As he sits within the quiet, nondescript lane of Chatta Bazaar, surrounded by means of stacks of paper and the scent of unpolluted ink of screen-printing, one could simply mistake Mohammed Ghouseuddin Azeem for just another vendor taking orders for wedding ceremony cards. wading during the rickety scooters that dangerously lean onto every different, we achieve Azeem, who eyes us somewhat suspiciously when we ask: "Kya aap khatib hai?"
A khatib, (which roughly translates to calligrapher), is the title for artists who grasp the age-old art of designing alphabets and words in Urdu using a specialized pen and Indian ink. But for Azeem, khushnawees or khushkhat (calligraphy) is more 'grammar' than art. "It may seem like we are writing it anyway we want, but if I draw the alphabet 'ba' in font size 12 and font size 60, the distance between the first part of the letter to the end part will be same across the two sizes," explains Azeem who has been a khatib for over 26 years.
Chatta Bazaar, the place his easy workshop is located, was once the hub of khatibs. But these days, simplest seven-eight are left, rues Azeem, who admits khushnawees is a dying art.
"In the 1990s, the computers came and soon, the Urdu font followed. suddenly khatibs were no more in demand," remembers Azeem. The first blow came from Urdu newspapers, which once mass-recruited khatibs for chronicling town's day-to-day lifestyles. But once the print trade moved onto the speedier, cost-effective digital medium the art of khushkhat was restricted merely to ornate cards and banners. "I won't say khushnaweesi has lost its demand completely. The advent of the digital era just made it more precious and rare — something to be cherished," says Azeem, wistfully.
For Chatta Bazar's seven-odd khatibs, who run Urdu printing shops parallely, the hot announcement that the federal government has declared Urdu the second respectable language of Telangana, serves as a small glimmer of hope to do all they are able to to keep their art. "we are the only few remaining who know this art. We have to do this, we have to keep at it, so we ensure this stands the test of time," says Azhar Hashmi, another khatib.
But hobby alone does not fill stomachs and that's precisely why one in all them simplest has his father's calligraphy assortment to show in memory of outdated times. "I left khushnawees long time back. I used to write for Urdu dailies, but when they stopped, I lost my speed completely so I set up a printing shop," says 51-year-old Afzal Mohammed Khan. He pulls out his father's blue scrapbook from under his table, and shows it to us, with a touch of nostalgia and pleasure lighting up his face. "My father, Ghouse Mohammed Khan was the best khatib in town in the 60s and 70s. He made all these," says Afzal, as he turns the 50-odd pages of the e-book to show off his father's artistry. One of them shows the drawing of Rajeev Gandhi, with words in Urdu reading, 'Humara Maseeha'. Another shows the masthead of the day-to-day, Rehnumaye Deccan, another shows the masthead of a paper Munsif. "This was a pandra-roza, or fortnightly," he says, pointing to the reduce out of the masthead his father designed. An outdated image falls off the leaf — that of Ghouse, with some dignitaries. Afzal turns over the picture to learn the traces written: "This was clicked over 35 years ago with the Education Minister Muddu Krishnama Naidu."
The male-dominated Chatta Bazar has no sight of girls, even as shoppers. So in search of a woman khatib is like looking for a needle in a haystack. "Women used to write for the fortnightly or weekly papers. But once the computers came, they too were pushed back into the homes. Now they do write, but as a hobby, not commercially," explains Afzal. He shows another photograph of his father with a number of students at the Marqaz Kushnawwezi in Nampally, the place he taught younger ladies calligraphy.
Clearly, things these days are a a long way cry from again then when Urdu were given its due. Even as makes an attempt are being made to restore the lost glory of the language, the khatibs lament that outside Old City, their art has barely any takers. "Our market will always be the same — Old City dwellers who want wedding cards and other special correspondence written. The wedding card demand is also there only because the religious heads have mandated the use of Urdu. else everyone would have switched to English," says Mohammed Abdula, a khatib, adding, "Jab tak Urdu ko tawajjon nahi milega, khatib ka haal aisa hi rahega."
