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| 18th February 1927 |
Part of it is his own doing - Khayyam's abject refusal to countenance any film that would compromise his ideals or principles. It was a decision he would stick to throughout his career that spanned more than six decades, with long stretches in between where he did not compose for films at all. In all, he composed for 54 films (and 17 other unreleased ones) and totalled up 626 songs (including those for TV serials and other non-film albums including those for Begum Akhtar and Mohammed Rafi). The statistics could be wrong, since we, as a nation, aren't very good at keeping records. Besides, statistics never reveal the real story anyway. And the devil is in the details.
Mohammed
Zahur Khayyam Hashmi, born on 18th February 1927, had
always been interested in music and films. So much so, the tale goes, he
ran away to Delhi. (He claims, in an interview, that his folks threw
him out of the house.) While staying at his uncle's, he met music directors Husnlal-Bhagatram, who were in Delhi at the time. They were kind to the young lad, and told him that if he was serious about making it in films, he should learn music as well. This began his initial classical training - under Husnlal-Bhagatram, and sometimes under Pandit Amarnath, their elder brother.
At the end of five years, Pandit Amarnath told him that if his ambition was to be in films, he should make his way to Bombay or Lahore. And so the 15-year-old Khayyam landed in Bombay. After knocking unsuccessfully on several doors - he was neither child, nor adult and there weren't many roles for a teenager - he made his way to Lahore in search of roles. Here, he had a fortuitous meeting with Ghulam Ahmed Chishti, a famous music director of Lahore, better known as Chishti Baba. Impressed by the lad's musical talent, he offered him an assistantship. Khayyam snapped up the offer, working and learning, but his destiny lay in India, more particularly in Bombay, where he made his way after the Second World War. (Khayyam had a three-year stint in the British army.) Once in Bombay, he began assisting Husnlal-Bhagatram, his mentors.
In 1948, he was offered the chance to score music for a film titled Heer Ranjha. Along with Rehman Hussain, they composed the 12 songs of the film under the name Sharmaji-Varmaji. (Apparently, he was told that his name was too long for that of a music director.) Then, when his co-composer moved to Pakistan after the Partition, he continued to compose music as Sharmaji (Parda [1949], Biwi [1950, in collaboration with Aziz Hindi], and Pyar ki Baatein [1951, where he shared honours with Bulo C Rani]. According to Khayyam, Akele mein woh ghabrate toh honge , the Mohammed Rafi solo from Biwi, was his first big 'hit'.
At the end of five years, Pandit Amarnath told him that if his ambition was to be in films, he should make his way to Bombay or Lahore. And so the 15-year-old Khayyam landed in Bombay. After knocking unsuccessfully on several doors - he was neither child, nor adult and there weren't many roles for a teenager - he made his way to Lahore in search of roles. Here, he had a fortuitous meeting with Ghulam Ahmed Chishti, a famous music director of Lahore, better known as Chishti Baba. Impressed by the lad's musical talent, he offered him an assistantship. Khayyam snapped up the offer, working and learning, but his destiny lay in India, more particularly in Bombay, where he made his way after the Second World War. (Khayyam had a three-year stint in the British army.) Once in Bombay, he began assisting Husnlal-Bhagatram, his mentors.
In 1948, he was offered the chance to score music for a film titled Heer Ranjha. Along with Rehman Hussain, they composed the 12 songs of the film under the name Sharmaji-Varmaji. (Apparently, he was told that his name was too long for that of a music director.) Then, when his co-composer moved to Pakistan after the Partition, he continued to compose music as Sharmaji (Parda [1949], Biwi [1950, in collaboration with Aziz Hindi], and Pyar ki Baatein [1951, where he shared honours with Bulo C Rani]. According to Khayyam, Akele mein woh ghabrate toh honge , the Mohammed Rafi solo from Biwi, was his first big 'hit'.
