Journey of Amrita Pritam

Romance! One wonders if there is anyone, known somewhere, who hasn’t had a taste of it. Well, of course, there is one difference: some have had it better than others. This makes us think of Amrita Pritam who lived a life of love and loved longing all her life in many different ways. Many call her a flag bearer of the broken heart. Rightly so! At sixteen, she published her first collection of poetry Amrit Lehrein – The Immortal Waves– which was, as the name suggests, a book of poems on love and romance.

Born as Amrita Kaur, this young girl lost her mother at the age of eleven. Like many of us who seek companionship through writing, Amrita too started writing to escape her loneliness. Sufferings produce great writers and Amrita had enough of these for her share: she lost her mother, got into a sour marriage, experienced the horrors of the Partition, and fell for one who would never take her along. So, when she held her pen, she made an impact instantly. She was appropriately designated as a “feminist before feminists”.

Much has been talked of and heard about Amrita’s love for Sahir Ludhianvi, the accomplished Urdu poet. She bared it all in public through her Raseedi Ticket. Irrespective of what it amounted to, she never gave up on her love for him. One may justifiably surmise that Sahir did love her, but never had the courage to confront the world. Amrita gave him her heart and soul, and in return got a complex life of inexplicable emotions. To that woman who survived this hardship, one may only quote Fehmida Riyaz’s translation of Amrita Pritam:

Thankfully, life was not all heartbreak for Amrita. There was Imroz to hold her. He loved and revered her, and gave her the importance that she deserved. On her birthday, he wrote to her: “With the bright suns of all 365 days, I raise a toast to this day, the 31st of August, 1967, and to your existence, along with all the suns of a half a century and to all the suns of the coming century”.

If one was to define Amrita Pritam’s journey in this world, one would simply say: “Love with Sahir, Marriage with Singh, Life with Imroz”. Her life with Sahir was a legend, with Singh a hard truth, and with Imroz an elegy. Here is an imaginary letter written to Amrita which probably translates the emotions that many hold for her but do not express:

Dear Amrita,

Thank you for inspiring us to connect than keep smothering. Thanks for helping us to speak up than cringe inside. We are forever indebted to you as readers, and even/ever more as human beings. Come back again. Until then, here is wishing you a Happy Birthday!

Shukriya!

Love Life of Momin Khan Momin (1800-1851)

Poetry and love go together. Poets are known to make friends but they make better friends with those who inhabit their imagination. No doubt, they are the beloveds– both imaginary and real–since they are worthy of all attention and subject of all adoration. The image of the beloved is probably better reflected in Urdu poetry, especially when the beloved is a real one. And Momin’s beloveds were real. He is one poet who explored love in two of its facets–as a spiritualist and as a romanticist. He saw no contradiction in them which is what makes him an interesting person and a fascinating poet.

Momin was a handsome man, and also colorful by nature. With this fatal combination, he could easily charm women. But it was not the women alone who got drawn towards him; it was he too who found his way with them. In a life of fifty-one years, Momin came across at least five women at different stages of his life. Better than keeping them veiled in metaphoric terms in his poetry, as poets often do, he celebrated his love with his beloveds in open terms and represented himself both as a lover and a beloved. That was something unique to his poetry.

Momin fell first in love at the age of fifteen. As the story of this adolescent love spread, he stopped mentioning her in his shers fearing a bad name for himself and for her. The story was cut short as death laid its cruel hand on her. Momin, the sentimental youth learning the lessons of life, lamented her loss but time put a balm on his bruised heart in due course. He narrated this story of his first love in his first masnawi Shikayat-e Sitam. It is an early work but a genuine record of his emotional turmoil suffered at a young age.

As time passed and Momin reconciled with his fate, he came across his second love. The story goes that he chanced to look at her at the terrace and fell in that proverbial “love at the first sight” with her. He was then spotted meeting her at times. The grapevine did not take time to travel around. He was admonished at home and strictly advised to keep himself in check. When Momin maintained certain distance from her, the young lady felt rejected and turned hostile. Badly shaken by this, Momin chose to defy the imposed norms of his family and went to meet her and win her over but it did not work. This bitter experience of sacrificing his love to maintain the given social norms, gave him the material for his second masnawi Qissa-i-gham. 

