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| 01.10.1906 - 31.10.1975 |
Kumar
Shachindra Chanda Debbarman was born to royalty on October 1, 1906. His father
was Nabadwip Chandra Dev Burman, a scion of the royal palace of Tripura.
Educated at Comilla Victoria College and later at Calcutta University, a young
‘Sachin’ fostered his love for music which had been nurtured in his childhood
by the rural musicians and wandering minstrels in Comilla. He began his formal
training in music with Krishna Chandra Dey. Later musical influences would come
from Bhismadev Chattopadhyay, Badal Khan and Ustad Allauddin Khan.
His
early days as an artiste for the All India Radio (then the Indian State
Broadcasting Corporation), his success as a composer/singer of light classical
and folk songs etc., is too well chronicled to repeat here. The changes in the
studio structures of the Bombay film industry and the establishment of
Filmistan brought the young composer to Bombay in 1944. However, his first
release in Bombay would come nearly two years later: Filmistan’s Shikari
(1946). Success would soon come, even if intermittently in the beginning. Aath
Din (1946), Chittor Vijay (1947), Dil ki Rani (1947), etc.,
followed, but it took the stunning success of Mera sundar sapna beet gaya (Do
Bhai, 1948), sung by Geeta Dutt to give SD a taste of what was to follow.
But
success was still a fickle mistress; Vidya (1948) was not very well
received, critically or commercially, but Shabnam (1949) was a
box-office success. This seesawing continued until the young composer, fed up
of the vagaries of the industry, decided to return to Calcutta. According to
Ashok Kumar’s autobiography, it was his intervention that kept the composer
from leaving an industry where power balances were shifting. Mashal
would seed a professional relationship between Lata Mangeshkar and SD Burman,
with the singer singing her first song under his baton.
In
the meantime, SD Burman also began work on the first film of a fledgling banner
– Afsar (1950), directed by Chetan Anand and produced by
the his newly-launched Nav Ketan Films. This would be the beginning of a long
and fruitful association with SD Burman becoming Nav Ketan Films’ de facto
composer. But it was Baazi (1951) which would cement this association
further.
It was a film that Dev Anand (in his memoirs Romancing with Life)
described as a ‘very important film for all concerned’. Afsar’s box-office failure meant that their next film
would be make or break for the banner. The film also marked the commitment Dev
had made to Guru Dutt in their struggling days – that if he ever produced a
film, Guru Dutt would direct it. It brought together two towering talents – SD
Burman and Sahir Ludhianvi, a man of stature in the world of Urdu poetry. A
young Geeta Dutt would cement her early success and become one of the leading
playback singers of the time.
SD
Burman had arrived in style. His distinctive melodies would rule the world of
Hindi film music for at least another two decades. So, onwards to a celebration
of a composer who could switch seamlessly between rustic folk songs and western
‘club’ songs, plaintive melodies and seductive numbers.
Do
keep in mind that to choose but a handful of songs from a career that spanned
nearly three decades is next to impossible. So these songs are my some of my
all-time favourites, and I’ve tried to filter them to have one song per singer
though Mohammed Rafi, Lata Mangeshkar and Geeta Dutt do appear more than once.
Please feel free to add your selections in the comments below.
Suno gazar kya gaaye
Suno gazar kya gaaye
Baazi (1951)
Singer:
Geeta Dutt
Lyricist:
Sahir Ludhianvi
Let
me start with a song from the film that was an important career milestone. SD
showed he could tune ‘western’ tunes and how! Whether it was turning Sahir’s
ghazal into a club number, or altering Geeta Dutt’s thus-far plaintive image
into one that was at once alluring and seductive, SD came up with a score that
was extremely successful, catapulting Geeta Dutt into a force to reckon with
(despite the Lata Mangeshkar juggernaut that swept the industry post-Mahal).
The
first song of SD Burman’s that made an impression on me was not one that was
very Indian in sound. When I heard it on the radio as a little boy it was full
of entrancing foreign sounds, and of course, not being very conversant in
Hindustani, I did not understand what it was about. For a long time, I believed
that “gajar” was a bird that sang. But even on our fidelity challenged
AM radio there was something about the music that was enchanting.
The song begins with frenetic strings accompanied by the
tambourines and hand drums. Their music ebbs, giving way to the piano sounding
the notes of the E major chord E, B sharp, G. It’s followed by the mandolin,
the shehnai and the chorus respectively before Geeta Dutt sings 'Suno gajar
kya gaye'. She’s followed by the piano repeating the trio of notes from the
E major chord.
