#scurf97: Dilip Kumar, my father and memories

Through my school days I was the uncool kid who knew more about 1950s Hindi movies and songs, about Madhubala and Dilip Kumar than anyone in my age cared to. Listening to nain lad jaihe today and the forgotten dehati hindi comes running back. A dusty trunk full of memories. Dancing to ude jab jab during cousin’s sangeet, those weddings. The slow burn of these melodies, their deep stirrings, everything so regular, yet sublime. I am instantly transported to Sunday mornings, his songs humming gently on the raspy Sony radio, his cup of chai gathering malai, my father with tears in his eyes, would just listen to thr track of Kohinoor for hours on end. It was not just naushad’s compositions but also the Dilip sa’ab’s acting that my father could never ever get enough of. Such strong emotions. Nothing in vain. For all his monstrosities, my father would only ever be this submissive, calm and almost shattered when watching mughal-e-azam during his bi annual sessions with the tiny family. I never got the point then, but I always cried with him when Teri mehfil mein came on. That my mother was named after Madhubala, that my father’s favourite actor was Dilip Kumar. They should’ve known their love story was doomed right from the beginning. Listening to tere sadke balam, in a house full of a large joint family, on a scratchy Sony (or was it Panasonic???) radio, to listening to it with my father on a made to order music system (we called it a "deck") to listening to it on jbl Bluetooth speakers, then a Saregama Caravan and now home alone on Bluetooth earphones — a song’s journeys and accompanying loneliness. Thanks to my father’s unabiding love for Dilip Kumar and by extension, Mohd Rafi, it almost brought me on the brink of hating these two galaxies of talent and humility. Someday I will write about watching Ganga Jamuna and Mughal-e-azam alone in my first rented apartment ever and weeping. Till then, this is all...