The urge to learn a new language breathes down my back the most when I realise how a treasure trove of heart-rending music remains beyond my reach. The Malayalam movie Mayaanadhi’s (2017) rendition of Bawra Mann (cue: Swanand Kirkire, Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi) took me to Sachin Siby’s rendition of Kanmani Anbodhu, of which I understood not a single word. That took me to Yaro Yarodi from Alaipayuthey (people north of the Vindhyas identify it as the Tamil version of the Rani Mukerji-Vivek Oberoi starrer Saathiya. Oh, the delusional North Indians!).
Life came a full circle when after an unguided (but fulfilling) tour down south, I landed in New Delhi with Tu Bin Bataye (from Rang De Basanti). I can say, without much of a doubt, that this is the most romantic song of our generation. I refrain from calling it the ‘romantic anthem’ of our generation, because ‘anthem’ now connotes a sense of compulsion and I would shudder to compel anyone to fall in love whenever Tu Bin Bataye plays!
What never escapes me is the unbearable sadness of this song. Sadness not because I know (now) that Sonia (Soha Ali Khan) and Ajay’s (R Madhavan) love is not to last (at least, not in this universe). Sadness also not because I know this motley bunch will not survive the end of this movie. Sadness not because soon after this, Lukka Chippi played which tore my heart apart more than Maa (from that preachy gem of a movie called Taare Zameen Par) ever could. My sadness stems from the silent tale of unrequited love that plays out on Karan’s (Siddharth Narayan) face right after Ajay proposes to Sonia. This tiny piece of information seemed to have hit him like a rock. I am unable to decipher what exactly he felt at that moment. Did he wish for some more time to absorb this news? Or did he wish for the proposal and the accompanying excitement of his friends to wind up soon, so that he could go back to being the silent brooder that he was?
Maybe, just maybe, he remained untouched and nothing unusual really went on in his mind (which would mean that my imagination is quite fertile). But even twelve years after Rang De Basanti released, the thought that bothers me most is whether Karan felt a tinge of attraction toward Sonia, and there’s (rather, his) was a story never meant to be. That day is not far when I am going to post a question on Quora and crowdsource an answer for myself, not wanting to spend any more years of my adult life with this quandary.
I believe that every generation is blessed with two love songs, one that characterises the intoxicating sensation of falling in love, and the other that plays right before the impending tragedy of separation. For me, Hoshwaalon ko Khabar (from the spectacular Sarfarosh) ticks the first box. The way the song plays out in the movie is symbolic of how falling in love (or for the more flippant amongst us, crushing on someone) can be teasingly (and incredibly) painful. It is a relief then that the song leaves me with a broad smile, by the time it ends. In more recent times, Aatach Baya Ka Bavarla from the Marathi movie Sairat spectacularly conveys the bliss of falling in love. Courtesy the recent brutal assault on this sleeper hit from 2016, I was reminded of how Sairat’s music was as captivating as its performances. The name of the song loosely translates to the female protagonist’s bewilderment as to why her heart has faltered and heartbeat increased, and if that does not signify the gay abandon with which one falls in love, I am not sure what does.
Tu Bin Bataye, on the other hand, is haunting from the word go. I listen to Tu Bin Bataye whenever I crave a sad love song. Not to get too intense, but a tear or two complement this melody quite well. What comes close to the sentiment of this song is the subtle sadness of Bezubaan from the truly delightful (and immensely relatable) Piku (2015). Let us not forget that Piku gave Bollywood Anupam Roy, who tugged right at our heartstrings when the lyrics went ‘jeene ki ye kaisi aadat lagi; bematlab karze chadh gaye…..’ Oh, the beauty! When not making us ponder over the tribulations surrounding bowel movements, Piku was busy mesmerising us with its music. No wonder then that Bezubaan has had a piece of my heart since 2015.
It is hard to disagree when people say music transcends boundaries. The beauty of music is readily absorbed even without literally grasping the lyrics of a song. Of the numerous resolutions for this year, learning an Indian language is almost an imminent necessity (not quite, but well..). By the end of this year, hopefully, I would have found my two characteristic love songs in a language other than Hindi as well. Here’s hoping!
**Ritwika Sharma is a lawyer based in Pune.