this world and make this world a better place. He was very much like the romantics, William Wordworth, John Keats and Lord Byron in his juxtaposing truth and beauty. Empathy and aesthetic went hand in hand for him and he chased this very sensory pleasure to attain an enriched conscience, not only for himself but also for his indifferent and somewhat clueless middle class reader.

Munshi Premchand stands alone with his remarkable sensitivity, precocious literary abilities, and colloquial diction lacking any esotericism and with a vision bright and vivid. Though his life was cut short at the age of 56, his works surely has attained a greater significance since then, an almost revered importance that makes him live in his writings and would continue to do so.

In his strange ability to leave the reader spellbound, in his role as a torch bearer to the numerous marginalised people and in his search for the greater good, laid a heart of a voracious reader, a reader who loved the very essence of texts, a worshipper of the written word and a priest of the religion that is literature, Munshi Premchand remains a figure quite unmatched, a picture of thought and justice, a novel that would probably never cease to mesmerise its reader.

- Ms. Annesha Mahanta

The Dominant One

                                         Haiñ aur bhī duniyā meñ suḳhan-var bahut achchhe

Kahte haiñ ki 'ġhālib' kā hai andāz-e-bayāñ aur

(Indeed the universe own many great eloquent, but they say,

‘Ghalib’ possess a unique style of narration)

Mirza Ghalib was a preeminent Urdu and Persian language poet during the last years of Mughal Empire. His name is synonymous with Urdu poetry and is considered by many as the greatest Urdu poet ever.

The life history of Ghalib is truly fascinating and his biography indeed makes a captivating read.

The real name of Ghalib was Mirza Asadullah Beg Khan. Later, he adopted 'Mirza Ghalib' (Ghalib means dominant) as his pen name. His honorifics were 'Dabir-ul-mulk' and ‘Najm-ud-Daula’, as specified by last Mughal emperor Bahadur Shah Zafar.

Mirza Ubaidullah Beg was his father, who tied the knot with Izzatun-nisa in Agra. She gave birth to Mirza Ghalib on 27^th December, 1797.

Na thā kuchh to ḳhudā thā 

Kuchh na hotā to ḳhudā hotā

Duboyā mujh ko hone ne

 Na hotā maiñ to kyā hotā

(In nothingness God was there, if naught he would persist
Existence has sunk me, what loss, if I didn’t exist)

During his childhood, Ghalib lost his parents. His upbringing was done by his uncle Mirza Nasrullah Beg Khan, but when he was eight years old, his uncle also died. Ghalib took to poetry at an early age and wrote his first poem for his teacher when he was only eleven.

Mirza Ghalib got his initial education by Molvi Mohammad Muazzam who was a renowned scholar of Agra. During his early life, a traveller, Abdus Samad came from Iran to stay in Agra. He stayed with Ghalib and his family for two years. It is presumed that Ghalib learnt Persian, Arabic, logic, philosophy etc. from him.

Kyuuñ jal gayā na tāb-e-ruḳh-e-yār dekh kar

Jaltā huuñ apnī tāqat-e-dīdār dekh kar

(Why didn’t I turn to ashes seeing her face so glowing, bright

By envy now I am flamed, at strength of my own sight)

In 1810, when Mirza was only thirteen years old, he got married to Umrao Begum. She had a contrasting personality when compared to him. They had seven children, but unfortunately none of them survived. This pain has also found its way into his poetry. In the same year, he left his hometown and moved to Delhi. This migration was a major turning point in his life. He befriended some of the most respected and intelligent people of Delhi

Apnī galī meñ mujh ko na kar dafn baad-e-qatl
Mere pate se ḳhalq ko kyuuñ tere ghar mile

 (In your street, do not inter me, when I cease to be
Why should people find your house when they look for me)

He also became an important courtier of the royal court of  Bahadur Shah Zafar.  As the Emperor was himself a poet, Mirza Ghalib was appointed as his poet tutor in 1854. He was also appointed by the Emperor as the royal historian of Mughal Court.

Being a member of declining Mughal nobility and old landed aristocracy, he never worked for a livelihood and lived on either royal patronage of the Emperor, credit or the generosity of his friends.
Alcohol consumption and irregular lifestyle took a toll on his health and he passed away on 15^th February 1869.

Mirza Ghalib occupies a place of pride in world literature. He is also one of the most quotable poets having couplets for almost all situations of life. Ghalib today remains popular not only in India and Pakistan but also amongst diaspora communities around the world.

--Ms.Mazia Ahmed

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Famous Writers , Infamous Habits

We often read a story and wonder how it occurred to its author, or how they decided to put it on paper. Nevertheless, it is not uncommon that the mode of writing is often a result of a writer’s personal eccentric habits. Many authors could not put down their coffee while writing, many others needed to puff cigarettes as they wrote. Let’s have a look at some of the very odd ones.

