THE LANGUAGE OF THE HEART
“The
burning embers within me burst into flames,
My
body becomes a fire-lit torch.
Ho
someone! Send for the mid-wife.”
Amrita
Pritam
I don’t
remember liking prose or poetry while I was in school. It was in my junior
college, that I started liking both. Amazing
teachers had sparked this liking in my heart. It continued in my first-year
degree, too. English or Kannada – it made no difference… Amazing teachers did.
Later, as I started
expressing my deepest feelings – love, joy, fear, worries all – in my private
notes, I freely allowed myself to do it. Oblivious of the so-called ‘rules’ of prose
or poetry, which the school syllabus stressed upon, now, I was blissfully and freely
expressing whatever and however I wished to…
When some of my close
friends exclaimed - “It’s a beautiful piece of prose/poem”, I wondered - “Is it?”
I still wonder!
For, I
have no clue about the 'rules' of prose or poetry… School and college are long
over, and there are no exams, you see. But, living and learning are still on… The scribbling
is still on. So, if my friends think, that what I write are prose or poetry, so
be it…
Last night, my dear friend
and a fellow-trainer, Dr. Deepak, shared this lovely piece of ‘scribbling’ by
Amrita Pritam:
THE WILL OF AMRITA PRITAM
Fully conscious and in
good health I am writing today my Will:
After my death
Ransack my room
Search each item
That is
Scattered
Unlocked everywhere in my
house.
Donate my dreams
To all those women
Who between the confines
of
The kitchen and the
bedroom
Have lost their world
Have forgotten years ago
What it is to dream.
Scatter my laughter
Among the inmates of
old-age homes
Whose children
Are lost
To the glittering cities
of America.
There are some colours
Lying on my table
With them dye the saree of
the girl
Whose border is edged
With the blood of her man
Who wrapped in the
tricolour
Was laid to rest last evening.
Give my tears
To all the poets
Every drop
Will birth a poem
I promise.
My honour and my
reputation
Are for the woman
Who prostitutes her body
So her daughter can get
an education.
Make sure you catch the
youth
Of the country, everyone
And inject them
With my indignation
They will need it
Come the revolution.
My ecstasy
Belongs to
That Sufi
Who
Abandoning everything
Has set off in search of
God.
Finally
What is left
My envy
My greed
My anger
My lies
My selfishness
These
Simply
Cremate with me…
Amrita
Amrita Pritam’s writings – both prose and poetry – are soul-stirring. I deeply connect to each piece of her writings whenever I come across them. She wrote in Punjabi and Hindi… But, to connect deeply, do we need these languages?
I firmly believe, that the language of the heart can never be taught or learnt in schools and colleges. It is done in the furnace of Life… through the quietly-burning embers within…
Listen to these…
GERALD D’CUNHA
Pic. Pixels/pixabay/Evie Shaffer
Video: 1. Guzar/HighFive 2. Manmeet Narang
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