Concluding the series of tributes to Usha Khanna with her best songs for Lata Mangeshkar and other female singers

Usha Khanna’s debut score in Dil Deke Dekho (1959) sounded so much OP Nayyar-ish that you may get the impression that she too would exclude Lata Mangeshkar completely and her female singer would be predominantly Asha Bhosle as she was in Dil Deke Dekho. But from her very second film Hum Hindustani (1960), just as she showed great felicity with Mukesh, she also composed a superlative Lata Mangeshkar song in the film, Chori chori tori ayi hai Radha, kadam tale haule haule. Usha Khanna showed remarkable competence for composing for most of the prominent female playback singers, such as Lata Mangeshkar, Asha Bhosle, Suman Kalyanpur and others. My first post was on her best songs for Rafi, and second on Mukesh and other male playback singers. In these two posts I have also included their male-female duets. The third and last post in the series of tributes to Usha Khanna is on her best songs for Lata Mangeshkar and other female singers. Since their duets with male singers are already covered this would be limited to their solos, and female-female duets.  

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Continuing the tribute for Usha Khanna, her best songs for Mukesh and other male singers

The last post was on Usha Khanna’s best songs for Rafi on her 83rd birth anniversary (b. 7 October 1941). This was also a tribute to Rafi as a part of his centenary celebrations. How does she do with other playback singers? This is where she presents a big surprise. After her debut with Dil Deke Dekho (1959), her main male playback singer in Hum Hindustani (1960) was Mukesh! She gave many memorable songs for Mukesh subsequently, such as Teri nigahon pe mar mar gaye hum, Gori tere chalne se mera dil kurban, Chaand ko kya maloom chahta hai use koi chakor, Aaj tumse door hokar. Each a quintessential Mukesh-gem. It seems quite a misnomer to include Mukesh among ‘other’ singers. It is as if Usha Khanna was born to compose great songs for Mukesh. Similarly I remember an all-time great song by Manna Dey and one by Mahendra Kapoor composed by Usha Khanna. Her spread of singers for their memorable songs is not very wide, but enough to include her among important music directors of the Golden Era. In this post I present a sample of her versatile talent; I would also include duets of these male singers.  

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Continuing the Centenary Celebrations of Rafi with his songs by Usha Khanna (b. 7 October 1941) wishing her Happy 83rd Birth Anniversary

Music direction in our films had been generally a male monopoly. Usha Khanna was the only one in the Golden Era to break the glass ceiling. Long before her, in the Vintage Era that honours belonged to Saraswati Devi of Bombay Talkies who created everlasting songs sung by non-singers like Ashok Kumar, Devika Rani and Leela Chitnis. Though on record Saraswati Devi was preceded by two more female music directors, Jaddan Bai (Talaash-e-Haque, 1935) and Ishrat Sultana aka Bibbo (Adal-e-Jahangir, 1934), it is Saraswati Devi and her songs that are remembered till today. That is about all regarding female music directors. That makes Usha Khanna’s rise to the top very remarkable, and significantly she created a storm with her very first score Dil Deke Dekho (1959).

 

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Kalyanji-Anandji were extremely melodious composers. But in a crowded field at the top comprising Naushad, SD Burman, Shankar-Jaikishan, OP Nayyar, Roshan, Madan Mohan, etc. they were not among the elite at the High Table. But 70s onwards the gods were kind to them. Kalyanji-Anandji showed amazing talent to adapt themselves to the new voices (read Kishore Kumar and Asha Bhosle) and new kind of music. They were undisputedly part of the Big Troika with RD Burman and Laxmikant-Pyarelal.

 

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Hindi Film Reviews (1931-1950)
By: Arunkumar Deshmukh
Edited by: Prof Surjit Singh
Published by: professor toofaani publishers, East Lansing, MI, USA

I have reviewed Arunkumar Deshmukh’s first two books on this forum – Forgotten Artists of Early Hindi Cinema Book 1 and Book 2. I know enough about Arunji through our couple of meetings and his writings on Atul Song A Day and other blogs that he has many books in him. Sometime back he asked me for my postal address and, after a week, when he asked whether I had received a packet, I had to say, No. Then he sent me the courier’s tracking id, and I came to know it was this book. The courier’s local office was in shambles, and after a good deal of follow up from his side and my side, the book finally arrived, after considerable delay.