This was followed by Footpath (1953), directed by Zia Sarhadi, who felt that 'Khayyam' had a nice distinctive ring to it. The time had come to reclaim his name. Success was doubly sweet - the film's score was Khayyam's biggest success to date (even though the film itself only saw a moderate run), and that, under his own name. In an interview, Khayyam narrates how the film's producer was so pleased with him that he proudly introduced him to all and sundry as 'my Naushad'.
Strangely
enough, in those days, Khayyam did not capitalise on his success. He
composed for only one film the next year, and then there is a break of
about four years before his next film - Shola aur Shabnam. It is a
pattern that is to recur frequently in his career graph. His marriage
to singer Jagjit Kaur solidified his decision to work only on his own terms. She was equally
principled, insisting that he not recommend her name to producers who
came to sign him on as composer. She would sing only for those composers
who wanted her to sing for them. They were well-suited, he and
she, and continued to make non-film albums (he composed the music for Meena Kumari's recitation of her own poems,
an album titled I write, I recite); she assisted him with his
music, and he firmly believes that she is responsible for who he is
today.Here, in anticipation of his 88th birthday, are a few of Khayyam's memorable tunes, in no particular order, beginning with the one that sparked this post. (SSW's music notes in whatever shade this colour is supposed to be.)
Umrao Jaan (1981)
Singer: Asha Bhosle
Lyrics: Shahryar
Why
do I like this song so much? I cannot explain it - other than to say
it's a combination of Asha's voice, Shahryar's lyrics, and Khayyam's
music. There is something very haunting about the tune, and its
rendition.
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| With Asha Bhosle Photo credit: timesofindia.com |
But he had read the book on which the film was based, and decided to take on the challenge. But that was only the first hurdle. The next step was to get Asha Bhosle to sing the songs. She agreed, but was shocked when the music director informed her, 'Humein 'Asha' nahin chahiye.' He explained that he wanted 'Umrao Jaan' instead. She asked him to record the song for her - the way he wanted her to sing - in his voice. According to Khayyam, she was so dedicated that she asked him to give her eight days to rehearse - she needed that time to give him 'Umrao Jaan'. But at the recording, when she realised that the notes were set at a lower octave than usual, she asked Jagjit Kaur whether Khayyam was taking revenge on her for some past misdemeanour.
She almost refused to sing. But the music director prevailed, promising her that he would also record the song in her usual voice, if she wasn't happy with the way she sounded. When she heard the recordings, she was astounded at how different - and beautiful - her voice sounded. The film won her the National Award for Best Playback Singer (Female) for Dil cheez kya hai that year, while Khayyam picked up the National Award for Best Music Director for the score. Umrao Jaan also saw the debut of ghazal-singer Talat Aziz as a playback singer for Hindi films.
Footpath (1953)
Singer: Talat Mahmood
Lyrics: Majrooh Sultanpuri, Ali Sardar Jaffrey
This
was Khayyam's proud 'debut' as Khayyam. In an interview (available on
YouTube if anyone cares to listen), Khayyam mentions a very interesting
factoid about this song (and the others in the film). Usually, if a film
has two lyricists (or two music directors), they tend to split the score, working on
different songs/compositions. In Footpath, however, Majrooh
Sultanpuri and Ali Sardar Jaffrey worked in collaboration on all the
songs.
This is one of Khayyam's most lovingly orchestrated songs. Starting with the initial notes on the electric organ followed by the piano and guitar, and then a short expressive piece on the strings, the instrumental piece ends with three notes on the guitar before Talat begins singing. The guitar sets the 3/4 rhythm, the strings come in for a brief interlude and Talat moves into the antara, the second line dropping deeper but not resolving to the tonic; then, the guitar plays a short piece after which he climbs higher again, and finally it resolves to where it started. The second interlude has lovely muted trumpet holding a short dialogue with what sounds like a flute before the second antara commences.
