In Kedar Kapoor’s 1965 film Sikander E Azam , lyricist Rajendra Krishan wrote the famous song Woh Bharat Desh Hai Mera in which he built on the popular perception about ancient India being prosperous, calling it the land of the golden sparrows: Jahan Daal Daal Par Sone Ki Chidiya Karti Hain Basera . Almost 50 years later, Dibakar Banerjee in his film > Shanghai (2012), a scathing satire on displacement and urbanisation, used the same phrase Sone Ki Chidiya, but rhymed it with the not-so-complimentary “dengue, malaria”. He underlined both the good and bad aspects about the country: Gud Bhi Hai, Gobar Bhi; Bharat Mata ki Jai . At a time when screaming the slogan Bharat Mata ki Jai has come to define whether Indians are patriotic or not, it is interesting to see how the nationalistic Hindi film song has evolved in cinematic invocations of Bharat.
Wider definition When we think of a traditional patriotic Hindi song, we go back to Kavi Pradeep’s non-filmi Ae Mere Watan ke Logon in Lata Mangeshkar’s nightingale voice. Or to another era, to the sentimental Sandese Aate Hain from Border (Javed Akhtar, 1997). But do we see an expansion in the definition of a patriotic Hindi film song to mean more than just unadulterated love for the nation? Has it become more complicated now to include problematic notions of dissent and protest?
Lyrics of film songs go boldly into the political domain. Piyush Mishra, who wrote Ranaji , O Re Duniya, and Aarambh Hai Prachand for Anurag Kashyap’s Gulaal , sees lyrics as a reflection of the times. “The further we’ve come since 1947, the more difficult it has become to believe in Lakeer ke Fakeer (conservative), jingoistic songs. The war in the 1960s, the Emergency, the 1984 anti-Sikh riots, Babri Masjid have changed things forever. Now I can’t think of writing songs without thinking of bombs,” he says.
But writer-lyricist Jaideep Sahni says India has also had a proud tradition of film lyricists who do not fall into the trap of national, religious or language chauvinism. Songs on the sacrifices of freedom fighters and the glories of the past civilisations that were written after Independence still affect us when we hear them, he says. “But the same group of lyricists expressed other feelings — like cutting ourselves free of the baggage of the past and looking ahead ( Chhodo Kal ki Baatein, Prem Dhawan, Hum Hindustani , 1960) or the disillusionment with the kind of freedom they felt we had received ( Jinhe Naaz Hai Hind Par Woh Kahan Hain , Sahir Ludhianvi, Pyaasa , 1957).”
Even war films where you would expect jingoism have always had space for fine lyricists to explore the consequences of wars. “ Ab Tumhare Hawale Watan Saathiyon co-exists with Hoke Majboor Mujhe in Haqeeqat (Kaifi Azmi, 1964) because both these feelings co-exist in everybody’s hearts in times of war,” he adds. “Even in Border (1997), Javed Akhtar paid tribute to our culture and its roots in Hindustan, while at the same time clearly stating the truth of the relationship between the two warring nations in Mere Dushman Mere Bhai with great emotion.”
According to Raj Shekhar, lyricist of > Tanu Weds Manu (2011), veteran poets such as Gulzar and Javed Akhtar have lived through different eras of India and this reflects in their songs. Javed Akhtar’s Panchi Nadiya Pawan Ke from Refugee (2000) is essentially a call for a world without borders while Baar Baar Haan from Lagaan (2001) is about inclusiveness and has representations of minorities, the physically challenged, and women. “It’s a samuhik swar [a community voice], a collective dream, and it goes beyond the construct of the nation; it is more about one’s personal connections with the land,” says Shekhar. Similarly, Gulzar’s Chhod Aaye Hum Woh Galiyan from Maachis (1996) addressesthe complexities of the Punjab militancy, Lootnewala from > Matru Ki Bijlee Ka Mandola (2013) takes a clear stance against capitalism, and Jhelum from Haider (2014) is about innocent Kashmiris dying at the hands of the Army.
Lyricist Varun Grover feels that the idea of a patriotic song is “still the same romantic idea of a nation and the songs stick to the template of making a list of great things about one’s country.” He says they talk about how simple and pure we are: “People want to believe in this kind of stuff. It’s a trap, you can’t really bring much nuance here.” According to him there are just three or four songs in a decade that have done it differently, and this is because cinema itself has not been very political.
Also, as our cinema has split into niche categories, the reach of songs has become less potent. The veiled attack on some of India’s veteran politicians in Tar Bijli Ke from Anurag Kashyap’s > Gangs of Wasseypur II (2012) was missed by most. “When Anurag and I discussed it for the first time, we were almost sure it would be banned. It’s about the famished man from Bihar, defeated by his destiny and political system. It alludes to Arrah Chhapra (Babu Jagjivan Ram), Lok Nayak (Jayaprakash Narayan), Chacha (Jawaharlal Nehru), Babasaheb (B.R. Ambedkar), Bapu (Mahatma Gandhi), Jan-Nayak (Karpoori Thakur), and says, ‘you did nothing for the nation; you played your own politics that suited your agenda and left the common man of India on his own,’” says Grover.
Similarly, Shekhar’s subtly subversive lyrics of Taram Taram from the yet-to-release film Oonga , which is set in a village in the Niyamgiri hills of Odisha, are about how tribal children neither need the Central Reserve Police Force nor the Maoists who surround them from both sides. It talks about the attachment that you have with your own piece of land rather than some vague idea of nationalism. But will it reach out to larger audiences?
The current climate Both Grover and Shekhar agree that the current socio-political climate is not conducive for subversive writing. “Something like Gur Bhi Hai Gobar Bhi, Bharat Mata Ki Jai will be banned and trashed beyond recognition if it were to come out today,” says Grover. Ravindra Randhawa wrote two songs ( Bol and Bhugol ) about the futility of the Partition for Filmistaan (2012), a film about the friendship of two individuals across the border. “We have grown up listening to certain kinds of patriotic songs that have become ingrained in us like genetic coding. India is a complex country and the poetry has to be complex too. It isn’t a government-commissioned Indian tourism project, it is art. It is good to see patriotism with objectivity,” says Randhawa. He speaks of how Maula Mere Lele Meri Jaan from > Chak De! India (2007) confronts the truth of Muslim identity in India, a rarity in mainstream Bollywood that has always sugar-coated the dynamics between Hindus and Muslims. According to Sahni, Chak De! India is about recognising that there is more to loving the nation than singing its praises. “It is about looking inwards, acknowledging our weaknesses, biases and follies, and striving to rise above them, which are deeply patriotic acts,” he says.
On the other hand, Prasoon Joshi says there should be a balance even when one is criticising the state; this he finds in > Rang De Basanti (2006). While the title song is a joyous celebration of the many flavours of India, Khoon Chala is a song of seething angst against an oppressive state. “I can’t just raise a voice of bitterness, be a fence-sitter and do nothing about it,” he says. Art, according to him, can’t just be depressing. “There has to be hope, it has to inspire.”
sankhayan.ghosh@thehindu.co.in
