Monica Kar revisits the classic musical Barsat Ki Raat 1960, exploring the evergreen memorable songs and scenes of this delightful romantic story. While Part 1 dealt with the romance that began on a rainy night, Part 2 explores the multi-hued nuances of the three stunning qawwalis in the film, easily among the best musical duels the world of Hindi film music has ever seen. With inputs from Peeyush Sharma (in maroon font).
Barsat ki Raat is actually two musicals in one. There’s the clichéd story of romance between Bharat Bhushan and Madhubala sprinkled with a superlative musical score and then there is the story of the qawwali competitions. With music touched by Divine Dust. The elements common to both stories are Bharat Bhushan, Rafi, Sahir and Roshan. And, of course the thread of the storyline that continues to be linear, and continues to delight the editor in me, as already stated in my earlier essay, Barsat ki Raat Part 1: A Musical Romance.
Let’s take a look at the second part of this unforgettable musical.
THE STORY
Amaan Hyderabadi (Bharat Bhushan) and Shabnam’s (Madhubala) romance seems to have lost out to parental disapproval. The hissing of that hot iron doused in water, at the end of Maayus to hun vaade se tere seems to signal a sort of finale to the “aas” of these lovers ever meeting again.
For various individual purposes – all of which are elucidated, not left to imagination – the action in the movie shifts to Lucknow, for all the key players. Madhubala is taken there by her parents to get married to one Aftab Ahmad. Bharat Bhushan is trying to escape or find peace for his broken heart. He, incidentally, is going to his friend’s house in Lucknow, who happens to be the same Aftab Ahmad that Madhubala will be wed to. On the way, however, in the train, the second half of this movie picks up speed when Bharat Bhushan meets Fitna Faturabadi, a ‘fake’ poet, and Chand Khan, the qawwal, who are going to Lucknow to participate in a qawwali competition. He lands up, by a twist in the tale, with the two at their home, writing the poetry they need for their competition. At the competition their opponents are presented – Mubaraq Ali and his daughters, Shama (Shyama) and Shabab (Ratna Bhushan) from Gulbarga, Bharat Bhushan’s old friends.
Backed by Amaan’s poetry, Chand Khan wins this competition. But since the ladies have established themselves as worthy contenders, the promoters of the competition decide to have a second round between the two. This one is won by the ladies, supported by Amaan, who walks into the arena where the competition is held and recognizes his old benefactor, Mubaraq Ali and his daughters, whom he then helps by supplying them the poetry they need to win.
The screenplay is finely detailed, as I said before. Even at this late point in the story, a small, impish love story between Chand Khan and Shabab is brought to fruition very skillfully and neatly without it taking away from the main story in any way; yet, being given its due. The result of this union is that Chand Khan joins Mubaraq Ali’s group, in readiness for the last, the grand competition to be held in Ajmer against a much bigger opponent, Daulat Khan.
QAWWALIS
Qawwalis are, as you know, Sufi offerings at dargahs and shrines. The genre was popularized by Amir Khusro in the late 13th century, with the first qawwalis being offered at the shrine of his guru, Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya. The theme central to the qawwali seems to be love of, devotion toward, and longing for, the Divine. Exactly when Hindi films took this genre and creatively adapted it to romantic situations, I do not know; though there is the very popular Aahein na bhari, shikwe na kiya, kuchh bhi na zubaan se kaam liya, an all-female qawwali from Zeenat in 1945, sung by Kalyani, Zohrabai Ambalewali and Noor Jehan, penned by Nakshab Jaarchavi and put to music by Mir Sahib. In many instances the qawwali has been presented by our films as a musical debate, with two sides presenting the pros and cons of a single ‘topic’.
Not only do these forms of ‘poetry’ allow for improvisation, they create a bond because they are essentially group experiences. The power in them attracts me – the sheer energy created by many people singing and repeating, the clapping, the beat and rhythms, the back-and-forth in the qawwali that Hindi films provided, the sense of competition in music, the sounds of the qawwali, especially the harmonium. It might be pertinent to note here that qawwalis are generally sit-down affairs and must rely on hand gestures, facial expressions and clearly enunciated lyrics to make their impact. To this end, the qawwals must have expressive voices and faces in order to achieve their goal of involving the audience in this group experience.
In my limited understanding, by and large qawwalis are not ‘written’, they are ‘composed’. What this means is that this is not a genre of poetry; rather, a genre of music. And it really is up to the composer to perhaps create a qawwali out of a piece of written poetry. Manek Premchand, the eminent musicologist, clearly defines the pre-requisites of this genre in his engaging essay, RIP Qawwali? Having said that, here is a quote from this movie that offers another perspective ye zaroori nahi ke har bada shaayar qawwali likhne ka tajurba rakhta ho, implying that writing poetry for a qawwali is different from writing poetry for, say, a nazm. Let’s revisit this point in a little bit.
To get back to the team of Roshan and Sahir that created the qawwalis for Barsat ki Raat.
