While the others in my household slept I would sit beside an oil-lamp and compose verses. They poured out of me like the waters of the Tasneem. Although I was too shy to recite them in public I showed them to some poets whose work I thought was above mediocre. They expressed surprise that one so young could have such facility with words; some suspected I had stolen someone else’s writing. ‘If these verses are really yours, the days of Parwana will soon come to an end,’ said one. ‘He will have to leap into a flame,’ said another. ‘He is a mere tuk-baaz (rhymester) with the voice of a castrated male.’ The story went round that a twelve-year-old chhokra had the audacity to use insulting words about the reigning monarch of Agra’s mehfils. In due course Parwana got to hear of what I had said. ‘Who is this son of Meer Taqi?’ he roared. ‘I will teach him a lesson he will never forget.’ Some families known to him dispensed with my services. Not satisfied with this, he decided to humiliate me in public.

At a mushaira in the haveli of Agra’s richest Nawab, Rais Mian, whose begum was said to be enamoured of Parwana, somebody whispered in his ears that I was present in the crowd. I could see his eyes scanning the audience while his informant directed his gaze towards me. He nodded his head and said in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear: ‘Now watch the tamasha.’ After a poet had finished his recitation, his cronies began to shout, ‘Parwana Sahib, Parwana Sahib!’ He raised both his hands asking for people to be quiet. ‘Gentlemen, I am grateful to you for your appreciation of my poor talents. I am your slave, ever ready to comply with your commands. But this evening, before your humble servant opens his mouth, I pray silence for the rising star of Hindustan. Parwana is a mere patanga before him. It is no fault of yours that you have not heard of his name because the world has yet to hear his kalaam. He is still wet behind his ears but regards himself as the ustad of ustads.’ His voice was loaded with sarcasm. His cronies sniggered with pleasure. He turned to one of them and asked loudly, ‘What did you say is this launda’s (urchin’s) name? Ah, yes, Meer. Full name, Meer Taqi Meer. Let the candle be placed before his august visage.’