Song: Chalte Chalte Film: Pakeeza-1972
Cast: Meena Kumari and Kamal Kapoor
Singer: Lata Mangeshkar
Music: Ghulam Muhammad
Lyrics: Kaifi Azmi
Cinematography: Joseph Wirsching
Director: Kamal Amrohi
The music begins. In the bosom of the breeze, the sarangi pierces the air like a blade, carving sorrow into its melody. The heart of the gathering — the courtesan — gazes toward the musicians with melancholy eyes. The dancers rise, supporting the pillars of the ornate chamber with the grace of their movements, while the audience, spellbound, seems to narrate their emotions through their eyes. The beat of the tabla awakens like a slow stretch at dawn, a gentle turn of the body — and from within that rhythm, the courtesan begins:
Chalte chalte Chalte chalte
yunhi koi mil gaya tha
Sar-e-raah chalte chalte…
Before the audience can draw meaning from these words, she raises her hand — a delicate refusal — and adds:
Wahin tham ke reh gayi hai
Meri raat dhalte dhalte…
They say every string of the sitar holds within it a thousand joys and a thousand sorrows. Carrying these unspoken stories, the sitar joins her lament.
The dancers breathe life into every poetic movement, echoing her words with their dance. She listens — startled — as if the very world is speaking what she never dared to voice:
Jo kahi gayi na mujhse
Woh zamana keh raha hai…
With a smile born of fate’s strange kindness, she whispers:
Ke fasana ban gayi hai
Meri baat chalte chalte…
Overwhelmed, she stands still — lost in her own trance, like a mystic touched by a divine truth. Kamal Amrohi, guiding his cinematographer Joseph Wirsching, captures this moment in full 72mm film. The camera slowly pulls back, circles left, and centers to embrace the entire gathering in one mesmerizing frame.
From Ghulam Mohammad’s orchestra, the sound of the flute rises like mist at dawn, and the sitar joins in, saluting Lata’s voice. On the screen, colors spill like poetry — these are the hues of Amrohi’s imagination, flowing like water sprayed from a fountain, shimmering under light.
The courtesan, swaying in a light classical rhythm, keeps chanting “Chalte Chalte”; the sitar replying with each note. It’s as if a subtle duel has begun, a graceful competition of emotion and music. The night continues to pass. Patience is going thin. At last, the courtesan looks to the heavens and, through Kaifi Azmi’s lyrics, asks:
Shab-e-intezar aakhir
Kabhi hogi mukhtasar bhi?
Yeh chiraagh bujh rahe hain
Mere saath jalte jalte… The audience is no longer of this world. Behind them, the lamps of night flicker and die. In their eyes, lies the wonder and sorrow — both captured forever by the lens of the camera. The lamps fade. The night is about to finish, and from a distance, the touching whistle of the train fades the silence. The lamp was always meant to lit off. The question remains unanswered— did the frozen longest night, , will ever truly pass?