In my last post on Mukesh and his ‘dil’ songs, there was a song, Ae jaan-e-jigar dil mein samane aa ja. Urdu poetry gives the same status to jigar as to dil as a metaphor for something very vital and very dear. There are also other examples of ‘dil’ and ‘jigar’ being used together and interchangeably, such as Tumse achha kaun hai, dil-o-jigar lo jaan lo or a later one Dard-e-dil dard-e-jigar dil mein jagaya aapne. If long back Rafi sang Ek dil ke tukde hazar hue koi yahan gira koi wahan gira, a maverick politician, Mahamaya Prasad Singh came as tsunami in the mid-60’s in Bihar, riding the wave of student unrest and describing them as his Jigar ke tukde. His opening words in his public meetings, Mere jigar ke tukde, generated a hysteria Indian electoral politics had not seen before. That his short-lived rein unleashed student lawlessness and collapse of Bihar’s education system is another story. (An idea for Mr. Ashok Vaishnav’s blog – ‘Role of emotive slogans in politics: Quit India, Jigar Ke Tukde, Gharibi Hatao, Bhrashtachar Mitao, Down with Zionists’?)
A tribute on his death anniversary August 27
Everyone is born with a heart, but that does not make everyone a romantic. There was something special about Mukesh and ‘dil’, not only his romantic heart but his romancing the heart.
Mukesh started his journey with ‘dil’. As a young lad, while singing at his sister’s wedding in Delhi, he was noticed by his relative Motilal, who had become a well known personality in the film world by then. Motilal brought him to Bombay where he got a break in Nirdosh (1941), with Dil hi bujha hua ho to fasle bahar kya. The next song which caused a sensation and made Mukesh, the Mukesh was Dil jalta hai to jalne de. Further, you let your mind wander the Mukesh landscape and what do you get? Kabhi dil dil se takrata to hoga, Toote na dil toote na, Hum aaj kahin dil kho baithe, Teri duniya mein dil lagta nahi, Mere toote hue dil se koi to aaj ye poochhe… You go on and on and you get dil songs of incredible beauty. No one did it better that Mukesh, and it is no wonder he won the hearts of millions with his sweet and melodious voice.
Guest article by Subodh Agrawal
(Rains bring in romance in the air with their musical sound of raindrops, greenery and chirping of a variety of species which were, as if, only waiting for the monsoon. Pankaj Mullick sang in his famous ‘Ye raatein ye mausam’ thus – Ki do garm saanson ka ek saath ana/ Ye badli ka chalnaa ye boondon ki runjhun/ Ye masti ke aalam mein khoye se hum tum/ Tumhara, tumhara mere saath ye gungunana/ Mujhe, mujhe bhool jana/ Inhe na bhulana, bhulana, bhulana. But if manbhavan is away in saawan, the rains give pain as Kishori Amonkar sings ‘Barkha bairi bhayo’. Subodh explores in this post a group of four ragas – Chhayanat, Gaud Sarang, Gaud Malhar and Kamod – which characterise romance, in his by now familiar elegant style – AK)
Moonsoon has arrived after a long wait and brought with it – the season of romance immortalised in countless works of literature as well as folk, film and classical music. After toying with the idea of doing a post on Malhar and its variants I have opted to go for a group of four ragas: Chhayanat, Gaud Sarang, Gaud Malhar and Kamod, that are ideal for creating a romantic mood. There is a lot that is common between these ragas and it is easy to confuse between them – particularly for film songs as they usually don’t stay within the narrow confines of a particular raga. They also overlap with some other ragas like Hameer, Kedar, Bilawal and Bihag. My suggestion is to enjoy what is common between them without worrying too much about the finer distinctions.
Double tribute to two geniuses
Who composed the best songs for Mohammad Rafi cannot be conclusively answered. But there is no doubt that Roshan would figure in the top four or five for this honour. That is significant considering that Roshan did not have the advantage of a big banner nor big stars like Dev Anand, Dilip Kumar, Shammi Kapoor or Rajendra Kumar. Moreover, interestingly, Rafi seems to be a very late entrant in Roshan’s work. After creating waves with Mukesh in 1950 (Bawre Nain) and Talat Mahmood in 1952 (Anhonee), he had long association with them, and regardless of how his films fared, he gave songs for them which are undisputed landmarks. In contrast, with Rafi he had some insignificant songs from time to time, till he hit big time with him in 1960 with Babar and Barsat Ki Raat. A decade’s lag means his songs for Rafi would be far outnumbered by Naushad, Shankar Jaikishan, OP Naiyar, SD Burman, Ravi and Chitragupta. Later entrants Laxmikant Pyarelal, of course outnumbered every one, and naturally Roshan too by a huge margin. Yet the fact that some of the most memorable Rafi songs are composed by Roshan is a testimony to the latter’s enormous talent.
When I was writing my last post on the Songs of River, I remembered Harvey had done some time back majhi (boatman) songs. Naav or naiya is the link between the two. As a matter of fact there cannot be a majhi without a naav, whereas a naav can by itself be propelled by the flow of water or breeze. When Kunti placed the baby Karna, born before wedlock, in a basket and set him afloat in a river, it was carried to Adhirath and Radha, who brought him up as their son, condemning him for lifetime to be known as a Sootputra. A baby does not need a boat; basket is good enough, which is actually a baby naav.