Sahir and Roshan first made a qawwali together in Babar, 1960, released 5 months prior to Barsat Ki Raat – recall Haseenon ke jalwe pareshaan rehte, agar hum na hote. It was a reasonable hit. Then they had Barsat Ki Raat and next they made qawwalis in Taj Mahal, 1963, remember Chandi ka badan, sone ki nazar, uss par ye nazaakat kya kahiye, eji, kya kahiye? Taj Mahal was a box-office success, with all the songs being hits. The film got Roshan the Filmfare award for best music. The next one by Asha and chorus in yet another PL Santoshi film, Dil Hi To Hai (1963) was arguably as big a hit as Barsat ki Raat, Nigahein milaane ko jee chaahta hai.
Bahu Begum, 1967, had 2 qawwalis, designed to complement each other, exceptionally beautiful ones, Waqif hoon khoob ishq ke arz-e-bayan se main, keh doonga dil ki baat, nazar ki zuban se main. And the next even more lovely one, Ab jaan-balab hun shiddat-e- dard-e-nihan se main, aise mein tujhko dhoond ke laaun kahan se main.
The point is Barsat Ki Raat was not an exception and the team of Sahir-Roshan repeated the feat a number of times.
Simplistically speaking, most qawwalis start the mukhda a Capella and each antara too. Most have at least two rhythms and a repetition of certain words. Regula Qureshi, in her exhaustive and fascinating book, Sufi Music of India and Pakistan, explains it thus: “A qawwali normally begins with an instrumental prelude on the harmonium; then an introductory verse is sung as a solo recitative without drums, leading directly into the song proper.”
In Barsat ki Raat, Roshan – also known as the King of Qawwalis – composed three extremely interesting compositions, an unbeaten feat, to my knowledge. The logic and linearity of the movie is not abandoned here.
LINEAR PROGRESSION
The linear progression that marks the screenplay of this movie seems to have touched its music as well. Roshan builds the excitement, as it should be built in a competition, from the first qawwali, with each building upon the last in terms of not only the music arrangement, but the costumes on stage, the poetry and the singing too.
The first qawwali, an 8 minute 42 second presentation, starts off with an almost 50-second musical prelude. The harmonium, clapping, dholak, a ghungroo-like sound that could very well be a khartaal – the usual suspects – are employed here before the ladies start off the competition a Cappella. One cannot but admit the harmonium as a singer by itself here, so distinct is it in making its presence felt! Asha Bhosle’s impressive alaap starts off the vocal part of the qawwali as she and Sudha Malhotra throw down the challenge in an open field, inviting a response to their question Na bach sakein to bechaaron ka haal kya hoga? Roshan brings in Shambhu Qawwal, the younger, more nasal sounding brother of the Shankar-Shambhu Qawwal fame to be the voice of the male side of this competition. What a marvelous touch! His voice is the perfect foil to the ladies’ as he effortlessly rebuffs every stingray the ladies launch.
In the first qawwali the ladies announce Humare husn ki bijli chamakane waali hai/na janne aaj hazaaron ka haal kya hoga. Next, they get personal as the competitor is Chand Khan qawwal and announce: hum apne chehre se parda uttha to dein lekin, gareeb Chand, gareeb Chand, Chand, Chand/ gareeb chand sitaron ka haal kya
This is when the competition is wrapped by opponents. Muqabala hai to phir der kya hai tiir chala/ uttha parda, dikha jalwa, gira bijli, mila nazrein, tu yeh na soch ke yaaron ka haal kya hoga
The base of this qawwali is chhed-chhad. The subject is Ishq Vs. Husn. While the ladies sing in favor of beauty, the men sing, applauding ishq and its longevity, with this jibe for husn:
Rang par naaz na kar (kyun ke)
Rang to dhal jaata hai (wah-wah)
Ye vo mehmaan hai jo aaj aata hai, kal jaata hai
Ishq par naaz karey koi to kuchh baat bhi ho
Husn ka naaz hi kya, husn to dhal jaata hai…
Questions are answered by questions, until there is no comeback left and the ladies lose this round.
Technically speaking, this qawwali is perhaps the simplest composition of the three. It follows most of the rules of qawwalis in terms of rhythms, repetition of words and phrases. But whereas a typical qawwali may return to its original ‘mukhda’, this one doesn’t. It ends with the section of poetry that has won the men this round:
Muqabala hai to phir der kya hai, tiir chalaa
Tu ye na soch ke yaaron ka haal kya hoga
The second qawwali is almost the same length as the first one. It starts with a shorter, approximately 30-second prelude. This time the winners of the last round, Chand Khan and party start the singing. The male qawwal voice employed by Roshan here is Bande Hasan, another professional qawwal, who’s sung a few qawwalis for Hindi films in the late ’50s. The male a Cappella starts off the qawwali, presenting the ‘topic’ to be debated. The ladies realize that they’ve been conned by Fitna Faturabadi who has supplied the same poetry to both sides. Since the male side has a head start, the ladies obviously have to come up with an answer to the starting ‘attack’:
Na khanjar utthega, na talwar tum se
Ye baazu mere aazmaaye huye hain (aur)
Pehchaanta hun khoob tumhari nazar ko main
Jaane na dunga haath se, dil aur jigar ko main
A few things are important to note here.
While the harmonium, the clapping, the sound of that ghungroo and the dholak remain the same, Roshan adds a bulbul tarang here to the mix. Not only that, as soon as Bharat Bhushan enters the scene, there is a sweet flute that joins the mix briefly, creating a far more musically rich background to this second qawwali than the first had been. The linear progression in terms of musical quality visible here.
