In a very selfish manner , I have always blogged about my own experiences , my story and my perspectives. Sometimes you come across stories that must be told and retold . Some personalities however are a bookmark in the history of mankind and understanding their life journey is an inspirational experience. It is a matter of sheer Serendipity that my early teenage exposed me to Gulzar, Ahmed Faraz, Shiv Kumar Batalvi, Jagjit Singh and Amrita Pritam.
Today's post is dedicated to the spiritually elevating , emotionally unremitting and unwavering life story of Amrita Pritam .
Amrita Pritam was born as Amrit Kaur Hitkari on Aug 31st 1919 in Gujranwala (West Punjab) to a reasonably wealthy and educated family of Sikh "Pracharaks" . Some kids mature early and skip the entire episode of turning young and reckless. Such kids yearn a youth all life , a feeling of recklessness never occurs to them . Amrita lost her mother at the age of 11 and after that her family moved to Lahore . Confronting adult responsibilities, and besieged by loneliness following her mother's death, she began to write at an early age. At the age of 16 she was married off to Amrit Singh, son of a wealthy hosiery trader of Anarkali Bazaar , Lahore . The writer in Amrita was subdued but never died. Her first love was Sahir Ludhivani who she had met in a mushaira . It is said, the movie Kabhi Kabhi's scene of Rakhi and Amitabh's love story is an adaptation of Sahir's and Amrita's real life love. Incidently, Yash chopra was a huge fan of Sahir himself and Sahir Ludhianvi was the lyricist in that movie. Battling the numbness of married life in post partition India , Amrita continued to write . The partition and the bloodbath left an indelible mark on her persona. The thinker in her evolved and the writer in her didn't die despite suffocation. To add misery, her love for Sahir was unrelenting. She had a silent love for Sahir when she asked her husband for divorce in 1960. A young Amrita Pritam, madly in love with Sahir, wrote his name hundreds of times on a sheet of paper while addressing a press conference. They would meet without exchanging a word. Despite being a devout Sikh, after Sahir’s departure, Amrita would smoke the cigarette butts left behind by him. After his death, Amrita said she hoped the air mixed with the smoke of the butts would travel to the other world and meet Sahir! Such was their obsession and intensity. She wrote ...उम्र की सिगरेट जल गयी, मेरे इश्क की महक , कुछ तेरी साँसों में, कुछ हवा में मिल गयी..After 25 years of marriage and two kids, at at the age of 41, Amrita started writing and living again .....she left Pritam Singh on her own accord.
A play adaptation of their life, Ek Mulaqat, is an intimate conversation between Amrita and Sahir. Through their memories, their humorous banter, the emotional ups and downs and deceptive tranquility, the play offers a keyhole view of the enchanted world of the lovers who were India’s greatest poets. The narrative opens one night when Amrita receives a mysterious trunk call from Mumbai. She makes a little joke wondering who could have called. The play concludes with a trunk call -- bringing the ominous news of Sahir’s death. Within this cycle of love and death is trapped their untold love story, in their own voices.
There can be no greater or more inspiring love story than that of Amrita Pritam and Sahir Ludhianvi.
The lovers continued their tryst, defying borders. They went beyond lust or possession, beyond cultural demands or class differences. She lived life on her own terms. Sahir on his. The two never married. But they lived for one another.
There are two things about Amrita which laid the foundation stones of my convictions very early in life . First the lines ...
मेरे हाथों की लकीरों में समाने वाले, कैसे छीनेंगे तुझे मुझसे जमाने वाले .
Second an answer she gave in an interview , I quote that in Hindi. एक बार उनसे किसी ने पूछा की मर्द और औरत् के बीच का रिश्ता इतना उलझा हुआ क्यों है ? तब उन्होंने जवाब दिया क्यूंकि मर्द ने औरत के साथ सिर्फ़ सोना सीखा है जागना नही .......
My favourite writer Khushwant Singh remembered Amrita dearly . He writes and I quote "Amrita was not a highly educated woman, not exposed to good writing in languages other than Punjabi. Nor sophisticated enough to add new dimensions to her own. When I translated Pinjar, I gave half the share of royalties due to me to her on condition that she would tell me her life story and her love life. We had many sessions. She conceded she had been in love with Sahir Ludhianvi and no one else. About Imroz, the one who devoted most of his life to her, she had not much to say. (He is not Muslim as the name might indicate, but a clean-shaven Sikh.) He not only loved her, painted her eyes on doors and walls, designed book jackets for her but in the past few years of her life, when she was unable to move, looked after her to the last. Till her last breath. She was proud of her love for Sahir and was courageous enough to talk about it openly, even unabashedly.
She died in her sleep on 31 October 2005 at the age of 86 in New Delhi, after a long illness. She was survived by her partner Imroz, daughter Kandlla, son Navraj Kwatra, daughter-in-law Alka, and her grandchildren.
यह कैसी कशमकश है जिंदगी में, किसी को ढूढते हैं हम किसी में !
This poem, Main tenu pher Milangi in Gulzar's voice. The English translation however doesn't capture the tear soaked emotions that the original Punjabi writing has .
मैं तैनू फ़िर मिलांगी, कित्थे ? किस तरह पता नहिं .
शायद तेरे तखिय्युल दी चिंगारी बन के , तेरे केनवास ते उतरांगी
जा खोरे तेरे केनवास दे उत्ते, इक रह्स्म्यी लकीर बण के खामोश तैनू तक्दी रवांगी,
जा खोरे सूरज दी लौ बण के, तेरे रंगा विच घुलांगी
जा रंगा दिया बाहवां विच बैठ के, तेरे केनवास नु वलांगी
पता नही किस तरह कित्थे, पर तेनु जरुर मिलांगी
जा खोरे इक चश्मा बनी होवांगी,
ते जिवें झर्नियाँ दा पानी उड्दा, मैं पानी दियां बूंदा, तेरे पिंडे ते मलांगी
ते इक ठंडक जेहि बण के. तेरी छाती दे नाल लगांगी
मैं होर कुच्छ नही जानदी, पर इणा जानदी हां
कि वक्त जो वी करेगा,एक जनम मेरे नाल तुरेगा
एह जिस्म मुक्दा है, ता सब कुछ मूक जांदा हैं
पर चेतेयां दे धागे, कायनती कण हुन्दे ने
मैं ओना कणा नु चुगांगी, ते तेनु फ़िर मिलांगी
Main tainu pher milan gi (I will meet you yet again)
I will meet you yet again
How and where? I know not.
Perhaps I will become a
figment of your imagination
and maybe, spreading myself
in a mysterious line
on your canvas,
I will keep gazing at you.
Perhaps I will become a ray
of sunshine, to be
embraced by your colours.
I will paint myself on your canvas
I know not how and where –
but I will meet you for sure.
Maybe I will turn into a spring,
and rub the foaming
drops of water on your body,
and rest my coolness on
your burning chest.
I know nothing else
but that this life
will walk along with me.
When the body perishes,
all perishes;
but the threads of memory
are woven with enduring specks.
I will pick these particles,
weave the threads,
and I will meet you yet again.
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