Lyricist Sameer: lessons of life

Lessons of Life

Posted online: Friday, February 23, 2007 at 0000 hours IST

What is it that makes Sameer the most successful song writer of his generation? He does not possess the intellectual depth of his father Anjaan, the versatility of Shailendra or the deceptive simplicity of Anand Bakshi…Yes, Sameer has his limitations. What is it that makes Sameer the most successful song writer of his generation? He does not possess the intellectual depth of his father Anjaan, the versatility of Shailendra or the deceptive simplicity of Anand Bakshi…Yes, Sameer has his limitations. But on one count, he has outshone all others, past and present. He is the only living lyricist who, for the past 25 years, has successfully captured the spirit of the Indian youth in song after song and film after film. He knows their pulses, their dreams, their hopes and their concerns. And by articulating them in a language they understand, he has now emerged as the voice of GenNext. During his early days in Mumbai, Sameer picked up a valuable lesson in song-writing from Majrooh Sultanpuri. It was at Chitragupta's place that Sameer asked the veteran lyricist how he could write so well to tune. Chitragupt, for one, had a reputation of being a hard taskmaster when it came to setting words to music such that an extra word or syllable from the lyricist that did not fit into his metre would be unacceptable. Majrooh, for another, was known for his versatility in handling different musical genres (from love songs to devotionals to qawwalis) with effortless ease and never falling out of step with any score composed. The rapport these two gentlemen shared was so complete that it would be impossible for anybody to discern whether a song by them was written according to the music or the lyrics were penned first and the tune set later. As always obliging, Majrooh Sultanpuri let Sameer into a trade secret. In days gone by, when a composer came up with a tune for a film situation, the lyricist had to understand its context, memorise the tune and then write his lines. The memorizing part was the trickiest. Invariably, the lyricist resorted to using dummy words or lines associated with the tune and later on substituting them with the actual lyrics. With portable tape-recorders coming handy, the job of the lyricist became easier. But then, there was a catch. The temptation for a lyricist on hearing a taped musical score would be to switch on and off the recorder, each time fitting in words to the tune. This line-by-line construction of lyrics would rob the composition of its natural spontaneity and flow. "Every musical composition bears a certain energy, a vibration and a life of its own," advised Majrooh Sultanpuri. "A good lyricist is one who is able to revitalize these elements with appropriate words. Only then would all the forces combine together to produce a good song. It is not enough to simply juggle around with the language so that words fit perfectly to the music, line by line. Anybody can do that. My advice is to soak in the energies that a musical score produces, feel its sensations and absorb them in your system in entirety. Don't be in a hurry. Do not listen to it part by part in your tape-recorder. Live with the music in all its fullness till such time you feel motivated enough and you will yourself be surprised how easily words keep tumbling out to embellish a composition. Once you make this a habit, writing to tune will become child's play." Significantly, the song that market Sameer's debut in Bollywood, demanded the skills of both independent writing and writing to tune. For the film, Bekhabar (1983), music composer Usha Khanna approved the mukhda (opening lines), "Goree pareshaan hai, kaali pareshaan hai, Har gharwaale se gharwaalee pareshaan hai", as that was all Sameer could produce at that time. For the antara (intermediary lines), she had prepared a tune and it was now for Sameer to conjure up words that would fit in perfectly. The challenge was not only to take the thought of the mukhda ahead, but also to ensure that the intermediary lines conformed to the musical score and merged with the character of the film. "Writing the anatra is always more difficult than writing the mukhda," elaborates Sameer. "A mukhda can occur as a fleeting thought or a sudden flash in the mind. But for the antara, you need to apply yourself - keeping in mind the continuity of thought, the situation of the film and the metre set by the music composer. Everything should blend seamlessly so that the song does not interrupt the audience's stream of consciousness and effectively takes the film's story forward. That is what every good songwriter strives for." Being fresh on the