Dey had a Mast time

Only Shammi Kapoor could be associated with Jhoomta Mausam (which could be translated to, “a dancing season”). The track was from Ujala (1959).

Hasrat Jaipuri penned the Shankar Jaikishan composition, which was rendered by Manna Dey and Lata Mangeshkar.

The ebullient actor S(in)hared screen space with Mala.

[Note: The Mast Mahina is none other than October. In fact, the 21^st of that month should be observed as Mast Din, because on that day in 1931, Kapoor was born in Mumbai. Not only was his astrological sign represented by the scales, but he was also Lib(e)rated.]

   

‘Twas A(s)happy and B(hos)lessed birthday

On September 8, Ms Bhosle, who rendered Tum Jiyo Hazaaron Saal from Sujata, turned a year older. She is now a sprightly 84, and (As)has been proving that age is just a number.

The track takes the cake, the baker and the bakery as far as birthday wishes are concerned, because it could be translated to, “May you live a thousand years, and may each year have 50,000 days.”

For those wondering who literally stretched his imagination to pen such a line, it was none other than Majrooh Sultanpuri.

S D Burman composed the song.

    

The right call was (Tala)taken

Many moons ago, I watched a television show featuring songs from the Golden Era. One of them was picturised on Sunil Dutt singing on the telephone. The song was Jalte Hain Jiske Liye.

Of course, it was much later that I discovered that it was from Sujata, which released in 1959, and it was rendered by Talat Mahmood.

Penned by Majrooh Sultanpuri, it was composed by S D Burman.

(Note: An impressionable Hindi film music buff at that point, I recall quipping that Dutt’s character will run up a hefty bill when he hangs up.)

The Pa(rad)ig(ha)m has De(finitel)y shifted

Manna rendered the title track of Paigham, which released in 1959 and was the first of two films starring the two Kumars (Dilip and Raaj).

The song, that went, “Insaan ka insaan se ho bhaichaara, yehi paigham hamara”, was penned by Kavi Pradeep.

It could be translated to, “There should be a spirit of brotherhood among people. This is my message.”

Although it would be unfair to say that those who don’t think the C Ramchandra composition is relevant toDey are insa(a)ne, it does seem that the message is lost on people over the years.

This De(finitel)y wAs(h)a tough track

It was a fact that Manna relished opportunities to sing songs that (As)had a high level of difficulty.

Tu Chhupi Hai Kahan, from Navrang, was an example.

He De(finitel)y didn’t let C Ramchandra, who composed it, down. Ms Bhosle was his co-singer.

The remainder of the verse was (Vy)as follows – “Main tadapta yahan. Tere bin pheeka pheeka hai dil ka jahan.”

So the first two lines of the track, which was penned by Bharat, could be translated to, “Where art thou hiding? I am yearning here. Without you, my heart is in a prosaic condition.” 

Mr Kapoor’s Holi track wAshard

To say that Hindi filmmakers love Holi would be an understatement. So it was no surprise that the soundtrack of Navrang, whose title could be translated to new colours, comprised a song about the festival.

By no means was Arre Ja Re Hat Natkhat – which was rendered by Mahendra Kapoor and Asha Bhosle – easy to sing, so Hindi film music aficionados must say hats off to the duo for rising to the Ch(it)al(kar)lenge posed by Ramchandra, the ComposeR of the track, which could be translated to, “Go away, naughty one”, and V(y)as penned by Bharat.

Thankfully, Mahendra’s rendition wasn’t (As)half-hearted

In my previous post about a Mahendra Kapoor song, I pointed out that his break came by way of a contest.

The panel of judges comprised five composers, including C Ramchandra, who composed the music of Navrang (1959).

It included two duets rendered by the singer and Asha Bhosle. One of them was Aadha Hai Chandrama (which could be translated to, “It is a half-moon night and it’s midnight. But our meeting and conversation shouldn’t remain unfinished.”)

It wouldn’t be incorrect to say that the track, which V(y)as penned by Bharat, provided Kapoor a breakthrough.

Undoubtedly, Rafi was always pitch-perfect

Although Indians have always been as passionate about cricket as they’ve been about Hindi films, the sport hasn’t got its due on screen often. And even less so in soundtracks.

However, there was one song that combined our twin loves – She ne khela he se aaj cricket match from Love Marriage.

The next line of the track, rendered by Mohammed Rafi, went, “Ek nazar mein dil bechara ho gaya LBW.”

It was penned by Hasrat Jaipuri, composed by Shankar Jaikishan, and was paradoxical, because the maiden didn’t bowl the protagonist over, and yet she did.

Rafi and Lata renD(he)ered this

As playback singers, there’s no doubt about the fact that Mohammed Rafi and Lata Mangeshkar have always been right on the mo(o)ney, and Dheere Dheere Chal Chand Gagan Mein, their duet from Love Marriage, which released in 1959, was no exception.

The next line of the track, which could be translated to, “Dear moon, go slowly in the sky”, was, “Kahin dhal na jaaye raat, toot na jaaye sapne” (which could be translated to, “The night shouldn’t end and the dreams shouldn’t be shattered.”)

