Main Shayar Toh Nahin: The Book of Hindi Film Lyricists

By Rajiv Vijayakar

With the advent of sound, Hindi songs acquired a grammar of their own, thanks to the introduction of songs as a part of the narrative - a tradition that is unique to Hindi cinema. This gave rise to a class of professionals who acquired a star status that was in the league of the actors themselves - the lyricists. Rajiv Vijayakar's book chronicles the journeys of leading film lyricists - from D.N. Madhok and Pandit Pradeep to Amitabh Bhattacharya and Irshad Kamil, including stalwarts like Shakeel Badayuni and Sahir Ludhianvi, Majrooh Sultanpuri and Anand Bakshi, Gulzar and Javed Akhtar - who have woven magic with the written word. Filled with trivia and never-before-heard-of anecdotes, Main Shaayar Toh Nahin is an introduction to the contribution made by some of the finest wordsmiths to the Hindi film industry.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins India
• Release date: Jan 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9789351364955

Rajiv Vijayakar

Rajiv Vijayakar was on the National Film Awards jury twice. He is part of the core content team of the Indian Music Experience Museum in Bengaluru and author of The History of Indian Film Music. His paper, 'The Role of a Song in a Hindi Film', is part of the syllabus for South Asian Cinema Studies, University of Edinburgh.

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Preface

‘SANGEET’, or music that is accompanied by words or ‘geet’, has been an integral part of Hindi films for over eighty years now. In spite of that, Hindi film lyricists have often found their work overlooked or acknowledged far less than that of composers and singers. These artistes have very rarely received their due share of the limelight, just like cinematographers and sound recording artists, though our favourite films would not have been the same without them.

According to well-known sleuth Sherlock Holmes, after an explanation of the scientific solution to a seemingly impossible case of crime is given, the impact is considerably lessened. The trick is in making a mystery out of it.

But this is not so in the case of the lyricists – the how and the why behind certain classics leave us even more awestruck with the end product!

The film industry’s poets aimed for far more than mere entertainment. They put forward philosophies, discussed morality, dissected society, gave lessons in realpolitik and questioned the nature of love. Lyricists are poets-cum-philosophers who explore all shades of humanity and every emotion, usually in simple, accessible verse.

My love affair with lyrics began as a child and became stronger as I read more and more Hindi literature while growing up. I would find lines and verses from songs taking root in my mind and would mull over them to the point of obsession. I tried my hand at writing some lyrics, only to be proven that not everyone was up to a job that appeared to be deceptively simple. I realized that my role was that of an ardent admirer, and so I was thrilled upon joining journalism, because that would give me the opportunity to interview some of the artists I idolized.

The first lyricist I met was the legendary Hasrat Jaipuri. My feature on Hasrat saab appeared as a double spread in a leading Mumbai newspaper. It was a moment of great pride for me and came at a time when, as a fledgling freelancer, I was asked by the features editor of that publication to interview a legend from any artistic field for a story in their weekly nostalgia column. For no particular reason (for all I know I might have been humming one of his songs that day), I suggested Hasrat Jaipuri’s name.

My editor asked me who he was, and I was not surprised at his ignorance. Even as we hum some of the most well-known songs from Hindi cinema, many of us would be hard-pressed to recall their lyricists. I told my editor that Hasrat saab was Raj Kapoor’s permanent lyricist until Bobby. That did the trick and I got an instantaneous green signal!

The general awareness about lyricists seems to have become worse today. At a recent musical concert, a singer announced that she was about to sing a ghazal written by Laxmikant-Pyarelal. It was left to the seasoned emcee to correct her faux pas after the performance concluded and say that the ghazal had in fact been written by Asad Bhopali. The oversight aside, many of today’s music lovers do not even know that a ghazal is not a musical form but a poetic format!

When I began my career in journalism, many legendary lyricists who have since passed away were alive, if not active in their fields. Anand Bakshi and Majrooh Sultanpuri were still at the top of their game. I met them time and again, each meeting turning out to be as unforgettable as their body of work. I was privileged to have also met, among the stalwarts, names like Indeevar, Verma Malik, Gulshan Bawra and Qamar Jalalabadi.

