Random Expressions

Yesterday, adiposity story poet, director & writer Gulzar celebrated is 73rd birthday. Thanks to his recent successes, he is one name who is still pretty reknowned amongst the young generation. These days, his Kaminey‘s Dhan Te Nan is quite popular. And earlier this year, he co-won the prestigious Oscar for Jai Ho (Slumdog Millionaire)

Due to this, every radio channel worth its airwaves played his songs on their daily ‘oldie goldie’ programmes. By ten pm, I was furiously switching between four channels, simultaneously sms’ing to two friends the favorite songs (multi-tasking, eh!).

Well, as the frenzy endied, I thought I had to list out a few of his songs that the Melody Queen Lata Mangeshkar has graced with her mellifluous voice; after all, both have immense mutual respect for each other. She has sung in most of his films. And he has directed her home production (Lekin).  The association started right from Bandini, when a young Gulzar wrote a lovely lyric about a love-lorn woman, based on  refrains from Radha-Krishna lovetale.  Mora gora ang lai le continues to enthrall listeners, old and new;  S D Burman’s frugal but fruitful music enchants.

(As always, this is a random list – not in any particular order, and since Mora gora ang lai le has been mentioned above, and deserves to be before any list,  it is not mentioned below).

Yaara seeli seeli – Lekin – A heart-stopping, breath-taking, wide-sweep & panaromic number that spans emotions ranging from pathos to fear to loneliness to numbness. The pain of the spirit caught between the material and the nether worlds finds a haunting echo in Gulzar’s words ‘pairon mein na saaya mere, sar pe na saayiin re, mere saath jaaye na meri parchhaiin re‘. Indeed, it’s said ghosts do not have shadows. But at a deeper level, it’s about not having a companion; its about loneliness. Having said that, let me admit, more than a lyric-based song, or even a tune-based one (after all, it’s a folk-tune resurrect; I have even heard Reshma’s similar number), it is purely and wholly Lata Mangeshkar’s song. She takes the track to an impossibly high altitude; and the alaap in the end is a crescendo designed and created to make your heart miss several beats!

Dil dhoondta hai phir wohi fursat ke raat din / Ruke ruke se qadam ruk-ke baar baar chale– Mausam – Had destiny not meted out its savage blow that fateful July in 1976, I firmly believe Madan Mohan & Gulzar could have jointly produced several more such precious gems. Alas, that was not to be! In fact, Madan Mohan Saab couldn’t even live to enjoy Mausam‘s success. Latadi sang three lovable numbers- the faster version of Dil dhoondta hai, the pain-lashed Ruke ruke se qadam and the impish Chhadi re chhadi kaisi gale mein padi.

Thodi si zameen thoda aasman tinko bas ek aashiyan – Sitara – Gulzarsaab‘s forte has been his imagery. The moon can be a pillow or a plate. The eyes can emit fragrance. The roads can curve and course. The sun can set like a ghoonghat being unveiled. Time will be a fruit hanging from the tree-trunks. Anything is possible with his pen. In Thodisi zameen, he conjures up a rustic household replete with ‘lepa hua chulha’, ‘chhota sa jhoola’ and ‘saundhi saundhi khushboo‘. My favorite lines are in the last stanza – Raat kat jaayegi din kaise guzarenge, baajre ke kheton mein kauvve udayenge…baajre ke sitton jaise bete ho jawan. And when Latadi squeezes in that extra sweetness, one can only listen with a tender smile and a fond heart; and yes, her little giggle is like the wind-chimes’ tinkle on a languidly warm breezy day.

Zeehal-e-musqin makunbaranjish bahaal-e-hijra bechara dil hai – Ghulami – Never mind that the song opens with a rather ungainly Huma Khan prancing on hot Rajasthani sand. Ignore her. Close your eyes and savor that angelic voice nimbly skipping over the high-pitched lines – Kabhi kabhi shaam aise dalti hai – immediately, one can visualize a stark orange sun dipping into the ochre desert expanse. Gulzarsaab‘s words are tricky here; one, he uses strict Urdu in the opening lines. Two, the song spans varying emotions through its four stanzas, and hence there is no single theme. Laxmikant-Pyarelal and Gulzar are a rare combination; but this song (and the other solo Mere pee ko pawan kis gali le chali) shows that when great talents merge, they create magic. Zeehale musqin has been a childhood favorite, and I recall learning its full lyrics way back in 1984-85 when the film released.

Ghungta gira hai …Koi mere maathe ki bindiya saja de re mai dulhan si lagti hun dulhan bana de re – Palkon Ki Chhaon Mein – Laxmikant-Pyarelal and Gulzar once again sparkle their talents in this Meraj-directed film, starring Hema Malini (Meraj was Gulzar’s assistant, if I am not too mistaken). I love the thought in this song. A lady feels she is a bride, and wishes to be dressed up so. Once more, Gulzar’s impeccable imagery is at work – ‘aankhon mein raat ka kaajal saja ke’ and ‘mai aangan mein thande savere bichhadun’. It’s a short number; barely 3 minutes long, but it’s packed with solid feelings. And needless to add, Latadi (one of her low-pitch songs) sounds divine! When she whispers ‘mai dulhan si lagti hun‘, the heavens eagerly advance to color the universe in love!

