In the second and concluding part of Hindi cinema's most memorable dialogues, here are more lines that have stayed with us, becoming entrenched in our daily speech
In the second and concluding part of Hindi cinema's most memorable dialogues, here are more lines that have stayed with us, becoming entrenched in our daily speechLast week, while signing off from the first installment of my piece on popular and ponder-worthy Hindi film dialogue, I quoted Shah Rukh Khan's flamboyant line from his recent Om Shanti Om: "Picture abhi baaki hai mere dost". This week, I am beginning the second installment, about post-1970s quotes, with lines from a film that made me wish, "Kaash, picture abhi baaki hoti, mere dost."
I am talking about Hrishikesh Mukherjee's Anand, a bittersweet film about a determinedly cheerful cancer patient, Anand (Rajesh Khanna), who, while dying, gives us an insight into the art of living. In the film's climax, when Anand's best friend, Babu Moshai (Amitabh) returns home, he finds that Anand has passed away. But eerily, Anand's voice, recorded earlier at a theatre, floats out of a tape-recorder just then: "Babu Moshaiu00a0... zindagi aur maut uparwale ke haath mein hai jahanpanah. Hum sab toh rangmanch ki kathputliyan hai jinki dor uparwale ki ungliyon mein bandhi hui hain. Kaun kab uthega koi nahin bata sakta." (We are all puppets in the hands of the supreme being who holds the strings of our lives. We will never know which string he will pull next). Theatrical and Shakespearean, yes, but lines immortalised by their positioning in the film.
Before I get emotional I always get moist-eyed when I see/think Anand let me affect a quicksilver change of mood to a famous romantic dialogue. Kamal Amrohi wrote some really flowery romantic lines for his 1972 epic, Pakeezah. In one scene, Raaj Kumar leaves a note near a sleeping Meena Kumari's feet. It says in his raspy voiceover: 'Aap ke paon dekhe, bahut haseen hai. Inhe zameen par mat utariyega maile ho jayenge." (I saw your feet, they are beautiful. Don't lower them on the ground they will get soiled.)
Once, while tossing filmi lines at a rain-drenched colleague in office, I spontaneously spouted these Pakeezah lines, albeit with a twist. I told her, "Aap ke paon dekhe, bahut haseen hai. Inhe zameen par mat utariyega u2014 'zameen' maili ho jayegee." It took her a while to cotton onto the play on words and fire back her salvo; but what is remarkable is that even the 20-something girl recognised them as being originally from Pakeezah. That's the potency of a good line.
We all respond to something in a well-thought-out turn of phrase. My mother-in-law, Pushpa, was a huge fan of Dev Anand; but her favourite dialogue was from the Rajesh Khanna starrer, Amar Prem. To placate a disturbed Sharmila Tagore (playing a courtesan), who has tears streaming down her cheeks, Khanna says, "Saline water ... Pushpa, I hate tears. Inhe ponch dalo."
The dialogue of Chetan Anand's Heer Ranjha was unique the legendary love epic was written entirely in verse by Kaifi Azmi. In a dramatic scene when an elder (Jeevan) tries to convince Heer (Priya Rajvansh) into marrying a man other than Ranjha, she rebukes him:
"Chhed ke dil ke toote taaron ko
Ab tum uski sadaa se darte ho
Khud hi toofan uthaya hai tumne
Aur khud hi hawa se darte ho"
(After playing with my broken heartstrings
You are afraid to hear the sound of pain that rings
You have created the storm in my life
And now you are afraid of the winds of strife).
Screen women grew more fiery in the 1970s. I squirm through those Seeta Aur Geeta scenes where Seeta (Hema) is tortured by malicious Manorama; but perk up when her twin Geeta (Hema again) fights back. Like the scene in which obese Manorama arrives, huffing like a steam engine, at the police station to reclaim Seeta (actually it's Geeta) perched atop the ceiling fan!
Manorama (coaxing her to come down in an appeasing tone): "Neeche aa jao beti." (Come down, my daughter.)
Hema Malini (mockingly): "Oopar aa jao moti." (Why don't you come up, Fatso?)
Fortunately, the ceiling fan didn't come crashing down under Hema's weight but she sure brought the house down with this dialogue.
After Seeta Aur Geeta, writer-duo Salim-Javed's burgeoning popularity was further enhanced by Yash Chopra's Deewar. The Deewar dialogue that is perennial and has provided fodder for innumerable comedies and parodies is:
Amitabh: "Aaj mere paas buildinge hain, property hai, bank balance hai, bungla hai, gaadi hai. Kya hai tumhaare paas?" (I have buildings, properites, bank balance, bungalow and a car. What do you have?)
Shashi Kapoor: "Mere paas maa hai." (I have our mother.)
