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

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.

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

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

The Lost Art of the Raga-Mala

For musically-inclined fans of Hindi cinema, the Lata-Rafi duet “Kuhu Kuhu Bole Koyelia” from the film Suvarna Sundari (1957) stands out as one of the finest examples of how Hindustani classical music has been incorporated into the genre of Bollywood music. This song has always been a personal favorite of mine, and it happens to be one of the first pieces of Indian music I adapted for performance on the piano. This song takes on the structure of a ragamala (literally, a garland of ragas), a form derived from Hindustani classical music in which different musical modes are intertwined within a single composition. In “Kuhu Kuhu Bole Koyelia,” four ragas are used beautifully in combination: Sohini, Bahaar, Jaunpuri, and Yaman.

A.N.R and Anjali Devi star in Suvarna Sundari (1957)

Whenever I listen to a song like this, I feel compelled to draw comparisons between the music created during the Golden Age of Hindi cinema and the music produced by the Bollywood industry today. Aside from the occasional gem, the songs found in Hindi movies today fail to impress on all counts. The music produced today simply lacks the magic found in the songs from the yesteryears of Hindi cinema, which reflect the efforts of a host of talented music directors, lyricists, and vocalists.

Take, for example, the skillful manner in which Lata Mangeshkar and Mohammed Rafi render this composition. Their voices navigate through the intricacies of each raga with a level of musical precision and maturity that is sadly missing in the singers who rule the Bollywood industry today. In addition to nailing the technical sargam and harkats, they sing with a graceful ease and poise that allows this complex composition to appeal to a broad audience, regardless of musical background. Will we ever get to hear such a beautifully intricate raag-mala sung in a Bollywood film produced today? Based on current trends, I am skeptical about the prospects of such an opportunity – the industry needs to stop celebrating Sheila’s jawani and return to its roots in order to preserve the rich musical heritage of our culture.

–Mr. 55

P.S. Some of you may be interested to know that a Telegu version of this composition also exists, which was sung by Jikki and Ghantasala.