The Voice that Quietens

A new post in the series - "All Music is Only the Sound of His Laughter"

Sometimes all you want to do is stay. Quietly.

Stay with the memories. Of that face, that smile, that voice, that presence. Because in that staying is where you find the presence alive and living.

Memories make you relive the moments, again and again. Reliving brings pain, the mind says. Yet, the heart wants what it wants.

Hush, you mind.

The heart doesn't want pain. The heart seeks healing. But it also wants to go back. Quietly. To that moment when the presence was there in physical form. In the form that you knew as yours.

You know that the form is transitory, it always was. The real thing within takes a new form when the old form is tired and weak and ready to leave.

But all that, the heart doesn't want to hear. Not in this moment when all it wants is for the voices to quieten. So it can hear. That one voice.

The heart wants only to hear that voice. Once again.

That voice with which you grew up, the voice that comforted you, the voice that corrected you, the voice that helped you see right and wrong, or right and right, the voice that helped you discover your own voice.

The heart wants that voice.

The mind says - you have that voice. With you. Saved. Listen.
The heart says - I know. I know that voice. Without listening. I hear it. It is.

The voice stays.

And so you stay. Quietly. With the voice. Because in the voice she lives.

In the voice is the healing. Quietly.

Lyricist: Gulzar, Composer: R.D.Burman, Singers: Lata Mangeshkar and Bhupinder

Photo credit: Suhas Mehra

Spiritual significance of the flower:Vital Protection

Surrender to the Divine is the best vital protection

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To see all the posts in the series - "All music is only....", click here.
To see the previous post in the series, click here.

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Linking this with ABC Wednesday, Q: Q is for Quiet

Filmy Musings: Amar Prem (Immortal Love)

A new post in the series - "All Music is Only the Sound of His Laughter"

"तुम्हारा नाम पुष्पा  है? मीरा होना चाहिए था"
(Your name is Pushpa? It should have been Meera.)

Remember this line from the classic Hindi movie Amar Prem? In a way, this one simple line from one scene of the film captured much of the essence of the film, by reminding the audience of the purity of Meera's love, love that is selfless and simply exists for the sake of loving and becoming one with the beloved.

The 1972 film directed by Shakti Samanta spoke of an immortal love, of a love beyond the conventions and rules of society, of a love that is not meant to be imprisoned by the hypocrisy of the so-called moralists and guardians of social order. It spoke of a love that doesn't need to shout from the rooftops to be accepted but is quietly convinced of its truth and therefore its purity.

The forms of the love portrayed in this film are several -- between a man and a woman who are not related to each other in any socially accepted way, between a mother and a child who is not really her child, between a father and a son who is not really his son, between a child and a mother who is not really his mother, between a sister and a brother who is not really her brother. Basically, it is love that brings these strangers together and ties them in bonds that are stronger than any blood tie or any other socially accepted relation. The love portrayed through these different characters in this film is pure, soft and selfless, and expressive of deep caring and self-giving.

Sure there are some sequences and characters in the film that remind the audience that such love is rare and that majority of minds are imprisoned in the narrow and conventional views of what is socially acceptable and what is not. The plot however gradually moves in such a way that the hearts that are relatively more open to the deeper truth of things begin to see what love really is and should be, and find a way to accept love as simply love beyond any definition of society and society-approved morality.

The best part is that the film doesn't do any of this in any preachy, lecturing sort of way. It does this through a simple story told simply but beautifully.

With its soft and feel-good acting, a gently paced and unpretentious narration, beautiful music, heart-touching poetry and tender writing this film will always remain one of the all-time favourites of mine.

Image: The Kiss, Artist: Freydoon Rassouli

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To see previous post in the series, click here.
To see all posts in the series, click here.

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Linking this with ABC Wednesday, L: L is for Love

Of Homesickness, Hemant Kumar & Geeta Dutt

A new post in the series "All Music is Only the Sound of His Laughter"

There is something about spending a few weeks in your hometown, not really doing much but just being in the home where you came of age, where you lived for about 18 years and which was always your go-to place even after you moved away.

