Songs Of Paradise
Introduction
If there were to be an open challenge in naming three artists from the state of Kashmir, the silence would be deafening in most cases. This isn’t because there have been no artists coming through the ranks from the valley, but simply a state of oblivion that engulfs the region, making many artists lost in translation. The new Hindi film Songs Of Paradise caters to this notion while focusing on the life of Raj Begum who was the first female to be the voice of Radio Kashmir. The name of the protagonist in the film is Zeba Akhtar that later is forced to change it to Noor Begum – a literal metaphor on how the actual name of the artist remains lost in translation. And yet there is a soulfulness in the drama that drives the narrative through its exquisite music, that makes this biopic worth rooting for. The old school charm remains intact while resembling the innocence of a new born protected from the corrupt world, something that does provide ample reasons to root for this biopic despite being imperfect.
Story & Screenplay
Written by Danish Renzu, one of the issues that I had with Songs of Paradise was that it spread itself too thin in portraying the life of a Kashmiri artist without a context. It is one of those safe biopics that you would encounter wherein the motive remains not to court a controversy but steer past it. Imagine a biopic of Mahatma Gandhi that doesn’t touch upon the atrocities that he faced with respect to the British, or that of Saadat Hasan Maanto that doesn’t mention the issues of his life affected by the partition. Likewise, the biopic of Raj Begum is mounted in a state that has been sensitive for years, and with that comes the complexity and the geo-political undertones that I am sure would define the life of so many artists. But the idea of bypassing this particular facet in the biopic, didn’t exactly allow the nuances of the biopic to land – almost resembling a scene in the film wherein the character of Azaad (Zain Khan Durrani) communicates to Zeba in incorporating soul into her songs.
The safety first approach is often cut-through by a patriarchal and inorganized (and laid-back) setup that remains the common link between the two eras of the film – one in the current timeline (say in the late 2000s) wherein a grown up Zeba (Soni Razdan) is fighting an invisible system to restore her compositions, many of which were lost, and the other in which a young Zeba (Saba Azad) has to deal with a regressive system of the society that would look down upon her talent. She does have a progressive father (Bashir Lore) but a bickering mother (Sheeba Chadha) – both chalk and cheese in characteristics. He does support her talent, often urging her to follow her dream whilst she keeps her in check, probably due to her own upbringing and her tryst with the society. It is an exact reverse of a father-son dynamic that you would see in a film like The Mehta Boys (2025) with common grounds being the lack of communication and a perspective towards the other person. But here again, the era was such…driven by patriarchy.
You are also introduced to her Ustaad (Shishir Sharma) that chooses to empower her by enrolling her into a competition, whilst Azaad, a poet and a lyricist takes a liking to her voice. Even the station director Kaul (Armaan Khera) allows his cynicism to melt away while slowly warming up to Zeba’s presence. And whilst the gaze of the drama refuses to switch away from Zeba, you see a sense of caution with which she undertakes her journey – almost like a little child taking its first few steps gingerly. Even when she chooses to voice her opinion about her pay hikes or inquire about the absence of the ‘Ladies Washroom’, it stems out of innocence and not necessarily with a rebellious undertone – making her grounded and true to the era of the late 1950s, wherein women unfortunately did not have a voice of their own. Hence in the wake of patriarchy, it was only one step at a time for women like Zeba, using a pseudo-name in her journey to fame.
The drama doesn’t shift gears – almost playing out on the same wavelength, so much so that even a major incident involving a fire destroying most of Zeba’s recordings, is only implied to be a conspiracy. It refuses to take a stand and follow the subplot into a larger plot-point, often being content with moving away from it in the very next instance. This is a consistent pattern that you observe despite the soulful music that binds the narrative together – the drama is more interested in jumping from one incident to another as opposed to staying in the moment. This is true even for the track involving the elder Zeba who moderately loses her identity given how the drama initiates an issue to begin with, while being lost in oblivion. For the track involving a younger Zeba, the problem is exactly this and a little more specific – moving from a low event (like the fire) to a event of inspiration like many females joining Radio Kashmir, all in a matter of scenes. The idea to go from zero to one-hundred in a matter of minutes was never going to be ideal.