In an interesting coincidence when this site carried Subodh’s article on music from the mountains, Harvey was doing songs of clouds. Mountains and clouds share a very intimate relationship. Their union gives rise to rivers. With this pedigree, it is no wonder some of the most beautiful songs are based on river, though no Raga is named after her, unlike her parents who have Raga Pahadi and Megh after them (or is there a Raga Nadi, Subodh?).
Guest article by Subodh Agrawal
(When I wrote my last post acknowledging the second anniversary of Songs of Yore, I mentioned Subodh Agrawal’s guest series on classical ragas and hoped he wrote more often. Soon after in a very sweet gesture, he sent me his article on Raga Pahadi as his gift to mark the anniversary of SoY. In literary discourse, ‘Lok’ and ‘Shastra’ are supposed to be opposite of each other which do not meet. Pahadi is one of the Ragas which straddle both folk and classical, which makes it universal, extremely pleasant and, not surprisingly, a big favourite of composers of Hindi film songs. I am grateful to Subodh for letting SoY begin its third year with his guest article on Pahadi. – AK )
There are several ragas that draw upon the rich cultural heritage of folk music. There is Mand based on the folk music of Rajasthan; Pilu from the Hindi heartland and Pahadi from the mountains of Jammu and Kashmir, Himachal and Uttarakhand. Many other ragas like Desh, Tilak Kamod, Vrindavani Sarang, Jhinjhoti, Gara, Kafi and Khamaj also straddle the boundary between classical and folk, but the three mentioned above excel in giving a classical expression to the pristine beauty of folk music.
Today Songs of Yore completes two years. While the first year was somewhat tentative and kind of groping its way around, it has become surer of its steps in the second year. I have generally maintained a frequency of a post every two weeks. SoY has also become more interactive. The readers’ comments, views and observations have added a great deal to the blog. They have introduced us to several unknown or little known marvelous songs. Some novel ideas for themes have come from readers’ comments. One example is a string of posts on year wise survey of the best songs of pre-Filmfare Awards. The first post in the series for the year 1955 attracted a lively discussion. This itself gave another idea to write wrap up posts on different categories. I have done the first wrap up on the best male playback singer; three more are still to come.
Since I started this series, readers have been suggesting names of various composers. Some have been covered; others would follow in due course. But no one has mentioned the name of Pardesi so far. I am not surprised; no one fits the theme Forgotten Composers Unforgettable Melodies better than Pardesi. Pardesi who? I do not know, nor do I know anyone who knows anything about him. Yet there is one song composed by him which is so unforgettable that Pardesi merits a post in this series. That song is an incredibly sweet Mukesh-Lata Mangeshkar duet Chanda re mori patiya le ja from the film Banjarin (1960).
Songs of Yore Award for the best male playback singer goes to?
My survey article on the Best songs of 1955 attracted a good deal of response. Some readers gave not only their shortlist of favourite five in different categories but also a detailed analytical, musical and emotional reasoning for their choice. As this exercise was becoming mammoth, a suggestion came that I should do category wise summary posts. Meanwhile Ashok Vaishnavji has posted two excellent summaries on his own blog (Part 1 and Part 2) based on his comments posted on this blog. It has been wonderful reading all the comments. Here is the first wrap-up on the best male playback singer of the year.
This was the year when Mohammad Rafi sang O door ke musafir; Mukesh Mera joota hai Japani; Talat Mahmood Tasweer banata hun tasweer nahi banti; Hemant Kumar Chup hai dharti chup hai chand sitare; Manna Dey Tu pyar ka sagar hai and Kishore Kumar Jeevan ke safar me rahi. Each iconic, extremely popular, memorable till even today and musically excellent. Rarely would you have a similar year when all the six great singers of the Golden Era gave everlasting songs. How does one reduce this to one or two? It would be obviously subjective, but let me start by listing the best ten songs of the year about which there should not be much dispute. It is not intended to be in order of merit, but simply grouped by singers.
In my last post on Mukesh and his ‘dil’ songs, there was a song, Ae jaan-e-jigar dil mein samane aa ja. Urdu poetry gives the same status to jigar as to dil as a metaphor for something very vital and very dear. There are also other examples of ‘dil’ and ‘jigar’ being used together and interchangeably, such as Tumse achha kaun hai, dil-o-jigar lo jaan lo or a later one Dard-e-dil dard-e-jigar dil mein jagaya aapne. If long back Rafi sang Ek dil ke tukde hazar hue koi yahan gira koi wahan gira, a maverick politician, Mahamaya Prasad Singh came as tsunami in the mid-60’s in Bihar, riding the wave of student unrest and describing them as his Jigar ke tukde. His opening words in his public meetings, Mere jigar ke tukde, generated a hysteria Indian electoral politics had not seen before. That his short-lived rein unleashed student lawlessness and collapse of Bihar’s education system is another story. (An idea for Mr. Ashok Vaishnav’s blog – ‘Role of emotive slogans in politics: Quit India, Jigar Ke Tukde, Gharibi Hatao, Bhrashtachar Mitao, Down with Zionists’?)
