Shamshad Begum ~ Listening From A Distance

Let us not forget Shamshad Begum's teaming with the very melodious Ghulam Mohammad who followed to the end of his career, traditions in film music established by his mentor Naushad Ali. She sang a host of songs for this fine composer but was often made to play second fiddle to Lata in films like the Madhubala-Karan Dewan-Rehman starrer Pardes (1950), in which the latter sang at least four solo jewels as also a चटपटी  duet with Rafi, and Shamshad sang a mediocrity like हुआ तेरा मेरा प्यार फटा-फट  picturized on Mukri and a junior artiste. Unfortunately, there would be others of this type, too many in fact, for an artiste of her stature. However, Ghulam Mohammad and his right arm, the lyricist Shakeel Badayuni, also created in this film two diametrically opposite wonder works to test Shamshad's vocals and she came to the fore with her rendering of the rousing gypsy track मेरे घूंगरवाले बाल हो राजा   picturized on the vivacious and undulating Cuckoo and the sobering एक रुत आये एक रुत जाये picturized on one Shakuntala.

What she could not do for Ghulam Mohammad in Pardes Shamshad did in Rail Ka Dibba (1953 & Shammi Kapoor in his film debut, I believe) and we have at least three lilting solos (not to speak of the boisterous duet ला दे मोहे बालमा  with Rafi-saab's vocals also at their peak in this vocal gymnastics) written by Shakeel in छम छमा छम पायल बाजे... , पापी दुनियासे दूर ... and my personal favourite आँगन मोरे आओजी... The track is utter delight gently ushered in by the flute, wafting in on a soft breeze, almost like a cradle song lulling the listener.......

Contemporaneously with Naushad and Ghulam Mohammad there were other composers, those of the old guard like Khemchand Prakash, Ram Ganguly, Pt. Shyam Sundar, Pt. Amarnath, Sachin Dev Burman, Chitalkar Ramchandra, Sajjad Hussein, Vasant Desai, Nashad, Chitragupta, S. N. Tripathi, Hansraj Behl and others, in the post-independence era who recognized the musical depths in Shamshad's voice and plumbed them. While these names are fading memories today, their music is not. One still stops short when an echo from the past comes on. Nothing like the good old 78 r.p.m. to restore thought and remembrance to their rightful place....the heart.

Khemchand Prakash: Shamshad sang his tuning of lyricist Bharat Vyas' gentle lyric in the Kishore Sahu-Ramola starrer 'Rimjhim' (1949): न तुम आये न नींद आई  तुम्हारी याद ही आई ... 

Sawan Aya Re. There is poetry in the very title and that 're' is a lilt in itself. Pt. Shyam Sundar composed the fine duet written for Shamshad with Rafi, once again by Pt. Bharat Vyas and picturized on Kishore Sahu and Ramola. We all remember the melancholy ऐ  दिल न मुझे याद दिला बातें  पुरानी ...

Shamshad gave all she had in crooning Behzad Lakhnavi's lyric,काहे कोयल शोर मचाए रे, मोहे अपना कोई याद आये रे...tuned by Ram Ganguly and picturized on Nargis in Raj Kapoor's first ever production Aag (1948). Her three great solos on the discs for this film notwithstanding (the other two being न आंखोंमें आँसू  न होठों पे हाये, मगर एक मुद्दत हुई  मुस्कुराए..., and the less heard  दिल लूट गया... ), it's a pity that barring the rambunctious एक दो तीन आजा मौसम है रंगीन  club track in Aawara (1951), Raj and his composers, Shanker-Jaikishan, had nothing further to do with Shamshad Begum, despite his fondness for her ("ये  शमशाद  बेगम  हैं , जो बोलतीं  कम हैं , पर गाती  हैं  कुछ  ज़्यादा ",  he said of her once before an audience).

And then there was this fine solo written by Raja Mehdi Ali Khan and tuned by Sajjad Hussein for the Rehana-Prem Adeeb starrer 'Magroor' (1950): तुम्हें बागोंमें सावनके नज़ारे याद करते  हैं ...a great solo indeed.

I loved Shamshad Begum when she sang for the great C. Ramchandra! I always will: not too many songs there but the handful that this composer made her sing, quite a few among them duets that he himself sang with her will stay with us forever. But then he was that kind of composer: whether it was Shamshad and Binapani Mukherjee or Amirbai Karnataki in the early years, or Lata and Asha later on, his lady singers were special and he managed to get the best out of their vocal cords. His was a unique sense of melody: I have not forgotten how, years ago in the 60s we went hunting, often upon a whim, for the fast-disappearing 78s of his compositions, that we sought to retrieve from Twin Records and Rhythm House in old Bombay.

Despite Lata's great solos in Patanga (1949) starring Nigar Sultana, Shyam Kumar and the very funny Gope, and Nirala (1950) starring Dev Anand and Madhubala, we get very nostalgic when we listen to Rajendra Krishan's मेरे पिया गए रंगून..., ओ दिलवालों दिलका लगाना अच्छा है पर कभी-कभी..., दुनिया को प्यारे फूल और सितारे..., गोरे-गोरे मुखड़े पर गेसू जो छा गए..., बोलोजी दिल लोगे तो क्या क्या दोगे..., प्यारके जहाँ की निराली सरकार है  from the first and मुहब्बत मेरी  रंग लाने  लगी है ...,  a solo, as also दिलमें किसिके रहना हो तो किसकी  इजाज़त चाहिए , a duet with Chitalkar, from the second. And, of course, there was also P.L. Santoshi's टम-टम से  झांको न रानी जी  गाड़ी से गाड़ी लड़ जाएगी, from the Kamini Kaushal-Kishore Sahu starrer Namoona (1949). In a word: Unbelievable! 

When O.P. Nayyar stormed in with his unconventional music that set our feet (and our hearts) tap-tapping, for Guru Dutt's noir-based Aar Paar (1954), the industry was up in arms against this iconoclast who defied tradition to the end of his career. The government-owned A.I.R. refused to play a lot of  his music. To this day one does not understand what the hullabaloo was all about even for those times because the immortal C. Ramchandra had already introduced his own brand of exoticism via the Carribean beat in मोम्बासा ....रात मिलनकी ... and मैं हूँ एक खलासी... along with other numbers in his Sargam (1950), as had Shankar-Jaikishan with their Barsaat the year before, with which the western classical influence finally came to stay in our film music. (One cannot help bringing that in, here).

