The revolutionary music genius: Salil Chaudhary
A tribute to Salil Chaudhry on his birth anniversary (November 19) by guest author Sadanand Warrier
(SoY regulars are familiar with a more famous Warrier – Anuradha or Anu. Her husband, Sadanand, prefers to keep his immense knowledge hidden under the Nom de plume “SSW”. Now that the cover is blown, readers are familiar with his ability to traverse seamlessly from music to literature to science to history to economics, from English to Hindi to Malayalam to Tamil to Telugu, from komal gaandhar to F Major to teevra madhyam, and from Western Classical to pop to Hindustani to Carnatic to ghazal to opera to film songs.
Acknowledged as a revolutionary genius from his very first score in “Do Bigha Zameen” (1953), Salil Chaudhary was a multifaceted talent, earning renown as a short story writer, lyricist, music scholar and left-wing activist, besides music director. He was also probably the most multi-lingual composer. I envisage a series of articles to do full justice to him by more than one guest author. There can’t be a more befitting person than SSW to set off the series on Salil Chaudhary – I am grateful that he accepted my request to write this guest article as a tribute on his birth anniversary (b. 19 November 1925, d. 5 September 1995). He informs me that Anu has helped him a lot in doing this article, I thank her too. Enjoy this learned article, laced with SSW’s characteristic humour – AK)
I am a relatively new visitor to the Songs of Yore website. I started reading articles on it more frequently during the last year, but I do not get to spend as much time as I would like to on it. I have commented on some topics where I could contribute something, but I have relatively little of value to say on most of the articles. On the other hand, I have learnt a lot from reading those articles that I have visited, and time permitting, I shall be reading more. But my few comments seemed to have piqued AK enough to ask me to contribute an article on the use of instruments in Hindi film music of the era that the website is dedicated to. I have not yet done so, primarily because while I know of some of the instrumentalists, I am not in any position to be accurate about them. So when AK asked us (my wife and me, possibly because he had no idea whether I could write more than one paragraph coherently) to contribute an article on Salil Chowdhury, I did think seriously about it. My wife has already written an article on Salilda on her blog, so she offered to look over my shoulder while watching me work. So, thanks to AK, this is my article on Salilda, a composer who I admire the most in the realm of Indian popular song. In some ways, I feel that his influence is felt more in my native state of Kerala because, even today, I see his influence amongst the younger composers. That is perhaps because I am not as familiar with modern Bengali composers; I am quite sure he has influenced them too.
My first introduction to Salilda was not through Hindi, though I grew up in Bombay and remember pottering around in our flat, singing Zindagi ek safar hai suhana…idli idli dosa dosa… We Malayalees pronounce dosa as ‘dosha’ (दोशा). Malayalam has a liberal number of consonants and we are prone to using as many as we can in a single word. I still remember my Goan friend Lalita tell my mother, “Auntie, my name is Lalita, not Lalitha.” I suppose that is okay; in Bengali, she might have been Lolita and that would have given Mr. Nabokov some food for thought. But I digress.
My exposure to music as a child was entirely through the radio; we had no record or spool player, and our radio was an old tube model made by National Ecko. It was multiband, and with its external antenna, could capture a lot of radio stations, and I spent a lot of time listening to exotic stations like Radio Netherlands, Radio Australia, BBC, and VOA, in addition to Vividh Bharati.
Vividh Bharati had a programme at 3.30 on Saturdays which would play popular music from the South. I think fifteen minutes were set aside for Malayalam. This song from Chemeen was my introduction to Salilda’s music and it was the beginning of a love affair that has never ceased.
Kadalinakkare ponore by Yesudasfrom Chemmeen (1966)
I was too young to notice the subtleties of the instrumentation and rhythms then, but the starting mandolin with the strings joining in, still stood out for me. Yesudas’s voice, at that point, was just beginning to flower into the magnificent baritone that it would become in the 70s and 80s. Later, I would begin to appreciate the interludes with the oboe/shehnai backed by violins, the rhythm on the dholak shifting imperceptibly during the antara, and if you listen carefully to the verses themselves, the backing instruments, Salilda’s trademark, playing a different melody from the main theme until the end where they join the voice and sing together.
