By Kohinoor Dasgupta
January 7, 2023
Jaidev (August 3, 1918 – January 6, 1987)
JAI Guru DEVA!
'Madhushala’ shono ni?!” (Haven’t listened to 'Madhushala’?!) asked Manna Dey, appalled.
I met the playback legend for an extended interview in 1997, when I worked for The Times of India. Dey urged me to dispel my ignorance: he gave me a digitally remastered cassette (HMV Sheer Magic) of the 1973 recording he had made under Jaidev’s music direction.
I played that cassette again today. Dey was proud of the collaborative work, which aimed to pull in even people like myself who aren't faithful readers of Hindi poetry.
No doubt the project had carried a burden of expectations. Harivansh Rai Bachchan’s long poem, 'Madhushala’, published when the poet was in his late twenties, was a free-wheeling meditation on life and humanity. How could the essence of 'Madhushala' be communicated through twenty quatrains? How would allegory and iconoclasm sit with a broad audience? Would the work reek of frivolity? Would it lose its frivolity entirely and be preachy? How would music knit together youth and death? Would music convey the poet’s heady intellectual freedom that on occasion made the madhushala seem like a small place? Would music convey spiritual emancipation (which, the poet found, was generous with refills)?
Dharmgranth sab jala chuki hai jiske antar ki jwala
Mandir masjid girje sab ko tod chuka jo matwala
Pandit momin padriyon ke phando ko jo kaat chuka
Kar sakti hai aaj usi ka swagat meri madhushala
The firebrand whose humanity burned divisive religious books
Demolished barriers of temple, mosque, church
Cut nooses held out by priests of all faiths
My tavern is open to that individual.
Jaidev walks the rebellious words into the innocuous musical terrain of chaupaiyan (Hindu/Sikh religious texts read in a repetitive musical fragment). Soothing as the music is, the words nevertheless unload their full intent relentlessly. Dey’s rendition morphs from quatrain to quatrain. Sometimes his tone is crisp and wry, sometimes convivial. Side B is darker in mood. Far from being monotonous like the chaupaiyan, Jaidev’s 'Madhushala’ is musically interesting. Yet the whole thing sounds simple, a way of reciting the words merely.
If you ask anyone who is familiar with Hindi film music up to 1980 to talk about Jaidev’s work, they may be counted upon to bring up the following films: 'Gaman' (1978), 'Gharonda' (1977), 'Reshma Aur Shera' (1971), 'Mujhe Jeene Do' (1963) and 'Hum Dono' (1961). Given another moment, they might recall 'Aalap' (1977). In another moment, they’ll hum a bunch of songs and say: “I can’t recall which films they’re from, though.”
ALLAH TERO NAAM, ISHVAR TERO NAAM
'Hum Dono’ (The Two of Us) was Jaidev’s first box office success as music director. Previously, before 1955, he had assisted composer S.D. Burman in several films. A few of those films were commercially successful, and most of their songs were popular. In other words, by the time Jaidev got Navketan’s 'Hum Dono’, he already had distinguished work behind him, whether or not the films made money and even if he was relatively unknown.
The songs of 'Hum Dono' were written by Sahir Ludhianvi. Four of them may still boast of instant recall. They are: Allah tero naam, Ishvar tero naam (Allah is Your name, Ishvar is Your name) sung by Lata Mangeshkar, Main zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya (I went with the flow) and Kabhi khud pe kabhi haalat pe (loosely, Memories are merciless tonight) both sung by Mohammad Rafi, and the duet Abhi na jao chod kar (Don’t go) sung by Mohammad Rafi and Asha Bhosle and enacted by Dev Anand and Sadhana.
