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!”

   

   

This track showcased Rafi’s mastery

Seldom does a lyricist elicit (Majr)oohs and aahs, but one can’t deny the fact that Sultanpuri was a key member of the team that collaborated on the soundtrack of Tumsa Nahin Dekha.

He penned Jawaaniyaan Yeh Mast Mast Bin Piye, which was could be translated to, “Even without having drunk, these youthful maidens are intoxicating. They walk around, lighting lamps along the way. Neither do I know who I’ve been made for, nor do I know which of them is for me.”

The track was rendered by Mohammed Rafi and composed by O P Nayyar. 

He was indeed wooed, Asha-(Bho)s(ty)le

A few years later, Shammi Kapoor’s height, athletic build, and of course, those dancing skills would come in handy to charm the ladies, but in Dekho Kasam Se, the song from Tumsa Nahin Dekha, the audience had a dekko of him being wooed.

Even if the O P Nayyar composition, rendered by Asha and Mohammed Rafi, were rechristened Suno Kasam Se, it wouldn’t have been any less a pleasure to listen to.

It would’ve been unfair to say that the latter played second (Ra)fiddle, but the former certainly (Bho)s(to)le the show.

Majrooh Sultanpuri penned it.    

Rafi’s voice complemented Kapoor’s Ch(h)u(tz)p(ah)

Mohammed Rafi sang Chhupnewaale Saamne Aa, the song from Tumsa Nahin Dekha (1957), which was picturised on Shammi Kapoor.

Of course, although the latter was no chhupnewala (a guy who hides), saamne aana (coming forth) was imperative.

Or else, he would have continued to be in his father’s (Prithviraj Kapoor) and older brother’s (Raj Kapoor) formidable shadows. Moreover, on the professional front, he was reeling from a series of duds.

But to everyone’s delight, the track, which was penned by Majrooh Sultanpuri and composed by O P Nayyar, was a hit (as was the film).    

It fell to Lata’s laut

August 27, 2017 is the 41^st death anniversary of Mukesh, who sang the male version of Aa Laut Ke Aaja Mere Meet from Rani Rupmati (1957).

It V(y)as penned by Bharat and composed by S N Tripathi.

But it was the female version of the track, which was rendered by Lata Mangeshkar, that I added to my collection.

Of course, that doesn’t mean there’s more to it than meets the eye – I must confess that I wasn’t aware of it before I downloaded it, let alone the fact that it had a couple of versions.

  

Guru Dutt’s cynicism found (R)afit

The opening verse of Yeh Duniya Agar Mil Bhi Jaaye, from Pyaasa, could be translated to, “So what if I inherit this world of palaces, thrones, crowns and of the society which is man’s enemy, this world which is greedy for money and adheres to norms?”

These lines, which became immortal, were penned by none other than Sahir Ludhianvi, and conveyed the cynicism of Guru Dutt, a genius who was under-appreciated in his lifetime.

The track, which was five minutes and eight seconds long, was composed by S D Burman and rendered by Mohammed Rafi.  

Rafi gave a trade mass(eu)recognition

Sahir, who was renowned for championing the cause of the underdog, penned Sar Jo Tera Chakraaye from Pyaasa.

So it wasn’t surprising that it was noted for the use of everyday L(udhianv)ingo (in contrast to the poetry that was the soul of the other songs on the film’s soundtrack).

Both the evergreen track (which was picturised on the jovial Johnny Walker and was four minutes and 33 seconds long) and the cry of “Tel Maalish” (massage using oil) went on to become iconic.

It was composed by S D Burman and rendered by Mohammed Rafi.    

Rafi proved he was (H)industrious

Without a shade of doubt, Sahir was (Ludhi)a(n)visionary. Because to date, the upheavals in India remind Hindi film music (R)aficionados of Jinhein Naaz Hai Hind Par, which was penned by the poet and from Pyaasa (which celebrated its diamond jubilee this year).

Of course, attempting a rendition isn’t everyone’s cuppa (or peg of whisky, if you please, considering that it was Guru Dutt who wanted to know where those people who were proud of India were).

