Ravi Vasudevan, in the essay ‘Addressing the Spectator of a “Third World” National Cinema’, emphasizes the fact that the ‘language of Bombay cinema is Hindustani’.41 Like all arts, the language of the films also represents the lingo of the times. If one traces the language of the films from the 1940s to the present day, there is a stark difference thanks to the changing nature of language. Art and cinema imitate life, and vice versa. The language of the common people seeps into cinema as well.
For a film by Gulzar, even an entire chapter on language isn’t enough. A wordsmith unlike none other, he knows how to play with words. In this chapter, there are two aspects that have been looked into, and analysed – one, his choice of words, and two, the subtle touches of humour he has employed to great effect in a fairly serious film.
Choice of words
The characteristic use and the style of Gulzar’s writing comes out very prominently in this film. The opening lines of the film are:
‘Yakeen maniye, mujhe koi shauk nahin hai election ladne ka. Aur na hee kisi doctor ne kaha hai ki main election ladoon. Lekin mujhe election ladna padta hai. Apne huqooq ke liye. Janta ke huqook ke liye.’
(Believe me, I have no desire to fight the elections. Neither has any doctor asked me to. But I have to fight the elections – for my own rights, for the rights of the common man.)
One could note the choice of the Urdu words with elements of a conversational tone blending beautifully. Also, the first dialogue that Aarti Devi delivers when she addresses her party workers, asking them to be seated, is ‘Sit down’ instead of its Hindustani equivalent. Her choice of words draws from her characterization. Her dialogues are peppered with English throughout the film, especially when she is in the comfort of her personal zone. When a staff member from Hotel Aashiyana welcomes her with a basket of flowers, she addresses him in English, a language she can speak effortlessly. It’s wedded to her character.
When she reaches Allahabad and looks at a poster designed for the political rally, Aarti Devi points out that it has too much use of English and should instead have Hindi. It is interesting to note that she makes this remark in English: ‘English zyada lag rahi hai. They should be more in Hindi.’ (There is too much of English. They should be more in Hindi). Further, it is worth noting that although the banner says ‘Vote for Aarti Devi’, the script on the banner is Devnagari. This style is a conscious effort from Gulzar. India, being a country of many languages and, therefore, many scripts, has always found the debate around the national language a bit sensitive. Mahatma Gandhi was a strong advocate of Hindustani and preferred it as the national language of free India, instead of Hindi. His idea was to bridge the difference between Hindi and Urdu, languages which had by then begun to be associated with religions – Hinduism and Islam respectively. Gandhi had even tried initiating the idea of a common script. Considering the widespread illiteracy amongst the masses, he believed a common, neutral script would bridge the gap between both religions and help everyone start on a clean slate. However, things did not turn out the way as he saw it.
In time, the rift between the two languages only increased – Hindi went on to become more and more Sanskritized and Urdu more Persianized. Today, one gets to hear this Sanskritized Hindi through All India Radio and Doordarshan, both state-owned broadcasters. Similarly, the Persianized Urdu is broadcast on Urdu channels. However, the language of the masses is Hindustani and that is the language Gulzar used in the film. It was a conscious choice to do so.
The title of the film, Aandhi and the symbol of Aarti’s party, panchhi (bird) are two words with which Gulzar plays with, at different levels. One interpretation of the title is the tumultuous relationship between Aarti and JK. Another interpretation is that of the storm brewing in the political cauldron of the nation. When Lallu Laal gets a whiff of some sort of a relationship between Aarti Devi and JK, he comments: ‘Aandhi aayegi, aandhi’ (A storm will come, a storm).
He seems to confirm the forthcoming prediction. Further, in an interesting play of words around the election symbol of Aarti Devi’s party: panchhi, Chander Sen, in his first speech in the film makes fun of it, saying:
‘Yeh panchhi kisi ke nahin hote! Yeh panchhi kisi ke nahin honge! Udd jayenge aapka daana, paani aur vote le kar aur jaa kar baithenge … wahin kisi raajdhaani ki chowk par … aur aapko hamesha hamesha ke liye bhooka pyaasa chhod jayenge.’
(These birds are not loyal to anyone! They will never be loyal to anyone! Snatching away your share of food, they will fly away after getting your votes and will go and perch themselves in the capital … leaving you all behind, hungry and starving.)
