Meena Kapoor - Memories of a Delhi Summer

Woke up today morning to read the sad news of the passing of singer Meena Kapoor.  Her voice has been ringing in my ears since and the mind goes into a slow flashback....

The year was 2006, I was in India for a short assignment and we burst upon the idea of organizing a centenary show for SD Burman, whose hundredth birthday fell that year.  Organizing a show of this kind was a once in a lifetime experience. As we went about our business of putting together the show and finding people who were associated with our grand old man of music, I met many celebrities and artists including my biggest love of all time - Dev Anand. But it is Meenadi who I remember with the deepest fondness and respect.

The first time we navigated our way through the narrow bylanes of Lajpat Nagar to her place, we did not know what to expect. She lived in this cosy house where she moved after Anil Biswas’s death.  As we rung the door bell and gazed at her nameplate - MK Biswas, I felt a little nervous. I really did not know how we were going to go through the meeting. I was counting on Sangeeta Didi with her characteristic journalist chutzpah to carry the evening through. 

We were ushered into a small living room by a servant girl and after a bit she swept into the room. For a minute we were a little taken aback. Her eyes were heavily made up and she looked a little odd. As we started chatting, the conversation was stilted. I don’t remember now what really happened but I do remember that we went for 30 minutes and sat for two hours. She was delighted to have musical company and we were floored by her warmth.

After that I met her many times. We interviewed her on her association with Burmanda and talked about everything under the sun. I would carry my laptop full of rare songs and play them for her. Show her internet websites on musical personalities. She would talk about her days in Bombay and let me in on her likes and dislikes and sometime pop out cute tidbits like - did you know only me and Mona Anand(Dev Anand’s wife) would wear light colored lipsticks in the industry. She was very classy too. Totally arbitrary, but she delighted me on this insider info.  

She would look forward to my coming and one day she told me conspiratorially - I told my philistine neighbours not to bother me because you were coming. They bore me to death with their daal-roti and neighborhood gossip conversations. She gave me a dazzling smile. I realized she missed the vibrant musical atmosphere that obviously existed when Anilda was alive. Getting into the same mode for the show was bringing her alive again.

Meenadi was very childlike. She was much younger than Anilda and she remained a little girl always. Very pure at heart. One of the afternoons I popped in, she mentioned she was writing an article on Geeta Dutt and had to get it typed at the store. I offered to type it up for her on my laptop and email to the magazine that wanted it. As we went through the article, she reminisced her association with Geeta. She quietly confided - the editors like the first draft of the article but they are pushing for more information(spicy gossip) on her life. “I heard things about her in the later years that could fill and book, but I cherish her as a childhood friend. I don’t feel like going there”, she said. She was obviously under pressure. “If you me ask Meenadi,”, I responded,  “I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that myself if I were in your place. I would be curious as a music fan, but I understand your loyalty as a friend”, She finally did make a decision, despite the pressure, not to provide even a hint of masala on Geeta Dutt’s sad life. I held her in higher respect for that restraint and class.

The little time I spent with her made me hold her very dear to me. I would feel protective when someone made fun of her makeup and dress sense. I saw the lovely human being behind it.

As mentioned, I met so many artists and celebrities during that time and I found most of them to be self centered. It was always about themselves. I lost all my hero worship. My motto after that was ‘Revere the art not the artist’. But Meenadi stood out like a pure unsullied soul. Genuine in her affection, modest and self-effacing.

At some point we both discovered we share a sun-sign, we are both Virgos. At a birthday party held for her at someone’s house and I was so touched to know she remembered me. She bought me a gift. I still cherish the saree she bought me and remember her everytime I wear it.

Meenadi was almost sad to hear I was going back to the US. The SD Burman show had really energized her life and she was looking forward to more shows and someone making a website on her too. I wanted to, but never could get down to it. The next year I went back I spoke to her on the phone but couldn’t meet her as she had guests from Calcutta. After that the next time I knew she had moved to Calcutta. I thought of her often but never really connected with her after that.  Hearing the news today I sadly realize never again will I see her and feel guilty for not making effort. 

Farewell Meenadi, thank you for all your love and affection. I will cherish those memories forever.

Navketan Series : Part 1 : Germination

 Art can be a curious thing. Within its many folds and many layers it conceals a strange paradox. While on one side it is said, for any creation to be truthful it has to transcend time and space and straddle the timeless horse on the other side nothing chronicles that same time, space and era as does the art of the time. Popular art for centuries has provided a window to the aspirations, motivations and concerns of a time. Cinema by that yardstick is the most powerful chronicler of them because live medium of expression. In this series we will trace the story of one of the most enduring cinema houses of Hindi cinema and with it the story of us.

Germination

This story begins over three quarters a century ago when two brothers from a small town in Punjab began to secretly nurture a dream. It was a dream that was almost taboo given the time, characters and social milieu it germinated in. The first one to pursue this dream was the shy younger brother. After completing his graduation from Lahore, the diffident young man announced to his astonished father that he did not wish to take the sedate bank-job that was arranged for him. Instead he wanted to become an actor. It was an audacious dream for a middle-class boy, whose lawyer father was struggling to get a good education for his nine off-springs. The father was naturally skeptical at what seemed an ill-suited career-option for his introvert son, but seeing the boy’s determination, knew it was useless stopping him. Destiny is inevitable. And thus one morning in 1943, a twenty year old Dharamdev Pishorimal Anand boarded the Frontier Mail at Lahore to head for the city of dreams.

In those days, Bombay was a haven for all those whose eyes sparkled with stardust. Its allure was magnetic and thousands flocked to it in the hope of making their destiny. The pace and sophistication of the city intoxicated this boy from a small town and it was love and first sight. But reaching the city of dreams was only the beginning. Bombay was the high-ledge from where a dreamer could reach out and grab the stars, but it also was the deep crevice where millions of hopes crashed into nothingness. The young Dharamdev realized soon enough that he had miles to go before he even spotted a high-ledge to climb on, the stars were miles away. And therein started a period of struggle, a period, in which, the young Dev found a confidante and friend in his elder brother.

The elder brother, Chetan, ten years senior in age belonged to what was the budding artistic intelligentsia of pre-partition India. Educated in England, he returned to marry the daughter of an eminent Bengali educationist and teach history at the prestigious Doon School in the Himalayan foothills. At a core level he too was inclined towards creativity like his younger brother but the middle-class upbringing and marital status made him hold on to the cushy security that his job offered. He would nevertheless find his release by writing plays and dabbling with IPTA in his spare time.

IPTA or Indian People’s Theatre Association was formed during the Quit India Movement in 1942 with the goal of building awareness through art. The organization had a strong leaning towards progressive and socialist ideologies and boasted of luminaries like KA Abbas, Homi Bhabha, Ali Sardar Jafri, Ismat Chugtai, Uday Shankar, Pt Ravi Shankar, Salil Chowdhury, Balraj Sahni and many more intellectuals. Under the aegis of IPTA these artists produced many memorable plays, dramas, ballets and films all underlining their leftist ideology. IPTA was a vibrant and thriving organization in the 40s and 50s and enticed many a progressive artist to its fold. IPTA also was a landmark organization because it was instrumental in helping performing arts break from the shackles of disrepute that was traditionally associated them and transform into a respected art form.