The love ballad, expressing all the sorrowful yearning of a man waiting for his beloved, rendered by Talat Mahmood and picturised on Dilip Kumar, was a huge success, and paved the way for Khayyam to become a force to be reckoned with.
This is one of Khayyam's most lovingly orchestrated songs. Starting with the initial notes on the electric organ followed by the piano and guitar, and then a short expressive piece on the strings, the instrumental piece ends with three notes on the guitar before Talat begins singing. The guitar sets the 3/4 rhythm, the strings come in for a brief interlude and Talat moves into the antara, the second line dropping deeper but not resolving to the tonic; then, the guitar plays a short piece after which he climbs higher again, and finally it resolves to where it started. The second interlude has lovely muted trumpet holding a short dialogue with what sounds like a flute before the second antara commences.
The love ballad, expressing all the sorrowful yearning of a man waiting for his beloved, rendered by Talat Mahmood and picturised on Dilip Kumar, was a huge success, and paved the way for Khayyam to become a force to be reckoned with.
Shola aur Shabnam (1961)
Singer: Mohammed Rafi
Lyrics: Kaifi Azmi
If
I had to choose Mohammed Rafi's 'best' songs, this would find its way
on the list. It definitely is on my list of all-time favourite songs. This
extremely complicated song is also
widely regarded as the best of Khayyam's compositions. Certainly, Khayyam himself
describes this song as one of his very best. A
very young (and handsome) Dharmendra in only his second film (though he signed Shola aur Shabnam first, it was released
only after Dil Bhi Tera Hum Bhi Tere), gets some lovely romantic numbers that placed him squarely on the path to being a romantic hero. Here, he sings out his grief, rigidly controlled by the determination to do right. Mohammed Rafi gives voice to his emotions off
screen. Kaifi Azmi's lyrics describe the emotions of a man who is
determined to obliterate
any memories of a childhood love. In the battle between friendship and love,
one or the other has to be sacrificed. He wouldn't be a Hindi film hero if he does not sacrifice the
latter. And so he gives his love up, but takes the time to explain the reason to his beloved ending
with:
Aarzoo jurm vafaa jurm tamanna hai gunaah
Ye woh duniya hain jahaan pyaar nahin ho sakta
Kaise bazaar ka dastur tumhe samjhaaoon
Bik gaya jo woh khareed-dar nahin ho sakta
(She, of course, gets no choice in the matter.) Kaifi Azmi's lines were immortalised by Khayyam's music and Mohammed Rafi's warm, mellow voice.
Aarzoo jurm vafaa jurm tamanna hai gunaah
Ye woh duniya hain jahaan pyaar nahin ho sakta
Kaise bazaar ka dastur tumhe samjhaaoon
Bik gaya jo woh khareed-dar nahin ho sakta
(She, of course, gets no choice in the matter.) Kaifi Azmi's lines were immortalised by Khayyam's music and Mohammed Rafi's warm, mellow voice.
Aakhri Khat
Singer: Mohammed Rafi
Lyrics: Kaifi Azmi
One
of Chetan Anand's lesser known films, Aakhri Khat saw the debut of the man
who went on to become the first 'superstar' of Hindi films - Rajesh
Khanna. This song is much more explicit than the others I have listed so far,
in that the lyrics and the picturisation make it very clear
that they have just made love. He doesn't want her to leave yet - Raat ab baaki hai - and he hasn't had his fill - Paake tujhko tujhe paane ki hawas baaki hai. He
doesn't shy away from lust (though it embarrasses him too, a little
bit) either. This song's success, for me at least, is as much because of Mohammed Rafi's quiet, sensuous rendition as it is for Khayyam's music - who complements whom? Where does one stop and the other begin? I don't know. All I know is that this song is one of the most romantic songs I've ever heard.
According to Khayyam, there were 4000ft of dialogues, and 8000ft of silence. Chetan Anand's brief was that the silences were part of the story and could only be understood through the music, and Khayyam rose to the occasion - he scored the background music for the film, giving voice to the silences.
