I. Lata Mangeshkar with Shankar-Jaikishan

Those were the days when marriages were mostly performed in the summer months. For, that was the season when a huge congregation of people arrived from far and wide can be accommodated in the open yards of the neighborhoods. And, one of the common features of marriages of people from the margins of society was playing cinema songs on a gramophone that were disseminated from the marriage pandal to the whole of the neighborhood via loudspeakers – perhaps, a way of announcing the marriage celebration. 

As I reminisce on marriages of those days, I am to remember that distant hot summer afternoons, to be precise of the 50s, when I, sprawling on the cool cement floor of our veranda, heard for the first time Lataji crooning from a marriage pandal Jiya bekaraar hai chhaai bahaar hai (My heart is restless, Spring is here again) / Aja more baalama tera intajaar hai (Come, O my beloved, I am awaiting your return), written by Hasrat Jaipuri and sung by Lata Mangeshkar for Raj Kapoor’s Barsaat (1949). I understood none of those words, nor could I pronounce them rightly, yet I was caught by that tune and that melodious voice. I am not aware of their names even, still, the journey began. 

On yet another such occasion, I heard that marvelous song, Barsaat mein humse mile tum sajan (In the rain met me, you O my love) written by Shailendra and sung by Lata for the same film. The beauty of this song is that half the way, it just slides from a happy romantic mood to a touching melancholy—Der na karana kahin ye aas tut jaae (Don’t delay, lest this hope may dissipate)/ saans chuut jaae (breath may be lost)—that tweaks listener’s heart. That is the beauty of Lata’s delicate and expressive voice. 

Incidentally, it was with this film that the four: Shankar-Jaikishan, Hasart Jaipuri and Shailendra came together as a team to rule the Hindi film world in the 50s and early 60s. And Lata Mangeshkar was a prominent part of that glory, for by then, she, with a dint of hard practice improved the vital coloratura to mould her voice and her singing style uniquely to suit the needs of the song, which indeed well reflects in the songs that she sang for Barsaat. She, according to Pundits, became an instant hit with this film—and, there was no looking back for her thereafter. Indeed, as Shankar of the Shankar-Jaikishan duo once commented, “the Barsaat that had started in 1948 keeps [kept] pouring” till her death.  

Every song that Lataji sang under SJ duo, particularly during the 50s and early 60s was steeped in sweetness—indeed, a right kind of emotion oozes in the right proportion. Look at the song Aajao tadapte hain arman (Do come, yearnings tormenting) / Ab raat guzarne wali hai (The night is about to pass off) from the film ‘Awaara’ (1951): she gives life to every word in the lyrics with her voice imbued with the required quantum of emotion plus by that tantalizing drop at the end of a musical turn, curve, statement, and all these features can be distinctly noticed all through the song. See, even after the line Ye raat ki dulhan chal di kidhar, chal di kidhar (Where is this night’s bride heading) ends, her voice remains just for that extra microsecond adding magic to the meaning of the lyrics. The refrain of this song is the way she enunciates the words Ab raat guzarne wali hai in a dissolving tone as the song nears its end, which makes every listener feel the romantic ache of the singer on the screen as though it is his/her own. Indeed, the pain hangs with the listener for quite some time to come as a distant cloud. 

In film, Daag (1952) she sang the song Kaahe ko der lagayi re aye na ab tak balma (why delay, O love, hasn’t come still) (lyrics: Hasrat Jaipuri) in her typical sad persona style that leaves a lasting ache in the listener’s mind. 

When it comes to RK’s films, Lata’s singing becomes all the more enchanting. Listen to that song which starts with a haunting aalaap followed by the lyrics of Shailendra… Raaja ki ayegi baaraat, rangili hogi raat, magan main naachungi (Raja’s wedding procession will arrive, night turns colorful, I shall dance in gay abandon) (Aah, 1953), and the mesmerizing mandolin strokes. There is yet another song in this very movie that stands out as a gem: Yeh sham ki tanhaiyan (This solitude of the evening). Notice the way the tonality shifts, the timbral and decibel control of hers, and the way the lyrics are voiced makes it simply enchanting making the listener feel the ache of the singer on the screen. 

