Dr Nirmal Nayak - The Man of Soil

In the hushed, hallowed lanes of Dhenkanal, where dawn broke with the murmured incantations of the Vedas and dusk settled like a benediction, a young boy named Nirmal Nayak  took his first breath on the 18th of August  (birth year hidden deliberately) -- a day the heavens might have marked sub rosa (secrecy, divine mystery) with quiet significance, for destiny had already begun weaving its intricate designs around him. His father, Harekrushna Nayak, was a person who breathed Vedic and Upanishadic atmosphere, whose voice would reverberate steadily within the house celebrating mantras that seemed to weave the very framework of their world. His mother, Parvati Devi, was probably the silent architect of the home, working with her hands in preparation of food and in mending, while also providing a warm environment where folk stories blossomed like night-blooming jasmine-natured-wise with tenderness.

Yet Fate, in its indifferent calculus, had other plans for him. Before Shri Nirmal could grasp either the full weight of his father's scriptures or the deep meaning in his mother's lullabies, they were gone. And the silence left behind was an unspoken yet asahaya (helpless) challenge to him: To make something of the ruins. Taken away from his village, he sailed to Sambalpur, where his elder brother became a reluctant anchor in an aimless sea of grief that rushed ever so loudly within his heart. But even the tide could not drown that fire; instead, it sharpened his vision and honed his voice. While others struggled with grammar and equations, Nirmal's  mind was a bloom from within, an explosion of stories cast from his pen on to the pages of Bilua Nana and Baramaja as if writing were some incantation against oblivion.

And thus appeared the stage, beyond words confined to paper, in real flesh and breath. Plays like Amanisha, Ashprusya, Andhakara Chhai, Natak Chalichi, Guppa Heigala Dunia, Atheni Hajiche  and many more came to life in every performance, not just as performance but as realization. The school auditorium turned into a temple for him, audience into his congregation, and stories -- oh, what stories -- his offerings. Echoes obsessed memory long after the curtains had fallen.

For Nirmal Nayak, childhood was not merely a time of growing up. It was one in which a story-teller had been formed -- how quickly, and with what indelible results the most permanent stories that mortal man could have really made born of silence.

Destiny, that inscrutable scribe, had inked a seemingly unshakable script for him -- a life devoted to the noble art of healing, armed with a degree in Homeopathic Medicine  from Sambalpur University. His white coat fit perfectly: the stethoscope dutifully rested around his neck, and it was to everyone else in the world that at last a person committed to repairing bodies and soothing diseases had come to light. But as it so often happens, destiny had a playful accomplice -- the spirit of art, whose whispers he could not ignore as they were anything but unceremoniously uttered.

Even while memorizing the minutiae of medicinal remedies, his soul would wax louder to a completely different tune -- weaving through melody, lyric, and the seductive temptation of creativity. The clinical homeopathic method could never quell the riotous poetry in him. In 1985, his voice, full of unspoken tales, found a berth on Yuba Vani, Akashvani. As early as 1991, while still a medical-science student, he was already an approved lyricist of All India Radio, Sambalpur, a tacit yet defiant acknowledgment of his artistic world.

For five years, he balanced unusual dualities: healer by daylight, dreamer at midnight. His clinic ran smoothly; the patients enjoyed its services; the world gave a nod to this respectability, predictable existence. But underneath that reassuring white coat was an unquiet soul. The walls of his dispensary, so pristine and sterile, could not contain the grandeur of his unresting mind. The rhythm of unnamed verses, the call of yet-to-be written melodies -- they gnashed at him with an unrelenting asperity like an ocean wave -- kind of like "Re Mana Mu Bhala Pauchi" ! As a side note, have you listned "Re Mana Tu Bhala Pauchu"?

And so, he sought refuge in pilgrimages -- not to stone temples but to the cultural sanctum of Cuttack, where art breathed freely, and poets and musicians spoke his own language -- the language of soul & glamour. Each visit was but a short and temporary respite, a quick taste afforded him by the life he had once yearned. But the heart, once awakened, does not settle for crumbs.

