Monthly Archives: January 2012

Jurm-E-Ulfat Pe Lyrics and Translation: Let’s Learn Urdu-Hindi

Posted on by
9

This gem penned by Sahir Ludhianvi in Taj Mahal (1963) is probably one of our favorite picks for an old film song that makes the makes the best use of Urdu lyrics. This classic movie narrates the love story between Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal. Ludhianvi’s heart-wrenching lyrics combined with Roshan’s beautiful music (a nuanced use of Raga Gaud Malhar!), Lata’s magical voice, and Bina Rai’s graceful portrayal of Mumtaz Mahal on screen make this song a truly memorable masterpiece.

All the couplets in this song are beautifully constructed, but one of the lines in this song is particularly intriguing. In the fourth couplet, Ludhianvi writes: “takht kyaa chiiz hai aur laal-o-javaahar kya hai?” As a whole, this couplet expresses the sentiment that love is so powerful that it transcends wealth, royalty, and even divinity. However, Ludhianvi’s use of the specific word laal-o-javaahar (red jewels, rubies) to symbolize wealth is interesting because it appears to be a reference to Javaahar Laal Nehru, who happened to be Prime Minister of India at the time that this song was written. Nehru was certainly seated on the “takht” of India in 1963, but what is Ludhianvi’s purpose in referencing him in this line of the song?

Although we can’t know for sure, here’s what we think. Because Ludhianvi is known to use his lyrics as a medium for criticism and political satire, it is likely that he is criticizing Nehru for his role in starting the Sino-Indian War of 1962. Nehru’s stubbornness and refusal to negotiate escalated tensions between India and China, ultimately leading to a war that cost thousands of human lives on both sides. (As a side note, the patriotic classic “aye mere vatan ke logo.n” was written to commemorate the soldiers who lost their lives in this war). Here, I would venture to say that Ludhianvi is using the reference to suggest that lovers are prepared to suffer losses greater than those incurred by Nehru in the war.

If you haven’t heard this song yet, you’re totally missing out–take a listen and pay close attention to the glossary below to learn some new and difficult Urdu vocabulary!

–Mr. 55

Lyrics:
jurm-e-ulfat pe hame.n log sazaa dete hai.n
kaise naadaan hai.n, sholo.n ko havaa dete hai.n

hamse diivaane kahii.n tark-e-vafaa karte hai.n
jaan jaaye ki rahe, baat nibhaa dete hai.n

aap daulat ke taraazuu me.n dilo.n ko tole.n
ham muhabbat se muhabbat ka silaa dete hai.n

takht kya chiiz hai aur laal-o-javaahar kya hai?
ishqvaale to khudaayii bhii luuTaa dete hai.n

hamne dil de bhii diyaa, aur ahad-e-vafaa le bhii liyaa.
aap ab shauq se de le.n jo sazaa dete hai.n

jurm-e-ulfat pe hame.n log sazaa dete hai.n

Glossary
jurm-e-ulfat: offenses in love; sazaa: punishment; naadaan: naive; sholaa: flame; tark-e-vafaa: end of love; jaan: life; nibhaa dena: to fulfill; daulat: wealth; taraazuu: scales; silaah denaa: to respond; takht: throne; laal-o-javaahar: red jewels, rubies; ishqvaale: lovers; khudaayii: godliness, divinity; luuTaa denaa: to sacrifice; ahad-e-vafaa: vow of loyalty; shauq se: with pleasure

Rough Translation
People punish me for the offenses I have committed in love
How naive they must be, for they are only adding air to a burning flame.

Elsewhere, people crazier than I put an end to their love.
Whether I live or die, I will remain faithful to my word.

You may weigh hearts on scales of wealth,
But I respond to love with love.

What is the value of thrones and rubies?
Lovers can sacrifice even divinity.

I have already given my heart and taken a vow of loyalty.
Now, with pleasure, you may deliver my punishment.

People punish me for the offenses I have committed in love.

The Bollywood Horse and Buggy Song

Posted on by
5

Dilip Kumar and Vijayantimala take a cue from their horse in Naya Daur (1957)

You know what I’m talking about. Guy and girl are falling in love. The setting: indistinct country road. A trotting horse (hay load optional) comes into view. Guy holds the reigns, a gentle clip-clop sets the beat like a metronome, and at last someone can’t resist and bursts into love song. Yes, nothing evokes the pastoral innocence of Bollywood’s rural ideal like a good horse and buggy sequence.

I’ve come up with a list of my top 5 horse and buggy songs. No matter how terrible you’re your day was, these’ll always put you in the mood. Sure, the economy is a mess, and yes, studying/work/dieting is rough. But isn’t it comforting to know that at least there will always be an appropriate forum to burst into song freely with a built-in beat? Just find a horse, grab a partner, and say hello to some fresh village air.

