When Khamoshi The Musical, Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s debut effort, was previewed for the industry and the press back in 1996 a couple of days before its release, the interval verdict was unanimous - none of its poetry and visual magic could save the film at the box-office. Bhansali recollects crying in the preview theatre washroom for minutes, feeling the pain at his passionate piece of art being looked down upon as elitist and snail-paced.
But the filmmaker inside him didn’t give up. It just couldn’t have. Three years later, Bhansali gave us Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, striking gold at the box-office, and walking away with all the awards that he had heard of, and others that he discovered existed once he won them.
But Khamoshi, with due respect to HDDCS, remains Bhansali’s better work. As one film critic wrote on the eve of its release: Khamoshi may not work with the masses, for it appeals to the heart and the heart alone. And a heart is something not many have.
Looking back at the relevance of this statement eight years down the line, one sits back and wonders whether even Bhansali will be able to recreate the magic of the musical, especially the use of sheer poetry in creating cinematic monuments out of the songs of a decent yet far-from-outstanding soundtrack by Jatin-Lalit.
Take Baahon ke darmiyaan, for instance. When is the last time that a song was shot so beautifully in a location as constricted as the top of a lighthouse? Perhaps in the good old days of single camera and shoestring budgets. The camera doesn’t leave the passionate lovers Raj (Salman Khan) and Annie (Manisha Koirala) for even a moment. The chemistry between the pair is so stark, and the sexuality so well underplayed, and the use of hands as a way of communicating so effective, that the song, in spite of the blunder of not being promoted at all at the time of the film’s release, turns out to be the piece-de-resistance of the soundtrack eight years later.
Bhansali has the Midas touch. And he used it in all its splendour when he turned the cacophonic Remo track Huiyya ho into a visually stunning motion picture. Joseph (Nana Patekar) and Flavvy (Seema Biswas), both deaf and dumb, ‘hear’ the earth-shatteringly loud music through the vibrations of the water in a glass vase, and the falling of the metal pots in the kitchen because of high decibel levels. And the starkly different shots of Raj and Annie travelling with their son eliminate the danger of any monotony the song could have fallen prey to.
OK, Gaate the pehle akele and the much-hyped Aaj main oopar are just semi-brilliant in the context of the rest of the songs, but in another film, they would have been the selling points. The simplicity of Aaj main oopar still strikes you, especially the part where Annie imitates the inspiration in her life, Mariamma, played sensitively by Helen. And when Mariamma graciously conveys the most important lesson of life to the kids: one who goes comes back, in Gaate the pehle, she does it with a strong conviction, enough for even the most pessimistic to believe in her.
Mausam ki sargam ko sun is poetry in motion. When a young Annie (played by Priya Parulekar, who looks strikingly similar to Manisha) and Mariamma take shelter from rain under a polythene roof even as the piano continues to play, Bhansali manages to drive home his premise - that music is Annie’s reason to live - better than what 100 words could’ve managed. Subconsciouly, Mausam ki Sargam ko sun plays a strong role in heightening the conflict between music and silence, which Annie so strongly fights through much of the film.
Aankhon mein kya is as colourful as an artist’s palette. Used as Salman Khan and grown-up Manisha’s introduction song, if you ignore the Huiyya ho bit, Aankhon mein kya sticks out like a sore thumb in a serene film. Yet, it doesn’t fail to impress you. Mansoor Khan’s Zinda hain hum to (Josh) draws enough visual inspiration from it, showing how the Khamoshi magic lives on.
Jaana suno hum tum pe marte hain, which comes in two versions, is one of Jatin-Lalit’s best romantic works, especially considering the fact that Majrooh’s lyric quality was strictly serviceable. Lighting candles together, Raj and Annie take the unsaid pledge of lifelong togetherness. Understated and subtle, as much as it could ever have been.
And the best for the last. Yeh dil sun raha hai, Annie’s first ever recording, comes in the wake of her disappointment over her parents refusing to attend. But they do. And what follows is cinematic excellence of the highest order. Whether it is Joseph feeling the music in the air without actually hearing it, or Annie using the language of the deaf and dumb to act out each word of her song to them, or an ecstatic Raj finding the moment too overwhelming, this one takes you to a world where emotion is the only motion, as everything else stops, including time.
And there’s more. Even the background score of the film, which was credited to Bablooda, was used by Jatin-Lalit in two of his films. The piano theme over Raj’s and Annie’s first meeting is used for the title song of Subhash Segal’s Pyaar Koi Khel Nahin, and the gloom theme that is used so brilliantly every time a new chapter in Annie’s life opens, was used as the source material for the underrated and under-heard Main adhuri si from Sanjay Chhel’s Khoobsurat.
Not a surprise, for moments like the ones Khamoshi gives us are monuments. And they will always remain thus.