Don't get me wrong. I am not being melodramatic or overly romantic about this experience of being back in one's childhood home. Like most adults of my age I have my own inner and outer struggles to deal with when it comes to matters related to family, home, and family home. Homesickness and longing for my present home is definitely one of those struggles. Because of some difficult circumstances during the last year and a half I have had to spend a lot of time (A LOT!) in my childhood home, either taking care of some tough situations or simply being around when things were beyond me. Such experiences bring up their own set of challenges. Some easier to deal with, some not.

But there is one interesting thing I have discovered during the last year and a half. For some reason, being in this space called childhood home makes me especially long for old Hindi film songs. Especially those songs that I haven't listened to in a long time. Weird? Maybe. But perhaps not so weird, because after all it was in this very space that I discovered my fondness for old Hindi film songs. It was this space where I developed an appreciation for those melodious compositions and those heart-stirring lyrics. All that and more, thanks to some wonderful conversations with my father.

Being in this space reminds me of those lovely weekday evenings and those lazy Sunday afternoons, listening to oldies on the radio. For many of those songs my father would share some interesting tidbits -- who was the composer, which was the first song composed by that composer, which lyricist was the favourite of which composer, which singer had refused to sing for which composer, etc. He would remember such trivia for so many songs. As a child I used to marvel at his memory.

I still do, actually. He is very good at memorizing and recalling on demand many details on which I would rather not spend any time or any part of my mental energy - bank account numbers, PAN card numbers, passport numbers, voter registration numbers, all those numbers that are part of modern living. And he doesn't remember such details only for himself, but also for all his children (perhaps, even his grandchildren I believe, though I need to check with him on this last point.)

But I was speaking of music. Old Hindi film music. Obviously, my taste in Hindi film music is to a large extent influenced by the kind of music my father admired. Though it doesn't mean that we have exactly identical tastes. In fact, there are many, many songs that he enjoys but I don't care about. However, we certainly agree on two things - Hemant Kumar and Geeta Dutt. We both enjoy pretty much every song these two talented singers ever sang in their lifetimes.

Maybe that's the reason whenever I am back in my childhood home and feeling homesick for my current home which is about 2300 kms away, I find myself falling in love once again with some of the old favourite songs in the melodious voices of Hemant Kumar and Geeta Dutt. In a strange way, listening again and again to some of those old songs actually works as a cure for the feeling of homesickness. Perhaps listening to those songs somehow puts me back in touch with that forgotten feeling of "being at home" which I used to always experience in this childhood home of mine, many, many, many years ago. Perhaps listening to those songs brings me home in a way.

The song that did this two days ago was this one:

Singers: Hemant Kumar, Geeta Dutt, Composer: Mukul Roy, Lyricist: Shailendra 

Film: Detective (1958)

And if you want to know which Hemant Kumar song did the same trick yesterday, click here.

Photo: A little corner of my home, one particular morning

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To check out the previous post in the series "All Music is...", click here.
To check out all the posts in this series, click here.

You and Me

A new post in the series - "All Music is Only the Sound of His Laughter"

Painting by Prakash Raman

Tell me, who are you? 

But you might say - first ask yourself this, who are you? But I am what I am not only because of me but also because of who you are, I might say then. And the circle of wanting to know you, know me, know the 'you and me', 'you-in-me', and 'me-in-you' will continue...Perhaps rightly so, because we come to know so much more about ourselves in relation with others, through our relational selves. 

But what about my relation with my self, or rather my many selves? Do I know that? Do you know it for you? Let us begin with this intra-relational knowing as we go through life, our lives - 'you and me', 'you-in-me', 'me-in-you'. 

Singers: Manna Dey and Asha Bhosle, Composer: C. Ramachandra, Lyricist: Kavi Pradeep

Click here for the previous post in this series.

Love, the Beautiful

 A new post in the series: 

A Poem and A Song - XII:  A Series to Celebrate Art in All Forms 

It is actually quite amazing when you find the same thought being expressed through a picture, a poem, a song, or even a gesture.

Perhaps it happens because the thought has sunk deep into you, at least for the time being, and you just view a certain picture, read a certain poem and hear a certain song as expressions of that singular thought.

