My concern for slum-dwellers started with my father’s poem, Makaan, which talks of the irony of the construction worker who builds a building with his sweat and blood, but isn’t allowed to enter it.

In Hindi cinema, along with Sahir, Majrooh, Jan Nisar Akhtar and Shailendra, my father raised the standards of film lyrics. They were often deceptively conversational — Kuchh dil ne kaha…..kuch bhi nahin….As a film lyricist, he was a mixture of simplicity and poeticality. Take these lines, Kisi ka na ho jis pe saaya,/Mujhe aisa din aisi raat do/Main manzil to khud dhoondh loongi,/Mere haath mein zara apna haath do/Kadam do kadam tum mera saath do….And when Lata sang these lines by my father…what can be said? You know what was exceptional about my father? He never spoke at home about his work.

My most favourite Kaifi Azmi lyrics? Hmmmmm… Koi kaise yeh bataaye ke woh tanha kyon hai/Woh jo apna tha woh aur kisi ka kyon hai/Yehi duniya hai to phir aisi yeh duniya kyon hai/Yehi hota hai to aakhir yehi hota kyon hai?…The simplicity of these lines kill me. Imagine, a spouse-deserted woman (in the film, Arth) being faced with these lines!…

At a time when my father could’ve revelled in the luxury of his success in the film industry he chose to go back to his village in Azamgarh to work on its development. Imagine a man paralysed for 30 years making his village into a place of progress single-handedly.
One day I asked him if he feels frustrated when change doesn’t happen as speedily as he’d have liked. He told me we must all be prepared for that change to not happen in our lifetime. This to me, is the one mantra that I’ve taken from my father. I don’t look for instant results at all. That’s why I couldn’t be a politician.

If you ask me who among contemporary lyricists has inherited my father’s legacy I’d say my husband Javed Akhtar. Abba himself used to say this. They both have this amazing vocabulary which if they wanted, they could flaunt generously. Still, they both keep their poetry simple. There was never a word in Urdu that my father couldn’t give me the meaning of. I told Amit (Bachchan) this. And he said, ‘My father could do this in both English and Hindi.’ Can you imagine! To this day it’s a big void in my life that I can’t write Urdu, though I can read it. It’s something I have to do. Javed keeps telling me I’ve my father’s restless spirit. But if I’m cleaning a cupboard that’s relaxation for me, though Javed doesn’t agree.

My mother was a remarkable companion to my father. It was an amazing relationship. I was attracted to Javed because he was exactly like my father. In getting to know Javed I got to know my father. Like Abba, Javed is a feminist. My father had this complete dependence on domestic matters on my mother. Even I’ve to buy all the clothes and shoes for Javed. Likewise the tailor who stitched my father’s kurta-pyjamas never saw his face. Neither Abba and Javed have seen the kitchen in the house. Nor can they fix anything around the house. But both can do anything if they set their heart on it. Javed fights to win. I fight to play the game…. My brother Baba is an extreme introvert. He shared an extremely deep relationship with my father. Baba’s wife Tanvi who’s the most talkative person in the world would run out of the room when Abba and Baba were together. They just shared silences. Baba is now writing a script which he’ll direct. In that script you can see the prodigal son return. Abba was everything to me. I continue with his good work in our village. He was my comrade, I remember when I went on my padyatra from Delhi to Meerut. There was so much tension. But when I went to my father he caught my face in his hands and said, ‘Meri bahadur beti ja rahi hai? Jao tumhen kuchh nahin hoga. Sirf kaamyab hoke lautogi.’ It was like a gust of oxygen pumped into me.

(As told to Subhash K. Jha)