Tag: khushwant singh

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What Khushwant Singh expected of death

The late author had very stark views about death, and had initially wanted a burial next to a peepul tree.
Humra Quraishiby Humra Quraishi

When my father passed away in the winter of 1995, it took me almost six months to recover from the emotional trauma of it all. Now that my dear friend and mentor Khushwant Singh is dead, I really don’t know how long it will take me to recover.

I keep thinking of his words, his stark views on life and death, and everything in between. His views on death were somewhat disconcerting. He would say, “We do not talk of death in our homes, with our families, our children…it is regarded as tasteless, ill-mannered and depressing. This is the wrong way to look at an essential fact of life, which makes no exceptions. I see death as nothing to be worried or scared about. In fact, I believe in the Jain philosophy that death ought to be celebrated. When the time comes to go, go like a man without any regret or grievance against anyone.”

Allama Iqbal expressed this same sentiment beautifully in a couplet: ‘You ask me about the signs of a man of faith / when death comes to him, he has a smile on his lips.’

Khushwant would readily admit that he thought of death often. “I don’t know the answers,” he would say. “I don’t believe in the Hindu rebirth and reincarnation theories. As far as I’m concerned, I accept the finality of death. We do not know what happens to us when we die. We must bear in mind that death is inevitable, be prepared for it.

khushwant singh “Often I tell bade miyan (God) the He has to wait for me as I still have work to complete. Yes, I do fear being incapacitated by old age, by high blood pressure, prostrate problems, deafness, loss of vision. What I dread is this thought: what if I go blind or stone deaf or have a stroke? If that happens, I’d rather die…”

Not content to write his own epitaph, Khushwant had also written his own obit in 1943 – this was later published in a collection of short stories titled Posthumous. It read, “I am in bed with a fever. It is not serious. In fact, it is not serious at all, as I have been left alone to look after myself. I wonder what will happen if the temperature suddenly shoots up and I die. That would be really hard on my friend.

“Perhaps, The Tribune would mention it in its front page with a small photograph. The headline would read, ‘Sardar Khushwant Singh dead’. And then in smaller print, ‘We regret to announce the sudden death of Sardar Khushwant Singh at 6 pm last evening. He leaves behind a young widow, two infant children and a large number of friends and admirers to mourn his loss. Amongst those who called at the late sardar’s residence were the PA to his Chief Justice, several ministers and Judges of the High Court…’”

He was also very keen on a burial, wanting to be buried in a corner of a graveyard with a peepul tree next to the grave site. “A burial, because you give back to the Earth what you have taken from it,” he often explained. “Now it will be an electric crematorium. I had requested the management of the Bahai faith if I could be buried. Initially they agreed but then they came up with all sorts of conditions and rules. They had also agreed to my request to be buried in a corner, but later they said my grave would be in the middle of a row and not in a corner. I wasn’t okay with that – though I know once you are dead it makes no difference. They also later said that they would chant some prayers…I couldn’t agree with this because I don’t believe in religion or religious rituals of any kind…”

Humra Quraishi is a senior political journalist based in Gurgaon. She is the author of Kashmir: The Untold Story and co-author of Simply Khushwant.

(Pictures courtesy www.christianmessenger.in, www.outlookindia.com)

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When LK Advani turned up for a birthday party

Writer, journalist Khushwant Singh recently turned 99, and all his friends, family and surprising acquaintances turned up to wish him.
Humra Quraishiby Humra Quraishi

Our grand old man of Indian literature, Khushwant Singh, turned 99 on February 2. It truly was a day to celebrate. Interestingly, the do lasted only one hour.

As several of Khushwant’s friends reached his apartment at 7 pm sharp, they were more than surprised to see someone from the most unexpected quarters land up at the do as well – BJP’s LK Advani turned up with his Black Cats. That somebody of his stature was arriving at the venue should have been obvious, actually – even before one turned towards Sujan Singh Park, there were ample signs of a VVIP presence. The place seemed overtaken by cops.

Though Advani’s presence that evening caused quite a stir, the other guests in attendance were no less important. Others present that evening were several of Khushwant’s close friends, including publisher Chiki Sarkar, Bubbles Charanjeet Singh, Bhaichand Patel, Dalip and Nandini Mehta, Kaamna Pradad, Harinder Singh, Narayani Ganesh and, oh yes, painter Vrindavan Solanki, who sat sketching Khushwant that evening.

Most of the guests seated themselves in the drawing room, and the guests also included such luminaries as the former Attorney General of India, jurist Soli Sorabjee. Khushwant’s children – Mala and Rahul – and his granddaughter Naina were present all through the evening. In fact, Rahul had come down from Mumbai to be with his dad on his special day.

At 8 pm it was ‘bottoms up’ time – time for us to leave. We all wished Khushwant again and expressed the hope that he continued writing and reciting. It’s remarkable that even at his age, Khushwant can recite all the couplets of Ghalib and Meer and Faiz. His favourite is Ghalib, and keeps several volumes at hand.

