If you’ve read Greta’s latest blog post, you’ll know there are some recent and utterly mouthwatering additions to the Edu Productions page—including this film, Noorjehan’s last to be made in India. Greta, on the Edu Productions page, mentions that “source is a mediocre quality tape supplied by Muz.” Well, no longer. Tom’s cleaned it up beautifully, and Pacifist has subtitled the film. The result is something I’m grateful for. And that, coming from someone who’s not a fan of tragic romances, is a lot.
Mirza Sahiban, a classic romance from Punjab (which has more than its fair share of tragic and legendary romances as part of its folk tradition), appears to be a popular story for cinematic adaptations: IMDB (not infallible by any means) itself lists six adaptations, the first of them dating back to 1929. The latest, Mirza: The Untold Story—released last year—seems to indicate that it’s still not lost its appeal, at least among filmmakers.
But, to get back to what the film is all about. It begins in a small village in Punjab, where the cocky teenager Mirza (Laxman) has made life miserable for just about everybody. He goes about with his bow and arrows, bursting the village girls’ waterpots, stealing butter, grabbing old men’s turbans off their heads, stealing food from a local halwai after setting off firecrackers surreptitiously tied to the back of the poor man’s clothing…
And generally being a total pest. He’s also very rude, and shows no respect whatsoever for anyone. Not a likeable character at all.
Part of the blame for Mirza’s rowdiness should probably be laid at the doorstep of his widowed mother (Amirbano), who’s spoilt him thoroughly. Even when a delegation of villagers turns up at her house, complaining vociferously about Mirza’s misdeeds…
…she initially pounces on her son and threatens to beat him, but cannot bring himself to lift a finger against her beloved boy. Her brother, Choudhary Sahib (Misra), who’s come visiting from another (distant) village, is as bad as her. He indulgently says that Mirza is a boy, and boys will be boys. [Yes, we know. And, in real life, they grow up to be pretty insufferable men, too].
Choudhary Sahib offers a suggestion: he will take Mirza away with him to his own village. There, under his influence [one assumes Choudhary Sahib imagines himself to be a good influence, not a just-as-inclined-to-pamper one as Mirza’s mother], Mirza will grow up good. Also, Choudhary Sahib will make sure that Mirza gets a good education, so that he can make something of himself. [Right now, the only aim in Mirza’s life seems to be as a sort of Punjabi Krishna, what with all that stealing of butter and harassing of girls fetching water].
Anyway, Mirza bids farewell (and not a very emotional one, either) to his mother and his little sister Chhati, and goes off with Choudhary Sahib.
In Choudhary Sahib’s house, Mirza’s arrival is not looked upon favourably by Choudhary Sahib’s wife (
? Gulab, identified by blog reader Sami). She knows all about how rude and uncontrollable Mirza is, and is justifiably indignant about being saddled with a boy such as this.
Choudhary Sahib, however, is completely in favour of Mirza staying with them, so all she can do is sulk a bit and give in with ill grace.
Mirza soon sets about making enemies left, right, and centre in this village as well. In the little village school, he soon antagonises the teacher by making fun of him, being rude, and picking fights with the other children. Among Mirza’s most belligerent opponents is Pumman (?), who is Choudhary Sahib’s wife’s nephew.
Pumman and Mirza clash over who gets to sit next to the pretty little Sahiban (Baby Anwari), and this leads to further mayhem in the classroom.
On her way home from school, Sahiban finds that she’s being followed by Mirza. When she confronts him and tells him to cease and desist, he replies that he’s headed her way; he isn’t following her.
This gets cleared up when Sahiban reaches her home—because it’s the house of Choudhary Sahib, Mirza’s uncle. Sahiban, unknown to Mirza, is Choudhary Sahib’s daughter.
