THIS ABOVE ALL
The friends I miss
Khushwant Singh

Among the friends I made in my younger days, the three I miss more are Satinder Singh, Balwant Gargi and Manzur Qadir – a Sikh, a Hindu and a Muslim. I would have enjoyed their company more if I had developedtheir tastes for literature. They had much in common. Satinder was an ugly-looking Sardar, tall but ugly to look at. He had a fat and chubby face with a sparse growth of beard on his chin and an untidy turban on his head. He had an incredibly large repertoire of Urdu verse and was the most sought-after man in Indian Coffee House.

Amongst those who fell for him was a beautiful Hindu girl Rekha. She married him and bore two pretty daughters. Satinder pretended to be a Jat Sikh but was in fact a Khatri Dhawan. One day in a fit of temper he hit his wife. She left him with her daughters and divorced him. He was a broken man and found solace in my home. He was a very hard drinker and my wife often forbade him from taking more. At a cocktail party in Maurya Sheraton, he drank more than he could stomach. We had to leave early as we were to drive to our summer home in Kasauli the next morning. The next day I read in the papers that he was found dead in his bed by his servant. He came to tell my daughter Mala about it. She immediately left for his flat and found him lying in his bed with dozens of empty bottles lying underneath. She informed his brother-in-law Inder Malhotra. A very reluctant Inder joined her.

Balwant Gargi was once a visiting professor of dramatics in Washington State University

They were amongst the few to attend his funeral. Later, his daughters returned a watch and a pen he had taken from me. If he had been alive today, I would have been able to share my passion for Urdu poetry with him.

Balwant Gargi had established reputation as a Punjabi playwright. His play Loha Kut was widely acclaimed. He became a great favourite of my mother and came often to spend mornings talking to her. As visiting professor of dramatics in Washington State University, he married a very beautiful American girl. Like most Americans of her generation, his wife had a great appetite for food. She would polish off at one sitting what three Indians would eat.

She also never bothered to learn Punjabi and understand why her husband was revered in Punjab. One Christmas night, while she was teaching her children how to play the piano, he decided to drop Rani Balbir, one of his students, home. In the garage the two had sex. He wrote about it in his autobiography. His wife divorced him, left her son with him and took the daughter with her to the States.

Rani Balbir taught him a lesson. She turned up in Delhi where Balwant lived alone in a tiny haveli behind Scindia House and beat him up. Balwant sensed his end was near. He came to say goodbye to me and moved to Bombay. He died there, and according to his wishes, his body was flown to Delhi for his funeral. Amongst those present was Inder Gujral, the then Prime Minister of India.

Manzur Qadir was a leading lawyer in Pakistan. He was not a practising Muslim. He was a very close friend of mine. When he was in Geneva arguing Pakistan’s case in the Indus waters dispute, I was sitting with the Pakistani team. India was represented by Nani Palkhivala. The Indian delegation was surprised and amused to see me sitting with the Pakistanis.

Manzur Qadir had a great passion for Urdu poetry. My involvement with Ghalib, Faiz and Ahmed Faraz came many years later.

Badey Mian’s order

I wrote to Badey Mian, whose records decide our destinies, to send for me as I was tired of living. He consulted his registers and replied: "At the moment all the cells in hell are occupied and there is no room available for you. As soon as a vacancy occurs, I will send for you. Till then hang on and go on with whatever you are doing." I was disappointed, as I am tired of living. However, since there is nothing I can do against his wishes, I hang on.

Happy days

(Contributed by H. Kishie Singh, Chandigarh)