1. Mang Ke Saath Tumhaara (Naya Daur, 1957)

-The epitome of the horse and buggy genre. If this song doesn’t just make you want to join your nearest agrarian values movement, then you are made of steel. Dilip Kumar and Vijayantimala’s dynamic is so cute in this song, you overcome your gag reflex and find yourself basking in the bliss of better, bygone days. This film was recently recoloured following the latest trend, and the whole soundtrack is magic.

2. Haule Haule Chalo More Sajna (Saawan Ki Ghata, 1966)

-I absolutely love this song. It gets my spirits up every time. I think part of it is my love of Sharmila Tagore’s teasing persistence, while Manoj Kumar only pretends he isn’t loving it. This is also a beautiful example of one of the few melodious Asha Bhonsle songs that I honestly think no one else could have sung better (as in, Lata). Her voice is just a joy to listen to as she completely hits the mood of this playful winner.

3. Yun To Hamne Laakh Haseen Dekhe Hain (Tumsa Nahin Dekha, 1957)

-Oh Mohammed Rafi, can you do no wrong? The lyrics are adorable and this time, it’s the heroine playing hard to get. But don’t lie to yourself, girl–these are the days before Shammi Kapoor discovered jalebi, and he’s looking pretty fly with that Elvis ‘do. Asha comes back around later in the film for a brief female version of this song, but it’s a classic case of the ladies getting the shaft and having to sing too high because of the standard set by the male version (more on this issue to come). Until then, enjoy a slim Shammi treat to soothe all your pains.

4. Piya Piya Piya Mora Jiya Pukare (Baap Re Baap, 1955)

-Another incredibly cute duet/cheese-fest—this time brought to you by Chand Usmani and Kishore Kumar (who also acts!) The film itself is completely forgettable, but this Asha-Kishore duet is a fun benchmark for the genre. Please don’t miss their fellow travelers on car, who clearly all wish this had been a chorus song.

5. Aye Neele Gagan Ke Tale (Humraaz, 1967)

-Ok, I admit, this song doesn’t fit the classic definition of horse and buggy song. But hey, watching Raajkumar ride up on a horse like the prince of anyone’s dreams (and the subsequent quasi-dream sequence in the Darjeeling countryside) certainly deserves mention somewhere. And that rich voice of Mahendra Kapoor that gives a perfect song a little something-something? Yes, please.

An extremely honorable mention goes to “Aye Nargis-e Mastana” from Arzoo (1965) starring Sadhana and Rajendra Kumar. She’s definitely riding a horse the entire song, but Rajendra Kumar’s awkwardness brings the cute factor back down to Earth.

-Mrs. 55

Losing Yourself in Jewel Thief

Posted on by
8

Dev Anand and Vijayantimala dance for their lives in Jewel Thief (1967)

I recently went on a Dev Anand binge after hearing the news of his passing last month. This man was an absolute auteur—his films were always ahead of his time. Among my favorite of his films is the 1967 kitsch classic Jewel Thief–an addictive crime thriller centered around the identity of a mysterious jewel thief who wreaks havoc across the nation. I kid you not, I watched this film 4 times in just as many weeks (not recommended).

The first time you watch the film, you might feel overwhelmed by the clash of colours and intentions in the costume and set design, by the flashy effects, and thrilling soundtrack. You ask yourself superficial questions that don’t have real answers–like why on earth is Helen dressed like a chicken? Who seriously keeps a fridge in their living room? And how did Vijayantimala fit into these outfits?

Helen shimmers proudly in a chicken suit at a bar.

The second time, you can appreciate the rich music direction—from Lata’s lilting swan song in Rulaake Gaye Sapna Mera, to let’s not forget one of Asha’s greatest moments as a seductress in Raat Akeli Hai. Perhaps the greatest strength of Jewel Thief is its evergreen soundtrack—and the exciting dance number Honton Pe Aisi Baat. As you watch this song, you’re almost tempted to believe that Vijayantimala really did dance for Pope Pius XII himself at the Vatican when she was discovered at five years old (true story).

By the third time you see the film, you start to wonder why you’re still doing this instead of studying for exams next week.