Almost an hour and 45 minutes into the movie, when this qawwali starts, the first unexplained detail appears. How and why does Bharat Bhushan decide to attend the competition? He’s a blessing for the ladies, obviously. And the competition gets underway.
This is not a simple question-and-answer or even question-and-question qawwali. This seems to be declarations-disputing-declarations already made kind of a qawwali. For instance, the ladies’ response to the mukhda that Chand Khan sings is a teasing one:
Dil aisi shay nahi hai jo
Kaabu mein reh sakey (bhai)
Samjhaaun kis tarah se kisi bekhabar ko main
Asha Bhonsle and Sudha Malhotra team up again, this time, to give Bande Hasan and Balbir a run for their money, with Asha’s rendering of the following stanza one of her best in the movie:
Go zulm behisaab kiya iss nigaah ne
Ruswa kiya, kharaab kiya iss nigaah ne
Ik kaam lajawaab kiya iss nigaah ne
Jo tujh ko intekhaab kiya iss nigaah ne
Sahir is excellent as a qawwali writer. And, even though both Premchand and Qureshi assert in their writings that a qawwali is more composed than written, it does loosely pattern itself within a framework consisting of an asthayi (mukhda) , followed by an antara, like songs in the North Indian tradition do. Qureshi adds further “In addition to these two essential units, there may be sections which can be broadly classed as extensions of either asthayi or antara… expanding or completing their respective melodic material. Performers do not name these extensions separately.”
These short forays or side-trips from the mukhda and/or the antara, and repetition of the same, either completely or parts thereof, are what distinguish a qawwali framework. The lyrics, therefore, must have this flexibility in-built in them. Of course, it is up to the composer to enhance the complete structure as he deems fit. Roshan obviously had mastered this craft. One wonders how he learned the intricacies of arranging the lyrics of a qawwali in the way in which these two have been arranged, as it seems, with a Master’s stroke! The interest of the listener does not lag for an instant!
Both these qawwalis come back to a slow last line, having experimented with different beats in the duration of the qawwalis.
Tu ye na soch ke yaaron ka haal kya hoga (Qawwali #1)
And
Jee chaahta hai choom lun apni nazar ko main (Qawwali #2)
And while the success of the first two qawwalis is really the result of Roshan’s masterly arrangement and use of instrumentation, with his use of perfectly pitched vocals, helped more than capably by Sahir’s writing, it is really difficult to pin-point any one star in this third qawwali. It has been called the ‘mother-of-all-qawwalis’ and on one site, even the ‘grandmother’ of all qawwalis in Hindi films. Correctly, too.
Let’s take a look at this formidable creation.
A 55-second prelude that is the most musically-rich among the three qawwalis. There is the harmonium, the dholak and the clapping , but here, Roshan teams them up with the saarangi, the sheesha and even some sitar! Not only that, there are two rhythms in the prelude itself, the richness in music, a precursor to the richness in thought and poetry, about to unfold!
This time we see Chand Khan sitting with the ladies, as they are now one team. Their opponent, one presumes, is Daulat Khan, because herein enters the other unexplained detail, one that, perhaps, was sacrificed at the editor’s table, as this 12+ minute qawwali is never properly introduced in the movie.
A little detail to remember here is that this qawwali was recorded as two separate qawwalis, but in the movie forms one long progressive thought, tying up all the various threads of the movie’s storyline as well as completing the debate started in the first qawwali.
What Sahir starts out with is the eternal beauty Vs. love debate in the first qawwali. In the second qawwali he starts off by addressing that same husn and acknowledging the power of the ‘glance’. Because isn’t that where love enters the picture? The glance that is the literal, physical, glance meeting another and sparking off a connection that turns life upside down.
But this qawwali, at the very start, announces that this is not going to waste its energy on any debates. While the first qawwali is a collection of questions, and the second is a collection of declarations, this one is a want, a desire, a search, and a quest – teri rehguzar ki talaash hai – a path that leads to you.
It starts with a male alaap, this time, the voice of the classically strong and rich Manna Dey, skips the a Cappella and dives into the heart of the matter right away:
Na to kaarwan ki talaash hai
Na to humsafar ki talaash hai
Mere shauq-e-khaana kharaab ko
Teri rehguzar ki talaash hai
Shama, at this point, completely disheartened that Amaan can ever be hers, breaks into a sorrowful alaap, with this to say:
Mere na-muraad junoon ka hai ilaaj koi to maut hai
Jo davaa ke naam pe zeher de ussi chaaragar ki talaash hai
Her futile desire for love must end in a search to end all desires, Death, she feels. Asha Bhonsle sings only a small portion of this beautiful qawwali but how beautifully she gives voice to the utter despair of a woman failed in love! Hear her long alaap that interrupts Sudha Malhotra’s hai ilaaj koi..a.aaa…
Here comes a case of transferred emotions. Manna Dey responds to this search for a healer (chaaragar) whose medicine is the granting of cessation of life itself. And his response, a definition of what ishq is – more than just beauty, or just a glance – breaks Shama down and she is no longer able to participate in the qawwali. Henceforth, it is the sprightly Shabab (Sudha Malhotra) who carries the qawwali forward from the ladies’ side.
