Kaansen Khronicles #4: Revisiting songs from years past, that have been lost in the chaos of the social media-era content explosion!
Every Rahman album has a hidden gem - a song that never gets its due when the album first comes out, lost in the glory of other more populist, more instant hits, but one that stands the test of time, shining years, sometimes decades after it comes out, long after the hype around the chartbusters dies down. No song captures this phenomenon better than Ay Hairathe from the 2007 Mani Ratnam classic, Guru.
One cannot solely blame the listener for not catching on to this song soon enough. Three songs deservedly received the headlines coverage when the soundtrack of Guru was launched. A-side opened with Shreya Ghoshal breaking out of her melody-queen mold, to sing a fast paced village belle rain dance sequence in Barso Re, and Rahman himself took all the attention in a couple songs he sang - Tere Bina, with Chinmayee, and Jaage Hain, a slow, but lifting anthem with characteristic high tones that have become signature of his singing style in more recent times. Mani Ratnam played a role too - Ay Hairathe was hardly in the film (I believe it played in pieces in the background for less than 2 minutes), even as the abhorrent Ek Lo Ek Muft was featured in a full five-minute segment. Even Mayya Mayya, with its Hamma Hamma vibes garnered more attention. And yet, the song from this album that will ultimately make it to the ARR Hall of Fame has to be Ay Hairathe, for several reasons.
First, for years, Rahman had built his reputation around bringing a diverse assortment of music from cultures around the World together, and making them fit beautifully - with each other, and with the surrounding context of the movie. In this game of intricately assembling music with as many foreign elements as possible and yet not feeling out of place, there has been no better exhibit than Ay Hairathe.
Take a second to think about it: the song starts off with a slow rhythm on the accordion, quickly complemented by the Tabla, and Rahman's sufi-esque crooning, before it breaks into a melodious Ghazal by Hariharan that would do the Ustads of yesteryears proud. The shocking part is all of this happens in the first minute of the song!! It doesn't end there. The ghazal soon gives way to a very different scene - an interlude that sounds like a 19th Century Scottish Wedding, then tied back to the Ghazal in impeccable fashion, before developing into a quintessential Hindi movie duet, with Alka Yagnik's perfection, and finally settling into its groove at cruising altitude.
Second, this song marks what I can perceive as the start of a long-lasting partnership that defined Rahman's music for years to come - his discovery of the accordion.
Rahman's albums typically have a signature tune, and traditionally, this tune had been reserved for the flute (think Pachai Nirame from Alaipaayuthey, or Ishq Bina from Taal), and occasionally other instruments (think Mouth Organ - Padayappa, Shehnai - Swades). The accordion made its journey to the top in this song, and stayed there playing a key role in future Rahman songs (what better example than Nenjukule, a decade after Guru!).
Ultimately, with the benefit of hindsight, we know this song is extraordinary, for the reasons stated above, but more importantly, because this is one unique sounding song - the style or the feel has not been replicated in another song in the 14 years since this album first came out. Listening to it today, it still feels fresh - if it had only been produced last week, it would still be every bit as alien, unheard of and yet, perfectly fit in our lives, the same way it did 14 years ago.
The words from Gulzar, Hairat-e-Aashiqui speak of love so pure, it transcends all reality. This song then, fittingly, is an otherwordly song celebrating the spirit of Gulzar's poem - a Hairat-e-Song, if you will! And chances are it will remain, every bit as Hairat in the library of Bollywood music for many many years to come.
