A quick trip through the nine moods – nava rasas – of the Indian film song.
Which song would you pick as a depiction of Śṛungāram (Love)? There are hundreds. Abhi na jaao chhod kar, for instance. He’s saying don’t leave me yet, the heart hasn’t had its fill of you. She protests. It’s late. The stars are out. If I don’t leave now, I never will. Tune, lyrics, star charisma – everything fuses together to explain why we, in our movies, love the musical interlude. But Abhi na jaao is still a fairly straightforward love song. Consider, on the other hand, Dhoondho dhoondho re sajana from Gunga Jumna. It’s about love, yes, but also something else. Those days, you couldn’t show sex on screen, so here’s the next best thing – the implication of sex. It’s the morning after the wedding night. The heroine’s earring is caught on the hero’s kurta. She’s looking for it, singing about it, dancing around it. It’s a marvellous example of communication through non-verbal (i.e. non-dialogue) means – between characters, between characters and audience.
That’s what a musical interlude is about, though the American critic Pauline Kael might have disagreed. Her idea of a musical was something like Bob Fosse’s Cabaret, where the numbers are mounted as stage performances, commenting on the action, instead of having people on the streets, say, burst into song. She wrote, “Cabaret violates the wholesome approach of big musicals… It violates the pseudo-naturalistic tradition – the Oklahoma!-South Pacific-West Side Story tradition, which requires that the songs appear to grow organically out of the story.” But we revel in this “pseudo-naturalistic tradition” – when done right, our songs grow organically from the script. Take Yeh dosti (Sholay) and Sar jo tera chakraye (Pyaasa). These songs come about because it’s time – in the script – to establish these characters, who they are, what they do. Yeh dosti even introduces the coin toss, which will go on to become a major narrative device. The mood in these songs? Hāsyam (Laughter).
A few weeks ago, I got a letter saying that the students of Davidson College, North Carolina, USA, were in Chennai for their Semester Abroad program. This included a series of lectures for a course titled Cognition of the Performing Arts, India. (I guess Indian Performing Arts didn’t sound forbidding enough for a college course costing tens of thousands.) The organisers asked me to present something about (their words) “creating mood through music and songs in Indian films.” I decided to take the navarasa route – showing them songs that conformed to the nine dominant emotions of Indian art, especially dance. To my mind, it was as good an accordion approach as any.
Whenever faced with a non-Indian audience, I am in two minds. Should I ease them into Indian cinema, with examples that are somewhat like the films they are used to? Or should I kick them into the deep end, with hardcore mainstream-cinema clips, to impress on them how thoroughly different our cinema, our culture is? I did the latter with a German media delegation, who wanted a whistle-stop tour of Indian cinema. I showed them clips from Benegal, Raj Kapoor, Ray, and also our amman (goddess) movies and snake-worship films (Vellikizhamai Viratham). The latter made them sit up. They’ve seen some form of Benegal/Ray/Kapoor – either the films themselves or the style of filmmaking – but they’ve never seen a cobra performing action-hero moves to save the husband of a snake-worshipper from a glass of poisoned milk. They laughed at first. At some level, it is ridiculous. But then we got talking about traditions and myths and cultural symbols, and it grew into a great discussion.
But songs pose a bigger challenge than kung-fu cobras. The musical is practically extinct in Hollywood, and modern-day viewers find it odd that an orchestra erupts out of nowhere and the singers are perfectly in sync and everyone knows the steps. Audiences find it difficult to wrap their mind around the fact that though this isn’t “natural,” it’s still “real” within the context of the film. Take Tu bin bataye (Rang De Basanti). I picked this as an example of Śāntam (Peace), because it’s a tranquil interlude at this point in the screenplay, before the students begin to wage war. I love the placement of this song. Madhavan has just proposed to Soha Ali Khan. The friends are crazy-happy. This beautiful tune comes on, making us smile with them – and we carry this emotion into the second half, only to have it destroyed, bit by agonising bit. Take this song away, and you have a very different movie.
I had a lot of fun “researching” for this talk, which, in my line of work, means spending hours with YouTube. For Kāruṇyam (Compassion), I picked O duniya ke rakhwale (Baiju Bawra). Bharat Bhushan. Glycerine. Enough said. For Raudram (Fury), I chose Jee karda (Badlapur), which also illustrates the “promotional music video” aspect of our songs. It gives us a glimpse into what the film is about – the mood, the characters, the newspaper headline that gives away a bit of plot. For Bhayānakam (Horror), I picked Jhoom jhoom dhalti raat (Kohraa), a terrific instance of mood-creation through song. Waheeda Rehman’s terror is depicted through the piercing deliberateness of the composition, and through visuals that contrast her smallness with the enormity of the malevolent mansion. It helped that the film is a remake of Rebecca, so you can see how prose like that can be moulded to the Indian format of prose-poetry, with songs doing some of the storytelling.
