Mukesh’s rendition elicited a “(W)A(a)h!”

Aah, which released in 1953, didn’t elicit oohs and aahs, but its soundtrack continues to be popular. Aaja Re Ab Mera Dil Pukara (“Come, now my heart calls”), which was three minutes and 44 seconds long, was sung by Lata Mangeshkar and Mukesh.

It was penned by Iqbal Hussain, better known as Hasrat Jaipuri. A former bus conductor, the poet, who hailed from the capital of Rajasthan, made the transition from issuing tickets to contributing to the sales of movie tickets. Ironically, his nom de plume means an unfulfilled desire.

Shankar Jaikishan were the composers.

Mahmood rendered it Ra(a)ther (Chand)nicely

The silken-voiced Mahmood was not just the king of ghazals, but was excellenT(al)at romantic numbers too. That was proved when he rendered Yeh Hawa Yeh Raat Yeh Chandni, from Sangdil (1952).

It was penned by Rajinder Krishan and composed by Sajjad Hussain [who was infamous for his propensity to take pangas (unnecessary tiffs) with his peers (as a result of which he scored the music for only a handful of films in a career spanning over three decades).]

Interestingly, the short-tempered music director didn’t spare an opportunity to taunt Mahmood, calling him Galat (Wrong) Mahmood.

This Kumar solo was ro(He)mantic

Yeh Raat Yeh Chandni Phir Kahaan, Sun Ja Dil Ki Dastaan (This night and this moonlight won’t come again. Listen to the story my heart wants to tell you) was from Jaal.

Sahir Ludhianvi penned the ro(He)mantic track, which was composed by S D Burman. There were two versions of the song – a male solo (which is on this blog) and a duet. While the former was sung by Mr Kumar, the latter was rendered by him and Lata Mangeshkar.

Numerous Hindi film music buffs have fallen into the jaal, which was cast in 1952.

The despondent (Mah)mood was internalised

Ae Mere Dil Kahin Aur Chal, from Daag (1952), had not one, not two, but three versions. Shailendra penned the song [whose next line went, “Gham Ki Duniya Se Dil Bhar Gaya” (My heart has had enough of this world of sadness)], which was composed by Shankar Jaikishan.

When they wanted a singer to render the two male versions, they didn’t have to go kahin aur, because Mahmood excelled (Tal)at singing sentimental songs. Version one of the three was two minutes and 59 seconds long.

(Note: Lata Mangeshkar sang the third version of the song.)

This was certainly (R)afine duet

Tu Ganga Ki Mauj, Main Jamuna Ka Dhaara (which means, “You are a wave of the River Ganges, and I am the flow of the River Yamuna”) was based on Raga Bhairavi.

The duet from Baiju Bawra, which was sung by Lata Mangeshkar and Mohammed Rafi, was penned by Shakeel Badayuni.

Mr Ali bagged the inaugural Filmfare Award for Best Music Director for this song in 1954*. (Nau)S(h)adly, it was his only win.

(*Note: In 1954 and 1955, the trophy was awarded to the composer for a particular song and not for the entire soundtrack.)

Rafi’s (Dar)baritone did it justice

O Duniya Ke Rakhwale was the second Mohammed Rafi solo from Baiju Bawra on this blog. The film established him as the numero uno playback singer in Hindi films. He held the position until the late 1960s.

To listen to him present his case before God in a high-pitched voice continues to give the listeners goosebumps.

Penned by Shakeel Badayuni and composed by Naushad, the song, which was based on Raga Darbari, should have come with the (paraphrased) disclaimer – “This song was rendered by a trained professional. Do not try this on a reality show.”   

This Lata solo was unforgettable

Lata Mangeshkar’s second solo in Baiju Bawra was titled Mohe Bhool Gaye Saawariya (which means, “My lover has forgotten me”). But people remember it even after six-and-a-half decades.

It was based on Raga Bhairav, and has traces of Raga Kalingada.

The song, which was penned by Shakeel Badayuni and composed by Naushad, began with four cynical lines – “Jo Main Aisa Jaanti Ke Preet Kiye Dukh Hoye, O Nagar Dhindhora Peetti Ke Preet Na Kariyo Koye” (If I knew that love gives one grief, I would go around town crying, “No one should fall in love”).

This immortal bhajan exemplified (Ra)finesse

Here’s a question: Which is the best devotional song in a Hindi film? If you’re a true Hindi film music aficionado, your (Malk)a(u)nswer would be Man Tadpat Hari Darshan Ko Aaj from Baiju Bawra.

