It is strange that when you think of the names of the great composers of the golden period, music director Ravi Shankar Sharma (who went by the mononym Ravi) is not one that comes readily to mind. However, Ravi had a very successful career both in Bombay and in Kerala, where he came to be known as ‘Bombay Ravi’.
Ravi first came to Bombay in 1950. Filmi lore has it that he had earlier met Mohammed Rafi and asked him what it took to become a musician. While Rafi was kind to the youngster and gave hum valuable tips, it was a meeting that he did not recollect later, and neither did Ravi tell him about it. Ravi was an electrician by trade, working in the Post and Telegraphs in Delhi, but he was deeply interested in music. So much so that he taught himself to play several instruments. In a radio interview, he once joked that he repaid loans by repairing electrical appliances.
It was in 1950-1951 that he got his first break – a job as a tabla player in Filmistan, and then, as a member of the chorus for a song under SD Burman’s baton. The film was Naujawan (1951). But his real breakthrough came when he met Hemant Kumar who was looking for backup singers for the iconic Vande Mataram in Anand Math (1952). It was Hemant Kumar’s debut as a music director in Hindi cinema. Ravi impressed Hemant Kumar enough that the latter gave him a chance as an assistant director. Ravi assisted him in films like Shart (1954), Jagruti (1954), Ek Hi Rasta (1956) – and Nagin (1954). Ravi has always credited Hemant Kumar as his mentor.
Hemant Kumar was so impressed with Ravi’s ability to compose lilting melodies that he insisted that Ravi strike out on his own. It was around this time that producer-director Devendra Goel approached Ravi to compose the music for his next venture. Ravi was reluctant and had to be coaxed to take up the project. Vachan (1955) catapulted the debut music director into the big league. It was the start of a long and successful collaboration with Goel.
A slew of other films followed, including Dilli ka Thug (1958), Chirag Kahan Roshni Kahan (1969), Ek Saal (1957) – all with a bouquet of lovely melodies. But it was Guru Dutt’s Chaudhvin ka Chand (1960) that would become the highlight of a successful career. Soon after that, he worked on Gumraah (1963), giving a superlative score for the film, the highlight, of course, being Sahir’s bitter Chalo ek baar phir se. This film was the beginning of a great collaboration with the Chopra brothers.
Today, on his 12th death anniversary, here is a selection of my favourite Ravi compositions in no particular order.
This, to me, is the quintessential romantic song. Rafi breathes a quite romanticism into this moving ode to a beloved’s beauty. Shakeel’s words describe a woman’s beauty in the most poetic way imaginable, and Ravi’s music makes this iconic song almost dreamlike in its intensity. There is awe in Rafi’s voice (and Guru Dutt’s gaze) as well as adoration and respect. Waheeda’s ethereal sensuousness deserves every bit of the adulation that’s being showered on her.
Ravi had a penchant for offering iconic songs to singers that became so synonymous with their names you can’t imagine any other singer singing that song. While Ravi’s favourite male singer was Mohammed Rafi, followed by Mahendra Kapoor, some songs called for Manna Dey to work his magic. And surely, Ae meri zohra Jabeen must rank as one of the best songs in Manna Dey’s long and successful career.
It always amazed me how a teetotaller like Mohammed Rafic could sing such outstanding ‘drunken’ songs! The song is not ‘sad’ by any means, since the character on screen is serenading the dancer, but there’s an underlying vein of melancholy running through the melody. And even though this is not a ‘dance song’ either (the dancing only occurs during the interludes), even if it is picturized in a kotha, Ravi brings in the classic ‘kotha’ sounds – that tabla, the ghungroo, the sarangi, etc.
Sab kuch lutaa ke hosh mein aaye is a twin-version song, the female version sung by Lata Mangeshkar. Here, a man – a husband-for-hire to a terminally ill young woman – is discovering that what began as a con is now distressingly real. He has fallen in love with the young woman and now, his conscience awakened, is repenting his shameful behaviour.
Ravi was known for composing tunes for lyrics, unlike many music directors who composed the tune first and fitted the lyrics in later. And so, his collaboration with someone like Sahir Ludhianvi gave us some lovely melodies that were lyrically rich. Ravi was also instrumental in giving Mahendra Kapoor some of the best songs of his career. While Chalo ik baar phir se is the most popular song from this film and has populated many of my lists – it is a perennial favourite, mostly for the lyrics – this song is a quiet, hauntingly beautiful number which Mahendra Kapoor has sung very well indeed. There is a quiet desperation here, both in the lyrics and the music that accompanies it as a lover exhorts his beloved to come meet him. Kapoor’s voice seems to echo in the mountains against which the song is picturized and Ravi uses it to signal the urgency that the lover feels. Ravi’s signature minimalism is on display here too, allowing the singer the freedom to express himself.
