Much too late for honours

Her companion for over 40 decades has never left her bedside in the last two years after she sustained a fall that broke her hip, followed by an operation that botched all chances of recovery. Imroz blames it on the doctors who deprived his companion of a reason to live by her pen. Dependent on him even to turn in on her bed, he is the shelter she described. He pays back the compliment: she is my painting. He has put his brushes away.

Two years ago, when she was well, they lived by a routine. She wrote by the night while he painted away at a feverish pace, painting her book jackets. They cooked simple meals and got back to their work. 8220;She dreamt of her stories in the night and when she took to the paper, there was no pause. She just wrote through the night. The stories were all etched in her mind,8221; he says.

It was at a strange time when she, a poet and writer, was hopelessly besotted with lyricist Sahir Ludhianvi that she glanced at him. He says her love was one-sided. Probably he knows better. After all, Amrita once despatched him to Sahir with a book of hers. 8220;He didn8217;t even take a look. There was no response on his face,8221; he recalls. After walking in the shadows of Sahir for over 15 years, Amrita walked into his life and has stayed there since. 8220;You know we never needed words to get across what we meant to each other,8221; he says. They never needed to hide behind marriage and its rules.

Amrita and his relationship need constant retelling in a world where the old have been abandoned to take care of themselves in the twilight of their lives. Amrita8217;s children are not far from her, yet they know better than to intrude into her life now.

The two must have had their share of fights and yelling, yet stuck it out together. You only need to look into Imroz8217;s still handsome features to see what longing and companionship mean. To borrow a fellow writer8217;s phrase, he turns longing into a state of grace. Even he doesn8217;t know what is taking place in his companion8217;s mind. Some story perhaps8230; he is hanging out there to be the first listener.

The Padma Vibhushan which was given to her at her residence last week, when she couldn8217;t go personally, brings little cheer to its recipient who is too weary to confront awards that come her way now. Her companion did his best when he reached out to the media who missed the lady of letters from the ceremony at Rashtrapati Bhavan. He was hurt that his companion was being ignored by the very government that had decided to honour her with an award. The least it could do was to step into his household. Mercifully, that8217;s exactly what the government did. It didn8217;t matter that Amrita was too tired to even register the honour.

As for her companion, he only wishes the citation from the President of India bearing her name could give the reasons for honouring her with the second-highest civilian honour in the country. 8220;They the officials need an artiste to look into such things,8221; he says softly. Perhaps they can begin by talking to Imroz. That8217;s his name and he has designed the home where they live now.