KR Malkani, Kuldip Nayyar, Khushwant Singh, Ramnath Goenka protesting against the Rajiv Gandhi government’s Deafamtion Bill that was later withdrawn (Express Archive)
Written by Meera Dewan
“Hai maut is qadar qariin, mujhey na aayegaa yaqiin (That death could be so near, this I cannot believe).” The single line from one of Kuldip Nayar’s many beloved poets, Hafeez Jalandhari’s popular song ‘Abhi to Mein Jawan Hoon’ could well sum up the rich, action-packed and meaningful life of South Asia’s beloved chronicler. This was the theme song of the film he and my team made together on his work, life and passions. However, this last line was kept safely tucked away within the terabytes of the hard drive nicknamed “KN footage and music”. Today it must be unearthed.
Come Wednesday, 12 noon, an email would pop up with his weekly article: “Between the Lines” by Kuldip Nayar. No Wednesday was missed for the past five decades, when he started India’s first syndicated column, after leaving The Indian Express, post Emergency. An initial survival strategy that was to become South Asia’s most widely circulated column. As in every venture, he was partnered by his wife Bharti, who would travel with a bagful of envelopes to be mailed out at Western Court post office. By Wednesday evening, he would be as excited as a child, discussing the pros and cons of the coming week’s theme.
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The Jalandhari lyrics conclude “Nahin nahin, abhi nahin, nahin nahin, abhi nahin.” Since that time has now arrived, let me start with his future plan, at age 95 years, before the backward glance. I believe he would like me to share his unfinished story, as he had recounted it in our recent biopic.
Kuldip Nayar’s upcoming project was to be a book on Ballia, a small town in UP, the shortest-lived Republic ever. As I sit to write this tribute to Nayar Sahib, beside me are a heap of documents and handwritten notes from the 1950s onwards that remain to be compiled.
“Ballia is a story which much be told because that is the saga of our Independence. Ballia is a small town on the border of UP and Bihar. On Gandhi’s Quit India call in 1942, these people ruled themselves for seven days, declaring themselves an independent Republic. The atrocities which the British committed on them are indescribable. Freedom fighters were hanged from trees. There was a Commissioner whom we used to call the Butcher of Ballia. So don’t tell me the British are a benevolent people. What type of atrocities were committed because they wanted the native to learn the lesson! “You dare not revolt, you will not revolt. Or else this will be your fate”. It is still a matter of local pride in Ballia that before the flag fell, another grabbed and supported that symbol of national struggle. Eleven men were killed one after another by the soldiers of the Crown. I am obsessed by the idea of writing about Ballia because of not only one Ballia but of several uncelebrated Ballias”.
Nayar Saab was not short on obsessions. Contemporary politics, Indo-Pak friendship, Urdu poetry, kababs and sweets, grandchildren and Noor Jahan are just some of his loves, as he confesses on screen. “The real love is only your first love,” he adds. I’d say his first love was deep in his veins. “Injustice still hurts me, as it did seventy years ago. My instincts from a very early age have been to recognise people who suffered victimisation and marginalisation. The plight of others has touched me so deeply that I’ve sometimes made their sufferings mine. Looking back, it now seems obvious that I was destined to embrace the world of journalism, exposing injustice and highlighting heroes, regardless of the consequences.”
Once, on being particularly regaled by yet another story, where he requested Prime Minister Bhutto soon after an interview in Islamabad, with a request to meet Noor Jahan, I spontaneously asked him how many biographical films had been made on his work. “None. The Left believes I’m not Left enough and the Right thinks I’m Left”. The expression on his face when he said this instantly took me back to some understanding of why his mother’s nickname for him was Bhola. Discreetly, though cheekily, I took the liberty of using it a few times myself at special moments. He didn’t seem to mind.
One such occasion was when we, along with the film crew, went to Tihar Jail where he had been confined during the Emergency. I hoped this revisit would not bring back memories to haunt the now 94-year old former detainee. The remembrances his optimism threw up instead were the poetic inclinations of the jailor at the time and his poetry which he shared with the present Director General, Prisons, and detainee-waiters at the wonderful Tihar Café. This modest kavi sammelan was in-between checking on the latters’ legal status and future plans on release. All this over two heaped plates of dahi baras, followed by mithai.
Spokesman to ministers, defiant detainee, editor of leading national dailies, he was born in Sialkot, a home he was compelled to uproot himself from when he was 24 years old; Amritsar, where he arrived alone and penniless, as did millions like him; Delhi’s corridors of power and Parliament; Wagah border where for decades he lit candles for peace on August 14th, a birthday he shares with Pakistan; the winding lanes of Ballimaran, Dilli, where he started his career as an accidental journalist — all home to him, who was once displaced.
The poetry of Baba Farid, Faiz, Makhdoom Mohiuddin Hafeez Jalandhari, Amrita Pritam, Gulzar and the rendition of Hans Raj Hans resonated his inner voice of fearlessness, sense of childlike wonder and compassion.
At 95 years and 7 days, his life has been both as active participant and witness towards the journey of India 2019. “Abhi to mein jawan hoon”.