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| Source: Hindustan Times |
Does
anyone listen to the radio any more? Or am I dating myself when I talk of radios
and transistors and cassette recorders to a generation growing up on MP3 and
MP4 (and various other acronyms that make no sense to me at all)? I have lovely
memories of growing up to songs on the radio. It was always on when my father
was home – either for the various Hindi film music song programmes on Vividh
Bharati and Radio Ceylon or for the news. [I wrote about the radio and its
connection to my father here.]
It
was these programmes – Manoranjan, Aap ki Farmaaish (Fauji bhaaiyon
ke liye), Bhoole Bisre Geet and Jayamala (with Sunday
afternoons bringing Vishesh Jayamala) and their ilk – that introduced me
to Hindi film music, and to Ameen Sayani, the late host of the long-running (nearly 51 years – with a hiatus in between – and over 2200 programmes) Binaca Geetmala. These programmes
also introduced me to ‘Jhumri Thalaiyaa’ – a place whose residents seemed obsessed
with Hindi film songs. At least, it appeared so. Every song I listened to
seemed to have been requested by a resident of that place. (For those
interested, Jhumri Thalaiyya is in present-day Jharkhand.)
Perhaps
it’s nostalgia, but I’ve been thinking of writing a post on ‘radio songs’ for
some time now. Typically, the context for such songs in films is that either
the hero or the heroine is a singer. If it is a joyous song, it is usually to
introduce the character. When the lovers separate, as lovers do in Hindi
cinema, the radio becomes the means for them to get back together. Since the
person listening to the song cannot see the singer on a radio, such radio songs
were almost always ‘studio’ songs – the picturisation would inevitably show the
singer in the studio and the listener with a radio prominently displayed. It
always intrigued me how the separated lover puts the radio on at just the right
moment and manages to get a clear reception with no static whatsoever.
Be
that as it may, this theme gave us some very beautiful songs. And because ‘studio
songs’ and ‘radio songs’ sometimes overlap and sometimes don’t, I will post the ‘pure studio’ songs separately. These are songs in which the radio is either present or, as in the case of Hum ne dekhi hai un aankhon ki mehakti khushboo, it is strongly implied that it is. In neither post have I included songs sung/performed on
stage that are seemingly ‘live-streamed’ (which made me drop Gaa mere mann gaa from Lajwanti).
In [advance] celebration of World Radio Day, which falls on February 13th, here they are, in no particular order, though my current favourites nestle at the top.
Barsaat ki Raat (1960)
Singer: Mohammed Rafi
Music: Roshan
Lyrics: Sahir Ludhianvi
When Aman
(Bharat Bhushan) goes to the AIR studio in Hyderabad looking for work, the
director asks him to recite something fresh. Looking for inspiration, Aman
wanders the streets when a storm forces him to seek shelter in a blacksmith’s
shop. There, he {literally} bumps into a very beautiful, very drenched girl who
has the same idea. A sudden flash of lightning makes her cower against him momentarily;
their eyes meet, she is horrified, he’s enraptured. She hurries away while he
lights a cigarette, and inspired, composes an ode in praise of this unknown muse.
The song, this
song, plays over the radio, and Shabnam (Madhubala) sits up and takes notice –
she’s always been a fan of Aman Hyderabadi’s poetry. As the song goes on, she
realises that the man she met that stormy night is the poet she adores.
Woh hum na thhe woh tum na thhe
Cha Cha Cha
(1964)
Singer: Mohammed Rafi
Music: Iqbal Quereshi
Lyrics: Neeraj
In this
forgettable film produced and directed by actor Chandrasekhar, he plays the
hero, Puranchand Kashmiri, while Helen essays the role of Lalli/Lalitha. They
meet at a temple where she slaps him because she thinks he’s singing about her; ashamed
about the misunderstanding and harangued by her mother (a screeching Leela
Misra) for her lack of traditional values, Lalli persuades the temple priest to
coax Puran into accepting the money for a surgery that will restore his sight.
Quite obviously, they fall in love. Much to the dismay of her otherwise-indulgent
father, for Puran is a Harijan, a lower caste man.