The story of Momin’s third love relates with an unexpected meeting with a young lady. Once, he was on a walk when the young lady looked at him and made gestures from the window to call him. He was both stunned and amused. He found it strange that she should have beckoned so unreservedly and could not well understand how to respond. But he went up to meet her which made way for their subsequent meetings in a row. This young lady was called Ummat-ul Fatima and with whom he developed a deeper relationship at the young age of twenty. Supposedly she was indisposed and had come to Delhi to receive her treatment from a hakeem. Momin was a hakeem and this was the most opportune time for him to make friends with her. As they met, their friendship grew and patient and the hakeem both fell love-sick. It is surmised that she was a poet and chose the pen name of Sahib at Momin’s asking. Being enamoured by this lady, Momin made her the subject of one of his ghazals and addressed her as “sahib”.

It is said that Ummat-ul Fatima had come from Lucknow and was a prostitute. When the story of their relationship spread out, she developed a cold feet and suddenly left for Lucknow. This put Momin to great pain. He wrote about this love story yet another masnawi Qaul-e Ghameen.

Momin stayed rejected and forlorn for long. His fate took yet another turn when he happened to be a guest at a wedding where he met a beautiful lady. He was enamoured by her and developed a soft corner in his heart for her. When the wedding celebrations got over, there came the time for the lady to leave. While leaving, she asked Momin not to try and keep in touch with her, not even write her a letter, as restrictions at her home would not allow any communication to reach her. This brought suffering to Momin and he fell ill. It is interesting that when Momin recovered from this craving for her, he received a letter from her where she had expressed her desire to meet him. This was much too unexpected. However, they met but their hearts could not. This story of his fourth unrequited love became the subject of yet another masnawi Tuf-e Aatesheen.

When Momin, the hakeem, got a beloved as a patient; Momin, the astrologer, got another as an admirer of his astrological skill. This time he met a lady who expressed her desire to know about her future. Love has hardly ever gone without a jealous guarding it closely. When the lady who was the subject of his masnawi Tuf-e Aatesheen came to know about this new-found love of Momin, she turned spiteful and frowned furiously. Love has not been known to have prospered if there was a triangle. This fifth love had to end and die its natural death. Momin lived to love and loved to live but he could not have luck with any of his beloveds. The poet in him did not let him forget all his disappointments. He wrote about his sufferings in Feen-e Maghmoom.

 

Momin was respected as a poet, a hakim, an astrologer, and a gentleman. He could not have made compromises with his social prestige. And he did not do that. He remains an iconic poet who did not let his love-life go as a story of the past. He immortalised each one of them in his masnawis and ghazals and we recall them when we fall or fail in love.

Love-life of Mohammad Iqbal (1877-1938)

Thinking of Mohammad Iqbal is thinking of one with many distinctions to his credit. Being a poet, philosopher, barrister, academic, and political thinker with a knighthood to his credit made him special in many ways. All these distinguished identities qualified him to be widely celebrated as the “Poet of the East”, “Hakim-ul-Ummat”, and “National Poet of Pakistan”. Thinking of Mohammad Iqbal is also thinking of an individual who lived an uneasy life. He could be anyone’s envy for his qualities but fate did not choose him kindly for his love-life. Many who wrote on his life have invariably written about his relationship with a lady called Atia Fiazi. The accounts vary as some are too romanticized and others merely speculative.Getting to know of her intellectual worth, Iqbal went to meet Atia in Cambridge. He was naturally drawn towards this graceful and intelligent lady. They discussed issues and grew intimate over a period of time. This led Iqbal’s biographers to draw their own conclusion about their relationship. One cannot, however, say for sure if Iqbal was only infatuated by her, or he was really in love with her. One may better suggest that the beauty of their bonding lay in its mystery, or its indefinability to be precise.

