This is a very very old ‘ragini’ folk song in Haryanvi language passed on from generation to generation. Reproduced in a very rustic tone for a Bollywood film. Not the kind of sweet sound you would expect from the popular Bollywood melodies. Not many Bollywood music lovers even heard of this number. I chose this for one reason: it’s romantic. And it’s not about humans. And yet it’s about humans. Allow me to explain: some of the best romantic songs/poems in South Asian and Middle Eastern cultures were rehashed from the songs/poems originally penned to praise gods. Completely normal. Use a song meant for a god to praise your goddess and it doesn’t exactly sound out of place. The sincerity in the devotion is the same. If you are, while listening to your favorite number, not sure if the man is addressing his god or his lady, just stop obsessing about it. The situation just got more romantic. Ambiguity speaks. Ambiguity teases. Examples are aplenty in Bollywood films. This particular film doesn’t even bother to change a few of the lyrics. Every single word is about a real god addressing a real goddess. It’s the context in which it is deployed in the film that makes it so romantic and so relevant to us humans. Allow me to explain further. This is going to be long. But I love doing this:
The most populous in the world, India is also the most chaotic. If each of the billion Indians gets back home in one piece navigating through the crazy traffic every single day, it’s because we have a thousand gods in our religion. Three main ones, in particular, who hold all the key cabinet posts. They are responsible for all the drama -creation, protection and general maintenance. I am not very religious but I loved loved loved reading the mythologies: The Mahabharata and the Ramayana. In Sanskrit, Hindi, English, and Telugu. Epic poems. The Mahabharata is longest epic poem ever written. 200,000 verses. 10 times the length of The Iliad and The Odyssey put together. And 4 times that of Ramayana. Bhagavad Gita is just a small ‘digression’ in it at 700 verses. Read these two mythologies in the unabridged form, and you will pretty much get to meet every god, goddess, understand human condition, politics, war, arts, architecture, imagination, SFX, spirituality, commerce, adventure, costume design, jewelry design, weaponry, product design, international trade, logistics, warehousing, supply chain management, animal welfare, governance, diplomacy, justice, law enforcement, ‘dharma’, morality, spiritual tourism, shipbuilding, natural medicines, wine-making, chance, probability, conflict management, divine intervention, fair-trade practices, mathematics, mechanical engineering, map-making, treasure-hunting, documentation, archiving, irrigation, sustainability, administration, resourcefulness, common sense, presence of mind, music, dance, sports, truth, humor, fantasy, macabre, irony, drama, writing, philosophy and, all together, how the ‘system’ works. The Machine. And, yes, a bit about true love. Sensing, spotting, securing, serving, protecting and preserving. In fact, if the stories from Marvel and DC steadfastly put me to sleep, it is because not only are they poor in their dramatic quotient but also built around just a dozen characters that are poor imitations of some of the thousands of characters from the Mahabharata and the Ramayana. Captain America is Arjuna. Thor is Bheema. Iron Man and Doctor Strange borrow all the magic and romance from Lord Krishna. Spider-Man is basically Hanuman. Think of a 11-course meal at a fine-dining restaurant followed by a hundred more at other places. And now think of one single box of chicken nuggets from a McDonald’s Drive-Thru. DC and Marvel are those. Captain America is a chicken nugget. Anyway, back to our story. What makes these mythological characters so much fun is even gods go through human emotions and live like humans to face what their fate has in store for them so that the hundreds of Good Vs. Evil stories are dramatic enough to survive millenniums, easily identifiable enough for global translations, and inspiring enough for common mortals who read them to want to pursue ‘dharma’, a life of morality. I love these two tomes. I don’t go to temple to pray much -my idea of god is the glow of happiness one can see in another’s face when one makes the other happy by doing the right thing; and my idea of religion is food; but I know each of the gods and goddesses and their characters in detail. I practically grew up with them. So when a centuries-old folk song came out of nowhere in a bad singer’s voice and spoke of how a particular god was talking to a goddess in the context of the possibility of a romance as desired by one of them, it got interesting. What made it even more interesting was that the god we are talking about is Lord Shiva. He is unlike others. A true outlier. Non-conformist to the core. Rockstar. Minus a rockstar’s worldly possessions. He is what I call a ‘character’. In the same sense you are thinking. Allow me to explain further:
Read any random story about any random Hindu god or look at a painting of his and you will know that every god is super wealthy. High Net Worth Individuals, a few thousand times. The 1% of The One Percent. Dozens of gold ornaments on bodies, sexiest of weapons on board, an array of talents and magics, largest of kingdoms to rule and, not to mention, the most beautiful of goddesses as their wives, who in turn come with their own unique powers, wealth and talents to make the combinations even more powerful. Every single god. Not Lord Shiva. The bugger is too cool to need the world’s approval. He doesn’t even care to be recognized on the street. He, unlike Gandhi who owned six loin clothes, owns only one. No royal palace or jewelry. He lives in the Himalayas. Ascetic lifestyle. The kind you yearn for once you have mastered minimalism in life and still feel suffocated. He owns nothing, meditates in cremation grounds, indulges in ‘specialty plants’, never combs hair, nor meets anyone, dances like hell as and when he is happy or angry, loves anything artistic around him -he is the patron god, “Nataraj” of dance and music. And he is not on social media. Yes, while all the thousand other gods are constantly gossiping with one another, with Lord Vishnu (super rich and super powerful) and Lord Brahma (super creative and super wise) shepherding the whole gang, Lord Shiva never applied to any fraternity nor has he a P.O.Box to send random invitations to. Everybody has given up on him. He simply is off-grid. When the world goes to dogs because a super powerful ‘asura’ (baddie) is born and none of the thousands gods including Vishnu and Brahma can kill him, everyone suddenly starts checking their phones for the last known location of Lord Shiva’s. And there is a reason why he is so anti-social. Yes, a heartbreak. I know!! It’s a love story, yes. While each of the thousand gods go after the women they fancy until they get married to them, Lord Shiva is the opposite. He has no interest in any worldly passions. Just his dance and his music. Naturally, all women obsess about him. Nothing stops them from desiring him. Not his lack of wealth, his lack of social decorum, lack of family, lack of ‘availability’, nothing, nothing stops him from being desired. Since the algorithm is already written and destiny is fail-safe, none of the women succeeds in catching his attention. Except on that one night when a wonderful heart, the destiny’s child, called Sati, daughter of Daksha, a big but snowflake king falls in love with Shiva, and manages to get the man moving. Shiva is in love now. Love, not lurve or luv or louev. Naturally, the king is not interested in a penniless god seeking his beautiful daughter’s hand in marriage. He laughs. But all the thousand gods mobilize armies to convince him. After all, unlike all of them gods, Shiva has never known domestic bliss, never even dated, nor even cared to download Tinder. Father of the bride just can’t stop the marriage when the day comes. Sati gets what she wanted: Shiva. Shiva gets what he wanted: Sati. They both retire to the Himalayas because they just want to build a tiny love nest with a white picket fence and live happily ever after, away from the madding crowd of gods and humans. Sati, being unlike Shiva who grew up alone and detached, can’t forget her family completely. She starts missing them. So when she hears about a ‘yagna’ (days-long prayer in front of fire done to appease gods for the benefit of a kingdom/family/self) her father is going to perform in his palace, she jumps up with joy. Gotta go!! Except there is no invitation in the mail. Shiva tries to stop her. “I am his daughter. I don’t need no invitation, yo.” Shiva begs her not to go. He can smell something sinister awaiting. But he also knows not everyone is born an ascetic loner like him. Some have family ties that bind and gag them. So he relents and lets Sati go to the rave. He wouldn’t go. Nothing can change about