چنگاری کوئی بھڑکے تو ساون اسے بجھائے Chingari Koi Bhadke To Savan Use Bujhaye — If A Spark Catches Fire, The Rain Puts It Out

Anand Bakshi

1930– 2002

Geet

The monsoon has come, and a man is standing in it working out a riddle. A spark catches fire, and the rain puts it out. But if the rain itself starts the fire, then who puts the rain out? The riddle is playful, and the song keeps it up: autumn destroys the garden, spring brings it back. Then, halfway through, the riddles stop being about weather.

Anand Bakshi wrote it for Amar Prem in 1972, R.D. Burman set it, and Kishore Kumar sang it for Rajesh Khanna's famous walk through the rain. Five passages ahead, and by the last one the song has turned from a game into an inventory of every hurt that has no remedy.

01 — chingari koi bhadke to savan use bujhaye

چنگاری کوئی بھڑکے تو ساون اسے بجھائے
ساون جو آگ لگائے اسے کون بجھائے

चिंगारी कोई भड़के तो सावन उसे बुझाए
सावन जो आग लगाए उसे कौन बुझाए

chingari koi bhadke to savan use bujhaye
savan jo aag lagaye use kaun bujhaye

If a spark catches fire, the monsoon puts it out. But if the monsoon itself sets the fire, who puts that out?

The riddle that opens the song sets the grammar for everything that follows. Savan is the monsoon, the season of water, the natural fireman of the Indian year. The first line is a fact. The second line is the trap springing: the fireman is the arsonist. The rhyme pairs bujhaye with bujhaye, so the couplet ends where it began, with the question still open.

چنگاری chingari: a spark
ساون savan: the monsoon, the rainy season
بجھانا bujhana: to extinguish, to put out

02 — patjhad jo baag ujade vo baag bahaar khilaye

پت جھڑ جو باغ اجاڑے وہ باغ بہار کھلائے
جو باغ بہار میں اجڑے اسے کون کھلائے

पतझड़ जो बाग़ उजाड़े वो बाग़ बहार खिलाए
जो बाग़ बहार में उजड़े उसे कौन खिलाए

patjhad jo baag ujade vo baag bahaar khilaye
jo baag bahaar mein ujde use kaun khilaye

The autumn that strips the garden, the spring revives that garden. But the garden that is stripped in spring, who revives it?

The second round of the riddle, and it is the cruelest of the weather versions. Autumn is the season whose whole job is destruction, and even it is forgiven, because spring comes and repairs everything. But the garden destroyed by spring itself, the season of flowers, has no season left to rescue it. The rhyme makes the two lines rhyme on the same word, khilaye, so spring gets to say its own name in both the cure and the crime.

پت جھڑ patjhad: autumn, the season of falling leaves
بہار bahaar: spring, the season of bloom
اجاڑنا ujadna: to lay waste, to strip

03 — hum se mat puchho kaise mandir tuta sapnon ka

ہم سے مت پوچھو کیسے مندر ٹوٹا سپنوں کا
لوگوں کی بات نہیں ہے یہ قصہ ہے اپنوں کا
کوئی دشمن ٹھیس لگائے تو میت جیا بہلائے
من میت جو گھاؤ لگائے اسے کون مٹائے

हम से मत पूछो कैसे मंदिर टूटा सपनों का
लोगों की बात नहीं है ये क़िस्सा है अपनों का
कोई दुश्मन ठेस लगाए तो मीत जिया बहलाए
मन-मीत जो घाव लगाए उसे कौन मिटाए

hum se mat puchho kaise mandir tuta sapnon ka
logon ki baat nahin hai ye kissa hai apnon ka
koi dushman thes lagaye to meet jiya behlaye
man-meet jo ghaav lagaye use kaun mitaye

Don't ask us how the temple of dreams broke. This is not a story about outsiders. This is the story of our own people. A stranger's blow, the friend of the heart can soothe. But the wound dealt by the soul-friend, who can erase that?

The pivot of the whole song. The temple of dreams is a private ruin, and the song refuses to describe the collapse, only to date it: this is a story of apne, our own. Then the machinery of healing is examined and found wanting. A thes from an enemy, a meet can console. But the man-meet, the friend of the soul, the one person trusted with the heart's address, has no one above him. The word mitaye is a double: to erase a wound, and the song leaves both senses open.