Getting to know of her intellectual worth, Iqbal went to meet Atia in Cambridge. He was naturally drawn towards this graceful and intelligent lady. They discussed issues and grew intimate over a period of time. This led Iqbal’s biographers to draw their own conclusion about their relationship. One cannot, however, say for sure if Iqbal was only infatuated by her, or he was really in love with her. One may better suggest that the beauty of their bonding lay in its mystery, or its indefinability to be precise. A page from her diary may be an indicator of the nature of their relationship. She wrote that one day she called on him with friends and teachers to take him along for a picnic. Reaching there, she found Iqbal in a state of deep meditation. It seemed as if he had been in this state for a long time. They tried to shake him up but without success. Finding no other way, Atia decided to send them all out of the room and make her own effort and bring him back to a normal state. She went physically close to him and shook him so vigorously that he came back to his senses. One may leave it at speculation if this was their bosom friendship, or romantic intimacy with each other that made it happen.

Iqbal and Atia remained friends for long. When Iqbal returned to India after completing his education in Europe, he remained unhappy and passed through a phase of emotional crisis because of domestic issues and traditional environment around. He kept thinking of her and continued writing intimate letters. In one of his letters, he spoke uninhibitedly against his frustration with life. He mentioned that his father had put him in a marital bond at an early age which brought him much distress as he could not relate with his wife in any possible way.

Atia sent a sympathetic response to Iqbal and advised him to seek counselling from his close friends and get their help. Instead of doing this, he kept on sharing his miseries with her but without ever finding a solution. In sharing these sentiments with Atia, he was indeed showing his deep fascination for her who could no longer keep company except writing to him in sympathy. In 1911, he wrote to Atia that some of his poems during the past five years were mostly of autobiographical nature. Finding himself helpless and unable to retain his relationship with his wife, Iqbal decided to marry a lady called Sardari Begum. Soon after their wedding, Iqbal started receiving anonymous letters about this lady which painted her in bad light. Without caring to consider these letters calmly, he impulsively chose to divorce her and continue with his suffering.

A little later, Iqbal received a proposal regarding his marriage with Mukhtar Begum of Ludhiana. Since his sister had praised her no end, Iqbal agreed to marry her even without meeting her. When the bride came to Lahore and Iqbal saw her, he was utterly flabbergasted. This lady was not as beautiful as she was descrobed to be by his sister. Iqbal was much too disappointed but he could not do anything except suffering the onslaughts of his fate. Iqbal was yet to recover from this shock when he received a letter from his second wife, Sardari Begum. She had written that she was still hoping that he would someday take him again as his wife. She also wrote that if he did not do so, she would remain unmarried all her life. She had wondered how could he take rumours about her so as truth and take an impulsive decision even while being such a remarkable poet and intellectual.

Going through her letter, Iqbal felt guilty and ashamed of himself. He felt all the more remorseful when he came to know that those libellous letters were written by a local lawyer who wanted his son to be married to Sardari Begum. Iqbal spoke with his well-wishers who said that they knew Sardari Begum’s family quite well and that she was a sensible lady of sound character. Iqbal realised that he had been too much in a hurry, too sentimental, and too unreasonable to have divorced her and married thrice without due consideration. Realizing that he was utterly wrong and disrespectful to Sardari begum, he wanted to get her back in his life but did not know how to do that as he had already divorced her. He sought advice from those with knowledge of sharia laws. He was told that as per the provisions of halala, if a man divorces his wife and wants to re-marry the same lady at a later date, he cannot do so unless the divorced wife enters into a marital and physical relationship with another man and then gets a divorce from him. This perturbed Iqbal. He then approached another religious scholar who advised that the condition of halala was not applicable to his case as he had not spent a night of union with Sardari Bagum. Being totally shaken, Iqbal thought to recompense for his doing and chose to enter into yet another nikah with her. This was Sardari Begum’s second and Iqbal fourth nikah.