But O.P. had two champions: one in the fledgeling Radio Ceylon growing in popularity by the day and the other in Shamshad Begum who commanded enough status at the time to put her foot down and embrace his music recognizing its intrinsic worth. She had already sung the title song for O.P. in Aar Paar which had been picturized on a very young Kumkum, and went on to record more numbers under his baton for the next few years, despite the emerging Asha Bhonsle who would finally take over (the mellifluous Geeta Dutt was already a formidable challenge). With all his rebellion O.P. rarely, if ever, lost track of melody.
That same year 'Mangu' was released and in it Shamshad sang the flirtatious ज़रा प्यार करले बाबु... while Asha Bhonsle had her first three solos with the composer who would shape her future, including the haunting, still moving sitar-led बोल परदेसिया ये तूने क्या किया … 

Geeta Roy, now Mrs.Guru Dutt, would render most of the delightful solos and duets with Rafi in hubby's Mr. & Mrs. 55 the next year, but Shamshad still showed her mettle with अब तो जी होने लगा किसीकी सूरत का  सामना...  picturized, once again, on a junior artist.
But she went on to sing other classics (and we know them all) for O.P. after that, notably in films like the great C.I.D., Musafirkhana, Chhoo Mantar, Naya Daur (I, for one, can imagine her leading साथी हाथ बढ़ाना despite the folksy रेश्मी सलवार कुड़ता  जालिका ), Howrah Bridge, and Naya Andaz. This last carried the immortal Shamshad-Kishore duet मेरी नीन्दोंमें तुम मेरे ख्वाबोंमें तुम, हो चुके हम तुम्हारी मुहब्बत में  गुम..., the wonderful two-sided 78r.p.m. version of this song with its ultra-haunting opening (now rarely heard in its fullness). There is also a solo in the film which has always invited special attention viz. Jan Nisar Akhtar's lyric picturised on Meena Kumari: रात रंगीली गाएरे , मोहसे रहा न जाये रे ...., as also तू आजा रे , के दिल है बेक़रार...in which Shamshad leads Rafi and Kishore.

When Sahir Ludhianvi, that stormy petrel amongst our filmi poets, was not taking apart society for its many ills and holding a mirror before its face, he was intoxicating us with the controlled eroticism in his love songs. Back in the early '50s before that ill-fated one-rupee prestige issue that brought him and composer Sachin Dev Burman to a parting of the ways, the two were a formidable team. Among the many films that they teamed together in was G.P. Sippy's Shahenshah (1953), starring Ranjan and a very alluring Kamini Kaushal. The film also brought Gevacolour to filmgoers but the highlight was the intoxicating जाम थामले सोचते ही सोचते न बीते सारी रात...rendered by Shamshad. While the song was lost for many a year, I see it today on an enterprising CD here and there and on YT. It is worth a listen.

Shamshad sang other songs for SD notably in films like Baazi (1951) in which she sang Sahir's rather nondescript शरमाये काहे, the Karan Dewan-Vyjayantimala starrer Bahar (1951) in which she sang Rajendra Krishan's wistful ओ परदेसिया...प्यारकी बहार लेके and the hugely popular सैय्याँ  दिलमें आना रे  and दुनिया का मज़ा ले लो ) and the Dilip-Kamini Kaushal starrer Shabnam (1950) from which we remember Qamar Jalalabadi's hilarious ये दुनिया रूप की चोर and the soulful तू महलमें रहनेवाली with Mukesh). 

Think of the melody in Shamshad Begum's voice and you think back also to other long-forgotten composers:
(1) Nashaad and you recall the three, ethereal gems she sang for him in the Ashok Kumar-Nadira starrer Naghma (from 1953) viz. J. Naqshab'sऐ मेरे मजबूर दिल as also two others ranked amongst the best of her career viz.काहे जादू किया मुझको इतना बता, जादूगर बालमा and बड़ी मुश्किलसे दिलकी बेक़रारी को करार आया...

(2) Vasant Desai: for whom she sang in Minerva Movietone's Sheesh Mahal (1950) starring Sohrab Modi, Naseem Bano, Pushpa Hans and Pran. We still remember Shams Lucknowi's great धुप छाँव है दुनिया ...as also  the eloquent हुस्नवालोंकी गलियोंमें जाना नहीं... 

(3) The then up and coming Chitragupta who recorded at least one duet in Shamshad's voice with Rafi-saab for the Naseem Bano-Ranjan film Sindbad The Sailor (1953), and we remember with relish Anjum Jaipuri's अदासे झूमते हुए, दिलोंको चुमते हुए, यह कौन मुस्कुरा दिया. 

(4) Hansraj Behl for whom she sang with gusto songs like भीगा भीगा प्यार का समाँ, बतादे तुझे जाना है कहाँ...in a beat that might have put O.P. Nayyar to shame~a truly lively Prem Dhawan lyric that she sang with Rafi in the Bharat Bhushan-Ameeta starrer Sawan (1959). If 'gusto' were a word in Punjabi it would still not do justice to the energy bursting from this composition!

(5) S.N. Tripathi: we remember this giant among composers, largely relegated to mythology and fantasy which dwarfed his progress in the industry. Back in the early 1950s when fantasies were a rage and held their own against mainstream films Homi Wadia's Basant Pictures brought to the screen an Arabian Nights fantasy Alladin Aur Jadui Chiragh, starring Meena Kumari and Mahipal in which the joint voices of Shamshad and Rafi-saab virtually reverberated as they sang यूँ ही उल्फत के मारों पर ये दुनिया ज़ुल्म करती है. 
*****

People, I could not, not have written this. And yet I feel this was a job half achieved and a remembrance not complete. In fact, I am still discovering songs in her voice I had not heard before! I do not know at what particular moment the offers would have stopped coming to this great songstress, but am convinced they stopped even while she was still in the prime of her singing! The thrush in her vocals was stifled before its time was come! I heard her in the 60s singing snatches in bad songs for Ravi (Pyar Ka Sagar) and Kalyanji Anandji (Bluff Master, Upkaar)~composers who despite their own worth probably had no idea of what she had done before or of what she could still have done, had Naushad Ali and O.P. Nayyar remained with her. Both were pretty active almost to the end of the 60s.

The end, however, came with O.P.'s कजरा मुहब्बतवाला that Shamshad sang with Asha  (Kismat~1968)~a composition that was an insult not only to himself but also to the two great voices he had once helped nurture!

Indeed, in the light of all this, while what Shamshad Begum has given us will remain unforgettable, what happened to her will remain unforgivable!

हाफ़िज़ खुदा आपका , बेगम साहिबा !

Shamshad Begum ~ A Reverie

I remember listening to एक तेरा सहारा  from Minerva Movietone's Shama (1946) first on dad's 78 r.p.m. disc and later on as we tuned in to Radio Ceylon, that venerable storehouse of our popular music. For a long time this was the oldest song by Shamshad Begum that I was familiar with, and Master Ghulam Haider was but a name that one often heard on the radio. I would delve sporadically into his work much later after having viewed Filmistan's Shaheed and paid attention to its great tracks.

Their story was quite commonplace, yet unique:a chance introduction to an established music director, a promise to her strict father that she would never face the motion picture camera and would sing only with her face covered by the traditional burqa. Quaint by today's standards, but for the rest of our mortal lives we will listen to her in awe as her voice transports us to a different era of film making and playback singing. One has no hesitation in saying that along with her peers Noor Jahan, Amirbai Karnataki , Zohrabai Ambalawali and Khursheed, Shamshad Begum represented a coterie of female singers that tried to instill the Hindustani gayiki patterns composers often demanded of  them.

She sang for the Master a host of songs, from Khazanchi (1941) onwards to Humayun (1946) and others this writer knows very little about. Ergo, my special soft corner for the Shama number, notwithstanding its intrinsic merits. Master Ghulam Haider would move to Pakistan after the Partition (he would breathe his last in 1953) but she never forgot him. As late as 1971 at one of her rare public appearances Shamshad praised his work and named एक तेरा सहारा as one of the best songs of her career.....Despite the dramatic overtones as was the wont then, this is probably the song (penned jointly by Ehsan Rizvi and one Shamim) that our elders remember her by. Bear with it, it's beautifully sung. It was picturised on Mehtab, Mrs. Sohrab Modi and celluloid's Jhansi Ki Rani (1953).

