My favourite Hemant Kumar songs

A still night or a sultry mid morning... A beautiful woman following parts of a melodious song.... She is walking in a trance... She is walking to the song.. step by step.. sometimes in agony..sometimes with a smile... always to the song.. to the song...

Many a Hemant Kumar song was picturised this way. I always imagined that, apart from the necessary gimmick in the story line, there was something in his voice that made all these women twist and turn in agony, take mysterious stairways, jump the tall walls and take mid-night boat trips to unknown, unfamiliar places.

I have always been a 'Rafi'ologist by religion, but 'that haunting quality' of Hemant Kumar's voice, never fails to take me to a different world.

His musical genius did not limit to the point of being a popular singer with a unique voice, he was an established composer as well.  His powerful yet beautiful music brightened Hindi/Bengali music industry for more than four decades.

Here is my Hemant Kumar top 15. I started making a top 10, but 10 is too small a number.


15, Bekarar Karke from Bees Saal Baat 1962 Music by Hemant Kumar himself and lyrics by Shakeel Badayuni
I used to sing this song when I was 9. Still love it.

14, Ganga Aaye Kahan Se from Kabuliwaala 1961 Music by Salil Choudhary and lyrics by Prem Dhawan

13 Bas Ek Chup Si Lagi Hain from Sannata 1966 Music by Hemant Kumar himself Poetry by Gulzar

12, Ye Raat Ye Chandni from Jaal 1952 Music by S.D Burman and Lyrics by Sahil Ludhianvi, And of course Geeta Bali on the screen.

11, Na tum hamen Jano from Baat Ek Raat Ki 1962. Music by S.D Burman and beautiful lyrics by Majrooh Sultanpuri

10, Zindagi Pyar ki Do Char Ghadi from Anarkali 1953 Music by C Ramchandra

9, Hain Apna Dil To Awara from Solva Saal 1958 Music by S.D Burman and Lyrics by Majrooh Sultanpuri
Well, who wouldn't love this song? Even my son loves it.

8, Ye Nayan Dare Dare, from Kohra 1964 Music by Hemant Kumar himself, beautiful lyrics by Kaifi Azmi
I absolutely love this song, I try not to see Biswajeet's mustache, otherwise this becomes a laugh riot.

7, Teri Duniya Se Jeene Se from House No. 44 1955 Music by S.D Burman and Lyrics by Sahil Ludhianvi

6, Rulakar Chaldiye from Badshah 1954 Music by Shankar Jaikishen and lyrics by Shailendra

5, Na Ye Chand Hoga from Sharth 1954 Music by Hemant Kumar himself, simple,beautiful lyrics by S.H Bihari. This song never fails to make me want to cry.

4, Chup Hain Dharti from House no.44 Music by S.D Burman and Lyrics by Sahil Ludhianvi
The ultimate 'soul song'

3 Chupalo Yoon Dil Mein Pyar Mera from Mamtaa 1966 Music by Roshanlal Lyrics by Majrooh Sultanpuri
I always feel I have more memories linked to this song than I could actually remember. I wish I could remember..

2, Jaane woh kaise Log from Pyasa 1957 Music by S.D Burman and beautiful poetic lyrics by Sahil Ludhianvi
What can I say about this song? I think I've already wrote a post on Pyasa songs.

1, Tum Pukalo from Khamoshi 1969 Music by Hemant Kumar himself and beautiful lyrics by Gulzar
I live by this song. Hauntingly beautiful, beautifully haunting..

Life and Bollywood - 6

"I want you to live"

Those words urged her to live when she had started thinking of death as her only refuge. And she did live, he had put his life in danger to save her, she had to live, she had to throw the past away, she had to live for him.

This love story started with another. And that one had more drama than an average Hindi movie.

It all started with bajjis. Yes, that's right, bajjis..

Year 1946. Young Fathima Rashid, was frying bajjis one afternoon in the family kitchen when the door bell rang. There was nobody at home, so she probably cursed the visitor before running to open the door. Standing at her door, was a young man of 23 , who wanted to speak with her mother about a studio. Fathima was suddenly aware of her unkempt hair, she made a desperate attempt to tidy it with her hand.

Raj Kapoor was touched by this act of innocence. He had come there to see the ghazal singer Jaddanbhai, he assumed that the girl standing in front of him , with smudges of batter allover her hair, was Jaddanbai's daughter who had appeared in a few movies under the name of 'Nargis'. He left immediately, he had not found the information about the studio, but he definitely had found his heroine.