According to Khayyam, there were 4000ft of dialogues, and 8000ft of silence. Chetan Anand's brief was that the silences were part of the story and could only be understood through the music, and Khayyam rose to the occasion - he scored the background music for the film, giving voice to the silences.
Aakhri Khat
Singer: Bhupinder
Lyrics: Kaifi Azmi
Why have I chosen two songs from the same film? Because I love Aur kuch der thehar and just couldn't drop it from my list. (Bahaaron mera jeevan sawaaro is also among my favourites, but it is probably the best known song from this film.) But I came across Ye rut jawan jawan only
recently, and was struck by both music and picturisation. I love the
way the music leads you into this song, almost 'voicing' the words -
listen to Ye rut jawan jawan... for example - you'll automatically verbalise a third 'jawan' along with the music that is being played. Bhupinder's rendition is flawless, and he was one of the finest guitarists in the industry at the time, so he was actually playing the chords on screen, instead of just holding the guitar as an accessory. Thirdly, I love that the song, picturised in a nightclub, continues in
the background while the man (Manavendra Chitnis) and woman (Naqi Jahan)
are speaking. Their conversation comes in between the antaras while the interludes recede into the background when they speak, and then swell into the foreground when the dialogues stop. It is all very realistic.
Ye rut jawan jawan song begins in A flat, not a key normally favoured by composers. And though Bhupinder is shown playing an acoustic guitar on screen, there are simple, lovely lead melodies played on an electric guitar throughout the song. Perhaps he played those as well. There are also some great swirling trumpet solos, played with great vibrato, by Chic Chocolate himself.
According to Khayyam, this was Bhupinder's first chance at a full solo in Hindi films. (Madan Mohan had earlier given him an antara (which was also picturised on him) to sing in Haqeeqat.)
Ye rut jawan jawan song begins in A flat, not a key normally favoured by composers. And though Bhupinder is shown playing an acoustic guitar on screen, there are simple, lovely lead melodies played on an electric guitar throughout the song. Perhaps he played those as well. There are also some great swirling trumpet solos, played with great vibrato, by Chic Chocolate himself.
According to Khayyam, this was Bhupinder's first chance at a full solo in Hindi films. (Madan Mohan had earlier given him an antara (which was also picturised on him) to sing in Haqeeqat.)
Shagoon (1964)
Singer: Jagjit Kaur
Lyrics: Sahir Ludhianvi
This is one of the first songs recorded by Jagjit Kaur in Hindi. (She had earlier sung for a Punjabi film called Posti, for Ghulam Mohammed in Dil-e-Nadaan, and for Khayyam himself in Shola aur Shabnam.) Khayyam chose an unusual accompaniment for the ghazal.
This is not a standard Khayyam composition. There is a lot of piano - the melody first begins with the piano, and then it moves into an accompanists' 3-beat rhythm complete with lovely arpeggios. These interludes, though short, have nice string passages with the piano playing above them. The antara gives way to the mukhda's melody but does not repeat the latter's verses. There is a particularly lovely piano in the second interlude at 2:11, with a light touch of dissonance. The mukhda is repeated only at the end of the song.
Shagoon did not meet with much success at the box-office, though Khayyam's stellar score that included the beautiful Mohammed Rafi-Suman Kalyanpur duet Parbaton ke pedon par and Suman's plaintive Bujha diye hain, amongst others, was well-received. Shagoon was also the reason Jagjit Kaur walked into Khayyam's life - as his wife, and collaborator. He insists that his compositions were 50% her contribution. And from the time she came into his life, she's helped him maintain the standard of his compositions. 'Ye nahin hoti, toh Khayyam bhi nahin hota.'
