When all you want is to fit in, it is easy to, knowingly or not, block out your past, just so that you’re taken seriously. It is easy to feel ashamed of your roots, and the itch to forget it all is strong. But when you forget yourself and where you came from, who is left? What is left?
We’ll get back to that in a moment.
In my opinion, good Bollywood movies are like a needle in a haystack, and good Bollywood music is even more so. My early teens seemed to be soundtracked by Punjabi rappers like Badshah and Honey Singh, bragging about their high alcohol tolerance and their plentiful riches, tastefully punctuated by vulgar descriptions of a woman’s body. The woman was always thin and had fair skin, reduced to a mere sex symbol. A trophy. Clearly, it was not the most empowering stuff in the world, but it made producers money, and gave wedding guests throughout the country something to dance to. What else do you need?
As time went by, the industry, inspired by the success of vintage Bollywood, decided to give some classic films and songs a new lease of life… and in the process ruined those too. It seemed that every song had to be overproduced. All the lyrics had to be vulgar, and featured artists had to rely on autotune a bit too much for comfort. It became clear that the preferred style and content of the Bollywood music industry was vastly different to my own preferences.
The Indian music industry is too closely interlinked with Bollywood to successfully ignore. Therefore, I gradually started to turn away from most Hindi music, so much so that one time, a classmate threw an artfully arranged string of curse words at me, because I did not know who the newest, hottest Indian singers were. I didn’t mind much – I had begun finding comfort and inspiration in English artists like Oh Wonder, dodie, and Years & Years. Hindi music was still very much a part of me, though. Through singing with my mother in the kitchen, dancing with friends, and road trips with the radio on, Bollywood music stayed with me for a long time.
But all that changed when I left India and came to university in the UK.
Within my first semester here at Sheffield, I had fielded dozens of questions about my background, about India, probing into the truth behind unkind stereotypes that plague every race. These questions, though well-meaning in their curiosity, were a constant reminder that I was different, that I didn’t belong. I was, in a way, ashamed; ashamed that I didn’t get British pop culture references and hadn’t heard songs that are considered classic here. All I wanted was to fit in. So, I ended up blocking my culture out completely. I stopped speaking Hindi in public, I stopped eating the food of my childhood. In an effort to blend in, I forgot what made me unique.
So, back to the question at the start. When you forget yourself, what’s left? Short answer: music. Case in point –
Anupam Roy and Shreya Ghoshal reminded me to keep living while there’s time, in ‘Journey Song’ from Piku. (2015) Ms Ghoshal’s honeyed voice paired with Mr Roy’s classic penmanship is enough to make you forget your troubles, even if only for a while.
The entire soundtrack to the 2011 hit movie ‘Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara’, (‘Life Won’t Come Again’) written by trio Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy, is a gentle, but uplifting ode to life, punctuated by upbeat tracks and gorgeous spoken word poetry.
Late 20th Century Bollywood music, from the likes of the legendary Lata Mangeshkar and Mohammed Rafi, stirs the soul to this day. I have vivid memories of my m
other driving me to school, with the songs she grew up with on the radio.
My favourite time period for Bollywood music, though, has to be the 2000s. This was the heyday of singers like Shaan, Sonu Nigam and Mohit Chauhan, who serenaded one and all with their mellifluous hopes and dreams of innocent love and admiration. Films like ‘Parineeta’ (2005) and the 2003 hit ‘Kal Ho Na Ho’ (Tomorrow May Never Come) have beautiful arrangements and lyrics that are sweet without being too cloying.
These were the songs of my childhood. These were the lyrics that I sang before I knew what they truly meant. Through rediscovering this era of music, I rediscovered a part of me. And I am so glad that I did.
Music was the bridge that led me to embracing my roots once again. Through these songs and albums, I have reclaimed my true identity, unapologetically. I spend my free time learning how to play these songs on the ukulele and sing my heart out in my flat.
Sure, the cringe-worthy vulgarity of recent Bollywood still lives, and I am sure that it plans to stay. However, I have realised that there is a plethora of wonderful music underneath it all. Just like how it was for me, this music can be a bridge to showing the whole world what my gorgeous culture is capable of.