Lallu Laal’s response is just the opposite. When JK confirms by asking him if the same Aarti Devi whose party symbol was panchhi is coming to his hotel to stay, Laal responds, saying: ‘Aur kiska dam hai jo itna uncha udd sake aasman tak?’ (Who else has the strength to fly as high as to touch the sky?)
Gulzar also carefully chose the names of the two newspapers featured in the film. The first is ‘Watan Press’ – watan means ‘country’. It is symbolic as the newspaper of the country, the mouthpiece of the masses. As the film unfolds, Chandra Sen also launches his newspaper and calls it ‘Zamana Press’ – loosely translated, it means ‘newspaper of the times’. With this title, Sen tries to indicate that he – and his newspaper – are representing contemporary issues. The name of the hotel where JK was working was Aashiyana, meaning ‘abode’. Although it was a hotel for Aarti, the politician, it turns into a sort of home for Aarti, the wife. She tries indulging in activities like making tea and even tries her hand at cooking just to feel the simple pleasures of being ‘at home’.
Given the complicated nature of JK and Aarti’s relationship, only a master of wordplay could handle their scenes with maturity. Given the awkwardness in the air when JK and Aarti suddenly meet after a gap of nine years, the dialogues required a lot to be conveyed using the bare minimum of words. For instance, in the scene where Aarti comments that JK’s house is very tidy and clean, her intention is not so much to compliment him on the cleanliness; she only wants to know if there is now another woman in JK’s life who is taking care of him and the house. One can see the sense of relief on her face when JK says that it is Brinda who takes care of the house. After a few moments, JK, speaking about himself, says, ‘Kamzor ho gaya hoon’ (I have grown weak) to which his estranged wife responds, correcting him, ‘Kamzor nahin … tum kabhi kamzor nahin the … duble ho gaye ho’ (Not weak … you were never weak … you have lost weight). This kind of mastery over words unpeels several layers of the film and its characters.
Another characteristic of Gulzar is his use of words from different languages and blending them beautifully. The word ‘nasheman’ used in the song, ‘Iss mod se jaate hain’ is a Persian word and means ‘nest’, or ‘house’. There is an anecdote around this word: R.D. Burman, with his limited knowledge of Urdu poetry, was baffled by the song’s lyrics and asked Gulzar, if nasheman was the name of a town.42
Humour
Aandhi deals with a serious subject and its theme isn’t light in vein. But the screenplay has plenty of moments full of tender, clever humour. It is moments like these that actually reflect the kind of companionship and the affection JK and Aarti share. In the same scene, discussed above, she, trying to look elsewhere, asks him:
Aarti – ‘Yeh moochhein kab se rakhleen?’
(Since when have you sported a moustache?)
JK – ‘Kuch saal pehle … tumhe achhi nahin lagti thi na?’
(It has been some years now … You never liked them, isn’t it?)
Aarti (smiling) – ‘Isi liye rakhleen?’
(Is that why you have grown them?)
JK (smiling) – ‘Nahin, nahin … aiwaein’
(No, no – just like that.)
This word ‘aiwaein’ seems innocuous but it is a throwback to the way the two characters used to speak with each other and the fond relationship they once shared. It is a peek at the threads they are trying to pick up from the point they had walked their separate ways. As the film does not move in a linear fashion and is sprinkled with flashbacks, in one such scene, the couple is shown in a jovial mood, when JK asks for her help in putting a drawstring in his pyjama.
JK – ‘Bahut try kiya. Sincerely try kiya … lekin yeh naada nahin pad raha.’
(I tried a lot. With sincerity … but am unable to put this drawstring in my pyjama.)
Aarti – ‘Uffo – ek to aapke naade ne pareshaan kar rakha hai. Rassi pakad kar pahaad chadh jaate hain, lekin ek naada pyjame mein nahin daal pate.’
(Uff … for one, your drawstring troubles me a lot. You can climb a mountain with a rope, but can’t put a drawstring in your pyjama.)
JK – ‘Dekho, pahad chadhna aur pyjame mein naada daalna – yeh dono alag alag baatein hain. Hockey khelte hue main goal to kar sakta hoon lekin sui mein dhaaga nahin daal sakta. Iska matlab yeh nahin hua, ki main kuch nahin…’
(Look here, these are two very different things – climbing a mountain and puting a drawstring in a pyjama. I can score a goal while playing hockey, but can’t put thread in a needle. This doesn’t mean that I am unable…)
Aarti – ‘Kuch nahin kar sakte … deejiye, pyjama deejiye.’