Or perhaps they really are conveying the same thought, but in different shades and hues. 

And it just so happens that when that very thought captured your attention, certain pictures, poems and songs also appeared before you allowing you to delve deeper into the thought and let it reveal its deeper essence to you.

Regardless of how it happens, it is always a moment to relish and cherish the beauty. The beauty of the picture, the song, the poem. The beauty of the experience. The beauty of the moment.

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Earthly Love and Love for the Mother Earth. 

Love for the Nature, Love for the Beloved, the Marriage between the Two  - these are expressed here beautifully and with sensitivity, through the mode of new arts, and the old.  

A work by an Austrian digital artist, verses by a Chilean poet and a melodious composition by an Indian musician....all combine here to speak of a simple and profound truth - Love makes all things beautiful. Beautiful is the beloved, Beautiful is the Earth, when seen in Love and with Love. 

Digital Artwork by Christian Schloe, via

In You The Earth

Little

rose,

roselet,

at times,

tiny and naked,

it seems

as though you would fit

in one of my hands,

as though I’ll clasp you like this

and carry you to my mouth,

but

suddenly

my feet touch your feet and my mouth your lips:

you have grown,

your shoulders rise like two hills,

your breasts wander over my breast,

my arm scarcely manages to encircle the thin

new-moon line of your waist:

in love you loosened yourself like sea water:

I can scarcely measure the sky’s most spacious eyes

and I lean down to your mouth to kiss the earth. 

~ Pablo Neruda

Composer: R.D. Burman

Can love stay beautiful, always? How? Perhaps love alone can answer. 

Previous posts in this series:

What Might Have Been?        Fly Away              Which is Sweeter?       Life, a Song of Love and Memories
Diwali with a Modern Indian Poet and a Legendary Indian Musician            Of Temples, Poetry and Life
Remembering the Mother               On the Road               Who is that Presence?             Only You
Reckless Lovers

The Remains

Mother and Daughter - by Paul Gauguin

Another month has passed. And a few days more. She still remains gone. Gone for ever. But has she gone? She comes often. Lately she has been coming regularly.

At night when I close my eyes. In the wee hours of the morning when I am still not fully awake but not asleep either. Her face, her smile, her eyes, her voice.

Her voice from the time when her voice carried and expressed all the different shades and nuances of a mother's loving heart. The voice of a woman strong and independent, the voice of a mother full of love, concern and caring.

And yes, also her voice from the last year of her earthly life when it had begun to grow faint, feeble and weak. The voice of a mother who had to slowly accept the hard fact that her daughters will now be mothering her. The voice of a woman who had been the constant pillar of strength for so many in her life but had now become physically dependent on others for her most basic needs.

The ache in the heart, that feeling of hollowness inside, that sense of missing a presence...they seem to slowly fade away as the day slowly begins and the rhythm of life catches on. Only to resurface at night or in the early morning hours. Those eyes, that smile, that face, that voice. They will always remain, will never go away. She remains here, with me, in me and around me.

Fly Away

A new post in the series: 

A Poem and A Song - X:  A Series to Celebrate Art in All Forms 

It is actually quite amazing when you find the same thought being expressed through a picture, a poem, a song, or even a gesture. 

Perhaps it happens because the thought has sunk deep into you, at least for the time being, and you just view a certain picture, read a certain poem and hear a certain song as expressions of that singular thought.

Or perhaps they really are conveying the same thought, but in different shades and hues. 

And it just so happens that when that very thought captured your attention, certain pictures, poems and songs also appeared before you allowing you to delve deeper into the thought and let it reveal its deeper essence to you.

Regardless of how it happens, it is always a moment to relish and cherish the beauty. The beauty of the picture, the song, the poem. The beauty of the experience. The beauty of the moment.

Blue Mountain Mist; Photo by Brandon Downing

The Blue Bird

I am the bird of God in His blue;

Divinely high and clear

I sing the notes of the sweet and the true

For the god's and the seraph's ear.

I rise like a fire from the mortal's earth

Into a griefless sky

And drop in the suffering soil of his birth

Fire-seeds of ecstasy.