Sahir here has already started the qawwali towards the sublime. Ishq, he says, is desire, honor, heart-body-life, and Faith. What’s left?
This becomes an important point in this qawwali in more ways than one. Qureshi says that one of the distinctive features of a qawwali is the “listener’s requirement”. “The qawwali performer must be able to repeat, amplify, rearrange or even omit any part of the song text in immediate response to the changing requirements of his listeners.”
This is exactly what happens here. The audience is delighted at Manna Dey and party’s repetition of ishq, ishq, ishq, ishq, and this, then becomes the new asthayi, or mukhda of this qawwali, changing the thought from Na to kaarwan ki talaash hai to Ye ishq ishq hai, ishq ishq.
Extremely cleverly Sahir has led his audience from the quest of the path- rehguzar – that leads to “you”, to define that “you” as ishq. The quest has become ishq, which is, in his own words, imaan ki jo poochho to imaan ishq hai.
A play on words here, like Chand was used in the first qawwali, Sahir uses Shama here to point out the ones suffering in love. This crumbles the little resolve that Shyama has, and alerts her group that she is unable to participate.
The last rejoinder to this ‘shama’ taunt by Manna Dey is a reminder in Sudha Malhotra’s voice that it really doesn’t matter who you are in this mehfil (world) – a flame, Shama, that burns without a choice or a moth, parwana, that invites destruction by venturing into dangerous ground. The end for each one is Death.
I must have heard the last qawwali, Na to kaarwan ki talash hai, in its’ full form at least a thousand times if not more. It delights each time. What stands out is that it turns sufi in the second part. Qawwalis are supposed to be sufi. But the moment Rafi enters with his alaap the whole effect changes. That alaap and the way Rafi delivers it is just outstanding, unparalleled. It wets my eyes each time. Then for sure Rafi carries it on his vocal shoulder all through.
Like Peeyush Sharma says, when Rafi enters with his alaap, he creates a deep silence. A silence that holds within it the secrets of the ultimate truth. The ultimate truth that leads to an ultimate dissolution. Of the physical with the sublime, man with God, until there is no difference. This ultimate truth, Sahir says, is ishq. But not ishq in the casual, romantic way it is understood.
This is the ishq that recognizes no barrier, no chains, is not stopped by ropes or gallows or fear of anything
Vehshat-e-dil rehzan-o-daar se roki na gayi
Kisi khanjar, kisi talvaar se roki na gayi
Ishq Majnu ki woh aawaz hai jiske aage
Koi Laila kisi deewaar se roki na gayi,
And here, another milestone in this song:
Haan ye jaan to kya cheez hai imaan bhi de dein
Remember, earlier Sahir has said ishq is imaan. Here, very quietly, very gently, he introduces the notion that love is greater than imaan, where imaan is Faith or Religion. A thought that he expands on, making ishq a religion of its own.
Ishq azad hai, Hindu Na Musalman hai ishq,
Aap hi dharm hai aur aap hi imaan hai ishq
Jis se aage nahi shaikh-o-barhaman dono,
Us haqeeqat ka garajtaa hua ailaan hai ishq
That Sahir leads us by the finger, one step at a time, to elevate the status of ishq from mere romantic love to an all-engulfing phenomenon is clear. It is also clear that in this one-sided debate, he uses the most extreme and divine examples to rest his case – from Laila-Majnu to Radha, Janak-dulari Sita and Meera, all strong women who flouted society, its rules and dharams to create their own. And, as Bharat Bhushan cites these examples on screen, he gives Madhubala the strength to find the Radha, Meera and Sita within herself. The Laila to her Majnu. But what is as delightful are the words he uses to connect these steps. From a katthin dagar where it may be difficult to bhar laaun Jamuna se matki; with this reference triggering a mention of Krishna and Radha. So adeptly done in the context and format of a qawwali!
What stands out in Sahir’s qawwali lyrics here is that he, in poetic perfection borrows not only from Urdu but equally from Hindi and Avadhi. He talks about Allah, Rasool, Quran and Hadees and with equal fervor from Jab jab Krishna ki bansi baaji, Meera and Radha, Gautam and Maseeh. This could only happen in Indian film music. This is our heritage history that I am so proud of.
More examples follow. And you realize that Sahir really is not an atheist. He is a Believer. But his belief is not limited to any one religion of this world.
Allah Rasool ka farmaan ishq hai
The commands of God and Mohammed are love
Yaani Hadees ishq hai, Quraan ishq hai
The teachings of Mohammed are love, the Quraan is love
Gautam kaa aur Maseeha kaa armaan ishq hai
The wishes of Buddha and Christ are love
Ye kaaynaat jism hai aur jaan ishq hai
This material existence and this life are love
Ishq sarmad, ishq hi mansoor hai
Love is everlasting, love alone is victorious
Ishq Moosa, ishq Koh-e-Toor hai
Love is Moses, love is Mt. Sinai
In many ways, this qawwali is itself a path, maybe a ladder, leading from one level of elevation to another, until it reaches the peak of sublime thinking. Maybe a man’s journey from the physical to the soul. From a human longing for love to a Sufi longing for the Divine? No, Sahir takes it one step further! At the very pinnacle of this climb from base camp to the Everest of thought, comes this delightful argument. Do note that by this time he has no one challenging his belief. This is no longer a qawwali. It has gone beyond a mere competition.