Humne dekhi hai unn aankhon ki mahakti khushboo – Khamoshi – This one has scorching lyrics. Let the relationship be unnamed, don’t assault it with a label. I loved the usage of ‘ilzaam’ here. As also the line ‘pyaar koi bol nahi pyar koi raag nahi, ek khamoshi hai…‘ Indeed, a very refreshing and practical take on love. Hemant Kumar’s music is an array of softly swaying violins that suit the song’s sombre mood.

Jahan pe savera ho basera wahin hain – Basera – I was still in my knickers when (while watching the film on VCR), this song knocked my air out. Ever since, I haven’t recovered and it still tingles my inner core. I marvel that a human voice could go so high and yet remain so tuneful and melodic. Hats off to Latadi and RD Burman for pulling this feat off. It’s much later that I could look beyond its easy tune and superlative rendition, and comprehend the beautiful words as well. Na mitii na gaada, na sona sajaana, jahan pyaar dekho wahiin ghar basaana…so true!

Jiya jale jaan jale nainon tale dhuan chale – Dil Se – Thematically, this song is Koi mere maathe ki‘s extension; a love-lorn heroine on the threshold of holy matrimony sings about meeting her beloved. In fact, full credit to Latadi to render lines like ‘honth sil jaate unnke narm hothon se magar’ with such grace that no one even fleetingly thought of it as distasteful. Gulzar’s wordings are immensely sensuous; he writes about a woman sensuosly rolling in the bed with desire, but what a way to present it – Raat bhar bechairi mehdi pisti hai pairon tale, kya karein kaise kahein raat kab kaise kate! The song’s ending is marvellous; and it is said Latadi didn’t really ‘sing’ that. She was rehearsing the alaap, and A R Rahman recorded it. Whoa! Now that’s humungous talent, indeed!

Yeh shahar bada purana hai / O dil banjaare khol doriyan / Mere sarhane jalaao sapne / Khud se baatein karte rahna / Ek haseen nigaah ka – Maya Memsaab – However vague the film might have been, one can simply not fault its music. Hridayanath Mangeshkar and Gulzarsaab team up to create five top-notch Latadi solos. And Latadi delivers them with panache and style that only she can provide. Whereas in Mere sarhane jalao sapne she takes her voice low to give a very haunting and disturbed effect, however, in O dil banjaare, she simply opens it up and leaves it to sway over the musical notes, like an irreverent kite flying joyously but naughtily teasing a balmy zephyr. (Incidentally, I find O Dil banjaare the best of the lot). In Khud se baatein karte rahna, Latadi retracts her voice, clinging it to her heart, stingily, painfully. Gulzarsaab again borders the risque in Yeh shahar bada purana hai when he writes ‘Yeh jism hai kachhi mitti ka, bhar jaaye toh rissne lagta hai’. In totality, a very satisfying album…but yes, it truly grows on you. Initially, I had found it a bit disjointed. But over the years, I have become its ferocious fan.

Tere bina jeeya jaaye na / Aajkal paaon zameen par / Aapki aankhon mein – Ghar – It’s so difficult to decide the better of these three songs. Whenever I play Ghar‘s CD, I am forced to hear them in a row, one after the other. Having said that, I must confess I have a very special corner for Aapki aankhon mein – especially for that small laughter just before Latadi delivers the line ‘aapki badmaashiyon ke yeh naye andaaz hain’ – naughty, jovial albeit shy and taken-aback; all packed together in seven words. I am confident her rendition would have made Rekha’s work much easy. Gulzarsaab‘s favorite composer R D Burman does complete justice to his lyrics.

Iss mod se jaate hain / Tum aa gaye ho noor aa gaya hai / Tere bina zindagi se – Aandhi – Like Ghar, another album I have to listen to in its entirety. It is well nigh impossible to pluck just one rose from this garden! However, another confession – Tere bina zindagi has a better edge, lyrically, since it captures the futility of a failed relationship so succintly; life moves on, but is that really life? So well stated. Singing wise, I believe, Latadi is absolutely remarkable in Iss mod se jaate hai; she sings the word ‘mod‘ wonderfully, stretching it out a little, giving it tiny ripples, and provides it through sound just the correct meaning to it. When she sings, noor aa hi jaata hai, otherwise Hindi film music would have been absolutely ‘bewajah‘! Once again, R D Burman at his sublime best.

Phir kisi shaakh ne phenki chhanv – Libaas – Alas, the film never released. Mercifully, its music found a way out. One of RDB-Gulzar’s last outings together, Libaas is an out-and-out Latadi score, with her singing four power-punching numbers. Be it the subdued Sili hawa chhoo gayi or the regretful Khamosh sa afsaana or the mirthy Kya bhala kya bura, they are all top-league. In the last, Panchamda joins her for a small party. Gulzarsaab captures those carefree days once more- ‘saara din ghazalein pirona, raat bhar aawaargi’! My favorite, though, is ‘Phir kisi shaakh ne’; partly because I loved Ashaji’s Khaali haath shaam aayi (Ijaazat) and  inwardly yearned for Lataji‘s voice in that song. But thankfully, RDB has created a similar melody for Lataji in Phir kisi shaakh ne. Also, the song effectively speaks about fear of falling in love again after a doomed relationship : Hum toh bhoole hue the dil ko magar, dil ne phir aaj kyun humein yaad kiya!

Din jaa rahe the raaton ke saaye – Doosri Sita – I have written on this song earlier here.