Giving in to
his emotional blackmail, Lalli breaks Puran’s heart (and her own) by pretending
to be in love with another man. [Thankfully, she gets to call her father out
for a) insisting that her marriage to a Harijan will ruin her elder
sister’s marriage prospects and, b) coaxing her to marry under the pretext that
if she remains unmarried, her younger sisters will remain spinsters as
well. “Am I the only sacrificial lamb in
this family?” she asks him, before resignedly agreeing to his wishes.] It is
then that this song plays over the airwaves. Unlike most other such songs, the
picturisation actually has her listening to the radio before her father walks
in; she reduces the volume while he’s talking and when he leaves, is about to
turn the radio off when the announcer announces this song. Full marks to
Chandrasekhar for this attention to detail.
Rafi’s voice is melancholic rather than maudlin; Neeraj’s lyrics are evocative of the heartbreak the couple endure for while he may be the one singing, she feels the same emotions. Lovely!
Khamoshi (1964)
Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
Music: Hemant Kumar
Lyrics: Gulzar
Arun (Rajesh
Khanna), a poet, has lost his mental balance when spurned by his girlfriend,
Sulekha (Snehlata). Worse, she’s stolen his compositions to make a name for
herself. Nurse Radha (Waheeda Rehman), who’s in charge of the deeply
traumatised Arun, has already discovered that the doctor’s treatment protocol
has blurred the lines between the personal and the professional. Her care for
another patient, Dev (Dharmendra in a cameo), had ended with her falling in
love with him, only for him to get better and leave. But the fates are not
finished with her – her relationship with Arun will only get more personal.
But, in the
meantime, she has a patient to save, and she decides to go meet Sulekha, who is
performing her ‘hit song’ at the recording studios, which is being aired live.
And Radha, on her way in a cab, can only reflect sorrowfully on how much Arun’s
words reflect her own life.
Pyaar koi
bol nahin
Pyaar aawaaz
nahin
Ek khamoshi
hai
Sunti hai
kaha karti hai
Na yeh
bujhti hai na rukti hai
Na thehari
hai kahin
Noor ki
boond hai
Sadiyon se
baha karti hain
There’s irony here in Sulekha singing about love when she had not kept faith with Arun.
In Radha’s case, the silence will soon be deafening.
Lata is at her
sublime best here.
Anuradha (1960)
Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
Music: Pt Ravi Shankar
Lyrics: Shailendra
Saanwre saanwre is a background song, one that plays over
the credits. But it serves an important purpose – to establish the backstory of
Anuradha, the protagonist of the film. When the movie starts, the announcer
mentions that they are playing ‘old’ songs. This song had been very popular ten
years earlier. It is sung, he says, by the famous singer, Anuradha Roy. And
when the song ends, you realise that ‘Anuradha Roy’ is now married, with a
child, and music is as far from her life as the village is, from the city.
Aankhon
aankhon mein ho gaye mast ishaare
Khazanchi (1958)
Singer: Asha Bhosle
Music: Madan Mohan
Lyrics: Rajender Krishan
Harish (Rajendra
Kumar) and Usha (Shyama) have had a stormy introduction to each other, but now,
he’s saved her father’s life, and she must be civil to him. (She manages to get
a good kick in before she learns this.) Meanwhile, having learnt that Harish is
a lawyer who has just sat for his Bar exams, Usha’s father is doing some
amateur matchmaking. Harish is quite besotted with Usha already, and Usha is
feeling a spark of attraction as well.
When, on cue, comes this romantic song
trilling out of the radio (that Usha’s father has had her turn on). Harish’s
sister, Geeta (Chitra), is a radio artiste, and the song lyrics so reflect the couple’s
fledgling feelings that by its end, Harish and Usha are well and truly in love
with one another.
Premendra (Raj
Kapoor) is a well-known AIR artiste and a very popular one. Especially among
the college girls who are half-way in love with him without ever having seen
him. Among these girls are Renuka (Rehana), Asha (Roop Kamal) and Lata (Nigar
Sultana). This song, coming as it does at the very beginning of the film,
serves to establish Premendra’s credentials as well as the fandom he enjoys – while
Lata has chivvied all the girls to go party, Renuka and Asha make their escape
so they can hear Premendra ‘live’ on the radio.