An evolving art
With changing times, the art too needed to evolve and adapt. While the computerised fonts of Urdu run in thousands, there are just seven fonts used for Khatib — Nastaleeq, Riqa, Diwani, Suls, Nasq, Kufi and Diwani Jali. Each of those fonts are unique not just in the best way they're recreated on paper, but in addition unique in terms of their utilization and significance. whilst a Suls is most popular for headings, a Kufi reveals its place on the walls of a Masjid and Riqa decorates the Quran. The khatibs makes use of a pen with nibs of varying sizes, ranging from 1mm to a 3cm. These are entirely made with bamboo. Pens with metallic nibs are known as 'Baru ka Kalam' by means of some. "Calligraphy as done before is hardly seen anymore. We use any water based ink now. earlier we used to go to a colour shop in Gulzar House were a special color called Kala Kankar was available. We would heat it in decoction to make ink," remembers Mohammed Abdula. Now the colour store has long gone, Gulzar space has modified and so has the khatib's treasured artform.
Will the newfound recognition that's coming Urdu's manner from the Telangana govt rewrite the khatib's tale and alter his fortune? Only time will inform.
Urdu was born right here, it grew right here, it is our language
The beauty of the language is that it's linguistically a lot richer. We say 'I really like my dog and love my son' without a difference between the two varieties of love in English. But in Urdu, we say 'Main apne kutte se pyaar karti hoon aur apne bete se Mohabbat karti hoon'. that have an effect on is what Urdu provides to expression. That difference between 'mohabbat' and 'pyaar' is the place Urdu's beauty lies.
— Iqbal Patni, poet
I am glad that urdu is getting its due in any case
The move to make Urdu the second respectable language of the state is a good one. Now, the federal government should make use of translators at all workplaces from Mandal to Secretariat degree to ensure that those that be informed Urdu will get employment as smartly since the belief that it's only spoken by means of minorities is plaguing its growth.
— Prof Naseemuddin Farees, MANUU
Urdu is India's awaam ki boli
I can't give an explanation for how glad I'm that Urdu, my mom tongue, has grow to be the second respectable language of Telangana — this news made my day. Trust me, I have been asking Mahmood Ali (deputy CM of Telangana) for years now, why we do not need names of roads in Urdu. That's the only manner other people will see it and get accustomed to it. Though my father lived in England for some time and I studied in an English medium college, at home we never spoke in English; it was at all times Urdu. When we were children, an Urdu grasp would come home to teach us. It was that essential.
— Laxmi Devi Raj, textile revivalist
Urdu is a language of poetry, song and tradition. All varieties of books were translated into Urdu for the overall populace to learn, including the spiritual books. But within the 70s the state saw an influx of migrant population, that was alien to Urdu and knew little about it. My parents could learn and write in Urdu, however I could simplest discuss. So individuals are dropping touch with the language. We are dropping out on our tradition and manuscripts chronicled in Urdu. the state recognition is a step to achieve the multi-lingualism which Hyderabad was once well-known for.
— Anuradha Reddy, historian
Humare liye sona khana peena uthna baithna odhna bichana — the whole lot is Urdu. I believe Urdu is the zabaan of loads of Indians. from Lucknow to Bhopal, Punjab to erstwhile Deccan provinces, the language on the street is Urdu. Strangely, it is 'known as' Hindi. Urdu was in large part the awaam ki boli. At a time when Farsi, persian et al were court languages, Urdu was made for the average man to talk. After independence, Hindi become the respectable languages. Now that the Telangana govt has taken a step in the appropriate direction, they must not merely announce it and put out of your mind about it. We must work in opposition to making Urdu a part of everyday lifestyles. mushairas must be held again, govt workplaces must allow public to submit requests / applications in Urdu, except Telugu and English, signal forums must function Urdu prominently. Only then will this move make any real have an effect on.