In the early days both the brothers dabbled with IPTA, the older one full time and the younger one part time. Even though the veterans there liked his affable presence they never did take him seriously as an actor. It is said that after he had miffed his lines multiple times Balraj Sahni is said to have slapped his forehead and said to Dev– ‘Yaar tu actor kabhi nahin ban sakta’ (I don’t think you can become an actor). But perseverance in the face of criticism was in his genes. Dev did persist.

The big break finally came with Prabhat’s ‘Hum Ek Hain’ in 1945. Around the same time big brother too chucked his teaching job to direct a highly acclaimed ‘Neecha Nagar’. ‘Neecha Nagar’, made with a team primarily culled from his IPTA associations, was a commercial disaster but went onto win accolades at the Cannes film festival.

After this film there followed a period of lull. The younger brother got bit roles and acting offers but nothing significant. The handsome, good-looking elder brother who wanted to direct got more offers as an actor than as a director. In spite of ‘Neecha Nagar’ no one was ready to hand him the directorial reins. Things were not going the way they had wanted them to go. Both the brothers realized that the only way for them to create the kind of cinema that was close to their hearts was do to it themselves.

And thus germinated the idea of Navketan…

In 1949 Chetan and Dev Anand got together and established a new film company. It was called ‘Nav’ because it was new and ‘Ketan’ stands for banner. It also was the name of Chetan Anand’s newborn son.

With Navketan a new branch of cinema came to life. The cinema that was meaningful, progressive, urbane and in retrospect, timeless.

Dev Saab: Lena hoga janam hamein kai kai baar

The vast majority of emotions that a human experiences are such that they cannot be articulated, they cannot be expressed they are only meant to be felt. Well, atleast by the mere mortals. But then God created artists. The messiahs who can not only articulate the unspoken but they also have magical powers to invoke them again and again by the sheer dint of their art. Different artists work for different people. Dev Anand was the artist who worked for me.

On the occasion of his anniversary, here is my little note to the man who made my heart turn cartwheels year after year. With his passing, I lost a part of my giddy girlhood.

Dear Dev Saab,

You and your films have mesmerized me ever since I discovered you one misty morning during the final year of high school. It was a matinee show of CID. The image is frozen in my mind - the stark hues of black and white, the wide boulevard of Worli Seaface, a hep looking heroine and a handsome man lazily ambling along to the strains of 'Leke pehla pehla pyar'.  The music, the situation and then you. It was difficult to remain unaffected. I was firmly in love. (Well, it really does not take much to fall in love when you are 16, does it?). It was the 'pehla pehla pyar' for the charming magician who had  suddenly descended from celluloid magicland and captured my otherwise capricious attention forever. After so many years even now I affirm, it truly was a magical afternoon.

That was it. It started it all - the journey to Dev Anand Land and with it the time travel to the cinema of the 1950s. Song by song , film by film I discovered you a little more and a little more. It was an exhilarating phase of discovery. Every fresh vintage song that I uncovered, I imagined was picturized on you. How disappointed I was to learn that 'Shyam dhale khidki tale' was picturized on Bhagwan. And how excited I was to know the old favourite 'dekhne mein bhole ho par ho bade chanchal' was you.

In the pre-internet era discovery was a laborious, painfully slow, but extremely rewarding journey. The generation that has everything on their fingertips will probably never know the pleasure of finding something after hunting for it for months or even years. You cherish it so much more. It would takes months before a certain song would play on the radio for me to record. If I did not have a blank cassette ready it was gone for another couple of months. Getting videos of your movies was even more difficult. One had to sit through Chitrahaars and a slew of Abhi Bhattacharya's songs before I got one of yours. My class 12 birthday present from mom was a video cassette with your songs found after scouting the dungeons of Palika Bazaar for months. I had unearthed a dusty black and white collection after doggedly refusing to let the salesman sell me a shiny new collection of your later songs. My mother and aunt doubled in laughter as I exasperatedly told the salesman 'Bhaiyya mujhe buddha wala Dev Anand nahin chahiye' (Sir, I  do not want the aged Dev Anand). He told me revealingly 'Lekin baby wo toh buddha hi hai' (but ma'am he *is* old).  No, I never did like your 70s films, they did not exist for me. It was the enigma of the black and white medium that made you irresistible.

The admiration I felt for you spawned so many other passions. As time went by, I was a little embarrassed to admit to the hero worship part and I tried to intellectualize my desire to watch your films. With it evolved an interest in film appreciation. Truly, I unearthed the beauty of the black and white cinema quite incidentally - while searching doggedly for your footprints! Hearing those wonderful melodies from your films set me off on another journey of discovering music that look me to the equally enchanting Burmanland. To look back, all the passions that have defined who I am today started because a 16 year old completely was besotted by this handsome movie star from her grandfather's generation.

As I grew older my mind started searching for patterns. It tried to rationalize the feelings and actions. What attracted me to you and not say Raj Kapoor?. Hero worship is a strange thing, most people experience it and it sort of forms a mechanism to escape the dreariness of existence. But what is the root behind hero worship. After all the connection is based on basically nothing. You haven't met the person, people just fall in love with an image. Most of the time, this love for the image coexists with other interests in the real life. It seems to sit of flimsy grounds yet it is such a widespread phenomenon that is has to have a strong foundation in the human psyche.

So what on the surface seemed to be a long standing infatuation, was it actually fueled by more deep-rooted reasons? It was only when I read your autobiography I figured out it actually was. There was a thread of common sensibility - a meeting point. It is incredible but true. Two people set five decades apart in age, era, time and space still had a common core. Through the magical medium of cinema that connection flowed - transcending space and time!  Like me you loved the mountains, like me you loved long walks, beautiful ruins and like me you loved Burmanda! The people who were your best friends and compatriots in the game of the cinema were the same artists that I cherished and admired  - Guru Dutt, Geeta Dutt, Raj Khosla, Sahir Ludhianvi, Balraj Sahni are all in my roll of honour. The commonality in the choices in matter of art is striking.

And then there is the core person. Something of that person invariably shines through their art. For you, it was always said, your screen persona extended from your real one. And one important thing that did shine through in your screen persona was that you were educated, erudite and above all decent. After you died, the most valuable thing your heroines recalled about you was that you were a very decent man, respected women and made them feel very safe.  Maybe you made the women in your audience feel the same way that sealed your iconic status.

So what did we say earlier? It does not take much to fall in love when you are 16? Very true. But what I did not say earlier is that is that it takes a lot of charisma and depth from the subject of interest to keep the flame alive as you pass further and further away from your wonder years. After all, the parameters change, people grow and the person needs a lot of depth to sustain that growth of the fan. To be honest I did outgrow you at some point and you became softer and softer in focus almost fading away from my horizon. But then you died and everything was sharp focus again. The incessant tears that flowed told me that I really never had outgrown you or maybe I was mourning the final passing of my girlhood? I don't know. My mind goes back to the beautiful lines by poet Neeraj from the classic 'phoolon ke rang se'  from Prem Pujari.

....yaad tu aaye
man ho jaaye
bheed ke beech akela

Dev Saab, for years, you and your films have transported me to a world that was beautiful, intimate and only mine. You kindled and rekindled a feeling that I could continue to cherish deep in my heart. I was naive to think I could write away such a magical portion of my life. You will persist.... forever!

