Of collection, hobbies and hoarding

It is generally believed that collecting too many material possessions is not good. We can carry nothing to the other world, the songs and messages of famous spiritual leaders always remind us.

But what about collecting as a hobby? There are collectors of all kinds in the world, and those who spend fortunes to build up piles of old gramophone records or antique show-pieces are mostly praised for their efforts, despite often being prone to acting on impulse, behaving in an impractical manner or even turning obsessive in some cases.

But in this fast-paced age of internet, has collecting lost its charm? Earlier, a favourite song being played on the radio would make me elated and I would rush to find a pen and paper so that I can write down the lyrics, which I had a habit of collecting. Now I can hear nearly every song in YouTube and Google the lyrics in a jiffy, but the fun quotient is considerably less. Photo albums are now passé, but photographs stored in pen drives are rarely revisited.

My mom has a trunk-ful of old and apparently useless stuff. A leaf from a tree in Mussourie where she worked as a young schoolteacher, a letter written by her grandfather discussing a proposal of marriage of her parents which she came across somewhere, a pic of an Iraqi boy during the war, cut from The Statesman and kept because he "looked a bit like" her eldest grandson.

Now nearing 90, she often says, "I don't know why did I keep all these, nobody will have any use of these after I go." I don't try to reassure her, though I myself have been guilty of collecting bus tickets and match- boxes as a kid, and posters of sportsmen as a teenager (mom did not like me putting up photos of "males" like Maradona and Gavaskar, so I balanced it with PT Usha). However, 20 years of migrant existence has changed me. Now I throw away things mercilessly, lest they become a burden during the next move to a new house. The only exception are my books, half of them unread, earning glances of displeasure from porters during shifting, and in constant strife with pests and bookworms.

Maybe, someday, I will have the heart to stop hoarding them and give some of them away to a library. After all, the poet said, "kya leke aya bande kya leke jayega".

(P.S.: The dead-body of my first mobile phone is still with me. Call it Psycho-3, or whatever. Photograph enclosed)

A chilly morning and a poet’s resting place

On Mathura Road, at a walking distance from Jangpura-B where I have been staying for most part of my 20 years in Delhi, lies the grand Red sandstone mausoleum of Abdur Rahim Khan-e-Khanan (1556-1627), son of Akbar’s mentor Bairam Khan, a statesman and a general, and one of the “nine jewels” in the Mughal Emperor’s court.

I used to pass by the ruins twice every day, but never tried to go in, as I could hardly see any visitor inside. Then in 2014, the Agha Khan Trust for Culture started to renovate the structure as part of its Nizamuddin Urban Renewal initiative. But if not for an exhibition that I came across during an impromptu visit to India Habitat Centre in March 2017, I might not have realized that Abdur Rahim was also Rahim Das, a poet proficient in Braj bhasha, Sanskrit, Arabic and Persian, and known for his verses on life and spirituality. Those studying Hindi in schools would know, for “Rahim ke Dohe” are in CBSE syllabus along with those of Sant Kabir.

The tomb has recently been reopened by ASI, and this morning, I ventured for the first time into the complex that I have been seeing from outside for so long. The helpful ASI guard at the gate offered me snippets of information about the mausoleum, which was built in 1598 by Rahim himself in memory of his wife Mah Banu. However, now it is only referred to by his name.

The garden pathways have been restored, along with the square-shaped main tomb. The dome remains half-painted, apparently to keep some part of the original ruins untouched. Plaques have been placed in the arched cells on the tomb’s lower edifice with Rahim’s poems inscribed on them. The pic enclosed with this post is of this doha: "Gahi sarnagati Ram ki, bhavsagar ki naav/Rahiman jagat udhar ko, aur na kachhu upaiy".

It will be relevant to mention that Ramdhari Singh Dinkar, in his “Sanskriti, Bhasha aur Rashtra”, notes that it is said that Tulsidas and Rahim were good friends and the latter, in fact, had effusively praised Ram Charit Manas in one of his poems. A rare personal copy prepared for Rahim of a Persian translation of Ramayana commissioned by Akbar is preserved at Freer Art Gallery, Washington.

Several blogs mention a conversation between Tulsidas and Rahim, after the former came to know that while giving alms to the poor, Rahim lowers his gaze. He asked Rahim in a couplet, "“ऐसी देनी देंन ज्यूँ, कित सीखे हो सैन/ज्यों ज्यों कर ऊंच्यो करो, त्यों त्यों निचे नैन”. (Sir, Where have you learnt that way of giving alms? As your hands go up, your eyes start going down). Rahim apparently replied with, “देनहार कोई और है, भेजत जो दिन रैन/लोग भरम हम पर करे, तासो निचे नैन”. (Giver is someone else, giving day and night. But people may make a mistake and think I am the giver, so I lower my eyes). Disclaimer: I don't know if the story is a true historical account.

(Note: 1. Inputs have been taken from nizamuddinrenewal.org site, and articles by Shashank Bhargava and Sayeeda Hamid in The Hindu and Indian Express, respectively. Also, jantakareporter site for the Tulsi-Rahim tale.

2. Reading wish-list – ‘Attendant Lords: Bairam Khan and Abdur Rahim, Courtiers and Poets in Mughal India’ by former diplomat TCA Raghavan.)