BASED on a Hindi novel of the same name by Bhagwati Charan Verma, Chitralekha was an Eastmancolor remake of Kidar Sharma’s 1941 black and white classic. Though cinematically bland and a failure at the box office, its music remains one of the best in Indian cinema. Coming close on the heels of Barsaat ki Raat (1960) and Taj Mahal (1963), it cemented Roshan’s place as one of the greats.
‘Mann tu kahe na dheer dharata ab’ is part of a couplet by poet Goswami Tulsidas, which Sahir Ludhianvi reworked to create one of the finest philosophical songs in Hindi cinema. Many believe that Sahir Ludhianvi remained a poet even when he wrote songs for films, and that he is one of the few of his kind to do so. Poets like Majrooh Sultanpuri and Shakeel Badayuni assumed a less esoteric tone when it came to writing songs for films, and there are noticeable differences between their non-film poetry and film songs.
Be it the inspiring ‘Tadbeer se bigdi hui’ (Baazi, 1951) or the hope-filled ‘Woh subah kabhi toh aayegi’ (Phir Subah Hogi, 1958), or his trenchant critiques of the nation-state in Pyaasa (1957), the breezy ‘Thandi hawayein’ (Naujawan, 1951), the wistful ‘Phaili hui hai’ (House No 44), the ode to a secular India ‘Tu Hindu banega na musalman banega’ (Dhool ka Phool, 1959), the pathos filled ‘Chalo ik baar phir se’ (Gumrah, 1962), the waltzing romance of ‘Hum aapki aankhon mein’ (Pyaasa, 1957), the last word in existential philosophy ‘Main zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya’ (Hum Dono, 1961), the deeply introspective ‘Duniya kare sawaal toh hum, kya jawab de’ (Bahu Begum, 1967), the resigned-to-fate poet in Joshila(1973) singing ‘Gayi jo dori chhuti hathon se, lena kya tute huye sathon se’ – he wrote poems that musicians composed into songs.
‘Mann re tu kahe na dheer dhare’ is the contemplative voice of a troubled mind. What is remarkable is the purity of the language. It is hard to imagine that it is the work of the poet who also wrote the chaste Urdu nazms of Pyaasa. ‘As an Urdu poet he had developed such a fine sense of phonetics that when he wrote in Hindi he applied the same sensitivity. Not many Hindi writers could have written songs like the ones in Chitralekha,’ says poet and lyricist Javed Akhtar.
‘Mann re’ progresses on a slow beat supported by sparse strikes of the tabla. The intro and interludes consist of prominent instrumental pieces that lend a dark intensity suited to a melancholic prince-hero in a sprawling palace, alone, with his wine goblet and memories of his Chitralekha.
An archetypal Roshan composition structured in Raga Yaman, it is low on flounce, deep in emotion, and doesn’t take the popular route, as a composer like Naushad was wont to do in his drive to underline the purity of the classical. Roshanlal Nagrath or Roshan, as we know him, was once a student at the music gurukul of Baba Allaudin Khan. But he had to cut his tenure short when he fell ill. Roshan once said that Yaman also happened to be Baba’s favourite raga.
‘Mann re’ suggests the composer is at peace with himself. The orchestra does not call attention to itself, rather, it supports the vocals and serves to bring out the reflective mood, the pain, the profoundly moving philosophy enmeshed in the words, and the dulcet use of the raga by a composer who once played the dilruba on AIR.
Chitralekha’s other songs demonstrate Roshan’s knowledge of Indian classical music. The Asha Bhonsle–Usha Mangeshkar duet ‘Kahe tarsaye’, originally supposed to feature in Lata Mangeshkar’s incomplete production Bhairavi, remains one of the finest examples of Raga Kalavati used in Indian cinema. Lata’s solo ‘Ae ri jaane na doongi’ is like a textbook for learning the nuances of Raga Kamod. ‘Sansar se bhaage phirte ho’ also has Sahir Ludhianvi at his philosophical best. The film made a clean sweep at the Sur Singar Samsad Awards in 1965. ‘Mann re’ won the Saraswati Award for the Best Song. Mohd Rafi won the Tansen Award and the film won the Dr Brihaspati Award for the rendition of classical music.
In a way, Roshan owed this exceptional piece of effort to Kidar Sharma. After Roshan’s nightmarish debut as a composer in Sharma’s Neki Aur Badi (1949), Sharma persisted with the composer on his next project Bawre Nain (1950), to the extent of turning down an incremental Rs 25,000 per territory, which distributors had offered on the condition that he drop Roshan as the film’s composer. Bawre Nain turned out to be a hit with Roshan delivering a fabulous album. Sharma’s loyalty towards him seemed to bring out something special in Roshan.
Chitralekha bombed at the box office. ‘The taste of the movie-going public had changed; they didn’t watch thought-provoking movies any more but the inclination was more towards sensually stimulating and flashy movies. And I have never been able to supply the masses with these,’ said Sharma. That seems to skirt the issue of the film itself being a tad too theatrical. As also conveniently forgetting that Kidar Sharma himself had a sensually (if not sexually) stimulating bathing sequence in the 1941 version. An ageing Pradip Kumar and a pudgy Meena Kumari were simply not up to the mark in the 1964 version. In one scene, Meena Kumari was unable to emote even after fourteen takes. As a remedy, Sharma whispered to her, ‘Your loving deceased mother is watching you…she wants me to bless you once again as I had blessed you in 1942-43 when you were a child actor…’ The fifteenth take came out flawless. Also, Ashok Kumar refused to have his head shaved to play the role of Sanyasi Kumaragiri, as he was working on other films at that time. Kidar Sharma agreed. With a flimsy and disjointed screenplay, Chitralekha meanders to its illogical end with sandy beaches and tidal waves. In his defence, Sharma admitted that it did not match his earlier version.
The music, however, was its redeeming quality. Perhaps unfairly, Sahir Ludhianvi’s name figures third in the credits after Rafi and Roshan. Ludhianvi may have been expecting less credit than what was due when he wrote the most telling line of the song: ‘Utna hi upkaar samajh koi, jitna saath nibha de’.