The Rare Gulzar: Ten Hidden Lyrical Gems

By Deepa | August 17, 2025

His poetry blends simplicity and profundity. His penchant for introspective lyrics and lines make him popular amongst poets and listeners alike. But there are some lesser known/lesser heard gems which haven’t reached people as they should have.
In the article below, Shantanu Ray Chaudhari, a Hindi Film Music connoisseur and editor-in-chief, Om Books International, digs deeper into Gulzar’s repertoire to find some rare pearls. Some of these gems might reside in the quieter corners of your heart forever.

Happy Birthday, Gulzar!

When it comes to Hindi cinema’s lyricists, few names command the reverence that Gulzar does. Over a career spanning six decades, he has penned words that have slipped into our collective memory almost unconsciously – lines that we hum without even recalling when we first heard them. Speak of Gulzar, and the roll call of songs is inevitable: ‘Tujhse naraaz nahin zindagi’, ‘Tere bina zindagi se’, ‘Mera kuchh saaman’, ‘Chhaiyya chhaiyya’. These are the pillars on which his popular reputation rests, celebrated endlessly in retrospectives, playlists, and tributes. They represent what we might call the ‘canon’ of Gulzar, the body of work that defines him in the public imagination.
But can any artist, especially one of Gulzar’s range, be contained within a handful of oft-quoted titles? The answer, as with all enduring poets, is a resounding no. Behind the towering citadel of his famous songs lies a vast, less-travelled terrain – songs that never found their way into ‘greatest hits’ anthologies; that lived fleetingly in the soundscape of their films or non-film albums before slipping into obscurity. These are not necessarily tied to forgotten movies; some are buried in plain sight, overshadowed by a more celebrated sibling in the same soundtrack. Others may have been victims of the vagaries of film promotion, radio airplay, or audience preference. And yet, each bears the unmistakable stamp of Gulzar: the startling metaphor, the intimate turn of phrase, the unexpected blend of lyricism and colloquial ease.
Why do such songs slip away? Part of it is the natural selectivity of memory. Popular culture tends to distil an artist’s oeuvre into its most visible markers – hits that align with an era’s tastes or a film’s commercial fortunes. In Gulzar’s case, this canonization has a curious side effect: it reinforces a particular ‘Gulzar voice’ in our heads – pensive, romantic, suffused with nostalgia – while quietly overlooking other facets of his creativity. The wry, the mischievous, the unabashedly earthy; the experimenter of rhyme and rhythm; the chronicler of fleeting, almost cinematic moments of life – these often get left out of the conversation.
To look for the rare Gulzar, then, is to rediscover his unpredictability. It is to encounter songs that resist the easy label of ‘Gulzar-esque’ as we think we know it. A folksy lilt in one number might jostle with the sensual cadence of another; an unassuming ballad about hesitation might carry as much emotional heft as a celebrated elegy. Some will surprise with their sheer playfulness, others with their directness. And in almost all of them, you will find the same delicate economy of words that has always been his hallmark – never verbose, always precise, and somehow managing to leave spaces for the listener’s imagination to inhabit.
This list of ten songs is not about the ‘greatest’ of Gulzar – that word belongs to another kind of compilation. Rather, it is about those that have eluded the mainstream narrative. They may not be the first songs you think of when his name comes up in conversation. You may have to strain your memory to recall where you first heard them, or, more excitingly, you may discover them for the very first time here. That is the joy of such an exercise: the pleasure of coming across a lyrical turn or an image that feels freshly minted, even though it has been lying quietly in the forgotten alleys of music for decades.
To listen to these songs now, away from the noise of box-office numbers or chart rankings, is to give them the space they never quite got when they were first released. It is to hear Gulzar, the poet, speaking in tones that are intimate and unguarded – sometimes less polished, sometimes more experimental, always deeply human. These songs remind us that his artistry cannot be boxed into a single mood or genre. They enrich our understanding of his legacy, not by replacing the canon but by expanding it.
So here is an invitation: to step away from the familiar path and wander into a quieter part of Gulzar’s garden. To pause over a half-forgotten bloom, notice the fragrance, the way it catches the light differently. These are not songs that shout to be remembered; they wait patiently to be found. And once found, they may just change the way you think about Gulzar. Not as the poet of a few immortal lines, but as a restless, many-voiced chronicler of the human heart.

