I am calling this post “Tributes to Bollyviewer” mostly because I want to recommended two fine tributes to Bollyviewer that appeared on other blogs. The blogs are Conversations over Chai (by Anuradha Warrier) and Dustedoff (by Madhulika Liddle). Both Anu and Madhu apparently became good friends with Bollyviewer both in the blogging world and outside of it. It is therefore fitting that they ended up writing the most moving farewells. I don’t imagine that this post is going to be nearly as moving, but I do feel the need to say a few things . . .
I trust that many people who read this blog have also read a blog by Bollyviewer, whether it was Masala Punch or the earlier Old Is Gold. To be frank, I also hope that you already know the following news and I am not the one to break it to you: Bollyviewer died on February 12 after a battle with cancer that hardly any of her readers even knew about. Because I had no idea, myself, I was very surprised when I found out a couple of weeks ago and, needless to say, it made me feel very sad.
I never met Bollyviewer in person, but I was acquainted with her in the blogging world for about a dozen years. She last posted a comment to this blog just a year and a month ago, but she had started sending me comments as far back as May of 2008. That was not exactly the time when I started this blog (which was close to a year earlier), but it was pretty soon after I had started to center it on old Indian films. Then by August of 2008, she was posting comments to my blog regularly, often offering helpful suggestions regarding things that I should look for and places where I could find those things (and others) on the Internet. She was definitely one of the bloggers whose comments below my posts contributed to my education about old Hindi films. Plus, I found her blogs to be very informative, engagingly written (they certainly had personality), and often funny, too. (If you look at a bunch of her posts, keep an eye out for the captions below her screen caps. Madhu shows a very amusing example in her post.)
If you read Anu and Madhu’s posts, you’re going to find a few things very similar to what I am saying here. That is because Bollyviewer also made a point to encourage both of them when they were new to blogging about Hindi films. She really went out of her way to make the nicest contributions to our little community of bloggers.
RIP, Bollyviewer. You are certainly going to be missed.
I have enjoyed Zakir Hussain’s superb tabla playing for a long time. And I actually even saw him live close to a quarter-century ago. That was in 1997, when I got to see him in my town, New York City, at Symphony Space (on Manhattan’s Upper West Side). (He was playing with an international array of percussionists, but I think it was clear that he was the star.) But I had actually heard his work much earlier than that, although I would not know about it until later. In 1973, he played with George Harrison on his album Living in the Material World. I had that album when I was only 11 or 12 years old, but I had no idea – I guess he was not given the same kind of billing in the rock world as Ravi Shankar (although he did accompany Ravi Shankar when they came to the U.S. in 1970 and his father was a famous tabla player who also accompanied Ravi a lot – i.e., Alla Rakha.) In any event, later, in the ’90s, when I got into a lot of rock and electronica that included Indian classical and folk influences (the early days of modern Bhangra and the “Asian Underground”), I started to see his name on special “world music” works put together by the likes of cutting-edge rock producer Bill Laswell. It’s understandable that Zakir Hussain appeared in all these rock-fusion projects because, as he has said, himself (during an interview that I am going to include in this post), he actually had an ambition in his early adulthood to be a “rock and roll star.” But he did have that Indian classical heritage; in fact, he was raised on classical tabla and had been a child prodigy in this area, too. Also, others told him that this was the area where he belonged most. So, he would dip into these rock projects now and then, but he could not escape his destiny to become one of the most famous Indian classical tabla players in the world.
In more recent years, I have had the pleasure of seeing countless performances by Zakir Hussain on YouTube. As an amusing aside, I have to mention that I have been using his tablas, playing through my noise-cancelling headphones, to remedy noise/banging problems being inflicted on me by my neighbors. Nothing blocks out the banging from upstairs like loud and rapid tablas going right into my ears!
I have also been checking out a lot of Zakir Hussain’s tabla performances more recently simply because I have become more addicted to them. But while it is always satisfying to hear Zakir on tablas, it’s even better to see those tablas accompanied by a terrific Kathak dance.
Zakir Hussain actually married a Kathak dancer; her name is Antonia Minnecola. Toni (as everyone calls her) is an Italian-American and she met Zakir in the Bay Area of California in the late ’70s, when she was in an early phase of her dance training. You can see them both talking about that marriage in the following interview, given by the actress Simi Garewal. (The first third or so of the video is an interview with Zakir alone, but Toni enters the picture at 8:04.)
Of course, Antonia Minnecola had a very interesting history as a dancer, too. Beginning in the early-mid ’80s, she trained with Sitara Devi, and (as I’ve already revealed in the title) they continued working together for three decades. Sitara also knew Zakir’s family well, and Toni was one of her favorite students. Toni and Zakir also helped Sitara to go on tours to different countries and, apparently, the Kathak training continued wherever they traveled.
There is a fascinating interview with Antonia Minnecola posted in the March 28, 2019 issue of Scroll.in. The title/headline is misleading, because it reads, ‘May I touch you?’: When kathak legend Sitara Devi met Hollywood royalty Marlene Dietrich. That incident between Sitara Devi and Marlene Dietrich is covered in just one very small paragraph in the article. Maybe the people at Scroll.in thought it would work as good click bait? But the subheading describes the article much more accurately: “Antonia Minnecola remembers her guruji, her loves, hates and fascination with Hollywood.” This is an excellent article for Sitara Devi fans, because it offers so many tidbits about Sitara – especially related to the subjects that the subheading describes. It also features some excellent pics and videos of Sitara, including a clip of one of her dances in the great 1942 movie Roti, posted at Tommydan333!
By the way, a little over seven years ago, I wrote a post about how the dance from Roti shown in this article resembles one by the great Hollywood tap dancer Eleanor Powell from a few years earlier. I even posed the direct question, Did Eleanor Powell’s dance in Honolulu (1939) influence Sitara Devi’s dance in Roti (1942)? Given what this article says about Sitara, her love for Hollywood, and even how she talked about Hollywood tap dancing, it would not be surprising to find out that Sitara, herself, was actually responsible for that influence. Maybe this would be something worth looking into more at another time.
But beyond the information that this article gives about Sitara Devi, it tells almost as much about Antonia Minnecola. While telling us about her fond memories of training with Sitara, Toni also shows the depth of her own lifelong love of Kathak and dance in general.
I looked through YouTube for a while to find some clips of Zakir Hussain accompanying Antonia Minnecola in Kathak dances and, unfortunately, I could not find many. But it’s great to find any watchable video document of the couple working together.
I was delighted to find the following clip of a concert in Berkeley in 1987. It’s a long clip to embed here – clocking in at over 50 minutes – and there are some odd technical issues regarding the camera focus and the colors (or lack thereof). But I found that these problems did not at all get in the way of my enjoying this clip a lot. In the first six and one-half minutes, the attention is given to Zakir Hussain and the sitar player Peter Van Gelder. Zakir does some impressive playing here as always, producing beats that become increasingly rapid to a point where this is really flashy. Then the camera stays focused on Toni. She also gets very impressive when she keeps up with Zakir’s more rapid beats. She does very nicely at a number of things: the arm movements, footwork, and the vocal recitation (aka padhant) of the rhythm syllables (bols). Another thing that I like a lot here is her story narration. This is one of those Kathak performances I have seen fairly often in which the dancer tells us the story behind each dance segment that she is about to get into and/or tells us what her upcoming dance movements are meant to represent. In general, I sometimes get a little impatient when I see this (usually in YouTube clips), because the explanations can get a bit complicated or hard to follow and I just want the dance to get started. (That’s when I see it done in English; of course, Hindi poses a whole other level of difficulty for me.) On the other hand, while Toni’s descriptions in this video certainly don’t seem to lack any vital details, they are also refreshingly simple and direct.
