Inderjit Singh, popularly knows as Imroz, passed away on December 22 in Mumbai at the age of 97.
How does one remember a dear friend while bidding them their final farewell? I do not know the appropriate manner. Memories are haphazard anyway – they come and go at any time, without caring for the occasion or expectation. As I bid farewell to Imroz saheb on his last day, I fail to find an appropriate way in which to remember him. Instead of tears, his memory has brought a smile on my face. Right from the day I met him, it seemed to me that Imroz belonged to another world. Over time, as I continued to meet him, this feeling got amplified as I listened to him, got to know him and understood the depth of his advice.
His was a world where one could truly dwell in love, be filled with it, spread it, plant it like flowers in pots, make it one’s identity, becoming nothing for the sake of it, bear insults and accusations in the name of love but never – for any reason or in any situation – give up on love.
The world knows and remembers him only as novelist Amrita Pritam’s partner, but not many people remember that Imroz was an artist himself. He was a painter and could do magic with his brush which made people feel a beautiful connection with words. His art was also the reason he came in contact with Amrita Pritam. Amrita met him for the first time regarding the cover of one of her books. Amrita, who had already carved a niche for herself in literature by that time, saw something in Imroz’s paintings that she believed could enhance the beauty of her words even further. And when they did meet, such was there companionship that only death could part them.
Imroz and Amrita Pritam. Photo: X/@AkshitaNagpal
Love is like an inescapable fragrance whose absence makes it difficult even to breathe. Amrita yearned for it despite being in a matrimonial relationship. Even Sahir’s love could not fill the void completely for Amrita. But after meeting Imroz, her thirst for love perhaps found an ocean in which she immersed herself. She became the ocean for when the river reaches its destination, no trace of it remains. Only the ocean remains. But in the case of Amrita and Imroz, it was Imroz who erased himself not Amrita. The silence with which he stayed in Amrita’s life proved that love does not always assert itself.
When I met Imroz sahab for the first time, the reason was Amrita Pritam’s house. I used to be a senior sub-editor in Grihalakshmi magazine at the time. We were planning an interior special for our magazine for that issue and I suggested to cover homes of writers and poets along with celebrities from other fields to find out about the doors and walls from where so many beautiful thoughts emerge. When I reached there, Imroz sahab opened the door.
Does love make people so beautiful – I thought. He was standing there smiling and holding the door open. A strand of his hair was hanging on his forehead and looking at him – a stranger for me then – it seemed as if I was meeting a friend after a long time.
My photographer Bhupinder Singh had accompanied me. As soon as he arrived, he got busy clicking photographs while I could not help but glance at Imroz sahab again and again. I was talking to him but did not know what was going on in my mind. I used to think that the person who loved Amrita in silence would be someone silent in nature, but here was a person chirping and smiling with eyes that spoke even more than he did. What I found most beautiful was his down-to-earth attitude, his smile or perhaps the simple and cheerful emotion of love which only a person fortunate enough can experience. Watching it come to life in front of me is what had perhaps touched me.
Once Imroz, recalling a meeting with Amrita, said that she came to visit him one day and found the door of his house locked. On hearing the knock Imroz went and opened the door but Amrita did not enter. She said, “Imroz, will I have to knock on your door too?” Imroz never locked the door of his house again. Even when he started living under the same roof with Amrita, the door of his room was always open. Amrita moved like the wind whenever and wherever she wanted. Amrita was very fond of tea – a habit which became an urge when she sat down to read and write. Love connects hearts of the lovers, they say. And so, as Amrita was immersed in her books, Imroz would get up silently, make tea, bring it, quietly place it on Amrita’s table and leave without making a sound. Amrita would not even look up sometimes and would remain engrossed in her writing. But a smile used to appear on her face – a smile any lover would die to get on their face too. Amrita had probably found this smile after many long nights full of tears. It is that smile which the world tries to snatch at every step. How could one not envy you, Amrita?
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I asked my photographer to click some of the pictures personally for me, from my perspective. When I hugged Imroz sahab while leaving, he very lovingly said, “You might be leaving, but a part of you will remain here. Come back whenever you are searching for yourself. Your face says that you feel lost and are in search for yourself.”
What else could I do but stare at him in surprise and ask myself if love taught magic too?
