One day, out for a walk, I happened to take the road to the newly ruined city [Delhi]. At every step I shed tears and learned the lesson of mortality. And the further I went the more bewildered I became. I could not recognize any neighbourhood house. There were no buildings to be seen, nor any residents to speak to.
Houses had collapsed. Walls had fallen down. The hospices were bereft of Sufis. The taverns were empty of revelers. It was a wasteland, from one end to the other. What can I say about the rascally boys of the bazaar when there was no bazaar itself! And what can I tell of my pale-cheeked friends when there was no [rosy-cheeked one to ask] The handsome young men had passed away. The pious old men had passed away. The palaces were in ruin, the streets were lost in the rubble. Every place was desolate; there was no sign of a human anywhere.
Suddenly I found myself in the neighbourhood where I had lived - where I gathered my friends and recited verses; where I lived the life of love and cried many a night; where I fell in love with slim and tall [beloveds] and sang high their praises; where I spent time with those who had long ringlets and where I adored the beautiful ones. If I were without them for even a moment I would pine for them. [This was where] I arranged joyous gatherings and invited beautiful people, feasted them and lived a [pleasant] life. [But now] no familiar face came into sight so I could spend a few happy moments with him. Nor could I find someone suitable to speak to. The bazaar was a place of desolation; the lane was a track into wilderness. I stood there and looked in amazement, and was horrified. I swore I would never return to the city.
Mornings and evenings I went to the bank of the river and enjoyed the sights. Such a beautiful place - with gardens on one side and the fort and the establishments of great nobles on the other, you would say it was a river in paradise. The fame of my poetic genius [the creation of a new poetic theme or a bundling of associative ideas] had spread far and wide. Bashful beauties and those who had thick black eyelashes; those who coined fine phrases and those who dressed elegantly; and those who had a gift for poesy - they never left me alone and treated me with great respect. 2 or 3 times I walked through the city end to end and met with its scholars, Sufis and poets. But I did not find any person to talk to who could comfort my restless heart. I said to myself, 'Allah be praised! This is the same city whose every street once had [its share of] Gnostics; perfect masters; scholars; poets; writers; sages; jurists; dialecticians; philosophers; Sufis; scholars of the Hadith; school teachers; dervishes; spiritual mentors; mullahs; Quran memorizers; Quran reciters; imams of mosques and those who called to the prayers, as well as madrasas, mosques, hospices, abodes of faqirs, inns for travelers, family homes and gardens. But now I see not one place where I can sit and enjoy myself, and I find not one man whose company I may share.' All I saw was a terrifying wasteland. And so I grieved and returned [after] I had spent 4 months in the city of my origin. I left with my eyes awash with tears of longing and reached the forts of Suraj Mal.
When they entered Lucknow, his permanent abode, and took residence in the royal palace, new carpets of manifold hues were laid out every day, with golden incense-burners placed on their corners. The area surrounding the house was sprinkled with rose water, and attar was rubbed in the beds. Everyone's clothes were fragrant with perfume. Velveteen carpets [were spread out] such as none had ever stepped upon. Walls glittered like silver. Elegant pavilions were set up in gardens and decorated with screens and curtains. The sweet smell of amber spread everywhere, creating a unique effect. The houses put to shame the homes for spring. Roasted almonds and pistachios and firangi tidbits were laid out for munching. At night, there were dances by women who were like fairies - nay, who were like the houris of paradise. Flower vases of crystal and porcelain were carefully arranged. Shelves and niches in the walls were filled with choice fruit, perfectly ripe. A firangi dance was held, a lovely scene - a house of joy. In the evening, they had elabroate illuminations and set off fireworks. The starbursts and rockets touched the sky. The sight of the illuminations stole the hearts [of the spectators]. The flares turned the night into day. A pavilion of gold brocade was set up - of such beauty that not even the sun had seen its like. The nobles were busy, offering hospitality; the rajas went about, offering their services. Excellent poets sang their praises. Young stalwarts stood by to tend to things. Every house was finely prepared, with shady nooks and channels of flowing water. Vases that held bunches of narcissus flowers seemed like a garden in Isfahan, a garden in Kerman, containing a large lake.' Ice, more pleasing to the sight than molten silver, carefully gathered from water. Bowls of faluda of many colours and kinds, their sherbet sweeter than the syrup of life.
As for the types of breads at meal times; almond bread of utmost delicacy; and both coloured with saffron on top that would put the sun to shame; youthful bread, so soft and warm that if an old man were to eat it he would act like a youth; paper bread of such a quality that I could fill a whole book with its praises; ginger bread to, so flavourful that Taste itself grows happy comprehending it. In the middle were placed varieties of qaliya and do-piyaza, such rich stews of different kinds that the guests were all delighted and satisfied. And the kababs that were laid out on the long table-cloth: flower kabad, full of bloom and flavour; perfectly salted Indian kabab stole every heart; Qandahari kabab brought relief to those who were tired from the hardships of the journey; leaf-of-paper kabab was of such an amazing recipe-manuscript that it delighted everyone; and all the more common kababs, spicy and flavourful. 10 large plates of food were placed before every single guest. Then there were pulaos of all kinds and wonderful soups of every type. 'Praise be to One, who is Bountiful and Generous!
What a splendid guest! What an exemplary host! A grand guest; a glorious host. A guest of wonderful disposition; a host of the greatest eminence. A guest, so refined and elegant; a host, sun-like in his munificence. The guest, a man of perfect sagacity; the host, an embodiment of hospitality. Their likes had never been seen by the eyes of ages, nor heard of by the ears of sages. In that manner they continued to meet for 6 months, day and night, and conversed and exchanged thoughts.
In short, the world is a place of strange happenings. What houses there were that crumbled down! What young men there were who gave up their lives! What gardens there were that are now a wilderness! What joyous assemblies there were that now seem a fantasy! What flowers, that withered away! What handsome men who passed away! What gatherings of friends, that were tossed to the wind! What caravans, that loaded up and disappeared! What honourable men there were who suffered ignominy! What bold men there were who tasted mortality! These eyes have seen everything and these ears have heard everything.
(Extracted from Zikr - E - Mir. Mir Mohammad Taqi Mir. 1773. Translated by C. M. Naim. Oxford
University Press, 1999. 93, 94, 96, 97, 121 - 123, 129).