{"id":4010,"date":"2018-01-16T00:50:18","date_gmt":"2018-01-15T19:20:18","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/learningandcreativity.com\/silhouette\/?p=4010"},"modified":"2019-01-16T11:35:45","modified_gmt":"2019-01-16T06:05:45","slug":"op-nayyar-music-alchemist","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/learningandcreativity.com\/silhouette\/op-nayyar-music-alchemist\/","title":{"rendered":"OP Nayyar \u2014 Music Alchemist"},"content":{"rendered":"

By Manek Premchand<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"OP

OP Nayyar<\/p><\/div>\n

If you are from Mumbai, surely you have seen the Queen\u2019s Necklace, a 4-kilometer curve along the waters of the Arabian Sea. It is probably the only part of the fascinating city that has remained safe from vandalism and urban monstrosities of cement concrete and glass. Those of us who grew up in the \u201840s,\u201850s and \u201860s recall how this area also became famous for two stylishly long American cars parked along here, with their owners living nearby: those of singing-actress Suraiya and of music maestro OP Nayyar.<\/p>\n

Besides their music, they also shared one other thing: the appreciation of the good things that money could buy. He with his Oxford shoes, Fedora hats, YSL cigarettes, Johnny Walker Black Label Scotch, and she with exquisite jewelry and clothes, etc. Destiny did bring them together once in Mr. Lambu (1956), just as she was going down the staircase and he was running on his way up.<\/p>\n

\"Dev

Dev Anand and Waheeda Rehman in CID (Pic courtesy: Rediff.com)<\/p><\/div>\n

But what running up? Around this time, he was quickly rushing to the top. Do recall CID (1956) with its Kaheen pe nigaahen kaheen pe nishaana<\/em>, and Leke pehla pehla pyaar<\/em>. Do pause to consider Jawaaniyaan ye mast-mast bin piye<\/em> and Yoon to humne laakh haseen dekhen hain<\/em> (Tumsa Nahin Dekha<\/em>, 1957), Maang ke saath tumhaara\u00a0<\/em>and Saathi haath badhaana<\/em> (Naya Daur<\/em>, 1957). This is, of course, not to overlook Nayyar\u2019s work before these years, in films such as Aar Paar<\/em> (1954) and Mr. and Mrs. 55<\/em>\u00a0and later in Phagun<\/em> (1958), Howrah Bridge<\/em> (1958), and innumerable films with dozens of wonderful tunes. Clearly the young man was creating havoc very fast, until he relentlessly hit the top of the charts, going up, up and away until there was just about nowhere higher to go.<\/p>\n

What a man! Here was a composer who, till his last years, claimed he had no idea of raags and raaginis. But see what a cornucopia of classically enjoyable songs he left us! Here are just a few:<\/p>\n

\"\"

Aap yun hi agar hum se<\/em> from Ek Musafir Ek Haseena<\/em><\/p><\/div>\n

Mujhe dekho hasrat ki tasweer hoon main<\/em> (Baaz<\/em>, 1953), and
\nAap yoon hi agar<\/em> (Ek Musafir Ek Hasina<\/em>, 1963), in Kedar;<\/p>\n

Pukarta chala hoon main<\/em> (Mere Sanam<\/em>, 1965), and
\nAankhon se jo utri hai dil mein <\/em>(Phir Wohi Dil Laaya Hoon<\/em>, 1963), in Kirwani;<\/p>\n

Tum jo hue mere humsafar<\/em> (12 O\u2019Clock<\/em>, 1958), and
\nIshaaron ishaaron mein dil dene waale<\/em> (Kashmir Ki Kali<\/em>, 1964), both in Pahadi.<\/p>\n

These are just a microcosm of his songs based on Hindustani classical raags. Can you imagine what he would have done if he had had classical training?<\/p>\n

Not just that, he had many other tricks to elevate a developing melody into a perfect song. One strategy was to use wonderful instruments and let them stand out. Metaphorically speaking, because he recognized their original worth, he often chose to grate\u2014rather than liquefy\u2014musical instruments in his blueprint, so that each sound could be relished as part of a melodious feast. Example: check out the mandolin at the start of both Kabhi aar kabhi paar<\/em> (Aar Paar<\/em>, 1954), and Thandi hawa kaali ghata<\/em> (Mr. and Mrs. 55<\/em>), the solo violin that starts Humne to dil ko aap ke qadmon pe rakh diya<\/em> (Mere Sanam<\/em>, 1965), the incredibly conceptualized sarangi<\/em> notes in Aana hai to aa raah mein<\/em> (Naya Daur<\/em>, 1957), and so many more such amazing tunes worth their weight in palladium.<\/p>\n