My pinions soar beyond Time and Space

Into unfading Light;

I bring the bliss of the Eternal's face

And the boon of the Spirit's sight.

I measure the worlds with my ruby eyes;

I have perched on Wisdom's tree

Thronged with the blossoms of Paradise

By the streams of Eternity.

Nothing is hid from my burning heart;

My mind is shoreless and still;

My song is rapture's mystic art,

My flight immortal will.

~ Sri Aurobindo, Collected Poems

Such is the flight of the soul to meet its Beloved; the aspiration of the human to unite with the Divine; the flight of the liberated soul, that spark of the Divine here in manifestation but free from all bondage and soaring high to meet its Source, singing songs of rapturous joy as it brings to the Earth below the Light and Bliss from the realms of the Infinite and Eternal.

But what of the bird that is still caged, still in bondage? What song does a caged bird sing? A song of pain and sadness, a song of longing -- for freedom and flight, a song of sweet memories and future dreams. But memories and dreams can be cages too. They often are.

Maybe a caged bird needs a song of Aspiration, Hope and Faith.

As this year slowly comes to a close, perhaps it is a good time to work toward breaking a few more inner prisons and hope for greater freedom.


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Previous posts in the series A Poem and A Song:

Which is Sweeter?           Life, a Song of Love and Memories     Diwali with a Modern Indian Poet and a Legendary Indian Musician          Of Temples, Poetry and Life      Remembering the Mother                     On the Road       Who is that Presence?          Only You        Reckless Lovers

Come Home, with Pancham

A new post in the series - "All  Music is Only the Sound of His Laughter"

Photo by Hengki Koentjoro

Sometimes a song just stays with you, lingers on, in your memory, in your thought...perhaps for no particular reason, perhaps for some reason that you may not be fully aware of, or perhaps simply because it does! 

This is just such a song for me today. 

Based on Raag Malgunji, one of the earliest compositions by legendary composer of modern Hindi film music, Rahul Dev Burman, this song from a 1961 film is indeed such a classic number, a song you want to listen to again and again, no matter how many times you have heard it before. Perhaps this is the real mark of a great composition, I suppose.

The singer is pleading her beloved to come home. The sky is overcast with clouds, the sad and lonely heart gets scared every time the lightning strikes, the tip-tip sound of the raindrops makes it even harder to bear the separation....what a poetic description of longing penned by Shailendra, and set to such soulful music by Pancham (R. D. Burman). Which lover of old Hindi film music wouldn't fall in love with it, all over again? 

And oh, maybe I have finally figured out why this song has so captured my heart today...but that is for my next post...or maybe not. Right now, I just want to enjoy this song...with a hope that you will too!

Click here for the previous post in this series.

Life, a Song of Love and Memories

A new post in the series - A Poem and A Song - VIII:  A Series to Celebrate Art in All Forms 

It is actually quite amazing when you find the same thought being expressed through a picture, a poem, a song, or even a gesture.

Perhaps it happens because the thought has sunk deep into you, at least for the time being, and you just view a certain picture, read a certain poem and hear a certain song as expressions of that singular thought.

Or perhaps they really are conveying the same thought, but in different shades and hues. 

And it just so happens that when that very thought captured your attention, certain pictures, poems and songs also appeared before you allowing you to delve deeper into the thought and let it reveal its deeper essence to you.

Regardless of how it happens, it is always a moment to relish and cherish the beauty. The beauty of the picture, the song, the poem. The beauty of the experience. The beauty of the moment.

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The following is one of those pictures that have stayed in my mind for a very long time. Perhaps because this is one of my favourite flowers, and one of my favourite ways to display this flower. To float one or two or a few of them in a shallow vase or urli filled with water. Simple. Sweet. Pure. Perfect. 

Source

That particular evening found me enwrapped in the warmth of her memory. Simple, sweet, pure and perfect. And the words floated in my mind just like the Frangipanis float in water, simply, sweetly. The way her love was and is. In memory of her love, a few words floated by....

A month has gone by, already? 

Surely the calendar lies.

I browse through her song diary

Her handwriting comes alive.

