Writing By Feel

Roshan and the adorning of the Hindi Film Song with Shringar Ras

There is an apocryphal story about Roshan requesting S. D. Burman's permission to use the tune of Thandi hawaein, lehera ke aayen from Naujawan for a song Roshan was composing for Mamta. It seems Burman agreed and Roshan used it to create that lilting Rahein Na Rahein Hum. Parables like these, almost always have more than one lesson. First: that genuinely creative people are marked by a magnanimity and a respect for creative ownership that others, less endowed, lack. Second: the stamp of an individual's genius can forcefully wipe out every trace of the original material that he starts with. Listen to the ravishingly embellished Lata voice, the little tinkles in the background, the small flute interludes, the perfectly orchestrated flourishes - the little musical Shringars in the Mamta song and you will see Roshan sweetly dress-up Sachin Dev's musical gift with care and respect. Many years later, in the age-old Indian tradition of the son laying claim to his father's legacy, R. D. Burman's reversioned his father's Naujawan song for Sagar: Sagar Kinare is positively flat in comparision to Roshan's.

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So rich, complex and beguilingly beautiful was Roshan's arrangement that it remains without parallel till this day. When Rafi sang the ominously vibrant Dil Jo Na Keh Saka in Bheegi Raat, the accordion, the xylophone and the violins all chase him breathlessly, speed up when he slows down, returning to hold him as he nears the end of each verse. When Lata sang for Roshan she let her voice free letting it do what it would, until she had a gamaka in almost every word and then some more until at the end, that poor thing added, almost one per syllable. Listen to Lata sing Ae Ree Jane Na Doongi in Chitralekha (it also had the orchestral classic Kaahe tarsaye) - I counted 11 in the first asthahi itself. The orchestration is divine: First the tabla and the xylophone set it up for a bunch of sitars to consolidate the tune, eventually giving way to a plaintive sarangi that finally invites a shy Lata in. The flute at the beginning and the end frames the mukhda and the tabla flourish at the end of each verse calls for fresh beginning, rousing the orchestra to have one more go at it. Four times. Heaven! As a child I frequently heard Baar Baar Tohe Kya Samjhaye Payal a Rafi-Lata duet by Roshan for Aarti. It had an arrogantly loud, but never jarring, pesky little solo harmomium interlude right in the middle of each verse. It would come and go as if it owned the song. As a child, I would try hard to predict its timing - so convinced was I, that it came at a different time each time I heard the song. I have always considered O. P. Nayyar to be the master of rhythm and beat, yet Roshan routinely composed songs between two beats, sometimes packing an entire tune in just one or two words. Listen to Mukesh sing Baharon ne mera chaman loot kar, Fiza ko yeh ilzam kyon de diya from Devar. The bass percussions just go Thock-Thock Thock-Thock like a dull metronome in the background and the foreground has a lovely melody, surprisingly lead by Mukesh himself, that flows in and out and in between the beats. For a great singer who would only reluctantly shake his flat voice and only under pressure, just once or twice in an entire song, Mukesh must have been a tired man after the Devar recodings, but surprised nevertheless, at what his voice could do in the hands of a master. The divinely lilting Paon Choo lene do phoolon ko inayat hogi from Taj Mahal had, at that time, the most innovative structure: The beat is a simple 1-2-3, 1-2-3, metronome that never changes through out the song. The lyrics themselves are just a series of "first-he-said - then - she-said - then - he-said ..." couplets. No verses. Just alternating couplets with that constant beat. But in between the beats flows a melody of such ravishing beauty and an unbearable lightness that it just wafts free where it will and damn that 1-2-3 trying to hold it to a pattern. I swear I detected a faint glimmer of emotion on Pradeep Kumar's stoic face as he sang it for Bina Rai. Roshan gave two qawwalis that have endured as best of their class. First the Asha Bhosle qawwali from Dil Hi To hi - Nigahen Milane ko jee Chahata hai and the other a two-part multi-singer qawwali: Na To caravan ki talash hai with Asha, Manna Dey, S. D. Baatish and Rafi. I have alays believed, that except for a couple of rare exceptions (Warsi Brothers singing in Garm Hawa and possibly Rehman's qawwali from Fiza) the hindi film qawwali has been a disciplined sanitised version of the dervish songs of their origin, robbing them of much of the disorder and therefore their chaotic beauty. Yet in these two cases, my resolve has always given way to grudging admiration. Not least because Roshan's trademark orchestral flourishes give it just the disorderly impetus that this form of song requires. Both have given me immense joy. Roshan's three films - Mamta, Bahu Begum and Aarti come from probably the most intensely creative period of his life. There was not one ordinary song in any of three films. None less than memorable. Mamta had four Lata's four solos - Rahen na Rahen hum, Rehte the kabhi jin ke dil mein, Chahe to mera jiya lele sawanriya and Vikal Mora manwa and two duets one with Rafi In Baharon mein akele na firo and another with Hemnt Kumar about which more later. Bahu Begum had a wonderfully arranged duet Hum Intezar Karenge and the Lata classic Duniya Kare Sawaal To hum kya jawaab de apart from others equally stirring. Aarti had two duets - that song with the harmonium flourish - Baar Baar Tohe Kya Samjahaye and Aap ne Yaad dilaya to mujhe yaad aya as well as the Rafi solo Ab kya Misaal doon mein tumhare shabab ki Insaan ban gayee hai kiran mahatab ki. Each of these will be remembered for their carefully crafted detail as much as they will be, for their overall melody. Lata spoke in an interview once, about the ghazal Duniya Kare Sawaal and Roshan:

I simply adore this ghazal. The lyrics by Sahir saab were excellent. The tune by Roshan was as usual, impeccable. Roshan saab and I were friends. When he came to Mumbai in the 1940s, he stayed in a garage with his wife. Their first son, Rakesh was born in that garage. He had a vast knowledge of classical music and so did his wife. In fact Ira Roshan and I once sang a duet for Anilda (Anil Biswas). Two other songs composed by Roshan saab which I like very much are 'Rahen na rahen hum' from Mamata and 'Raat ki mehfil sooni sooni' from Noorjehan."

Aprt from a few honorable exceptions, Roshan's was a happy disposition and fittingly many of his songs sing of a happy life. The few that are sombre are complex enough to be multidimensional - In a film called Nayee Umar ki Nayee Fasal Roshan tuned the serious Swapna Jhare Phool Ke, Meet chube shool ke....Caravan guzar gaya gubaar dekhte rahe. In Soorat aur Seerat, Mukesh sang: Bahut diya dene wale ne tujhko, aanchal mein na samaye to kya kije. The two Mukesh songs from Devar are complex in the emotions they bare. Baharon ne mera.. is first a complaint then a protest and finally a call to arms. The lyrics of Aaya mujhe fir yaad wo zaalim is nostalgia tinged with sarcasm. In each, Roshan's tunes keep pace with the words, laying the ground for their entry into our hearts without undue orchestral noise. Yet if there are two songs I must pick from his entire ouvre, I will pick two that are sombre and serene. Just a hint of an orchestra. Sometimes not even that. Only the words strung on a melody that effortlesly carry their weight to their destination. The first: Chupalo yun dil mein pyar mera ke jaise mandir mein lau diye ki a serene admission of love in its highest form - compassion or, more accurately: karuna. The second: the almost philosophical: Man re tu kahe na dheer dhare the consciousness calming the frisky mind to the mocking tune of an Adhyatmic lullaby. Each one uses two and in rare but controlled Roshanian flourish, three instruments, proving that to say something important and to say it effectively, it is not neccessary to make too much noise. And that the silences between a melody are as sweet as the song itself. While not much has been reported about Roshan's passing from this world, it is said that he died laughing at a Mushaaira. Opened his mouth to start a loud laugh carried it to a point and then sadly for us, stopped it for ever.

The Incredibly Sweet Sound of Impending Doom: Madan Mohan (1924 - 1975)