Something about the author which would place the context of the book. There was a time from the 1950s to 1980s when only single screen theatres were in existence. Some theatres exclusively showed only old films; most reserved one show a week, usually Sunday mornings for old films. There was an audience for old films who would not mind travelling long distances for their favourite old films. There were also some theatres which showed only classic English films. With the disappearance of single screen theatres and arrival of multiplexes, that ecosystem has disappeared. This is ironical because total number of screens must have gone up, but choices have reduced. Arunji grew up in a large joint family in Hyderabad. He was always fond of films, films of all kinds – mythologicals, fantasy, stunt, adventure, action, social dramas. As the male child in the family he used to chaperone the family’s ladies to cinema halls. He was always an organised person. He used to take down notes of the story, credit titles and other details. These voluminous note books became the source of his writings.

Hindi Film Reviews (1931-1950) contains about a hundred reviews, arranged alphabetically, with their years of production in brackets. This makes the search quite convenient. You get to know details of yesteryear stars, the film scenario of those days, a lot of interesting trivia. In many reviews or synopsis the broad context of how he got to watch that film is given.

My curiosity was piqued when I saw the mention of the first talkies, Alam Ara (1931), because no print of the film is known to have survived. Did he see it when its prints were around? And how did they get destroyed? Throwing some light on that would have been quite useful. However, we do get a synopsis of the story and some interesting trivia. The credit of the first Hindi film song goes to De de khuda ke naam pyare taakat hai gar dene ki, sung by and picturised on Wazir Mohammad Khan. The Imperial Movietone’s boss Ardeshir Irani hired the handsome Vithal (known as Douglas Fairbanks of India), who was on contract with Sharda Movies who dragged Vithal to court. Vithal was defended by Jinnah.

Like many superstars of the silent era, Vithal’s limitations in dialogue delivery was soon exposed. Irani was planning to replace him with Mehboob Khan. Now Vithal dragged Imperial to court with Jinnah as his counsel. Imperial had to continue with him.

At some other forum I remember Arunji had mentioned another trivia about the court battle between Imperial and Sharda on Vithal. The judge held an open auction between the two producers. Imperial outbid Sharda, and thus they retained Vithal. On very old trivia, which cannot be verified, the readers should go by my friend Subodh Agrawal’s dictum, why let facts spoil a nice story. Choose any which strikes your fancy.

A landmark picture of the 1930s was Shantaram-directed Aadmi (1939), which was the story of love affair between a police constable Moti (played by Shahu Modak), and a courtesan Kesar (played by Shanta Hublikar). Kesar herself dissuades Moti from marriage, realising the vast chasm in their social backgrounds. She also encourages him not to feel dejected and get on with life. Some commentator’s viewed this film as a counterpoise to Devdas (1935), in which the dejected hero self-destructs in alcohol. Arunji says that Shantaram did not intend his film as making any counter-statement to Devdas. I remember one interesting scene from the film, referencing to song-picturisation those days. Shahu Modak and Shanta Hublikar on the run are caught up in a group of crew engaged in a song picturisation. This bit of meta-cinema shows hilariously the perils of live song picturisation when the camera, props and recording equipments had to be hidden from the view in bushes and tree branches.

Bhabhi (1938) of the Bombay Talkies, directed by their regular German director, Franz Austen, was a significant film of the 1930s – for its heroine Begum Khurshid Mirza. Khurshid came from a traditional Muslim family. However, her progressive father was very clear that his daughters, and Muslim girls in general, should get a modern education. He set up a Women’s College in Aligarh. Khurshid grew into an educated, beautiful girl with mind of her own. After a love affair, she married a police officer and became Begum Mirza, She already had a child when she decided to take up the offer of Devika Rani to act in films. Supported by her family she moved to Bombay. Devika Rani introduced her in Jeevan Prabhat (1937) under the name Renuka Devi. Renuka Devi was an accomplished singer. Her Jhuki aayi re badariya sawan ki (Bhabhi, 1938, Saraswati Devi) is a beautiful song remembered till today. After the Partition, she migrated to Pakistan where she had a successful career with Pakistan TV, and finally she was a highly respected social worker. Quite a remarkable woman who lived life on her own terms.

