In the 17 years this blog has been in existence, I’ve created song lists for a large number of music directors: OP Nayyar, Madan Mohan, Naushad, Ravi, SD Burman… but somehow, I had never got around to creating a Salil Chowdhury song list. I realized this lacuna some years back, but then, realizing that Salil’s birth centenary was in 2025, I told myself I’d plan a list to mark that. I could not ignore Salil, who has long been one of my favourite music directors.
(Coincidentally enough, I watched Aaye Din Bahaar Ke some weeks back, just after I’d posted my review of Phool aur Patthar. Back then I’d not known that we would be mourning the passing of Dharmendra so soon after. Consider this a tribute).
When I watched Phool aur Patthar some weeks back, I was reminded of the many fairly entertaining films Dharmendra worked in through the mid- and late-1960s. Not all of them were good (some, like Chandan ka Palna, were terrible), but quite a lot of them had at least good songs, a fair deal of entertainment value, and an undeniably handsome male lead to make them worth at least a one-time watch. Some of these (like Aankhen, arguably my favourite Dharmendra film) I’ve reviewed already; there are several others.
Here’s one. I last watched Aaye Din Bahaar Ke perhaps about 20-odd years ago, and actually remembered a fair bit of it. That I didn’t mind watching it again, even though the film is far from perfect, says a lot for it.
The story begins in Darjeeling, where Ravi (Dharmendra) lives with his widowed mother (Sulochana Latkar). Ravi is devoted to his mother: so much so that when Ma is doing her pooja, he tells her, “You may worship your gods, but I will worship only you.” She has devoted her life to looking after Ravi, educating him, etc, which is why this somewhat OTT sentiment.
RIP, Dharmendra.
After the recent fiasco—when several news sites (including some which are supposed to be responsible) posted the erroneous news of Dharmendra’s passing away—I was sceptical when I read, on November 24th, that he had died. Another hoax, I thought. He cannot be dead; this must be another TRP-raising technique by conscienceless brute journalists.
But no, sadly not. Dharmendra truly is gone. At the age of 89, after a very long innings as an actor. Starting as a supporting actor, then going on to play the romantic hero through the 60s (a period during which he also did some of his more nuanced roles, like in Satyakam and Anupama). In the 70s, Dharmendra finally donned the ‘Kutte main tera khoon pee jaaoonga’ persona that was to—unfairly, I think—become his defining onscreen character. He was the muscle-bound action hero, often seeking revenge, in so many films that people tended to forget that Dharmendra was actually a very versatile actor, capable of everything from comedy (remember him in Chupke-Chupke and Seeta aur Geeta?) to knee-weakeningly romantic roles, to restrained, subtle acting.
Also, of course, there was the fact that he was very handsome: one of the best-looking of Hindi cinema’s leading men. One could watch a film just to feast one’s eyes on Garam Dharam, the ultimate hottie.
Anyway, a tribute was definitely in order, because this is one person whose passing I sincerely and whole-heartedly mourn. I had done a post of my favourite Dharmendra solos back in 2014, to mark his 79th birthday. Commenting on that post, several blog readers had suggested songs of his that were duets, and which I had to regretfully nix. But I thought, back then, that a Dharmendra duets list was in order. So here it is. As always, these songs are all from pre-70s Hindi films (or rather, pre-1971, since a few of these were released in 1970) that I’ve watched.
RIP, Kamini Kaushal. Ms Kaushal, probably the oldest of Hindi cinema stars still living, passed away at the age of 98 on November 14, 2025.
Over the years I’ve been blogging, I’ve seen one after the other of some of my favourite stars pass out of our lives: Shammi Kapoor, Sadhana, Dilip Kumar, Kumkum… but with Kamini Kaushal, I have to admit to a somewhat pronounced sense of loss. Not because she was a particular favourite of mine (though I admitted to being quite impressed with her acting when I watched Biraj Bahu some months back). But because with her passing, the door seems to have shut firmly on those who heralded the start of the Golden Age in Hindi cinema.
Anyhow, a tribute seemed in order. A tribute to Kamini Kaushal, and to a film that I’ve been meaning to watch for a while now.
I can safely say that Richard Burton was the first English actor I could identify (Charlie Chaplin excluded: that man’s facial hair and other distinct elements of style made him impossible to mistake for anyone else, at least as far as onscreen appearances went; even a ten-year-old me knew that was Charlie Chaplin).