This is your first anniversary after you left for the other abode. The world is poorer with the loss, but then you really haven't gone have you? All I need to do is switch on my computer, navigate to YouTube,  flick the mouse and there you are back again. Smiling the same devastating smile, walking the same loose walk and singing the same song...

The catch line of the song resonates deep and clear

badal bijli chandan paani jaisa apna pyaar
lena hoga janam hamein kai kai baar,
kai kai baar....

The King of Prussia : Serendipity is Not Mere Chance

One abiding sin that I must confess to is a hyperactive imagination. Dangle a wisp of a thought and my mind would soon have conjured up a story. Poke a little more, it will add sounds & smells, another nudge and lo behold, you have alternate reality! This habit has led to many a comic, annoying and sometimes even tragic let-downs. Reality, after all, seldom lives up to fantasy….

However, once in a while life has a way of throwing a delightful little twist in your direction that indulges this quirk and reaffirms the grand theory that serendipity is not mere chance. This is the story of one such moment of serendipity.

As a new immigrant to this country my first real installation was in a small town in Pennsylvania called Bluebell. My friend CC, had moved in a year earlier to a place close by called ‘King of Prussia’. When I first heard of it, still in India, I was truly enamored. For someone’s who’s sense of geography is, well, challenged, all I knew about Prussia was about its European connection and that there was a brilliant hue of the colour blue called ‘Prussian Blue’. With little fact to my disposal, my imagination was glad to take over. I pictured my dear friend living in a quaint town with an old castle at the center. Reality, as I mentioned earlier, seldom lives up to fantasy and this was an anti-climax of most comic proportions. We all know, what truly, is the center of King of Prussia. For those who don’t, King of Prussia boasts of the largest and swankiest mall this side of the country. Flashing neon lights, streams of cars and crowds of shoppers, that is what sets this otherwise typical, suburban town apart from its neighbours. As is obvious it has little in common with the quaint and romantic image I had conjured. My curiosity however was not doused. ‘King of Prussia” is an unusual name. Why ‘King of Prussia’ and why not ‘King of Transylvania’? Who was the King of Prussia and what was his connection to this place? In the pre-wiki era, there was little information available. All clues drew to a blank and soon I forgot about it and moved on.

A few months ago, as I researched for a holiday in South of England, I stumbled upon a little story that suddenly threw a whole new light onto King of Prussia and brought out a neat little secret…. Here is that fascinating tale.

To start at the very beginning, one has to tread through the mists of time. Let’s start traversing back - fifty years…hundred years…two hundred years…all the way to the 18th century.

The Western World in the 18^th Century

The late 18th century was a volatile period in history. It was a time of great upheaval and also of science and discovery. The British ruled the Americas and had started spreading the colonial tentacles across to Asia and India. Europe was emerging as a great colonizer and trading posts were setup almost all over the world. Enterprising men faced the dangers of the sea to travel to remote lands to gather exotic goods that were then sold back home in Europe for a high premium. The governments were fighting many wars in this time. There were the wars of independence being fought in the Americas and France. The French were going through the period that is often called the ‘reign of terror’, the terrible anarchy that followed the French revolution. The Britain establishment was sympathetic to the aristocrats and funded many of the anti-revolutionary activities in France. The British pocket was quite drained with these extra-curricular activities and it turned towards high taxation to fill it. In particular custom duties on the foreign goods were a major source of revenue, given the boom in foreign trade. They enforced these trade duties with the zeal of a missionary. What dear old Newton had said about the third law of motion can snugly retrofit here - for every zealous law-enforcer there is an even more zealous law breaker! So this was also the time in history that was ripe with smugglers, pirates, swashbuckling adventures on high sea and tales of buried treasures.

Cornwall, England

The South coast of England is treacherous. Craggy cliffs dot the coastline and the waves are merciless in their tirade against the dull grey rocks. This area of the country has been wild for centuries, cut off from the rest of the nation culturally and geographically. Small fishing communities dot the isolated coastline. Cornwall is still considered to be its own country in many ways. In the late 18th century to early 19th century this place was a breeding ground for outlaws. London was distant, roads were non-existent, law enforcers were sparse and the French coast was right across the sea. Smuggling flourished in this setup. The otherwise inaccessible and rocky coast is dotted with hidden coves where smuggled goods could land in the dark hours of the night unseen by the mainland police. Concealed caves and secret passages honeycombed the cliff sides, aiding the quiet transportation of the contraband to the mainland.

Secret passages connected these caves to the clifftops

Wrecking ships, was also common in this area in these times. The folks who did this for a living were called 'Wreckers'. Fantastic and grotesque as it sounds, it is true. With lighthouses few and far between, ships were at the mercy of these ruthless men. On dark stormy nights, when visibility was nil, they would flash lights from hidden spots on the coast and direct unsuspecting ships towards the treacherous rocks. The ships would crash against the rocks and shatter. As the vessel would groan and creak in its dying throes, each incoming wave would smash it anew on the rocks bringing it inch by inch closer to its end. Early in the morning the wreckers would make their way to the shore through the secret passages and loot the cargo even as the crew lay dead and injured. Year after year, decade after decade many a hapless ship died a horrific death on the rocks of Cornwall. It was a Godless profession that worked without retribution in this remote and rugged terrain.

Smuggling, by itself was not considered a crime by the locals. The high taxes imposed by the government were regarded unjust and there was certain Robinhood kind of valour attached to the whole profession. The local sympathy ran high. A poem by Rudyard Kipling 'The Smuggler's Song', in way sums up the Cornish way of life that suggests to let the sleeping dogs lie and let the smugglers smuggle!

Old Fisherman’s house near Prussia Cove

John Carter

Here, in these times and in this remote corner of England lived the Carter family. They had a small stone house at the mouth of a sheltered Bay by a cove called Portleah. A large brood of children was their pride and these included three sons John, Harry and Charles. The family lived in, what Harry was to describe - ‘decent poverty’. They were poor but god-fearing. Sea-faring was a skill that most children in these parts learnt whilst still in their knickers and the Carter brood became proficient sailors with intimate understanding of the Cornish and French coasts. The next step was inevitable. It is not known when and how. It is likely that the easy money and extreme poverty drove them towards it. Harry, (sometimes John with him) would sail over to the French coast and smuggle fine wines, laces and brandy into the Cornish coast. The house was equipped with lofts and cellars to store this contraband. Through a well-established secret network, the goods would then be distributed across England to adorn the fine homes of the aristocrats. The brothers owned two ships. Harry mainly looked after the travel and John would safely land the goods in the dead of the night and transport them to the far flung destinations inland.

The King of Prussia

The Carter brothers grew in this business and soon became very well-known. The dangerous nature of the business called for an ability to take risk and fight it out - not only the elements but also the forces when time came. Over all there was a natural valour that was needed to succeed. And succeed, they did. In boyhood games, John would emulate Fredrick, the King of Prussia, a man he greatly admired for his bravery. It was said, in the later years he closely resembled the popular German monarch. Soon tales of his own valour spread so far and wide that John Carter himself came to be known as the King of Prussia! The Portleah cove, where his cottage stood came to be known as the Prussia cove and is known till date. The legend of the Carter brothers and their adventures resounds in the folk tales of Cornwall even today.

