I remember asking on Facebook once, what this Earth would be without Music, and my friend Priyanka P said ‘Flat’. I couldn’t have put it better. We walk this life, yearning through songs.
I grew up listening to music from Hindi movies, old and new, black and white, ghazals and R D Burman, even the nineties’ fluff. And of course, some Telugu too. But Mohamed Rafi was and is my mom’s favorite singer, Ghulam Ali and Mukesh/Hemant Kumar my dad’s. So though there wasn’t a lot of variety in the genre, music was a staple at home, with my dad harboring not so hidden dreams of being more than a banker, maybe a singer. My night and day sort of parents’ rebellious ahead-of-their-times love was a product of their collective adoration of Bollywood movies and music.
My first memories of any song was my dad playing this one on repeat on Sundays..
‘Tani dheere see bolo, Tani dheere se bolo,
koi sun laiga, koi sun laiga,
Tori tirchi najariya pe marlaiga..’
It was one of the few cassettes he owned. You probably won’t know the song, I would be surprised if you did. For all his love of music, dad never spent much on it. He came from an era where people went to the movies multiple times to listen to a song they loved and that’s how he memorized most of the ones he sang. He sang and my mom listened. And the rest as they say is history. My parents passed on their love for “the song” to all of us – music and lyrics.
Poets and scientists alike have written about music. I will certainly fall of short of words of what music can mean to the world. So I will just tell some stories. The list you’ll find below is not a ‘best’ Bollywood song list, not even a favorite list. You can find my favorite list here. It’s stories how the song’s intertwined into lives. I do not want to translate but cannot help it. I’ll try to keep the translation attempts tolerable.
Hyderabad 2004
Growing up, the movie Naam was a family favorite so were it’s songs. Chitti aayi hai by Pankaj Udhas is made to draw a tear from expats like me. There is one song which the brothers sing of the eve of the younger one’s departure, beer bottles in hand, roaming the city streets at night. My sister and I joked with each other as kids, that we will re-enact the song the night before I leave for America. Looking back, it’s funny we knew I would leave and she would stay. The night came and so did all the sadness coupled with excitement. We were too protected to step out onto the streets with beer bottles, but armed with Fanta and Coke bottles, we stepped out into the apartment hallway and sang and made merry – and we have pictures for proof – not Instagram worthy, but warmly cherished in our private albums.
“Tu kal chala jaayega toh main kya karunga,
Tu Yaad bahut aayega toh main kya karunga?
Teri jaane ki khushi, aur dil udaas hai,
duur hum hue toh kya, dil toh dil ke paas hai.“
What will I do when you leave tomorrow?
What will I do when I miss you?
I’m happy for your new life, but my heart is heavy with sorrow.
So what if distance separates us, my heart will always be near yours.
Cleveland 2006
A night out with friends. I found myself on a car ride home with three, maybe four drunk desi guys, after a night of great conversation and camaraderie. There was music in the background and some more conversation. The Rangeela song came on.
‘Kya kare kya naa kare yeh kaisi mushkil haaye!
Koi toh bataade usska hull oh mere bhai,
Ke ek taraf toh usse pyar karein hum,
Aur ussko hee yeh kehne se darein hum!’
All conversation stopped. All of a sudden, the guys broke into a chorus, just like in the movies.
Roz roz hum sochta yahi
Key aaj agar woh humko mil jaaye kahin
Toh aisa bolega, SAALA waisa bolega,
Khullam khulla uss pe dil ga raaz hum kholega
And just like that, next to me were not adult friends. There were four teenage boys and a teenage me, away from home in an alien country, united by the thread of a song and many memories.
Circa 2010
A lonesome car ride home – I had just dropped off my long-distance husband of one year (who was previously a long-distance boy friend for three years) at the Denver airport. I turned on the CD player (Remember those?)
“Aankhon mein kuch aasoon hai kuch sapne hai (These eyes carry a few tears and a few dreams)
Aasoon aur sapney donon bhi apne hain.. (The tears and the ambition are both our very own)
Humein pyaar chaahiye, aur kuch paise bhi (We want some love, and some wealth too)
Hum aise bhi hain, hum hain waise bhi…”
Hum logon ko samajh sako to samjho dil bar jaani, jitna bhi tum samjhoge utni hogi hairani..
(The more you know us, the more we’ll baffle you)
Phir bhi dil hai Hindustandi, Phir bhi dil hai Hindustani! (And yet, the heart is Indian)
Before that, this was just a silly song which flashed images of Shah Rukh Khan, some skimpily clad girls and desi wrestlers. But on that one lonesome car ride home after saying goodbye to my husband for the nth time, I heard the song and cried like a baby. It reminded of the time when an American colleague asked me why Indian couples live apart even after they get married. I was offended by that question at the time, but it was my reality for a year. This was an unexpectedly comforting song for that reality.
2011 – San Diego
We were new to San Diego, married for three years, lived in an apartment away from the suburbs. We were just making friends and enjoying living together and putting down roots. This particular night, we decided go on a walk. Growing up, him in Mumbai and me in Hyderabad, not knowing each other, we shared a common love for Jagjit Singh. We talked about him that night and somehow broke into this song on that lonely street.
Yeh dault bhi leylo, yeh shohrat bhi leylo
Bhale cheen lo mujhse meri jawani
Magar mujhko lauta do bachpan the saawan,
Woh Kaaghaz ki Kashti, woh baarish ka paani..
(Take my wealth, take my fame,
Maybe even my youth,
But give me back that monsoon of my childhood,
Those rain drops and those paper boats. )
The next morning, we found out Jagjit Singh passed away, around the time we were out and about the night before.
End of 2014 – San Diego
The surgeon was stapling my womb back up. The doctors had just got the baby out and since we didn’t know the gender my husband announced to me that it was a boy. Tears. Pure joy. My husband was called upon to pick up the baby. Baby didn’t cry. Terror. And then he did, and wouldn’t stop crying.
Tu mera dil, Tu meri jaan, Oh I love you baby…
My husband sang. The medical crew in the room were taken by surprise. He’s singing a lullaby, the anesthetist said. I explained to her that this was the song the baby heard from my belly every day in my husband’s voice. And this was my husband’s way of telling the newborn he already knew us.
And so on and so forth, the stories go. There will be more stories, every day, every country, every heart will sing a song and a new story will come to life. Same song, different story. Different song, same story. And the song lives on, melodious and effortless.