This is one of the first songs recorded by Jagjit Kaur in Hindi. (She had earlier sung for a Punjabi film called Posti, for Ghulam Mohammed in Dil-e-Nadaan, and for Khayyam himself in Shola aur Shabnam.) Khayyam chose an unusual accompaniment for the ghazal.
This is not a standard Khayyam composition. There is a lot of piano - the melody first begins with the piano, and then it moves into an accompanists' 3-beat rhythm complete with lovely arpeggios. These interludes, though short, have nice string passages with the piano playing above them. The antara gives way to the mukhda's melody but does not repeat the latter's verses. There is a particularly lovely piano in the second interlude at 2:11, with a light touch of dissonance. The mukhda is repeated only at the end of the song.
Shagoon did not meet with much success at the box-office, though Khayyam's stellar score that included the beautiful Mohammed Rafi-Suman Kalyanpur duet Parbaton ke pedon par and Suman's plaintive Bujha diye hain, amongst others, was well-received. Shagoon was also the reason Jagjit Kaur walked into Khayyam's life - as his wife, and collaborator. He insists that his compositions were 50% her contribution. And from the time she came into his life, she's helped him maintain the standard of his compositions. 'Ye nahin hoti, toh Khayyam bhi nahin hota.'
Phir Subah Hogi (1958)
Singer: Mukesh, Asha Bhosle
Lyrics: Sahir Ludhianvi
This
is another of the films for which Khayyam composed the music where I
have difficulty in choosing one song over the other - I like all of them, from the cynical Cheen-o-Arab hamara to the hopeful Woh subah kabhi toh aayegi, from the satirical Aasman pe hain khuda to the humorous Rafi solo, Jis pyaar mein ye haal ho.
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With and Mohammed Rafi,
and Sahir Ludhianvi
Photo credit: mohdrafi.com
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Khayyam's first face-to-face meeting with the poet had been during the making of Lala Rukh (1958), when Sahir Ludhianvi and Jaan Nissar Akhtar had dropped in on the recordings. The young music director confessed to the poet that not only had he read Sahir's Talkhiyaan, but had also set every single nazm, ghazal, and geet in it to music. As he played one of the nazms (Fankar) that he had set to music for Sahir, the gratified poet promised him that they would work together. Soon. And they did. Khayyam had to cross one hurdle though - Raj Kapoor usually worked with Shankar-Jaikishen. He was told that he had to audition for the job; would he impress the actor-director enough? Khayyam composed five tunes on the spot; Kapoor listened silently, and then, equally silently walked out of the room. He and director Ramesh Saigal didn't come back for a while. To hear Khayyam narrate the story, Raj Kapoor was so pleased with the tunes he composed that he confessed he couldn't choose one tune over the others. Khayyam should use all five tunes in the film. He could compose what he wanted to, and choose the tune he thought best.
Razia Sultan (1983)
Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
Lyrics: Jaan Nisaar Akhtar
Khayyam
had worked earlier with Kamal Amrohi, but this time, he was stepping in
for Laxmikant-Pyarelal who had been the director's original choice.
This was his first 'period film', and Khayyam confesses that he was
slightly nervous about the project. So he quietly read up all he could
about Razia Sultana and the Slave Dynasty. Once he discovered the Turkish
origins of the originators of the Delhi Sultanate, he decided to
incorporate those sounds into the music.
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| With Lata Mangeshkar Photo credit: Rediff.com |
Ae dil-e-nadaan was recorded in 1976, though the film would only release in 1983. So impressed was Amitabh Bachchan when he heard the song that he sent wife Jaya to borrow the tapes from Khayyam. (She visited the composer's house at midnight, with actress Shammi in tow.) Unfortunately, the tapes were with Kamal Amrohi, but Khayyam delivered a copy to the Bachchans the next day. Amitabh recommended his name to Yash Chopra. As Khayyam narrates it, he came home the next evening to find Yash Chopra and Sahir Ludhianvi in earnest conversation with his wife, Jagjit. Chopra was readying a film on a poet, and had come to ask Khayyam to compose the score for that film - Kabhi Kabhie.