In soft tones speaks to my heart,
Listen child, once again to that song she loved,  

Read once again that poem she said, 

Would speak to me of her truths of life and love.

And so I read, and re-read. Things she jotted down in that diary. Things she didn't speak about. Things she did speak about but I wasn't listening back then. And so I re-read. And now I try and listen to the silence through which she speaks now. Through which she sings her song. 

****

My Song

This song of mine will wind its music around you, my child, like

the fond arms of love.

This song of mine will touch your forehead like a kiss of

blessing.

When you are alone it will sit by your side and whisper in

your ear, when you are in the crowd it will fence you about with

aloofness.

My song will be like a pair of wings to your dreams, it will

transport your heart to the verge of the unknown.

It will be like the faithful star overhead when dark night is

over your road.

My song will sit in the pupils of your eyes, and will carry

your sight into the heart of things.

And when my voice is silent in death, my song will speak in

your living heart. 

~ Rabindranath Tagore

Life is indeed a song full of love and memories!

PREVIOUS POSTS IN THIS SERIES:

Diwali with a Modern Indian Poet and a Legendary Indian Musician      Of Temples, Poetry and Life    Remembering the Mother   On the Road      Who is that Presence?    Only You   Reckless Lovers

An Old Song and the Greatness of Indian Sculpture

Outside a cave at Ellora, Photo by Suhas Mehra

Sometimes channel surfing on TV actually does yield some good results. Like that afternoon in Delhi, while passing an idle hour and randomly clicking buttons on the TV remote I came across a song I had almost forgotten. And this is a song I used to very much like once upon a time. 

Listening to this song that lazy afternoon naturally led me to re-read some of the absolutely masterful passages on Indian Sculpture by Sri Aurobindo. Interesting, I thought, how re-discovering an old song on TV can make an afternoon so enriching when we go deeper into an idea that is merely hinted in the song. Afterall, TV watching can also be educational at times, it seems! Of course, I am not getting cable TV installed in my home right away, but surely will be spending a few more afternoons searching on youtube for some old favorite songs, just in case some musical inspiration is needed to re-read some more from the Master's Works.

"All Indian art is a throwing out of a certain profound self-vision formed by a going within to find out the secret significance of form and appearance, a discovery of the subject in one’s deeper self, the giving of soul-form to that vision and a remoulding of the material and natural shape to express the psychic truth of it with the greatest possible purity and power of outline and the greatest possible concentrated rhythmic unity of significance in all the parts of an indivisible artistic whole."

"The inspiration, the way of seeing is frankly not naturalistic, not, that is to say, the vivid, convincing and accurate, the graceful, beautiful or strong, or even the idealised or imaginative imitation of surface or terrestrial nature. The Indian sculptor is concerned with embodying spiritual experiences and impressions, not with recording or glorifying what is received by the physical senses. He may start with suggestions from earthly and physical things, but he produces his work only after he has closed his eyes to the insistence of the physical circumstances, seen them in the psychic memory and transformed them within himself so as to bring out something other than their physical reality or their vital and intellectual significance. His eye sees the psychic line and turn of things and he replaces by them the material contours."

Excerpts from The Renaissance in India and Other Essays on Indian Culture 

Those Quiet Memories

A new post in the series - "All Music is Only the Sound of His Laughter"

Painting by Bindu Popli

A quiet, lazy summer afternoon.

A mother and a daughter sitting side by side on comfortable chairs. Sitting quietly. The daughter is idly browsing through some files on her cell phone, looking for nothing in particular. The mother is meditating with her eyes closed. Or at least trying to meditate. A nice, warm feeling prevails in the room. No sounds, except the slight hiss of the airconditioner, mixed with their quiet breathing.

Out of the blue, the mother opens her eyes and asks the daughter what she was doing. Nothing, she says, and stops fidgeting with her phone. Turns toward her mother, wating for her to speak.

"Do you have any old bhajans on your phone?"

"I don't think so, but let me check. I may have a couple. Do you want to hear some bhajans?"

"No, not really. I just asked because your sister has a lot of bhajans on her phone. The other day, when she visited she played some for me."

