Legendary composer Rahul Dev Burman passed away on January 4, 1994. His musical genius could be heard in the variation he brought within the single albums themselves.
He ushered in a new era of sound and music in Hindi cinema by introducing new instruments and western rhythm.
The reflective songs in his repertoire remain as memorable as the upbeat musical pieces.
Rahul Dev Burman, or ‘Pancham Da’ or ‘Boss’, as he was fondly called, is often credited with changing the sound of Hindi film music. He altered its idiom and texture, introducing new instruments, western rhythm and new patterns with experimentation. Beats, cabaret, the sound of the 70s can be characterised through Burman’s consistently enjoyable, inherently upbeat and perennially popular tunes that have outlived the films, contexts and even the actors featured in the songs he designed. However, seldom mentioned is the enviable list of his compositions that are soft, reflective, thoughtful and even have viraha, which are etched in film history just as permanently.
The story begins in the 1960s—and so does the parallel of reflection. Burman’s musical genius could be heard in the variation he brought within single albums. His collaborations with some of the greatest lyricists like Sahir Ludhianvi, Anand Bakshi, Majrooh Sultanpuri, Javed Akhtar and his most celebrated partnership with Gulzar is testimony to their range and his. The shades of reflection vary—from poignant to irony, from insightful to introspective. As do the tones of sadness, from longing to anger, from craving to defeat, from reminiscence to bittersweet separations. All of this is not reflected only in the words, but also in the tunes and the corresponding instruments selected to bring those tunes alive. The mood, emotion and specific nuances of each word are brought alive through the use of specific sounds of instruments and interludes, giving the songs the depth, melody and meaning that they carry—both within the narratives of the films and in isolation, as they live on in public memory through currency and cultural legacy.
“Tum bin jaaun kahan” from Pyaar ka Mausam (1969), written by Sultanpuri, is one such composition early in Burman’s career. The tune itself carries the pathos of lost love and the resultant sense of being anchorless. It is crucial to note that this film comes after some of Burman’s incredibly successful films, songs from which are popular till date, like Teesri Manzil (1966), Baharon ke Sapne (1967) and Padosan (1968), with completely different melodies based on various emotions, moods and structures. A reflective song like “Tum bin” is a marked departure from the upbeat tunes usually associated with Burman, indicating his depth.
1970 saw the release of Kati Patang. “Pyaar deewana hota hai” is a beautiful song about the nature of love and how all who get caught in it are genuinely helpless in its wake. The incredibly rich, yet simple lyrics by Bakshi are laced with an inherently hummable and clean tune by Burman. It’s a song where the lyrics take centre-stage as does Kishore Kumar’s voice, making the song immortal. The reflection doesn’t enter pathos, and neither is it upbeat. It maintains that delicate balance of truths being told as they are, but with the Rajesh Khanna brand of charisma. In contrast is “Na koi umang hai” from the same film, drenched in hopelessness. The compositions themselves are remarkably different.
Almost the entire album of Amar Prem (1972) was a masterclass in varying shades of pathos and reflection. Based on various ragas of Hindustani classical music, “Chingari koi bhadke”, “Yeh kya hua”, “Kuch toh log kahenge” and “Raina beeti jaaye” are evergreen songs looking at commentary on the society, on self, on longing and the absurdities of life with an enchanting distance, yet intimate empathy. The slow tempo of the tunes allows the lyrics to breathe and be rendered true to the emotion, the situation of the song and character arcs in the films. It really is hard to believe that these are composed by the same composer who gives us the madness of “Ek chatur naar” and the desire of “Aao na gale laga lo na”; but then, that is why Burman is considered to be one of the greatest ever.
The same year comes Parichay, with “Beeti na bitayi raina” and “Musaafir hoon yaaron” and Gulzar. The former has shades of longing and wanting to be loved again, while the latter looks at what it means to drift from one place to another without anchorage. In “Beeti na bitayi raina”, Burman uses the sitar, that helps create the feeling of longing, and in “Musafir”, he uses a consistent beat that helps give a sense of movement. These nuances that accentuate the lyrics make the experience of the song more complete.
