When the heart aches

In an era when songs become dated in two months, Shahryar's words still retain their haunting effect

Updated - November 12, 2016 05:11 am IST

Published - June 20, 2010 06:26 pm IST

Shahryar Khan. Photo: V. Suderdshan

Shahryar Khan. Photo: V. Suderdshan

“Ghar Ki Taamir Tassavur Hi Mein Ho Sakti Hai, Apne Naqshe Ke Mutabiq Zamin Kuchch Kam Hai.”

No, this is not a disgruntled city-bred newly married boy expressing his concern at the soaring real estate prices. It is a thought expressed by Akhlaq Mohammed Khan, popularly called Shahryar, decades back. But it is right on the money even today.

“Can you point out the period when Ghalib lived by listening to his poetry,” asks Shahryar, the man who proved that simple could also be profound. “Such is the beauty of good poetry, it transcends generations and times.” And brackets like progressive and modernist? “Of course, since such extreme demarcations don't emanate from literature or litterateurs, but literary criticism. I believe the reality lies somewhere in between. I always focus on social concerns of the common man without losing the literary appeal. I feel unless your personal pain becomes the pain of the audience, you can't be a complete poet. Every person in the audience should feel that the poet is narrating his thought. It is just that he doesn't know the art of putting his pain into words.”

Shahryar has achieved it many times. Remember “Seene Mein Jalan, Akhon Mein Toofan Sa Kyon Hai”, or for that matter “Justjoo Jiski Thi, Usko To Na Paya Hamne”! “The fickleness of life and incompleteness of human wants have always been my primary concerns. It is the constant uneasiness to achieve more that keeps a man restless for life.”

It is on this middle ground that Shahryar created a space for himself amidst literary extremists. This Tuesday, the University of Hyderabad is conferring on the Sahitya Akademi Award winner an honorary Doctorate of Science for his academic contribution. And go to any mushaira or check the sales list of any music shop, Shahryar's name still figures among the all-time favourites.

Every time you meet him you can't stop yourself from asking why he said goodbye to the film industry. “I never joined it in the first place,” smiles the lyricist of films like Gaman , Umrao Jaan and Anjuman . “I met Muzzaffar (Ali) in Aligarh Muslim University. He was doing his BSc and I had just completed my MA. I appreciated him as a painter and he liked my poetic concerns. Later when I joined the Urdu Department in AMU, I used to send him my creations. When he decided to make Gaman , he took two of those for the film. Jaidev composed the music and won the National Award for it.”

Then why did he replace him with Khayyam? “Well, Jaidev was the original choice and he did compose some tunes, but later some differences emerged between the two and Jaidev was replaced with Khayyam. I was asked to turn some of my already created ghazals to suit the situations in the film.”

He says cinema is team work and when all the ingredients fall into place, only then the dish tastes good. “See, almost the same team combined for Anjuman but the magic didn't work as well. Part of the reason was that Muzaffar and Khayyam were adamant on using Shabana Azmi's voice in the songs. The experiment didn't work. Had Asha Bhosle sung those songs, the result would have been better.”

Shahryar recounts how after Faasle , Yash Chopra had promised him three films a year. “He offered all support but I didn't want to stay on. I knew my limitations. I would not have been able to open a shop of songs, as Javed Akhtar used to say in good humour: As a lyricist you should have goods for every kind of consumer. I would retort: Mine is like Yahan sirf Amul butter milta hai! Also at that time my kids were growing up. I could not have left them in Aligarh. My experience says father's role is crucial in children's overall development. I had seen kids whose fathers were working in Gulf. They had the money but little else.”

Shahryar says there is no formula for writing poetry. “It is a kind of gift of God but then you have to hone it. It can't be taught. That's why I never taught poetry during my entire academic career. I don't need any special conditions to write. I have written in a crowded bus, as when the thought envelopes you, you don't feel anything around. When I come out of it, at times the choice of words astonishes me…only when you can surprise yourself can you expect to surprise others.”

He is not overly concerned about the future of language and poetry. “Around 70 universities are offering post graduation in Urdu. My only problem is with the prevailing misconception in North India that says that prosperity means getting disconnected from your mother tongue. Mushaira is still popular in India. We have around six soirées a day in the country, but there are not as many quality poets. Every time I take the stage I find a few unpublished poets. We differentiate between poets as chhape huye (published ones) and chhupe huye shayar (hidden poets). Such poets emphasize on performance rather than content. Life demands proportion in everything. In life and cinema certain taboos are no longer there but poetry is to express the unsaid, something you can't do. That's why songs are becoming meaningless. Jaidev once said have you ever seen anybody running and singing. It only happens in our films! Things are changing, but again the proportion is too small.”

He has just turned 74, but the man is in no mood to say goodbye to words. “The flow has weakened a bit but it is largely because I am a little too conscious about the quality these days.” And yes, his equation with Muzzaffar Ali continues. “I have just finished the songs for his Noorjehan project. He takes his own time.” We don't mind waiting, Sir.

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