Irshad Kamil has little left to prove. Over two decades, he has written some of Hindi cinema’s most memorable songs, from Tum Se Hi, Nadaan Parindey and Kun Faya Kun to Agar Tum Saath Ho and the recent Saiyaara. Yet the National Award-winning lyricist insists he is still a student.

“My journey has been about coincidences and evolution,” he says with a laugh. “It’s about what I want to become.” Sitting over tea on a rain-soaked afternoon in Andheri, Kamil looks back at a career that began almost by accident. As a student with a deep interest in theatre and poetry at Panjab University, he drifted into television before finding his way to films. More than 100 films later, he still believes every project teaches him something new.

“I stumbled into television. I stumbled into films,” he says. “With every song, I understand a little more about what it means to be a lyricist. There are so many layers to lyric writing. Just as there are many kinds of love, I’m still learning them.” That desire to keep evolving changed the way he works.

For years, Kamil deliberately restricted himself to four films annually. Then filmmaker Sooraj Barjatya offered advice that stayed with him.

“‘Irshad, you’re harming the industry by working less,’” he recalls. “That really struck me.” He decided to say yes more often. “The more time you spend in a creative environment, the more you learn. That’s how projects like Krishnavataram and the ghazal EP with Papon happened.”

If there is one emotion Kamil keeps returning to, it is love. Ironically, he considers it the hardest to write. “I feel most love songs don’t have the purity that love deserves,” he says. “My language for every film is love. I want to redefine that language for today’s world.”

His ambition is not to make lyrics more poetic, but more truthful. “Love has evolved. Society has evolved. I want to reflect that in my writing. I want songs to feel less fake.”

That philosophy shapes Main Vaapas Aaunga, on which he worked alongside A R Rahman while simultaneously writing for Tere Ishk Mein. Before beginning, the pair watched James Mangold’s Bob Dylan biopic, A Complete, Unknown together. “Bob Dylan’s journey charged me creatively,” he says.

One song from Main Vaapas Aaunga, Kya Kamaal Hai, juxtaposes images of Partition with those of present-day refugees. “For me, it isn’t just a song,” he says. “It’s a dream of love, peace and hope.”

Kamil is equally clear about what he doesn’t want his lyrics to become. “In every art form, people struggle to balance mass appeal with artistic quality,” he says. “We’re diluting art to make it more popular. Dilution isn’t the solution. Accessibility is.”

Instead of reaching for ornate vocabulary, he prefers words people are familiar with. “I don’t want to impress listeners with difficult words from a dictionary. I’m trying to make my lyrics more accessible without compromising on quality. At the same time, I’m trying to redefine myself, and romantic songs in films.”

That openness also informs his collaborations. Having worked with veterans such as Rahman, Pritam, Vishal-Shekhar, Amit Trivedi, and now with a younger wave: Shashwat Sachdev, Tanishk Bagchi, Sachet-Parampara, Vishal Mishra, Sarthak Kalyani, Hiral Viradia, is the process of working with new-age composers different? “There’s no fixed pattern,” he says. “Every composer has a different way of thinking, so every project challenges you differently. That’s where the learning happens.”

Some of his most rewarding work has emerged from those unstructured sessions. While writing Dhurandhar, he, director Aditya Dhar and composer Shashwat Sachdev often worked through the night, with Dhar’s home doubling up as a studio.

“We’d start at six in the evening and sometimes continue till six the next evening,” he says. “Phir Se was born during one of those sessions.”

Unlike singers and composers, lyricists rarely enjoy the visibility of live performances. But Kamil believes the profession has become more sustainable.

“Being a lyricist now comes with a pension plan,” he says, referring to royalties collected through IPRS. “Sometimes the royalty from a successful song can become many times what you were originally paid. And it keeps coming.”

Social media often compares him with Gulzar, Javed Akhtar and Anand Bakshi. Others have likened aspects of his recent work to Bob Dylan. Kamil accepts the compliments but rejects the comparison.

“There can never be another Bob Dylan,” he says. “Just as there can never be another Sachin Tendulkar. Every artist has their own zone. Irshad Kamil has to remain Irshad Kamil.”

Perhaps that is why, even after two decades in Hindi cinema, Kamil still speaks less about success than about discovery. At 54, his ambition is simpler, or perhaps some might say harder: to write songs that feel a little more honest than the ones he wrote yesterday.