Professor Paramjeet Singh presents "Zindagi Mein To Sabhi Pyaar Kiya Karte Hain," a classical devotional piece performed in Raag Bhimpalasi. The song explores the central paradox of human love: in life, everyone experiences love, yet the singer declares that even in death, his beloved will remain eternally loved and cherished. Through poetic devotion and classical musical expression, the piece articulates a love so profound that it transcends mortality, separation, and the boundaries of fate itself—establishing devotion (bhakti) as the ultimate human experience.
Raag Bhimpalasi is a classical Indian raga traditionally associated with expression of deep emotion, longing, and devotion. Its melodic structure creates a contemplative yet emotionally resonant space—ideal for rendering bhajans and devotional pieces that explore the inner landscape of the heart. In Indian classical music, ragas are not merely melodic frameworks; they are understood as vehicles for specific emotional and spiritual states. Bhimpalasi, with its particular note combinations and phrase shapes, carries an inherent quality of yearning and tenderness, making it especially suited to express the pain and ecstasy of devotional love. When Professor Paramjeet Singh chooses this raga for "Zindagi Mein To Sabhi Pyaar Kiya Karte Hain," he is not simply selecting a musical mode—he is activating the raga's emotional and spiritual resonance to deepen the listener's engagement with the song's themes.
The refrain translates as "In life, everyone loves" or more fully, "In this life, everyone experiences love." This seemingly simple opening statement serves as the foundation for the entire piece. It acknowledges a universal human condition: love is woven into the fabric of existence. However, the genius of the song lies in what follows this observation. The refrain is not a celebration of universal human love in the conventional sense; instead, it becomes a threshold from which the singer launches into declarations of a love that transcends ordinary human experience. The repetition of this line (at 4s, 13s, 33s, and 116s in the performance) creates a rhythmic and philosophical anchor, reminding the listener that despite the ordinariness of love in life, the song is about to express something far more extraordinary.
One of the most striking lyrical assertions appears early in the piece: "Maye to mar kar vi meri jaan tujhey chahunga"—"Even if I die, my beloved, I will desire you." This is not metaphorical or sentimental; it is a direct claim that love, in its deepest form, survives the ultimate boundary of human existence. Death, rather than ending love, becomes irrelevant to its persistence. The singer argues that his love is not contingent on his continued breathing, his heartbeat, or his physical presence. Instead, love itself becomes the substance of existence—more fundamental than the body, more enduring than the mind. This reversal of the ordinary relationship between life and love is central to the devotional worldview expressed here. Love is not something that happens during life; rather, life is something that happens within the field of love.
The song employs the heart (dil) as the primary seat of devotion and longing. A pivotal couplet declares: "Apne lagwa matam jazbaaton ke liye maine dharkhan ki tareh dil mein basaya hai"—"To create the emotions of sorrow, I have placed my beloved in my heart like a heartbeat itself." This is a profound image: the beloved is not merely loved; the beloved has become the beating pulse of existence. The heart does not simply contain the beloved; the heart and the beloved are fused into a single reality. Every beat, every moment of life, reverberates with the presence of the other. This image transforms love from an emotional state into an ontological condition—a way of being in which the distinction between lover and beloved begins to dissolve. The heartbeat, typically invisible and automatic, becomes the metaphor for a love that is both involuntary (inescapable) and perpetual (constant).
The song does not shy away from the pain of separation. Another crucial passage states: "Tujhe mein taswir vi judai ka bhala kaise karu, maine ne kismat ki lakeeran se churaya hai tujhe"—"Even the image of separation from you, how can I bear? I have stolen you from the lines of fate itself." Here, the singer expresses both the unbearability of separation and a defiant claim that his love has transcended the predetermined patterns of destiny. By "stealing" the beloved from the lines of fate, the singer asserts that his love operates outside the ordinary constraints of karma and circumstance. This is not resignation to separation; it is an active rebellion against separation through the force of love itself. The beloved cannot be erased from the heart because the lover has extracted her from the very fabric of fate—making the bond supernatural, unbreakable, and immune to ordinary causation.
The phrase "Tujh pe ho jaunga kurban"—"I will be a sacrifice at your feet" or "I will be offered up for you"—introduces the language of ultimate surrender and sacrifice central to bhakti traditions. Kurban (sacrifice) is not merely symbolic; it echoes the willingness to surrender one's ego, one's separate identity, and ultimately one's life for the sake of the beloved. In the context of devotional spirituality, this is not morbid or pathological; it represents the highest aspiration—the dissolution of the separate self into the object of devotion. By repeatedly invoking this idea (at 100s in the transcribed performance), the song articulates the spiritual logic of bhakti: that the ultimate fulfillment of love is the annihilation of the lover as a separate entity. What remains is only the beloved and the devotion.
Professor Paramjeet Singh's repetition of key phrases—the refrain, the beloved's name, the declarations of eternal love—is not redundancy; it is a classical technique in devotional music and spiritual practice. Repetition in bhajans and kirtan serves multiple functions: it embeds the lyrical content into consciousness through rhythmic and melodic reinforcement; it creates a meditative space where meaning deepens with each iteration rather than becoming stale; and it mimics the function of mantra, where the repeated invocation of a truth gradually transforms the practitioner's understanding and being. Each time the phrase "Zindagi Mein To Sabhi Pyaar Kiya Karte Hain" returns, the listener is invited to contemplate it anew, moving from intellectual understanding toward lived embodiment.
To deepen engagement with this piece, listeners may explore other renderings of poems and bhajans in Raag Bhimpalasi, noticing how the raga's melodic qualities support the expression of devotional longing. Study of the classical Indian poetic tradition of devotion—particularly Sant literature and Sufi poetry, which share similar themes of love transcending death and separation—will enrich understanding of the philosophical roots of pieces like this. Practitioners interested in bhakti as a spiritual path may investigate how the surrender, sacrifice, and eternal longing expressed in this song reflect actual spiritual practices and realizations described in texts like the Bhagavad Gita or the poetry of Kabir and Rumi. Finally, listening repeatedly to Professor Paramjeet Singh's rendering, allowing the music to work on the heart rather than only the intellect, is itself a practice—one that honors the original purpose of such music: not merely to be understood, but to transform.
