The
poetry of Prabhjot Kaur presents the spectrum of life. There was a time when she
found herself lost in the rosy mistiness of adolescence. At that time the
sensations mattered the most. That period was no doubt evanescent but it left
behind pleasant memories of the awakening of the innerself. The glory and the
freshness of a dream were gone but soon their place was taken by the intensity
of pleasure and the acuteness of pain. The warp and woof of pleasure and pain
enmeshed the body as well as the mind for a pretty long period and it appeared
to be the end of the road. What was the need for comprehending the unknown1
while the known appeared to be so good, so satisfying, albeit at times
frustrating ? A time came when the mind revolted against the languorous
existence. It wanted to know the purpose of life. In Mantav (The Aim), Prabhjot
Kaur says-What life is this ?
Wherein lies its purpose ?
What's the origin ?
What's the end ?
What's the need of moral obligation ?
Before long, penitence grips the mind.
On this earth
Nothing is gained without pain
(Not a leaf stirs without His grace)
One has to pay in full
The price of every moment.
The poetess knows full well that every moment is transitory and it is futile to crave for the things past. Still at times she feels nostalgic and recollects the days gone by. Perhaps the past is eternally present in every moment and this factor makes life rich and meaningful. In her famous poem Pabbi, she says-
Those were the days
These are the days
Those were the days
Bright and beautiful
Like the advent of spring.
But now life is
Insignificant, worthless.
I taste all the time
The poison of life.
Joys and sorrows-Identical, alike-Nothing fascinates, nothing attracts.
There is only now
A painful consciousness
Of the breath
That moves through the lips.
The modern man is undoubtedly in the grip of the ennui of life. Nothing happens, nothing transpires. There is a long wait for Godot, but he will never come. So there is no hope for the thawing of the frost of mundane existence. The lacklustre life is like the cancerous growth that is blighting the whole system. In Akewan (Boredom), she says-All alone
We go on seeing each other's faces.
Faces
That are primitive, antiquated.
Since ages
We have been condemned
To look at each other.
The chariot of life is
Self-propelled, self-controlled.
We have been caught in the cycle of
Days and nights-
The routine of life is endless,
The hours are crowded
But underneath all this hubbub
A void is deepening.
Prabhjot at times transcends time and space with a view to having a glimpse of the reality of life. She wants to see into the life of things. But she is baffled to find man losing his true self in the mad pursuit of material gains. Where is the man who craved for complete identification witft tne ooject 01 nis desires t rsow the whole tenor of life is changed. The poetess bemoans in Kaya Kappar-
Who knows
How have we come to
This phase of life?
Here there is only
A long stretch of stillness.
You and I
Separate egos, irreconcilable entities
Baffled and flabbergasted
We are ever peeping into this void.
Else
We steal the thoughts of each other
Just to meet the ends of our motives. In her poetry echoes the voice of the woman of today. The modern Eve has emancipated herself from the shackles of social conventions. She is now on the road to achieving the equality of sexes. There is no clash of wills, no conflict of cross purposes. The quest for a separate entity is also to a great extent over. What remains, however, is the understanding of the role that she has to play in life. There is a big chasm between her objectives and their realisation. What are the objectives ? Who knows ? But the sense of loss and the feeling of nothingness are painfully present in the consciousness. Man is no more the aim, the goal. He is in fact a miserable creature, needing the help of woman in his moments of gloom. Prabhjot Kaur makes her readers aware of the plight of a soul in quest of the illusions that have deserted her in the hour of her sore need. Will their be no end to the restlessness of the soul that craves for new avenues of expression ? The horizon of experience is for ever receding-
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
Forever and forever when I move.