ontemporary Urdu literature is fortunate to have genuine luminaries like Muhammad Saleem Ur Rahman, Asad Muhammad Khan, Ikram Ullah, Khursheed Rizvi, Iftikhar Arif, Zehra Nigah, Kishwar Naheed and Mustansar Hussain Tarar. Among these most senior, distinguished figures, Muhammad Saleem Ur Rahman is the most remarkable. Yet he prefers to remain away from the spotlights.

Born on April 12, 1934, in Saharanpur, India, he completed his intermediate education at Aligarh Muslim University before migrating to Pakistan in 1952. As he approaches his 91st birthday this April 12, this tribute seeks to honour a living legend of our times.

Muhammad Saleem Ur Rahman’s personality is characterised by two prominent traits: exceptionalism and a silent deviation from usual ways of living. The latter is immediately apparent upon meeting him, while the former becomes evident only through engaging him in conversation – a task that can be challenging – and exploring his diverse literary work. These two characteristics are closely linked; his deviation from conventional ways reveals the essence of his literary exceptionalism. He has chosen to live as an ‘ascetic writer’, embracing asceticism as a fundamental aspect of his writing vocation.

Anyone fortunate enough to meet him will attest that Saleem Sahib’s reclusive lifestyle is imbued with a rare sense of tranquillity, harmony, calmness and unworldliness. It seems that he has reached a state of nirvana – never complaining about people, fate or anything else. He speaks intrepidly, though in a soft voice, about society, local and global politics, sports, art and literature, yet never boasts of his literary achievements, nor lingers on any, real or imagined, failures. This quiet equanimity makes him seem distant, even unremarkable, to those who crave drama.

His life has been full of details that border on the unbelievable. Throughout his life, he has not held any significant positions, except for a brief stint at Hanif Ramay’s magazine, Nusrat. He currently serves as the honorary editor of Savera, a prestigious Urdu literary magazine now in its seventh decade. Saleem Sahib and Savera are inseparable.

He has chosen to remain single. Although he has written love poetry – albeit sporadically – there is no evidence of a romantic involvement in his personal life. He spends most of his time at home, content in his solitude. He has a strong aversion to travel. The longest journey he ever undertook was in 1952 when he moved from Aligarh to Lahore.

It may surprise many readers to learn that Saleem Sahib has never been to Karachi. When I once asked him why, he calmly replied, “Why should I go to Karachi?” – implying a deep contentment with where he was. Within those few words lay a profound message: that the written word holds more space, offers greater freedom and brings more order and peace to our chaotic minds than most things and activities.

Equally astonishing is the fact that, though he resides in Lahore – a city synonymous with literature – he abstains from literary events, conferences and festivals. We all know how most writers crave invitations from literary festival organisers; Saleem Sahib, however, has always remained apart.

He understands and adheres to the true meaning of freedom – liberation from all temptations, persuasions, rewards and accolades. In 2016, he was awarded the Pride of Performance by the Government of Pakistan. He refused to accept it. When I asked him about it a few weeks ago, he explained, “How could I take such an award, along with a million rupees, when most of our people live below the poverty line?”

What stands out most in this episode of his life is that he avoids making a spectacle of his refusal. To him, it was simply the right thing to do – not an act designed to draw attention.

He only visits Dr Anwar Nasir’s Readings, the bookstore and publishing house in Gulberg, Lahore, every two weeks, where he meets some of his friends, admirers and followers. From literary giants like Intezar Hussain, Sheikh Salahuddin, Abdullah Hussain, Khalid Ahmad, Nayyar Masood, Balraj Manra, Shamim Hanfi, Sohail Ahmad Khan and Asif Farrukhi, to contemporaries such as Riaz Ahmad, Mustansar Hussain Tarar and Najeeba Arif – all have been his close literary companions and admirers. Among newer writers, Mahmood-ul Hassan and Saleem Sohail stand out as notable devotees.

