In one of my favourite scenes from Satyajit Ray’s film Agantuk (1989), Utpal Dutt shows a magic trick to a bunch of kids in a park. He uses some coins to illustrate that the Moon is exactly as far away from Earth to cover the Sun precisely and entirely during an eclipse. It’s a cosmic coincidence, valid only for the current life trajectory of our ever-expanding universe. This scene brings together two of the most stimulating things only humans can appreciate — fact and magic or science and poetry.
Science and poetry, at least in their literal meanings, are two different worlds. One rests on hard facts, analysis and tangibles; the other has the licence to float in the ether of the abstract and imaginative. The left-brained scientist and the right-brained poet have been tired but well-accepted stereotypes of modern human civilisation. But you bring the Moon into the equation (or verse), and the lines blur.
It’s difficult to say if the first humans fascinated by the Moon were scientists, poets or a bit of both. This spherical, shape-shifting lamp hanging high up in the skies must have been an object of great curiosity for the early humans — a clear sign of the cosmos telling them you are not alone. A thing of immense beauty and mystery watches over you. It’s no surprise that some of the earliest astronomers were poets, too. Greek astronomer Hipparchus wrote two books reviewing poetry on celestial bodies by Greek
poet Aratus. He was also the first to measure the distance of the Moon from Earth (3.84 lakh kilometres) using trigonometry.
Imagine a literary critic from 2,500 years ago spending his life calculating the distance of the Moon from Earth using early mathematics! Eras passed, science advanced, and the 20th century brought a new human fascination for weapons and wars. Discoveries in quantum mechanics and hydraulics—the two most complicated fields of physics—were used to kill more people. But after the Second World War ended and the world emerged bruised and broken from the fogs of destruction, the Moon retook centre-stage. The two rich bullies, the USA and the USSR, decided to show who was the most advanced by racing to the Moon. It was a war, but cold—and bloodless—like the Moon.
On December 17, 1903, the Wright brothers took the first-ever flight in human history—a 12-second burst covering 120 feet in air. Less than 66 years later, on July 20, 1969, Apollo 11 flew for 103 hours, covering roughly 3.8 lakh kilometres. How did humanity achieve this miraculous leap? The gravity on the Moon is one-sixth of that on Earth, but its magnetic pull for the curious mind is enormous.
That brings us to the eternal curiosity poets have about our satellite. Early humans measured months using the Moon’s phases. Hence, one of the etymological origins of ‘Moon’ comes from the Latin meitri, meaning time. So, before we had minutes and seconds, we had Moon—a wristwatch-shaped time-keeper in the skies.
The image of Moon as a constant guardian is reinforced in multiple imageries like Chanda mama door ke, puye pakaaye boor ke — a famous lullaby making Moon our blood relative, or Dum bhar jo udhar mooh phere, o chanda — Shailendra’s words for Awaara, asking Moon to turn its face away and give privacy to the lovers. Moon is probably the most versatile metaphor for Hindi film lyrics, lending itself to all moods and allusions. In Chaand phir nikla, magar tum na aaye (Majrooh Sultanpuri in Paying Guest), it evokes a sense of viraha (separation), in Chalo dildaar chalo, chaand ke paar chalo (Kaif Bhopali in Pakeezah), it’s a metaphor for liberation, in Chaand churake laaya hoon (Gulzar in Devata), it’s a precious stone stolen by a lover, and in Tu chanda, main chandni (Balkavi Bairagi in Reshma aur Shera) the moon and its glow are symbols of the eternal, sacred bond between lovers.
Moon inspired Hindi film poetry to use it in novel ways, beyond the predictable stand-in for beauty (Ye chaand sa roshan chehra). One of my favourite usages comes in the underrated Jaidev-led score of Jumbish (1986). Lyricist Mohammed Salahuddin Parvez uses various metaphors to paint a picture of an evening in the song Dheere dheere shaam aa rahi hai (the evening ambles along). He writes, “Auratein hatheliyon se chaand bunn rahi hain” (the ladies are weaving a moon with their hands), a stunning, surreal image turning a mundane activity into a thing of beauty. Years later, in Gangs of Wasseypur, Piyush Mishra writes, “Ik bagal mein chaand hoga, ik bagal mein rotiyaan” (Life is but a hard choice between the Moon and daily bread), indicating that dreams and reality rarely match.
This fascination with the Moon in Hindi film lyrics comes from a long tradition of first Persian and then Hindustani poetry obsessing over the Moon. Mirza Ghalib expanded the metaphor to its physical attributes in Persian couplets like: Chun ba-Khabar ke na aanast bakaahad az sharam maah yak chand babaalad ke jabeen-e-to shaved (When it thinks it is not that, then it diminishes in shame The Moon waxes big so that it might become your forehead) - English Translation: Yusuf Husain And then, while writing in Urdu, Ghalib uses the Moon as a routine, daily occurrence with no better reason to exist than as an excuse for his drinking addiction.
Ghalib chhuti sharab par ab bhi kabhi kabhi piita huun roz-e-abr o shab-e-mahtab men (I promise I have quit drinking, except on cloudy nights or when the Moon is shining). Though Ghalib makes light of it, the Moon is an existential necessity for our planet, not just to make tides and reflect light or for scientific investigations into the Big Bang—but as a fellow traveller through space. A glowing sign on this lonely, dark highway indicates a quaint diner open till the early hours—a symbol of good things and companionship. As Anand Bakshi wrote so aptly in Zakhm, “Tum aaye toh aaya mujhe yaad, gali mein aaj chaand nikla.”
Varun Grover
Writer-filmmaker