The next performance is a little more contemporary. There’s no specific indication on YouTube regarding when this performance occurred, but there’s no reason not to assume that it happened at around the time when this was posted, at the end of 2007. There are some unkind comments about Antonia below the video (I’m not sure why), but there are also a whole lot of “likes,” and I certainly enjoyed it. (In this clip, Toni and Zakir are within a few years of the age that I am now, and I find that impressive, too.)
By the way, there is no story being told here; I guess you can say that this is completely abstract, “pure” (technical) Kathak. Toni says a little in this clip, too, but she merely refers to the toras that she is “going to recite.” (For those who don’t know the terminology – a category that included me before I looked it up – a tora is a sequence of bols; i.e., the rhythm syllables.) She also mentions that one of the toras was a favorite of Sitara Devi’s (which is certainly nice to know). Of course, each of those recitals of the tora is followed up by some very nice dancing.
Unfortunately, though I found a few other clips of Zakir and Toni performing together, they were not worth embedding here, because of the low quality of the camera work, angles, etc., and/or the bad technical reproduction in the videos. I had originally thought of putting together a post that would cover other Kathak performers who were accompanied by Zakir Husain (and there are a couple of very good ones out there), and that would have resulted in a few more good clips to post. But I ended up wanting to concentrate more completely on Zakir and his wife Toni, because I was so delighted by the sight of them working together as well as charmed by their stories, including the great side story involving Sitara Devi (who’s been a favorite at this blog for a number of years). If anyone out there finds any genuinely good (other) clips of Antonia Minnecola performing Kathak while being accompanied on tablas by her husband, Zakir Hussain, I would certainly like to see them. But meanwhile, I’m glad that I’ve found the two that I posted above. The longer one, in particular – despite the technical problems – does seem kind of special, especially now that I have learned so much about this exceptional couple and their history together.
Three years after its release, I have finally had a chance to watch all of Shalom Bollywood, the much-touted documentary on the Jewish stars (or a handful of them, anyway) who entered Hindi cinema between the 1920s and the early ’50s. But I had seen such good trailers and so much preview material for this film on the great Shalom Bollywood website, it was almost as though I had watched it before. I also had read plenty of reviews, quite a few of which can be found on their website, too. And unfortunately, there is really nothing more that I can say about the film in any general, full review of my own. I had hoped that I could at least pretend to have a special perspective because of my “Jewish heritage” (because I am supposedly a “Jewish” New Yorker), but I actually had very little in the way of Jewish cultural education while growing up and my childhood was also completely lacking in the Jewish religion. (Neither of my parents was a believer!) In fact, when I saw in Shalom Bollywood how much some of the Jewish stars of Hindi cinema were devoted to the Jewish faith, it merely reminded me how much I wasn’t! So, I decided that it would not work well if I tried to write this review from the angle of personal Jewish pride.
Shalom Bollywood does contain good information about the individual stars, some of it given through decent interviews with either the stars’ relatives/descendants or, in one case, the star, herself. It was certainly nice to encounter the recollections of Pramila in interviews that were apparently conducted very late in her life. Then we are treated to extensive interviews throughout the film with her son, Haider Ali, who is also a contemporary actor and scriptwriter. We also get to see extensive interviews with the film star Miss Rose’s daughter, Cynthia Khalak-Dina, and granddaughter, Rachel Reuben, who is also a contemporary film editor.
Another feature of Shalom Bollywood that I especially appreciated was the glimpses that it gave us of some of the best song sequences that most of these stars were in. Unfortunately, “glimpses” is the correct word, since no full songs could be used. The snippets of song and dance were used creatively, injected into the narrative at different times. But I thought it would be nice for people see, and reflect upon, each of these songs in its entirety.
So, that’s what I am doing in the rest of this post: I’m sharing clips of the full songs here and adding a little commentary, reflecting on either something said in the film or something that occurred to me separately. (By the way, some of these will be familiar to longtime fans of Hndi cinema, but I don’t think most people reading this post could have seen all of them. At any rate, I feel that it certainly must always be a treat to encounter these numbers, whether you’ve never seen them or have seen them many times.) I am also going to link the titles of the films to a place where you can watch them. (Most of those videos were prepared by Tom Daniel aka Tommydan. A few were not, and the quality of those other ones is more questionable. But I’ll warn you where that happens.)
Before I proceed, I also want to mention that I know that one actress is conspicuously missing at the beginning of the list, although she definitely belongs there. That is Sulochana aka Ruby Myers. She was the first of the great Jewish Hindi film actresses, but since she made her splash in silent films and early talkies, there is little in the way of available songs to show. In fact, most of the film footage of her in general simply does not exist anymore. To compensate for this in Shalom Bollywood, we are treated to cute animations with photos of her head above drawings of her body, etc. There is some discussion of one of her somewhat later films (with a brief clip from it) and other things she did in the late 1940s, but it doesn’t include a song that you can see her in. But I will post one here – in appropriate chronological order – where you can at least see her on the sidelines. For now, I want to get to two great songs starring a couple of actresses who followed her.
1. Pramila (Esther Victoria Abraham) in Basant (1942) – I was actually pleasantly surprised to see that this was the video clip of Pramila most prominently featured in Shalom Bollywood. I reviewed Basant a few years ago and I included this clip in that post too, but I still might not have given Pramila the full credit that she deserved because I had decided to focus on the Three Mumtazes. But under that post, a commenter named Anup Semwal emphatically stated that “Pramila as Meena Devi overshadowed everybody on screen.” And he might very well be right! Much as I like Mumtaz Shanti and Mumtaz Ali, and fun though it was to see Madhubala’s childhood debut as Baby Mumtaz, it could be argued that Pramila overshadowed every one in acting skills as well as beauty. By the way, Mumtaz Ali also looks beautiful in this dance (I once saw someone comment – and others agree – that he “dances like a woman” – which isn’t necessarily a bad thing), but Pramila looks even better! The music (by Pannalal Ghosh and Anil Biswas) and the dance are great too!
2. Miss Rose (referred to in the film as Rose Ezra but on the website as Rose Musleah) in Nai Kahani (1943) – This is the only film I’m mentioning in this list that I have not seen, and Miss Rose is the only star featured in Shalom Bollywood whom I did not know about. As we are told in Shalom Bollywood, she was Pramila’s cousin and was responsible for giving Pramila her first big break. Although she obviously made a number of appearances before Nai Kahani, this is the film of hers that gets talked about in Shalom Bollywood most extensively, and we are provided with some very nice glimpses of it, too. It was made in 1943, one year after the one with Pramila. Unfortunately, the copy of the flim that I can link to here is not very good. It’s technically a bit screwed up and hard to watch. Because of that and the fact that there are no English subtitles (which I still need for the most part), I haven’t rushed to watch it, myself. But anyone who feels up to it should certainly give it a try, since it is apparently historically significant. The clip of the song below isn’t so bad to watch, but when I played it with my headphones on, I found that the sound came out through only one channel. But it’s still certainly worth a viewing – the dance is very nice!
3. Sulochana (Ruby Myers) seen on the sidelines (and this is where I am cheating) in a song from Jugnu (1947) – Of course, the true star of this song is Latika, aka Gope’s wife. I posted about this song more than seven and a half years ago. Somewhat pertinent to the subject matter here, I was at first under the impression, based on some wrong information that I had read, that Latika was Jewish. The true story about that was very different – she had a complicated religious upbringing involving Christians and Buddhists, and she became a Jehovah’s Witness. So I had to take “Jewish” out of the title (though I obviously left it in the URL). But as I pointed out after correcting this information, there was a prominent Jewish actress in this scene; that is, Sulochana. You can see a great shot of her at 3:25 to 3:28. In Shalom Bollywood, there is a part where they talk about Sulochana’s role in Jugnu, and they show a clip of her in a scene that became somewhat controversial, because she encourages the admiration of a younger man. As we are told by the narrator at this point, even in the late 1940s, she still managed to stir controversy!