(Nau)S(h)adly, it didn’t fetch its composer an award, but the (bha)janata’s patronage of the song – penned by Shakeel Badayuni – was no less than a trophy.

It was rendered by Mohammed Rafi, whose fans would be forgiven if they paraphrased the first line to, “Kaan Tadpat Rafi Ki Awaaz Ko Aaj Bhi” (The ears want to listen to Rafi’s voice even today). 

Lata and Rafi’s poP(il)ularity soared

Jhoole Mein Pawan Ki Aayi Bahar (which, when translated, means, “Spring came on a swing of wind”) was based on Raga Pilu.

It was penned by Shakeel Badayuni and composed by Naushad. The next two lines of the song went, “Nainon Mein Naya Rang Laayi Bahar, Pyaar Chhalke Ho Pyaar Chhalke” (which means, “Spring brought new colours to my eyes, love is overflowing”).

It’s a track that would, unfortunately, be lost in translation.  

The song, which continues to sound as fresh as it did 65 years ago, was rendered by Lata Mangeshkar and Mohammed Rafi. 

The DeSh(amsh)admired Begum and Lata

Now that the door has opened, let us continue to welcome Baiju Bawra’s raga-based songs, which have been mesmerising Hindi film music aficionados across this Desh since 1952.

Door Koi Gaaye, Dhun Yeh Sunaaye, Tere Bin Chhaliya Re, Baaje Na Muraliya Re – which means, “Someone sings from afar and makes you listen to his tune. Without you, O trickster, the flute doesn’t play” – was sung by Shamshad Begum, Lata Mangeshkar and a chorus.

The song, which was penned by Shakeel Badayuni and composed by Naushad, would be incomplete without mentioning Mohammed Rafi’s Ho Ji Ho.

Ms Mangeshkar was in deMa(a)nd

Bachpan Ki Mohabbat Ko, the Lata Mangeshkar solo from Baiju Bawra, was based on Maand.

Everyone has had at least one childhood crush (whether they admit to having had one or not). This song, penned by Shakeel Badayuni and composed by Naushad Ali, is a great track to dedicate to him/her.

That’s because the innocence in the opening lines – Bachpan Ki Mohabbat Ko Dil Se Na Juda Karna, Jab Yaad Meri Aaye, Milne Ki Dua Karna (Don’t separate the childhood love from your heart, and when you remember me, pray that we meet) – was unmistakable.   

Amir (Kh)and Paluskar sang this

All the songs of Baiju Bawra (1952) were based on ragas, and bore testimony to the expertise Mr Ali (Naus)had in classical music.

But he Desided to take Aaj Gaawat Man Mero Jhoomke (which translates to “Today my mind is swooning and singing”) a step further.

It was one of the two duets sung by Ustad Amir, the founder of the Indore Gharana, (Kh)and Pandit Dattatreya Vishnu Paluskar (better known as D V Paluskar).

The other was Langar Kankariya Ji Na Maro, which was based on Raga Todi.

The lyrics were penned by Shakeel Badayuni.

Hemanta adapted the national song

Vande Mataram was penned by Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay and declared India’s national song.

The immortal hymn was published in the Bengali novel Anandamath, which was written by Chattopadhyay in 1882.

Anand Math, the cinematic adaptation of the novel, released in 1952. It featured two versions of the song – a female version (by Lata Mangeshkar) and a male version (by a debutant named Hemant Kumar Mukhopadhyay, who would also go on to be credited as Hemanta Mukherjee or Hemant Kumar).

This blog features only the latter, which also marked Kumar's debut as a Hindi film composer.      

Rafi went on (A)and on

By no means was Maan Mera Ehsan from Aan (1952) the first song sung by Mohammed Rafi. However, on this blog, it marks his debut.

Until his untimely death 28 years later, the legendary singer went on to sing numerous songs, which were picturised on a host of actors, who went on to achieve varying degrees of success. He was truly the ma(a)n for all seasons.

The song, which was two minutes and 48 seconds long, was penned by Shakeel Badayuni. The music director was a man whose compositions impressed critics and connoisseurs Alike – Naushad.   

Talat achieved a melancholic (Mah)mood

There are burning desires in my chest, and there’s sadness in my eyes. No folks, I’m not describing my anguish, but it’s an attempt to translate the first two lines of Seene Mein Sulagte Hain Armaan, from Tarana (1951).

It was one of the finest renditions by Talat Mahmood, which wasn’t surprising at all, given that he was the uncrowned Sultan of sombre songs. And Lata Mangeshkar took it up a notch.

