With a tribute to Begum Akhtar in her Centenary Year
I had thought songs of atariya are one of the things – like lori, bidaai songs, bhajan, piano songs etc. – that have been irredeemably lost from our films. Loosely translated as ‘balcony’, atariya was the place where the heroine would go stealthily from the prying eyes of her parents, to wait for her lover, who would come on tip-toe to serenade from below, or if he was more daring, climb up through the drain pipe or a rope or bed sheet, helpfully slung down by the lady. Modesty was a virtue for women not only in India, but also in the West – Romeo too met Juliet on her atariya.
A tribute to Anil Biswas in his centenary year and to Suraiya on her 10th death anniversary
For many years after getting deeply attached to the vintage songs, I regarded Anil Biswas as peripheral to the music career of Suraiya. When I thought of Suraiya, the composers who came to mind most prominently were Naushad, Husnlal Bhagatram and Ghulam Mohammad. Much later, I heard Door papiha bola in a most unlikely situation. This created an impact I had not felt before. Songs of Yore was not on the anvil then, and my browsing the net was also sporadic. Therefore, locating the co-ordinates of the song by chance gave me an indescribable joy, and I started looking at Anil Biswas’s songs for Suraiya in a different light. Door papiha bola represents to me the very essence of every music lover’s relationship with music – a distant call of the papiha in the night, which you wish went on forever, but soon the night is half gone when your tryst has just begun. When I started this blog, effectively its first post was titled Door Papiha Bola.
Guest article by Subodh Agrawal
(It has now become routine for Subodh to surpass the outstanding. He is coming back after a long gap. But if the outcome is this superb piece, we don’t mind his prolonged preparations. It is interesting to note that while the raga itself has gravitas, the word ‘Darbari’ meaning a ‘courtier’ lends itself to some pejorative connotation, giving rise to some interesting trivia and anecdotes. Subodh’s explanation of its difference with ragas in close proximity, such as Adana, is scholarly. Continuing a great beginning to 2014, I present this guest article by Subodh, his 7th in the series on the film songs based on classical ragas. – AK)
Darbari – along with Bhairavi, Yaman and Pahadi – is one of the most commonly used ragas for film music. Having written about Yaman and Pahadi earlier and having enjoyed the experience, I was looking forward to doing this post on Darbari, but my enthusiasm waned considerably after I compiled a list of songs in Darbari in preparation for this article. The songs are good, some of them are great, but few of them really do justice to Darbari. Let me cite just three examples: O duniya ke rakhwale from Baiju Bawra, Dil jalta hai to jalne de from Pehli Nazar and Teri duniya mein dil lagta nahin from Baawre Nain – all three are very good songs but the mood they depict is not what Darbari is meant for. As the name suggests, Darbari has a royal aura about it. There has to be a certain gravitas about it. In my humble opinion it is not meant for the kind of wailing and whining these three songs represent. Composers would be better off using a raga like Todi for such songs.
When I wrote on KC Dey’s songs in Devdas (1935), it just gave a glimpse to the readers of how great a singer he was if he could be so moving in the songs which are relatively unknown. Long before that post, I had planned to present my top favourite songs of KC Dey which got delayed for one reason or the other. With the desire rekindled I had to do it sooner than later.
SoY heralds 2014 as the Year of Anil Biswas with guest article by Shikha Biswas Vohra
(Anil Biswas is described as the ‘Bhishm Pitamah’ of Hindi film music, though he used to describe RC Boral as the Father, and himself, somewhat jocularly, as the Uncle (Chacha) of film music. Yet, did he get his due, and does the country remember his legacy adequately? In one of the most hyped programmes on our cinema’s centenary last year, ‘Bollywood@100’, presented by Karan Johar on the venerable History channel, in the episode on the best music directors, Anil Biswas’s name was missing in the list of about two dozen composers! This was blasphemy, and I decided that I would recompense for it adequately on Songs of Yore in his Centenary Year, 2014 (b. 7 July 1914, d. 31 May 2003). Fortuitously, around that time Mrs Shikha Biswas Vohra came across SoY for the first time, and posted a very generous comment on one of my articles. I was familiar with her name having seen her in a TV programme. She very kindly agreed to write the Inaugural Article in the series – we cannot have a better placed person than his daughter, who has seen him as father, as a maestro, and has also seen the industry as an insider, to do the honour. I am delighted to wish the readers a Very Happy Centenary Year of Anil Biswas with this lyrical tribute by Shikhaji to the great man. – AK)
ANIL BISWAS….The Maestro
Many years ago, when Indian cinema was in a nascent stage, there came into its stream a clutch of fine dedicated men. They came to shape its history and define its metaphors. These men were dreamers and seekers, who had run the gamut of struggle, the looking at hunger in the face, the sleeping on pavements. They sought to contribute their knowledge and skills to shape this new exciting medium to an established art form. Each contributed a style distinctive and individualistic. They gave freely of their time, inspiration and talent without expectation of rewards and returns. They worked with honesty, principles and earnestness, a reflection of their time.
