Of ragas and taranas
By Shanta Gokhale
I don’t think I speak for myself alone, but for a whole generation of music lovers when I say that nothing evokes a more profoundly pleasurable nostalgia than old Hindi film songs. On Saturday, they had blossomed all over the city. Madan Mohan was being remembered somewhere, Mukesh and Manna Dey somewhere else. But if your special interest was in raag-based Hindi film songs, then the place to go was the National Gallery of Modern Art at Kala Ghoda. Here Amarendra Dhaneshwar, the popular exponent of the Gwalior gharana, trained by no less a guru than Neela Bhagwat, promised an evening of compositions by the Bengal masters - S D Burman, Salil Chowdhary, Pankaj Mullick, Anil Biswas and Hemant Kumar.
There was a link, however tenuous, between this programme and the current exhibition on display at the NGMA. The show is of 200 art works by Jamini Roy, the Bengal master whom M F Husain once acknowledged as “...truly the father of Indian modern art”. Roy turned away from the British academic style of painting in which he was trained, to the visual language of the patua scroll painters of Bengal with the avowed purpose of reaching every middle-class home in Bengal. The Bengali masters of Hindi film music drew on everything from classical Hindustani melodies and Rabindra Sangeet to the songs of bauls and boatmen to reach every home in India, whatever their class.
Dhaneshwar didn’t sing only classical bandishes and taranas, but surprised us with a Marathi bhavgeet which shared the notes of Gaud Sarang with the Manna Dey-Lata Mangeshkar song Ritu aaye ritu jaaye sakhi ri, composed by Anil Biswas. Another time he moved us with a soulful rendering of the much-loved Rabindra Sangeet Je raate mor duwar guli as an introduction to S. D. Burman's composition, Pawan diwani in which you heard similar shades of Bageshri-Bahar.
If a single gem is to be picked out of this abundance of riches, my vote would go to Salil Chowdhary’s O sajana barkha bahar aayi, based loosely on raag Kalavati. It was a song that most perfectly combined poetry, mood, music and the iridescent sparkle of Lata Mangeshkar’s voice to create a haunting emotional impact.
Dhaneshwar called our attention to one of the song's magical moments which occurs in the second stanza. Here, instead of repeating the upper octave melody of the first stanza, the pitch is dropped to a level that musically matches the sound of the drizzle suggested by the poet’s words.
Old film songs are still alive not only because they’re melodious, but also because their lyrics are largely about that universal emotion, love. There is romance and longing, joyfilled meetings and painful separations. Can there be a more poignant expression of the heartbreak of betrayal than Jaane woh kaise log the jeenke pyaar ko pyaar mila? Sung by Hemant Kumar in a soft, pain-filled voice, Sahir Ludhianvi’s lyric is treated with the utmost delicacy by S D Burman, a minimal instrumentation accompanying the words like a sympathetic friend.
In the end, the poet’s question hangs in the air. Who indeed are those people who receive love in return for love? They're out there, somewhere.
I don’t think I speak for myself alone, but for a whole generation of music lovers when I say that nothing evokes a more profoundly pleasurable nostalgia than old Hindi film songs. On Saturday, they had blossomed all over the city. Madan Mohan was being remembered somewhere, Mukesh and Manna Dey somewhere else. But if your special interest was in raag-based Hindi film songs, then the place to go was the National Gallery of Modern Art at Kala Ghoda. Here Amarendra Dhaneshwar, the popular exponent of the Gwalior gharana, trained by no less a guru than Neela Bhagwat, promised an evening of compositions by the Bengal masters - S D Burman, Salil Chowdhary, Pankaj Mullick, Anil Biswas and Hemant Kumar.
There was a link, however tenuous, between this programme and the current exhibition on display at the NGMA. The show is of 200 art works by Jamini Roy, the Bengal master whom M F Husain once acknowledged as “...truly the father of Indian modern art”. Roy turned away from the British academic style of painting in which he was trained, to the visual language of the patua scroll painters of Bengal with the avowed purpose of reaching every middle-class home in Bengal. The Bengali masters of Hindi film music drew on everything from classical Hindustani melodies and Rabindra Sangeet to the songs of bauls and boatmen to reach every home in India, whatever their class.
Over the years, Amarendra Dhaneshwar has perfected a lively format for his raag-based film music programmes, peppering them judiciously with informal asides and anecdotes. He has a formidable collection of bandishes, largely from the Gwalior gharana repertoire, which he sings as pointers to film songs based on the same raags. With his uncommon ability to shift from one raag to the next without loss of time, what he gives you is an evening filled to the brim with listening pleasure. Occasionally Dhaneshwar might sing a bandish with such exquisite attention to words and mood that you want him to continue for a little while longer. On Saturday his rendering of a slow Shiva stuti in raga Gunakali which was followed by Pankaj Mullick’s sombre Yeh kaun aaj aaya savere savere, was a case in point. So also his amazing tarana in Darbari composed by Pandit Sharadchandra Arolkar, which was followed by the pathos-filled Anil Biswas composition in Mukesh’s voice, Dil jalta hai to jalne de. If one heard a distinct K L Saigal influence there, one was not mistaken. This was the first song Mukesh sang for a Hindi film and he was still imitating his idol, Saigal. In fact the story goes that when Saigal heard the song, he remarked, “That’s strange. I don’t recall singing that song.”
Dhaneshwar didn’t sing only classical bandishes and taranas, but surprised us with a Marathi bhavgeet which shared the notes of Gaud Sarang with the Manna Dey-Lata Mangeshkar song Ritu aaye ritu jaaye sakhi ri, composed by Anil Biswas. Another time he moved us with a soulful rendering of the much-loved Rabindra Sangeet Je raate mor duwar guli as an introduction to S. D. Burman's composition, Pawan diwani in which you heard similar shades of Bageshri-Bahar.
If a single gem is to be picked out of this abundance of riches, my vote would go to Salil Chowdhary’s O sajana barkha bahar aayi, based loosely on raag Kalavati. It was a song that most perfectly combined poetry, mood, music and the iridescent sparkle of Lata Mangeshkar’s voice to create a haunting emotional impact.
Dhaneshwar called our attention to one of the song's magical moments which occurs in the second stanza. Here, instead of repeating the upper octave melody of the first stanza, the pitch is dropped to a level that musically matches the sound of the drizzle suggested by the poet’s words.
Old film songs are still alive not only because they’re melodious, but also because their lyrics are largely about that universal emotion, love. There is romance and longing, joyfilled meetings and painful separations. Can there be a more poignant expression of the heartbreak of betrayal than Jaane woh kaise log the jeenke pyaar ko pyaar mila? Sung by Hemant Kumar in a soft, pain-filled voice, Sahir Ludhianvi’s lyric is treated with the utmost delicacy by S D Burman, a minimal instrumentation accompanying the words like a sympathetic friend.
In the end, the poet’s question hangs in the air. Who indeed are those people who receive love in return for love? They're out there, somewhere.
Disclaimer: The views expressed here are the author's own. The opinions and facts expressed here do not reflect the views of Mirror and Mirror does not assume any responsibility or liability for the same.
