Pinjar means a skeleton. A trap. A soul-less frame of what you once used to be.
I read Pinjar some time back, and kept putting off the review. Today when I sat down to finally write it, I was in a deep thought. Kept going back to what another masterpiece by Amrita Pritam made me feel. All I could feel was a dark liquid oozing into my chest, taking me back to the painful history of my country - the blood, the massacres, the assaults. When the British had to go back but couldn’t do so without changing the fates of billions - for the worse. Or maybe they who did that were the countrymen themselves, for their 200 years of being a British colony had drained them of all things humane.
Still, with the corpses lining the streets, and mountain-load of ashes that once used to people’s “home”, the worst affected lot were the women. If things aren’t favourable for them now, what do you expect them to be decades back? Women : when you wanted to show your power over the rival community. Women : when your ego was in shreds. Women : when the guts to face your peers was in pieces. Women : when the weakest of the weak wanted to feel like kings. Women : when they wanted to ruin a life just to feel superior for some time.
Coming to Pinjar, it was heartbreaking. It was tragic, melancholic, and a complete blast that will shook you to the core. It was about women and the partition. It was about lives made and lives destroyed. It was about the oppressor and the oppressed. It was about the grey side to every community. It was about love and hatred. It was about unity and chaos.
In the story, Puro’s life changes forever just before her fairytale-like wedding. How the past grudges of her ancestors with another family of a different religion makes her a soft target for the years old revenge. She doesn’t belong, and is left dangled between two parallel universes because her own family didn’t want to accept the shell of a daughter she used to be. Puro screams on the inside, and that scream reaches right into your heart. She feels like killing herself and the life within her because her body feels like an object anybody could tamper. And that’s when she realises how she isn’t a woman now - but just a pinjar. A walking and breathing shadow, dead on the inside. And that’s when she stumbles upon other women like her.
Puro’s life is interconnected to other lives of women like her, some of them she nurtured - and others slipped from between her fingers. These lives are the most difficult and disturbing to read. Painful examples of how women ceased to belong to either side of the border because they became mere pawns in the “bigger picture”. These women had everything but the love, security and respect they deserved. This book shows you how poisonous things can be, and have been for the people who came and fought before you.
Not just that, but Puro also goes a long way establishing relationships, losing and finding the people who once consisted of her little world.
There is a Puro in every woman, waiting for justice to prevail. Waiting for that woman to fight back, to make for her a life that Puro herself couldn’t. She was an unsung warrior - and though you’ll argue that she didn’t fight on borders or save countries - I know that she was a fighter you could root for. And so were the women who allowed themselves to blossom amidst the darkness, and those who couldn’t - they’ll know that their sacrifice hasn’t gone in vain.
A very realistic story that captures the ongoing of human mind and complexities like never before.