Friedrich von Schiller
The German poet and philosopher, Friedrich Schiller, would keep rotten apples in his desk drawer. He would deliberately let the apples rot, because the aroma (or the pungent odour) inspired him to write. This was relayed to his readers by his friend Goethe, who once had the fortunate (or unfortunate) opportunity of being at Schiller’s desk himself, where he could smell the odour emanating from the rotten apples. 

Victor Hugo
Hugo was known to have purposely driven himself to write
​The Hunchback of Notre Dame ​ against a deadline of a little over six months. He put himself on house arrest and locked away all his clothes, so he wouldn’t be lured to leave the house or attend a party. It is often said he wrote in a state of complete nakedness. And yes, he met his deadline.  Honor​é​ de Balzac The French novelist Honoré de Balzac consumed some 40 to 50 cups of coffee a day to get his creative juices flowing. Some sources says that he would take a 90-minute nap twice or thrice during a day, and continue to write during the rest. 

Tennessee Williams
The famous American author and playwright, known for his masterpiece ​A Streetcar Named Desire was known to have struggled through an alcohol addiction. He could not write without a certain amount of alcohol in his system. This addiction eventually led to his death, when he choked on a bottle cap due to his inability to spit it out in a state of drunkenness. 

Truman Capote
The famous American author, Truman Capote, had a variety of personal idiosyncrasies. He couldn’t begin or end anything on a Friday. He wrote on his bed, lying down, with a cigarette and a cup of coffee always handy. 

Lord Byron
The famous Romantic poet, Lord Byron, needed to have sex to write. He was a bi-sexual, and was known to have slept with over 250 men and women in a single year at Venice, and to remember each of his adventures, he clipped a strand of his partner’s pubic hair and saved it in an envelope marked with his or her name. 

Charles Dickens
The much-loved author of the Victorian era, Charles Dickens, visited the morgue regularly. He used to spend hours at a morgue, just staring at the dead bodies. It fascinated him to look at the human bodies, dead and naked. The researches have gone to lengths to prove that Dickens was also obsessed with the idea of cannibalism. 

Charles Baudelaire
The French poet had a very odd habit of keeping his pet bat in a cage on his writing desk. Apparently, looking at his bat helped him in articulating his ideas into poetry better. He also talked about his bat, obsessively, at lengths, during interviews and social gatherings. 

(Contributed by Ms.Mokshda Manchanda)

We all have a story to tell...

All of us at some point in our lives have looked back and thought “Wow, I could write a book about it, make millions and live the rest of it in a mansion in the European countryside with tons of books, a cackling fireplace and a purring cat (or rather lots of purring cats)”. Okay, I got a little carried away in my version. We all have our versions. It’s amazing what each of us have gone through, good and bad, encouraging and humiliating. There are little things that hold deep significance for us. We find it impossible to explain why they do so and more often they remain buried deep inside the things we say and do, hardly ever talked about.

Storytelling is as old as humanity. The desire to speak and listen of events and people, real or imaginary is something which comes naturally to us. People have used this natural inclination to entertain irritating children, earn lots of money, get someone killed, get themselves killed, earn the favour of a king and quite frankly the list is endless if you understand where I’m going.

Not only do we like to tell stories, in fact we need to tell them. That is why tangled in urban jungles where every man is an island we end up paying therapists just so that they’d listen to us! Just the act of ‘letting it out’ is therapeutic. I recently came across a video of a man from New York who was paying passers-by a dollar for their story. The idea being that we have gotten so busy with our lives that we no longer care to listen to the problems of others. We are the victims and perpetrators of the same crime.

A few hours before writing this, I witnessed an outburst by a relative who I adore very much, regarding how she was treated as a teenage girl several years ago. A lot of it was new and unsettling for me. Parts of it I suspect, I’d deliberately forgotten because it involved individuals who I thought of as brightly monochromatic. That is how we think of our elders as kids – they are either good or bad(those who don’t get you toys or chocolates) Your story therefore is important because your story will help me see things that I was oblivious to throughout my life or maybe point me in a direction that I knew but had forgotten. Your story can help me realize my mistake.

Hence not only is it necessary for you to tell your story but it is necessary for me that you do so and by me I mean all of us. It might be silly for you but it might as well be a lesson for someone else. Never underestimate the power of your experience told with honesty and humility. The basic premise of The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank couldn’t be any less promising – the diary of a fourteen year old girl stuck in a hideout with nowhere to go and no one to meet apart from a few people. Yet it is a beautiful and more importantly, a relatable story. Its beauty is enhanced by its universality.

Don’t be afraid to tell your story to the world and at the same time I would request you to be kind enough to listen to other people’s story because you cannot expect from someone that you do not give. It would help you to reflect upon this. Maybe it would show you ways that you hadn’t seen till now?  