I also saw maestro Naushad Ali conjuring ‘living’ images of Dina Nath Madhok (the most popular songwriter of the 1940s) and Shakeel Badayuni, while Shailendra’s son Dinesh spoke to me about his father. Shabana Azmi described her father, Kaifi Azmi, one of the greats I missed meeting, in much the same way. Sameer Anjaan, himself a topflight lyricist, elaborated on the genius that was his father Anjaan.

I also cherish the multiple meetings I had with Sampooran Singh Kalra, who is better known as Gulzar, that standout single encounter with Neeraj when he visited Mumbai, with Yogesh, and those illuminating conversations with Nida Fazli, Maya Govind and Santosh Anand, not to forget the writer-film-makers I met who also excelled at lyrics, like Kidar Nath Sharma, Manoj Kumar and Prakash Mehra.

I gained fresh perspectives from the newer batch of writers who are ‘cool’. So many of them have become my friends. Besides Sameer Anjaan, I must mention the very articulate quartet of Javed Akhtar, Prasoon Joshi, Swanand Kirkire and Irshad Kamil.

Then there are the still younger ones – Shabbir Ahmed, Kumaar, Amitabh Bhattacharya, Manoj Muntashir and more. Of particular mention here is Vishal Dadlani of the Vishal-Shekhar duo, who is also a gifted songwriter.

I wish to thank many people for making this book possible; the acknowledgments section has the names. But there’s another list – of film-makers, composers, writers, singers and even actors and fellow journalists who have, over the years, shared their perceptive insights and valuable opinions with me, and my lyrically sound friends who shared their passionate views.

If I can infuse some of that passion in here and add my own too, I shall consider this book a job well done.

PART ONE

1

THE NATURE AND AIM OF A FILM SONG

SONGS are like human beings. It’s safe to assume that not all are loved by those who listen to them, but however ‘bad’ a song is, someone is always smitten by it.

Each song – its lyrics, melody, vocals, orchestration and its audiovisual and narrative use in the film – has a distinct complexion, aura, image and culture. The underdog principle works here as elsewhere – we tend to have a soft spot for a song we feel has not received its due.

Flashy, populist, slickly produced numbers often became sensations, but did not remain in people’s memory for long. One likes to think that the more substantial ones last, though no one can accurately guess which song will consistently hold on its own amidst the changing tastes of people.

Television and radio channels, music companies, film producers and distributors play selective godfathers, while lyricists and composers have their own favourites even as they try to be neutral.

There are songs that make it on their own steam, songs preceded by great hype that don’t do well, others that bring fame or disrepute to their creators and those that spring out of nowhere to make a mark, like a wonderful surprise. There are leaders and followers too. Trends are set and broken and sometimes reset.

All we can say with confidence is that the listener reacts to a song as an entity at a predominantly subconscious level. Ingrained in that response are several factors like life’s experiences, associations of time and memory, inherent preferences and our own roots. A film song has functions, obligations and responsibilities beyond just being pleasing to the ear.

The title track of a film, for example, contains the movie’s title in its mukhda (sometimes even as a hook or chorus and, rarely, even in the antara) and is expected to be the standout song on the charts. In some cases, only a part of a long title may be used, like in the second line of Majrooh’s song, ‘Unki pyaas, mere mann se na nikli/Aise tadpoon, ke jaise jal bin machhli...’ from the film Jal Bin Machhli Nritya Bin Bijli (1971).

Conventionally, the title track is usually the first song to become popular in a score, often remaining the score’s driver even later, some examples being, ‘Mere mehboob tujhe meri mohabbat ki kasam’ (Mere Mehboob, 1963, Shakeel Badayuni), ‘O meri, o meri, o meri sharmeelee’ (Sharmeelee, 1971, Neeraj) and ‘Samjhauta ghamon se kar lo’ (Samjhauta, 1973, Indeevar), among others.

Despite this broad convention, however, each song has to also connect independently. This is one of its very important duties – to sell a music album outside the parent film. Every song, potentially, is a key contributor to the multibillion Indian music industry.

