'I’ll Meet You Yet Again’: How I Played a Small Part in Amrita’s Note to Imroz

Amrita and Imroz's love story defied societal norms yet reached fulfillment, unlike Heer-Ranjha or Sohni-Mahiwal.

The passing away of Imroz marks an end to a rare era of love, longing, romance, and creativity: a love story that defied societal norms yet reached fulfillment, unlike the tragic kissas of Heer-Ranjha or Sohni-Mahiwal.

But Imroz would never have entered the charmed circle of Amrita Pritam, the star Punjabi poet who began a splendid literary journey in undivided Punjab's Lahore at the age of 14 and went on to reach great heights.

Meeting Amrita

I still remember the cold winter evening of Delhi in 1978, when as a young journalist with the Chandigarh edition of The Indian Express, I had the courage to call and fix an interview with Amrita while visiting the Capital. Although, I had been reading her since my childhood from the parcel of books that reached from Hind Pocket Books every month.

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The meeting had been fixed for five in the evening. Not confident of meeting a writer I had long admired, I took a friend with me. But the ride from Parliament Street traffic to her home at K-25 Hauz Khas took forever.

It took us longer to look for her home and when we finally reached, it was nearly seven. Worse still the power went off and we made our way through the dark. Somehow, we reached the entrance to the first floor where our cherished writer lived and rang the bell. Amrita's voice travelled down: 'Who's there?' When I identified myself and said that I had come to just say sorry and take an appointment for the next day, she said there was no power and had slept early.

Suddenly, Imroz took charge saying, "Maja just wait I will go down with a candle." I learned many years later that he called her Maja after the famous Goya paintings of magical beauty. There he was guiding us with a candle as he told his Maja, "These girls are candles and soon there will be light."

This was Imroz for you: always positive, warm, and calm. Not only did we get a cup of tea but an appointment for the interview the next morning and over time, became part of the charmed circle contributing to the avant-garde Punjabi literary magazine Nagmani, which they brought out together for 36 years (1966-2002).

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The Eternal Love Triangle

Imroz was the third side of the eternal love triangle that people associate Amrita Pritam with. Caught in a loveless arranged marriage at the age of 15, the poet yearned for fondness and care in her adolescence which was cut short too soon.

The only child to her parents, she had lost her mother early. Alone in home when her father went to work, she had invented a boyfriend called Rajan. She writes in her memoirs that she even wrote letters of love to him, and when her father spotted one, she received the first and only slap from the doting dad.

Amrita thought she had found her person in the famous Urdu poet Sahir Ludhianvi. Sahir too was attracted to her but the friendship did not lead to more. It was Imroz who came into her life after the relationship with Sahir reached no fruition and she returned to Delhi, heartbroken.

But she had not lost her obsession and she wrote poem after poem expressing her love which she published in an anthology called Sunehrhe (messages). The messages did not make for a change of heart in Sahir but made her the first woman to win the Sahitya Akademi Award in 1956.

The first meeting with Imroz was a year later in 1957, when Guru Dutt's Pyaasa got released and Mumbai film circles had taken notice of an upcoming artist Inderjit for his design of the posters and other artwork. He was born in Chak Number 36 near Lyallpur (now Faislabad) in undivided Punjab. He had earned a diploma in Art from the famous Mayo School of Art, Lahore, and followed it up with a course in Commercial Art.

He was to later become Amrita's Imroz, a name given by her to him which means 'today' when she started feeling that he was the 'sunrise' of her melancholy life and her partner for some 40 years.

The meeting happened when someone suggested that she get the cover of her book designed by this talented newcomer. I recall Imroz telling me a story: "I had done the posters with a sketch of Guru Dutt and Waheeda Rehman and the immortal songs penned by Sahir. These caught the imagination of the people. When the film was to be released in Delhi, I was sent an invite for two people. By then, I had started visiting Amrita. Excited, I went to her and asked her if she would accompany me. She replied that Sahir had already asked her and she was accompanying him."

This conversation happened as Imroz made tea in the kitchen, he would make an excellent tumbler of tea. In fact, most of the conversations between Imroz and I would be when people were visiting Amrita.

Being a permanent fixture in their home for years, I would accompany him to the kitchen and most of the exchanges would happen over tea-making.

Hearing this story, I gently asked him if he felt bad about it. He replied at once, "Why should I have felt bad? He was her friend before me. So she went with Sahir to the premiere and I went by myself.

Amrita, however, had another story to tell of this triangle. After Amrita and Imroz came together, Sahir was visiting Delhi and the two went to see him in the hotel. They sat together and shared drinks and when they left, Sahir was melancholy and he wrote a ghazal, looking at the empty glasses, that was to become a famous film song in the 1964 film Dooj Ka Chaand: Tum aabad gharon ke vaasi, Main aawara aur badnaam. Mere Sathi khali jaam.

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The Promise to Meet Again

One could go on endlessly about precious memories from the Amrita-Imroz times. He remained a fond baba (grandpa) to Amrita's grandchildren and they in turn, looked after him. He was by her side when Amrita was ailing, making it as light and cheerful as he could.

Later, he told a friend, "I had the fortune of living with a woman I admired and later loved. She and I shared every little thought and moment but my only grief is that I could not share the pain that she went through in the last days."

And as for our Amrita, who took our Punjabi language places bringing it the first Jnanpith Award and many other honours. One precious memory is of those days when Amritaji was ailing. I was living in Delhi then, working with Antara Dev Sen's The Little Magazine when I got a call from her that I should come to see her because she wanted me to translate something. This was no less than a surprise as she had the likes of Khushwant Singh translating her work – and a first of such offer for me.

When I reached, she recited the poem, explained it to me, and asked me to translate it and publish it. She had a feeling that time was short. I did so and the poem published in The Little Magazine went viral almost overnight. That was her last poem and dedicated to her Imroz:

Mein 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.

— Amrita Pritam

(Translated by Nirupama Dutt and published in The Little Magazine.)

(Nirupama Dutt is a poet of Punjabi, journalist, and translator with several books to her credit. This is an opinion piece and the views expressed above are the author’s own. The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for them.)

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