This S(a)D song, composed by Burman and sung by Mohammed Rafi, was six minutes and as many seconds long.

    

Mr Kumar’s solo was H(em)a(u)nting

Kumar rendered a song that has gone on to become tHe(m)anthem for those jinke pyaar ko pyaar nahin mila.

That ode to unrequited love is Jaane Woh Kaise Log The from Pyaasa.

It’s pertinent to note that while the protagonist (Guru Dutt) couldn’t care less about the identities of those whose love was reciprocated, he was keen in a detail less superficial – how they were.

Indeed, only a complex man could harbour that deep an interest in psychology. 

Penned by Sahir Ludhianvi (Burm)and composed by S D, it was four minutes and 49 seconds long.    

This was an unforGe(e)t(t)able tune

“I don’t know what you said. I don’t know what I heard. But something wonderful did transpire.”*

The amazing thing that happened was the shorter of the two Geeta Dutt solos from Pyaasa, which continues to be popular.

The track in question was Jaane Kya Tune Kahi, which was four minutes and ten seconds long.

(*Note: This is nothing but an attempt to translate it. Needless to say, it doesn’t even pretend to do justice to either the words, which were penned by Sahir Ludhianvi, or the tune, which was composed by S D Burman.) 

This song was a stanD(o)ut(t)

One of the songs on its soundtrack of Pyaasa, which was otherwise a pessimistic film, was Hum Aap Ki Aankhon Mein, which was rendered by Geeta and Mohammed Rafi.

So it wouldn’t be wrong to call it the film’s surprise package.

It was included at the behest of distributors seeking relief from the on-screen sadness. But since it went on to become very popular, Hindi film music lovers indeed owe them a Dutt of gratitude.

The track, was five minutes and 42 seconds long, was penned by Sahir Ludhianvi and composed by S D Burman.  

UnD(o)u(b)t(t)edly, Geeta sang it beautifully

It is well-known [and obviously S(a)D] that Burman, who composed the music of Pyaasa, and Sahir Ludhianvi, who penned its songs, never worked together after collaborating on the soundtrack of the film (which released in 1957), but their differences didn’t affect it.

Aaj Sajan Mohe Ang Laga Lo was the longer of the two solos rendered by Geeta in the film. It was four minutes and 56 seconds long.

There is no D(o)u(b)t(t) about the fact that Hindi film music aficionados mistake the track for a sensuous song. But it is, in fact, a bhajan. 

Asha didn’t come up (Ki)shor(e)t

O Nigaahen Mastaana, which was three mniutes and 47 seconds long, may have been one of the shortest songs on the soundtrack of Paying Guest, but it is etched in the memories of Bhosle’s fans for a long time, Ashave most of the other duets she’s rendered with Kishore Kumar over the years.

Majrooh Sultanpuri penned the track, which can be translated to, “Hey, (the one with the) intoxicating eyes, look, the atmosphere is beautiful. After shooting an arrow, which has pierced through my heart, lower a bit.”

It was composed by S D Burman.

Wallah! Kishore da jawaab nahin

Just as Kishore Kumar’s talent wasn’t limited to singing, his charm knew no linguistic boundaries.

So the phrase Kishore da in the title of this post doesn’t just mean older brother Kishore (as he was affectionately called) in Bengali, but also of Kishore in Punjabi.

For the title, a line of Maana Janaab Ne Pukaara Nahin, from Paying Guest, was rephrased.

Figuratively, it means, “Oh my God, Kishore da is amazing!” And, indeed, he was.

Majrooh Sultanpuri penned the track, which was four minutes and 16 seconds long.

It was composed by S D Burman.   

Kishore didn’t consider flirting (As)harmful

When a woman feels that a guy is crossing the line, she is bound to ask, “Zamana* kya kahega?” (What will the people say?)

But Chhod Do Aanchal – the song from Paying Guest – was a romantic song with a bit of harmless flirting.

And, in fact, Asha Bhosle was Kishore Kumar’s partner in crime [if what they were upto C(hh)o(ul)d be (Aan)c(h)alled that].

The track, which was four minutes and twelve seconds long, was penned by Majrooh Sultanpuri (Burm)and composed by S D.  