Whenever I have listened to many of the incredibly beautiful melodies of Lata singing for Madan Mohan, my heart has always gone out to the unfortunate character who sang it on screen. Nothing good was ever going to come her way. Even the happiest of melodies seemed only a brief interlude in this tragedy called life. The most passionate of songs were only an invitation to a doomed love. Each note from these beautiful compositions seemed to ride on a background of melancholy - sometimes only a hint like in Main To Tumse Nain Milake Haar Gayee Sajana from Manmauji, sometimes so completely suffused with it as in Rasm-e-Ulfat ko Nibhayen to Nibhayen Kaise from Dil Ki Rahein. Except for a few honourable exceptions, Sadhana (Mera Saaya, Woh Kaun Thi), Nutan (Dulhan Ek Raat Ki) and Nargis (Adalat), almost all Madan's compositions were sung by heroines who were never quite top-rung. Two of his great compositions Woh Bhuli Dastaan and Chala hai kahan from Sanjog was picturised on Anita Guha. Enduring classics Hai Isi mein Pyaar ki Aabroo and Aap ki nazron ne samjha were shot on Mala Sinha and Bindu sang Jiya le gayo jee mora sawariya in Anpadh. The number of Madan's gems wasted on Priya Rajvansh is an indication of the saturnine misfortune that dogged him all his life. When the heroine was right, the film flopped. Nutan's Dulhan Ek Raat Ki with Sapnon mein agar mere was removed from theatres after just four days. Just once, Madan had his moment in the sun. The Director was right. The Heroine was right. And the film was a certified hit - Raj Khosla's Woh Kaun Thi with Sadhana ran for 25 weeks and every one thought Madan's work in the film would surely get the Filmfare award for that year. It got a nomination. But as the rumour goes a rival Music Director rigged the poll and laughed all the way to the podium. Raj Khosla who had worked with him before on the musically memorable Mera Saaya used him in the flop Chiraag and then never worked with Madan again.

]]> Many years after Madan's death, his son Sanjiv Kohli wrote in a touching tribute to his father (Filmfare, 1997):

When we went on long car drives, dad would tell us to sing a song. Small and unfeeling that we were, we would start singing the songs composed by other music directors. He'd turn around and say, "Hey, even you!" At that time, we couldn't understand what he meant. We wouldn't sing his songs because they weren't easy to sing. That used to hurt him. Even his family didn't appreciate him.

Despite the obsequies of fate, Madan's creative muse flowered. For a film called Aap Ki Parchaiyaan with an unknown South Indian heroine opposite Dharmendra, he composed the classic - Agar Mujhse Mohabat hai. For Manmauji he tuned Chanda Ja. And then there were the string of pearls for Chetan Anand. Haqeeqat for which he tuned the most rousing patriotic song ever: Kar chale ham fida jaan-o-tan saathiyon, Ab tumhare hawale watan saathiyon had seven other classics which I fear to rank till this day. And then also for Chetan Anand in Hanste Zakhm was the jazz redux: Tum Jo Milgaye To and the orchestral classic for Heer Ranjha: Yeh Duniya yeh Mehfil, mere kaam ki nahin. If it were not for two Madan loyalists - Chetan Anand who used Madan in Haqeeqat, Naunihal, Heer Ranjha, Hanste Zakhm and Hindustan Ki Kasam and Om Prakash (the character actor known as much for his off screen generosity as his on screen villany) who used Madan Mohan in Sanjog, Jahan Ara, Gateway Of India and Chacha Zindabad, many of Madan Mohan's brilliant compositions would have remained uncomposed. Jahan Ara had three songs by Talat Mehmood - Phir Wahee Shaam, Main Teri Nazar ka Suroor, Tere Aankh ke ansoo and the duet with Lata - Ae Sanam aaj ye kasam khayein. This duet along with the other one from Suhagan - Tumhi To Mere Pooja ho are two of Talat's most melodious duets. The Talat-Madan combination gave some of the most moving songs ever: Meri Yaad mein tum na aanso bahana from Madhosh, Mera Qarar Leja and Main Pagal mera manwa pagal from Aashiana, Humse aaya na gaya from Dekh Kabeera Roya and a multi-singer Ho Ke Majboor from Haqeeqat. Madan Mohan had the uncanny knack of getting the right singer to sing each of his compositions. Apart from Lata, Madan's choice of Mohamad Rafi was hauntingly perfect. In Chetan Anand's Naunihal Rafi sang that langourously seductive Tumhare Zulf ke Saaye mein Shaam kar loonga, Safar ik umr ka pal me tamam kar loonga, for a Guru Dutt Mala Sinha starrer Suhagan, Rafi sang Tu mere saamne hain and for Sunil Dutt in Mera Saaya Rafi's rendition of Aap ke Peheloon mein akar ro diye is heartbreakingly poignant. Rafi, it seems was hurt at Madan's stubborn choice of Talat for some of the the best songs of Jahan Ara. But not for long. With a portfolio that included Main nigahen teri chehere se from Aap Ki Parchaian, Rang aur Noor ki baraat from Ghazal, Ek Haseen Shaam Ko Dil Mera from Dulhan Ek Raat Ki, Chirag Dil Ka Jalao, bahot andhera hai from Chirag and that hauntingly perfect Tumse Kahoon Ek baat paronse halki halki from Dastak, Rafi had little to complain. And then there the duets - one with Asha - Humsafar saath apna chhod chale and the other with Lata from Heer Ranjha: Meri Duniya Mein Tum Aaye, Kya Kya Sapne Sath Liye - a magical dreamlike duet with almost no orchestration apart from the singers own melodious whispers. For Manna Dey too, Madan conjured that classic from Dekh Kabeera Roya - Kaun aaya mere Man ke dware and the achingly sweet duet with Lata - Bheegi Chandni Chayee Bekhudi from Suhagan.