The girls put on the radio just in time for the song.
While Sunehre
Din was a rather tedious love triangle (with a happy ending, for a change),
its songs by the underrated Gyan Dutt – 10 of them – used voices as varied as Mukesh,
Geeta Roy (Dutt), Shamshad Begum, Sulochana Kadam, Surinder Kaur, Kalyani Das,
GM Durrani, and Khan Mastana.
Teen Batti Char Raasta (1953)
Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
Music: Shivram Krishna
Lyrics: PL Santoshi
Shyama
(Sandhya) is a part-time radio artiste, who sings under the stage name, Kokila.
She’s very popular among her listeners, one of whom is Ramesh (Karan Dewan),
who imagines she is as beautiful as her voice is divine. When she gains
employment as a maid in his house to earn some extra income that’s sorely
needed, she tries to warn him that the reality may not match his imagination.
To no avail.
The socially
progressive story by Diwan Sharar had a feisty heroine who was both self-confident
and self-respecting, despite her dark complexion being the target of many
biting remarks. The lyrics of this song reflect that self-confidence; as she
tells her step-mother in one scene, “Main jaisi hoon, thheek hoon!” (I’m
fine as I am!) Little wonder, then, that she is also her own favourite. Who
cares if anyone else thinks she’s beautiful or not?
V Shantaram,
the director, also picturized this song well – we see from vignettes how men
and women of all ages love her songs. He’s said to have modelled ‘Shyama’ upon Lata Mangeshkar.
Abhimaan (1973)
Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
Music: SD Burman
Lyrics: Majrooh Sultanpuri
When Subir (Amitabh
Bachchan) meets Uma (Jaya Bhaduri), he’s entranced by her singing. So much so that
when they return to Bombay after their wedding, he encourages her to sing and
fosters her career. What he doesn’t realise is that she’s infinitely more
talented than he is, and soon, her career takes off while his star dims. His
ego hurt, Subir lashes out at the wife he had once loved. His jealousy creates
a chasm in their marriage that, try as she might, Uma cannot bridge.
This song,
coming at a pivotal point in the narrative, expresses the anguish she feels at the
circumstances that have driven her husband away from her. Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s
sensitive take on marital relationships holds relevance even today in a society
where men still find it uncomfortable when their wives are more successful than
them.
Jaya, who won a
Best Actress award for her portrayal, modelled her singing on Lata Mangeshkar.
The latter had once mentioned how Jaya used to visit music sessions while she
was recording and continually observe the tiniest of nuances.
Humne chaaha magar keh na paaye
Ummeed (1962/1971)
Singer: Asha
Bhosle
Music: Ravi
Lyrics: Shakeel Badayuni
Shankar (Joy
Mukherjee) meets Leela (Nanda), a celebrated radio artiste and the sister of
his old college friend, Mattoo (Agha). They slowly become acquainted with each
other (they are neighbours) and there’s an attraction on both sides though
neither speak of it. Meanwhile, Shankar is being looked at benignly by his
boss, Jwalaprasad (Ashok Kumar) and his daughter, Mala (Leela Naidu). One day, Leela tells him
to listen to her song on the radio – it will be aired at 7.20 p.m, she says,
and Shankar delightedly agrees to listen to it. Only, he’s stuck at his boss’s
house, where it is clear that Mala is more than interested in him. While
Jwalaprasad leaves for a dinner appointment that he has forgotten, Mala insists
Shankar finish his tea. She turns on the radio, and Shankar, listening to the Leela’s
song, understands the message it conveys. Of course, his beatific smile
makes Mala sure that the romantic melody has evoked feelings for her in
his heart.
It’s a lovely song,
full of nervous hope as Leela conveys the emotions she could never express in
his presence. The distance that the radio creates between the singer and the
listener allows her to shyly, happily, confess that she loves him.
Hasratein
aarzooen umangein
Jaane kis raah par jaa rahi theen
Un ko dekha toh manzil samajh kar
Ruk gaya karvaan un ke aage
Hum ne chaaha magar keh na paaye
Pyaar ki dastaan un ke aage
Sublime!
