Blogical Conclusion

BAHUT SHUKRIYA, BADI MEHERBANI…

When OP Nayyar composed this evergreen for Ek Musafir Ek Hasina, did he know that those very words would, one day, express our gratitude for his music? Here’s saying thanks with ten favourites from the composer’s oeuvre.

FEB 4, 2007 - CLIP-CLOP, CLIP-CLOP… THIS GHODA-GAADI BEAT so defined the music of an era that when Raj Kumar Santoshi decided to make a throwback to the frothy comedies of the time with Andaz Apna Apna, he had his music director compose Elo elo, riding on that clip-clop, clip-clop… OP Nayyar practically held the patent on this rhythm, what with Maang ke saath tumhara (Naya Daur) and Piya piya piya (Baap Re Baap) and Zara haule haule chalo (Saawan Ki Ghata), but the best of these is Banda parvar, thaam lo jigar (Phir Wohi Dil Laya Hoon). As Rafi magnificently navigates the ups and downs – or should that be hills and vales, for most of these songs were outdoorsy celebrations of love? – of the tune, a sarangi adds just a touch of sadness, which is instantly countered by the uplift from the soaring violins. The result? A silly, little boy-girl number elevated to high art.

The other staple you readily associate with Nayyar is the voice of Asha Bhosle. In the hands of any other composer, something like Akeli hoon main piya aa (Sambandh) – with its taans and murkis, with its phrasings darting in and out of this raag and that one – would have been an automatic candidate for the other Mangeshkar sister. But OP and Asha – as if to prove, once and for all, that the Lata-Madan Mohan combo couldn’t lay claim to all the semi-classical beauties – pour heart and soul and magic into this slow-burn cry from the heart. The flip side, a slow-burn cry from the loins, is showcased in Yeh hai reshmi zulfon ka andhera (Mere Sanam), a number whose prolonged-tease mukhda segues into an antara that pumps up the tempo to a high point of release before falling back to earth. In other words, foreplay, climax, afterplay.

And this is where I cheat and include all the other numbers from this same album, because how can you mention Asha in Yeh hai reshmi and not mention Asha in Jaayiye aap kahaan jaayenge? Or how can you leave out Rafi’s exuberant Huye hain tumpe aashiq hum, with the lower-octave sitar runs hugging the lines, or his Pukarta chala hoon main, where a Spanish guitar (in tandem with castanets) replicates that famous ghoda-gaadi beat, but at a lazier pace, so that time seems to slow down to the point of meditation – which is really what the best of Rafi’s romantic songs are. More meditation is facilitated by the exquisitely worded Aap ke haseen rukh pe (Bahaaren Phir Bhi Aayengi) and Dil ki aawaz bhi sun (Hum Saaya) and Mujhe dekhkar aap ka muskurana (Ek Musafir Ek Hasina) – which got recycled by Jatin-Lalit as Mujhe raat din (Sangharsh); how fitting that the new version is voiced by Rafi’s Ekalavya, Sonu Nigam – and Hum ko tumhare ishq ne (again, Ek Musafir Ek Hasina), which plays like Naushad’s Madhuban mein Radhika (with a similar alaap-kickoff, no less) dressed up as a cheeky waltz.

But enough about Rafi and romance; let’s move on to Kishore and his madcap zing and that sweetly nutty number from Ragini, where he goes Main Bangali chhokra karoon pyaar ko namaskaram. (The girl coyly replies, Main Madrasi chhokri, mujhe tumse pyaaram.) But the wildest OP-Kishore union has to be what they did with Kitne atal the… tu auron ki kyon ho gayi (Ek Baar Muskura Do). The you-ditched-me-for-someone-else lament is typically paced like a dirge, but this one’s set to a rhythm more appropriate to a high-intensity workout at the treadmill, with guitar interludes apparently channelling RD Burman at his anything-goes best. Perhaps Nayyar got to work so little with Kishore, he felt each outing of theirs had to be out of the ordinary – save for oddities like Meri neendon mein tum (Naya Andaz), where Kishore and Shamshad Begum outlined a fairly conventional (if still pleasing) romantic duet.

But that’s not the OP Nayyar composition we love Shamshad Begum for. It’s Ab to ji hone laga (Mr. & Mrs. 55) – and Kabhi aar kabhi paar (Aar Paar), and those two impish CID solos, Kahin pe nigahen, kahin pe nishana and Boojh mera kya naam re. These three soundtracks, however, are more of a showcase for another female singer, Geeta Dutt. She got – in CID alone – the romantic Aankhon hi aankhon mein and the sultry Jaata kahan hai deewane and the last antara of the all-time favourite (based on the old-West folk ballad Oh My Darling Clementine), Eh dil mushkil… yeh hai Bombay meri jaan, which hasn’t lost a bit of its charm more than fifty years since. It’s timeless, this music. Don’t take my word for it. Ask the makers of the recent Salaam-e-Ishq, who squeezed a remix of Babuji dheere chalna (Aar Paar) into their movie. The dholak may have been replaced by the digital drums, but they’re still playing OP Nayyar’s song.

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