Unfortunately, Prem – who penned this song – was (Dhaw)an unsung hero. And it wouldn’t be incorrect to say that Anil (Bis)was a underrated composer. 

Lata’s voice had fans engrossed

When Lata Mangeshkar crooned Tum Na Jaane Kis Jahaan Mein Kho Gaye, it wasn’t just a girl’s lament from Sazaa (1951).

In fact, it also seemed to be the singer’s observation about her fans [because when translated, the song meant, “(I) don’t know which world you were lost in.”] And one can’t blame her for mouthing those words. When she sang, they listened with rapt attention.

However, it would be unfair to deny the two men responsible for this track their share of the credit – Sahir Ludhianvi, the lyricist, and S D Burman, the composer.

The winds blew Lata’s way

S D was to the (Bur)manor born, and Sahir Ludhianvi was the champion of the underdog. As awesome as the combination was, it wasn’t destined to last. But their collaborations resulted in classics that Hindi film music buffs of a certain vintage rave about to date.

Thandi Hawaayen Lehrake Aayen from Naujawan (1951) – which was penned by the Lat(a)ter, composed by the former and rendered by Mangeshkar – would certainly make it to the list.

The breezy number gave absolutely no indication of the storm that was to ravage Bollywood towards the end of the 1950s.

Mukesh produced an evergreen hit

Malhar (1951) marked singer Mukesh’s foray into film production. He and Lata Mangeshkar rendered Bade Armaanon Se Rakha Balam Teri Kasam, Pyaar Ki Duniya Mein Yeh Pehla Kadam (I swear on you, my beloved, with many a desire, I have taken my first step into the world of love).

Shyamalal Babu Rai Indeevared to make his mark as a lyricist, and to say that it was successful would be an understatement. The song was composed by Roshanlal Nagrath, simply known as Roshan. He was the father of Rakesh and Rajesh Roshan, and Hrithik Roshan’s grandfather.      

Sadly, Mahmood’s Tal(a)(en)t remained untapped

Composer Madan (Moh)and singer Talat had a couple of things in common – they were renowned for their ghazals, and they didn’t have big bodies of work to boast of.

While both might give Hindi music aficionados the impression that the duo wasn’t versatile, it mustn’t be forgotten that the focus was on Kohlity, and not on quantity, in the 1950s.

One of their collaborations was Meri Yaad Mein Tum Na Aansoo Bahana from Madhosh (1951). The song, penned by Raja Mehdi Ali Khan, wasn’t (M)a(h)mood-lifter by any stretch of the imagination, but it was timeless.      

Shamshad and Lata packed (B)a(ch)panch

Now it isn’t uncommon to see child artistes in Bollywood movies aping adults, but in 1951, when Deedar released, innocence was writ large on their faces. At least, that’s the impression the listeners get when they listen to the female version of Bachpan Ke Din Bhula Na Dena.

It was picturised on a pair of kids and rendered by a couple of grown-ups. But (Shams)had Begum and Lata Mangeshkar not sung it, the song would lack the novelty that has worked in its favour.

Penned by Shakeel Badayuni, this Naushad gem certainly deserves many Alisten. 

It (Shams)had a timeless appeal

[Note: Years before I fell in love with the music of the Golden Era, I chanced upon the remixed version of Saiyyan Dil Mein Aana Re on television. So tacky was the video that I wasn’t interested in another dekko, until I decided to create a playlist of 1950s music. That’s when I read about the original song, and learnt that it was from Bahar (1951). The video I watched would have (Sham)s(h)addened Begum, who sang it.]

Penned by Rajinder (Krish)and composed by S D Burman, the song was three minutes and 48 seconds long. 

This track was certainly unforGe(e)t(t)able

Most Hindi film music aficionados today are irked by the item numbers that filmmakers, unfortunately, don’t seem to consider superfluous. But thankfully, they aren’t compared to the racy songs of yore, one of which was Tadbeer Se Bigdi Hui Taqdeer Bana Le.

The song, from Baazi (1951), was penned by Abdul Hayee, who was popularly known as Sahir. He was horrified that S D Burman turned the song he (Ludhian)viewed as a ghazal into a club number.

It was rendered by Geeta Dutt (nee Roy), who went on to marry Guru Dutt, the film’s director.  

It was a Mangeshkar cL(at)assic

Obviously a whole Lata passion went into the penning, composition and rendition of Ghar Aaya Mera Pardesi from Awaara. Shailendra wrote the lyrics, Shankar Jaikishan were the music directors and Ms Mangeshkar was the singer.