But on the fourth pass, it dawns on you that beneath the glitzy exterior, 60s kitsch and melodrama, Dev Anand actually made an extremely sophisticated emulation of the greatest Hitchcock thrillers. The theme of double identities runs rampant in many of Hitchcock’s films—and Jewel Thief take this idea of an average man unwittingly mistaken for a look-alike to a new level. Like Mr. Kaplan of North By Northwest, our hero Vinay is so doggedly mistaken for a mystery man he has never heard of, that he joins the hunt to track down his doppelganger himself. The idea of doubles is cleverly underscored in the film’s mis-en-scene–through mirrors, camera angles, and editing. Dev Anand invites the viewer into a flashy glamorous world of deceit and intrigue–and soon, the reader is forced in the best Hitchcockian style to doubt the credibility of the film’s own hero–after all, has Vinay in turn been tricking the audience all along?

Perhaps then it is not surprising that Jewel Thief carries a deeper message underneath all of Asha Bhonsle’s high notes and crazy strobe lighting. Tanuja, who plays the likeable “modern” girl (and makes some awkwardly forward passes for the 60s), coincidentally only dresses in traditional saris after deciding to stand up for what’s right. And like India herself toying with the colorful lures of a Western way of life, Vinay loses and rediscovers his own identity, fighting to uncover the truth behind a glittering facade.

Do we really look that similar…? Hideous clash of plaids aside, though?

Bottom line? You need to see Jewel Thief. Forget the political commentary, forget the sublime soundtrack–just go for watching Helen in a chicken costume.

-Mrs. 55

Kahin Door Jab Din Dhal Jaaye Lyrics and Translation: Let’s Learn Urdu-Hindi

Posted on by
24

The next song in our series will be the lyrics and English translation of the sentimental “Kahin Door Jab Din Dhal Jaaye” from the film Anand (1971). Starring power duo Amitabh Bachhan and Rajesh Khanna, Anand tells the story of how one hardened doctor’s outlook is changed by the optimism and infectious laughter of his terminally ill patient, Anand. Dr. Banerjee faces an enormous dilemma when Anand becomes not merely another patient, but a true and close friend. Through Anand, he is inspired once more to fight desperately for the lives of his patients and must come to terms with when at last to let to go of circumstances beyond his control. The film explores the complex medical ethics of urging and struggling for life instead of palliative care when death is inevitable, as well as the difficulties in transcending the professional comforts of a normal doctor-patient relationship. While bubbly, laugh-a-minute Anand is at times over the top, his character remains always endearing.

Rajesh Khanna plays a vivacious cancer patient in Anand (1971)

“Kahin Door Jab Din” comes as one of the rare moments in the film when Anand displays a softer, introspective side to his character. The translation and lyrics of the song is deeply moving–a dying man watches the sunset, reflecting with a kind of loving wistfulness on his unfulfilled dreams. The beauty of these lyrics in the context of the film evokes a sense of what Japanese art has called mono na aware–a sensitivity to ephemera, a gentle sadness for the transience of things even as they occur (in this case, his own life). It should be noted, that although I have translated some lines as referring to a woman–I think this song can be read in many different ways. The lyrics may speak to the woman Anand once loved who is no longer with him, but the womanly embodiment of his longing may be also symbolic of all unknown experiences of life that Anand will miss, for like the setting sun, his life is slowly ebbing away. To me, “Kahin Door Jab Din” is beautiful, restrained, and one of the finest examples of Rajesh Khanna’s ability to move an audience without the crutches of his famous winking and dancing.

P.S. Some of you may be interested to discover the original Bengali version of this song sung by Hemant Kumar here!

Kahin Door Jab Din Lyrics and Translation:

kahii.N duur jab din Dhal jaaye
Somewhere far away when the day dulls
saa.Njh kii dulhan badan churaaye chhupke se aaye
The dusk sneaks up, shyly like a bride
mere khayaalo.N ke aa.Ngan mei.N
In the courtyard of my imagination
koii sapno.N ke diip jalaaye, diip jalaaye
Someone lights up the lamp of my dreams

kabhii yuu.N hii, jab huii, bojhal saa.Nse.N
Sometimes when my breathing becomes burdensome for no reason
bhar aayii baiThe baiThe, jab yuu.N hii aa.Nkhe.N
When my eyes well up just sitting around
tabhii machal ke, pyaar se chal ke
Then with a loving flutter
chhue koii mujhe par nazar na aaye, nazar na aaye
Someone touches me, but I cannot see her

kahii.N to yeh, dil kabhii, mil nahii.N paate
Somewhere these hearts are unable to come together
kahii.N se nikal aaye, janamo.N ke naate
But somewhere a connection emerges that transcends many lifetimes
ghanii thii uljhan, bairii apnaa man
The problem was deep and my own heart turned against me
apnaa hii hoke sahe dard paraaye, dard paraaye
By belonging to me, yet bearing the pain of another

dil jaane, mere saare, bhed yeh gahare
My heart knows all my deep secrets
ho gaye kaise mere, sapane sunahare
How my dreams became golden
yeh mere sapne, yahii.N to hai.N apne
These are my dreams, these alone belong to me
mujh se judaa na ho.Nge inke yeh saaye, inke yeh saaye
Even their shadows cannot be separated from me

kahii.N duur jab din Dhal jaaye
Somewhere far away when the day dulls
saa.Njh kii dulhan badan churaaye chhupke se aaye
The dusk sneaks up, shyly like a bride

