This gallery contains 32 photos.
You’ve probably never heard of Mani Rabadi, but I’ll bet you’ve seen her work before. A behind-the-scenes legend, Mani Rabadi was a fashion designer to the stars. This woman was the final word in costume design for Bollywood films of … Continue reading
Guru Dutt reflects on his life as a once-great Bollywood director in the semi-autobiographical epic Kaagaz Ke Phool (1957).
The lyrics and English translation of Dekhi Zamane Ki Yaari are among the most beautiful you can find. The very soul of Guru Dutt can be found in the lyrics of Dekhi Zamaane Ki Yaari. The song is the heart of his masterpiece Kaagaz ke Phool (1957), and I contend contains the most passionate poetry you will ever find in a Bollywood song. Mohammed Rafi brings legendary Urdu poet Kaifi Azmi’s lyrics to an unheard of, feverish of climax that evokes a tragedy much deeper and more painful than any normal loss. Indeed, Kaagaz ke Phool tells a story of a different kind, and not one often explored: the slow destruction of an unfulfilled artist. I have already discussed some of the autobiographical parallels in this film in my translation of Waqt Ne Kiya, and will now present the actual story alongside the lyrics. It is one of the most haunting and powerful songs of that era.
Dekhi Zamaane ki Yaari reprises at different chapters in the film. The first starts in the opening as Guru Dutt plays an aged, dying film director who has returned to his old studio set before dawn. He sits up in the rafts and looks down on the empty world of show business below him. The song begins.
Dekhi Zamane Ki Yaari Lyrics and Translation:
Dekhi zamaane ki yaari
I have seen what goes for friendship in this world
Bichhade sabhee, bichhade sabhi baari baari
Everyone disperses, one by one they all leave
Kya le ke mile.N ab duniya se? Aa.Nsuu ke siva kuch paas nahii.N
What will I take with me now to greet this world? Besides tears I have nothing
Ya phuul hi phuul the daaman mei.N, ya kaanto.N ki bhi aas nahii.N
I was either embraced by flowers, or other times did not even aspire to thorns
Matlab ki duniya hai saari
The whole world is selfish
Bichhade sabhee, bichhade sabhi baari baari
Everyone disperses, one by one they all leave
The old man flashes back to younger days, when he was at the height of his career as a studio Bollywood director. The flashback transitions through a watery image of a lotus flower and a series of dutch-angled shots of eager fans. The high chorus interlude of the music inspires a sense of the divine, but when coupled with the teetering shots of the silent mob, also foreshadows something unnatural.
Guru Dutt smokes contemplatively on a balcony as fans await him below in Kaagaz Ke Phool (1957).
Waqt hai maherabaan, aarzuu hai javaan
During generous times, desires are young
Fikr kal ki karen, itni fursat kahaa.N
There is no leisure to worry about tomorrow
Daur yeh chaltaa rahe, rang uchaltaa rahe
Let this cycle continue, these colors keep splashing
Roop ko badalta rahe, jaam badalata rahe
Let the attractions keep changing, the intoxicants keep changing
Fans crowd Guru Dutt for signatures on empty pieces of paper that embody the theme of his film.
And here Guru Dutt masterfully transitions, for this is a story that is more than merely a tragic fall from societal grace. He shows us a character who has always felt alone–both when the world stood with him and when it abandoned him, searching for meaning in the dazzling lights of his own studio. It’s the kind of tragedy that doesn’t scream and doesn’t cause a colorful sensation. It’s one that softly and slowly erodes the soul–a desperate hunt for a human connection.
Guru Dutt comes home to a perpetually empty house in Kaagaz Ke Phool (1957)
Raat bhar mahamaan hai.N bahaare.N yahaa.N
Here, Spring is our guest the entire night
Raat gar dhal gayi, phir ye khushiyaa.N kahaa.N
But if the night ends, where do these joys go?