"Well, I only keep a few old songs on my phone...here, I found this old song, I think you may like it. Do you want to hear it?"

"Ok, play it."

Voice of Manna Dey, who died yesterday, 24 Oct 2013, Music by Salil Choudhary

As the song plays, they both listen quietly. The song ends. The daughter plays it again. A few tears begin to swell up in corners of their eyes. The song ends. They sit quietly. Just with each other. Just by each other's side. Nobody says anything. Only the silence speaks. Speaks of a quiet love, a quiet longing, maybe a quiet fear of what is to come.

They both know the inevitable can happen any day. The daughter may never have such an afternoon again with her mother. The deadly disease could strike its final blow any day. The memory will always remain with her, of that quiet afternoon, those few minutes spent in her mother's drawing room...listening to the lines...

maa.n kaa dil ban ke kabhii siine se lag jaataa hai tuu 
aur kabhii nanhii.n sii beTii ban ke yaad aataa hai tuu
jitnaa yaad aataa hai mujhko utnaa taDpaataa hai tuu
tujh pe dil qurbaan 

Sometimes you cling to my chest as my mother’s heart,
and sometimes I remember you as my little daughter.
The more I remember you, the more you torment me.
I shall sacrifice my heart for you. 

Motherland. Land of her mother. Her mother's home. Her motherland. What will it be like to visit that home when she is gone? Does a mother's home, a mother's land remain so when the mother is gone?

The daughter may never know the reason why she chose that particular song to share with her mother that afternoon. May be she will.

Click here for the previous post in this series.

On the Road

A Poem and A Song - IV: A Series to Celebrate Art in All Forms 

It is actually quite amazing when you find the same thought being expressed through a picture, a poem, a song, or even a gesture.

Perhaps it happens because the thought has sunk deep into you, at least for the time being, and you just view a certain picture, read a certain poem and hear a certain song as expressions of that singular thought.

Or perhaps they really are conveying the same thought, but in different shades and hues. 

And it just so happens that when that very thought captured your attention, certain pictures, poems and songs also appeared before you allowing you to delve deeper into the thought and let it reveal its deeper essence to you.

Regardless of how it happens, it is always a moment to relish and cherish the beauty. The beauty of the picture, the song, the poem. The beauty of the experience. The beauty of the moment.

Photo by Ismail Okur

It is not just about the walking alone, it is not just about the path we take. It is also, perhaps even more so about the deeper awareness of walking, of being on the road, of becoming the path itself, of recognizing how small we are really amidst the grandeur of all that is around us. It is about becoming quiet and letting the path take us on the journey. On the road. Wherever it leads us. And yet slowly becoming aware and conscious of the journey - outer and inner.

What does this picture say to you? 

Lover's Gifts XLVII: The Road Is

The road is my wedded companion. She speaks to me under my feet all

day, she sings to my dreams all night.

My meeting with her had no beginning, it begins endlessly at

each daybreak, renewing its summer in fresh flowers and songs, and

her every new kiss is the first kiss to me.

The road and I are lovers. I change my dress for her night

after night, leaving the tattered cumber of the old in the wayside

inns when the day dawns. 

~ Rabindranath Tagore

Singer: Hemant Kumar, Composition: Pt. Raghunath Seth, Lyrics: Pt. Narendra Sharma

To see previous posts in this series, click here and here and here.

That Thing We Want...

Another one in the series – “All Music is Only the Sound of His Laughter.”

Day and night begin, you tell me,

When the sun may choose to set or rise.

Well, it may be; but for me their changing

Is determined only by her eyes.

Summer, spring, the fruitless winter

Hinge, you say, upon the heavenly sun?

Oh, but I have known a yearlong winter!

Spring was by her careless smiles begun.

(Sri Aurobindo, Seasons)

Someone sent me two flowers – one in the day and one in the night. Or was it the same flower sent twice? How to tell?

Day and Night, Night and Day. Does the night precede the day? Or is it the other way round? Does it make any difference as long as the fire in the heart stays lit? 

Happiness and Sorrow, Union and Separation, Pleasure and Pain. Two that are in fact One, One that always comes with its Twin.  

