Sajan re jhooth mat bolo; khuda ke paas jaana hai…/ Na haathi hai, na ghoda hai; Vahan paidal hi jaana hai…
Within the constraints of writing for Hindi cinema, this Kabiresque idea penned by poet and lyricist Shailendra in his only production venture, Teesri Kasam (1966), remains peerless. Not only because of the profundity of the subject, but also the effortlessness with which he articulated the futility of life. Shankar-Jaikishan’s simple tune and Mukesh’s sincere voice turned this conversation of a song into a tender piece layered with realisations — that wealth, status and caste will not matter when one gets to the final frontier.
Here was a Dalit writer, who had not come to terms with his identity in public, conveying the concept of equality on Judgement Day through poetry. In the iconic ‘Awaara hoon’, Shailendra writes, “Ae duniya, main tere teer ka ya taqdeer ka maara hoon? (O world, am I the victim of your arrows or that of fate?)”. These lyrics offer a glimpse into the context in which they were written, in a nation where birth had long decided one’s status.
‘Sajan re’ was released in 1966. By then, in a career spanning 17 years and 900 songs, Shailendra had not only delved into issues like poverty, but also hope, love and irony. He did so with a linguistic simplicity and empathy that tugged at the hearts of the ordinary Indian. He amalgamated Hindi and Urdu traditions with a smattering of UP folk and wrote in a newly independent India with a heart that hoped for the good even when he identified the ugly truths of the world.
Be it the innocence of ‘Jeena isi ka naam hai’ (Anari, 1959), the pathos-laden ‘Ye mera deewanapan’ (Yahudi, 1958), the rain-soaked desire in ‘Pyar hua iqrar hua’ (Shree 420, 1955) the feminism of ‘Aaj phir jeene ki tamanna hai’ (Guide, 1965) or the phenomenal ‘Awaara hoon’ (Awaara, 1951) which felt like the song of a young, free India, all of these were stories unearthed from the hearts of the masses.
An unforgettable one is the haunting ‘Mausam beeta jaaye’ from Bimal Roy’s classic Do Bigha Zameen (1953), a comment on the inequalities of the zamindari system. Shailendra put a lot of heart into the worker’s song, offering courage and strength with the line, “Apni kahaani chhod ja, kuch toh nishaani chhod ja”.
Shailendra wrote at a time when writers like Sahir Ludhianvi, Hasrat Jaipuri, Kaifi Azmi, Jan Nisar Akhtar, and Majrooh Sultanpuri were at the peak of their careers, writing intelligent, brilliantly crafted poetry. What set Shailendra apart and endeared him to the masses was the eloquence of an uncomplicated thought. Kapoor called him “Pushkin” after the Russian poet and addressed him as “Kaviraj”.
Born in Rawalpindi, Shailendra’s childhood was spent in poverty. After the family moved to Mathura, their deprivation was such that Shailendra smoked beedis to assuage his hunger. A casteist slur while playing hockey, where a player said, “Now these people will play matches,” cemented his resolve to move to Bombay. He worked as a welding apprentice in the Railways and, armed with his belief in social justice, joined the Indian People’s Theatre Association (IPTA).
He wrote in his free time and was discovered by Raj Kapoor at an IPTA event where he recited his fiery poem, ‘Jalta Hai Punjab’. Kapoor asked him to write for his next — Aag (1948). Shailendra refused, believing it would be frivolous to write for commercial cinema. But a need for money when his wife was giving birth took him to Kapoor, who gave him the required Rs 500. Shailendra returned and wrote two songs for Barsaat (1949). With music composed by Shankar-Jaikishan, ‘Barsaat mein humse mile tum’ found considerable airtime and appreciation. This was followed by Awaara, Shree 420, and Anari — films that established Kapoor as the quintessential Dickensian hero. Shailendra became a fixture in the filmmaker’s projects.
In 1966, Shailendra decided to produce and asked Basu Bhattacharya to direct Teesri Kasam. Released with no publicity, the film flopped. Shailendra took to the bottle and passed away six months later. He was only 43. He didn’t live to see the critical acclaim and the National Award that the film would win. The only other song Shailendra wrote after Teesri Kasam was ‘Rula ke gaya sapna mera’ (Jewel Thief, 1967), his final piece. It fit his melancholy state of mind at the time — like the numerous other songs he wrote, which spoke eloquently and without adornment, of love and life.
suanshu.khurana@expressindia.com
