From the Blue Beyond

Echoes a former professor of linguistics from Delhi University: ‘‘The only factor that unites this country is Hindi film music. Not patriotism in the sense of mutual love between regions. Not at all, we cordially detest each other. But the idea of having fought and vanquished the world’s greatest empire with nothing but moral force is so powerful. We don’t know how to live together. But how happy we are—and how proud—that we got rid of the British! And it’s the Hindi film song that continually reminds us that this miracle was made to happen… Hum laayen hain toofan se kashti nikaal ke; Is desh ko rakhna mere bachhon sambhaal ke.” (Jagriti).

Today we have lost our post-Nehruvian idealism (Nehru helped us lose it fast. He succumbed to the emotional blackmail of Potti Sriramulu’s fast unto death, leading to the linguistic division of states in 1953. He let the Chinese aggression happen. He helped create license raj. How can we revere such a leader? Yet we have to thank him for his notion of an eclectic India, the strong visible signal of his dancing in tribal gear every Republic Day which every PM thereafter sends; his splendid inclusiveness: Punjab, Sindh, Gujarat, Maratha, Dravida, Utkala, Vanga; Vindhya Himachala Yamuna Ganga, ujjwala jaladhi tiranga.

The patriotic Hindi film song seamlessly encapsulates our history in one long Chitrahaar. You could go back all the way to Prithviraj Kapoor as Sohrab Modi’s Sikander-e-Azam (1941) or K Asif’s Mughal-e-Azam (1960). You could press the time machine button to Shashi Kapoor’s Utsav (1985) and the Golden Age of Sanskrit. Or was it the dark age of feudalism in which ‘bela mehka, re mehka, aadhi raat ko’? But that was nationalistic recreation, not in-your-face patriotism, in which we heard clarion calls to come out and fight: Apni azadi ko hum harghiz mita sakte nahin; sar kata sakte hain lekin sar jhuka sakte nahin (Dilip Kumar in Leader).

When the wars with Pakistan and China were thrust upon us, the songs that put steel in our soldiers’ spines were old calls to battle like Ram Prasad Bismil’s “Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamare dil mein hai; Dekhna hai zor kitna baazu-e-qatil mein hai” (born again in all three Bhagat Singh films this millennium). Or Kaifi Azmi’s song for Haqeeqat: Kar chale hum fida jaan-o-tan saathiyon; Ab tumhare hawale vatan saathiyon. And everyone knows, presumably even in Yerraguntla and Thirupurankunram, that Pandit Nehru’s eyes overflowed in 1962 when Lata Mangeshkar sang Ae Mere Watan Ke Logon for the soldiers who died in the snows. To be verified: AIR, Doordarshan and several private channels stepped up the telecast of patriotic songs during Kargil because, as the rumps of trucks affirm, Sau mein nabbe be-iman, phir bhi mera Bharat mahaan.

The point though is that though the freedom fighters are either long dead or still struggling with their thankless descendants to regularise their pension papers, the songs that tell their story are still a tonic for battered Indian morale. Ask the prisoners in Yervada jail during Kargil, who reportedly sang in rowdy male chorus from their cells: ‘‘Bharat humko jaan se pyaara hai!’’ (Roja).

Meanwhile, the leaders lay wreaths at Raj Ghat on October 2 and visiting foreign dignitaries are marched off like motor mice to do likewise.

The public snorts. ‘‘Sab dhokebaaz hain,’’ says Bapi Das, an ‘EPDP’ (East Pakistan Displaced Person) born in Delhi. ‘‘Par wohi ek himmatwala tha. Yeh Amriki plane se bum giraate hain, masoom log ko maar daaltein. Lekin Gandhiji nange haath-per Angrez ko bhagaaya’’. (They are all crooks. But he—Gandhi—was the brave one. These Americans drop bombs from planes and kill innocents. But Gandhi drove the English out with naked hands and feet). De di hume azadi bina khadg bina dhaal; Sabarmati ke Sant, tu ne kar diya kamaal. Raghupati Raghava Raja Ram…