1. Pukaro mujhe naam lekar pukaro (Bhool Na Jaana, 1965)

This forgotten gem shimmers with quiet sensuality and emotional depth. The lyrics are evocative, not through overt passion, but through a hushed intimacy that feels almost sacred. The opening lines carry the weight of longing, the need to be known, recognized, and loved completely. Gulzar’s genius lies in transforming everyday emotions into lyrical revelations. The metaphor of ‘ajnabi’ meeting in transit, or ‘adhuri lakirein’ that find resolution in another’s touch, subtly explore destiny and soul-connection.
The imagery is tactile yet restrained, each detail suggesting closeness without indulgence. There’s a sensual energy here, but it’s cloaked in poetry, making the desire feel tender and profound rather than explicit. This subdued passion, this meeting of body and thought, is what makes the song unforgettable. Its beauty lies in what it suggests more than what it states.

2. Bas ek chup si lagi hai (Sannata, 1966)
This minor gem in the Gulzar–Hemant Kumar repertoire is overshadowed by celebrated collaborations like Khamoshi (‘Tum pukar lo’), Rahgir (‘Janam se banjara’) and Kabuliwala (‘Ganga aaye kahan se’). Yet its quiet brilliance lies precisely in its restraint. Gulzar’s poetry here distils an emotional state that refuses the easy label of sorrow – nahin udaas nahin – instead suggesting a stillness, a pause where breath and thought seem suspended. The imagery of choosing the evening despite having dawn and afternoon evokes a deliberate gravitation towards solitude.
Hemant Kumar’s composition mirrors this introspection, with a sparse, unhurried melody that leaves space for the silences between lines, the ‘chup’ becoming as expressive as the words. His voice, tinged with mellow resignation, lends the words a confessional intimacy. Perhaps it has flown under the radar because it lacks the overt melodic hooks of their better-known songs, but for those who linger with it, the song is an exquisite study in emotional nuance.

3. Ladkhadane do mujhe (Palkon Ki Chhaon Mein, 1977)
Overshadowed by the jaunty ‘Daakiya daak laaya’, this one demonstrates Gulzar’s ability to fuse poetry with emotional fragility. Sung with aching restraint by Kishore Kumar and set to Laxmikant Pyarelal’s – a composer duo who do not have too many films with Gulzar – deceptively simple, lilting composition, the song captures a rare, drunken candour. Not of inebriation, but of heartbreak’s dizzying sway. Gulzar’s line ‘Main tamasha to nahin, duniya tamashai hai’ turns the gaze back on a voyeuristic world, while the repeated plea to ‘let me stagger’ becomes a metaphor for allowing oneself the dignity of private pain. There’s both resignation and defiance here, a refusal to be ‘helped’ into false composure. In its understated way, the song is as much a social observation as a lament. It deserves far more recognition for its raw vulnerability, its unforced melody, and its reminder that sometimes the most powerful protest is to simply keep walking unsteadily, on one’s own terms.

4. Naari kuchh aisan (Swayamvar, 1979)
This is Gulzar in a mode that many might not instantly recognise – playful, satirical, and unabashedly street-smart rather than cloaked in the hushed lyricism of his ‘high poetry’. The song celebrates women’s emancipation with a cheeky mix of wit and bite, depicting men losing their footing, literally and figuratively, as women stride ahead. Feminist thought here isn’t couched in solemn slogans; it’s exuberant, even mischievous. Lines like ‘kahte thay jisko sister, ab hui minister’ skewer patriarchy with humour sharper than any sermon. Gulzar taps into a music-hall, nautanki-style cadence, proving he can write as easily for the bazaar as for the bookshelf. Its success lies in how it marries a progressive message with an earthy, accessible idiom, creating a feminist anthem you can laugh and dance to. That rare mix of fun and force is Gulzar at his most unexpected – and, in many ways, his most subversive.

