تیرے میرے ملن کی یہ رینا Tere Mere Milan Ki Yeh Raina — This Night Of Our Union

Majrooh Sultanpuri

1919– 2000

Geet

Two people are newly married, and they are singing about their first night together. But the song keeps looking past the night. The night, it says, will bloom a new flower. The courtyard will have a small flower in it, and the moonlight will hum. Nobody in the song ever says the word, and everybody in the song knows it.

Majrooh Sultanpuri wrote it for Abhimaan in 1973, S.D. Burman composed it, and Lata Mangeshkar and Kishore Kumar sang it for Amitabh and Jaya Bachchan. Three passages ahead, and the film keeps coming back to them years later, when the flower has grown and the garden is in trouble.

01 — tere mere milan ki ye raina

تیرے میرے ملن کی یہ رینا
نیا کوئی گل کھلائے گی
تبھی تو چنچل ہے تیرے نینا
دیکھو نا

तेरे मेरे मिलन की ये रैना
नया कोई गुल खिलाएगी
तभी तो चंचल है तेरे नैना
देखो ना

tere mere milan ki ye raina
naya koi gul khilayegi
tabhi to chanchal hai tere naina
dekho na

This night of our union will bloom a new flower. That is why your eyes are so restless. Look, now.

Four lines, and the subject is smuggled in on the first one. A night does not bloom anything, so the night must be carrying something that does, and the rhyme the song uses, raina and khilayegi, keeps the secret in the music. The restless eyes are then given their reason: they can sense it too. Dekho na is not a request to look. It is the noise a person makes when they are too happy to argue.

رینا raina: the night; the word carries the rain inside it
ملن milan: union, meeting
چنچل chanchal: restless, playful, unable to sit still

02 — nanha sa gul khilega angna

نانھا سا گل کھلے گا انگنا
سونی بھیان سجیں گی سجنا
جیسے کھیلے چاند بادل میں
کھیلے گا وہ تیرے آنچل میں
چاندنیا گنگنائے گی
تبھی تو چنچل ہے تیرے نینا
دیکھو نا

नन्हा सा गुल खिलेगा अँगना
सूनी भुजाएँ सजेंगी सजना
जैसे खेले चाँद बादल में
खेलेगा वो तेरे आँचल में
चाँदनिया गुनगुनाएगी
तभी तो चंचल है तेरे नैना
देखो ना

nanha sa gul khilega angna
suni bhujayen sajengi sajna
jaise khele chand badal mein
khelega wo tere aanchal mein
chandniya gungunayegi
tabhi to chanchal hai tere naina
dekho na

A small flower will bloom in the courtyard. My empty arms will be filled, my husband. As the moon plays in the clouds, he will play in the fold of your sari. The moonlight will hum. That is why your eyes are so restless. Look, now.

The passage that names everything and nothing. Angna is the courtyard, the domestic centre of the house, so the flower is promised a home. Suni bhujayen are arms with nothing in them, and the line is as close as the song gets to saying what fills them. Then the moon and the child share a verb: as the moon plays in clouds, so he will play in your aanchal, the sari's fold. Even the moonlight is given a voice, chandniya gungunayegi. Nothing in the house is going to be quiet again.

انگنا angna: the courtyard of a house
بھجائیں bhujayen: arms
آنچل aanchal: the fold of a sari; the lap made of cloth

03 — tujhe thaame kai haathon se

تجھے تھامے کئی ہاتھوں سے
ملوں گی مد بھری راتوں سے
جاگا کے انسنی سی دھڑکن
بلموا بھر دوں گی تیرا من
نئی ادا سے ستائے گی
تبھی تو چنچل ہے تیرے نینا
دیکھو نا

तुझे थामे कई हाथों से
मिलूँगी मद-भरी रातों से
जगा के अनसुनी सी धड़कन
बलमवा भर दूँगी तेरा मन
नई अदा से सताएगी
तभी तो चंचल है तेरे नैना
देखो ना

tujhe thaame kai haathon se
milungi mad-bhari raaton se
jaga ke ansuni si dhadkan
balamva bhar dungi tera man
nayi ada se satayegi
tabhi to chanchal hai tere naina
dekho na

Holding you with so many hands, I will meet the wine-filled nights. Waking a heartbeat nobody has heard before, I will fill your heart, my husband. She will tease you with new charms. That is why your eyes are so restless. Look, now.

The song changes speaker here, and it is the woman's turn. Mad-bhari raaton se, nights full of wine, is the boldest image the song allows itself. Ansuni si dhadkan is a heartbeat that has never been heard, which is the definition of a life beginning. And the last lines hand the teasing to the child herself, nayi ada se satayegi, so the promise is triple: the marriage will stay flirtatious because the household will keep providing something new to smile at.

مد بھری mad-bhari: full of wine; drunk on joy
دھڑکن dhadkan: a heartbeat
ادا ada: a charm, a manner, a way of moving

Reading it whole

The whole song is a riddle that the singers refuse to solve. Raina is the night, and the rain hiding inside the word, and the night of a wedding in the Hindi film sense, all three at once. And its promise is that it will bloom a flower, naya koi gul khilayegi. A night does not bloom. Something growing inside that night does, and the song spends three passages circling the fact with images instead of naming it.

The second passage does the naming by another route. A small flower will bloom in the courtyard, angna. The empty arms will be filled, suni baiyan sajengi. The film audience of 1973 needed no help: a wedding song about arms being filled is a song about a child. The moon plays in the clouds, the child will play in the fold of her sari, aanchal, and the moonlight will hum. The modesty of it is the point. The whole subject is handled the way the best of this poetry handles anything delicate, by pointing at it with something prettier.

The third passage is the one with the surprise in it, because it is the woman singing. Jaga ke ansuni si dhadkan: waking a heartbeat nobody has heard before. Balamva bhar dungi tera man: I will fill your heart, my husband. The song started as his declaration and ends as her promise, and the last line turns playful, nayi ada se satayegi: she will tease him with new charms. The child, the song says, will keep the marriage new.

The film used the song cruelly. Abhimaan is about a marriage breaking over pride and music, and the film returns to this night as the memory the couple cannot hold on to. Kishore and Lata sing it almost entirely in their upper registers, which is what makes the joy feel young. Shemaroo's reissue carries the recording everyone means.

Recordings

Lata Mangeshkar and Kishore Kumar

The duet from Abhimaan (1973), composed by S.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 1973 film Abhimaan, composed by S.D. Burman. The refrain returns between passages in the recording, more often than it is printed here.

Majrooh Sultanpuri died in 2000, 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.