Chaand churake laaya hun chal baithen church ke peeche / Gulmohar gar tumhara naam hota – Devta – Oh, there we go again…RDB and Gulzarsaab, but this one is a little-known nugget, which has somehow slipped public attention. Else, Chaand churake laaya hun is a terrific track, light and frothy, about a couple meeting surreptitiously behind a church, sitting below a tree. One can only smile bemusedly at Gulzarsaab’s innovative lyrics. So straightforward, yet so deviant. You know what I adore in Lataji’s voice here? She sounds a bit ‘rondu’ (sorry, I couldn’t find a better way to describe, and trust me, its not wholly degrading), just the way Shabana Azmi sometimes looks.

Thoda hai thode ki zarurat hai – Khatta Meetha – Oh, that every common man’s refrain, another Gulzarsaab triumph. As the song moves on various characters, each one’s desire finds a befitting verse. Latadi and Kishoreda sing this breezy Rajesh Roshan composition.

Yaad na aaye koi lahu na rulaaye koi / Ae hawa kuchh toh bata / Paani paani re khaare paani re – Maachis – Another complete album. Vishal Bhardwaj zoomed his way up the charts in his debut, and Latadi was right there, supporting him. Paani paani re was quite a big hit (though the biggest ones were Chappa chappa charkha chale). My favorites – the lines ‘jungle se jaati pagdandiyon mein dekho toh shaayad paanv milenge’ (in Ae hawa).

Chai chhapa chhai chhapak ke chhai – Hu Tu Tu – I adore the joi-de-vivre & playfulness in this song, and in Lataji’s voice. It’s as if she is having a blast, and she so efficaciously reflects the image of ‘paani mein chheente udate hui ladki’. But what is the ‘whistle-inducing moment’ in the song? When she says ‘janaab‘ – aah! She makes the words worth being words!

Tu mere paas bhi hai tu mere saath bhi hai phir bhi tera intezaar hai – Satya – Taste honey or listen to this song. Same thing. A spirited track. Very light. Very energizing. Very melodious. Another Vishal Bhardwaj success.

And add Jahan Tum Le Chalo‘s  Shauq khwaab ka ho toh neend aaye na, we have quite a rich Gulzar-Vishal-Lata ouvre.

Dil hoom hoom kare  /   Jhuthi muthi mitwa aawan dole / Samay o dheere chalo -  Rudaali – She ‘hoom’ed  her way through the nation’s heart, and the song is no less  a neo-classic, mentioned with revere and remains till date a connoisseur’s treasure.  My special favorite is the percussion-and-santoor based rain number – Jhuthi muthi mitwa; Latadi’s voice is as refreshing as the first rains on heated earth.  The third best is the three-part Samay o dheere chalo.

And finally, I end this piece with the lines from Kinaara‘s song which actually symbolizes and summarizes Lata Didi, and nothing more is left to say  :  Meri aawaaz hi pehchaan hai … (and let me say, needless to say ‘gar yaad rahe‘ ). Thank you, Gulzarsaab for these immortal lines, and huge thank you Latadi, for singing such brilliant songs, in the way that only you can.

Yesterday, website like this poet, stuff director & writer Gulzar celebrated is 73rd birthday. Thanks to his recent successes, he is one name who is still pretty reknowned amongst the young generation. These days, his Kaminey‘s Dhan Te Nan is quite popular. And earlier this year, he co-won the prestigious Oscar for Jai Ho (Slumdog Millionaire)

Due to this, every radio channel worth its airwaves played his songs on their daily ‘oldie goldie’ programmes. By ten pm, I was furiously switching between four channels, simultaneously sms’ing to two friends the favorite songs (multi-tasking, eh!).

Well, as the frenzy endied, I thought I had to list out a few of his songs that the Melody Queen Lata Mangeshkar has graced with her mellifluous voice; after all, both have immense mutual respect for each other. She has sung in most of his films. And he has directed her home production (Lekin).  The association started right from Bandini, when a young Gulzar wrote a lovely lyric about a love-lorn woman, based on  refrains from Radha-Krishna lovetale.  Mora gora ang lai le continues to enthrall listeners, old and new;  S D Burman’s frugal but fruitful music enchants.

(As always, this is a random list – not in any particular order, and since Mora gora ang lai le has been mentioned above, and deserves to be before any list,  it is not mentioned below).

Yaara seeli seeli – Lekin – A heart-stopping, breath-taking, wide-sweep & panaromic number that spans emotions ranging from pathos to fear to loneliness to numbness. The pain of the spirit caught between the material and the nether worlds finds a haunting echo in Gulzar’s words ‘pairon mein na saaya mere, sar pe na saayiin re, mere saath jaaye na meri parchhaiin re‘. Indeed, it’s said ghosts do not have shadows. But at a deeper level, it’s about not having a companion; its about loneliness. Having said that, let me admit, more than a lyric-based song, or even a tune-based one (after all, it’s a folk-tune resurrect; I have even heard Reshma’s similar number), it is purely and wholly Lata Mangeshkar’s song. She takes the track to an impossibly high altitude; and the alaap in the end is a crescendo designed and created to make your heart miss several beats!