For Veeram (Heroism), instead of showing songs about valour, I opted for Tattad tattad (Goliyon ki Ras-Leela Ram Leela) and Dil cheez kya hai (Umrao Jaan) – the former a hero-introduction song, the latter a heroine-introduction song. This is, after all, a unique Indian tradition, to have the hero/heroine make their first appearance in a song sequence. Adbhutam (Wonder) was easy. I chose the title song of Chaudhvin Ka Chand, where Guru Dutt gazes in wonderment at (the sleeping) Waheeda Rehman, something that people might find creepy today – as these students did. Another Guru Dutt song – Yeh mehlon (Pyaasa) – raised its hand as an instant candidate for Bībhatsam (Disgust). What is this number if not an expression of disgust for the world we are trapped in? For Bhakti (Devotion), I chose Illaadadondrum illai, the magnificent TR Mahalingam prayer from Thiruvilayadal. You may have noticed that this is the only non-Hindi number in the playlist. With reason. It’s the only one I could find with subtitles – so I’m going to end with one of my favourite rants. Increasing numbers of non-Indians are beginning to look at Indian cinema. Ignore subtitles at your own peril.
An edited version of this piece can be found here. Copyright ©2015 The Hindu. This article may not be reproduced in its entirety without permission. A link to this URL, instead, would be appreciated.
MANK
November 14, 2015
Brangan, great to read this piece. I wished you had gone in a little more detail into the students reactions. More details about their views on Indian cinema and how much familiar they are with it and so on
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Ranjit Nair
November 14, 2015
BR…Great article. The video of the navarasa above instantly brought to mind a sequence from the Malayalam movie Udhayanaanu Thaaram, which was remade into Tamil with Prithviraj and Prakashraj (forget the name). Here goes.
Also one of my favorite depictions of explicit sringara is again from a Malayalam movie, this time with Manju Warrier and Thilakan. Here is that clip.
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Sarada
November 14, 2015
I loved your article and choice of songs, but I also began to wonder what the definition of Veeram should be. Is it heroism in the sense of hero/heroine as the protagonist or should it also be in terms of valour/courage, which bring a plethora of supporting characters into play. Some of these are time tested cliches, like a best friend sacrificing himself/herself in fights, or the mythological movies which bring in set pieces, or crucial moments in the movie where some character stands up for the protagonist. It would be interesting to know your take on what songs would fit these situations.
Having said this, I do understand that there are layers and shades to all emotions, and cannot be encapsulated in a moment or song, but this article, definitely set me thinking.
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the BRangan fan
November 14, 2015
sir,
heard tamasha songs? anything to say??
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Anu Warrier
November 14, 2015
It’s fascinating to see ‘our’ cinema through ‘their’ eyes. Especially mainstream, full-on-masala ones. I have a blogger friend (American) who perhaps knows more about Ragini and Padmini and Tamil cinema than I do. Others who thoroughly enjoy the absolute ‘otherness’ of our films for what they are – a look into a culture that’s not their own, who understand it, appreciate parts of it, are open to learning more about it… I once taught a class on comparative religion, which devolved into a discussion of our films. (Don’t ask!)
Increasing numbers of non-Indians are beginning to look at Indian cinema. Ignore subtitles at your own peril.
May I say ‘Amen’ to that? That is the most common complaint that non-Indians have about our films. Heck, that’s the complaint that people in India have about films from other states!
Also, as one of my ‘gori‘ (that’s how she describes herself) friends put it, the subtitles that are present make for unintentional hilarity.
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Bharath
November 14, 2015
Too much Raghuthatha here and too less of Tamil music that most of your audience is familiar with. As an aside, why is the Hindu Chennai edition carrying so many articles on Bollywood and obscure Hindi films and celebs? Are you going the ToI way? Who among the Chennai Hindu readers even recognize or bother about all that? We are proud Tamilians here, and won’t stand for all this overdose of sowcarpettai news. Have more of Tamil cine news please.
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brangan
November 14, 2015
MANK: Oh, the reactions were all over the place. They didn’t find much shringar ras in the Dhoondho dhoondho re sajana clip. They said they didn’t see much “love” in it. So I played the more conventional Chand sifaarish from Fanaa. And that made them really happy 🙂
Sarada: I diluted the definition of Veeram, as I said. Instead of “heroic,” I cheated and played around with hero/heroine introduction songs. But in general, it’s valour.