A film song has to generate interest in and create the first impression of a film (this was the case even at a time when there were no television or digital devices to promote a new film) and help fetch an opening audience for it. If the song is outstanding enough audiovisually, it may attain the status of a holy grail by creating ‘repeat value’ for the film. Despite its success in 1963, Parasmani (Indeevar, Farukh Kaiser and Asad Bhopali were the lyricists) is remembered even fifty-plus years later only for its songs.

The first well-known Hindi song with English words, ‘Aana meri jaan meri jaan Sunday ke Sunday’, written by Pyarelal Santoshi, is all that remains in the public consciousness of the 1947 film Shehnai. The same is true of many films that followed.

The Hindi film song has almost always been an integral part of the script since it is not just a part of musical movies but is used as a narrative device in films of every genre. Besides the main situation, during the interlude music we may see visuals juxtaposed with reference to a character’s past – the golden days of a romance that has since hit a snag, for example, or to scenes that will follow the song – like a police team on the way to arrest the hero who is singing at a party, or a reunion poised to occur even as the heroine mourns her lost love.

At the same time, songs have also been known to kick-start the careers of actors, who go on to become stars. Zeenat Aman, who was Miss India in the late 1960s, came into films with a rare movie that had no songs, Hulchul, and a film called Hungama (both in 1971) which had a lovely duet, Anjaan’s ‘Suraj se jo kiran ka naata’, which went unnoticed. But it was thanks to the chartbuster, ‘Dum maro dum’, from Hare Rama Hare Krishna (1972) that Zeenat found a place among the stars. Of course, the role and the performance did get her the required attention, and the film was a hit too, but what made the first impact was the Anand Bakshi-written chartbuster.

Two other such prime examples are of Madhuri Dixit getting her first hit song with Javed Akhtar’s ‘Ek do teen’ in Tezaab (1988) after going virtually unnoticed in multiple flops, and Aamir Khan attaining instant stardom with Majrooh Sultanpuri’s ‘Papa kehte hain’ in his debut (as a leading man) film Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak (1988). Of course, it was a prerequisite that the films too needed to work at the box office to help convert newcomers or struggling actors into big stars, but the songs were the first magnets that attracted people to both the actors and the film!

Popular songs sometimes end up providing titles for films made in later years. A classic example is Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, the mega-blockbuster of 1995. The title was borrowed from a hit song in the 1974 film Chor Machaye Shor, in which the hero sings ‘Le jayenge le jayenge dilwale dulhaniya le jayenge’, (The braveheart will take away the bride). So perfect was this for the new film that actress Kirron Kher, who suggested it to director Aditya Chopra, was given a special mention in the credit titles.

There are several instances in cinema of phrases from songs leading to the creation of film titles. Like Saveray Waali Gaadi (1986) got its name from the hit song ‘Savere waali gaadi se chale jayenge’ in Laat Saheb (1967); and Hum Tum (2004) from ‘Hum tum ek kamre mein band ho’ in Bobby (1973). A self-referencing nod to the past saw Rishi Kapoor, the hero of Bobby, playing the hero’s middle-aged father in the new film, and was shown performing another Bobby hit, ‘Main shayar to nahin’, on the piano.

Om Shanti Om (2007) came from the hook of the song ‘Om shanti om’ from Karz (1980). Not only was the film inspired by the older film, but it used a song sequence from the original film (‘Ek hasina thi’) as the model for its pre-climax song (‘Dastaan-e-om shanti om’). Suhana Safar (1970) came from ‘Suhana safar aur yeh mausam haseen’ in Madhumati (1958) and Kashmir Ki Kali (1964) was taken from the song ‘Kashmir ki kali hoon main’ from Junglee (1961).

As film-makers borrowed (and still do) more and more from the past, we get to see reworked versions of earlier songs in films today. In such cases, either the original song is treated to a new sound (as in Javed Akhtar’s ‘So gaya yeh jahaan’ from Tezaab – 1988 – that was used in Nautanki Saala! – 2013) or, as is more frequently the case, it is re-recorded with a different singer and new orchestration.