A large part of John Carter’s image came from the fact that a la Robinhood, even though he was a law-breaker, he was an honest and morally upright one. While modern perspective might sense a dichotomy in the assertion the medieval morals accepted it without conflict. Even though they smuggled contraband, the Carter vessels had a clean and pious environment onboard. Swearing was completely banned and prayers were religiously read. They were smugglers but they were not wreckers. A famous legend is about the time when the customs police raided John’s home and took away a fresh smuggling consignment. Upon discovering the fact John was restless, not because he lost the consignment, but because he had made a commitment and wanted to be known as a reliable trader. On the same night he raided the customs warehouse with a band of followers. Next morning when the officials came in and surveyed the break-in site, they all shook their heads in unison and murmured, ‘The King of Prussia was here’. And just how did they know? Well, he only took what he was considered was rightfully his and did not touch a piece that belonged to anyone else!

The legend of the Carter Brothers 

As the tales of the swashbuckling bravery of the King of Prussia spread, the hotter the officials got on his trail and the more adept the ‘King’ became at dodging them. However, this cat and mouse game had to end one day. Being on the wrong side of law did catch up with him eventually. In one skirmish off Portleah, John was grievously injured and had to go in hiding. He was now hounded as he seeked one safe-house after the other. With time it became more and more apparent that he could not hide any longer in that injured state. One fine day John disappeared. No one in Cornwall quite knew what happened to him. Some presumed he was dead and others speculated a grand comeback, but it was all just that - speculation. No one had a clue of the truth. John never came back.

Speculation on John’s fate gradually fused into bed-time stories, myths became legends and the King of Prussia became folklore.

Resurrection

A century passed with no revelation on what happened to John Carter. At the turn of the last century a manuscript emerged in the home of a certain Mr. G.H Carter. It had been carefully preserved over a hundred years as a family heirloom. And heirloom it was. The manuscript contained the diary of Harry Carter! Harry had been taken prisoner on one of his sojourns to France and languished in prison for long. When he returned he renounced all and took up the job of a preacher. In 1900 a Fleet Street publication published the autobiography as a book. Amongst other things, this booked provided the story on what happened to John Carter.

After his injury John spent some time in Cornwall and then finally escaped to France. But worse was awaiting him there. France was in the grip of the revolution and along with the French aristocrats, the British, who were considered sympathizers were also being thrown into jails. John ended up languishing in French prisons for a long time. On being released he was at cross-roads again, he needed to earn a living, find a new life and new place but going back to Cornwall was not an option. The ships and business were all gone.

Now here is where the story borrows a master move from the book of an accomplished dancer. It does a wide side leap, follows it with a neat twirl and lands bang on the right foot. It is a moment of flourish that connects all the dots in a single sweep and tells us that the universe is truly connected. The job John Carter landed was not in France, not in Cornwall, not in London, it was in Pennsylvania, USA!

Completing the Circle

King of Prussia, PA owes its name to a small tavern by the same name that sat on Route 202. A spy map of the area dated 1777 lists it as Berry’s Inn. By 1800 it was called ‘King of Prussia’ inn. There is no set theory why this name change came through. The commonly held perception is that it was to entice the Prussian soldiers who were camped at the nearby Valley Forge. Legend says that in the very early days the sign-board of the inn carried a picture of Fredrick, the Great.

An old picture of the King of Prussia Inn in Pennsylvania

Now, here is where we can nudge our imagination to take that baby step to connect it all. Imagine the tavern on a particularly busy night. It is full of people - locals from the farms close by, soldiers lodged in Valley Forge and travellers on the way to Ohio stopping at the inn for the night. As the sun sets, ale flows freely and the place abounds in chatter. In a corner sits a stocky man. He is a farm-hand at a nearby settlement. Middle aged, weathered, yet strong, he is scarred with the wounds of many unknown battles. He holds these scars as honours, quite a like a general holds his medals. He is quiet and reserved but on some days with ale down his throat, he speaks. And when he speaks everyone listens in rapt attention for he tells a tale that is out of the leaf of a fable. It is a tale of adventure, of enterprise, of valour and of rising above adversity; it is the stuff legends are made of. And why not, this man is already a legend. He is the King of Prussia, the King of Cornwall. Even in the incongruity of his situation he remains a King.

And so, while the King of Prussia Inn might have had a picture of Fredrick the Great the likelihood of his look-alike, namesake and follower John Carter giving the place its name emerges as a strong alternate reality. After all human quirks are timeless and even three hundred years ago, everyone was a sucker for a good story.

An Indian poet & philosopher has been known to say - “vice and virtue are nothing but the stamp of morality on the rituals of the era, with each epoch morality changes’. Morality has undergone 180 degrees shift since the times of John Carter and the sides are truly switched. The band of smugglers who plied trade in the dead of the night two hundred years ago were pioneers. They were pioneers of the doctrine of free trade! What do you call it but the brilliance of destiny that the town of King of Prussia today is known to be a showcase of the same free trade doctrine that John Carter embodied. It boasts of the largest mall in East Coast.

Yes, serendipity is truly not a matter of chance, it is divine design that you just happened to stumble upon!

The King of Prussia Mall: An Ode to Free Trade

A Smuggler's Song

If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse's feet,
Don't go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street.
Them that ask no questions isn't told a lie.
Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!
Five and twenty ponies,
Trotting through the dark --
Brandy for the Parson,
'Baccy for the Clerk;
Laces for a lady, letters for a spy,
And watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!

Running round the woodlump if you chance to find
Little barrels, roped and tarred, all full of brandy-wine,
Don't you shout to come and look, nor use 'em for your play.
Put the brishwood back again -- and they'll be gone next day!

If you see the stable-door setting open wide;
If you see a tired horse lying down inside;
If your mother mends a coat cut about and tore;
If the lining's wet and warm -- don't you ask no more!

If you meet King George's men, dressed in blue and red,
You be carefull what you say, and mindful what is said.
If they call you "pretty maid," and chuck you 'neath the chin,
Don't you tell where no one is, nor yet where no one's been!

Knocks and footsteps round the house -- whistles after dark --
You've no call for running out till the house-dogs bark.
Trusty's here, and Pincher's here, and see how dumb they lie --
They don't fret to follow when the Gentlemen go by!

If you do as you've been told, 'likely there's a chance,
You'll be given a dainty doll, all the way from France,
With a cap of Valenciennes, and a velvet hood --
A present from the Gentlemen, along o' being good!
Five and twenty ponies,
Trotting through the dark --
Brandy for the Parson,
'Baccy for the Clerk;
Them that asks no questions isn't told a lie --
Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by! 

Rudyard Kipling

Once Again : Piya Tose Naina Laage Re

Prelude 

We had started www.SDBurman.Net as a great labour of love. It was a journey that three kindred souls, diverse in age, background, nationality and geography undertook together. More than anything else SDBurman.Net was a triumph of human bonding and universality of music. I an Indian, Maajid Saab (Maajid Maqbool) a Pakistani and Chowdhury Saab(HQ Chowdhury) a Bangladeshi all met on the internet, bonded over the music of a composer who was well before all our times and created this website in his honour. Later in 2006 we also organized a centenary function in his honour. That evening, to date, remains one of the most exhilarating moments of my life.