Mirza receives a far-from-warm welcome from Choudhary Sahib’s other offspring, his son Shamir (?). Shamir leaps to defend Sahiban’s honour, and the resultant fight is only broken up when Choudhary Sahib comes in and introduces the two boys to each other. It doesn’t make them like each other, but at least Choudhary Sahib’s presence makes them stop fighting.
Fast-forward, and the children in the story are now grown up. [Some, like Shamir, seem to have aged considerably faster than the others, but I suppose that is the result of being constantly under the stress of living under the same roof as a hooligan like Mirza]. Mirza (now Trilok Kapoor, Prithiviraj Kapoor’s brother) and Sahiban (Noorjehan) have gone from being childhood sweethearts to deeply in love as adults too.
Mirza is still very attached to his bow and arrow, and misses no opportunity to hurl insults [and arrows] at Pumman (now Gope). Pumman is still very smitten with Sahiban, and is annoyed that she seems to find Mirza far more interesting than she finds Pumman. [Pumman might like to take a look in a mirror, methinks. And examine his manners. Whatever else he may be, Mirza is handsome, and certainly knows how to woo a girl].
Mirza and Sahiban’s frequent rendezvouses haven’t gone unseen. People in the village have been gossiping, and the general consensus seems to be that Mirza has sullied the honour of Choudhary Sahib’s family. Further fuel is added to the fire when, at a local fair nearby, Sahiban makes no bones about praising her beloved Mirza’s prowess as a wrestler, archer, rider, and overall hero.
It’s only a matter of time before her family comes to know. Pumman, seething with envy and frustration, visits Shamir and tells him what is going on under his very nose. How can her brother let Sahiban carry on an affair with Mirza?
Shamir has no clue what Pumman’s talking about, but is quick to believe the worst of Mirza [perhaps with reason? Mirza, at least a teenaged Mirza, was certainly not the sort of person I’d want for a brother-in-law]. Pumman decides to let Shamir see for himself, and along with a bunch of other men, they go off to where Mirza and Sahiban are sitting and singing love songs to each other.
Many insults are hurled between the men, with Pumman and Shamir being equally violent in their abuses. Mirza [who seems to have certainly become more restrained and likeable since his adolescent days] controls himself, though he does let Shamir know that if Shamir hadn’t been Sahiban’s brother, he (Mirza) would’ve long since used him (Shamir) for archery practice.
This, of course, doesn’t go down well with Shamir. Sahiban is hauled off home, distressed and weeping and begging both brother and beloved to spare each other. Shamir gives Mirza one last stern warning [accompanied by one last dirty look] and tells Mirza that he’d better not be seen anywhere near their home again.
But things still don’t settle down. The entire village is still gossiping about Mirza and Sahiban, and Pumman comes to Sahiban’s home to meet her mother. Sahiban’s mother, as we’ve seen from when Mirza was introduced into her household, is not at all in favour of Mirza. She doesn’t like him a bit, and discovering that that ne’er-do-well has been romancing her daughter is galling.
Pumman—who has been angling for Sahiban all these years—suggests himself as groom for the girl, and Sahiban’s mother is eagerness itself. Yes, Pumman is a respectable man, from a good family, prosperous and capable of looking after Sahiban well.
While Sahiban’s fate is being thus decided, Mirza arrives, ostensibly to see Sahiban one last time before he leaves. The cheek!
He nearly ends up saying goodbye to the world, because along with Sahiban, who’s emerged from the house, out comes her mother, too. And she’s so angry with Mirza, she lifts her lathi and lets fly at Mirza’s head.
Choudhary Sahib, who arrives just then, tries to stop her, but before he can do much, Shamir puts in an appearance—and also begins to beat Mirza. Fortunately for Mirza, his aunt—his mother’s sister, and therefore also Shamir’s aunt—arrives just then and manages to stop Shamir from injuring Mirza any further.
Mirza, blood streaming from his skull, goes off to moan and sing a sad song all by himself, while his aunt—having first appeared to be on Mirza’s side—now goes off to blast all his hopes by telling his mother what he’s been up to.