Main zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya was a playback music novelty. I can think of only one other song with a similar mood that came before, Salil Chowdhury’s Zindagi khwab hai (Life’s a dream) sung by Mukesh for Motilal in 'Jagte Rao’ (Stay Awake) of 1955. However, whereas Chowdhury’s song is sung by a wasted man weaving along a deserted street, Jaidev’s is meant for an active-duty Army stoic. At a stretch, there was a second precursor: Jaidev’s own composition from 'Samundari Daku’ (Sea Bandit) (1956), Dil jawan hai arzoo jawan (Heart’s young and desire’s new), sung by Talat Mahmood. The musical idea strikes me as similar, but there’s no similarity of emotion, as the Mahmood number is a serenade. Composer Madan Mohan took the idea on a monsoon spin in Tum jo mil gaye ho, (Found you), sung masterfully by Mohammad Rafi in the film 'Hanste Zakhm' (1973) (Wounds that Defy Tears). Once again, the emotion was different: euphoria.
TU CHANDA MAIN CHANDNI
Though violent men are key to the plots of the Sunil Dutt-Waheeda-Rehman starrers 'Mujhe Jeene Do’ (Let Me Live) and 'Reshma Aur Shera’ (Reshma And Shera), the female protagonist caught in the middle in either movie is the strong counterargument against violence and tribalism. She is also the mouthpiece for Jaidev’s brilliant and tender music.
Lata Mangeshkar’s songs build up Reshma’s innocence, and in the haunting Tu chanda main chaandni (You’re the moon and I’m moonlight), we catch our breaths at Jaidev’s use of break-and-make instrumental movements (a stylistic touch more obvious in Chhaya Ganguli’s Aap ki yaad aati rahi (Remembered you) in 'Gaman’ (Departure). Jaidev was steeped in Hindustani classical music traditions, and aware of this type of musical segue in Ustad Bismillah Khan's performances, where the likes of Pandit Samta Prasad played the tabla, and percussion was a vital and thrilling partner-in-sound instead of an "accompaniment". Elegantly, unhurriedly, esoteric borrowings enriched Jaidev's five-minute film songs.
In Tu chanda, the 'Reshma Aur Shera' song, santoor suits the pointillistic visuals of a desert in the gloaming. An array of musical instruments is used. They echo in our ears as suggestions. The shehnai hallows Reshma’s dangerous dream – and wails among the dunes in dread.
MANG MEIN BHAR DE
As for Chamelijaan in 'MJD’, she is given spirit and soul by two songs sung by Asha Bhosle. The mujra song and the mother's wish, both sung by Lata Mangeshkar, are before and after the year or so during which Chamelijaan is allowed to really live. Nadinare na jao Shyam (Don’t go to the river, Love) is a pather panchali, a rare holiday for two people who are always on the road. Song and barefoot singer are one with the clay and the water. The other Asha Bhosle song, Mang mein bhar de (I'm a Bride!) written by Sahir Ludhianvi, is the poignant foil to Nadinare. It is an imaginative feat from Jaidev, using Asha Bhosle’s wizard vocals. The music opens a treasure box, opulent, glittering. And impossible. Jaidev, used to facing adversity in real life, doesn’t let you forget.
'Aalap’ (Prelude) starred Amitabh Bachchan, and thus will never be forgotten, despite being a box office “flop”. The song I instantly remember from it is Chand akela jaye sakhi ri (Lonely moon), sung by Yesudas.
TUMHE HO NA HO
The music of 'Gharonda’ and 'Gaman’ takes you on a whistlestop tour of Jaidev’s broad creativity. What do you say about a man who composed Tumhe ho na ho (Whether or not you believe it) and Seene mein jalan (What’s this angst?) almost at the same time? Both films deal with place and displacement, and the human face of economics. Ever a champion of talent, Jaidev gave a break to Bangladeshi singer Runa Laila in 'Gharonda’, directed by Bhimsain. Runa Laila’s molten-gold voice was the perfect fit for Zarina Wahab’s Chhaya, a young woman who is lovely and clean of heart and so owns the earth, but is too poor to have an apartment of her own in Bombay. In Do deewane shahar mein (Besotted pair in the City), Bhupinder Singh shares the real estate with Runa Laila. By and by, Jaidev’s feeling heart sends a foreboding wisp of a cold breeze into the chirpy dialogue. Time to grow up, kids.