It was penned by Hasrat Jaipuri and composed by Shankar Jaikishan. 

Mukesh stRu(c)k a harmonious note

Ruk Jaa O Jaanewaali, from Kanhaiya, became popular because its picturisation left Hindi film music buffs confused.

While some folks think it is being sung for Nutan’s character, there are those who think Raj Kapoor’s character is instructing a bottle of alcohol to stop.

Irrespective of the category one falls into, both are right.

Being picturised on Kapoor, it goes without saying that the song was penned, composed and rendered by the usual suspects (Shailendra, Shankar Jaikishan and Mukesh, respectively).

It was one of the songs in the Antakshari sequence of Maine Pyar Kiya (1989).   

He retreated into his (Muke)shell

All Raj Kapoor’s character in Kanhaiya (1959) wanted was to have nothing to do with the one who S(hailendr)addened him.

But it seemed that that was too much to ask, because it was, after all, a film, so his character had to request that he be left alone with a song.

And since it was picturised on Kapoor, it had to be composed by Shankar Jaikishan and rendered by Mukesh.

Hindi film music aficionados obviously paid no heed to his plea, and loved Mujhe tumse kuchh bhi na chahiye, mujhe mere haal pe chhod do.

It was not Lata’s (Ra)finest

It is necessary to (Laa)give a man credit where it is due. Laagi Chhoote Na Ab Toh Sanam, from Kali Topi Lal Rumal, was a catCh(hoote)y track composed by Chitragupta.

However, it wasn’t the best rendition by either Mohammed Rafi or Lata Mangeshkar (and I am speaking purely from the standpoint of the duets they’ve sung).

This song was penned by Majrooh Sultanpuri. Although translating it may not make sense, here’s what it could be translated to – “Now, my beloved, we have a connection. I swear on you it won’t break, even if I’m heartbroken.”

Wa(x)ing L(yric)a(ta)l was not unjustified

By no stretch of the imagination did Kali Topi Lal Rumal, which released in 1959, boast of a chart-top(p)ing soundtrack, but its songs did have the film’s makers reaching out for their rumals (handkerchiefs, which presumably weren’t Lal) to wipe their sweat off their brows.

After all, it wasn’t an A-grade film, but Lata Mangeshkar agreed to render one of its songs – Daga Daga Wai Wai, which went on to become popular.

Majrooh Sultanpuri was the one who pulled this phrase out of his topi (which, presumably, wasn’t Kali).

The track was penned by Chitragupta.

Geeta sang this timeless (Dut)track

Time, proverbially, is the greatest healer, but Geeta Dutt certainly knew a thing or two about its propensity to be a tormentor (emotionally).

Despite that, she had the grace to call that anguish a beautiful experience.

Of course, I am referring to Waqt Ne Kiya Kya Haseen Sitam, the track from Kaagaz Ke Phool.

The next line of the S D Burman composition, which was penned by Kaifi Azmi, was, “Tum Rahe Na Tum, Hum Rahe Na Hum” (which could be translated to, “Neither did you remain yourself, nor was I able to remain myself.”)

Are most people (Ra)f(a)ir-weather friends?

Most of us are aware of the importance of being loyal to our friends and being together through thick and thin, but how many of us really embody these qualities?

Only a few, if one were to believe Guru Dutt. In fact, a song from his 1959 film Kaagaz Ke Phool (a box-office failure then, but a cult film now) went, “Dekhi Zamaane Ki Yaari”, which could be translated to, “I’ve seen people’s ‘friendships’. One by one, everybody has parted ways.”

Mohammed Rafi rendered the S D Burman composition, which was penned by Kaifi Azmi.

Lata’s rendition was Surely unforGe(e)ttable

Tere Sur Aur Mere Geet, from Goonj Uthi Shehnai, is a song that could only have been sung by a musician who is attracted to someone who is from the same fraternity, because its next line was, “Dono milkar banegi preet.”

It could be translated to, “An amalgamation of your intonations and my songs would result in love.”

The Vasant Desai composition, which was rendered by Lata Mangeshkar, V(y)as penned by Bharat.

It ended on a confident note (with the lady stating that her love is strong enough to pull him back if he leaves.)

Rafi sang this ironic song

Even if Mohammed Rafi hit rock bottom, he would never Seek(h) solace in alcohol, which is why Maine Peena Seekh Liya (which could be translated to, “I’ve learnt to drink”) was ironic.

The song, from Goonj Uthi Shehnai, had a line which went, “Paap kaho ya punya kaho” (which could be translated to, “Call it a sin or a virtue”), and did go on to become paapular.

But if a horde of people begins to believe that drinking is the p(anac)e(en)a for all ills, Bharat Vyas can be blamed for penning this Vasant Desai composition.

   

Was falling in love (Ra)f(orb)idden?

It wouldn’t be incorrect to say that so melodious was Mohammed Rafi that if he were a member of a committee tasked with ensuring the enforcement of the laws that had been framed, people would adhere to them.

One of the songs he rendered was Keh Do Koi Na Kare Yahaan Pyaar (because, “Is mein khushiyaan hain kum, beshumaar hai gham.”)