Burman’s partnership with Gulzar, especially in songs that unlock his pathos-driven side, are mesmerising, nuanced, experimentative and detailed. The range is massive within this genre itself, with complete albums that can fill columns, whether it is “O Majhi re” or “Do naino mein ansoon bharein hain” from Khushboo (1975). He uses just the right amount of music and echo for the effect he wishes to create. The experimentation in “Ek hi khwab kai baar” from Kinara (1977), interspersed with dialogue, gives a sense of the intimacy of a beautiful afternoon being spent in love. “Naam gum jaayega”, where in the composition itself he focuses on “awaaz”, reinforces the meaning of the lyrics that what lingers is the voice beyond anything else.
And then there are some albums that surpass all explanations. Each song touches the heart in more ways than one. In this collaboration and context, there are three—Aandhi (1975), Ghar (1978) and Ijaazat (1987). “Tere bina zindagi se” is beautifully reflective, as it unravels the true cost of absence of love. “Is mod se jaate hain” and “Tum aa gaye ho, noor aa gaya hai” are both songs that have pathos at the heart, even as they’re laced in some sense of hope. These contradictions that make life and love both poignant and beautiful are also what make the songs such and the tunes and instruments are used to accentuate both. The antara of “Tere bina zindagi se” allows for notes to be explored with such fullness that they make the song feel more whole. “Tere bina jiya jaaye na” is a song of pure love and anticipated longing. “Phir wohi raat hai” is an attempt to rekindle intimacy gently by Vikas (Vinod Mehra), as his partner Arti (Rekha) slowly recovers from the trauma of being gang raped by men.
In “Khaali haath shaam aayi hai”, the sounds of flute accentuate the loneliness of the song, with Asha Bhosle’s immaculate rendition of the lyrics. “Mera kuch samaan” carries memory laced with angst and heartbreak, depicting the nuances of closeness only possible in a deeply intimate relationship. The anger and hurt of a relationship broken can be felt in the song. That the lyrics don’t have a particular meter and Burman composed it in one sitting is testimony to his creativity. “Katra katra” actually asks for the desire to not be satiated and “Chhoti si kahani se” speaks of how the heart feels heavy and the tears spill. The compositions make the songs less heavy and more hummable.
Another song that used music sparingly, but created a haunting value for its poignancy was “Seeli hawa chhoo gayi” from Libaas (1988). “Khamosh sa afsaana, paani se likha hota” from the same film also had a similar trait. It is the mark of a master to know where to use less music, when they know just how much is enough for a tune. Burman knew that well. And these two compositions are perfect examples to showcase this. Another song that corresponds interestingly again to the weather it connotes (as in the case of “Seeli hawa”) is “Phir se aayio badra bidesi” from Namkeen (1982). All of these had these lilting qualities that gave a sense of the mood and setting from the composition.
Angst or anger with sadness is a specifically nuanced sentiment, which is delicate to depict in music. Whether it is “Meri bheegi bheegi si” from Anamika (1973), or “Kya hua tera vaada” from Hum Kisi se Kam Nahin (1977), or “Mera kuch samaan” from Ijaazat (1987), this shade comes out beautifully in these songs. The way the instruments play towards the lines that speak of the angst emphasise them in a way that the listeners remember and feel those nuances.
One song that makes the Burman-Bakshi partnership immortal is “Zindagi ke safar mein guzar jaate hain” from Aap ki Kasam (1974). Just as poignant is the writing, as touching is the tune. The breaking of the lines allows enough emphasis on the words. One is able to grasp the philosophy and understand freely what the song is trying to tell us. One of the most poignantly written songs in Hindi cinema that encompasses what life and time mean, Burman’s music has literally made it come alive.
“Sach mere yaar hain” from Saagar (1985) penned by Javed Akhtar is a brutally honest and heartbroken take on what love actually is. Saagar again saw a refreshed sound. Within Burman’s repertoire of compositions, even in just the specific genre this piece attempts to examine, the evolution of sound and instruments is evident from the late 1960s to the late 1980s. He altered the sound based on the generations, experimenting along the way, but never at the cost of the sentiment he wished to portray.
It is true that a talent like Burman is rare. How can we say that? Because as you read through the title of each song, you remembered its tune. That is the magic of RD Burman—that even in reflection, poignancy and pathos, he is unforgettable.