While the appreciation and love for SDB's music continues to remain close to all our hearts, the website has somehow fallen to disuse, neglected due to a shift in the phases of our lives. For me, work has grown more and more demanding and these vital pleasures have somehow taken a backseat. SDBurman.Net still stands, but like an old ancestral home, it is decaying due to neglect. There still are areas of SDB.Net that are fully intact, but others have become preys to the vagaries of internet time. One such crumbling 'room' was what we used to called 'Burmanda Ka Pitara'. A section where we regularly picked up a gem from Dada's dazzling array of musical jewels, turned it over, held it high, admired it and then put it on a pedestal. This section has now disappeared. Today as I went looking for an old article I wrote on 'Piya Tose Naina Laage Re', I was dismayed to have found it to be gone. Dismayed, not because of the intrinsic worth of that writing, but more so because it was a loss of a thought at a point in time.

However, the internet is a great preserver, someone, somewhere at sometime had reproduced the article (a fact that used to irk me to no end in the past!) and lo behold! the article stood in front of me like a memory excavated from under a ruin.

Now, when I read the article, I do think it is too dry and academic (I was trying very hard to be taken seriously those days :)), I would have written it very differently today. But I guess we need to stand up for our past actions and so here we are, the charming, the dulcet and the oh! so vulnerable - Piya Tose Naina Laage Re!

Piya Tose Naina Laage Re

'Piya tose naina laage re' stands out for the intrinsic beauty of its 'roopak taal' based tune. This 4 stanza/8 minute piece is a marathon song that traces the rise of Rosy (the film's female protagonist played by Waheeda) from a small time artist to the sensational dancing star Nalini. Today in Burmanda ka Pitara we will re-visit the beauty of this song.


The song starts off suddenly without any prelude (a habit that was quite common with Dada) and then moves ahead with rich orchestral interludes. The composition itself has two meters running simultaneously in the antaras. One with a long drawn out alaap as in Aayi holi aayi and the other with a fast 'raat ko jab chaand chamke' both blend back into the mukhda seamlessly with extremely catchy bols, set to the rhythm of 'Dhi na k dhi n dhi n'. These bols have been woven into the overall lyrical theme of the song beautifully by the lyricist Shailendra.The orchestral interludes in this song are rich and varied. Though these music pieces are tailor-made for a dance choreography, unlike most dance pieces they do not remain limited to a frenzy of ghungroos, tabla and sarangi/harmonium. 


The orchestral interludes, here, in typical SD Burman style, are uncluttered and spontaneous. However they still use a wide variety of instruments and are richly layered. Violins, Sitars, ghungroos, tabla, drums (note the lovely use of a north eastern drum in the portion before 'bhor ki bela suhani') and the flute all fit into the overall composition like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. Strings, as with most of Dada's songs, are used with great felicity. Note the extremely catchy short string pieces strewn all over the song. In particular, the part where the song returns to the mukhda as in.