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Salim-Javed were in peak form in Sholay. Amjad 'Gabbar' Khan's legendary "Kitney aadmi the?" may seem everyday in isolation, but the menacing way in which Amjad delivered it, aided by Burman's haunting music, gave it an added dimension.
Ironically, Amjad's voice was thought weak before it became a rage with the masses and inspired audio cassettes of Sholay's dialogue track. But Shatrughan Sinha had a booming voice that instantly connected with 1970s audience. Meena Kumari, who worked with him in Mere Apne, had observed that Shatrughan punctuated his dialogue according to his whim; he placed a comma in place of a full stop, but held the audience in thrall, nonetheless. Hire a DVD of Mere Apne and watch this scene:
Shatrughan Sinha (playing gang-leader Chhainu) to a ration shop owner: "Ghaslet, bachche ghaslet. Mitti ka tel. Agar phir bhi samajh na aaya ho toh dukaan ko aag lagakar samjhaun ..." (If you don't comprehend what kerosene is, I can set your shop afire so that you can understand.)
In the elite club of dialogue writers with an edge, Gulzar figures prominently. In Hrishikesh Mukherjee's droll comedy Chupke Chupke, Om Prakash is an aficionado of the Hindi language and Dharmendra questions the mysteries of English. With a straight face, he asks Om Prakash's wife, Usha Kiron "Aap hi bataiye memsaab. T-o to hota hai, d-o do hota hai, toh g-o goo kyun nahee hota?" (Please tell me ma'am, if t-o is pronounced as to, d-o as do, than why doesn't g-o become goo?) Usha Kiron spontaneously reaches out for her sari pallu and covers her wrinkled nose.
"English is a phunny language," agrees Amitabh in Namak Halal before he launches on his famously breathless cricket commentary.
Shabana Azmi posits a pertinent poser to her repentant-after-straying husband in Arth: "Jo kuch tumne mere saath kiya agar wohi main tumhare saath karti aur issi tarah laut ke aati toh kya tum mujhe wapas le lete?" (If I had been unfaithful like you, would you have accepted me back?).
And Shashi Kapoor predated the New Age man with this line from Kabhie Kabhie (1976). At first, he is angry and hurtful when he learns that his wife Raakhee had a premarital relationship with Amitabh but then reconciles with the thought and tells him, "Arrey Pooja hai hi itni haseen ki aadmi ka jaan dene ko jee chahta hai." (My wife Pooja is so beautiful, any man would willingly lay down his life for her.)
Sometimes, a line hits the bull's eye and encapsulates the essence of the character so much so, it gets affixed to the star like a surname.
Dimple in Bobby: "I am Bobby. Mujhse dosti karoge?" (I am Bobby. Will you be friends with me?)
Amitabh in Shahenshah: "Rishte mein to hum tumhare baap lagte hain, naam hai Shahenshah." (I am your father, they call me Shahenshah.)
Shah Rukh in Baazigar: "Kabhie kabhie jeetne ke liye kuch haarna bhi padta hai. Aur haarkar jeetne wale ko Baazigar kehte hai." (Sometimes in life, you have to lose to win. And a person who loses to win is recognized as The Player.)
Kajol to her domineering father in DDLJ: "Kya aap meri khushi ke liye meri apni zindagi se mujhe ek mahina bhi nahin de sakte hai? Please baoji."
(Can't you lend me one month from my own life, just to make me happy?)
Sunny in Damini: "Jab yeh dhai kilo ka haath kisipe padta hai na, toh aadmi uthta nahin, uth jaata hai." (If my two-and-half-kilo hand comes down on you, you will go up.)
Kareena in Jab We Met: "Main apni favourite hoon." (I am my own favourite).
The last line is my favourite recent line. In recent films, I have been hugely amused by witty lines (tapori Aamir disappointed by the limited menu in a 5-star hotel in Rangeela: "Kya table-khurchi par hi kharcha kiya hai?" or Munnabhai thinking: "Tereko maloom hai do sau chhe type ka sirf haddi hai. Todne ke time pe apun log sochte the kya?"); but I am rarely moved by recent dialogue maybe because my senses have become jaded after being inundated with inane lines. A rare stand-out was this verbal exchange from Bhansali's Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam.
Ajay Devgan's father: "Ek aurat ko kaboo mein nahin kar sakta?"u00a0 (You can't control a woman?)
Ajay: "Kya mardangi sachaii se mooh modne mein hai? Uss aurat ke saath rehne mein hai jiske jism toh aapka ho par dil aur dimaag kisi aur ka ho?" (Do you have to turn your face away from the truth to prove your manliness? How can you live with a woman, whose body belongs to you but whose heart and mind belong to another?)
Phew! This article has been, by far, the most difficult to write in recent times. Each time, I decided to end it, a new line would crop up in my head. Finally, a line from Anand struck a chord with me. "Zindagi badi hona chahiye, lambi nahin." (Life should be grand, not long). Point ceded. Dialogue over.