The Vasant Desai composition from Goonj Uthi Shehnai, which V(y)as penned by Bharat, could be translated to, “Nobody should fall in love here, because there’s only a little happiness, and a lot of sorrow.”    

Rafi helped kick-s(t)a(a)(r)t(h) Rajendra’s K(um)areer

Rajendra Kumar’s stupendous run at the box office between 1959 and 1966 would have been impossible without the now-iconic songs picturised on him.

And, of course, it would be unfair to deny the fact that Mohammed Rafi was instrumental in giving his careeRafillip.

Or should I say, he was vocal in doing so, as was evidenced by tracks like Jeevan Mein Piya Tera Saath Rahe from Goonj Uthi Shehnai?

While Bharat V(y)as the man who penned the duet, the La(ta)dy who rendered it was none other than Ms Mangeshkar.

It was composed by Vasant Desai.

Lata’s heart V(y)as toyed with

The shehnai is a wooden wind instrument, with a double reed at one end and a flared bell, either made of metal or wood, at the other. It is played on such auspicious occasions as weddings.

Ustad Bismillah Khan, one of its best-known exponents, delighted Hindi film music buffs with a few pieces in Goonj Uthi Shehnai (1959).

Bharat penned its songs, which were composed by Vasant Desai.

One of them V(y)as Dil Ka Khilona Hai Toot Gaya, rendered by Lata Mangeshkar.

The likening of the broken heart with a toy didn’t elicit a s(i)mile.

Rafi sang this RocKing track

Worli Ka Naka Duniya Dhamaka from Do Ustad, which released in 1959, was penned by Jalalabadi.

What was re(Qa)markable about this track was that it was picturised on Raj Kapoor and sung by Mohammed Rafi.

It was indeed a rare combo, or more appropriately, a double dhamaka.

And they insisted that it wasn’t merely a rock and roll song, but rock and roll ka chacha (the paternal uncle of rock and roll).

The OPening verse of the song, which was composed by Nayyar, contained three gibberish phrases – Ireera raaka, aaka ka baaka, baaka ka daaka.    

They de(Ra)finitely (As)had a (Chul)b(u)last

Khanna obviously believed what every composer ought to be told – “YoUshall compose a certain quantity of tracks, but you had better not compromise on the quality.”

And Yaar Chulbula Hai – a melodious, and extremely popular, duet which was from a film whose title had three Ds (Dil Deke Dekho) and was composed by her – certainly didn’t disappoint Hindi film music buffs.

Asha and Mohammed Rafi (Bhos)lent their voices to the song, which was picturised on Asha (who went on to become an actress Parekhcellence) and heR(a)first co-star, Shammi Kapoor.

It was penned by Majrooh Sultanpuri.

This waS(a)marvellously sung by Rafi

While we are on a trip down melody lane (aboard what Mumbaikars would call a ladies’ special), let Ushave the pleasure of getting intoxicated.

Because, isn’t that the effect Hum Aur Tum Aur Yeh Sama, which was from Dil Deke Dekho and composed by Khanna, has on the listeners?

And, just to make it obvious, the second line of the track, which was penned by Majrooh Sultanpuri, went, “Kya nasha nasha sa hai”.

It was rendered by Mohammed Rafi, and had a sense of familiaR(af)ity, as evidenced by the line, “Sab suna suna sa hai”.     

Compliant (R)aficionados gave their dils

Although Women’s Day is six months away, I see no reason why we can’t celebrate it on this blog today.

After all, this morning, the realisation dawned on me that a majority of the tracks I would be writing about today have been composed by ladies.

Majrooh Sultanpuri penned the title track of Dil Deke Dekho, which released in 1959 and marked Usha Khanna’s debut as composer.

The song, which was rendered by Mohammed Rafi and picturised on Shammi Kapoor, was catchy. The former needn’t have asked Hindi film music buffs to give their hearts.   

Malhotra composed and S(udh)ang this

To the best of my knowledge, there have been just four female composers in the Hindi film industry, who, in chronological order, were as follows – Jaddanbai (actress Nargis Dutt’s mother), Saraswati Devi, Usha Khanna and Sneha Khanwalkar.

But, of course, I was pleasantly surprised to know that there was a fifth lady who stormed the male bastion.

Her name was Sudha Malhotra, and she didn’t just compose, but also sang Tum Mujhe Bhool Bhi Jaao, the unforgettable track from Didi (1959).

Mr Mathur (Muke)shared singing credits with her.

The song was penned by Sahir Ludhianvi. 

Mahendra Kap(oor)italised on the (Cho)p(r)atronage

In 1957, Mahendra Kapoor won the All India Metro Murphy competition, and a C(h)o(u)p(ra)le of years later, he rendered Tere Pyaar Ka Aasra Chahta Hoon, from Dhool Ka Phool.

The film, which was produced by B R, marked his younger brother Yash’s directorial debut.

Lata Mangeshkar was the co-singer of this duet, which was penned by Sahir Ludhianvi, was composed by N Datta and can be translated to, “I want the shelter of your love.”