(*Note: The word zamana also means the world at large, or society.)  

Man(geshkar)y moons ago, she La(ta)mented

Chand Phir Nikla, rendered by Ms Mangeshkar, was from Paying Guest (1957).

It couldn’t have been on the soundtrack of any other film, because its first line sounded more like an exasperated La(ta)ndlady’s plaint (upon noticing that it’s late and her tenant hasn’t returned yet) than the La(ta)ment of a habitual latecomer’s beloved.

And its second didn’t just speak about the consequent helplessness, but also ended with a sigh.

Four minutes and 43 seconds long, it was the longest song in the film.

It was penned by Majrooh Sultanpuri and composed by S D Burman.

This track was (Ra)fiercely patriotic

A song, which is already iconic, assumes epic proportions when a dig, which is far from subtle, is taken at it decades later.

That’s exactly what happened in the case of Yeh Desh Hai Veer Jawaanon Ka from Naya Daur.

Sahir Ludhianvi penned the track, which was rendered by Mohammed Rafi and the little-known S Balbir.

When there’s a discussion on songs with a dash of desh-bhakti, there seems to be a tendency to ignore the O P Nayyar composition, which was three minutes and twelve seconds long. While it was obviously different, that’s inexplicable. 

Rafi’s stress management (Bhos)lesson rocked

Television commercials have been extolling the virtues of hair and skincare products for a few years now, but Mohammed Rafi and Asha sang about the B(hosl)enefits of taking care of one’s tresses and skin without mentioning any products eons ago (remember Uden Jab Jab Zulfein Teri from Naya Daur?)

Her compliment could be translated to, “Your flying locks set the damsels’ hearts aflutter.” He retorted, “With a face as smooth as yours, who won’t be attracted?”

Sahir Ludhianvi penned the track, which was four minutes and 47 seconds long and composed by O P Nayyar.

Rafi sang about Ashared workload

Since Naya Daur released a decade after India became independent, Saathi Haath Badhaana (Companion, lend me a hand) was a clarion call to people to contribute to building the nation.

The song was five minutes and 27 seconds long. Mohammed Rafi and Asha were the (Bhos)lead singers, and they were accompanied by a chorus.

It was penned by Sahir, who was renowned for his socialistic (Ludhian)views.

Although the coloured version of the film released in 2007, the O P Nayyar composition is as relevant today as it was when the original, a black-and-white film, released.

  

Asha’s enthusiasm couldn’t B(hosl)e kurtailed

Reshmi Shalwar Kurta Jaali Ka waS(hamsh)aduet rendered by Begum and Asha Bhosle.

Penned by Sahir Ludhianvi and composed by O P Nayyar, it was four minutes and six minutes long.

It was picturised on Kumkum and Minoo Mumtaz.

In 1957, the former became a lucky mascot, thanks to this track from Naya Daur (the second-highest earning film of the year) and her appearance in Mother India (which went on to become the year’s top grosser).

In fact, the latter knows a thing or two about Lucky too (being Mr Ali’s aunt and comedian Mehmood’s sister). 

(Ra)Fittingly, Bambai was immortalised B(e)a(b)utifully

Main Bambai Ka Babu, from Naya Daur was about Mumbai, composed by Nayyar, sung by Mohammed Rafi and picturised on Johnny Walker [who was, incidentally, a bus conductor with the Brihanmumbai Electric Supply and Transport (BEST) undertaking before his foray into films.]

Sahir Ludhianvi penned the song, which was two minutes and 58 seconds long.

(Disclaimer: Its resemblance to another track must’ve been coincidental. But it would be unfair to conduct an OPinion poll on the better of the two, because they have another thing in common – they were, are and will always be popular.)

The OPerative word was meMoRABle

Maang Ke Saath Tumhaara, from Naya Daur (1957), was penned by Sahir Ludhianvi and rendered by Mohammed Rafi and Asha Bhosle.

O P Nayyar bagged his only Filmfare Award for Best Music Director for the film.