The seventies saw Madan Mohan's at his creative peak. R. D. Burman had gripped the nation's imagination with his western rhythms and was spawning imitations from a growing list of music directors. Madan refused to be swayed and composed some of his greatest songs in this period beginning with Rajinder Singh Bedi's Dastak - a work for which Madan recieved the country's highest honour - the National Award. Dastak had Lata at her melodious best. Baiyan Na Dharo, Hum Hai Mataye Kuchao and Mai Re Mai Kase Kahoon, and then that Rafi's painful anthem for solititude in a decaying urban chaos (the sound of a horse carriage moving through Bombay's Foras Road past midnight, rudely cutting the song in half) - Tumse Kahoon Ek Baat Paron Se Halki.... His work with Chetan Anand for Heer Ranjha and Hanste Zakhm was also in this period.

My own personal Madan favourite is an achingly sweet Khamaj from a film that ran for three days in a seedy Mumbai theatre - Dil Ki Raahein with Rehana Sultan and Rakesh Pandey. In constrast to the immensely popular Lata song from the same film, Rasm-E-Ulfat ko Nibhayein, this one never quite made it to the public memory. The same unfortunate film had a melodious Manna Dey, Usha Mangeshkar duet - Apne suron ko mere suron se milao. Yeh geet amar ho jaye. But the best of the lot was that lilting Khamaj by Lata. The song is almost happy, as if the actor had finally broken free of the melancholia that had run like an invisible thread through her voice and found true love. Like so many of Madan's gems, lyrics and melody are so perfectly matched that even after hearing it a thousand times, the experience is as fresh as it was the first time. Here it is:

Aap se baatein karein, Kya Dil ka afsaana kahein. Hosh mein donon nahin, Ab Kisko Diwana kahein

Close at number two is Madan's composition - a seductive Bhimpalas for Mera Saaya: Nainon mein Badra chaaye. Both seem to bring out that extra something from Lata Mangeshkar. Every note, every twang of the sitar, every word of the lyric is just right and every feeling perfectly nuanced. As with many of Madan's songs, it is difficult to tell what came first - the melody, the arrangement or the lyrics. Like the little known Bawarchi song - Lata's More naina bahaye neer. Each of these musical classics with a handful of exceptions thudded at the box-office. Yet, Madan Mohan always had the grudging admiration of his peers. Naushad is supposed to have said that Madan ke Anpadh ki do ghazalon par meri zindagi ki sari mausiqui fida hai. Equally none of this fidayeen stopped the carping behind his back. The word that Madan bought misfortune had spread. Some of the industry's giants at that time - Dev Anand, Raj Kapoor - Madan's close friends never used him. There is a rumour that Raj Kapoor was discussing Satyam Shivam Sundaram with Madan just before he collapsed of an exhausted liver at Chetan Anand's house composing for Salim Anarkali - a film that Chetan Anand eventually shelved. Madan Mohan did not survive long. A few weeks later, leaving two doomed love stories Laila Majnu and Salim Anarkali unfinished Madan Mohan died on the 14th of July 1975. In a tribute Ratna Rajaiah - a columnist for The Hindu, wrote:

His son Sanjeev Kohli recalls that his body was carried on the shoulders of Amitabh Bachchan, Vinod Khanna, Dharmendra, Rajesh Khanna and Rajendra Kumar and when a photograph of this hit the newspapers the next morning, Sanjeev says that he became more popular in college than he had ever been when his father was alive - because they suddenly realised the worth of the dead man by the men who were his pallbearers...