After the first meeting, I started visiting Imroz sahab’s house frequently. He was nothing but a friend for me but a friend from a fairy tale whose presence removes even the slightest shadow of sorrow, makes the world appear to be a beautiful place and leaves a longing to last. I used to give him a call before visiting. When I would reach there, we would make tea and rotis or paranthas together and eat. Then we would wash the dishes too. Our conversations went on from morning till evening but never seemed to end. They would instead become the reason to set up the next meeting. By then Amrita had passed away. But Imroz sahab never spoke of her in the past tense which is why I always felt that she was present with us in every meeting. And I felt as if whenever Imroz sahab turned silent, it was Amrita saying something to me. We would often sit near the flower pots on the terrace Imroz Sahab had planted. He used to feed the pigeons daily and spoke to them in the same way as he used to speak to me. They seemed to have long conversations and interestingly it appeared as if they understood each other too.
I often asked Imroz sahab if it ever made him feel bad that whoever visited them, came to meet Amrita and sometimes did not even recognise him. To this he would reply, “Only Amrita lives here. I am also Amrita. Do I look like someone else to you?” It left me spellbound. This is how one becomes one with the beloved – I witnessed then.
After Amrita’s death, Imroz also started writing poems. He used to write in Gurmukhi. When I would pay a visit, he would read out his poems and I would write them in Hindi. Once, he received some cash along with an award with which he bought a lot of plants and a kurta. It was pale in colour. When I asked him why he didn’t choose a vibrant colour, he said, “I already have so many colours in me. What will I do with the colours outside? And now Amrita is like an entire colour palette in me.”
I liked to watch him specially when he was not looking at me and was busy in his work. A strand of his hair often fell on his forehead. His face beamed even when he was not smiling. He truly never looked alone – Amrita always reflected on his face. It is perhaps true that when two people in love live together, they start to look alike.
Once on my birthday, he quietly went and brought a cake for me and pointing towards his treasure trove of paintings, said, “Go and choose a gift for yourself. “
“Does one choose the gift oneself?” I asked.
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“It is not necessary to get into the habit of accepting whatever others offer you,” he replied. “Make space in your life for things which you want and remove things which you don’t like from every corner of your house and even the walls.”
He often used to say, “You always come to listen to me, why don’t you narrate what you have written?” To this, I would reply, “I come to you for solace, why should I bring noise with me?” This was actually true. After every meeting with Imroz sahab, my heart and mind used to remain calm for many days. Anger subsided, grievances vanished and the thought of getting rid of the world left me for a few days. When such thoughts began bothering me again, I would again knock on Imroz sahab’s door – to a world where unconditional love and humanity were still alive. After hearing the same answer to his question every time, he once said, “Does one find peace outside too?”
Then things happened and this series of our meetings which had gone on for years came to a halt at a place where it was no longer easy to reach Imroz sahab. He left the house filled with the fragrance of Amrita and took up residence at a luxurious flat in New Delhi’s Greater Kailash. Amrita’s family was with him, but Imroz’s Amrita was left behind somewhere in the walls of the house which they had built and decorated with dreams. Later, no one would even pick the phone despite calling several times. The place where one used to get answers to all the questions was now beyond reach. In a world where love is dying each day, the doors to the only place where love remained were closed for me and the path was lost. Grievances, hatred and anger kept accumulating in the heart, because these are the things the world has to offer everyday even without asking.
For the past several days, I had suddenly begun remembering Imroz sahab, with a strange feeling a restlessness. There was no update available on his well-being. And then, I found Imroz sahab again but in a piece of news. Imroz sahab had passed away. I tried to call the number again as best I could, but even today there was no response from the person who had all the answers for me. Finally, defeated, I called up lyricist Gulzar sahab, because the only thing I could find out was that Imroz had died in Mumbai. If he was in Mumbai, he would definitely have been in touch with Gulzar sahab, I thought. He called him a ‘friend’. But it is a pity that even Gulzar sahab got the news of his passing from me and since then he has been anxiously trying to pay his last tribute to his friend who has now departed.
Perhaps it is not necessary for everyone to achieve what they strive for. For me, Imroz sahab has not gone anywhere. I always used to seek advice from him and the impact his friendship will continue to show me the way forward. No, I can ask Imroz sahab anything whenever I want because he is not someone who would offer advice unless you sought it. Imroz does not show the way, but becomes the way himself. True love does not only live quietly but also leaves the world without a word. No one gets to know of their death, which is why one believes that love never dies.
Translated by Naushin Rehman.