Ten Composers, Ten Solos: The Magic of Asha Bhonsle

I know I am late. Asha Bhonsle passed away, at the age of 92, on April 12. Within a couple of hours of the news of her death, there were tributes cropping up all across the net. Song lists, essays, memories, some misplaced attempts to jump on the bandwagon even if one wasn’t too sure what the fuss was about.

I am late, yes. I have to admit I was a little benumbed—Asha has always been one of my very favourite singers (dare I be an iconoclast and admit that I liked her more than Lata?). But more than that, she symbolized for me an older, sweeter time: an era of kinder films, gentler films, of sublime music and innocence. Asha was the last of the stalwarts, the last one standing of those who had created the magic of the 50s and 60s.

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Raahi (1952)

This was a film I watched by way of tribute to Nalini Jaywant earlier this year. I had initially not planned to review it, but there were several points about Raahi that I found unusual enough to make me decide it needed to be documented.

I first heard about Raahi on Anitaji’s blog, where she mentioned that it was based on Mulk Raj Anand’s novel Two Leaves and a Bud—which is where one of the songs of the film, Ek kali aur do pattiyaan, draws its inspiration. Anitaji had included this song in a list of songs picturized in tea gardens, and it intrigued me. The story, set in a tea garden where friction between the workers and a heartless, predictably colonial (money-minded, racist, contemptuous) management causes problems, sounded like something that might merit watching.

Raahi begins on a country road in Assam in 1945. A Britisher (S Michael) going by in a jeep loses his temper at Ramesh (Dev Anand), who’s walking in the middle of the road.

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Ashwamedham (1967)

My go-to expert for opinions on old Malayalam and Tamil cinema is Anu. Some years back, I’d been complaining to Anu about how so few old films from the South are available with English subtitles, but then I found a bunch of them on Jio HotStar. Anu asked which ones I’d found, and then was kind enough to give me her opinion on the films. About Ashwamedham, she wrote: “Ashwamedham deals with the social attitudes towards leprosy patients. Fabulous performances, especially from Sathyan. If you want to see the then-reigning triad of Malayalam actors from that age – Sathyan, Prem Nazir and Madhu – this is the film to watch.”

That sounded good, so why not watch (finally!)?

The film begins in the home of Keshavan (PJ Antony), whose wife Laxmi (Santha Devi) is expecting her tenth child. She’s quite sick of the whole thing and had been wanting to get surgery done to prevent her getting pregnant again, but Keshavan had refused. Now she’s pregnant again, and very upset about it. Already they have lost three children; already they have four daughters whom they need to marry off… the strain, both financial as well as emotional (not to mention physical, on Laxmi) is tremendous.

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Ten of my favourite ‘Housework Songs’

This needs some explaining. I don’t mean songs that extol the virtues of doing housework (as someone who does more housework than the average middle class Indian woman, I cannot imagine ever extolling the virtues or joys of housework—it’s possibly the most thankless, relentless and utterly monotonous job out there). But the monotony of housework, the fact that you can get nearly all of it done without really applying your mind or having to concentrate, means that you are free to do something else. Especially something musical.

My mother-in-law invariably turns on the radio and listens to songs as she goes about her work. But my mother, from as far back as I can remember, used to sing. As she went about dusting and the cooking and whatnot, I’d hear her singing. She still has a wonderful voice, and back in her heyday, it was stunning—and her repertoire was amazing, all the way from hymns to hits by Elvis and Jim Reeves (and some old Hindi songs: as lullabies, she sang O mere pyaar aaja to my sister, and Yehi woh jagah hai to me).  I too, when I’m doing housework—especially when I’m cooking—sometimes sing. All sorts of songs.

So, too, do a fair number of people onscreen. Here, then, are ten songs that feature people singing as they go about doing housework. Besides my usual criterion, about the film in question being a pre-70s one that I’ve seen—I’ve imposed one more rule: that the person should be doing some work in the course of the song (this is why Kismat ki hawa kabhi naram doesn’t feature on my list; while Bhagwan’s character is in a kitchen, surrounded by pots and pans and even wearing a chef’s cap, he never uses any of those for anything remotely connected to housework).

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Aaya Saawan Jhoomke (1969)

When Dharmendra passed away some months back, it reminded me that while I have seen a good bit of his filmography from the 1960s—including little-known, forgettable films like Begaana, Main Bhi Ladki Hoon, Chandan ka Palna and Jab Yaad Kisiki Aati Hai—I haven’t reviewed too many of his films. Some, yes; but plenty, even much-loved films or well-known ones, have somehow slipped under the radar. Time to correct that, I decided.

And why not with this film (directed by Raghunath Jhalani), which I had last seen perhaps a little over 20 years ago, and which I remembered vaguely. Nirupa Roy, having (once again) misplaced a child. Aruna Irani on the verge of becoming an unwed mother if some good Samaritan doesn’t come to her rescue. Asha Parekh, lower lip quivering and eyes swimming with tears. Some very well-known songs.

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Walk Like a Dragon (1960)

I don’t know how many of those reading this post know about the actor James Shigeta. Shigeta, a third-generation Japanese American, was one of the first Asian-Americans to really make a mark in Hollywood, playing roles that were different from the (till then) standard supporting characters. I first saw Shigeta in the excellent noir The Crimson Kimono, and then in the delightful (and unusual) Rodgers and Hammerstein musical Flower Drum Song, but this is one film I’ve been wanting to watch for a while. I finally discovered it on YouTube, and so here’s a review.

Walk Like a Dragon is set in the 1870s, in California. Linc Bartlett (Jack Lord) owns a freight line and is headed home to the town of Jericho when he stops en route at San Francisco, to collect a consignment. The old Chinese man from whom he takes the goods asks him for a favour: with him is a young Chinese fellow, newly arrived from China, who needs to go to Jericho. Will Linc take him along? 

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Ten of my Favourite Ravi Duets

Another birth centenary, and another list of favourite songs from the 1950s and 60s.

Today, March 3, 2026, marks the 100th birth anniversary of the composer mononymously known in Hindi cinema as Ravi, and in Malayalam cinema as Bombay Ravi. In the course of a long and illustrious career, Ravi composed music for a very wide range of films, first in the Hindi film industry and later mostly for Malayalam cinema. I will leave those who know his work in the latter to compile lists of his Malayalam songs; what I would like to focus on here are the songs he composed for Hindi films. For films like Gharana and Khandaan, yes (both of which won him Filmfare Best Music Direction Awards); but also for many other films—both hits like Waqt and Chaudhvin ka Chaand, and films that were otherwise duds but the songs of which have far outlived the films themselves.

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Ten of my favourite Nalini Jaywant songs

Nalini Jaywant is one of those actresses about whom I’ve changed my opinion over the course of my watching of her films. I remember, as a child (which includes my early teens, which was a peak period when it came to Hindi film viewing), not especially liking her. I was a callow youngster, and as shallow as I was callow. To me women like Madhubala or Meena Kumari were the ultimate in beauty: Nalini Jaywant, with her heavy-lidded eyes and her pouting mouth, didn’t strike me as beautiful. Also, even if I put aside the purely superficial aspect of her looks, there was the fact that I didn’t think her a good actress. I found her voice affected and thin, nothing to write home about.

Thank goodness I grew up. Grew up, widened my horizons, and realized that there are different kinds of beauty. Realized, too, that one shouldn’t pass judgment on the worth of an actor without having watched a wide-ish spectrum of their work. Nalini Jaywant, when I had watched Munimji, seemed just another effervescent filmi female, no more than arm candy; it was through Shikast and Kaala Paani, through Hum Sab Chor Hain and Railway Platform (and many more), that I discovered just how versatile she could be. Goofy, flirtatious, tragic, long-suffering, feisty… Nalini Jaywant aced so many roles, brought so many of her characters vividly to life.

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Amar Jyoti (1936)

This is a film I first heard about many years ago, when Memsaab reviewed it on her blog. It’s been in the back of my mind to watch it sometime, but it kept getting put on the back burner. Then, some months back, when I was watching Baaz (1953) as part of my tribute on Guru Dutt’s 100th birth anniversary, I was reminded of Amar Jyoti. If Geeta Bali’s woman pirate in Baaz seemed a surprisingly progressive character for 1953, Durga Khote’s pirate queen Saudamini, playing the lead in V Shantaram’s Amar Jyoti in 1936, was even more progressive.

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