Where the mind is without fear

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high 
Where knowledge is free 
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments 
By narrow domestic walls 
Where words come out from the depth of truth 
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection 
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way 
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit 
Where the mind is led forward by thee 
Into ever-widening thought and action 
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake 

There are often times when we wonder about the problems that have plagued our country and end up so tangled in the thought of them that we drop into the pit of cynicism. The big bad words flash before our eyes everyday – corruption, rape, terrorism, drugs, and dirty politics, just to name a few. We find our dear journalists struggling to say the same story with different names as if it was the most horrendous thing they’d ever heard. On the receiving end, it is perpetual déjà vu.

One cannot blame either for we have gotten into a death dance, a vicious cycle (if I may call upon this overused expression) or as Tagore would say - lost our way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit. Often when we have a long list of tasks to accomplish we make to-do lists for ourselves. The humble to-do list can be called a sad by-product of the human habit of forgetting things, things which are sometimes very important. A list gives us perspective when we are lost in the alleys of a supermarket dazed by products wrapped in every colour of the rainbow. We realize what is important and what can wait.

Maybe the common man today is lost in that part of the supermarket of where they sell things like gloom, hopelessness, cynicism and despair. At such a time it wouldn’t be a bad idea to take a look at the to-do list which our forefathers made while fighting for the freedom of our country. Why were they fighting the British anyway? Why not just live in complacency? One of the reasons I believe was that they realized that there was something about the British rule which was fundamentally against the flourishing of India as a country, breathing, thinking and acting on its own based upon its own ideas of what was right and wrong. They had a vision, a dream, for India. That vision was their list which we inherited. Sadly, for our part we have done a pretty bad job with it. This particular poem by Tagore is part of that inheritance. It is a dream within a nightmare. A lot of people would find it of little use beyond poetry recitals but I insist stubbornly that each and every verse in this poem can and will be achieved if only we start working towards it.

This poem should serve as a wakeup call for every couch critic, every teacher, social worker, politician, every Indian out there. It is human to get lost in despair but it is equally human to gravitate towards hope and to realize it through action. I don’t have to write a summary of the poem for you. You already know it – it is your to-do list and now that you have seen it, it is time that you rejuvenate and remove yourself from the shelves which contain jars of despair and packets of gloom. Maybe you won’t be able to complete the job but you would make it much easier for your son or your grandson.




(Contributed by:-Monib Ahmed)

Why we love Libraries?

“The only thing that you absolutely have to know, is the location of the library.”

Albert Einstein

A library is a strange place. You can write about it from various perspectives depending upon your own experiences with books and libraries. When one thinks of a library,  one feels closer to humanity. Paradoxically most people seek solace in books from the loudness of society, retreating in a forgotten corner with a beautiful book, occasionally with a cup of tea or coffee.
Reading has always been associated with silence as the stereotypical librarian would rightly point you out in a movie with a single syllable beyond which her (strict old lady with glasses) only way of communicating with people appears to be long stern stares. But the apparent silence of the library is a popular myth. A library is one of the noisiest places there is if only you could hear the dialogues happening between a writer and a reader. Opinions firing around like cannon balls, destroying long cherished notions and creating new life from the wreckage.

When one says that we feel closer to humanity when we think of a library, one has to understand the difference between society that we live in and humanity. These two are not to be confused. The society that we live in is a fragment of humanity. Humanity spills over the confines of time and space. It is metaphysical. Humanity is something which we can all connect to despite the horrific things that people have done to each other through history. It is a ray of infinite hope. It is interesting that the word humanity can be used to denote our physical as well as our emotional development as a species.

Maybe you understand the perspective now. A book is a writer saying something which he thinks deserves to be said. Something which s/he believes would help others in the universal pursuit of happiness. It can be an idea or a story or an idea about a story or a story about an idea. The options are as limitless as stars in a galaxy. A library houses thousands, sometimes millions of these.

An important question you might ask is “What about a bookstore? It also has lots of books if that is what you are playing at”. The important difference between a bookstore and a library gives further weight to what I have to say. A library is a public space. The poorest member can borrow the same book as the wealthiest one. It is a community understanding the value of knowledge that has come to them through their forefathers and also the necessity of making it available for everyone.

One of the most impressive libraries that we have visited in India include the one located at Indian Institute of Advanced Studies, a research institute based in Shimla. The gorgeous building houses one of the leading research and reference libraries in Humanities and Social Science in the country. 

Indian Institute of Advanced Studies, Shimla

The building was designed in Indo-Gothic style by Henry Irwin in 1988 and was known as the Viceregal Lodge. After independence, the building was renamed Rashtrapati Niwas and was used as a summer retreat for the president of India. However, Dr. S Radhakrishnan decided to turn it into a centre of higher learning and the institute was formally inaugurated by Dr. S Radhakrishnan on 20 October 1965.

Next time you are on your summer retreat, do pay a visit to the Institute located on the outskirts of Shimla. You won’t regret it.

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