Kabhi Kabhie (1976)

April 16, 2015 07:24 pm | Updated 07:24 pm IST

Inspired by Sahir Ludhianvi’s genius Kabhi Kabhie's galaxy of actors ensured the film’s success.

Inspired by Sahir Ludhianvi’s genius Kabhi Kabhie's galaxy of actors ensured the film’s success.

As a little boy, I played endless rounds of rooftop cricket, an exercise that frequently entailed scaling the walls of the neighbours in search of an errant ball. Often in pursuit of the ball, I ran into a bespectacled bhaiyya who paced up and down his little patch looking nowhere in particular even as his tape recorder played “Parbaton ke pedon par”, a dyed-in-romance song by Sahir Ludhianvi. I loved the song, not so my mother who often wondered why this guy played the song at sunset, “donon waqt milte hain”, as Sahir wrote. My occasional queries about the reason for playing and replaying the same song elicited a little shrug of the shoulders by him.

However, he did, sometimes, veer away from the song. Then he played Jagjit Kaur’s “Tum apna ranjh o gham”, also penned by Sahir for “Shagoon”, I learnt much later. Then, high on a daily dose of Gavaskar-Kapil Dev, I cared little for sorrow, much less when somebody invited it. And happily came back with my ball to resume my struggle with the willow.

Occasionally, bhaiyya came home to look at the Sunday edition of Patriot . One such evening, he took a ball pen and circled a little advertisement. “Shagoon: Now showing at West End, daily 9.30 a.m.; reduced rates”, the little ad packed in enough information. West End though was a bridge too far. A film that played at West End usually shifted to Excelsior the following week. My neighbourhood brother waited. And waited. “Shagoon” did not grace Excelsior the next week. Relief though was only transferred. The film moved to Alankar, not too far from our humble abode!

I don’t know if he managed to watch the film at Alankar but in the days to follow, he started playing Sudha Malhotra’s “Tum mujhe bhool bhi jao toh yeh haq hai tumko”, a lesser known song from “Didi”, a much lesser known film, I discovered many years later. Abruptly though, this little note of surrender was taken off from the tape recorder, replaced by “Kabhi kabhie mere dil mein khyal aata hai” and “Main pal do ka pal shayar hun”. This time, bhaiyya was not alone. He had company, or competition, as I got to know, from others in the vicinity. The Sahir Ludhianvi songs blared from every other house, no college festival was complete without one of the resident singers trying his hand at Mukesh’s songs. As young men imagined themselves to be Amitabh Bachchan on the college stage, forgotten in the melody of the moment was the story of Sahir himself, his unfulfilled relationship with Amrita Pritam, his nazm which gave birth to the title of Yash Chopra’s film, his being that inspired the story, his story that inspired a million songs, and a thousand love stories in many quarters.

Yes, “Kabhi Kabhie” was that kind of film, it changed the way people romanced. It changed the way people dreamt of love. It changed love itself. And Sahir, he of the progressive writers’ movement, he of the Leftist leanings, became the messiah of every heart that had experienced sorrow. And why not? For only a heart that had experienced sorrow could appreciate love, even longing.

It all seems to fit the package perfectly. A multi-star cast with the hugely popular Amitabh Bachchan, the quite popular Shashi Kapoor, the up and coming Rishi Kapoor with Rakhee with more than just pretensions to serious craft, Neetu Singh, she of endless ebullience and Waheeda Rehman, not a trace removed from grace. Add to that Sahir’s soaked-in-love words, Khayyam’s music which failed never with love birds, and Lata Mangeshkar, clearly keen to keep the challenge of Hemlata at bay. Not to forget Yash Chopra, he of love atop the Alps, romance with maple leaves and sensuous chiffon. And a heart that sweared by love.

Still, “Kabhi Kabhie” was a risk. A big one. Bachchan was just coming off “Deewar” and “Sholay”. Nobody was sure how the masses would accept him as a poet with a rose in his hand after embracing him as an angry man with arms. Waheeda was past her prime, Neetu yet to get there, and Rakhee at her best had to appeal for attention rather than command it. And in the era of relatively fast paced numbers, would Khayyam’s Sunday-afternoon-pace hold people in thrall?

Yet this love story of Amit and Pooja –– Bachchan and Rakhee –– defied the doomsayers. And stereotypes. Why and how? The story holds more water than a cloudburst can contain. The lead pair is in love alright, but it does not lead to defiance. Enter parents, another match. Pooja ends up marrying Vijay –– Shashi Kapoor, so clearly smitten in the song “Kabhi kabhie mere dil mein” you could be forgiven for thinking theirs is the love story! Amit too marries another lady, Anjali, Waheeda in a super sober act. But, as Sahir says in a song, “Rishto ka roop badalta hain buniyaade khatam nahin hoti”. Fast forward to the next generation. The characters meet again setting in motion a chain that has the past written all over it. How? Umm. Therein lies the crux of the film.

The knot sorts itself out, yarn by yarn. But the story, oops, the hero of Kabhi Kabhie is Sahir. His songs, veering close to autobiographical at times, pack in more emotion than all else. And Khayyam lends an able helping hand, coming up with the rumbustious “Tera phoolon jaisa rang” to lend variety to “Main pal do pal” and the famous title song.

That is fine, but what about that neighbourhood guy fondly referred to as bhaiyya. Well, once, I found him listening to “Tera phoolon jaisa rang, tere sheehshen jaise ang”. No prizes for guessing these too were Sahir’s words. As were the songs “Parbaton ke pedon”, “Tum apna ranjh o gham” and “Tum mujhe bhool bhi jao”. Another love story fuelled by Sahir.

That, though is not the end of the story. More than a decade ago we were blessed with a baby girl. And in the early days of parentage, my wife and I often played “Mere ghar aayi ek nanhi pari”, a much under-value song filmed on Waheeda in “Kabhi Kabhie”. Only a man like Sahir could touch such a sensitive chord. Then four years ago, God endowed us with twin girls. This time, we beat Sahir. Even he could talk of only one nahi pari. We had two, we told ourselves. That was a rare concession to Sahir’s limitations. His craft shines through all decades, ages and generations. “Kabhi Kabhie” he is worth a rewind.

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