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You expect period music, yet you expect it to be fresh and new; not a rip off of old tracks. Yet you hope that it will revive and rekindle all those myriad sepia-tinted and black-and-white nostalgic associations of those times, and make references to musical hits of the era. After all this was the Golden Age of Hindi cinema when there was a prolific pouring in of talent into the industry.

The opening song – the title track – is the gem of the album. Lyricist Swanand Kirkire and Ajay Jhingran’s raspy voices take you through this racy masterpiece that combines a qawwali style with a sort of shaayari recital and desi rap. The rollercoaster “Kyoooon” gives the whole song a spirited twist. Of course music director Shantanu Moitra goes ahead and loads it with quite a heavy musical arrangement I wouldn’t essentially associate with the 50s, yet the final effect is grand. The lyrics are as intriguing as the ways of the heart are mysterious – the crux of the song. The separation, the sadness, the angst and the heart’s anger at its own self have been nuanced poetically by Kirkire. (It also had me scurrying to an Urdu dictionary!) And Kirkire has gone one step ahead and paid his respect to one of the progressive Urdu poets of the time – Majaaz – ingeniously weaving him into the lyrics.

It’s a great beginning and nothing after this number in the album matches up to the energy of this song.

“Ye nigahein”, a sassy number, with Antara Choudhury trying a Geeta Dutt kind of lilting seductive singing style, quite succeeds. The trumpet and the piano add to that feel of music that harks back on O. P. Nayyar’s compositions, with a generous sprinkling of a jazz influence. While it’s a duet with Sonu Nigam, it’s Antara who carries the song largely on her shoulders and her voice. In a similar genre is “Khushboo sa”, another seductive number that Hamsika Iyer has crooned. The song sounds drunk on itself and takes its course, slowly ambling to the trumpets and rushing through the drum beats. It does sound a lot like Parineeta’s “Kaisi paheli zindagani” in parts.

And when you are trying to capture the life of a Hindi film actress, can an inviting mujra be far behind? So “Chale aao saiyan” sings Shreya Ghoshal – perhaps the youngest green voice you’ve heard singing a mujra. “O re paakhi” is a soft and soothing song from Sonu Nigam – the sort a hero would sit alone at the piano and sing soulfully and mournfully. It’s a “quiet” song to begin with, that soars for a moment on Sonu Nigam’s voice, with the hopeful rising of the paakhi (bird), only to glide back into quietness.

“Sakhi piya” is a classical piece that pays tribute to the large volume of Hindi film songs of the 1950s that drew generously from classical music. It surprisingly has a more westernised background musical arrangement – I guess these are the musician’s addition or interpretation of the music of the times. “Thirak Thirak”, the final number, nicely ties up the album with the theme of the roads taken and destinations of the heart. It uses the same musical interlude from the title track, fusing the two songs together. Though, when the song opens with a long musical piece with drums, it starts off with a promise of being one of those gypsy tracks. It does turn out to be a slower song traipsing over the musical landscape.

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