Pal bhar ki khushiyaa.N hai.N saari
All of these joys are only momentary
Badhane lagi beqaraari, badhane lagi beqaraari
And then restlessness begins to grow, restlessness begins to grow
Falling down a spiraling slope, he finds love at last and loses not only her, but his chance at happiness with his daughter, his friends, a wife, and his work. No producer will hire him, no actors will work with him. Everything these people once said and did for him was false. He returns years later to his old studio and sees Waheeda Rehman, the woman he loved and runs away in horror. Mohammed Rafi cries out with a violent passion in this segment–a ferocious plea to society and a desperate call to the suffering of his being. It is here that the meaning of “kaagaz ke phool” is explained–that dangerous unfeeling world of pretense. As the song comes to an end, Rafi gently sings the line, “Yeh khel hai kab se jaaari…” [“This game has been played so long…”] In his voice is the awful beauty of true resignation. You feel how tired this man is.
Utterly defeated, Guru Dutt looks back for a final time at the woman he loved and the world that once belonged to him in Kaagaz Ke Phool (1957).
Ud jaa! Ud jaa pyaase bha.Nvare! Ras na milega khaaro.N mei.N
Fly away thirsty bumblebee! You will not find nectar in these thorny shrubs
Kaaghaz ke phuul jahaa.N khilte hai.N, baiTh na un gulzaaro.N mei.N
Do not sit in those gardens where flowers of paper bloom
Naadan tamanna reti mei.N, ummiid ki kashti khaiti hai
In the sands of innocent desire, the boat of hope struggles to stay afloat
Ek haath se deti hai duniyaa, sau haatho.N se le leti hai
What the world gives with one hand, it takes away with one hundred
Yeh khel hai kab se jaari…
This game has been played for so long…
Bichhade sabhee, bichhade sabhi baari baari
Everyone disperses, one by one they all pull away
Returning to the director’s chair, Guru Dutt bids farewell to society in Kaagaz Ke Phool (1957)
Then the flashback ends. He is an old man again hiding in the alcoves of his former studio. With careful decision, he sits down once more in the director’s chair in the center of the set.
Dekhi zamaane ki yaari
I have seen what goes for friendship in this world
Bichhade sabhee, bichhade sabhi baari baari
Everyone disperses, one by one they all leave
Light floods the empty set. Dawn has broke and the crew enters to find an old unfamiliar man who has died sitting in the director’s seat. The producer yells for his body to be removed so shooting can begin. And the cycle continues.
Kaagaz Ke Phool (1957) finishes over the blurred image of studio lights.
Glossary:
yaari: friendship; aa.Nsuu: tears; matlab: selfish (a homonym translates as “meaning”); duniyaa: society, world; waqt: time; aarzuu: desire; fikr: worry; fursat: leisure; daur: cycle, generation; rang: colour; uchalnaa: to splash, to scatter; jaam: intoxicant; mahamaan: guest; beqaraari: restlessness; bha.Nwara: bumblebee; ras: nectar; khaar: thorny shrub; kaaghaz: paper; gulzaar: garden; naadaan: innocent; reti: sand; ummiid: hope; kashti: boat; khel: game
-Mrs. 55
Your average non-Bollywood viewer will probably read “lymphosarcoma of the intestine” and feel nothing. They will also probably pronounce intestine with a normal emphasis on the second syllable and won’t make it rhyme with “shine.” But ask anyone on the streets of Bombay who knows a thing or two about life from the silver screen, and you’ll be amazed. For Hindi cinema, the dreaded diagnosis “lymphosarcoma of the intestine” is synonymous with unavoidable impending doom of a most serious and scientifically complex nature. How did this all start and Bollywood folklore aside, what is lymphosarcoma of the intestine? Let us step back in time to 1971 to the film Anand when the hysteria all began…
Amitabh Bachhan and Rajesh Khanna both can’t pronounce intestine in Anand (1971)
Anand is a film about a life-loving cancer patient whose optimism touches everyone he encounters. The film’s writer, Hrishikesh Mukherji, had majored in chemistry like his father before him, and started a career in Bollywood as a laboratory assistant in the film development process. Mukherji published the story himself—and was actually about his personal relationship to film great, Raj Kapoor (to whom the film is dedicated!) Kapoor used to call Mukherji babumushai when Kapoor had fallen quite ill himself, and the characters were based upon their interactions. I have discussed more about the songs and plot of the film here, but for now, I will highlight Anand’s unexpected, fatal diagnosis: lymphosarcoma of the intestine. At one point in the film, Anand is explaining his disease and jokes about the name that, “kisi viceroy ka naam lagta hai. Aadmi Vividh Bharati par announce kar sakta hai.” [It sounds like the name of some viceroy. It could be announced on the radio.]