It could be overt bravery like this one:
Or being brave enough to tackle something, like this one:
Anu Warrier: It’s only while researching this piece did I discover how systematically Bollywood has wooed other markets. You can find subtitled prints of films from the 50s and 40s even. Amazing. And fairly decent subtitles too, especially for the more major films.
Speaking of which, I once met Nasreen Munni Kabir and asked her how she managed to give such excellent subtitles for Mani Ratnam’s films — so precise, so flavourful, and yet not literal. (I’d watched a print of Kadal with subs just then — the subs are fantastic.) She told me that it helps that she doesn’t speak the language and so she approaches it completely from an outsider’s perspective. She gets an assistant director to explain the scene. Then she digests it and gets cracking. I thought this was very interesting.
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Anu Warrier
November 15, 2015
BR, that is interesting – I didn’t know it was Ms Kabir who sub-titled Mani’s films. I find some of the newer Malayalam films sub-titled very well – as you put it, ‘so precise, so flavourful, and yet not literal’. I hope it continues. I think I mentioned before that Baahubali‘s subtitles (in its theatrical release) were absolutely spot-on.
What’s happening with Hindi cinema is that they are – at least in my state – aggressively wooing the NRI audience (and the non-Indian audience is also rising). Every Hindi film released here is sub-titled now. Most are done quite well.
I disagree about the 40s -50s films being sub-titled properly. (Even the 80s.) Unless the DVD distributors have brought out newer versions of those films. I have some – major ones – that make me want to pull my hair out, one strand by one strand. It is actually with Lagaan‘s DVD release that I noticed a sea change in the sub-titling. That was beautifully done. Now? Certainly.
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A
November 16, 2015
Prof L Hariharan, I think he heads a film institute in Chennai, has often talked about the Nava Rasas in Indian film and how emotions are drawn from these rasas. The first time I heard it, found it so novel.
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A
November 16, 2015
@Rangn: “Speaking of which, I once met Nasreen Munni Kabir and asked her how she managed to give such excellent subtitles for Mani Ratnam’s films — so precise, so flavourful, and yet not literal. (I’d watched a print of Kadal with subs just then — the subs are fantastic.) She told me that it helps that she doesn’t speak the language and so she approaches it completely from an outsider’s perspective. She gets an assistant director to explain the scene. Then she digests it and gets cracking. I thought this was very interesting.”
Writing subtitles without knowing the language being spoken on screen? Seriously?
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Kaj
November 16, 2015
Mr. Rangan, a thank you for this wonderful and instructive trip from a Dutch lover of Indian cinema. I was not aware yet of the nine moods and this will enhance my understanding of song sequences as I watch them.
And I’ll to your rant that it is very frustrating to find out during a film that the songs aren’t subtitled, as if they they weren’t important to the narrative, character, themes and indeed emotions of the film! I haven’t experienced it much on the big screen lately, the last I remember was the spotty subtitling of Ram-Leela (and by spotty I mean they would stop after every first verse of a song, consistently). On home video one never knows before the actual songs start during the movie. Imagine my dismay this summer to discover during my first ever viewing of Mother India on DVD that all I had to go on were Mehboob Khan’s visual language and Nargis’ facial expressions, as wonderful as both are to convey at least some of what is expressed in the song (or so I presume).
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S. Jayshankar
November 16, 2015
Hello Mr. BR
Somwhere in the middle of reading your lines about picking songs which depict the Navarasa’s, I was thinking that you better not ignore “Chaudvin Ka Chand”. Thankfully you did not…!!! 🙂
However the audience finding the act of watching someone sleeping creepy? Well.. it is perhaps so if you watch a person typically a friend while he is dozing off.
But I let my imagination fly a bit on how Guru Dutt would have explained the situation to Shakeel
So there is this moonlit garden, gentle breeze, the husband and wife are leaning on each other on their back, facing opposite direction. Enjoying the coll breeze and man-se-man baathe ho rahi hai… And then there is an unspoken silence and I feel an increasing weight, I move over slowly and find Waheeda’s eyes closed and find her drifting into sleep..
I must tell you it is not sleep but a mayakka nilai somewhere at the threshold of sleep.. (It is like when you lulling a child to sleep over your shoulder you realize the baby has fallen asleep when the grip lossens and you can feel the head falling over heavy.
Ok, now this is the precise moment, when a song blooms in my mind, go ahead Shakeel give me the words and you Ravi give me the tune ..