If Master Ghulam Haider introduced Shamshad Begum to us listeners it was left largely to the late Naushad Ali to mould her and give shape to her career. One cannot talk about Shamshad and not bring him into the picture: each has given so much to the other. We heard her sing for him first in A.R. Kardar's Shahjahan in 1946 (jab usne gesu bikhraye and jawani ke damanko rangeen banale penned by Majrooh Sultanpuri, in his advent into films). Both songs became immensely popular for the subtle sensuality of the lyric, the exotic tuning (yes, Naushad-saab was not all just raaga!) and Shamshad's vibrant vocals.  In the same year she went on to record a duet with Zorabai Ambalawali for Mehboob Khan's blockbuster Anmol Ghadi. Tanvir Naqvi's duet udan khatole pe ud jaoon, main tere haath na aoon emerged a classic Naushadian composition and the sequence would become the precursor for bachpan ke din bhula na dena the more iconic duet Shamshad would sing with Lata for Filmkar's Deedar (1951) directed by Nitin Bose, some five years later.

There was no stopping her after that. To say that Naushad-saab took her under his wing would be saying the least. From 1946 until the end of the decade and beyond he would mentor her, bring out the best in her. In 1947, she went on to record for Kardar's Dard the very moving chorus hum dard ka afsana duniya ko suna denge, har dilmein muhabbatki ek aag laga denge and yeh afsana nahin zalim mere dilki haqeeqat hai written by the eloquent Shakeel Badayuni in his debut as lyricist in films.




Move forward to 1948 a seminal year for Shamshad in which we saw her give of her best in two movies both heartbreakers, musically speaking: Mehboob Khan's Anokhi Ada and Wadia Movietone's Mela. In the first, Naushad teamed her with the then emerging Mukesh as also the already established Surendranath. Her duet with the former, bhool gaye kyun deke sahara, lootnewale chain hamara, especially, remains a landmark and a vital component in every private collection, while kyun unhein dil diya haye yeh kya kiya, shishe ko pattharse takra diya, with the latter is well remembered. She also sang two solos in the film: nazar mil gai, hai kiski nazarse picturized on Naseem Bano, Saira's mom and herself an accomplished singer. More captivating, however, is this other solo with its gentle longings....I know not what the cover of Mr. Premchand's fine book is doing here....it adds to my subject, though.


Mela, as a film directed by S.U. Sunny in his debut as director, moved audiences but very touching indeed were those songs picturized on the up and coming Dilip Kumar and Nargis. The immortal dharti ko aakash pukare was done both as a duet and as a solo that plays in Shamshad's voice as the credits roll at the top. The three other duets were mera dil todnewale mere dilki dua lena, main bhanwara tu hai phool yeh din mat bhool jawani laut ke aye naa, and this very eloquent composition in a rustic setting: the simplicity of an Indian village created by its music, and the fields swaying in the breeze after the rains!
 

She sang four solos for her mentor in Mela, pardes balam tum jaoge, taqdeer bani bankar bigdi, gham ka fasana kisko sunaein and mohan ki muraliya baaje, all of which have remained lingering classics.

As with Mukesh, so with Mohammad Rafi: Naushad paired Shamshad Begum this time with Rafi-saab in Kardar's Chandni Raat (1949) and we have three unspeakably delightful duets in their joint voices. All of them, chheen ke dil kyun pher leen aankhen, khabar kya thi ke gham khana padega and the maddeningly overpowering kaise baje dilka sitar, thes lagi toot gaye taar.....move their listeners even today...



1949 saw also the advent of Lata Mangeshkar in a very big way with Mehboob Khan's Andaz in which Naushad gave her two classic solos in uthaye jaa unke sitam and tod diya dil mera tune are bewafa. Shamshad herself ended up singing for Cuckoo in the duet, darna mohabbat karle, with Lata who sang for Nargis in that iconic film.

As though to make amends for this lapse in fortunes, along came 1950 and with it, S.U.Sunny's Babul. This film in which Dilip Kumar wooed (and lost) two lady loves, Munawwar Sultana and Nargis, boasted some of the best tracks that Naushad had heretofore created and Shamshad dominated in the rendering of them, whether in solo or duet, including the always stirring bidai number chhod babulka ghar mohe peeke nagar aaj jaana pada. Every track became a hit immersed as it was in rustic simplicity and charm. However, I have yet to be at an occasion among friends where there is not pin drop silence as the Latin-based tinkle of Naushad-saab's piano comes on, lead-in for the first of three Shamshad-Talat Mehmood duets in the film, milte hi aankhen dil hua diwana kisika, afsana mera ban gaya afsana kisika. It is always an expected cliche, as the song ends, for someone (including this guy!) to sigh "काश यह गाना मैंने गाया होता …" . 
Something very ethereal about the joint voices dovetailing each other. This was, probably, the greatest singing lesson ever and Dilip and Munawwar could not not have been in love (or fallen into its pitfall!) as the song progressed. One of the 10 best all time duets indeed! Shakeel-saab outdid himself with this one. His हँसते ही  न  आजाएँ कहीं आंखोंमें आँसू , भरते ही छलक जाये न पैमाना किसीका......never fails to move no matter how many times one has listened to Talat and Shamshad articulate the line down the years.



 One cannot ignore Shamshad's solo from the same film picturised on Nargis: the always tantalizing jadoo bhare nainomein dole jiya teri qasam. It deserves a harkback: some delightful vocals here, if not the imagery in the film which, inexplicably, carries a badly edited version . The '78'  is more exhaustive.



Lata however, was gaining ground with the maestro and with Deedar (1951) she began to edge out Shamshad. She was clearly emerging Naushad's favourite. But the composer had fine numbers for Shamshad in this film and she gave voice to two of his best duets: one with Lata, the glorious bachpan ke din bhula na dena, and the other with G.M. Durrani (who was himself on the way out at that point), a delightful repartee between Nargis & Ashok Kumar, nazar phero na humse, hum hain tumpar marnewalon mein, hamara naam bhi likh do muhabbat karnewalon mein!  But the piece-de-resistance was Shamshad's full-throated rendering of Shakeel's pensive chamanmein rehke viraana mera dil hota jata hai, khushimein aaj kal kuchh gham bhi shamil hota jata hai. Once again, Naushad's piano comes in at the top with a few isolated notes, as though giving time to the character to gather her thoughts before she breaks into song.



If for nothing else the film Jadoo (1951) will always be remembered for Naushad's pulsating music as also for Nalini Jaywant's vampish performance as the femme fatale. Based loosely on the Glenn Ford-Rita Hayworth starrer The Loves of Carmen (1948), the gypsy theme demanded a Latin base in tracks for at least two of the situations and Naushad once again proved his versatility by going off on a different tangent. In turn, Shamshad proved her own artistry in the two near-flamenco numbers the master composed for her viz. roop ki dushman papi duniya and...



And, an unspoken musical tradition taken for granted dictates that one never mentions Jadoo without mentioning Dulari (1951) and vice versa. Their tracks just go hand in hand. The latter was another tale involving the gypsies and a kidnapped child growing up amongst them, with Geeta Bali and Madhubala sharing stellar honours. It was another amorphous Kardar vehicle in which the Naushad-Shakeel tandem played a big role with at least two of their tracks rendered by Shamshad Begum. My personal favourite in the entire film....