Interestingly enough, it was at this point that his first wife Kariman Bibi came to Lahore with her two sons to live with him which caused him further distress. This was a very traumatic phase in Iqbal’s life. It so happened one day that Kariman Bibi’s mother dropped in and blamed Iqbal for his mis-demeanour. In anger, she took her daughter and her children back with her. It appears that Iqbal chose to strike peace at last. He remained satisfied in his relationship with Sardari Begum. On the other hand, Sardari Begum being a level-headed lady could sense well that Iqbal was a very successful philosopher and poet but he was not such a responsible husband. This was rather dismaying for her. Iqbal lived a successful life as a philosopher and poet but not so much as a family man. Indeed, poets and intellectuals live and die differently. Iqbal was one of them.

Never heard before couplets of Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Faiz Ahmad Faiz was among the most celebrated and popular poets of Urdu. He faced political repression for his revolutionary views. He is acknowledged as a torchbearer of progressivism and modernism in Urdu poetry. Here are five couplets of Faiz that you may not have heard of or read before. You may read them below:

Love-afflicted I lay, why don’t you bring me a cure

What a healer are you, heal me for I adjure

I’m a lazy one, I’m not a Farhad
Who else in this city of dead than I

One may, or may not get, the desired wine in hell
But one would get rid of the counselor at least

Life is but a poor man’s cloak where one
Keeps sewing it with patches of pain

He’s coming; he’ll come; he’s on his way
Awake did I stay all the night for my day

بازیچۂ اطفال ہے دنیا مرے آگے

بازیچۂ اطفال ہے دنیا مرے آگے

ہوتا ہے شب و روز تماشا مرے آگے

اک کھیل ہے اورنگ سلیماں مرے نزدیک

اک بات ہے اعجاز مسیحا مرے آگے

جز نام نہیں صورت عالم مجھے منظور

جز وہم نہیں ہستیٔ اشیا مرے آگے

ہوتا ہے نہاں گرد میں صحرا مرے ہوتے

گھستا ہے جبیں خاک پہ دریا مرے آگے

مت پوچھ کہ کیا حال ہے میرا ترے پیچھے

تو دیکھ کہ کیا رنگ ہے تیرا مرے آگے

سچ کہتے ہو خودبین و خود آرا ہوں نہ کیوں ہوں

بیٹھا ہے بت آئنہ سیما مرے آگے

پھر دیکھیے انداز گل افشانیٔ گفتار

رکھ دے کوئی پیمانۂ صہبا مرے آگے

نفرت کا گماں گزرے ہے میں رشک سے گزرا

کیوں کر کہوں لو نام نہ ان کا مرے آگے

ایماں مجھے روکے ہے جو کھینچے ہے مجھے کفر

کعبہ مرے پیچھے ہے کلیسا مرے آگے

عاشق ہوں پہ معشوق فریبی ہے مرا کام

مجنوں کو برا کہتی ہے لیلیٰ مرے آگے

خوش ہوتے ہیں پر وصل میں یوں مر نہیں جاتے

آئی شب ہجراں کی تمنا مرے آگے

ہے موجزن اک قلزم خوں کاش یہی ہو

آتا ہے ابھی دیکھیے کیا کیا مرے آگے

گو ہاتھ کو جنبش نہیں آنکھوں میں تو دم ہے

رہنے دو ابھی ساغر و مینا مرے آگے

ہم پیشہ و ہم مشرب و ہم راز ہے میرا

غالبؔ کو برا کیوں کہو اچھا مرے آگے

Poet: Mirza Ghalib

Ishq-e-Meer Taqi Meer (1723-1810)

From chronicling the day-to-day experiences of life to exploring issues in philosophy, Meer’s poetry touches upon almost every aspect of being. When it comes to describing the matters of love, he stands unparalleled. It is said that Meer used to go wild at the sight of the moon, as he had an illusion that face of his separated beloved was reflected in the moon. As Ahmad Faraz has aptly put:

Aashiqi mein Meer jaise khwaab mat dekha karo
Baawle hojaaoge mahtaab mat dekha karo

 

Here are some soulful couplets of Meer where he defines love.