But Burton. Burton I first saw in Where Eagles Dare, and though at first viewing a callow me pegged Clint Eastwood as the star worth crushing on, I eventually ended up acknowledging the impressive presence of Richard Burton as Major Smith. He who, unlike other people [who have a sixth sense] … ‘has a sixth, a seventh, and an eighth.’ Who can be suave and sleek enough to play the double agent convincingly enough, yet whistles Lorelei perfectly. And has the most brilliant repartee in his dialogues with Lt Schaeffer.
Oddly enough, though I liked Burton a lot, Where Eagles Dare remained, for a long time, the only film in which I’d seen him. It was only much later, over several decades, that I saw Cleopatra; The Taming of the Shrew; Zulu; The Longest Day; Hamlet… and I realized just what a powerhouse of a talent was Burton’s.
Today is the 100th birth anniversary of one of India’s greatest film directors, Ritwik Ghatak: he was born in Dhaka on November 4, 1925.
I have to confess I’ve not seen very much of Ghatak’s work, mostly from an innate tendency to shrink from ‘sad movies’. I did watch Meghe Dhaka Taara some years back (and admired it, though it was, as expected, tragic). For his birth centenary, I wanted to review another of his films, and this one popped up in the searches. It immediately drew my attention, for several reasons. For one, it stars Madhabi Mukherjee, one of my favourite actresses. For another, it also starred Abhi Bhattacharya, a familiar face from Hindi cinema, and one I’ve always liked. At least, I reasoned, if I had to watch a sad film (at a time when I’m so busy and stressed, I’d rather watch mindless fluff)… at least there would be people onscreen I enjoy watching.
Continue readingA couple of years back, I watched (and later reviewed) the Meena Kumari-Dharmendra starrer, Bahaaron ki Manzil. A good suspense thriller, it put me in mind of another film starring these two: Phool aur Patthar. I had seen the film many years ago, as a child (implication: this would have been in the early 80s, when Doordarshan’s sole TV channel was our only entertainment besides books and radio, which meant we watched anything that was aired, no matter how mediocre). I remembered nothing of it except that Dharmendra played a thief who ends up being cared for by Meena Kumari, playing a widow.
Some months back, I published a song list on songs that mention a city/town, Tier 2 or below, in India: Bikaner, Bareilly, Nainital, Agra… and when I was going over that list, it struck me that there were also songs that focussed on India’s metropolises, the Tier 1 cities. India has six metropolitan cities: Mumbai, Delhi, Kolkata, Chennai, Hyderabad and Bengaluru, and every now and then, they find a mention in a song. Bombay, by virtue of being the hub of the Hindi film industry, probably leads the pack when it comes to metro city songs; but there are others too (though I must admit I haven’t found any songs, at least from old films, that mention Bengaluru/Bangalore).
This, actually, was not the film review I was intending to post this week. But then, over the weekend gone by, I met Moon Moon Sen, and I was reminded (of course I would be!) of her mother, Suchitra Sen.
I was in Dehradun on October 11 and 12, attending an arts and literature festival. The guest of honour was Moon Moon Sen, still beautiful, and with a serene calmness to her that was—as someone mentioned—very ‘peaceful’ (to which Ms Sen replied that she has a horrible temper!) Moon Moon Sen was mostly involved in graciously felicitating those who participated in panel discussions and so on; I was thrilled to have her place a scarf around my neck. But the last session of the festival was a conversation with her, and it was very interesting. She answered questions about herself, of course, but also about her mother (“always, ‘Madam’, never ‘Mrs Sen’ or ‘Suchitra’” she recalled). Not just a star, but a mother (“I only knew her as Mummy”), and one whom young Moon Moon was obviously very protective about: she said she shielded her mother when Suchitra Sen had to make her way through a crowd. She had no qualms even about punching anyone who tried to get fresh with her Mummy.
I remembered, then, that I had a Suchitra Sen film review ready to be published. Here it is, a light-hearted comedy, directed by Chitta Bose, based on a story by Balaichand Mukherjee ‘Banaphool’ and with a screenplay by Nipendrakrishna Chatterjee.
The story begins in the Calcutta home of Shushubhon Dutta (Uttam Kumar) and his wife Anita (Sabita Chatterjee), who have been married a few months. The two are constantly bickering, and we see them in the middle of an argument even as the film starts. Anita is hot-tempered, Shushubhon likes to needle her.
I have to admit I have never watched this film in all my years of watching and blogging about old Hindi cinema. Part of the reason is, I suppose, that this film—directed by Bimal Roy—somehow always tends to get sidelined in all the praise that’s showered on his better-known works: Do Bigha Zameen, Bandini, Devdas, Parakh, Sujata, Madhumati… then, too, there’s the fact that Kamini Kaushal has never been one of my favourite actresses. I’ve always found her a little affected, her diction and expressions too exaggeratedly innocent.
Dustedoff 