In an era when full-throated playback singing had caught on in a big way, the Lahorian songstress Shamshad Begum spread the quilt of her lilt all over the Mumbai film industry. Born in Amritsar, this Punjabi kudi brought in her voice the aroma of sarson ka saag and the flavour of the mustard fields with colourfully-dressed Punjab da putariyas fluttering their multi-coloured dupattas in the clean air. Yup, the slurpy taste of a cool tall glass of creamy lassi is what this Begum offers us in her songs. No wonder Shamshad Begum is one of the most ‘remixed’ artistes of Indian playback singing. So you’ve heard the baby and baba dolls croon Kabhi aar kabhi paar laga teer-e-naar, Saiyyan dil mein aana ri and Kajra mohabbat wala? But who do you think sang them originally (and how originally!!!)? None other than Shamshad Begum in her hey-hey-heydays of heady success…
This was the time when the Mumbai film industry was heavily and inextricably influenced by the Urdu-Punjabi style of robust folksy singing. Voices like Noorjehan, Amirbai Karnataki and Suraiya were the order of the day. When Shamshad Begum entered with her nasal appraisal of the seven musical notes she brought with her a startling individuality of expression. She sounded like none of the reigning singers, and yet like all of them! She sang like none other… And yet she sounded like a spunky neighbour from your locality whose voice wakes you up every morning with a song… And when it doesn’t you miss her sorely… you look anxiously for her to show up in the horizon of your aural experiences.
As the lady sings in full-throated glory she blows apart the lid of coyness and addresses herself to very basic issues of the heart.
Ghulam Haider, who later gave the Nightingale Lata Mangeshkar her first break, was also the precursor of Shamshadbai’s trademark style of robust Punjabi-folk renditions. The style reached a crescendo in tracks like Leke pehla pehla pyar, Kahin pe nigahen kahin pe nishana and Boojh mere kya gaon re. All three compositions were for Guru Dutt’s CID, one of the early films that owed a lot of its success to the way Shamshad Begum twisted and turned the songs to her honed advantage?
And before we forget, CID was the film that introduced the ethereal Waheeda Rehman to Hindi cinema. Who can forget Shamshad Begum crooning Kahin pe nigahen kahin pe nishana for Waheeda Rehman, catapulting the actress to instant stardom with her saucy come-hither vocals.
O.P. Nayyar, who composed such captivating tunes for CID, loved the voice of Shamshad Begum and used it extensively until Asha Bhosle came into his songs. Nayyar could harness that hectically intoxicating element in Shamshad Begum’s voice as effectively as Ghulam Haider and Shyam Sunder, the earliest composers to give the Begum’s vocals a firm footing in Hindi films.
Shyam Sunder gave Shamshad Begum a rocking image. In the track Hello hello gentlemen, which she sings with splendid insouciance with Lalita Dewoolkar for a 1948 film called Actress, our Begum blows our mind. Hear the zingy flavour that the Begum’s voice favours, and you would know why today every deejay and veejay wants a bit of Shamshad on his disc. Whether it’s Saiyyan dil mein aana ri, Kabhi aar kabhi paar or Kajra mohabbat wala, there’s the sense of déjà vu to the experience as we relive it through a voice that defined sensuality and rhythm in the 1940s and a large part of the 1950s as well.
Nothing can compare with the original experience of hearing Ek do teen in Awara in the Begum’s voice. She unleashes an incomparable whiplash-effect on the soundtrack through her furiously and curiously contoured chords.
Voices came later to overtake her. But the throaty, husky, robust, rugged and flavourful voice of Shamshad Begum remained unique. A celebration of her assorted songs—some traditional, others immensely modern but invariably every item being vital to the scheme of things—seems as vital today as it did ever since modern re-mix albums of her songs began flooding the market.
The thing about Shamshad Begum’s voice was its peculiar nasal appeal. She carried tunes beyond the frontiers of filmic experience, liberated songs from the need to confine their sound-appeal to the film and heroine that they were designed for.
And yet leading ladies forever pulled out all stops when it came to expressing the piquant proclivities of a love that knows no bounds. So there she was, the voice that left us with no choice but to rejoice, giving an idyllic intimacy to the love expressions of various heroines Nargis in Aag and Mela, Nigar Sultana in Mughal-e-Azam (remember Shamshad Begum doing the Qawwali Teri mehfil mein qismat with Lata Mangeshkar?) and Vyjanthimala in Naya Andaz.By the time she came to singing Reshmi salwar kurta jaali ka in Naya Daur it was time for other voices to find favour in our films. But none could replace Shamshad Begum. Her popularity was meteoric. She could at once reach out to an audience that felt the pangs of India’s division into two countries without sounding either too Indian or too Pakistani.
At a time when divisive forces were at a premium Shamshad Begum represented the triumph of a secular musicality. It’s hard to pin down her songs to one community or custom. In tracks like Bachpan ke din bhula na dena, Hum dard ka afsana and Dekh chand ki, Shamshad Begum expresses the language of the heart with a toss of that vocal chord which seems unpredictable and inviting even now when the lady behind the croon has retired to a secluded spot in Mumbai.
Naushad allotted Shamshad Begum a very special place in his repertoire. More than any other composer Naushad Saab marveled at the transparency in Shamshad Begum’s voice. Even when her career began to reach a peak she continued to make her presence felt with that occasional slip between the cult and the lip. In Dulari, which was suffused with Lata Mangeshkar’s nuggets, Shamshad Begum made her presence felt with Chandni aayee ban ke pyar. A year later Naushad Saab handed over an entire score in Babul to Shamshad Begum. She sang like a dream. From that gorgeous gallery of greats we get two selections in this album the duet Milte hi aankhen (with Talat Mehmood) and the bidaai song Chod babul ka ghar, both revealing what accents and undulations Shamshad Begum could instill into a song provided she was given a platform to perform her vocal pirouette.
Surely there’s something enormously evergreen about a voice that goes from the lament of Hum dard ka afsana, to the Radha-Krishna frolic of Mohan ki muraliya baje, to the feisty feelgoodness of Mere piya gaye Rangoon, to the get-happy-go-freak-out message of Duniya ka mazaa le lo, to the festive flamboyance of Holi aaye re kanhayee there was a peculiar picturesqueness to Shamshad Begum’s heart hitting vocals.
She could grab our attention anytime, anywhere without having to perform vocal gyrations. The gyrations, if any, were a fundamental part of her vocal talents. She could stand tall in an era when women weren’t required to be sexually aggressive to sing Patli kamar nazuk umar in Lootera and Main bhanwra tu hai phool in Mela. In an era and an ethos steeped in great music and musicians, Shamshad Begum created a niche of her own a niche so special and unique that to this day it’s impossible to replicate her ravishing and rugged rhythmic romps.