It was with Sri Prakash Pictures' Baiju Bawra (1952) that Naushad began to shy away from Shamshad and come under Lata's spell (who didn't!). She sang the mukhda and the first antara in 'door koi gaye dhun yeh sunaye', a duet otherwise dominated by Lata, with Rafi's ho-ji-ho in the background. During that same year she sang a solo (aag lagi tan-manmein and main rani hoon raja ki), a 'holi' song (khelo rung hamare sung and a chorus with Lata (gao tarane manke) in Mehboob's ruritanian Aan, based to an extent on The Prisoner of Zenda. Dilip & Nadira, victor and vanquished: the looks say it all! Just listen to Naushad's rousing chorus and Shamshad's gay, sonorous singing....



There was also the touching bidai song pi ke ghar aaj pyari dulhaniya chali and the gay, rustic choruses of  Mehboob's Mother India (1957), in which she made her presence felt one more time, along with the rarely-heard 'holi' lament. It is a pity that this 'personal other side' of the festival was never made into a disc. The qawwali in K. Asif's Mughal-e-Azam (1960) ended her association with her mentor.
*****
An Aside: It will always remain a muted complaint with me that Naushad did not give Shamshad Begum, allah bachaye navjavanonse that chorus from Mere Mehboob (1963). It was tailor-made for her, one would think, a suitably old-fashioned tarz. It would have made a fine swan song to their relationship. As for Shakeel's lyric.....I would have loved to hear Shamshad articulate soz-e-muhabbat kya hai itna na jane koi at the top of the final antara.

******
Long years ago, people, in 1962 to be exact I was at a movie house and a documentary was being shown before the main feature. A part of what I heard on the voiceover (could have been Zul Vellani, he was prominent in that period) has always stayed with me, verbatim. I had promised myself then that someday I would use those words in the right context.
I did several test papers at school in Hindi after that but never got a chance to use those words. The shot was that of a double decker tram turning into the B.E.S.T. depot at Dadar (Bombay) for the last time before it was withdrawn as a means of transport on the city's street. As the camera trailed behind it I heard the words "जाओ रानी याद करेंगे ......"

Now before any of my readers jumps down my throat for drawing a bad parallel, I must defend myself by saying that the humble tram that ran the streets of Bombay had a charm as nothing since. It was quaint and it was eloquent despite the racket it made. As it came down the Grant Road bridge in those early years, it actually lulled me to sleep on many a disturbed night as I listened in the dark! Often, I gladly missed my school bus home, for a chance to hitch a ride on that double decker #10 which plied between Mazgaon and Gowalia Tank in Bombay.
Perhaps I have not vindicated myself enough by saying this, but Shamshad Begum and her voice have held the same place within us as have so many other facets of the erstwhile Bombay that move us today, as we watch the occasional black and white classic. After all, what is film music if not a relating link between your heart and your ambiance! Our music directors borrowed sights and sounds from the streets of Bombay and other cities and coalesced them into the tracks on the 78s that we have treasured. Listening to a song on the radio in your living room and listening to the same song at the corner paanwala's stall creates individual moods of experience to be stored away.

R.I.P., बेगम  साहिबा .
*****
Finally, due to the tremendous quality of Shamshad Begum's work with Naushad Ali I have devoted this first installment of my blog to what they did together. There were other composers that she sang for: my second installment will feature their output. Also, I am aware that for every song that I have mentioned in the preceding article, I have not given space to others which have been equally recognized in their time and are hummed even today. That would have stretched this writeup into infinity!
I need to acknowledge here one more time Shemaroo and others who regularly upload quality music on You Tube. If I have used them it is not for any monetary benefit but to keep alive, in my own way, the music we all love.

Effervescence

Dear शशि: For long have I wanted to write about you and your films but have not known how to approach the theme. Yours has been the most chequered of film careers right from its initial stages. Barring a movie here, a movie there, I stopped watching Hindi films around the mid-70s when I left home for foreign soil. However, I have held vivid memories of those that I had seen until then and the glorious music which was often their hallmark. Nostalgia, therefore, plays a big role in this tribute to you on your 75th.

Our earliest memories of you then, good sir, stem from Raj Kapoor's Aag (1949) and later on from his more ambitious and brilliant Aawara (1951). We remember that earnest, mobile face so beautifully photographed in both films, especially in the second, as you portrayed the young Raj Kapoor. You were in complete harmony with Raj the director's depiction of tortured childhood and lost innocence. We were moved by the plight of children cringing before an indifferent world, even as you held back your own tears in your portrayals. If I am being unfair to child performers who followed it will be out of sheer ignorance, but let me say I have never seen childhood portrayals such as yours, if only via those two films.  If Raj was able to carry character progression forward in them, it was because it was reflected from you. I know, I know people will jump down my throat for not mentioning Raj-saab's own Boot Polish (1954) based on De Sica's Shoeshine from 1946. But as good as that film was, it pulled more on the heart than it did on the mind: melodramatic in the extreme, indeed. Besides, the real scenestealer in it was the late David Abraham.

I know not what happened in the years between 1951 and 1960 but the next I heard of you was in 1960 in Krishnan Chopra's Char Diwari, in your first of several (8, perhaps?) ventures with the petite Nanda, who even then was herself emerging from childhood as a mature actress. I have yet to see that much-acclaimed film although I do remember Mukesh-ji's very gentle Kaise Manaun Piyava, Gun Mere Ek Hu Nahin under Salil Chaudhary's baton, penned by the ever wistful Shailendra. Not the kind of song that could have been picturized on you or on anyone else. In the background, perhaps?

And then you struck cinematic gold with B.R. Chopra's Dharmputra (1961) which was based on आचार्य चतुरसेन शास्त्री's novel of the same name. The film dealt with the horrors of the Partition and it was Chopra-ji's gift to his countrymen, a movie far ahead of its time that has remained, unfortunately, perennially immediate in India's context. It was rejected by his countrymen who probably saw the guilt in it, reflected on their own faces. There were stellar performers in the film including Ashok Kumar, Mala Sinha, Rehman and Nirupa Roy who gave of their best under Chopra-ji's direction.

I remember that film well, शशि, also for Sahir Ludhianvi's great lyrics set to melodious music by the incomparable N. Dutta and the fine singing of Mahendra Kapoor and Asha Bhonsle. Here you are, in one of the few light moments in this grim film, serenading the very emotive Indrani Mukherjee in her film debut. Always a pity that she did not go much further.

But you know शशि, I am to this day moved by your shattering, agonised shriek 'माँ ।।।।।।' towards the end of the film when you realize that the woman you are about to slay was your own mother, that you were born of Muslim parents. At that point your Muslim mother was a metaphor for the plight of Mother India at that juncture in Her history. Years later, as I sat watching Yash Chopra's Deewar, I was stricken by the inanity of "मेरे पास माँ है"  in that film, when compared to the mono-syllabic, gut wrenching horror of realisation in the earlier film!

"Limelight Film Deserves Twilight Burial" quipped The Times of India in its review of Limelight Films' Mehendi Lagi Mere Hath, the 1962 film in which you were paired with Nanda for the second time. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong with that film, under Suraj Prakash's direction. The saving grace was Kalyanji-Anandji's melodious music. I liked you best as you put over Anand Bakshi's fine "आपने यूँ ही दिल्लगी  की थी...." but what really bowls me over even today are the words "...हम तो दिल की लगी  समझ बैठे" which complete this couplet.
For once I liked the use of a pun in our lyrics. They normally sound very "hokey" as old Professor Majmudar would have said. This one, however, has had a lasting impact and coupled with the heartbreak in Mukesh-ji's rendering, has made this a song to cherish. I must say though that, as it happened often in those days, it sounds better as a 78 r.p.m. recording. Perhaps you would like to listen to it again......


