Birthday Tribute: Amrita Pritam Immortalized Love Through Her Romance with Sahir

On Amrita Pritam's Birthday...

I am a self-confessed lover, and I will remain a lover as long as the one I love does not give me reasons to lose faith in love, which is my only religion and my sole deity.

My faith in love has weathered many storms, but it is only my love for love itself that has helped me overcome every storm and the dangers of love. Whenever I doubt love, I think of the great love story between Sahir Ludhianvi and Amrita Pritam. I have read about other great lovers throughout my life, but none of their love stories have impacted me the way the story of these two great lovers has, a story to which I can closely and fully relate.

Sahir had already made a name for himself as an Urdu poet, especially known for his poems on protest, rebellion, freedom, and above all, love. Amrita was a renowned poetess writing in Punjabi.

Fate had decided to bring them together, and fate succeeded. Sahir and Amrita became good friends, and their friendship took on a very pure form of love.

There are many stories about how they expressed their love for each other during long and meaningful silences. It is said that Sahir used to stand alone under Amrita's house, his heart beating like that of a true lover. And Amrita waited for Sahir like a lover whose life revolves around love.

When Sahir finally mustered the courage and left, the two lovers continued to gaze into each other's eyes, the world that mattered only to them, oblivious to the world outside.

Sahir spent most of his time smoking cigarette after cigarette with Amrita, and when he felt it was time to face the world outside, he left the stubs (the end of each cigarette) in the ashtray on the table left by Amrita. They bid farewell to each other in a unique kind of silence, like an entire book of poems written in silence by both. I can now feel as a lover how they must have parted and the emotions that must have throbbed in their hearts and minds, celebrating the love in their eyes and the endless memories of their silence.

And when Sahir finally left through the threshold of Amrita's house, Amrita rushed back to the place where she had spent her silence with Sahir, trying to touch the cigarette stubs left by Sahir in the ashtray and kissing them with her lips. This ritual of her love for Sahir became so intense that Amrita, a girl from a family where smoking was not only forbidden but considered a sin, became a chain smoker. It is said in her autobiography "Rasidi Ticket" that she believed touching the cigarette stubs left by Sahir made her feel as if she was touching Sahir's lips. I have heard and read about hundreds of ways to express love, but I have yet to come across a love story where a lover expresses their love in such a divine gesture.

Sahir and Amrita were not only great romantic poets but also poets who gave voice to the realities of life, the struggle for freedom, the plight of the poor, the oppressed, laborers, and farmers.

Circumstances forced Sahir to move to Lahore, where he was unhappy, and he came to Mumbai with ambitions of writing songs for Hindi films in the post-partition days. Within a few years, Sahir not only became a well-known name in literary circles but also one of the most sought-after and highest-paid lyricists in Hindi cinema.

During the separation of these two lovers, it seemed that a rift had formed between them, and the worst part was the story (or rumor) that Sahir was involved with a playback singer. Amrita now had a beautiful young painter, Imroz, as her lover, who, despite knowing about her love for Sahir, truly cared for Amrita.

Sahir eventually passed away in Mumbai at the age of only 56, and when the news of his death reached Amrita, she was said to be in a state of shock from which she never truly recovered, spending the rest of her life as a famous recluse.

As I always say, some divine power or force has brought me into contact with greatness and great people. Amrita Pritam was honored with the Sahitya Akademi Award and recognized by the city of Mumbai. I was there amidst a large crowd seated on the walls of Patkar Hall and the trees around the hall. I had never seen such a celebration for any writer or poet before. It was also my first opportunity to meet Amrita’s lover, Imroz.

That evening, I wondered how Sahir must have felt when he was loved by thousands or millions of people for his beloved, what he might have said and written.

And such tales of love are sometimes written and then remembered forever. Today, if we wish to keep love alive, it is our duty to preserve the tale of Sahir and Amrita and take pride in the fact that two messiahs of love once breathed in our time, whose breaths still reside in our souls.