4. “Uncle” David (David Abraham Cheulkar) in Boot Polish (1954) – David is the one classic male actor prominently featured in Shalom Bollywood. I loved the film Boot Polish and I very much enjoyed his performance there. I did not realize that, as it mentions in Shalom Bollywood, this was the film that really made him. And in Shalom Bollywood, there is also some discussion about this song, “Nanhe Mune Bache Teri,” which I also happen to love. We are told some interesting things about David as a personality, that he was considered extremely charismatic and was always the life of the party. There was some talk about his being a diminutive man with a huge personality. I think that description might be a bit hackneyed, but I suppose it fit. It was interesting to read about, at any rate.
5. Nadira (Farhat or Florence Ezekiel) in Shree 420 (1955) – And now, last and greatest, it’s time to present the Queen! There is a lot of discussion about her role in Aan, but we are given glimpses of that role through dramatic clips rather than slices of songs. Curiously, we are presented with a few slices of songs from Aan, but they are ones starring Nimmi. I have to admit, I wasn’t quite sure why they did that. But then when the subject moves on to Shree 420, we are treated to Nadira, herself, in all her glory, via a good chunk of this fantastic dance:
6. Nadira in Dil Apna Aur Preet Parayee (1960) – The song “Dil Kisko Doon” has been stored on my pretty much now-defunct YouTube channel for close to eleven years. This was one of a bunch of videos sent to me by Tom Daniel, long before I ever had a chance to see the full movie and before I even knew about it. And I knew of a few other songs from this film for quite a while before I finally watched it in its entirety. In fact, this is the Hindi film that I have watched most recently, within the last month or so. The copy that I found was not technically great (there are those aspect ratio problems, etc.), but I could follow it well enough and it did have English subtitles. It was a pretty good film, and it was pretty fresh in my mind when I watched Shalom Bollywood. So it was a nice coincidence that this song was used as extensively as it was. The scene does not appear during just one sequence of Shalom Bollywood but is scattered throughout a long expanse. We are even treated to a glimpse of Helen from this dance during a much earlier segment, describing wild, partying times for Miss Rose and/or Pramila back in the 1930s and early ’40s! But, of course, we get to enjoy longer glimpses of Nadira during the Nadira part.
There is some mention in Shalom Bollywood about Nadira being a bit too type-cast as the vamp/villain, but on the other hand, she certainly seemed to enjoy those roles. And she played them so well! While Dil Apna Aur Preet Parayee is probably best known for its stars, Raj Kumar and, especially, Meena Kumari (and this particular dance is, of course, best known for Helen), it’s arguable that in many scenes, Nadira steals the show. Her irritable/jealous expressions during this “Dil Kisko Doon” scene are just so perfect! One almost cannot avoid using the cliche that there was no one like her. That might be why – if I am not mistaken – Nadira is the best-known among the Jewish “Bollywood” actresses, by far. And when I think about Nadira, I almost want to retract something that I said at the beginning of this write-up, because she might very well be enough to give even me a little Jewish pride.
I am indebted to the blog Mehfil Mein Meri for reminding me that I have long wanted to do a full post about the Vajifdar Sisters. The post that gave me this welcome reminder was Part 2 of a Dance Duets series, focusing on Dances presented as Mujra songs. One of the dances that this post included was the wonderful dance in Mayurpankh (or Mayur Pankh, depending on how we want to type that), featuring Roshan and Khurshid Vajifdar and choreographed by Shirin Vajifdar. As far as I know, this was the only film scene that brought in the talents of all three of these renowned siblings.
A little over a decade ago (just about a decade and two weeks), I posted the same wonderful dance, as one of three Outstanding Songs from Mayur Pankh (1954). Returning to this post after not looking at it for quite a while, I also was reminded of all the interesting comments that I received in response during the next few years. The commenters included not only some of my favorite regular readers of this blog but also a few people who either had been students of one or more of the Vajifdar Sisters or were related to someone who had been a student of theirs. I have to say, I greatly appreciated all of the feedback that I got for this post! But the two most interesting comments came from Jeroo Chavda, the daughter of Khurshid and niece of Roshan and Shirin. In the first of those comments, from May 9, 2011, Jeroo provided a great amount of information regarding the Vajifdar sisters, their training, and their experiences, as well as some added information about this dance and Mayurpankh.
Some of the most interesting bits of information about the Vajifdar Sisters that Jeroo mentioned in this comment – which I saw reiterated in a number of places later – included the fact that merely by pursuing a love of Indian dance, they were breaking away from the conventions of their Parsi community (or “broke the mold,” as Jeroo put it) and that they learned several different forms of classical dance (from very different parts of India) as well as folk dances. (Jeroo added that this was “very unusual for today’s times where the dancer only trains extensively in 1 or 2 styles.” Maybe it was a little more common back in their time? Even if it was, it is still impressive.)
In a subsequent comment a month later, Jeroo added a few interesting details that her mother had related about the film shoot – such as the fact that the conditions were “appalling” and “extremely exhausting” for the supporting actors, adding, “and that’s one of the main reasons that Khurshid, Shirin and Roshan didn’t accept other film roles that were offered after the success of this movie.” It was amusing to read that this scene was so unpleasant for the performers, considering that it was so pleasurable to view. The two Vajifdar sisters danced with great agility and grace while wearing the most beautiful costumes (something that they also were known for outside of the film world), and their dance was complemented by one of the most charming duets by Lata and Asha Mangeshkar, with music composed by Shankar Jaikishan. For the music as well as the dance, this is my favorite mujra-based duet from the Golden Age.
It’s a shame that the Vajifdar Sisters never accepted any film roles after Mayurpankh. I do know, though, of at least one other film dance that was performed by a Vajifdar Sister earlier, in the 1952 film Nau Bahar. I found that one and posted it on this blog in the summer of 2013. But I didn’t even realize the identity of the dancer when I posted it; I had selected that dance simply because it was one of Five Favorite Dances to the Voice of Rajkumari. Then, within a couple of days, I was informed in a comment by “Minai Minai” (aka Cassidy or Cassidy Minai) from the blog Cinema Nritya that the dancer was, indeed, Roshan Vajifdar, performing a dance that had been choreographed by Shirin. And, of course, the dance is marvelous. Although it is mostly classically based, one cannot trace it to any specific classical tradition (nor, certainly, can you just call it a “mujra”). As Cassidy/Minai also pointed out, this scene consisted of “such an unusual South-North hybrid dance and setting.” (I think it is in this dance – as opposed to the somewhat more straightforward, Kathak-influenced mujra in Mayurpankh – where you can get a good sense of the diversity in the Vajifdar Sisters’ dance background. But in an article about Roshan Vajifdar that I discovered in a July 2012 issue of The Hindu, it was made clear that Roshan Vajifdar most loved Bharatanatyam, which became her true specialty.) I should add here that the music for this dance is beautiful, too, since it was composed by a certain music director who also happened to be named Roshan.
Through scattered readings about the Vajifdar Sisters, I learned that while they were all wonderfully talented, both Roshan and Khurshid owed much of their initial success to Shirin. It was Shirin who had first started learning the traditions of Indian classical dance and who in turn trained the others to do the same. Thus, it makes perfect sense that Roshan and Khurshid depended on Shirin for their costume designs and choreography.
