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Their sound from those early years is fresh, sunny and sweet on the ear.
Aayiye Bahaar Ko Hum Baantle, P
yaar Baantte Chalo,
aago Prabhat Aaya and N
eend Kabhi Rehti Thi Aankhon Mein are some of my favourites from that time. Even in those early years, L-P showed a refined musical sensibility, a strong grip of story, situation and characters, and a penchant for long preludes and rich orchestration – aspects that would remain their hallmarks for most of their career. And they didn’t compose just easy-breezy romantic numbers; some of their best classical work is from that time.
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Bollywood loves its stereotypes. For decades, it has put mothers on a pedestal, clad them in white sarees, and whitewashed their character. In our cinema, a mother has been the picture of sacrifice a martyr who fuels the dreams of her children with the kindling of her own unfulfilled ones and the zenith of chastity and virtue. In formulaic films of the past, she was often evoked when the hero’s conscience needed some polishing or was wielded out as a weapon if the protagonist was veering dangerously close to the grey area of villainy. But over time, in tandem with society, the Hindi film industry, too, has allowed its mothers to come of age. The celluloid maa is no longer sentenced to a life of domesticity; she has dusted off years of typecasting and is raring to go. Be it balancing a career along with the household or playing a friend to her homosexual son, discussing her desires, or powering through a geriatric pregnancy she is exploring every facet of a mothe