In this six-minute musical performance, Professor Paramjeet Singh delivers a stirring rendition of "Nigh Hai Na Roshni Hai" ("Night has no light"), a Punjabi poem by celebrated poet Dr. Surjit Patar. The work explores a central paradox: in the absence of night—or darkness—there is no light, and in the absence of friendship, there is no meaning. Through repeated refrains and poetic layering, the piece interrogates how companionship, love, and human connection form the bedrock of existence, while simultaneously acknowledging the self-destructive impulses and contradictions embedded in human relationships.
The opening refrain—"Nigh Hai Na Roshni Hai" (Night is, but light is not)—establishes the poem's foundational paradox. At face value, the statement seems to declare that night exists without light. But the deeper logic reverses this: without night, there can be no concept of light. Darkness is not the opposite of illumination; rather, it is the prerequisite for perceiving light. The poem uses this binary to frame friendship and human connection in identical terms. Just as light requires darkness to exist as a meaningful category, human meaning requires companionship to be fully realized.
Throughout the performance, this refrain becomes a mantra, anchoring each new thought or image back to the same philosophical premise. The repetition is not mere incantation; it functions as a philosophical insistence, forcing the listener to contemplate why the absence of friendship ("teri dosti") creates a void analogous to the absence of light in darkness.
The second major image introduces a shift toward darker territory. The poem juxtaposes "hatya" (murder) with "khud kushi" (suicide), repeating the pairing with slight variations: "Hathiya na khud kushi hai" (It is not murder but suicide). This distinction matters profoundly. Murder is an act of violence directed outward; suicide is violence directed inward, toward the self. The poem suggests that the violence inherent in loneliness—the absence of friendship—is ultimately a form of self-annihilation.
By connecting friendship to the prevention of self-destruction, the poem elevates companionship beyond sentiment into a matter of existential survival. It is not that friendship is "nice" or "pleasant"; rather, the absence of friendship constitutes a kind of slow suicide, a gradual erasure of the self. This is underscored by the metaphorical language: friendship is framed as the only antidote to the self-destructive impulses lurking within human nature.
The poem introduces another refrain: "Ek aisi aashiki hai" (There is such a love). This phrase encapsulates an impossible, paradoxical form of affection—a love that exists between contradictions, a devotion that acknowledges its own impossibility. Aashiki, often translated as love or passion, carries connotations of romantic intensity and spiritual surrender. Yet here it is qualified as "ek aisi" (such a one, a particular kind), suggesting that the love being invoked is not ordinary romantic love but something more complex and fraught.
This paradoxical love mirrors the poem's central structure: just as night requires darkness to make light visible, this form of love seems to require contradiction or tension to remain vital. The poem does not resolve this paradox but rather dwells within it, asking the listener to sit with the discomfort of loving something that is simultaneously destructive and necessary.
Late in the performance, the poem introduces the image of "bansri" (flute)—specifically, a "bansri besuree" (an out-of-tune flute). This is a rich allusion to Krishna, whose divine play (lila) is inseparable from the sound of the flute. In the Bhakti tradition, Krishna's flute call awakens devotion and draws the soul toward the divine. To describe the flute as "out of tune" is to suggest that even the sacred instrument of divine connection has lost its harmony, become dissonant.
This image can be read in multiple ways. It may suggest that without friendship (the implicit subject threading through all the poem's metaphors), even the instruments of spiritual connection become discordant. Or it may propose that human relationships, like the flute, are inherently imperfect—"besuree"—yet still capable of calling forth devotion and connection despite their flaws. The imperfection is not a failure but a condition of authenticity.
Another prominent refrain appears near the conclusion: "N toh muh ja, yara" (Don't turn back, friend). This is a cry of resistance, a plea to the beloved—whether friend, lover, or companion—not to abandon the relationship. The repetition of "yara" (friend, beloved) intensifies the emotional weight. It is not a command but a vulnerable appeal, acknowledging the real possibility of betrayal and separation while simultaneously refusing it.
This moment shifts the poem from metaphysical inquiry into lived emotional reality. The abstract philosophy of night and light, of suicide and murder, collapses into a single human moment: one person begging another not to leave. The poem suggests that all its grand philosophical architecture ultimately rests on this simple, fragile human plea—the request not to be abandoned.
The final major image introduces "mere sir kaja khadi hai" (a debt stands on my head). Kaja, or debt, carries both literal and metaphorical weight in South Asian literature. It represents obligation, indebtedness, and often shame. To have a debt "standing on one's head" is to be crushed by obligation, weighed down by what one owes. In the context of the poem's meditation on friendship and companionship, this image suggests that human connection inevitably creates obligations that cannot be repaid, debts that bind us to one another inescapably.
Yet rather than presenting this as a burden to be resented, the poem seems to suggest that this very indebtedness—this weight—is what makes human connection real and binding. The debt is not accidental but central to the structure of love and friendship. Without it, connection would remain weightless, theoretical, unreal.
Throughout the performance, Professor Paramjeet Singh renders each image with deliberate pacing, allowing the Punjabi words to resonate fully before moving to the next phrase. His vocal delivery emphasizes the cyclical nature of the refrains, turning them into mantras that accumulate meaning with each return. The performance is not merely a recitation but an interpretive act—the speaker's voice becomes a vehicle for deepening the listener's engagement with the text's philosophical inquiry.
The performance also incorporates moments of spoken commentary, where the professor steps outside the poetic text to reflect on its meaning. At one point, he notes that the poem raises a vital question ("ek sawal bhi hai"), emphasizing that the work is not merely lyrical but interrogative. He suggests that in contemporary discourse, much falsehood is being promoted ("har subject jo jhooth hai"), positioning the poem as a countervoice offering genuine inquiry into the nature of human connection and meaning.
This poem and Professor Paramjeet Singh's rendering of it invite deeper engagement with several related domains. Readers interested in Punjabi poetry should explore more of Dr. Surjit Patar's work, which grapples with questions of identity, language, and loss in the Punjabi diaspora. Those drawn to the philosophical dimensions—the meditation on light and darkness, on existence and non-existence—might turn to classical Punjabi Sufi poets like Bulleh Shah or the Bhakti traditions that likewise play with paradox and contradiction as tools for spiritual inquiry.
The poem also resonates with contemporary discussions about loneliness, mental health, and the role of human connection in preventing self-harm. Rather than treating these as separate domains, the poem suggests they are fundamentally intertwined with our capacity to love and be loved. Finally, those interested in the performance traditions of Punjabi literature—the practice of rendering poetry as music—may wish to explore other practitioners who combine vocal artistry with textual interpretation, understanding performance as a valid mode of philosophical inquiry.
