Bhagwati Charan Verma, Chitralekha and Sahir Ludhianavi

I have a friend, a noted UK based Hindi writer, Tejendra Sharma, who very passionately pleads that many ‘good’ songs from the Hindi films are of such a high quality that they should be recognized as proper literature and should be included in the academic curriculum. While discussing the subject, he would list quite a few of the songs of (mostly) 1950s/60s/70s movies, penned by poets like Shakeel, Sahir, Shailendra etc. to lend strength to his argument.

This morning, as I was driving to work, my car stereo was playing the song ‘संसारसे भागे फिरते हो, भगवान को तुम क्या पाओगे’ from the film ‘Chitralekha’ (1964) and suddenly the vehemence of Mr. Sharma’s argument resurfaced in my mind. I thought: ‘Does this song not represent the essence of the novel ‘Chitralekha’, by Bhagwati Charan Verma, on which the film is based? Is it not genuine poetry?’ In fact, in my view, had this not been a ‘filmi’ song, a student could use it as a quotation while doing a critical analysis of the novel and the quotation would fetch him good marks. However, the ‘filmi’ tag would deter any student from quoting the song. Sahir Ludhianavi, the lyricist, was a poet of phenomenal quality and even his film songs had a stamp of class. This particular song is remarkable for two very powerful reasons:

Firstly, as the story was set in the Mauryan era, i.e. the 4^th century B.C., the language had to be Sanskritised Hindi. Even though Sahir was basically an Urdu poet, he has used Hindi (not Hindustani) with remarkable mastery.

Secondly, in a film which is a pathetic adaptation of the classic for various reasons (most importantly casting), this song captures and sums up the central idea of the novel to perfection.

In order to explain the song-script correlation let me, first of all, for the benefit of those who have not read the novel, give a synopsis of the same. The story starts in a gurukul in the Mauryan empire. Just as two students, Shwetank and Vishaldev, are about to finish their graduation in the gurukul, one of them asks a question as to what is the definition of a sin (पाप). Instead of giving them a direct answer, the teacher asks them to get some real life experience and learn the answer themselves. So, after finishing off their studies, one is sent to a young rich lord in the Chandragupta Maurya’s court, Bijgupta, enjoying the pleasures of life, while the other one is sent to a yogi, Kumargiri, who has renounced all worldly pleasures in pursuit of spiritualism. There cannot be a bigger contrast as, while the former is enjoying life in the company of a beautiful woman, the later tries to keep away from the shadow of women whom he considers the source of sin. The students are required to serve these masters for one year and then to come back with their version of answers. At Bijgupta’s place Shwetank meets ‘Chitralekha’, the pivotal character of the novel, who, though a courtesan, can be seen musing over the philosophy of life and love and, also, debating and putting great hermits to shame. Someone who found comfort in unrest, Chitralekha, is portrayed as a woman of exceptional beauty and wisdom. The other two major characters are depicted as embodiments of perceived ‘bhog’ i.e. seeking worldly pleasure and ‘yoga’, renunciation in pursuit of spiritualism, respectively. The two young men, particularly the one with Bijgupta, undergo an overwhelming, bumpy and tumultuous journey in discovery of multifaceted life and each one has their own version of ‘paap’ and ‘punya’ as they return to their Guru. The Guru does not give a fixed definition of ‘paap’ and he concludes, ‘‘संसार में पाप कुछ भी नहीं है, यह केवल मनुष्य के दृष्टिकोण की विषमता का दूसरा नाम है। हम न पाप करते हैं और न पुण्य करते हैं, हम केवल वह करते हैं जो हमें करना पड़ता है।’’ (Sin is nothing but the variance in the outlook of people. We do not commit sins or noble deeds; we only do what we are made to do by the compulsions of life.)