Kabhi Kabhie (1976)
Singer: Mukesh
Lyrics: Sahir Ludhianvi
It is one of the coincidences in life that Khayyam, who'd initially set Sahir's entire Talkhiyan to music for his own pleasure, was now setting music to a couple of the nazms from the book for this film. (Sahir dropped three of the stanzas from his original nazm
and changed a couple of lines as well.) Khayyam remains indebted to
Yash Chopra for one thing: he claims that it was Chopra who brought
'jubilees' into his career. He was successful before, yes, but none of
the films he had composed for had seen the sort of success that Kabhi Kabhie and Trishul did. It is also ironical that he should win his first Filmfare award for Kabhi Kabhie,
when he had given far better scores earlier. But I like Main pal do pal ka shaayar hoon, and the
different versions of the titles songs much more than I like the songs
picturised on Rishi Kapoor (though they are quite nice - just not
'Khayyam-ish'), and I have an unreasonable dislike of Mere ghar aayi ik nanhi pari. A couple of years later, he would once again team up with Yash Chopra and Sahir Ludhianvi for Trishul, another box-office success.
Shankar Hussain (1976)
Singer: Mohammed Rafi
Lyrics: Kamal Amrohi
An
obscure film that met the fate it deserved, though it did give us
Kanwaljeet, who made his mark later in television serials, and an
actress named Madhuchanda, who looks astonishingly like a young Mala
Sinha. She seems to have vanished into obscurity as well. Khayyam gave
some incredible tunes for this film (Lata's Aap yun faaslon se guzarte rahe is
absolutely wonderful, and she did choose it as one of her favourite Khayyam numbers, along with Baharon mera jeevan bhi sawaaron and Ae dil-e-nadaan) which, though it was a Kamal Amrohi production,
was not worthy of his baton. But the song, the song! (As I've often said
of other songs from obscure films.) Mohammed Rafi at his slow,
romantic best. It is one of those songs that make you want to fall in love.
Mohabbat Isko Kehte Hain (1965)
Singer: Mohammed Rafi, Suman Kalyanpur
Lyrics: Majrooh Sultanpuri
Once again, Khayyam reinvented himself, sounding more like OP Nayyar with the taar shehnai and the guitar in the interludes. The taar shehnai is there right through the verses but the changes are more visible in the singing and in the rhythm and melody from the interludes to the vocals. You'll also see how the music changes leading into the antara because the antaras are more introspective, whereas the mukhda is more joyous. The mukhda alternates between the C major and its associated A minor key but the antara starts with an E major chord. It is an odd progression.
This was one of Shashi Kapoor's earlier films, when the only heroine who would agree to act with him, whether their previous film flopped or not, was Nanda. They look very comfortable together, though I must confess that I've never been able to see Nanda as a romantic heroine. She looked like everyone's favourite sister. Mohammed Rafi does what he does best - be laughingly, flirtatiously, playfully romantic. Suman Kalyanpur was making hay while the sun shone, since Lata Mangeshkar had stopped working with Rafi. She stepped up to the challenge and succeeded in forming a good partnership with Mohammed Rafi, and making a name for herself.
12. Hai kali kali ke lab par
Lala Rukh (1958)
Singer: Mohammed Rafi
Lyrics: Kaifi Azmi
Once again, Khayyam reinvented himself, sounding more like OP Nayyar with the taar shehnai and the guitar in the interludes. The taar shehnai is there right through the verses but the changes are more visible in the singing and in the rhythm and melody from the interludes to the vocals. You'll also see how the music changes leading into the antara because the antaras are more introspective, whereas the mukhda is more joyous. The mukhda alternates between the C major and its associated A minor key but the antara starts with an E major chord. It is an odd progression.