Mahendra went on to sing for many films produced under Chopra senior’s B(anne)R. These, undoubtedly, proved beneficial to his Ka(poo)reer.

Mukesh cracked the remorse code

When Hasrat Jaipuri penned lines that could be translated to, “Oh my heart, tell me where do I go? The world is a merciless place. The moonlight has come to set my house ablaze, and (at this point) I can’t think of a place to go to”, the listeners couldn’t help but sympathise with the remorseful one.

The song in question was Jaoon Kahaan Bata Aye Dil, from Chhoti Bahen (1959).

The soundtrack of the film earned Shankar Jaikishan a Filmfare nomination in the Best Music Director category in 1960.

It was rendered by Mukesh.   

Mangeshkar made an everLa(s)t(a)ing impression

Woh Chand Khila, from Anari, is not a song one would attempt to translate L(a)(i)t(er)ally, because the moon can’t be in bloom (and the stars can’t be smiling).

So, if the song were to be translated, its opening line should’ve been, “The moon shone, and the stars twinkled.”

Shailendra must be thanked for using poetic license to pen the track, which was four minutes and 13 seconds long.

Ms Mangeshkar and Mukesh rendered the Shankar Jaikishan composition, which would be the best song to listen to in the company of a significant other at night. 

Ms Mangeshkar’s rendition was Ter(a)rific

Tera jaana, dil ke armaanon ka lut jaana is perhaps among the easiest songs to identify with if one has been through a failed relationship. It can be translated to, “Your departure is a loss of the desires of my heart.”

The track, from Anari, was three minutes and 41 seconds long.

It was penned by Shailendra, composed by Shankar Jaikishan and rendered by none other than Lata Mangeshkar.

If a spurned girl were to sing words that strong, there’s no doubt about the fact that it would send the guy on a guilt trip.

Street smarts were a Mu(ke)s(t-)have

In India, September 5 is observed as Teacher’s Day, and all of us, regardless of age, gender or geographical location, are lifelong learners.

While I disagree with Pink Floyd, who sang, “We Don’t Need No Education”, I believe what most of us lack is the street smarts.

Like the protagonist of Anari, who wore his naiveté like a badge of honour in “Sab Kucch Seekha Humne”, which earned Shailendra and Mukesh Filmfare Awards for Best Lyricist and Best Male Playback Singer, respectively, in 1960.

The Shankar Jaikishan composition was three minutes and 40 seconds long.

Dey sang about changing (La)tastes

Nineteen Fifty-six, the track from Anari, was about how people’s preferences had changed in the three-year-period between 1956 and 1959, the Lat(a)ter being the year the film released.

The Shankar Jaikishan composition, which was penned by Shailendra, was four minutes and 59 seconds long.

It referred to the ‘evolution’ of women’s attire [one of its lines was, “Saadi se choli” (which means, “from the sari to the blouse”)], and was predictive [as was evidenced by the lines, “Fashion badhenge, kapde ghatenge” (Fashions will evolve and clothes will shorten).]

Manna Dey and Ms Mangeshkar rendered it.

Mu(ke)s(h)ically, Mathur ruminated on life

On the eve of Teacher’s Day, here’s a lesson on life: Kisi ki muskurahaton pe ho nisaar, kisi ka dard mil sake toh le udhaar, kisi ke waaste ho tere dil mein pyaar, jeena isi ka naam hai.

This immortal verse, from Anari, could translated to, “Give yourself up for someone else’s smiles and borrow someone’s pain if you can. And if there’s love in your heart for someone, that is what life is about.”

Shailendra penned the track, which was four minutes and 31 seconds long, composed by Shankar Jaikishan and rendered by Mukesh. 

Mukesh certainly L(a)(ef)tan inDilible Ma(thu)rk

It is not just eye (I), but there must be many who heart (love) Dil Ki Nazar Se, the song from Anari, which was penned by Shailendra and was four minutes and 38 seconds long.

Here’s the reason it’s close to my heart – the second half of its first line (which goes, “Nazron ki dil se”) highlighted the importance of two-way communication.

The Shankar Jaikishan composition was rendered by Mukesh and Lata Mangeshkar, and could be translated to, “What’s the matter, what’s the secret the heart wants to share with the eyes, and vice versa?”   

Lata’s rendition was undeniably Panchhi

Banke Panchhi was the only song on the soundtrack of Anari (1959) that Hasrat Jaipuri penned.

The track, which was three minutes and 35 seconds long, could be translated to, “I would become a bird and sing a song of love, if I found a carefree companion.”  

It was composed by Shankar Jaikishan, who bagged the Filmfare Best Music Director Award in 1960. The accolade was the duo’s second.

Lata Mangeshkar rendered the song, which was picturised on Nutan, whose name means new. It was apt, because her pairing with Raj Kapoor was fresh then.

Mukesh’s talent was j(Yah)udiciously used

Given my penchant for infusing a bit of humour into each blog post, Yeh Mera Deewanapan Hai, from Yahudi (1958), should be my signature tune.

