A review of Bimal Roy’s Devdas invariably tends to feature a comparison with the newer version. This is unfair on two counts. One, Roy’s movie is remarkable in its own right. And two, it is anyway unfair to compare Bimal Da to the confectioner Bhansali – the man whose idea of movie-making is to erect garish sets confirming to a colour scheme, and then filling them up with such scripts and actors as may cross his path.
 
Now inasmuch as a movie tells us about its auteur, it also informs us of the times in which he lived (if not by truly mirroring the mores of those times, then by implicitly informing on the audience which it catered to). So on the one hand Devdas is about its dignity and self-assuredness, on the other it’s about the leisurely pace with which things transpire in the background. For eg, when Devdas is leaving after a two day stay in Calcutta, he hands over some money to his friend. ‘ये रुपय रखो।जिनके देने हैं, दे देना। बाक़ी नौकरों में बाँट देना।' We’re thus transported to a time when things were just beginning to get transactional. Though one obviously did accept money for goods & services rendered, it was done by means of a deferred payment. I guess that kept the whole thing from looking like a deal. भद्रलोक से पैसा लिया नहीं जाता था, उनके यहाँ से पैसा आ जाता था।
 
Then there’s the famed meeting between Paaro and Chandramukhi. No, we don’t have a ‘Dhola re’, as the original novel too doesn’t mention any such encounter whatsoever. But to accentuate the connect between the two women, Bimal Da comes up with a scene par excellence. No words are spoken between the ladies, their glances stay languidly drawn out, there’s no awareness in any of them of the other’s identity, and the background score is lush with chants accompanied by some really soulful music. It’s the kind of scene that stays with you for a long time.
 
And finally there’s the cast. We have Kanhaiyalal(Sukhilala from Mother India, who when told ‘कुत्ते की मौत मरोगे लाला’, had replied with total sang-froid ‘हाँ हाँ , तो कुत्ता भी तो भगवान का बनाया एक जीव है ’) and we have a young Iftekhar(‘young Iftekhar’ might actually be an oxymoron, for Ifty, like Nirupa Roy and Ashok Kumar, somehow managed to straightaway sublimate from boyhood to middle-age.) We also have Motilal, perhaps the only person who could have played the part of Chunnilal (anyone less frivolous wouldn’t have fitted the role, and anyone less dignified wouldn’t have qualified as a friend to Devdas.) But most important of all, we have Dilip Kumar; amazing throughout the movie but more so in two particular shots. One, when he’s taking the final leave of Chandramukhi. The scene’s charged with emotion (so much emotion in fact that just reading that scene in the script must’ve sent the hamming SRK into orgasmic ecstasy.) And yet, DK chooses to deliver those lines in very plain fashion. What transpires needs to be watched. A description is best not attempted.
 
The second outstanding scene is the first meeting between a grown-up Devdas and Paro. Yet again, the emotion is palpable only through body language. If in the previously described scene it is the tone which was seemingly ordinary, here, it is the words. Words that are meaningful and redundant at the same time. Imagine, the first sentence that he says to his lady love after all these years is ‘क्या हो रहा है?’
 
Poignant question that. A question which a lot many movie-makers would do well to ask themselves.

This Amitabh starrer is best known for one-liners that sit pretty even in contexts not originally intended. Sample this.

Narang introducing himself to Zeenat Aman with 'ladki, humein apna dost samjho'. Now given the sublime abruptness of that line, what are the odds that these weren't the very words with which Amit Shah inducted Ms Bedi into his party?

Or consider, Pran saying to Iftekhar ' mein tumse itni nafrat nahi karta jitni apne bachchon se mohabbat karta hun.' Hate to say it in the run-up to Valentine's, but can't help wondering how many spouses draw solace from that statement.

And of course, there's this classic facade of a supposedly eventful youth - a facade behind which mundane middle-age usually hides. Amitabh saying to Iftekhar 'Pehle ki baat aur hai inspector sahib, Pehle darr nahi lagta tha. Lekin ab Deepu hai, Munni hai....'
(And what would have happened if Deepu and Munni weren't there you ask ? Well, in the words of the inimitable Pran sahab 'Doosra bekaar sawaal.')

​नजर का वार था दिल की तड़प ने छोल दी।
चली थी बरछि किसी पर किसी को आन लगी।।
नजरिया की मारी, मरी मोरी गुइयाँ.....
(छोल:scar, बरछि:spear,गुइयाँ:सखी/female friend)
This is Thumri at its near best. Its context is the play of intimacy between Radha & Krishna and - understandably - the predominant flavour is that of Shringar Ras, i.e., love and joy.
It’s said that in a Thumri it is the lyrics that are of prime importance. But there could perhaps be a diametrically opposite way of looking at this. For if you really lose yourself in a Thumri you realise that since the same set of lyrics are repeated again and again, these lyrics tend to eventually melt away. What remains is pure music.
Why then, you may ask, were lyrics required in the first place? In answer, the closest metaphor I can think of is that of a good whiskey and the barrel it’s aged in. The lyrics - like the barrel - hold the music together and impart it with a distinctive flavour. And yet, one can’t be said to have ‘mixed’ with the other.

​कहावतें पहाड़ों की
There’s a poignant scene in the movie ‘Seven years in Tibet’ wherein this wise Tibetan woman says, “A friend’s good fortune is a blessing to you.”
Nice sounding words, but what exactly does the lady mean by ‘blessing’? Is she alluding to material favours which a friend in his good fortune is likely to dispense?
Unlikely.
And no, that verdict isn’t rooted in an obvious and cloying idealism. It’s pure empiricism at play here.
Think about it. The fruits gotten from a friend’s favour, ultimately, yield less joy than the bare reminder that there’s someone who was willing to help in a time of need. Decidedly, the true joys of a good friendship emanate from the basic disposition and character of the friend; not from the material benefits that can be harvested off him.
But here’s the catch about disposition and character. Much as we like to believe in their permanence, the truth is that they’re not totally impervious to our worldly situations.
Then, because good fortune engenders good disposition, the Tibetan lady’s friend (in his good fortune) is likely to be a greater source of joy than he usually is.
Happy friendship day to all. May good fortune abound.