him. Sati goes to father’s. Sits at the ‘yagna’, the fire prayer. Only then she realizes her father’s intentions. Now that he totally failed to stop the marriage, he wants to insult his son-in-law in front of the world that is in attendance. He needn’t fear that Shiva is a powerful god. He is his father-in-law, after all. And insulting he does. Right in front of Sati. While the whole world is watching in close up. Horrific words. Slander. Pure malice. Sati’s heart breaks. She loved her father. And she loved her husband. And here she is, taking all the slurs from one man she loved about another she loved even more. And she understands why Shiva begged her so much about not attending the out-of-nowhere ‘yagna’. Now the insult post is doing rounds all over the world, everyone is forwarding the visuals. Certainly someone, some dancer or singer or UX designer who loves Shiva would’ve reached him in person and shared the highlights. Sati just doesn’t know what to do. She can’t go back and face the insulted husband after having ignored his warnings. Neither can she remain in her father’s palace that has just ceased to be a place to expect peace, love and understanding in. She jumps into the ‘yagna’ fire. Right in front of her father and the world. Sati is no more. Dead calm all around. The news reaches Shiva. By the time he reaches father-in-law’s kingdom running barefoot across mountains and forests, all the powerful armies of Shiva’s that usually live low-profile lives are already there waiting for him in war-formation. None, not a single god among the thousands in the clouds, including Lord Vishnu and Lord Brahma dare to enter the picture. They just stand in the clouds and watch the son-in-law decimate the father-in-law, his armies and kingdom in a matter of minutes. Oppenheimer stuff, a thousand times. Some select gods, once the war dust is settled, attempt to bring Shiva’s anger down. Shiva never gave a f*ck about any god. He picks up the charred body of Sati from the ‘yagna’ fire, carries it on his shoulder to start wandering the whole universe for years with the hope some beautiful sight might wake her up from her sleep. Soon the body disintegrates and, helpless, he retreats into the Himalayas for good. The dot on the map disappears. He is more incommunicado than ever now. Gods are upset they lost access to their most powerful friend. They can’t dare going and checking on him for they could be burnt to death by Shiva through his third eye. So they just let him be. They go back to their palaces, wine and women. Years pass. Centuries. Shiva is still alone and untraceable in the mountains. Consumption of cannabis has gone higher, some hear. Dancing gone crazier. Depression, all-time high. Just like how women like their men. Completely dismantled. And the stories are getting weirder and weirder. All the thousand Gods are clueless now. They don’t know what to do. Especially because they now need Lord Shiva more than ever. A new ‘asura’ (baddie) is born and has become too powerful for even Lord Vishnu and Lord Brahma. Bond villain mold. Turtlenecks and all. Genocides for breakfast. The very existence of gods is at stake. They need Shiva now. But the man is mad. And the most powerful future-teller among the ‘rishis’ (sages) tells this useless pack that the ‘asura’ (baddie) had surreptitiously acquired a boon from Lord Brahma a while back that he could be killed ONLY by Lord Shiva’s son. One smart asura. He knows Shiva will never love another woman after Sati’s death. And therefore no children. And therefore the baddie can rule the world indefinitely. Gods are desperate now. What’s the next best thing after Lord Shiva?! Lord Shiva’s son. But, wait, even that needs Lord Shiva. The man must meet a woman, a real beautiful woman, fall in love, marry and have a son. LOL. ROFL. LMFAO. Never gonna happen. Let alone try making him fall in love, no woman can even dare enter his county for fear of being turned into ashes by his angry third eye that he opens when he gets distracted from whatever dance/music/art he is practicing in his quiet. A multitude of beautiful goddesses, ‘apsaras’ (sexy versions minus divine powers i.e honeytraps), princesses from human kingdoms try for the temptation is just too much. Moths gotta go to the flame. Those few who don’t get burnt meet nothing but the kind of indifference you would expect astronauts would face in space. Enter Parvati. Nobody ever heard of her. Not the kind that gets crazy about prom night. Daughter