Love is beloved, love is lover
Love, in sum, has fallen for love

Love, oh Meer is but a heavy stone
Too burdening for your weakened bone

Where to find the wandering lovers, to the wind I asked
A handful of dust in the breeze did it cast

In the beginning, a burning flame in love I was
At the end, only a handful of dust I am

Love-life of Sadat Hasan Manto

Can love stay away from lust and be love still? Love is labyrinthine; it is both intricate and tricky. Poets and writers have loved in ways unusual. This makes them different. Sadat Hasan Manto too loved but in a way that was mysterious but real. This is what makes this iconic literary figure worth a thought and worthy of respect. Instead of writing about his love, let us look at how he related his unusual story about a shepherdess called Wazir Begum. Lovingly, he chose to call him Begu. He met her in the tranquil and serene climes of Batote near Jammu, where he spent some time to treat his tuberculosis. Manto wrote:

‘She was young. Her nose was straight and finely chiselled like a pencil which I am using to write these lines. Her eyes… I’ve hardly ever seen any others like those of her. All the profundity of that hilly region had found its home into them. Her eyebrows were thick and long. When she passed me by, it seemed as if a quivering ray of sun got entangled in her eyelashes. Her breast was broad and healthy. Her youth breathed there. Her shoulders were broad, arms roundish and almost well developed. There were long silver earrings in her earlobes. Her hair was parted from the middle and tied up like that of the village women. This gave her face a unique integrity.
I don’t remember how long I kept on looking at her; I only remember I had suddenly found my breast filled with music…Her breast was throbbing like water in a fountain. My heart too throbbed by my side…’

Years later, Manto and Ismat Chugtai happened to talk about love. Chughtai has narrated one of her conversations with Manto:

He said, “What’s love after all? I love my zari shoes. Rafiq loves his fifth wife, so what?”
“I mean the kind of love when a young male falls for a youthful lass”.
“Yes, I got it, Manto said to himself, looking for something deeper into the hazy past.
“There was a shepherdess in Kashmir…”
“Then? I nodded like a listener of a dastan.
“Nothing,” he suddenly got conscious in his defence.
“You tell all dirty stories to me but you are getting shy today”.
”Who is getting shy?” he betrayed his shyness while saying this.
With great difficulty, he could say this:
“When she would lift her stick to lead her cattle, her white elbow would show up. I was a little unwell; I used to carry a blanket and go up the hill and lie down there. With bated breath, I used to wait for her to lift her hand and let her sleeves go up to show her white elbow”.
“Elbow?” I asked in amazement.
“Yes, I didn’t see any part of her body except her elbow. She used to wear loose clothes. One could not see any curve of her body. On every movement of her body, my eyes craved to have a glimpse of her elbow’.
“What happened then?”

“Then one day, as I lay on my blanket, she came and sat at some distance from me. She was trying to hide something in her collar. When I asked her to show me what she was trying to hide, her face turned pink. She did not speak a word. I got stubborn. I wouldn’t let you go, I said, unless you show me what was that you were trying to hide. She turned almost tearful but I had chosen to be stubborn. After a lot of pestering, she opened up her fist to me and hid her face between her knees. What I saw in her palm was a cube of mishri shining bright like a piece of ice.

“What did you do then?”
“I kept on looking at that. Then she went deep into thinking”.
“Then?”
“Then she stood up and ran away. After running a little distance, she came back, put that mishri cube in my lap and disappeared from my sight. That cube kept lying in my shirt pocket for a long time. Then I put it in a drawer. A little later, the ants consumed it”.
“And that girl?”
“Which girl?” he wondered.
“The one who gave you the mishri cube”.
“I did not see her after that”.
“How insipid was your love; I expected a blazing love story,” irritated, I said in disappointment.
“Not insipid at all,” Manto said as if quarrelling with me.
“Total rubbish, third rate, pathetic love,” I said, “ you came back with a mishri cube, as if you did some kind of a wonder”.

“Then what do you think I should have done? Slept with her? Leave a bastard puppy in her lap and brag later?” he uttered in anger.

