Omane from Aadujeevitham

 

Note: the song is best experienced using headphones.

A disclaimer: I know it's a tad too late to write about the song, maybe, I am a year late. But given my confidence in its longevity, it's just delayed justice. It's a classic and needs no further explanation.

The song begins with a curious BGM and continues for most part of the song, guiding the song like the rail for the train. Through the entire song, it moves like water gently folding and making progression towards a destination it's sure of. And in just a few seconds, Chinmayi is almost speaking out the verses in monotone. She starts off singing like a person wandering in the woods, singing their favourite song so softly, and they are like a teaser or a precursor trying to convey about what's to come. 

In the background, you can faintly hear the santoor, cello, violin, and tabla playing shyly and humbly like they are being introduced to the audience who are to listen to an epic of a song. 

And then again, Chinmayi sings the same verses in a way that sounds like someone saying, ‘I repeat…’. By now, all the instruments are playing their notes in a beautiful flow.

Just when we think we are getting used to the song, Vijay Jesudas  comes in, with his first cameo act. He sings with so much emotion, a contrast to Chinmayi’s monotony in the beginning verses. Now the song is cruising ahead, like the train that's steadying and in full swing, on autopilot. And Chinmayi goes ahead with her part in full prowess. You cannot stop wondering about what to notice: her voice, inflections, or the way she effortlessly delivers the complex Malayalam lyrics. 

A note about the lyrics: I bet you cannot sing along, even after multiple attempts, and strategies such as listening to it a hundred times may help. I suppose you don't have to bother so much if your native language is Malayalam. This is in contrast to songs like Malare that have simpler and listener-friendly words. I've tried all means: to listen to it by paying full attention, sometimes by letting it play in the background, sometimes by understanding the lyrics, sometimes by reading it without the song, and trying to read the lyrics and sing along. Anyways, with respect to the sweetness of the song, somehow, I liked listening to the Telugu version best after the Malayalam version. Tamil, Kannada, and Hindi were ok.

So, back to Chinmayi. I've missed her so much since the likes of Kannathil, Enna Idhu, Zehanazeeb, and Titli, that now it's come to the point of not recognizing her voice. Of course, I was too preoccupied with my life. I must be… because even for me to be dazed in the voice of Kadhale from 96, it took quite a while! Obviously, Chinmayi is absolutely amazing. Add to the list of missing things in my life, and tending to the point of forgetting: the genius that Rahman is. This song compensates for everything.

Back to the song… by now, the first quarter of the song is done, which is almost like a teaser to the song. And, in the middle of the song comes a breather in the form of a chorus that sings carnatic, folk, and hindustani, followed by a qawwali. All blend together and one after the other in the middle portion of the song. The highlight of the qawwali is that it's sung not in the usual high-pitched rustic male voice, but in a cooing light-weight female voice, and that's something unusual yet amazing. The entire song sounds like it has a different structure because of this chorus. 

So, there's not a quiet moment in the song, like in most songs where the instruments play for a bit. The only time you can hear just the music is in the ending.

At this point, it's worth mentioning about the transitions: though there are a lot of times where the song changes hands, like Chinmayi handing it over to Vijay Yesudas, and back to her, and again from her to the chorus. Even until this point, there is no trace of transition elements, and yet the song goes on so smoothly. The best part comes when the song transitions from chorus to the qawwali bit. This is certainly the proof of inventiveness of ‘the’ Rahman: with just a half second of tabla playing, the song completely changes mood, with only the tabla and harmonium playing in the background. And the next transition is from qawwali to Chinmayi. Now the curious BGM comes to rescue, and we have no trouble getting back to square one with how Chinmayi started off. The penultimate transition is from Vijay Yesudas to Chinmayi, and that's rather abrupt: when he goes off on high-pitch, Chinmayi takes over the reins in a very unwelcome manner. But we can hardly think of it as rudeness. It is sweet, because she is on a mission: to safely steer, what started to look like a catamaran when the song started off, and that has now turned into a huge gigantic titanic.

So, in the last quarter, the instruments play along with singers, with the assertive authority of someone who's got the hang of the song. What played very tentatively in the beginning, like seeking permission, now plays in a very sure-footed manner. Both the singers sing like they are traversing through a familiar terrain, a known territory with the support of the instruments. 

And in the end, when the mood changes to we bidding farewell, the music slows down like they are applying the brakes to a giant juggernaut, and ending on a rather melancholic note. By now, we experience that we've travelled through the life of a great long-winding epic.

~ 16Mar2025