And then 1997 came into being, and the universe stopped on its axis. And then such a turning point never could have come with fanfare; it had to arrive quietly with terrifying clarity at the crossroads. Stay, and live with the ghost of regret; jump, or embrace uncertainty with open arms. It was his wife, a shining star in homeopathy, who lent him wings. Her words were neither plea nor protest, but a gentle, irrevocable push into the unknown: "Go," she said, "or you will spend your life wondering 'what if' ".

And so, with the quiet courage of a man who had nothing to lose but the weight of his own unfulfilled dreams, he stepped across the threshold -- from the measured world of medicine to the uncharted wilderness of art. The white coat was hung up, but the soul, at last, was set free.

Cuttack was no city of gilded dreams -- it was a coliseum. A place where legends like Shirshananda Das Kanungo and Nizam had already carved their names into the annals of Ollywood with chisels of genius. Into this arena walked a young man, slight of frame but with a spirit that burned like wildfire -- Shri Nirmal Nayak. His weapons? A pen, a heart full of verses, and an unyielding belief that stories could conquer kingdoms.

Early years weren't so kind. This period was indeed turbulent -- a crucible wherein trust was tested and courage or mettle measured. Then came the bitterness of betrayal with Ma Mangala that, took his tang, and his words, casts his name into shadows. The wound was deep, his disillusionment was deep as well. For eight whole years he did not do any dialogue writing, in a feeling almost as if the craft he so loved had betrayed him.

But destiny, that fickle weaver of fates, was merely biding its time -- and in its infinite mischief, it brought him face-to-face with another dreamer.

Abhijeet Majumdar was no established composer then -- he was a struggler, a man whose very veins were filled with tunes and had an unusual sense of the pulse of the masses. Merely two or three years younger than Shri Nirmal, another young battler who was staring at his big break. Their meeting was not just chance; it was alchemy. Two hungry artists, one with words, the other with tunes, united by a shared fire.

Together, they toiled in obscurity, crafting songs that would soon set the streets ablaze -- Mandar Malini, Nadia Re Kata Lo Gaja Mukuta, Sabi o Sabi  -- each one a stepping stone toward something greater. And then, like lightning striking parched earth, came their moment: Kasia Kapila.

The film was kind of an experiment as far as the team goes -- a gathering of fresh talents -- Dr. Nirmal Nayak, Arun Mantri, Basant Raj Samal, Bapu Goswami  -- all newcomers, all hungry. But when the first notes woven into the newcomer Abhijeet's compositions and spilled from the screen, something shifted. The audience erupted. The Dada-Mama Jodi  was born -- not by seniority, but by success, by the sheer magic they created together.

From there, the floodgates opened!

Nirmal's pen became an unstoppable force -- 600+ film songs, 10,000+ album songs, each verse a brick in his legacy. Yet, in between, the sweetest triumph came in 2008, when Sanjay Nayak handed him the script of Sapana Ra Saudagar, offering a long-awaited return to dialogue writing. And what a return it was. "Tu Dashata Marile Mu Gote Maribi, Jaga Dekhi Maribi auu Solid Maribi" [ Hit me ten times, I'll strike back just once -- but it'll be solid, and right where it counts  ]. The lines didn't just echo in theaters -- they seeped into the soil of Odisha's streets, shouted in tea stalls, whispered in college corridors. Nirmal's pen turned an unstoppable force;

And then the deluge came!

His dialogues flooded the screens of Odisha like monsoon rains after droughts -- Tu Mo Kamzori's raw vulnerability, eccentricities of Golmaal Love, and Prema ATM's romantic wit. Every year brought new slug lines to infest the public mind: Maya Re Baya, Abhiman, Jor ka Jhatka, Bapa Tame Bhari Dusta and on and on. He had transformed the streets into his echo chamber: the punch lines ricocheted in the bazaars along with those from, whose theme was filial rebellion, while bus stands were not far behind carrying the echoes of loverboy swagger in Mr. Majnu.

It seems, 2016-19 became his golden years -- Love Express chugged along with youthful energy, Local Toka Love Chokha  seasoned romance with local flavor, Tokata Fasigala  snapped with dramatic tension. Even as Ajatsatru  and Laila O Laila  painted grander canvases, his words remained razor-sharp. Earlier works like God Father (2016)  and Agastya  (2016) had already proven his range, while Gote Shua Gote Shari (2016)  danced between languages of lovers with effortless grace.

