DISCOVERING AMRITA JI

It’s been a couple of weeks since I started reading Rasidi Ticket by Amrita Pritam—a book filled with anecdotes from her life. Those familiar with Amrita Ji’s writing would agree that she was a phenomenal storyteller. Not just because she lived a life that could easily be a movie, but because of the way she observed the world—the way she found meaning in the smallest of things, turning them into profound metaphors.

Who would have thought that eating half a roti could hold a story? Or that a simple jacket, meant to provide warmth, could carry the warmth of her words across generations?

Now, as I type this, I realize how slowly I’ve been reading—not because I don’t have time, but maybe because I don’t want to finish it quickly. Maybe I want to stay with this book a little longer. Every few pages, I come across stories that make me pause, that make me reflect on the sheer brilliance of her writing.

One such story that stayed with me was from Amrita Ji’s childhood. She recalls a day when her father’s Muslim friend visited their home. As she stood in the kitchen, she noticed her grandmother carefully picking a glass from a separate set of three, reserved specifically for Muslims. It was a quiet act, something that had likely been happening for years. But young Amrita noticed. She questioned it. And in that moment, she realized something—a seed of inclusivity was planted in her heart. She later wrote, "Perhaps that was the day I knew I had to fight for Muslim inclusivity. And who knew I would do it forever."

To be able to narrate a story like this—to capture such profound realizations in such simple words—is the magic of Amrita Pritam. One can only draw inspiration from her and learn to see the world with new perspectives.

Alright, now I have to get back to reading.
Bye!