While talking about Comrades (1939) of Sagar Movietone, Arunji mentions a number of interesting trivia. Its director Nandlal Jaswantlal started his career with Ranjit Movietone. After Sagar and National he joined Filmistan where he directed his most famous films, Anarkali (1953), and Nagin (1954). He came back full circle and directed Ranjit’s last film Akeli Mat Jaiyo (1963) which was also Nandlal Jaswantlal’s last film. Talking further about such coincidences, though unconnected, Arunji mentions Kanhaiyalal did the same role of Sukhilala in Aurat (1940) and its remake Mother India (1957). Jayant played the same role in Mala (1941) and its remake Amar (1954). But WM Khan takes the cake in this regard. He essayed the same role of a fakir in Alam Ara (1931), Alam Ara (1956) and Alam Ara (1973) and sang the same song in the first two versions of the film. In fact we are familiar with the tune of De de khuda ke naam pyare from the 1956 version. This song is available on the YouTube.

Deccan Queen (1936) was the launchpad of Surendra as the Bombay Saigal. He was a handsome man with a very good voice. He sang Birha ki aag lagi mere man mein composed by Pransukh Naik, on the tune of Balam aaye baso mere man mein (Devdas, 1935). I don’t think Surendra was able to displace Saigal from his pedestal, but they must have thought his makeover as Bombay-Saigal was complete.

Interestingly, Devdas (1935) is not in the list of films covered by Arunji, as also missing is Street Singer (1938), though some other important films of New Theatres are covered.

Most films covered in the book are connected in some way with an important slice of history of our film making. Brahmchari (1938) was the first film in which the heroine – Meenakshi Shirodkar (mother of Nanda – since corrected. See the author’s comment at #3) – was shown in a swimsuit in a pool. This was considered obscene those days.

Dhoop Chhaon a.k.a Bhagyachakra (1935) was the first film to have introduced playback singing, thought it took some years before it became the norm. KL Saigal was not in the film. But two songs – Jeevan ka sukh aaj prabho mohe, jeevan ka sukh aaj; and Andhe ki lathi tu hi hai tu hi jeevan ujiyara hai – which were sung by KC Dey in the film were recorded in Saigal’s voice and these songs became one of Saigal’s most remembered songs.

Shantaram-directed Duniya Na Maane (1937) was the first film to deal with the issue of young girls forcibly married to old men. This was also the first film in which Shanta Apte sung an English song, In the world’s broadfield of battle (A poem written by Longfellow, ‘A Psalm of Life’). Gramophone Singer (1938) had many firsts to its credit. Zohrabai Ambalewali debuted as a singer in this film with Piya ghar naahin akeli mohe dar laage composed by Anil Biswas. Kanhaiyal started his acting career with this film. In his early days he also wrote lyrics for some films. He was the younger brother of Sankata Prasad who was a regular with Sagar Films since the silent era. This was also the first film of its director duo Virendra Chimanlal Desai and Ramchandra Thakur.

Arunji asserts though Karwan-e-Hayats (1935) music is credited to Mihir Kiran Bhattacharya, it was actually given by RC Boral. Mihir Kiran was his assistant and his name is not associated with any other film. For me this film is significant for Saigal’s two songs – Hairat-e-nazara aakhir ban gayi ranaaiyan, and Dil se teri nigah jigar mein utar gayi. Arunji has not given the source for his assertion. Therefore, I would not like to deprive Mihir Kiran Bhattacharya of the credit for creating two immortal songs of Saigal. Karma (1933) is known for a long kissing scene between Himanshu Rai and Devika Rani.

Similar details are given for selected films of the 1940s.

Now you get the hang of the book. You are exposed to the films of the era, their star cast, story line, and plenty of trivia. You might have some issues on the omission of some films and inclusion of some less worthy films, but that is the author’s prerogative and we are grateful for what he has done.  I always look for books about that era, because so much is unknown to us. But I look for some critical essays giving an overview of the period, evolution of various trends, comparisons in the style of acting, dialogue delivery, and our poor record in preservation of our legacy etc. A couple of such overview essays would have enhanced the book significantly.

 

 

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And the SOY Award for the best duet of 1941 goes to?

I have mentioned the special charm of duets for the variety they add to the film music. In the Vintage Era it is more pronounced as we come across many gems by singers whose names we have not heard.

The long term average of number of songs gives a pattern – the number of duets is more than male solos but far short of female solos. As we run down the list of MEMORABLE SONGS in the overview post, we can see 21 duets. Sharp observers can see the total of the three categories does not add up. This deviation by 1 or 2 is because of errors in classification – some songs classified as solos should be classified as duets as we discover another distinct voice. Needless to say our analysis is not complete if we don’t include the duets – many of them are absolutely superlative though some singers are completely unknown.  

