The Demise Of The Lyric

DID publicity-mongering film-maker Mukesh Bhatt stage the altercation with lyricist Majrooh Sultanpuri to garner attention for Ghulam? After all, Manisha Koirala was 'murdered' in a pre-release ad for Criminal; debutante Sushmita Sen had to outglare media scrutiny of her private life before the release of Dastak. This time, it was Sultanpuri berating Aati kya Khandala?, a number warbled by star Aamir Khan himself for Ghulam. Sultanpuri, at a function to honour singer Talat Meh-mood, flogged the lyrics as "prostitution of the pen". The verbal fireworks that ensued kindled the pertinent question—whether film lyrics have degenerated, succumbing to mass-driven market forces.

Fumes Sultanpuri, still nettled over Bhatt's "sadak-chhap language": "I didn't know the film's director or producer. I objected to the obscene suggestion in the line that exemplifies the decay of today's lyrics. Bhatt reacted personally to a purely academic observation." A rattled Sultanpuri, who registered a police complaint, says his stunned household had to hear Bhatt's choice abuses over the speaker phone. The Bhatt brothers counter that a "senile mind" conjured up these "abuses". To which Sultanpuri says: "Determine quality by asking if these songs would provoke anxiety, embarrassment among female members of the family. If you compromise for survival, how different are you from a prostitute?"

Bhatt dismisses Sultanpuri's fulminations as "too insignificant to warrant reaction. I'm happy celebrating Ghulam's success. People's verdict has made that song a national anthem." His brother, film-maker Mahesh Bhatt, is unwilling to accept Sultanpuri's censure of debutant song-writer Nitin Bedekar. "Sultanpuri is among the ten greats of Bollywood's golden era. But who's to decide on taste? Sultanpuri, because he has the stature and a platform? Or the masses, who love the song?" Observes the brother: "The West slots such songs, be it by the Beatles or Madonna, as pop lyrics. Unfortunately, you haven't created such a genre."

He quotes Sultanpuri's own song—"C, A, T cat/cat maane billi/R, A, T rat/rat maane chuha"—which critics had panned for setting off the rot. Sultanpuri retorts that no trend-setter, the song fitted the situational context. "It was slapstick, not obscene. Nobody expects today's lyricists to be Ghalibs. But if you refuse to accept moral responsibility, you have to be criticised for prostituting yourself."

The same charge, recalls trade-journalist Amod Mehra of Business Entertainment Network, was laid at Sultanpuri's door by poet Sahir Ludhianvi when in Guru Dutt's film Aar Paar, he had, for the first time, introduced Mumbaiya into film songs. "Sun, sun, sun, sun zaal-ima, humko tumse pyar ho gaya" had a non-word like humko. Film historian Firoze Rangoonwalla recalls similar fuss over Sultanpuri's line—"Kabhi aar/Kabhi paar". "O.P. Nayyar admitted he wanted a particular beat. To create it Sultanpuri had ungrammatically split the term 'aar/paar'." Composer Naushad, he recalls, had for Dastaan (lyrics by Shakeel Badayuni), used the word Whoopee in a song (Sha-mmi Kapoor's Yahoo came later), while in Jadoo, he made use of nonsense rhyme like La ra lu, la ra lu. The early '50s saw Sultanpuri use nonsense words—"Kuch tere dil me khichkhich/kuch mere dil me khichkhich". Defending him, Naushad observes: "Raj Kapoor used 'Whoopee' to express joy. In Jadoo, the background was Mexican; it didn't demand raag Darbari. But what about Mughal-e-Azam, Baiju Bawra? If we used nonsense rhyme, we also made great poetry. Aati kya Khandala passes off dialogue as poetry! Have we creative people sunk so low that we've nothing great to offer to our nation?"

 Rangoonwalla defends Aati kya... as social satire where a tapori pokes fun at the upper crust who use hillstation Khandala for clandestine affairs but agrees with Sultanpuri's verdict on lyrical decay. This, he thinks "corresponds with decay in subsidiary arts.Literature uses explicit descriptions. So why unrealistically expect film songs to purify society?" Agrees poet-lyricist Ali Sardar Jafri. "Quality of life has fallen. Politics, literature in India have fallen. So why question quality of films?" The villains of the piece for Mehra were definitely the "Choli ke peeche kya hai" (Khalnayak) and "Sarkailo khatiya" (Raja Babu) numbers, though The Fall may have started as early as the '70s. The conversational lyric, currently the butt of criticism, was found even in Anand Bakshi's "Achcha to hum chalte hain". Lyricist Sameer too pins the decay on "Choli..." Says Mehra: "It was a deep descent in the '80s with Bappi Lahiri belting numbers like "Ramba ho ho" and "I am a disco dancer". Quality suffered as composers and lyricists committed themselves to several films simultaneously. Lahiri is doing about 50 films annually, Sameer does 30." Yet the '90s saw the return of melody in films like Aashiqui, Maine Pyar Kiya. Unfortunately, says Mehra, there was no corresponding revival of lyrics. He notes how lyricist Indeevar penned great lines for Rajesh Roshan, but matched Lahiri's trite music in lines like Mere tank mein petrol bhar de. The exigencies of script sometimes inspired such lines, but Ludhianvi could weave poetry even in the most mundane situations. Consider Neel Kamal's raddiwala crooning "Khali dabba, Khali botal ...Khali ye sansar", creating lyrical philosophy. But today even Javed Akhtar, the "sometime saviour" of film lyrics, has to defend usages like Strawberry aankhen (Sapnay) or Hai re hai re hai rabba (Jeans).

But film-maker Shyam Benegal and rock musician Nandu Bhende caution against writing a requiem for lyrics. Both believe a mass medium like cinema mirrors audience interest. "Javed Akhtar, Gulzar write fine lyrics. Songs in Maachis, Sardari Begum, or 1942: A Love Story have simple, attractive lines. Banality has been part of films throughout since it depends on catchy tunes, to be sung in the bathroom," says Benegal. Agrees Bhende: "Film songs were market-driven even in the '50s. No one's talking of pure art here. There are cycles. Melodic revival happened because audience chose ghazals."

 "Why" asks ghazal-singer Talat Aziz, "do we assume the audience is ignorant? As judge at Sa Re Ga Ma contests I've seen kids sing old numbers. Why do songs like "Sandeshe..." (Border) become hits?" Shravan, who with partner Nadeem, orchestrated the revival of melody, agrees "100 per cent". He blames music directors, who since they work in tandem with lyricists, should fight such rot. Singer Udit Narayan, understandably, is not among these Cassandras. The revival of melody was complemented by the revival of lyrics, he maintains, citing examples of QSQT, Dil to Pagal Hai, Border, Duplicate, Papa Kehte Hain. Reasons lyricist Sameer, a tad sheepish about penning "Sarkailo...": "Lyricists need strong scripts around which to weave their songs. Do we get a Pyaasa or Saraswati Chandra? No, we get Ghulam,Coolie No 1. But audience demand is changing this. My future films like Raj Kanwar's Daag, R. K. Films' Aa Ab Laut Chalein, Dharmesh Darshan's Mela have good lyrics based on strong scripts. We'll witness a revival of pure lyrics." Amen to that.