Some of Madan's unrecorded compositions salvaged by his son have been recently re-arranged as a musical score for a film made by a company that his son heads. Like his college friends, sadly, the unfortunate young of today can grasp the measure of a musical genius only when a pouting mega star lips syncs to them to the waves of his blow-dried hair. This time the stars are right, the film director is right and who knows, the film might just about be a hit. But its just not the same. Now that is real tragedy. Related Links: A Son Remembers The King of Melody Lata Mangeshkar on Madan Mohan

Theke ke Thekedar: Sachin Dev Burman (1906 - 1975)

A beat in a song is a strange thing. Most often composers use it as a simple benign metronome, providing a reference point for the orchestra and the singer to move around and periodically return to. Sometimes it can be overpowering as in O. P. Nayyar's compositions tightly reigning the singers to its unchanging and unyielding authority. Between these extremes lies a third role: percussion as accompanying singer with equal role and prominence with the singer and the beat making openings for one another as in a duet. None used this to sweeter effect and success than the master Sachin Dev Burman. Here are 5 five songs that best illustrate this:

]]> Mora Gora Ang laile, Mohe Shaam Rang Daide: Bandini - the first that Lata recorded for S. D. Burman after almost six long years during which a misunderstanding separted them. The return was special. Gulzar's sensitive lyrics, Nutan's grace and beauty, Lata at her melodious peak and that swaying beat of the tabla combine beautifully to make this classic. Shot at night, the percussion shifts from a cricket's chirp to thunder and then back to the gentle swaying of the Roopak taal. Naache Man Mora Magan from Teri Surat Meri Aankhen is one of the most innovative uses of Bhairavi in a song. Almost always used in slow melodies (Ravi Shankar's composition Sanware, Sanware from Anuradha is the only other Bhairavi set to a fastish beat), Burman set this Bhairavi to a thrilling tempo. In a televised tribute after Burman's passing, Maruti Keer a percussionist in Burman's team played the taal with great gusto, and then broke into sobs as he finished. Rafi too rose to the occasion, swaying his voice langourously on the line Jhoola Jhule Sakhiyan.. Inspite of the fact that this film had songs musically far more complex than this one, listening to Naache Man Mora never fails to lift your spirits. Sachch Hue Sapne Mere, Jhoomle O Man Mere from Kala Bazaar with the beateous Waheeda Rehman doing a rough cut dance on the beach must remain one of the fluffiest pop-corn moments in popular hindi cinema. The beat is infectious and the melody difficult to put out of your mind once you have heard it. Similar to this one is the Tere Ghar Ke Samne song: Yeh Tanhayee Hai Re Hai....Thamlo Bahen. In both, the percussion is an active participant with a mind of its own changing with every line, speeding up slowing down and playing bols round the singer. Jaise Radha ne Mala Japi Shyam Ki from Tere Mere Sapne is one Burman's sweetest songs. Swaying as if intoxicated, the beat is there to adorn Lata's melodious line endings with the flute moving teasingly at both ends. This film also has a Asha song Tha Thai Tath Thai shot on a dancing Hema Malini and it is difficult to choose beteen the two. But if push comes to shove, the first one wins out for it sheer sweetness. And now for the last - the best: Piya Tose Naina Laage Re from Guide and possibly the most "compleat" song ever composed. The full version of this song is an 8 minute marathon - and it leaves you wishing it had a few more verses at the end. A music arranger whom I met told me that the tabla for this song was played by Shivkumar Sharma the famous santooriya who was then an important part of the Burman team.

Dignity and Grace under Fire: Garm Hawa (1973)

Script writing is the art of compressing time on celluloid. Garm Hawa (dir: M. S. Sathyu, 1973) opens with a tired Salim Mirza (Balraj Sahni) emerging from the Agra Railway Station. The waiting tongawala, possibly a low-caste Hindu, asks him, his voice - a half mock the other half half pity - Aaj Kise chod aye miyan.... In those first 5 seconds of the film and in that line, is compressed the post-partition trauma of the sub-altern Muslim in India of that period. Of hard painful choices and each one made at great personal cost. Of the oppotunistic mendacity of the ruling class in both communities. And of the thoughtless strife that those in power spread in the lives of innocent bystanders. I saw Garm Hawa in 1973. I was fifteen then and I remember the 130-odd minutes of the film to be a major rite of passage in my first steps to adulthood. Such was the power of Balraj Sahni's potrayal of Salim Mirza that for the first time I knew what it meant to be an adult in the real world. With real pain and with real consequences of real decisions.