Jo raat humne guzaari mar ke, woh raat tumne guzaari hoti”

Just two lines from the deeply poignant “Hazaar rahein”(Thodi si Bewafai, 1980) is testimony to the depths Gulzar’s pen can delve into. There is so much bareeki in his writing that nestled between the carefully chosen words have always been complex, entwined emotions. Never in binaries, never in singularities. Much like the people he portrayed who felt them. Real, messy, hurting adults, often caught between circumstances that went beyond convention. And within those, struggling to deal with emotions and situations, where the heart refuses to listen. That conflict and struggle are almost always so poignantly showcased, so sensitively handled, and so gently political, that we are forced to see the people behind the roles, and beyond the binaries of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ (often societally conditioned) without judging their actions. And within this stunning, fierce, beautiful sensitivity lies anger. Anger that is natural, but stays hidden in life. Gulzar unleashes it, cradles it, and showcases it in all its softness. Sometimes anger is political and upfront, sometimes it is grief that masquerades, and at other times it is wrapped in humour. Very few writers and lyricists have woven anger into poetry (sometimes romantic, sometimes reflective) with such ease, and made it a part of everyday cultural language.

Anger and longing often appear in Gulzar’s lyrics together. The tees of longing that make one hurt, the pain that makes one angry, and the loneliness that threatens to engulf one, all meet in some of the finest songs that have stood the test of time. 

“Mera kuch samaan” from Ijaazat (1987) traces the smallest memories that make lovers come so close that separating them is not merely about moving apart in space and time, but much more deeply about what those moments of togetherness made one feel. Each line in the song, that ends with “mere woh samaan, lauta do” puts into words angst that has possibly not found an expression as poignant since. Love and separation are not built of material shared, exchanged or left behind, but of the memory of that physical material, time and space. And this seemingly minute truth is thrown into sharp relief by Gulzar, enabling us to feel the anger that comes with seeing things returned upon separation. It is a reminder of crunched space in the life of the other, the brutality of ‘‘moving on’’ to a new normalcy and yet inextricably tied to the love that was once shared. Since the love still exists, only the sharing does not.

“Mera yaar mila de saiyan” from Saathiya (2002) looks at the metaphor of that longing—the effort, the angst. And all of that is set to Rahman’s music, which is energetic, pained, and contemporary in terms of sound as well. 

“Aa dekh meri peshani ko takdeer ke harf likhe hain, pairon ke nishan jab dekhe jahan sau baar jhukaya sar ko wahan. Main kitni baar pukaroon tujhe tere naam ke safhe likhe hain, tera saaya kabhi toh bolega tera saaya kabhi toh bolega, main sunta raha parchhaiyan”

Helplessness and anger also find a place in Gulzar’s world. The lyrics of “Tujhse naraaz nahin zindagi’’ from Masoom (1983) acknowledge the perplexity about the anger that the protagonists feel, at the circumstances they find themselves in. Often in conversation with life itself, Gulzar almost personifies life and seeks answers to questions no one has ever found answers to. 

The angst of longing isn’t restricted to lovers alone. “Chhod aaye hum woh galiyan’’ from Maachis (1996) looks at leaving behind a space, and loved ones. 

“Dil dard ka tukda hai, Patthar ki dali si hai, ek andha kuaan hai ya, ik band gali si hai

Ik chhota sa lamha hai, jo khatm nahin hota, Mai laakh jalaata hoon, woh bhasm nahin hota’’ is testimony to the will to destroy a moment, a memory in time, that causes the weight of the grief the boys struggle to bear.

Bunty aur Babli’s (2005) “Dhadak dhadak” looks at the ambition and the will to break out of restrictive ideas of small-town India. The fact that the pair wish to become famous and find the world stopping them, which eventually pushes them to take up crime for fun, is a joyful ride. But on closer listening, one can see in the restricted ambition the angst that stops them from realising it.

Gulzar uses humour beautifully in political anger, converting it into satire. The title song of Golmaal (1979) portrays unemployment and the financial crunches of the young through the stitching of a shirt. Similarly,“Haal chaal theek thaak hai”, from Mere Apne (1971), brings to life with hilarity how young people are angry at false promises, systemic indifference, economic crisis and unemployment. Gulzar picks up the incredible ‘‘theek thaak’’ to convey the anger with a huge dose of healthy sarcasm.

Gulzar’s tryst with anger isn’t restricted to his lyrical repertoire. Both Masoom (directed by Shekhar Kapur) and Ijaazat (directed by Gulzar), insist on looking at the complexities of relationships that go beyond the pigeonholes we slot relationships into as a society, which thrives on binaries, and empathise with the people struggling, seeking answers. “Tumhara jaana bura laga”, which Mahendra (Naseeruddin Shah) says to Sudha (Rekha) while telling her about his first heart attack, indicates beautifully his hurt and angst, sans any blame. Gulzar’s characters are also angry at circumstances. In Parichay (1972), Rama (Jaya Bhaduri-Bachchan) and her siblings are deeply angry at their grandfather (Pran) for seemingly abandoning them, and at their father (Sanjeev Kumar) when they needed him the most. In both Hu Tu Tu (1999) and Maachis (1996), the anger of citizens is evident.

“Pichle pachaas saalo mein hamare desh ne sirf mantri aur minister paida kiye hain.  Ek neta paida nahi kiya” from Hu Tu Tu encapsulates the disenchantment with and anger at corrupt politicians and political systems. 

In Golmaal (1979), in a scene where a bunch of Ramprasad’s (Amol Palekar) friends wish to celebrate his promotion, and some of them wish to see the critical hockey test match, they protest by saying, “Yeh toh democracy ke khilaaf hai” and “Down with personality cult.” These are met with an equally political, mock-angry statement: “Emergency hat jaane ka matlab yeh nahin hai ki aap log jab chahe manmaani karein, shor machaayein.” These statements find their way into ordinary chats—normalising both anger and the idea of political referencing in everyday conversation.

In Gulzar’s writing, a single emotion is presented in several varying shades and images. His pen enables us to find words for what we are often unable to express. Gulzar’s take on anger and angst, across the personal, political and personal-political realms, carries his trademark bareeki. This creative genius who has been unpeeling the many layers of human emotions since 1963, turned 90 on August 18 this year.