The Songs of Yore Award for the Best Music Director goes to?
Canasya asked in one of the posts in this series, what was the avowed objective of these posts? Jignesh mentioned that SoY Awards have surpassed the fame of Filmfare Awards (I like that 
). Filmfare is indeed a reference point, because this series started last year on some readers’ suggestions that I do a year-wise review of the best songs of pre-Filmfare years. The somewhat presumptuous title and style of writing is all for enjoyment. But music is a serious thing, and the discussions have become deeply involved, the comments both in quantity and quality have increased significantly compared to the last year. So to answer Canasya’s question – some like-minded people, most of whom know each other only in the cyberspace and who are deeply passionate about music, are together embarking on this wonderful voyage of reminiscing about and rediscovering old film music. The survey article together with Wrap Up 1 on the best male playback singer, Wrap Up 2 on the best female playback singer and Wrap Up 3 on the best duets and the present final Wrap Up together represent probably the most unique and comprehensive discussion of the entire music of a particular year. The Final Wrap Up is based on the previous posts and the readers’ comments, naturally, and seeks to focus on the best music director(s) of the year.
Guest article by N Venkataraman
(In my introduction to Venkataramanji’s last article, I had traced how he had originally planned to write three articles on Tamil-Hindi version songs, which he later decided to expand to five. This is his fourth, which looks at similar songs from Tamil films remade from Hindi films. Its converse, i.e. remakes from Tamil to Hindi, would be his last, but surely not the last of the mega series on Multiple Version Songs. For new visitors to Songs of Yore, this mega project is the brainchild of an SoY regular, Mr Ashok M Vaishnav. Without repeating what I have said earlier, the best way to understand how it came about is to browse through old articles in the series, which are all placed here. – AK)
Winter has heralded its arrival and I am out of my ‘monsoon hibernation’. Hibernation is only a state of mind and it takes very little time and, of course, effort to wake up. Incessant monsoon rains can make one sleepy and at time depressed. Autumn followed by winter brings in clear sky and hope. With gentle breeze blowing and clear blue sky, it is time to set the sail once again.
Wishing her a very happy 77th birth anniversary
A female playback singer in the 1950s and 60s, if she did not bear the name Lata Mangeshkar or Asha Bhosle, was in a very unenviable position. She knew she had to remain consigned to the outer orbit. The world of male playback singers was a complete contrast. Here also someone sang a few hundred songs and another person ten times more, but everyone had his passionate following; the respect a singer enjoyed was not exactly correlated to the number of songs he did; and you don’t hear stories of someone doing the rehearsal and discovering that final recording was done in another voice.
You need not rub your eyes; this post is indeed about KC Dey’s songs in Devdas (1935). I know that this movie is synonymous with KL Saigal and his eternal songs – Balam aye baso more man mein, Dukh ke ab din beetat naahi and his rendering of Abdul Karim Khan’s thumri, Piya bin nahi aawat chain. Even though Saratchandra’s novel came about two decades earlier, it was Saigal who made the eponymous character a metaphor for a doomed lover who could not stand up to his parents’ notion of loss of honour in marrying into a family of lower status. Paro gets into a loveless marriage with a much older widower, who has children her age from his previous marriage, and Devdas hurtles on the path of self-destruction – even the selfless love of the dancing girl, Chandramukhi, not being able to rescue him.
In the radio era, when the faintest strains of Sun mere bandhu re or O re majhi mere sajan hain us paar fell into my ears from a distant radio, I would be inexorably drawn towards it, as if pulled by a magnet. SD Burman’s either of these two songs would tower over twenty other songs in a one hour programme. These songs were enough to give him an immortal place in film music; but he sang about a dozen more, such as Wahan kaun hai tera, Safal hogi teri aradhana, Doli mein bithai ke kahar etc. Harvey has written an excellent post on his film songs.
I had thought songs of atariya are one of the things – like lori, bidaai songs, bhajan, piano songs etc. – that have been irredeemably lost from our films. Loosely translated as ‘balcony’, atariya was the place where the heroine would go stealthily from the prying eyes of her parents, to wait for her lover, who would come on tip-toe to serenade from below, or if he was more daring, climb up through the drain pipe or a rope or bed sheet, helpfully slung down by the lady. Modesty was a virtue for women not only in India, but also in the West – Romeo too met Juliet on her atariya. 
