Songs Of Paradise Captures Kashmir's Music, Misses Its Heart

By Arbeena

Songs of Paradise opens with Noor Begum, a character inspired by Kashmiri singer Raj Begum, drawing viewers into the valley's musical soul. Saba Azad and Soni Razdan share the role, passing between her younger and older self, and carry the narrative as a woman whose songs came to define Kashmir.

Danish Renzu, a Kashmiri filmmaker, takes this story to the world via Amazon Prime, a rare global stage for a Kashmiri tale.

The film's strongest asset is its music and local talent. Masrat Un Nissa reimagines Raj Begum's iconic songs, like Dil Tsooran, Roni Daman, Rum Gayam Sheeshus, Karsa Myon, with sensitivity and longing. Each note is anchored in the valley's lineage.

Performances by Sheeba Chaddha as Mouji, Bashir Lone as Abba, and Zain Durrani as Azaad give warmth and credibility, creating moments of intimacy that contrast with the film's structural weaknesses.

The narrative, however, struggles to match the music. Renzu's direction often feels distant, as if observing from the margins.

The title, Songs of Paradise, leans on a familiar trope of Kashmir as“paradise on earth,” which overshadows Raj Begum herself. The artist's own name or epithet, the“Melody Queen of Kashmir,” would have centered her courage and individuality.

She broke societal norms by singing publicly in 1954, at a time when women's voices were tightly constrained. By sidelining her identity in the title, the film undercuts the very act of bravery it seeks to honour.

Inaccuracies around literacy and language further weaken authenticity.

Raj Begum was illiterate, signing documents with her thumb impression. Noor Begum, in contrast, reads contracts in English on screen. Radio Kashmir is presented with English banners, while Urdu appears sparingly. Kashmiri dialogue, often stilted, fails to reflect the valley's rhythm. Only Bashir Lone's Abba feels linguistically grounded.

Filming primarily in Kashmiri could have strengthened connection and authenticity for local audiences.

The framing device, Rumi, a student researching Kashmiri artists, never reaches resolution. Noor asks,“Meri kahani ka karoge kya?” (What will you do with my story?), yet the film provides no answer.

Instead, it closes with Noor's granddaughter singing, a gesture that feels emotionally soft and narratively unconvincing.

The broader arc of Raj Begum's recognition, the Padma Shri and Sangeet Natak Akademi Award, remains absent. The film confines itself to Radio Kashmir, Tagore Hall, and domestic spaces, leaving the singer's impact largely unseen.

Historical context is sparse. The Kashmir of the 1950s, rife with political, cultural, and gendered constraints, shapes the meaning of Raj Begum's music. Without acknowledging these forces, Noor's story drifts in a timeless vacuum.

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