— Fawad Tamkant, artist
A khatib, (which roughly translates to calligrapher), is the title for artists who grasp the age-old art of designing alphabets and words in Urdu using a specialized pen and Indian ink. But for Azeem, khushnawees or khushkhat (calligraphy) is more 'grammar' than art. "It may seem like we are writing it anyway we want, but if I draw the alphabet 'ba' in font size 12 and font size 60, the distance between the first part of the letter to the end part will be same across the two sizes," explains Azeem who has been a khatib for over 26 years.
Chatta Bazaar, the place his easy workshop is located, was once the hub of khatibs. But these days, simplest seven-eight are left, rues Azeem, who admits khushnawees is a dying art.
"In the 1990s, the computers came and soon, the Urdu font followed. suddenly khatibs were no more in demand," remembers Azeem. The first blow came from Urdu newspapers, which once mass-recruited khatibs for chronicling town's day-to-day lifestyles. But once the print trade moved onto the speedier, cost-effective digital medium the art of khushkhat was restricted merely to ornate cards and banners. "I won't say khushnaweesi has lost its demand completely. The advent of the digital era just made it more precious and rare — something to be cherished," says Azeem, wistfully.
For Chatta Bazar's seven-odd khatibs, who run Urdu printing shops parallely, the hot announcement that the federal government has declared Urdu the second respectable language of Telangana, serves as a small glimmer of hope to do all they are able to to keep their art. "we are the only few remaining who know this art. We have to do this, we have to keep at it, so we ensure this stands the test of time," says Azhar Hashmi, another khatib.
But hobby alone does not fill stomachs and that's precisely why one in all them simplest has his father's calligraphy assortment to show in memory of outdated times. "I left khushnawees long time back. I used to write for Urdu dailies, but when they stopped, I lost my speed completely so I set up a printing shop," says 51-year-old Afzal Mohammed Khan. He pulls out his father's blue scrapbook from under his table, and shows it to us, with a touch of nostalgia and pleasure lighting up his face. "My father, Ghouse Mohammed Khan was the best khatib in town in the 60s and 70s. He made all these," says Afzal, as he turns the 50-odd pages of the e-book to show off his father's artistry. One of them shows the drawing of Rajeev Gandhi, with words in Urdu reading, 'Humara Maseeha'. Another shows the masthead of the day-to-day, Rehnumaye Deccan, another shows the masthead of a paper Munsif. "This was a pandra-roza, or fortnightly," he says, pointing to the reduce out of the masthead his father designed. An outdated image falls off the leaf — that of Ghouse, with some dignitaries. Afzal turns over the picture to learn the traces written: "This was clicked over 35 years ago with the Education Minister Muddu Krishnama Naidu."
The male-dominated Chatta Bazar has no sight of girls, even as shoppers. So in search of a woman khatib is like looking for a needle in a haystack. "Women used to write for the fortnightly or weekly papers. But once the computers came, they too were pushed back into the homes. Now they do write, but as a hobby, not commercially," explains Afzal. He shows another photograph of his father with a number of students at the Marqaz Kushnawwezi in Nampally, the place he taught younger ladies calligraphy.
Clearly, things these days are a a long way cry from again then when Urdu were given its due. Even as makes an attempt are being made to restore the lost glory of the language, the khatibs lament that outside Old City, their art has barely any takers. "Our market will always be the same — Old City dwellers who want wedding cards and other special correspondence written. The wedding card demand is also there only because the religious heads have mandated the use of Urdu. else everyone would have switched to English," says Mohammed Abdula, a khatib, adding, "Jab tak Urdu ko tawajjon nahi milega, khatib ka haal aisa hi rahega."