Khaaq ko but, aur but ko devtaa karta hai ishq
The hands of the sculptor lovingly turn clay into idols. The idols, lovingly worshipped, become God.
If you think about the sculptor here being God, the last line becomes completely clear.
For, God creates man with love. The love that man feels for God can, in turn, create him into God.
We’ve come full circle. From Him to him, back to Him. Our vehicle? Pure, unadulterated love. Ishq!
Inteha ye hai ke bande ko Khuda karta hai ishq.
Once you’ve converted the limited into the Limitless, the bounded into the Boundless, the miniature into the Cosmic, you’ve encompassed everything and nothing remains untouched. Nothing really remains to be touched, or said, then.
Quite unlike the format of a Qawwali, this one ends on a high note, with no going back to the mukhda – we’ve come many thought processes and belief systems away from mukhdas and antaras here.
Do note that the director makes sure the audience knows this last qawwali is being held in Ajmer. Ajmer, home to the dargah of Persian preacher, ascetic, religious scholar, philosopher and mystic, Moinuddin Chisti. If Wikipedia is to be believed, Chisti was “one of the first major mystics to formally allow his followers to incorporate the use of music in their devotions, liturgies, and hymns to God”.
Just one more detail in the long list of details the makers of this movie got right!
There is a richness that the poetry and music of this movie bring to the soul. A deep reservoir of the purest, most sublime ishq. An ishq for music, for poetry, for singing, that one can dip into each time the dryness of the real world takes over. This reservoir remains full, no matter how many times you dip into its comfort. This is one Barsat ki Raat that I don’t mind being drenched in!
References:
https://learningandcreativity.com/silhouette/barsat-ki-raat-part-1-a-musical-romance/
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Excellent! This has Monica’s footprint all over it, meaning exceptionally well curated! “An ishq for music, for poetry, for singing, that one can dip into each time the dryness of the real world takes over.” Truer words were never written about Na to caravan and Ye ishq ishq hai, but also about Barsaat Ki Raat‘s music overall. It needs to be said that your own ishq with the music of Hindi films has no veil over it, and I pray this caravan never stops 🙂
Manek, this comment will egg that caravan on, for sure! I learn how to curate music from your vast work each day and each day I’m amazed at how much your ishq with the music of Hindi films can teach the rest of us. Deep respect for your work. Your inspiration. Many many heartfelt thanks for leading the way, and for this awesome comment! You’ve made my day!
Profound, exhaustive essay. The author has contemplated deep, especially on the final qawwali, for a nuanced deconsturction, which must have been a very difficult task, for it would not have been the question of her understanding of the qawwali but one of reaching out the readers with clarity with deeper layers – the quasi abstract layers – unraveled. I can without any exaggeration say that Monica Kar has, with this essay, established herself as a writer who can vie with the very best in the domain. And Peeyush ji’s short interjections are so informative, almost in the nature of strengthening links.
To my mind, this qawwalli was an opportunity for Sahir to bring about an inalienable fusion of the lover and the rebel within him. Look at the women he chose in the concluding part : all rebellious lovers – the feminist in him also coming to the fore. And I feel that this qawwali is not normative as it does not in real sense pit one side against the other.
They seem supplementing each other with no real loser. No punches are exchanged, no repartees. Nor has it any carnal trappings. Its start is sublime and that ascends to a point where Sahir so subtly rather obliquely refers to the form and essence dichotomy … kaayanaat jism hai aur jaan ishq hai…. body is maya-material and the soul – jaan – within is love sans mundane trappings.
Congratulations, Monica 🙂
Vijay Kumar ji, I am completely, totally, humbled. Your comment is a huge honor for the writer in me. Your comment also brings home to me the fact that I have miles – or maybe lifetimes – to go before I catch up in thinking with you :). Deep, sincere thanks. Deep, sincere respect for the thinker in you. The Knower.
Wow what a write up, Roshan Saheb should have won award for this movie. He put all his musical experience in this movie with all superhit nos.
Roshan Saheb has done an excellent work. No other movie Qawwalis gained such popularity as Barsat ki Raat Qawwalis did. Hats off to him & Sahir Saheb. Fitting title Grandmother of all Qawwalis. Thank you for sharing.
Taiyeb Shaikh saahab, I agree with what you said about Roshan’s feat in this movie – what a range he exhibits! Right from “Garjat, barsat, saawan…” to “zindagi bhar nahi bhoolegi…” to this grandmother of all qawwalis – it is interesting that even he couldn’t surpass what he had created in this film! Sincere thanks that you liked this write-up. That makes it all worthwhile! Thank you, also, for your wonderful comment!
Omg!!! This is mind-boggling. I am as speechless … as ‘Bhola’ Bharat Bhushan in front of an impish and devastatingly beautiful Madhubala! Absolutely, no words to express … except 2 lines:
‘Na to kaarwan ki talaash hai, na to humsafar ki talaash hai
Mere shaukh-e-gaana nostalgia ko bas Monica Kar ki talaash hai!’
