This song is like a forgotten sibling of the more famous “Surmayee ankhiyon mein” lullaby from Sadma. Both are sung by Yesudas and both carry a similar elements – sleep, eyes, night, and dreams. While the Sadma track was composed by the great Ilaiya Raja, this one is composed by Anand-Milind. I do not know of another album where Gulzar and Anand Milind have worked together, but then it was the 90s, and how can Gulzar escape working with one of the most prolific composer duo of the 90s.
Although, it is still quite unusual that for a film directed by Amol Palekar, on a very unusual subject (a story of a trans person and a rape victim), would have Anand-Milind as composers. They were among the top composers of the mid 80s through the 90s. They are sons of the composer Chitragupt who made his name in the 1940s and 50s. Anand-Milind churned out a number of chartbusting albums (Qayamat se Qayamat Tak, Dil, Love, Bol Radha Bol, Prem Qaidi, etc.) in the earlier half of the decade. While they were quite prolific, they weren’t known to compose songs for serious movies. Most of their compositions are forgettable, and even plagiarized from the composers of South Indian cinema. But, I do cherish some of their albums even today – such as QSQT, Jagriti, Mrityudand, Vansh, Baaghi, etc. These albums do have some melodious tracks that have stood the test of time. Their output dwindled in the second half of the 90s and they eventually faded away with the turn of the century.
So, it did come as a surprise when I listened to the album of Daayra for the first time in 1997 and saw Anand-Milind’s name alongside Amol Palekar and Gulzar. The album did not get much recognition like other Gulzar albums that came around the same time – Maachis, Hu tu tu, Dil Se, etc. Regardless, it remains as the only collaboration of Anand-Milind and Gulzar (that I know of).
This particular song has a version sung by Asha Bhosale, but I prefer the Yesudas version. Is there another voice that is best suited for a lullaby? – buttery soft, yet deep, mellifluous, and seductive at the same time. His voice weaves a tranquil atmosphere which Asha’s voice fails to.
Gulzar’s lyrics bring the imagery of sleeping eyes as birds who have taken flight to pick dreams (paakhi jaisee aankhein sapne chugane lagti hai) that are scattered in a perfumed sky (sondhe se aakash pe) full of blue barges (neele bajre). Dreamy flights of fancy!
Yogesh Gaur, known to Hindi film music lovers by the mononym “Yogesh”, passed away on May 29, 2020. Yogesh wrote lyrics for a number of movies in the 1960s and 70s. He had a successful teaming with Hrishikesh Mukherjee in Mili and Anand. Kahin door jab Din dhal Jaaye, from Anand remains his most popular song. He also teamed with Basu Chatterjee for Chotisi Baat and Rajnigandha. Yogesh was known for using simple Hindi for his lyrics (as against the use of Urdu by his contemporaries). His oeuvre wasn’t as voluminous as other more prolific lyricists of his time, but he left a unique mark on Hindi film music. His teaming with Salil Chowdhury gave the dulcet “Rajnigandha phool tumhare”, the energetic frothiness of “Jaaneman Jaaneman tere do nayan”, or the sombre “Kahin door jab din dhal jaaye”. Songs, that we listen to even today.
The write up below is on one of his songs from Rajnigandha, directed by Basu Chatterjee who passed away as I was composing this post on June 4th, 2020. Five key contributors of this song are no more: Basu Chatterji, Yogesh, Salil Chowdhury, Mukesh, and Vidya Sinha.
