Khud-Mukhtaria’n Lyrics – Satinder Sartaaj (From “Liberation”)

The Big Picture

The title… Khud-Mukhtaria’n. Right? It’s one of those phrases that, you know, you can feel the weight of it even before you understand it literally. It translates to something like “self-authored authorities” or “self-made rules.” And that’s the entire song, right there. It’s not about a dictator or a boss or some external force locking you down. It’s about the cages we design and lock ourselves into, the permissions we refuse to grant ourselves, the invisible scripts we follow so dutifully that we forget who wrote them in the first place. The song frames this whole… internal civil war. It’s a masterpiece of introspection, you know, it’s that moment of looking in the mirror and realizing the face looking back has been following a map you drew for yourself when you were a completely different person.

Most Impactful Lines

God, there’s so many. The whole first verse just sucker-punches you. “Asinn aasaan de baramade ‘ch baithnaa; Ahisassaan de chaubaare murr rangnne!” I mean, think about that. “We sit in the courtyards of ease; We colour the doors of sensitivities and turn away!” That image is just… heartbreakingly vivid. We’ve built these comfortable, safe spaces for ourselves, these courtyards of ‘aasaan’—ease, convenience. And then, right next door, are the rooms of deep feeling, of ‘ahisassaan’, and what do we do? We paint their doors and turn our backs. We actively, artistically shut out our own depth because it’s too messy, too demanding. It’s not an accident, it’s a deliberate act of decoration and denial. And then that line later, “Sadde khushiaan noo luk-chhup bhej ke / Aah udaaseeaan noo dekhinn kiddaan chaarnaa.” “Having sent our happiness into hiding, / Now we have to see how to graze these sadnesses.” We make our joy fugitives, and then we’re stuck shepherding our sorrows like they’re the only livestock we own. That’s the self-sabotage the title talks about. We are the ones who sent joy away, and now we’re left managing the bleak farm. It’s such a powerful, quiet admission of guilt.

Decoding The Chorus

Everyone feels this chorus, but you gotta sit with each line. It starts with a declaration of exhaustion: “Asinn chhadd ‘taa e jittanaa te haaranaa!” “We have let go of both winning and losing!” It’s not victory or defeat anymore, the game itself is pointless. Then, “Te fizool vich sochnaa vichaarnaa!” “And thinking, pondering in the futile!” All that over-analysis, the circular thoughts that lead nowhere… we’re done with that too. But then comes the twist, the diagnosis: “Murr lai laiiaan ne khud-mukhtariaan,” “We have taken U-turns, these self-authored authorities.” The u-turns are our own rules, our own “shoulds” and “musts” that keep us looping back to the same starting point of paralysis. And the final line is the tragic consequence: “Jitthe chitt karoo othe dil vaarnaa!” “Wherever the mind settles, the heart gets banished!” That’s the core conflict. Every time our rational mind picks a safe path, a sensible route, it demands the exile of the heart’s desires. The mind builds a settlement, and the first thing it does is banish the heart from the premises. The chorus is this perfect, terrible cycle: giving up on outcomes, getting stuck in thought, following our own rigid rules, and in doing so, forever separating what we think from what we feel.

Most Relatable Part

For me, honestly, it’s that bridge about duty and desire. “Denee aasaan noon taan chaabee itbaar dee. Zimeedaarii raunkaan noo ghar-baar dee.” “To give ease, you only need the key of trust. Responsibility, to the lanes, you give a home and hearth.” I mean, wow. We think trust is the simple key to peace, but responsibility… we don’t just *have* it, we *settle* it. We give it a permanent address in the neighborhoods of our life. We marry it. We build a home for it. And then, you know, the next line: “Dilchaspee naa’ dostee banaaun laiee, Asinn laiee e hamait jee bahaar dee.” “To turn curiosity into friendship, we have brought the whole spring of life.” This is the most human thing. We cage ourselves in these well-furnished houses of duty and responsibility, and then we wonder why the wild, curious, blossoming friendship with our own passions feels like a distant, seasonal thing we have to import with tremendous effort. We make duty a resident and treat curiosity like a tourist who needs a special festival to visit. That… that kills me. Because who hasn’t done that? Who hasn’t made their obligations so domestic and their joys so ceremonial?

Conclusion & Overall Message

So what’s it all leave you with? It’s not a song of despair, I don’t think. It’s a song of stark, uncomfortable recognition. It’s the moment before the change. By naming the problem so precisely—khud-mukhtaria’n, our own authored chains—it takes the power away from some vague, external fate. The song ends almost with a note of weary, hard-won wisdom. “Ihne ehee ikhlaakh apnaa laiaa; Chhaddo-chhaddo jee zameer kaahton maarnaa.” “We have adopted only this habit; why kill the conscience again and again?” After all this dissection, the final whisper is a question to the self: why keep murdering your own conscience in installments? The takeaway is the awareness itself. The map is now visible. You see the U-turns. You see the courtyard of ease and the painted-shut door of feeling right next to it. The message isn’t “you’re trapped,” it’s “you are the architect.” And if you built the prison, even if by accident, you also hold the only set of plans. It leaves you with that quiet, terrifying, and ultimately liberating responsibility.