Bookmarking Memory with Songs

"Songs are bookmarks in our memory…" was the starting line in a magazine article I was reading a few days ago. That sentence gave me the idea of plumbing my memory for those special songs, songs that resonated extraordinarily with me for one reason or another. I decided to select one dozen, which are not necessarily my top favorites, but are bookmarks in my memory.

As the idea of using songs to build a narrative (it could just as easily have been movies or books) began to take shape, I realized that it would work only if one has had just a few songs that have stood out from all the others. If you are one of those people who know intimately the lyrics to 100s of songs, then this exercise will not work simply because you will be forced to make choices that are necessarily arbitrary. I started out in life believing that I was unmusical, but music kind of sidled up to me and claimed me anyway. Thus, this idea for a narrative works perfectly for me. Anyway, let's get rolling.

My very first bookmark song is from the movie Sholay. When Sholay came out in 1975 it was not merely a movie; it was a phenomenon. The merchandizing topped even that of Bobby. There was Sholay everywhere, and even today a simple "arre o Samba" said with affected nonchalance can do it for most people. We were living in Bhubaneswar and Sholay is the first movie I can ever remember watching. Amitabh, who doesn't get the girl in the movie, had a big influence on me at that time. In those days, I didn't even remotely consider the possibility that music might interest me, but when I heard the song "Ye dosti" I loved it. I was 7 years old, so who knows, maybe the antics of the motorcycle sidecar had something to do with it.

Within a year of watching Sholay, also in Bhubaneswar, I watched Geet Gatha Chal (1975). I didn't understand much of the plot -- something convoluted based on the Krishna mythology, with Radha and Meera competing for the same man. But I absolutely loved the title song. In particular, I was a big admirer of one of the lines in the song, a classic pun -- jal na hotha tho ye jug jata jal. Goes to show that a single line can make you fall in love with a whole song. In fact, that reason for loving a song probably isn't uncommon at all.

My next bookmark song now seems overly melodramatic. If this was merely a list of my all-time favorites I would surely leave Varthai thavari vittai out. But I must make concessions for being so darn impressionable at that age. I had accompanied my mother to Cuddalore to visit my grandparents. Ilamai Oonjal Aadugirathu remains in my memory as one of the extremely few movies that I saw with my mother and my aunts.

En kanmani, un kadali came to mind immediately, when I started thinking about songs as bookmarks, and it is also a perennial favorite. For me, it is nostalgia-on-tap -- all I have to do is listen to it once to be transported back to the 80's. This is an extremely colorful song from the movie Chittukkuruvi. For this song, Illayaraja shies away from a mere linear rendition. The stop-and-go nature of a typical PTC Madras (Pallavan) bus ride is exquisitely mirrored in the presentation of the song itself. The maestro lulls you into enjoying the song and then undercuts it with well-placed interruptions, where the bus conductor can be heard shouting to the passengers (“Teynampettai supermarket, erangu!”) and after a brief pause, the song takes off again. Having been a daily PTC bus commuter for seven years, I think that I was nostalgic for those days even as I was living them. Another of those Vaali, Illayaraja and SPB combos that makes me long for the good times. From the over two dozen things that I could have chosen from to rave about this song I will chose just one -- the lyrics. All writers are sick and tired of hearing "show don't tell" but trust a pro like Vaali to turn that dictum inside out. There is one line in the lyrics that goes…naan sonna jokkai kettu naanamo! The craftiness of Vaali is that he doesn't reveal the joke, only that the heroine is blushing because of something the hero has told her. And we, as listeners are free to imagine the raciness of the naughty joke. All in all, a killer song that leaves me in raptures.

The next song may come as a surprise to many, but remember again that these are milestones in my memory, not really my most favorite ones. My cousins Chitra and Ramesh were visiting us in Ashok Nagar, as were Maadhu and Sriram. The song is

"Veetukku veedu vassappadi…" from the movie by the same name. This was a time even before Udayam theater was built and we all walked to Indra Theater and saw it there. Kind of a simple minded movie, but the song does have a group-hummable quality to it. Just another largely-forgotten song that has somehow clung on to the recesses my memory.

Remember Andhi Mazhai? Held even today by many to be one of Illayaraja's best. The early eighties were his peak years, and with that one song, he brought all his fans to their figurative knees. In 1981, Raja Paarvai came out -- Kamal Hassan's 100^th movie. The sweet irony of a blind man singing ovvoru thuliyilum un mugam therigiradhu (In every rain drop, your face is visible). There is also the semi-comical line -- Indiran thotathu mundiriyae…but that is just Vairamuthu being himself. Now that I think about it, I must have linked the song with the theme and the picturization of the movie and consequently, Andhi Mazhai was my Number One favorite for years and years.

