To think of love and life is to think of Ghalib the lover, and Ghalib the beloved. He was not angelic in form and moving, nor a god in his apprehension but he surely was a piece of work, not very noble in reason but infinite in faculty. He was indeed Shakespeare’s ‘quintessence of dust’ who saw his love going to dust with emotional attachment and philosophical detachment.
Momin lived to love and loved to live but he could not have luck with any of his beloveds.
Ada Jafarey has had many distinctions: she was one of the first female voices of substance in Urdu poetry; she was refreshingly modernist, and above all entirely inimitable.
As a word, Jaan Nisar qualifies a person who can submit one’s life. Jaan Nisar Akhtar did so precisely to engage with the demon of life and the muse of poetry.
Much of what we think or say about Premchand today is usually clichéd. We have been made to believe that this literary major of our times was only a fiction writer, and a Hindi fiction writer to be precise, who emerged and stayed on primarily as a storyteller of rural life. All these are sheer misrepresentations that need to be redressed.
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