How could one little head carry all that he knew?
The legend of Laali, Hardiljit Singh Sidhu (1932-2014), the Savant of Patiala and master of the spoken word, is revived with a book of fond essays dedicated to him
The time zone was 1960’s, the destination was Punjabi University, Patiala; and the narrator was celebrated poet Surjit Patar, who was doing his research in Punjabi literature with well known storyteller Dalip Kaur Tiwana, who taught him there in the masters course as his mentor. Those were also times when many Punjabi hearts were beating to the rhythms of the ultra-left movement inspired by Naxalbari in Bengal. It was also the time when ways of seeing and thinking were changing. The poets and writers were thinking anew, literature was seen as a magic stick that would change the old order. Patar, as a young man, was seen as a bright new star on the horizon of Punjabi poetry and often in the company of Laali in discussion of his poetic words written to the winds (Hava vich likhe harf). One day, the savant suggested to Patar that let’s go to Patiala city from the university, which was some five miles away. The poet asked ‘Will walk all the way. To this “Laali Baba”, as the title of the book in hand defines him, replied, “No we will go riding a fable!” And so they did. Patar’s account in his essay in this collection is evocative indeed in recalling the magic-realism of our Laali.
Leap forward to 2015 and the publisher of the book, Sukhvinder Singh joined the Punjabi University for his M.Phil and he recalls, “ In a short time, I realised that Laali Baba was the uncrowned star on the campus, where he had been the professor of anthropological linguistics and everyone would be talking about him. I would see him holding forth to charmed groups in classrooms, on lawns, the roadside, in coffee houses and I too yearned to know and hear him.” He adds that putting together this book has been a rare chance to get to know this legend through the eyes of people who knew him closely over long years.
Den of ghosts
Once in a while some rare younger journalist, inclined towards the literary ethos of Punjab, asks me what on earth was the “Bhootwada of Patiala”, thinking ancient I would know it all. Well, this unique art and literature salon, inspired by “La Paris”, but run in the true Punjabi style. A small house was hired and writers and artists would spend nights there in deep discussion of the art of the matter. Laali, of course was the very soul of this commune and when he passed away in 2014, the headline of a leading newspaper read “Bhootwada veteran Laali Baba passes away”. It was indeed a den of ghosts where eminent scholars would spend nights awake in deep literary discussions, sleeping finally on discarded mats or newspapers. Scholars like poet Navtej Bharti, Surjeet Lee, Satinder Singh Noor, Gurbhagat Singh, Kulwant Grewal and many others were part of it and visiting writers and artists were always welcome. The jokes and anecdotes of the nights awake at the writers’ den are very much a part of Punjab’s literary lore.
In the opening essay of this remarkable book about a rare character like Laali, his friend and co-traveller, senior Punjabi poet Navtej Bhartai writes, “We assess a person by the work he leaves behind. Laali never did any work. He didn’t write, paint or make a film. Once Laali’s father said to me that while Laali had the clay, the water and the colours but he never chose to make a toy!” Yet Laali was the wizard of the spoken word, the 20th century version of the oral culture that we so celebrate in the east. He inspired so many to paint, sculpt, write, click pictures, stage plays and most of all he lived a life that mattered. Surinder Sharma, a writer and a friend of Laali, has written very soulfully about their long and close association. One of the anecdotes he recalls is that one day Laali came to his home and said he felt like listening to a story by Chekov. Sharma promptly asked, “Which one?” Laali’s reply was, “Grief”. This is a moving story in which no one will listen to the sad story of the loss of a cart driver’s son. Finally he hugs his horse and shares his grief with him.
To sir with love
I got a chance to step into Laali’s charmed circle as late as 1990 and once after a night awake with friends listening to him as he unravelled life and literature, I was reminded of a wondrous line from a poem I read in school by Oliver Goldsmith, titled “The village School Master”- “That one small head could carry all he knew”. And after two decades of listening to him and not just that, but sharing my woes with him, I was left richer in the head and heart.