As I grew older and understood what the lyrics meant, it seemed
to me that the notes of the piano were stressed as if to mimic the ticking of a
clock beating out the passing time.
Geeta Dutt’s voice melodically warning of the dangers of lost time, the
warning not to sleep. During each interlude, includes the pulsing rhythms of
the castanets, followed by the strident warning of the reed instruments, and
the strings that follow growing softer and softer – creating an ominous sense
of danger. I have never lost my
fascination for this song, and watching the song sequence still drives home how
beautifully sight and sound meld together.
Ye
duniya roop ki chor
Shabnam (1949)
Singer: Shamshad Begum
Lyrics: Gopal Singh ‘Nepali’ (Qamar Jalalabadi?)
The score of this film was possibly SD’s first big ‘hit’. Shamshad Begum, who sang many songs for SD, took on the challenge of singing a multi-lingual song, her enunciation so perfect that it is a joy to listen to her.
Shabnam (1949)
Singer: Shamshad Begum
Lyrics: Gopal Singh ‘Nepali’ (Qamar Jalalabadi?)
The score of this film was possibly SD’s first big ‘hit’. Shamshad Begum, who sang many songs for SD, took on the challenge of singing a multi-lingual song, her enunciation so perfect that it is a joy to listen to her.
SD’s
versatility can be seen in the diverse styles of music he employs for each antara.
The situation is such that a pretty girl (Kamini Kaushal) is enacting what
happens when she’s accosted by men from different regions who woo her in their
distinctive regional styles. According to a personal account by Sachin Ganguly,
narrated in S.D. Burman – The Prince Musician, SD was nearly beaten up by a
group of Tamilians who took umbrage at their music being mocked in this parody
song.
Afsar (1950)
Singer: Suraiya
Lyrics: Pt. Narendra Sharma
Based on Gogol’s Inspector General, Afsar starred
Suraiya and Dev Anand, and as was her wont, Suraiya sang all her own songs. The
film also had the beautiful ‘Nain deewane’ but I chose this for the sheer
simplicity which was Suraiya’s forte. The romance she infuses into the lyrics
is breath-taking.
Though I am sure somebody will take
exception to this, to me, this song is very much in the Baul tradition . After
all, a baul song is supposed to reflect oneness with the divine, and the way
Suraiya sings this song, it has all the
headiness and ecstasy of over-powering passion. Suraiya’s voice is used here in
tandem with the flute; there are places where her voice is an echo of the
flute, and vice versa. The entire song
seems to be drenched in rain – the runs of the sitar in the second interlude,
the delicate nuances – for example, when she sings ‘ghir ghir aaye’, the rapid
percussive runs on the tabla hint at the patter of rain drops as does the
almost conversational repetition of 'tum sur ho, main madhur ragini'.
House No. 44 (1955)
Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
Lyrics: Sahir Ludhianvi
Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
Lyrics: Sahir Ludhianvi
A
great score wasted on a lacklustre film. Phaili huyi hai sapnon ki baahein is
one of my personal favourites, as much for the music as for the way Lata has
sung this song. There’s a sweetness to her singing that really brings out the
experience of a young girl in the first flush of love.
SD begins with the
strumming of the sitar, the notes quickly cascading, giving an initial
impression that this is going to be purely an Indian classical song. But then
the sitar makes way for chords played by a guitar and the double bass with a ¾
rhythm, and becoming almost ‘western’ in its melody. The sitar tantalisingly
returns before Lata’s voice floats over the violins and the flutes. The rhythms and orchestration seem to be
completely western but then you realise it’s set in the scale of Shudh
Kalyan – a beautiful melding of two disparate musical ideas. Lata’s voice lifts up to the sky echoing the
strings and the flute, and – in Sahir’s words – swings on a rainbow to touch
the stars.
Devdas
(1955)
Singer: Talat Mahmood
Lyrics: Sahir Ludhianvi
While
most would use Jalte hain jiske liye from Sujata (1959) as their choice for the
definitive SD-Talat combination, I much prefer this plaintive melody from Devdas.
Grief, guilt, hopelessness – all mingle in Talat’s voice, and is reflected on
Dilip Kumar’s face as he plays the eponymous protagonist.