After all, it was the dream of Raj Kapoor, the man who brought these talented individuals together, forming what would, over the next two decades, go on to become a team that was both enduring and endearing.

Incidentally, the song was the first dream sequence in an Indian film. Need it be said that Kapoor was passion and foresight personified?    

International acclaim was Mukesh’s Awa(a)r(a)d

The Filmfare Best Playback Singer award was instituted in 1959. But if it were instituted seven years earlier, Mukesh would certainly have been nominated for Awaara Hoon, Awaara’s (1951) title track.

But the song, penned by Shankardas Kesarilal (whose nom de plume was Shailendra) and composed by Shankar Singh Raghuvanshi and Jaikishan Dayabhai Panchal (simply known as Shankar Jaikishan), was destined for greater glory.

People from as far afield as China, the erstwhile Soviet Union and the Middle East appreciated it. And that was definitely a bigger accolade than any Awa(a)r(a)d for the aforementioned quartet. 

It CeRtainly was (not) Occidental

As far as Hindi film music is concerned, east isn’t east, and west isn’t west, because the twain met eons ago. One of the composers to whom aficionados of the said genre continue to give thanks for that is C Ramchandra.

He didn’t just compose Shola Jo Bhadke (from Albela), but also sang it (with Lata Mangeshkar). Never have what sounded like complaints – the next couple of lines went, “Dil Mera Dhadke, Dard Jawaani Ka Sataaye Badh Badh Ke” – sounded more sensuous.

The track, penned by Rajinder Krishan, was three minutes and 31 seconds long.  

Chitalkar got away with it

It’s a crying Sh(a)ame that the Central Board of Film Certification (commonly known as the Censor Board) is trying to take a moral high ground now.

Were Albela to release 66 years after it actually did, it would object to Shaam Dhale Khidki Tale (which was three minutes and 42 seconds long), on the grounds that it might influence men to indulge in eve-teasing.

The second line of the song, penned by Rajinder Krishan, went, “Tum ceetee bajaana chhod do” (Stop whistling).

It was composed by C Ramchandra, and sung by him and Lata Mangeshkar.

Lata drove the listeners CRazy

The second line of Bholi Soorat Dil Ke Khote, from Albela (1951), was the idiom, “Naam Bade Aur Darshan Chhote”, which refers to those who have big names (or reputations) but fail to live up to the hype.

But far from being anguished (as the aforementioned line would ordinarily suggest), the folks who sang it – Lata Mangeshkar and Chitalkar (who also composed it) – seemed to be having a ball taunting each other about being broke and their sartorial choices, make-up and accessories.

The track, penned by Rajinder Krishan, was three minutes and 54 seconds long.    

Chitalkar took this kadam too

Kadam Kadam Badhaye Ja wasn’t just a patriotic song from Samadhi (1950), but it was also the regimental quick march of Subhas Chandra Bose’s Indian National Army. It was penned by Pt Vanshidhar Shukla and composed by Captain Ram Singh Thakuri.

Retaining the hook [“Kadam Kadam Badhaye Ja, Khushi Ke Geet Gaaye Ja, Yeh Zindagi Hai Kaum Ki, Tu Kaum Pe Lutaaye Ja” (Move forward, singing songs of joy. This life belongs to our motherland. Sacrifice it for her)], Rajinder Krishan penned C Ramchandra’s reinterpretation of the song. The latter (credited as Chitalkar) sang it.

(Amir)Bai the way, Lata shone

Such a roaring success was Gore Gore O Baanke Chhore, from Samadhi (1950), that all those associated with it laughed all the way to the ba(a)nk(e).

It was penned by Rajinder Krishan, who was underrated, despite the fact that his oeuvre wasn’t restricted to lyrics (he was also credited with penning many a screenplay, story and dialogue).

Ramchandra Narhar Chitalkar [best known as C Ramchandra (he had a few other names)] composed it.

Don’t be fooled by the phrase baanke chhore (smart boy). It was a female duet, rendered by Amirbai Karnataki and Lata Mangeshkar.    

Dey was super se Upar

The song from Mashaal (1950) went, “Upar gagan vishal, neeche gehra pataal. Beech mein dharti, wah mere malik tune kiya kamaal” [Above is the vast sky, beneath is the deep netherworld. The earth is in between. (An exclamation of surprise) My creator, you’ve done a wonderful thing.]

And what made it special was the trio associated with it. It was penned by Ramchandra Narayanji Dwivedi (better known as Kavi Pradeep), composed by Sachin Dev (S D) Burman and sung by Prabodh Chandra Dey (aptly known as Manna Dey, because he did possess a heavenly voice).