The song, which is three minutes and 33 seconds long, wasn’t only a tonga track (which was referred to as the Nayyar trademark), but also a romantic song, meaning, “When I asked for your companionship, I asked for the world”.

Upon listening to it, it wouldn’t be surprising if fans of the aforementioned foursome exclaim, “(H)Oof, what a track!”

      

Appropriately, the K(uma)rooner was Kishore

One of the songs from Nau Do Gyarah can be translated to, “I’m a traveller on the path of love. Don’t say anything to me. Whenever I encountered a loving person, I became attached to him/her.”

Of course, the track in question is Hum Hain Raahi Pyaar Ke, and it wouldn’t be incorrect to say that over the decades, it has ceased to be a mere melody and entered the realm of philosophy.

It was Kishore Kumar’s (Bu)R(o)mance with life that was evidenced by the song, penned by Majrooh Sultanpuri and composed by S D.  

Asha’s (Kisho)rendition was undoubtedly B(hosl)eautiful

Nau Do Gyarah is not just the name of a film that released in 1957, but it is also a Hindi idiom which means to run away. And that was not something those associated with the film did.

It was the directorial debut of Vijay Anand, who had an awesome track record when it came to filming songs.

So it is (As)hardly a surprise that the (Bu)R(o)mantic Aankhon Mein Kya Ji, which was penned by Majrooh Sultanpuri and composed by S D, still sets hearts aflutter.

It was (Kisho)rendered by Mr Kumar and Ms Bhosle.

     

Begum (Shamsh)added her own colour

The festive season is upon us in India, but Holi is quite a few months away.

But do we need a reason to celebrate it? No, because Holi Ayee Re Kanhai, from Mother India, was (Bad)a(y)unique song – while it was about the festival of colours (and the harbinger of spring), the film, which will celebrate its diamond jubilee this year, released the week Diwali (the festival of lights) was celebrated.

The track, which was a couple of minutes and 51 seconds long, was rendered by Shamshad Begum, penned by Shakeel and composed by Naushad Ali.    

Lata and Usha were aMe(e)nable

It is possible that Duniya Mein Hum Aaye Hain Toh – from Mother India – has brought LUMps to the throats of many Hindi film aficionados.

The track, which is three minutes and 36 seconds long, was rendered by Lata Mangeshkar and her siblings, Meena (the second of the five) and Usha.

And the listeners did get the impression that Lata’s Ma(ngeshka)(te)rnal instincts kicked in when she sang for the film’s leading lady, Nargis (who played a mother raising two young lads in an Indian village).

It was penned by Shakeel Badayuni and composed by Naushad Ali.     

Naushad MARShalled this quartet well

Dukh Bhare Din Beete Re Bhaiya (The days of sorrow have passed) was a song from Mother India (1957), the country’s first submission for the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film.

The song, which is three minutes and nine seconds long, could also be called Happy Deys are Here Again, because Alively chorus accompanied the four singers who (Bhos)lent their voices to it – Manna, Asha, Shamshad Begum and Mohammed Rafi.

Shakeel Badayuni penned it. Since it was based on Raga Megh Malhar, there was no prize for guessing that it was composed by Naushad.

Rafi’s soulful voice touched millions

Hindi film music (R)aficionados were in for a treat when they listened to Mohammed Rafi’s aatma ki awaaz.

The song was Zara Saamne Toh Aao Chhaliye, and it was from (R)afilm titled Janam Janam Ke Phere, which released in 1957.

The voice of his soul [and that of his co-singer (Lata Mangeshkar)] transported people to another world, but they obviously had to return to reality (where music is serious business) soon.

It wouldn’t be appropriate to call the surprise Binaca Geetmala topper [which V(y)as penned by Bharat and composed by S N] a Tripa(r)t(h)ite agreement.

Desaidedly, this song is immor(La)tal

Even if my collection of music is of a single genre (i e Hindi film music), it is eclectic enough to include a prayer [Aye Malik Tere Bande Hum from Do Aankhen Barah Haath (1957)]. But I didn’t know that I’d start my day with a post on it.

The female version of the song continues to be popular. And the credit for that definitely goes to Lata Mangeshkar, whose rendition took devotion to another level.

