Chhaayaageet #274 - “Beta, jahan tum baithe the wahan kabhi Sahir Ludhianvi baitha karte the."

Son, you are sitting in the very place where once Sahir Ludhianvi used to sit.

The lyricist is at an important meeting with the filmmaker and other writers. These are the big names in the writing circle. The filmmaker is a legend and believes strongly in storytelling and song lyrics.

The filmmaker is narrating the script to everyone. “Yeh bahut purani kahani hai. Main sahi waqt ka intezaar kar raha tha is film ko banane ke liye.” This is an old story. I was waiting for the right moment to make this film. “Tees saal beet gaye hain. Main sahi hero ke budhape ka intezaar kar raya tha.” It has been over 30 years. I was waiting for the right hero to get old for this role.

The lyricist is deeply impressed by the emotional depth of the story. A great opportunity to write lyrics for such a beautiful film.

The meeting ends. The lyricist gets up to leave. The filmmaker tries to stand up but is unable to. His assistants rush to offer support and help him out of his chair. He is over 90 years old but still comes to the office every day.

The lyricist insists. “Aap baithiye, main chala jaaaonga.” Please sit. I will see myself out. Despite his frail health, the filmmaker continues to walk with the lyricist all the way to the main gate.

They make it to the gate where the lyricist’s car is waiting. The old filmmaker is huffing and puffing. The lyricist feels bad seeing the elderly man struggle. But also feeling honored that he came to drop him off at his car. The lyricist steps inside the car.

The filmmaker bends down and says to him. “Main yeh izzat tumhein nahi de raha hoon. Main us kursi ki izzat rakh raha hoon jahan tum baithte the.” I am not giving you this respect. I am respecting the chair where you were sitting. The lyricist looks confused. Where was he sitting? It seemed like a normal chair. What is the old man talking about? “Main samjha nahin?” I don’t understand.

The filmmaker has misty eyes as he says this. “Beta, jahan tum baithe the wahan kabhi Sahir Ludhianvi baitha karte the. Mein us kursi ki izzat kar raha hoon.” Son, where you were sitting, at one point, Sahir Ludhianvi used to sit there. I was paying respects to that chair.

The lyricist is dumb founded. He is struggling to find words. The filmmaker probably bestowed the highest compliment ever, but at the same time, he has put all this pressure on him now to perform at the level of that legend. The driver starts the car and leaves the premises. The lyricist can still see the filmmaker in the side mirror looking at them as the car drives away.

The lyricist is now determined to give his absolute best to the film. He sits down to work on one of the most critical songs of the movie. This song highlights the intense pain of separation between the lead characters who are in their golden years. There is minimal music, almost a cry of words coming out of one heart and pouring into another. He is excited to share them with the filmmaker.

The lyricist’s phone rings. He picks up and listens to what the caller has to say. His expression changes quickly. He says “Accha,” Okay, and then hangs up. The filmmaker just lost his beloved wife. As a result, he has decided to hand over the reins to his son, who will now complete the film.

The lyricist is disappointed. This song is such an integral part of what the filmmaker was expecting. His emotions during the narration are all captured in the words. He must hear this song. The lyricist pulls some strings and gets a meeting with the filmmaker.

The lyricist shows up at his residence. The filmmaker hasn’t been to the office in several days since his wife passed away. He looks at the lyricist and continues to stare into a space. No expressions on his face.

The lyricist doesn’t want to lose this opportunity even though he doesn’t have the filmmaker’s attention. “Main aapko gaane ka mukhda sunata hoon.” I will sing you the opening lines of the song. He goes ahead and hums the first line from the mukhda. He anticipates an explosive response. The filmmaker continues to sit there without any reaction to this first line.

The lyricist is a bit frustrated but feels like he should keep trying. “Ab main aapko dusri line sunata hoon.” Now, I will sing you the second line. He hums the second line as well to the filmmaker.

The filmmaker moves his face slightly. He looks at the lyricist inquisitively. For some reason, this second line struck a nerve. “Phir se gao?” Sing again? The lyricist obliges immediately. “Aisa lagta hai jaise tumne ye gaana meri zindagi par likha hai. Meri zindagi bhi ab mere paas nahin rahi.” Looks like you have written the song about my life. I have also lost the love of my life.

The lyricist realizes quickly that the filmmaker is missing his beloved wife and now sees himself in this song about separation. The filmmaker’s tears can’t stop flowing. He gets himself out of the chair with great difficulty, stumbles over to the lyricist, and hugs him.

Sameer wrote the lyrics for all the songs, including Main Yahan Tu Wahan for the film Baghban. The film was produced and written by B. R. Chopra, directed by Ravi Chopra, and the music was composed by Aadesh Shrivastava. The song features Amitabh Bachchan’s own vocals and is picturized on him and Hema Malini in the film.

B. R. Chopra first conceived the idea for Baghban during a visit to Europe in the 1960s, where a visit to a retirement home deeply moved him after witnessing elderly parents left alone by their children. By 1973, he had developed the screenplay and set his heart on casting Dilip Kumar in the lead role. That didn’t work out since Dilip Kumar had trouble committing time due to one illness after another. B. R. Chopra had his heart set on Sanjeev Kumar as an alternate, but Sanjeev Kumar had done a similar film called Zindagi, and he wasn’t very excited about repeating a similar role. The final choice was Amitabh Bachchan, whom B. R. Chopra felt could do justice to the role. But Amitabh wasn’t old enough back then, and hence B. R. Chopra waited for the right time to arrive. Thirty years after it was written, B.R. Chopra’s son, Ravi Chopra, as the director, finally brought his father’s dream project to the screen in 2003.

Coming from a strong background in journalism and literature, B. R. Chopra looked at cinema not just as visual entertainment, but as a medium for powerful storytelling. He believed in being surrounded by a strong cadre of writers and lyricists. Sameer, who was dominating the charts with his writing style, was invited to the BR Films office. The moment Sameer sat in the historic cabin where icons like Sahir Ludhianvi sat, B.R. Chopra’s love for words became the driving force behind his writing.

Aadesh Shrivastava was also close friends with Amitabh Bachchan, which made a huge difference. Aadesh Shrivastava strongly believed that a professional singer should not sing this song. Instead, he insisted that Amitabh Bachchan must sing it himself. He felt that only the actor’s real, unpolished voice could truly capture the deep pain and sadness of an elderly husband.

Amitabh Bachchan and Hema Malini were both nominated for Best Actor and Best Actress at the 49th Filmfare Awards. Baghban was also nominated for the Best Film.

Lyrics: Sameer
Music: Aadesh Shrivastava
Singer: Amitabh Bachchan
*ing: Amitabh Bachchan, Hema Malini
Producer/Writer: B. R. Chopra
Director: Ravi Chopra
Film: Baghban (2003)