A little while after I had started writing this post, I decided to look for more information about Shirin, and that’s when I found some of her obituaries. Sadly, Shirin died on September 29, 2017. (Strangely enough, it was just a coincidence that I had started writing this post on her third death anniversary.) Among the obituaries that I saw in my searches, the most memorable one was the tribute that I found at Narthaki, written by a well-known dance critic and scholar, Dr. Sunil Kothari. Right near the beginning of his article, Dr. Kothari makes clear not only that Shirin was the Vajifdar who led all of the sisters on the journey into classical Indian dance, but that she also did so against a good amount of adversity. It was very amusing to read this paragraph summarizing how difficult that mission was at the beginning:
Facing opposition from the Parsi community for taking to classical dancing, Shirin continued to dance and trained her younger sisters. They used to perform together in Mumbai on many occasions. Shirin used to tell me that they were often threatened by her Parsi community that they would disturb their performances by throwing eggs and stones! But she was not afraid and did not care. There were others who supported her.
Later in the article, Dr. Kothari mentions some of the successes of Shirin and the other Vajifdar Sisters as well as saying a lot of glowing things about how Shirin conducted herself as a person. But Jeroo Chavda actually was the one who, in her first comment to me, gave me the best idea about the heights to which these sisters managed to climb (a while after their somewhat rough beginnings):
They were invited to perform before many heads of states for e.g. Shah of Iran with his first wife Soraiya and Jawaharlal Nehru. Also gave many shows on the ship Battori on which they sailed to London. They performed extensively in India and Mumbai in the Sea Greens hotel, Taj Mahal Hotel, Eros and Regal theatres. Shirin also gave many lectures/demonstrations in Haryana and Punjab universities.
I would like to think that the Vajifdar Sisters remain sufficiently well-known and appreciated in the present day. It seems that they still are significant to people who know the history of Indian classical dance, but I wish the Sisters had been more willing to withstand the unpleasantness of film production in order to make more appearances in that medium. I also wish the dance they did in Mayurpankh could be more available in videos – that is, in other versions and in different places. (Beautiful though their dance in Mayurpankh is, that clip could be better technically. Since the other clip in this post comes from Tom Daniel aka Tommydan, it doesn’t have those technical problems.) Nonetheless, the little bit that I saw did make me a fan of theirs, and the things that I read made me admire them even more. I hope that at least a few people out there agree with me. I would love to find more blog posts that mention the Vajifdar Sisters and more people who are interested in preserving their legacy.
On August 25, I happened to discover that it was the 110th birth anniversary of one of my favorite dancers in old Hollywood films, Ruby Keeler. Admittedly, Ruby Keeler never dazzled me with her dancing the way Eleanor Powell or Ann Miller did, but she has always ranked among the dancers whom I most enjoyed watching. She had something special about her that I never could quite put into words – until I found a good description of what that thing was in a blog post by Trav S.D. at Travalanche:
Movie fans love her tap dancing; most of the dance experts I know tend to be less generous with respect to her abilities in that area. One quality all agree on though is her appeal. She possessed an extremely rare mix of innocence and sensuality that is like cat nip to a male audience.
Thinking about that combination of innocence and sensuality, I realized that it could fit the description of a few of the dancers whom we know from Hindi films, too. But there was one dancer in particular whom I had seen described with those same words, and a very famous one at that. Those were the exact words that Jerry Pinto used to describe Helen in his book Helen: The life and Times of an H-Bomb. Quoting the line as it appears among other excerpts in the blog Blissful Nirvana:
She had the mix of innocence and sensuality that separates the girls from the women.
Might we say that Ruby Keeler was a sort of tap-dancing Hollywood equivalent to Helen (though she had her peak a couple of decades earlier)? I am not sure, but that idea would at least be a fun way to explain how they ended up dancing in these similar scenes . . .
One of Ruby Keeler’s greatest dances occurred in Ready, Willing and Able (1937). The song “Too Marvelous for Words” goes on for over seven minutes, but fortunately, a couple of people on YouTube excerpted the typewriter dance, which is the most impressive part of the number by far. Ruby Keeler’s dance partner in this scene is Hal Dixon, and they both do wonderfully tapping on the keys of a typewriter. (And by the way, no, the brilliant choreography is not by Busby Berkeley, though one would think so; the choreographer is Bobby Connolly.)
Now, I am sure that most good Helen fans are instantly going to know which dance I want to compare it to. That would be Helen’s “Typewriter Tip Tip Tip” dance in the Merchant Ivory film Bombay Talkie (1970).
I guess that this Helen scene (with dance partner Shashi Kapoor) might seem awfully short after such a buildup (and by the way, this is pretty much the entire scene – nothing cut here), but it is long enough to show that the director James Ivory had to have seen the Ruby Keeler dance and taken directly from it. (Or else, some choreographer or other kind of designer/director must have seen the Ruby Keeler dance. But since I can’t find separate listings that might give me a hint regarding who else could have come up with this, I will assume that it was James Ivory.) Of course, this film is not a real classic Bollywood movie but an English-language film sardonically about people involved in Bollywood movies, but that little difference does not discount the fact that Helen was just perfect for this dance!
The next Ruby Keeler dance that I had in mind is from Footlight Parade (1933), and the choreographer in this case was, indeed, Busby Berkeley (for director Lloyd Bacon). Here, Ruby Keeler dances with none other than James Cagney. It is the scene revolving around Shanghai Lil.
Now, the director Shakti Samanta and/or choreographer Surya Kumar and/or other people involved in the film Howrah Bridge (1958) must have known about Ruby Keeler as Shanghai Lil when they created the following scene. Although this breakthrough dance for Helen might have been a spoof on a whole group of American films or dance scenes, the reference to Shanghai Lil is unmistakable. (There is even a reference to Shanghai in the song!)
It would be fun to find out if there were any other dances that Ruby Keeler and Helen both did that were similar in some way. I don’t know if I have supplied enough evidence to show that they really did have similar qualities, but I like to think so, especially since I am fond of both.
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P.S. It would also be fun sometime to draw up a whole list of Indian film dances influenced by older American ones. We hear a lot about influenced songs, but not quite as much about influenced dance scenes (whether or not they contain influenced songs, too). In this blog, I have mentioned a couple other such examples before. I noticed one definite similarity a little over six years ago, when I asked the question, Did Eleanor Powell’s dance in Honolulu (1939) influence Sitara Devi’s dance in Roti (1942)? And I couldn’t help posting something when I found out about another influenced song and dance several months before that – A Song Performed by Carmen Miranda and Vasunthara Devi aka Vyjayanthimala’s Mother. If I find out about a few more examples, then I will be sure to combine everything into a nice and full post! :)
RIP, Kumkum. Kumkum is one of my favorite actresses among those who did not typically get the role of heroine, and she is one my favorite dancers of any who appeared in films. She appeared in quite a number of films (probably many more than I will ever even hear about) and she was well-liked, but it seems to me that she was underrated as an actress and a dancer – especially as a dancer. And that is not because there aren’t a lot of people who’ve said she was a good dancer, but because she was great. She should have gotten many famous roles as a starring actress-dancer, on the same plane as Vyjayanthimala.
Kumkum has done wonderfully in everything from classical to cabaret, and she has been fantastic in both solo dances and duets. So, for this post (which, by the way, also marks the eve of this blog’s 13th anniversary), I have decided to undertake the highly enjoyable (if sad) task of posting seven favorite dances by Kumkum. Most of these dances are going to be classical or semi-classical, because, even though she covered such a diverse range, that is the area of dancing where I have been most impressed by her, as well as the kind that I like the most.
I’ll start with the first solo Kumkum dance that I saw, which was also one of the first Kathak dances that I ever saw in Hindi films. (By the way, I am specifying this as the first solo Kumkum dance because I might have seen a Kumkum duet dance before I saw this. To find out what that is, go to the end of this list.) In Kohinoor, Kumkum’s classical dancing skills were unmistakably excellent – which is a great part of the reason that she was the one who most impressed me when I watched that film. As a few people might remember, in the review that I wrote more than eleven years ago, I even said that if I were Dilip Kumar’s character in that film and were given the choice between the adoring attentions of Meena Kumari’s character and those of Kumkum”s, I would definitely have chosen Kumkum (or Rajlakshmi, as her character is named in the film). Beautiful though Meena Kumari might have been – and even though she also was one of the greatest actresses (and is certainly one of my favorites) – Kumkum became far more appealing to me in this movie, especially once she started dancing. In addition to that dancing, I think her character was much more interesting, and even in her acting, she outshone Meena here.