But, of course, it must be given to the two Vs – lyricist Bharat Vyas and composer Vasant Desai – too.

Melodiously, Manna Dwa(a)r(f)ed his peers

With due respect to other singers, Mr Dey was the master of semi-classical music.

Incidentally, his name (Manna) is also a transitive verb in Hindi, which means to agree.

Music lovers can draw up a list of songs that prove the point about his prowess over the aforementioned genre. And it’ll include Kaun Aaya Mere Man Ke Dwaare, from Dekh Kabira Roya.

The song can be translated to, “Who has come to the doorstep of my mind, with her anklets tinkling?” It was based on Raga Rageshree, penned by Rajinder (Krish)and composed by Madan Mohan.

Talat se hi gaaya gaya

As I’ve stated earlier, people associated with Hindi films in the Golden Era had numerous sources of inspiration, including the verses of the mystic Kabir [whose name, of course, inspired Dekh Kabira Roya, a film that released in 1957 and, contrary to its title, was a comedy.]

Its soundtrack included a ghazal, Humse Aaya Na Gaya, which was rendered by none other than the palindomically-named Talat Mahmood.

It was penned by Rajinder Krishan, composed by Madan (Moh)and could be translated to, “I couldn’t bring myself to come, and you couldn’t bring yourself to call me.”

This track certainly (L)at(t)ained populaR(af)ity

Thanks to a (totally unplanned) dekko of a YouTube clip of a Frenchman named Heni (alias Pascal of Bollywood), I came to know about a song called Chali Chali Re Patang.

It was only much Lat(a)(e)r that I found out it was a duet by Lata Mangeshkar and Mohammed Rafi, and was from (R)afilm titled Bhabhi. And, of course, the fact that it became k(u)ite popular.

No sooned had I muttered, “Merci beaucoup (French for thank you very much), Pascal of Bollywood” than I discovered that it was penned by Rajinder (Krish)and composed by Chitragupta.

  

‘Twas poignancy at its (Ra)finest

Chitra is Hindi for picture (used here as a synonym of film), gupt is Hindi for mystery and a, of course, is the first letter of the English alphabet.

Hindi film music buffs haven’t been able to put (R)afinger on the reason why Chitragupta (a mononymous man, whose last name was Shrivastava) seldom composed the music of what are called A-grade films.

But some of the tracks he composed were wonderful. They included Chal Ud Ja Re Panchhi, the sad song from Bhabhi (1957).

It was penned by Rajinder Krishan and rendered by Mohammed Rafi.

Composer Dattaram made (R)afine debut

Ab Dilli Door Nahin (1957) marked the debut of Dattaram Wadkar, a low-profile musician who managed Shankar Jaikishan’s rhythm section, as a composer.

But it’s (Ch)unlikely that the Goan would be remembered for anything but being a welcome ADD(itio)N to the team that created some of the best Hindi film scores of the 1950s and 1960s (because even after, and despite, becoming a composer in his own right, he continued to assist them).

The aforementioned film’s soundtrack included Chun Chun Karti Aayi Chidiya, a kids’ song rendered by Mohammed Rafi.

Shailendra penned the popular track.   

Kumar became a rocK(ishor)er forever

The Hindi film music industry has sEena number of trends, and some of them, like the advent of rock and roll, (Aas)have managed to stay (Kisho)relevant over the De(e)kades. That’s no Meenachievement.

Eena Meena Deeka, whose male version was (Kisho)rendered by Mr Kumar, was a catCh(italkar)y number penned by Rajinder Krishan and composed by Ramchandra.

It was from Aasha (1957). And, incidentally, Asha (Bhos)lent her voice to its female version.

And A(a)s(h)a Konkani speaker, I’m proud that the track contained the phrase Maka Naka (which means, “I don’t want”). But that’s ironic, because we do.    

Lata’s S(hir)inging (Farh)added the heft

Hindi film writers and directors have always (Far)had a soft spot for Shirin Farhad, the pair of star-crossed loversS(hir)in Persian folklore.

Guzra Hua Zamaana, rendered by Mangeshkar, was indeed the most popular song on the soundtrack of the 1956 adaptation of the (La)tale.

