The Sardarji: I Mean Khushwant Singh Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

The Sardarji, the great Sardarji talk I, the literature of his,
The contribution of his,
Turbaned and dyed,
Looking youngish-youngish, romantic-romantic,
A novelist, a short story and an essayist,
A columnist, a historian,
A journalist, an editor
And above all a talker is our Khushwant Singh,
The man and the writer we seek to know.

Born at Hadali village under Khushab Distt., Sargodha, Punjab on 2 Feb.1915,
In the then time British India,
Educated at Govt. College, Lahore and King’s College, London.,
And the Inner Temple, London,
Khushwant joined the bar
And used to practise as lawyer at Lahore
Before he left for India,
Joining the Indian Ministry of External Affairs in 1947.

After his tryst with the All India Radio, New Delhi as a journalist in 1951,
Majestic in profile,
He upheld the editorship of Yojana (1951-53) ,
The Illustrated Weekly of India (1979-80) ,
The Hindustan Times (1980-83)
As a fearless political commentator, a social critic
And an observer of life and times
Keeping journalism and literature alive side by side.

A member of the Rajya Sabha, an upper house of Parliament from 1980 to 86,
A recipient of Padma Bhushan in 1976
Which but he returned in 1984 in protest
Against the storming of the Golden Temple, Amritsar
By the Indian army,
Again, the Padma Vibhushan offered to him in 2007,
He is a remarkable person to know.

A novelist as for Train To Pakistan (1956) , I Shall Not Hear the Nightingale (1959) ,
Delhi: A Novel (1996) , The Company of Women (1999) ,
A short story writer as for The Marn of Vishnu and Other Stories (1950) ,
The Voice of God and Other Stories (1957) ,
A Bride for the Sahib and Other Stories (1956) ,
Black Jasmine (1971) ,
A historian for The History of Sikhs (1956) ,
An autobiographer for Truth, Love and a Little Malice (2002) ,
A columnist for With Malice Towards One and All,
This Above All.

A master of jokes, he can make you smile,
Burst into a laughter
With his buoyancy and vigour,
The energy to recreate and entertain,
Regale and rehearse,
Even if one does not take,
Will make him take Scotch whisky, rum, brandy or beer,
Champagne not, but vodka
And has the guts of telling about liquor,
Its history and culture and practice,
Can even say about who of the personalities
Took what?


A Punjabi, he can say about the folk tales, dances and musics of the Punjab
And its festive moods
Of harvest and merry-making,
He can tell about the love-story of Heer-Ranjha
Aligning with Shirin-Farhad and Laila-Majnu,
The Bhangra and its ecstatic thrill
On the farmland, in the courtyard
Or in the midst of greenery of fields and fallows.

He does not keep anything hidden from anyone,
Open to all
And is never ashamed of,
Does the dirtiest jokes
But the readers read him,
It’s Holi, the festival of colour and festivity,
Do not take it bad,
A ladkiwallah, a daruwallah,
The red light, the green light,
Who winked at whom,
He can say all that,
As does not leave anything unwritten,
Who is going where?

He can tell about the politicians, their pranks and strategies
And can even rebuff them
As he fears not,
Not less than a politician,
Has done enough politics during Indira’s time,
While fighting the legal battle against Menaka,
An ex-Rajya Sabha member,
He has the guts of raising his collar
And saying openly.

A knowledgeable man and a voracious reader, he is epigramatic,
Ironical and sarcastic,
Satiric and humorous,
An oldie, I mean an old-timer
Telling about the past time,
A funny man,
Doing the jokes,
Mocking age and ageing,
How to keep fit and healthy, hale and hearty,
Giving the tips in!

Very, very romantic and colourful as for his humours and jokes,
He can tickle with his thoughts,
Can fill in spirits into a dead soul
Whose energies are almost exhausted
By giving the glucose of words,
His pats,
Punjabi pats on the shoulders
As to inspire him,
Infuse in spirit,
Instil with a hope for living.

A Sardarji, he can tell about the secrets of dieting,
Tandoori and tadaka,
The drinks he takes,
Not the cold drinks,
But the special drinks
And his cupboard full with labels and brands,
Indian not, foreign,
New bottle with old wine
With nothing to be melancholic,
But in a colourful mood of his always,
Does he ghazal,
A khayal or thumri,
Taking a filip.