*Ummeed, though listed everywhere as a 1962 release seems to have only received its censor certificate in 1971.
Tu duur hai aankhon se
Shair
(1949)
Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
Music: Ghulam Mohammed
Lyrics: Shakeel Badayuni
Deepak (Dev
Anand) is a poet who lives in the village. He is in love with Rani (Suraiya),
his childhood sweetheart. Things are hunky-dory until Deepak decides to visit
the big, bad city of Bombay where an avid fan, Beena (Kamini Kaushal), is a
celebrated radio artiste who sings his poems.
The songs, however, scored by Ghulam Mohammed are very pleasant indeed, and it’s a shame they were composed in service of a trite love triangle, perhaps one of the many that Dev and Suraiya signed
just so they could be together without her grandmother’s interference. Suraiya
had the mopey role, and I so wish that Dev got together with the sprightly
Kamini instead. I do have to admit that a young Dev looks rather nifty in his pyjamas.
Tu dulhan banegi teri doliya sajegi
Aayi Phir Se Bahaar (1960)
Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
Music: Vedpal Verma (?)
Lyrics: Vedpal Verma
This is a
‘pure’ radio song; by that, I mean, the heroine, Rani (Padmini), turns on the
radio in her house, and this song begins to play. There’s no cutting away to a
studio. The picturisation stays firmly in Rani’s house, as she dances in joy to
the music.
The context behind
this seemingly innocuous song is that Rani has been presented with a Murphy
Radio (the earliest example of product placement?) by her colleague and
guardian angel, Raja (Sivaji Ganesan). And later, she turns on her new
possession and enjoys the music. Of course, it is strange that she would just
listen to this one song, which starts when she turns on the radio and ends just
before she turns it off, but hey, there’s a radio there!
Aayi Phir Se Bahaar was, in reality, a Tamil film called Raja
Rani, starring Padmini opposite Sivaji Ganesan. Directed by A Bhimsingh, it
was dubbed and released in Hindi as Aayi Phir Se Bahar, but alas,
couldn’t match the success of its original. Also, since it is a ‘dubbed’ film, all Vedpal Verma had to do was to write lyrics to match the tune. The question mark next to his name is because he’s alternately referred to as Vedpal ‘Sharma’ and Vedpal “Verma’. I am not sure which name is the correct one.
Oonche Log
(1965)
Singer: Lata Mangeshkar, Mahendra Kapoor
Music: Chitragupt
Lyrics: Majrooh Sultanpuri
Another ‘pure’
radio song in that we never see who is singing. What’s more, it’s not
important. Rajnikant (Feroz Khan) has just been presented with a transistor
radio by his brother, Inspector Sreekant (Raj Kumar) on his birthday. Ecstatic
with his new present, Rajnikant puts it on – of course, a song begins at once,
but that’s a small detail. He goes out, transistor in hand, and listens to it
in the garden. Towards the end, he even sings along with the song, which seems
very natural.
Oonche Log was adapted from a very successful Tamil play,
Major Chandrakant, written by K Balachander, who made it into a film in
1966.
And as a bonus:
Bewaqoof (1960)
Singers: Manna Dey, Shamshad Begum
Music: SD Burman
Lyrics: Majrooh Sultanpuri
I am cheating
here, since this is not really a ‘radio song’ – it is not being aired over the
radio. But IS Johar and Krishna Kumari are singing ‘playback’, from behind
the curtain. Each time someone turns the knob to a different station, they
change accents– Hindi, Bengali, Tamil, Sinhalese, etc.
Johar’s facial contortions
complement Manna Dey’s (and Shamshad’s) vocal calisthenics as they sing ‘Hindi’ in four accents. Majrooh’s verbal dexterity never fails to amuse (and
amaze) me as he writes pure nonsense verse to complement this chaotic tale of
babies exchanged at birth (or not).
So. A baker’s dozen of ‘radio’ songs. Can you think of other songs that fit this theme? Remember, they should, implicitly or explicitly, feature a radio.