WheN(a)qvizzed about the man who penned the track, only a true lover of Hindi film music would say his name (Tanvir).

And it was composed by S Mohinder, whose Sarname was Sarna.

When Naqvi (Laho)relocated to Pakistan and Mohinder emigrated to the United States, all one could say was, “Hafiz khuda tumhara”.     

This track was actually biogRafical

Aaye Bahaar Banke Lubha Kar Chale Gaye, from Raj Hath (1956), can be translated to, “She came like the spring, tempted me and went her way.”

It was rendered by Mohammed Rafi.

If the translation of the track were paraphrased, it would be an apt description of what he himself did.

After all, he entered the Hindi film music scene like a breath of fresh air, had millions of people (who could be called Raficionados) hooked and departed (too soon).

Hasrat Jaipuri penned the Shankar Jaikishan composition, which was five minutes and two seconds long.

Kishore, the singing star, capitalised

New Delhi hasn’t only been India’s capital for the last 105 years, but was also the title of a Kishore Kumar-starrer which released in 1956.

One of its songs, Nakhrewaali, was sung by Kumar himself. Interestingly, the media has often labelled him as a nakhrewaala.

Yodelling is a form of singing that became his trademark. Although this wasn’t the first song in which he yodelled (and, to the delight of his fans, not the last either), it continues to be among the most popular.

The track was penned by Shailendra and composed by Shankar Jaikishan. 

Mukesh’s song became relatively popular

August 27, 2017 marks Mukesh’s 41^st death anniversary. Although he was most aD(et)roit at singing pathos-laden songs, he excelled as a pop philosopher too, as was evidenced by Zindagi Khwab Hai, the Jagte Raho track picturised on a drunk Motilal (incidentally, his relative).

Shailendra, who penned it, wove phrases from a Kabir couplet [which inspired the titles of two films starring the second of the Ganguly brothers (Anoop Kumar)], into the opening verse of the Salil Choudhury composition.

They were Chalti Ko Gaadi Kahen (the source for Chalti Ka Naam Gaadi) and Dekh Kabira Roya.

Mangeshkar sounded a melodious aL(at)arm

It’s not uncommon, particularly for those who live in metropolitan cities, to wake up to media reports of untoward incidents, or even know people who’ve been victims of such acts.

Realising the importance of staying alert (as opposed to merely staying awake), Raj Kapoor produced (and starred in) a B(enga)lingual film in 1956. It was titled Jagte Raho.

Now, one of its songs, Jaago Mohan Pyare, is more relevant than ever.

It was penned by Shailendra and composed by Salil Choudhury.

And one thing is absolutely true – Mangeshkar’s rendition wasn’t just aLa(ta)rming, but also charming. 

Kishore showed his (Gan)g(u)l(y)um side

Wasn’t it ironic that a 1956 film was titled Funtoosh, and the mood its most popular track captured was anything but the word the first three letters of that word spelled?

Not really, because the singer was none other than the versatile Kishore Kumar, who (Gan)g(u)l(adl)y rendered a bouquet of sad songs.

And the song in question was Dukhi Mann Mere.

It was penned by Sahir. Since it continues to be popular, it won’t be a surprise if people paraphrase the McDonald’s tagline and exclaim, “We’re Lu(dhian)vin’ it!”

S D Burman was the music director.      

Lata CRooned this Te(e)rrific track

Teer is Urdu for arrow and Hindi for banks – not the ones that the producers of some hit films laugh all the way to, but those of rivers.

Of course, it was the latter that Rajinder Krishan was referring to when he penned Kaise Aaoon Jamuna Ke Teer (“How can I come to the banks of the Yamuna?”)

But there’s no doubt about the fact that it pierced, as an arrow does, through the hearts of numerous Hindi film music aficionados.

C Ramchandra composed the track from Devta (1956), which was sung by Lata Mangeshkar.

Dey created an awesome atmosphere

There’s no De(n)ying the fact that Shailendra had Mastered the art of creating an atmosphere. That became evident when he penned Yeh Raat Bheegi Bheegi.

