Paani paani kuwa sambhal
Jiska maati uska maal….
Sun raja lootnewale mhare raja
O teri tanashahi, nahin chalne denge…
– ‘Lootnewale’ (Matru Ki Bijlee Ka Mandola, 2013)
Among the many delights of Vishal Bhardwaj’s underrated and overlooked satire on land grabbing and the exploitation of farmers is this exquisite song. Almost a decade later, as farmers staged a heroic year-long struggle against the government, its words – hum beej na denge / hum byaaj na denge… / apna morcha nahin talne denge – came back to me with a force all its own. And with a fresh realisation of the ‘political’ firebrand in Gulzar, the eternal romantic.
Though more celebrated for his lyrical compositions and explorations of relationships, Gulzar is among the few filmmakers in Hindi cinema who have addressed political realities facing the nation with a rare understanding and sensitivity. His work in the genre of political cinema may not possess the irreverence or hard-hitting nature of a Vijay Tendulkar and a Govind Nihalani – he approaches the subject more as a poet than a strident social/political commentator – or may not even be as quotable as Sahir Ludhianvi’s ‘Jinhe naaz hai Hind par woh kahan hain’ or ‘Chin-o-Arab hamara’. There is no doubt, however, of the importance of his political writing in the idiom of the cinema of which he has been a part.
For a filmmaker/lyricist known more for the lyricism of ‘Woh shaam kuchh ajeeb thi’ and ‘Musafir hoon yaaron’, for pensive human dramas like Mausam (1975) and Ijaazat (1987), it is interesting that he not only debuted with a film with strong political overtones (Mere Apne, 1971), his last two films as director too (Maachis, 1996; Hu Tu Tu, 1999) were firmly rooted in the political space.
Bobby Sing, well-known commentator on music, cinema and culture, says, “An artist or poet’s political expression can take two forms. We tend to be more drawn to or influenced by the first kind – the fiery, aggressive, provocative depiction. In the second, the poet or the visualiser/director chooses the path of calm and subtle expressions with a touch of sarcasm… without resorting to pamphleteering. Coming to Gulzar, I strongly feel that he started off belonging to the second category both in his poetry and films.”
Mere Apne (1971)
More than 50 years on, it is uncanny how contemporary the film and its observations on political chicanery remain. Of course, the timeless ‘Haal chaal theek thaak hai’, a pungent commentary on the state of the nation, is the icing on the cake. It says something about the prescience of the song that as late as 2018, the NSSO (National Sample Survey Office) reported that India has not seen a job crisis as severe since 1973 (the year NSSO conducted its first job survey, two years after Mere Apne released).
BA kiya hai MA kiya
Lagta hai sab kuch aiwayan kiya
Kaam nahin hai varna yahan
Aap ki dua se sab theek thaak hai
The song apart, the film has some trademark Gulzar asides on the political class (‘karna dharna kuchh nahin sirf bhashan dena, naare lagana’). Early in the film, a group of young unemployed people whiling time over tea and adda discuss a weathercock. The reference to the political class is unmissable: ‘Hawa ke saath rukh badalta rahta hai….’
Or the satire inherent in the scene where frustrated students vandalise college property while ‘Saare jahan se achha’ plays in the background. It’s possible to argue that the politicians in the film – played by Asit Sen and Mehmood – are crafted more as caricatures, and that somehow undermines the film, but it is also true that the only way one can survive our politicians is by looking at them as bungling fools.
Aandhi (1975)
Like Mere Apne, which couched its political strand in the bond between the old woman Anandi (Meena Kumari) and the young members of the two gangs at war, Aandhi, too, is primarily a film concerned with the dynamics of a relationship between a couple. It is just that one of them – the wife, Aarti (Suchitra Sen) – happens to be a politician.
That allows the director to comment on the shenanigans of this class. Primarily through the characters of Lallu Lal (Om Prakash in a delightful turn), Aarti Devi’s veteran campaign manager who knows the tricks of the trade inside-out (witness the way he cajoles another candidate, played by Manmohan, to enter the fray so that the anti-Aarti votes get divided), and Chandrasen (Om Shivpuri), Aarti’s rival candidate who is not averse to raking up a possible ‘scandal’ pertaining to his opponent’s personal life.
With three Kishore Kumar-Lata Mangeshkar gems that have defined the R.D. Burman-Gulzar partnership, it is not surprising that the other song, ‘Salaam kijiye’, sort of languishes in the shadows. It remains one of the most biting criticisms of political opportunism in Hindi cinema, and the film’s strongest political statement.
Salaam kijiye aali janab aaye hain
Yeh paanch saalon ka dene hisaab aaye hain….
Hamare vote kharidenge humko ann dekar
Yeh nange jism chhupa detey hain kafan dekar
Yeh jaadugar hain chutki mein kaam karte hain
Yeh bhookh pyaas ko baaton se kam karte hain…
And in the lines ‘Haan ye vote denge magar abke yun nahin denge/ Chunao aane do hum aap se nipat lenge’ lie the most telling articulation of the power at the common man’s disposal.