But since my singing prowess is something that is best kept a secret, I would prefer listening to the song that was rendered by Mukesh to attempting my own version (with the emphasis on the suffix -pan, which is pronounced pun).

However, on a more serious note, Shailendra penned this track, which was composed by Shankar Jaikishan.

It earned the former the first-ever Filmfare Award for Best Lyricist in 1959.  

Mr Kumar’s So(u)l(va)ful rendition waS(aa)loved

I was Awa(a)r(a)e of the fact that Hai Apna Dil To Awaara, Mr Kumar rendered the ro(He)mantic track from Solva Saal (1958).

But I didn’t know that it had a S(olv)ad version*, which waS(a)also rendered by him. So it is the happy version of the track, which is four minutes and 25 seconds long, that I’ve added to my collection.

It was penned by Majrooh Sultanpuri and composed by S D Burman, whose son, Rahul Dev (R D) Burman, provided the instrumental Panch(am) by playing the mouth organ.

(*Note: This version was four minutes long.)   

Most Indians (Muke)share their optimism

Certainly, there will be naysayers everywhere, but it would be unfair to call either India a nation of cynics or Woh Subah Kabhi To Aayegi (which was from Phir Subah Hogi and means, “Someday, that morning will come”) a floptimistic track.

It was penned by Sahir Ludhianvi, composed by Khayyam and was two minutes and five seconds long.

There were two versions of it – a male solo (sung by Mukesh) and a duet (rendered by him and Ms Bhosle). But I have only added the former to my collection [because I (As)haven’t heard the latter].

‘Twas Mukesh’s ticket to parodise

All(am)are aware that Muhammad Iqbal penned the patriotic song Saare Jahan Se Achcha (in 1904).

Ludhianvi penned Cheen-O-Arab Hamara, the Sa(hi)rcastic track from Phir Subah Hogi, which released 54 years later.

The latter [which which was composed by Khayyam, and, in fact, contains the second line of Iqbal’s song (Hindustan Hamara)] was three minutes and 28 seconds long.

It is 59 years old, but one thing is (Ar)absolutely certain – nothing has Ch(in)anged in hamara Hindustan, with respect to the gap between the privileged and the downtrodden.

Mr Mathur, who could’ve been rechristened Mockesh, rendered it.       

This Mukesh song wasn’t ho-hum

Aasman Pe Hai Khuda was from Phir Subah Hogi, which released in 1958. It was composed by Mohammed Zahur Khayyam Hashmi, better known as Khayyam.

The next two lines of the track went, “Aur zameen pe hum. Aaj kal woh is taraf dekhta hai kum.”

Its opening verse could be translated to, “There’s a God in the sky, and we are on earth. But nowadays, He doesn’t look in this direction (as) often (as He ought to).”

It was a couple of minutes and 31 seconds long, penned by Sahir Ludhianvi and rendered by Mukesh. 

(Par)Desidedly, sorrow wAs(h)a sweet (Ra)f(eel)ing

Ek Pardesi Mera Dil Le Gaya, from Phagun* (1958), was three minutes and 53 seconds long, and means, “A stranger (from a faraway land) stole my heart.”

Its next line went, “Jaate jaate meetha meetha gham de gaya” (which could be translated to, “While departing, he left me with sweet sorrow.”)

It was penned by Qamar Jalalabadi, composed by O P Nayyar and rendered by Mohammed Rafi and Asha Bhosle.

(*Note: It is the twelfth month of the Hindu calendar. Its counterpart in the Gregorian calendar is the period between late February and late March.)   

Mukesh sang this te(a)rrific track

Jaipuri penned a song that went on to become (Has)rather popular, especially with those who had to resign themselves to their fate following a break-up.

The track in question was Aansoo Bhari Hain from Parvarish (1958).

Its next one-and-a-half lines went, “Yeh jeevan ki raahen. Koi unse keh de humein bhool jaayen.”

The verse could be translated to, “These roads of life are filled with tears. Someone please tell her to forget me.”

Since it was infused with pathos (and picturised on Raj Kapoor), it couldn’t have been rendered by Mukesh.

Dattaram Wadkar composed it.   

Ms Mangeshkar’s (ty)rant was melodious

Aankh ladna is a Hindi idiom that means to fall in love. Of course, its literal meaning, “To fight with the eyes”, makes absolutely no sense.

It was used, to great effect, by Shailendra, when he penned Zulmi Sang Aankh Ladi, which can be translated to, “I fell in love with a tyrant.”

The track, from Madhumati, was four minutes and five seconds long and was rendered by Lata Mangeshkar.

Given the popularity of the melody, which was composed by Salil, it would be C(houdhu)r(uell)y unfair to conclude that bullies are incapable of amorous advances. 

Broken dreams taught (R)afine lesson

Green Day weren’t the only ones who strolled down the Boulevard of Broken Dreams.  Close to home, Shailendra, who penned Toote Hue Khwaabon Ne, from Madhumati, and Salil Choudhury, who composed it, did so decades ago.

The next three lines of the track, which was three minutes and 42 seconds long, went, “Humko yeh sikhaaya hai, dil ne jise paaya tha, aankhon ne ganwaaya hai.”