Mirza’s mother and his sister Chhati (?) are horrified, Chhati rather more so than her mother. Chhati lays all the blame on Sahiban’s doorstep, cursing her for having beguiled Mirza. She rains curses on the absent Sahiban’s head (some of them really innovative—“Aag na lag gayi uski jawaani ko?!”—“Why didn’t her youthfulness catch fire?!”)
In Sahiban’s home, there’s an equal amount of bad-mouthing directed at Mirza. Choudhary Sahib tries to stand up for his nephew, but both his wife and his son are completely anti-Mirza. Pumman gets their vote.
Mirza and Sahiban’s love story seems to have come to a tragic end. Even Sahiban’s friend Noora (Roop Kamal) chastises Sahiban and tries to talk her out of this hopeless love for Mirza. Noora says that nothing will ever come of it; all Sahiban and Mirza are managing to do is to make enemies left, right and centre. [Well, Mirza got off to a good start on that point; he’s been a pro at making enemies ever since he could hold a bow and arrow].
But a ray of hope appears. Because, when Sahiban pours out her heart to Noora and tells her friend everything—how much Mirza means to her, what will happen if they were to be separated, and so on—Noora agrees to help. First, by being a carrier of messages between the two lovers; then, by escorting Sahiban to surreptitiously meet Mirza, and even going so far as to keep an eye out for intruders while Mirza and Sahiban bill and coo.
She even ends up intercepting the meddlesome Pumman, who, suspicious as ever, has begun to smell a rat. Noora even convinces Pumman that she is in love with him and has pined for him all these years while he’s been trailing after Sahiban—an assertion which surprises, but also pleases, Pumman long enough to distract him from his worries regarding Mirza and Sahiban.
That’s all it is, sadly for the two doomed lovers: a distraction. Noora’s light-hearted flattery, Choudhary Sahib’s reasoning with his wife and Shamir, Sahiban’s own subterfuge and pleadings: will they bear fruit? Can anything bring together these two lovers?
[Yes, there is something that can, actually. To find out what, watch the film].
What I liked about this film:
The two Noors, who really light up the film. One, of course, is the real Noor: Noorjehan, radiant and so expressive. I have to admit that when I watched my first Noorjehan film—Anmol Ghadi—I liked her, but not to the extent of being totally in love with her. But she’s begun to grow on me, and I’ve started loving her more and more with each film of hers I’ve watched. In Mirza Sahiban, her acting is wonderful (I was especially impressed by the scenes where she’s acting shy when in Mirza’s company: she actually gives the impression of blushing: not coy, not overly demure, but actually shy). As for her singing—we’ll come to that.
The second Noor is the fictional one: Noora, Sahiban’s friend. Noora is, for me, the most endearing character in the film (yes, actually even more so than the two protagonists). She’s gutsy, smart, fiercely loyal, resourceful, and just generally the sort of person I’d give my eye teeth to have as a friend.
Pandit Amarnath’s music is the other major plus point about Mirza Sahiban. I won’t go so far as to say I loved every song in the film (there are ten of them, including the unusual but apt children’s song, Aaj miyaanji ko chadh aaye bukhaar toh bada mazaa aaye)—but I did like some of them a lot. My favourite is the lovely duet, Haath seene pe jo rakh do toh qaraar aa jaaye. Rut rangeeli aayi, chaandni chhaayi, chaand mere aaja is another gem, and O kya yehi tera pyaar tha is good too: both vintage Noorjehan.
And Trilok Kapoor is deliciously dashing. A definite hint of Shashi Kapoor, there.
What I didn’t like:
The somewhat inept acting by a few members of the cast—especially the children. (Oddly enough, one of the youngest members of the cast, the little girl who plays Sahiban, seems more convincing than the older children who play Mirza, Shamir and Pumman).