5. O babua yeh mahua (Sadma, 1983)
This is Gulzar in an unexpectedly uninhibited mood, letting language smoulder with physicality. The metaphors are visceral – ‘badan mein saanp chalte hain’, ‘shaam sulagti hai’ – turning longing into something tactile, almost dangerous. Far removed from his more elliptical, tender romanticism, the lyrics here revel in earthy sensuality, steeped in the aroma of mahua blossoms as a metaphor for intoxication and desire. Ilaiyaraaja’s composition matches this heat with languorous, sinuous phrasing that coils around the words, enhancing their heady pull. And on screen, Silk Smitha’s presence adds a raw, palpable charge, her performance embodying the song’s simmering tension. Yet, despite its artistic daring, the song was overshadowed by Sadma’s more celebrated tracks: ‘Aye zindagi gale laga le’ and ‘Surmai ankhiyon mein’. In hindsight, it stands as one of Gulzar’s most sensuous and unguarded moments, a lyrical and musical collaboration that deserved far more attention than it received.

6. Ek subah ek mod par (Hip Hip Hurray, 1984)
This is one of Gulzar’s most life-affirming yet underrated works. In its conversational, almost intimate tone, the poet invites life itself to pause, make eye contact, and talk – a metaphor for engaging with existence rather than drifting through it. The imagery is tender yet unpretentious: a new morning as a gift, a fading evening revived by a blossoming night, life mirrored in a twin-like companion.
Vanraj Bhatia’s lilting, unhurried melody allows the words to breathe, letting their optimism seep in without bombast. Perhaps it hasn’t received due recognition because Hip Hip Hurray remains an offbeat, not mainstream, film, and the song lacks the grand orchestration or chart-topping hooks that usually ensure popularity. But in its quiet warmth and gentle philosophy, it stands among Gulzar’s most humane reflections. A reminder that every day offers a fresh handshake with life itself.

7. Raat Christmas ki thi (Dil Padosi Hai, 1987)
This non-film album came during an era when anything non-film barely registered in the public consciousness. As it stands, this is one of the finest ever in the space. From the first song, ‘Bheeni bheeni bhor’, to the last ‘Raat Christmas ki thi’, Gulzar conjures something for every moment of the day. ‘Raat Christmas ki thi’ is a personal favourite for its hauntingly poetic and deeply evocative ambience. Written by Gulzar, composed by R.D. Burman, and sung with a poignant playfulness by Asha Bhosle, it breaks the traditional mould of romantic songs.
What makes it unique is its blend of intimacy, spirituality, and melancholy. Set on Christmas Eve, the song weaves themes of faith, desire, guilt, and memory into a narrative that feels like a confession. The imagery – Tu ne lab chhoo liya, jab main sajde mein thi – blurs the sacred and the sensual, revealing inner conflict without melodrama.
Musically, it is minimalist yet immersive, with R.D. Burman’s subtle use of atmospheric sounds that enhance the mood. Asha’s vocals are restrained but brimming with emotion, capturing the vulnerability of the moment. It’s not just a song. It’s an experience wrapped in quiet pain and poetic beauty.