Glossary:

saanjh: evening; aangan: courtyard; bhojal: burdensome; machal: flutter; janamo.n ke naate: connection of many lifetimes; uljhan: problem; paraaye: another person (stranger); bhed: secret; sunahare: golden; saaye: shadow

-Mrs. 55

Making the Cut in Pakeezah: Behind-the-scenes of one of Bollywood’s most elaborate musicals

Posted on by
15

The ethereal Meena Kumari in Pakeezah (1971)

Few films have more behind-the-scenes gossip and excitement than Pakeezah (1971). If you know anything about classic Hindi film songs, you’ve probably heard some part of the Pakeezah soundtrack from director Kamal Amrohi’s 1971 legend. The film stars tragedy queen Meena Kumari as Pakeezah and gorgeous, gravely-voiced Raajkumar in a story of unforgiving traditional values that collide with the forbidden love of a pure-hearted courtesan. In an ironic twist, Pakeezah is revealed at the climax to be the hero’s long lost cousin, thus at last sanctioning their marriage (the ethical complexities of this kicker are a whole different issue.) But the movie itself is pure cinematic magic–Kamal Amrohi was notorious for his artistry and attention to detail. Pakeezah’s breath-taking production design, Ghulam Muhammed’s haunting semi-classical thumris, and the effortless poetry of the film’s dialogue is like entering one long, opium-induced dream.

But what was happening beneath the surface? A whole lot of drama.

Director Kamal Amrohi married Meena Kumari when she was 19 years old in 1952. They began filming Pakeezah within a few years–in fact, the song Inhi Logon Ne (raga Yaman) was filmed and edited before Amrohi switched to coloured film stock. The 1956 black-and-white version of the song was never used, but many of the shots are extremely similar to the final version. Notice how different young Lata’s voice sounds in this song compared to parts of the soundtrack recorded years later. Even more interestingly, Inhi Logon Ne was originally taken from the film Himmat (1941) in a version sung by none other than Shamshad Begum!

My favorite non-Lata song from the film is, Nazariyan Ki Maari, sung by 1930s playback singer Rajkumari Dubey. During production, when Naushad spotted Rajkumari singing in his chorus to make ends meet (and this is a woman who had been first female playback singer of India!), he reportedly caused an uproar and gave his former collaborator her own solo. This is why we love Naushad.

Pakeezah took over 14 years to complete, mainly because of the famously tumultuous relationship between Kamal and Meena (and her eventual alcoholism). Rumor has it that Meena was such a hot mess during the filming of Chalo Dildar Chalo, Amrohi cut her out and reworked the shot list so that her face is actually never seen in the song. Her condition became so bad that during the filming of the grueling emotional mujraa “Teer-e Nazar,” Meena Kumari collapsed. A body double, none other than filmi vamp Padma Khanna, was recruited to replace her! Meena Kumari personally trained her for the scene, and the song was filmed with the majority of the dancing done with an opaque chunni hiding Padma’s face! I would’ve killed to be a yes-man on that set and drink in all the gossip.

A very convenient camera angle…

Speaking of which, did you know the beautiful Mohammed Rafi-Lata Mangeshkar duet, Chalo Dildar Chalo (raga Pahadi), was actually also recorded as a female solo? Intended for use as a dancing number, the fascinating solo version was cut from both the film and record releases, although in my opinion, coupling the theme of romantic freedom in the lyrics with the close-up imagery of a ghungroo-bound Pakeezah could have been beautiful filmic irony. But it just didn’t make the cut.

And you know what else got cut from this film? I mean, literally, cut off. Turns out Meena Kumari was actually missing her left pinky from an accident that occurred around the time of her marriage! For a film that is so heavily focused on music and dancing, you can imagine that structuring every tiny shot and dance move to hide the left hand was tricky–but if you watch the film closely, Amrohi does a meticulous job of making sure her left hand stays hidden. And Meena Kumari’s right hand works such graceful magic, I dare you to find a prettier dancer with all 10 fingers.

For more information on the classic film, check out our page dedicated to the immortal dialogue from Pakeezah and the songs from Pakeezah!

– Mrs. 55