amrita - imroz a gospel of love

This is me and that is you and in the chasm is the dream
wrote a woman once of her relationship with the man she loved and lived with.

Some love stories reverberate like hymns in this universe. Love is a spiritual force in itself since it is a part of the inner world. In terms of events it happens between two people in a particular time and space but its fragrance spreads across time and space both.
Amrita-imroz A love Story is a contemporary love legend which Penguin India brought to the world. It is best described not as a story of a woman or a man but a biography of a love story penned by Uma Trilok who was fortunate enough to spend some precious moments with the lovers just before Amrita left her body on October 31, 2005 at the age of 86. Being a Reiki and Pranik healer, the writer formed close ties with Amrita and Imroz and what came out is a book which is so soothing that it takes you to yourself.
Love is a word which carries a halo around itself when used as a word. Ironically in societies that worship norms, love when it actually happens violating social icons is still a four letter word.
Amrita the rebel poetess remained faithful to the woman inside throughout her life. A mother of two children this woman created a furore in the society when she decided to spend her life with her lover Imroz a painter much younger than her. The woman had married earlier but had walked out on her `unfriendly husband' without a divorce.

Cuckoo my heart sings
My tongue suffers blisters forbidden
With pain I get ensnared

They lived together for 50 years, without marrying, under the same roof but in separate rooms. They believed that in a true relationship, no law is needed. Laws are made for irresponsible people.

Today I have sold a world
And bought a world of beliefs
I committed an act of blasphemy
I wove a bolt of dreams
Tore off a yard
And sewed a blouse for my life.

Though this woman was hailed as the doyenne of Punjabi literature which was celebrated in many other countries as well she had more detractors than admirers here. Most of her works pick threads and are coloured by her own life.

That was an ache
I smoked
And flicked off
A few poems as ash.

“We never said `I love you' to each other. It wasn't needed. What is love? Love is taking care of small-small things for each other. When we decided to live with each other in the early 1950s, we didn't let anyone interfere with our decision. I told her, `You are my society. I am your society'. And why do you call it live-in? Aren't others live-in relations?" As far as Sahir is concerned, he never asked her to come to him. If he had, she would have gone. And I would have respected her decision," says Imroz, forever smiling.

I can patch a sheet if torn
But can I stitch the sky
A husband dies I remarry
A lover dies, can I live

Imroz was a shadow, a confidante, a dedicated friend, a lover and a fakir in most ways. Egoless, self-assuming, a heart full of ibadat --- a love that is any woman’s dream.
'What do you like most of Amrita?' Uma asks Imroz.'Her presence.' He replies.

When Amrita’s body was being consumed by fire one is introduced to a stoic Imroz deeply in love still but detached.

"At the end of the deserted cremation ground, a few people were standing, silently staring at the burning pyre. Away from everybody, alone, standing in a corner, I spotted Imroz. Going close to him and touching his shoulder from behind, I muttered, "Don’t be sad." Somehow I always felt that Imroz would become very sad after Amrita’s death. He turned, and looking at me, said, "Uma, why be sad? What I could not do, Nature did."

Such words of wisdom and love because Amrita,s last years were painful for her body and death came to her like a liberator.

The following is the last verse that she penned for her lover.

I will meet you yet again

How and Where?

I know notPerhaps

I will become a

figment of your imagination and

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 chestI 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 specs

I will pick these particles

weave the threads

and I will meet you yet again

(The extracts of poems by Amrita Preetam are translations of her original poems in Punjabi.The prose in italics are from the book mentioned above.)