And yet, there is something in the air of the surroundings of the valley, or the genuine sincerity of the proceedings that you choose to stick with the drama that is filled with emotions brimming beneath the surface. You are attached to the character of Zeba even with moments wherein she finds support from unexpected quarters like her mother who finally communicates on how she feels proud with her achievements, or Kaul handing over a pay-hike to her, or even Zeba’s Ustaad requesting her to take care of his ‘Tanpura’ after his death, or even a youngster named Rumi (Taaruk Raina) supporting the older Zeba with recreations of her recordings. It isn’t groundbreaking but enough to keep you connected!
Dialogues, Music & Direction
The dialogues have a distinct Kashmiri flavour to them, particularly with the lines uttered by various characters in a heavy Kashmiri accent. It lends a lot of authenticity to the drama. The music is the backbone of the film, and if the film remains watchable then a huge piece of the credit goes to the music. The notes and the ‘harkats’ are enough to send you in a state of trance wherein even the imperfections seem beautiful – like the craters on the moon. The music (and the BGM) never strays away into a commercial space, keeping the notes earthy and grounded that not only enhances the flavour of the setting, but also helps in connecting the raw emotions to the viewers. The cinematography captures the grey hues of the valley pretty well, almost depicting a state of hopelessness of sorts despite the writing never really rising to this anomaly in terms of the complexity. And I did wish that the production design was a little more pronounced but that can only be attributed to the limited resources of the film. The editing pattern is a little patchy given how the emotions work only in isolation, even as the drama refuses to stay in the moment.
Director Danish Renzu plays it safe but to be fair, he is successful in tapping into the emotions to an extent. Yes, the execution slightly wanders given how the goal remains to go from one incident to another in a matter of scenes, but he is able to create a few heartwarming moments pretty well in the narrative. I wish there was a little more ambition to the drama with respect to the politics of the state, something that could also have been kept in the background, or even smaller points like Zeba’s love for music (in terms of how did the love start). But nevertheless, the direction still shows some spark along the way.
Performances
The performances are pretty good by the members of the cast. Rehmat Rattan, Lillete Dubey, Lalit Parimoo, Chittaranjan Tripathy and Mir Sarwar have their moments to shine. Shishir Sharma as Zeba’s Ustaad is understated and delivers a noteworthy performance that is laced with a lot of grace and poise. Armaan Khera as Kaul has a nice little character arc to play with, and he does so with a lot of dignity. Taaruk Raina as Rumi is sincere and earnest while putting forth a competent act. Bashir Lore and Sheeba Chadha as Zeba’s parents are excellent here – with both characters being poles apart in terms of their traits. And they bring a distinct texture to the drama, with their understated acts.
Zain Khan Durrani has a voice to die for, and he puts it to great use with a tone that remains soft and assured in his character of Azaad. He is well restrained while having strong liberal and moral grounds, something that makes his character really affable. Soni Razdan as the older Zeba is great with her expressions but slightly more dramatic with her antics (wherein this angle of her transformation isn’t justified anywhere). And also her accent deviates from the Kashmiri that was spoken by the younger Zeba.
Saba Azad is a phenomenal actor, and she scores yet again as the younger Zeba – someone who is shy and restrained with streaks of innocence. Not only is she impressive with her Kashmiri accent, but she uses her body language to great effective in communicating the struggles of a female in a male-dominated society. And yet, she uses art as a medium for her transformation, something that remains gradual with her posture but supremely effective and organic in the context of the story. She is brilliant to the core, here!
Conclusion
Songs of Paradise is a safe biopic that isn’t always groundbreaking while moderately succumbing to the familiar tropes of the genre. But it is still soulful in many ways owing to the beautiful music and solid performances that account for a satisfactory watch. Available on Amazon Prime.