The song mentioned above has been picturised on Meena Kumari, playing Chitralekha’, who mocks the renunciation of the ‘Yogi’ Kumargiri and says that the ‘Yoga’ practiced by the later is nothing but escapism and such a ‘Yoga’ cannot lead to salvation. Here is the song:

संसारसे भागे फिरते हो, भगवान को तुम क्या पाओगे

इस लोक को भी अपना ना सके, उस लोक में भी पछताओगे

ये पाप है क्या, ये पुण्य है  क्या, रीतों पर धर्म की मुहरे हैं

हर युग में बदलते धर्मोंको कैसे आदर्श बनाओगे

ये भोग भी एक तपस्या है, तुम त्याग के मारे क्या जानो

अपमान रचेता का होगा, रचना को अगर ठुकराओगे

हम कहते हैं ये जग अपना है, तुम कहते हो झूठा सपना है

हम जनम बिताकर जायेंगे, तुम जनम गवाँकर जाओगे

I am deliberately not paraphrasing the lyrics because the spirit of the song would be lost in the paraphrase. However, what Sahir says in the third and fourth lines, is an echo of the concluding message of the novel and the song itself represents the essence of the philosophy of life of Chitralekha, the protagonist.

Here I reiterate what I have stated above. To me this song is pure and genuine poetry. Then, do I agree with Mr. Tejendra Sharma that ‘good’ songs from films should be recognized as formal literature and included in curriculum? To this, I would say that in spite of the very high quality of this song, and numerous other songs, I would prefer the academic and the ‘filmi’ poetry to remain in their separate quarters.

My logic is simple. The qualifying condition is ‘GOOD’ film songs. The interpretation of ‘GOOD’ is always subjective. Maybe I and Mr. Sharma have identical views about what is ‘GOOD’. But once you open the doors there might be people thinking that Sheela Ki jawani or Ataria ape lotan kabootar or Sarkay lev khatiya are equally ‘GOOD’, if not better. So, let the two worlds remain separated. Even so, the songs which I or Mr. Sharma or others like us think are good will continue to rule the hearts and minds of people liking them and that is what matters.

The Queue Jumpers

Let me, first of all, share a story. Well, not exactly a story. It is about a 'mini-upheaval' in the British politics in the later half of the year 2004. The individual at the center of the story was a gentleman named David Blunkett, the Home Secretary in the cabinet of Tony Blair since 2001. First, stories started appearing in the British media about an 'affair' between Mr. Blunkett and Mrs. Kimberley Quinn, the then publisher of the Spectator magazine. It is quite obvious that the media anywhere in the world would be on the lookout for stories which could 'spice up' or 'sex-up' the news. It came to light in August 2004 that Mr. Blunkett, a divorcee, and Mrs. Quinn, a married woman, had been in a relationship for over three years. Had the relationship continued or had it even ended without acrimony, it would not have attracted the media attention. However, for reasons best known to him, Mr. Blunkett started pressing for establishing that he was the father of Mrs. Quinn’s child, born during the period of their affair, through a paternity test. Mrs. Quinn tried to dissuade him but to no avail and Mr. Blunkett remained adamant on establishing the paternity, which was eventually established. When asked by the media, Mr. Tony Blair said that whatever David Blunkett did in his personal life should not be of any significance to his role as a public servant as long as he served the Government with propriety. Blair regarded it proper for Blunkett to remain Home Secretary while trying to ascertain paternity of her son as it appeared of no relevance to his ministerial position.

For a while it appeared that the matter would rest there. But that was not to be. At the end of November 2004, it was alleged that Blunkett abused his position to assist his ex-lover's Filipina nanny, Leoncia "Luz" Casalme, by speeding up her residence visa application and later using his influence to ensure that she successfully obtained an Austrian tourist visa. An investigation into these allegations was launched, led by Sir Alan Budd. Although the enquiry failed to establish directly that Blunkett had personally influenced the processing of the visa application there was evidence that the application had been processed ahead of other applications in the queue. And David Blunkett resigned accepting the responsibility for the impropriety of the Home Office, of which he was in charge.  

My mind, conditioned by the Indian political landscape, has often wondered about what would have happened in our country in a similar situation. Which of the two offences – having an affair with a married woman or using the official position to benefit somebody – would have been viewed more seriously? The answer is not difficult. Being so proud of our ‘sanskriti’ (culture), we would not tolerate the ‘paschatya anaitikta’(western immorality). As regards the other one – the misuse of the official position – we are so used to blatant misuse of positions, we would not be too bothered.