Rain, the opera of nature— clouds
of different hues and shapes dancing to the blowing wind accompanied by thunder
and bolts of lightning—is magical and dramatic. At times it drizzles giving us
the feel of a tender touch of a cute baby. Sometimes it showers bursting down
like a cherry blossom. Often it
cascades down like a silk dupatta (stole)
of a pritam blowing in the wind,
giving us the real thrill of rain. Once in a while, it also pours down
ceaselessly like the tears of a beloved that often force us to join it in
chorus.
Rain is cool and
has a calming effect on mankind. Even plants and animals welcome it, for it
rejuvenates every living being. Every prani (being) therefore welcomes
it with glee. In its colourful multitudinous, it simply evokes sringar
(romanticism). Obviously, we look at it in reverence. As the man sways in that
mist created by its myriad forms, he/she gets reminded of many … many sweet
memories of the days gone by…
On one summer
evening, I was going to Sridhar’s house to say goodbye before leaving for
college after vacations. As I was half the way, summer shower caught me…
unawares. Within no time the drizzle turned into rain, forcing me to look for a
shelter. Noticing a canopy over the entrance of a house, hopping onto its
steps, tucked into a corner …of the entrance …
Oh! What a
surprise! It is that same house … that cute Mangalore tiled house….the
construction of which I watched curiously in those days …the days of going to
and returning from the school. Its inmates too looked quite different …
differently dressed, even those leggy girls behaved differently… even talked
differently… The man was tall …looked handsome in his white T-shirts, and
always sported a baseball cap while supervising construction. Mother and girls
too used to be around—either curing the walls or aiding the labour in watering
the bricks… if no work, all the four played caroms… or the man and elder
daughter (I presumed) played chess …. This gaming continued even after
construction… they have also raised a cute garden within that small vacant land
well before gruhapravesam… everything of them was out of town…and the
house, the people… everything of them fascinated me so much that I invariably
glanced at it while going to or coming from school. For, everything of them
looked so esoteric….so passionate...
Oh! Those images
suddenly overwhelmed me as I stood there, in their porch…even now everything
looked spic and span… the path way from the gate to the veranda was marked by
nicely pruned hedges… there were rows of flowering plants on either side. There
in one corner, a small green carpet, perhaps lawn. Oh! They still maintain an
atmosphere around them that has never been here in this town…
From inside merry
sounds … giggling of girls, yelling… “adi voddu – Oh! no, not that …
aa record pettu – play that record” …shrieking about this and that…
suddenly a male voice almost ordering … “play this…it goes well with the musty
smell of the rain… and the pakodies –snacks –getting readied by your amma
…”.And suddenly, everything became silent.
A melancholic sound
… ‘finger picking’ of Sitar’s string in a separated fashion … … but progressing
with cadence ...followed by Rafi’s voice… badii udaasi... full of pathos ..
Maine chand aur sitaro
ki tamanna ki
(I’d
longed for the moon and the stars)
Mujhko rato ki syahi ke
siva kuch na mila
(But
for the darkness of the night, I got nothing)
What a soulful
rendering … melodic harmony between the sound bites of lyrics and the accompanying
music…soothing to the ears…. Sitar interlude simply heightened bluesy snatches
of melancholic melody.
Mai vo nagamaa hu Jise pyar ki mehfil na
mili
(I
am that melody which found no assembly of love)
Vo musafir hu jise koi bhi manzil na mili
(I’m
that traveller who found no destination whatever)
Zakham paye hai baharo ki tamanna ki thi
(I
got the wounds, though longed for the spring around)
The second interlude is interestingly
of flute intermingled with violin phrases…making the already despondent lyrics
blossom in the eloquence of its heartache… indeed, thump the heart more
heavily…
Kisi gesu kisi aanchal ka sahara bhi nahi
(No
plait, nor even any hem to cling to)
Raste me koi dhundhla sa sitara bhi nahi
(not
even a fading star on the way)
Meri nazron ne Nazaro ki tamanna kit hi
(My
eyes had longed for lavish scenes)
The third interlude too is of flute
seasoned with violin phrases…enhancing the sense of loss … the instrumentation
is so economic—music director Datta's assistantship with Burmanda, is perhaps, the obvious
influence—and yet it plunges the listener into abyss…
Meri raho se juda ho gai rahe unki
(her
ways have parted from mine)
Aaj badli nazar aati hai nigahe unki
(today,
her outlook seems to have changed)
Jisse is dil ne saharo ki tamanna ki thi
(she,
from whom this heart had desired support)
…perhaps to round off the pathos
effectively, music director preferred Sitar plucking for the final interlude …
Watch how Rafi renders the word, ‘badli’
in the antara: Meri raho se juda ho gai rahe unaki Aaj badly nazar aati hai nigahe
unki… as though pouring out all the agony of the singer at his beloved’s
changing stance…
Pyar manga to sisakte hue araman mile
(though
sought love, I got the sobbing desires)
Chain chaha to umadte hue tufan mile
(desired
peace, but met with raging storms)
Dubte dil ne kinaro ki tamanna ki
thi
(the
drowning heart had longed for the shores)
The lyrics of Sahir Ludhiyanvi, the poet of Chand and Sitare—written
for film, Chandrakanta (1956) an obscure film—with captivating harmonies, are
quite haunting. And Rafi rendered his vocals to convey the depth of their
meaning with appropriate shift and bend of voice and embellishing it here and
there with vibrato effect. And Sahir’s marvellous lyrics—Mujhko rato ki syahi ke siva kuch na mila; Pyar manga to sisakte hue
arman mile; Chain chaha to umadate
hue tufan mile—when aired by Rafi’s voice that is swelled with
emotion—emotion of sadness, they strike straight at heart … indeed Sahir’s
pen’s inky darkness silently encircles the listener’s heart.
The music director, N Datta has to be
complimented for composing this song in raag
Bhimpalasi—a raag by virtue of
its innate komalata, softness and
melody considered as the best suited for romantic songs but Rafi with his udaasi tone—with no ups and downs … the
whole song progressing as though a river to its brim is flowing steadily— had simply
injected komalata, softness into the
song making it sound more melancholic and the sweetest to hear. After all,
won’t saddest thoughts run through the listener softly like a knife passing
through butter? Obviously, music connoisseurs often complimented Mr Datta for
giving the best expression of raag Bhimpalasi through this song and with
his mastery on rhythm quivered listener’s hearts…
Oh! Coming out of the trance … sensing
silence is no longer bearable in that stilled atmosphere … …whispering, “Thank
you Sir, you made my evening”, jumped out of their porch into the fading
drizzle……
Water colors painting - Courtesy: Sri Milind Mulick. I thank him profusely...
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