Thanks Maam, You made my day with this super-essay!
Hehehe… and you, sir, have quite made my day with your lovely comment! It’s very rewarding to write about one’s passion and find people who not only respect that passion, but encourage it like you have. S.V.Nathan, deep and sincere thanks!
Incidentally, your shaayari is too good! 🙂
If you enjoyed reading this, maybe you will enjoy the 1st part too?
Thank you again!
I just read your 2 year old article while searching for Qawali from Barsat Ki Raat.
I thoroughly enjoyed this fantastically written and with such details.
Hats off. 💏
Subhash Phatak ji, thank you so much! Your lovely comment makes all the thinking, researching and writing worth it!
As a biologist, an argument one comes across often is how can chance have created life. The design complexity of the world, and the universe indeed, is such that there must be a designer (and a diviner). I don’t intend to spark that debate here again, nor do I wish to state on which side I stand in that debate, but I do want to make a point that when the chance coming together of the kind of music, lyrics, instrumentation, acting and editing that embody the third qawwali (Na to carvan ki talash hai) happens, one starts believing in the divine. At the risk of repeating what most comments state – this qawwali is fresh every time – I say that I am used to enjoying it such, with a tear or two of happiness and satisfaction rolling down every time. What I had never imagined was that reading a treatise written on something so ineffable and so sublime could bring a tear to my eyes – how can one ever put into words what resides in the deepest recesses of the heart and mind. And being a scientist I see, that the essay is factual yet the facts are so strung together that they are not bland intelligent statements but empathetic reiterations by someone who has felt the need to see how and why this beautiful car runs so smoothly. This is what happens when one panders to one’s passion, the line dividing the science and art dissolves, the fence separating the critique and commendation falls and the rift separating the cerebral dissection and the vacuous consolidation patches up to lead from khaak to but to devtaa. Monica, Thank you for fanning my belief that “ishq” indeed is the divine chance that runs all systems
Ajay Kohli ji, wow! I have read your comment multiple times. Each time it has left me a little teary-eyed. “…when the chance coming together of the kind of music, lyrics, instrumentation, acting and editing that embody the third qawwali (Na to carvan ki talash hai) happens, one starts believing in the divine.” How completely I resonate with this!Thank you so much for putting into words what all the lovers of this qawwali feel. _()_. And this here “that reading a treatise written on something so ineffable and so sublime could bring a tear to my eyes – how can one ever put into words what resides in the deepest recesses of the heart and mind” – this feels like the biggest medal of honor. Truly humbled by your apparent affinity to this creation and completely floored by sincerely encouraging words for me as a writer. _()_ Thank you so much. And yes, I reiterate, ‘ishq’ is the divine chance that “runs all systems”. Stay blessed, Ajay ji.
Monica – all I can say in response to your message is :
Sirf alfaaz pe mauqoof nahin lutf-e-suḳhan
aankh khamosh agar hai to zaban kuchh bhi nahin
Words by themselves are not sufficient for literature
Not much is said till the eyes speak
In your case – your ability to bring your heart out through your facility with words and still keep everything steadily afloat instead of whipping up a tornado of emotions is just superlative. Congratulations.
This comment has me even more encouraged to keep exploring and sharing my findings, Ajay ji. Cannot thank you enough. _()_ And thank you for introducing me to Fareedi with this sher. _()_
WHAT IS THE NAME OF THE ACTOR WHO SINGS “Na to Kaarwan ki talaash hai” the one behind the mike please.
Many Thanks.
Dr Sian, I have no idea. I tried to look it up in the credits of the movie. There is a Mirza Musharraf mentioned in the cast – could it be him? I wonder if anyone here knows?
I very much enjoyed reading this elaborate take (written with such love!) on these qawwalis that I’ve listened to hundreds of times. “Karwaan/Ishq” is of course a masterpiece on another level, but for pure entertainment value I’ve found myself favoring “Nigaah-e-naz ke”, because the actresses IMO do such a great job with having fun with the presentation. TBH I didn’t care that much for the rest of the movie apart from the qawwali competition (your part 1 covering it was very good, though), because the Bhushan/Madhubala romance fell flat for me and I ended up rooting more for Shyama (a non-starter per Hindi film standards, of course, LOL). Well, at the very least we got that forlorn, but incredibly beautiful alaap intermission by Asha-ji out of that (also acted really well by Shyama). I sometimes just put that part on a loop for a couple of minutes if I want to treat myself but don’t have time for the whole 12 minute song.
I hope it’s OK to also ask you a question. This is actually something I’ve wondered about not just when reading this blog here, but generally when reading English-language articles on Hindi/Urdu film (or other) songs. The thing that puzzles me is why people don’t give even an approximate English translation of the lyrics when quoting them. I mean you’re already writing in English, presumably to reach a wider audience than Hindi/Urdu speakers, so why not do this? I personally can more or less navigate the lyrics on my own, despite not being a native Hindi/Urdu speaker, but there are many people who love these songs but don’t know the language at all, so getting the gist of the lyrics in English would be a great help for them. I’m not calling for top notch poetry on the level of the original lyrics, just a simple prosaic explanation.