of Himavan, the king of a small kingdom hidden deep in the Himalaya mountains. Tiny state. Think of it as a patch of land stretching from Freehold, NY in the Catskills to Greenville, NY in the Catskills. Parvati = “Parvata (mountain) Raja (king’s) Tanayi (daughter)”. The royal palace is not too far from the mountaintops where Shiva lived quietly and alone. She grew up listening to his stories. Very Edward Scissorhands. Then she heard THE story. Loner’s marriage to Princess Sati. Father-in-law’s insults. Sati’s suicide. War. Fury. Mayhem. And back to loner’s life. Who doesn’t love a broken heart? Every woman wants to make a man happy and make him hers. Unless you go to school at Columbia, of course. Little Parvati is hell-bent now. What she doesn’t know is that she is the reincarnation of Sati, the wife of Shiva’s who committed suicide in fire, and whose soul couldn’t leave the world because it couldn’t stand the idea of Shiva remaining single and sad for the rest of his life. The story is written. It’s predestined. Except nobody knows it yet. Except Lord Vishnu and Lord Brahma. They know. This gotta be done. The ‘asura’/baddie is getting more and more powerful. The world needs a son from Shiva. And Parvati is the only one with a fighting chance, all signs suggest. Now, Parvati knows Shiva’s heart although she has never met him in person. She has no divine powers of the goddesses nor the large empires of the princesses who fell flat in their attempts to woo him, but she knows his heart. Minimalism. Arts. Privacy. Cooking. Dance. Classic rock. Black coffee. She renounces her princess title, leaves the palace, moves deep into the mountains, starts living an ascetic life alone in the Shiva fashion, a mile or two from Shiva’s hood. Years pass. No turning of eye by Shiva. Gods are upset. And afraid. The ‘asura’ (baddie) has already conquered the world and held many gods prisoners. Love alone can save the world now, for a change. By sheer luck, they spot Parvati walking back to her little hut after filling water in a pot from a mountain spring. She is about to inadvertently pass through the new spot Shiva has been meditating for a few weeks at stretch at, cross-legged and eyes closed. Gods know the rule of the game: no eye contact, no love. F*ck sunglasses. F*ck headphones. F*ck meditation. Little anorexic Parvati must be seen and must be heard before her ascetic lifestyle can kill her. Boss Must Open Eyes. Enter Kama. ‘Cupid’ god, in your language. But all grown-up body. And Kama does the one thing he can do quite well from behind a tree. The all-powerful cupid’s arrow penetrates the calm of Shiva’s meditation. Boss opens eyes, er, eye. The third eye. Done. Cupid god turns into ashes. No more love in the world. Good riddance. Shiva closes his eye to go back to his meditation. Except a few frames of this famished-to-the-bone creature enters his peripheral vision. Parvati. He opens eyes. Parvati looks. Eyes meet. He goes back to his meditation. And Parvati to her little hut. Socially awkward. Even gods. Now that they both know what they saw in each other’s eyes in that one look, neither changes their daily routine. He stops moving from mountaintop to mountaintop, and meditates at the same spot all day just so he can open his eyes at the same time she passes through with her water pot. Little Parvati is dressing up well now. A lot of pink. LV clutches. Cowboy boots. Within one’s ascetic life, one has factory-standard and premium to choose from. And her walk is a lot slower now. Takes up 500 frames for 5 steps, not the classic 24 frames per second walk. Rinse. Repeat. Months pass. No progress. Gods know they better not send another god to his ashes. Everyone has settled in their couches in the clouds with popcorn buckets to watch the daily serial below. 10 seasons and 100 episodes later it is still S01E01 in loop. Absolutely no progress. The few human blue-collar workers Shiva had made friends with in the mountains, who don’t know his real identity, couldn’t help noticing the action, er, inaction, themselves. And they are duly contacted by the gods sitting in the clouds. And Shiva gets to know the story. Princess. Crush. Renouncing family. Moving to mountains. Living alone. Ascetic lifestyle. All in pursuit of some Shiva love. Now, Shiva is artsy and passionate but he is no idiot. He still remembers what happened when he gave his heart to a princess before. Gotta adult up. Act responsible. Send the child back to her father. He starts talking to