My Favourites: Songs with Conditional Clauses

A conditional clause is one in which one situation depends on another being fulfilled. A sentence with a conditional clause always has two parts – one, the conditional clause which states the condition, and two, the main clause, which results from that condition being fulfilled. For example, If it rains, then the event will be cancelled. The probability of the second part – the event being cancelled – depends on the condition – If it rains – being met. Think of it as an ‘if/then’ sentence. 
 
Songs that don’t fit the theme, despite having a [seeming] conditional clause, include: Tum agar mujhko nahin chahogi toh koi baat nahin… [“It’s okay if you don’t love me] or Ye duniya agar mil bhi jaaye toh kya hai? [What does it matter if the world accepts me?] That is because the ‘condition’ – ‘If you don’t love me’ or ‘If the world accepts me’ is not followed by a corresponding action. There’s nothing in the lyrics to indicate that if she doesn’t love  him {in the first scenario) he will do anything about it, or if the world doesn’t accept him (as in the latter scenario), there will be consequences to follow.

My Favourites: Films (Because They Ended)

I have been blogging for more than a decade now, and mostly write about films that appeal to me and that I think/assume others will find appealing as well. Of course, there are some films that are average, but still have some bright spots like good acting that elevates the script or good songs in an okay-ish entertainer, good eye-candy and songs even if the film is most illogical... 

And then, there are films that make you want to pull out every single hair on your head, or put your eyeballs out with a screwdriver – just plain bad films with regressive stories and/or plots that go nowhere. Of course, they sometimes yield the best reviews, but even that is not worth the three hours of my life that I will never get back!

The Masters: V Shantaram

18.11.1901-30.10.1990

When we talk about the great directors of Indian cinema, one name is usually conspicuously missing – that of Shantaram Rajaram Vankudre, otherwise known as V Shantaram. Known affectionately as Annasaheb or Shantaram Bapu, Shantaram had a successful career that spanned nearly seven decades. He was a good writer, a competent actor, a great producer-director and an excellent editor. Shantaram was witness to the evolution of cinema – from the silent movies to the talkies to the digital age. He directed 55 films in his lifetime and produced nearly double that number.

Look at the number of ‘firsts’ he racked up [Source: V Shantaram Motion Picture Scientific Research and Cultural Foundation]:

• ·     First Children’s Film – Rani Sahiba (1930)
• First Marathi Talkie – Ayodhyecha Raja (1932)
• First Bilingual Film – Ayodhyecha Raja (Marathi) / Ayodhya ka Raja (Hindi) 1932)
• First Marathi Colour Film - Pinjra (1972)
  

As a technical innovator too, he was a pioneer in the industry.

• ·     The first use of a trolley – Chandrasena (1931)
• First original soundtrack disc – Sairandhari (1933)
• First use of the telephoto lens – Amrit Manthan (1934)
• First animation film in Bombay – Jambukaka (1934) [The Pea Brothers, an animated short was released in Calcutta a few months earlier.]
  
• First use of back-projection – Amar Jyoti (1936)

So, why isn’t his name mentioned more frequently when people recall the greats of Indian cinema? 

Gateway of India (1957)

Directed by: Om Prakash
Music: Madan Mohan
Lyrics: Rajinder Krishan
Starring: Madhubala, Pradeep Kumar,
Anita Guha, Chandrasekhar,
Manorama, Johnny Walker,
Tony Walker, Bhagwan,
Bharat Bhushan, Uma Dutt

After my review of Sangdil, here's another film where Madhubala takes centre stage, this time in a role that's as different as chalk from cheese. 

Movies that take place within the space of a few hours are a rarity in Indian cinema. However, they are the staple of suspense thrillers, since the condensed time frame helps to amp up the suspense considerably. While not in the league of ‘great’ films, Gateway of India is a charming film that is ably shouldered by its intrepid heroine – Madhubala – around whom the plot revolves.

Sangdil (1952)

Directed by: RC Talwar
Music: Sajjad Hussain
Lyrics: Rajinder Krishan
Starring: Dilip Kumar, Madhubala,
Leela Chitnis, Amir Bano,
Shammi, Surender Jr.,
Baby Roshni, Anwar Jussain

Nearly two years ago, when I was wondering which film to review for Dilip Kumar's centenary, I had three choices. Until Shalini, my partner in crime, suggested Milan. Since I'd never watched Milan until then, I jumped at the chance. A week later, I posted the review of Yahudi, which was one of our initial choices. But Sangdil, one of my other choices, remained on the backburner. I had watched it a long time ago, and had written it up as well, but there it remained.