Nargis starred with Raj Kapoor, in his directorial debut Aag. The movie did not do well at the box-office, but it will always be remembered as the first movie to be produced under the banner of  R.K Films. It was the first of many Raj Kapoor-Nargis starrers, it also must be the starting point of their whirlwind romance.

Nargis worked hard for R.K films, she not only starred in most of it's movies, but also invested all the money she made in it. She traveled with Raj Kapoor all over the world for the promotion of their films. The films had started to do really well, all thanks to their sizzling chemistry, yea, take this song for example.

Raj Kapoor was a married man and he had no intention of leaving his wife, Krishna Kapoor. Though Nargis was aware of this fact, she somehow remained under his thump, much to her family's dismay. It is said that Nargis even went to meet minister Morarji Desai, to request for an amendment in Hindu marriage act, for the inclusion of a second marriage.

During these bitter-sweet runs of romance and reality, there was a seemingly insignificant incident in Nargis's life, she was approached by Radio Ceylon for an interview. After turning them down four times, she finally sat down in front of a young announcer for half an hour. Balraj Dutt, the announcer had dreams of becoming a film star, he was getting hugely popular in the radio interviewing celebrities and he had faith in himself that he would make it to the industry someday. Neither he , nor the big celebrity who sat in front of him looking impatiently at her watch, knew what life had in store for them. Of course, he would find success in the Industry, but only after he changed his name to 'Sunil Dutt'.

Reality was finally dawning on Nargis. Her roles in R.K Film's movies diminished to that of a mere accessory in song scenes. Her brother was dead against her relationship with Raj Kapoor , and Raj Kapoor had no intention to marry her. It is even said that Raj Kapoor even refused to lend her money in need and denied all claims of her financial involvement in R.K Films. The futility of the relationship was getting clearer to her. 

In 1957 when Raj Kapoor asked her to do the role of an elderly woman in one of his movies, she decided she had had enough. She declined the offer saying that playing an elderly woman would ruin her image. She left the very next day to do director Mehboob Khan's new movie, Mother India, where she was to portray the life of a Hindu woman of high moral values from early youth to old age. So did she really worry that much about her image? I guess not.

Here is a song from Mother India

There is where she met the young radio announcer again, incidentally he was playing her son in the movie. A fire broke out in the set and he risked his life to save her. While they were in the hospital recuperating from the injuries, she told him the story of her life, her futile love, ever demanding family, recurring thoughts about suicide, all facts thread bare...And he said 'I want you to live'.

Nargis' life literally took a turn. Whatever started with 'Aag' was burnt in the real 'aag', the fire which almost claimed her life. But now she was rescued, the time for wildfires in her life was over.

Acting was never Nargis' real passion, she was forced into it, she had actually wanted to be a doctor. Though she could not actually be a doctor, her respect for that profession had not waned. She had many friends who were doctors and she sometimes even visited the hospitals and sat by the patients in the wards. When Sunil Dutt's sister took ill, Nargis got a chance to repay his kindness, she took his sister to hospital and arranged for her treatment.

Mother India became the biggest hit in Nargis' career. She slowly came out of the shadows of her past. A new love began to bloom. Nargis married Sunil Dutt in 1958. Soon, she happily said good bye to the industry and got busy with her new projects, 3 wonderful children.

The 'Dutts' lived a happy and peaceful life. Sunil Dutt's career began to take shape. They were involved in many charities and they formed a cultural troupe for conducting shows overseas. In the 70s Nargis became the first patron for Spastics Soceity of India and her subsequent work for the organization brought her recognition as a social worker.

Like all good things, their happiness also had to end. Nargis died of pancreatic cancer in 1981 just a few days before the premiere of her sons debut film. A seat was kept vacant for her at the event.

Sunil Dutt formed a foundation in his wife's name to help cancer patients. In an interview given just a couple of years before his death in 2005, he said that his wife's memory was a part of his every waking hour. He had a successful political career and was a cabinet minister at the time of his death.

We do have to admit that there are many perspectives to any story. And this one is not an exception. There were other people involved, and other people got hurt too.
There is a scene in R.K Films' Bobby when Rishi kapoor goes over to Dimple's house, she tidtys her hair with hand, unknowingly rubbing cake batter on the it. ...

:-) I think I am losing my touch with these stuff ....

Couple of my favvvvorite Sunil Dutt songs...

