I first discovered the Khwaab Tanha Collective like I discover most things – on my facebook newsfeed. Between a photograph of a recent graduation and an article from buzzfeed was a bright yellow picture that caught my eye. On it, an unfamiliar face sat alongside a very familiar name – Saadat Hasan Manto.

I remember Manto from my first year as an undergraduate student at Delhi University. It is through him that I began to understand a history of partition beyond the bare accounts of textbooks, learning of a time and an India that I had never known. His name made me pause but what I was struck by was the image that accompanied it. In delicate black and white brushstrokes, leaning slightly away from the viewer, a thoughtful looking man stood smoking a cigarette. His hair was pushed back, his jacket hung open. He was not what I expected.
 
Then again, I am not sure that I expected anything at all. In the peculiar way that some writers can become a part of your consciousness with no images to accompany their names, Manto – with his striking portraits of Partition – has become a name without a face.
 
This is what Shiraz Hussain, the man behind the fascinating Khwaab Tanha Collective, wants to correct.
 
In his hands, the greats of Indian literature – Faiz Ahmad Faiz, Ghalib, Amrita Pritam – emerge in incredibly detailed portraits, their faces alongside their words, reaching out to new audiences in refreshingly new ways.
 
Over the past year, Hussain has created illustrations for dozens of works of Urdu literature, bringing generations of Indian writing to modern mediums, using gifs, videos, and social media platforms to create a contemporary, multi-lingual catalogue of great literature.
 
To better understand what this project means for the place of an ancient language in a dynamic digital age, I speak to Shiraz Hussain.
 

 
The title of your project Khwaab Tanha Collective, translates loosely to ‘ a loner’s dream’. What is the significance of this title to your work?
 
This title has many stories and few intersecting meanings. As a teenager I remember how Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead strongly affected me, how this man does not compromise on his artistic perspective … his take on the world was quite moving. Like the protagonist, I believe that the occurrence of a dream or an idea is quite lonely at first. Later, one can share one’s dream and vision with others. And the other word in the title – collective – is a bit ironic since I am alone in this endeavor though I have planned to collaborate with musicians and actors in future. The conceptual artist Shea Hembrey, who creates artwork through fictional characters, also inspired me.
 
Your work introduces new audiences to Urdu literature at a time when a lot of young Indians are unaware of its ubiquity or significance. What do you think your position as an artist achieves in this regard?
 
Degas has said that art is not what you see but what you make others see. With Khwaab Tanha, I try bending things which most people see as a straight line. Celebrating our literary giants in visual culture is a big responsibility. I have to tune a visual frequency which is “hash tag wow’’ for the youth and “waah” for the older audience. It’s totally wonderful and motivating that ‘Khwaab Tanha’ is connecting spreading love among literature enthusiasts not only from India but also from Poland, America, and Pakistan.
 

 
There are sections of this nation that maintain an opposition to Urdu and view it as a ‘foreign’ language. What do you believe your art can achieve in the face of such responses?
 
What they are calling a ‘Foreign language’ is actually a language which was born by the people, for the people, and of the people of India.
 
I am similarly saddened by the act of angry protesters, where they deface Hindi and English nameplates in Bengaluru because they want to have Kannada everywhere. Love your language but don’t disrespect or hate others.
 
One of my friends recently showed me a picture of two women on a social media website. To my surprise they were holding ‘Khwaab Tanha’ posters in Urdu and Hindi at jantar Mantar, protesting the terror attack on Amarnath pilgrims. At that moment I realized I am not alone to believe in ‘Khwaab Tanha’ and I never will be.
                                                                                                                                  
Urdu writing has, in the pre Independence era specifically had a distinct, irreverent, radical, and humour laden element. Do you think this aspect of the language and culture of Urdu can serve a valuable function today?
 
The beauty and design of this language that it can adapt, survive, and flourish even in the most unfriendly environment. Urdu is around us but we don’t realize or recognize it easily.
 
For example, in Bollywood movies Urdu is everywhere. Film writers and lyricists simply can’t do without using Urdu words and poetry styles.
 
Our minds are like parachutes – they work well when they are open. Urdu can function astonishingly well but for that we have to open up first.
 

 
Your work has adapted to new digital forms such as gifs. What potential do you think these forms have for art projects like yours? Do you have plans to expand into other forms like animation or short films?
 
As an artist, I work in multiple disciplines – my personal drawings are different from Khwaab Tanha. When I work on poets and their couplets, my work is not abstract.
 
I keep experimenting with different visual styles like GIFs, short videos and even audio clips to make the experience of Khwaab Tanha more enriching and engaging.
 
At present, I am planning some short videos with my friends at the National School of Drama – musicians and performance artists. If all goes well, I will be out with a wonderful line of art works in the third quarter of this year, called ‘Soorat nikli’.
 
How do you view the status of Urdu literature in Indian academia today? For instance, as a student of literature in India, I had fairly limited exposure to Urdu writing, even in translation. Do you see a need or a way to correct this?
 
To be frank and straight forward, the status of this language is not very good. But we cannot always blame the ‘Sarkar ‘for this cold behavior. We have to work towards solving this problem. I agree that Urdu has fairly limited exposure and the line of translation is quite skinny. Quite recently in a meeting at Urdu Ghar at Anjuman Taraqqi Urdu, which is the premier organization working for the promotion and dissemination of Urdu, we were  discussing the availability and importance of translation of contemporary writers and how necessary buying and not borrowing is when it comes to Urdu books, magazines and newspapers. You are free to like and share a moving picture of a beggar at red light but you are equally free to get up and feed a starving soul. As a visual artist I am working and trying in the best possible way I can.  As a writer, you can act in way which is best known to you. There should be more employment when it comes to Urdu. This problem needs actual participation, apart from addressing the ‘foreign language’ treatment from some lunatics.
 
Though the state of this language is serious, I am not disheartened at all because I am witnessing an emerging crop of writers and literature enthusiasts very eagerly learning the nuances of Urdu, from all regions and religions of India. There is a thin silver lining which is widening slowly.
 
 

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