the keyboard is stronger than the pen

This article appeared originally in Mumbai Mirror, of the Times Of India group.

The medium is the message"



- Marshall McLuhan



So waxed the metaphysician of media, and wrote in his Gutenberg Galaxy how the spreading of the written word meant communication among humans, earlier involving every sense, was reduced by the alphabet to "abstract visual code". This idiom has been utilized since long before McLuhan by statesmen, artists and scientists. None, however, bring forth it's essence as calligraphers do. And while the number of this ancient tribe dwindles in general, the Urdu and Arabic calligrapher's community in Mumbai, has faded from around 250, 10 years ago, to around 8 today.

Mehmood Ahmed Shaikh and Iqtedar Husain, whose offices lie close to one another on Tandel Street Dongri, are two of these eight. They came into the profession in very different ways, and work differently today. Shaikh, was prompted to become a calligrapher because his father was one. He began with a course in Anjuman Islam College, to work for a host of Urdu newspapers, learn further from renowned Ustads, teach in Maharashtra College and work for ten years in Saudi Arabia. His feathers include three Quran Sharifs and an array of poetry. A knee problem has disabled him from transcribing on the floor in the traditional way, and after a year's practice, he's gotten used to a chair and table.

Husain sits on the floor. He claims, "It takes three years for a calligrapher to just learn 'how to sit'." The only family he had in the field was a distant cousin, who taught him after he expressed his interest. Then came a variety of Urdu newspapers and magazines, before branching out on his own.

The tools of these artists comprise calligraphic nibs or a piece of bamboo, both cut to shape. Inks range from Camel to water colour paint to the German Rotring. Arabic styles consist of Sulus, Naskh (further divided into the Indian, Egyptian and Arabic Naskh), Kufi, Riq'a and Diwani. Urdu is penned only in Nastaliq. In Arabic, while Naskh is the most popular and used for scribing religious texts, Sulus is every calligrapher's favourite. "With Sulus, one has the liberty of giving 'shape to the beauty'," Shaikh says, displaying a leaf of his work. A religious phrase is written so it shapes into a religious structure. The beginning of the phrase is a minaret, the name of the prophet is emphasized in the dome, and the rest of the phrase forms it's base. Even, for plain writing, Sulus allows the calligrapher far more scope for improvisation.

The future of this art is symbolized in an old lithographic machine lying junked in Husain's room. When the Urdu papers did not possess computerized font, such machines was used daily to convert the calligrapher's work into print. Today these calligraphers, the survivors, continue to get work which cannot be done on the computer. But for such work only an experienced hand is required, and so while they manage, youngsters in the field, bereft of the livelihood once provided by the newspapers have shifted professions. Yet both calligraphers point out, that no breakthrough in any art can occur on the computer, which means that their generation's passing will impose a stagnancy on Indian calligraphic innovation, Urdu and Arabic. But patronage, akin to that provided by governments in the Middle East, and Hindu and Jain foundations here for Sanskrit calligraphy remains absent. Even the meagre Rs 5000 cash prizes once handed by the Urdu Academy has been revoked. Already, in the distinct style which marks Shaikh finishing another tower in Sulus, one sees another Babel, unfinished.