Seasons change. Life goes on. Flowers wither. Remembrance of the fragrance remains. Memories fade. Emotions linger. Emotions too grow pale. Still something persists. Something faint…yet intense, something from the past…yet carrying a hope for tomorrow. What is it?

Maybe a little more of the fursat (leisure) in Gulzar-RD Burman style will help contemplate upon this some more:

What is it that the heart searches for?

(Photo credits: Suhas Mehra)

Click here for the previous post in this series.

Timeless Literature, Timeless Songs

A new post in the series - "All Music is Only the Sound of His Laughter"

Sometimes when everything in the present is a bit confusing and chaotic, it helps to take refuge in the past...no, I don’t mean personal past, but the larger history, or to be more precise, historical fiction. At least that’s what I did recently with the help of some of the works of the great Bankim Chandra Chatterji, the seer who gave India the mantra of Bande Mataram. 

Referring to his body of work as “pure gold” Sri Aurobindo writes this about Bankim Chandra: “Bankim, the greatest of novelists, had the versatility developed to its highest expression. Scholar, poet, essayist, novelist, philosopher, lawyer, critic, official, philologian and religious innovator,—the whole world seemed to be shut up in his single brain.” (Early Cultural Writings, pp. 103-104)

Photo credit 

The masterpieces of this pioneering writer, set in a historical backdrop created by a vibrant mix of real events and some wonderful imagination inspired by those real events, are not only a delight to read, but also inspire one to rise beyond one’s narrow concerns and outlook and reach for those noblest heights of character that make life deeply meaningful and fulfilling.

He, whom Sri Aurobindo refers to as Rishi Bankim, “was a great poet, a master of beautiful language and a creator of fair and gracious dream-figures in the world of imagination... It is probable that the literary critic of the future will reckon Kapalkundala, Bishabriksha and Krishnakanter's Will as his artistic masterpieces, and speak with qualified praise of Devi Chaudhurani, Ananda Math, Krishnacharit or Dharmatattwa. Yet it is the Bankim of these latter works and not the Bankim of the great creative masterpieces who will rank among the Makers of Modern India. The earlier Bankim was only a poet and stylist—the later Bankim was a seer and nation-builder.” (ibid., 637-638)

Some of Bankim’s timeless works have also been adapted into films. Who can forget the film based on the classic novel Ananda Math that demonstrates the most unique contribution of Bankim to the cultural and political renaissance of India? It portrays the true spirit of patriotism and love for the motherland guided by a deeper, inner moral strength and spiritual fervour.

And even if one forgets the film, this beautiful song is truly unforgettable.

What a deep calling for the Divine...what divine voices of Geeta Dutt and Hemant Kumar...truly timeless. Selected stanzas of the Dasavatara Strotam from Jayadev’s Geet Govind when set to this remarkable composition by Hemant Kumar make possible for the listener a deep experiential sense of continuity and eternity. Divine Help is there in all times, in all ages...we must know how to Call. 

Lovers of old, I mean really old, Hindi film songs will also certainly remember the next song. The never-forgettable voice of Pankaj Mullick, the song was featured in the film Kopal Kundala made in 1939, based on a novel by Bankim Chandra Chatterji. 

What is unmistaken here is the sheer exuberance and eagerness of a lover going to meet the beloved, the anticipation of a devotee walking the path to unite with his or her Lord.

Bankim Chandra was a class apart in portraying the deeper sentiment of love, love that would be victorious after all kinds of tests and trials, love that would never weaken or chain or enslave but would serve as a deep source of strength for the lovers and set them free to pursue their life’s mission which would be beyond their narrow interests and petty ends. It is fitting to end this post with a beautiful and dreamy romantic song from a 1956 film Durgesh Nandini, based on the first novel written by Bankim Chandra. This again is a melodious composition by Hemant Kumar.

Enjoy!

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"Song is Divine, but More Divine is Love"

Another one in the series - "All Music is Only the Sound of His Laughter"

Artwork by Manu Martin

“Song is divine, but more divine is love.”

