Different colors of the same scale
Exploring how subtle changes in context rewrite the emotional landscape of a song.
Back in 2018, while lounging around as my sister played music in the background, a single track stopped me dead in my tracks: Ahista Ahista from Laila Majnu.
The opening minute alone was compelling enough to make me attentively listen to the entire song. The melodic hooks and the interludes near the end caught my attention instantly, but it was the poetry woven into the melody that truly stirred a set of paradoxes in my head. The lyrics pull at a quiet, aching tension with one voice pleading to take things slowly, while the other desperately asks what slowly even means when already consumed completely. It captures that bittersweet space where falling in love feels almost identical to losing yourself entirely. The song conveys wearing someone’s memories like a second skin, you realize you’re already in far too deep.
Being somewhat familiar with Indian classical music, I couldn’t help but listen with a trained ear. The way those energetic Ga and Dha notes balanced against a softer Ni somewhat reminded of a classical musician’s hand — the phrasing on what I felt was resembling a processed sound of Sitar felt familiar. My mind went straight to either Niladri Kumar or Purbayan Chatterjee, and a quick search confirmed my instinct: it was Niladri.
I’ve admired some of his classical renditions, but this soundtrack was in a league of its own. Beyond the film’s raw intensity, tracks like Ahista hit on a completely different level. We are so accustomed to hearing his acoustic Sitar and Zitar (a fusion instrument created blending in the Sitar and Electric Guitar) elevate other composers’ scores that seeing him take full creative control of an entire project as a music director felt good.
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This melody initially brought to mind a few other songs I’ve kept on my list for a long time, even though they carry entirely different emotional weights. While listening to Ahista was a refreshing experience, it also stirred a question I’ve held for years: What if ragas that are traditionally vibrant and high-energy were sung or played in a way that evokes completely different shifts within you?
Even today, Ahista remains one of those constants on my commute playlist, its musical paradox continuing to fascinate me. You rarely hear naturally energetic ragas turned into something so tender and vulnerable. By weaving together subtle nuances of scales like Swarabhushani, Harikambhoji, Bahudari, and Valachi, Niladri managed to package love, hope, heartbreak, absolute obsession and destiny into a single track. While Valachi has occasionally been tapped for softer emotions in the past, this contemporary treatment was a brilliant, fresh take.
I found that this tune shares a striking structural similarity to classic melodies like Kuch to log Kahenge, which beautifully reminds us to tune out life’s useless rants, Oh Manjhi Re, Musafir Hoon Yaaron, Endu Ninna Noduve, Akashadina Dharegilida Rambhe, Yava Kanike Needali, Pottu Vaitha Mugamo, Dil Hai Ke Manta Nahi, yet those tracks operate within entirely different narrative contexts. I’m sure there are many melodies out there, in different languages, sharing a similar melodic framework composed for different lyrical contexts. Interestingly, Tum Nazar Mein Raho from the same movie shares a very similar melodic frame — with tweaks in its structure — yet it evokes a completely altered emotional landscape. It makes you realize how Ahista Ahista is fundamentally the painful memory of a joy that once was.
I noticed another fascinating parallel in Vasuki Vaibhav’s score for Sarkari Hi. Pra. Shaale, Kasaragodu (a beautiful Kannada movie which was released around the same time). The playful Arere Avala Naguva relies on the pentatonic warmth of Abheri/Suddha Dhanyasi to capture the pure flutter of a teenage crush. Yet, in Aleyo Alege, that same world gets inverted into loss and separation through melancholic flat notes — reminiscent of ragas like Jog, Vagadeeshwari, and Charukeshi after the initial opening similar lines — using slight changes in the song’s structure to flip the narrative entirely. It somewhat mirrors what Niladri does in Ahista: bending scalar frameworks to turn innocent lightness into poignant grief. In fact, there are many instances across cinema where a single core tune is repurposed to convey opposing emotions simply by changing the background arrangement or making subtle adjustments to the melody. One cannnot help but remember the popular number, Papa Kehte Hain from Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak where the playful number in the beginning takes a tragic format at the end of the movie.
Looking back, it’s impossible to isolate just one element that makes Ahista a different listening experience — whether it’s the lyrics, the on-screen performances, or Niladri’s overarching vision. It’s one of those rare kind of pieces where every element aligns, allowing it to quietly ascend to cult status. True to its name, Ahista is a track meant to be savored slowly — if only to witness how classical scales long associated with high energy can be so gently unspooled to reveal raw, vulnerable heartbreak.
Another beautiful track set in a similar scale is Ikk Kudi from Udta Punjab, which portrays love through the metaphor of a missing girl. It’s a fascinating structural parallel, isn’t it?
How have you noticed certain scales being used to stir opposing emotions through lyrics? It brings up an open question: what truly drives those emotional shifts for you? Is it the scale itself, the context in which it’s used, the lyrics, the actors’ performances, or the broader story?
Perception, after all, remains entirely subjective!