Apparently the cameraman too was hearing this and it must have trigerred the romantic spark in him too.
So there you have the most beautifully crafted lyrics, most melodiuos music and that lingering camera angle.
(I trust the censor board too felt the tingling at the places in their mind to recommend a ban, since she is made to look too sensuous)
Now tell me if looking at something so beautiful asleep is creepy..
🙂
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Jyoti
November 17, 2015
Sir, if you had chosen the songs for navarasa solely from Tamil, which ones would you have chosen?
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ThouShaltNot
November 17, 2015
Regarding subtitling, in many instances, accurate translation from one language to another is simply not possible. A word may have overtones (or cultural moorings) that makes it simply untranslatable (literal or otherwise) without a protracted explanation of underlying cultural attitudes. For example, take the Tamil word “Oodal”. The concept is unique to Tamil culture. How would you translate that to a Western audience in a subtitled song? And yet, this is a word commonly found in lyrics from older movie songs (a staple in movies, it has vanished since at least the 90s). One can find other examples like this.
While literal translation of each word into another language can provide comic relief, straying too far from this template may result in a loss of essence, where the translator ends up writing their own “kattu kadhai”. It is important to strike a balance and it is not easy. There is an Italian phrase – Traduttore, traditore. Its literal translation – Translator, Traitor 🙂
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Shreyasi Ghosh (@gshreyasi)
November 25, 2015
Rangan Sir, what a wonderful and educational post! 🙂 Wish we could attend this. Where did this session take place? ACJ? Any chance of you speaking at any event in Mumbai any time soon?
I could never imagine Tattad Tattad for valor. I was thinking more about the fantastic ‘Shivuni Aana’ (Telugu version of the Shiva song in Bahubali). For me, it works both as an introduction and character establishment song-a testament to the protagonist’s obvious-and-soon-to-be-witnessed valor. Now I will YouTube Tattad Tattad and try to look at it from your POV 🙂
One question: since item songs are so immensely popular in our films, if you had to choose one to depict any of the rasas which one would you pick? Is there a rasa for ‘lust’ (Śṛngāram doesn’t quite cut it). Then again, item songs can convey many moods besides only lust. In “Yeh mera dil’ from Don, Helen/Kareena is secretly furious and hating on the hero. Ek Do Teen is fun, the 1971 Dum Maro Dum is full of anguish, the Sexy Sexy Mujhe Log Bole has a confident heroine in the 90s proudly proclaiming that people admire her sex appeal & she can reject whoever she doesn’t fancy!
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brangan
November 25, 2015
Kaj: Oh, to see Mother India for the first time. You lucky person 🙂 One of the greatest instances of song sequencing in Indian cinema.
S. Jayshankar: By slightly creepy, I meant in the modern sense of stalking…. I do think it’s a very romantic sense 🙂
Shreyasi Ghosh: This was at WCC. About item songs, it depends on the situation, no? If it’s just a titillating number, then Śṛungāram comes closest. These rasas aren’t airtight compartments. I just found it an easy way to categorise emotions as a starting point for newcomers to our cinema. Emotions are way, way more complex.
Jyoti: Hmmm…. here goes:
Śṛungāram – Chitira poovizhi vaasalile (the classic ‘sakhi’ song)
Hāsyam – Kaasikku pogum sanyasi (such a funny song 😀 )
Raudram – Manidha manidha (gooseflesh)
Kāruṇyam – Ullathil nalla ullam (complex set of emotions in this song and these lyrics, could just as easily be argued for as an example of Bībhatsam, but I am left with an overall feeling of compassion)
Bībhatsam – Adi ennadi ulagam (disgust, but in a light, eff-you mode)
Bhayānakam – Enge nimmadhi (no contest; demons tumbling out of Sivaji’s closet)
Veeram – Yaen endra kaelvi (the prototypical MGR song in a way, workers of the world unite)
Adbhutam – Vallalai paadum vaayaal (full of wonder for Shiva, and such sly humour)
Śāntam – Sundari soundari (just makes me feel so peaceful, and well, bhakti, is a form of peace)
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Jyoti
December 6, 2015
Wow sir, I am assuming manidha manidha is from Puli. Except that all the songs are from at least two generations before i was born… 🙂
I just finished looking up all the songs on you tube and I felt sundari soundari classified more for haasyam than shaantham. Anyways, thank you for sharing the list.
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brangan
December 7, 2015
Jyoti: The Manidha manidha I mentioned is from this 80s film called Kann Sivandhal Mann Sivakkum.
Also, I was talking about Sundari soundari as an audio experience — take the Sivaji parts out, in other words.
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