This is the Bengali version, which was probably recorded around the same time; see how different it sounds:
The next song I remember noticing was Kahin door jab din dhal jaaye. Anandwas a big hit and the radio was always playing the songs from it. Sadly in those days it was never played in its entirety on the radio because of its length. I loved the chimes, the flute prelude, the chimes again simulating bells around the bullock’s neck, the opening chords of the guitar in the key of F Major as Mukesh begins the song. Then the congas join providing the percussion while all along the orchestra plays behind Mukesh, not following the voice but playing accompaniment. The first and third interludes are similar but the second is different, where the dark colour of the strings is lightened by the high flute.
Kahin door jab din dhal jaaye by Mukesh from Anand (1970), lyrics Yogesh
The Bengali version by Hemant Kumar is arguably more complex, and the prelude by the strings reminds me strongly of the prelude of Aansoo samajh ke kyon mujhe. See how different the interludes are.
Then TV came to Bombay and we had Doordarshan transmit old movies on Sunday evenings. This opened my ears to a lot of music by Salilda in Hindi that I had not heard, but sometimes Bhoole Bhisre Geet on the radio would play songs that were really Bhoole and Bisre. Like this one:
Naam mera Nimmo muqaam Ludhiyana by Lata Mangeshkar, Manna Dey and Dwijen Mukherjee from Sapan Suhaane (1961), lyrics Shailendra
Ostensibly taking the guise of a Punjabi folk song, this becomes very non-Indian in its use of harmonies, the abrupt vocal climbs by Lata when she sings aho ri, the continuous drone of the pipes offset by the other instruments playing a melody, and the male voices providing the short bass accompaniment as the words Naam mera Nimmo is sung. Yet the execution is all Indian. SoY reader Gaby had pointed out some Salilda numbers also existing in Kannada; I would like to provide the Kannada version of this song. It is a cabaret number, beautifully sung by LR Easwari. I love this song because the setting is completely different, so are the instruments. The obligatos played by the tenor saxophone, guitar and keyboards are magnificent.
When we were discussing one of Salilda‘s compositions in a conversation on a Salilda fans group a few years ago, Gautam Choudhury, who has created and maintained the salilda.com website, remarked that when you listen to the different versions of Salilda’s songs that he created in different languages, it was like looking at the same painting painted at different times of the day using different colours. His statement stayed with me because it was an excellent description of the ways Salilda would change a composition to fit the mood of a film, the instruments he used during rehearsals and recordings, and the calibre of instrumentalists he had. Like some other music directors of his time, he took the time and effort to understand the film in its entirety, and not just the scene itself. Take this song for example:
Dhitanag dhitang bole by Lata Mangeshkar from Aawaaz (1956), lyrics Prem Dhavan
When the Hindi version begins, the beats of the dhol and the tabla make you think that you are going to hear a Maharashtrian laavani, but instead, the tabla rhythm changes and the song segues softly into the asthmatic wheezing of an accordion, followed by the distinct lilt of the mandolin betraying its Portuguese influences. I have heard the same rhythm in songs from Galicia and Portugal, and if you close your eyes, you can see the sands of Goa. In the original Bengali version sung by Hemant Kumar, you cannot rid yourself of the idea that this song could be from the Northeast. It is faster, but even here, you can hear the flute playing while Hemantda sings, laying the basis of a chord framework.
This duet by P Susheela and Jayachandran with a bigger chorus, a sort of basso profundo added, completely different interludes, and different syncopation marks the changes in the Malayalam version of the same song. P Susheela begins the song, and she sings beautifully high seconds during the chorus.
Another Salilda song that is close to my heart is this one, because it is a not-very-frequent Asha Bhosle-Salilda combination. There are some lovely accordion pieces, and I like the mandolin, backed by the double bass, and the standard flute-clarinet combination. It is sung almost like a conversational monologue. In the last verse, when Asha sings Yun na ho bekal, milenge kal, balam ghabarana na, the accordion changes from playing a straight melodic line into a quick percussive backing to the voice. It is beautifully done. The picturisation is also excellent. I could really like Mala Sinha here. She does a wonderful job at times, and those large eyes could rival Daisy Irani’s moppet looks. This movie has several other wonderful numbers too, but, oddly, there is not a single Lata song in the film.