He lives a solitary life, embodying the fundamental truth that a writer is destined to embrace solitude. Crucially, however, his solitude is neither imposed by social circumstances nor born of historical trauma – though he witnessed the horrors of Partition and wove a narrative around this trauma in Waqt Pighalnay Ki Raat –rather, it is a reflective and deliberate choice. Enforced loneliness often breeds regret, nostalgia or withdrawal. Saleem Sahib’s solitude shows no trace of inertia, though it may quietly harbour the agonies of Partition.

He finds deep contentment in his seclusion, savouring the sweet fruits of solitude: the leisure to read at whim, to perceive the world through his distinct lens, and to freely write poetry, reviews and translations. A resolute individualist, he has never succumbed to herd mentality, fiercely protecting his intellectual freedom and authentic self.

Although his sensibilities are rooted in modernist poetics, he has never aligned himself with any literary movement – be it Jadeediyat, Taraqqi Pasandi or Ma baad Jadeediyat. His literary interests span classical, modern and contemporary works in Urdu and world literature, but it is the imaginative expanse of the dastan, the real drama of sports books and the stark revelations of war literature that most resonate in his life of chosen isolation.

Saleem Sahib once revealed an intriguing paradox: though he avoids travel, his knowledge of world geography is impeccable. With equal passion, he immerses himself in both world literature and atlases, preferring to journey through imagined landscapes rather than physical ones – a testament to his unwavering belief in the mind’s boundless capacity for exploration.

In an interview, he compared reading Homer’s Odyssey to studying Urdu dastans, highlighting the common elements of fantasy, quests, struggles against adversity and the discovery of strange new worlds. So deeply did the Odyssey captivate him that he resolved to translate it into Urdu – an ambitious and heroic literary undertaking. At just 23, Saleem Sahib embarked on this voyage alongside Odysseus, the wandering king of Ithaca. Without guidance or encouragement, he produced Jahan Gard ki Wapsi, which remains, since 1956, the only authoritative version in Urdu of this world classic. It was his true, yet quietly heroic, entry into Urdu literature, though he had already begun publishing essays in Aaj Kal and Imroze since 1950.

His translation oeuvre grew to include Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness (another crowning achievement), short stories compiled in Karl and Anna, and Gumshuda Cheezon kay Dramiyan (Among the Things Lost), along with essays such as Aseer Zehn (Chained Mind) and Sun Tzu’s treatise, The Art of War, among others.

Another remarkable aspect of his life is that all the translations he undertook stemmed purely from personal inspiration – a desire to share with others the joy he had experienced and the insight he had gained while reading these works in English. Moreover, he has developed his own theory of translation. He believes in maintaining fidelity to the original text, even if this results in unconventional Urdu. In his view, it is precisely this strangeness that enriches the language. He disdains so-called “creative translations” that stray from the source material.

In addition to his translations, Saleem Sahib has edited several dastans and Urdu classics, such as Tilism-i-Gohar Bar, Meer Baqir Ali’s Kana Baati, Riaz-i-Dilruba, and Dard-i-Jan Satan by Nasir Nazir Firaq Dehlvi. He has also authored books for children.

Among the few Urdu writers equally proficient in English, Saleem Sahib began his English writing career with The Pakistan Times, later contributing to The Friday Times and The News on Sunday. However, his English essays and columns have yet to be compiled.

Saleem Sahib’s translations have been widely read and appreciated, but his creative work – both fiction and poetry – has been overlooked. It would not be wrong to say that his contribution to modern Urdu nazm and short stories remains invisible in dominant literary discourse. Years ago, in an English essay about him, the late Asif Farrukhi aptly called Saleem Sahib “an Invisible Man.” Saleem Sahib perhaps chose invisibility because it offers a vantage point from which to observe the absurd theatrics of visibility. To stay visible, many writers stretch their limbs, senses and faculties to the point of absurdity. Saleem Sahib’s creativity, by contrast, springs from pure, genuine inspiration. There is no sign of an effort to inflate the volume of his creative writings.