The verse could be translated to, “The dreams that were broken have taught me that my eyes have lost the person my heart found.”

It was rendered by Mohammed Rafi.

It waS(uhaan)among Mukesh’s finest renditions

A milestone in a safar (journey) that was, indeed, suhaana (beautiful) – that would be the most apt way to describe Suhaana Safar Aur Yeh Mausam Haseen from Madhumati. And the man who embarked on it was none other than Mukesh.

When he sang, “Humein darr hai hum kho na jaayen kahin” (I am afraid I may lose my way somewhere), it wouldn’t be wrong to say that the listeners were certainly lost in the melody, which was composed by Salil Choudhury.

The track, which was penned by Shailendra, was three minutes and 44 seconds long. 

Manna De(finitel)y had a bLa(ta)st

When a folk song in a Hindi film goes on to become immortal, one must simply admire the effort put in by the folks involved in its making.

And if the song in question is O Daiyya Re Daiyya Re Chadh Gayo Paapi Bichhua from Madhumati, the respect is undoubtedly Man(na)ifold. After all, it was rendered by Mr Dey and Lata Mangeshkar.

The track, which was penned by Shailendra, could be translated to, “Oh my god, a scorpion has stung me!”

It was five minutes and 23 seconds long, and was composed by Salil Choudhury.

The listeners de(Ra)finitely wanted Mor(e)

The songs which were rendered by Mohammed Rafi and picturised on Johnny Walker have never failed to amaze Hindi film music (R)aficionados.

But none more so than Jungle Mein Mor Naacha, the drunken track from Madhumati, since they were teetotallers.

It was penned by Shailendra, and could be translated to, “The peacock danced in the jungle, but nobody witnessed it.”

Unfortunately, many of us haven’t seen the national bird.

But there’s no doubt about the fact that the song, which was composed by Salil Choudhury and was three minutes and seven seconds long, was entertaining.

This song is L(a)(i)t(er)ally timeless

As is the case with the other songs on the soundtrack of Madhumati, Ghadi Ghadi Mora Dil Dhadke has stood the test of time.

Seldom does one keep an eye on the ghadi (clock) while listening to such melodies, but for the sake of trivia, it was three minutes and 11 seconds long.

If the first line of the track, which was penned by Shailendra, were transLat(a)ed, it would go from the sublime to the ridiculous. But it means, “My heart beats every second.”  

It was composed by Salil Choudhury and rendered by Ms Mangeshkar.  

Mukesh sang this immor(La)tal duet

To say that India’s second submission for the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film was cineMa(dhu)matically excellent would be an understatement. It wasn’t nominated. 

But that certainly did not Mat(hu)(te)r, because the songs of the film, including Dil Tadap Tadap Ke Keh Raha Hai (which was three minutes and 27 seconds long), are timeless cLa(ta)ssics.

The track, which can be translated to, “My heart is yearning for you and beckoning you”, was rendered by Mukesh and Ms Mangeshkar anD(i)lip-synched by Mr Kumar and Vyjayanthimala.

It was penned by Shailendra and composed by Salil Choudhury.

(Par)Des(erv)ingly, Lata bagged an award

Aaja Re Pardesi, from Madhumati (1958), earned Lata Mangeshkar the first Filmfare Award for Best Playback Singer* in 1959.

The song, which was four minutes and 26 seconds long, was penned by Shailendra.

The soundtrack of the film fetched Choudhury his only Filmfare Award for Best Music Director. It’Sali’l surprising, not to mention unfair, that it was, incidentally, his only nomination.

(*Note: Until 1967, the award was common to male and female singers. It was the following year that the Best Playback Singer category was divided into two, to honour male and female singers individually.) 

(R)Af(f)irmatively, this track was wonderful

Dev Anand spent the first three decades of his career charming Devis and the next three yearning for a box-office hit. The latter, obviously, left him nursing a broken heart.

However, with a little help from his B(ekh)ud(d)ies S D Burman and Mohammed Rafi, he dealt with the former in Kala Pani.

Hum Bekhudi Mein Tumko Pukaare Chale Gaye was composed by the former and rendered by the latter.

Majrooh Sultanpuri penned the track, which was three minutes and 17 seconds long and could be translated to, “In an inebriated state, I kept calling you.”

It de(Ra)finitely wAs(h)an Achcha song

Achcha Jee Main Haari Chalo Maan Jaao Na, the duet from Kala Pani (1958), could be translated to, “OK Sir, I concede defeat. Come on, stop sulking.”

But since Mohammed Rafi and Asha [truly the most B(hos)lessed singer] rendered it, it’s safe to assume nobody was in a blue funk.

The track was literally a t(h)re(e)at for the ears – it was three minutes and 33 seconds long. And for the eyes too, considering it was picturised on Dev Anand and Madhubala.

It was penned by Majrooh Sultanpuri. S D was the (Bur)man who composed it.  

Rest assured, Lata’s voice soothed

Many people would vouch for the fact that Hum Pyaar Mein Jalnewaalon Ko, which was from Jailor (1958), was a reLatable track.

