Mohammed Rafi and Naushad were the two eyes of film music. No wonder, their successive birthdays was divine coincidence, Manna Dey once said.
The legendary music composer Naushad Ali, whose birthday falls on December 25, wanted to learn Punjabi. He hailed from Lucknow. He teamed up with Shakeel Badayuni from Badayun in Uttar Pradesh. Both of them being Urdu speakers, they weren't familiar with Punjab, its language or culture.
The Hindi film industry, at that time, was ruled by Punjabis and Muslims. Even Muslims knew Punjabi and called it their mother tongue. Sahir Ludhianavi, Noorjahan and Rafi were three quintessential examples of Muslims considering Punjabi their mother tongue. Even Jalandhar-born Muhammad Zahoor Khyyaam 'Hashmi', known as 'Khyyaam', preferred Punjabi over Urdu and had a Punjabi wife Jagjit Kaurm, who sang the immortal number 'Tum apna ranj-o-gham apni pareshani mujhe de do (from the film 'Shagoon', 1964).
Kundanlal Sehgal advised young Naushad he must learn Punjabi if he wanted to compose music for Hindi films as most actors were Punjabis. In Naushad's words, "I shouldn't feel like an outsider in Bombay and from the point of view of the language, I should also be a part of the milieu. So, I thought that I should know a smattering of Punjabi.”
Naushad's poet-lyricist friend Shakeel Badayuni had learnt Punjabi from Sahir, Prem Dhawan and Shammi Kapoor. Naushad requested Rafi to teach him Punjabi, but the modest singer politely told him that he didn't have the ability and skills to become anyone's teacher.
Naushad then approached Sahir Ludhianvi. Sahir could speak Punjabi, but he couldn't read and write Gurumukhi, the Punjabi script. Naushad wanted to learn the language with its script. Sahir came to his rescue and suggested the name of his muse Amrita Pritam, living with Sahir at that time.
She agreed to teach Naushad how to speak Punjabi and also taught him enough of the script for him to be able to read it. Naushad was quick on the uptake and within six months, he began to read and write Punjabi, though he didn't even know how to read and write the Devanagari script of Hindi.
He admitted in a 2000 TV interview that learning Punjabi could infuse robustness into his pensive and slightly monotonous music. The music of 'Aan' (1952) was based on Punjabi murkis (musical notes and nuances) and music. The foot-tapping spontaneity of the songs came from the stable of Punjabi folk music, Naushad pointed out.
The best was yet to come. When Rafi realised that Naushad had acquired a workable knowledge of Punjabi and could converse in it haltingly, he started visiting the latter's place in the morning, carrying his copy of the Sikh holy book, Guru Granth Sahib, written in Shahmukhi (a form of Persian written from right to left), gifted to him by the great Urdu poet of Punjab, Kunwar Mohinder Singh Bedi 'Sahar.'
Though Guru Granth Sahib is in Gurumukhi, the older generation was weaned on Urdu and Persian and was not familiar with Gurumukhi.
Rafi would musically recite lyrical verses (jap-ji/ardaas and hymns) from the Sikh holy book in his mellifluous voice and Naushad would listen with rapt attention. Both knew the age-old rule of mastering a language through its musical rendition.
Rafi could recite all 6,236 verses of the Quran musically and was an expert in Qirat (art of musical rendition of Quranic verses). At the same time, he could also recite the chaupai in Avadhi from Tulsidas' Ramcharitmanas like a devout Hindu.
The musical teaching of the sacred book of Sikhism helped Naushad imbibe the nuances of Punjabi. In these times of rabid religiosity and linguistic chauvinism, this is just unthinkable, nay sacrilegious. There was so much veneration in the hearts of two maestros for other religions and their scriptures.