The other thing that irked me was the etching of some of the characters. Mirza Sahiban’s characters are mostly just too black or white to be believable (Shamir and Pumman seem to be among those with no redeeming qualities, except that Pumman is a buffoon at times). The film also has, interestingly enough (though I wonder if that was intentional) a character whom I suppose I should’ve sympathised with—Mirza’s sister Chhati; only, she turned out to be such a nasty and selfish creature with no thought beyond her own wellbeing, that I couldn’t bring myself to feel anything but loathing for her.
Worst? Mirza’s character as a boy. So utterly rude and unlikeable, I wanted to hit him really hard. Strangely, no explanation is ever given for his evolution from being a spoilt and nasty teenager to a young man who is respectful to his elders and seems like a nice sort. Sahiban’s love at work?
Whatever. Despite its flaws, this is a fairly engrossing film, especially if you like classical romance—and it’s a chance to see (and hear) Noorjehan at her best. Thank you, Muz, Tom, and Pacifist, for putting this all together for the rest of us!
Trilok Kapur looks yummy. So far I have seen only Anmol Ghadi and loved Noor in it. Her voice is amazing.
Are you hinting that the end of this film was different from the one in the legends? I kind of like the way it ends in the story.
Ava, another absolutely wonderful Noorjehan film is the Pakistani one, Dupatta. The songs are fabulous, and she is simply mesmerising in it. My favourite of her films so far (not that I’ve seen too many!!)
And no, I’m not hinting that the end of this film is different from the one in the legends. But think Taj Mahal or Nausherwan-e-Adil. ;-)
Great film and very good review! A bit of information – The other Noor was played by actress Roopkamal whereas the mother of Sahiban was played by Gulab. The music was jointly by Pandit Amarnath and duo Husnlal Bhagatram – so all 3 brothers were involved.
Thank you so much! I was hoping someone would be able to identify some of the cast, because I couldn’t, beyond a few well-known faces. I’m especially happy to know who played Noora – Roopkamal was great. Will go and add this information in the review. Thanks, again.
I hadn’t known Husnlal Bhagatram were also the music directors for the film – they aren’t credited in it.
Laxman plays young Mirza, and Baby Anwari plays young Sahiban
Thank you for that piece of information.
So does that mean that you will add the information to the review?
I will, once my laptop is back from repairs. Commenting is easy using a phone or iPad; editing a blog post always causes problems, at least for me.
Also Rekha (actress of the 40’s) plays Chhati, Mirza’s younger sister,
Misra plays Choudhary Sahib, and Ibrahim plays Miyanji
Rehka plays the adult Chhati, I don’t know who the baby one is.
I agree. The film is very engrossing with a lot to like. I’m thrilled that you have liked it. :-)
Re: Mirza’s improved behaviour. Tom too was rather skeptical about it. My explanation was that children grow out of it.
I think Mirza’s energy got directed towards being good in sports.
>He indulgently says that Mirza is a boy, and boys will be boys.
Actually he says children.
mere bachhe bhi shararat karte hain
I couldn’t help comparing the film with 1957 version of Shammi Kapoor. There the characters are really evil.
Sahiban’s brother, Shamir I thought was quite indulgent towards his sister in that scene about her silk dupatta (before leaving for the mela). They could have shown a couple more such scenes to establish the quality of their relationship.
The mother of Sahiban also resented the presence of Mirza because she had been asking Chaudhary sahab for a long time to bring her sister’s son.
Mirza’s sister actually senses that Mirza is going to his doom, and tries to dissuade him from going by playing on his sentiments. IIRC Pillu’s verse form (as told by someone a long time ago) goes into a great comparison between the two situations (of wedding).
Thank you for reviewing the film DO I enjoyed reading it :-)
I was sure you’d like Noora, and also Noor Jehan.
Liked the way Sahiban jumps down from the kotha, and the foolish brother sleeping away till long past day break. LOL
And Noora’s equestrian skills. :-)
Isn’t it a pleasure watching a film with female characters taking centre stage :-)
Noora’s equestrian skills, and her genuineness really endeared her to me. Loved her! :-)
And yes, as always, it’s a pleasure to see a film – especially an old Hindi film – in which female characters take centrestage, and that too in a good way, not as being martyrish or longsuffering (though there’s a bit of that in Sahiban’s case, even despite all that leaping from the kothi wall and all)!
Thank you, Pacifist, for working on this! I didn’t need to use the subtitles, but I’m sure a lot of people will find them very useful. :-)
Tom had told me you’d preferred this version of Mirza Sahiban to the 1957 one. I haven’t seen that (frankly, much as I love post-1957 Shammi Kapoor, I don’t much care for his films from before Tumsa Nahin Dekha). Your comment about the characters there being even more evil makes me think I’m unlikely to ever watch it!
Yes, I understand Sahiban’s mother’s and brother’s points of view regarding Mirza – and why they resented him – but somehow in both instances, I thought the characters just too hurriedly sketched to really make much of an impact other than “these people are anti-Mirza Sahiban“. As you said, some more scenes along the lines of that dupatta one might have helped. At least it would’ve helped establish Shamir’s protectiveness, his genuine love for his sister, whatever. Without that, he just comes across as a mostly unreasonable and belligerent older brother.
” IIRC Pillu’s verse form (as told by someone a long time ago) goes into a great comparison between the two situations (of wedding).”
Okay, I’m totally clueless about this. If you remember, please tell me more. I could see the irony re: the two weddings when I was watching the film, but didn’t compare them, of course, since this review didn’t extend that far into the film.
> I could see the irony re: the two weddings when I was watching the film,
Yes, that’s what I meant. The story has been written in a verse form and the last bit where there’s a similarity of a situation (wedding), even in the film it goes on about, here there is…., but there there is…. several times, and must have sounded good in verse, which they tried to keep.
The sister’s fear (which she expresses to the horse – my brother’s riding into danger, run fast etc) gives me the impresssion of her trying to persuade him to stay because of that.
>but didn’t compare them, of course, since this review didn’t extend that far into the film.
ooops!!! I went back to read why I thought I should mention this, and found this line,
>Mirza’s sister Chhati; only, she turned out to be such a nasty and selfish creature with no thought beyond her own wellbeing,
Oh, I’d no idea the story was in verse form. (Is the last bit of song from the film – the closing lines, sung in Punjabi – part of that?)
Yes, I did write that bit about Chhati being a nasty and selfish creature. While I had been thinking about how she reacted when Noora arrived, I was also thinking about her initial reaction to the news of Mirza and Sahiban’s romance – she is so whiny and irritating there that she really got on my nerves.
Maybe I’ve just so got used to families in Hindi films being ready to sacrifice their all for their siblings/parents/offspring, this came as a surprise. ;-) Though I can see that Chhati was worried about her brother, not merely wanting to have her own way.
>(Is the last bit of song from the film – the closing lines, sung in Punjabi – part of that?)
I’m pretty sure it is. At least that’s how all these stories are narrated by singing the verses. Before Piloo put it down in writing it was passed on by the story telling technique in middle ages by singers who travelled around like the Troubadours in Europe.
Ah, the dastangos. :-)
Thank you for that word DO :-)
I searched the web for more information and discovered a lot of interesting things, dastangos being the people and dastangoi the art. (I’m sure you know that). There’s also an interesting video clip where some young men are explaining it’s history. How from a single narrator the art developed to two.
At 14:45 the two men are narrating a scene from a madarassa (school) which reminded me of the scenes from this version of Mirza Sahiban.
I’ve been to a dastangoi performance, pacifist. It was held at the Chaunsath Khamba, near the dargah of Nizamuddin in Delhi, and was simply mind-blowing. Mahmood Farooqui was the main dastango at that, and he recited sections of the Daastaan-e-Amir Hamza. Just remembering it gives me gooseflesh, it was so good.
I don’t have the time right now to watch the clip, but will do so soon. Thank you! :-)
Oh how lucky!!! Hope there’s one on when I’m there :-)
This particular clip at 14:45 is also from Dastaan e- Amir Humza, I think, because I remember the word Amir being mentioned by them. This may not be as classy as the one you attended I imagine.
There’s been a concerted effort to revive dastangoi, so in the winters (especially), Delhi sees some performances. Maybe you’ll be lucky! :-)
Madhu, it was great to see you write this one up! I had watched it a couple of years ago without subtitles – not understanding most of the dialogue, of course – but I pieced together the plot somewhat based on links to descriptions of the original legend, etc. I look forward to watching this finally with subtitles (and can’t wait to see Pacifist’s work on this), but my life has been hectic and harried the past couple of weeks and there is a process involved in getting this onto the computer (which doesn’t always work right) and then onto the blank disks (which I don’t have right now), and I am not the most quick and proactive person when it comes to such things. :)
Anyway, this has been one of my favorite films in terms of music and singing for a few years now, and you know why. It also has historical significance, especially for Noor Jehan fans, though most people don’t seem to realize it: This was Noor Jehan’s very last Indian film; everything after this would be made in Pakistan. I have seen a few people say that Jugnu was the last, but I guess that was because Jugnu is better known(?); this one came afterwards.
Sometimes I confuse particular songs/moments in this one with scenes from another film, Lal Haveli (1944). I think maybe it’s because there are similar (rural) crowd and “saheli” scenes(?)… And there have been a few times when I had to remind myself that Lal Haveli was the film where you could find Baby Meena Kumari and not this one. :) (BTW, Lal Haveli has a few fine duets between Noor Jehan and Surendra, but there’s no confusing that one with Anmol Ghadi; they seem quite different.) I was thinking that if there is one film on the Noor Jehan list that I haven’t seen mentioned as an upcoming project for the “Edu Productions” ;) group, that would be it. But I am definitely looking forward to all these Noor Jehan films that are on the way from this group – assuming I finally manage to get them at some point!
I do hope you manage to get these films, Richard – I’m sure you’d enjoy them. I haven’t got around to downloading the other Noorjehan films up on the Edu Productions page, but am looking forward to watching them, too… whenever i get the time. You aren’t the only one who’s not especially quick or proactive in such matters!
I haven’t seen Jugnu yet, but it’s on my list… as is Lal Haveli, though since I’m not a Surendra fan, Noorjehan and Baby Meena Kumari are going to be main reason I’ll watch that. I did note, by the way, that this was Noorjehan’s last film made in India – a good note to leave the country on, I think. :-)
Madhu, thanks for this review. I had bookmarked the link when Greta put it up, but haven’t got around to watching it as yet. I’m not a great fan of tragic love stories; most of the time, I’m sitting there wondering why either lover couldn’t have the gumption of a gnat! Yet, I grew up with these legends – Heer Ranjha, Sohni Mahiwal, Mirza Sahiban (what’s in the waters of the Punjab that everyone seems to be so lovelorn there?) and then the ones from Rajasthan – Prithviraj-Samyukta, Padmini, Roopmati-Baz Bahadur, Jasma…
Mirza’s life seems to be as a sort of Punjabi Krishna, – you know, when I read the first paragraph of your review, that is just what I thought – that they were mixing up the antics of Krishna with that of Mirza. I suppose they thought that if Krishna could get away with these ‘pranks’ then the same would establish Mirza as the young, don’t care, ‘manly’ boy that girls would love! (Urk! They don’t know many girls, do they?) :))
Your asides, as usual, had me in splits! Thanks to Tom and pacifist and Ava and the others for all the work they are doing to retain part of our celluloid history.
Thank you, Anu. Yes, Punjab does seem to have a lot of very legendary lovers, doesn’t it? So many of them (incidentally, on one of the web pages I checked to read about the original Mirza Sahiban story, I came across an interesting comment – that theirs is the only Punjabi classic romance in which the man’s name appears first rather than the woman’s.