In fact, it is just what the doctor prescribed for those who have lost their peace of mind and are restless. In other words, for those whose love hasn’t been reciprocated.      

The icing on the cake was that it was rendered by Ms Mangeshkar, who possessed a chalnewaali voice (that is, one that would go on to enthrall Hindi film music buffs for decades).

The Madan Mohan composition was penned by Rajinder Krishan.

Rafi’s and Bhosle’s exuberance wAs(h)apparent

Before I decided to add Mohabbat Ka Haath to my collection, I hadn’t heard the track as frequently as I’d heard other songs of the Golden Era, so I wasn’t aware that it was from Howrah Bridge.

While the first three words obviously mean, “The hand of love”, it’s the next three (Jawaani ka palla) that are undoubtedly interesting. They can be translated to, “The border of the garment of youth”.

Qamar Jalalabadi penned this O P Nayyar composition, which was four minutes and three minutes long and sung by Mohammed Rafi and Asha Bhosle.   

Geeta was an apt Cho(o)ice

Geeta Dutt didn’t justice to Mera Naam Chin Chin Choo, the sizzling song from Howrah Bridge.

It was picturised on Helen, who would go on to excel at, and be associated with, tracks like these.

That O P Nayyar C(ho)omposed this song is well-known, but few would know that it was Qamar Jalalabadi who penned the iconic line, “Singapore ka yauvan mera, Shanghai ki angdaai” (My youth is from Singapore, my stretch is from Shanghai).

If it were to be included on one of today’s soundtracks, it might not have escaped the Censor Board’s scissors. 

Ms Bhosle caMe(herba)and conquered hearts

Two men who shared initials teamed up for a track, which went on to become a very pOPular club song.

They were Om Prakash Bhandari (better known as Qamar Jalalabadi) and O P Nayyar (whose first two names were Omkar Prasad).

The song in question was Aaiye Meherbaan from Howrah Bridge (1958). It was penned by the former (whose pseudonym meant the moon from Jalalabad, which was apt because he did shine) and composed by the latter.

It was rendered by Asha, who was, more or (Bhos)less, a fixture in Nayyar’s exclusive club of singers.

Kishore ensured everyone paid (Ra)at(t)ention

August 30, 2017 marks the 94^th birth anniversary of Shailendra, who penned Yeh Raaten Yeh Mausam from Dilli Ka Thug.

Before his career as a lyricist came on track, he was employed with the Indian Railways.

Of course, he spent a considerable period of time training his mind to achieve excellence in what would eventually become his occupation.

And to the D(il)(e)light of millions of Hindi film music aficionados, his predilection for simplicity resulted in many a still-hummed song, including this duet, which was (Kisho)rendered by Mr Kumar and Asha Bhosle, and composed by Ravi.

Kishore to evergreen song gaayega

Hum To Mohabbat Karega, from Dilli Ka Thug, was a solo picturised on and (Kisho)rendered by Kumar, who determinedly expresses his desire to fall in love with the character played by Nutan.

In mock indignation, she occasionally interjects with such phrases as, “Meri jooti se” (which literally means, “With my shoes”, but in this context, it is, “My foot”), “Arre wah re Majnu” [“Wonderful, Majnu” (Laila’s lover in the legend and a generic name for a lover in India)] and “Doob maro” (which means, “Drown and die”).

Majrooh Sultanpuri penned the track, composed by Ravi.

Kishore left us AB(ho)s(o)l(ut)ely spellbound

Kishore was a paradox that remains unsolved. Although he has sung many a funny song over the years, it would be grossly unfair to label him a mere jester.

Of course, all Hindi film music buffs can do, and continue to do, is (Ku)marvel at his comic timing, which was evidenced by C-A-T Cat, Cat Mane Billi from Dilli Ka Thug (1958).

The track, which saw Ms Bhosle (A)share singing credits with him, was picturised on him and Nutan, that formidable victim of inexplicable misCATegorisation.

It was penned by Majrooh Sultanpuri and composed by Ravi.

This (Kisho)rendition was AB(ho)s(o)l(ut)ely priceless

Main Sitaron Ka Tarana, from Chalti Ka Naam Gaadi, was a inK(isho)redibly naïve, and cute, declaration by Mr Kumar that he preferred paanch rupaiya barah anna* to the gorgeous Madhubala.

Ms Bhosle (A)shared singing credits with him.

Majrooh Sultanpuri penned the song, which was five minutes and 47 seconds long, and was composed by S D Burman.

(*Note: An anna was equivalent to 1/16^th of a rupee. Four annas were equivalent to 25 paise, and barah anna, which means twelve annas, were equivalent to 75 paise. So, he wanted her to pay him Rs 5.75.)

   

  

Kumar’s inK(ish)o(mpa)rable passion bore fruit

Lyricists from the Golden Era of Hindi film music seemed to be fascinated with China.

Majrooh Sultanpuri’s memorable line, “Jaate the Japan, pahunch gaye Cheen”, literally means, “We were going to Japan, but landed in China”.

But, in the context of Hum The Woh Thi from Chalti Ka Naam Gaadi, it meant, “It was unexpected”.

