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Ahmed Wasi

From Behta Pani to Final Rest

A journey well-traveled from Shehr-e-Sukhan to Shehr-e-Khamoshan, the sudden demise of Ahmed Wasi marked a quiet ending to a singing life

By Abid Azhar | February 2026

وہ کرے بات تو ہر لفظ سے خشبو آئے
ایسی بولی وہی بولے جسے اُردو آئے

(احمد وصی)

At around 10:30 p.m. on January 18, a message from a friend informed that Ahmed Wasi (Bhai Jani) had passed away in Mumbai and that the burial would take place in his ancestral city, Sitapur.

There had been no prior news of illness, which made the shock sudden and deeply unsettling.

Once the initial numbness eased, I wrote to his son, Wasi Aqeel Zair (Nayyar), who lives in Muscat. His reply came the next morning. He had a flight booked for Mumbai on 15 January, unaware that circumstances would force him to travel two days earlier. He said that his father had been well until a fever developed two days earlier. When it worsened, his mother took him to the hospital, where low blood sugar was diagnosed, and he was admitted to the ICU. Within two hours, Ahmed Wasi passed away. A full and vibrant life came quietly to rest.

Nayyar later informed that he was travelling with the body to Lucknow and that burial would take place in Sitapur after Maghrib that evening.

Words failed me. Memories of Bhai Jani—his life, his voice, his presence—began to unfold like scenes from a film. In the days when letters still mattered, we remained in touch through correspondence. Letters, like many of us, have since faded away. In later years, news of him reached mainly through his son.

Bhai Jani was the eldest son of my paternal uncle, Syed Muhammad Athar Zair Sitapuri. Ahmed Wasi was one of eight siblings and, by a strange turn of fate, the last surviving among them. His grandmother had passed away when the children were young, and they were raised by a maternal aunt they affectionately called “Gaga,” who had no children of her own. To honour her late husband Wasi, Athar Zair named all his sons with “Wasi”—Ahmed Wasi, Raza Wasi, Abbas Wasi, Hasan Wasi, and Husain Wasi.

Ahmed Wasi earned a BA and a Law degree from Lucknow University and briefly practised law at his father’s insistence. Law, however, was never his calling. Poetry was. His work had already begun appearing in literary journals, and his dream was to write film lyrics set to O.P. Nayyar’s music. He once recalled watching “Udain Jab Jab Zulfain Teri”, filmed on Dilip Kumar, and telling his friends that one day his own lyrics would appear on screen with Nayyar’s music. They laughed then. Time proved otherwise.


After moving to Bombay, he joined All India Radio’s Vividh Bharati while struggling to break into films. He once described writing a song for just one hundred rupees so he could travel to Sitapur. That song: “Kya Kya Na Sahe Hum Ne Sitam Aap Ki Khaatir” from the film Mere Huzoor, sung by Mohammad Rafi, became immensely popular, though the credit went to Hasrat Jaipuri. He later vowed never again to engage in ghost-writing, regardless of circumstance.

When I visited India in 1979, I stayed with him in Bombay, where he lived with his wife and young sons. A generous host with a mischievous sense of humour, he once insisted on feeding me vegetarian food, until discovering I was a “strict non-vegetarian,” after which he would go out of his way to bring kebabs and meat dishes from distant markets.

Cinema has always been central to Indian culture, and through him I experienced it closely. He took me to film screenings, premieres, even shooting sets, introducing me to actors like Bharat Kapoor and Madhu Malini, and later to singer Bhupinder, whose album opened with Bhai Jani’s poem “Kaash Ek Baar Aisa Ho Jaaye.”

Bhupinder then gifted me a signed LP, which went missing after one of my students took it to get it copied on a cassette.

By then, Ahmed Wasi’s lyrics had appeared in films like Pran Jaye Par Wachan Na Jaye, Qanoon Aur Mujrim, and Heera Moti. His long-held dream of working with O.P. Nayyar had been fulfilled; he is the only lyricist introduced to films by O.P. Nayyar himself. He later worked with Khayyam as well, contributing ghazals to Asha Bhosle’s album Asha aur Khayyam. Notably, his song “Mere Shareek-e-Safar Ab Tera Khuda Hafiz” turned out to be Talat Mahmood’s final recorded song.

My last visit to India was in 1984, for the wedding of his youngest sister Kulsoom, who passed away not long after. Over the years, Bhai Jani published several poetry collections: Behta Pani, Jugnu Mere Saath Saath, Guldaan, Titliyaan, Baadalon Ka Sheher. Some of his collections of poetry were also translated and published in Hindi and Marathi.

When I first began writing, I sought his guidance. He encouraged me simply: “You write well. Keep writing.” That generosity stayed with me.
Today, Ahmed Wasi rests in Sitapur. A luminous chapter has closed.

His wife later shared that he had written a verse to be engraved on his grave:

یہی زمین ہے احمد وصی کا بھی بستر
اسی پہ سب کو ہی آخر میں نیند آتی ہے

As rightly said by Ghalib,
خاک میں کیا صورتیں ہوں گی کہ پنہاں ہو گئیں

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