Gulzar: A life in long verse and great form

A river runs for centuries and yet belies the idea of permanence. It flows away as it flows in, can both flood and run dry, take in tributaries, change course and annex newer territories. A long creative career carries a similar paradox. While retaining an essential recognisable voice it must continually acquire new vocabularies. For over seventy years, Picasso did not merely survive shifting artistic movements but actually spearheaded most of them without once falling out of contention.

And there isn’t a more compelling Indian parallel to this than Gulzar. Rarely has someone spent decade after decade at the very summit of multiple demanding public crafts, without a prominent phase of decline and without the grandiosity that often accompanies greatness. An influential Urdu poet, a lyricist, a film and television director, author, screenwriter, children’s writer, translator, Gulzar has looked into this world through every possible lens and the world too has looked back gratefully, bestowing on him every known national and international award, from the Dadasaheb Phalke Award to the Jnanpith Award, from the Oscar to the Grammy. To tweak one of his own lines he wrote for the film ‘Anand’, his career has not just been extensive but expansive too (Zindagi badi honi chahiye, lambi nahi).

Gulzar came to film songwriting at a time when the lyricists’ fraternity was a formidable roll-call of masters such as Shailendra, Sahir Ludhianvi, Shakeel Badayuni, Rajendra Krishan amongst others. Gulzar wrote his first film song for Bimal Roy’s ‘Bandini’ – Mora Gora Ang Laile set in Vaishnava verse. And right away, he had found his niche as a lyricist in a roomful of titans.

Though bound by the strict film song conventions of metre, rhyming, musicality, situations and the need to fit lyrics into a pre-composed tune, Gulzar has always commanded a singular, unmistakable idiom. While this signature is instantly perceptible, it defies easy definition. The style is a curious blend of abstraction (Is mod se jaate hain from ‘Aandhi’), symbolism (Wo Yaar hai Jo Khushboo Ki Tarah, Jiski Zubaan Urdu Ki Tarah from ‘Dil Se’), poetic flourish (Do Nainon Mein Aansoo Bhare Hain, Nindiya Kaise Samaye from ‘Khushboo’), paronomasia (Sare ke Sare gama Ko Lekar Gaate Chale from ‘Parichay’), political messaging (Haal Chaal Thik Thaak Hain from ‘Mere Apne’), allusion to nature (Hawaaon Pe Likh Do from ‘Do Dooni Chaar’), vivid imagery (Chhote Chhote sheheron from ‘Bunty Aur Babli’), dark humour (Goli Maar Bheje Mein from ‘Satya’), arcane vocabulary (Aab-o-dana dhoondhte hain ek aashiyaana dhoondte hain from ‘Gharonda’), a rich worldview (Aane Wala Pal from ‘Golmaal’), and above all, an emotional heft (Humne Dekhi haiIn Aankhon Ki Mehekti Khushboo from ‘Khamoshi’) that can entirely ambush a listener mid-song.

Critics may argue that such sophistication is at odds with a “film” song, a form expected to resonate with the masses without demanding much of interpretive labour. And yet Gulzar has repeatedly proven otherwise. Many of his songs have captured popular imagination like none other such as Humko Mann Ki Shakti Dena from ‘Guddi’, a regulation prayer song in schools even today or Beedi Jalaile from ‘Omkara’ oozing a rustic exuberance or the infectiously playful Kajra Re from ‘Bunty Aur Babli’. Despite his uncommon idiom, his songs have found universal acceptance aided by composers such as R.D. Burman, A.R. Rahman and Vishal Bharadwaj who have matched their crafts effortlessly to his calibre.

The same intellectual courage defines Gulzar’s trajectory as a filmmaker and a screenwriter. Many of Gulzar’s films have been adapted from works of literature. As a writer himself, he could easily find a story’s emotional register and seamlessly infuse it into cinema with sensitivity to things like language, character, subtext, silence, refrains and motifs. He also made films which were topical, championed progressive values, spoke truth to power, presented nuanced worldviews and asked uncomfortable questions all without ever tipping into preachiness. His debut film ‘Mere Apne’ placed disaffected youth at the centre of a story about political disillusionment and loneliness. His ‘Aandhi’ was a political thriller which gave its female lead enormous agency where the male lead plays second fiddle to her. His ‘Mausam’ delicately handles the misplaced romantic affection a sex worker feels for her own biological father, a narrative choice most directors would have flinched at back then. His ‘Maachis’ was a bold and layered exploration of radicalisation set against the Punjab insurgency probing raw wounds without pointing fingers. He has never been the one to take the easy path, neither in his choice of subjects nor in his treatment of them.