Like Milan, Sangdil, too, is an adaptation. This time, of a classic from English literature – Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre, first published in 1847. Apart from the fact that I loved Jane Eyre when I first read it, the fact that the film has Sajjad Hussain’s music was a bonus.

The Masters: Sohrab Modi

02.11.1897-28.01.1984
Pic. Courtesy: Upperstall.com

Sohrab Modi. The name brings to mind a man with a powerful voice, whose movies were larger than life. The veteran actor-director was one of the many who joined the fledging film industry and helped it grow and flourish. He brought Shakespeare from stage to film; he made extravagant historicals that brought him international recognition; he made progressive films on social issues. A pioneer by any definition, Sohrab Modi was an auteur who lived for cinema.

Kabuliwala (1961)

Directed by: Hemen Gupta
Music: Salil Choudhury
Lyrics: Prem Dhawan, Gulzar
Starring: Balraj Sahni, Sonu, Sajjan, 
Usha Kiron, Asit Sen

2 October 2024 was the legendary Bengali film director, Tapan Sinha’s birth centenary. Though not as well-known outside Bengal as his peers, Satyajit Ray or Mrinal Sen, Sinha holds a special place in the hearts and minds of  Bengali cine aficionados. Back in March this year, Antara Nanda Mondal and Amitava Nag asked me if I would contribute a piece for the series on Tapan Sinha that they were curating for their literary magazine, Silhouette. I was more than happy to. I chose Sinha’s Kabuliwala, considered the seminal adaptation of Rabindranath’s short story of the same name. Since the story is so familiar to most people, Nag wanted me to do a rather more critical analysis of the film rather than a straightforward review. You can read that article here. [Fellow blogger Madhulika, over at Dustedoff, wrote an excellent essay that compared and contrasted Khaniker Atithi and Zindagi Zindagi, both directed by Tapan Sinha.]

Coincidentally, Tom Daniels, for whom I occasionally subtitle old Hindi films, sent me the Hindi version of Kabuliwala to clean up the subs and create additional ones. It seemed like fate.  

The Masters: Hemant Kumar

16.06.1920-26.09.1989

This post has been a long time coming. I first intended this to be posted on Hemant Kumar’s birth anniversary in June, but blogging has been, of necessity, an intermittent affair this year. But it is rather baffling that in my many years of blogging, except for one post, I’d never written a standalone post for a man who was not only a great singer, but also a music director, producer, and a major exponent of Rabindra Sangeet. It is an unintended error that begged to be rectified. But, the question was, what should I focus on? His career as a singer? Or as a composer? He had been eminently successful in both fields. Since I don't know enough about his work in Bengali films (and non-film music), this post will only focus on his Hindi film output.

Remembering: PL Santoshi

Once in a while, I like to write about those in the film industry who have left a wonderful body of work behind as their legacy but are not as well-known as some of their more successful peers. Today is the birth anniversary of one such person – a man who doffed many hats during his long career.

07.08.1916-07.09.1978

He is Pyarelal Santoshi, a.k.a PL Santoshi. Santoshi was a director, producer, dialogue and screenplay writer, actor, singer, and lyricist, though he’s best known for being the last listed. His long and successful association with C Ramchandra has ensured that his name rings a bell in the minds of music aficionados.

At The Crossroads

The Malayalam film industry is facing a moment of reckoning. The release of the Hema Commission Report has sent shock waves through the nation, but as a Malayali, 'shock' is not the emotion I am feeling. Nor is it surprise at how many skeletons are tumbling out of the closet. Because, for years, nay, decades, I, like several others, have known the truth. Women are blatantly exploited; pay parity is a joke; workplace safety is non-existent; there is a power structure that no one may question, let alone call out. 

Nothing in the Hema Commission Report is 'new'. 

What is new (and news) however, is that, for the first time, it has been set out in black and white. It is the findings of an independent commission, not just 'she said, he said'. Powerful (male) voices can no longer dismiss women artistes, technicians, and junior artistes' allegations as 'These things happen."