Maachis (1996)
This is Gulzar at his most political in what is his most ‘violent’ film too. Which is not surprising given that it deals with one of the darkest chapters of post-Independence India, the insurgency in Punjab. As Bobby Sing says, “Post the 1980s, the dark phase witnessed by Punjab as well as Delhi and other parts of the country led to a change in Gulzar-ji’s expressions towards a more direct indictment of the system. A man strongly believing in one’s roots, he related to the changing scenario as someone who was born Sikh. The anger seeped in along with frustration, and that’s what resulted in films like Maachis and Hu Tu Tu, openly dealing with terrorism, a corrupt system, bloodshed and vengeance.”
The film derives its strength from the economy of expression with which Gulzar sets the context. He uses three newspaper clippings – the storming of the Golden Temple (Operation Bluestar), the assassination of Indira Gandhi and the pogrom against the Sikhs – to provide a background to and make sense of what made a whole generation of ‘boys’ take to terrorism. There is no doubt where his sympathies lie – none of the young men taking to arms in this film are hardcore militants. Each is a victim of state oppression and police brutality.
As Sanatan (Om Puri), the group’s mentor, says, ‘Aatankvaadi kya khet mein ugte hain?’ Sanatan then becomes the voice of the writer/director: ‘When someone has been subjected to injustice time and again… he looks for others like himself… regardless of who he’s fighting, it’s a response to that injustice.’
The film contains some of Gulzar’s most bitter writing against the system. The anger and the pain are palpable when Sanatan says that half his family perished in 1947, the rest in 1984, both cataclysms the handiwork of politicians. Of what use is a democracy that cannot provide the basics of food, clothing, medicine and shelter to 60 per cent of the population even 50 years after independence? And then comes the punchline, the call for a revolution: ‘Seeli tiliyon se koi inquilab nahin bhadakta – maachis chiragh bhi jalati aur chitayen bhi.’
His softer poetic sensibilities have not deserted him though, and Maachis boasts one of the finest soundtracks in the history of Hindi cinema, not to mention being Vishal Bhardwaj’s breakthrough album. However, at the risk of sounding blasphemous, I do feel that songs like ‘Paani paani re’ and ‘Tum gaye sab gaya’ – despite their brilliance – do dilute the narrative considerably. A few unfortunate script contrivances towards the end – in particular the ‘surprise’ return of Tabu to the narrative as a missile launcher – undermine the power of what has gone before.
Hu Tu Tu (1999)
From Maachis to Hu Tu Tu was a natural progression for Gulzar, the filmmaker and writer. More ambitious than Maachis, in the sense that it is not limited to a specific history and encompasses the stink that pervades the entire system, Hu Tu Tu could have been his magnum opus political tract. If only his producers had allowed him a free hand with the narrative. Its original story pertained primarily to a schoolteacher-turned-politician, Malti Devi (Suhasini Mulay), who is not averse to using any means – fair or foul – in her quest for power.
Unfortunately, the interference from the producers, which led to the focus shifting to the stars Suneil Shetty and Tabu, left this very interesting angle half-baked. It eventually led the filmmaker to give up in exasperation and never direct another film again. However, flashes of what the original could have been remain, particularly in the character of Bhau (Nana Patekar), the local balladeer. What Sanatan is to Maachis, Bhau is to Hu Tu Tu – the agency through which the writer speaks his mind.
Gulzar is relentless in his criticism of politicians, as Bhau says, ‘Pichle pachaas saalo mein hamare desh ne sirf mantri aur minister paida kiye hai... ek neta paida nahin kiya’.... ‘Politicians… barely able to walk on their own, they are entrusted with running the country…. A politician never retires – unless he dies or is killed.’
The film also contains another of his celebrated political songs, ‘Ghapla hai’, that talks of the many scams that plague the nation – from oil and railways to fodder, defence and godmen:
Sadhu sant ki dadhi munchh ka ghapla hai
Aate mein ghapla hai
Baate mein ghapla hai…
Screenplays: Namak Haraam and New Delhi Times
Apart from the four films that he directed, a couple of screenplays also stand testimony to his skill in narrating a political story. One of these is Namak Haraam (1973), an intelligent adaptation of the 1964 Peter Glenville classic Becket, starring Richard Burton and Peter O’Toole.
Gulzar’s screenplay takes on the story of the tumultuous friendship between Henry II of England and his friend-turned-bishop Thomas Becket and places it against the backdrop of a debate on capitalism, which then allows him to explore labour relations in the turbulent ’70s.
The other, more potent, screenplay is Ramesh Sharma’s 1986 thriller New Delhi Times, one of the finest of its genre in Hindi cinema. Few films in Hindi have explored the nexus between politics, business and media in the way this one does. Well ahead of its time, New Delhi Times remains as relevant nearly 40 years later. And that owes itself in no mean manner to Gulzar’s writing.
When Vikas Pande (Shashi Kapoor in arguably his finest performance) says that the distance between his small hometown Ghazipur and the capital is symptomatic of that between the ruler and the ruled, he could be talking of circa 2022. And in one of the film’s most powerful sequences, the writer lays bare the anatomy of a riot and its political origins. Divide and rule, a character says, isn’t an invention of the British – it is a prerequisite of those in power to stay in power.
Shantanu Ray Chaudhuri is a film and music buff, editor, publisher, film critic and writer