Parvati. “Are you even legal?”, “Do you at least have an emergency contact number on you?”, “Can I see some ID?”, “What, no pepper spray?!” Applies every trick in his arsenal. Gives her 10,000 reasons why she should return to her father’s. “You are a young woman. And I am timeless, er, centuries’ old”, “You are a princess. And I am a pauper”, “You are used to the royal luxuries. And I am a minimalism b*tch”, “You have a family that will die should something happen to you. I got nobody that you can call yours, even if you manage to walk into my life”, “I live in the coldest of mountains. You, if your current BMI is anything to go by, can’t even survive another week in these places”, “Himalayas are no Catskills”, “Go back!! You are one in a million. You can marry any prince you choose in this world. There are quite a few in Silicon Valley. I can share the coordinates.” Parvati listens. Parvati smiles. And Parvati returns to her little hut. Only to repeat her slo-mo walk with her pot in front of him every day. Adds a Hermès scarf and Bvlgari Serpenti Seduttori bracelet to arsenal. Gods up in the clouds order ice-cream on Uber Eats. They know their Korean dramas. Character arcs can’t lie. Climax is round the corner. They are right. Shiva is impressed. He realizes Parvati’s love for him is pure. It would be disrespecting the very true love concept, the Geneva Convention, if he were to not acknowledge her feelings for him and not reciprocate the same. But Shiva is Shiva. Other gods are good at conveniently forgetting what they lost, and jumping into bed with new found happinesses. Shiva has scars that can’t be healed. He is scared. He is feeling fragile. It’s happening all over again. He doesn’t want to put himself out there again. He would rather dance. Or play an instrument. Or write a book. Arts don’t break your heart. Only women do. But Little Parvati isn’t backing off. It is his will that is slowly crumbling. So he keeps testing her, he keeps giving her a new reason why she should give up every time she passes in front of him with that pot of hers and that know-nothing smile of hers and, f*ck off, is that a Diamond Himalayan Birkin 30 bag?!!, where did she even find it?!!, which is happening every single day. A reason a day and enough lines for a song to come out of nowhere, naturally. It is in this fashion that this little folk song was written by somebody centuries ago. No actual recordings. Just passed from generation to generation through oral tradition. Like kissing. But let’s focus on what I actually know. Bollywood songs. Why this blog. This song. This song survived centuries. An indie filmmaker from Delhi heard it as a kid somewhere in some remote temple festival. He forgot the lyrics and the location. He instructed his inexperienced music director by the name Sneha Khanwalkar to go across North India and search for it. He wants that folk song recorded for a new film he is working on. About a real life super ‘chor’ (thief) from Delhi. Like all super chors, his heart is also golden. And very romantic. He likes this girl. The this girl likes him even more. But he knows she can’t survive the hard and unpredictable life he is married to. He doesn’t know what to do. And that’s when this song must play. A poor god dissuading a princess from seeking an alliance with him. Gods and humans are both same when facing the challenges love brings with it. Love tests us all. Nobody is bigger than the game. Not a single word in the lyrics needed to be changed. Every single word still talks about the many different reasons Lord Shiva gave Parvati in his many attempts to send her back to her father’s kingdom. And it plays in the background as our little poor thief hero is navigating through his teen years while crushing on a girl who seems to love him genuinely. In 48 frames per second slo-mo. To respect Parvati’s original moonwalk eons ago. And that’s how I discovered this song while watching the super thief film on a, naturally, pirated DVD. Hope you enjoy the minimally produced song with great lyrics. The rustic tone was deliberate. It’s an attempt to remind the listeners of the antiquity of centuries-old folk song that never had a recording of it done in a modern studio. It’s the song of the gods. They better not go through too much of processing in the post. This innocent rendition carries a lot of heart. I am certain you will love the lyrics. Unless you are not very romantic, of course. Or go to school at Columbia. Which is the same thing.