.Piya tose ..~~~~little string pieces
~~~~Piya tose naina tabla starts laage re ..


The tabla is heard distinctly throughout major portions of the song and there is a gentle swaying rhythm to the tabla tempo. A trait that is faintly reminiscent of Sachinda'a favourite 'bhatiyali' rhythms. There are portions where the tabla takes a backseat and the drums or some other percussion takes over, however it always makes a high profile and arresting entry back into the forefront particularly when the song returns to the mukhda.


The lyrics by Shailendra are sweet and heartfelt in his trademark style. This is one of those songs where Shailendra excels in 'Shringar Ras', which otherwise is considered by many to be a bastion of the likes of Majrooh Sultanpuri. Just like the composition. the lyrics also follow twin tracks. The long meter depicts the Holi and Diwali (major festivals of India) and the fast tracks depict day and night. Shailendra's mastery is apparent in the manner he makes a crisp return to the mukhda.


Lata Mangeshkar's rendition, finally, is the icing on the cake. She gives the song a delicacy and innocence that is very heart-warming. Note the way she stresses on naina each time she sings the mukhda. Very dulcet. Any discussion about 'Piya Tose Naina laage re' would be incomplete without mentioning its unforgettable picturisation. While Waheeda is elegance and grace personified, the choreographer Hiralal like the rest of this team thinks out of the box. The end result is one of the most scintillating dance sequences in the history of Indian Cinema.

Some trivia

•  The extremely catchy 'Dhinak dhin dhin' that seems to flow so spontaneously was actually put there by design!. Maruti Rao Keer, (a percussionist in SD's team), recalled how Dada worked to include this bit knowing his audience would love it.

• Special mention must be made of Rahul Dev Burman who along with Basu and Manohari assisted Dada in this film. The orchestra in more ways than one was Pancham's triumph as well.- Santoor maestro Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma who assisted Dada during this period played the tabla in this song.

• Waheeda Rehman worked very hard on the dances of this film. She would get up at 4:00 in the morning to rehearse. She also drank lots of milk to get the strength to execute those rigorous steps!. After all this hard work when the songs were canned and the film went on the editing table, Waheeda had just one fear... that the long dance sequences could be edited out. Finally she made a request to Dev Anand.Cut my scenes if you like but please don't edit out my dances. Dev Anand promised her he wouldn't and the dances stayed. And thus what we have today a set of dances that have become textbook material for dances in popular cinema.

• This one is for the collectors. There are stories of the existence of one version of this song in the voice of the master himself. Now wouldn't that be a treat for all connoisseurs of Dada's singing?

Post Script: As per Ritesh Gadhvi, the tabla in this song was not by Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma. He played in Mose Chhal Kiye Jaaye. There is a possibility then, that the tabla is by Pt Samta Prasad.

Rise, Shine and Spring - Champako Jaago Jaago

Many suns, moons, springs and falls ago, I was in school and we had to write essays. They were a staple of the growing up years. As I lazily finger dust off random spots of memory on this languid Saturday afternoon, the gentle revelation is that not all memories around these essays are pleasant.

Writing was not one of my preoccupations in childhood and these essays - they were all over the place. You had to write them in English, you had to write them in Hindi and horror of horrors you had to write them in Sanskrit too! Since I never got around to learning how to construct a straight sentence in Sanskrit that part of my education basically contributed to honing my 'ratafication' skills.

The Gods who defined curricula and set exam papers in those days believed that an essay was a critical component which contributed to making the future citizens of India informed, opinionated and articulate. No wonder essay writing accounted for atleast 20% of the total marks for the paper. For someone who wanted to be an astronaut, explorer, architect or sometimes just a person who could read Enid Blytons for a living, writing essays was a fundamental distraction from mission life. At that point in time, it was the preciseness and unambiguity of the science subjects that appealed. After all you could write what you considered the best ever piece on 'Cleanliness is Godliness' or 'Festivals of India' or 'My Summer Vacation', the teacher could still strike off and give you a 2/10. It was too whimsical and I just got by it.

I know what runs in your mind at this moment. You are wondering, why in the good world, upon surfacing after two years of hibernation, I would want to dwell on a topic as dry as elementary school curriculum. We all know that I threw away any intellectual pretensions very early in the game of blogging. This is not even a 'sunshine ' childhood memory that makes a good nostalgic blog post. Then why?

Well, my dear friend everything happens for a reason. Let me help you understand by revealing an intimate moment to you. Today morning as I sat over my morning cuppa browsing over musical tributes to SD Burman in the born-again Facebook avtaar of my old hangout Sangeet Ke Sitare, a sudden well of inspiration sprung from God knows which crevice of my being. It was this strong and now almost alien urge to write something. I had a laundry list of chores and activities sitting and waiting to get going but somehow they all went flying out of the window as I rummaged through my long neglected blog links to get to this blog composition page trying to start a new post. And immediately following it I was with struck a stab of introspection - when did this writing become such an intimate part of the being that it could turn up unannounced one fine day and consume my attention quite like a childhood friend turning up on facebook after years. How did this happen?

Rewinding to early life only reveals a strong disdain for essays and any form of 'creative writing'. The only sojourn I had as a writer in school was for a class magazine imaginatively named 'Bang' where I wrote a Spook Corner which was a collection of all the ghost stories we exchanged on dark summer nights lying on the terrace. That effort is best relegated to the 'dark room' from where those ghost stories first originated. Very forgettable. After that there was no writing. I remember getting through the essays one has to write for B-School and and other post-grad courses with less than passing marks. They were quite uninspiring and even while writing them I knew I could not count on them for getting me anywhere!

Then suddenly about seven eight years ago life took a turn. I got deeply involved in an interest which was on the side-burner till then - music! Slowly this interest flowered into a strong passion. As I started frequenting music forums, exploring musical opinions, discovering musical Gods and fighting battles for them, something happened. What was once a chore became a pleasure. I actually started to enjoy writing! In the early days it was just about writing posts on newsgroups. But one fine day I nervously toyed with the idea of writing a full-fledged article. I started writing a series on the Music in Navketan films and posting it on SKS. The first few chapters got favourable response, but that effort petered out somewhere. Even now I have it lying unfinished somewhere in my files.

The first full fledged article that saw the light of the day was this one : Bondhu Rangila -Inimitable

It was a tribute to SD Burman, which wonder of wonders actually got accepted by an online music magazine. It was a gushing tribute from a totally besotted fan and carries long term appeal only to die-hard SDB fans. But it was a beginning, that saw me grow into this new passion.

And here I am today, consumed by the same urge to put pen to paper all over again (or maybe I should say finger to keyboard, since I never put pen to paper successfully). I believe it is more than co-incidence that it is SD Burman's birth anniversary today.. his hundred and fifth!

To commemorate the occasion, let me leave you with a song that talks of awakening in more ways than one and holds special significance to the moment. This is a beautiful Bengali song, sung by the Dada in the 1935-1945 timeframe - Champaka Jaago Jaago. It is a song where spring gently cajoles the fragrant champaka flower to rise, shine and flower.

Thank you Burman Dada for this lovely meldody. It has brought a beautiful feeling back into my life today, I feel all fragrant....

The Symphony of Nature

Do you sometimes have those moments? Moments when a general feeling of well-being suddenly whips up into something more potent. Quite like an ecstacy that completely engulfs the being. These are those moments when there was no yesterday, there is no tomorrow, there is just that moment and the luminous beauty of the moment.... I have those moments once in a while. Born mostly out of appreciation for music or nature, sometimes of both and sometimes of things far placed from either. Something like that happened to me a couple of months back.

Now, in retrospect it seems that whole 3 minutes and 31 seconds of experience was the scripted by a divine hand.

It was Sunday and a brilliant day in my part of the world. Spring was in the air, the breeze was fresh, and crisp. It felt that everything in the atmosphere had devoured a mouthful of breath freshner. The day was painted using a palette that never fails to stir - azure sky dotted with brilliant woolly whites, lush green on the ground, pastel pink on the trees and yellows in the crevices. A vigourous breeze had charged the atmosphere with an electric optimism. It is always that way in spring. Everything seems upbeat and ready for a new beginning. As providence would have it the AC in my car gave away and I had to do something I do rarely - open the sun roof. So there I was trundling down in my car with the windows all down, playful breeze in the hair, lung full of fresh spring air and music for accompaniment . With a setting like that even the most sullen of God's creations would find it difficult to escape the feeling of good cheer. I being of a fairly 'unsullen' disposition was feeling quite kicked and content.