But hey, no one complained, because the track, which was composed by S D (Burm)and was three minutes and 44 seconds long, was inK(isho)redibly catchy.

Kumar (Tennes)seemed to bE(rn)i(nspir)ed by Ford again. On this occasion, it was The Watermelon Song.

  

This (Kisho)rendition’s popularity (As)has increased

Some songs are destined to appeal to a sizeable chunk of listeners, irrespective of their gender or age, and, thus, come to be known as evergreen hits.

One of them, without Ashade of doubt, was Haal Kaisa Hai Janaab Ka from Chalti Ka Naam Gaadi.

And that’s because Majrooh Sultanpuri picked a phrase that’s a conversation-starter in those parts of India where Hindi is spoken. The S D Burman composition can simply be translated to, “How are you?”

It was four minutes and 28 seconds long, and was (Kisho)rendered by Mr Kumar and Ms Bhosle.

Kishore’s descriptive track was loved

Only a crazy man would use the line, “Uska koi pench bhi dheela hai” to describe his would-be wife.

Because it means her screw is loose (that is, she’s mentally ill).

But the man in question was actually a genius named Kishore Kumar, and the aforementioned line was from Ek Ladki Bheegi Bhaagi Si. Majrooh Sultanpuri penned it.

Even Sixteen Tons are insufficient to measure the popularity of the S D Burman composition from Chalti Ka Naam Gaadi, which was four minutes and one second long (and inspired by a track by Tennessee Ernie Ford). 

Kishore had a field Dey

To say that the Ganguly gang (better known as the Kumar brothers) had a flair for comedy would be an understatement.

And that was amply evidenced by the zany Chalti Ka Naam Gaadi, the second-highest grosser of 1958. 

The title of the film could be translated to that which moves is a car, but lyricist Majrooh Sultanpuri’s collaboration with composer S D Burman ensured that that which succeeded was its soundtrack.

Babu Samjho Ishaare, which was four minutes and 54 seconds long, was rendered by Kishore and Manna. Needless to say, Dey had a ball.    

This qawwali made everyone (I)smail

Although most Hindi film music buffs have heard Humein Toh Loot Liya Milke Husnwaalon Ne, it’s likely that the majority of them don’t know the names of the lyricist, the composer and the singer.

Although I was aware of its popularity, it wasn’t until I added it to my collection that I came to know it was from Al Hilal (1958), and Rizvi was the (She)wan who penned it.

It was composed by a man named Bulo C Rani.

And those who don’t know who rendered it needn’t hAza(r)d a guess – he was qa(wwa)lled Ismail. 

Madan (Moh)and Mangeshkar made history

While listening to Yun Hasraton Ke Daag from Adalat, which released in 1958, one wouldn’t blame the listener if he/she were tempted to misspell the title of the film as Ada(-E-)Lat(a), which means Mangeshkar’s style.

It was a track tailor-made (or, to be more accurate, soldier-made, given composer Madan Mohan’s stint in the Indian Army) for the songstress.

The highlight, of course, is the unforgettable verse, which was penned by Rajinder (Krish)and can be translated to, “I’ve washed the stains of desires in love, and cried while discussing what’s in my heart with my heart.”  

UnD(a)oubtedly, it was (R)afine track

Tujhe Kya Sunaoon Main Dilruba, from Aakhri Dao (1958), was another track I came (A)ak(h)r(i)oss, unkind courtesy of a tale that was far from savoury.

Madan Mohan, who composed it, was inspired by Sajjad Hussain’s song from Sangdil (1952), Yeh Hawa Yeh Raat Yeh Chandni. That obviously didn’t go down well with T(h)alatter, who had a reputation for being (Mah)moody.

But there’s no D(a)oubt about the fact that the imitation, which was penned by Majrooh Sultanpuri and rendered by Mohammed Rafi, was as good as, if not better than, the one penned by Rajinder Krishan.

Aap sa nahin suna, Rafi!

I recall listening to the male version of the title track of Tumsa Nahin Dekha many times over the years, but it was when I set about adding songs to my collection that I read an anecdote about this song, which was penned by Sahir Ludhanvi.

Mohammed Rafi’s fallout with the composer is well documented. Upon their patch-up, he crooned, “Yun toh humne lakh sangeetkaar dekhe hain, O P Nayyar sa nahin dekha” (Though I’ve seen numerous composers, I haven’t seen anyone like O P Nayyar).

Isn’t that the fans’ opinion of the singer too?  

(As)Hats off and t(hank y)ou!

No sooner had the link between the lal topi on Raj Kapoor’s sar and his popularity in Russia been established than Hindi film music (R)aficionados would be in for another audio-visual treat – a song on the soundtrack of Tumsa Nahin Dekha which was about headgear of the same hue, donned by his brother Shammi.

Majrooh Sultanpuri teamed the latter up with a resham ka rumaal (silk handkerchief).

Such was the gusto with which Asha and Mohammed Rafi sang the track, which was composed by O P Nayyar, that it (Bhos)left everyone chorusing, “Tera kya kehna!”