AAP KI YAAD AATI RAHI
Muzaffar Ali’s acclaimed 'Gaman’ has Chhaya Ganguli’s astonishing number Aap ki yaad aati rahi raat bhar, that won her a National Award. Mid-song, as I mentioned above, there’s a break in mood achieved through instrumentation. As used here, in 'Gaman', the change harks back to Hira Devi Mishra’s Ras ke bhare tore nain (Your alluring eyes), the thumri that played when the film began, while we were made acquainted with the village of Kothwara in Uttar Pradesh. Specifically, the musical memory places Smita Patil’s Khairun among the many women of Kothwara who are waiting for husbands and brothers and fathers and sons who have gone to a city in search of work. Jaidev started using music as memory early on. ‘Hum Dono’s Main zindagi ka saath has that snatch of a tune that accompanies the use of a cigarette lighter.
SEENE MEIN JALAN
Seene mein jalan, written by Shahryar and sung by newcomer-at-the-time Suresh Wadkar, encapsulates the clash of worlds and aspirations at the heart of 'Gaman'. One can never forget Ghulam Hassan’s (Farooque Sheikh) face as he drives or waits by the vehicle. “Aina hume dekh ke hairan sa kynun hai?” (Why’s the mirror puzzled?) is a line from the song. Ghulam waits, and his wife Khairun waits for him in Kothwara.
Seene mein jalan reminds me of Main zindagi ka sath nibhata chala gaya from 'Hum Dono'. Stoicism has turned to helplessness, though. Still, "Maximum City" compels movement, which is reflected in the tempo of the song. Jaidev too remembered 'Hum Dono’ while working on 'Gaman.’ The proof of that is the number sung by another debutant, Hariharan, Ajeeb saniha dil par (Strangely …). Jaidev reworked Mohammad Rafi’s Kabhi khud pe to incorporate that tempo I mentioned above. Incidentally, Lata Mangeshkar paid tribute to Rafi by picking Kabhi khud pe for her album ‘Shraddhanjali’.
TUMHE DEKHTI HOON
'Tumhare Liye’ (For You) was released the same year as ‘Gaman’. For this reincarnation story, Jaidev reverted to the pure notes of a nightingale. Naqsh Lyallpuri’s time-traveling lyrics, Govindam (Lord Govinda) and Tumhe dekhti hoon (When I see you) suggest a divine source of love. Lata Mangeshkar came through superbly for Vidya Sinha, the intelligent and understated actress who passed away in 2019.
Other bloggers have written about Jaidev’s early life in Nairobi and Ludhiana, his training in classical music, his family responsibilities, his relationship with his sarod guru Ali Akbar Khan, the years he spent assisting S.D. Burman, and his debut as music director in Chetan Anand’s 'Joru Ka Bhai’ (Brother-in-law) in 1955.
In his long career, Jaidev composed for various types of films, including low-budget ones and "off-beat" projects. For example, he got to work with director Mani Kaul in 'Ashad Ka Ek Din’ (One day in the Month of Rain) and with Khwaja Ahmed Abbas in 'Do Boond Pani’ (Two Drops of Water), both films released in 1971, and he also accepted 'Kissa Kursi Ka’ (Power Story) (1978), the political satire which gained notoriety during the ferment of Emergency.
'Do Boond Pani’, which won the Indian government's Award for National Integration, is unique in that the playback credits include Classical vocalists Parveen Sultana and Lakshmi Shankar. The songs of the film are well known, for instance, Pital ki mori gagri (My brass pitcher) sung by Parveen Sultana.