There are a couple of dances from Kohinoor that I’d like to post, and I’ll start with the famous one. I imagine that everyone who knows a little about Golden Age Hindi films knows about this song. Many know “Madhuban Mein Radhika Nache Re” as an excellent Rafi song, but I like to think there are many who also know it as, possibly, Kumkum’s most perfect Kathak dance. And, needless to say, I’ve watched it countless times.
On the other hand, sometimes I like “Dhal Chuki Sham E Gam” even more. This dance strays a bit farther from Kathak, but Kumkum is so incredibly exuberant here, and it’s impressive how much – and how quickly – she can change poses. I particularly like the part where she falls to the floor – which is why I have used a screen cap from that scene as my image header for this blog quite a few times (including now).
Moving beyond Kohinoor – but still very much in a classical and historical setting – I would like to call attention to what I think might be Kumkum’s most adorable dance. I’m not going to say that she outshone Suraiya in Mirza Ghalib (I don’t know if such a feat would have been possible), but I loved the dance that she did to “Ganga Ki Reti Pe Bangla Chhawai De.” I also enjoyed hearing her get playback singing from Sudha Malhorta (someone whom we did not hear enough of in the Golden Age films), and I really enjoyed the transition at the end to Suraiya’s number,”Aah Ko Chahiye Ek Umar Asar Hone Tak.” I think it’s unfortunate that the script required the Emperor Bahadur Shah Zafar to look so relatively bored with Kumkum’s performance, but I guess it was necessary because he was not hearing the words of Ghalib during this one (the lyrics in her song were by Shakeel Badayuni), and it was necessary to show a great brightening in his mood when Suraiya came out singing Ghalib. Still, I think he should have appreciated Kumkum for her dance alone!
This next semi-classical dance has been a favorite of mine for a decade. Admittedly, Basant Bahar is one of the two films I am referring to here that I have not actually watched (though I know I really should), but I have been aware of this dance ever since Tommydan posted it ten years ago. (But his post of the dance is on Dailymotion – which is why you get to see another video source here this month. It is difficult to find a quality copy of it, especially on YouTube.) This is a fantastic dance, and it also features some of the best dancing that I have seen by Nimmi, another much-loved Golden Age star who has left us, just a few months ago. But even though Nimmi is very charming here, I think Kumkum clearly shows her greater skill and agility as a dancer. It’s interesting that this dance also draws from Bharatanatyam, which is not usual for Kumkum. And there is a particularly impressive moment in the middle where Kumkum nearly touches the back of her head with the bottom of her foot. At that point, she enters the realm of Sayee-Subbulakshmi and Kamala Lakshman!
In this next song, from Mr. X in Bombay, Kumkum wears some very nice classical attire, though I think the dance is not really very classical but quite recognizably “filmi.” Still, it is a very good dance. I particularly like the part of the number where Kumkum sort of dances with Kishore Kumar, when he gets out of his seat and does a brief quasi-dance, himself. (Of course, Kishore Kumar is singing for himself here, in a very fine duet with Lata Mangeshkar.) I have to say, I am not sure what to think of this film. Mr. X in Bombay is very silly, but it does contain some seriously good song and dance.
For the sixth dance (which is actually the seventh one that I found for this post), I am sort of cheating a little. Let me explain: I had said that Kumkum had done great cabaret dances as well as classical ones, so I wanted to make sure that this list included the perfect Kumkum cabaret dance. I had one in the back of my mind that I had seen before, but it wasn’t from a film that I had watched, and I could not place it. Fortunately, I am not the only one coming out with a Kumkum list this week. (In fact, there are a few.) One day before me, Madhulika of Dustedoff posted her fine Kumkum list, and that’s where I re-found this perfect Kumkum cabaret dance! It’s from the 1960 film Dil Bhi Tera Hum Bhi Tere. There is not much more I can say about this, except that Kumkum is very lively in this one – a lot of fun to watch!
And now for the final dance, here is one that many of us know and love. This might actually be the first dance I saw that included Kumkumn, before I saw her dances in Kohinoor. For a dozen years, at least, I have positively loved watching this duet dance that Kumkum does with Minoo Mumtaz in Naya Daur. Part of the reason is that I am a big Minoo Mumtaz fan, too. (And by the way, Minoo is alive and well and living in Canada now. But there is a slightly superstitious part of me that says, maybe I should not have just typed that. Stay well, Minoo!) Anyway, there’s also a great dynamic between Minoo and Kumkum here, making this one of the best female “drag”-related dances that I have ever seen. And both these dancers are captivating as well as amusing with what I take to be somewhat exaggerated Punjabi folk dance movements. It’s certainly the funniest out of the dances that I am posting here, but the humorous aspect does not hide the fact that we are looking at a couple of great dancers, with a marvelous sense of timing and rhythm and the best expressions. But did they really wear such blinding colors in this dance? I kind of doubt it – the colorization in this version turned out to be a bit garish. On the other hand, I prefer the colorized version to the black-and-white ones that have been available. The images look clearer, and I find the English subtitles to be very helpful. (When I first watched Naya Daur on DVD about a dozen years ago, it was a black-and-white version with English subtitles. But who knows if one could even find that now?)
As I have mentioned before, the list that I have put together is only one of multiple tributes that I know are being posted this week in honor of Kumkum. And I am glad that so many people have decided to pay tribute to her. She may not have gotten the consistently top billing and appreciation that she should have during her time, but clearly, she is far from forgotten now.
As readers of this blog might guess, my knowledge of contemporary singers in the Bollywood industry is relatively limited. Once we get into the periods when the Golden Age greats no longer dominate (and very much beyond the time of my Vintage favorites), my knowledge is probably more limited than that of most Bollywood/film fans (especially those who actually live somewhere in India, rather than in New York). But once in a while, I do stumble upon someone who does contemporary work in Bollywood whom I really like – thanks mostly to YouTube – and then I make it my mission to learn more about what that person has done.
One contemporary singer whom I was really taken with this month is Neha Bhasin. But I did not get drawn to her because of her film work (though I do certainly like a couple of her film songs that I have checked out) nor for her more pop-oriented music from several years ago. Instead, I was drawn in by her performances of old classics, including a few Punjabi folk songs. And I usually like the performances that are “unplugged” or at least done in a basic way, without elaborate production. So, maybe it is cheating to say that I have found a favorite new singer of contemporary Bollywood music since I like her most when she performs old, classic songs (most of which I have seen and heard before in very old renditions by other singers).
In any event, getting to the point now, here are a few examples of the kinds of performances by Neha Bhasin that I like most:
This first video is actually pretty nicely produced and well directed, and per the description on YouTube, a short part of it did appear in a film, Veer Zaara (which a little research tells me would have to be the 2018 remake of the 2004 film). The director of the Video is Sameer Uddin, who also did the musical arrangements; he also would become her husband about a year after this video came out. And Sameer Uddin is obviously her main music guy in most of the videos that I’m including here (a very convenient arrangement!).
This rendition, like all the ones she does, is maybe a little westernized and modernized compared to the classic originals, but it is distinctly recognizable as a classic Punjabi song. (Her voice may also seem more contemporary than the classic Punjabi/Indian voices, but it still suits the old folk songs well; it is both full and sweet.)