As a poet and a prose stylist outside films, Gulzar has been nothing short of prolific. His Partition stories carry the emotional authority of having experienced it first-hand. He has written for children with the same sincerity he reserves for adult readers. His poetry seamlessly moves between the formal architecture of the Urdu ghazal and nazm and the autonomy of the free verse. He is also the creator of the Triveni, a three-line verse akin to an Indian Haiku whose third line, with a sleight of mind, entirely alters the emotional meaning of the first two. Translations are a telling part of Gulzar’s oeuvre. Apart from translating literary giants such as Tagore and Kusumagraj independently, he has also translated several scores of contemporary poets across all Indian languages which have been anthologised in his A Poem a Day. What emerges from this vast body of work is simply a relentless love not just for the written word but also for the reader and a rare ability to distill the most mundane into exquisite poetry. Gulzar is like the itinerant water-carrier whose vessel continues to pour out to generations of thirsty readers and yet always remains filled to the brim.

Another remarkable aspect of Gulzar is his unmitigated affection and respect for his seniors and peers that runs through his work, somewhat like the moon borrowing the sun’s luminosity but making it gentler for the passage. Be it in his biographical sketches or in his long-form interviews or even his adaptations of their lives and works, there is an unfeigned humility and a willingness to let someone else’s genius stand taller than his own. He has quoted or paraphrased other poets such as Khusrau, Ghalib and T.S. Eliot in his works showing how grounded and secure he is of his own craft. His narratives on the likes of his mentor Bimal Roy, his friend R.D. Burman, his seniors Shailendra, Sahir, Faiz and many others are full of tenderness. His landmark tele-serials Mirza Ghalib on the life of the talismanic Urdu poet and Tehrir Munshi Premchand Ki too are glorious cases in point.

Yet, his towering stature has ironically birthed a curious modern phenomenon. Having assumed a quasi-mythological status amongst the masses, Gulzar’s name is routinely invoked to lend gravity to mediocre verse he never wrote. The Internet is awash with lines deliberately misattributed to him to confer credibility and heft to anything vaguely poetic. It is an irony of our times that the more a voice commands out trust, the more it is forced to speak words it never uttered. Though a vigilant community of admirers actively combat this digital misattribution through the hashtag #NotByGulzar, its sheer volume shows how perversely his poetic persona has permeated the public consciousness, more as a brand to be flaunted rather than the painstaking artist he has always been.

In an age of public posturing where dilettantes know just enough to make sparing content for mindless scrollers with decreasing attention spans, where flamboyance is rewarded more than moderation, where the patient romance of Test cricket has lost ground to the titillations of T-20, Gulzar stands as a raging testimony to longevity and restraint. His endurance is less owing to a kind bargain struck with time than to his rigour, his resilience as a man of his craft and his incorruptible curiosity that still propels him to say things and find new ways of saying them.

In one of his own songs from the 80s film ‘Hip Hip Hurray’, he writes:

Roz tere jeene ke liye ek subah mujhe mil jaati hai

Murjhati hai koi shaam agar to raat kahin khil jaati hai

Main roz subah tak aata hoon, aur roz shuru karta hoon safar

Haath badha ae zindagi, aankh milake baat kar

As Gulzar turned 92 this August 18, 2026, what sets him apart is his ability to repeatedly meet life with the alertness of someone encountering it for the first time, look it right in the eye and dare to chronicle its triumphs and sorrows with fidelity and imagination.

Happy birthday, Gulzar Saab! We are infinitely grateful to have you in our lives, for better and for verse.

(Kalyan is an IT professional with Infosys. Views expressed are personal.)

Published – August 20, 2026 09:22 pm IST