And you did it so well, one saw traces of the old Raj Kapoor on your face.

Things began to improve though with Bimal Roy's fine, nay very fine love story 'Prem Patra' (1963) in which you starred with the very eloquent Sadhana. This fresh-as-the-morning-dew pairing gave impetus to an oft told tale depicting the trials and misunderstandings of young love. Both of you were a delight to watch as you unravelled your tangled conflicts under Bimal-da's fine direction.

Salil-da set to music the fine poems of Rajendra Krishan and Gulzar in that film and my favourite has always been Sawan Ki Raatonmein Aisa Bhi Hota Hai with your gentle soliloquy at the top. But I have already included it in one of my earlier blogs so for this one it was a toss-up between Do Ankhiyaan Jhuki-Jhuki Si and Yeh Mere Andhere Ujale Na Hote. Here is one of them for you. You do remember it, don't you?


In 1963 you found yourself treading international waters in cinema with the coming of James Ivory and Ismail Merchant and their first venture, the wonderful The Householder in which you teamed up with the beauteous Leela Naidu. The story could have been any Hindi film dealing with domestic crises but it was the treatment in a light, unassuming manner and the delightful wit that mattered. Your low-keyed role as the hapless Prem, at odds with both wife and mother, won you plaudits. You had 'arrived' as one of our earliest actors to star in an English language film (of course, The Householder was also made in Hindustani as 'Gharbaar'). It had music by the late Ustad Vilayat Khan and was lensed by Satyajit Ray's own cameraman,  Subrata Mitra. You acted in other films produced by this prolific duo among them, Shakespearewallah (1965). I remember Madhur Jaffrey and Felicity Kendal as your costars in the film which depicted life in an itinerant Shakespearen troupe. One reviewer in the US said of it: do not ask what it (the word) means, just enjoy the film. Charming.

There was another English-language film you starred in and that was Conrad Rooks' 'Siddhartha' (1972), which was based on the time honoured novella of the same name by Herman Hesse. I have a love-hate relationship with this film, in the main because of Mr. Rooks' superficial direction. The subject deserved depth and as director, Mr. Rooks was unable to impart any to it. In writing his book Hesse had recreated a page from religious and philosophical history and in transplanting it to the screen Mr. Rooks lost track of  it all. What did lend the film a modicum of dignity, though, was the mythical ambience of ancient India via Sven Nykvist's camerawork and Hemant Kumar Mukherjee's  great musical score. All the gravity that you and Simi Garewal and the boatman (the rarely seen Zul Vellani), the vital link between you and Eternity were able to generate, could not salvage the film. The loss was ours.

*******
शशि, the great thing about the passing of time is that it helps, encourages one to remember. Of course, one never knows what brings a lost memory to the surface! With 1965 you entered what I would like to call your 'age of effervescence' and honestly I liked you better during this period. Once again, it was Chopra-ji who gave you a break in his fatalistic 'Waqt' and the inevitabilities of Time, in which you held your own against Sunil Dutt's forced flamboyance and the great Raj Kumar's controlled drama. The humility in your role showed in your face, nay eyes, as you wooed and courted the girl who was socially beyond your reach. Your teaming with Sharmila Tagore, who was improving with every film she made, was youthful and mature. The two of you were a perfect foil for each other as you emoted Sahir's on-target, double-edged lyric set to music by maestro Ravi. (You would resurrect this rapport once again in Suraj Prakash's Aamne Samne, a few years later).


This was the jaunty, hail-fellow-well-met period of your career and you played it to the hilt in Jab Jab Phool Khile (also in 1965 and once again with Nanda), in which you were totally disarming as Raju who sets out to woo the 'sheheri mem' with his 'shikara' . The film plays itself out under Suraj Prakash's competent direction and was a colossal hit, thanks to Kalyanji-Anandji's  music and the Kashmir locales. Anand Bakshi wrote the a-notch-above-the-mediocre lyrics. Despite the hugely popular 'pardesiyonse na ankhiyan milana' track, my personal favourite is the 'gul-o-bulbul' ka afsana. I have loved it always for its folksy charm and the rural simplicity infused in the music by the K-A duo as also for the gentle shyness with which you and Nanda portrayed the confusion of emerging infatuation.


You probably are not aware that in the waning days of their career and by extension their relationship with Muhammad Rafi, Shankar-Jaikishan were still composing fine solos for that great singer and at least two of them were picturised on you.There was chale ja, chale ja, chale ja jahan pyar mile from Lekh Tandon's 'Jahan Pyar Mile' (1969) and this earlier composition from Mohan Segal's Kanyadaan (1968) that has retained both melody and image in the mind's eye. It was picturised on you and Asha Parekh in what I believe was the best film of Segal's career. The story line was interesting, you will remember, about made-in-heaven-lived-on-earth marriages and both of you turned in good performances.
The decade was coming to an end and composers were still creating an occasional classic.....

The two of you were also good together in Nasir Hussain's bubbly and lighweight Pyar Ka Mausam (1971) with its ebullient scoring by Rahul Dev Burman--which bore one of the absurd anomalies in our film music.  

And you had great fun with Hema Malini as the two of you romped over Laxmi-Pyare's fine tuning of  Anand Bakshi's Sa Re Ga Ma Pa from Abhinetri (1970). That fretful demeanor giving way to joyous cuddling as the raga finally sinks in.... ! I must say, Kishore Kumar suited you to a T in this endearing duet.....

I could go on and on शशि, but I have a deadline to meet. I must release this on your birthday and it is approaching that day. However, I must hark back and recapture two moments from the black and white era in which you were paired with Nanda. The one was the Rafi-Suman duet tuned by that composers' composer, Khayyam, for the film Muhabbat Isko Kehte Hain. Don't go by the title, said the TOI in its review (paraphrasing!), this is a very well acted and fine film. And a fine film indeed it was in which you played star-crossed lovers, with you finally laying down your life for the girl you loved, to prove her chastity. Ramesh Deo was the villainous husband. Majrooh Sultanpuri wrote this charmer of a lyric.

Finally, the warmest duet picturized on you and Nanda and one of the finest duets of the '60s via Kalyanji-Anandji, soulfully recorded by Mukesh and Lata for the film Juari (1968). Something very enchanting about the closeness the song makes you experience, and there is a tenderness that goes beyond the screenplay and into character. The gentleness in your faraway look says it all~two lonely people meeting upon the crossroads of life, each seeking solace from the other, each wondering if it would last.

 *****
I know you went on to greater glory in the decades after the 60s (there were awards and there was Mr. Benegal's much applauded 'Junoon' which I hope one day to view) but these were the films we identified you most by because they spoke to an era of simplicity now long gone...

To look back upon lost innocence is a bit like gazing upon a place of worship at dusk~trying to fathom its mysteries one more time. You do not, however, have to enter it to worship.

Here's to your 75th, शशिराज , I do hope you somehow stumble across this.
Salaams!

