The Sardarji in the Bulb and his Sardarni

The Sardarji in the Bulb and his Sardarni: a love story
Punam Khaira-Sidhu

IT was in the winter of 1994 that we first met Khushwant Singh and his Sardarni Kaval Malik. A party had been arranged in the Canal Guest House at Amritsar for the “Sardarji in the Bulb”. Due to escort him was the then Director General of Police, Mr Kanwarpal Singh Gill. These were the “ men who commanded huge TRP” much before Ekta Kapoor’s “soaps”. Both men had a larger than life image, a taste for fine scotch and a certain weakness for women. The women invited must have viewed the evening ahead with some trepidation. It was a full house. Everyone invited attended. The security accompanying the Director General of Police (DGP) was intense. The circuit house swarmed with gunmen. Those were the days of bulletproof cars, walkie-talkies and sub-machine-guns ; terrorism cast a long shadow.

When the chief guests arrived, KPS Gill did not disappoint. At 6½ feet, clad in formals, he was every inch the DGP in mufti. The famous visage, caricatured in the bulb, identified the nondescript Sardarji dressed in a rumpled Pathani suit, accompanying him as “the Khushwant Singh”. Also accompanying them was a lady, slim, well maintained, dressed in loose salwars. Her grey hair was worn simply but elegantly. She had that indefinable air of breeding and refinement, that clung to her like a fine toosh, sensed even when not felt. She had a calm unpretentious manner. When she spoke she looked you directly in the eye, listening more than talking. She enjoyed her glass of whisky. It was much later that we learnt that she was the lesser known “Kaval Malik, Khushwant Singh’s wife”.

As the evening progressed I remember thinking how little truth there was in media reports about Khushwant Singh. He was no womaniser or drunkard. He is in fact a scholar, widely read with a fine repertoire of anecdotes, jokes and urdu poetry. He enjoyed his drinks, he had two that evening and almost took a third, until his wife reminded him that he was over his limit. He politely declined it then. His manners were impeccable, even after he had downed his quota of drinks. He spoke to the women, but with a lively sense of curiosity. He was like a sponge soaking up nuggets of information, and his memory would have put a man half his age to shame.

He shared an easy air of companionship with his Sardarni. Their affection for each other had a tangible identity but there was also a clearly defined independence; each occupied separate space. This was a couple whose marriage had traversed the uneven terrain of life and matrimony and weathered the rocky spots.

Amritsariâs are a people with a taste for good food and good life. In the good old days, Lawrence Road did not sleep till way past midnight. But in 1994, bomb blasts and kidnappings were still fresh and there was a virtual curfew after 9 pm. A walk after dark was still not fashionable in those times. Khushwant Singh was, however, determined, security risks notwithstanding, to walk down the Lawrence Road like in the old times. It was a security disaster. My husband Karan Bir Singh Sidhu, then the Deputy Commissioner at Amritsar, and all the district and police officials walked on eggshells down Lawrence Road, with fingers and toes crossed. But I believe that Khushwant Singh and his Sardarni Kaval extended the curfew deadline that evening for Amritsar. It was the beginning of the end of terrorism.

We met with Mr Khushwant Singh and his family again when they visited Amritsar, on and off, to donate a substantial sum to the energetic Dr Inderjit Kaur’s Pingalwara foundation. We met again, last year, on his trip to Kasauli. He spoke with regret about his Sardarni’s affliction with Alzhiemers. He was deeply disturbed by what had become of his “beautiful tomboy”. She could not speak or remember much. “I am not comfortable leaving her alone or with a nurse, so I don’t travel much now”, said Mr Khushwant Singh. He spoke also about his son and daughter who set aside domestic priorities and willingly took turns to nurse their mother, when he travelled to meet his professional commitments.

When the news reports about the Sardarni having left behind her grieving family made it to the newspapers, they also carried a message from the Sardarji. He wanted to be allowed to grieve privately for his wife. While allowing Mr Khushwant Singh the time and space to grieve for his companion, this piece is dedicated to his Sardarni, whom he has described in his writings as his “gawky schoolmate at Modern School Barakhamba”. She blossomed into a beauty, whom the Sardarji fell in love with and wooed and won in a Quaker Hostel in Buckinghamshire.

His famous liaisons notwithstanding, Khushwant Singh was a man a little in awe of his fiercely independent wife. He relied on her to bring order into his life. She was ill for quite a while, and did not speak much after her affliction with Alzheimers. But theirs was clearly the classical case of true love “in sickness and in health... till death did them a part”, a companionship of 62 years. They were married in October, 1939.

I thank Mr Khushwant Singh for permitting me to share in print my memories of a brief encounter with him and his Sardarni Sahiba.