Another song of Lata that I loved to listen to, right from the day I first heard is Rasik balama haee dil kyon lagaaya (O my beloved, why did I give my heart). When I first heard this song, I didn’t know the meaning of a single word of it except ‘rog’, if it meant the same as in Telugu. Yet, the song stuck to me eternally—I could feel the pine of Nargis in the way Lataji enunciated those words… This song from the film ‘Chori Chori’ (1956) was set to music by Shankar-Jaikishan duo based on raag Shuddh Kalyaan, a raag said to be more suited for men’s voice. It was sung by Lataji with all the ‘mardani’ manliness in vilambit laya, slow speed accompanied by sitar. The haunting beauty of Lataji’s voice, particularly the ease with which she straightaway reaches the highest note avoiding the usual practice of gliding from one note to the other while enunciating the words, Neha laga ke hari (falling in love, I am defeated); Dastihai ujali raina (glow of the day bites like a serpant), and then the way she drops down for the words, tadpun main gam ki maari; kaa se kahoo main baina is amazing. Even the opening of this song at a very high octave as against the normal practice of beginning a song within a medium octave and continuing it brilliantly at a high pitch is what perhaps made it one of her best songs. It’s of course, a different matter that SJ composed 10 songs for this film Chori Chori all of which are musically excellent besides being enormously popular fetching them their first Filmfare Award. 

Then came that wonderful movie Anaari (1959), a musical hit of SJ that fetched them their second Filmfare Award. And in it, Lata sang an immortal sad song written by Shailendra: Tera Jana dil ke armanon ka lut jana—what a cadence, the lyrics roll out in a fast phase, as though competing with the violin phrases to outdo them. Indeed, Lata succeeded in imparting that song with all the sadness by singing it in a fast-paced style in her soprano voice. Credit goes to the music directors that while Lata is singing, we hear only her voice and the tabla, while interludes are steeped in intense violin orchestration that made the song a true masterpiece.

Then came that film Dil Apna Aur Preet Parayi (1960) which fetched SJ duo their third Filmfare Award, though a very controversial one, for that was the same year in which Naushad’s Mughal-e-Azam was released. In it Lata sang that unique song written by Shailendra that was layered with varied connotations: Ajeeb dastaan hai ye, kahan shuru kahan khatam/ yeh manzilein hai kaunsi, na who samajh sake na hum (It’s a strange story, where it starts and where it stops / what these destinies are, neither they nor could we understand). The beauty of this song lies in its dichotomy: the music directors composed the track in such a way that Lata could create a melancholic feeling in the listener, though the song was played in a celebration scene. The song is neither too overpowering nor too soft but leaves a right amount of sadness on the viewer. That’s its beauty!

In the spring of 1961, I had a pleasant experience: I had the pleasure of going with my brother and sister-in-law to watch the movie Jis Desh Me Ganga Behti Hai at Saraswati Picture Palace, Guntur. That gave me a chance to enjoy that beautiful song of Lataji on the screen: O basanti pawan pagal/Na ja re na ja roko koi—a plaintive urge for the lover, Raju not to go that echoed in the ravines and rocks abutting Narmada is still fresh in memory. The heart-touching lyrics of Shailendra were sung by Lataji depicting a pure longing or viraha in a Gambhirya style in raag Basant Mukhari that made it more exhilarating. 

By the 60s, the SJ duo had acquired the notoriety of being loud in their compositions. Though despite such alleged drawbacks, we did get to hear soulful, poignant, and melodious songs once in a while. One such sweet song that I frequently heard as a graduate student was: Tera mera pyaar amar (love of yours and mine is immortal), phir kyon mujhko lagta hai dar (Yet, why am I scared), from Asli Naqli (1962) in Lata’s magical voice. The lyrics were written by Shailendra and Lata sang it with a great feeling in her mellifluous, soothing, and captivating voice that makes the listener hang on to this melodious song with all longing. The usage of accordion in the interludes only made the song more appealing. How I longed to listen to it sitting in the playground while it was blared out from the radio in the distantly located pavilion, which indeed made the song all the more melodious! 

Then came that film, Dil Ek Mandir (1963), said to have been made just in 27 days with two magnetic songs by Lata. Again, listening to the song, Hum tere pyar mein sara aalam kho baithe (steeped in my love for you, I lost my bearings) penned by Hasrat Jaipuri and rendered by Lata in raag Des, sitting at a distance from the radio in the playground along with my roommate who used to offer me the translation for the Urdu words, was a dear delight. Watching Meena kumari on screen playing Sitar and lip-syncing to the lyrics aired by Lata so clearly and sharply with matching expressions, to profess her love to a despairing husband, was a dear delight. But all my praise goes to those immortal lyrics penned by Shailendra and sung by Lata, Ruk Ja raat thehar ja re chanda … (O night, don’t end! And you moon hold on …), so magnificently in her mellifluous voice, no wonder, if the moon stood still mesmerized by Lataji’s voice.  