In many cases, the old song can even become an apt title of the new film, like ‘Dum maro dum’ (from the 1972 film Hare Rama Hare Krishna) that was recreated in the 2011 film, which was also titled Dum Maaro Dum. Bachna Ae Haseeno (2008) was a title derived from the song ‘Bachna ae haseeno’ in Hum Kisise Kum Naheen (1977).

Referencing its own history throughout, the number was sung by the original singer Kishore Kumar’s son Sumit Kumar with technology facilitating the use of fragments of the original track, and performed by the original hero Rishi Kapoor’s son Ranbir Kapoor. This technology has been used in many other songs as well.

Last but not the least of the duties of our songs is to entice the overseas viewer who does not know Hindi. Hindi films have won over non-Hindi Indian and overseas audiences primarily because of their entertaining song-and-dance quotient.

There are thousands of viewers addicted to Hindi cinema across all continents, who hum or sing our songs without necessarily knowing what the lyrics mean, and even watch our movies only for the songs. The phonetic flow and rhyme of the lyrics contribute to the allure for even non-Hindi speaking listeners.

A film song aims to be the perfect fit to a situation in a movie and align with the sentiments of the characters in it. In a nutshell, songs are key junctures in the script where the dialogues and visuals take a pause and the story continues musically, often covering ground in a few minutes that would take a script much longer to do,

In the process, it also becomes an entertaining diversion as well that adds to the commercial value of a film.

2

STRUCTURE OF A FILM SONG

WHILE there have been exceptions from the beginning, as a rule, film songs tend to follow the conventions of a mukhda-antara structure. A mukhda, which can be either one, two or more lines long, is the main thought behind a song and encapsulates the essence of what is being conveyed. It is generally repeated at regular intervals after each antara, usually with either the first line or in its entirety.

For example, Shailendra’s ‘Barsaat mein humse mile tum, tumse mile hum barsaat mein’ (You and I met each other in this rain) from Barsaat has a single-line mukhda, while that by Sahir Ludhianvi in Waqt (1965) is four lines long: ‘Aye meri zohra jabeen/Tujhe maloom nahin/Tu abhi tak hai haseen aur main jawaan/Tujhpe qurbaan meri jaan, meri jaan’ (Oh my beloved, you do not know that you are still beautiful and I am still in my youth/My life is all yours).

Then we also have Rajendra Krishan’s two-liner from Blackmail (1973), ‘Pal pal dil ke paas tum rehti ho/Jeevan meethi pyaas yeh kehti ho...’ (You live next to my heart every moment, and as you say, life is a sweet thirst). The mukhda thus creates the thematic base for the emotions portrayed in a song.

The antara forms the body of the lyrics – the stanza that expounds on the thought in the mukhda. Most film songs have at least two antaras, though they may have four or, in rare cases, even more. Traditionally, lyricists maintain an ascending graph in the successive antaras, giving the song a narrative feel (akin to a nazm – a poem that tells a story), wherein the greatest punch or effect comes in the last one. The word mukhda literally means ‘the face’ and antara refers to what is ‘inside’.

The rhyming patterns of the mukhda and the antara vary, while the portion where the antara goes back to a repeat of the mukhda is called a ‘cross-line’. The cross-line usually rhymes with at least one line of the mukhda.

Here, for example, is the first stanza of the title-song from the 1960 film Chaudhvin Ka Chand, wherein the lover goes into raptures about his beloved’s beauty. Filmed on Guru Dutt as his very poetic and vocal eulogy to his beloved Waheeda Rehman in the film, it was written by Shakeel Badayuni before composer Ravi set it to music.

The mukhda:

Chaudhvin ka chand ho,

Yaa aaftaab ho…

Jo bhi ho tum Khuda ki qasam,

Laajawaab ho…

Chaudhvin ka chand ho… (First line repeated)

(Are you the full moon or the sun? Whoever you are, I swear on God that you are incomparable)

The antara:

Zulfein hain jaise kaandhon pe,

Baadal jhuke hue…

Aankhen hain jaise maye ke,

Pyaale bhare hue…

(Your tresses are like bowing clouds on your shoulders, your eyes like goblets filled with nectar)

(The cross-line rhyming with the mukhda):

Masti hai jis mein pyar ki,

Tum woh sharaab ho…

(Your eyes are like wine suffused with the intoxication of love)

(The repeated mukhda):

Chaudhvin ka chand ho

Yaa aaftaab ho

Jo bhi ho tum Khuda ki qasam

Laajawaab ho.

