A bond beyond words with Dalip Kaur
It seems just the other day when she had called as usual to chat, cajoling me to come to Patiala and spend a day with her. That was not to happen. As I write about Dalip Kaur Tiwana, a rush of memories, both multihued and sepiatoned, overwhelm me.
It was a friendship forged two decades ago when I landed up at her doorstep in Punjabi University, Patiala, for an interview. I had read her autobiography serialised in a magazine and become a fan. The sensitive strokes used to etch the landscape of a woman’s mind had struck a chord.
Though writing was as vital for her as breathing or eating, she never mystified her creative process. She could say with disarming simplicity, “Main kadi vi apni writing nu sir te nahin chakeya.” Grace and dignity defined the tall and elegant author.
She had enrolled in Delhi’s Miranda House for a double course in history and law. She wanted to be an IAS officer and was confident of making it. The uncle who adopted her was worried that her frail frame would not be able to weather the rough and tumble of hostel life. So it was back to Patiala to do MA Punjabi, “sab toh saukha MA”. She never let the over-protective upbringing thwart her spunk but used her feudal background as a wellspring of creativity to turn the lens on oppressive practices that disempowered women.
Dalip Kaur didn’t let her writing (usually done after midnight into the wee hours) alienate her loved ones. One can still hear her tinkling laughter as she recounted anecdotes. She chuckled while narrating how once she had travelled to Doraha to meet an uncle before his operation. The author merely smiled when the attendant asked her if she knew Punjabi!
She felt strongly about the written word being under assault and wanted the best in prose and poetry to be filmed for a generation that read less but loved the visual. The first woman doctorate in Punjabi wanted the literature of the region and scriptures to be translated. A believer in the power of scriptures to connect to the collective unconscious, she adhered to “karma and dharma” and lived with the consciousness of both God and death.
She remained a mentor to generations of students who became teachers themselves. Her brood was dubbed “Pemi de niane” (‘Pemi’s Children’ after Sant Singh Sekhon’s short story of the same name). I can still hear her say lovingly, “Tun badhi daadhi te tikhi hain…” One could always count on her unstinted support and a pep talk even though she bore her personal tragedies stoically.
She enjoyed watching Smita Patil’s movies and loved gardening and feeding birds. She often talked to her plants. When she gifted me jars of pickle and lemon squash after an interview, my erstwhile boss had taken a dig saying I was not true to type because I had preferred pickle instead of liquor!
Her gentle presence wafts in the beautiful phulkari dupattas gifted to mark both happy and sad occasions that will make me misty-eyed whenever I wear them. However, it is the distilled wisdom of shared life lessons that are indelibly etched on my heart.
Her contribution was beyond words as she often said: “Asi apne aap de kol nahin baithde…shabdan tak hi reh jaane haan, shabdan to paar nahin jaa sakde. (We never sit with ourselves and remain confined to words and do not transcend words)”. It is this desire to move beyond mere words that defined both Dalip Kaur’s life and work.
FOR HER, A WRITER WAS ONLY A MEDIUM AND NOT THE SOURCE; WRITING WAS MERELY A WAY TO CONNECT WITH THE COLLECTIVE UNCONSCIOUS