آؤ مل کے چلیں Aao Milo Chale — Come, Walk With Me

Irshad Kamil

1971– living

Geet

Somebody is being asked to come for a walk, and the walk has no destination, and that is the offer's whole content. The moment we start walking, the song says, these roads start seeming better than any destination. It is the love song of the road itself, and the request is to get lost together on purpose.

Irshad Kamil wrote it for Jab We Met in 2007, and Shaan and Ustad Sultan Khan sang it over Pritam's music. Five passages ahead, and the middle ones are the reasons: the roads appear when two people walk, and the distance shrinks when it is shared.

01 — hum jo chalne lage, chalne lage hain ye raaste

ہم جو چلنے لگے، چلنے لگے ہیں یہ راستے
آہا، منزل سے بہتر لگنے لگے ہیں یہ راستے

हम जो चलने लगे, चलने लगे हैं ये रास्ते
आहा, मंज़िल से बेहतर लगने लगे हैं ये रास्ते

hum jo chalne lage, chalne lage hain ye raaste
aaha, manzil se behtar lagne lage hain ye raaste

The moment we started walking, these roads began to walk too. Aha, these roads began to seem better than the destination.

The refrain does the song's whole work in its first clause: the roads start walking when the lovers do. Chalne lage, they began to walk, is the verb of the road itself, and the second line states the comparison the song will never abandon, manzil se behtar, better than the destination. The aha, the sigh of discovery, marks the moment the roads revealed it.

منزل manzil: the destination

02 — aao kho jaayen hum, ho jaayen hum yun laapata

آؤ کھو جائیں ہم، ہو جائیں ہم یوں لاپتہ
آؤ میل چلیں، جانا کہاں نا ہو پتہ

आओ खो जाएँ हम, हो जाएँ हम यूँ लापता
आओ मीलों चलें, जाना कहाँ ना हो पता

aao kho jaayen hum, ho jaayen hum yun laapata
aao meelon chalein, jaana kahan na ho pata

Come, let us lose ourselves, become vanished like this. Come, let us walk for miles, with no one knowing where we are going.

The passage is the invitation in its purest form. Kho jaana, to be lost, and laapata, vanished, are the two words the song wants for the state it is offering, and the condition is that the destination stay unknown, na ho pata. The song is asking for the one kind of disappearance that is also an arrival, which is the disappearance into a walk shared with the right person.

لاپتہ laapata: missing, vanished

03 — baithe baithe aise kaise koi rasta naya sa mile

بیٹھے بیٹھے ایسے کیسے کوئی رستہ نیا سا ملے
تو بھی چلے، میں بھی چلوں، ہوںگے کم یہ تبھی فاصلے

बैठे-बैठे ऐसे कैसे कोई रस्ता नया सा मिले
तू भी चले, मैं भी चलूँ, होंगे कम ये तभी फ़ासले

baithe baithe aise kaise koi rasta naya sa mile
tu bhi chale, main bhi chaloon, honge kam ye tabhi faasle

Sitting and sitting, how would any new road come to meet us? You walk too, I walk too: only then will the distances grow less.

The passage is the song's practical argument, and it is built from the ordinary physics of walking. The new road will not come to a seated person, rasta naya sa mile, and the distances shrink only when both walk. The verse is the song's whole ethic in its smallest form: the road is a joint production, and the distance is the measure of how much has been walked together.

فاصلہ faasla: a distance

04 — aankhen kholein, neenden bolein, jaane kaisi jagi bekhudi

آنکھیں کھولیں، نیندیں بولیں، جانے کیسی جگی بے خودی
یہاں وہاں، دیکھو، کہاں لیکے جانے لگی بے خودی

आँखें खोलें, नींदें बोलें, जाने कैसी जगी बेख़ुदी
यहाँ-वहाँ, देखो, कहाँ लेके जाने लगी बेख़ुदी

aankhen kholein, neenden bolein, jaane kaisi jagi bekhudi
yahan-vahan, dekho, kahan leke jaane lagi bekhudi

The eyes open, the sleeps speak: who knows what intoxication has woken. Here and there, look, where is this intoxication carrying us?

The passage hands the walking over to bekhudi, the state of being outside oneself, and the state has become the walker. Neenden bolein, the sleeps speak, is the verse's strange magic: even sleep is talking, because the intoxication has woken everything. The question, kahan leke jaane lagi, where is it carrying us, is asked with delight, which is the song's way of saying the destination was never the plan.

بیخودی bekhudi: being outside yourself; a self-forgetting

05 — sajni, tumhin mat jaaniyo, preet ki ye dukhi

سجنی، تمہیں مت جانیو، پریت کی یہ دکھی
نگری ڈھنڈھورا پیتتی، پریت نا کیجیو او

सजनी, तुम्हीं मत जानियो, प्रीत की ये दुखी
नगरी ढिंढोरा पीटती, प्रीत ना करियो, ओ

sajni, tumhin mat jaaniyo, preet ki ye dukhi
nagri dhindhora peetti, preet na kariyo, o

Beloved, do not go there: this is the unhappy city of love. The town beats its drum, warning: do not love. Oh.

The closing passage is a quotation, the old folk warning against love, and the song places it as its last word. The nagri, the town, beats the dhindhora, the public drum of warnings, and the warning is against the very thing the song has been doing. The quotation is the song's way of acknowledging the danger of the walk, and the way it is sung, as the last line after miles of invitation, makes the warning sound like the finest compliment the love could receive.

سجنی sajni: the beloved, said to a woman
پریت preet: love; a Braj word, softer than ishq
نگری nagri: a town, a settlement
ڈھنڈھورا dhindhora: a proclamation beaten out on a drum

Reading it whole

The song is a love song with the beloved's name kept out of it. Nobody is described, nothing is declared. The whole song is an invitation: aao, milo, chale, come, meet, walk. The invitation is to the road, and the road is the love: the song's position is that the destination would end the thing that walking is building.

The refrain is the song's thesis, and it is stated with perfect economy. Hum jo chalne lage, the moment we start walking, the roads begin to seem better than the destination. The comparison, manzil se behtar, better than the destination, is the song's whole philosophy in five words, and the phrase has become the caption of a generation's idea of love: the journey over the arrival.

The middle passages are the invitation's arguments. Aao kho jaayen hum, come, let us disappear, laapata, vanished, with no one knowing where. The first antara gives the practical reason: sitting still, how would any new road come to meet us? You walk, I walk, and the distances shrink. The second antara speaks in the beloved's dialect, thari baat, thari adaa, the Rajasthani of the film's heroine, and the third hands the walking to the intoxication, bekhudi, that has woken the eyes and the dreams.

The closing passage is the song's one shadow and its one answer. The verse of the old song is quoted: beloved, do not come to this unhappy city, it beats its drums warning against love. The song has earned the quotation by the lightness of everything before it, and it ends on the warning being sung anyway, which is the oldest way of keeping the love: walk with me, and the city's drums do not matter.

Recordings

Shaan and Ustad Sultan Khan

From Jab We Met (2007), composed by Pritam.

Text and rights

Devanagari text supplied and checked by a reader who knows the language. The Urdu script and the transliteration follow that reading.

The song is from the film Jab We Met (2007), music Pritam, lyrics Irshad Kamil. The refrain returns between passages in the recording more often than it is printed here. The closing passage borrows a line from the old folk verse, prit na kariyo, which the song sings whole.

Irshad Kamil is alive and the song is recent work. It is quoted here as the subject of Harf's own criticism: the translation, the reading of each passage and the essay around them are original work written for this page. If you hold the rights and would like something changed, tell us on Instagram.