Chaudhvin ka chand ho…

To make the lyrics more effective, sometimes, an introductory sher (rhyming couplet) is added, or a longer verse spoken or sung in a rhythmic way to set the stage for the main thought. An example is from the hit Majrooh Sultanpuri song from Shagird (1967). The song, sung by Lata Mangeshkar for Saira Banu, is a response to this prelude couplet sung by Mohammed Rafi for hero Joy Mukerji:

Dil le liya to issko mat bekaraar karna

Iss ka koi nahin hai iss dil ko pyar karna

(If you have taken away my heart, do not make it restless. It does not have anyone, so do give it your love).

After this we have the main song, with the mukhda:

Dil vil pyar vyar main kya jaanu re

Jaanu to jaanu bas itna ki main tujhe apnaa maanu re

(I don’t know what heart or love mean, all I know is that I consider you my own).

There may be interpolations in prose or rhyme (a device usually used for romantic statements) before the beginning of each antara. A classic case is Hasrat Jaipuri’s song in Aman, ‘Aaj ki raat yeh kaisi raat’, sung by Mohammed Rafi, in which leading lady Saira Banu exclaims a few words during the interlude.

Some songs have a separate, concluding part that is connected in concept to the main song but takes it to a higher level, usually a rousing climax, like Santosh Anand’s, ‘Main na bhoolunga’ (Roti Kapada Aur Makaan), in which every antara was similar to each other in meter, but for the last one that was differently structured to raise the bar of emotional intensity. The film’s maker Manoj Kumar was fond of this special quality in his songs, and used them in ‘Dulhan chali o pehen chali’ (Purab Aur Pacchim) and ‘Chana zor garam’ (Kranti) as well. These songs were respectively written by Indeevar and Santosh Anand.

The composers of this song, Laxmikant-Pyarelal, were known to break the flow of the song in an innovative way by having one antara differently structured from the rest, usually the second or middle one of three, to provide some variety. This was also something done occasionally by other composers (like Naushad’s ‘Aaj purani raahon se’ from Aadmi), but the duo made it a habit more often than anyone else. They were also known to have differently structured antaras when only two were there.

These variations were often seen in duets or songs with multiple singers. In Amar Akbar Anthony, Anand Bakshi created three diverse antaras with the common mukhda, ‘Humko tumse ho gaya hai pyar kya kare/Bolo to jeeye bolo to mar jaayen’ for the three lead pairs, who hailed from different backgrounds and communities. The lyrical tenors and vocabulary also changed to reflect these differences between the Hindu Amar (a cop) to the Muslim Akbar (a qawwal) and the Christian Anthony. In fact, duets and multi-singer songs provided free ground for innovation and variations.

In the far more common duets, both the characters echoed the same sentiments, like in the song by Shailendra in Guide. In this case, both the hero and heroine sing the same lines:

Gaata rahe mera dil

Tu hi meri manzil

Kahin beete na yeh raatein

Kain beete na yeh din

(My heart keeps singing that in you it has found its destination. May these days and nights never pass.)

There would also be the question and answer song, like the Aan Milo Sajana chartbuster by Anand Bakshi:

Heroine: Accha to hum chalte hain (It’s time for me to leave)

Hero: Phir kab miloge? (When will you meet me again?)

Heroine: Jab bhi tum kahoge (Whenever you say…)

The Kausar Munir song from the romantic comedy Chashme Baddoor (2013) uses this format to portray a witty exchange:

Hero: Dekha tujhe to tassalli hui, chal aakhir maa ko bahu mil gayi

(When I saw you, I knew my mother had found a perfect daughter-in-law)

Heroine: Haan baat yeh teri acchi lagi, kya hai tera aur bhai koi

(I like what you say. Do you have a brother I can marry?)