Yet through it all, the songs kept coming -- an ever-growing constellation of lyrics that twinkled across the digital realm youtube, spotify playlists. Each year stretched the list longer; each composition added another brushstroke to his magnum opus.

This was no pedestrian career trajectory, but rather a magnificent obsession -- one man's words quietly conquering the collective appreciation of masses. Yet even as the never-ending scroll of his achievements would blur into decades, a quiet hollowness would grow with him -- the eternal artist' yearning for whatever had yet to evade his prolific pen.

For Nirmal Nayak, success was never the tranquil harbor but the restless voyage itself; his eyes perpetually scanning the horizon for those rare collaborators who might help birth the timeless classics his heart still yearned to create -- words that would outlive their makers, verses that would whisper to grandchildren what they first told their grandparents. The hunt continues, not for glory (of which he has plenty) but for that perfect alchemy of commerce and artistry that might yet produce the immortal works his soul still strains to give the world.

He never wrote for the glint of trophies -- no, his muse was far more restless, far more alive -- to create a mark with masses.

The 2007 Odisha State Film Award ( for Tote Mu Paruni Ta Bhuli ) arrived -- not for his validation but rather as unlocking the mute witness already behind a countless verse breathed by the people. But the gods of art, being capricious; soon opened another award; The ETV Cine Award (2012 for Balunga Toka)  with all the glitz of stage lighting he never pursued;

The Chala Chita Jagata Award  celebrated verses obliquely slipping into the people's memory; and the Cinema Sansara awkwardly whispered, Ah, the silent revolutionary. Then came two other crowns -- the Sarala Ustav Samman, anchoring him into the cosmic map of Odisha's literary prestige; and SHAPATH Awards celebrating his commitment. Even the stern hall of justice bowed down -- the Odisha Bar Association Award  perhaps given by judges humming his tunes in between the verdicts;

The critics, of course, clucked their tongues. Too peppy. Too raw. Too much honey, not enough vinegar. Do we believe that, that sly judge, has a way of settling scores?

Did they miss the cosmic despair in "Jagatare Paibuni emiti thakura"  -- where a devotee's cry tore through the void, declaring the universe barren without Jagannath? Could their refined ears not catch the monsoon ache of "Rahija tike barsha", where love and rain became twin promises, eternally suspended? Was the sweet torment of "Re Mana Tu Bhala Pauchu", with its pendulum between longing and surrender, too raw for their palates?

Have they dismissed "Tu Kahile Chanda Ku Aani" as moonstruck fantasy -- are they blind to its dance between innocence and desire? Have they labeled "Chali to Gaja Gamini"  as mere rustic metaphor, deaf to its symphony of contradictions -- where regal grace trembled before shy hesitation; where obsession pulsed through every refrain like a second heartbeat?

Have they searched for complexity in structure when it lived in feeling; they demanded underlaying philosophical essence, when the world thirsted for honey?

No, they have taken notice of it! They recognized Dr. Nayak's gift  -- perhaps too well. For in their critiques of what they called 'too peppy' or 'too raw,' they were not dismissing his work, but challenging him to rise higher. Their apparent skepticism was not blindness to his talent, but a sharp-eyed demand for him to fully wield it. Like strict gurus prodding a gifted disciple; their criticism sought not to bury his voice, but to forge it into something even more extraordinary -- pushing him to channel that popular appeal into enduring literary greatness. The people embraced his songs; the critics, in their way, were trying to immortalize them.

Mr Nayak also knows that -- for art, he knew, wasn't meant to be dissected in ivory towers. It was meant to live -- on cracked lips, in off-key choruses, in the unscripted moments where song become the breath of the masses -- not just connoisseurs. And in that commercial marketplace of instant emotions, his words had long since been minted as currency.

For complete lst of awards, please see the Profile Sectionof this page

In the golden hush of twilight, where the past and the future blur into a single, shimmering now, there stands a man who has become more than a man -- he is a melody, a whisper of the soil, a voice that rises like incense from the sacred earth of Odisha. Dr. Nirmal Nayak, the poet who taught songs to sing and verses to breathe, has long since transcended the mere mortal realm of accolades. The awards -- gleaming, weighty testaments to his genius -- adorn shelves somewhere, gathering dust, while his true trophies linger in the air: the hum of a rickshaw-wallah chanting his lyrics, the sigh of a lover murmuring his couplets, the laughter of children skipping to the rhythm of his tunes.