Tu raja ki raj dulari
Main sirf langote aala suun
Bhang ragad ke piya karun
Main kundi sotte aala suun
Tu raja ki raj dulari:
Tu = you
raja = king
ki = of
raj = royal
dulari = dearest
>> You are a king’s apple of the eye
Main sirf langote aala suun:
Main = I
sirf = just
langote = loincloth-clothed
aala = wala = man
suun = hoon = am.
>> I am just a loincloth man
Bhang ragad ke piya karun:
Bhang = cannabis
ragad ke = after grinding
piya = drink
karun = doing
>> I am the kind that grinds and consumes cannabis
Main kundi sotte aala suun:
Main = I
kundi = mortar / a stone bowl for grinding
sotte = pestle / the round tool that grinds
aala = wala = man
suun = am
>> I am just a mortar-and-pestle man
// Dear Parvati, you are the apple of the eye of a king. I own nothing but a loincloth. And a grinding stone for my, yes, cannabis nights //
Tu raja ki chhori se
Mare ek bhi daasi-dost nahi
Chal tu shawl odhan aali
Mare kambal tak bhi paas nahi
Tu raja ki chhori se:
Tu = You
raja = king
ki = of
chhori = beloved
se = are
>> You are a king’s beloved daughter
Mare ek bhi daasi-dost nahi:
Mare = Mere = Mine
ek = one
bhi = not even
daasi = servant
dost = friend
nahi = no
>> And I have neither a servant nor a friend
Chal tu shawl odhan aali:
Chal = Going
tu = you
shawl = woolen shawl
odhan = a stole / wrapped in
aali = woman
>> You don’t step out unless you are draped in a shawl
Mare kambal tak bhi paas nahi:
Mare = Merey = Mine
kambal = blanket
tak bhi = not even
paas = near
nahi = not
>> And I own not even a warm blanket
// You are born in royal luxuries and I have neither a friend nor a servant. You aren’t warm unless you are cocooned in a shawl and I own not even a cheap blanket //
Tu baagan ki koyal se
Barf pade hari ghaas nahi
Kis tariya dil lage tera
Satran chaupad taas nahi
Tu baagan ki koyal se:
Tu = You
baagan = garden
ki = of
koyal = koel / songbird
se = like/are
>> You seem like a songbird from a colorful garden
Barf pade hari ghaas nahi:
Barf = Snow
pade = falling
hari = green
ghaas = grass
nahi = not
>> And I live in the snow-clad mountains that have never sighted the green of grass ever
Kis tariya dil lage tera:
Kis = What
tariya = fashion/way
dil = heart
lagey = feels
tera = your
>> How can you ever feel at home here?
Satran chaupad taas nahi
Satran = Shatranj = chess
chaupad = dice-like game
taas = cards
nahi = not
>> No chess, no dice and no playing cards, here, dear
// How can a songbird like you ever feel at home in snow-clad mountains that never have seen a shade of green? Wait, I don’t even own a chess board, let alone the game of dice or a pack of cards //
Kise saahukar ke byaah karwale
Main khaali sote aala su
Main dhuna mein tapya karun
Tu aag dekh ke darr jagi
Kise saahukar ke byaah karwale:
Kisee = One or other
saahukar = wealthy man
ke = se = with
byaah = vyaah = vivaah = wedding
karwale = get done
>> You be better off getting married to a well-off
Main khaali sote aala suun:
Main = I
khaali = just
sote = stick /grinding tool
aala = wala
su = hoon = am
>> I am just a single-possession guy
Main dhuna mein tapya karun:
Main = I
dhuna = smoke
mein = in
tapya = meditate
karun = doing
>> I am the kind that meditates in the smoke-filled graveyards
Tu aag dekh ke darr jagi
Tu = You
aag = fire
dekh = see
ke = upon
darr = fear
jagi = jayegi = will be
>> And you will get scared should you even spot a fire anywhere
// What do I own, my dearest Parvati, just a stick!! <cough> Why don’t you go get married to a rich man? I am the kind that meditates in the remotest of graveyards filled with smoke; one random sighting of fire and you will run for your life //
Raakh ghol ke piyaa karu mera
Bhaag dekh ke darr jaagi
Sau-sau saap pade reh gale mein