His poetry, in particular, and his fiction more broadly, deserve far greater visibility in contemporary literary discourse. Despite writing for over six decades, as of 2025, Saleem Sahib has produced only 12 short stories, two plays and a single novel chapter. His stories embody a ‘post-colonial modernist’ sensibility, blending socio-historical realism and magical realism. In some of his work, he revisits the traumatic effects of Partition, the existential dread of nuclear annihilation and the narrative richness of dastan. A recurring – and most potent – theme in his work is the courage to confront the boundaries of the known world, where it bleeds into the unknown. Among these, Awazain (Sounds) stands out. It is the story of a couple on a quest (a foundational dastan motif), seeking to break free from all chains, burdens and the very prison of existence itself.

This writer is of the view that poetry is Saleem Sahib’s true forte. While literary discourse and history may overlook his other contributions, they cannot afford to ignore or undervalue his significant role in shaping the modern Urdu nazm.

His pace of composing poetry has been remarkably slow. Surprisingly, he has produced a single collection over the span of seven decades. This reflects his conviction that true poetry exists solely for its own sake. His work demonstrates an acute consciousness of poetry’s unique way of perceiving the world. This awareness becomes manifest in one of Saleem Sahib’s poems, where poetry turns its gaze inward upon its own nature.

Poetry:

“A letter addressed to All

The stormy greeting of a window that opens by itself

Poetry:

An ocean of possibility with no shore in sight

An endless recursion of heavens

Poetry:

Death’s fleeting flavour”

The phrase “Poetry is a letter addressed to all” perfectly captures the essence of Saleem Sahib’s poetry. Like a letter, his poetry is at once personalised and generalised – a soliloquy that rubs shoulders with dialogue.

Another distinguished feature of his poetry is that it leans less towards telling and more towards vivid portrayal. His verses suggest, connote, insinuate and mystify – rather than state, elucidate, specify or un-riddle. Reading it is an experience akin to chewing slowly, not swallowing hurriedly.

Saleem Sahib’s poetry abounds with natural imagery, yet his perception of nature transcends romantic idealisation. His gaze is distinctly modernist-humanist – neither mystifying nature nor subscribing to the notion that it preserves some lost paradise or forgotten meaning of human existence. Instead, his nazms reveal a profound truth: paradise must be created and meaning discovered through the daring exploration of imagination’s wilderness.

The recurrent imagery in his poems does more than depict natural scenes. It manifests how human consciousness – subjective and all-knowing – apprehends nature. In essence, his natural imagery is no mere linguistic reproduction of the external world, but rather a dynamic fusion of modernist sensibility and poetic vision.

This approach yields images charged with profound significance, often surpassing nature itself in their intensity. Consider these striking examples: “Noon is a whirlpool of dazzle,” or “From earth to sky, it trembles, the soughing of sun’s blood.” Many lines in his poems (which remain untitled) transform into complex metaphors or dense symbols, as evidenced in these two stanzas.

“Sipping the last drops of light

A dusk dissolving in storms and gloom

Lightening tangled in deafening silence, then crashing down

A broken noise tiptoeing on its toes.

The rain standing guard over the night’s desolation

Gusts unravelling the dreams of sleeping, waking trees

They tell tales of – of autumns and axes.

Leaves keep falling as do days and nights.”

Among Urdu poets, Saleem Sahib appears to have drawn inspiration from Majeed Amjad. Like Amjad, who did not give titles to his later poems, Saleem Sahib similarly leaves his verses untitled. The work of both poets emerges from solitude – a vantage point for attuning to the cosmos’s unheard melodies. Yet Saleem Sahib’s poetry remains distinctly original. His solitude differs profoundly from Amjad’s; his sensibility and wild imagination are forged by unique experiences. Whereas Amjad never migrated, Saleem Sahib did – bearing witness to the horrors of displacement. Moreover, his metropolitan existence shaped a particular kind of urban loneliness unknown to Amjad. Ultimately, Saleem Sahib’s poems bear his unmistakable signature – one that leaves an indelible mark on the tradition of modern Urdu nazm.

The author is a Lahore-based Urdu critic and fiction writer. He is currently associated with Gurmani Centre, LUMS, as head of publications. His latest books include Jab Tak hae Zameen and Majmooa Nasir Abbas Nayyar.