An evolving art
With changing times, the art too needed to evolve and adapt. While the computerised fonts of Urdu run in thousands, there are just seven fonts used for Khatib — Nastaleeq, Riqa, Diwani, Suls, Nasq, Kufi and Diwani Jali. Each of those fonts are unique not just in the best way they're recreated on paper, but in addition unique in terms of their utilization and significance. whilst a Suls is most popular for headings, a Kufi reveals its place on the walls of a Masjid and Riqa decorates the Quran. The khatibs makes use of a pen with nibs of varying sizes, ranging from 1mm to a 3cm. These are entirely made with bamboo. Pens with metallic nibs are known as 'Baru ka Kalam' by means of some. "Calligraphy as done before is hardly seen anymore. We use any water based ink now. earlier we used to go to a colour shop in Gulzar House were a special color called Kala Kankar was available. We would heat it in decoction to make ink," remembers Mohammed Abdula. Now the colour store has long gone, Gulzar space has modified and so has the khatib's treasured artform.
Will the newfound recognition that's coming Urdu's manner from the Telangana govt rewrite the khatib's tale and alter his fortune? Only time will inform.
Urdu was born right here, it grew right here, it is our language
The beauty of the language is that it's linguistically a lot richer. We say 'I really like my dog and love my son' without a difference between the two varieties of love in English. But in Urdu, we say 'Main apne kutte se pyaar karti hoon aur apne bete se Mohabbat karti hoon'. that have an effect on is what Urdu provides to expression. That difference between 'mohabbat' and 'pyaar' is the place Urdu's beauty lies.
— Iqbal Patni, poet
I am glad that urdu is getting its due in any case
The move to make Urdu the second respectable language of the state is a good one. Now, the federal government should make use of translators at all workplaces from Mandal to Secretariat degree to ensure that those that be informed Urdu will get employment as smartly since the belief that it's only spoken by means of minorities is plaguing its growth.
— Prof Naseemuddin Farees, MANUU
Urdu is India's awaam ki boli
I can't give an explanation for how glad I'm that Urdu, my mom tongue, has grow to be the second respectable language of Telangana — this news made my day. Trust me, I have been asking Mahmood Ali (deputy CM of Telangana) for years now, why we do not need names of roads in Urdu. That's the only manner other people will see it and get accustomed to it. Though my father lived in England for some time and I studied in an English medium college, at home we never spoke in English; it was at all times Urdu. When we were children, an Urdu grasp would come home to teach us. It was that essential.
— Laxmi Devi Raj, textile revivalist
Urdu is a language of poetry, song and tradition. All varieties of books were translated into Urdu for the overall populace to learn, including the spiritual books. But within the 70s the state saw an influx of migrant population, that was alien to Urdu and knew little about it. My parents could learn and write in Urdu, however I could simplest discuss. So individuals are dropping touch with the language. We are dropping out on our tradition and manuscripts chronicled in Urdu. the state recognition is a step to achieve the multi-lingualism which Hyderabad was once well-known for.
— Anuradha Reddy, historian
Humare liye sona khana peena uthna baithna odhna bichana — the whole lot is Urdu. I believe Urdu is the zabaan of loads of Indians. from Lucknow to Bhopal, Punjab to erstwhile Deccan provinces, the language on the street is Urdu. Strangely, it is 'known as' Hindi. Urdu was in large part the awaam ki boli. At a time when Farsi, persian et al were court languages, Urdu was made for the average man to talk. After independence, Hindi become the respectable languages. Now that the Telangana govt has taken a step in the appropriate direction, they must not merely announce it and put out of your mind about it. We must work in opposition to making Urdu a part of everyday lifestyles. mushairas must be held again, govt workplaces must allow public to submit requests / applications in Urdu, except Telugu and English, signal forums must function Urdu prominently. Only then will this move make any real have an effect on.
— Fawad Tamkant, artist
As Urdu gets a fillip from Telangana govt, khatibs see a glimmer of hope
![As Urdu gets a fillip from Telangana govt, khatibs see a glimmer of hope]()
Reviewed by Kailash
on
November 19, 2017
Rating:
