Lamian Manzilan Dil Door Kinare

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Chan Ve (O! Moon) is a Punjabi movie released in March 1951. Though it remained in cinemas only for between 9-18 weeks the film is regarded as an all time great.

In 1951 the new country of Pakistan was still reeling from the traumatic events of Partition four years earlier. The first film was made in Lahore in 1925 with output growing in fits and starts for the next half a decade or so.  But by the mid-1930s often up to a dozen or more films (in both Urdu/Hindi and Punjabi) were being released each year. The Lahore industry was building up a head of steam but Bombay was where the real action and future lay if you were an aspiring star.  Until 1947 Lahore served as a sort of feeder industry to Bombay, providing a platform for actors, musicians and directors to develop their skills before they took their chance in the Big Smoke.

Many of the principals of Chan Ve were demonstrations of this trend. Syed Shaukat Hussain Rizvi (producer) Noor Jehan (director, female lead, singer) and Firoze Nizami (music director) had all spent time in Lahore and, in the case of Rizvi and Noor Jehan, Calcutta, before winding up in Bombay in the early 1940s.  When in 1947 they were forced to choose to stay in India or ‘return’ to Pakistan they opted for Lahore.

What they found was a city and country in chaos. Most of Lahore’s studios had been owned by Hindus who had migrated.  Rizvi and his wife Noor Jehan were allocated the destroyed and abandoned Shorey Studios which they renamed and rebuilt as Shahnoor Studio. When the studio was ready, in 1950, the pair commenced work on Chan Ve. Though Rizvi had had his initial success in Lahore, directing the hit Khandan (Family) in 1942, he, being a native Urdu speaker from Azamgarh, had never mastered the Punjabi language.  To remedy the situation he relied on his wife to communicate with the technicians and follow the script which if the final product is evidence, worked brilliantly.  Noor Jehan became Pakistan’s first female director and Chan Ve a blockbuster.

The film is a genuine classic. Noor Jehan as Seema, a country girl in love with Dr Aslam (Jahangir Khan) from the city, turns out a tremendous performance. She’s lively, sparkling, endearing and fiery by turns. The dramatic heart of the film centers on a tense confrontation between Seema, accused by her uncle, the village patwari, of being a loose woman, and a hostile, aggressive panchayat. Noor Jehan embodies both the determined defiance of the wrongly accused as well as the horrific pain of a woman suffering (physically and emotionally) at the hands of a unyielding system stacked against her.   Santosh Kumar, who was starting his rise to fame as the towering hero of the 50s and early 60s, skilfully plays Firoz, Seema’s somewhat slow witted childhood friend and secret admirer. In the end he courageously sacrifices his own life in order that Seema and Dr Aslam can marry.

Chan Ve was the first Pakistani success of music director Firoze Nizami who had worked earlier with Rizvi and Noor Jehan in Bombay on Jugnu (Firefly; 1947). Nizami hired a young male vocalist from Lahore, Mohammad Rafi, to join Noor Jehan on the soundtrack and also recommended an actor named Dilip Kumar to Rizvi to play the lead role in that landmark film.  The rest as they say is history.

Nizami was a native of Lahore and an accomplished classically trained vocalist.  He began his career singing on All India Radio but like so many others couldn’t resist the lure of Bombay’s film world.   After scoring several films and having some success he hit the big time with Jugnu which, as luck would have it, was released just three months before Partition.  Returning to Lahore Nizami’s first film in Pakistan Hamari Basti (Our Village; 1949) was like most films prior to Chan Ve a flop.

When Rizvi approached him to compose the score for Chan Ve, Nizami eagerly accepted.  And once again the trio created magic.  The songs of Chan Ve are soaked in the classical world Nizami so loved. The sonic atmosphere he creates is marked by gentle folk rhythms, raga-based melodies and multiple moods.  Most of all he allows ample space for Noor Jehan to show off her incredible stylistic range and control.  Several of the songs were popular on both sides of the border.

 

Lamian Manzilan Dil Door Kinare is the heart-rending lament of Seema who after being dragged in front of the panchayat, falsely accused and physically abused by her uncle is locked away in a small dirty room.  She sings out to her husband Dr Aslam who is far away (lamian manzilan) in London unable and unaware of her torture by her fellow villagers.

Nizami‘s classy music is lush with orchestral strings that swell and swirl as they lift the emotional register. But it is a muted cornet–encouraging, honeyed–that is the musical masterstroke here.  As Seema sings the horn provides a gentle, encouraging presence whose European sound reminds and links the listener to Europe and Seema’s absent protector, Dr Aslam.

The spirit that Noor Jehan brings to the scene–that resigned, dead gaze, the messy hair–is stunning. Her ability to both sing and act set her in a class of her own and it is truly one of the unhappiest twists in the story of South Asian cinema that she would be compelled to retire from the screen within a decade by her second husband, actor Ejaz Durrani.

Chan Ve deserves its glorious reputation. It is the work of an amazing cohort of master artists who out of the rubble are able to raise a near-dead industry and give Pakistan its first sustained box office and artistic success.