Hero: Saathiya, le jaa mera dil tu

(Why don’t you accept me?)

Heroine: Pehle ban jaa isske qaabil tu

(First become worthy of me)

In some cases, the hero or heroine comes in later in what seems to be a solo, like in Anjaan’s ‘Salaam-e-ishq meri jaan’ from Muqaddar Ka Sikander, wherein the hero ‘enters’ the song after two antaras.

The chorus or backup may sing words or only alaap (a form of melodic improvisation) or hum other syllables. In a qawwali, as per what is required, the chorus is there in almost every line, either singing along with the main vocalist or immediately repeating the same line.

However, over the decades, rules and conventions have been broken many times. Many contemporary songs do not employ a mukhda-antara structure at all, like Javed Akhtar’s ‘Mere dushman mere bhai mere humsaaye’ from the film Border.

3

THE ART AND CRAFT OF

A FILM SONG

SOMETIME in the late 1990s, lyricist-poet-screenwriter Javed Akhtar told me, ‘I am certainly not on a mission to improve the vocabulary of the people, which undoubtedly isn’t what it should be. Youngsters now tend to end sentences with a vague You know what I mean!, and I have to tell them, No! I do not know what you mean! Please tell me!’

In 2008, almost a decade later, Akhtar said, ‘I must tell you one thing about Indian rock musicians. I find their outfits and accessories modern or hip, but the content of their songs is very traditional. You get to hear the same purane (old) thoughts. There’s nothing new and that has always disturbed me. So the first aspect I decided to take care of was that the songs of Rock On!! (a film on rock musicians) would be different in content. The concerns, content and language, I decided, would not be that of typical Indian songs.’

He went on, ‘Most Hindi film songs, if you study them, are sourced either from the ghazal or folk, and that’s what I have avoided, because I decided to have modern content as well. So in the song ‘Socha hai yeh tumne kya kabhi/Socha nahin to socho abhi’ (Have you thought about this anytime, if not, think now), for example, the character asks strange questions throughout, that also speak of environmental and social consciousness, like

Ped ho gaye kam kyoon, teen hai yeh mausam kyoon

Chand do kyoon nahin?

Duniye mein hain jung kyoon

Behta hai laal rang kyoon

Sarhadein hain kyoon har kahin?

(Why has the number of trees reduced, why are there only three seasons and why are two moons not there, why are there wars in the world, why does blood flow, and why are people separated by borders?)

Akhtar goes on, ‘In the song "Pichhle saat dinon mein", the character lists objects that he has misplaced in the last week.’ Here is a part of the song:

Meri laundry ka ek bill

Ik aadhi padhi novel

Ek ladki ka phone number

Mere kaam ka ek paper

Mere, taash se heart ka king

Meri ik chaandi ki ring

Pichhle saat dinon mein maine khoya

(A laundry bill, a half-read novel, a girl’s phone number, an important paper, the king of Hearts from my pack of cards and a silver ring – these are what I have misplaced within the last week).

Akhtar maintains that while he does not believe in peddling what he considers obscure verse, he does use offbeat or ‘musical’ words when he gets an opportunity.

Iconic poet-lyricist Neeraj, on the other hand, does believe in adding value to the language of the masses. ‘If a song has fifty words and if I can incorporate even one rare or unused word musically, isn’t it a pleasant way of adding value to people’s vocabulary?’ he asked me when we met in the late 1990s. In Mahesh Bhatt’s Gunaah, he thus wrote:

Apna udgam kahaan apna sangam kahaan

Ek dhaara hai tu, ek dhaara hoon main

(We are like independently flowing rivers that do not know either our origins or points of confluence with the sea).

‘I resisted all pressures to change the word udgam, which means a river’s starting-point but is barely in use,’ revealed the poet, adding, ‘In my song "O meri sharmeelee, I used my own pen-name Neeraj, meaning the lotus in the sentence, O neeraj naina aa zaraa" (O lotus-eyed beauty, come to me).’

Irshad Kamil, the well-known Urdu poet and lyricist of this generation, once told me, ‘It is so ironic that people appreciated good lyrics more in the past and