\"\"

OP Nayyar will be remembered most for his ghoda-gaadi songs<\/p><\/div>\n

But OP Nayyar will be remembered most for his ghoda-gaadi<\/em> songs like Piya piya piya mera jiya pukaare\u00a0<\/em>(Baap Re Baap<\/em>, 1955) and Zara haule haule chalo more saajna<\/em> (Saawan Ki Ghata<\/em>, 1966). He will of course be equally remembered for songs featuring his woodwind section, and these too, like the\u00a0ghoda-gaadi <\/em>ones, are in big numbers. This woodwind arrangement features a combination of the Oboe, Sax, Clarinet and Flute, and you can hear these instruments going ensemble in varying strengths, in tunes such as Antam phantam chhod de babu<\/em> (Hum Sab Chor Hain<\/em>, 1956), Humen koi gham hai<\/em> (Bhaagam Bhaag<\/em>, 1956), and Aeji dil par hua aisa jaadu<\/em> (Mr. & Mrs. 55<\/em>).<\/p>\n

Nayyar was an ace at crafting such melodies. In fact he was an ace at whatever he did, in and out of cinema. It doesn\u2019t do him justice when people sometimes refer to him as King of Rhythm. Because when he got going, he was nothing but King of Melody! This \u2018got going\u2019 thing went on till Chain se humko kabhi<\/em> (Pran Jaaye Par Vachan Na Jaaye<\/em>, 1973), after which his descent commenced.<\/p>\n

\"\"

Manek Premchand with OP Nayyar<\/p><\/div>\n

But did he hang up his hat? Nah! He kept at it for decades more, making music for Hindi as well as regional cinema, as well as out of cinema, right through till the end.<\/p>\n

Having lived a bohemian life, he left his home, wife and four kids, to spend perhaps the last fifteen years of his life with people he had hardly known before, and who, in socio-economic terms, were hardly his equals. He passed away in an obscure home in Thana, a Mumbai suburb, on 28th<\/sup> January, 2007. Now, every time a radio or TV channel plays Nayyar\u2019s songs like say Ai dil hai mushkil jeena yahaan<\/em>, the royalty is sent to them. After all, they stood by him till the very end. They also have his personal effects like his Fedora hats.<\/p>\n

But not everyone is fit to wear Nayyar\u2019s hat, or step into his Oxford shoes. They don\u2019t make them like him anymore.<\/p>\n

\"Author

Manek Premchand<\/p><\/div>\n

Manek Premchand<\/a> writes a weekly column on Hindi film music, and has authored five books on the subject: Yesterdays\u2019 Melodies Today\u2019s Memories, Musical Moments From Hindi Films, Romancing The Song, Talat Mahmood\u2014The Velvet Voice<\/a><\/span><\/em>\u00a0and Hitting The Right Notes\u2014Hindi Cinema\u2019s Golden Music<\/em><\/a><\/span>. Besides these, he has written one third of the book Shiv Kumar Sharma \u2014 The Man And His Music<\/em>. Manek\u2019s focus in that definitive biography of the great santoor maestro is the latter\u2019s contribution to cinema\u2014both as an instrumentalist as well as a composer.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

\"Shammi<\/a>

Shammi Kapoor, Nasir Hussain, Dev Anand, OP Nayyar, Joy Mukherjee (Pic: Station Hollywood)<\/p><\/div>\n

Hai duniya usi ki<\/em><\/h2>\n

By Monica Kar<\/strong>
\nThere are some songs that I call ‘stand-alone’ songs. They truly belong under no category. By virtue of the thought expressed in them, they transcend mere words to become experiences.<\/p>\n

Here is one such song from the pen of SH Bihari, put to music by the man with whom he shared a long partnership in the ’60s, himself a trailblazer in Hindi film music – OP Nayyar.
\nWith Rafi giving his soulful voice and an expression that defies all description, and a musical score to be envied, the lyrics are what become center-stage.<\/p>\n

