THE GENIUS OF THE LUIT - By Jahnu Barua
Every time I listen to any of Bhupen Hazarika’s songs, I feel sad that the Assamese language is understood by only 0.3 per cent of people in the entire world. I feel sad that appreciation of the true genius of the man is confined to a very small section of people, compared to the number by whom he actually deserved to be admired. For me, more than even to the people of Assam, Bhupenda’s demise is a loss to the rest of the world, which hardly got the opportunity to know and feel his unique genius.
Bhupenda, as I knew him, never belonged to himself. He belonged to the people. All his songs dealt with human issues — mostly those of common people. Most of his songs represented the common man’s emotion, plight and anguish. Whether you were a lover or a farmer or a worker or a businessman, you could identify yourself in Bhupenda’s songs. And his music — all his compositions are not just music, they are magic. They mesmerise the listener all the time. You only need to understand the words.
For, the uniqueness of his creation came mainly from the juxtaposition of the words he wrote with the tunes he composed. As a result, all his songs emit a special vibe that makes a listener visualise the songs, and place them squarely within his own experience. When Bhupenda sings of the evening in ‘Shillongore Godhulee’ (Shillong’s evening), you really feel the evening of a cold hilly area. And, again, when you listen to his compositions like ‘Jonakore Raati...’ (‘The night full of stars...’ sung by Lata Mangeshkar), you feel you are alone in a field at night under the open sky full of stars, and so on with the others. This is the unique quality of his composition — that each song of his makes you feel and smell the soil, makes you sense nature.
Bhupenda always loved to be in touch with common people. He liked working his creativity based on the lives of common people. The mighty Brahmaputra, which he has lovingly called “Luit”, has also been one of Bhupenda’s main sources of inspiration. He often referred to the river as “mother” in his songs — and also used it as the symbol of the assimilation of, and social harmony among, various communities in the Northeast.
I have been a fan of his since my childhood. I always dreamed of working with him one day, which I fulfilled when I made my first film, Aparoopa. He not only agreed to compose the music, but also wrote the lyrics — apart from singing three of the five songs I had in the film. I have always considered myself extremely lucky to be able to associate myself with the maestro, considering that it was my first film — an experience I will always remember, mainly for the encouraging words Bhupenda showered on me.
During one of the lyrics sessions Bhupenda got upset with me when I bluntly expressed that I didn’t like the words of a particular song. He got so angry that he asked me to leave. He also told me he wouldn’t like to work for me anymore. All through that day I was cursing myself for what I did, and I was restless not knowing what to do next. But towards the evening Bhupenda called me to say: “I have written the song afresh, come and listen...” I was relieved. Later, when I apologetically told him that I would never offend him again, Bhupenda said: “No, a creative person must always speak out. You spoke out, and that’s why I could create what you needed for the film. I was upset because no one had ever said what you said to me. I was never used to people not accepting what I had created.” He also said: “In any creative expression, never allow yourself to be confused. If you feel about something strongly you must express it. If you don’t do it you will never come to know what its impact would be if and when it is created. It may turn out to be a mistake, but that does not matter. The world will not come to an end.”
That is the greatness of that man called Bhupen Hazarika, which I will always cherish and carry with me. |
