Remembering the king of music, Khayyam Sahab

“Ye Aaj Kaun Meri Ruh Ko Choo Kar Guzra” - Razia Sultan

Why are they reviving old music? We don’t need revival. We are not dead,” said Khayyam, the veteran music director, to me several years ago. He was upset over the remixes. “Ye gana nahi hai. Ye to shor-e-badatmeezi hai,” he was blatantly blunt.

And we know almost none of his songs have been attempted into remix-fusion because it didn’t leave a scope, for its sheer purity and rhythm. That’s what happens when you learn from the ustads who devote their whole life to music. Baba Chisti was his guru. It is pointless to talk about Khayyam’s music. Here I will talk about the kind of man he was and what hurt him.

Till I met him in the late 2000s, I didn’t know that his full name was Zahoor Qasim Hashmi Khayyam. The last name Khayyam was picked up for its newness, beauty and length. This tall man, with a tremendous sense of humour, was highly romantic by nature. By the way he wanted to become an actor. He carried that old world tehzeeb with him wherever he went.

“Aap tashreef rakhiye,” he said when I reached his place, to write a book and make a documentary on him. He, alongside Jagjit Kaur, his wife, a wonderful woman, singer, who laughed a lot, helped me find a place next to her. These are very small gestures but those who come from a khandaan that respects women will understand their significance.

Then he said: “You will write a book on me and make a film. Please go ahead. But just tell me one thing. Your book and film will be famous because of me. You will also get famous. I will give you time whenever you want. I will sacrifice my routine for this book and film. It will consume a lot of my energy and time at this age (78). You will get money after you release it. What will I get?”

His question stunned me. He was right. The publisher makes a whole lot of money and filmmakers too. These old legends who, unfortunately, become ‘spent forces’ in this cruel film industry become ‘useless’. They then manage with whatever they have earned. The film industry that has used them for ages has nothing for them as insurance or security. Nor do we have any such scheme where we join hands to pay our gratitude.

I asked him, “Khayyam sahab, how much are you expecting”, fully knowing my publisher wouldn’t agree. “Should it be less than Rs 5 to 10 lakh? You tell me,” he asked back. I knew he had a point. I said, “I will try my best. Let me come back to you.” He said, “I know beta you won’t, unless you spent from your own pocket.” He was right here too. I could not go back to him. The book and the film never materialised.

This has been my regret for ages. I kept in touch with him over the phone, feeling bad somewhere that he expected me to make an offer again, honouring his condition.

After ages, he had agreed to score music for Anita Singhvi’s album titled Zahe-eNaseeb. Anita is the wife of politician and lawyer Abhishek Manu Singhvi. She brought Khayyam Sahab to limelight again in 2008. Anita learnt singing for a number of years from Ustad Iqbal Ahmad Khan, the doyen and Khalifa of Dilli Gharana of classical music. “Anita’s training is perfect, her voice is as powerful as her determination to sing. Else, it is not easy to pursue me to make music,” he laughed with a visible sense of pride. A pride we could never keep. And a pride we could never pay for.