The song starts with a Capella mukhda. If you’re not watching the song, the start of the song gives away a little bit of information. The usee kee<\/em> is sung with a sweetness, the entire mukhda with a slow contemplative air which can very well be taken as sadness. The minute Rafi sings mohabbat mein<\/em> you know there’s a drunken element to the song. As the song progresses, however, it seems more the intoxication created by the combination of lyrics and music here, rather than alcohol, so soaked is this song in philosophy.<\/p>\n

The first two lines are sung softly. In the repeat of the mukhda, the music starts – and how! The bongos, as if waiting for their signal, and as soon as the words are over, the saxophone takes center stage!<\/p>\n

\"manohari

This is a song known for its spectacular interludes and the postlude, dominated by that sax<\/p><\/div>\n

This is a song known for its spectacular interludes and the postlude, dominated by that sax. Notice the sax doesn’t play during the antaras, almost as if killing the listener with more than one intoxicant at a time had been ruled out by the composer! It could either be the sax or Rafi’s voice soaked in the poetry.<\/p>\n

The poetry binds you in a spell. Many will tell you, in fact argue, that this comes under the category of sad songs. They may be right. In fact, seen in its cinematic context, that is exactly what it is – a dejected lover drinking and waxing eloquent.<\/p>\n

However, if you hadn’t seen the movie, had no inkling of the context, and had only the audio to go by, what would this song say to you? How would it speak to you? The three verses paint a vivid picture for me – that of a Sufi, lost in his contemplation of the beloved, for whom nothing exists except the beloved and whose every happiness is linked to merely being in contemplation of the beloved.<\/p>\n

\"kashmir

Ussi ne hai lootaa mazaa zindagi ka<\/em><\/p><\/div>\n

Do the words Luta jo musafir dil ke safar mein, hai jannat ye duniya uss ki nazar mein<\/em> sound sad? Bereft of hope? As if he wishes to leave nothing to imagination, the poet follows this up with Ussi ne hai lootaa mazaa zindagi ka<\/em>. In fact, this ‘traveller’ who seems like he’s been robbed – of his heart and peace of mind – in his journey, is actually the fortunate one!<\/p>\n

To so contemplate on the image of the beloved that you become an image of the one contemplated upon – Ke jo ban gaya ho tasveer-e-jaana<\/em>. This surely is love that knows no boundaries and no limits. A love like that surely deserves respect- Karo ehtaraam uss ki deewangi ka<\/em>; in fact, each one that becomes immersed in a love like this deserves the deepest reverence – Hai sajde ke qaabil har vo deewana<\/em>. Does this sound sad?<\/p>\n

\"\"

dard-e-mohabbat, jis ki davaa ho<\/em><\/p><\/div>\n

Here in the third stanza comes the first mention of a destruction. The word barbaad<\/em> is used here as the condition of this lover. But the way it’s used, it hints more at a dissolution, rather than a destruction. When you think of the three stanzas together, this stanza becomes even clearer. To immerse oneself so much in the thought, the contemplation of the beloved as to completely lose your identity, to merge oneself with thoughts of the beloved; to think of this state of non-being as the solution, the medicine that is needed for survival – if, in fact, such a state of being can be called a ‘survival’ – Barbaad hona jis ki adaa ho, dard-e-mohabbat, jis ki davaa ho<\/em>. What sorrow can touch a love such as this? Sataayega kya ghum ussey zindagi ka, mohabbat mein jo ho gaya ho kisi ka.<\/em><\/p>\n

This, then, is not a melancholic song. It’s one of the richest songs in Hindi Film Music. Soaked in deep respect for one whose only thought is the beloved. Everything else ceases to exist. Or, maybe, everything and everywhere becomes an excuse to think about the beloved.
\nWhether a love such as this is reciprocated or not is immaterial, being its own reward.<\/p>\n

And no one could have conveyed these feelings, this emotion better than Mohammed Rafi, for who, perhaps, singing was its own reward – his true love?<\/p>\n

Hai duniya usi ki<\/em><\/strong> (Kashmir ki Kali, <\/em>1964) SH Bihari \/ Rafi<\/span><\/p>\n