Naag dekh ke dar jaagi
Raakh ghol ke piyaa karu mera:
Raakh = ash
ghol ke = after mixing
piyaa = drinking
karu = doing
mera = my
>> I am the kind of filthy guy who doesn’t mind mixing with his drink the very ash he has smeared his body with
Bhaag dekh ke darr jaagi:
Bhaag = Forest
dekh = see
ke = upon
darr = fear
jaagi = jaayegi = will be
>> Wild forests and such that I routinely wander around will scare the living daylights out of you
Sau-sau saap pade reh gale mein:
Sau-sau = Hundreds and hundreds
saap = snakes
padey = stay
reh = rahey = live
galey = neck
mein = in
>> The wildest of serpents have found home around my neck
Naag dekh ke dar jaagi:
naag = snake <cough>
dekh = see
ke = upon
darr = fear
jaagi = jaayegi = will be
>> Should you spot the wildest one, the King Cobra <cough>, among them, you will be witless
// When I dwell in the graveyards, my dear Parvati, I don’t mind the least bit being filthy; I won’t even mind mixing the ash spread on my body with the drink I am having. Even if you can stand it, you won’t be able to stand the sight of a random fire rising from a burning body somewhere and run for your life. And should I feel like wandering, I routinely choose a wild forest floor that has never been kissed by the sun, and that visit should do the trick and turn you paler than what you already are. And while we are at it, the hundreds of snakes that have found home around my neck aren’t exactly sitting and watching you; should you spot a casual-looking King Cobra <cough> peering through them all, well, you will have nowhere to run anymore //
Tandav naach kare ban main
Rang raag dekh ke dar jaagi
Tane julfo aala chhora chaiye
Main lambe chote aala su
Tandav naach karey bann main:
Taandav = dance / an angry kinda dance
naach = dancing
karey = doing
bann = vann = forest
main = I
>> You know the kind of wild dance I do when I am alone and angry in the middle of nowhere
Rang-raag dekh ke dar jaagi:
Rang = Color / Emotion
raag = tune / song
dekh = see
ke = upon
darr = fear
jaagi = will be
>> If the sight of possessed dance is not enough, the crazy passion with which I sing random songs will scare the hell out of you
Tane julfo aala chhora chaiye:
Tane = Tujhe = For you
julfo = hair
aala = wala = man / type
chhora = young man
chaiye = chahiye = want
>> You will want a long and straight hair guy
Main lambe chote aala suu:
Main = I
lambe-chote = long-and-short / shaggy
aala = wala = kind of man
su = hoon = am
>> While I am shaggy hair kind with no comb in my possession
// Love, you better find yourself a well-groomed groom. All I am is an ill-mannered messy hair guy who does crazy dances among forest fires and sings scary songs on full-moon nights that you can’t possibly take for too long //
Tu raja ki raj dulari
Main sirf langote aala sun
// You are a king’s beloved daughter. All I can ever be is a plainclothes guy //
_____________
*Lord Shiva doesn’t go to his father-in-law’s palace to avenge Sati’s death. He sends two fierce characters that he creates in anger upon hearing wife’s death. I chose to send Shiva on the job myself in this article in order to make the story more personal and pacy for your visualization. Too many new characters with hard-to-pronounce Sanskrit names can kill the pace and thrill of the story for the western readers.
_____________
“Tu Raja Ki Raj Dulari”
(“You Are a King’s Daughter”)
This article is part of the 3-song series,
“The Philosophy of Bollywood Song”.
Song#1 is here.
Song#3 is here.
Printer-friendly Version is here.
Song#4 <to be uploaded next week>
_____________________
From the Same Author:
.
.
The Philosophy of Bollywood Song
.
.
Quotes from “What Makes One Beautiful”
.
.
