Delhiwale: His poetic grace

Naseer Jhinjhanvi, a devoted Urdu poetry enthusiast and son of poet Mushir Jhinjhanvi, passed away at 63, leaving a legacy in Old Delhi's Walled City.

His elegant sartorial style and measured manner of speaking made him look like a poet. In truth, this graceful man was a devoted reader of Urdu poetry, with special attachment to late poet Mushir Jhinjhanvi. Partly, perhaps, because he was this poet’s son.

Naseer Jhinjhanvi, a distinguished resident of the Walled City, died on Thursday after a prolonged illness, aged 63. (HT Photo)

Naseer Jhinjhanvi, a distinguished resident of the Walled City, died on Thursday after a prolonged illness, aged 63. He was buried in the same grave at the Dilli Gate Qabristan where his poet-father was buried 36 years ago.

Two of Naseer’s sons live in Europe, but he spent his life entirely within his labyrinthine residence in Old Delhi’s crowded Chitli Qabar Chowk. The building, once defined by old-fashioned courtyards, terraces, winding staircases, and a bird-filled rooftop, evolved over time—much like the Walled City itself. His family, originally from Jhinjhana in Uttar Pradesh, had settled in Old Delhi in the 1950s, echoing a pattern of migration that continues today as people from across the country move into the historic quarter. Here in Purani Dilli, his late father became a noted poet, while a young Naseer had the good fortune to attend St. Stephen’s College at Delhi University. His time at the esteemed institution was brief, but enough for his visiting card to bear the words “ex-Stephanian.”

While the family’s printing business had shut years earlier, the household continued to run smoothly. This was especially evident in the evenings, when Naseer’s mehman-khana would fill with friends from the neighbouring localities, who would address him fondly as Puttan Bhai. Conversations flowed freely over chai, often drifting toward his father’s poetry.

Some years ago, Naseer required a kidney transplant. The donor was his wife, Sabiha, herself the daughter of another distinguished poet. Together, they would host friends to homely dinner. The couple would sit side by side, like two kidneys in one body, sustaining a shared existence.

In later years, Naseer and his brother, Muneer, renovated their old house, equipping it with the conveniences of a modern apartment. Yet the walls still retain their traditional taaks, and the family continues to dine cross-legged on the floor, gathered around a spread of dastarkhan.

Some months ago, Naseer was delighted to discover a video on Facebook of his poet-father writing with a rose-tipped pen. He was pleasantly astonished that such high-quality footage could exist from that time. His youngest son, Nameer, a lawyer in the Supreme Court, then explained that it was an AI-generated video created by admirers of the poet. Undeterred, Naseer shared it with friends, finding joy in seeing his father so vividly brought to life. (His other literary solace was his sister, Professor Iffat Zarrin, Old Delhi’s only published woman poet.)

One summer afternoon, last year, Naseer was standing alone in the living room, beside a bouquet of artificial flowers, reciting his father’s verses out loud. See photo.