A Death, A Poem And Amrita Pritam

Mon, 10 Mar 2025 06:38:02 +0000

Something truly fascinating happened yesterday afternoon. There were forty of us gathered at Bada Gumbad, Hauz Khas, celebrating the life of Amrita Pritam. The storyteller, Harshit, shared tales from her life and invited the audience to contribute anything they wished. That’s when a young Sikh man, originally from Kashmir, told this story.His family lives in Kashmir, where they also write in Urdu. His grandmother could read Hindi and would translate Amrita Pritam’s work back into Urdu, keeping the translations with her. Her only wish was that when she died and was cremated, the books of Amrita Pritam—along with her handwritten translations—should be burned with her, so they would stay with her even after death.She passed away last year. Following her wishes, they placed her on the pyre with all the books of Amrita Pritam and the translations she had cherished. After the cremation, when everything had burned and the pyre had turned cold, her grandsons went to clear the remains. Everything had been reduced to ashes—except for one small piece that remained intact. It was her favorite poem by Amrita Pritam, which reads:Jahaa.n bhii ik aazaad ruuh kii jhalak dikhaa.ii de,samajhnaa vo meraa ghar hai.This is from the poem Mera Pata by Amrita Pritam.The grandson kept this small page with him and brought it to the walk. It was the most surreal experience I’ve ever had on a walk like this.This young man was born in 2006, a year after Amrita Pritam’s death in 2005. I wonder if she knows how many of us still love her, gathering in her name, singing her words, reciting her poetry, and shedding tears over her love story with Imroz. What a woman! What a life she lived—that even children born after her death speak of her with such emotion, as if she had lived right next to them. The absolute magic of Amrita Pritam lives on!