My seven years in Lahore (1940-47) to make a living as a lawyer were a dismal failure. I continued to live on my patrimony to the last day.
I philosophised that living at other peoples’ quarrels was not worthwhile. When I was driven out of Lahore and returned to Delhi, I gifted away my law books, black gown and lawyer’s collar tabs.
However, I lost many Muslim friends who had no problem in my staying on. I also met one man who looked down on me and never lost an opportunity to belittle me. This was Veer Sawhney. Like me, he also failed to make a living as a lawyer and lived on his patrimony. This included a spacious bungalow with a garden not far from the high court. From the first day we met he decided to dislike me. I returned the compliment. So it went on day after day. He was a shameless name-dropper and claimed to be close to VIPs, including the Prime Minister of Punjab, Sir Sikandar Hayat Khan.
When Hayat Khan died, Veer was there for the funeral embracing other mourners and wailing loudly. He entertained in Nawabi style — all males except the latest entrant in Heera Mandi (Lahore’s red-light district).
His wife returned to her parents. He stood for elections for the Secretary to the High Court Bar Association. I put my name up for the only reason of giving him a drubbing. And I did.
Our fortunes changed on Partition. I returned to the comforts of my father’s home. He had no where to go to. The last I met him was when he was wandering around Connaught Circus. It was cuite a surprise when after 70 years I had three collections of poems with a letter from his son Ashok Sawhney were delivered at my doorstep. The letter claimed that the books were published in London and India. I am pretty certain they were vanity publications, paid for by himself because there are very few takers for poetry. I refused to meet him.
Full report here Deccan Herald
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