Pandora's Box

Our film music would have remained incomplete without the message songs that we were treated to in the decades of yore. And I use treated, not flippantly, because these were verses written with a simplicity and a dignity that the film lyric as we know it today has lost. As contrived and unspontaneous as so much of our melodrama was, life's lessons were never lost sight of and more often than not lyricists were able to drive home a point with telling effect, and music directors channeled the words into poignant and eloquent melody:one often left the cinema hall feeling a bit wiser than when one had entered it. That really wasn't the end of it, though: the song and its message whether of Gods (a pantheon-full of them!), mortals or morals remained with us forever, via the radio and the gramophone record...

The fifties, especially, were known for this. Film directors sought to portray the weaknesses and vices inherent in our social structure and, unlike the priest in the temple, made the message more palatable by their musical tableaux on the screen. Beautifully worded songs were introduced at critical junctures during the course of the film and depending upon who was being invoked, the camera would either zoom in on the household deity or pan out to the heavens. If not, there was always the wandering baba with his timely word of advice to the errant character on the screen...

 Thus, the gentle pujari was a pivotal mouthpiece for director H S Rawail's melodrama Mastana (The Carefree One~1954). And I remember it well: a young woman saddled with an unwanted babe leaves the infant on the steps of the local temple and proceeds to the ocean to end her responsibility by it. Here's where the trio of composer Madan Mohan, lyricist Rajendra Krishan and singer Mohammad Rafi step in to keep life flowing, admonishing the mother, as it were, with  मत भूल अरे इन्सान तेरी नेकी बदी नहीं उससे छुपी, सब देख रहा भगवान्  (God is watching you, O straying human....). Pretty Dickensian, as was the wont then. The mother keeps moving towards the restless, fateful waves, Rafi-saab gives voice to one of his best (that's all he gave in that wonderful era, anyway!) and a scamp (the always lovable Mr. Motilal) adopts the infant (Master Romi, a bit further on in the movie) leading him to the happy ending, after a delectable wandering tour of old Bombay.

 The poet Gulshan Bawra, a contemproary, has gone on record saying, "The 50s belonged to Rajendra Krishan". This was the most prolific lyricist the industry has known: prolific in output and quality. There was not a music director of that generation who RK did not work with. Even the hardcore Shankar-Jaikishan team who would not look at anyone except Shailendra and Hasrat Jaipuri in those days, worked with him in College Girl. The ultimate romantic, RK held the pulse of the music-loving moviegoers and he expressed his poetry in simple yet eloquent Hindustani and we still remember his contribution to films right from Anarkali and Nagin at top of the 50s, all the way down to the late 60s.

He wrote a lyric for Gemini's Insaniyat (1955) that was picturized on a simple villager (Dilip Kumar) who bows before God when he realizes that the girl he loves has given her heart to another (Dev Anand). The song is couched in simple language, such that a yokel might give vent to in a situation like this. It would be considered laughable in today's context, but people can be and are simple at heart and capable of such transparent sincerity. Dilip-saab made an indelible impression with the song, as he emoted the words woven into C. Ramchandra's arrangement. आशा के जब दीप बुझे तो मनका दीप जला, जगका रस्ता छोड़ मुसाफिर तेरी राह चला, he exclaims (when the lamps of Hope dim, the mind awakens and Man moves towards You). This is more a soliloquy than a song. The 78rpm version leaves even more of an impact: unforgettable.

Madan Mohan gave us another great message song ओ माटी के पुतले इतना न कर तू गुमान पल भर का तू मेहमान (shed your arrogance, you are but a piece of moulded clay, your life a brief span!) a few years later in 1957 when he collaborated with the then up-and-coming poet, Qaif Irfani, in a film called Sheroo which starred Ashok Kumar and Nalini Jaywant and was directed by Shakti Samanta, in probably his first outing in the field. I have never seen the film but as a child remember being moved by the force with which Rafi-saab articulates the second  antara and, I just have to emphasise this, the gentle buildup he gives the verse before he reaches its climax with धन के लोभी येह न जाने क्या मांगे भगवान (those who cast money in the temples before God, do not realise that's not what He is seeking from His worshipers). 

As you listen to it even today, 55 years after the first time, you marvel at the ease with which this great singer did justice to the lyric.The temple bells are the lead-in for the minimalist arrangement and the ever present sitar once again defines the Madan Mohan we would grow to love. What's missing here, though, is the couplet at the top of the track that one heard in the film version.

And there were other lyricists who gave of their best to the films. There was Sahir Ludhianvi and there was Shakeel Badayuni.

Sahir was the maverick among the lyricists of the time: a rebel who saw himself as a social reformer, he riled against accepted social norms, lamenting the evil in them via his verse. His unconventional use of language and metaphor sometimes made it difficult for us to understand him but once we did, we absorbed his works. From the bitterness in तलखियां to the lighter sweetness of  गाता जाए बंजारा (a lot of which was adapted to our films), his verse stemmed from a pent up urge to set things right and he was stern in his rebuke of society (Pyaasa, Sadhana, Dhool Ka Phool, Dharmputra, Phir Subah Hogi et al). Unmatched.

Sahir's contribution to the great success of  B.R. Chopra's epic Naya Daur (1957) condemning the corrosive over-industrialisation that was eating away at the heart of agrarian post-British India, was immense. His collaboration with composer O.P. Nayyar in that film remains memorable with the monumental sathi haath badhana sathi re still echoing today. My personal favourite, though, is the philosophical tirade against hapless man losing his faith in Divinity: Rafi's आना है तो आ राहमें कुछ फ़ेर नहीं है, भगवान के घर देर है अन्धेर नहीं है  (there is no obstacle in your pathway to God, walk to Him, there is justice at His door).  It leads man to make his peace with the Almighty. And like Shakeel, though in a different way, Sahir convinces man of the forgiving essence of his Maker. Not for him the gentle coaxing of a Shakeel. 

Shakeel Badayuni, juxtaposed with Sahir, emerges the gentler of the two. His feelings were gentle, couched in soft, persuasive language--often the mentor to his listener. Unlike Sahir, he was patient with a failing humanity, recognized the pitfalls in Man's way and he often placed his hand on your shoulder, steering you away from the path you should not have taken, or were about to take. He was also the most romantic of our poets. His admonishments, like his poems on love, were tender and persuasive--rarely harsh.

Back in 1954, Mehboob Khan made his opus Amar: three people on the crossroads of life, with a denouement in the last 10 minutes that takes your breath away. Dilip Kumar's performance as the conscience-stricken Amar-babu is subdued yet shattering. You never want to take your eyes from his face, as Faredoon Irani's camera captures him in all those precious closeups. The end of the film is contained emotionalism at its best with Madhubala, realisation having dawned on her of what's what, gently steps aside leaving Nimmi, victim of his rape, to gather up what's hers. Three top performers at the peak of their careers, making the best of elements from classic Victorian literature.

Naushad Ali's magnificent scoring and Shakeel's moving lyrics reflect life's betrayals and beneficence--gently, all the way to the epic  इन्साफ का मंदिर है येह भगवानका घर है (This is a temple of justice, God resides here). One of the best, this resonating song plays in segments in the movie and reaches its climax at the end as Amar-babu finally takes faltering steps through the portals of the mandir. In the absence of a clip here is the complete, original 78rpm recording.

*******

                                                                  

That was a generation of romantics. There was also a parallel subculture that held sway from the 30s through the mid-50s which believed that if it is man's irrational fear of God that leads him to believe in Him, it is ultimately introspection that often fully convinces him of God's existence. They turned the eye inward and while their poetry had its base more in scriptural philosophy, the faith they propounded was intellectual and humanistic though not bereft of prayer. This was the Bengali influence in our films.