Dil dhoondta hai phir wohi fursat ke raat din / Ruke ruke se qadam ruk-ke baar baar chale– Mausam – Had destiny not meted out its savage blow that fateful July in 1976, I firmly believe Madan Mohan & Gulzar could have jointly produced several more such precious gems. Alas, that was not to be! In fact, Madan Mohan Saab couldn’t even live to enjoy Mausam‘s success. Latadi sang three lovable numbers- the faster version of Dil dhoondta hai, the pain-lashed Ruke ruke se qadam and the impish Chhadi re chhadi kaisi gale mein padi.

Thodi si zameen thoda aasman tinko bas ek aashiyan – Sitara – Gulzarsaab‘s forte has been his imagery. The moon can be a pillow or a plate. The eyes can emit fragrance. The roads can curve and course. The sun can set like a ghoonghat being unveiled. Time will be a fruit hanging from the tree-trunks. Anything is possible with his pen. In Thodisi zameen, he conjures up a rustic household replete with ‘lepa hua chulha’, ‘chhota sa jhoola’ and ‘saundhi saundhi khushboo‘. My favorite lines are in the last stanza – Raat kat jaayegi din kaise guzarenge, baajre ke kheton mein kauvve udayenge…baajre ke sitton jaise bete ho jawan. And when Latadi squeezes in that extra sweetness, one can only listen with a tender smile and a fond heart; and yes, her little giggle is like the wind-chimes’ tinkle on a languidly warm breezy day.

Zeehal-e-musqin makunbaranjish bahaal-e-hijra bechara dil hai – Ghulami – Never mind that the song opens with a rather ungainly Huma Khan prancing on hot Rajasthani sand. Ignore her. Close your eyes and savor that angelic voice nimbly skipping over the high-pitched lines – Kabhi kabhi shaam aise dalti hai – immediately, one can visualize a stark orange sun dipping into the ochre desert expanse. Gulzarsaab‘s words are tricky here; one, he uses strict Urdu in the opening lines. Two, the song spans varying emotions through its four stanzas, and hence there is no single theme. Laxmikant-Pyarelal and Gulzar are a rare combination; but this song (and the other solo Mere pee ko pawan kis gali le chali) shows that when great talents merge, they create magic. Zeehale musqin has been a childhood favorite, and I recall learning its full lyrics way back in 1984-85 when the film released.

Ghungta gira hai …Koi mere maathe ki bindiya saja de re mai dulhan si lagti hun dulhan bana de re – Palkon Ki Chhaon Mein – Laxmikant-Pyarelal and Gulzar once again sparkle their talents in this Meraj-directed film, starring Hema Malini (Meraj was Gulzar’s assistant, if I am not too mistaken). I love the thought in this song. A lady feels she is a bride, and wishes to be dressed up so. Once more, Gulzar’s impeccable imagery is at work – ‘aankhon mein raat ka kaajal saja ke’ and ‘mai aangan mein thande savere bichhadun’. It’s a short number; barely 3 minutes long, but it’s packed with solid feelings. And needless to add, Latadi (one of her low-pitch songs) sounds divine! When she whispers ‘mai dulhan si lagti hun‘, the heavens eagerly advance to color the universe in love!

Humne dekhi hai unn aankhon ki mahakti khushboo – Khamoshi – This one has scorching lyrics. Let the relationship be unnamed, don’t assault it with a label. I loved the usage of ‘ilzaam’ here. As also the line ‘pyaar koi bol nahi pyar koi raag nahi, ek khamoshi hai…‘ Indeed, a very refreshing and practical take on love. Hemant Kumar’s music is an array of softly swaying violins that suit the song’s sombre mood.

Jahan pe savera ho basera wahin hain – Basera – I was still in my knickers when (while watching the film on VCR), this song knocked my air out. Ever since, I haven’t recovered and it still tingles my inner core. I marvel that a human voice could go so high and yet remain so tuneful and melodic. Hats off to Latadi and RD Burman for pulling this feat off. It’s much later that I could look beyond its easy tune and superlative rendition, and comprehend the beautiful words as well. Na mitii na gaada, na sona sajaana, jahan pyaar dekho wahiin ghar basaana…so true!

Jiya jale jaan jale nainon tale dhuan chale – Dil Se – Thematically, this song is Koi mere maathe ki‘s extension; a love-lorn heroine on the threshold of holy matrimony sings about meeting her beloved. In fact, full credit to Latadi to render lines like ‘honth sil jaate unnke narm hothon se magar’ with such grace that no one even fleetingly thought of it as distasteful. Gulzar’s wordings are immensely sensuous; he writes about a woman sensuosly rolling in the bed with desire, but what a way to present it – Raat bhar bechairi mehdi pisti hai pairon tale, kya karein kaise kahein raat kab kaise kate! The song’s ending is marvellous; and it is said Latadi didn’t really ‘sing’ that. She was rehearsing the alaap, and A R Rahman recorded it. Whoa! Now that’s humungous talent, indeed!