In this particular song, I hear more of a jazzy quality than in her other covers, too, so the arrangement might be slightly more complicated than most, but it is still easy for the ears to follow. (Incidentally, the instrumentation becomes very interesting – I really like that dulcimer, which is credited to Chandrakanth Lakshpati.) The video is also quite fascinating – I love the pigeon scenes! And on YouTube, within the comments, you can find a translation of the Punjabi lyrics. (They are vivid and sometimes sweet, but sad and a bit troubling, starting with the lines: “A cob of millet, quite effortlessly, oh yes, I can twist and grind it between my palms/ My lover, angry and out in the street, oh yes, I made him return by using my charms!”)
This next song is a pretty familiar Punjabi folk song. I did not find a translation, but I did not look that much, because it hardly matters when the music is so charming.
Incidentally, I tried sharing this the other day with a fellow New Yorker who is not familiar with Punjabi music (or any Indian folk music) and he said it sounded good but he had “obstacles” to enjoying it fully because of his unfamiliarity with the language. That seems so strange to me! I mean, certainly, sometimes you can enjoy the song more when you can understand the poetry, but I cannot imagine lack in understanding of the language as being an obstacle to enjoying a vocal performance and music!
Anyway, once again, all musical arrangements here were done by Sameer Uddin, who I imagine does at least some of the playing of string instruments (we’ll see his nice guitar work more clearly in the next video). I believe this was made a few months earlier than the other one, so it would be over a year before their marriage, but they are already so musically well matched! By the way, I have heard the much older version of this song by Surinder Kaur, and this is obviously more modern, a bit more Western, too, etc., but the arrangement is pretty basic, and I imagine most will find that the integrity of the folk music is very much left intact. Once again, I appreciate the visuals in the video, too. It is very pleasant how the camera follows Neha on her bike ride through this neighborhood. (And if anyone could identify the neighborhood, please tell me, because I am curious. I am guessing that it is in Neha’s hometown, Delhi.) Almost needless to say, Neha is also quite nice to watch here as well as to hear!
My next favorite Neha Bhasin video is one of a couple of “unplugged” videos that I watched, from 2018. This video is very simple, with Sameer accompanying Neha with his guitar alone. It is literally filmed in their living room, and it could have fit in very well with some “lockdown” set, but, of course, it’s not that recent. Still, when they did this, Neha and Sameer were already a couple of years into their marriage, and the two seem very charming and happy together. (Though off screen, one never knows! I hope there isn’t any “Bajre Da Sita” kind of stuff going on between them – just kidding there.)
The song that Neha and Sameer cover in this video is a pretty familiar Punjabi folk number, too. I know that this song was performed very nicely decades ago by the Pakistani singer Musarrat Nazir. It’s one of those wedding folk songs that I just cannot imagine anyone not liking!
When I watched Neha and Sameer in these “living room” performances, it reminded me a bit of seeing another couple performing together, the New York couple that consists of the the Indian-Canadian-American singer Kiran Ahluwalia and her Pakistani-American guitarist husband Rez Abbasi. I am thinking, particularly, of their livestream from just a month ago, which actually was a lockdown performance. Kiran Ahluwalia sings some Punjabi folk, too (among other things), since that’s where her roots are. But Rez Abbasi’s guitar playing is very jazzy and he is known for delving into African rhythms, etc., so the Neha/Sameer performance is much closer to the traditional Punjabi folk (Western/modern aspects notwithstanding). And I admit, I can get into the mood for Neha and Sameer more easily, much as I like the other couple, too (and even though I have listened to Kiran Ahluwalia for quite a few years).
Also, from those Neha/Sameer “living room” sessions, here is the song where I first noticed Neha. It is not a Punjabi folk song but, rather, an Urdu film song. (Though the woman who originally made this song famous certainly knew Punjabi too!) Maybe I would not have gotten so curious about Neha if I had not seen her do a cover of an old Noor Jehan film song! Needless to say, I was very pleased to see her rendition of “Chandni Raatein.” It is quite charming, and it is always a major pleasure for me to see someone perform this song well.
And now, to close my post on Neha, maybe it would be fair to include an actual film scene, since I imagine she is best known for her film songs (or at the very least, best paid). I’ll provide this scene from the 2016 Hindi film Sultan, because I really did enjoy her singing performance here, and, obviously, I’m not the only one, considering that this film earned her a Filmfare award. She sings for Anushka Sharma, and it’s a nice combination, though strangely enough, when I watched this, I missed seeing Neha Bhasin.
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P.S. While I have posted those five clips of Neha Bhasin because they caught my attention and I am happy to share them above others, this doesn’t mean that they are necessarily her best songs or that this is a definitive sample. Everybody who is curious about her music should explore more, starting with her YouTube channel (where most of the videos above come from, of course). In addition to seeing more Hindi and Punjabi songs, you can check out the ones that she did in Tamil and Telugu. (She has won awards for a few South Indian film songs.)
One reason that I picked the particular songs that I did is, exactly, because they were recognizable old classics, and I had fun linking to some very old versions too. I still do love the very old stuff that I have been blogging about for so many years!
Admittedly, part of the reason for this post is the fun in the title, itself. Can you think of a word describing a kind of music or performance that would go better with the title word “Quarantine” than “Qawwali”? (Of course, I was not the first one to come up with this word combination – which will become evident shortly – but I am surprised that more people didn’t think of it.)
I also love all kinds of music that could loosely be called “qawwali.” And I will use the term loosely here, as did most of the performers in these videos. By “qawwali,” I mean a performance that includes qawwali style in some way, that fits with North Indian/Pakistani traditions (generally with Sufi origins, too), and, usually, that involves poetry which has been used in qawwali before.
Actually, the qawwal who first gave me the idea to do a post about “Quarantine Qawwalis” was Tahir Qawwal, whom I have known about as the lead singer and co-founder of the great Fanna-Fi-Allah. In this clip that he labeled “Qawwali in Quarantine” (a slightly more exact label than the title I’m using), he does a long-distance instrumental duet with Yama Sarshar. On YouTube, under the video, it says, “Yama Sarshar is an Afghani tabla nawaz living in Holland & Tahir Qawwal is a Canadian Qawwal living in Indonesia, playing together while in quarantine.” Above that line, it says, “Qawwali sazina across boarders!” I am not sure if the use of the word “boarders” here is a misspelling or if it’s a deliberate pun (because they are both staying in places away from their homes?). I am also not sure, sometimes, when I hear Tahir get this lively on the harmonium, whether it is really qawwali or just rock’n’roll. But it rocks in any event.
For the next selection, here’s a Khusro-penned Sufi Kalam from Pooja Gaitonde. If I might say so, quarantine must be doing her well at this stage, because she looks and sounds wonderful! I have watched clips of Pooja Gaitonde with full bands, orchestras, etc., but I most appreciate seeing and hearing her doing a simple performance, singing while playing an instrument, especially if it’s the harmonium. I also really like the simple, homey-looking visual setup of this video clip – with her sitting on that rug in the middle of the floor; the color coordination of her surroundings is really nice, too!
And because I like these solo performances by Pooja Gaitonde so much, I am actually going to include another one! This clip is a little more flashy and a little less homey. It is more clearly a small studio set up somewhere – possibly in her home (though I am not certain). But her performance here also consists, simply, of Pooja and her harmonium (though with visible big mike this time). One reason that I wanted include this clip (in addition to the fact that one Pooja Gaitonde video is never enough) is that it is a performance of the song “Rang” – the famous Kalam about color. . . and welcoming the loved one home, getting into all that multiple-meaning Sufi stuff about the “beloved.”
The next video, from Abi Sampa, is also a performance of “Rang,” but it is an entirely different sort of production, making for a nice contrast. This is the other kind of quarantine video, in which multiple performers are put together through technology, and it is pretty technically polished, too. But in case we might have any doubts that this is a true quarantine video, we are actually informed about that at the beginning with a caption that reads, “Filmed in isolation/During the coronavirus pandemic”! So, I am not going to have any doubts about whether this one should qualify, especially since I like it a lot, too.