Kayi baar yun bhi dekhaa hai
Ye jo man kee seemaa rekhaa hai,
Man todane lagataa hai
Anjaanee pyaas ke peechhe,
Anjaanee aas ke peechhe,
Man daudane lagataa hai
Raahon mein, raahon mein,
Jeewan kee raahon me
Jo khile hain phool phool muskuraa ke
Kaun saa phool churaa ke,
Rakhoo mein man sajaa ke
Kayi baar yun bhi dekhaa hai
Ye jo man kee seemaa rekhaa hai,
Man todane lagataa hai
Anjaanee pyaas ke peechhe,
Anjaanee aas ke peechhe,
Man daudane lagataa hai
Janoo naa, janoo naa,
Uljhan ye janoo naa
Sulajhaoon kaise kuchh samajh naa paaoon
Kis ko meet banaaoon,
Kis kee preet bhoolaaoon
Kayi baar yun bhi dekhaa hai
Ye jo man kee seemaa rekhaa hai,
Man todane lagataa hai
Anjaanee pyaas ke peechhe,
Anjaanee aas ke peechhe,
Man daudane lagataa hai
कई बार यूं भी देखा है
ये जो मन की सीमा रेखा है
मन तोड़ने लगता है
अन्जानी प्यास के पीछे
अन्जानी आस के पीछे
मन दौड़ने लगता है
राहों में, राहों में, जीवन की राहों में
जो खिले हैं फूल फूल मुस्कुराके
कौन सा फूल चुराके, रख लूं मन में सजाके
कई बार यूं भी देखा है ...
जानूँ न, जानूँ न, उलझन ये जानूँ न
सुलझाऊं कैसे कुछ समझ न पऊँ
किसको मीत बनाऊँ, किसकी प्रीत भुलाऊँ
कई बार यूं भी देखा है ...
More than anything, words in Hindi film songs get me first before the singing or the composition does. So when I heard this song for the first time, I don’t recollect when, but in the 80s I think, the thing that stayed with me was the word “Seemarekha”. This one word had me pay rapt attention to the song. I was amazed at how such a word can even be used in a song! It felt odd, but yet it was just perfect for the sentiment that was being conveyed in the song. Mind you, I was listening to the song while watching the movie and the song is about the confused state of mind that the heroine (Vidya Sinha) finds herself in. She is unsure, she is conflicted and it seems like she is going through a whirlwind of feelings that aren’t making her think straight.
Kayee baar yun bhi dekha hai, yeh jo mann ki SEEMAREKHA hai;
Mann todne lagata hai
Anjaani aas ke peeche, anjaani pyaas ke peeche
Mann daudne lagata hai
Writing words for Hindi films is no mean task. Usually the composition is ready, and the lyricist has to work within that “dhun”, while keeping the situation in the movie in mind and then bring out the feelings of the characters on whom the song will be shot. This is not free verse poetry, the constraints are enormous and when the lyrics do justice to the spirit of the narrative and the character and the composition, it is no mean feat. Ironically, the poet has to stay within the boundaries of these constraints : the poet can’t cross these seemarekhas. His/her loyalty has to stay with the situation and the character in the film.
Yogesh, who is the lyricist of this song, works within these boundaries and creates simple poetry that fits squarely in the situation of the movie. The composer, Salil Chowdhury brings out the feel of an unsure mind which I think comes from the mild staccato’ish sound that he uses throughout the song. The song begins with Mukesh singing the first two lines in a low voice, followed by the wailing of a saxophone which transforms into short bursts and then Mukesh sings the mukhada again in normal pitch to the staccato beats. Using male singers to convey emotions of a female character, is not a new thing for Hindi films. Right from the 50s to even today, songs shot on women, about their feelings, have been sung by men (very recently : Kinaare from Queen or Dhak Dhuk from English Vinglish). More than a male singing for a song shot on a female, what concerns me is a male writer writing the words for songs that are from a female POV. I somehow feel that the authenticity of the poetry is an assumed experience, and not an authentic one. This is not take away the efforts of the writer in bringing out the right emotions for the situation the female character finds herself in the narrative, but merely a small discomfort that had it been penned by a woman, would it carry a little more authenticity?