Of course I’m not asking you to answer for everyone else who hasn’t translated the lyrics, but I am curious about the rationale. If I had to guess, maybe this is happening because people are afraid of not doing justice to the original if they tried to do a proper translation, but think that they may get criticized by some fans if they just give the gist of it. I’ve seen it in some cases when the lyrics have been translated – there always tend to be some people who bug the blogger for not conveying this or that meaning more perfectly. However, they often also provide alternate translations, and the original translation together with such comments ends up being a win for the reader’s better understanding, even if may be a bit of an ordeal for the blogger.
Just in case, I want to reiterate that my question is not about putting you on the spot or criticizing you after the wonderful job you’ve done with this article. That would be very ungrateful of me indeed. It’s just something I’ve been wondering about for a while now and I thought you could probably give me a better answer than pretty much anyone else could.
V. Mahanantham ji, I have read both of your comments many times with much joy. I wrote this 2-part essay about 5 years ago, and to find it still being read and appreciated is a compliment like no other! Many thanks for reading and appreciating. Nigaah-e-naaz ke maaron ka haal kya hoga is a qawwali the girls lose in the film, so it didn’t go down too well with our all-girls group when we first watched it in the late 60s, but I can understand its charm! 🙂
May I take the liberty to correct you on one comment? Shyama was, IMHO, not a non-starter, at all. She starred as the leading lady in many good and popular films. Yes, she never reached the popularity of a Madhubala or Vyjayanthimala, but to call her a non-starter is a little extreme, again in my humble opinion. She was also one of my favourites, mainly because I was so fond of film songs and she has so many good ones to her credit!
Now, to address your very valid question, sir. Why don’t writers translate (even loosely) the songs when they write articles such as these – this is your question. And I can only attempt to answer from my own experience. Btw, I hope you saw that I gave the translation for the most important 12-minute qawwali, above? Did that work for you? Please do let me know.
Here are my thoughts on your question: Varied reasons; every time each of these reasons need not apply, but in some permutation and combination, each one of them has been true for me and the essays I have written.
1) Lack of space – When we write for an agency (in this case, Silhouette) we are given a broad parameter on which to work. Some, like Silhouette, are pretty liberal with the number of words they will accept in an essay. But even so, the longer the essay, the less likely it is that a large number of people will go through each paragraph. Nowadays people tend to read on their phones, and this is a huge essay by some standards. It was split in 2, but even so, one had to be mindful. If I want to say all of the above to my readers without compromising language or the way the essay unfolds, then something has to give. Since these songs are much-beloved of our readership, the writer (in this case, me) assumes that the translation of the songs is where I can crunch the article just a bit.
2) You are absolutely right in your assumption that most writers feel they will not be able to do justice to the translation. Many times, there are no direct or indirect translations available for the words used, especially in the poetry of these old-gold songs. In fact, many words in one language find no words in another and I suspect this is true of any language. For example, how would you translate the word ‘sanskaar’ into English without losing the bhaav (effect) this word produces in you in its original language? Many times I stop short because if I pay heed to the meaning of the words while translating, I lose the emotion or essence of it as the words in English are way too prosaic.
3) Translating is an art in itself. Some bonafide translators do this job marvellously. Not every writer can translate efficiently.
4) Some songs/poetry are written in such a way that it is subject to several interpretations, depending on the sensibility of the reader of the poetry. Many of our older lyricists – especially the philosophical ones – Shailendra, Sahir etc – left their poetry a little ambiguous. Then, in that case, would it not be doing the reader who knows the language a disservice by providing just one angle (with your translation) instead of allowing them to absorb the poetry and come to their own conclusion as to the meaning?
These are the thoughts that run in my mind when writing, and not providing translations. Do they make sense?
Now, having said that I do agree with you that a mere gist of the song’s lyrics in English might provide even more enjoyment to the reader who does not know the language. And I will keep that point in mind as I move forward with the project I am currently working on. For this input, I do thank you, sir.
I believe I learn more when questioned. For that, please accept my gratitude. _()_
Wow, Monica-ji, I did not expect such a swift and detailed reply, many thanks again!
I did see the translation of the final part you mentioned and was even going to bring it up, but in the end didn’t do so since my comment had already become quite lengthy. I guess not mentioning it was a mistake after all and must have given the impression that I didn’t appreciate it, for which I apologize.
I can certainly understand the reasons you’ve given and in some sense my query may have been a bit too rhetorical to begin with, just something I had to get out of my system and you ended up as the unfortunate recipient. Or maybe fortunate, if this actually provided food for thought for you. 🙂 While it’s not my main occupation, over the years I’ve done a fair share of professional work as a translator and also as a translation editor, so I think I’m pretty well aware of the various pitfalls myself. It’s just the incongruity of writing in one language about something in another language without giving the reader proper access to it that bothers me sometimes. Perhaps more so when I come across an otherwise quite marvelous piece such as this one, because it makes me think you’d more than likely do a far-better-than-average job (I’m trying to avoid overusing the word “great” 🙂 ) at lyrics translation as well.