“(Urk! They don’t know many girls, do they?) :)) ”
Apparently not! That is just the sort of man I’d stay away from. :-D
> I came across an interesting comment – that theirs is the only Punjabi classic romance in which the man’s name appears first rather than the woman’s.
Oh, that’s interesting. On reading this I started to look for some other similarity that might exist, and discovered that it could also be syllable based (not exactly alliteration, but something like that – or there is perhaps another word for it).
The name with less syllables first;
PS: forgot to mention, that the first name also always ends with a vowel giving a natural flow of speech to the next word, except Heer Ranjha where the ending ‘R’ of Heer flows easily into the ‘R’ that begins the next word Ranjha.
OK I better stop now. But I love these nuances of rhythm and flow in words. :-)
pacifist, that is a very interesting observation indeed. I love the rhythms and cadences of words too. And put that way, Iit makes a lot of sense – I mean, I can’t think of ‘Majnu-Laila’ falling off the tongue as easily as ‘Laila-Majnu’ or ‘Sahiban-Mirza’ being quite the same as ‘Mirza-Sahiban’. The same for Romeo-Juliet, that most legendary of lovers. Somehow, Juliet-Romeo doesn’t quite have the same caché. :)
@pacifist, Anu: Your comments reminded me of what little I remember of the French I learnt in college – and that the pronunciation of some words often depends on what follows them (or precedes them) – providing a lovely flow and rhythm to the language. :-)
@Anu and DO
I recalled the English practice (I don’t know if it still exists in any parts) where if a word ended in a vowel and the next started with a vowel of a different sound they added ‘r’ in their speech after the sound of the vowel in the first world.
This sounds confusing, so I’ll give an example. The sentence;
I’m going to India in winter. Spoken as;
I’m going to Indiar in winter.
This makes it easier to flow into the next word as compared to changing the sounds to say the next word.
BTW this sentence (may not be correct word by word) is from Jane Eyre’s 1983 adaptation with Timothy Dalton.
Oh, I’ve never come across this practice. But it made me think of how we use the articles ‘a’ and ‘an’, depending upon whether or not the next word begins with a vowel sound or not… the same principle, I think.
Just discovered it’s called the intrusive ‘r’. Some discussion of it here.
Thank you for that, pacifist!I must admit I’d never paid attention to that, though I do remember that when I was watching Lark Rise to Candleford a couple of months back, I’d noticed that the protagonist used to address her father as ‘Par’; quite a definite ‘r’ sound at the end.
Happy Easter Madhu! Well amongst all the Noor Jehan fans I guess I am in the minority here, as I often say pasand apni apni khayal apna apna, yes I am not a Noor Jehan fan. However the story sounds interesting, I vaguely knew about this legend, but did not know the entire story—- Shilpi
Thank you, Shilpi, and Happy Easter to you too (belated by now, but still)!
Ah, well. If everybody liked the same actors/films/directors/etc, it would be a very boring world. So we will agree to disagree on Noorjehan.
Yes you are so right. By the way, I know you had this series of posts that you did on request of your readers and I know I am late but I can’t help making you a request. I have been meaning to for quite sometime now. Have you seen the Julie Andrews film ‘Thoroughly Modern Millie’? I saw it as a kid and I quite enjoyed it though I was too young to understand some portions. I found it on you tube and, time willing, I plan to see it once again. It would be interesting to see your take on the film.Of course this just a request, you may take it or leave it.– Shilpi
Here you go, Shilpi. I’d reviewed this nearly three years back:
Not one of my favourite Julie Andrews films (actually, I have to admit, I like The Sound of Music the most enjoyable of all her films, by a long shot).
Thanks I didn’t know but then, I was not so active on the net 3 years ago. Will read it.
Tell me what you think, when you do.