The year was 1985, a time when one of the most exciting things about the week was the screening of a Hindi movie on Sunday evenings on the state owned (and the only) television channel Doordarshan (DD). Everyone in my household would finish their chores and be ready for the 6 PM start of whatever movie was chosen by the overlords at DD. One such Sunday evening, our Black & White Dyanora television showed us a movie called Choti si baat. Of course, these were the days of no internet, and hence no ready access to information on the movie one was about to watch – unlike current times when you get to tune yourself before watching any movie – you know the cast, you know the genre, you know the reviews, the IMDB/tomatometer ratings, etc. As a 10 year old in 1985, I had no such baggage. The only thing I would be interested in a movie was what we kids called “dhishoom-dhishoom” – aka action scenes – stunts, car chases, gun fights, sword fights, galloping horses, sword fights or gun fights on galloping horses – you get the idea. Due to the previously mentioned lack of the internet, there was no way of knowing whether the movie I was about to watch fed to this violent appetite of mine. However, I had figured out a way of finding out whether the said movie may have any of the dhishoom-dhishoom, I so eagerly wanted to see – I had figured out that if the opening credits showed “Action” or “Stunt coordinator”, there was a good chance that I will be a happy camper by the end of the movie. And if the credits did not mention these, well, it was time to find something else to do. After watching the credits of Choti si baat, it was quite clear that there won’t be any action – moreover one look at this Amol Palekar chap (the “hero” of the movie) and I knew it was a hopeless pursuit.
As a result, I ended up watching bits and pieces of the movie. Two things I remember from this first watching of the movie – 1) the heroine of the movie (Vidya Sinha) did a lot of standing around at a bus stop followed by walking around on the streets of Bombay while being followed by the lame Amol Palekar & 2) the heroine and another character played by Asrani along with Amol Palekar eating what looked like some delicious food at a cozy & comfortable looking restaurant. The restaurant/cafe is what left a mark on me : I distinctly remember thinking that this is unlike any restaurant I have seen in the movies – to remind you this was the 1980s, restaurants in Hindi movies were large, mostly windowless rooms with chandeliers and plaster of paris statues of half-naked women! These rooms would be filled with men in ill-fitting suits sitting around round tables while a svelte woman pranced seductively around them. These mustachioed men would cast occasional lascivious looks at the camera while sipping their beverages and puffing their cigars. The restaurant in Choti si baat, was nothing like these unattainable places, it seemed like a “real” place, a place where “real” people go – the decor had simple paintings, bamboo curtains, there was a hubbub that had a genuine restaurant-ish vibe about it and no svelte woman was gyrating about since this darn place seemed quite cramped – almost like a narrow hallway. There were no chandeliers for lighting, natural light was flowing in, you could
see the greenery outside, table fans were hung from the walls, a clumsy looking menu board could be seen in the background, the tables were too close to each other – overall, it was all very “non-filmy”. I distinctly remember, the 10 year old me wanting to go there and eat whatever the characters in the movie were eating.
Years went by, and as I started to get interested in music and movies, I happened to stumble upon Choti si baat once again in my college years. I must say this might be the first movie of the romantic-comedy genre that I enjoyed entirely – for its grounded characters, for its easy humor, for the wonderful lightweight performances by Amol Palekar, Asrani & Ashok Kumar, for its wonderful music (especially – Lata’s soulful Na jaane kyon and Yesudas and Asha’s lovely duet Jaaneman Jaaneman) and most importantly for its nonchalant depiction of realism by it’s director – Basu Chatterjee. The realism of his rom-com movies is unlike the ones from the rom-com movies of this decade, where the realism seems to be deliberate and created out of meticulous production design. Examples: Wake Up Sid, Life in a Metro, Band Baaja Baraat, etc. Seeing the restaurant scenes again, brought back memories of 1985, brought back that longing of going to that restaurant. This time around, I paid attention and the Asrani character says the name of the restaurant “Cafe Samovar”. I had no idea what Samovar meant, but the name somehow just sounded so perfect for that place.
