THIS ABOVE ALL
Gifted Sahir, petite Amrita
Khushwant Singh
Khushwant Singh
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There was a time
when I was much taken up by Amrita Pritam. She was fair, petite,
pretty, a gifted poet but a poor storyteller. She wrote only in
Punjabi and was little known outside Punjab. I took upon myself
to translate her works into English so that she could get better
known in India and the English-speaking world.
First I translated
her novel Pinjar. It was published and went into many
editions. Then I translated some of her poems. They were
published in the brochure distributed when she was given the
Jnanpith Award by Prime Minister Narasimha Rao. I refused to
share royalties she earned. The only thing I asked her was to
tell me the truth about her love affairs, as many names were
associated with her.
When her turn came
to telling me about her love life, she mentioned only one name,
Sahir Ludhianvi. And that only through an exchange of
correspondence. They decided to meet and consummate their
relationship. Sahir came from Bombay to Delhi and booked
himself in Claridges Hotel. Amrita went to meet him all prepared
to give herself to him. They spent a few hours together but
there was no sex. By then Sahir was impotent. I was disappointed
by her narration and remarked: "If this was all, I could
write your love life behind a postage stamp." She liked my
summing up, and her next episode was entitled Raseedee Ticket.
Amrita's version
of her affair with Sahir is at variance with Anoop Sandhu's
biography of the poet's biography, Life and Love of Sahir
Ludhianvi (Chetna Prakashan). Sandhu has done his homework
and produced a definitive account of the poet's life and work,
profusely illustrated by quotations from his poems in Roman
Urdu. It is to be launched on Sahir's 90th birth anniversary on
March 8, 2011.
Sahir (magician)
was the only son of a prosperous zamindar of Ludhiana
through his 11th wife Sardar Begum. This marriage ended in a
divorce. Sahir opted to stay with his mother. By the time I met
him first in the house of Rafiq and Fatma Zakaria, he had become
the topmost lyricist of Hindi films and lived in a nice bungalow
in Juhu.
I sensed he was
very touchy and could also be rude. He invited us to dine with
him. There I met his mother and a young woman, who I gathered
was her mother's niece. His mother asked me to persuade her son
to cut down on his drinks. I did not risk doing so, as I was
sure he would tell me to mind my own business and turn me out of
his house.
Poet and
warrior
Amrita Pritam
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I have published a
selection of Gurudev Tagore’s songs and works on many
occasions. I have in hand Dilip Kumar Mitra's translation of
Tagore's eulogy of Banda Bahadar, who won the fort to get the
better of the Mughals in Sirhind. He was later captured and
executed in Delhi. I quote a few verses from Mitra’s
translation entitled Fallen Hero:
On the land of
five rivers;
Braiding tresses
of long hair;
Chanting Guru's
teachings were steady;
The Sikhs,
ruthless, fearless and battle ready;
'Hail Guruji'
filled horizon, shouted by everybody;
The newly awakened
Sikh;
They did look at
the rising sun; And divine blessings seek;
'Alakh Niranjan,'
the chanting got louder; Shackles were torn;
Naked swords
danced in air and all fear gone;
That day Punjab
chanted together, 'Alakh Niranjan;'
What a day that
was, dear;
Lakhs of people
ready to die, all without fear;
Life and death
didn't matter; Soul was full of cheer;
On all the banks
of five rivers; What a day it was, dear;
In Delhi, at the
Mughal Palace, the soundly sleeping prince;
Woke up in fear
time and again because of the din;
Whose chantings
churned the sky at the dead night;
The sky was
painted fiery red by whose torch light;
On the land of
five rivers;
Did blood of the
devout spill and flow like water;
Like thousand
birds rushing towards nests;
They embraced
death with so much grace;
Thus on the land
of five rivers;
The brave hearts
shed blood for mother.
Desi
angrezee My wife Savinder is fond of talking in
English. Once she was telling her friend Lovely: "Lovely,
my son Gagan is ill, ik
week da na eat da, na sleep da, bus weep da tey cheek da."
(Contributed by JP
Singh Kaka, Bhopal)
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