Jaidev’s compositions feature many artistes. The list is long and rewarding to explorers. Take the film ‘Ek Gunah Aur Sahi’ (Another Sin, Oh Well) (1980), which has the Asha Bhosle’s number Yehi hai tamanna, yehi hai irada (All I wish, all I aim for), written by Kaifi Azmi. Asha Bhosle is at the top of her game, a force of nature, but fully mistress of her fearsome talent. By this time, clearly, she and Jaidev have a roadmap of their very own for any song. (I have the same feeling when I hear Asha Bhosle’s non-film ghazal, composed by Jaidev: Carva guzra kiyen (Caravans went by). Now, ‘Ek Gunah Aur Sahi' also has a number by Sulakshana Pandit: Laage re nayan (In love). The song is interrupted by dialogue and, like Sulakshana Pandit's abbreviated playback career, leaves one wishing to hear more. Her voice seems like a secret of Nature, a hidden spring, or that perfectly polished pebble that we couldn't hold on to.
Ranu Mukherjee’s cabaret number Aa utha le apna jaam (Pick your poison) is tucked away in a film called 'Faslah' (Distance) (1974). Her jazz-singer voice added urbanity to the Helen show. In 'Ek Thi Reeta' (A Girl Called Reeta) (1971), surprise, surprise, a young Jagjit Singh accompanies Asha Bhosle in the (forgettable) Hulla hullare (nonsense syllables).
'Hamare Gham Se Mat Khelo’ (Don’t Toy With My Grief) (1967) has a Krishna Kalle-Mahendra Kapoor duet, Yeh bahaar ka sama (Springtime), with a striking, inventive beginning, nailed by Krishna Kalle. How I wish this one were a solo! The playful rhythm and soft beguilement of music and words suit the female voice better. By the way, this film also features the Talat Mahmood number Aansoo chhupaye aankh mein (Hiding tears), written by Shirish Pathak. You almost miss it in the packed list, but there it is, one of his later songs for Hindi films.
'Trikon Ka Choutha Kon’ (Fourth Angle of a Triangle) was released the year before Jaidev’s death. Serious eye candy, with Swaroop Sampath, Priyadarshini and Vijayendra Ghatage. Chhaya Ganguli sang a couple of numbers in this film. Kaise unko paoon Aalee (Is he attainable?) is one of Chhaya Ganguli’s best, I think. The song has quite a few elements that I, for one, associate with Jaidev’s individuality. Every artiste who was privileged enough to sing a few times for Jaidev internalized and presented these elements in his or her own way.
YEH DIL AAJ UNKI
That said, who was more protean than Jaidev? Even discerning listeners may occasionally mistake him for other composers who were big on style. One of his most famous Lata Mangeshkar numbers is from a never-seen film called ‘Prem Parvat’ (Love Mountain): Yeh dil aur unki nigahon ke saaye (My heart, his eyes) written down in thirty minutes flat, according to Jaidev himself, by poet Jan Nisar Akhtar. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was composed by Khaiyyam! Similarly, Geeta Dutt’s Yeh khamoshi kyun? (Why the silence?) from 'Hamare Gham Se Mat Khelo’ could well be another offering from her Mera naam Chinchin Choo (My name’s …) composer, O.P. Nayyar. And Kishore Kumar’s Yeh wohi geet hai jisko maine (This is the song) from the 1972 film 'Man Jaiye’ (Say Yes) seems to come out of an entirely untouched trove of Jaidev’s musical soul, a trove of R.D. Burmanesque songs! The 1975 film 'Ek Hans Ka Jora’ (Pair of Swans) has another song that may be mistaken for an R.D. duet: Pyar se tum mile (You brought love), sung by Kishore Kumar and Asha Bhosle for Zahira and Anil Dhawan.