So was the fancy sounding form of cancer just thrown in for the purposes of character development? Or was it perhaps actually the name of a disease he stumbled upon by chance many years ago as a chemistry student? Whatever the reason, clearly no one on their crew knew the correct pronunciation of the word “intestine” or the following it would develop. The tragic diagnosis then took on a cult status in Bollywood movies, memorable for its almost bizarre obscurity, and became de rigeur for anyone needing a terminal disease. It resurfaced most memorably in the smash-hit comedy Munna Bhai, MBBS (2003) about a Bombay thug-turned doctor who fights for the life of a patient with none other than…you guessed it, lymphosarcoma of the intestine! Surely, this was a nod to the original “patient-doctor” film Anand.
There’s probably a reason why you haven’t heard of lymphosarcoma of the intestine in real life. A 1922 paper that discussed three cases of the disease in-depth in Annals of Surgery remained the definitive word for many years. The paper described it as an extremely rare and obscure condition about which current knowledge was lacking (this was well before the age of DNA). Also discussed is how towards the end of the illness, the patient presents with severe constipation or vomiting—both unpleasant effects that Mukherji failed to include (they probably would not have gone over well on screen). Nearly 100 years later, the term “lymphosarcoma” is obsolete–by definition all neoplasms of the lymphoid tissue are cancerous and simply termed “lymphoma.” So what was perhaps once called the mysterious lymphosarcoma of the intestine is now recognized as intestinal non-Hodgkin’s MALT B-cell lymphoma. Still, this particular form of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma occurs infrequently (only 8% of B-cell lymphomas), but retains a good prognosis if a particular chromosomal mutation does not occur. It can be caused by chronic inflammation from the bacteria H. Pylori, in which case, antimicrobial agents could cure you. Unfortunately for Anand, H. Pylori would not be discovered until 1982. Still, surgery and chemotherapy were available options for these patients, neither of which seemed to have been advised for Anand. For him, lymphosarcoma of the intestine remained an unavoidable death sentence.
And now you’re saying, so what? So Hrishikesh Mukherji made melodrama from an obscure fatal disease and didn’t stick with its actual forms of progression and treatment, big deal? Well, I’m here to say, for whatever it’s worth, lymphosarcoma of the intestine became ingrained under false pretenses in the imagination of Bollywood when knowledge about something more realistic and with a higher incidence might have actually served some benefit. What if he was just dying from end-stage renal failure due to severe diabetes after a life of eating pure asli ghee? Yes, it’s a stretch. All right, a huge stretch. But someone had to say it.
Let me just end this with some fun trivia. Did you know that Amitabh Bachan and Rajesh Khanna were not originally intended to be cast in this film? I know it’s hard to imagine, but in reality Mehmood and Kishore Kumar were supposed to play their roles! Due to an unfortunate misunderstanding, Hrishikesh Mukherjee and Kishore Kumar had a falling out, so new actors were brought in instead for the roles that would make their as well as lymphosarcoma of the intestine’s careers!
-Mrs. 55
Sadhana enters a graveyard as the femme fatale of Woh Kaun Thi? (1964)
In the U.S. historians and film theorists have debated for decades about the meaning of the elusive term: “film noir.” Although many of us conjure an image of a hard-boiled detective and a mystery made more mysterious by the femme fatale, few “film noirs” actually contain these elements. This so-called genre had its roots in German Expressionism with films like Fritz Lang’s M (1931) and in depression-era crime novels. But what does the term “film noir” mean as it applies to Hindi cinema? What are the hallmarks of this genre as it played out in Bollywood and how did it begin?
I will present five films that I propose to be in the genre of Indian film noir. This is no easy task. Just as the term is vague in the American lexicon, so too does it only hazily engulf a variety of Hindi films with low-key lighting. And so I shall begin with an illustrative example. We can debate the precise definition of the genre until the end of time, but I think I can safely say that whatever Indian film noir is, Woh Kaun Thi? (1964) is Indian film noir.
