Delhiwale: Of verses and the virus

Events proceeded smoothly. In 2017, Mr Ahmad finished his master’s in history from Jamia Millia Islamia University, becoming the only one to accomplish such a feat in his Chatta Abdul Hakim neighbourhood in Old Delhi.

It was all settled. Suhail Ahmad, 30, would be a lecturer in medieval Indian history. Naturally, he would also end up as a scholar in Persian literature. After all, it was the court lingo in the India of that era, he explains.

And then 2020 arrived. Coronavirus flew in. Tourists flew out. Mr Ahmad lost his job. His hard-earned savings quickly depleted.

Events proceeded smoothly. In 2017, Mr Ahmad finished his master’s in history from Jamia Millia Islamia University, becoming the only one to accomplish such a feat in his Chatta Abdul Hakim neighbourhood in Old Delhi. In 2019, he earned a diploma in Persian language from Delhi University. (He would often walk the Walled City lanes reciting Ghalib’s verses.)

Meanwhile, he had grown financially independent as a “tourist facilitator” and a “story teller” for a travel company, escorting foreign visitors to Delhi monuments.

And then 2020 arrived. Coronavirus flew in. Tourists flew out. Mr Ahmad lost his job. His hard-earned savings quickly depleted. “Some parts of my earnings went to our household, for I live with my parents and siblings, and the rest were exhausted in helping people during the lockdown.”

He felt he had to urgently find a new job. So, he eventually gave up his dream of doing a PhD.

Today, Mr Ahmad works as an apprentice at Vishal Hardware Store in the market in Sirkewalan, a short walk from his home. In fact, this evening, he is standing outside the shop. “I never imagined that I, who used to read ghazals and nazams, would one day deal with kundi, taala and chatkhani… Covid has made me start all over again.”

Mr Ahmad admits that he could still pursue higher studies, “but honestly now I don’t have time”. He pauses. “Ultimately, I want to set up my own hardware shop.” Next moment, he remarks on the irony of kismat (fate). “It can take you from somewhere to nowhere.”

But traces of Mr Ahmad’s pre-pandemic past remains in him. Such as his passion for Persian poetry. Sometimes at night, while lying on the bed, the last thing he does is to turn on his phone screen and read poems by Ghalib and Iqbal. “My life has changed, but poetry is still in my heart,” he says, grinning, as he poses for a portrait in the hardware store, standing with folded arms beside a display of “kundi, taala and chatkhani”.

PS: Mr Ahmad clarifies that there is one more person in his neighbourhood to have done a master’s — his younger sister, Yusra.