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Dil Dhadke Main Tujh Se Yeh Kaise Kahoon

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Anjuman (Anjuman) is an Urdu film released in 1970. It was a Platinum Jubilee ‘superhit’, with the public lining up at cinemas for 81 weeks straight to watch the show.

The film tells the story of Anjuman, a much-sought-after tawaaif (courtesan) who has caught the lustful eye of Nawab Wajahat Ali (Santosh Kumar). Anjuman (Rani) sadly is depressed and lovesick. She has no interest in the Nawab but under pressure from her mother strings the nobleman along to get access to his millions.

Meanwhile, Asif (Waheed Murad) the Nawab’s supposed younger brother has an unhealthy set of feelings for his sister-in-law, Nawab sahib’s wife,  played beautifully by Sahiba Khanum.  These feelings are eventually ( and thankfully) redirected to Nusrat (Deeba) an old childhood friend who has recently migrated from India.

The more he hangs out with Anjuman the more coldhearted Nawabsahib becomes towards his wife and one day his excuses of ‘working late’ are exposed as lies. He confesses his affection for Anjuman to his wife but tells her to put up and shut up, which, of course, she does.

Asif is sent on a mercy mission to the dancing girl’s house. In a pique of righteous rage he tells her to stay out of his family’s affairs and desist from seeing his elder brother, the Nawab. As soon as she lays eyes on the handsome Asif, Anjuman falls in love. She agrees to break things off with the Nawab (no biggie, she couldn’t stand the man anyway) on the condition that Asif replace him.

So much does Asif love his sister-in-law who is suffering because of this prickly situation he agrees. ‘At least I’ll save her marriage,’ he says to himself.

Asif becomes increasingly alienated from himself and his family and Nusrat and sinks into the bottle to soothe his conflicted feelings.  About two thirds of the way through the film you are hit with the depressing realisation that all the main characters are incredibly unhappy, either abandoned by those they love, stuck in torturous moral dilemmas or scorned by society.

Eventually, though, things turn out ok. Sort of. When Anjuman refuses to see the Nawab anymore he realises the error of his ways and begs forgiveness from his wife. Asif has it out with his sister-in-law who accuses him of abandoning Nusrat. He lets Bhabi (sister in law) know of his deal with the devil, Anjuman. Bhabi confronts Anjuman and reveals that Asif is not her brother-in-law but in fact her son! ‘Take my husband if you must, but give me back my boy!’ Anjuman reluctantly agrees to release Asif from his vow but insists that she will dance at Asif and Nusrat’s wedding the following week.

With order restored to the feudal Universe the Big Day is marked with a wonderful dance by Anjuman. Just as the dance nears conclusion Anjuman collapses and dies at the feet of Asif. The final scene depicts Asif laying flowers at her tomb with hunched shoulders and a heavy heart.

The story may be full of moral quagmires, numerous loose ends and uncomfortable depictions of unchecked human desire but the music once again provides a degree of artistic ballast.

The tawaaif  film is a well-established sub-genre of South Asian cinema and is usually set in mid-19th century feudal Muslim India. In the case of Anjuman the location is contemporary 1960s Lahore which adds a hint of implausibility to the whole movie. Music director Nisar Bazmi does his best to cater to this split world by working in two idioms. In scenes involving Nawab sahib he creates the familiar haunting sarangi-based soundscape that such tawaaif movies employ. However, when Asif is in Anjuman’s company, he resorts to a more modern, ‘western’ sound led by non-traditional instruments like the guitar.

Dil Dhadke Main Tujh Se Yeh Kaise Kahoon (My Heart Races to Tell You) is a song Anjuman sings as she dances temptingly in front of grim Asif who has come to scold her.

It’s a delightful little song for a number of reasons. First, the twangy electric guitar intro would not be out of place on a Marty Robbins or Johnny Cash record. The country & western sound is so unexpected and refreshing at this point in what has turned out to be a heavy story you immediately perk up and find new energy to continue watching.

Second, it is a reminder of how connected the film culture of Lahore was with what was going on elsewhere in the world.  Sounds and musical styles from north America and other places were familiar to music directors in Pakistan and it is a testament to their creative talents that they could so quickly and naturally adapt these sounds to their own context.

Third, the smooth-as-polished-leather guitar playing is proof of just how talented the anonymous studio musicians in Lahore were. The string section too, is able to conjure a sound that is every bit as emotional and on point as Barry White‘s Love Unlimited Orchestra.

But in the end, it is the coquettish delivery of Runa Laila that makes the song so cool.  Laila was a Bengali girl raised in Karachi and grew up hearing the rock/pop music of Karachi’s then active nightclub scene as well as falling in love with the vocals of Ahmed Rushdie.

As soon as she burst on the scene in the 1966 film Hum Dono (We Two) she was recognized as an exceptional talent. In a few years she was a regular performer in India and the UK. She was one of Pakistan’s true pop stars and made well-received records of non-film music as well.

Her light and crisp voice is perfect for pop and upbeat music. Dil Dhadke is certainly one of my current favorites.

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