8. Na jaane kya tha (Boodhe Pahadon Par, 1997)
In the wake of the success of Maachis, producer R.V. Pandit presented this luminous non-film album where every track is gem that blends poetry, melody, and emotion with quiet brilliance. Composed by Vishal Bhardwaj and penned by Gulzar, ‘Na jaane kya tha’ opens with a hauntingly delicate guitar refrain that sets a pensive, nostalgic tone. Suresh Wadkar’s voice, tender and introspective, becomes the perfect vessel for Gulzar’s elliptical, emotionally charged lyrics – words that speak more in what they leave unsaid. With what simplicity Gulzar conveys the feeling that lovers often experience – the hours of contemplation on what one would like to tell the beloved, and then the meeting where all words fail.
The composition is deceptively simple, yet layered with subtle instrumentation and aching pauses that mirror the song’s inner longing. Bhardwaj’s genius lies in his restraint, letting silence, space, and minimalism do the emotional heavy lifting. The song doesn’t clamour for attention but lingers quietly, leaving a deep imprint on sensitive ears. It’s a rare confluence of melody and meaning, a whispered memory in musical form.
This is masterclass in understatement and emotional depth, a haunting, minimalist gem that showcases Gulzar’s genius in evoking the unsaid. Set against a sparse, atmospheric composition, the lyrics float like thoughts half-remembered – aching, elliptical, and deeply human. What makes it unique is its refusal to explain; it trusts silence as much as words. This song deserves to be counted among Gulzar’s finest because it captures emotional ambiguity with poetic precision. Yet, it remains overlooked, perhaps because it isn’t part of a film, and the album wasn’t promoted enough. Or because it whispers when the world prefers to be shouted at.

9. Koi atka hua hai pal shayad (Visaal, 2001)
Gulzar’s poetic output spans many genres, but the ghazal is something he has not been prolific with. He makes an exception in this out-of-the-world album, with ‘Koi atka hua hai pal shayad’ – a hauntingly beautiful ghazal soulfully rendered by Ghulam Ali – leading the charge. Though lesser-known among Gulzar’s celebrated works, it carries the quiet depth that defines his finest poetry. What makes it special is its minimalism. Each couplet is a gentle ripple on the surface of memory, longing, and time.
There’s an aching stillness in lines like ‘raakh ko bhi kured kar dekho / abhi jalta ho koi pal shayad’, a lingering ember of emotion refusing to die. For some reason the words of the ghazal remind me of his plangent ode to time and solitude, ‘Jaane kya sochkar nahin guzra’, in Kinara. Ghulam Ali’s understated rendition lets the poetry breathe; he sings not to perform, but to reveal. The ghazal captures the emotional dissonance between presence and absence, the past and its echoes, in a way that feels universal yet deeply personal. This song deserves more listening, not just for its lyrical mastery, but for the meditative space it offers in a noisy world. A quiet classic.

10. Le chalein doliyon mein (Filhal, 2002)
Meghna Gulzar’s directorial debut, revolving around surrogacy, was probably ahead of its time. Gulzar, reserving his best for his daughter, gives the film his best with this hauntingly beautiful meditation on love poised delicately at the cusp of a couple embarking on a journey together. It’s surprising how rarely this gem is mentioned among his iconic romantic works. The melody – tender, wistful – is utterly soul-stirring, perfectly complementing Gulzar’s evocative lines.
‘Le chale doliyo mein tumhe gar irada karo’ sounds like a promise of forever, but there’s a quiet ache beneath it. Love here is not reckless; it’s mature, deliberate, and deeply aware of time’s impermanence. With emotional delicacy and poetic restraint, it captures the fragile beauty of love suspended between longing and impossibility. The hope of union flickers gently, never demanding, only dreaming – like tracing a name in chalk on the moon, a gesture as ephemeral as it is eternal. His lines – ‘teri aankhon se chhanti hui iss chamak ki kasam, yeh samandar jo namkin hai iss namak ki kasam’ – reflect the profound intensity of love through the simplest, most sensory metaphors. Eyes shimmering with unshed emotion, the salt of the sea mirroring tears – every image evokes vulnerability.
Gulzar doesn’t shout about heartbreak or desire; he whispers it through textures, glances, and unspoken promises. The ballad becomes a space where love, even in its absence, is cherished and dignified. In Filhal, romance is not a story of possession, but of poignant, poetic presence. A masterpiece hidden in plain sight.