A painter is high up on a scaffolding of a building.

As the sun blazes down on him and he

is engrossed in his work, hanging dangerously high above the ground, a song blares out
of his mobile phone. Aur is dil mein kya rakha hai tera hi naam likha rakha hai It is from
the movie Imaandaar starring Sanjay Dutt. Singer Suresh Wadkar is straining his vocal
chords, infusing the high notes with the pathos of a man trying to convince his woman
that he loves her to bits. The next line says that if she were to rip his heart apart (ouch!)
she would find her name inscribed there.
Elsewhere, a taxi winds up a mountain road in one of the hill stations in north India. Its
been a long journey from Delhi/Mumbai to the nearest airport or railway station; a
peaceful drive to the hotel would be nice. But the cabbie is in the mood for songs of
bitter love. Ab tere bin ji lenge hum. Zahar zindagi kaa pi lenge hum Kumar Sanus nasal
voice playing on a scratchy tape recorder fills the car. I can learn to live without you.
Life would be like drinking poison but what s the big deal if one heart breaks, says this
hit song from Aashiqui (1990) It seems churlish to tell him to stop playing the music
because it seems to be the norm with small town cabbies, so you stay silent, your own
mood affected by the blues.
A group of masons are laying cement on bricks. Tumhe apna banane ki kasam floats
through their portable transistor kept close by. It is Kumar Sanu again, playback singing
for Sunjay Dutt in Sadak (1991 ). Or maybe they would play Chaha hai tujhko, chahunga
har dum (Mann 1999). I loved you, will love you each moment, I may die but my love
for you will not reduce. Whew.
Or Sanu again in Teri Umeed Tera Intezar (Deewana 1991), a song practically heaving
with emotion.
Whats common to all these numbers? They are all from Hindi movies released in the
1990s, (except Imaandaar which is late 80s but fits the type) , many have been sung by
the king of that era-Kumar Sanu, composed by Nadeem Shravan and almost invariably,
speak of unbearable longing, bitter heartbreak, undying passion or promises of
togetherness till death and beyond. They convey all this through a very particular kind
of heightened intensity in the lyrics that was typical to Bollywood songs of the 90s,
especially those of early 1990s.
But what I find more interesting is how this genre of songs has a loyal listenership
among small town cabbies, auto drivers, labourers on a construction site, carpenters,
plumbers and other working class men. Why do all these men gravitate towards the
trio of Kumar Sanu, Nadeem Shravan and lyricist Sameer at their melancholic peak? A

lonely auto wallah putting his feet up on a hot afternoon is typically doesnt listen to
the Choli ke peeche kya hai / Tu cheez badi hai mast mast kind of songs which are
also from the 1990s but loud/playful/raunchy. When the sweepers in my building take
a lunchtime pause around stacks of roti and red aloo sabzi, they dont play RD Burman
or Shankar Ehsaan Loy but songs from Saajan (1992) or Raja Hindustani (1997).
So why does this demographic typically tune in to this brand of songs? There are no
statistics to find this but is it possible that most workers and tourist cab drivers we
meet are typically between 35 and 45 and these were the songs they heard when they
were 20 years younger? Like all middle aged people, perhaps they cherish the songs
that transport them to their youth, that remind them of lost loves and stolen moments
back in their village.
Conversely, why wont an urban upper middle class Indian of the same vintage be
caught dead playing a song like Milne ki tum koshish karna, vaada kabhi na karna (Dil ka
kya kasoor, 1992) on his car stereo? This song I find has huge mass appeal, for some
reason, perhaps because it offers practical advice, saying just make an honest effort to
show up instead of lofty promises.

My other premise is that working class folk identify with the heartbreak songs from
films where the hero was himself is a struggler of some sort. In Aashiqui, the hero is a
small time singer, in Sadak Sanjay Dutt is a taxi driver, in Raja Hindustani Amir Khan is a

small town cab driver, in Saajan the protagonist is a poor lame poet, in Deewana SRK
runs a garage. The 90s had several movies where the hero was a working class bloke,
something that became less and less common from the 2000s. In the scratchy music
players of hill town cabbies, one rarely hears the songs from urbane Yash Chopra
movies of the 1990s like, for example, Dil Toh Pagal Hai or Darr where everyone was
posh.
Why is Tu pyaar hai kisi aur ka from Dil hai ki manta nahin or Tumse milne ko dil karta
hai (Phool aur Kaante) the favourite song of ,say, plumbers? Out of millions of songs
why does the presswalla prefer to blare the agonised Sambhala hai maine bahut mere
dil ko (Naaraaz 1994) or the quietly passionate Is tarah aashiqui ka