Legacy of a self-made man

Roopinder Singh

It was the retirement day of a colleague from the Punjabi Tribune, well-known Punjabi writer Prem Gorkhi. ‘You know, I had met your father,’ he told me. ‘A long time ago, I was an attendant at a fuel station when Giani Gurdit Singh and his fellow passengers came over to get diesel filled in their van. He noticed that I had kept a book to read. After chatting with me to find out what I was reading, Gianiji gave me Mera Pind and other books. He encouraged me to continue reading and writing, and said I would have a brilliant future.’

Gorkhi was describing a man who was always at ease talking with people and could easily transcend class and linguistic barriers. After a childhood with doting parents and loving sisters, he lost his father, Hira Singh, early and had to shoulder family responsibilities. No newspaper made it to Mithewal, his village. However, the fire to learn propelled him, on a cycle, to the neighbouring Mandi Ahmedgarh, where a kindly schoolteacher would save up the week’s papers so the young man could read them.

He was educated in the village gurdwara, tried to understand Gurbani and had a passion for old manuscripts. At 23, he addressed a Sarbat Khalsa at Amritsar on the Ragmala issue. A year later, he founded the daily Punjabi newspaper, Parkash. Later, he would write many books, become a scholar, a member of the Punjab Legislative Council, and play a significant role in the religious and cultural life of Punjab. He would also lead the Singh Sabha movement.

A self-deprecating man, he would rub shoulders with intellectuals of the day, yet always kept an earthly sense of humour and remained true to his roots. Be it Mithewal, Patiala, Chandigarh, Amritsar or Delhi, his homes were where people always dropped in. Once, in Delhi, lunch was not laid for a long time, and finally, my hungry father asked our help: ‘What happened? No lunch.’ Pat came the reply: ‘Sahib, only the family is here; I was waiting for some guest to join us.’

He loved to travel and was often out of the home for at least a week or two every month. He could speak in English, too, although a bit hesitatingly. When questioned about how he communicated when he travelled abroad, which he did frequently, he said: ‘I manage quite well. You are not there to nitpick about my pronunciation.’

As we celebrate his birth centenary today, with several public events slated for the year, many memories come flooding in; people remind me of his contributions to literature, religion and political life. I remember Gorkhi’s words: ‘Gianiji gently encouraged me to do my best.’ Giani Gurdit Singh’s books keep his legacy alive, and his memories fulfil our lives.