The film was SD's first collaboration with Bimal Roy, and he rose to
the occasion. Sahir opted for couplets instead of the conventional mukhda-antara
format, and SD kept the instrumentation to the minimum, while allowing Talat’s
voice to shine through.
Solva Saal (1958)
Singer:
Hemant Kumar
Lyrics:
Majrooh Sultanpuri
I
would have chosen Ye raat ye chandni phir kahaan from Jaal (1952), but that has
made an appearance on far too many of my lists. Unlike that song, however, Hai
apna dil toh awaara is very carefree. Majrooh’s lyrics were a little wistful, a
little mischievous; Dev was charming and debonair; together, they captured the
feeling of a wandering heart with perfect élan. SD’s music complemented the
scene and the lyrics – it was youthful, trendy, and very, very catchy, besides
giving the listener the feeling that they were on a train themselves.
While the film did
not make much noise at the box-office (only to be revived as one of Dev Anand’s
better films in more recent times), Hai apna dil toh awara became a
chartbuster. For a change, Hemant Kumar’s voice seemed to suit Dev Anand (I’m
on record as preferring Mohammed Rafi as Dev’s voice over even that of Kishore
Kumar’s), and in fact, in the movie, Laaj (Waheeda) even remarks that Kashyap
(Dev) should have been named ‘Hemant Kumar’. Another piece of trivia: the
harmonium played by Sundar’s character was actually played by RD Burman.
Picturised
as a ‘boat song’, Sun mere bandhu re wafts across the river to where the
protagonists, Adhir (Sunil Dutt) and Sujata (Nutan) have met, one to confess
his affection for her, and the other to shyly admit her reciprocal feelings
towards him.
Based on a bhatiyali
song, SD Burman finetuned a woman’s plaint (albeit in a man’s voice – his)
and complemented it with minimal instrumentation. According to Anirudha
Bhattacharjee and Balaji Vittal, the song used a wooden block to mimic the
sound of the oars, and a flute as the base accompaniment. This was SD’s
‘comeback’ song – he hadn’t sung a song on film for nearly 12 years.
Considered one of the
greatest ‘bidaai’ songs in Hindi cinema, Chal ri sajni was filled
with the pathos in both lyrics and rendition. Mukesh, whom SD used but
sparingly, imbued the song with such finesse that it eclipsed a stellar score
in popularity. (Honest confession, I much prefer Rafi’s Saathi na koi manzil.)
SD infused the song
with all the anguish that a man feels in letting his beloved go, the shehnai
almost weeping at the beginning.
Asha Bhosle infuses
the song with the longing and pathos of a woman separated from her loved ones.
Picturised on women prisoners who have no hope of freedom, the song evokes that
sense of lost innocence. Asha has often recounted how she broke down while
recording the song – during the early days of her marriage, her then-husband
wouldn’t allow her to visit her family. According to Anirudha Bhattacharya and
Balaji Vittal (S.D. Burman – the Prince Musician), Ab ke baras bhejo was
based on a folk song from Uttar Pradesh – Nimbua tale dola rakh de musafir.
Loosely
based on Raga Piloo, the rhythmic pattern is based on Deepchandi (a slow
14-beat taal) at the beginning. The beats are emphasised by an ektara
in consort with what seems to be a plucked double bass. Asha Bhosle draws each
note out as the rhythmic pattern slowly meanders in its characteristic 2-3-2-4
rhythm. The interludes are short the first an esraj, perhaps in concert with a
violin; a flute in the second interlude, the instruments always playing
second fiddle to Asha’s voice and Shailendra’s lyrics.
Shailendra’s lyrics
beautifully expressed the grief of a man rejected by society. Through the
recurring motifs of an endless night or the sheer inability of a lamp to dispel
the darkness of the heart, he painted a picture of total hopelessness that
envelops the protagonist. Manna Dey brings out the pathos in this
semi-classical number without becoming maudlin.
Based
on Ahir Bhairav, a morning raga sung at sunrise, it is the movement in the
antara that brings about the essence of the raga. In the first antara,
when Manna Dey sings ‘Ut jale deepak jale man mera’, the line starts on
the madhyam in the middle of the scale and an important note in
this raga, and then moves upwards till it touches the higher ‘Sa’ at ‘man
mera’. As the sun rises so does the song. Then, in the next line, ‘phir
bhi na jaaye mere’ hovers round the ‘Re’; at the word ‘ka’ Manna Dey
touches the highest point of the song, the higher madhyam, an octave
above where the verse began, and then comes back to the high ‘Sa’ at ‘andhera’.