Years passed, and every once in a while whenever a Choti si baat song would hit my ear drums, I would think of Cafe Samovar and the desire to go there would be awakened. I lie not when I say, I could literally picture myself in that place. I googled the place and found out that it’s in the Kala Ghoda neighborhood of Bombay inside the same building as the Jehangir Art Gallery. Knowing where it was, made my desire of visiting Samovar even more stronger. It was just a happy coincidence when I found out that A lovesChoti si baat too and would also love to go to Cafe Samovar someday.
I have visited Bombay numerous times over the past 20 years, sometimes staying there for weeks, but never acted upon the desire to visit Cafe Samovar. Until one sweltering muggy day in June of 2014 when me along with A, my brother, his wife, and his son found ourselves in Bombay. Come hell or high water, I had set my heart upon having lunch at Cafe Samovar that day. After a bit of wandering around looking for the gallery and getting drenched with copious amounts of sweat in the process, we found it and made our way to the cafe which is tucked away in the right corner of the lobby of the building. We saw the sign of the cafe on its narrow doorway and as soon as we entered the restaurant I had a sense of being transported back almost 29 years after I had first laid my eyes on this place on the black & white screen of our telly. When one anticipates and desires something for a long time, the actual event, or the place, or the thing that one was looking forward to does not usually live up to ones expectations, leading to heartbreak and disappointment. This, however was not the case with Cafe Samovar, the moment I entered the narrow hallways, it was exactly how I had imagined it in my head for all these years. Sunlight was streaming in through bamboo curtains, tables were arranged too close to each other, there was non-pretentious art work hanging on its walls, there was a comforting hubbub of people, servers, conversations, whirring of the fans from the walls, clinking of silverware on ceramic plates, fragrance from parathas/chole/kheema wafting in the humid air – it was all too blissfully perfect.
We settled into a table and ordered a plethora of things – I ordered what Nagesh ordered in Choti si baat – kheema paratha! We also had chole, dahi wada, neembu paani, lassi, egg curry, aloo paratha, etc. As the food arrived, we gobbled it up with much love and fervor. It was delicious, satisfying, and what can I say, but you had to be me to really feel how I was feeling! I was sitting there in Cafe Samovar lapping up every moment and I hear my name being called out from a table two rows from where we were sitting. Needless to say I was quite surprised and saw in the general direction of the sound to find an old friend from college beaming at me. PB and I had not seen each other in over a decade, and it was quite pleasant to meet him. He was on a day trip to Bombay with his wife and they had decided to come to Samovar for lunch. Serendipity or Choti si baat, whatever it was, this added to the whole experience of Samovar. After catching up with PB, exchanging our phone numbers, and paying the bill, we left the cafe and browsed a bit in the art gallery.
A few weeks back, I got a text on my phone from PB that Samovar has closed. There was a small cloud of sadness that followed me for some time, but it cleared off pretty soon, and was replaced by a feeling of contentment of having been there, and having experienced its “being”. I am not going to get in the matter of why it closed etc. Simply because, I do not want to know and will leave it to the fact that, it’s the way of the world and life – Old has to go to make way for new.
We all keep the memories of places and people we love and are no longer around, inside of us. It’s a natural human condition. Although even before Samovar closed, I had brought one little relic of Samovar into Washington DC. I put Kheema Paratha on the menu of a cafe (Pansaari) run by a friend. A and I can frequently be found making and serving food at this cafe. Everytime I explain the food to the customers at Pansaari, I upsell the Kheema Paratha – and when they order it, I get a warm feeling. This is how I have managed to keep my Samovar alive.
P.S: Writing this post has been a good reminder that what and who I love today, may not be around tomorrow. Loving them fully and unconditionally is the only way to keep them alive for as long as I am alive.
ना जाने क्यों होता है यह ज़िन्दगी के साथ, अचानक ये मन किसी के जाने के बाद, करे फिर उसकी याद