Frames of Reference

The year was 1973, and the place was Gwalior, Madhya Pradesh. Our family had just moved from Hyderabad to Gwalior. My admission to the Kendriya Vidyalaya was almost in jeopardy due to my poor performance in Hindi during the admission interview.

The principal Mr. Kulsreshtha took a chance with me as I fared better in other subjects. He did advise me to learn Hindi if I wanted to do well in school. Mrs. Duggal, who was the Hindi teacher, was a little less kind. She told me that I would most likely fail her class if I joined the 9th grade. She suggested that I should join the 8th instead where the lessons were the Hindi literature lessons were a little less intimidating.

whether it was obstinance or foolhardy determination, I insisted on joining the 9th, and confidently asserted that I will learn fast. Had they forced me to join the 8th, I would probably have had an easier time, and a better rank. But as I said, for some reason the principal took a liking for me, so I was allowed to join the 9th.

Now came the hard part. I did boast that I could learn fast, but the question was who could teach me. It was not the basics. I could read and write reasonably well, and I could handle simple conversations like “tumhara naam kya hai?” or “kaun se school mein padhte ho?”.

It was the nuances of the language that tripped me up. I remember that I was in the playground, and the neighbor’s son who saw us moving in walked up to me and asked “aap ki taarif?”. I answered without batting an eyelid “Jee aap ki bhi taarif!”.

For me the word “taarif” brought the image of Shammi Kapoor gyrating on a Shikara on the Dal Lake singing “taarif karoon, kya us ki, jis ne tumhen banaya hai”. I had to ask someone what the word meant, and I was told taarif meant praise. So when he asked “aap ki taarif?” I presumed he was graciously praising me. Not to be outdone, I responded to him “I praise you too!” – or so I thought.

The blank look on his face made me realize that I did not really understand what he meant. I took a chance and said “mera naam Uday hai” and he smiled and told me his name.

Many such embarrassing moments later, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I purchased a book called “Learn Hindi in 30 days”. Unfortunately, that book was teaching me everything I knew and nothing I didn’t.

School meanwhile was an uphill battle. I was used to getting 80’s and 90’s in Hindi for writing essays on “chaacha nehru bacchon ke priyatam neta they”, or “ashok magadh ke samrat they”. Here I was expected to write a critical interpretation of “Bhikshuk” by Suryakant Tripathi Nirala. Mind you, back in Hyderabad I was used to this level of critical appreciation, but in Telugu.

In the immortal words of the Beatles, I eventually “got by, with a little help from my friends”. Of course, some friends were in the school, some in the neighborhood. But of all the friends that helped me rise up to Mrs. Duggal’s challenge, I am most grateful to the ones I never met in real life – Ameen Sayani, Kabban Mirza, Shiv Kumar Saroj, Mamta Singh, and many more soulful voices on radio that inspired me to understand lyrics, and learn esoteric words like “tanhaai” and “justuju”. Binaca Geetmala, Chhaya Geet, Bhule Bisre Geet, Jaymala … to quote William Wordsworth, “Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive, but to be young was very heaven“.

So it was, that every Wednesday at 8 pm, I listened to Binaca Geetmala, with Ameen Sayani’s baritone voice announcing “behanon aur bhaiyon, paaydaan number ek per aaj phir se suniye, Kishor Kumar ki awaz mein Kora Kaagaz film ka gaana”. My sister who returned from the US gifted me with a Panasonic pocket transistor. I listened discretely with the transistor under my books at low volume, as it was homework time and we were not supposed to be listening to the radio :-).

Bhoole Bisre Geet and Chhaya Geet on Vividh Bharati were my other favorites. These programmes introduced me to the music of the ’50s and ’60s.

Chhaya Geet appealed to me because of the themes that tied the songs together.

Shiv Kumar Saroj’s detailed explanations of the songs on Bhoole Bisre Geet often went into some depths of the lyrics, and this in particular was useful for the struggling student in me.

Listening to songs prompted me to watch the movies, and watching movies prompted me sometimes to buy and read books on which the movies were based. I remember reading “Kati Patang” by Gulshan Nanda after watching the movie.

Litttle by little, my diction and my confidence improved, and Mrs. Duggal noticed. At the end of the year, she told me that she was glad that I insisted on staying in the 9th grade. I did get just 68 marks – my lowest – , but from her point of view I was supposed to fail so I guess in that sens it was an achievement.

Behanon aur bhaiyon, that is the story of how I became enamored, or even obsessed, with Hindi movies and Hindi movie songs.