The vocal calisthenics continue with ‘tarpat tarsat umar ganvayi’
travelling from the higher ‘Sa’ all the way down to the lower ‘Sa’ from where
the song itself started. Manna Dey traverses an octave in that one line.
The
quintessential crooner’s song, Tu kahaan ye bata starts with Rafi’s
voice plaintively caressing the long notes over arpeggios played on the guitar
and piano, reflecting Dev Anand’s stationary pose. Then, the rhythm on the tabla
and dholak joins in, and our languid hero begins to move, albeit slowly.
Each verse begins with long notes, moves effortlessly across the scale higher
and higher and ends in a plea. It then returns to the mukhda. The rhythm
quickens until the heroine appears, and then, the orchestra swells and becomes
richer.
Lata
Mangeshkar mentions how Jaya Bhaduri was a silent onlooker in the recording
studio, making her feel very self-conscious. It was only when she saw the movie
that she realised that Jaya had been closely observing her all along, and had
incorporated Lata’s mannerisms into her character, including the way Lata
pulled her sari pallu over her shoulder while she sang.
This is the sort of song that I am used to associating with the latter half of SD Burman’s musical output. There is a bhatiyali feel to it that he carried in many of his songs; much has been written about his affection for the music of the rivers. The song starts softly with chords on the guitar and a soft flute introduction, and then, just like a bhatiyali tune, the song starts at the higher notes before slowly coming downstream. SD skilfully uses violins, cellos, taar shehnai and the flute as the song moves into the antaras, with the tabla strokes reminiscent of a boat drifting downstream on the river. The give and take between the guitar and flute in the second interludes are reflective of SD’s affection for his native land and its rivers. This song has some very expressive flute playing.
This is the sort of song that I am used to associating with the latter half of SD Burman’s musical output. There is a bhatiyali feel to it that he carried in many of his songs; much has been written about his affection for the music of the rivers. The song starts softly with chords on the guitar and a soft flute introduction, and then, just like a bhatiyali tune, the song starts at the higher notes before slowly coming downstream. SD skilfully uses violins, cellos, taar shehnai and the flute as the song moves into the antaras, with the tabla strokes reminiscent of a boat drifting downstream on the river. The give and take between the guitar and flute in the second interludes are reflective of SD’s affection for his native land and its rivers. This song has some very expressive flute playing.
Mili
saw a rapprochement
between SD Burman and Yogesh. Unceremoniously dropped from writing the lyrics
for Chupke Chupke, Yogesh had not worked with SD until Mili came
along. Unfortunately, SD fell seriously ill amidst the recording and RD Burman
stepped in to complete the album with minimal instrumentation as SD had wanted.
Kishore, himself, counted this among his career-best songs.
This
is a very ‘Bengali’ kirtan. Geeta Dutt draws out the longing in each note; the
music begins with a slow beat on the khol, and hidden behind the voice,
the flute plays a brief counter melody before taking centre stage in the first
interlude. The khol quickens, and each note on the flute is matched by
the strings seeming to pull Waheeda up the steps against her will. The beat of
the khols ebb and flow with the voice, while in the interludes SD used
only the khol and the hand cymbals to beat out a rhythm that seems to
reflect the turmoil in Gulabo’s heart.
Pyaasa
(1957)
Singer: Mohammed Rafi
Lyrics: Sahir Ludhianvi
Based
on Sahir’s published poem, Chakley, Jinhe naaz hai hind
par woh kahaan hai is a scathing indictment of a society which, on the one
hand, reveres women and idolises them, but on the other, exploit them,
disempower them and discard them as worthless. Some of Chakley’s verses
were revised to reduce the intensity of criticism, while other verses were
added to make the song.
The
song begins with Rafi’s voice taking centre stage, the music barely audible;
then, slowly, the disillusioned Vijay (Guru Dutt) walks through the crowded
streets, the instrumentation complements his voice, stunning in its minimalism.
Rafi is all the more effective because of the quiet intensity of his voice; one
doesn’t realise how his voice soars because of the quietness with which he
sings the verses.
Apart
from the songs, Pyaasa had five ‘shers’ (poems) that weren’t
written to tune, but merely recited (by Rafi). And perhaps that is why the ego
clash between Sahir Ludhianvi and SD Burman resulted in the inglorious end one
of the finest creative partnerships in Hindi cinema.
[Music notes: Sadanand Warrier]
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