[Tezaab - The Acid Of Love 2 Hd 720p Video Songs Download
Facunda Ganesh
Tezaab released on 11 November 1988, and was a major commercial success at the box office, becoming the highest-grossing Indian film of the year. It ran in theatres for more than 50 weeks, becoming a golden jubilee success. With Tezaab, N. Chandra scored a box office hat-trick with his previous hits Ankush (1986) and Pratighaat (1987).[2] The film is also popular for the song "Ek Do Teen", which was a chartbusting success.[3] It received positive reviews from critics upon release, with praise for its story, screenplay, dialogues, soundtrack, and performances of the cast.
When Inspector Singh (Suresh Oberoi) learns that Munna (Anil Kapoor) is about to reach his region of jurisdiction, he checks Munna's record. Munna is identified by Inspector Singh as Cadet Mahesh Deshmukh, a talented Cadet he first met at the scene of a Nasik bank robbery a few years prior, where Mahesh's parents and numerous other bank employees had been brutally murdered by a gang of thieves.
With his sister Jyoti, he had relocated to Bombay, where they had met Mohini, a poor and miserable woman who was compelled to dance in order to support her father Shyamlal (Anupam Kher). Because she earned money for him by dancing in adjacent nightclubs, he is a drunk who does not want to marry Mohini off. He acted similarly against his wife (Suhas Joshi), and when she disobeyed him, he attacked her with acid. After that, Mohini's mother killed herself.
In his youth, Shyamlal had taken a huge loan from Lotiya Pathan (a dreaded gangster) and the only way to repay it was to make Mohini dance. Shyamlal also has to deal with Chote Khan, the younger brother of Lotiya, who was involved in the Bank robbery and had killed Mahesh/Munna's parents, and also Chote Khan was arrested due to Mahesh/Munna.
After release/bailout, immediately Chote Khan had attempted to rape Jyoti, but Mahesh killed Chote Khan in self-defense. For this, Mahesh/Munna was arrested and sentenced to one year in jail, after which he changed his name to Munna.
When Lotiya hears that Mahesh/Munna is back in town, he kidnaps Mohini. Shyamlal now approaches/begs Munna to get Mohini rescued ASAP and requires that she be returned to him only. Mahesh rescues Mohini, and they rejoice to see each other again after a long time, but Mahesh asks Mohini to return to her father; Mohini becomes sad again as she had expected to follow with her lover.
The evil father, Shyamlal, overhears Mohini's plans to escape and is enraged, and he tries to stop Mohini from leaving. Guldasta and Shyamlal have a fight in which both die, but Mohini manages to escape safely, and Mohini meets Munna again.
Meanwhile, Lotiya regains his strength and goes to attack Munna with a club. Baban dies, deflecting the attack. Munna fights back at Lotiya and is about to kill him, but Inspector Singh interrupts just in time to stop him from taking the law into his hands. Inspector Singh recognizes he's breaking the law but allows Munna to fight Lotiya as he sees this as a way of Munna letting go of his anger and hatred he holds within himself. As Munna defeats Lotiya, Lotiya quickly gets up and tries to attack and kill Munna, but Inspector Singh kills him with his service pistol, and justice is served finally.
The song Ek Do Teen was inspired by the opening bars of an old popular song "Chanda Mama Door Ke" composed by the famous yesteryears music composer Ravi for the film Vachan (1955).[5][6] The film's soundtrack album sold more than 8 million units,[7] becoming the second best-selling Bollywood music album of 1988, behind only Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak.[8]
The interesting thing about Slumdog Millionaire is that as a hat-tip to the Bollywood narrative aesthetic, it was honoring peripheral elements: peppy song-and-dance routines and colorful clothes. Global perceptions of the mainstream Bollywood at its best (which does not include Satyajit Ray, who of course is an island of brilliance off the main continent of Indian cinema) usually focus on one of these aspects:
Notice one interesting line: crying, I came into this world, but laughing, I will leave. This motif repeats itself in many life-journey themed songs, and appears where in the Western tradition, you would normally expect an ashes to ashes, dust to dust reference. The idea that your mental attitude at birth and death is important recurs throughout Bollywood songwriting. How much you change between birth and death, and how you face death, are far more important than the facts of birth and death themselves. And no, curiously, reincarnation is not a major theme in Bollywood songs (though it is in poetry).