This is the second song from Waqt to appear in this list, but Aage bhi jaane na tu would appear on any list of Asha Bhosle songs; it’s not just one of her best, but perhaps her best with Ravi. For a song with only three verses, it is almost seven minutes long. This is a song that not only takes the narrative forward but also foreshadows what’s going to happen. Ravi uses long interludes, with the guitar taking centre stage while Asha hums.
Hindi film music has found inspiration from many founts – folk music, Rabindra Sangeet, old English (and other) folk tunes, and popular Western music. In most cases, I find the ‘inspired’ versions so much more to my taste than the originals. Here, Ravi is inspired by Rum and Coca-cola, originally a calypso number composed by Lionel Belasco and set to lyrics by Rupert Grant (stage name Lord Invader). It attained great popularity in the West following the recording of the American version by the Andrews Sisters. Ravi transformed it into a fabulous club number, sung with verve by Geeta Dutt who infused the song with her trademark sensuality.
Strangely enough for the period in which he composed, Lata Mangeshkar didn’t sing as many songs for Ravi as her sister did. In fact, Lata doesn’t even have an iconic number like Aage bhi jaane na tu. But this is a sweetly hopeful song and Ravi’s gentle music complements Asad Bhopali’s words of courage in the face of despair. Lata, as usual, is at her haunting best.
As ‘come-hither’ songs go, this is rather quiet, but then, Ravi’s seductive songs were also underlined by a quiet dignity. Here, while the lyrics themselves can be suggestive, Suman Kalyanpur’s voice lends a tone of playful romance to the female character who’s wooing the man she’s fallen for.
Ravi’s debut film in Malayalam had just two songs – Aa raathri (That night) by Chitra and this one by Yesudas. Loosely based on the life of K Ajitha, who was part of the Naxalite movement in Kerala in the 1960s. Indira (Geetha), who’s serving a life sentence for murder, is released on parole. Rasheed (Mohanlal), a journalist, wants to interview her, but she refuses. Circumstances throw the two of them together when she has nowhere else to turn. This song plays on the radio in the background as she begins to accept his vision of a new beginning for the two of them.
Another Hariharan film, and five songs, but each of them is a gem. A teenage love story with unusually dark undertones and social commentary, Nakhakshathangal was a commercial and critical success. The songs became even more popular than the film and Chitra won her second National Award for Best Playback Singer (Female) for this song. (She won her third National Award for another Ravi composition – Indupushpam choodi nilkum from Vaishali.)
The Hariharan- Ravi combination strikes again, this time for a hard-hitting film on a social evil. Malayalam litterateur MT Vasudevan Nair set his story amongst the Namboothiri community, laying bare the atrocities that women had to bear within that community. Ravi, who won a well-deserved National Award for Best Music for this film, composed a bouquet of songs, each one a gem, including a traditional kaikottikkali number for this film.
Hariharan and MT Vasudevan Nair were a deadly combination in the 80s. Any film that boasted their names was both successful and worth watching. (That need not be the case.) Add Ravi to the mix and we were sure to get a delightful auditory experience as well. Oru Vadakkan Veeragatha, based on the ballads of North Kerala, subverted the tale of Aromal Chekavar and his bête noire, Chandu. (Unfortunately, it also reduced Unniyarcha, a renowned warrior in her own right, to a woman ruled by her passion.) Ravi composed five songs for this film, and each one of them is a listener’s delight.
Indeed, Ravi received much acclaim in the Malayalam film industry and deservedly won a clutch of State film awards for his compositions.
What are your favourite songs by Ravi? Add them in the comments below.
2023 has been a long and depressing year and it was frustrating not to be able to post at all. I am not very sure how many readers I have left, given that this blog has languished for the past 10 months, but I’m obliged to everyone who read / still reads this blog. Many of you have reached out privately to me; many others have commented on older posts, thus keeping the blog on life support. For that, I am truly grateful.
Kickstarting my blog all over is like beginning any new venture – exciting, nerve-wracking and frustrating all at once. After spending several hours trying to figure out what to write, and then writing/deleting rinse-repeat, I came to the sad conclusion that I had forgotten how to write.
But… I must and shall persevere. So, here goes… and forgive me until I hit my stride again.
And yes, a very belated new year greeting to everyone who has read or still reads my blog.
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