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Down Memory Lane

Old gramophone records hung all over a shop in Delhi’s Sadar Bazar and the man who owned them was old too. He sat on an easy chair the whole day listening to the songs of the past. The songs were of cool breeze in which trees swayed to the rhythm of the rain and eternal lovers swooned to the melody of the monsoon. You could not recognise the voices, perhaps some artists of the past sent into oblivion by age.

The invention of the gramophone was an event which created a revolution. To record a song sung on a particular occasion so that it could be played anytime anywhere was something unique.

Had the ancients known this art we could have had a whole treasure of music preserved. Had they known it even in the medieval period we could have heard Tansen and Baiju Bawra at leisure in our drawing rooms. They say Tansen could make it rain at will. He sang raga Malhar and the clouds rolled across the sky, drawn by the magic of his voice. Baiju could charm all things, including animals. Tansen could do the same. If their recorded voices were available now could they have the same effect?

As you stood outside this old shop another melody came floating to your ears. It was Surendra and Noor Jehan singing that old favourite, “Awaz de kahan hai”. It transported you to a dreamland where the moonlight weaved a wand and the world became a fairyland. If you were lucky you might have heard a song by Suraiya, that wonder girl who lost her heart to Gregory Peck. He heard about it while passing by Mumbai one night and was taken to Suraiya’s room. She was asleep and thought she was still dreaming when the tall sparse figure of the handsome actor confronted her in flesh and bone. That was a long time ago.

You asked the old man if he had a record of Saigal. He shuffled the discs and put one on the gramophone. It was C.H. Atma who sang a heady tune. You liked it but the old man realised his mistake. He put it off and placed another. Hemant Kumar greeted the ear. You know the shop owner’s sight was weak. He tried once again and there was Saigal with his whisky-laden song. You asked the price, he named it. There was no room for bargaining and you walked away happily and contented with Rex, that immortal dog, listening to his master’s voice.

The shop in Sadar Bazar is no longer there but you could get a taste of old music if you happen to visit Shah Music Centre at Meena Bazar, near the Jama Masjid. You could even get records transferred on discs and so preserve old melodies. That’s what Mathur Sahib does. He lost his wife long ago. Time hangs heavy on him and he derives pleasure from the past. Nostalgia can soothe troubled hearts and R.P. Mathur has realised it from personal experience. Shah Music Centre is an oasis for lonely hearts. It is to it that they are drawn from distant corners of the Capital. Surprisingly enough most come from the newly-developed posh areas. These people once lived in the Walled City but find it difficult to adjust to their new surroundings. They want to hear old music and not the crazy remixes or Pop and Rock tunes. So Shah beckons them.

You can sometimes spot Mukherjee of Prasad Nagar too at Shah Music Centre, trying to locate some special song that had left its mark on him in his youth. “Tu aayee ya na aaye ham karenge intizar”, he whispers, still lost in thoughts of his departed wife. You nod and he walks away.

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