And it’s certainly not debatable weather those timeless lines – which can be translated to, “This drenched night, this joyous atmosphere, and the moon rose slowly” – were a hit with the masses.

The romantic duet was from Chori Chori, which was among Shankar Jaikishan’s best scores, and a popular soundtrack as far as films starring the celebrated pair of Raj Kapoor and Nargis were concerned.

Manna rendered it with Lata Mangeshkar.

Connoisseurs loved this Lata rendition

Those who grew up on a diet of 1980s masala flicks would only associate Balma with Shakti Kapoor.

But over three decades earlier, Jaipuri prefixed the word, which means beloved, with the (Has)rather sophisticated Rasik, which means connoisseur.

And one cannot deny the fact that Raj Kapoor (a namesake, but not a relative, of the aforementioned actor) had a taste for the finer things in life – his muse was Nargis, and the music of Chori Chori (which included the Lata Mangeshkar solo) is worth listening to on a loop.

It was composed by Shankar Jaikishan.    

No one billoried Ms Mangeshkar

OK, so I’ve taken the liberty to play on the word pilloried (the past tense of pillory, which means to criticise publicly).

But that was because it appeared (as a quasi-verse) a couple of times in Panchhi Banoon Udti Phiroon, the Lata Mangeshkar solo from Chori Chori.

Although the singer could never become a free bird, she did soar in the Hindi film music firmament.

Hence, there was (Hasr)atouch of irony in the song, which was penned by Jaipuri and composed by Shankar Jaikishan. And obviously, it didn’t go unnoticed by Hindi film music buffs.

Manna De(finitel)y puppetuated his (La)talent

Jahan Main Jaati Hoon, the song from Chori Chori, was one of the gems by a quintet whose outpu(ppe)t can only be described in one word: phenomenal.

A string of words were pu(ppe)t together by Shailendra. All of those were simple enough for the lay Hindi film music buff, or one who merely possessed a basic knowledge of the language, to understand.

The tune was composed by his (pup)pet collaborators, Shankar and Jaikishan.

And, of course, it could not have been rendered by a more (pup)pe(rfec)t pair of singers than Manna Dey and Lata Mangeshkar. 

ClaR(af)ity was the singer’s non-negotiable

Eons ago, comic tracks were, at times, parallel to those of the leads in Hindi films. And, unlike today, specialists pulled them off.

Johnny Walker was one. And what he provided was called comic relief (a misnomer, because it was actually the cinegoers who sought relief from the daily grind, and went with the belief that the comedian wouldn’t disappoint them).

Mr Walker certainly didn’t, as was evidenced by All Line Clear, the Chori Chori Mo(o)(hamme)d-lifter which was picturised on him. It was penned by Hasrat Jaipuri, composed by Shankar Jaikishan and rendered by Rafi. 

Dey sang this Madhur song

Chori Chori (1956) was a Raj Kapoor-starrer with a difference: its soundtrack, which earned Shankar Jaikishan their first Filmfare Best Music Director Award in 1957, didn’t feature the vocals of Mukesh, who was known as the voice of the Hindi film industry’s original showman.

Aaja Sanam was rendered by Manna Dey, who wasn’t any actor’s constant voice [which, in hindsight, was a blessing (because it bore testimony to his versatility)].

And Lata Mangeshkar was his co-singer.

The song, penned by Hasrat Jaipuri, was inspired by Tarantella Napoletana (a folk tune that originated in Naples, Italy).

   

Everyone’s wish was Rafi’s C(h)(omm)and

One can’t deny the fact that composers from Goa, India’s Sunshine State, have always been talented.

But sometimes, they have to resign themselves to the fact that they may remain underrated.

As unfair as it were, that was how Datta Naik, alias N Datta, was C(handrak)a(n)tagorised.

However, to Hindi film music buffs of a certain vintage, he is not uN(ai)known.

One of his most memorable songs was Maine Chand Aur Sitaron Ki Tamanna Ki Thi, from Chandrakanta (1956).

The track, which continues to be one of Mohammed Rafi’s (Ra)finest renditions, was penned by Sahir Ludhianvi.