As I was leaving, I asked him what he was planning to do for the remainder of the evening. He quipped, “Like all evening, I will sit reading Ghalib. I have kept Ghalib volumes next to my bed and I’ll read his verse for hours…”

Humra Quraishi is a senior political journalist based in Gurgaon. She is the author of Kashmir: The Untold Story and co-author of Simply Khushwant.

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‘I wish I’d written more against Right-wing fascists…’

Writer and former journalist Khushwant Singh talks about his newest book and the one regret of his long writing life.
by Humra Quraishi

Khushwant Singh has always been a writer for all seasons. His acerbic wit and sometimes, hilariously accurate descriptions of the country’s people, its politics and overall persona have been both the subject of several important pieces of writings and books, and touchpoints for debate on the current state of affairs in India.

Singh is now close to 99 years old, but he is nowhere done. He recently released his latest book, The Good, The Bad And The Ridiculous (Rupa Publications), a collection of 35 of India’s most interesting personalities.

khushwant singh The book starts with this introduction: “I have never been a very tactful person. I have never been discreet either. I am a voyeur and a gossip. I am also very opinionated. These are good qualities to have if your aim is to be a writer who is read. I have met a good number of this subcontinent’s most famous (or infamous) and interesting people. I have also suffered famous bores, and sometimes been rewarded with behaviour so ridiculous that it becomes compelling…”

In these 35 profiles, as in all his writings, there is a mix of the absolutely serious with stuff that would make you laugh out loud. He still remembers the blackheads on the tip of Amrita Sher Gil’s nose, and he still remembers Begum Para from Dilip Kumar’s erstwhile clan (and other ‘loud’ remembrances of her), and he can still recount all those  moves that made model-dancer Protima Bedi one of the movers and shakers of the day.

He writes on dacoit-turned-politician Phoolan Devi, and how her life wasn’t just a blur of knives and guns but he presents actual back stories that help the reader understand how Phoolan became a dacoit. In all the profiles, I noticed that the journalist in him has got to the very root of each of the characters he has written about. It is this journalistic training that prompts him to examine why Balwant Gargi committed adultery so blatantly.

Why is this book important? Khushwant is perhaps the only surviving journalist-writer of this subcontinent who has seen history in the making over almost 100 years now. He was born in Undivided Punjab in 1915 in the village Hadali, which is now in Pakistan. He has witnessed the Partition and the subsequent aftermath. He has seen the major turning points in the country’s past and recent history.

His long association, both personal and professional, with the country’s history comes out through his detailed chronicles of the long list of personalities he has chronicled. When I ask him about the book, his replies are as blunt as always. “I regret one thing. I wish I’d written much more against the fundoos…the Right-wing fascists who are hell bent on causing divisions [in society]. These fundoos are a serious threat. I could have written much more against their fascist and divisive policies. In recent times, I have been writing against Narendra Modi, LK Advani because of the communal poisoning they have unleashed in the country.”

He elaborates on Advani thus: “I shun people who are at the forefront of communalism, and this includes the likes of LK Advani. He has done grievous harm to our efforts to create a truly secular India. I have no regret over his discomfiture and eventual fadeout from national politics – it will be as comic a tragedy as any we have witnessed in recent times.”

(Pictures courtesy www.thehindu.com, www.siliconindia.com)

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One final goodbye…

Humra Quraishi revisits death through an unsaid goodbye to her own little brother Farid, whom she lost in early childhood.

Each time I’m at a graveyard, I’m reminded of what Khushwant Singh has been saying – words to the effect that in his younger days, he made it a point to visit cremation grounds, for they had a certain effect on him. To quote him, “Earlier, I visited cremation grounds; it had a certain cleansing effect on me. Today, close to 99 years of age, I think of death, think of it very often. I think of all my friends gone, and wonder where have they gone?

“My contemporaries here or in Pakistan or in the UK are all dead. I wonder why we don’t discuss death in our homes. After all, death is one of those realities that none can escape – khuda mein shak ho to ho, maut mein nahin koi shak (You may doubt the existence of God, but you can’t doubt the very certainty of death.)” He added, “There’s this particular verse written by Asadullah Khan Ghalib: Rau  mein hai raksh-e-umarkahaan deykheeye thammey?/ Nahin haath baag par hai na pa hai rakaab mein (Age travels at a galloping pace/ who knows where it will stop/ we do not have the reins in our hands/ we do not have our feet in the stirrups).”

And there’s this Persian couplet by Allama Iqbal, which says that when the time comes to depart, a man should go without any bitterness or regret, or carry grievances.

A few years ago, Khushwant penned his own epitaph thus:

“Here lies one who spared neither man nor God /

Waste not your tears on him, he was a sod/

Writing nasty things he regarded as great fun/

Thank the Lord he is dead, this son of a gun.”

Last month, my cousin Obaid Wajid got crushed under an oil tanker in our ancestral qasba, Aonla in Uttar Pradesh. I have been reflecting and introspecting on this reality – the reality of death. For me, the first connection with death and graveyards was forged when one of my younger brothers, Farid, died as a baby. From that day, I started trying to grasp the deadly reality of that final parting.