Yeh shahar bada purana hai / O dil banjaare khol doriyan / Mere sarhane jalaao sapne / Khud se baatein karte rahna / Ek haseen nigaah ka – Maya Memsaab – However vague the film might have been, one can simply not fault its music. Hridayanath Mangeshkar and Gulzarsaab team up to create five top-notch Latadi solos. And Latadi delivers them with panache and style that only she can provide. Whereas in Mere sarhane jalao sapne she takes her voice low to give a very haunting and disturbed effect, however, in O dil banjaare, she simply opens it up and leaves it to sway over the musical notes, like an irreverent kite flying joyously but naughtily teasing a balmy zephyr. (Incidentally, I find O Dil banjaare the best of the lot). In Khud se baatein karte rahna, Latadi retracts her voice, clinging it to her heart, stingily, painfully. Gulzarsaab again borders the risque in Yeh shahar bada purana hai when he writes ‘Yeh jism hai kachhi mitti ka, bhar jaaye toh rissne lagta hai’. In totality, a very satisfying album…but yes, it truly grows on you. Initially, I had found it a bit disjointed. But over the years, I have become its ferocious fan.

Tere bina jeeya jaaye na / Aajkal paaon zameen par / Aapki aankhon mein – Ghar – It’s so difficult to decide the better of these three songs. Whenever I play Ghar‘s CD, I am forced to hear them in a row, one after the other. Having said that, I must confess I have a very special corner for Aapki aankhon mein – especially for that small laughter just before Latadi delivers the line ‘aapki badmaashiyon ke yeh naye andaaz hain’ – naughty, jovial albeit shy and taken-aback; all packed together in seven words. I am confident her rendition would have made Rekha’s work much easy. Gulzarsaab‘s favorite composer R D Burman does complete justice to his lyrics.

Iss mod se jaate hain / Tum aa gaye ho noor aa gaya hai / Tere bina zindagi se – Aandhi – Like Ghar, another album I have to listen to in its entirety. It is well nigh impossible to pluck just one rose from this garden! However, another confession – Tere bina zindagi has a better edge, lyrically, since it captures the futility of a failed relationship so succintly; life moves on, but is that really life? So well stated. Singing wise, I believe, Latadi is absolutely remarkable in Iss mod se jaate hai; she sings the word ‘mod‘ wonderfully, stretching it out a little, giving it tiny ripples, and provides it through sound just the correct meaning to it. When she sings, noor aa hi jaata hai, otherwise Hindi film music would have been absolutely ‘bewajah‘! Once again, R D Burman at his sublime best.

Phir kisi shaakh ne phenki chhanv – Libaas – Alas, the film never released. Mercifully, its music found a way out. One of RDB-Gulzar’s last outings together, Libaas is an out-and-out Latadi score, with her singing four power-punching numbers. Be it the subdued Sili hawa chhoo gayi or the regretful Khamosh sa afsaana or the mirthy Kya bhala kya bura, they are all top-league. In the last, Panchamda joins her for a small party. Gulzarsaab captures those carefree days once more- ‘saara din ghazalein pirona, raat bhar aawaargi’! My favorite, though, is ‘Phir kisi shaakh ne’; partly because I loved Ashaji’s Khaali haath shaam aayi (Ijaazat) and  inwardly yearned for Lataji‘s voice in that song. But thankfully, RDB has created a similar melody for Lataji in Phir kisi shaakh ne. Also, the song effectively speaks about fear of falling in love again after a doomed relationship : Hum toh bhoole hue the dil ko magar, dil ne phir aaj kyun humein yaad kiya!

Din jaa rahe the raaton ke saaye – Doosri Sita – I have written on this song earlier here.

Chaand churake laaya hun chal baithen church ke peeche / Gulmohar gar tumhara naam hota – Devta – Oh, there we go again…RDB and Gulzarsaab, but this one is a little-known nugget, which has somehow slipped public attention. Else, Chaand churake laaya hun is a terrific track, light and frothy, about a couple meeting surreptitiously behind a church, sitting below a tree. One can only smile bemusedly at Gulzarsaab’s innovative lyrics. So straightforward, yet so deviant. You know what I adore in Lataji’s voice here? She sounds a bit ‘rondu’ (sorry, I couldn’t find a better way to describe, and trust me, its not wholly degrading), just the way Shabana Azmi sometimes looks.

Thoda hai thode ki zarurat hai – Khatta Meetha – Oh, that every common man’s refrain, another Gulzarsaab triumph. As the song moves on various characters, each one’s desire finds a befitting verse. Latadi and Kishoreda sing this breezy Rajesh Roshan composition.

Yaad na aaye koi lahu na rulaaye koi / Ae hawa kuchh toh bata / Paani paani re khaare paani re – Maachis – Another complete album. Vishal Bhardwaj zoomed his way up the charts in his debut, and Latadi was right there, supporting him. Paani paani re was quite a big hit (though the biggest ones were Chappa chappa charkha chale). My favorites – the lines ‘jungle se jaati pagdandiyon mein dekho toh shaayad paanv milenge’ (in Ae hawa).

Chai chhapa chhai chhapak ke chhai – Hu Tu Tu – I adore the joi-de-vivre & playfulness in this song, and in Lataji’s voice. It’s as if she is having a blast, and she so efficaciously reflects the image of ‘paani mein chheente udate hui ladki’. But what is the ‘whistle-inducing moment’ in the song? When she says ‘janaab‘ – aah! She makes the words worth being words!

Tu mere paas bhi hai tu mere saath bhi hai phir bhi tera intezaar hai – Satya – Taste honey or listen to this song. Same thing. A spirited track. Very light. Very energizing. Very melodious. Another Vishal Bhardwaj success.

And add Jahan Tum Le Chalo‘s  Shauq khwaab ka ho toh neend aaye na, we have quite a rich Gulzar-Vishal-Lata ouvre.