This was Manto, the author of several controversial stories, who was castigated for being a pornographic writer. He was indeed a pious soul, an unsullied being by his head and heart. His friend, Abu Said Qureshi, wrote that whenever we chose to be naughty with him, we mentioned Begu. This irritated him no end. He hated the word ‘ishq’ for he knew that not many people would respect its purity. Manto lived with his memories of Begu all his life. His love was atypical; his beloved angelic; a holy treasure for life. She was neither a figment of Manto’s imagination, nor his fantasy; she was real as a real being could be —made of flesh and blood who could put him to a tough test. He helped her know the difference between lust and love. Manto wrote once:

‘I often remember her. When going away from me, the tears in her ever-smiling eyes said that she had been quite impressed by my emotions towards her. It appeared that a thin ray of real love had entered the dark recesses of her heart. ..I wish I could take Wazir to the lofty heights of love. Who knows but this girl from the hills could have brought me that precious gift for which my youth has been lazily dreaming while moving towards the impending old age.’

Manto met many gorgeous and polished women in the Bombay film industry. He could not find one who could match Begu. He lived a life struggling to discover beauty and innocence that could possibly be found in dreams alone. Indeed, Begu was more of a dream for him than a reality. He lived a life in subterfuge, wrote of its ugliness with a natural flow only to underline that a life full of love is a distant dream, as Begu was for him.

Love-life of Jigar Moradabadi

Jigar Moradabadi lived two lives of love and longing. In one, he was liked, loved, and then helplessly separated from his beloved; in another, he was accepted, rejected, and finally reunited with one who happened to be his wife once. One is a stormy narrative of his love with Raushan; another a saga of his bizarre bond with Naseema.

Raushan was a beauteous being par excellence. She came from an enlightened family and was the daughter of a senior government officer from Agra. She was enamoured by the poet Jigar who had made a name for himself and had cast his spell far and wide. As poets are hardly ever expected to be good grooms, Raushan’s parents found it hard to give their daughter’s hand to him. In a state of exasperation, both Raushan and Jigar decided to flee from Agra. Considering the times in which they lived, this was like taking a huge risk at the cost of familial reputation. As they were set to leave, they thought that only a poet could come to their rescue in this delicate hour. Riaz Khairabadi, another poet of great repute, was their natural choice. When Jigar and Raushan arrived at his place, they were treated respectfully but soon Khiarabadi could sense that there was something scandalous about them. He also came to know that this matter had already reached the police. Fearing that they could be in trouble, he persuaded them to return but they did not like the idea.

They had to find another refuge and this time they moved to Moradabad where they met a benefactor in one S. M. Aqil. Aqil accepted them as his guest. Both Jigar and Raushan felt that they had found an angelic being in him without realising that this person had some ulterior motive and was going to betray them shortly. In fact, Aqil had got enamoured by Raushan and craved for her companionship. When he realised that he would not succeed, he wrote a letter to Raushan’s father saying that his daughter was with him and that he should come and get her back home to avoid the matter taking an ugly turn.

A few days later, Raushan’s elder brother arrived from Agra. As Aqil had pre-planned, he called the police and handed over Jigar to them. He also took the credit of bringing a kidnapper to book against whom a warrant had already been issued from Agra. Aqil kept Raushan’s elder brother for a few days as his guest but shocked him with the news that his sister was going to be a mother in a few months. Like a good samaritan, he offered to marry her and save her family’s honour. The helpless brother took him on his words and accepted his proposal. Leaving Raushan behind as Aqil’s wife, he left for Agra.

After completing his term in prison, when Jigar returned, he was shocked to learn that Raushan had been taken away from him in a surreptitious manner. He was totally broke now and grew furious, to say the least. He went berserk, treated himself cruelly, and banged his head against the wall. Although Aqil had succeeded in separating him from Raushan, he had miserably failed in winning her over. 

Seeing Jigar in such a state, a sympathetic zamindaar took pity and brought him back to his place. He soothed him in all possible ways and brought him to a nautch girl who had earned a name for herself as a musician and singer. She gave Jigar her sweet company and also taught him how to render his ghazals in a mushaira. The credit for turning Jigar into the finest mushaira poet of his time goes to her.