Even though I am forced to be extremely selective in listing my milestones, I cannot refer to Raja Parvai without mentioning Azhagey Azhagu. There is no way that I could have resisted the inherent pathos of a blind man using such lovely visual metaphors. Maadhavi's beauty is described with very novel comparisons. (Sevigal rendum kelviyanadhu! Ears as question marks. Moongiley tholgalo. And my all-time favorite, thenkuzhal viralgalo!) Since Andhi Mazahai was perched immovably in the numero uno spot, I was forced to rank Azhagey Azhagu as my Number Two favorite.

And then there are songs that we never pay attention to until one particular hearing when we realize with a shock what a gem it really is. Then we wonder why we never paid attention to it before. I was in eleventh grade (in KVCLRI), and the whole class had gone out on a daylong picnic. A few teachers were with us, and we had hired a whole bus just for our class. As was the norm, for the whole day the boys and the girls never mingled, and sat separated like the fans of two opposing teams at a final game. On the drive back, one of my classmates sitting in the last row, Ranjith, started to sing aloud. I wasn’t at all aware of his musical abilities, but he sang Ek din bik jaayega maati ke phool so wonderfully that I was stunned, as were most of the others listening. Then the others joined in, even the girls, and the song was subsequently mass butchered. But because of Ranjith's soulful rendition, this song has become a bookmark for me.

I was a mathematics major for one year in Presidency college in Madras. We are talking 1985-86 here. My cousin Maadhu was one year my senior, majoring in Statistics. Throughout that year I was studying hard, hoping to get into the engineering college of my choice by clearing the entrance exam. But whenever I had some spare time I would hang out with Maadhu and his group of friends. They were a great bunch, very different from me. In sharp contrast to my very traditional outlook, I found their ambitions and desires endlessly fascinating. That June I gained admission to the engineering college. One late summer evening, when I was in that pleasant cusp of time between two colleges, I was sitting in the sand in Besant Nagar beach with Maadhu and his college friends. The discussion meandered to the song Aedho Mogham from the movie Kozhi Koovudhu. I was a passive listener to the discussion, but I will never forget the line "akkam pakkam sutri pathu, thalaikki mela thanni uuthu" because those guys were trying to divine its meaning by dissecting just this one line. For hours!

While in college, I was introduced to Classic Rock. Like practically everyone in my hostel, I too was influenced by Pink Floyd. If I have to pick just one bookmark song, it would have to be Time because of its timeless lyrics.

In my hostel, around 1988 or so, there was a huge following of the movie heroine Amala. Guys who didn't even understand Tamil bought tickets for Agni Natchathiram and sat down to drool. What is arguably worse, at one time or another most of them went to eat in Rasoi, a pricey-yet-mediocre restaurant in Gandhi Nagar because Amala was said to own the place. The eternally hopeful went there repeatedly, because apparently a friend of a friend had once seen her there. And so, my next bookmark song is from Kodi Parakkudhu, a mostly forgotten Amala movie -- Selai Kattum pennuku oru pasam undu, kandadunda? I loved the lyrics, the picturization of the song is good, and okay I will admit it, Amala certainly is easy on the eyes. When I was getting ready to leave Madras for Graduate studies, my cousin Sriram helped me tape a lot of Tamil songs on to cassettes. Often, he seemed to know my taste better than I myself did. Selai Kattum is one that I recorded in their house in Sastri Nagar.

Only after moving to Buffalo did I start paying attention to Western Classical Music. It has not yet had the chance to ferment into vintage nostalgia and so I am not picking out any bookmarks. But I do want to add on one Jazz number to this list. My apartment-mate Kannan was listening to something so wonderful that I was forced to ask him what it was. It was a piece from the very popular jazz album titled Take Five by the Dave Brubeck Quartet. The whole album is great, famous for its incredible syncopation, but the title piece Take Five simply blew me away. It runs to just over 5 minutes. I liked it so much that Take Five is the only song that I have taped over and over and over into one whole side of a 90-minute cassette.

In Chicago, nearly five years ago, three of my musically-inclined friends invited me over for dinner, and to listen to their jamming session. Song after song went by, with my memories trailing them. Then Jaideep, with his electric guitar started to twang the first few notes of Maana Ho Tum. The rich sound filled his entire apartment. Srini (violin) and Krishna (flute) joined in, and I listened enthralled. After listening to it that evening, that song will never be the same for me again. I am making it my final bookmark.

I have already overshot my limit and have picked out 13 songs in this set of bookmarks. The knowledge that 100s of gems lie discarded on the floor of my mental cutting room makes me sad. (After going through this exercise, I now realize that I could just as easily have bookmarked solely with the maestro's Illayarajazz.) Ruthless omission is, alas, the nature of this exercise.

If I performed this inventory of song-bookmarks at another time, I am sure that a whole new set of songs will crop up. That too, is the nature of this exercise. And the fun of it.

Ram Prasad

July 2002