مندر mandir: a temple
ٹھیس thes: a blow, a hurt
میت meet: a friend, a companion
من میت man-meet: the friend of the soul; the dearest one

04 — na jaane kya ho jaata jaane hum kya kar jaate

نا جانے کیا ہو جاتا جانے ہم کیا کر جاتے
پیتے ہیں تو زندہ ہیں نہ پیتے تو مر جاتے
دنیا جو پیاسا رکھے تو مدھرا پیاس بجھائے
مدھرا جو پیاس لگائے اسے کون بجھائے

ना जाने क्या हो जाता जाने हम क्या कर जाते
पीते हैं तो ज़िंदा हैं ना पीते तो मर जाते
दुनिया जो प्यासा रखे तो मधिरा प्यास बुझाए
मधिरा जो प्यास लगाए उसे कौन बुझाए

na jaane kya ho jaata jaane hum kya kar jaate
peete hain to zinda hain na peete to mar jaate
duniya jo pyaasa rakhe to madira pyaas bujhaye
madira jo pyaas lagaye use kaun bujhaye

Who knows what would happen, who knows what we would do. We drink, so we are alive. We do not drink, so we die. If the world keeps you thirsty, wine quenches the thirst. But if the wine itself raises the thirst, who quenches that?

The drinking stanza, and the middle lines are the most famous in the song. Peete hain toh zinda hain: the arithmetic of survival with a bottle in it. The stanza refuses to say what the unnamed pain is, which is the most accurate thing it could do, because the pain that needs drinking to be survived is the one the drinker cannot name. Then the riddle turns on the cure itself: the wine that is supposed to end thirst can become the thing that creates it.

مدھرا madira: wine
پیاسا pyaasa: thirsty

05 — mana toofan ke aage nahin chalta zor kisi ka

مانا طوفان کے آگے نہیں چلتا زور کسی کا
مؤجوں کا دوش نہیں ہے یہ دوش ہے اور کسی کا
مجدھار میں نئیہ ڈولے تو ماجھی پار لگائے
ماجھی جو ناؤ ڈبائے اسے کون بچائے

माना तूफ़ान के आगे नहीं चलता ज़ोर किसी का
मौजों का दोष नहीं है ये दोष है और किसी का
मझधार में नैया डोले तो माँझी पार लगाए
माँझी जो नाव डुबाए उसे कौन बचाए

mana toofan ke aage nahin chalta zor kisi ka
maujon ka dosh nahin hai ye dosh hai aur kisi ka
majdhaar mein naiya dole to maanjhi paar lagaye
maanjhi jo naav duboye use kaun bachaye

Granted, against the storm no one's strength works. The waves are not at fault. The fault is somebody else's. The boat rocks in mid-stream, and the boatman lands it. But if the boatman himself sinks the boat, who saves anyone?

The last riddle, and the darkest. Even the storm is pardoned, the waves get a character certificate, the fault is named as somebody else's without being named at all. Then the boat in the majdhaar, the middle of the stream, the place where the shore is equally far on both sides, and the boatman, maanjhi, the one person on board whose job is the crossing. The last couplet turns the whole song into its own answer: the wound that has no remedy is the wound from the one who steers.

مؤج mauj: a wave
مجراہار majdhaar: the mid-stream, where neither shore is near
ماجھی maanjhi: the boatman

Reading it whole

The song is built on a single grammatical shape, and it is the shape of a trap. X, who can fix anything, fixes Y. But the moment X itself is hurt, there is nobody left. The monsoon can put out fires, but there is no rain for the monsoon's own fire. Spring can revive the garden, but not the garden that died in spring. The rhyme scheme enforces it: every couplet ends with the same helpless question, use kaun, who can do that for it.

The third passage is where the song stops being a weather report and becomes a film. Humse mat puchho kaise, mandir tuta sapnon ka: don't ask us how, the temple of dreams broke. And then the line that explains the whole film: this is not a story of outsiders, it is a story of our own people. Kissa apnon ka. A stranger's blow, a friend can soothe. But the wound dealt by a manmeet, a soul-friend, the one closest, nobody can erase. Amar Prem is the story of a courtesan and the lonely businessman who loves her, and the wound that has no remedy in this song is the film's own: the one a loved one deals, out of love or duty itself.

The fourth passage is the one that left the theatre with the audience. Na jaane kya ho jaata, jaane hum kya kar jaate. Who knows what would happen, who knows what we would do. The line trails off into the chorus of the drinking song inside this song: we drink, so we are alive. We do not drink, so we die. The sorrow it is describing has no name, and the stanza refuses to give it one.

The last passage brings in the sea and the boatman, and it is the grimmest of the set. Even the storm has an excuse, the waves have no fault, the fault is somebody else's. But the boat in mid-stream, in the majdhaar, needs the boatman to land it, and if the boatman himself sinks the boat, who saves anyone. The song has arrived at its real subject: the only person who can destroy you is the one you trusted with the boat.

Kishore Kumar's delivery of it, riding R.D. Burman's tune, made it one of the most loved songs of the decade. The film used it as its anthem of rain and loneliness, and the recording people mean is the one from the film.

Recordings

Kishore Kumar

From Amar Prem (1972), composed by R.D. Burman.

Text and rights

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

From the 1972 film Amar Prem, composed by R.D. Burman. The refrain returns between passages in the recording, more often than it is printed here.

Anand Bakshi died in 2002, so this song is still in copyright. 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.