Golden tunes

Krondoshi Pothocharini by Atul Prasad is one of my very favorite songs and always strikes a certain chord in my heart. It reminds me of a beautiful winter evening some years ago at the home of a gentleman who frequently hosts evenings of music and song. From where we were all seated, I could see the night sky clear and dotted with stars. The lady who sang for us had the voice of a nightingale, and as I closed my eyes, to listen to the music, I was transported to another world. 

Atul Prasad also brings back early memories of my mother in our Karachi home, sitting on the floor with her harmonium, singing Jabo Na Jabo Na Jabo Na Ghore.

Until that particular evening I had never heard her sing, and, in fact, I did not even know that she could, or that she had a really melodious voice. She was persuaded to bring out her harmonium by her brother, who was visiting from Chittagong, so we enjoyed an evening of listening to her favourite songs. 

For our amusement, my uncle would sing Kishore Kumar's comedic songs from Lukochuri, which always made me laugh, because he would accompany the song with comic gestures and expressions. We passed some pleasant evenings with this music interspersed with games of carom and rummy.

My mother loved the music of Rabindranath Tagore, Atul Prasad, and Kazi Nazrul Islam, and till the end of her life she would keep the radio tuned to Kolkata Radio. If I tiptoed in while she was napping and turned it off, thinking it would disturb her sleep, she would immediately wake and say, "Who turned my radio off?"

Protima Banerjee's rendition of Tomay Keno Lagchey Eto Chena from the film Harano Shur has been a tune I hum often. Some ten years ago, on a long train journey from London to Edinburgh with friends, while we were discussing our old musical favourites, I decided to divert everyone by singing for them. 

I did not inherit my mother's voice but my off-key rendition of the old song went down so well that they demanded encores. I obliged with Kono Ek Gayer Bodhu, originally sung by Hemanta Mukherjee, and a few other tunes. Between the sandwiches and coffee, and my singing, which was accompanied by much clapping and enjoyment, the time on the train passed quickly. 

Sometimes, I would accompany my mother to Gulistan Cinema, where we would watch romances starring Suchitra Sen and Uttam Kumar. The cinema hall was clean, and the audience civilised and quiet, so we really enjoyed the story and the music to the full. 

One of my favourite songs was Tumi Jey Amaar. After the film, we would go to Baby Ice Cream for my favourite vanilla ice, or to Chu Chin Chow for Chinese food Dhaka-style, or to Bham Pharmacy, or to Beauty Shoes to get something new for me.

South Asian music and films are hugely popular in the most improbable places. On a trip to Samarkand in the late seventies, one of the local Uzbeks came up to greet us and told us in Russian that his favourite song was Mein Awara Hoon, and repeated happily, "Dev Anand, Dev Anand."

And, finally, who can forget the Urdu Lag Ja Galey from the film Woh Kaun Thi? I always felt this would have been the song that the mythical Anarkali would have sung to Prince Selim before she was walled up by Emperor Akbar.

Recently, while browsing YouTube, I came across a different, modern, rendition of Lag Ja Galey by a male singer called Sanam who has a voice like silk. I am glad I discovered his music, as it will be a delightful addition to my collection of well-

loved CDs. 

To me, music is the language of happiness and memories.