It was during 3^rd year summer holidays that I saw the film Arzoo (1965), a musical romance, at Venus Picture Palace of my town along with Sridhar. Two songs from this film sung by Lata are still fresh in my memory. The first one is Aji ruth kar ab kahan jaayiega (lyrics by Hasrat Jaipuri) which was sung in high pitch. How effortlessly she sang it at such a high pitch without sacrificing its melody! How smoothly and beautifully she slides from high notes to low notes! Thanks to S-J duo for their excellent composition of the song based on the most pleasing and melodic Raag Des and to gorgeous Sadhana, who with her matching expressions to the lyrics, made the song pretty romantic and enjoyable on the screen.

The other best song of the film that was sung in her eternally haunting voice was: Bedardi balma tujh ko mera man yaad kartaa hai… (O heartless one, my heart is remembering you). It was composed in the raag Charukeshi, a raag that best suits to express longing and yearning in love and pleading for love. One day as I was listening to this song from the radio at my brother’s house in Nagarjunasagar, and enjoying particularly, the opening alaap that sets the right mood to sway with her yearning to the accompaniment of only tabla and the marvellous interludes of saxophone riffs that elevated the composition, my sister-in-law walking out of the kitchen, joined me in relishing the wholesome beauty of the song.

Then I must take you around that historical movie in which all the songs were that of Lataji’s solos: Amrapali (1966). Here again, SJ excelled themselves in composing masterpieces for Lata to sing to the accompaniment of Desi musical instruments. The first song that comes to mind when you think of Amrapali is that powerful but subtle song, Neel gagan ki chhaon mein… penned by Hasrat Jaipuri and sung beautifully by Lata in the composition, raag Bhupali so melodiously with an apt feel for the lyrics. The beautifully interlaced orchestral pieces, the accompanying dance by that great dancer, Vyjayanthimala and the vocals of Lata made this song one of the most cherished to watch.

Next is that sublime romantic melody, again sung by Lata but the lyrics were of that Kavi, Shailendra: Tumhein yaad karte karte, jayegee raat saaree… (O my love, remembering you, the whole night will just pass awake, missing you…). Her slow, rhythmic rendition was simply stunning—wonderfully emotes the feelings of pain, pangs of separation, and the resulting frustration. And, equally beautiful were the Sitar riffs conveying the emotions as softly as Lata’s voice conveyed. They are simply outstanding! And on the screen, Vyjayanthimala conveys matching emotions through her eyes.

Well, there are so many such songs that deserve to be quoted but it’s perhaps, time to draw the curtain down, lest you may … So, let me wind up this post with two of her duets under SJ that stand eternally marvellous. The first one is that monsoon duet with Manna Dey, Pyaar hua ikraar hua hai (‘am in love, I confess it) / Pyar se phir kyoon darr ta hai dil (Why then is that heart so afraid of love?) in which in the last Antara, Lataji, dropping herself from a surging flow to slow pace, in fact in a kind of soft-trembling tone utters dead slowly: Main na rahoongi, tum na rahoge (I won’t be there, nor would you be) / Phir bhi rahengi nishaaniyaan (Yet, there remains signs of us) that makes listeners’ heart quiver…

The next is that “Yeh chand khila, woh tare hanse, ye rat hajab matwali hai (the moon is shining, stars are smiling, this night is so bewitching) with Mukesh from the film, Anaari (1959). The beauty of this song is the duel between the accordion and Lata’s crystal-clear emotive vocals. Put together, they, along with that shining Nutan and smiling Raj Kapoor, made the song a memorable melodious romantic, watching which makes the listener’s senses calm. 

So that brings us to the end of the Journey with Lataji under the baton of Shankar- Jaikishan that started with that Barsaat and continues to delight even in today’s barsaat. Yes, none of them— music directors Shankar- Jaikishan, lyricists Hasrat Jaipuri and Shailendra, and Lataji— are anymore with us, but their renditions are still pretty interesting, maybe even comforting for people of my age who have grown with them ….  

 

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