(You can’t do anything … here … give it to me …)
JK – ‘Dekho, yeh mat kehna ki mujhse kuch nahin ho sakta hai … aisi kavita likh sakta hoon ki jhoom kar doobara shaadi karne ko tayyar ho jayogi. Sunaun?’
(Look here, don’t say that I can’t do anything. I can write such a poem that you will be swept off your feet and marry me again. Will I recite?)
Aarti – ‘Nahin … mujhe aur bahut kaam hain.’
(No … I have loads to do.)
JK – ‘Maslan? Aisa aur kaun sa kaam hai jo meri kavita se zyada interesting hai?’
(For instance? What kind of work do you have that is more interesting than my poetry?)
Aarti – ‘Yehi … aapke pyjame mein naada daalna.’
(This … putting drawstrings in your pyjamas.)
JK – ‘Kahan meri kavita aur kahan naada … saari image kharaab kar ke rakh di.’
(What a comparison! My poetry versus a drawstring! You have spoiled the entire imagery.)
This scene about putting the drawstring in pyjamas gives us a little peep into the lives of JK and Aarti. Interestingly, this conversation takes place in the kitchen, while she is working. JK’s apologetic pleading that he had ‘sincerely’ tried to put the drawstring in his pyjama, Aarti’s calling the act as more interesting than listening to his poetry, the little smile that she has on her face, as she pulls JK’s leg – all of it along with wit and humour forms an integral part of their relationship.
It becomes apparent again when JK and Aarti have a discussion on naming their newly born daughter.
Aarti – ‘Kuch naam socha hai?’
(Have you thought of a name?)
JK – ‘Hmmm, Manorama.’
Aarti – ‘Chhi … uss moti ka khayal aata hai … mujhe achha nahin laga.’
(Chhi … I am reminded of that fat woman43 … I don’t like it)
JK – ‘Poora naam thodi lekar bulaya karenge. Chhota sa bulayenge – Mann.’
(We won’t call out the full name. We will call her – Mann.)
Aarti – ‘Woh to bahut chhota hai.’
(That is too short.)
JK – ‘Do baar bulayenge – Mann Mann.’
(We would call out twice – Mann Mann.)
Aarti – ‘Hunh … lagta hai koi ghantee baja raha hai.’
(Seems like someone is ringing the bell.)
JK (laughing) – ‘To phir … Mannu bulaya karenge.’
(In that case, we will call her Mannu.)
This interaction then cuts to a scene where the daughter, Mannu is about three years old and is sitting of the floor playing with her toys, while JK is lying on his stomach on the sofa, with a paper and pen in his hand, and Brinda is pressing his shoulders and back. As Aarti comes to the room, clearing up the toys scattered all over, JK asks her to wait.
JK – ‘Aarti, yeh suno … maine ek kavita likhi hai.’
(Aarti, listen to this … I have written a poem.)
Aarti – ‘Aap kavita likh rahe hain?’
(Are you writing a poem?)
She bursts out laughing.
JK – ‘Isme hansne ki kya baat hai?’
(What is there to laugh about it?)
Aarti – ‘Bilkul toothpaste ki tube lagte ho. Upar se Brinda kaka daba rahe hain, saamne se kavita nikal rahi hai.’
(You resemble a toothpaste tube. Brinda kaka is pressing you from the back, and a poem is coming out from the front.)
Brinda also joins in, laughing. This blend of romance and humour brings out the fun-loving relationship the two once had. At yet another point, JK asks Aarti when she had last cooked, to which she replies, jab main barah saal ki thi and both burst out laughing. This was Aarti’s way of making fun of JK as he claimed to have done everything, right from reciting poetry at mushairas or even facing a bullet for a revolution, at the age of 12!
While concluding this chapter, one can’t help but quote the scene where Aarti, drunk, meets JK. It is a classic example of how Gulzar chooses his words and blends humour in it. JK uses the word ‘antaghafeel’ to describe Aarti’s inebriated state. It is rather difficult to look for an apt translation for it in English; ‘drunk’ just doesn’t cut it. As JK himself elaborates on the word with ‘batti gul’ (light switched off), implying that one is not in his/her senses. Without complicating much, a lot is said using an economy of words and keeping the subtle humour intact.