Reflecting on “Vida Karo”
Vida Karo is not just another track from another album; it’s a heartfelt farewell, a window into the painful but potent depths of human emotions, all encapsulated within a melody that leaves the listener engulfed in a whirlwind of melancholic nostalgia. This song, from the album Chamkila, is emblematic of the artist it pays homage to — the late Punjabi singer Chamkila whose life was as captivating and tragic as the music he inspired.
This post is not a review and I am not here to dissect Vida Karo layer by layer, from its poignant lyrics to its haunting composition, or try to highlight why Arijit Singh’s rendition under A.R. Rahman’s composition set to the illuminative poetic words crafted by Irshad Kamil for Imtiaz Ali’s Chamkila is nothing less than a masterpiece.
This post is quite honestly a raw and a candid reflection that follows numerous encounters I have had with the song, at least a couple of dozens— each listen peeling back another layer of its emotive depth — enough to prompt visible tears at an airport once, as I was waiting in line to board my plane, unbothered by the surrounding eyes, as I prepared for a lengthy homeward voyage. The experience speaks to the track’s profound ability to resonate and move its listeners. That’s why I decided to dedicate a medium post just for this song.
The Heart of “Vida Karo”: Lyrics and Narrative
The song Vida Karo loosely translates to Bid me farewell, is steeped in the vein of goodbye that no heart is prepared to understand, much less accept. It carries the weight of unrequited acceptance, the universal quest for belonging, and the solitary pain of feeling like an outcast. Through its lyrics (Irshad Kamil), the listener (in this case, the listener is me and it’s entirely my imagination as the movie is not out yet) is transported into the interior monologue of Chamkila as he comes to terms with his untimely demise, grappling with societal rejection, and finding peace in letting go.
Chamkila’s controversial career is echoed in the sorrow of the words — he was a man misunderstood, a raw talent that some found too abrasive and crass for the refined tastes of traditionalists. The lyrics of Vida Karo is a nod to the melancholy behind his brazen persona, revealing the agony of someone who felt like “he was the rotten fruit in a basket full of good fruits” and exploring his understanding of why he was being discarded.
If you are not convinced yet that A.R. Rahman is a versatile master of his craft and are not sure why he has often been heralded as a maestro, then, I do hope, Vida Karo helps you get one step closer to acceptance. If you already acknowledge the versatility of the composer, then this song only strengthens that accolade. Starting with a somber piano and the deep undertones of a double bass, the composition establishes a reflective space within its first few notes. Rahman’s ability to craft complex emotion through simplicity shines here — using minimal instrumentation to invite listeners into the raw marrow of the song’s emotional landscape.
The entrance of strings adds a layer of depth to the simplicity, a swelling sentiment that mimics the welling up of tears one experiences in moments of profound grief. And as Jonita Gandhi’s voice joins in the latter half, there’s a sense of ethereal bliss, presenting a stark contrast that only heightens the overall poignant feel of the song.
Emotional Impact: A Cathartic Experience
The brilliance of Vida Karo lies in its emotional impact — it’s designed to wrench the heart. Each listen parallels a reopening of old wounds, a reminder of the universal pangs of departure that each of us feels at different points in our lives. The song resonates deeply, tapping into the shared experience of dejection, loss, yearning, and the all-consuming nature of earnest sorrow.
Vida Karo is not simply heard; it is felt. Every chord progression, every crescendo pulls at the heartstrings, inviting tears that cleanse the soul — a lament that transcends language and cultural barriers.
The Singing: Arijit Singh and the Style of the ‘60s
Arijit Singh delivers a performance that could easily be mistaken for a relic from the golden age of the 1960s Bollywood music scene. There’s an immortal quality to the way he navigates the highs and lows of the melody, infusing each word with a vulnerability that is as authentic as it is moving. Just what the song needs. The occasional voice cracks that Arijit allows the listeners to hear aren’t flaws; they are the purest exposition of heartache, lending an authenticity that cannot be manufactured.
Vida Karo is a song that comfortably occupies the role of a tearjerker — a composition so profound it’s like an audible slice of a certain human condition; a symphony of sadness that resonates with the losses and farewells of every listener.
Arijit Singh and Jonita Gandhi’s voices serve as the perfect vessels for the excruciating beauty of this song, with each lyric delivered like a personal memoir of grief and resilience. Vida Karo is more than a piece of music; it’s an experience, an ode to the life of a fallen artist, and a comforting companion in the moments when we face our personal goodbyes.
To all who have felt the sting of rejection or the numbing cold of departure, this song is an acknowledgement, a final loving gesture, and perhaps, in its exquisite pain, a way to finally say, “Vida Karo; Please give me the permission to leave.” For in this goodbye, as in Chamkila’s life, there’s an undeniable truth and beauty that can only be embraced through the silver lining of tears.
But how does one encapsulate the nuanced feelings that this song evokes? It’s like trying to catch sunlight in your hands — the warmth, the brightness, it’s all there, but it slips through your fingers, leaving a lingering sensation that is both haunting and beautiful. A.R. Rahman’s composition isn’t just music; it’s a voyage through the myriad emotions that we, as humans, are capable of feeling but often find too complex to express.
And then, there’s Arijit and Jonita, with their voices that feel like a balm on a wounded soul. They sing not from a place of detachment but as if they’ve lived through every word, felt every breeze of sadness, and found solace in every note. Listening to them, it’s as if time stands still, and for those few minutes, you’re transported to a place where you can openly wear your heart and tears on your sleeve, unfazed by the world’s judgment.
To me, this song is therapy. One more to my therapy playlist. It’s a friend sitting beside me in silence, understanding my sorrows without needing me to utter a single word. It’s a reminder that, while life is transient and often filled with pain, there is beauty in the vulnerability of letting go. And in those moments of surrender, when the tears flow freely, there’s a strange comfort in knowing you’re not alone, that even in the depths of despair, there’s music that understands, that embraces, that heals.
Everyone who’s been touched by the magic of Vida Karo (which from what I have seen on social media seems to be a very large number already), knows that it’s more than a song. It’s a piece of our collective soul, put into words and melodies, a shared experience of joy and sorrow, a testament to the universal truth that in every goodbye, there is a story worth telling, worth singing, worth living.
PS: I had written a short post earlier about “The art of sad music”.
It’s a good companion read.
Listen to Chamkila album here (with direct link to Vida Karo):
