Tuning in to retro hour
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A bunch of trainers mix business with pleasure by feeding their and their learners' craze for old Hindi songs
A middle-aged doctor in a striped shirt and crisp trousers takes the microphone to sing a duet. His partner for the song, a homemaker, is perhaps a few years older. It's an oppressively humid day, and the lone air-conditioner in the largish kindergarten classroom in Andheri offers little comfort. Their song is the breezy Hawa Ke Saath Saath', from the 70s' film Seeta aur Geeta , where young lovers played by Sanjeev Kumar and Hema Malini whizz through hilly terrain on roller skates.
The coach is Chintamani Sohoni. He is part of a growing tribe of entrepreneur-musicians in Mumbai that has plugged into what is clearly an undying passion: the nostalgia and love for what is regarded the best era for Hindi cinema music the 1930s to the 1980s. Fans are not content to just listen to YouTube or attend retro concerts. They want to immerse themselves in it, sing it, understand its timelessness.
In the Andheri classroom, the woman attempts to reproduce Asha Bhosle's Ah-ah-ah, ouch!', part of a playful joust between the lovers as they skate and sing along. Suddenly, the coach intervenes to signal a pause. " Aapne ouch' mein kanjoosi ki (You held back with the ouch'), he tells her. "Think of how Asha- taisang for Hema Malini, or how Kishore Kumar produced a certain sound for Sanjeev Kumar. He asks them to start over. "This song needs masti , mazaa(mischief, fun), he explains.
The singers are not exactly carefree youngsters, but nobody stops until they get close to what he wants; they know he is a perfectionist. He is no grim martinet though: he keeps rhythm with his feet and fingers, and when he corrects muffed lyrics, an off-beat phrase or a departure from key, he does so with a smile or a joke.
The coach
Every week, in workshops across Mumbai's suburbs, Sohoni trains motley groups comprising homemakers, businessmen and retirees in just such sessions. Sohoni, who gave up an electronics business to pursue music full-time, loves these golden oldies.
"These songs are linked to everyone's life, he says, adding that their composers "believed in depth, in the rooh (soul) of the song. "When an artist played an instrument, the feelings that emanated from it would make their way into the song. Nowadays, most songs come out of a machine.
It's not easy to join these classes. Sohoni thinks it is important to have a base in Indian classical music. But since his students are mostly beginners, he gives them pre-recorded exercises to practise at home.
And his enrolment criteria? A sense of taal and sur and a willingness to learn. He insists that his students listen to the songs repeatedly, and picks those who sing well to perform in his own shows. (The other students also get to do shows once in three months.) "When I began my singing career, there was nobody to guide me. What I did not get, I try to give to others; it's that simple, he says.
The fan
At the Ravindra Natya Mandir in Dadar, composer Madhav Ajgaonkar briefly plays the R.D. Burman composition Mera Kuch Saamaan' to explain its nuances to his audience. The moment the music stops, the audience lets out a collective sigh. "Let's hear the song fully, please, says a woman from the back.
Like his audience, Ajgaonkar is an R.D. Burman devotee. He has been listening to and learning from Burman's music since he was eight; he has had no other training.
"There are things about him I'm still learning. R.D. Burman was not just a music director: he is a thought; a university. Ajgaonkar, who calls his shows and workshops Panchamtantra, likes to focus on the composer's team spirit, innovation, openness and interpersonal skills in his workshops. "Pancham daknew how to make a person feel at home. He was not one man; he was a team.
Ajgaonkar describes his shows as an intellectual give-and-take: there is music, film clips, fun exercises, and above all, a two-way emotional tug between him and his audience. He reels off minute details about Burman's life and work, collected over years of research and from spending time with people close to the music director.
Charuta Naik, a designer, has attended two of Ajgaonkar's shows with her little son. "At each show, I get to hear new stories about R.D.; my love for his music is a kind of madness. Another fan, Rishikesh Khare, 15, says he doesn't relate to contemporary music. "It's too harsh. Pancham, he says, is more melodious.
Young people regularly come up to meet Ajgaonkar after his shows, and that gives him hope, he says. "Today's generation doesn't understand what a musical arrangement is, what creating sound or rhythm from scratch is, because it's all about computer programming.
He is convinced Pancham's music and old Hindi cinema songs in general can never fade out. "There's a beautiful line by Javed Akhtar: Time is kind to great people.'
The aesthete
On a hot afternoon at IIT-Bombay in Powai, a bunch of engineering students and professors have taken time off from the pursuit of science.
They're learning about Rabindranath Tagore, and in an unusual way: through Hindi film music. The song playing in the classroom is Tere Mere Milan Ki Yeh Raina', from the 1973 movie Abhimaan , a song based on a Tagore composition.
"The youngsters loved it, says Tushar Bhatia, who conducted the session. "When we ended with Kajra Mohabbat Wala' ( Kismat , 1968) and Reshmi Salwar' ( Naya Daur , 1957), they were dancing away. But he is not surprised. "Those songs have transcended time. Tagore composed the song in 1904. S.D. Burman took it up in 1974. And we are still listening to it in 2017. It's so beautifully done.
Bhatia, sitarist and composer (and also music director for the film Andaz Apna Apna ), with his group Swardhara, conducts lecture-demonstrations and live shows on music, poetry and dance. He often showcases the works of old Bollywood composers and approaches each song from an aesthetic perspective: its poetry, music, cinematic and situational components. He has spent time with music directors such as O.P. Nayyar, Naushad, Jaydev and Anil Biswas, and attempts to reflect this personal touch in his shows.
He says audiences keep coming back for the melody in old Hindi film music which, in a way, is embedded in our collective subconscious but is missing in today's songs.
" Khade bol ke gaane ban rahe hain abhi (the songs of today are staccato): ta-ra-ri-ri-ra, he says, striking each note with his fingers.
"The curves, what we call the meend , the andolan , are just not there. That's because no one enjoys ragas or folk music these days. Everyone wants to dance to songs; nobody wants to just sit and listen.
Audiences keep coming back to old Hindi film music, which seems embedded in our collective subconscious
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