The music that I was playing is a collection of SD Burman's songs, that I greatly cherish. It is cherished not so much for my love for the old monk brand of music, but more for the way the CD has been compiled. There are about ten songs, placed in such a sequence that with a little help from the ambience they can create a delectable mood that lingers long after the music stops playing. By themselves the songs are great but when played together they are magic. This post, however, is not about that sequence. It is about one of the most lumniscent songs in that sequence -'Phaili hui hain sapno ki baahen'.

I had stopped at a traffic signal when the initial low notes of this gorgeous composition started streaming. At that very moment a stray plastic bag caught the corner of my eye. It had come into my eye-view sliding up the road pushed by the light breeze. As the vigourous sitar strings in the prelude picked up tempo, a sudden gust swept the bag into the air and took it on a merry dance across the road and into the greens. There it was, the plastic bag, waltzing away in the breeze in absolute synch to the music playing my car! And that was the moment. Suddenly everything in the universe snapped into a perfect symphony. The music playing in my car, the plastic bag, the birds, the trees, the breeze outside and along with all of them - me. We all fused into a single rhythm, the divine rhythm of life.

The breeze took a momentory lull and then renewed vigour gave the waltzing bag a last nudge and like a seasoned gymnast it took a final somersault and bowed out of view, just as Lata's voice started picking up the first few notes of the alaap. My eyes having lost the plastic bag, ran up the branches of a tree that stood where I had lost sight of it. Lata finshed her alaap right at the moment my vision touched the tree tops. There they were, swaying away in the breeze. The spring green of the trees caressed the brilliant of the blue sky as nightingale's dew soft voice sang 'Phaili hui hain sapno ki baahen, aaja chal den kahin door'. The voice siezed me and took me along - far far away on the wings of ecstacy. It was sheer magic and almost an out of body experience that lasted for all of the 3 odd minutes the song lasted. An exhilarating flight, up to magical lands beyond the clouds, swinging on rainbows, playing hide and seek in the mist..... and then as if on pre-ordained cue, the last notes of the song faded away just as the wheels of my car rolled to a stop at my destination.

I have heard this song many times before and many times since and many a time the song has lifted me off the ground into a merry flight but never has the experience reached the lofty heights it reached that day. As an ode to that magic I present this song as a part of the 'Song of the Day' series.

Eloquence falls short in supply when one ventures out to describe the beauty of this song. What should one describe? The restlessness sitar prelude fluttering like a bird ready to take flight? The enigmatic 'dhundhli fiza mein kuch khoyen kuch paayen' ? The gentle of rhythm of life in 'sanson ki laye par koi aisi dhun gaayen'? Or the final burst of nirvanic energy in the alaap before 'jhoola dhanak ka' ? And then there is Lata's voice -pristine, pure like a drop of fresh rain. The moments are so many and that one feels stunted. I would suggest that you click on the link below and discover your own.

A philospoher had once opined, music is the only innocent and unpunished passion. The ecstacy that people search for in LSD, Ecstasy and other stimulants, is right there, within easy reach and with a power of rejuvenation that is in many multitudes higher than the power destruction all these external stimulants hold. All it requires is a moment of tuning your inner-self with the greatest symphony of all - the symphony of the nature. I am sure Sahir, Lata, SD Burman and all the accompanying musicians were tuned in when they created this song and I am eternally grateful to them for tuning me into the same magical frequency on that lovely spring afternoon.

.. aaja chal den kahin door...

Geeta Roy, Off The Beaten Track

A lot of feedback to the List of definitive Geeta Dutt songs has rued the exclusion of her equally delightful but lesser known songs. Since the purpose of the earlier exercise was to profile Geeta Dutt through her known output, a lot of good songs did not get the space they more than deserved. So, here is another list. This time the endeavour is to commemorate Geeta Dutt with the help of her lesser known gems. Let me confess, after all the 'danda-maroing' on the figure of ten, I have fallen prey to the temptation to choose a dozen instead of ten songs. Also, this time it is a solo-only list. That leaves us with the tingling anticipation of doing a duet list sometime in the future.

Let me admit to another little quirk that went into the selection of the list - The first list tilted heavily in the favour of Geeta Dutt - the uninhibited sensuality, passionate love, bone cracking pathos, deep despondency and the sharp mix of emotions that came to be her lot as Mrs Dutt. Intensity was the key-word to her latter day renditions. This list celebrates Geeta Roy - Young, bright-eyed, innocent, naughty, joyous, full of what were 'chhoti chhoti khushi aur chhote chhote gham'. Her singing from his period is completely oblivious of the complexity of her later singing life.

Many music lovers are of the opinion that the best of Geeta Dutt came when she was Geeta Roy. Her singing after her marriage got focused on her husband's films and a handful of composers who worked with the legendary film-maker. This stifled her range considerably. Almost all of her singing for outside banners got limited to two-bit club songs (the glorified item numbers of the era) . Rarely did she sing for the heroine outside Guru Dutt's films.

However, it is also interesting to note, her 'Golden Collection' kind of songs all come from her Mrs Dutt period. They are the most high-profile songs in her kitty. This could be attributed to the fact that Guru Dutt's cinema has developed a legendary status over the years giving the songs of his films far more air-space than other very good songs that unfortunately got buried in the soundtracks of films that did not pass the test of time. This selection is a minuscule attempt to dig out those gems and put them in spotlight.

If we pause to reflect for a moment, it is this contrast between Geeta Roy and Geeta Dutt that makes her life story so poignant. The girl who sang Chanda khele aankh micholi, brimmed over with optimism and joie-de-vivre. The woman who ultimately sang Na jao saiyyan was tired, despondent, bitter and forsaken by the capricious world. Her life and the 'candle in the wind' kind of end bears striking similarity to Guru Dutt's own in Kagaz Ke Phool - Dekhi Zamaane Ki Yaari - Bichhde sabhi baari baari.

Both Guru Dutt and Geeta Dutt were supremely talented artists and cursed with the cross of genius. They were both temperamental, sensitive and easy to hurt. And unknown to themselves, they harboured a strong self-destructive streak. When such people come together in matrimony, the doom is inevitable. Had Guru Dutt not fallen victim to his own demons, it is likely that he would have fallen victim to the bottle just like his wife. There was no Sanjay Dutt like rehabilitation in the world of cinema those days.. just painful ends. Artist after artist fell prey to the opium of the lights and glamour, a world that ate the innards of their soul and then discarded them to waste away in obscurity. KL Saigal, Madhubala, Guru Dutt, Geeta Dutt, Meena Kumari, the list is illustrious. One sort of gets de-sensitised reading the the same story over and over again.

Yet, Geeta's waste somehow, is very poignant. It hits home. Her spirit was not tailored for tragedy. It was joyous, resplendent and luminous . When such a spirit breaks down and withers away it is difficult even for the most cynical to remain untouched. But the brighter side of things is that what will never wither away is the immortal art that came out of this suffering. And at the end of the day whichever angle we look at it - famous or rare, club song or cabaret, Roy or Dutt, Geeta's voice remains as enticing and magical as ever.

So without any further babbling, here is the list.

1. Hamen chhod piya kis des gaye (Film : Do Bhai(1947); Composer: SD Burman; Lyrics : Raja Mehndi Ali Khan): While Mera Sundar Sapna and Yaad Karoge are the well known songs from this track, this one is a hidden gem. A lilting tune in vintage Burman mode is adorned by some very nice word play by Raja Mehndi Ali Khan. To sample

hum aankh se ojhal hote the

tum sau sau aansuu rote the

hum sau sau aanson rote hain

tum mukh dikhlaana bhul gaye

The rustic manner in which 'bhool' is pronounced as 'bhull' is particularly charming. While the expression is a little immature and slightly over the top, the magnetism and richness in the voice quality is inescapable. SD Burman sure knew what he was doing when he locked horns with the studio bosses to make the then unknown Geeta Roy his leader singer for the film. The rest as the cliche says is history.

2. Tumhe saajan manaaye tum rooth jaana (Film : Milan(1946); Composer: Anil Biswas; Lyrics : ?) A bright and innocent song which never fails to bring a smile to the face. Beautiful music by Anil Biswas and a charming rendition by Geeta. Particularly sweet is the childlike innocence with which she sings kaho na na. It shouldn't be surprising if you knew how old she was when she sang the song... sweet sixteen!