Apparently, Abi Sampa is somewhat well known, also (though I did not know about her before I saw this video). She initially made her performance breakthrough on the UK version of the TV show known as The Voice, which led her to leave her profession as a dentist(!) to pursue her music full-time. From a brief search that I did, I can see that she used to do covers of western pop songs before moving on to qawwali (among other things). But she does do her qawwalis in a westernized kind of way (as do most of the people I have found for this post), and here, she even includes a guitar and cello. (Below the video, the cello is credited to Lydia Alonso. It doesn’t say who the guitarist is (though it credits (other) “vocals” to Amrit Dhuffer and Rushil Ranjan), but I am pretty sure it’s Puru Kaushik, whom I glimpsed playing guitar with her in other videos.)
This video also contains a very nice dance by Vidya Patel, so even though this is a non-dance post, it gives me the opportunity to sneak in a dance anyway. Considering that in addition to everything else, how could I resist posting this?
One more bonus that I should mention is that in the description below the video on YouTube, we are even treated to spelled out lyrics, with an English translation. I have seen a few translated versions of this poem, and I think that the lyrics in Pooja Gaitonde’s version might include more of the original Kalam. So, I am not going to single out the lyrics of Abi Sampa’s version to post here, but I do recommend having a look at them on YouTube.
Now, going to the completely opposite side of the production spectrum, I appreciated this minimal video by Vijayan Almeida. As far as “quarantine” videos go, you can’t get more locked-down looking than this! (I especially appreciated the cramped and dilapidated appearance of the room that he is in, which adds a certain kind of authenticity.) I don’t know much about Vijayan Almeida (and I doubt that many other people do, either), except that he lives in Goa and he is the singer and guitarist for a rock band called Kixmet. But I think he definitely has some talents; I was charmed by his unique presentation of this song. In fact, I’d like to count this among my favorite contemporary versions of “Hum Dekhenge,” adding to the list that I posted in February.
Moving back to the more polished kind of video, I’ll close here with this performance of “Sanson Ki Mala” by the Leo Twins (that is, Haroon and Sharoon Leo). One reason I’m glad to add this one is that I haven’t included any other videos yet that show the artists visibly using a loop station. (Abi Sampa displays her loop station skills in another video, but it isn’t related to qawwali. I have also greatly appreciated the detailed “live looping” videos by the pop singer Vasuda Sharma. I have posted a couple of her covers of old Hindi film songs in this blog, but nothing that exhibits her looping skills. I won’t link to any here – since they are also pretty off-topic for this post – but I strongly recommend a search for those, and I might post some of them in the future.)
As indicated here by the video title, though, the Leo Twins wanted to highlight the use of the violin. With this combination of guitar and violin (and tablas playing throughout also because – as they showed us at the beginning – they have looped them), the instrumentation is a bit like what we saw in Abi Sampa’s cover. But this is strictly an instrumental, and I can’t help feeling that with these particular instruments but without emotive vocals, it seems a little too much like “New Age” music or something in the realm of easy listening (even though the violin does get a bit lively at some point). When I think of this song, not only do I think of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan‘s version, but also – or maybe especially – the film version sung by Kavita Krishnamurthy for Madhuri Dixit. Can I get used to this mellower-seeming version that doesn’t even have any vocals in it? I am not sure, but, on the other hand, judging by comments to this one (as well as the view count), it is clear that other people have greatly appreciated it. So… Maybe it will grow on me. (I should add, by the way, that the Leo Twins have earned a very good reputation, too, mostly via their appearances on the Pakistani show known as Nescafe Basement.)
I suppose this post is more limited than I would have liked it to be. (There are six videos just as with the lockdown dances post, but this time I have included two by the same person.) I would have liked to find more, but the other selections that I looked at either seemed a bit too far from genuine qawwali (even by my loose standards here) or didn’t at all seem to fit within the guidelines of social distancing to combat the coronavirus (which we would certainly want in “Quarantine Qawwali”). For instance, a bunch of guys sitting together in close, cramped-looking fashion just won’t do! (Maybe it’s acceptable if they all are literally brothers or siblings who are stuck under one big roof and not interacting with anyone outside, but I doubt that was the case in any videos that I glimpsed.) On the other hand, it does seem that the qawwali, especially in its traditional form, usually should consist of people in a group cramped together, with one or several among them belting out vocals in a loud and passionate way that is bound send droplets of spit onto other group members’ faces. So, a socially distanced qawwali must automatically seem unnatural. But, then, so do other things that are being affected by social distancing. And I hope as much as anyone that soon we will be able to look at all such unnatural-seeming disruptions as an unfortunate but relatively brief moment in history.
Longtime readers of this blog know that I like to watch and share no-frills performances that people do in their own homes. I’ve shown such clips in a number of posts, but the one that best displayed my fondness for this sort of thing was Another Mujra in a Different Kitchen. Although it’s been more than three years since I wrote that post, I always knew that I would return with another post containing at least a handful of performances in people’s homes; I just needed the right circumstances to inspire me – or at least to give me an excuse. And now I have found those circumstances because, suddenly, people are posting home-based performances from all over the world.
It is horrible that because of he coronavirus pandemic, nobody feels safe doing public performances right now and nobody would feel safe going to them. (Admittedly, it’s far from the worst of the many horrors that we are experiencing, but it is horrible nonetheless.) Additionally, people are trying to stay in their houses or apartments, removed from the dangers of contagion, as much as they possibly can. It is amusing, though, that these awful circumstances have helped to make videos of home-based performances very trendy in a new way, as long as the performances can be labeled “quarantine” or “lockdown.”
Most of the clips in this post have been labeled “quarantine” or “lockdown” by the people who made them, though, actually, not all of them have. And most of them have nothing to do with pandemic in their content (though there is at least one that certainly does). Nonetheless, I like to think that these videos fit well together in this post. And, completely apart from the issue of lockdowns and quarantines, I am glad that I finally have posted a sequel to that post from a few years ago.
For my first clip here, I am including a dance that was actually created to address the pandemic. This video does not take place in a very modest home environment, and if it is done in a home, it is looks as though it is a special dance studio within that home. Nonetheless, it is labeled as a quarantine dance, and nothing could be more appropriate as a video to open a post even remotely related to quarantines and anti-pandemic lockdowns.
Quoting from the text below the video:
“This is an attempt at conceptualizing our battle against Corona Virus through dance with a foreword by K. K. Shailaja[,] teacher, Minister of Health and Social Welfare, Government of Kerala. Dr.Methil Devika (Dance and Music Concept/ Choreography/ Performance/ Musical Arrangement).”
This is part of the government of Kerala’s Break the Chain campaign, which put out many videos to build up awareness about how to protect against the coronavirus. (Incidentally, the government of Kerala has gotten a very good reputation for the way it’s handled the pandemic. I don’t think as much could be said regarding the rest of India or, especially, my own town, New York City, U.S.A.) There are other dance videos in the series as well as music videos and small comedies and dramas, but I found this one to be the most aesthetically pleasing among the bunch that I watched. For one thing, this dance goes a bit further beyond the purpose of literal instruction than the other videos do. For instance, the song here begins with lines from an 18th century poem, and the coronavirus is “personified” as a classic demon. (You will see more about that as you watch the video, since there is a very nice explanation written in English, along with English subtitles.) The Mohinyattam dance, itself, is also quite beautiful to watch, which is not surprising, since it is performed by Methil Devika, a somewhat renowned dancer and dance scholar.