A day at the park

He stood in the sand pit, and gazed up, at the older children in the play house. They were pulling up a bucket of sand, with a rope. It certainly looked like fun! He admired the ease with which they climbed up and down the ladder.

He looked at his mother nervously, and staggered through the sand. He made a thorough study of the ladder, the rungs looked alright, it was the space between them, that worried him. As he pulled himself up, the early spring breeze brushed through his golden hair. He shivered and gripped the rung above him, and paused for a minute. The wind tickled his 'tummy' through the lose untucked T-shirt. He giggled. Then he kept a steady foot on the next rung and continued with greater enthusiasm.

When he reached the top, he threw himself down on all-four, and slithered on the floor of the play-house. Then he stood up and smiled, to the world, well below his feet; his hazel-blue eyes shone with pride.
"Mama" he called out to his mother.

His mother took her cigarette from her lips and smiled.

The older children were throwing sand at each other. At first, he thought this was fun, he grabbed a fist-full of sand, and threw aimlessly. But pretty soon, he was tired of this barbaric act. He wanted to go back to the safety of the ground. He stood near the ladder, and gazed down worriedly, at the height he had conquered.
 'Was that really a good idea?', he wiped his brow. The rungs of the ladder looked scary.

"Mama", he yelled helplessly. Take me!

His mother was talking to a friend, she waved at him.

Now he was really in trouble. The rungs looked unconquerable on the way down.

When I held out my hands, I was suddenly aware of their 'brownness'. I was worried, that he would find them strange. But I was wrong, he almost jumped into my arms, and hugged me tight, with his little white hands.
And when I put him down, he smiled. He must be two, not more than that.

I want to hold on to this feeling..

About an old house

There is something about old houses, that only a person who lived in one of them can understand. They are not just lifeless structures of concrete and wood, they have history, they have stories to tell, its almost like they have souls.

I grew up in a soulful old house, in a quiet, laid back corner of Calicut city. Even in the eighties, while the city was reaching for new horizons , we remained in a place, where the old two and three story buildings of typical Malabar architecture, stood proudly in half an acre of greenery around them..There were narrow lanes between these large compounds, lanes which were not intended for motor cars, lanes where children ran fearlessly, what happened of them, I wonder.

I have lived in different countries, seen exotic sights, but nothing can replace my love for that old city, those beaten down lanes and that old house with trees all around. I am thirty four years old, and even today, when I try to write something, I probe the memories of those first eleven years of my life, the time when I was just a fearless child, running through those lanes, unwary of silt and soil under my feet.

Getting over the pain and guilt associated with those years, probably was the most difficult thing I had to do in my life, now I can say that I relish the memories with out dwelling in the pain, worship the images with out reliving the horror and I can be just grateful, to that city, to that house and to those people. Just grateful.

Even as young as 6 or 7 years old, I was perfectly aware of the possibilities of the house, the dusty dark corners called out to me with their stories, the stacks of old magazines in the upstairs corridor told me of different times, the books, oh the books with their hand-written notes told me of their owners, and of course there were toys , not the toys my parents presented me once in a while, not the ones handed down by my brothers, the abandoned broken toys which I sometimes found in the attic, in the unused store room or in the outhouse. I always wondered about those toys, about the child who played with it, an older cousin, an uncle or an aunt or even my mother, just another child from another decade.

I remember the time I was sick with back to back episodes of mumps and measles. I was confined to a room, completely cut off from friends and all the things I loved, I had to lay my inquisitiveness to rest and  give away to boredom, which I did not like at all. I complained about not having enough reading material for getting through my feverish loneliness. Valyamma had somebody bring out a big stack of children's magazines from the attic, all from 50s and 60s. What a treasure it was! I still remember those black and white cover pictures of weirdly dressed children.

I remember the trees, I remember them well as I used to climb most of them, especially the three guava trees, I could just sit on one of the branches, for hours, and imagine a castle around me. Sometimes when elders did not agree to my whims, I would plan on living in a tree, the guavas, the mangoes and the gooseberries would feed me and I could always resort to the outhouse if it rained! I do not remember why that plan did not materialize.

Even today the house has the same effect on me, it still marvels me with mysteries. Somehow I feel that I am still a child when I go there, I would look for the old trees, though most of them are dead, I would moan them and their soothing shades, tall branches and abundance of smiling green in the sun. I would take strolls through the old lanes, now all broadened and tarred, and look for the signs of familiarity. Just like Sreedharan in the last chapter of 'Oru desathinte kadha'.