(Note : I strongly suggest you close your eyes when you 'watch' the song lest the bovine actress on screen ends up in making you 'kaho na na na' to the magic of the song)

3. Haule haule hawaye dole (Non-Film; Composer: Nikhil Ghosh; Lyrics : Bharat Vyas) This is a breezy song that showcases the rich bass in Geeta Dutt's voice. The song has a very strong Bengali flavour to it. For minute if you don't concentrate on the lyrics you could easily mistake it for a Bengali song!. It is upbeat, melodious and easy flowing. . The composer was Nikhil Ghosh, brother of flute maestro Pannalal Ghosh. This is 3 minutes of not-to-be-missed savoury delight.

4. Kuke ambua pe koyalia (Non-Film; Composer: ?; Lyrics : ?) This song of unknown origin is a traditional phagun song. Geeta renders it with characteristic simplicity. The choral singing and the spontaneity of the folk form makes it a charming representation of an era and tradition long gone.

5. Mein toh girdhar ke ghar jaun (Film :Jogan, Composer: Bulo C Rani, Lyrics :Kabirdas) Jogan was such a stellar Geeta track that it is difficult to pick any one song from the ensemble. This kabir bhajan has been chosen because it showcases the devotional genre for which she was celebrated in her early career. This is a good example of the 'happy bhajan' that became a rarity in her later years. It has been sung by many before her and many after her but Geeta Roy's version still stands out. What attracts me to this song, apart from the rich tonal timbre of Geeta's youthful voice, is the way she lays a slight emphasis on 'Girdhar'.

6. Daro re rang daro re : (Film :Jogan, Composer: Bulo C Rani, Lyrics ?) Another one from Jogan. I fought with my objective self(asking for more composers more variety) to include this song. I don't regret my choice for a second. This is such a captivating song. It transports the listener to a breezy field at the edge of a idyllic village lined with red Semal trees, where a group of happy people are enjoying the festivities of Holi. It's very nostalgic and evocative of spring. One of my all time favourite Holi songs. Almost every time I hear this song I wish I was born hundred years ago!

7. Jhoome re kali (Film :Naukri, Composer:Salil Chowdhury, Lyrics : Shailendra) This is such a bright-eyed song. It revels in the joy of first love. That very secret celebration with the self, the spring in the step and the stars in the eyes, they all spill over in this charmer from the Salil Chowdhury stable. The tune is lilting to begin with but flowers under Shailendra's simple poetry. Typical to him, that goes beyond the immediate - "lagan kahe jeevan ka chain chhupa kaanton mein". Salilda makes Geeta sing in the lower octaves and she hits those notes in a deep and sonorous tone. It is a well known fact that Salil Chowdhury was a card carrying Lata Bhakt. He used all other female singers including Geeta sparingly. But on the few occasions that he did look elsewhere, the result was compelling enough to make one wish there were more such sojourns. This song bears witness to that could-have-been magic.

8. Dekho jaadu bhare more nain (Film :Aasman, Composer:OP Nayyer, Lyrics : Prem Dhawan) This film marked the beginning of the legendary OPN-Geeta partnership. Aasman saw a completely different OP Nayyer, in a pre-ghoda gaadi avtaar. The tune based off Gaud Sarang is in a genre that is rare to find in OPN's repertoire and is probably the only example with Geeta. Even though her classical training was minimal, Geeta carries this song with characteristic aplomb. The breezy sitar and tabla accompaniment accentuates the fluidity in Geeta's voice. The two remind me of fast-flowing mountain streams that rush towards an exhilarating confluence. The racy sitar interludes in this song could be considered fore-runners to Nayyar's strings fest in the Rafi-Asha duet 'Aap yu hi agar humse' from 'Ek musafir ek hasina'. This is probably a 'Golden Collection' kind of song, but simply had to be included for the genre it represents. All in all a sure-fire 'patel point' in Geeta's musical landscape.

9. Chand hai wohi (Film : Parineeta, Composer: Arun Mukherjee, Lyrics : Bharat Vyas)

This pick is from the 1953 film Parineeta. Meena Kumari and Geeta Roy team up for an exquisite beauty. The song is mellow and soothing and carries just a whiff of melancholy. It is beautiful and delicate. The music direction is by Arun Kumar Mukherjee, a former Bombay Talkies singer, Ashok Kumar's ghost voice and also a cousin of the Ganguly brothers. The lyrics by Bharat Vyas in a sanskrit leaning Hindi add a unique appeal to the song.

raag hai wohi, parag hai, wohi pavan

phir bhi kyon udaas hai udaas mera man

To pause and reflect for a moment, Meena Kumari and Geeta Dutt shared a lot in common. They were both celebrated as tragedy queens owing to the melancholy in their artistic identities which spilled over to their personal lives as well. Their ends too, were chillingly similar. Both succumbed to cirrhosis of liver within months of each other. Like a dying flame they both gave a short burst of incandescence before the eternal darkness - Meena Kumari with her performance in 'Pakeezah' and Geeta Dutt with her singing in 'Anubhav'. 'Na jao saiyyan', their last association came to immortalize the poetic tragedy that became their life. But this song tells us that many many years before, they were bubbly and innocent young women pre-occupied with the little joys and little sorrows that define the wonder years in life. The whole effect is of transient sorrow, one that does not take root but lightly touches you and then floats away. It leaves you with lingering sense of sweet restlessness. This is truly a rare gem from a rare genre.

10. Rut phire par dine hamare (Film :Pyaasa, Composer: SD Burman, Lyrics : Sahir) The soft strains of the flute that start streaming in the prelude seem to have travelled a great distance from a land, far faraway. On the wings of this Pied Piper like flute follows a beautiful voice, floating on sails of timelessness. A melancholic voice - disembodied and ethereal, it seems to have drifted across the seven seas of time. Slowly and gently it beckons us beyond the clouds into its secret magical world...

OK, I need to snap out of the fairy tale mode and get back to reality. But that, vaguely, is the aura of 'Rut phire par din hamare'. The song does not seem to belong to this world. (which might be the reason Guru Dutt decided to chop it from the film). I don't know what the lyrics of 'Rut phire par din hamare' really are, I vaguely register them to be outright sad. But that's not the way my heart reacts to it. It is more wistful than sad. There is a sense of mystery, enigma and infinity. ..apne liye siwaaye majhdhaar kuch nahin hai..'. I am actually quite glad this song never got picturized. Somethings are best left to imagination.

11. Zor lagake - Aangan mein baithi (Film : Jaal, Composer: SD Burman, Lyrics : Sahir) Geeta Bali and Geeta Roy were made for each other. The bubbly effervescence that defined the actress was matched in equal measure by the singer. Together they brought a bright bright smile to the face. Tadbeer se bigdi hui, De bhi chuke hum, Dil chura loon, Jaate ho to jao are just some of the songs that define this chemistry. Aangan mein baithi hai machheran is one of those songs. Geeta Bali on screen, Geeta Roy on the mike, hubby-to-be wielding the megaphone and Sahir and Dada Burman in the music-room. End result - a sure-fire winner.

12. Aaj nahin to kal (Film : Naagmani , Composer: Avinash Vyas, Lyrics : Pradeep) This song is like a homing call for the ravaged soul. It is deeply inspirational and gives you the courage to stand up and face life. Zindagani se door bhaagana hai man ki kamzori, Kavi Pradeep wrote his lyrics in a simple, lucid and hitting straight to the point style. There is no poetic playing around with the thought, just to-the-point truths. It is Geeta's voice that provides comfort and applies the balm that eases the pain. It is like burying your tired self in the mother's caress. The tune is based off 'Om Jai Jagdish Hare'. It gives the energy and strength to carry on.

The music director is Avinash Vyas who used Geeta Roy with some memorable results in the early 50s. Vyas also used Geeta's voice extensively for Gujarati films.

Yeh rituen badi suhani (Kavi Kalidas)

I end off with a song that is like a non-competitive entry. That is because in truth it is not a full fledged song, but just a little songlet. But these couple of lines are so captivating that they simply have to be showcased here. Geeta Roy singing for SN Tripathi for the film Kavi Kalidas.

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Footnote: As usual, the list has been very difficult to compile. For each song chosen, there were so many left behind. Here are some songs that almost made it but got chopped off in the final list. On another day in another list they are sure to take place of pride!

1. Do chamakti aakhon mein (Detective)

2. Chanda khele micholi (Jogan)

3. Gun gun gun gun gunjan karta bhanwara (Har har mahadev)

4. Jhanan jhanan mora bichua (Mangla)

5. Chanda dhale pankha jhale maiyya tumhari (Pyar ki pyaas)

6. Dil chura loon chura loon dil mein chhupi baat (Faraar)

7. Ayi re ghir ghir pehli pehli baadariya (Miss Mary)

8. Dekh ke akeli mohe barkha sataaye (Baazi)

9. Tune khoob racha bhagwan khilona maati ka (Naagmani)

10. Rangili chhabili rani nindiya (Ferry)

11. Jaate ho to jao (Milap)

12. Manjhi albele chalo re haule haule(Baaz)

See Also

List: The Definitive Geeta Dutt

Lehren apni humjoli hain

Geeta Dutt's Official Website

Acknowledgements

Thanks to everyone who has provided me with rare Geeta songs that I could upload on youTube. In particular I thank Dr Mahesh Sagar. And ofcourse thanks to the wonderful effort on youTube to archive her songs.

The List Series is a category of posts which contain, yes you are right…. a list! The list could comprise of anything – a list of songs, films, books, desserts, travel spots, pet peeves or even my version of raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. In a nutshell, anything that catches my fancy.