A particular kind of soulful rendition takes you with it, to subconscious territories that largely seem unfamiliar at face value. To places you would rather stay blissfully unaware of. To dilapidated, cob-web corners that you had practiced over time to deny their very existence.
And now, it all comes gushing out, like water breaching a dam. The staggering memories, meticulously wrapped in layers and layers of mundane priorities. Every single piece of it.
It aches. And simultaneously, it also manages to cradle.
That way, the magical lead-in and the ramifications work in mysterious ways. You can try resisting, but only in vain.
Shreya Ghoshal‘s “Sun Raha” from Aashiqui 2 belongs to that hypnotic genre.
You are not sure what Shreya‘s voice is doing to you, the first time. But slowly it starts to make sense. Or rather ‘not to make sense’. Either ways, you feel different every other time; in uniquely perturbing ways.
Ah.. the spunk with which she messes with your volition, sensations, thoughts!
In fact, the knotty soft-rock theme, which had you tripping over Ankit Tiwari‘s intoxicated vocals, is not here.
This is more to do with the intense sweetness of the tune – the same one which had us headbanging in the male version – but, this time featuring more traditional instrumentation like the flute replacing the funky percussions.
But the emotions remain the same. In fact, this is even more deadly.
Shreya’s tone is deceptively surreal. It’s almost as if she is describing a painful nightmare with a facile smile.
Yes, she is singing out the familiar lyrics with a soothing twist, but how does she get the seething agony across in “Mujhko iraade de… Kasamein de, vaade de!” with that dulcet voice?
As you break your head around this conceit, you feel something else. You actually start perceiving aurally, the torment of a veiled half-smile? Synesthesia? Black-magic?
Shreya keeps us guessing through out, as she walks the tight -rope walk, not at any moment seeming too poignant or too detached.
Somewhere into the song, she gives a notion of being stranded in a muddle. Not able to move further or step backwards. An illusion of being marooned in the present, unable to breathe. Its a feeling of no-escape. And the emotions keep getting more labyrinthine.
You continue to tie yourself in knots trying to connect the dots between the ongoing narcosis and its tricky repercussions in your psyche.
When Shreya starts off again with “Waqt bhi theharaa hai… Kaise kyun yeh hua” with that unsettling aloofness in the second charanam, only one doubt reigns supreme.
Has the actuality frozen in time? That freaking moment?
It certainly takes a superlative singer to put forward such conflicting emotions with such minute gooseflesh nuances. Shreya Goshal does have it in her to keep you fittingly disconcerted.