Reading this brilliant line in Sri Aurobindo’s play, Vasavadutta, reminded me of two most beautiful songs. How? Why? Don’t know...but what difference does it make?  

One was: 

What beauty! The composition, the singing, the filming of the sequence, and of course, Madhubala. It is the delicacy and gentleness that somehow touches me the most, even though the passion portrayed here is unmistakable. I find here an appealing attempt to harmonize what may seem contradictory – passion and poise. And perhaps this too is the reason why something feels beautiful – when it finds a way to quietly integrate within seemingly diverse elements in a manner which creates a sense of wholeness that is soft yet compelling, gentle yet persuasive. 

The other song that came to my mind was:

The portrayal of love as the flame of the oil lamp in a temple (mandir mein lau diye ki) is so uniquely Indian in its essence. The ideal of complete surrender of the lover and the beloved to each other and the purity and selflessness that can raise human love to its divine potential give this song its essential  beauty and timelessness. Kind of like the timeless beauty of that single line from Sri Aurobindo that inspired this post in the first place.

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Yeh Raat...This Night and the Thought of Kalidasa

Another one in the series - "All Music is Only the Sound of His Laughter."

Love Blooms, Water Colour on Paper, Artist: Bindu Popli, original in my home.

Three songs. One theme – Love.

First up....

This song recently came up in a conversation with my father, who among many other valuable loves in my life, gave me the love for old Hindi film songs, Hemant Kumar and Dev Anand. As I heard this song a few times that evening a few more songs with the same soft and romantic feel and starting with the same phrase “Yeh Raat” came to mind. 

Like this one...

And this one with “raat” in plural...

Who wouldn’t love the way the lover-heart’s seeking for the beloved is so indulgently and beautifully intertwined in these songs with the soft, sensuous and aesthetic portrayal of the nature – the pleasing night, the cool moonlight, the gentle breeze, the shimmering trees, the shining stars, the dancing river...all this tenderly but surely intensifies and enriches the emotion of love and at the same time lifts it up from the level of ordinariness by adding the element of Mother Nature’s loveliness.

Three words come to mind – Beauty, Charm, Elegance.  One theme – Magic!

Co-incidentally (but then perhaps not), the conversation about the Hemant Kumar song “Yeh raat yeh chandni” with my father happened in the evening of the same day that I spent reading about the poetry of Kalidasa and how his work reflected the time and age in which he lived and wrote. Kalidasa was “the supreme poet of the senses, of aesthetic beauty, of sensuous emotion.” He, according to Sri Aurobindo, was a true son of his age – an age that many historians have referred to as the classical age of Indian civilization – in his “dwelling on the artistic, hedonistic, sensuous sides of experience” (Collected Works of Sri Aurobindo, Volume 1, pp. 162-163).

The sensuous and aesthetic appeal of these songs, including the way they are filmed, brings to mind this thought that perhaps something of that age continued (and perhaps to this day continues) to linger on in some corners of the Indian mind which time and again expresses itself in such songs. If Kalidasa was predominantly a “poet of love and beauty and the joy of life”, surely something of the great works he left behind has continued to influence – covertly or overtly – some of the romantics of the classical age of Hindi cinema! This may be a rather big leap of imagination, nonetheless….

But what made Kalidasa a truly remarkable poet-dramatist and uniquely Indian was that he also made “his intellectual passion for higher things, his intense appreciation of knowledge, culture, the religious idea, the ethical ideal, the greatness of ascetic self-mastery” a part of the beauty and interest of life and saw them as admirable elements of the complete and splendid picture of the spirit and form of his age (Sri Aurobindo, CWSA, Volume 20, p. 361). If these songs could somehow remind me of the genius of Kalidasa, perhaps it will be an interesting and revealing exercise to do a close reading of some of the classic films of yesteryears and explore if they too were in some ways able to reflect a Kalidasian-style complete picture of the beauty of life where a refined sensuality co-existed harmoniously with a dignified self-restraint, the flaming passion purified itself in the light of calm reason, and the seeking for delight was accompanied by a quest for a higher and nobler truth. 

An exercise worth the effort, in my opinion, at least! 

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