In its waning years, the legendary New Theaters of Calcutta made Yatrik (The Pilgrim-1952). Directed by Kartick Chatterjee as a travelogue into the Himalayas and starring Abhi Bhattacharya and Arundhati Mukherjee, the film is also a collage of philosophical poems written by Pandit Bhushan set to devotional music by the great Pankaj Mallick. Apart from Pankaj-babu himself, the other star singers were Dhananjay Bhattacharya and Binota Chakravarty, hoary singers both, long since departed.

While a lot of the lyrics were bhajan-oriented there is this one which is philosophical and dwells on the futility of man's search for God in places of worship, rather than within himself . तू ढूंढता है जिसको बस्ती में या के बनमें, वोह सांवला सलोना रहता है तेरे मनमें, he says. (The God whom you seek in the world outside, resides in you)...

....and again, an elemental Meera-वाणी, that has its base in love for all Humanity, sung by the melodious Binota Chakravarty. Perhaps at this juncture in Man's history when religious fury and fervour are unbridled in their savagery, both in the East and in the West, there is an humble lesson to be learnt here from a way of life that is, essentially, more a human philosophy than a religion.

                                                                               *******

Finally, an essay like this can never be exhaustive. There were other poets more notably Kavi Pradeep, Pt. Bharat Vyas, Majrooh Sultanpuri, Shailendra and Indivar, who have written as well as the ones mentioned here and whose writing has been adapted to great music: compositions that have been beautifully rendered by the other singers we have known. A common link connects all great lyrics and great singers and composers and in these few selections here there is a hark back to all .....

Songs The River Sang

They made the rivers sing in those days. The waters were as hoary and dusky as the history of the country itself. They had kept the plains and farmlands alive and fruitful for centuries. For, it was in this bucolic earth and its soil that love was born and was nurtured.  In the dawn the waters rushed about their business quenching the thirst of the land and acting as waterways,  and in the quiet of the evenings while the river undulated  its own song it listened to the sweet nothings the swain whispered in his playmate's ears as they flitted about on its grassy banks in the dusk....
Naushad Ali was at the peak of his powers by the late 40s (चालीस करोड़ में एक नौशाद  they said of him in those far off days-one Naushad in 40 million) and as he took firmer hold over his ragas, he harnessed wonderful voices to the song of the river: voices as deep and profound as the river itself.

S U Sunny's  Babul (1950), a precursor to Mehboob Khan's more ambitious and nobler Amar of a few years later, told the tale of a शहरी डाक बाबु  (a post master-Dilip Kumar in an eloquent, understated performance) who finds himself, during a transfer to a small village, in disparate relationships with two belles (Nargis & Munawar Sultana) and ends up losing both. This becomes the background for a number of good lyrics set to fine music in the voices of Talat, Shamshad Begum and Lata, not to speak of Mohammad Rafi often echoing in the background.....The banks of a placid river flowing by the village are a meeting place for Dilip and Munawar deeply in love and on one of the evenings, Talat and Shamshad lend their voices to the lovers and the river, in an eloquent tryst.

While they merge in complete vocal harmony (as they did in the other two duets for this film), Rafi-saab adds a romantic touch to this jhinjoti-based folk ditty, with the setting sun in the background. And the river listened....

The Naushad-Shakeel tandem was in full swing by now, for along with Babul, they had scored memorable music for Dard (their first), Mela & Anokhi Ada. The best, however, was yet to come....and come it did with Sri Prakash Pictures' and director Vijay Bhatt's Baiju Bawra (1952). The term 'classic' is often loosely applied to art, literature or musical composition of the highest quality that helps it to become a model for other inspiration to follow. In the 60 years that have passed since the release of this once-in-a-lifetime film, its immortal musical soundtrack remains a shining example of how uplifting classical music in films can be when it is devoid of pedantry.

And it stands alone.

Naushad-saab himself never again did anything like his tracks for this film, at any time in his distinguished career. Shakeel Badayuni's village-simple, yet eloquent lyrics, were poetry at its best. All those who lent their voices to his songs, Rafi and Lata and Shamshad and Ustad Amir Khan and Pandit D.V. Paluskar, took a step closer to immortality. Composer Naushad won the first-ever Filmfare award for best music and (unfortunately) his only one, while Meena Kumari won the first Best Actress award, as Baiju's tender foil, Gauri.. She would go on to win three more and bag at least eight other nominations for best actress before her very tragic career was done.

Bharat Bhushan's portrayal of the music-crazed, vengeance-bound Baijnath ('Baiju') has often been ridiculed as being over-the-top but to see him perform in the dramatic song sequences (man tarpat Hari darshan ko aaj,... insaan bano,...o duniyake rakhwale...) is to see a study in unbridled, poetic madness. The ambivalence in his role was complete in the same wild ecstasy he was able to project in the more romantic songs in the film like tu ganga ki mauj, main jamuna ka dhara,...door koi gaye,....jhulemein pavanke ayi bahar...). Baiju's moral defeat at the hands of Tansen (Surendranath in a dignified role) is a sequence better watched than reviewed! He never repeated his histrionics from Baiju Bawra, in any of the three similar films he did in the later 50s. This is a track for the ages, as iconic as the raga in which it has been immersed~the bhairavi. 

Another memorable 'river' song deserves a mention and revisit, if not for the forgettable film (Sunny's Udan Khatola-1955), then surely for the memorable lyric and tuning. Naushad and Shakeel, this time with Lata crooning the more wistful 'more saiyanji utrenge paar' (my beloved will come ashore, safe), have given us a composition that we still hold dear. In her legendary association with this maestro, it would be difficult to give this pilu-based song (or any other song, for that matter) a rank, but it certainly is among her best for him. Lata's articulation of Shakeel's simple Hindi (ताल तलैया दुनिया माने....मनका सागर कोहू न जाने....one can fathom the bottom of the lake, but not that of the mind) gives the song an unique depth, as Nimmi beseeches the river to ease its flow, to ensure the safety of her lover (a drugged Dilip Kumar)~a metaphor for the current predicament (Surya Kumari) that he faces. Nobody, nobody sings like this anymore!..

It is interesting that while the film version of the song ends with the boat crashing against the rocks, the 78rpm recording ends on a gentler note on the piano. Both are valid depending on who you are. 

And the Chenab sang its own song of torment in Chaudhury Brothers' Sohni-Mahiwal (1958),  which recounts the tragedy of  Sayed Fazal Shah's ill-fated lovers.  It is never a cliche for anyone to say that the poet-composer teams of yesteryears 'knew what they were doing'.  Indeed, one can never say that enough! They delved into culture and folklore and came up with verse and tune that befit the themes of the film, even if the direction and plotting of it fell short of expectation. It was Raja Nawathe's unskilled direction that never quite lifted the Sohni-Mahiwal  saga to the heights where it belonged.

Shakeel Badayuni's ballad chand chhupa aur tare dube, raat ghazabki ayi--the moon and the stars have faded and a night of terror has descended), which climaxes the film was Mahendra Kapoor's breakout song and his fresh voice, the winner of the Murphy Radio contest that year (at which Naushad-saab was one of the judges), did full justice to the poem, and the cadences he lets loose seem to rise and fall with the surge and ebb in the eddying, live river. The lyric is a distinct two-parter with the first setting the mood for what is to come in the second. It is replete with metaphor. A moaning wind, spelling ultimate doom right after the aalaap helps set the pace, coupled with the dark of the night which stands for the fear and betrayal interjected by man and God alike in which the lovers flounder, albeit in defiance.