As nomadism matures, darkness starts to creep in. This next song looks and sounds very similar to the first one in this section. Both melodies are peppy, and both videos involves motorcycles. As the lyrics suggest however, an element of darkness has crept in; the song exhorts you to adopt a devil-may-care, live-in-the-moment hedonism. Appropriately, the character singing the song dies shortly after, in the movie (songs often foreshadow plot developments at a philosophical level in Bollywood).
In a way, so gaya marks an adult return to a more childlike notion of nomadism that was popular in the fifties, when nomadism, destitution and a naive Nehruvian Fabianism combined to create the legend that was Raj Kapoor, an unlikely romantic hero whose puzzling mystique somehow managed to simultaneously encompass an Indian fatalism, a Russian social conscience (his movies were briefly popular in the Soviet Union) and a Chaplinesque tragic element.
And no roundup of journey songs about meeting and parting is complete without this maudlin hit from the late seventies, as the poetic romanticism of the seventies began to wind down. In many ways, this song marked a goodbye to the seventies, kabhi alvida na kehna has become a single memorable refrain from a forgettable movie with a hero nobody remembers anymore:
By the late 2000s, though the world still associated Bollywood with the escapist song-and-dance drama, and big stars such as Shah Rukh Khan continued to ham their way through godawful family operas designed for a tasteless subset of the expatriate Indian crowd, and a growing subculture of non-Indians interested primarily in colorful costumes and dancing, the creative center of gravity had shifted. The darkness that characterized two decades of violence-inspired movies eventually lightened, as the economy began to grow, but the humor that lightened the darkness, in movies such as Munnabhai, MBBS (2003) and Khosla ka Ghosla (2006), was a realism-driven middle-class sort of satirical humor that had previously been the preserve of a minority tradition of filmmakers such as Amol Palekar.
And so we are back, full circle, to the idea that you enter the world, crying, and will leave it crying if you do not seize control of your journey and do something that allows you to face death laughing.
Bollywood lyrics live in their own universe, mostly, but not entirely, divorced from the universe of movie plots they inhabit. You will find the most sublime lyrics in the movies that are widely considered godawful dreck. More logically, the best stories rarely contain the best songs. Storytelling in mainstream Bollywood is a usually a mess, and the need to embed songs in the narrative is often the cause. The songwriting though, is an art form that is several orders of magnitude more refined and mature than the rest of the cinematic arts in India, which are only now beginning to catch up.
The first is that Bollywood songwriting is the only part of Indian cinema (and possibly all of modern Indian culture) that has successfully, and seamlessly, maintained cultural continuity with the past without sealing itself off from the present. This, perhaps, is an element of contrast between India and China (or perhaps an artifact of state control in China). While India has its costume dramas, mostly we Indians like our stories and songs to reflect the uncensored present. We are deeply uneasy about living in the past, glorious or not. Yet, a sense of history and context is practically a cognitive necessity in even the most ephemeral of popular culture productions. Without it, we cannot make sense of our lives, and songs do not resonate as much. Which is why, in Bollywood music you will find Vedic chants, street slang, medieval classical and semi-classical traditions, Arab and Persian influences and successful insertion of the thoroughly alien DNA of Western popular music.
The second thing to understand is the centrality of metaphor and figurative language in understanding the human condition. Indians are a highly metaphoric and figurative people. D. T. Suzuki, in the preface to his book on Zen, very perceptively nails the difference between India and East Asia, and the reasons for the transformations that left Chinese and Japanese Buddhism thoroughly disconnected from Indian Buddhism. It has to do with our extraordinary love affair with metaphor, and figurative ways of understanding the world. Instead of taking about the concept of infinity, we prefer to talk about really, really big numbers. Instead of talking about omniscience, we do four-headed idols. Instead of talking about omnipotence, we do a hundred arms. And instead of talking about life, we talk about journeys. This can occasionally lead to very mannered lyrics, such as those that use the overused moths-and-flames (parwane and shama) metaphor for all-consuming passion and love. But generally, it works.
The last point is probably the hardest for Americans to understand, but something Indians share with most of the rest of the world. The dominant emotion is tragic, not idealistic. The songs that endure tend to have a pensive quality to the lyrics. Undertones of loss and death are very evident, even in apparently happy, energetic and defiant songs. We (along with most of the world) accept stories with tragic endings far more easily than Americans do. Perhaps because there is no recent history of ideas like manifest destiny shaping Indian identity. Whatever the reason, if you do not get the tragic view of the world, you will not be able to appreciate Bollywood lyrics, or India through them.
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