Dil hoom hoom kare  /   Jhuthi muthi mitwa aawan dole / Samay o dheere chalo -  Rudaali – She ‘hoom’ed  her way through the nation’s heart, and the song is no less  a neo-classic, mentioned with revere and remains till date a connoisseur’s treasure.  My special favorite is the percussion-and-santoor based rain number – Jhuthi muthi mitwa; Latadi’s voice is as refreshing as the first rains on heated earth.  The third best is the three-part Samay o dheere chalo.

And finally, I end this piece with the lines from Kinaara‘s song which actually symbolizes and summarizes Lata Didi, and nothing more is left to say  :  Meri aawaaz hi pehchaan hai … (and let me say, needless to say ‘gar yaad rahe‘ ). Thank you, Gulzarsaab for these immortal lines, and huge thank you Latadi, for singing such brilliant songs, in the way that only you can.

We all know what it means. And I am sure no one can say they haven’t had their own small embarrassing moments – you know, page the kind where you dash off a quick email stating ‘heartiest condolences’ at your friend’s uncle’s demise! Or, caries where you wish a person ‘Happy’ festival, when it is actually a martyr’s day of some prophet or guru!

In one classic instance, my ex-colleague G started to extol on the dumbness of a lady in front of an important official. As soon as he opened his mouth, I knew we were in serious trouble and kicked him hard on his shin below the table, and hurriedly broke in firmly stating that the lady was truly very hard working. She was now the wife of the official we were sitting with!

In another incident, a colleague called out to an abundant-attitude-charged peon as ‘Oye Vice President, come here’ – only to see our company’s Vice President alighting from the elevator from the opposite end!

I have been through several such moments – in fact, they keep recurring at alarming regularity, right from my childhood. One incident I recall from my school days is when our biology teacher was giving a lecture on vitamins and minerals and their importance on our health. To her question on naming some sources of food having multiple vitamins, several hands were raised, including mine. She chose me. With all sincerity and seriousness I answered – guess what? – ‘Complan’; seeing her dropped jaws, and that incredulous look, and hearing the classmates’ suppressed giggles , I knew I had goofed up big time. My ears reddened, and they continue to be so whenever I think of this incident.

In school yet again, in a Hindi essay, I had used the Punjabi word ‘chitti’ (white) instead of the correct one ‘safed’. The loud red circle on the word is still etched sharply in my memory’s notebook.

I have been in such jobs where I have to take double precautions where protocols are concerned I am forever on my toes lest I stamp on some raw egoes.

Perhaps for us ‘the common people’ these moments would not account to much, beyond a few embarrassing memories, but when the people in power or position make such errors, it can have huge repercussions, (though sometimes pretty amusing too). We know of Mr. Bush calling the English Queen being a century old, or some such thing. And when one senior Indian actor called Nepal as being ‘once part of India’ it created quite a furore in the Himalayan nation.

So what’s been your biggest faux pas?

And then there are tight spots where squeezing out seems an impossible proposition. Or, a situation that makes you uncomfortable but can do nothing about it. One February Saturday evening, while in Nepal, I was in this very high-profile meeting. Two senior government officials and I were discussing a business deal at Kathmandu’s well known Annapurna Hotel. We had ordered coffee and pakoras. I forwarded some solid points about our company with full enthusiasm, my voice in a taut pitch, and hands flying wild in emphasizing gesticulation. As I finished one more important argument, I tapped the table with force and with a flourish, picked up a piece of pakora and placed it in my mouth. Immediately, I realised my folly and felt a fire burning within, literally. I had eaten a ‘green chilli pakora’; and could feel smoke coming out of my ears (the kind that happens in cartoons)! The two eyed my reddened face amusedly.

But all I could do, is offer a wan smile, and as quickly as possible, gulp a glass of chilled water.

Or there are tight spots when your memory suddenly decides to go for a quick stroll. In fact, this is a common occurrence since I usually either remember the name and not its face, or (and worse), I recognize the face but forget the name totally. Once, a colleague from another department rushed up to my seat with an enthusiastic smile and an eager hello. My heart sank into my worn Mochi shoes. As it lay frozen there, I shook my numb (and dumb) brain into action. But zilch. Zero. Cipher. Like a stubborn ass, it drove into the ground a hole – and I could have wholly & happily joined the two italicized words to describe myself. I mumbled some inane small talk (So how come here today? Thankfully, not to meet me. What’s new? Alas, nothing that gave away who she was. All well? Yeah, for her. But not for me!); after a few more seconds of ‘ummm’ and ‘err.s’ I squeezed out by making some silly excuse (albeit with an earnest face). A while later, I pulled another colleague to a corner to obtain the correct information! Phew!  Finally, a while later, I cornered the colleague and had a more meaningful dialogue.

Mostly,  in such situations,  one has to think not on his feet, but ‘from his feet’ and allow them to take you as far as they can,  if possible.   But I guess, it’s these somewhat small and silly but often amusing  memories that keeps one ticking.

We all know what it means. And I am sure no one can say they haven’t had their own small embarrassing moments – you know, healthful the kind where you dash off a quick email stating ‘heartiest condolences’ at your friend’s uncle’s demise! Or, psychotherapist where you wish a person ‘Happy’ festival, ailment when it is actually a martyr’s day of some prophet or guru!

