THIS ABOVE ALL
Lovable Pritam Singh
Khushwant Singh

PUBLISHING is a much maligned profession: Authors who provide them sustenance have a poor opinion of them. Those whose manuscripts are rejected become their enemies for life. Those whose works are published grumble about the low royalties they get (if they get any at all), of not being compensated properly, and rarely, if ever, tendered regular accounts of sales of their books. However, most authors admit that but for their publishers no one would have known if they ever existed.

A shining example of a publisher who accepted a manuscript on its merit without ever bothering to find whether or not he would be able to market it was Pritam Singh of Navyug Press. Without a single exception every Punjabi writer of note today was first published by him. Amrita Pritam, Nanak Singh, Kulwant Singh Virk, Sarna, Devendra Satyarthi, Ajit Cour, Shiv Kumar Batalvi. In her profile of Pritam Singh Takiye da Pir Ajit Cour rightly observes: He is not a publisher; he is the living, walking, breathing embodiment of Punjabi literature." He died over a month ago in Delhi.

Bhapa (elder brother) as he was known, was the son of village halwai in Sialkot (now in Pakistan). His father could not afford to see him through school and made him into a Granthi (scripture reader) which could ensure him food and shelter. He learnt only Gurmukhi. He got out of the clutches of his father, escaped to Amritsar and got a job as a compositor at the princely salary of Rs 8 per month. And so it continued from one Gurmukhi printing Press in Amritsar to Lahore to Preet Nagar on the Indo-Pak border. When he emigrated to Delhi with his wife and three daughters he had less than Rs 100 in his pocket. He was allotted a Muslim evacuee’s house in Mehrauli and two shops on one end of Chandni Chowk. He set up a printing press, launched a Punjabi magazine Arsee and started publishing books. He had an eye for beauty: he won the best All-India Book Production Award 21 times from judges none of whom could read a word of the Gurmukhi alphabet. Among his other gambles he published an abridged version of my two volumes History and Religion of the Sikhs (OUP). I asked him "who on earth will buy this?" He replied with a smile "that does not matter."

Bhapa Pritam Singh was used to going without food. Whenever taken ill, he would go on fast. "Hunger drives out body’s ailments," he told me. Two years ago he was taken ill seriously and as usual stopped taking any nourishment. He went into a coma. His daughters thought it was best to let him go. His doctors refused to give up hope and fed him by force. He revived and was once again back to work, taking long walks and meeting friends. He had not only become well-known but had also prospered owning a big house, a farm where he kept a herd of buffaloes and grew his own wheat and vegetables. He was at peace with himself as well as the world. He had no enemies.

The adage forbidden fruit is always sweeter and certainly true of the choice of subjects on which Urdu poets wrote. Most of them were Muslims. For them, alcohol was haram (forbidden) as was gazing on women outside their families (most of them observed strict purdah). Notwithstanding these religious taboos, the two subjects they wrote most about were the joys of drinking and making love. We don’t find the same obsession with drink and debauchery with Hindi and Punjabi poetry. Many Urdu poets were hard drinkers; Ghalib, Sahir Ludhianvi, Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Ahmed Faraz. To the best of my knowledge, the only hard-drinking Punjabi poet was Shiv Batalvi and he was the best of the lot.

These thoughts strayed into my mind as I set about revising the manuscript of Celebrating the Best of Urdu Poetry which I am doing in collaboration with Kamana Prasad for Penguin-Viking. I was planning to start with Meer Taqi Meer and end

with Faiz Ahmed Faiz. Then I discovered that Mohammed Rafi Sauda (1706-81) was earlier than Meer and could not be overlooked. So I chose one couplet from his Diwan — needless to say celebrating the joy of drinking:

O Saki, gone is the spring of youth

Remains but one regret in this heart of mine

That thou never pressed a goblet in my hand

And I protested "I’ve had enough of wine."

My Gandhi diary has a quote from Bapu to ponder over for every day. One morning it read "Everyone grows old with time, desire alone remains ever youthful." As enjoined by him, I pondered over his observation. Several questions arose in my mind. "How old was he when he expressed this opinion? Before he had taken the vow of celibacy or after?What did he mean by desire? It can be for many things — good living, tasty food, drink acquiring wealth etc. Knowing Bapu’s spartan way of living, eating very little of the blandest and the most insipid food, wearing no more than a langote, owning no property, it could be none of these. He could only be referring to desire for sex which persists throughout one’s life. Even when the body has aged and unable to deliver the goods, the desire persists to the end of one’s days. Truly has an Urdu poet spoken:

What more cruelly can time inflict

Than age the body and let the heart stay young?

Every old person who is bodily unable to perform the sex according to the satisfaction of his partner has to devise ways of channelling this desire. He has to find ways acceptable to the society otherwise he ends up making a fool of himself and a laughing stock among his acquaintances. Even Bapu can be faulted on this score. He was constantly wanting to put himself on test sharing the floor on which he slept with young women only to assure himself that he had got the better of his libido. This was not fair on his part to say the least. How do I cope with the problem at 90? Very simple: I let my mind run riot, fantasise about pretty damsels like mad. However, when face to face with pretty girls I pay them handsome compliments about their looks, kiss them on the head or forehead and bless them. They are happy: I am fulfilled.

Q: How is dew formed?

Ans: The sun shines down on the leaves and makes them perspire.

Q: What happens to a boy when he reaches puberty?

Ans: He says goodbye to his boyhood and looks forward to his adultery.

Q: How can you delay milk turning sour?

Ans: Keep it in the cow.

Q: What is artificial insemination?

Ans: When the farmer does it to the bull instead of the cow.

Q: What does the word ‘benign’ mean?

Ans: Benign is what you will be after you be eight.

(Contributed by Vipin Bucksey, New Delhi)