اکتارا Iktara — The One-Stringed Lute

Javed Akhtar

1945– living

Geet

A girl is talking to her own mind, and the mind is not listening. O re manva, she says, you are mad, only you know what you are thinking. It is the song of the mind that keeps wandering where it should not, and of the sound that keeps coming from somewhere, one string, iktara, humming a story it will not finish.

Javed Akhtar wrote it for Wake Up Sid in 2009, and Kavita Seth's voice over Amit Trivedi's tune made it the year's quietest hit. Three passages ahead, and the iktara is in every one of them, the one-stringed lute that keeps humming the question the girl cannot answer.

01 — o re manva tu toh bawra hai

او رے منوا تو تو باورا ہے
تو ہی جانے تو کیا سوچتا ہے
کیوں دکھائیں سپنے تو سوتے جاگتے
جو برسیں سپنے بوند بوند
نینوں کو موند موند
کیسے میں چلوں، دیکھ نہ سکوں
انجانے راستے

ओ रे मनवा तू तो बावरा है
तू ही जाने तू क्या सोचता है
क्यों दिखाएँ सपने तू सोते जागते
जो बरसें सपने बूँद बूँद
नैनों को मूँद मूँद
कैसे मैं चलूँ, देख ना सकूँ
अनजाने रास्ते

o re manva tu toh bawra hai
tu hi jaane tu kya sochta hai
kyun dikhaayein sapne tu sote jaagte
jo barsein sapne boond boond
nainon ko moond moond
kaise main chaloon, dekh na sakoon
anjaane raaste

Oh mind, you are mad. Only you know what you are thinking. Why do the dreams show themselves to you, asleep and awake? The dreams rain down drop by drop, and the eyes close, close. How do I walk, unable to see, on unknown roads?

The passage opens by scolding the mind and immediately surrenders to it. Bawra, the word for a madman who has left his wits behind, is the mind's title, and the scolding is affectionate. The dreams arrive as rain, boond boond, drop by drop, and the eyes close to receive them, moond moond, the doubled verb of the folk song. The last lines are the song's quiet panic: the roads are unknown and the eyes are closed, which is exactly the condition of the mind that dreams while awake.

منوا manva: the mind, the heart: Braj
باورا bawra: mad, out of one's wits: Braj
نینا naina: eyes: Braj, where Urdu would say aankhen
موندنا moondna: to close the eyes

02 — gunja sa hai koi iktara

گنجا سا ہے کوئی اکتارا
گنجا سا ہے کوئی اکتارا
سن رہی ہوں سدھ بدھ کھو کے
کوئی ہے کہانی
پوری کہانی ہے کیا، کسی کو ہے پتہ
میں تو کسی کی ہو کے، یہ بھی نہ جانی
روٹھ ہے یہ دو پل کی، یا رہے گی سدا
کسی کو ہے پتہ

गूँजा सा है कोई इकतारा
गूँजा सा है कोई इकतारा
सुन रही हूँ सुध बुध खोके
कोई है कहानी
पूरी कहानी है क्या, किसी को है पता
मैं तो किसी की होके, ये भी ना जानी
रूठ है ये दो पल की, या रहेगी सदा
किसी को है पता

gunja sa hai koi iktara
gunja sa hai koi iktara
sun rahi hoon sudh budh khoke
koi hai kahani
poori kahani hai kya, kisi ko hai pata
main toh kisi ki hoke, ye bhi na jaani
rooth hai ye do pal ki, ya rahegi sada
kisi ko hai pata

Something like an iktara is humming. Something like an iktara is humming. I listen, having lost my senses. There is a story. What the full story is, does anyone know? I, having become someone's, did not even know whose. Is this a quarrel of two moments, or will it last forever? Does anyone know?

The passage is the song's centre, and the iktara is its engine. Gunja sa, a humming, is all the instrument is allowed to be, a sound without words. The girl listens with her wits gone, sudh budh khoke, and the story the iktara tells is the one she is in without knowing it: main toh kisi ki hoke ye bhi na jaani, having become someone's, I did not even know whose. The question that ends the passage, rooth of two moments or a lifetime, is asked twice and answered by the hum, which is the iktara's whole contribution.

اکتارا iktara: a one-stringed instrument, played by wandering singers
سدھ بدھ sudh budh: one's wits, one's hold on oneself
روٹھ rooth: a sulk, a falling out
سدا sada: always, for ever

03 — jo barsein sapne boond boond

جو برسیں سپنے بوند بوند
نینوں کو موند موند
کیسے میں چلوں، دیکھ نہ سکوں
انجانے راستے
گنجا سا ہے کوئی اکتارا

जो बरसें सपने बूँद बूँद
नैनों को मूँद मूँद
कैसे मैं चलूँ, देख ना सकूँ
अनजाने रास्ते
गूँजा सा है कोई इकतारा

jo barsein sapne boond boond
nainon ko moond moond
kaise main chaloon, dekh na sakoon
anjaane raaste
gunja sa hai koi iktara

The dreams rain down drop by drop, and the eyes close, close. How do I walk, unable to see, on unknown roads? Something like an iktara is humming.

The closing passage is the opening returned, with one change: the iktara's hum is now the last word instead of the first. The song has moved from the mind's complaint to the instrument's answer, and the answer is the same question, still humming. The dreams, the closed eyes, the unknown roads, all of it is returned verbatim, and the iktara is left playing over the whole thing, which is the song's way of saying the story is not over, only paused.

Reading it whole

The song is built on a single instrument and a single question. Iktara, the one-stringed lute of the wandering singers, is the sound the song keeps returning to, and the hum is not a melody, it is a question mark: gunja sa hai koi iktara, something like an iktara is humming. The instrument is the song's name and its engine, and the singer never finds out what it is playing.

The first passage is the mind's report on itself. The mind is bawra, mad, and it is the only one who knows what it is thinking. The dreams fall like rain, drop by drop, and the eyes close to catch them. The image of the dreams as rain is the song's first small wonder: the dreams are weather, and the eyes are the fields.

The middle passage is the girl's surrender to the story. Somewhere she has lost herself to someone, and she does not even know whose. The question the whole song cannot answer is asked plainly: is this a two-moment quarrel, or a forever? The iktara hums over the question, which is its way of refusing to answer.

The recording is the film's gentlest song, and it belongs to the girl who is trying to decide whether to stay in the city that is changing her. Kavita Seth's huge, unhurried voice made the iktara sound like it was humming from inside her, and the song became the standard for every film since that needs the sound of a mind wandering.

Recordings

Kavita Seth

From Wake Up Sid (2009), composed by Amit Trivedi.

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 Wake Up Sid (2009), music Amit Trivedi, lyrics Javed Akhtar. The refrain returns between passages in the recording more often than it is printed here.

Javed Akhtar 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.