I have often wondered about the very curdled natures of our opinions so much so that the perch of imagination simply becomes a bystanding abstraction and real thoughts of genuine merit slip between the fingers. That is a human tendency, to beat arou...
As my essay collection progresses into the realm of the personal intermingling with the universal, I have found that the quintessential point of a space definitive of our existence and livelihood has flown seamlessly from the previous two parts. A collective omnibus houses our private churnings, moving from one point to another as life scripts new adventures of the mind and spirit. Hence the privilege of finding that sacred space- a home to give refuge to our true and innate selfhood. The idea of the heart as home of our fiercely personal torrents of thoughts is something I adhere to. As such, as the title suggests, the heart is a lonely island and much as personal journals and diaries have a secretly lush inner world to communicate in an internalized manner, the subtle and implicit art of songwriting is the outlet that universally connects our inner world with the outside.
The functional meaning of a song is actually born out of this private sphere and while most of us become discerning listeners, the more judicious ones give permanence to them through poetry. Lyrics or songwriting is the most complex and oftentimes pithy branch of literary characterisation. The slightest touch, grandest emotions and a lone refrain or word can imbibe multitudes and multiply its potency of expressive range. The field is versatile and spontaneous even when there is the effort that envisions memorable songs. They symbolize the language of our soul or Aatma as we call it in Indian canon. We are not alone then. There is no conflict in this union and the words, it seems, flow out of our own being as the writer is ultimately a flesh and blood human and utilises the same faculties.
So taking the baton forward, I present to you the rich tapestry of internalized personal habitats in two landmark Indian film songs from the classic epoch(1960's to 70's). In this first part, I write about one of them. The beauty, melancholy and dignified distance invested in them bring the pining heart and the hopeful soul together in perfect tandem. The trajectory of life thrives to bring individual voices forward.
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The first song that I talk about is from the landmark film Gaman(1978). It's one of the most visually and symbolically arresting marvels of cinema in which the transfer of loyalties under changing circumstances take the reins of young lives, who cannot afford to dream beyond their meager financial gains and personal setbacks. The permanent security of their nondescript homes is far from a comforting idea as pressures of subsistence mount and fears of an empty stomach and a future void of any promise looms on the flickering horizon. To go with the flow and give up sentimentalism is the only accreditation to truth.
In this overwhelming but humbling truth is the punctured beauty and stillwater composure of making ends meet. Yet the heart endures, it pines and in its nostalgic fortitude bears out a long day's journey into night. Here it is about a newly married couple who lives in the shadows of crumbling aristocracy in a village in North India where the present is bleak and like a ghost informs the poor population about its impending desolation. In a post colonial nation, the humbler occupants of this social compartment still have survival to contemplate upon and their lands and farming have given them no respite from debts. As the central characters are Khairun( the iconic Smita Patil) and Ghulam Hasan( another stalwart Farooq Sheikh) and are Muslims, shot as the film was in the erstwhile Muslim and predominantly secular princely state of Kotwara, they could be the dilapidated shells of a centuries old lineage which may have had connections in the past and seen better days. But rampant unemployment, educational lacuna and a hand to mouth existence contextualize a move to the big city for the man. The name Khairun itself has a certain melancholic ring to it, I think and Ghulam as his name goes becomes a slave of his fated new beginnings. Their taciturn marital bond presented in brief moments together are tested by the eventual division by time and place.