For me, visiting graveyards could be one of the ways of lessening my own pain. One of those earliest painful memories which lies tucked tightly in my mind is that of my baby brother Farid’s fragile form wrapped in a white cotton sheet, being taken to the graveyard. He’d died a baby, and though years have passed, even as I write these words, that particular afternoon stands still. I can see it clearly through my moist eyes…it was the mid-1960s, Farid was born in Jhansi. He lived for just a few months. That afternoon, I’d come back from school, but before I could enter the outer verandah, I saw a big crowd gathered on the lawns. After I elbowed my way in, I stood still. My little brother Farid was no longer lying in his cot, but his body was all wrapped in a cotton sheet.

My parents and relatives carried his little body towards the cars for his last rites. The next minute, the house stood vacant. The maid told my dazed younger sisters and me, “Farid baba has gone towards the skies.”

I wanted to run towards the graveyard, but hadn’t a clue on locating it. Our cook sabotaged any such ideas by narrating scary stories of qabristans. My sisters and I sat lost and forlorn. On the one hand we’d kept staring at the sky, certain we could spot our brother. And then we waited desperately for our parents to return.

When they returned, their sobs and cries came afresh, agonising. All I did was gaze at his empty cot, crying that entire night. In the morning, instead of walking down to school, I walked around Jhansi town, trying to locate my baby brother’s grave. I wanted to give him one final hug, kissing his little nose and holding his hand tight in mine…when I finally reached that graveyard, the caretakers were baffled to see me, a young girl of ten, asking to see the grave of her brother. Within minutes they shooed me out, saying that children were not allowed inside the graveyard.

I waited for adulthood to arrive. And I revisited Jhansi. That nagging quest had to be completed. Once again I looked for my brother’s grave, but I drew a blank. The keepers of the place exclaimed, “A child’s kutccha grave! There are hundreds of graves here. More qabristans have come up!”

I gave up, sad and forlorn, for I couldn’t say that I had finally bidden good bye to my little brother Farid.

(Picture courtesy thejakartapost.com. Image is used for representational purpose only)

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‘Amrita Shergill threatened to seduce me’

Khushwant Singh tells Humra Quraishi about his first love affair and how he could never make a pass at women.

I need to get something off my chest. I am disturbed by the upheaval taking place in the sexual lives and attitudes of us Indians. Divorce rates are going through the roof, singletons’ clubs are seeing more memberships. And everybody’s writing books – just yesterday, a newly-divorced friend cooed that she’s all set to make the most of the divorce by penning a book on it!

So it was very refreshing to catch up with Khushwant Singh, and I asked him if he thought sex education ought to be introduced at the school level. His reply was rather surprising. “It may lead to an early indulgence in sex…but then, it’s shocking to know that many adults don’t know a thing about sex, not even the basics.”

He went on, “My friend Prem Kirpal didn’t even know that women menstruate! In his 30s, he was attracted to a woman friend and wanted to get close to her, but she wouldn’t let him near her. The next day he told me that he couldn’t go ahead with her as she was wounded!”

He said that there was “too much sexual frustration in the country, leading to rapes and gang rapes,” and that the concept of ‘love’ in India was limited to “a tiny minority that prefers to speak English rather than Indian languages, read only English books, watch only Western movies and even dream in English.” He then added, with his usual candour, what love and seduction have meant for him. “It baffles me, why do women confide in me the way they do? Total strangers have rung me up to discuss their personal problems. They tell me of their inhibitions, their love affairs, their extramarital relationships. When it comes to women, I am a patient as well as an interested listener.”

And he dwelt on seduction. “Women do seduce. I have been seduced by women all my life, right from the time I was attracted to Ghayoor (it’s she who’d held my hand). Most women have made the first pass at me, led me on, with the exception of two women, where I took the lead.

Even when I was attracted to a woman, I had little confidence to make the first move. I was terribly flattered when women made a pass at me…looking back, I wish I had the confidence to make the first move, for I could have got closer to several women, like Amrita Shergill. In fact, Amrita had threatened to seduce me just to teach my wife a lesson, but she couldn’t carry out this threat because she died a few months later.”

The thing about Khushwant is, he never holds back. I asked him about his first intense love affair, and he said, “I was in college. She was a Muslim from Hyderabad and had to come to Delhi to study at the Lady Irwin College for a degree in Home Science. I was around 17 years old and Ghayoorunissa was three years older than me, and she was my sister’s friend. On one of those occasions when she, my sister and I had gone for a movie, she’d slipped her hand in mine. That alone meant a lot to me…I really loved her. Now she is dead…she died several years ago, and I went to Hyderabad when I heard of her demise, visited her grave and have been in touch with her daughter ever since.”

“Why didn’t you marry her?” I ask.

“I went to England and she went to Hyderabad and got married. I continued to meet her even after her marriage, and I was so in love with her that I was drawn to the entire Muslim community. I believe that when you fall in love, your perception of his or her community changes, you begin to feel closer to that community.”

Humra Quraishi is a senior political journalist. She is the author of Kashmir: The Untold Story, and co-author of Simply Khushwant. 

(Khushwant Singh picture courtesy caravanmagazine.com)

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