Speaking to Gulzar is like peeling an onion. One look at him and you know happiness cannot be too far away. As he smiles sitting across the breakfast table at The Grand’s Cascades restaurant, you realise happiness is not a mere visitor here; more likely a resident with all dues paid along the way. For decades, films kept him in good cheer, now for years, contentment has come through writing. Of course, lately Gulzar has had plenty of reasons to smile. The much cherished Dadasaheb Phalke Award finds a place on the mantelpiece. Then there are books, books and books. He seems to be writing like a man possessed. Every few months, a new title hits the stalls – his latest Green Poems will be released on June 5 to coincide with the World Environment Day.
So many reasons to be happy, I nudge Gulzar as he relishes his watermelon juice; the crushed ice topping giving it a fetching appearance. He says nothing, merely smiles, neatly deflecting the subject by taking on the mantle of a host: “Aap kuchh khate nahin hain?” Happiness, I discover, is just a layer visible to the naked eye. What is a man who has not experienced sorrow, and what’s a poet who has not lived it? Go beyond the first layer and you discover Gulzar too lives with many a wound. Over the past few years, many of his cherished friends have taken leave. First went R.D. Burman. Then Jagjit Singh. Most recently Suchitra Sen, whom he was initially reluctant to approach for his film Aandhi back in the Seventies before chiselling out a masterpiece with her. When Jagjit passed away Gulzar had expressed his sorrow saying, “A door opens, a man steps in, the door shuts, never opens again.” How does he cope with the loss? “I read a lot. I read Ghalib. I read Manto. I read Prem Chand and then some other authors whose names ring a bell only in the chaste Urdu literary circles. Some of Ghalib’s words about death stay with me all the time. I recite them often to myself,” he says, and starts reciting, “Gham-e-hasti kaa ‘asad’ kis se ho juz marg ilaaj, shama har rang mein jalti hai seher hote tak.” Incidentally, he has just made a film on Prem Chand’s works.
So, there is another layer to Gulzar, away from the world of “Iss mode se jaate hain”, “Qatra qatra milti hai” or even “Beedi jalai le”. “But of course. I have such wonderful friends like Sukrita (Sukrita Paul whose books “Ink and Line” and “Untitled” find space on the table) and Pavan, whose book (“The New Indian Middle Class”) I am waiting for. What a wonderful friend, what a fine host,” Gulzar gushes. “Personally, I keep writing. Aur kya karna hai? But I cannot leave films. They will have to leave me.”
Some 50 years after he first penned a song for Bimal Roy’s Bandini , that is unlikely to be the case.
Then as he orders his breakfast, another layer peels off. Today at Cascades, Gulzar has planned his breakfast to the last drop. He does not want a heavy breakfast. So after a glass of juice, he settles for a bowl of curd with a topping of honey. The curd, he requests, has to be a in a bowl, not too big, not too small, just middlish for a spoon to take a nice scoop at each go. And yes, honey without a sprinkling of crushed almonds please!
His attention to detail is admirable. “ Huzoor, abhi mujhe play ki rehearsal dekhne jaana hai. Then there are interviews lined up. Shortly, I will be off to Patna. Then there is something in Surat.” His diary is full. “You must see the film on Premchand,” he recommends, adding, “I wonder why do we call only feature films as films? I have worked as hard on Premchand’s works as any Hindi film.”
I wonder too. Not for long though. On table arrives a green chilli omelette. There are breads and buns too. I continue with my fruit salad. Gulzar polishes off his stuff in a jiffy. The he takes a walk down another lane. Ordering black tea, he turns a new leaf, inquiring about the health of noted Urdu writer Joginder Paul – Sukrita’s father. “I read every book of his. He still points out any short coming in my writing. Next time I am in Delhi I must go and look him up. Woh mere buzurg hain .” Then he asks Sukrita about Zohra Segal. “I must visit her too. At 100-plus, her stamina, her zeal is admirable. She is such an icon,” Gulzar says. At almost 80, Gulzar too has seniors to take care of, elders who need his indulgence, his love. Another layer peels off.
As we get up to leave the restaurant, Cascades’ chefs coming rushing out to get a photo clicked with the man who has redefined the way we look at Urdu. Gulzar happily obliges. “I can boil an egg too, you will have to peel it though,” he tell the chefs, half in jest. How does he stay so sporting, I ask him. “I play tennis regularly. My first serve percentage is better than of all others in my age-group in the gymkhana. Most people who used to play with me have given up tennis and taken to morning walks with aching knees, back, elbows and all. I want to play a set on August 18 which is when I will turn 80.”
So, not just in films or literature, Gulzar has outlasted his contemporaries even in amateur tennis. Yet another layer peels off!