Koi dekhe to kahe mujhko by Asha Bhosle from Aawaaz (1957), lyrics Majrooh Sultanpuri
Salilda used folk influences wherever he found them, but this particular song is rooted very much in his native Bengal, a Bhatiali song with perhaps a Baul influence. There is not much use of chordal harmony here, though the harmonium is quietly present in the background. Sung by Hemant Kumar:
Ganga aaye kahan se Ganga jaye kahan re by Hemant Kumar fromKabuliwala (1961), lyrics Gulzar
Manna Dey’s version in Bengali is a wonderful deviation; his voice is as melodious as a flute, but there is more instrumentation here.
Salilda’s early work in his Bengali songs of mass awakening had a lot of experiments with choral singing. In some ways choral songs are a great tool to mobilise people. A simple refrain that people can sing and march to does wonders for your psyche. Of course the next song is anything but simple and the dichotomy is stark. The musical setting is completely western, the scene is completely Indian. The song starts with a single piano chord followed by the oboe (at least, I think it is an oboe because of the clear bell like note, though itcould be an E flat clarinet) and a lamp is lit in front of a deity. Lata begins the song unaccompanied; then, the chorus starts up and if you listen carefully, you realise that in the chorus, there are two melodic strains. The higher one, which is more noticeable, and the lower one which runs as a sort of counterpoint. This is again typical Salilda. All the voices are not doing the same thing. It is difficult to catch this on computer speakers especially in the beginning. A good pair of headphones can help isolate the two lines. Now there is seemingly no rhythmic instrument in the song. It seems to be driven forward entirely by the chorus with the piano occasionally providing the impetus. There are also some lovely flute pieces imitating bird calls.
Mere man ke diye by Lata Mangeshkar from Parakh (1960), lyrics Shailendra
Speaking of flutes and bird calls, many instrumentalists have remarked on Salilda’s marked partiality for the Indian flute. In many of his compositions he used a variety of flutes to lend depth and variety. This song is one where he has used Sandhya Mukherjee’s voice like a flute. The song starts with the B Major chord. Long flute notes are backed softly by the guitar and then a little trill on the santoor. Sandhya Mukherjee then begins the song, accompanied by the tabla and backing strings. There are lovely accordion obligatos in the interludes, and in the antaras, you can hear Sandhya Mukherjee take the notes exactly like a flute. When she is singing, the orchestra is off on its own exploring its own melody. The song ends beautifully. The way she takes the final notes is wonderful because there is scarce a breath in between the notes as she comes back down in the scale.
I began this article with the first song I heard by Salilda. It was in Malayalam. He passed away in 1995. His last released film in Malayalam was in 1994. Each song in it was beautiful and all with one exception had been composed earlier in Bengali and Hindi. One was a beautiful adaptation of Machalti Arzoo from Usne Kaha Tha sung here by Yesudas and Chitra.
Another beautiful composition was done earlier in Bengali, where he was experimenting with suspended chords.
But one song was a brand new composition, and as far as we know, has never been used elsewhere and will now never be used again with Salilda’s unique touch. It starts a lovely violin obligato and then we have Yesudas come in. Loosely based on the Shubha Panthuvarali raga, it shows he was still going strong in his 70s.
This article does not represent even a tenth of the variety of Salilda’s music, let alone his output as a short story writer, lyricist, etc. He wrote the original script for Do Bigha Zameen. He wrote the lyrics for almost all his Bengali compositions. His work with Shailendra in Hindi and Vayalar Rama Varma and ONV Kurup in Malayalam denotes a deep understanding of the underlying stories, scenes, etc in each of the films he worked with them. He gave the background music for all his films, as well as for films in which other MDs had composed the songs. Even the title music in his films had that inimitable touch, and often he would use a snatch of a melody in an interlude or a title to create another song. Lastly, I must thank Gautam Choudhury’s painstaking efforts in trying to get all of Salilda’s compositions in one place. Gautamda has striven to make salilda.com available to everybody, in many cases cleaning up the songs from old tapes and film cassettes to preserve the original compositions with as much fidelity as possible. I have provided links to the audio on his websites, as the fidelity to the music is much better, but also included the videos where necessary.
It would be better to listen to the audios on Gautamda‘s website and I would suggest listening with a pair of good quality headphones to appreciate the music. Computer speakers usually do not provide good acoustic dynamics.