Music & Lyrics

The song “Jai Ho!” from the movie “Slumdog Millionaire” seems to be a resounding success, winning not only the Oscar but the hearts of thousands of people. A lot of young people I know, who do not understand the Hindi lyrics, have nevertheless taken to the song. As Rahman himself said in an interview, the phrase “Jai Ho!” gives a burst of positive energy – probably why it became stupendously popular, even though we know it is not one of his best compositions.

Some songs have that magic – they come to mean so many things to us. Not just the lyrics, or the music, or the tempo; there seems to be an extra, magical ingredient that gives the song a special something. Something that lifts it from a musical composition of words, into a song that stirs emotions and feelings in us, a song that sometimes even brings solace to our wounded hearts, or makes us feel we are not alone.

There are many such songs that have come to mean a great deal to me – songs that have helped me face difficult situations, songs that have helped me understand life. Probably because so many memories are connected to these songs, even today when I listen to them, those emotions come flooding back.

One song that kept me going during the two and a half months that I lived in Bombay alone was from the movie “1942 – A Love Story”. My husband was in Chennai, and my little daughter was with my parents in Coimbatore. I had to stay back in Bombay to finish my thesis, and every evening I would come back home to an empty flat. The loneliness was terrible, and there were times when I would feel like throwing up everything and running home to my family. Only the thought of chucking up all the hard work kept me from doing it. That, and the song "Yeh safar bahut hai katin magar/ Na udhaas ho mere hamsafar”. I listened to it so many times during the day, over and over again, especially the lines “Nahi rehenewale yeh mushikilen/ Hai yeh agale mod pe manzilen”.
And yes, the destination was just around the corner; I only had to keep going till I reached it.

I find I listen to different kinds of music at different times, to suit different moods. But when I am really down in the dumps, I go back to classical music. I need the strains of Carnatic kritis to calm me down, or to lift up my spirits. One of my favourite kritis is the beautiful “Rangapura Vihara” in Brindavanasaranga. I have listened to it since childhood, and MS’s beautiful soulful voice only added to the magic of the song. It has the power still, to lift me up from the darkest depths. Many other kritis are also important to me and although I do not always understand the words, the music or the raga lifts my spirit.

That is why I feel it is not just the music or the lyrics, but a certain something, a special ingredient, which gives these songs a magical allure that they may continue to weave their spell on us.

Music, and more. . .

Growing up in the 60's and 70's, our main source of entertainment was the radio. After the early morning Suprabatham which woke us up from sleep, it was the radio that ran our lives. I would know when a certain programme started that it was time to queue up for a bath (sharing a bathroom with 3 siblings called for a certain amount of planning!), or when the news started at 8, it was time to get out of the house or else I would miss the bus.

In our house, the radio was on most of the day. At 3.30 p.m., however, we would switch loyalties and tune into Radio Ceylon. Till 4.30 or 5, it would be a feast of Malayalam film songs, and later it would be Tamil programmes. With the advent of the transistor radio, it was easier for us to carry our music with us wherever we went, although tuning the radio station was sometimes a nightmare!

Unlike song clips on television, the radio sharpened our auditory faculties. Listening to the songs, we picked up the words quite easily and sang along happily, even if we did go off-key sometimes. The presenters, unlike our RJs, did not talk non-stop. They were dignified, clear in their diction, and had great panache. I remember the popular Tamil presenter on Radio Ceylon, K.S.Raja, signing off in style, rolling the "R" in his name.

Sometimes we got more than music on the radio. At times, a film's entire soundtrack would be broadcast. Since movie-going was not a frequent activity, I would sit glued to the radio, listening to every word as I visualized the movie in my head. I distinctly remember listening to "Thiruvilayadal", "Pattikada Pattanama", and "Sollathan Ninaikkiren" among others. It also helped that films those days were more "wordy", leaving nothing left unsaid. Later in life, when I finally saw these movies, I realized that the movies in my head were better!

I'm glad radio has staged a comeback, but it is a newer, brasher version and I still have to get used to it. It also, unfortunately, has to compete with the visually more attractive television and internet and can no longer claim complete integration into our lives. No wonder our poor RJs talk so much!