I guess I can see how (especially back in the day) you wouldn’t like “Nigaah” because of the women losing, but for my purposes they win quite handily on the performance (adding the singing and the acting together). It was supposed to be a loss for plot/narrative reasons, but I don’t treat it that way in my mind.
Re: Shyama, it looks like I’ve managed to give a wrong impression. I surely wasn’t trying to diminish her in any way, I think she’s a wonderful actress and especially good at making songs come alive. What I was trying to say there was that it was pretty much a non-starter to expect the male lead to end up with someone other than the leading lady – and that (unfortunately for me) wasn’t Shyama.
Since I’ve already gone on for too long anyway, let me also pitch an idea for another article to you. As you’re no doubt aware, “Karwaan/Ishq” and “Nigaah” aren’t fully original works, having been derived from Fateh Ali Khan’s “Na To Butkade Ki Talab” and “Sahar Qareeb Hai Taaron Ka Haal Kya Hoga” respectively. I for one would absolutely LOVE to hear your comparative analysis of these songs and your take on the synthetic creative process that must have gone into making movie versions. The originals are also masterpieces and in some sense I think I even like them better than the Roshan/Sahir derivatives, but really it’s wrong to even talk about them in such terms, because each and every one of these songs is “better” in their own way.
I was a bit surprised, though, about how much of “Karwaan” in particular was adopted nearly verbatim, both music-and lyrics/wise. For example, the whole “naaz-o-andaaz se kahte hain ke jeenaa hogaa” segment is also in the original. (Although, this may be a bad example, because it doesn’t seem to be in a 1958 performance by FAK (but the recording I’ve heard seemed to be incomplete, so…). It could even be a “reverse import” by Nusrat FAK from the movie, because it’s certainly there in his version.) Mind you, I most certainly am not trying to fuel the debate about how Roshan “stole” from FAK, as some still seem to think. It’s just that the synthesis performed by both Roshan and Sahir is extremely fascinating for me and doesn’t take anything away from them, because without a doubt this is not a case of plagiarism but homage and extension into another medium for new audiences to marvel at. So what if some of the lines are borrowed or adapted from Sahba Akhtar or Ameer Bakhsh Sabri or Amir Khusrau and tunes from FAK, Indian music and poetry culture is supposed to be a living, organic thing and the result we have certainly justifies the means.
So, Monica-ji, if this is something you have any interest in at all, I would strongly urge you to take this up and I’m sure the result will be every bit as captivating as what you’ve already covered here. Sorry about the TL;DR, I certainly hope you read it. 🙂 Thanks again for everything!
Forgot to include the links to NFAK songs.
Na To Butkade Ki Talab: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tRCiUhY3JHA
The 1958 FAK performance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GsKxoRPfgeM
Sahar Qareeb Hai: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nQq_DCnUEUg
Monica-ji, just so you know, I posted a reply yesterday, but since it hasn’t appeared in 24h, it’s probably caught in the filter for some reason.
V. Mahanantham ji, thank you so much for your lovely response to my long explanation. And for the links to the songs you mentioned. Will I be able to take on this task? I don’t know! Will I do it anyway? Time will tell. 🙂 I am currently struggling to find the time to complete my current project started 5 years ago, thanks to family commitments. But will I keep it in mind – with humble gratitude – that someone thought I was qualified enough to handle this task? Definitely! Thank you so much for your vote of confidence and encouragement! This is the food of all artistes, even if they are fledgling writers like myself. Much gratitude! _()_ 🙂
You are far from fledgling, dear Monica-ji! I swear, the humble deference with which you carry yourself almost makes me forget the direction of our age difference (had I been there, I’d have been the toddler in the room when you were watching Barsaat Ki Raat). As for your qualifications, well, I’m not a know-it-all like AVINASH KUMAR (a commenter under your Khayyam article) nor do I need it from others, I’ve seen what the “rokkie” (what a ridiculous thing to say!) has done so far, and the depth and the breadth and the heart they’ve put into it, and I have full confidence. But in any case, please don’t trouble yourself on my account, I’m well aware my request is a rather selfish one. Take care of your family and your existing project and don’t worry about the wants of the likes of me. 🙂 If you ever get to it, it’ll be a welcome bonus.
BTW, regarding my original question, it has since occurred to me that I tend to overthink these things and the simplest explanation for why people don’t translate lyric may be that they’re subconsciously “preaching to the choir”, so to speak. Meaning that while they write in English (because that’s what educated Indians do 🙂 ), they assume they’re catering to a wholly Indian (possibly in the pre-partition sense, plus desi) audience who they then assume would know either Hindi or Urdu to at least some extent. With such assumptions in place, it wouldn’t naturally occur to one that translation might be needed. Because who watches Hindi movies and listens to Hindi/Urdu songs? Indians, of course, so what would be the point? But in the real world you have Afghans, Arabs, Persians, Turks, Central Asians, S-E Asians, Russians, Africans, etc., etc. who love Bollywood movies just as much, but have limited or no knowledge of the language. (And even in India itself there is the South. 🙂 )
Now, what I just said may not necessarily apply to you, but I suspect that if you think about it, it very likely has played a role. I think only those who are specifically trying to help people learn Hindi/Urdu (like that one blog you’ve linked to in the references section) or spread Indian culture are likely to escape this mental model without some extra effort.