But it is in the second segment as things move towards a climax that poet and composer are jointly at their best. Naushad's composition and arrangement lend an epic dimension to the poem. Indeed, his  genius lay in weaving the raga jogia as closely into western symphonic garb as was coherently possible.  The river takes on an ugly turn and the deafening crash of its waters signal the end--which in itself is unnerving and eerie in its anticlimax, as the waters settle after taking their toll, with the cello carrying the softer dulcimer, as the maelstrom closes over the lovers.

(Lest any of my readers feels I have suddenly become a musicologist of sorts doing a name-dropping stint with the ragas, let me hasten to say I have not. Friend Anand Padgaonkar has offered his knowledge in identifying them for me. Thank you. After all, one cannot talk about mian-Naushad even in brief, without naming the ragas). 

*****

I recently came across a song that I had always associated only with Conrad Rooks' Siddhartha (1972), the  largely ineffective retelling (via Shashi Kapoor & Simi Garewal) of Herman Hesse's great novella of self realization ("drivel" they called it here, in this part of the world) probing the never-ending nature of life, in Buddhism. Hemant Kumar's scoring of the two theme songs, and Sven Nykvist's camerawork lifted the film a bit above the commonplace, giving it a vagous place in film history. There is a sequence in the book where the lonely boatman muses upon the river, a metaphor for life, comparing the immortality of the soul to the everlasting flow of the waters. In the film the beautiful O Nodi Re rendered by that great composer in his eternal voice, plays in the background.

Hemant-da had originally recorded this song for a 1959 Bangla film called Neel Akasher Neeche, which told the story of a Chinese refugee in India, who fled his country from aggressive powers circa 1930. The sequence is a reflective black and white in the gathering dusk, with the lonely immigrant musing upon the river and by extension, his life.....the mood is accentuated further by the harbour lights in the distance. O Nodi Re projects a a deeper sadness than it did in Siddhartha.

(PS: Hemant-babu would record this tune one more time with mesmerizing effect in a song he composed for Lata (ओ बेक़रार दिल ) in the film 'Kohraa' (1964).

And Hemant Kumar gave his voice and music to the river in two other notable songs of the 50s. 

A fisherman out with his nets at night, is essentially Man in isolation under the star-filled universe and as he waits for his catch he muses upon his Maker and eternity, and his own place in it.....Bandish (1955) was Daisy Irani's debut film. She is a waif who 'adopts' Ashok Kumar and Meena Kumari perforce as surrogate parents and gives them a tough time all through the film. It's all in a light vein under Satyen Bose's direction and in one sequence a harried Ashok Kumar finds himself with her by the river....setting the stage for a deeply philosophical song penned by Prem Dhawan, driving home one of life's important lessons to Ashok-babu's character....(note: that's Mehmood in one of his earlier screen appearances, as the boatman).

And it was a year before this last that the ever-eloquent Rajendra Krishan had penned this song of the river for Hemant Kumar in the Dev Anand-Geeta Bali starrer 'Ferry'. In the voiced introduction to the song, though, the accent is on the riverboat which is being borne by the waters and which ferries people towards one another and sometimes away. Again, the majhi (or the boatman) philosophises upon life in the universe.....The kid in the picture is Hemant Kumar's son Ritesh whom we saw briefly in 'Kacche Dhage' with Moushumi Chatterjee. He walked away with her in that film and also in real life and I, for one, have not heard of him since then.

As the 'Kabuliwala' in the film of the same name (1961) Balraj Sahni found himself in pretty much the same situation as that Chinese immigrant in Neel Akasher Neeche. Gurudev Tagore's immortal story of the Pathan from Kabul is heartbreaking to say the least and was transferred to celluloid with average results. Hemen Gupta directed the film under the Bimal Roy banner. The Khan reflects upon the song the holy man is singing upon the banks of the Ganga~the conversation between the two that follows, unfortunately missing from this clip, is one of the very moving sequences in the film.

This is very early Gulzar giving us flashes of the genius that was to come. And as eloquent as Salil Chaudhury's compositions are it is Hemant Kumar and Manna Dey who touch us with their rendering of the two pivotal songs in the film. Cameraman Kamal Bose has captured beautifully the dusk that shrouds the banks of the Ganga as the song wafts over to us in Hemant Kumar's voice...... 

I have long held a very fortunate opinion that when Majrooh Sultanpuri wrote his 'मचलती हुई हवामें छम छम हमारे संग-संग चले गंगा की लहरें' he was not just rising to an occasion that a bad Hindi film demanded. It is a बा-अदब  (respectful) bow that a gentle poet born under one faith makes in  acknowledgement of another, thus uplifting both. There is reverence in the voices of Lata and Kishore (her "सर को झुका  के नाम लो इनका " moves you emotionally) as they go through the three antaras in Chitragupta's fine melody, in praise of the waves of the Ganga.

However, Devi Sharma's direction of the visuals makes a mockery of the song and divests it of the dignity that Majrooh had imparted to it. Ergo, I will spare you the video showing Kum Kum and Kishore Kumar cavorting in the waters.

And one can never forget Manna Dey's monumental rendering of Indivar-ji's great lyric for Safar (The Journey), tuned by Kalyanji-Anandji.  Coming as it did in the wake of Hrishikesh Mukherjee's very gentle Anand that same year (1970), Rajesh Khanna more or less reprises his role in the earlier film as a cancer patient with the same tragic end. But as cliche-ridden as the earlier film was it was deep and soul-penetrating unlike this one saturated in bathos. Of course, that does not take away from the fine histrionics put in by both Sharmila Tagore and Rajesh Khanna, not to speak of Ashok Kumar and Feroze Khan in important roles. Indiver's poetry excelled in all the songs but especially in this chorus led by Manna Dey (a bit marred by Rajesh's sad soliloquy halfway) and the title song by Kishore. This one, however, seeks to philosophise as deeply as Indiver's other great poem for 'Anokhi Raat', taal miley nadi ke jalmein: the same river that is life, moving, rushing towards an unknown destination....

                                                                                ******

Finally, it was the 50s. The age of Pankaj Mallik and Raichand Boral was coming to an end and the age of Shankar-Jaikishan and C. Ramchandra had set in. We were growing up with it. In time, dad would grow to love this new music of SJ and SDB and the rest, which was being permeated by the outside world, but he would still love the old guard. Pankaj-babu and KLS and Juthika Roy and Jagmohan and the rest would still have a fond place on the turntable. Because of this attachment that lingered in that generation (and Radio Ceylon--let's not forget that!), we of the new breed learned to listen to them all and be awed by them.

However, there was still one song left in Pankaj-babu and it came to us via the film 'Zalzala' (Earthquake-1954), which depicted the tepid underground stirrings in the country against the British, not that this is intended to belittle the revolutionaries (Gandhi's non-violence movement was stronger). It starred Dev Anand and Geeta Bali and that's all I remember of it.....that and Pankaj Mallik's deep chorus 'haiyyo, haiyyo' as the river makes its presence felt one more time. Ali Sardar Jafri's homage to a tottering mankind still in bondage is encouraging and the great, cadenced singing of composer Pankaj Mallik was deep....like the river .....