Gulzar’s grace vs 'Sarse Ninna Sarge': Why so much outrage for Nora Fatehi’s song?

Some lyricists can be sensual and erotic without being crass and raunchy, some just don’t know the difference.

Jinke sar ho ishq ki chaaon
paaon ke neeche jaanat hogi…
(The heads that have the shade of love, heaven will be under their feet.)

Gulzar’s lines from ‘Chaiyya chaiyya’ — an item song that is a poetic and spiritual expression of love with Malaika Arora and Shah Rukh Khan dancing atop a moving train — comes back to mind as we witness a nationwide backlash against the item number from the Kannada film ‘KD: The Devil’.

The last time we saw such uproar was against the 1993 song ‘Choli ke peeche’, and it featured Sanjay Dutt, who is also the actor in the song from ‘KD’.

The ‘Khalnayak’ song’s introductory lines were slammed as they were considered sexually suggestive and vulgar. Considering how verbal sexual harassment was rampant, the outrage was justified.

However, over the years, the song has been revisited from a feminist lens; pop culture critics argue that though it has suggestive lyrics and is choreographed for the male gaze, the female voice is not entirely passive. Many such item songs are an example of how women’s voices can exist even within commercial, male-dominated formats. 

‘Oo antava’ from ‘Pushpa: The Rise’ is critiquing male hypocrisy and how society judges female sexuality. Samanth Ruth Prabhu features in the song. She says (as the lyrics go), ‘Whether I wear a sari or a skirt, you men will look at me in a lecherous manner’. She goes ahead and questions the men looking lustfully at her, ‘Am I not right?’ The song has some interesting observations offering social commentary. 

Well-known writer, poet, and lyricist Jayant Kaikini cites the song ‘Bayi basale soppu’ written by Yogaraj Bhat from ‘Parapancha’. Recalling the lines, ‘kuniyavru ladiesu, bayyoru ladiesu, naav bari audiencu. Alvenri?’ sung in V Harikrishna’s subtly “helpless” voice, he says the item song feels fresh and innovative, metaphorically ridiculing the hypocrisies of a conservative society.

Female singer Indu Nagaraj continues with ‘haud haud ri, neeveshtu decent-u nangoblige gottu, nanantu yarigu helalri’ (only I know how decent you are, don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone), further reinforcing the song’s playful critique. 

It is no secret that filmmakers have long relied on item songs, earlier known as cabaret songs, to sell their movies. However, only a handful have used the format to articulate female desire and agency. 

“Look past the sensual imagery and stylised settings, and many of these songs are layered with ideas and philosophies of their own,” says journalist Pragyan Mohanty who writes about vintage Hindi cinema. She cites Malaika Arora’s sensuous chartbuster ‘Maahi ve’ (‘Kaante’, 2002) which became a lounge anthem. “At its core, it is a wistful reflection on love and fate. Dev Kohli’s lyrics, ‘Kismat de maare assi ki kariye, kismat te kiska zor hai’, capture the film’s overarching arc even within the confines of an item song,” she says.

“Again, in ‘O Saki’ (‘Musafir’, 2004), Kohli opts for playful verbal sparring between a cupbearer and her patron — a familiar trope in old Hindi film songs about alcohol — in a techno-club number,” Pragyan elaborates.

Item numbers can also be satirical. Take the ‘Imported kamariya’ song from ‘Shanghai’ for instance. The lines go: ‘Door sehar se humka laga India aisa place, oont-gaay pe aata jaata hoga sara des. Hum kaah jaane, Skyscraper hoga har kone kone pe.’ It translates to ‘They brought me from a far away city to a place called India. I assumed everyone travels on a camel or cow back. Little did I know there are skyscrapers in every corner.’

The song, written by Anvita Dutt Guptan, makes a pleasant and humorous commentary about the stereotypical view of India through a foreigner’s eyes. 

Just as courtesans once expressed their desires, longings, and ‘dard’ through their songs, pop culture, through item songs, acknowledges the realities of bar dancers and village performers, using strong, metaphorical expressions of desire.

The item numbers reflect the longing and rebellion of lives often sidelined by society, even though most of these songs are written by men. ‘Ee majavada mabbu’ from ‘Junglee’ written by Yogaraj Bhat, Gulzar’s ‘Kajra re’ and Amitabh Bhattacharya’s ‘Aira gaira’ are good examples.

Some female lyricists like Anvita Dutt and Kausar Munni are reimagining item songs with quirky lyrics. In ‘Jhalla walla’, Kausar writes: ‘O aashiqon mein jiska title Titanic, muaah kinara dikha karke dooba de gaya’ (The one who is called the Titanic of lovers, he showed me the shore and got me drowned). 

Kaikini says, “In most item songs, the lead woman plays a ring master with men reduced to mere flickers of her gaze. It could be Kajra re’s captivating eyes or Jokae’s ‘Kannu katthiya anchu’ (commanding, weapon-like gaze).”

Gulzar is the master of item numbers. The metaphors are deep, rich in imagery, often taken from folk and colloquial sayings.

In ‘Beedi jalaile’, when Bipasha’s Billo tells Vivek Oberoi’s Kesu to light a beedi from her jigar to beat the cold, the ‘jigar’ (spark) can mean anything — her passion, love or even the spark of her rebellious spirit. Many people still do not know what “elaichi khilana” in the song or “namak ishq ka” (in ‘Namak’) means. 

There is a thin yet visible line between risqué and vulgar. As one filmmaker told Showtime, “Risque is when beauty is described. Vulgarity is when you describe what you would do to it.”

Much like how Sreeleela in the song ‘Kissik’ from ‘Pushpa: The Rule’ tells the lustful men around her — there is a boundary and they must not cross it —  filmmakers too should stay within the line. It is the breach of this line that has landed the ‘Sarse ninna serga sarse’ song in soup!  

Comparing item songs to the queen in a deck of cards, Kaikini says they can transform a film’s rhythm, but only when placed with care, creativity, and clear intent.

In the end, item songs remain flawed yet culturally significant spaces of expression. Unfortunately, regardless of the commentary they attempt, audiences often reduce them to the spectacle of semi-clad women, framed through a persistent male gaze. “That is the irony,” says Kaikini.