Continuing with the demon-slaying theme, I liked stumbling upon this semi-classical dance by Subhashree, performed to a song about Aigiri Nandi,. (By the way, I did not immediately recognize the subject of this song – or, rather, the story behind it – though I might have known it at some time. So I did a quick check in the definitions in Google, which told me that “it is about Goddess Parvathi in her Durga avatar, where she kills the demon Mahishasur.”) I don’t know anything about this dancer, but I assume that she must have some experience as a dance teacher, since her channel title is “Dance Odissi With Subhashree” and her “About” section says, “This channel is designed to teach you Indian traditional and Semi classical dances.” I also am not completely sure that this is supposed to be a “lockdown” or “quarantine” video, because I have not seen any mention of that in the description. But the video was made just a few days ago, and it definitely looks as though it was made in her home. And it certainly is a good follow-up to the first video here! Let Mahishasur also be a personification of the virus!
Moving into an entirely different direction, here’s the video that stars the most famous person you will find in this post. That dancer dressed in blue is Janhvi Kapoor, daughter of Boni Kapoor and the very-much-missed Sridevi. I understand that Janhvi has started to acquire some well-regarded film credits of her own, too.
The second dancer in this video is apparently Janhvi’s choreographer and teacher/trainer, Charvi Bhardwaj. (By the way, this is information that I am adding a week after this post first went up. See the comments section if you are curious about the discussions that finally led to this conclusion.)
The physical environment for this dance is also little more fancy than the kind that I generally want to feature in this sort of post, and even though there is a couch here, I wonder if, as in the first video, we are looking at some sort of dance studio built into an elaborate home. Nonetheless, it is very clearly an at-home production, also specified as a dance done during quarantine. And it is very nice.
There are other, longer dance clips on YouTube that are obviously from the same session, but I found this one-minute performance to be the nicest. Maybe part of the reason for that is the song that they’ve chosen, an old one that was danced to by Waheeda Rehman in 1965, in Guide.
The next dance is done in more of the modest kind of environment that I think about when I want to watch dances in people’s homes. (It’s a nice little room – attractive drapes and windows and a decent-looking couch.) I also always enjoy Kathak “pure” dance segments involving rhythms and footwork and I found this one to be quite charming and good. (It would have been nice if we had gotten better camera angles so that we could see the feet more during the footwork, but since this is obviously a no-frills video without professional production, I would not expect perfection in that area here.)
While the dancer, Pooja Tiwari, is obviously not a famous film dancer, she does have some professional dance experience, which includes teaching, dancing on TV shows, and doing choreography. She is also actually a resident of the U.S., having moved to Quincy, Massachusetts back in 2009. And by the way, if you are wondering how I know all this, it’s because I read the About page on her website.
I felt that I should not put together this post without including at least one Bharatanatyam video, so I am glad I found the one that follows. I also am pleased that I found a dance in a small, modest room that is so well put together. I like the combination of colors, the furniture arrangement and, here too, the drapes! Plus, the dance is certainly nice to watch. I do not know anything about this dancer, Shivani Mhatre, except, looking at another video of hers on YouTube, I see that she danced in a performance at Thakur Polytechnic. (That one is dated March 27, though it must be from sometime farther back – unless these students got to get a dance performance in right before the lockdown started.) I hope that we will get to see many more dances from her in the future.
When we’re looking for stay-at-home videos or “quarantine”/”lockdown” videos, rooftops are just as legitimate as any other environment, and sometimes they make for the nicest setting in the modest vein. I’ve posted some rooftop videos before, but this is the first time that I have found – and am posting – a nighttime rooftop silhouette clip. This is certainly a different approach, and I do like it. I have seen this technique used in a few vintage films, but I do not recall ever seeing this done in a simple video filmed on top of someone’s home! And since it is labeled a “quarantine video,” I might add that among the “quarantine videos,” this one’s particularly unique. The dancer, Arpita Verma, is pretty good, too. I don’t know anything about her, except that she’s a choreographer as well as a dancer and has posted a few good dances on YouTube. The song is not so unique, since it’s another one of those popular film songs from the past couple of decades that a lot of people like to refer to. (I have never seen My Name Is Khan, which came out in 2010. I suppose I should sometime.) But it’s not a bad song, either.
And I will conclude here, having posted the same number of videos that I did the last time I put up this kind of post. (Actually, in the last one, I added one more video slightly later as a P.S. I wouldn’t rule out the possibility of doing that here as well.) I hope that at least some people enjoy this kind of post, because I am thinking about doing this more often, creating a series of sorts. At the very least, I hope that some people found this to be a pleasant distraction, especially considering that under the present circumstances, we all can use as many pleasant distractions as we can find.
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P.S. One of these days when I do another of these posts, I’ll find a way to include a male dancer or two. I just haven’t found any home-based clips with male dancers that I liked enough, especially not in the classical or semi-classical genres, which is where I am keeping the focus here. (I saw a couple of “lockdown” clips starring guys who were pretty good dancers, but they were doing a more modern and free-form kind of thing.) I will keep an eye out, though.
It’s been ten almost ten years since I wrote my review of V. Shantaram’s classic 1946 film Dr. Kotnis Ki Amar Kahani. I have thought about it recently because it is a film about a doctor who goes to China to help cure a plague, and now I am sitting in the middle of a world being menaced by a plague that started in China. This plague that started in China originated in Wuhan, the same town where Dr. Kotnis, himself, first landed – by which I mean, the real Dr. Kotnis whom the hero is based on, Dawarkanath Kotnis. That’s a curious coincidence, but that’s not the real reason that I began to think about this film again. The real reason is that it’s comforting to think about a heroic doctor who succeeded in curing a plague.
The pandemic of the novel coronavirus that we are now facing in 2020 and the consequences that have resulted so far are like nothing I have seen in my lifetime. In fact, as I watch the events unfold in my place in New York City, U.S.A. – including the cancellation of all public gatherings, the closing of schools, libraries, and cinemas, the closing of all bars and banning of all dining in restaurants (takeout only now), as well as the extreme measures of more personal “social distancing” being advised everywhere – it feels as though I am in the middle of a nightmare. I don’t think it’s possible to find a film that would be adequate in helping us to reflect upon and deal with the horror that we are all currently facing. But Dr. Kotnis Ki Amar Kahani is a nice film to watch if you have doctors and plagues on the mind and also would like to escape into a heartwarming tale that is based on some real hardships that many people struggled with in a certain place decades ago. And wherever you may be – India, the U.S., China, Italy, etc. – you can also dream about the arrival of a heroic doctor who’s going to cure this plague even if it means sacrificing his own life to do so.
Additionally, since I don’t have the energy or much spirit to write a brand new review (or compile a new list) anyway, why not return to an old one that I would like people to see again? It’s hard to believe that I wrote this old review all the way back in June of 2010, but it seems to have held up pretty well. Actually, it wasn’t holding up that well in a sense, because all the clips had disappeared. It is a good thing that I decided to look back at that old review recently, because I did not know that all the videos had been dropped, but once I found that out, I was able to replace them quickly.
So please click the title below and take a look at my old review, if you like. Maybe you have read it before, but it has been quite a while, right? Or maybe you have not seen it yet and might find it interesting (I hope):
Oh, and by the way, you can also find a couple of copies of this film on YouTube, but I’m not going to recommend a particular one, because neither of the copies that I found are in very good condition, so they are a little difficult to watch. And unfortunately, they do not have English subtitles, either. (I watched an old English-subtitled copy a decade ago, but who knows where it is now? I have seen this film in the New York Public library more recently and if anybody in New York is reading this, I would recommend looking for it there, but unfortunately, the library is going to be closed at least until the end of the month and probably for longer than that.)
If you would like to contact me, e-mail to chardsinger [at] yahoo.com. I also have a Facebook timeline, where I have been spending too much time. (But it is only partially like this blog in terms of subject matter.) Anyway, especially if you know me somewhat, and you are on Facebook, you might want to connect there. Send an e-mail so that we can talk more about it and maybe exchange URLs to "friend."