Woh Kaun Thi? has 4 main basic elements. The first is in its distinct cinematographic style and setting—low-key lighting throughout a mysterious mansion and slow unhurried shots with a somber film score to match. The film gives a sense of the world being trapped in a fatalistic dream, whether alone by a graveyard or in a crowd of dancing people.
The second is the film’s overall tone and pacing—there is an uncomfortable sense of being pursued, of an impending doom unless a mystery is solved in time by the hero. Unlike in American film noir, the hero is no cynic and there is no quick sardonic dialogue to off-set the dreary mood. The hero is instead a righteous and innocent man of affairs, an heir to a fortune who becomes a victim. Though mingled with occasional musical highs, the film spirals from a slow and deliberate set-up to a climax closer and closer to complete ruin.
An interesting element of many American film noirs is the flash-back structure, which takes on an interesting form in their Indian counterparts. Woh Kaun Thi? centers around a mysterious background that occurred in the protagonist’s past life. Because the audience of Hindi films was largely composed of practicing Hindus, the world of reincarnation narrative is able to begin on a new and creatively extremely fertile ground. The hero must revisit through song, hearsay, and secrets events that took place in a past life, but whose consequences (whether karma or otherwise) now haunt him. This is the third element.
Fourthly, the film does indeed revolve around the appearance and (mis)guidance of the femme fatale, who is heard singing alluring, tragic songs. The hero is never able to wholly communicate with her, but her intentions are clearly marked with a deadly undertone. The femme fatale remains an elusive character–sometimes he chases after her, sometimes she chases after him—when her story is fully told, only then can the mystery be solved.
The films below can be placed into the category of Indian film noir along with Who Kaun Thi?:
Mahal (1949): Perhaps the grandfather of this genre, Mahal tells of a man tortured and madly in love with an apparition who haunts his mansion and claims a connection from an earlier life. The film also features the haunting vocals of Lata Mangeshkar’s all-time hit Aayegaa Aanewaalaa.
Madhubala mesmerizes Ashok Kumar in Mahal (1949)
Madhumati (1958): This classic Vijayantimala-Dilip Kumar blockbuster is told in flashback to a previous lifetime of the murder of the woman the hero still loves. The gently alluring Aajaa Re Pardesi encompasses the film’s themes of love and debts spanning several lifetimes.
Vijayantimala is reincarnated to find her lover once more in Madhumati (1958)
Bees Saal Baad (1961): A rich man comes to live in his new mansion and must solve a tragedy and murder that occurred 20 years earlier. The film contains a brilliant surprise ending, and Lata Mangeshkar scores once again with the beautiful Kahin Deep Jale, Kahin Dil.
Biswajeet follows a mysterious voice in Bees Saal Baad (1961)
Kohra (1964): This twist on Hitchcock’s Rebecca is told through the eyes of a female protagonist, living in a large, unexplored mansion that is haunted by the apparition of her husband’s first wife. Waheeda Rehman must discover the true circumstances surrounding the first wife’s death before she is driven insane. The song of the femme fatale (Jhoom Jhoom Dhalti Raat) is an absolutely genius and rare example of symbolic imagery in montage to create a feeling of horror from the song.
Waheeda Rehman sees a ghostly vision atop her mansion roof in Kohra (1964)
There are some films that contain one or more of the above elements that I have not classified as Indian film noir. These include Mera Saaya, Gumnaam, and Karz, for different reasons–often overall tone or cinematographic style. Additionally, others might argue that these films should not be categorized at all as Indian film noir, but rather as Indian gothic horror films or other such genres. Watch some of these classics and let us know your take on this chapter in cinematic history!
– Mrs. 55
Our blog probably seems like one huge Sahir Ludhianvi love-fest by now, but I couldn’t help myself from posting and translating this beauty from Taj Mahal (1963). This song is from the same movie as “jurm-e-ulfat pe,” which I translated here a little while ago. While “jurm-e-ulfat pe” tackles the theme of forbidden love, the lesser-known “khudaa-e-bartar” discusses something that doesn’t get much coverage in the world of Bollywood: war. By posing a series of questions, Ludhianvi uses universal and timeless words here to express the futility of war. While the song directly pertains to the Mughal battles depicted in the film, I’ll go out on a limb and say that the pacifism expressed in these lyrics is also Ludhianvi’s response to India’s losses in the Sino-Indian War, which had ended only a year before this film was released.