job, Sameer remembers offering six or seven alternatives for the antara to Usha Khanna and following a series of joint consultations, they firmed up on a cut-'n' paste version for the lyrics. The recording at Famous Studios, Tardeo was an equally educating experience - and exciting as well. Alka Yagnik was to sing the song. Bhansali-baba was the recordist. Sameer had accompanied his father to a couple of song recordings earlier, but this was his baby! It was special, more so, being his first. It gave him an incredible high to be among 60 to 70 musicians (including a dozen percussionists and more than a score of violinists) going through their motions, rehearsing, checking the levels…And when Alka gave a full-bodied rendition of his song over giant speakers, Sameer, sitting in the monitor room, was rendered dumbstruck. It was like a dream come true - his first song recorded. The celebration that followed with sweets and refreshments, mutual backslapping and the customary photo session passed in blur. But for many, many years later, Sameer preserved the picture taken on that occasion - a momento of the event that marked his entry into the Hindi film industry. Before long, Sameer was to work with Chitragupta's sons, Anand and Milind for Ab Aayega Mazaa (1984). The director was Pankaj Parashar and Farooque Sheikh and Anita Raaj shared the leads. The recording was again at Famous Studios. And the best part was that Lata Mangeshkar was to sing Sameer's lines for the first time - 'Raja tere raste se hat jaaoongi, gadi ke neeche jaake kat jaaoongi.' This was also to be the first time Sameer would be meeting the iconic songstress in person. But what became a cause for concern that day was the inordinate delay in Lata's arrival. The studio was booked from 9.30 am to 1.00 pm and overshooting the time limit meant incurring extra costs by way of overtime. For any small-budget film, this could be a huge financial blow. Lata arrived at 11.00 am - as always smiling and completely unflustered. She was particularly fond of Chitragupta's children, having seen them since they were little boys. Like a fussy mother, she chose to indulge them rather than take her position in front of the microphone and make up for the lost time. She closeted herself with the boys and their father for more than one-and-half hours, much to the chagrin of the musicians and the rest of the unit waiting outside. She even asked Milind to sing for her the song she was to record. Everybody had virtually given up on her when finally, at 12.45 pm, she emerged and without much ado, recorded the song. It was approved in a single take. And by 1 pm the recording was over. For Sameer, this was an eye-opener, More than her confidence in delivering a perfect 'take', the level to which Lata could uplift a song by the sheer magic of her voice was simply amazing. Sameer realized then the real contribution of a singer, how she could turn the mundane to sublime and in this, Lata was unquestionably supreme. But there was more to come. After the recording, when someone asked Lata why she made Milind sing for her, her answer was telling: "I wanted these children to get a feel of the song. Composing music mechanically for films is one thing and understanding a song in its entirety, the meaning and significance of every word and phrase, its relevance in the film and so on, is quite another."

Kishore Kumar had a similar piece of advice, though delivered in his characteristically jocular style. It was for the same film, Ab Aayega Mazaa and the song was a duet, with Asha Bhosle: 'Solah baras ki kamsin umariyaa, umariyaa jeene na de, chunariyaa jeene na de'. After keeping the recording unit on tenterhooks over his uncertainty of arrival, he breezed in finally, dressed in his trademark China-silk lungi and a flowing white kurta and promptly broke into his pranks. He got the musicians and technicians into splits - Asha in particular, till she had to plead with him to stop making her laugh lest her voice became affected. Sameer observed that for all his tomfoolery and idiotic jokes, deep inside, Kishore-da was a serious man. For, no sooner he took the microphone, than a glitch in the mukhda caught his eye. He summoned Sameer and asked: "What do you mean by this, 'Chunariyaa jeene na de?' I can understand umariyaa no allowing you to live, but how can chunariyaa stop you from living?" It was a question, Sameer realized, that was tossed up not as a measure to challenge the intelligence of the lyricist, but to make sure he had applied himself sufficiently. The moment Kishore figured out that the chunariyaa word was used on purpose he did not wait for an explanation - let alone enter into an argument - and proceeded with singing the song.