Often when I write something based on my childhood, I write about a mango orchard, which I have never seen. I write about being torn away from a childhood love, which never happened. But I cannot stop blending these with facts, in a way that even I, sometimes believe that it really happened.  May be in another life.

 I have been told by many friends not to dwell in mysteries, but somehow 'the uncanny' keep happening around me. Last few times I stayed in the house I have been terribly sick on the last day, I would burn up with mysterious fevers or spend the night vomiting. I like to believe that the house did not want me to leave
 :-) There had never been a child since me in that house, I hope that curse breaks soon.

I love to watch him when he is in a crowd.
The sound of that polite laugh at a joke
The hand gestures when he explains things
The way he pronounces the word 'culture'
The only reason why I love throwing parties!

I really loved this,

http://myownprivatethoughtsnow.blogspot.com/2013/04/the-path-of-suffering.html

Smiles

My little boy is a scientific-romantic, if there is such a term!

I always try to weave a net of magic and mysticism around him, but he breaks free with logic and reason. And obviously he is not into fairy tales and stuff. (How can there be a castle up in the sky, wouldn't earth pull it down with gravity?). Off late I tell him stories about heavy machinery - bull-dozers, diggers and cranes and Cars 2 characters. Its a big relief that his imagination permits talking cars and friendly construction machinery.

The romantic in me springs out sometimes to tell him how much I love him ( you see how many buds are there in that tree, that's how much I love you!) and how I can soothe away his fears and tears. He smiles to that of course, even the little Einsteins need to be held when the cry.

The other day at bedtime I told him that I love him up to sky and stars.
"I love you up to Pluto" came the reply . :-)

Of course then her did tell me that Pluto is no longer a planet.

One Day

I am feeling indignant and crazy. But still want to write.

When I started this blog, I planned on writing book reviews. But obviously that wasn't working out. Its not that I don't read these days, but I hardly finish anything I start. Well, I did reread a couple of Malayalam classics for understanding them better, but more about that later.

When I picked up David Nicholls' One day I vowed to finish it with out breaks. Not because I have heard so much about the book, (or the movie for that matter) but I just wanted to finish it to prove a point to myself. And I did.. And I feel ... well I mentioned that already.

Well, I don't know what to say, I would like to say that I hate it, but  I am still all teary. As much as I want to stay away from these kind of books they somehow find their way to me.

Emma Morley and Dexter Mayhew meet on their graduation day and spend the night talking and kissing. They are both confused by the emotional intimacy they formed over the night ( and day - St Swithin's day apparently) they promise to keep in touch and stay friends, though both of them want to be more than that.

The book takes us though their lives in 20 years (or 17 years ) on St Swithin's day. They form a weird intense friendship  and keep in touch as they promised through long 10 page letters, post cards from different parts of the world, weekly dinners when they both live in the same city, all the while longing for each other. We get the accounts of their parallel lives, him trying to make it into the big bad world of media, her struggling to stay  true to the principles and following her dream ( on and off) to be a writer.  He gets into an array of meaningless relationships, and a lifestyle of hard partying and drugs. She starts living with a man she does not love. Their life goes on like this, a sequence of 'odd timings' , each wondering what the other is doing while getting into infamous affairs, marriage and parenthood - all with other people of course.

Then one day Dexter finds himself divorced and broke and deeply aware of the fact that he is , was and always will be, deeply in love with Emma. Emma finally gets her book published. Though she has a steady boy friend at this point, Emma reciprocates his feelings. And they finally get together.

No, it doesn't end here. She helps him sort out the mess he made of his life. He opens his cafe and finally attains the stability he always lacked in his life. Emma gets along fine with Dexter's daughter and everybody is happy.

No, it doesn't end here. They get married and are still happy. Emma wants to have a baby and starts to worry about her biological clock. Well, she is almost 39 at this stage and he is 40. And then one day they have a small argument. They make up over the phone and agree to meet in the evening at the house they were planning to buy, but Emma has a bike accident on the way and dies !

No, it doesn't end here. The author takes us through three more St swithin's days where we see Dexter on different stages of getting over the tragedy. On the third anniversary, he takes his daughter to Edinburgh where he first met Emma. He reminisces his first St Swithin's day with her 20 years ago.

  Wasn't it enough torture to read about two people pining , literally pining for each other for 14 years. How could she just die, when she was finally married to him? May be that's how life is. But I don't like it thrown to my face this way.

Why did I even start reading this. I hate it when writers intentionally make tragic stories.