In addition to its unique thematic content, this song stands out for its nuanced use of language. Such elevated Urdu is truly a rare treat in Hindi cinema. Seriously, when was the last time you heard a song with the words like hidaayat, kibr-o-ghuruur, or fatah-o-zafar? Perhaps my favorite thing about this song is its use of izaafat, a grammatical construct borrowed from Persian where two nouns or a noun and adjective are linked together with the vowel -e- or -o-. When the -e- vowel is used between two nouns, it can generally be translated as “of.” When the -o- vowel is used, it is translated as “and.” This song makes extensive use of izaafat, as evident in compound phrases like rasm-e-jang-o-jadaal (rules of war and disputes) and jashn-e-tiir-o-tafang (celebration of arrows and rifles). Super fancy, no?
Since almost every other word here is a vocab word, you’ll have to take a close look at the glossary below while you follow along with the song. But I guarantee that you’ll learn some new Urdu if you do–enjoy and let us know your thoughts about this song in the comments!
–Mr. 55
P.S. For the classical music enthusiasts out there, this composition is also remarkable for being one of the finest examples of Raga Miyan ki Todi used in a film song.
Lyrics:
khudaa-e-bartar terii zamii.n par zamii.n kii khaatir, yeh jang kyo.n hai?
har ek fatah-o-zafar ke daaman pe khuun-e-insaa.n kaa rang kyo.n hai?
zamii.n bhii terii, hai.n ham bhii tere. yeh milkiiyat kaa savaal kyaa hai?
yeh qatl-o-khuu.n ka rivaaj kyo.n hai? yeh rasm-e-jang-o-jadaal kyaa hai?
jinhe.n talab hai jahaan bhar kii, unhii.n kaa dil itnaa tang kyo.n hai?
ghariib maao.n shariif bahno.n ko aman-o-izzat kii zindagii de
jinhe.n ataa kii hai tuu ne taaqat, unhe.n hidaayat kii roshnii de
saro.n me.n kibr-o-ghuruur kyo.n hai? dilo.n ke shiishe pe zang kyo.n hai?
qazaa ke raste pe jaanevaalo.n ko bach ke aane ki raah denaa
dilo.n ke gulshan ujaD na jaaye.n, muhabbato.n ko panaah denaa
jahaa.n me.n jashn-e-vafaa ke badle, yeh jashn-e-tiir-o-tafang kyo.n hai?
khudaa-e-bartar terii zamii.n par zamii.n kii khaatir, yeh jang kyo.n hai?
Glossary:
khudaa-e-bartar: superior Lord; zamii.n: land, world; jang: war; fatah-o-zafar: victories and triumphs; daaman: foothills; khuun-e-insaa.n: human blood; milkiiyat: ownership; qatl-e-khuu.n: murders and blood; rivaaj: tradition; rasm-e-jang-o-jadaal: rules of war and disuptes; talab: need, desire; jahaan: world; tang: troubled; ghariib: poor; shariif: noble; aman-o-izzat: peace and respect; ataa karna: to bless; taaqat: strength, courage; hidaayat: guidance; roshnii: light; kibr-o-ghuruur: pride and arrogance; shiishaa: mirror; qazaa: death; bach ke aanaa: to escape; gulshan: garden; ujaD jaana: to be uprooted; panaah: shelter; jashn-e-vafaa: celebration of love; jashn-e-tiir-o-tafang: celebration of arrows and rifles
Rough Translation:
O superior Lord, why is there this war over land in your world? Why does human blood stain the foothills of every victory and triumph?
This land is yours, and we are yours. Then, what is this question of ownership and possession? What are these traditions of bloody murder? What are these rules of wars and disputes? Those who have a desire to rule the world, why are their hearts so troubled?
Give poor mothers and noble sisters a life of peace and respect. Give those whom you have blessed with strength and courage a light of guidance. Why are minds filled with pride and arrogance? Why are the mirrors of people’s hearts blemished by rust?
Give those who are headed on the road to death a way to escape. May the garden of hearts not be uprooted as you provide shelter to love. In this world, instead of a celebration of love, why is there a celebration of arrows and rifles?
O superior Lord, why is there war over land in your world?
Mr. & Mrs. 55 - Classic Bollywood Revisited! 