In
the late sixties, grabbing the first job offer received from APAU, I landed at
RARS, Rudrur. The research station was a
stone’s throw away from the village amidst lush green sugarcane fields alternated
with hillocks and scrub jungles. It was a quiet place. Labs, farm and staff
quarters are all located in a single estate. Right behind the quarters, there
was a hillock—indeed rows of hillocks covered by scrub jungle. Coming from
coastal plains, I found the hillocks, the jungle around them and its
desolateness quite interesting and amusing.
Excited
by the new surroundings, and for the first time being alone and accountable all
to myself, I think I went wild: after office hours, I used to go on short hikes
into the woods abutting the station—climbing
trees, trekking in the surrounding hillocks, walking through the rolling green
downs, and whatnot. Really had all the
thrill of leading a kind of adventurous life that I had not tasted hitherto except
to read in western magazines/novels. This newfound thrill continued even after my
marriage. Thankfully, the institute allotted me and another colleague—a good
friend of mine from Bapatla campus, Murthy—a quarter with four rooms. We settled
our families, each occupying two rooms meandering through the common veranda and
lived like in old-style joint family but with two hearths. The farm still had
the Nawabi charm—enjoyed the charm of
servants carrying out our household chores with adab (respect). Being freed from such mundane labour, my wife too
used to join me in hiking into the woods/trekking the hills and all that. Occasionally,
my friend and his wife too used to join us.
On
one such trip to the hilltop on a moonlit night, we all four of us sitting on
flat rocks lying close by engaged in a kind of chitchat, while the transistor placed
on a nearby rock blared film songs. As I was comforting myself in my usual
style of reclining on the rock, while my wife sat by my side, and staring at the
star-studded sky, suddenly, a melody that wafted through the cool breeze caught
our ears. Its prelude was very romantic—the interplay of violin and piano
accordion duly accompanied by the easy lilting stride of Shankar-Jaikishan’s
(SJ) signature waltz beats producing an impression of dream-like sensation,
indeed created a right tempo lulling all of us into a rhythmic romantic mood and
as we were slowly sucked into the music, we heard the young sweet voice of Lata
cooing beautiful words … indeed beautiful lyrics flew out:
“aa neele gagan tale pyar ham karein
(Come,
let us make love under the blue sky)
aa
neele gagan tale pyar ham karein
Hil-mil ke pyaar ka iqaraar karein
(Cuddling
each other, confess our love)
aa neele gagan tale pyar ham karein …
Then
the interlude: the interplay of violin and piano duly accompanied by waltz beats
played on piano accordion made us literally swing along with Lata, as she surged
forward reaching a higher octave with her ‘craving’ for …
ye sham ki belaa ye madhur mast nazarey
(This
evening twilight, this sweet and rollicking ambience)
baithey rahein ham tum yunhi baahon ke
saharey
(wish
we sit along in the arm of each other)
woh din naa aayein intazaar hum
karein
(do
not wish that we ever need to wait for each other )
aa neele gagan tale pyar ham karein
Interestingly,
while starting the second line “antara: “baithey
rahein ham tum …” she sang the word baithey
in a quivering tone—perhaps to give the right expression to the ladylove’s
intense longing to sit with her lover . What an ethereal singing!
Followed
by the pleasing interlude, Hemantda took over from Lata in a more supplicating tone—as
indeed Lata herself once said: “Hemantda’s voice gives a feeling that a certain
saint was soulfully paying his oblation to the God in the temple”—as though he was
giving words to their current state of mind with the sole motto of offering his
love all the needed assurance, but in stark contrast to Lata’s surging voice and
the solace, quite soulfully:
do jaan hain ham aise milan ek hi ho
jaaein
(although
we are two separate beings, we wish to become one)
dhoondha karein duniya haemin ham pyaar
mein kho jaaein
(the
world would search for us , but we are lost in love)
bechain bahaaron ko gulzaar ham Karen
(we
shall convert the restless springs into blooming gardens)
aa neele gagan tale pyar ham karein
As
music connoisseurs say, when it comes to singing a song set at night time,
there is no better voice to set the tone than Hemantda’s and that’s what we cherished—a kind of a serene beauty
like that of the fully flowing Ganges in the plains—while Hemantda sang
his part pretty softly …
Then Lata took over
passionately praising her lover, indeed with a gusto…
tu maang ka sindoor tu aankhon ka hai
kaajal
(you
are the sindoor, vermilion, of my
parted hair and kajol, lampblack, of
my eyes)
then commands him in a
tone that was loaded with lots of longing…
le baandh le daaman ke kinaron se ye
aanchal
(please
tie my scarf to the hem of your shirt)
and her prodhatva, full grown stature of a girl,
reaches its zenith as she then pleads with him…
samaney baithey raho shringaar ham
karein
(please
sit before me, I shall get decked up )
Then sliding into a
lower octave, as Lata sweetly trails off the mukhada…
“aa neele gagan tale pyar ham karein
Hemantda joins her to the end and together they sang…
aa neele gagan tale pyar ham karein…
throwing the listeners
into an undefined silence.
As
the bowing of violin terminated, and as the real beauty of the contrast in the
singers’ voices—surging honeydew voice of Lata vying with that silky soft voice
of Hemantda—and the simple lyrics of Hasarat Jaipuri infiltrated the inner
mind, we were lulled into a trance… It took some time for all the four of us to
come out of that trance—that silence which encircled us …
This
vintage song of 1954 from the not-so-popular film, Badshah, is an astoundingly pleasant expression of raga Bhimpalasi. Since this raga, as the
music lovers say, starts with “ni sa ma”,
it is so pleasant to listen to and so well suits a romantic song like the one we
are talking about. Bhimpalasi is indeed a rare pick for SJ who are otherwise
known to compose their songs often in raag
Bhairavi—incidentally, Jaikishan adores
raag Bhairavi so much that he even named his daughter Bhairavi—in which they indeed doled out many popular songs.
Coming
to this song, rightly digressing from their known pattern of using too huge an
orchestration, SJ made a cool presentation of the languid romance evoked by the
touchy lyrics of Hasrat Jaipuri. The composition may seem slow, may even miss SJ’s
signature vitality, but unusually overflows with tons of sweetness and spirited
romance, and as it creeps in it takes over the mind space of the listener—–creating goose bumps for music
lovers. That’s what makes this song
unique.
Simply
put, this dream composition haunts the soul and mind. What an enchanting melody!
Courtesy of & thanks to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WnOFZw8wElg
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