In one classic instance, my ex-colleague G started to extol on the dumbness of a lady in front of an important official. As soon as he opened his mouth, I knew we were in serious trouble and kicked him hard on his shin below the table, and hurriedly broke in firmly stating that the lady was truly very hard working. She was now the wife of the official we were sitting with!

In another incident, a colleague called out to an abundant-attitude-charged peon as ‘Oye Vice President, come here’ – only to see our company’s Vice President alighting from the elevator from the opposite end!

I have been through several such moments – in fact, they keep recurring at alarming regularity, right from my childhood. One incident I recall from my school days is when our biology teacher was giving a lecture on vitamins and minerals and their importance on our health. To her question on naming some sources of food having multiple vitamins, several hands were raised, including mine. She chose me. With all sincerity and seriousness I answered – guess what? – ‘Complan’; seeing her dropped jaws, and that incredulous look, and hearing the classmates’ suppressed giggles , I knew I had goofed up big time. My ears reddened, and they continue to be so whenever I think of this incident.

In school yet again, in a Hindi essay, I had used the Punjabi word ‘chitti’ (white) instead of the correct one ‘safed’. The loud red circle on the word is still etched sharply in my memory’s notebook.

I have been in such jobs where I have to take double precautions where protocols are concerned I am forever on my toes lest I stamp on some raw egoes.

Perhaps for us ‘the common people’ these moments would not account to much, beyond a few embarrassing memories, but when the people in power or position make such errors, it can have huge repercussions, (though sometimes pretty amusing too). We know of Mr. Bush calling the English Queen being a century old, or some such thing. And when one senior Indian actor called Nepal as being ‘once part of India’ it created quite a furore in the Himalayan nation.

So what’s been your biggest faux pas?

And then there are tight spots where squeezing out seems an impossible proposition. Or, a situation that makes you uncomfortable but can do nothing about it. One February Saturday evening, while in Nepal, I was in this very high-profile meeting. Two senior government officials and I were discussing a business deal at Kathmandu’s well known Annapurna Hotel. We had ordered coffee and pakoras. I forwarded some solid points about our company with full enthusiasm, my voice in a taut pitch, and hands flying wild in emphasizing gesticulation. As I finished one more important argument, I tapped the table with force and with a flourish, picked up a piece of pakora and placed it in my mouth. Immediately, I realised my folly and felt a fire burning within, literally. I had eaten a ‘green chilli pakora’; and could feel smoke coming out of my ears (the kind that happens in cartoons)! The two eyed my reddened face amusedly.

But all I could do, is offer a wan smile, and as quickly as possible, gulp a glass of chilled water.

Or there are tight spots when your memory suddenly decides to go for a quick stroll. In fact, this is a common occurrence since I usually either remember the name and not its face, or (and worse), I recognize the face but forget the name totally. Once, a colleague from another department rushed up to my seat with an enthusiastic smile and an eager hello. My heart sank into my worn Mochi shoes. As it lay frozen there, I shook my numb (and dumb) brain into action. But zilch. Zero. Cipher. Like a stubborn ass, it drove into the ground a hole – and I could have wholly & happily joined the two italicized words to describe myself. I mumbled some inane small talk (So how come here today? Thankfully, not to meet me. What’s new? Alas, nothing that gave away who she was. All well? Yeah, for her. But not for me!); after a few more seconds of ‘ummm’ and ‘err.s’ I squeezed out by making some silly excuse (albeit with an earnest face). A while later, I pulled another colleague to a corner to obtain the correct information! Phew!  Finally, a while later, I cornered the colleague and had a more meaningful dialogue.

Mostly,  in such situations,  one has to think not on his feet, but ‘from his feet’ and allow them to take you as far as they can,  if possible.   But I guess, it’s these somewhat small and silly but often amusing  memories that keeps one ticking.

The Parsis celebrated Navroze on Wednesday 19th August this year. Till a few years back, viagra order I was quite oblivious of this festival, until I wrote a story which fleetingly had its mention. Then, I had done a bit of research to incorporate in the narrative. In Delhi, where Parsis are less than a handful, one never learns of this festival. Here, in Bombay, it is quite well celebrated, and we observe a holiday. Anyways, getting a mid-week off is always a welcome manna.

On this auspicious day, I embarked on the second phase of my Holy Grail’s quest – buying a record player. Having failed to find a good (and reasonably priced) three-speed player, I have finally settled to buy a Denon two-speed one, and had also learnt that the only shop that I could purchase it from is at Atria Mall, Worli – quite a distance from my residence (and a major reason for damning procrastrination). In between, I had bought a stand-alone Philips player, from a used-goods seller, but the sound quality turned out to be woefully pathetic, and I just packed it up, hoping to return it for whatever price I get to the same seller.

Before going to the shop on second floor, I parked the car at Atria Mall, and hailed a cab to check the shops at Heera Panna Shopping Center (near Haji Ali Dargah). I had heard much about it, but never could get time to pay a visit. The airconditioned market is a veritable maze of closely packed little shops selling electronics and leather goods and other trivia. In essence, it is much like Delhi’s underground Palika Bazaar – similar to the extent that both markets are known for their ‘gray market’ stuff, and were hugely popular in India’s pre-liberalizaton era. I walked the market’s criss-cross alleys taking in multifarious sights and smells, but I could discover nothing that held my interest.