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Guest article by Ashok Vaishnav continuing the centenary celebrations of Mohammad Rafi (24.12.1924-31.7.1980)

(Among many romantic solos of Rafi there are several gems hidden under the layer of superhit songs. Some of the hidden gems are more melodious than superhit songs. Our SOY regular and guest author today, Ashok Vaishnav, throws the spotlight on some such gems. Ashokji is a is a prolific writer for SOY on a variety of themes. He is a known Rafi-fan, and it was unthinkable that he would not join in his centenary celebrations

As a retired engineer and now a management trainer Ashokji brings analytical rigour to his articles. He is based out of Ahmedabad. Thank you Ashokji for this interesting write-up. – AK)

The spectrum of Mohammad Rafi’s songs through his entire career contains  innumerable hues and shades, even within a given genre. Moreover, every historian or an analyst or a fan of him who have been writing, or airing the views, about his songs have had their own context or view. As such, every piece has always come out as a totally different view under the kaleidoscope. It would, perhaps, be a very safe bet to say that anything written or said about Mohammad Rafi’s songs will start repeating if, and only when, human imaginations and interests (or even those of AI in the future 😊) will reach their limits. The occasion of celebration of Mohammad Rafi’s birth centenary year has made the viewing of the spectrum of Mohammad Rafi’s songs more intense and more microscopic, and hence, much more interesting.  

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And the SOY Award for the Best Female Singer goes to?

As the readers are aware from the year-wise reviews, the female solos on the average far outnumber the male solos. In the Overview Post of the best songs of 1941, I had included 71 songs. In the Wrap Up 1  about the best male solos in the year I mentioned there were 17 male solos distributed among 7 singers in the list of MEMORABLE SONGS in the overview post. If you run down the same list you would find 35 female solos divided among 19 singers as follows:  

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Guest article by DP Rangan as a joint tribute to Rafi on his 44th Remembrance Day and Johnny Walker on his 21st Remembrance Day.

(The title of this post says it all. When you think of Johnny Walker you think of Rafi. JW established a presence for himself and soon the producers and music directors realised that giving a song or two to him increased the commercial prospects of a film. For a comedian to achieve that status was remarkable. Thus, many songs picturised on him achieved iconic status, and are often remembered till today towering over other songs in the film. The credit was also due to Rafi who could modulate his voice to sound like JW.

The indefatigable guest author DP Rangan describes this relationship in detail as only he could. The statistics relate to only those songs that Rafi sang for Johnny Walker. JW lip-synched several songs on the screen, sung by other singers. Further, JW acted in many films in which he had no songs or no songs by Rafi. That is why you would see difference in the number of films in two tables – one only for movies, and the other movies and songs.

The symbiotic relationship between JW and Rafi extended to another unique aspect. Their death anniversaries are separated by two days. Today is Rafi’s 44th Remembrance Day. We had JW’s 21st Remembrance Day two days ago. This is a befitting tribute to two great artists in symbiosis. Thank you Mr Rangan for another superb article. – AK)

The first post in the blog SOY for 2024 was posted on 1st January by AKji, on the late Mohammad Rafi (hereinafter referred to as Rafi for brevity), a superlative playback singer who straddled the film world as a giant for over 35 years from 1944 till his early demise in July 1980. A series of articles will probably appear during this centenary year of his birth. This is my humble endeavour to contribute at least one article on the symbiotic relations he had with the noted comedian Johnny Walker (JW). I am stretching the meaning of “symbiosis” a little by taking refuge under the assumption that one is a playback singer and the other is an actor, though both are homo sapiens. AKji has written everything of note about Rafi and I have nothing further to contribute.

 

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If you were to ask me which singer I associate most with Kalyanji-Anandji, my answer would be instantly Mukesh. It was natural I wrote a post on Mukesh-KA in the initial years of the blog with the title, Made for each other. When I started looking for their Rafi songs as a part of his centenary celebrations I was surprised to find that he composed about twice the number of songs for Rafi as he did for Mukesh, and some of them are absolutely gorgeous. That led to a post on Rafi-KA combination on the occasion of Kalyanji’s 96th birth anniversary (30 June 2024).  

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