Raushan’s story took a strange turn subsequently. One day, she spoke sympathetically with Aqil. This was a pleasant surprise for him. In a tone of reconciliation she said, “Whatever had to happen; has happened; there’s no going back now. Now let me go to the shrine of Khwaja Moinuddin Chsihti where I shall seek my peace”. Aqil argued much against this proposal but Raushan had decided not be swayed away by his argument any more. Finally, Aqil allowed her to leave for Ajmer but only on the condition that her going to Ajmer would be kept a secret from Jigar. A quiet lady by now, Raushan left for her new destination. Sometime later, it was learnt that she had breathed her last there.

Jigar was in a shattered state after his separation from that nautch girl. This is when he is said to have met a major fellow poet, Asghar Gondavia. Gondavi sympathised with him and soon became his friend. He persuaded him to stop drinking and develop a saner view of life. In order to rescue him from his suffering and give a direction to his life, he put him into a marital bond with his wife’s sister, Naseema. Brought into a marital relationship with this highly courteous and responsible lady, Jigar felt blessed but he could not keep away from drinking. Both Gondavi and Naseema tried their best but they could not bring a diehard drinker to become a teetotaler.

When Gondavi realised that his effort to keep Jigar in check had miserably failed, he thought of a new design to reform him. He made him believe that Naseema was not fit for him as they were living in a terrible relationship. He made him divorce her. To meet his plan, he first divorced his own wife and then entered into a marital relationship with Naseema. Jigar was extremely pained at this but he could do little as Gondavi had been his benefactor all through. In spite of the jolt he had received, he did not relinquish his habit of drinking. Gondavi remained deeply concerned as there was no sign of betterment in Jigar’s habit. An ageing Gondavi then made it into an unwritten treaty that when Jigar stops drinking, he should be married to Naseema. This shook Jigar thoroughly. An ashamed Jigar was overwhelmed by Gondavis’ gesture and stopped drinking. When the appropriate time came, his second nikah with Naseema was solemnised.

 It is also said that Gondavi had not entered into nikah with Naseema but had only separated her from Jigar to help him see sense. It is corroborated by the fact that Gondavi’s wife stayed with him all through. With his noble acts, Gondavi brought equilibrium in Jigar’s life. Jigar was now a different being—completely reconciled and given to the spiritual ways of life.  

Love-life of Sahir Ludhianavi

Sahir Ludhianavi was a dreamer and a compulsive romantic who swayed between fantasy and reality without arriving anywhere. The meaning of his life and love lay in travelling rather than arriving. This also imparted a certain character to his poetry and turned him into an archetypal lover and atypical poet for the posterity.
Sahir was passionate about life, as he was about love. Some of his lady-loves were illusory; others were real but in both he remained a deeply aspirational character. Like an innocent human creature, he used to be fascinated by beauteous beings. Like a guileless guy, he used to find his pleasure in waiting for love to engulf him like magic. Like a naïve romantic, he used to be overwhelmed with a little response from the other side and would hurry to share its ecstasies with friends.
Sahir’s first fascination, which soon grew into love, was for a class fellow called Prem Chaudhari. Both of them studied at Government College in Ludhiana. He talked heroically about finding Prem and boasted that she too loved him as much. Naturally, this became a talking point both in and outside the college. This was also the time when he had started writing poems and making some kind of a name for himself as a typical poet of romance and radical ideas. Prem hailed from an affluent but traditional family where the possibility of such a relationship could not be tolerated. Sahir is said to have wandered at all such places in Ludhiana where she could possibly be seen. Unable to find her around, he even went to her village once where she had gone to stay for a while. When a wandering Sahir reached her home, his roving eyes spotted her walking on the terrace. Prem also saw her but got terribly upset. She feared that if he was found roaming around, he would be treated very severely by her family members. She sent him a message to leave instantly lest he should be put to pain. He returned a forlorn lover but kept pining for her. Soon after that, he got to know that Prem was suffering from tuberculosis. This worried him badly. Much time had not passed before the disease claimed Prem’s life. On getting to know this, Sahir broke totally. After her last rites, he wrote a moving poem “Marghat ki Sarzameen” in memory of his first love where these lines appeared:

Time moved on the way it does and helped Sahir achieve reconciliation with his fate. As he joined life once again, he came across Isher Kaur this time. Both of them idolised each other. This made him take pride in himself and talk about her with pleasure to everyone he knew and cared for. Too deep in his love for her, he remained impatient day and night to meet her. His impatience broke all bounds once. He made an effort to steal a glimpse of Isher and be with her for a while. He went to the college and reached the girls’ lounge where Isher was supposed to be. As ill luck would have it, he was caught by the principal who reached there on getting information about Sahir’s presence near the lounge. He was caught and expelled from the college. As it would appear, Isher could not bring him as many moments of fulfilment as she brought of suffering. On the surface, their story appeared to reach its end but it was not really so. As love does not really die, and as luck would have it, he came to know about her presence in Bombay where she lived with her husband and kids. Sahir too had shifted to Bombay by that time. He found out her whereabouts and reached her home. Soon, he started frequenting her place. This irked her husband. One day, Isher’s husband took him in his car to a far off place and warned him rather severely about his behaviour and unacceptable relationship with Isher. Sahir thought it was time for him to end his misadventure then and there itself. Both Isher and Sahir felt helpless as they had felt earlier. Sahir is said to have written a poem on seeing her sad once. The poem called “Kisi ko Udaas Dekh Kar” had these lines:

Another story of Sahir’s romance that became rather scandalous concerned his stormy relationship with Amrita Pritam. She was a poet and writer, and also a connoisseur of art and Urdu poetry which brought her close to Sahir. Unlike his other real or imaginary love affairs that Sahir used to propagate himself, it was Amrita this time who talked about her strange relationship with him. She even chose to come out with her story in her autobiographical book Raseedi Ticket, and other writings as well. The kind of curious relationship that Sahir and Amrita shared with each other was destined to come to a natural end. Amrita had her own life with Imroz but she was entirely honest in saying that Sahir was her dream but Imroz was her reality. When separated from Amrita finally after a session of drinks, Sahir wrote some of the most moving lines for her:

After Amrita, Sahir met another writer Khadija Mastoor who infatuated him. Their relationship matured to the extent that it could have led to their wedding but that too was not to be. Certain differences between the guardians of the two homes created hurdles in their way. As the coming together of the two could not materialise, the way to make another romantic move was open for Sahir.
Sahir had made a name for himself as a poet rather early. With each passing day, he was getting the limelight. It was then that a film magazine published Madhubala’s image on the cover page with Sahir’s collection of poems Talkhiyaan in her hand. This was enough to inflame Sahir’s imagination and help him start dreaming of her. This was enough to make him an imaginary lover of a celebrated lady. As he moved around all over the city showing the magazine’s cover page to his friends, he turned himself into an advertisement. Another facet of his romantic self was seen in his deep infatuation with Nargis which started after his meeting with her in a studio where she had praised his poetry in highest terms. Here again, he thought he had found his love but that was not more than a mere fantasy. In the story of his long and short obsessions with young and beautiful ladies, we also come across his fascination for Lata Mageshkar and Shakeela Bano Bhopali which appeared and vanished with time.
The last episode in Sahir’s story of love and longing relates to Sudha Malhotra, the extremely talented celluloid singer. This was a story of genuine love for each other but was once again destined to end in disappointment. As social taboos could not be ignored at any cost, Sudha was betrothed and her wedding date was announced. This was precisely when some of Sahir’s friends organised an event one evening in his honour. In this mehfil of friends, Sudha too was invited. She joined the company of friends knowing quite well that this would be her last meeting with Sahir. In this special union of close friends, several singers sang his poems. When they asked Sahir to recite his poems, he chose to recite one of his most celebrated poems:

After Sahir finished his passionate reading of this poem, the audience appeared emotionally moved beyond all description. Faces turned sad, eyes went moist, and an unending silence prevailed. Interestingly, one of Sahir’s uniquely romantic poems of longing—mujhe gale se lagaa lo bahut udaas hoon main—was sung by Sudha Malhotra herself. With all his dreams and aspirations in love and life, Sahir turned into a myth in his lifetime. And remains so till this day.