On returning to the Mall, adrelanin gushing in my veins, I double-climbed the escalators, and nearly ran through the polished corridor to that corner shop…only to be greeted by a grim closed door. My heart sank. Frustration overwhelmed. Disappointment settled into my core like drying cement.

The opposite shopkeeper helpfully explained, ‘It’s closed only for today’; but his platitude hardly helped. I offered a weak smile, and trudged back, without any mood left to do any window shopping.

As soon as I reached my car in the basement parking, another shock awaited me.

A pale yellow lizard sat contentedly, perched atop the roof, its neck straining menacingly outward. I searched around for any object to shoo it away, even though I realized even this small act would be, in effect, a huge bravado act on my part. I abhor reptiles. And lizards more so, since they can be encountered with pretty easy regularity.

I desperately looked around for help. A doorway led to some sort of a store-room. I peeked in. Seeing nothing that could help, I spoke to a dour man, probably a chauffer, standing there.

“Ay chpkl h gdi kpr” I mumbled, nervously eyeing the animal on my car’s rooftop over the driver’s side. To my dismay, my voice sounded like worn out pipe emitting extremely unintelligible gurgles.

The man looked back blankly.

“Is there any newspaper or broom with which I can remove that thing off my car!” This time my voice was sharper, carrying an anxious pitch, and I spoke all this in Hindi. Finally the person moved and peeped towards the car. Hearing my voice, another person also came along.

“Arre, chhipkali hai, hawa se udd jaayegi” the second person dismissed my big concern with a casual non-chalance . What the hell! It’s a lizard, not some damn bird! The first man also sort of echoed something similar.

“Par andar kaise jaaoon?” I almost screamed.

“Aap hi ghus ke car bahaar nikalo” the second person advised the first man.

And I felt like hitting them both before doing anything to the offending creature, who sat coolly on the roof, without a care or concern. “Whether I enter or he, anyways the door will open, and the lizard is bound to scram inside the car!” I exploded, my voice several notches higher, and jumping in nervousness. Even as I said this, the thought of driving in an enclosed vehicle with a lizard inside, sent a shiver rippling down my spine.

They both eyed me, as if viewing some crazy comedy show, but mercifully understood my intense plight, and began clapping and making noise to divert the animal away.

“Is it gone?” I croaked, craning my neck to be sure that it had jumped off.

“No” they said, in unision, and I could feel my heart plummet into my heels once more. “Par aap andar jaao, ab woh aage hai, aur khidki mat kholna. Hawa se gir jaayegi!”

I wasn’t convinced. But had no choice left.

With a minimal crack through which I could squeeze my bulky self (why wasn’t I slimmer, I moaned) I entered, only to look up and find the reptile’s strangely pale underside out on passenger side window. The two men clapped and shoo-ed some more, till it disappeared out of view.

Khidki mat kholna, the advise echoed in my brain, like a flash-back voice-over in some Hindi film, but to my dismay another immediate thought burst forth- I had to open the window to pay for parking ticket. Why hadn’t I thought of this before sitting! Should I jump the barrier? Too messy!

Hitting the accelerator I drove as fast as I could in the constricted basement, praying that the lizard be thrown off by the sheer speed. At the payment counter, I opened a sliver that barely allowed the exchange of coupon and money, simultaneously eyeing all four sides. The counter lady gave a curious look.

All the way, I kept the accelerator savagely pressed, and the speedometer barely dropped below 100 kmph. I cursed the car’s sturdiness, because I knew only if it shook hard enough would the effect be realized.

My route ran via the newly constructed Bandra-Worli Sea Link, and I despairingly hoped the sea-winds were rough enough to dislodge the beast off my car; though, inwardly, I knew it was a foolish thought. Lizards never fell off this way. Still, my eyes never left any of the windows, and I drove a wee bit recklessly, making the car shake as much as I could. But, where was the lizard?

At the Bandra end of the Sea Link, I again opened the window to a tiniest crack to allow the official to verify the two-way ticket receipt. My eyes busily fluttered & viewed all around. Where was the lizard?

If the day wasn’t already skidding into a rough patch, I almost banged into a cyclist at a crowded crossing. Not almost. I did bang into him. But since I was barely moving through the mass of cars and autorickshaws and pedestrians, he wasn’t hurt. But I think his cycle was. I gave a reconciliatory smile. Ideally, I might have alighted and offered help, or money. But two things prevented me – one, his belligerant attitude and cuss words (hell, it was an error, and he hadn’t been all that correct in suddenly swerving himself in front of my car, from the left side!) and two, but of course, the lizard. The fear of having it enter the car far exceeded the goodness of placating an angered cyclist.

I drove off, though the man tried to cling to the left-hand side mirror, and for a second I thought it would rip off. Once more, I eyed back. Where was the lizard?

The roads on this part were crowded. The car couldn’t yield beyond a measly 30 kmph. When I noticed a crow swooping over the boot, I understood where she had hidden herself; though, I wasn’t clear if the crow had managed to grab its prey. I wished so.

I stopped the car at another hi-fi shop (near my house), and rushed to the rear-end. Yes. There she was. Sitting casually. On the boot. Like a queen. Having enjoyed her ride from town to suburbs!!!

Technorati : Atria Mall, Lizard, Navroze, Parsis

Powered by Zoundry

This entry was posted on Sunday, August 30th, 2009 at 4:00 pm and is filed under General, Humor, Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.