Ah, the critics -- those earnest cartographers of culture, who measure art with rulers of tradition, quality and compasses of expectation. They have occasionally paused at his "peppy" exuberance, raising eyebrows at what they deem too lively, too direct and too eager to resonate. And to this, Nirmal Nayak responds not with defiance, but with a quiet, knowing smile. For he understands the dance of creation in a world that demands commerce as much as art. He has bent to the rhythms of the market, shaped verses to suit producers' whims, even wrapped his words in the glossy packaging of taglines -- because a poet also has a family to manage, and art must reach the people. Yet, in unguarded moments, he wonders aloud: Why do the critics remember only what has commercially done well, and never what I have done better? The question lingers, heavy with implication -- for it speaks of the eternal tension between the artist's vision and the world's hunger for the familiar, the safe, the sellable.

And now, as the seasons turn and the ink flows anew, the romantic weaver of peppy words returns to where his soul first took flight -- to poetry. Not the polished, perfumed verses of ceremony, but the raw, untamed magic of words that bleed and blaze. His Kavita Sankalan and Gita Sankalan are not mere collections; they are homecomings. For what is a poet, if not a pilgrim eternally circling back to the source?

The journey, dear reader, is far from over. As long as his fingers can cradle a pen, as long as his heart can beat in meter, the music will play on -- defiant, joyous, unyielding. Odisha has claimed him as her own, but the world, ah, the world leans in closer now, eager to listen.

"Jete Dina Jae Hata Chalithiba lekhibi (As long as these hands can move, I shall write.)!"

And so, the symphony continues -- luminosus, spero, alacritas -- bright with hope, thrumming with life....

