There’s a lovely delight in discovering an honest thought line and purpose in art. More so, when it is something that you have seen and appreciated several times before, but for different reasons each time. Even more so, when you realize how delicately layered and artfully constructed it is. The message is the same old; love, being out of sync, different pages, perspectives, and ultimately, the futility of the whole thing. And yet, when done right, it will always move.

Anyone who has listened to enough Hindi songs will know how tightly bound they are in structure, rhythm, melody and ‘role’. You have two singers, two actors, each taking turns at saying what they want. Completely parallel. By the end of the song, you realize they each had something to say but it is somewhat gratuitously put forth in song, so it makes for a good melody, more than anything else. That most of these songs make for fantastic listening is as much commentary about how devoid of context they are, as it is about how masterfully they are put together. Think of how many Hindi songs can be enjoyed by themselves as audio, in spite of them being designed to work as video. That says how pointless they are in the larger context of the story, premise and characters.

And then, every now and then, you have a song such as this. A song in which more than “what” is being said, it is the “how” that is infinitely more meaningful.

The melody and the powerful words aside, it is the subtle layering of the interaction of two opposing points of view that is more artful than anything.

It starts out with the woman whining about how she can’t do without him. She just can’t and she doesn’t know what to do about it. She says this over three lines. To which, all he has to say is that he is helpless. Notice how he doesn’t respond to her in structure. Not because there aren’t words available for that. But because, in life, sometimes all you can do is look someone straight in the eye, shrug your shoulders, and feel bad. Genuinely.

She:
Yeh dil tum bin, kahin lagta nahi, hum kya karein
Tasavvur mein koi basta nahi, hum kya karein
Tum hi keh do, ab aey jaan-e-wafa, hum kya karein

He:
Lutey dil mein diya jalta nahi, hum kya karein
Tum hi keh do, ab aey jaan-e-wafa, hum kya karein

But she doesn’t see it that way. She tries to appeal to him some more and draw him out and have a conversation. More words, more metaphors, more attempts to connect. This time over 5-6 lines instead of the previous 3.

She:
Kisi ke dil mein bas ke dil ko tadpana nahi achha
Nigahon ko jhalak de-de ke, chhup jaana nahi accha
Umeedon ke khile gulshan ko jhulsaana nahi accha
Humein tum bin, koi jachta nahi, hum kya karein
Tum hi keh do, ab aey jaan-e-wafa, hum kya karein

But he doesn’t have any new words for her. Even fewer than before, in fact. Basically nothing.

He:
Lutey dil mein diya jalta nahi, hum kya karein

But then, and this is where the video is so beautifully picturized, she turns her back very slowly. Not exactly accepting his weak position (as she sees it anyway) as valid. But more because there is no point hanging around. There is just no point! And that’s when he feels that he needs to break it down some more for her. Call it guilt, call it his sensitivity, whatever. But he puts together what he feels in some really powerful words. If he is going to make a clinching argument, this is it. If not, he can do no more. If you can feel his words in the pit of your stomach, it’s because that’s how good they are.

He:
Mohabbat kar to ley lekin, mohabbat raas aaye bhi.
Dilon ko bojh lagte hain, kabhi julfon ke saaye bhi…
Hazaaron gham hain iss duniya mein, apne bhi, paraaye bhi!
Mohabbat hee ka gham, tanha nahi, hum kya karein.
Tum hi keh do, ab aey jaan-e-wafa, hum kya karein.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t fly with her, and now she retreats to her original position; no matter what, she just can’t do without him. Saying the same thing again. The poetic equivalent of putting parenthesis around his carefully composed argument and multiplying it by a big fat 0.

She:
Yeh dil tum bin, kahin lagta nahi, hum kya karein

But she doesn’t totally ignore his argument. She goes on to tell him how he needs to go this way or that. Notice, there is progress in the conversation, but only infinitesimal. She is putting forth a counter to his initial argument. And he doesn’t really disagree with her there in principle. It’s just that he can’t do it! So unfortunately, all he can say to her is, “too bad”.

She:
Bujhaa do aag dil ki ya, ise khul kar hawa de do
He:
Jo iska moal de paaye, use apni wafaa de do

At which point she comes out and lays it down real thick. “Leave aside all your BS and just tell me what it is going to be”. An ultimatum. And cue for him to retreat to his initial argument. ”I am helpless”, says he, like a stuck needle.

She:
Tumhare dil mein kya hain, bass, humein itna bate de do
Ke ab tanha safar, katata nahin, hum kya karein
He:
Lutey dil mein diya jalta nahi, hum kya karein
She:
Yeh dil tum bin, kahin lagta nahi, hum kya karein

And one beautiful song later, we are back to where we started. Just, not quite. Like life.

There are approximately 3 times in the last 50 years when you can say Dharmendra has acted well. This has to be one of them. Playing the apparent aggressor in a relationship and still being able to draw sympathy, points to a great job done. In real life, that is almost impossible to pull off. In the song, he does that remarkably well because you can see past the shallow hurter-hurtee dynamic and into the honesty and genuine helplessness of his position. Very believably pulled off.

Tanuja, for her part, carries herself like the real beauty she always has been. Great poise, very balanced, almost never over-the-top, graceful, honest, and beautiful in a way that is more personality than looks. Even if you manage to be neutral and objective and grant his position as valid, you just want to smack him on the head once you see who he is doing that to. She is that personable.

The subtle symbology of backs turned, walking past, walking towards and away from each other, and coming close, based on what is being said in the argument is just very well done.

As for the music itself, love it or hate it, Lata is flawless. Rafi is authoritatively on the money like every time. Sahir Ludhianvi, who has written the song, obviously knew what he was doing. And the way the words fit in, in rhythm and in context, leaves almost no room for critiquing the music. Enough said, enough not said.

On an unrelated point, songs like these are where subtleties in a culture that are masked at other times, come to the fore. For all the amazing things they do, you can’t expect a Hollywood to come up with this kind of a product or treatment, for example. At the end of it, you almost want to watch the movie to find out what is going on exactly and how it plays out. FYI, I have watched this movie and it is no great shakes. But all that is besides the point.

It is incredible how impactful simplicity can be, if it is conceived well. This is something that gets said too often and has almost lost all meaning by now. But every now and then, you come across a song such as this and you can’t help but purse your lips tight in a frown, and shake your head to yourself.