This was one of Shashi Kapoor's earlier films, when the only heroine who would agree to act with him, whether their previous film flopped or not, was Nanda. They look very comfortable together, though I must confess that I've never been able to see Nanda as a romantic heroine. She looked like everyone's favourite sister. Mohammed Rafi does what he does best - be laughingly, flirtatiously, playfully romantic. Suman Kalyanpur was making hay while the sun shone, since Lata Mangeshkar had stopped working with Rafi. She stepped up to the challenge and succeeded in forming a good partnership with Mohammed Rafi, and making a name for herself.
Lala Rukh (1958)
Singer: Mohammed Rafi
Lyrics: Kaifi Azmi
Talat Mahmood had
been bitten by the acting bug, and this was one of his early forays
into being onscreen instead of off it. He plays the romantic hero here, a
prince who turns into a pauper to see if his betrothed actually loves
him or his kingdom. While he (obviously) sang his own songs, music
director Khayyam brought in Mohammed Rafi to sing this lilting ballad. He talked about how he decided to make the song 'not quite' technically perfect, and composed accordingly. It was picturised on Lotan (and Radhika, who is apparently actress Kumkum's
younger sister - I would be grateful if someone could confirm that), who
plays a happy-go-lucky man who befriends the prince.
Lala Rukh was produced by writer Ismat Chughtai and her husband Shahid Latif, and Khayyam narrates how the former wasn't too happy with the lyrics that Kaifi Azmi originally wrote originally for the song. She said they were too 'kitaabi', too much of 'shaayari', and they were making a film. When Khayyam told her that he liked the lyrics, she responded, 'Khud toh bhooko mar rahe ho aur humein bhi bhooko maaroge?' But he persisted, and composed the tunes for Hai kali kali ke lab par and Pyaas kuch aur bhi bhadkaa di initially. He had told her that if she didn't like it, they would change both lyrics and melody. They didn't have to.
These are just a handful of the songs he composed, and so well, giving them his all even when the films didn't demand, or deserve, his fine tunes. Fame and success didn't bring arrogance in its train, the simple composer remaining happy with what he's achieved so far. He has no regrets, and no complaints, even though he confesses that present-day lyrics leave him cold. He is animated when he talks about the talent and dedication of all the artistes he's had the honour of working with, and it appears that he likes everybody and everybody liked him.
The still-unassuming composer, who is quick to give equal credit to the lyricist and the singer for the success of a song, lives a quiet and contented life with his wife, though the shadow of the untimely death of their only son, Pradeep, is never too far away from his thoughts. Here's wishing him many more healthy, contented years.
What are your favourite Khayyam compositions?
Lala Rukh was produced by writer Ismat Chughtai and her husband Shahid Latif, and Khayyam narrates how the former wasn't too happy with the lyrics that Kaifi Azmi originally wrote originally for the song. She said they were too 'kitaabi', too much of 'shaayari', and they were making a film. When Khayyam told her that he liked the lyrics, she responded, 'Khud toh bhooko mar rahe ho aur humein bhi bhooko maaroge?' But he persisted, and composed the tunes for Hai kali kali ke lab par and Pyaas kuch aur bhi bhadkaa di initially. He had told her that if she didn't like it, they would change both lyrics and melody. They didn't have to.
These are just a handful of the songs he composed, and so well, giving them his all even when the films didn't demand, or deserve, his fine tunes. Fame and success didn't bring arrogance in its train, the simple composer remaining happy with what he's achieved so far. He has no regrets, and no complaints, even though he confesses that present-day lyrics leave him cold. He is animated when he talks about the talent and dedication of all the artistes he's had the honour of working with, and it appears that he likes everybody and everybody liked him.
The still-unassuming composer, who is quick to give equal credit to the lyricist and the singer for the success of a song, lives a quiet and contented life with his wife, though the shadow of the untimely death of their only son, Pradeep, is never too far away from his thoughts. Here's wishing him many more healthy, contented years.
What are your favourite Khayyam compositions?