ZINDAGI CIGARETTE KA DHUAN
Bhupinder Singh, whom we lost in July 2022, sang many songs composed by Jaidev. I’ll mention just a few. 'Ek Hans Ka Jora’ serves up the treat of Bhupinder singing the famous line Ab ke hum bichade toh khayalon mein milenge (We’ll meet in dreams then), penned by Ahmed Faraz and immortalized by Mehdi Hassan. If there was a male counterpart of Chhaya Ganguli's intoxicating voice in the Bombay playback world, it was surely Bhupinder Singh in the 1970s and early 1980s. His Zindagi cigarette ka dhuan (Life's a puff of cigarette smoke), written by Kaifi Azmi for the Shabana Azmi-starrer 'Faslah’, is unusual and endearing. The number Zahar deta hai mujhe koi (Someone hands me poison) from 'Wohi Baat’ (That Thing) (1977) is soulful. I also like his duet with Anuradha Paudwal from 'Dooriyan’ (Distances) (1979), another Bhimsain film, this time about a couple who have a lovely flat, but can’t live with one another, the song being Zindagi mein jab tumhare gham (When I didn’t have the grief you gave), written by Sudarshan Fakir. Bhupinder, thanks for the music.
YEH NEER KAHAN SE
Jaidev, as is apparent from even a quick run-through of his work, was a man of inexhaustible talent. He adapted, he drew on ragas and folk genres, and used a variety of instruments. He liked the differences in human voices, and he listened a great deal. To poetry, to people, to folk instruments, to sound. Sometimes, loving India’s storied musical traditions, he picked tunes heard many times before, but he encrusted them with new words in hand and picked an artiste to interpret differently, and there was something new and wonderful, fashioned out of the old. One such song is Lata Mangeshkar’s Yeh neer kahan se barse hai (Where did rain come from?) from 'Prem Parbat'. (If a stockroom fire hadn't destroyed the print of this film, we'd have had the opportunity to see National Award winning acrtess Rehana Sultan enacting songs composed by both Hindustani Classical music-inspired modern masters, Jaidev in addition to Madan Mohan.) The song is set in Desh and kehrva taal. For some reason, maybe the pace, or because it's a much-heard tune close to other much-heard tunes, or simply because it's my late mother's birthday, Yeh neer is reminding me today of the chaiti Chaitar chunri ranga de in the voice of Shobha Gurtu, one of my Ma's gurus.
Another song of this kind is Asha Bhosle’s Nadinare na jao Shyam. Har aas ahqbaar hai (Every desire is dipped in sorrow), from 'Kinare Kinare’ (Shores) (1963), and sung by Lata Mangeshkar, is yet another.
SURMAI RAAT
And there were other times when Jaidev reached within and found the music, as he did for Talat Mahmood in 'Joru Ka Bhai’ back in 1955, the song being Surmai raat dhalti jaati (This blue-black night is passing), written by Sahir Ludhianvi. No surprises here. Even in 1955, Mahmood had intuited the book on Jaidev, when half of the chapters hadn’t been written. And even in 1955, at his first independent outing, Jaidev composed this ravishing song for Mahmood.
KUCHH AISE BHI PAL
Since I began this post remembering Manna Dey, I keep thinking of two Dey songs composed by Jaidev, a decade separating them: the title song from 'Kinare Kinare', and a song from 'Alingan' (1974), Kuchh aise bhi pal hoten hain (There are moments). The first song, written by Nyaya Sharma, though by no means carefree, still speaks to optimism.
Tamanna yehi hai…. Nasibon ki gardish ko hans-hans ke jhele
(My wish is … I’ll cope with the ups and downs of destiny with a smile)
The second song is a powerful one of despair and regret, a song that resonates with many even now.
Jaidev received three National Awards for his work, for ‘Reshma Aur Shera’, ‘Gaman’ and Ankahee’ (Unspoken) (1985), the last-mentioned film having the abhang-style number, Raghuvar tum to meri laaj (You are my protector, Raghuvar), sung by Pandit Bhimsen Joshi.
I end with a couplet from ‘Madhushala’ that could be an epitaph for Jaidev, the stubborn, principled artiste:
Aankhon ke aage ho kuchh bhi
Aakhon mein hai madhushala.
No matter what appears before my eyes
Madhushala fills my eyes.
I can’t translate the couplet adequately because the word madhushala, at this point in the long poem, has gathered too many meanings to itself. Which is why it suits Jaidev’s capacious spirit and work.
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