• Personal Details
  • Full Name:Dr. Nirmal Nayak
  • Father's Name:Late Mr. Harekrushna Nayak
  • Father's Name:Late Parvati Devi
  • Date of Birth:18th August
  • Place of Birth:Dhenkanal
  • Marital Status:Married/Male
  • Family:
    • Spouse: Smt. Dr. Sunita Nayak - Active Practitioner of Homeopathy Medicine
    • Son: Soumya swarup Nayak - A Master in Biotechnology and a budding poet
  • Languages Known:Odia, English, Hindi, Bengali
  • Nationality:Indian
  • Religion:Hindu
  • Category:General
  • Education:B.H.M.S (Sambalpur University)
  • Contact:
    • Current Address:C/O Prafulla Kumar Mishra, Bandha Chhak, Bidanasi, PO: Bidanasi, Cuttack
    • Mobile:9861130630
    • Email:nayakdrnirmal63@gmail.com
  • Profession:
    • Primary Profession:Lyrics Writer, Dialogue Writer and Screen Play writer
    Secondary Profession:Doctor (Homeopathy)
    • Lyrics Genre:Peppy, Romantic, Devotional, Philosophical
• Professional Journey :
  • Creative Beginnings:
    • Frequent write of Children Short stories in school:
      • Bilua Nana
      • Baramaja
    • High school playwright - works:
      • Amanisha
      • Ashprusya
      • Andhakara Chhai
      • Atheni Hajiche
      • Guppa Heigala Dunia
      • Natak Chalichi
  • As Lyricist/Song Writer:
    • Approved by All India Radio & Doordarshan (1991)
    • 10,000+ (Film + non-film album) songs
    • 600+ songs for 150 Ollywood films (1999-present)
    • 20+ title songs for Serials (DD1,ETV,OTV,ZEE SARTHAK,TARANG)
    Dramae Baaze 4 seasons sofar, cine star 3 seasons
    • Notable collaborations with Abhijit Majumdar ("Dada-Mama Jodi")
    • other Collaborations:
      • Prem Anand
      • Malaya Mishra
      • Saroj Nanda
      • Baidyanath Dash
      • Purna Khuntia
      • Amarendra Mohanty
      • Asad Nizam
      • Somesh S
      • Gaurav Anand
  • As Writer:
    • Dramas for AIR, Doordarshan, stage plays
    • TV scripts (reality shows, festivals, serials)
    • Dialogue Writing : 60+ movies and
      • Nananda Putuli ( Mega Serial on Manjari)
      • Kedar Gouri & Mechanic Didi (mega Serial on Sidharth)
      • Time Pass & Kahile Kahiba Kahuchi (ETV)
    • Screen Play: 20+ movies
    • Screen Play for Serials:
    • Sample Filmogrpahy as writer:
      • MU SAPANARA SOUDAGARA (Dialogue)
      • DIL TOTE DEICHI (Dialogue)
      • BANDHANA (Dialogue)
      • MANE RAHIBA A PREMA KAHANI(Dialogue)
      • LOVE HELA AMITI(Lyrics)
      • HARI OM HARI(Dialogue)
      • BACHELOR
      • TANKA TOTE SALAM (Story and Lyrics)
      • SOMETHING SOME THING-2 (Story)
      • KRISHNAGOBINDA(Lyrics Writer)
      • MENTAL (Writer)
      • GANJA LADEI
      • DEEPANJALI
      • JIYE JAHA KAHU MORA DHO
      • A AA EKIYE DABA TAKKAR
      • GAPA HELE BI SATA
      • JAGA HATARE PAGHA
      • GOTE SUA GOTE SARI
      • JABARDAST PREMIKA
      • AGASTYA
      • GOD FATHER
      • SAPANARA PATHE PATHE
      • LAILA O LAILA
      • AJATASATRU
      • TOKATA FASIGALA
      • LOCAL TOKA LOVE CHOKA
      • BHAIJAAN
      • LOVE EXPRESS
      • BAPA TAME BHARI DRUSTA
      • ABHIMAAN
      • MR.MAJNU
      • GOLMAAL LOVE
      • THIS IS MAYARE BAYA
      • MAAL MAHU JIBANA MATI
      • JOR KA JHATKA
    • Sample works for TV Serial/Series:
      • ATRUPTA AATMA (DD1) - Dialogue Writer
      • NABARANGA (DD1) - Story, Screenplay & Dialogue Writer
      • TIME PASS (ETV) - Story, Screenplay & Dialogue Writer
      • KAHILE KAHIBA KAHUCHI (ETV) - Story, Screenplay & Dialogue Writer
      • BHEJA FRY (TARANG TV) - Story, Screenplay & Dialogue Writer
• Awards & Honors
  • Odisha State Film Award (2008) - Best Lyrics Writer - Tumaku Paruni Bhuli
  • Sambalpur Lok Mahotsav Award (2009) - For contribution to Art, Films and Music
  • Adikabi Sarala Das Smruti Samman (2010)
  • ETV Award (2011) - Best Lyrics Writer - Balunga Toka
  • Chalachitra Jagat Award (2014) - Best Lyrics Writer
  • Cinema Sansar Award (2014) - Best Dialogue Writer
  • Odia Film Fare Award (2018) - Best Lyrics Writer
  • Rajya Kala Parishad Award (2018) - OFATA Award
  • Odisha Music Award (2019) - Best Lyrics Writer - Sundara Gadara Salman Khan
  • Jagannath Seva Samiti Trust Award (2020)
  • Zee Sarthak Sansar Award (2020)
  • Chalachitra Jagat Award (2021) - Best Lyrics Writer - Arundhati
  • Odisha Star Film Award (2022) - Best Dialogue Writer
  • Taranga Cine Utsav Award (2022) - Best Lyrics Writer
  • Guru Padma Award (2022)
  • Tusharashree Kabishree Samman (2022)
  • EVOS-RR Film & OTT Award (2023) - Best Lyrics Writer
  • Odisha Motion Picture Award
  • Rang Utsav Award
• Personal Attributes
  • Sincere, responsible, self-confident
  • Hardworking and committed
  • Adaptive to changing circumstances
  • Professional attitude with punctuality
  • Humorous and pragmatic
• Philosophy
  • "Art is not for the elite; it is for the soul"
  • Signature line: "Je Parjyanta Hata Chaluthiba, Lekhuthibi" (As long as my hands move, I shall write)