He
is always reluctant to talk about his poetry and he seldom recites a poem of his
own in the company of even his most intimate friends. He has never thought of
sending his poems to the journals and newspaper for publication. He has composed
as many as 175 poems, both long and short, during the last four years but the
idea of getting them printed in a book form is still alien to him. Poetry, in
fact, comes naturally to him, as naturally as he performs eye-operations or
takes snaps in sun and shade or plays basket-ball and table tennis. Once he was
a voracious reader of world fiction. He read novels by Tolstoy, Emile Zola,
Charles Reade, Solzenitsyn, Pearl S Buck, Somerset Maugham and of course Nanak
Singh and Narinder pal Singh. But that was only a passing phase. Later he turned
to Punjabi poetry, both classic and modern. Now he does not read much. He simply
studies life and in a tense moment, he takes pen in his hand and turns out a
poem or two.Daljit Singh was born on October 11, 1934 in Amritsar. He inherited deep understanding and keen observation from his father, Prof. Sahib Singh, who was a renowned theologian. After passing his F.Sc. Examination in 1951 from Khalsa College, Amritsar, he got admission in Medical College, Amritsar, from where he took his MBBS degree in 1956. He then joined Punjab Civil Medical Service and served for some years at Primary Health Centre, Sidhwan Bet. In the meanwhile he took his DOMS in 1959 and MS in 1963. For about four years he worked as assistant professor at Medical College, Patiala, where he composed his first poem on September 21, 1971. At present he is a professor of opthalmology at Ram Lai Eye Hospital and Medical College, Amritsar. He is the only active member from India of the International Intraocular Implant Club.
He has accepted life as it is but not the ways of the world. He does not view things in a conventional manner. He has something new to say on all matters. He admits that 'God is in His Heaven' but refuses to acknowledge that 'All is well with the world'. Rather he thinks that man's inhumanity to man is the root-cause of all the evils in the world. He believes in the existence of Hell
and Heaven but their location is not in the higher regions or the lower ones but on this very earth. For some people life is heavenly, while for others it is hellish. Why so ?- his soul poses a question. And all his poetry is a search for an answer to this question. Being a surgeon, he cannot help using the imagery peculiar to his profession. In 'Blood and Bug' he says-
In big hospitals
It's possible
To cure many serious maladies
But the doctors find it rather difficult
To cure blood-anaemia.
The blood
Which the medicines produce in the body
Is drained off,
Openly or surreptitiously.
By the bugs,
Well-fed and well-experienced.
At times he is angry and wants 'to change the sorry scheme of things entire'. But he never gives vent to his feelings in such a frame of mind. He knows how to control his temper. In a subdued tone, he simply asks-
If your grown-up son
Whom you call a 'dear'
Whom you consider 'the future'
Sees you weltering'in the mire of sin
Or going about naked in the streets
Or pimping for your wife
Then-
If his warm blood boils
And for the honour of his mother,
He takes a stand against you and calls you 'dishonourable'
What would you do ?
If you turn him out and throw him before the hounds
whom would you make your successor ?
Man is generally a victim of egocentricity. He looks upon
himself, not as he really is, but as others consider him to be. His
narcissism sometimes carries him too far and then he is lost in
the wilderness of make-believe. Such a situation cannot exist for
Ttie Contours of Punjabi Poetry 65
all times to come. Sooner or later, he has to face reality, however harsh it may be. But this transition from the world of make-believe to the world of reality is never smooth. A rude shock is needed to shake such a person out of his complacency. In his beautiful poem 'Your Shadow', Daljit Singh has said something that is too true-
The adulation
Which your friends showered on you
Went into your head
And you imagined yourself invaluable.
Like Narcissus
You fell in love with your own reflection
And regarded your shadow as hallowed.
Now the time has come
When a dear friend of yours
Takes upon himself the responsibility of
Clipping your wings
To make you re-establish your contact with the earth
And to release you from the meshes of egocentricity.
Furthermore
He should crush your face
Against your mirror
To remind you of the realities
Harsh and bitter.
Irony and sarcasm are the core of Daljit Singh's poetry. His heart bleeds when he sees around him multitudes devoid of human feelings. He is aghast to view the devastation which man's inhumanity to man has wrought. He wants to know if it is worthwhile to live in the world of today when there is so much poverty, squalor and disease all round. The living are envious of even the dead. How can the dead enjoy the peace and security of their graves, when the people have no roof over their heads ? Why not turn the dead out to make room for the living shadows ? In 'Living Corpses' the poet says-
If you have no means
To construct a cottage of your own
Then make your way to the graveyard
And raise up the dead.
Ask them
To vacate the graves
And mix up with the millions of living corpses
Else, they should vanish into the thin air.
What right have they
To enjoy sound sleep
In the bitter cold of winter
And the scorching heat of summer
When the living dead
Have no means to protect themselves
From the vagaries of seasons ?
He also has a dig at the hippies who have run away from their homes to lead a life of vagrancy and irresponsibility. Why should they toil when the others are doing their work ? In his poem 'Hippies', the poet has expressed his views in an artistic manner on this worldwide problem-No home no village
Have we
The whole earth is a big inn.
We remember not
Brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers
On the roads, known and unknown,
We roam about with bag and baggage.
Nothing attracts us
None fascinates us
Work has no meaning for us.
(Why should we, when you are doing it ?)
Bother we not about any loss or pain
Your sorrows ? Ha L.ha !... ha !
We live for ourselves
We live for the moments.
Annoyed if you are
It's your own sweet will
No time have we
For the joys and sorrows of the world.
True, the poet has a deep-rooted contempt for such drifters. but the question arises whether the individuals are at fault or the
society that has produced such persons. Surely, society cannot absolve itself from all the blame. Condemnation is unavoidable
but what next ? How to rehabilitate them ? That is the question. Daljit Sigh has a versatile mind. His creative energy has found release in many directions. After devoting some years to Punjabi poetry, he is now engaged in photography, coloured rather than black and white, with all his heart and soul. He feels that camera can capture a mood or a moment more vividly and truthfully than the mind of man. That colouring of imagination which is a special feature of poetic expression is also there if the eye behind the camera-lens is that of an artist. He has so far taken more than ten thousand snaps and sometimes he takes 100 to 150 snaps in a day. It has been his hobby since boyhood but now it is his passion. In photography his favourite subjects are human eyeballs, introspective moods of Nature (both man and bird and beast) and familiar yet strange spectacles of human activity. In spite of his busy routine he snatches some moments to compose a poem or two. Keeping this in view it is hoped he will not for long pursue one art at the cost of the other.